Sneak Peek at Never Blood Outside!

So, I did it. I accomplished my novel in October with RealmieWriMo. It ended up 24,000 words, perfect for the reluctant readers for whom I wrote this. I've been ticking away at the first edit all month because it is a big project. I go over each chapter several times, checking and changing different things with each go-through before moving on to the next. So draft two is more like edit eight or nine. I want to read through it in its entirety one last time and then it will be off to my beta readers. I don't plan to share the whole manuscript but here's a sneak peek of the first chapter. :)

Never Blood Outside!

Chapter 1 - Draft 2

The Bullet With a Mind of Its Own

Ttip

A wisp of air slips by Tim’s right cheek.

He swings around. Something takes a bite out of his right ear.

“What the?”

Tim’s hand repels to his ear, feels no blood, and receives another sting under his right arm. He fingers the spot where there’s a new hole in his shirt. Searching the fields gives him no answers. It wasn’t a bug. He swivels to face the shuffling sound behind him. The sun blinds him. With his eyes shielded, he can make out the silhouette of his twin brother on the deck. His left eye is against the viewfinder of his pellet gun.

Rob’s shoulder pulses. Another sting. Tim’s hand flies to another strip of angry skin on his shoulder.

“What are you doing, Rob?!” shouts Tim. “Quit shooting me!”

“Shooting you? I’m shooting cans and doing a pretty bad job of it,” replies Rob. He rests the gun on the railing. “There must be something off with my gun. I missed the last three shots.”

“There’s nothing wrong with it. You’ve hit me twice.”

“Yeah, right. You’re fifteen feet from where I’m aiming.”

It’s true. Rob’s cans are strung up between the two big maples at the back of the bunker. His brother couldn’t reach him with the angle of his gun. He whips around searching for someone or something else who’s been taking bites out of him, but there’s no one.

Rob leans over again, lining the pellet gun up with the can furthest from where Tim stands. Then the sting again, this time in his side. He heaves over, groaning. Rob drops his gun and pushes past his little sister, who witnesses the scene from the round bunker door.

“Mama, Rob shot Tim,” squawks Anna-Maria.

“Anna-Maria, I’m okay.”

“Why do you always have to tell Mom?” whines Rob.

Tim peels up his shirt and fingers the tiny red hole pooling with blood. It’s no graze this time—the pellet's buried into the skin on his side.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know how that could’ve happened,” says Rob, bending over to take in the wound.

Tim tries to dig the pellet out with his fingernail but to no avail—and a lot of wincing. His cheeks tingle, so he quits poking at it and puffs out his held breath, pressing his palm into his side.

“There’s no way,” says Rob. “Tim, it can’t have been me.”

Tim sinks onto the woodcutting stump to catch his breath. “There must be something wrong with your gun.”

“There’s no way,” repeats Rob. “You were too far. If it was me, the pellet trajectory bent midair.”

Tim rolls his eyes. “What fairy tale do you live in where bullets have a mind of their own?”

“Well, then what do you think happened?”

“I dunno.”

“There’s no one else around, and if Dad hit you, it would have been a proper bullet.”

Both boys sweep the fields and forest edging their property; there’s no one around.

Their mom pulls up and out of the bunker hole with a concerned look. “What’s Anna-Maria spouting about?”

“It’s nothing,” the boys say together.

“Is that blood on your shirt?”

“Yeah, but it’s nothing.”

“Blood is never nothing. If you get it on the ground, you could lure a cruermole. I want zero mole interest, especially when Dad’s not back from the city. Come on in so I can patch you up.”

“Dad’ll be back before dark,” says Tim.

“I hope you’re right.”

“We haven’t found any evidence of cruermoles for weeks,” adds Rob.

“Yeah, but it only takes one. Naomi said that Tom the rail guy saw evidence of two left around a deer kill sight twenty miles from here. He followed their path back to Chimney Rock.”

All three children’s eyes widen.

“Why didn’t you say anything about it?” asks Rob.

“We’re never out past dark, and with Dad away, I didn’t want to scare you.”

“Then why are you telling us now?” whines Anna-Maria. “I’m not going to be able to sleep tonight.”

“We need to be extra careful because you three need to eat. Two twelve-year-old boys can’t keep a family alive—especially if one of you shoots that poorly,” she jokes, winking at Rob. “We need your dad to make it back tonight. Leaving a blood trail straight to our bunker door isn’t smart any day, especially today. Now, get yourself inside.” She taps Tim on the butt as he climbs through the heavy metal door. “Why is it always you bleeding?”

“I’m the only one who does anything around here.”

“I do stuff,” whines Rob. He pulls the heavy metal door down and sets the latch with a bang.

“Sure, but shooting cans and making booby traps isn’t exactly doing stuff. When was the last time you left our yard?”

“Well, someone has to protect us when Dad’s away. Your exploring isn’t ever going to help us. At least I may catch one.”

“Oh, okay. So what do you do if a cruermole falls in your pit?”

“I dunno. I guess I let it fry in the sun or shoot it. Then Mom can study it—see how it ticks.”

The smell of baking bread ignites Tim’s stomach, but then the image of a charred mole snubs it out. He flops down into his chair as if he’s truly maimed—but only to get a rile out of his brother.

His mom kneels beside him to inspect the wound.

“Anna-Maria, could you please get the first aid kit and the tweezers?”

“Yes, Mama.”

Tim slips out of his shirt so his mom can have at it. Anna-Maria returns, and they all squat down to inspect the hole.

“Why’d you shoot your brother?”

“I didn’t.”

“No? Well, I bet Tim’s side would disagree.”

“Well, the pellet hit him.”

“Three pellets,” interrupts Tim.

“You hit your brother three times?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know how it happened.”

“Isn’t it obvious? You took aim and pulled the trigger,” teases Anna-Maria.

Rob punches her shoulder.

“Hey?!”

“Don’t hurt your sister.”

Tim tightens up each time the tweezers poke. He sucks in a rough breath.

“Ah, geez. I’m sorry, Tim,” his brother says. He squeezes Tim’s shoulder. “Mom, I have no clue how it happened. I was aiming at least fifteen feet to his left. He was nowhere near the cans.”

Tim releases his held air as his mom brings the tweezers out of the wound. “It’s out,” she announces, dropping the pellet on the table. Anna-Maria dabs Tim with a cotton swab saturated with a stingy liquid and holds it onto his wound. Even at ten, she has her mom’s gentle and skilled touch. She’ll make a good healer one day.

Tim’s mom pats his back. “There you go. Anna-Marie will slap a bandage on it and you’ll be fine,” she says, sweeping the pellet into her hand. She drops it into the waste bin and turns back to the three. “Promise me you’ll be more careful, especially when your dad isn’t around.”

“We promise,” they say in unison.

“Tim, don’t go wandering into the cliffs. You heard what I said about Chimney.”

“Uh-huh.”

His mom would flip out if she knew he’d been dropping rocks down a crevice at Chimney Rock less than a week before. It’s been so long since there’s been mole action, and the fear they inspired had almost faded from Tim’s memory. He’d been doing too many not-so-smart things and would have to be more careful. Imagine if Tim lured one of those monsters out.

Tim cringes. He pats his bandaged side and checks out the graze under his arm. Like his ear, it has no blood. He reaches for his shirt.

“No way, dear. That needs washing before you step outside with it again.”

Where is his head? Never blood outside. “Oh, yeah.”

His mom stands and tosses the first aid kit to Anna-Maria to return to its home.

“Mom,” says Tim.

“Uh-huh.”

“Rob isn’t wrong. It wasn’t his fault. He had his gun lined up way to the left of me. There’s no way he hit me.”

“Then what happened?”

“I’m not sure.”

Tim pulls a clean shirt over his head.

“What’s that?” his mom asks.

“What’s what?”

“That lump in your pocket.”

“Oh, that. I brought something home for you to look at. I was at the quarry and dug this out of the ground.”

He slips a large slice of mat silver rock into his mom’s hand. She drops to her chair and slides it around in her fingers, flipping it over to inspect the other side.

“I was digging up some yarrow, and my trowel hit stone. I wasn’t too excited about it because it's a quarry, but the tip of the trowel came back silver. I cleared off a patch of earth, and there must be a slab at least twenty feet across—maybe fifty. I sliced off this piece to show you.”

“Anna-Maria, can you bring me my glasses?”

“Sure, Mama.”

“How’ve we never noticed this spot before?”

“We never get rock from the middle because it’s completely overgrown.”

She takes the tweezers Anna forgot on the side table, scrapes a gouge into the stone, and bends over the mark. Her eyes glaze over.

“What is it, Mom?” asks Rob.

Her focus stays far from them. Her lips move as if speed-talking without sound. Anna-Maria slips in beside her mom, tucking her small hand into hers, and they wait. This isn’t the first time they lost their mom to her mind. She’ll return when she’s ready.

She jumps up and speed-walks into the lab. They follow on her heels. She shuffles through books and journals stacked high on her shelves. “Where is it?”

The three stay quiet, knowing their mom hasn’t returned to their world yet.

“Where is it?” she spouts, angry this time. Tossing paper around the room, their mom scours it for some mystery item. Anna-Maria follows behind, collecting the cast-aways.

“A-ha!” she shouts, sinking into her desk chair with a tattered gray journal in hand. She leafs through the pages until she finds what she’s looking for. The kids huddle in behind her. Her finger glides along the page, following some chicken scratch long hand that’s not hers.

“What is that, Mom?” whispers Anna-Maria.

“It’s one of your great-grandfather’s journals.”

“The crazy one?” asks Tim.

“Crazy? He was not crazy. He was a genius. Sometimes they appear outwardly the same,” she explains. The crease between her eyes deepens.

“I’m sorry, mom. I didn’t mean crazy.”

“It’s fine,” she shrugs off, returning to the book.

“Can you at least fill us in?” whines Rob.

She closes the book with her finger wedged in the found page. “Sit,” she demands, and the three kids drop to the ground. “Soon after I moved here with your dad, I came across many of his grandfather’s scientific books. University was invaluable, but I'd never seen anything like what he had in his journals. He trained as an engineer too. After university, your great-grandfather returned home with your great-grandma. He was full of questions needing answers. He sank into his problem-solving mode and never came up for air. I guess he had no headspace left for people, so he gave off a mad scientist vibe.”

“Could no one understand what he was working on, Mom?” asks Anna-Maria.

“Well, no one until I moved here. I seem to have taken his role as the crazy mad scientist and ran with it,” she laughs.

“Yeah,” spouts Rob with a smile.

“Well, several times at the end of his last journal he spoke about a metal he found. It was a strange compound. Your great-grandfather wasn’t sure it came from Earth.” She springs up, returning to her search. She dives through drawer after drawer whispering, “Where is it? What did I do with it?”

The kids eyeball each other with held tongues, waiting for the climax of her story. They sit and wait because they can’t help their mom. It would only irritate her if they tried.

“A-hah!” She yells and sinks back into her chair. She takes hold of Tim’s found stone and places it in her hand with a tiny wedge of matching stone. “I knew it had to be the same.”

Tim rises to his knees. “So, Great-Grampa thought it came from aliens.”

“Well, maybe not from aliens, but it didn't originate on Earth.”

“Do you think it came from a meteor, Mama?” asks Anna-Maria.

“It could be,” she replies, turning the two chunks in her hand.

“Anna-Maria, can you grab my sewing kit?”

“Sure. What do you need it for?”

"I've got a hypothesis brewing.”

When Anna-Maria returns, their mom pulls out a tiny eye needle.

“Anna-Maria, put the larger stone on your open palm.” She stabs at the stone, and Anna-Maria screams. The needle is stuck in Anna-Maria's palm. Anna-Maria drops the stone, and it shatters on the floor. She yanks out the needle with fat tears.

“Why did you do that?” cries Anna-Maria.

“I’m so sorry, sweety,” their mom says. “That’s not what I thought would happen.”

She cups Anna-Maria’s hand in hers and kisses the tiny red dot.

“What did you think would happen?” whimpers Anna-Maria.

“I wondered if it was a magnet and was the reason why Rob’s pellets went off course.”

“Do you think that’s what did it?” asks Rob.

“Maybe. It zipped from my hand but didn’t attach to the stone as it would if it were a magnet. It must be something else.”

Her eyes widen as she gathers up the broken pieces. She returns to the journal with her silent speed-talking again.

“What is it?” asks Rob.

Without looking up, she orders, “Rob, please get the microscope.”

“Sure thing.”

Their mom slides the journal over to the microscope. She carves off a sliver of the stone and sandwiches it between the glass. She flicks on the microscope and adjusts the focus. They surround her. Her chin quivers—she’s found something.

“Come on, what do you see?” whines Tim.

“Another something I wasn’t expecting. Come have a look.”

Tim squeezes past her and plants his eye on the viewfinder. The stone churns like a snake den. The entire surface is alive with layers of minuscule squirming worms. He jumps back and shakes out his pocket, suddenly feeling as if he’s covered in them.

“They’re smaller than the parasites on your skin, Tim,” she explains.

“Yeah, chill out, bro,” jokes Rob and scoots in for his turn after Anna-Maria. He groans. “Ah—that’s gross.”

“Mama, what is that? How can a rock be alive?” asks Anna-Maria.

“I’ve no idea, Anna,” she replies and returns to the viewfinder. With her eyes fixed on her discovery, she states, “Tim, I need you to take me to the spot.”

Let me know what you think...the good the bad and the ugly.