Some 4500 words later, the rewritten chapter seventeen of Apocalypse Pictures Presents is done, and Magic Meter now looks like this:
Gettin’ there, folks. I’m really gettin’ there. Some days I feel like I’ll never be finished with this thing, and some days I . . . no, I pretty much always feel like I’ll never be finished with this thing.
But I’m gettin’ there. Or so I keep telling myself.
Your snippet:
“No, no,” Pastor said. “None of that. The lady’s right, Rodney. Just open the gate a crack, and let ’em through.” He faced Susan. “One condition, though: you go out, and you don’t come back in.”
“What?” Jazmine’s voice cracked. “That wasn’t the deal.”
“Ma’am, we never had a deal. You aren’t one of us. You infiltrated Hollywood, and then the Hills, and you brought a dangerous young man with you. Now the Hills are on fire and the Mouseketeers are on their way to take Hollywood from us.” He swept an arm toward the west, down Sunset Boulevard. “Hollywood is for Rattlesnakes only. And right now, we have to take care of our own. Your best chance is to get as far away from here as you can, and count yourselves lucky. We don’t get that choice.”
Santiago stepped forward. “Some of our friends are still in the Hills. We can’t leave them.”
Susan extended an arm, indicating that Santiago should keep his distance. She would have enjoyed nothing more than cold-cocking this sanctimonious jackass with all his ma’ams and his aw-shucks country charm, but he was right about at least one thing: Hollywood was Rattlesnake territory. Forgetting that fact would only get them shot.
No updates for Write Club.
Onward. I guess.
