Post 4: Introducing Agent Awesome

After Mary was done working her makeup magic on Phil, he couldn't recognize himself in the reflection in the windows of the helicopter.  Phil was the same size as Sam the Pilot, so she made him to look like Sam the Pilot.  Gone were his steel blue eyes and shortly cropped blonde hair.  Instead, he wore brown contact lenses and sported a shaggy, thick hair cut like Sam.  He even had Sam's thick Tom Selleck moustache.  

Most surprising was the extent of Mary's abilities to disguise someone, for his nose was a prosthetic one to help Phil look like Sam, and his brow had some sort of make-up putty smoothed on to make it look larger than his own.  Yes, he was definitely feeling this part.

Phil reached up and placed the black knit cap on his head, completing his head to toe military look.  He took a couple of breaths in and out, trying to remember Sam's voice and cadence.  Phil recalled a Midwest quality to the tenor voice, a bit higher than his own.  He practiced a few vocal exercises and one or two phrases before rolling his head from side to side and jumping up and down a bit in place - this being his classic warm up routine prior to filming a roll.

He looked back at his reflection.  He saw: Agent Awesome, undercover.  His iconic alter ego winked at the image and he turned back to Mary.

"Stay here," he said quietly yet confidently.  "I'll handle this."  He slung his AK-47 and took off for the hangar.  

Mary raised her eyebrows sharply and pursed her lips as she watched him trot off, leaving her and Clementine in the helicopter outside on the landing pad.  She finished putting away her disguise kit and began to ready herself and Clem to back up Phil.  Maybe even rescue him. 

Agent Awesome slowed to a walk as he entered the open hangar door into a brightly light cavernous room.  Several planes fit inside the building and many of them were being loaded with various crates and machinery. He noted the activity and filed it for analysis after this mission was complete.  First, he must gain access to the upstairs office and detain whoever seemed to be in charge.  All in a days work for Agent Awesome.

He waved to a few of the similarly dressed fellows who acknowledged his arrival, but kept his eye on the stair leading up to this office.  His combat boots thudded softly on the concrete and then on the metal stairs as he began his ascent.   Agent Awesome reached the top without any issue.

He knocked on the door, two firm raps, and a voice invited him inside.  

He opened the door and...

A Change Up

So, not many comments, and I assume it's more out of lack of time rather than lack of interest.

Therefore, I will be incorporating a poll, thus making this project more like Choose Your Own Adventure vs. Comedy Sportz.

At the end of each installment, readers will be invited to vote for one of several directions the story could go.  (I haven't quite figured out the mechanics yet, so the poll might be to the right.)

The choice with the most votes wins!

Sound simple? 

Great!

New post next week. 

Post 3: The Dinner Guest

Phil came back into the cabin with the bucket full of water, which he poured into a pot on the gas stove.  After he lit the burner, he excused himself as he ran upstairs to put on warmer clothes.  He bounded downstairs, gave Clementine a pat and a smile, and set to chopping vegetables.  As Mary waited for Phil to finish dinner, she turned on the old battery operated radio on a nearby shelf and began to twist the knobs until a station came in.

"....kept open for emergency use. *EERP!  EERRP!  EERP!*”  Phil stopped chopping and looked at the radio.  “This is an Emergency Action Notification. All broadcast stations and cable systems shall transmit this Emergency Action Notification Message. This station has interrupted its regular programming at the request of the White House to participate in the Emergency Alert System. During this emergency, most stations will remain on the air providing news and information to the public in assigned areas. This is KRDO.  We will continue to serve the Colorado Springs area. If you are not in this Local Area, you should tune to stations providing news and information for your Local Area. You are listening to the Emergency Alert System serving the Colorado Springs area. Do not use your telephone. The telephone lines should be kept open for emergency use. *EERP!  EERRP!  EERP!* "

There was a brief silence, and Phil looked wide eyed at Mary.  He looked as if he was about to speak, but she put a thin finger over her lips to shush him.

"My fellow Americans.  At approximately 9 p.m. EST, major cities from all over our nation began reporting multiple and apparently synchronized bombings and attacks on infrastructure and civilians.  Individuals identifying themselves as G.R.A.C.O. contacted the U.S. government approximately 30 minutes into the attack with a series of demands, including the surrender of our entire country to their forces.

"I have chosen not to surrender your freedom.  Instead, martial law is effective immediately until further notice.  Please coordinate with your local military.

"This is your President, signing off.  God bless America."

"Amen," murmured Mary as she set down her spoon and looked back at Phil.

"Was that real?" he asked.

"Yes," she sighed.  So it begins.  "I need an inventory of what you brought with you so I can review our assets."

Phil did not hear her.  "You mean we've been invaded?"

"Yes, Phil.  I need you to stay calm…”

"We..." he started.  "Oh my god, we have to get Lena!" 

He set down his knife and started to quickly clean off his hands with a dish towel.

"Slow down, Phil," Mary said sternly as she stood up.  "One thing at a time."

"No, seriously, Mary!" replied Phil, panic rising in his voice.  "We have to go back now!  I can't just leave her in L.A.!"

"And how are we supposed to get to L.A., Phil?  Take my motorcycle?  It's a long drive, and Clem doesn't like company in the side car."

"We'll take my helicopter to the hanger outside of Colorado Springs.  Then we'll hop my jet to L.A."

That brought Mary up short. "I'm sorry," she blinked.  "Your WHAT?"

"My helicopter.  I charted a helicopter to get out here.  It's out back.  Sam, the pilot, will get us back to the hangar..."

"Wait wait... you have a helicopter in my backyard?  And someone else is here?  Where is he?"

"Um, I'm not sure.  I... man, I wonder where he ran off to?"

As if on cue, the machine gun fire started ripping through the cabin.  Mary launched herself to the floor and crawled behind the wood burning stove while Clementine knocked Phil to the floor and dragged him behind some cabinets.  There was a pause in gun fire, so the old lady risked a peek around the stove, Glock at the ready.   The gunfire had shattered the front windows, indicating that the enemy was to the north, likely finding cover in the island of aspens out front.  With the lights on, they were sitting ducks. 

Mary took action, dove for her helmet on the table, and commando rolled out the side door into the night, inviting a hail of bullets to chase her into the woods.  As soon as she was in the brush she slapped down the visor on her helmet.  A press of a button brought up night vision; a second button brought up heat signatures.  Burning bright in her vision was a large human form crouched exactly where she predicted: in the aspens.  Mary whistled a three note tune into the night, and five seconds later, Clementine was barreling into the night towards the enemy.  The human form rose to fire, and that was all Mary needed.  She shot once before he could pull the trigger.  

The large dog ran over to the body, sniffed, and barked once.

"Stay there, Clem," Mary called.  "We'll be over in a second."

The old woman shuffled back into the cabin, stepping over the shards of glass that littered the floor, to retrieve Phil.

"Phil," she said to the cowering figure under the sink.  When he didn't respond, she tried again, this time more gently.

"Phil," she said softly.  "It's okay.  He's dead.  Come on out."  He turned to look at her.  He was white as a sheet and trembling.

A part of her was annoyed, and that part of her wanted to slap him, tell him to be a man, point out caustically that real life gun fights aren't so entertaining, are they Mr. Hollywood? But the other part of her felt sorry for him, sorry for America.  Most normal citizens have only seen such things glamorized on screen.  They aren't prepared for the messy reality of war.  He should be scared; life just became so much more fragile for the masses.

Kindness won out, and so Mary helped him up, encouraged him to get dressed, convinced him to take a look at the body out front to see if he recognized the enemy. Phil recognized him immediately.

"Oh...oh my god.  That's... that's Sam!"  he declared.  "That's my pilot!  Why is he wearing a military uniform?  Why was he trying to kill me?"

"Good questions, " said Mary as she bent down to search the body.  The man wore a black knit hat, black and gray military fatigues and combat boots, none of which were U.S. military issue.  A black isosceles triangle patch was sewn on the right bicep of the uniform, a laminated map of the Brickland compound was folded neatly in an inner chest pocket, and tags similar to military dog tags were hung on a necklace around his neck.  

The tags read:
Samuel F. Swanson
A.B.F. III
Chicago

His weapon was an AK-47, a standard issue semi-automatic rifle for the Soviet military.  Several full magazines were littered on the ground.

"More and more questions, Mr. Swanson," Mary grumbled.  "Phil, take me to the helicopter."

The helicopter, round and black, was parked in a field behind the cabin.  It was a basic transportation machine with bubble like appearance.  Sam's other clothes were folded neatly on the seat, a wallet placed on top of the stack of clothes.  After a quick look, Mrs. MacGregor ordered everyone to load up.  Clementine trotted off to retrieve her duffle bag.  Phil, on the other hand, just stared at her.

"You can't fly one of these things, can you?"

"Surprise, Phil, " she drawled.  "I've got a few tricks up my sleeve.  Pack it up, sonny.  Get food."

He hesitated.  "Seriously?"

"YES.  SERIOUSLY," Mary snapped, not used to having her orders questioned.  "Now move!"

Mary relieved the body of its clothing, gun, and ammo while Phil ran off to do her bidding.  The helicopter was off the ground in 10 minutes, and headed back east to the private airport where Phil kept his jet.

"Are we going to L.A. to get Lena?" Phil asked over the con.

Mary was concerned about her daughter as much as she was concerned about her only other child, Jennifer.  Jennifer was too far away to help.  However, Sam the pilot had a map of Lena and Phil's home, which meant Lena could be in immediate trouble.  Some maternal instincts were starting to kick in and overpower her survival instincts.

"Dammit, "she growled.  "Yes.  Now shut up and let me think."

What if this hanger was compromised, littered with more people like Sam?  Was Sam part of this G.R.A.C.O. organization, or just part of a lame kidnapping scheme?  How were they going to get to the plane and keep Pretty Boy safe?  Once in the air, how close were they going to get to Brickland's house before running into G.R.A.C.O. agents?  

The dark landscape of Colorado whipped by below them as Mary formulated a plan. 

"Phil," the old lady said.  "Get into uniform.  I have an acting job for you." 

Post 2

A night in Colorado can be exceptionally cool. The higher in elevation one climbs, the crisper the night air. The exposed skin on her weathered cheeks burned a bit from the chill; the dog was fine save for the flapping of her lips in the wind. Clementine and Mrs. MacGregor were clipping down I-25, away from Denver proper toward Colorado Springs. West of the springs lay her late husband's family homestead.

She was anxious, excited. Frightened a bit, truth be told. The last image of the Denver skyline still burned in her mind. The sky scrapers on fire and the surrounding infrastructure glowing in the night like a giant bonfire on the beach haunted her ride. She did want to know what truly happened, but that would have to wait until she got to the homestead.

The cabin was nestled deep in a valley, high up in the mountains. Once off the interstate, the drive was long and slow, with gravel road switchbacks the whole way up. Then you might miss the driveway if you blinked. Between two quaking aspens, another gravel dirt road snaked upwards.

Mrs. MacGregor and Clementine hunched down as she turned between the aspens and rumbled up the curvy road into a grove of pines. The evergreens were dense and the boughs hung over them closely as they passed. Time went by, the gravel snapping and popping underneath the heavy tires.

Eventually, they came to an opening in the pine grove and moonlight shone down into the clearing. The MacGregor homestead was a two story cabin of simple construction. It was of basic design: steeply eaved A line roof, rectangular foundation. A single front door was placed in the center of the front of the structure, flanked by a large picture window to the left, a small window to the right, and a metal awning immediately above. The trim was a rusty brown and the siding was of a mocha color, but in the light of the stars and moon the cabin was washed of color and left in shades of gray. The garage and outhouse were to the back and left, out of view. The clearing was completed by a small island of aspens about forty feet from the front door, a fire pit down and away to the left near the treeline, and a water pump near the home. The ground was sandy and sparse.

Mrs. MacGregor pulled the motorcycle around the house to the garage. She manually opened the garage door, rode the bike in, shut it off, and went to get Clementine out of the side car. When she pulled the helmet off of Clem's considerable head, the dog looked her in the eye and started a low growl. The dog then looked back at the house.

“Good girl,” the old woman said, and slowly opened her black leather riding jacket to pull out the loaded Glock from her holster. I'm losing my edge she thought. “You let me know when you are ready.” Clementine stepped out of the side car, all 130 pounds of her. She had a thick, lab-like head and short, triangular floppy ears that gave a sincere, kind look to this huge canine renown for protecting flocks from cheetahs and bears. Anatolian Shepherds have long legs and a large muscular body that belies their speed. Clem's thick coat was a light cream color and her face and ear tips were sooty colored, as if she stuck her head in a dirty chimney. After the dog performed a generous stretch and shaking of her coat to work out the kinks of the long ride, her long thick tail curled up and her body tensed.

Clementine was ready.

They made a formidable, if unexpected, pair. On one hand, one saw an old, thin woman still wearing a motorcycle helmet and a riding jacket tiptoe up to the side door of the silent, dark cabin, gun in hand. On the other, one saw a massive beast stalking the house with glittering, dark eyes. Mrs. MacGregor paused to listen, and sure enough the cabin was not as silent as she thought. Someone was clanking around in the kitchen. She was about to peek in through one of the side windows when all at once the front door banged open. Clementine was gone in a heartbeat, and in the next heartbeat she heard a strangled cry, a loud clanging as something metal hit the house, a snarl, and a thump.

The old woman rounded the corner as fast as her legs could carry her. She saw that Clem had pinned the intruder to the ground and was breathing in the man's face. The man, in turn, had his eyes squinted shut and was whimpering like a twelve year old child, saying something like, “get off, get off.” His breathing was labored with the giant dog on his naked chest; it appeared that the man was in his underwear.

Mrs. MacGregor sighed as she recognized the man as her youngest daughter's boyfriend, Mr. Hollywood. A quick glance at the bucket told her he was about to come out and get some fresh water from the pump, but Clementine had derailed those plans.

“Clem. Off.”

The man's eyes fluttered open as the weight of the beast disappeared, and he looked over at Mrs. MacGregor.

“Mary!” he exclaimed. “Mary, Mary, what a wonderful surprise!” He coughed a bit and started to stand up. “And, uh, hello, Clementine.”

Phillip Brickland, the major star of the enormously popular spy movie franchise, “Agent Awesome,” began dating Mary MacGregor's daughter Lena about two years ago, when she was hired on as costume designer for one of Phil's latest films. The only thing that impressed Mary about Phil was his cooking. He was otherwise entirely unlike his suave, cool, quick-witted, surfer/spy alter-ego.

“What in the world are you doing here, Phil?” asked Mrs. Mary MacGregor. “And where is Lena?”

“Oh, she's back in L.A.,” Phil replied as he picked himself off the ground, shaking sand from his boxers. “I just needed to get away before the press tour for the movie starts. She said I could use the family digs.” He paused. “Uh, that's okay, right, Mary?”

The old woman sighed. “Let's go inside. We need to talk.”

“Let me get a bucket of water. I wanted to make fresh pasta Primavera tonight, and I need some water.”

“Fine.” Mary began to lead Clementine into the house.

“Oh, and Mary?” She paused without looking back.

“I brought a tithe for the use of the house.” Oh, did he? She thought.

She stepped inside to the dark house.

“Phil, why aren't the lights on?”

“I can't figure out how to work those gas lights. Can you help?”

Thank god you are pretty, you can cook., you are good to my daughter.

She pulled matches out of her coat pocket and lit a few lights in the cabin. The gas lamps were like portable propane lanterns, only placed as light fixtures around the cabin. As the glow brightened, familiar shapes came into existence. It was an open concept room, with the old formica table to the left of the front door in the dining room, the reclaimed cabinets framing the small kitchen on the right, the wood stove in the center of the room, and the living room with an old, worn, and loved couch in the far left.

But there, on the middle of the table, sat her tithe and she smiled a rare smile down at Clementine. “Ok, so he's not all bad,” admitted Mary. She immediately sought out a spoon so she could savor every bite of her jar of Nutella without mucking up her fingers too bad. So Mr. Hollywood did pay attention, and knew her very favorite snack.

“Too bad he forgot about you, my dear,” she said as she wiped the drool off Clem's maw. “Idiot.”

****************************************************

Comment 1 from Post 1 was used.

Be sure to post a few ideas on where you'd like the story to go!  For ideas, go here.  Comments will close on Saturday, August 18, 2012 at noon MST.

Enjoy!

Change in Frequency

It looks like the posting schedule is going to be too intense, for me AND the readers.

So we're going to change it to once a week and see how that feels.

People have until Saturday at noon to post a comment, at which point I will begin writing and revising the next post.

*happy sigh*  That feels better.

Post 1

One day, I was unpacking my clothes.  The next: the world ended.  As I knew it anyway.  I wonder if it would have been easier knowing exactly what happened to them.  I’m sure D.C. went down just like Denver did, all fire and brimstone.  Panicked citizen against panicked citizen.  Or thug.  Opportunist.  Loony. 

I was settling into my new condo, ranch style.  Just for old biddies like me.  Jennifer and the kids flew back to D.C. that morning to catch the moron she married before he left town again on business.  Business!  I can admit the man provides for them well, but for all he sees them, the kids won’t even recognize him.  Moron.

Anyway, the house was small but functional.  Had zero character, bathed in beige from floor to ceiling, and I reveled in it.  My Henry liked Scottish things, like tartans and bagpipes, as if he was celebrating his birthright.  But I talked to his mother a long time ago – MacGregor is a Scottish surname, true, but the last MacGregor in Henry’s line born in Scotland was generations ago, many times removed.

Most of the tartans were cremated with him.  I don’t miss them.

I kept one of the least bright for a dog blanket for Clem in the small backyard.  Clem is a big dog – Anatolian Shepherd – so she takes up most of the yard, but when we toured the place she curled up like a kitten in the sun as if the grass was her very own doggie bed.  The blanket keeps the grass out of her hair.  Ol’ Clem was definitely a tough sell to the owners and Charlie, the property manager.  But after they realized she was a helper dog, the good folks relented.  I’ll admit it wasn’t the first time I sold a baloney story to a couple of young, stupid kids, buying into the whole, “oooh, I’m 70 and old and helpless” bit. 

Pfaw.  I’m as helpless as Clem.  No one needs to know that, right?

It was late afternoon when the movers left.  I filled up Clem’s water bowl and nabbed a plastic cup for myself.  I sipped as I stared at the modest amount of unpacking I had to do.  With every box clearly marked and not a single item unneeded, the task of unpacking would be easy.  My eye lingered at the lone box in the corner of the living room, my emergency box.  Jennifer calls me paranoid, but you never know when you might need such things.  Like, say, the end of the world.  Paranoid, indeed.

At 7 p.m, I was finishing unpacking the last of the boxes in my bedroom when the lights went out.  Clem, who was sprawled out in the living room last time I checked, shortly padded into the room, sat down, and looked at me.  Irritated at the inconvenience, I looked outside through the blinds and confirmed that the entire neighborhood was out, streetlights and everything. 

“Good thing I have the candles ready,” I said, and we walked together back to the living room.  I lit a few tapers, poured a glass of red, pulled out my book and settled in with my pup at my feet.  After an hour or so, a knock a the door elicited a rumbling in Clem.  I set down my book and drink and we answered my door.  It was the building manager, Charlie.  He had the look of wild panic in his eyes.  Normally, my dear dog causes such a reaction in most folks.  This time was odd.  Charlie didn’t even seem to notice Clem.  Long, thin, and weak looking, young Charlie was looking over his shoulder and glancing back at me. 

“So, Charlie.  When am I getting power back?” 

He swallowed hard.  “Mrs. MacGregor.  There…there seems to…The power is out indefinitely.  You need to leave.  Or you  should.  Den…Denver,” he stuttered.  “Look.”  He pointed.  And the eastern sky was on fire.

He kept staring.  “I don’t know anything for sure,” he continued.  “But I’ve heard that it’s all because of riots.  Rumors of martial law.”

I grabbed him by the cuff of his ear.  “What else, Charlie?”  I asked, calmly.  He was now paying attention to me, and looking at Clem as his head was jerked painfully to the side and his ear in a vice lock.  “What else?”

“Mrs. MacGregor!  I don’t know!  I was watching the news when the power went out and people were reporting riots all over the world!  Confusion, lots of confusion.  Something about martial law!  OUCH!”

I released him.  I’d heard enough.

I shut the door.  He was rubbing his ear and starting to stare at the horizon again. 

“Clem.  Saddle up.”

It took me 20 minutes to load up the Harley with supplies and get Clementine into the side car. 

Set of cold weather clothes: check.
Rain gear: check.
Snickers: check.
Glock and ammo: check.
Full tank: check.

That should get me to the MacGregor homestead.

Helmets on, glasses down.
And we’re off into the night.

How This'll Work

I want to write more, and I have a ton of ideas floating around my mind.  So I'm seeing this as an opportunity to get writing again AND incorporate ideas from the reading audience into the story.

The first post of the story will be imagined by me.  Subsequent posts that extend the story will take one random comment at a time from the comments section from the previous "Chapter" and I have to use it in the next Chapter.  I will delete any comment that I deem inappropriate.

Comments will be picked at random via http://www.random.org/.  

First post will be up at noon, Mountain Standard Time.

Stay tuned!