Matthew S. Rotundo's Pixeltown

Another 3.1 K on the Apocalypse Pictures Presents rewrite, and Magic Meter says:

One more logistical hurdle to clear, and then we’re down to the denouement.

The word is denouement, folks.  It’s from the French.  Look it up.

Oh, never mind.  Here’s your snippet:

He checked his own pistol one more time.  Fully loaded, safety off, ready to go.  He hoped he wouldn’t need it; Susan had berated him repeatedly what being such a lousy shot.  But if he did have to fire it, their chances of survival would be slim, anyway.

A wash of headlight illumination at the east doors, and the drone of an approaching engine, though he did not see the vehicle.  Gil holstered his pistol—carefully—but made sure it was visible.

The engine cut off.  Car doors opened and closed.  Footfalls on the concrete outside.  Gil drew a shaky breath and wished Johnny Cascio were there.

No updates for Write Club.

Until next week, au revoir.

Another 2K on the Apocalypse Pictures Presents rewrite brings Magic Meter to here:

That closes out chapter 19, and brings me to my last major hurdle—chapter 20, which pretty much has to be redone from scratch.  I spent some time this weekend figuring out the blocking.

Shut up.  I was working.

But damn, I am so ready to be done with this thing.  It’s difficult to express in words.  And for a writer, that’s bad form.

We wouldn’t want that, would we?  No, indeed.  So here are some words, AKA your snippet:

She looked around.  Everyone was in position—patients and caregivers all.  Fear rose in her, threatened to paralyze her.  Years of drilling under her father had taught how to disengage her emotions prior to an engagement.  But she was unarmed this time, and she would need her emotions to make this work.  So instead of trying to block it, she let the fear course through her, let it accelerate her heart rate, let it close her throat to a pinhole.

Santiago had given her good lines.  Florence had done her ghoulish best.  Pastor Cam had given them a perfect location.  The rest of the team all knew what they had to do.  It could work, as long as they executed.  They would only get one take at this, but they were all used to that.

The others were looking at her.  She cleared her throat.  “They’re here.  Be ready.”

Climax is dead ahead.  Forward!