Grab your flashlight, water, and bug out kit. Fill your tank and gas can. Today we’re hitting the road in a dystopian work in progress called Kestrel.
Tuesday Tales is a weekly blog featuring diverse authors who post excerpts from their WIPs based on word and picture prompts. Today’s prompt is pen. Please visit the other fabulous authors at Tuesday Tales.
Pete collapsed against the slats of the mildewed shack, as if his legs could no longer support him. “No, no, no. I tell you I didn’t see nothin’.”
He’d seep right on through the wood if he could. Kestrel hammered on. “Pete, are you dead set on going back to the pen? ‘Cause if you are, you’re doing a fine job of it.”
His colorless watery eyes popped wider. “No, no, please. I can’t go back there.”
Kestrel stiffened two fingers toward the three body bags humped under the cypress tree. Iris jerked the final zipper. No more strange red symbols sharded on the lifeless bodies. No more sewn lips and sightless eyes.
As if pulled by a string, Pete’s head rotated toward the morbid cleanup being performed. After a long moment he returned his attention to Kestrel. His voice creaked like a rusty door hinge. “They’ll kill me if I rat.”
She took a step toward him. “We’ll protect you.”
He grunted. “With all that’s going on everywhere and the world crazy as bat shit, how are you going to do that? There’s no manpower for the likes of me.”
She doffed her head Iris’ way. “My friend over there is a big shot at headquarters. She can work the deal. We’ll move you out of state.”
A ghost white water bird shrieked above their heads. Pete jerked upright. “Don’t lie to me. I know you’re the Kestrel and I’m nothin’ in anybody’s eyes, but don’t you damn lie to me.”
She needed to tell him not to worry, that Iris would handle matters and whisk him away once he talked. She needed to tell him he’d be fine.
She needed to lie.
“Pete.” His rheumy gaze held hers. He looked old and yet he looked young. His expression told her he waited for the magic words where everything would be all right. She couldn’t bring them out. “Damn it, Pete.” She swallowed, hard. “Okay, here’s the deal. Iris can get things done, and maybe she will. But I’ll take the brunt on this. I’ll see you safe, I promise. You can tag along north with me.”
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Cheers & Happy Reading!
Flossie Benton Rogers, Conjuring the Magic with Paranormal Fantasy Romance