The Outbreak

Note Before the Story: Hey readers and writers, I apologize for being two days late on this post! However, in the hours when I wanted to add a story but could not, I decided I would experiment with putting the discussion topics before the stories. This will give you something to think about and look for as you read! 

Today's Exercise: Write a dramatic scene, maybe one to two pages long. As you write dialogue consider how an individual who is in distress would talk. Does your character's speech speed up? Do they begin confusing words? Maybe they stop speaking all together? With each element of story ask yourself how you can heighten the suspense, drama and emotion. After you are satisfied with what you have written, read it again and ask yourself if there is a way to drop your audience right in the middle of the action. You might have to rework some of the writing if the beginning part, the part you will be cutting out, contains necessary information for the audience. However, it is worth it! Dropping your reader into the mess rather than easing them in, immediately sets up an interesting tone and pace. Can you think of a story that does this well? Have you experimented with opening a story in the middle of the action? Please contribute to the discussion in the comments! 
Happy reading! 

The Outbreak

  “There’s been an outbreak,” Chris says. He is a big, rugged fellow, but right now he’s quaking.

   “They’re calling it chemical warfare,” he continues. “At least one carrier got on a plane in Paris. Had multiple layovers in the U.S.. Died in a hotel near LAX.”

   “We can’t go home tomorrow.” His words are ragged and strained. John, the manager of La Casa Ministry, comes to stand beside him.

   “We have to move south,” John says. “We’ve arranged for us to stay at an orphanage in Ensenada. It’s not much farther from here, but the distance will buy us some time in case the disease makes it over the border.” Unbearable silence settles among us.

   “What about our families?” a lone voice rings out. This is one of the junior high boys.

   “I’ve been in contact with your families,” Chris says. His eyes trail over the youth group. My heart plummets when they linger on me and then brush past. I follow his gaze to Megan. The tears are already streaming down her cheeks.

   “Gather your stuff and carry it to the vans. We’ll be leaving within the hour,” Chris says. Harsh whispers swell as the group ushers out of the room. I stand and continue floating upward. Levitating. Leaving the voices. A hand grips my shoulder and pulls me back down.

   “Evelyn,” I hear Chris’ voice. He pauses as a few straggling students leave the room.

   “Your mother…” he says. The hand that clutches my shoulder trembles.

   “You hear me?” he asks. I nod and the whole world spins.

   “What does it mean?” I breath.

   “There isn’t a cure.”

   “How does it spread?”

   “They don’t know. Airborne? It can hide. It hides in people. Once they have a fever…they have…hours…”

   “When did her symptoms start?”

   “About two hours ago.”

   “I guess we pray then.” I begin to turn away, then pause.

   “Your family?” I ask. His eyes glisten.

   “My son...” The image of the six-year-old boy, a replica of his father, restricted to a bed with no hope of recovery, stings…

   “We pray,” I murmur as I walk away. I enter the girls’ dorm room and approach Megan. She refuses to look at me.

   “There isn’t time, Evy. Just pack,” she says. I obey. In twenty minutes, the vans are packed, packed with what might become the extent of our belongings. I watch La Casa Ministry grow smaller out the back window. Our dusty vans become an extension of the dry hillsides and pale skies.

     A stifled cry pierces the silence of the van and startles me out of my peace-less slumber. I glance around to see who had made the sound. Jenna, one of the freshmen, holds her face in her hands. A few of the other girls are huddled around her, speaking to her in hushed tones. 

   The van jostles and bumps as it slows onto a dirt road. Children are running up to our vehicle with smiles and cheers. The van stops and the ring of children closes in. I understand why Jenna is crying now. We might all be orphans soon.