BLOGS

I keep my eyes on the day star
Its light reaches through galaxies
It illuminates all dark places
I ramble through dark despair
Striving to reach its glow
Darkness of fear blinds me
But its brilliance lights my way
It is the most lustrous
It makes white of the night sky
Unobscured it shines to me
And like the day star I shine now too

Well after a long delay, I want to announce that I have completed the first book in my series of Novellas in the "LOST CHILD" Fantasy series: The HOUSE of GALES.

Rise in excellence, working hard on my next Novel 'N'. It is difficult to fully incorporate into the writing system of this planet but it is coming along regardless of the tendency to psychically project on paper and Microsoft word only to end up having my words visible only in the 5th dimension.

Anyway, I didn't come here today to talk about my challenges; other beings from my world already think I am a social-media-retard because I just won't mentally induct everyone into following me. I am here to wish everyone well and to remind those that have not checked out my website to do so....and no, there are no undercurrent 5th dimensional sentences in this post. Science Fiction Renpet Sci-Fi - www.renpetscifi.com

my blog on wordpress

the comic never got off the ground, but I dig his crazy urban energy and his ability to capture my characters. He did it for free. Dark Horse turned us down. Maybe someday when my money is right, I can hire him (but he may be too famous for me LOL)

My wife and I flew down from Maryland (boy, were our arms tired) to attend Alien Encounters II in the ATL. Last year, we attended "I"; "II" did not disappoint us.

Thursday featured a very moving tribute and discussion at the Hammond's House about L.A. Banks who passed away this summer. Leslie was a phenomenal writer and overall good person. She touched a lot of lives and broke many barriers for speculative fiction writers of color.

Friday, was devoted to "Griots" with a lively panel discussion and readings featuring the authors and artists from the book. Much love goes to the Davis and Saunders dynamic duo for putting together the first Sword and Soul Anthology.

Saturday afternoon was the most informative, entertaining and inspirational lecture I have been to in years. Scholar Kevin Sipp took us on a musical journey from ancient African drummers and chants to George Clinton's Mother Ship and the Hip Hop folks via "Black Noise Navigators". Brother Sip well-presented his extensive knowledge of Black music and how it has evolved to inspire and encourage us to live "outside of our bodies" and dream the fantastic.

My only regrets were missing Sunday's events due to travel plans; but we certainly plan to attend next year's Alien Encounters III.

I was pleased to attend the authors' discussion and book signing at Auburn Avenue Research library. This Alien Encounters topic was "Beyond Twilight and Harry Potter: Speculative Fiction for Young Adults of Color." The dicussion was timely, interesting, and important. I'm sad that I missed the other sessions, I was knee deep in finishing Breaking Free. Sadness. But what I heard at this panel was awesome.

If you'd like to read the rest of this blog post. Visit:

http://www.aliciamccalla.com/blog/59-alien-encounters-panelists-tackle-tough-issues-that-impact-ya-black-speculative-fiction

An erotic, science fiction tale of betrayal and rebirth.

"In the instant
before he lifted her face to his strange puckered mouth she saw them. Stripes of
brown and orange all over his body, and a dozen suction caps lined his chest..."

Allandra has always dreamed of life on other planets. But this mission she'll find more than she ever dreamed of. From the mind of Valjeanne Jeffers, author of the Immortal series, comes an erotic tale that's out of this world.

Good afternoon fam :) I've decided to give away 4 copies of a pdf of PROBE. PROBE is the first installment of a space opera I'm working on. So I'll give a copy to the first 4 folks that email me at sister24moon@gmail.com

Have a beautiful day :)!

African-Americans Wield Considerable Consumer Power
Source: marketwire.com

African-Americans' buying power is expected to reach $1.1 trillion by 2015, according to 
The State of the African-American Consumer Report, released today, collaboratively by 
Nielsen, a leading global provider of insights and analytics into what consumers watch 
and buy, and The National Newspaper Publishers Association (NNPA), a federation 
of more than 200 Black community newspapers across the U.S. This growing economic 
potential presents an opportunity for Fortune 500 companies to examine and further
understand this important, flourishing market segment. Likewise, when consumers are 
more aware of their buying power, it can help them make informed decisions about the 
companies they choose to support.
"Too often, companies don't realize the inherent differences of our community, are not aware 
of the market size impact and have not optimized efforts to develop messages beyond those 
that coincide with Black History Month," said Cloves Campbell, chairman, NNPA. "It is 
our hope that by collaborating with Nielsen, we'll be able to tell the African-American 
consumer story in a manner in which businesses will understand," he said, "and, that this 
understanding will propel those in the C-Suite to develop stronger, more inclusive strategies 
that optimize their market growth in Black communities, which would be a win-win for all of us."

And who will get this profit.....them or us???


This is still the challenge of the Black Age. To break the boycott and secure victory in the war for minds and market shares.
How many of us here buy Black on purpose? Sell Black on demand? Praise Black on recognition?  

To this end ONLI STUDIOS is bringing its Chicago centric distribution experiment to a conclusion. It has been a success and will be re-organized 
to a more official practice over the next six months. We gratefully appreciate the few indie publishers that allowed us to purchase their products wholesale to test in this situation.
We recently re-organized our annual Black Age Convention to a partnership with the DuSable Museum which gives direct support to the Black Age products we sell there and has it as a feature in its annual Arts & Crafts Festival. The DuSable Museum hosts thousands of paying visitors from around the world weekly. We will win the war for minds & market shares!!!

www.blackageofcomics.com

www.onlistudios.com

www.dablackage.blogspot.com

"Indie today: Black Age forever!!!!!!"  

There is no power in this game like a rack dedicated to the Black Age! When was the last time you were able to spin through a rack of 
Black Age greatness and then go look at the works of the so out of styled mainstream? Talk about a let down.

We feature racks in NY Harlem at the Hue Man Book Store

Chicago at the DuSable Museum of African American History along with several other locations.

Punkin

BLACK SUPER POWERED ADVENTURER

 

i have been creating for myself and other professionally  for over 15 years now, primarily in the pen and paper role playing gaming business. i have had the opportunity to be exposed to a great many artistic styles over the years from 70's sci fi to steampunk and I have taken pieces from them all to create my style. I happily include anime and manga in my bowl full of influences as I have been reading and watching since the early eighties. 

However, over the last few years, I have noticed that young people have increasingly incorporated the Japanese Aesthetic into their art. This in and of itself is not a problem, as I have clearly illustrated, we artists incorporate a great deal of what we have picked up through observation into our work. My issue lies elsewhere and it is a problem I have on the Macro with a great many of us black creators and on the Micro specifically with the black anime and manga crowd. A have observed that lot of us black artists tend to gravitate toward a few mindsets.

1.Either we reject our cultural artistic heritage in favor of a more eurocentric asthetic." MACRO"

2.We celebrate the aesthetics of asian artists, particularly the Japanese "MICRO"

3. We overcompensate by Egyptifying our work, when Egypt was just one of the great many advance African civilizations

4 We use the urban expressionism and the visually artistic elements of  hip hop culture to express ourselves. 

While I have either large or small issues with each one these manifestations, I find our celebration of all things Asian, TO THE EXCLUSION of our own culture ghastly to say the least. II have meet very well respected artists of African decent who have extolled the artistic and social virtues of the Japanese the exclusion of all others. Some I have talked to have visited Japan , basically, as tourists or in finite programs. So they ultimately have no idea what day to day life is for people of non Japanese decent. 

While it is fine to like an aesthetic, it is my personal belief that no aesthetic holds rank superiority over another.So when these individuals essentially viliify anything not having to do with ASIA artistically, they not only pigeon hole themselves as artists, they fail to see what their own culture contributes to the artistic mix. Thus these people are just as maliformed artistically as a guy who thinks that western art styles are the end all and be all. Or a black guy who feels he has to create a black version of the popular white superhero.

We should sit back as artists and examine what truly motivates us. We as black people suffer from Stockholm Syndrome and it is no surprise that we don't like anything that looks like us  but gravitate towards things created by people who  look totally opposite. 

We just have to be honest about this as artists, so we can use our art to examine who we really are. 

My peace is found in action. My stillness always moves.

Can one ever rest in peace?

My action is in the silence.

It’s a trying day when your thoughts of superiority are proven false. When your races ego is crushed in an instant with just one message. It went to the United Nations during a meeting of the general body. How they knew when to send it is beyond me but of course these are smart creatures remember. The actual contents of the letter were never revealed but the gist of it was released by the media. It appeared that the Congress of Intelligent Life Forms (CILF) was going to annihilate all indigenous life forms on the planet earth in order to make way for the Intergalactic Monument for Interspecies Peace and Coexistence. Though as done in the case of their previous projects and the ecocides they would pick the top five species on each planet and relocate them to a reservation on another planet. The species would be judged on criteria of intelligence, efficiency, level of civility, and complexity. The leadership of humanity sat comfortably knowing full well that mankind was the most dominant of the species on earth and that the humans would no doubt be picked. “Why who else would they chose?” the politicians chuckled. Imagine their surprise when the listings were finally released.

Superior species:
Ants, bees, elephants, grass, trees…
No human beings

All of humanity was outraged and soon afterwards a committee was formed to appeal the decision from CILF. Not long after the committee who submitted the appeal, the committee disappeared and was never heard from again effectively ending all attempts at diplomatic solutions. The only thing left to do was for humanity to prepare to defend itself. Humanity prepared to do what it did best, fight. War, is mankind’s favorite pastime. As you would expect the atmosphere was rather giddy as soldiers were trained and planes were and tanks were built. Mankind actually looked forward to it. “If they weren’t going to live they weren’t going to die without a fight” they thought.
As time passed earth came to one-hundred percent military readiness. They were ready for the attack and waited for the fateful day in which the proof of their superiority or the their annihilation would come from one bloody battle. But to the humans disappointment the battle never came. The CILF knew the human strength was in was and even though they could still easily defeat them they decided on a different approach. Instead of using the power of war to whip out humanity why not the power of love? So one day while the humans sat around patiently cleaning their guns waiting. CILF fire a single barrage of missiles into the earth’s atmosphere. The missiles glided through the sky releases behind it a stream of gas. No one knew what the gas was until a strange thing start happening… people began to make out.

Oxycotin gas
In the air guns drop
so do pants

That is right CILF released a concentrated human love hormone into the atmosphere inducing a lust like trance in which humanity would never recover from. That is right CILF made mankind sex itself to death and sex itself to death mankind did. The whole affair was video documented by the CILF war cancel for future analysis of sex based warfare. The documentary was viewed by the public and was nominated by the Academy of Sensual Species for the award for best full participation orgy of a now extinct species. The documentary can still be viewed at the Library of Interspecies Coordinated Killing or your local intergalactic adult film store.

Aliens questions
War library or sex shop?
Will wife want to watch?

Here is a brief excerpt from my soon to be released book Supernature. I hope you enjoy it.

Excerpt from Chapter 1

It’s 9:00 am on the Fourth of July weekend and the temperature is already in the upper nineties.

Highway Patrol Officers Cliff Johnson and Brad Williams are on patrol down Route 377, also known as Dry Lake Road.

In the Apache-Sitgreaves National Forest of Arizona the sky is clear and blue but the air is still. There are only faint sounds of life: a few birds, a few bugs, but mostly stillness.

“Quiet,” Officer Williams comments, as he drives the vehicle.  Equally unusual is the fact that he already has to crank up the AC.

Officer Johnson doesn’t reply beyond a grunt of agreement, looking out onto the monotonous stretch of desert-like land that they have been assigned to patrol ever since the two Hernandez kids went missing.

Normally during this time of year this area is teaming with life. The forest is home to over 400 species of wild life and it spans over two million acres of untainted wilderness with more than thirty lakes and reservoirs and more than 680 miles of rivers and streams.

Once two separate forests, Apache-Sitgreaves is now managed as one. It runs along the Mogollon Rim, which defines the southwestern edge of the Colorado Plateau, the White Mountains in east-central Arizona and extends partially into New Mexico.

A favorite forest for tourists, hikers and nature lovers, the Apache-Sitgreaves terrain ranges from a desert-like environment on the outer perimeter to an interior of thick rich vegetation. The heart of the forest is lined with aspen, maple, and pine trees and is populated by deer, wild turkeys, elk, eagles and osprey. Among the smaller animals found in the area are rattlesnakes, squirrels, roof rats and black widow spiders. During the summer months the sounds of the forest usually play like a living orchestra. Birds sing, crickets chirp, frogs croak all playing their part of a natural ensemble. All this while hawks slowly circle over head and rabbits quickly scurry through the bush. But today the music is silent, the sounds are few and the feeling in the air is has an eerie stillness to it and the two patrol officers can’t help but feel uneasy in what has been their normal route for about four years now. 

This long deserted highway that is now under Officer Williams’ and Johnson’s jurisdiction stretches through the Sitgreaves portion of the forest from the small frontier town of Holbrook all the way to the mountain community of Heber-Overgaard.

Patrolling Route 377 may be part of their daily routine now but it wasn’t always. Originally, their job was to assist vacationers who were lost or had car trouble along the thirty-three miles of road.  But over the past two years things have changed because of the unusual high number of missing persons being reported in and around the area. In addition, many ranchers along the outskirts of the forest as well as the neighboring Native American communities have complained about missing cattle, unexplained horse and livestock mutilations, and other strange occurrences. Last year’s incident with the Hernandez kids put everyone on alert. A five-year-old little boy and his seven-year-old sister disappearing without a trace and two hysterical parents was more than enough for people to decide that this area needed to be watched closely. And with no bodies or evidence of foul play ever recovered, it only served to keep every one more on edge.  So Officers Johnson and Williams set out early each morning, driving their white and blue Crown Victoria police interceptor up and down Route 377 and keeping their eyes peeled for anything out of the norm.

Today it’s early on a holiday weekend and nothing seems particularly noteworthy except for the heat and the unusual stillness in the air. They’re traveling south down Dry Lake Road towards its intersection with Route 277, with Brad driving and Cliff riding shotgun. It’s a dry stretch of road lined with small shrubs, cactus and rocky sand. There is no real tree line in this part of the forest which is more desert-like than anything. The largest shrubs found in the area only grow to about five feet.

Cliff, a few years younger than Brad at age 32, reaches for the patrol car’s radio as his partner, muscle-bound and athletic, drives. He takes a sip of coffee in his right hand then clicks on the mic in his left saying, “Dispatch this is forty-nine.”

“Go ahead, forty-nine,” replies the voice over the radio.

“Heading south on Route 377. All’s quiet, nothing to report.”

“Ten-four, forty-nine.”

Cliff runs a hand through his close-cropped blond hair, still staring out of the window as he takes another sip of coffee, “Sand, nothing but sand as far as the eye can see. Damn, I’m getting tired of this,” he mumbles in between sips of coffee and adjusting his six foot muscular frame in his seat.  Yet all of his cop’s intuition tells him that something isn’t quite right out here, and he keeps his eyes fixed on the passing outskirts of that forest that had swallowed those kids.  Cliff didn’t have children, but having helped raise his younger siblings had fostered a protective side to him that made him want to get his hands on--

“What’s the matter with you?” asks his partner, a friendly African-American with ten years on the force.  Officer Williams could sense that something was wrong. 

“Nothing,” Cliff answers, eyes still fixed on that eerily still forest.

“Nothing? You barely said a word all morning. What’s eating you?”

“Nothing,” repeats Cliff, still staring out of the passenger side window.

“Come on, how long have we known each other, five, six years? You don’t think I don’t know when something’s bothering you?”

Cliff takes another sip of coffee and mutters, “It’s nothing--I’m alright.”

In an attempt to lighten things a bit Brad comments, “You know they say when you’re having problems it’s always good to talk to an elder,” Cliff turns and frowns at Brad, “and since I’m the oldest you should feel comfortable confiding in me,” he glances over at Cliff and flashes a wide grin.

“You gotta be kidding--you’re only six years older than me Bradley,” says Cliff as he turns back to the window.

Brad’s brow furrows with frustration as he lifts his blue baseball style cap and scratches the barely-there, closely cropped wool on his head.  He replaces the cap and mutters, “Just trying to help,” before focusing back on the road ahead and drives on.

Officer Williams is trying not to take things personally, knowing this dry stretch of desert road, bleak forest and now a brooding partner could easily get you down if you let it.  They’ve been driving in silence for twenty minutes and have just passed a sign which reads, ‘DESPAIN RANCH ROAD NEXT RIGHT.’

Brad glances over at his partner and observes Cliff still staring out of the passenger’s side window at the bushes whizzing by along the plain two lane stretch of road.

Brad decides to give it another go and launch full-steam ahead into a conversation.

 “You know you and Doris really should have come by the barbecue last night, we had a ball. Pat kept asking, ‘where’s Cliff and Doris? Where’s Cliff and Doris?’” Cliff says nothing but continues to sip his coffee, “we didn’t shut the grill down till 12:30,” he again glances over at his partner waiting for a response, but nothing. 

Undeterred Brad continues, “Woodberry came, Hernandez was there, Singletary came over, Brown and his wife showed up. Simmons came with another new girlfriend, I think that’s the third one this month, and even the Sarge came through for a while. Oh and you’re not going to believe this but Pepper showed up. You know that muscular dyke from the SWAT unit? And she brought her girlfriend with her, a drop dead gorgeous blonde with big tits. I had to stay at the grill so Pat wouldn’t catch me staring at her. But no Cliff and no Doris.”

After another slow sip Cliff mutters, “Doris and me had a fight.”

Progress!

With a slight grin Brad replies, “What! Again? What is it with you guys anyway? And I bet it was over something stupid, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, you’re right it was.”

“All right what was it this time?”

Cliff looks over at Brad’s grinning, mahogany-brown profile then takes another sip before explaining, “It’s like this. We were going to come to your party. I was already dressed and watching the end of the heavyweight ultimate fighter match. She’s in the bedroom taking forever to get ready. Then she comes out, stands in front of the TV and asks me if her new dress makes her look fat.”

Brad winces and interjects, “Wait a minute let me guess, you said, YES.”

Cliff shrugs his shoulders and looks at Brad like a little puppy that soiled the carpet and replies, “Well, yeah!” Brad bursts into laughter as Cliff tries to explain, “Well it did make her look fat. What was I going to do lie?”

“Then what happened?”

“She threw a beer can at me. Hit me right in the back of the head. That shit still hurts,” says Cliff as he reaches under his cap and rubs a spot on the back of his head.

Brad laughs even more, “And I bet the two of you spent the rest of the night making up, right?”

A long devilish grin forms across Cliff face, “Man it was great!”

“You know it never fails with you guys. I think you both are crazy. I think you guys just start fights just so you can have make-up sex.”

“Come on man you have to admit, make-up sex is great!” 

“Yeah I’ll admit that but me and Pat never fight as much as you guys. You guys are crazy.”

“Come on man we’re not that bad.”

“Are you kidding me? What about last year’s Christmas Party?”

“Okay, we were both a little drunk.”

“Halloween?”

Cliff gives a devilish smile and says, “We made up after that.”

“And Cancun?”

“Come on now you can’t talk. What about that time we caught you and Pat at Sunset beach?”

“What?”  Brad’s dark-brown eyes widen in mock innocence.

 “Last year in Jamaica? You remember now?”

“Oh boy, here we go again. If I told you once I’ve told you a thousand times we weren’t doing anything. We were just holding each other.”

“In the nude?”

“It was a clothing optional beach!”

“Okay, and?”

“Nothing, we were just enjoying each other’s company,” says Brad in a sheepish tone of voice.

“I’ll say you were enjoying a whole lot more from where I was standing.”

“Oh shut up. It’s bad enough you saw my wife naked.”

“And that’s not all we saw. Doris couldn’t stop laughing,” replies Cliff as he begins to laugh out loud.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough,” says Brad in a serious tone.

“What’s the matter is somebody getting sensitive?”

“Well how would you like it if someone caught you and your wife--?”

Brad trails off, glancing out of the driver’s side window for a moment, before putting his eyes back on the road.

“You and your wife doing what?” interrupts Cliff.

“Nothing.”

 “Ah hah, I got you! Come on, admit it already! The two of you were doing it on the beach weren’t you?”

“Oh grow up. Hey, what about the time you tried your uncle Bill’s Viagra and had a five-hour erection? Now that was funny,” Brad begins to laugh uncontrollably, “I’ll never forget the phone call: ‘Hello, Brad? It’s getting bigger! It hurts and it won’t go down’,” Brad laughs so hard he has to wipe tears from his eyes.

All mirth dissolves from Cliff’s face.

“Hey, that wasn’t funny. That really hurt.”

Brad chuckles, “I bet it did. I don’t know why you took that stuff in the first place. And how did they make that thing go down anyway?”

“I had to go to the hospital man; you know how embarrassing that was?”

“I can imagine.”

“Yeah after the doctors stopped laughing they pulled out this super long needle and stuck me.”

“Stuck you? Where at?”

“In my dick! Can you believe that! In my dick! It hurt like hell!”

“What? They stuck it in your dick?”

“Yeah, they said they had to drain out all the blood.” Brad begins to laugh even louder while slapping the steering wheel with his hands.

As Brad shakes his head, laughing heartily, something catches Cliff’s eye through the passenger side of the patrol car.  At first he thought it might be some rags strewn by the side of the road but as the vehicle approached, he knew it had to be a body.  A small body.  Could it be a child?  Another kid? 

He reaches over and nudges Brad’s muscular forearm, pointing. “Hey, hey, hold on a sec. Slow down partner.”  The urgency in his voice causes Brad to sober up immediately.

Brad slows the vehicle and now they could both see a small framed figure lying on the ground about 200 yards off the side of the road partially obscured by some shrubs.

After slowing down the vehicle Brad leans over his partner to get a closer look while pulling the car off of the road.

“What is that? Is it a body?” asks Brad.

Cliff still squinting replies, “Jesus I think it is,” he swings open the door just as the car comes to a stop and jogs off toward the figure on the ground. Brad jumps out and follows. As the two men approach the figure they notice a bare-footed young woman in her early thirties lying on her stomach. She’s very pale with short dark hair, wearing a pair of badly torn jeans and a ripped tee shirt, both lightly splattered in blood. Her eyes are closed and the left side of her face is in the dirt. Parts of the woman’s face and arms are dark red, dry and clearly sun burnt. She is also covered in dozens of small cuts and scratches.  As the two officers examine her they also notice that her feet are dirty, bleeding and blistered. On her right cheek and on her right forearm there are what appear to be large reddish swollen abscesses both about the size of golf balls. The abscesses are dry, peeling and slowly leaking a yellowish puss. Cliff looks down at the woman and softly calls out to her. “Miss, can you hear me? Miss?” There’s no response. The woman just lies there very still and breathing slowly, showing little sign of life. Cliff kneels down and checks her neck for a pulse with two expert fingers, “She’s alive! But just barely, better call it in.”

Brad unhooks his portable radio from his belt and calls the dispatcher as he briskly walks around the area looking through the bush, “Dispatch, this is car forty-nine, over.”

“Go ahead forty-nine,” the radio crackles back.

“Ah, we have an eleven forty-seven on route 377 about one mile south of Despain Ranch Road, requesting Medevac ASAP, over.”

“Ten-four forty-nine, requesting Medevac for eleven forty-seven, route 377, one mile south of Despain Ranch Road, there’s already a chopper in the area, ETA about twenty minutes, do you copy?”

“Ten-four Dispatch, twenty minutes.”

Brad walks back over to Cliff and the woman and hunkers down next to them, “Chopper will be here in twenty. What do you think happened to her?”

“I don’t know. Her breathing is very slow and she’s covered in all these cuts almost like she’s been in a fight with a cat.”

“Damn, she does look real tore up,” adds Brad.

Cliff looks at the wounds and twists his face, “Have you noticed that odor?”

“Yeah, smells like she was sprayed with vinegar,” Brad slowly scans the area around the woman, “strange, this is real strange. You hear me partner?”

Cliff looks up at him slowly, “I know what you mean.”

For fifteen minutes the two officers sit with the female while they wait for the medical helicopter to arrive. They check her back pockets for any signs of identification and repeatedly check her pulse and breathing. As Cliff kneels by the girl’s side Brad searches the surrounding area for any clues as to what might have happened. He follows some partial tracks from the woman leading south but only manages to find blood spattered foot prints in the sand. While kneeling down to study one print he stops and looks around slowly. The silence they noticed earlier seems especially oppressive now.  “What could have happen out here?” He thinks to himself.

He begins to scan the area more intently. There’s nothing around, normally in this part of the forest there are birds over head, flies buzzing around, even the occasional scorpion scurrying by. But today there’s nothing but silence. The stillness unnerves Brad and he stands up and begins to make his way back towards Cliff and the woman.  Just then Brad’s radio crackles to life, “Car forty-nine, Car forty-nine this is Medevac two, do you read?”

“Go ahead Medevac two this is forty-nine, what’s your ETA?”

“We are five minutes out forty-nine, Just thought you should know we just flew over a camper off the side of the road about two miles south of your position. Appears to be abandoned, could belong to your Vic.”

“Ten-four Medevac two, we’ll check it out as soon as you clear station.”

“Ten-four forty-nine.”

Brad approaches Cliff and knees beside him, “Chopper will be here in five.”

“Great.”

“The chopper spotted a camper down the road. Could be where she’s from. We should check it out when we’re done.”

“Right!”

“How is she?”

“Still no response, no movement, nothing, and her breathing is getting even slower.  You find anything?”

“Naw, no clues, but…I don’t know, it seems a little weird but remember I mentioned how quiet it is out here?  Something’s not right.”

Cliff slowly looks around and scans the area then turns back to Brad, nodding, “Yeah it’s pretty quiet today isn’t it?”

“Yeah, a little too quiet if you ask me. It’s giving me the creeps.”

“I know exactly what you mean.  Like, it’s kind of--”

“--Dead,” his partner finished.

In the background the low rumbling sound of the four bladed Bell 407 helicopter can be heard approaching.  The sound steadily grows louder as the red and white chopper slowly appears overhead. The pilot hovers for a minute while he looks for a clearing to land. Brad covers his eyes and Cliff angles his broad, muscular frame in an effort to shield the young woman as the machine kicks up a cloud of dust. The skilled pilot softly lands the helicopter just in front of the officer’s patrol car on the side of the road. As the engine slows to an idle, two paramedics dressed in bright orange jump suits jump out, one carrying a medical kit and the other a portable gurney. Both wear pilot helmets and multi-pocketed vests loaded with bandages and other small medical tools. They run over to the two officers and their victim.

Dave, a short stocky seven-year veteran of the Medevac service, crouches beside the young woman on the ground. His partner Nancy, a thin light skinned young woman with freckles, quickly runs to the other side and applies the inflatable bag of a portable blood pressure machine onto the woman’s left arm.

Dave examines her body, being careful not to move her too much as the extent of her injuries are as yet unclear. While wearing protective gloves he examines the abscesses on her face and arm.

 “Damn! I’ve never seen anything like this before. How long has she been like this?”

Scratching his head Brad responds, “Don’t know, we’ve been here for about twenty minutes. Don’t know how long she’s been lying here before that.”

While closely examining her burnt skin Dave then says, “Must have been at least an hour by the look of these sunburns.”

Cliff then jumps in, “Have you noticed the odor? Kind of like vinegar.”

Dave leans closer to the woman and sniffs, “Seems to be coming from these big sores.”

Suddenly a steady beeping emits from the blood pressure machine. Nancy checks the LED display and calls out its readings.

“Blood pressure’s 55 over 40!”

Dave looks up, “Not good, not good at all”

“Is that very bad?” asks Cliff with a look of concern.

“Yes it is, very low, probably due to dehydration. She could slip into a coma if we don’t get her some fluids and to a hospital ASAP!”

Nancy pulls an IV bag of clear fluid out of her medical kit and attaches it to the woman’s arm.

Dave pulls out a small light from his vest and shines it into the woman’s eyes as he pulls them open with his other hand, “Her eyes are dilated and her breathing is erratic and with the low blood pressure she’s in real bad shape. We have to get her out of here now. Come on, give us a hand.”

“Where’re you going to take her?” asks Brad.

“The trauma center at Lincoln Hospital in downtown Phoenix. We can be there in about thirty-five minutes.”

Dave gently lifts the woman over to one side as his partner Nancy slides the portable gurney under her back. The two officers assist the paramedics in lifting the woman up and carrying her to the waiting helicopter. After securing her inside of the copter the two officers back away and watch as it slowly rises into the air and speeds off.

Brad turns to Cliff and says,” I don’t know what’s going on but we need to check out that camper.”

“You’re right, let’s get a move on it. Someone has to know what happened to her.”

The two officers enter their patrol car and speed south down Route 377 with lights flashing and sirens blaring. About two miles down the road they come upon a thirty foot motor home parked about 200 yards off the side of the road among some light brush. Brad spots the camper’s tracks and follows them up to the rear of the vehicle. He cuts the engine and kills the lights as the two men cautiously step out of the patrol car.

With their hands on their weapons they slowly approach the right side of the motor home. The camper, a Bigfoot 3000 series Class C motor home built around a Ford E-450 chassis, is white with brown stripes and has the side door wide open, broken and hanging off the bottom hinge. The windows along the side of the motor home are also broken. Brad and Cliff exchange knowing glances, silently encouraging one another to proceed with caution.  As the officers approach the camper they notice debris scattered around the campground: torn clothes, broken furniture, and trash.

Cliff moves alongside the camper and presses his back against the wall of the motor home on the left side of the open door, Brad approaches from the right. Both men draw their weapons as Brad yells out toward the opening, “This is the police, is there anyone in there?” After a pause he continues, “Is there anyone in there?” after no reply he motions to Cliff as he aims his gun toward the dark interior. Cliff, with both hands on his weapon quickly swings into the motor home as Brad follows.

Inside, to the right there’s a small dinette and the cab of the vehicle with a small bunk bed on top. Dishes and papers cover the floor.  Bloodstains are splattered all over dishes and up the walls in no particular order; some stains are even on the ceiling.  To the left there’s a small bathroom, with a missing door, and a narrow hallway leading to the back bedroom, also splattered with dried blood.  Cliff looks at Brad grimly and mutters through clenched teeth, “Jesus, what the hell happened in here?”

“Looks like one hell of a fight,” Brad replies, his voice barely above a whisper.

The two men slowly and carefully walk around the ransacked area, shuffling through broken dishes and torn papers. After finding nothing more than broken furniture and splattered blood on the walls, Cliff, with his gun held up and pointed, cautiously moves toward the rear of the camper. He moves down the narrow hall with Brad following close behind. They cautiously push the bedroom door open and gasp at the horror within. Lying on a blood-soaked bed are the remains of a white male in his early thirties. The thick stench of blood and death hang heavily in the hot Arizona air.  There are no legs, just a right arm, a head, and most of a badly mangled torso torn from the rib cage down with the spine still intact. The head is disfigured and covered with gashes and scrapes similar to the ones the young woman had. The man’s face is cut up and the left eye is hanging out of its socket by a few veins. The left arm is missing and appears to have been ripped out at the shoulder. In the right hand is a Glock-19 9mm semi-automatic handgun and on the bloodied bed are about fifteen 9mm shells. The room is in a shambles and bullet holes pepper the walls.  Flies swarm the inside of the room and crawl all over the body. Brad and Cliff struggle for breath at the horrific sight. In their line of work both men have seen death but nothing as grisly as this. This body was ripped apart!

Brad’s eyes widen and his mouth drops open in shock, before he quickly whips out a handkerchief and covers his mouth and nose. Cliff steps back from the bed with the back of his hand over his mouth, trying to control a gag reflex. He re-holsters his gun and unclips his radio. “Dispatch, this is car forty-nine, over.” There’s a moment of no reply so he tries again. “Dispatch, this is car forty-nine, over.”

“Go ahead forty-nine,” the voice on the other end answers back.

“Dispatch we have a one eighty-seven on Route 377 about four miles north of Route 277”

“Ten-four forty-nine, one eighty-seven on Route 377”

“Requesting CSI, possible connection with earlier eleven forty-seven.”

“Ten-four forty-nine, notifying CSI, please stand by.”

As Cliff holds the radio Brad re-holsters his gun and moves around the bed, being careful not to disturb anything. On the left nightstand at the head of the bed he finds a photograph and calls his partner over to look at it.

“Looks like this is our Vic’s place alright.”

Cliff looks down at the picture. It’s a photo of a couple in their early thirties sitting under a tree with a little boy. The woman is the same one they found up the road.  She has an air of quiet confidence about her, with excellent posture and an aura of strength.  The man by her side is clearly the same one as the one on the bed—at least, what is left of him. 

“And we have another problem on our hands,” comments Cliff.

“What’s that,” says Brad as he examines the photo closer.

“What’s wrong with that picture, Brad?”

“Ah, shit! Where’s the kid?”

“Right, hopefully he got away like his mother.”

“Cliff, remember what shape she was in?”

“I know. How old do you think he is?”

“Looks about eight or nine.”

Cliff’s jaw tightens and he shakes his head.

“Jesus, Doris has a niece that old.  You remember Tammy?” He shakes his head again and looks away.  As he does so he happens to glance at the floor by the night stand and notices a black rectangular object. 

 “What’s this?” After pulling on rubber gloves Cliff picks up a battered and bloodstained black wallet and looks inside. “Damn!”

“What you got there, partner?”

“Looks like our Vic here is an FBI agent.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Naw, Agent Allen Henderson, look for yourself,” he holds the open wallet for Brad to see. 

There was a photo of a nondescript man in glasses and a white collared shirt.  It appeared to be the same man in the photograph on the nightstand and in the messy pool of blood, bone and the remnants of organs on the bed.

“Man, this case keeps getting weirder and weirder. And did you notice the odor in here?”

Cliff nods his head, “Sure did, vinegar.”

“Just like the woman.”

Cliff’s radio squawks to life, “Car forty-nine, Come in forty-nine.”

“This is forty-nine go ahead,” Cliff answers.

“CSI in route to your location. ETA thirty minutes. Command advises to secure the area.”

“Uh, ten-four dispatch. Please advise command that victim is FBI and we may also have a missing child.”

“Ten-four, forty-nine, will advise.”

“Well looks like we’re stuck here for awhile. Better make the most of it.”

“So much for a quiet holiday.”

Both officers leave the motor home and walk quickly to their patrol car. Cliff snatches several rolls of caution tape out of the car and hands a few to Brad.  The two hurriedly rope off the area around the camper attaching the tape to the trees and brush around the camper. They work quietly while wondering to their selves what could do such mangling damage to the man inside. 

Cliff keeps thinking about the little boy somewhere out there, with a dad who clearly died fighting and a mom who seemed about to lose the fight for her life.

After they finish they return to their vehicle, lock the doors, and wait without another word for the Crime Scene Investigators to arrive.

After about ten minutes another patrol car pulls up behind theirs. Driving it is Officer O’Brien, a young two-year rookie and in the passenger seat is Watch Commander Lieutenant Maddox. The gray haired Maddox is a twenty-year veteran who was part of the investigation of the disappearance of the two missing Hernandez kids that Brad and Cliff worked on. He’s a pot bellied stone-faced bull of a man with a head of white hair who’s known for being tough on the officers under his command but for some reason he seems to have a soft spot for both Brad and Cliff.

After seeing the newcomers exit their vehicle Brad and Cliff exit their own.

“Lieutenant,” says Cliff as he nods to the approaching Maddox.

“Johnson, Williams,” Maddox nods back, “so what do we have?”

Brad and Cliff slowly glance at each other for a moment.

“Well? What is it?” Maddox asks impatiently.

Cliff steps forward, “Lieutenant, we have a real mess in there,” he says as he points toward the camper, “first we found this unconscious woman up the road and then we traced her back here and find a bloody massacre.  We also think there might be a missing little boy! This is the craziest thing we’ve even seen!”

“Alright, alright calm down,” Maddox turns to O’Brien, “Let’s check it out to see how bad is really is.”

Cliff glances over at Brad.

“You want to know how bad it is. Lieutenant it looks like someone put that guy through a wood chipper!” shouts Brad, “I mean he’s missing his whole body from the waist down!”

Maddox and O’Brien give each other a glance of disbelief.

O’Brian looks at Brad and comments, “Come on guys.”

Cliff and Brad just stare at him in stoic silence.

Seemingly unconvinced about the level of savagery reported, Maddox and O’Brien move to enter the motor home to examine the scene for their selves. After barely five minutes the two men hurry out of the camper with a look of repulsion on their faces. O’Brien vomits beside the camper, and then gasps, “Who or what could have done that?”

Maddox, mopping the sweat from his forehead, nose and upper lip looks at Brad and asks, “No other clues? No sign of what happened to the boy?”

The heat was starting to weigh down on them.  The heat and the silence.  Brad removes his blue baseball cap to wipe perspiration from his brow before pulling the hat low over his brown eyes. “No, nothing,” he replies.

“You know the feds are going to be all over this one. They don’t like it when something happens to one of their own.”

“You think it could be some kind of terrorist attack?” asks Cliff.

Maddox looks at Cliff and says, “Don’t know. These days anything’s possible. Remember when those terrorists cut that guy’s head off on the news? You never can tell these days. But what I do know is that we’re going to need more help out here.”

Maddox glances over at Cliff and says, “Johnson, Get on the horn and call Air Search and Rescue we need some eyes in the sky if we’re going to have any chance at finding that kid.”

Just then in the distance a faint siren could be heard growing steadily louder. Maddox stares south down Route 377, “Sounds like the cavalry’s finally here.”