While Writing and Merging this week, I extracted a snippet from my WIP (book 2!), which, by the way, is giving me a headache of a time. We don’t do beginnings well. At all.
excerpt from book 2 in my dark fantasy series
twins and buddies, Gill and Sam
they talk telepathically
their arrival into a jungle fantasy world (that bites)
excerpt from BOND
© cait g drews
word count: 411
“It could be worse,” I say. It takes me a while to finish the sentence – partly because my mind is frozen solid, and partly because I can’t think of anything worse than nearly drowning, falling over a dead body, freezing, and having a potential night stalker trailing us through the jungle. “We could be scrubbing lasagna trays and doing algebra problems.” Actually, that sounds really good. I try again, “We could have hypothermia.” We probably do. “We could have been bitten by a poisonous snake.”
“Shut up, Gill.”
He’s blocking me out so I can’t read his thoughts. He sounds tired. After thinking about lasagna, I remember my stomach. It goes through the motions of recalling a glorious dinner. Gooey, dripping pasta with golden cheese on top. Garlic beans. Crisp bread with herbs and baked butter…
“Gill, stop it.”
“Get out of my head then.”
“I can’t help it, you’re practically yelling those pictures.” Sam drags himself over a log.
I stumble a little and shake myself. “I can think up brussel sprouts if it’d make you feel better.”
I try to take a step, but my leg doesn’t come. I look down. A tiny vine has wrapped around my jeans. I tug. It sinks deeper.
Sam slides off the log and pauses, pulling up his hood and puffing smoky steam into the night air. “You know how much I hate cauliflower pie?”
“Yeah?” I try moving my other leg. This vine is possessive.
“I’d eat one right now. Just ‘cause it’s warm. Shoot, Gill, I’m dying. Do you reckon a person could die of–”
I don’t want to hear it. “Over thinking meals? No.” I wriggle around with my new friends. It’s caught in my hair now. The back of my jacket. I yank, but the hairy little demons bite deeper.
He’s still moving forward, oblivious. “We’re insane. We should have prepared more. Brought food. Extra clothes.”
I throw myself forward – and don’t move a centimetre.
“Who do you reckon shot that guy?” Sam says. He pulls up and wraps his arms around himself. “Do you reckon they’re still here?”
Think? Thinking is a bad idea. I imagine a huge, yellow-eyed, dripping fanged predator with claws as long as my head. Too much reading. The vines send pain-overload signals to my brain and I know what Sam’s reaction will be. Oh, bother it all. I’m not going to stay here all night.
“Sam,” I call out. “Help?”