AWOL

So, I am probably going to go AWOL for the weekend. I have been working on some top secret stuff that I can't share just yet. But I promise, once they have been cleared for release I will post them.

The first should be available by next weekend, so be sure to check back for an all new tale of things trying to eat your face.

And now for something a little different

Ok, I admit it. Zombies are not for everyone. I get that. It takes a certain type of person to take pleasure in blood, gore, and entrails. Although, tis the season.

As much as I enjoy horror and apocalyptic fiction, there is more to me. My skills and interests are as varied as the ways Romero kills zoms. So, to show you guys my lighter side, I have posted a short story for your reading pleasure. The whole thing is posted, so you don't even have to jump through any hoops.

Take a look. Share your comments. Tell your friends. Tell your family. Tell your dog. Tell the mutant spider in your basement . . . on second thought, skip the spider. I don't need publicity that bad.

If you really enjoy it, get in touch with me and I will give you some ideas as to how you can spread the word of my awesomeness.

Thanks for your support. Happy reading.

The Lucid Adventures

Part 5

Continued from Part 4

I follow Dragon into the tight stairway that spirals down six flights. Each flight consists of a dozen steel stair treads that echo with each step. At the bottom of each flight is a small platform where the next flight connects at ninety degrees. The lights are harsh, making me want to squint against the glare of the stark white walls. I don’t come to the Dungeon because I hate it down here. It makes me feel like they are over compensating for something. Like they are trying to convince you it’s something that it’s not; trying to make you forget that you are deep underground; trying to make you forget that you are completely cut off from the world and at the mercy of cold, calculating, Ministry protocols. I’m also claustrophobic.

At the bottom of the stairway I stare at the cipher lock. The magic word for getting through the door is the same. Well, almost the same. The steps and codes are the same; you just do them in reverse. It would be easy enough for a would-be saboteur to stand around in the main hallway and become familiar with the process, but gaining intelligence on the security in this space would require insider knowledge. If the enemy were to hi-jack an employee to get through these gates, he most likely wouldn't be tipped off if the same procedure was used. But he would be mistaken. If you don’t reverse the order: thumb, PIN, badge; the space goes into lock down. No one will be able to enter or leave until Security arrives.

Now would be my chance to alert Security, if I had any doubts about these guys. And I do have plenty of doubts. If they have such a high clearance, why don’t they have their own PINs and access programs? Why would they need me? If this is some kind of emergency lock down, where is Security? Where are the alarms? Where is anyone?

“Is there a problem, Ms. Fischer?” Dragon asks. His tone is firm but I catch something that might be a hint of concern. Probably just concern that this wasn't going to be a cakewalk and he might have to use force after all. The thought makes me cringe and my stomach flips.

This is it. OPSEC. They drill it into you every minute of every day from the time your hire-on until you retire. Guard your documents. Guard your passwords. Guard your conversations. Guard your knowledge. Guard your secrets. Guard everything. You laugh about it because you are a finance monkey and your secrets consist of how many toner cartridges are bought in a year. You flex the rules because the passwords are too long to remember and have to be changed every thirty days. Maybe you start off gung-ho and serious, but then the day-to-day sets in and you realize there is no boogeyman hiding in every shadow waiting to pounce. But then the boogeyman does show up. What then? They don’t tell you how to stare down the barrel of a gun and say no.

I swipe my badge.

“Not that way, Ms. Fischer,” Dragon says calmly.

So he knows the order of operations at the bottom of the stairs. I tried. He is too well informed. He is either legit or has done his homework. Whatever, I tried. I’m not dying today. My initial patriotism has worn off with the drawn out trip to the Dungeon. I've changed my mind. I'll take my chances with treason.

I wait for the card reader to time out and then I place my thumb on the scanner. The green light begins to blink. I enter my PIN and it continues to blink green. As I go to swipe my badge, I feel a subtle change in the tension emanating from the operatives beside me. Throughout this crazy expedition to the Dungeon, they have been alert, but calm. There was a positive tension that they were using to focus. But now, their posture has changed. Is it fear? Anticipation? This is not my area of expertise, but whatever it is, I don’t like it.

I swipe my badge and the light settles on green and the lock clicks open. This time I make no move to open the door. I just want to go home.  

Check out the preview

I have posted the first three chapters of Rising Tide: A Novel. Check it out.

As promised . . .

Ok, as I mentioned yesterday, with a little bit of effort I'm going to hook you up with a copy of my new book   Rising Tide: A Novel.

Step 1: Cruise on over to my Facebook Page and friend me.
Step 2: "Like" my book's page.
Step 3: Post a status update linked to either my profile or Rising Tide.
Step 4: Send me a message via leighfischer83@gmail.com or Facebook and provide an email address to which I can send either a .MOBI or .PDF.

That's it. It doesn't get much easier. Thanks for your help and support.

*PS. If you're not into Facebook, shoot me an email and we will work something out.

A Short Intermission for Promotion

Yea I know, so far this blog has been filled with intermissions. That's what I get for starting a new project during a most glorious summer. But don't worry, summer has come to a close and November with all its misery is on its way. So I will be less preoccupied and will be updating more frequently.

But this is different than me just me being a slacker because the sun has been calling my name. This is as an intermission to send you towards a project on which I have not been slacking. Go check it out. I dare you. It's awesome. Rising Tide: A Novel is my new book. I just released it on Amazon.

Check back here for more information about the book and how you can hook yourself up with a free copy.

Part 4

Continued from Part 3

We crept through the suspiciously quiet hallways. Or I should say, my special ops escorts crept through the hallways. I’m sure if we were trying to sneak up on someone it wouldn't work. They would hear my scuffing a mile away. Whatever. If they weren't going to tell me what was going on why should I do anything differently than I normally would.

Ox had been on point and would peer around each corner and through each threshold before he would let the rest of us follow him through. We methodically searched each office, common space and area as we made our way to the Dungeon. There was nothing to see. Nothing at all. Not a single co-worker was to be found. Three floors, more than 150 people, more than fifty offices and we hadn't seen a soul. It was a long and disconcerting trip.

We have finally made it to the entrance to the Dungeon and everyone is looking at me expectantly.

“So . . . you just want me to open it?” I ask.

Dragon nods. The others part and make way for me to step up to the door. It’s unassuming; it looks like any number of the doors sealing rooms we had checked on the way down. It is solid and painted to match the bland, grey walls of this floor. The only thing that indicates that there might be something of interest behind the door, and not just another bathroom or coffee mess, is the badge reader, cipher lock, and fingerprint scanner.

I fumble for my badge and drop it to the floor as I slide it out of the clear sleeve that hangs on a lanyard around my neck. I feel my ears grow hot as I stoop to retrieve it. These guys do not look like they have ever had a case of butterfingers. I’m sure they are thrilled; of all the civilian escorts they could have gotten and they are stuck with me.

I swipe the badge through the reader and a little green light on the device begins to blink green. I enter my sixteen digit PIN on the cipher. The little green light continues to blink green, indicating that I had gotten my password correct. I breathe a sigh of relief; I don’t come to the Dungeon a whole lot and when I do it usually takes me a couple of tries, sometimes even a trip back to my office to check my password list under my keyboard or else I buzz through with a co-worker. That does not appear to be a viable option today.

I flatten my thumb on the little black screen. There is a slight hum and then the light settles on solid green and there is an audible click as the door unlocks. I reach for the nickel plated handle but instead find myself flat up against the wall struggling to breathe. Squirrel’s speed has caught me completely off-guard and her strength and force was impressive as she knocked the wind out of me and held me to the wall with her rifle across my chest.

“ . . . the fuck?” I cough, trying to figure out the right balance of intimidation and irritation. Here I am behaving like a good little do-bee and I am still getting man handled.

Ox sweeps by me and disappears through the bulkhead.

“You know we aren’t in yet, right?” I ask after a moment of silence. Squirrel ignores me; she stares straight ahead into the middle of my forehead. No, that’s not right. She stares straight through me. It makes me shiver.

I hear Ox’s deep guttural “clear” echoing from beyond the bulkhead and Squirrel’s eyes refocus and soften. She steps back and releases me from the wall. “Sorry about that,” she says, “we don’t need anyone getting hurt.”

“All you had to do was say ‘Hey Fish, unlock the door but don’t open it.’” The intimidation was lifted when the pressure was removed, leaving only irritation.

“Sorry,” she reaffirms with clinical precision. 

I catch Dragon’s eye and I imagine a toothy grin beneath his balaclava. I’m not sure why. There was nothing to indicate that any of these people even knew how to smile. Maybe it’s just my brain trying to make me feel more comfortable in a lousy situation. And then, in an instant, the thought is gone; Dragon turns away and disappears through the bulkhead.