About 2300 new words and one cut-and-paste later, Magic Meter for Apocalypse Pictures Presents looks like this:
And for my next trick . . . chapter three! But the cut-and-paste well is now empty. From here on in, it's just me and the muse.
For the nonce, though, it's snippet time:
From behind the dumpster came her voice: "I'm fine. Leave me alone."
She sounded wheezy. He wanted to respond, but the coughing prevented it. He shook his head–as if she could see that–and pressed forward.
She said, "I don't need you to–"
He came around to her side of the dumpster. She stood huddled against it, her back to him, her wheezes more pronounced. A dark puddle had formed at her feet.
Eddie wiped futilely at the snot that covered the lower half of his face. His coughing fit subsided, but speaking was still difficult: "Let me . . . get a medic." They had a few good ones in Rattlesnake territory.
"I'm fine. Go see to the others, if you want to help." Aside from the wheezing, the gas seemed to have hardly fazed her.
"Don't . . . be stupid. Can't let you . . . bleed out here." He reached for her.
She shoved his hand away with surprising strength. He staggered backward, fell. Her touch was very cold.
No updates for Write Club.
Back to the word mines . . .
