Bloggaday: Bloggaday 180 – PWND: The Supernatural Handicap Battle Royal of the Century Christmas Party Spectacular pt 10

Bloggaday 180 – PWND: The Supernatural Handicap Battle Royal of the Century Christmas Party Spectacular pt 10

I wish I knew had to type out that sad/fail wa wa waaaa sound. I’m a little over 6,500 into the story, but it looks like I’ll miss the Aug 20^th deadline. I MIGHT somehow finish the writing, but I won’t have the time to do anything edit-wise. If I finish it in the next day or two, I might still send it in and explain that I don’t expect to get in or be considered.* Oh well, here’s your third straight PWND edition of the Bloggaday. Crafty will be coming eventually as will the return of weekly, monthly Bloggadays that I still owe. And maybe I’ll catch up from being a week behind. /disconjointed paragraph.

The call for submissions that inspired me

http://www.undeadinthehead.com/p/call-for-submissions.html

Bloggaday 1

http://thebloggaday.blogspot.com/2010/06/bloggaday-136-pwnd-supernatural.html

Bloggaday 2

http://thebloggaday.blogspot.com/2010/07/bloggaday-139-post-pwnd-supernatural.html

Bloggaday 3

http://thebloggaday.blogspot.com/2010/07/bloggaday-140-post-pwnd-supernatural.html

Bloggaday 4

http://thebloggaday.blogspot.com/2010/07/bloggaday-143-supernatural-handicap.html

Bloggaday 5… Kinda

http://thebloggaday.blogspot.com/2010/07/bloggaday-150-supernatural-handicap.html

Bloggaday 6

http://thebloggaday.blogspot.com/2010/07/bloggaday-157-supernatural-handicap.html

Bloggaday 7

http://thebloggaday.blogspot.com/2010/08/bloggaday-171-pwnd-supernatural.html

Bloggaday 8

http://thebloggaday.blogspot.com/2010/08/bloggaday-178-pwnd-supernatural.html

Bloggaday 9

http://thebloggaday.blogspot.com/2010/08/bloggaday-179-pwnd-supernatural.html

“And if we broke the glass?” Melinda asked again.

“That hatch,” Paul point back to the steps, “would lock and only open from the outside. That bulkhead down the hall would also mag-lock as well. We would need a plasma cutter to get through it at that point.”

“Oh,” Melinda nodded, the entire suit following her gesture. “Well, let’s get going. “We haven’t got all apocalypse, don’t you know?”

Paul chuckled as a suited Henric turned him around. “Okay,” he said through his own manipulated voice. Wait as far away as you can while we go in. “Once we close the door, on our side, that’ll start the process. I’m not sure how long the spray will last, but the other door will only open after it has stopped. That’ll be your cue.”

“Okay,” Paul said as he grabbed both of the man’s shoulders, engulfing them in his hands. “One thing.”

“Don’t worry, Paul. You’ll be fine. The spray is only meant to fill the room, not this entire section. Just hold your breath when you come through.”

“I just wanted to let you know I built all of this, so I knew how the process worked.” Paul paused, letting the silence drag between the two. “Thanks though. I appreciate the reassurance.” He gave the man a pat on the shoulder with a nod as the silence picked back up. He turned for his wife and gave the faceplate a kiss. “I’ll be fine, honey. I’ll see you on the other side.” He thumbed the plastic the separated them before letting her go.

Sandra guided Melinda through her shoulders to the decontamination room as she watched Paul make his way up the steps. She finally spun around to the room only to have her view dominated by Henric.

The man stood at the frame, looking at the group. He gave a full-bodied nod and slapped at a button attached to the room’s metal frame. The oversized door swung outward before the three made heir way in.

Backing into a crouch, Paul squeezed as close to the hatch as he could. He gave the collar of his shirt a tug, but it refused to give from his own bulky frame. A sigh later, he dug his claws into the peach-tinted sleeve and tore it free from his shoulder before bunching it to his face.

The glassless doorframe swung close, snapping faster than it had opened. The magnetic lock for just moment before being drowned out by a spray that engulfed the room. The white fog invaded the space outside of the room and advanced for Paul before it finally stopped being fed from the decontamination room. It billowed one last grasp for the werewolf, diffusing into nothing after only a step.

Through the haze, another click came from the frame behind three dim figures. Four, Paul counted in his head. In a single file line, the red blurs entered the bottleneck. Three, he ticked off again. The mist continued to settle, but his eyes began to water. Two, he thought to himself as he shut his eyes. He leapt free from his crouch and landed just short of the room. “One,” this one he allowed to slip from his lips. A hand down for the shoot, he made one last leap. As he left the ground, he turned to narrow his profile. He sailed through the room, cutting through what remained of the gas when the door sounded and started its swing. Tucking away from the exit, he prepared to barrel through the door.

Listening to

Today, Maroon 5, Jonathan Coulton, and AC/DC all moved into the same playlist. How will these VERY different performers handle being on the same iPod?

Find out this Fall, only on Bloggaday.

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Twitter Tag

Part 10 of my zombie fiction is up and ready for your viewing horror (displeasure seemed too easy), only on Bloggaday

Exit stage right to my corner of the interweb > \/

http://twitter.com/daviddysart Plaster Caster Twitter Strutter

http://daviddysart.tumblr.com/ Hung My Head in a Tumblr

http://thebloggaday.blogspot.com/ A Little Less Conversation and a Whole Lotta Love

http://www.facebook.com/thedaviddysart?ref=sgm If I Never See Your Face Again

Youtube Awesomeness

http://www.youtube.com/user/DavidDysart Still deciding to try to capture it or let it slip

For the Piccaday