Stormfront: Black Ice -- Chapter One

[Raoul Duke, Jr.]

For those of you unfamiliar with Stormfront, the prologue (Storm Warning) can be found in this forum -- it's probably a few pages back by now. If you haven't read it, it's not entirely essential for the purposes of this chapter -- but it will be immensely helpful in answering some questions you may have otherwise.

In any case, here's chapter one of Act One -- Black Ice.



Black Ice

I

The ribbon of Highway 101 stretched into a fog of distance. Beneath the murmur of a light rain and gusting wind, another sound grew – the roar of an overtaxed engine.

Drops of falling water splattered up from impact on damp asphalt, then flew aside in the wake of a speeding grey Chevy Nova. The Nova faded into the fog, leaving silence behind.
The car, however, was awash in sound – intricate bass, pounding drums, and wailing guitar thrashed from a pair of tinny speakers until the driver reached for the in-dash tape deck’s worn controls and shut the noise off. Beyond the confines of glass and metal, the scenery screamed past.

“Come on, man!” Kevin Barringer, the lanky kid in the passenger seat complained, “It was just getting to the good part!” A haze of cigarette smoke billowed from his lips.

The fair-haired driver, Brandon, ignored the grousing. “Okay, I need some advice.” He looked around to see that he had the attention of his friends in the back seat. Indeed he did – their Adam’s Apples bobbed nervously at the sight of their driver facing them as trees flashed past the windows at better than sixty miles per hour.

Barringer tapped Brandon on the shoulder. “Here’s some – watch the road, jackass. You know how fuckin’ creepy it is when you pull that Fast And The Furious shit.”

“You know what you are, Kevin?” Brandon asked with a grin.
“What?”
“You’re a pansy.” Brandon turned his gaze back to the road, sweeping the Nova through a lazy turn.
“Right.”
“Gimme a cigarette, pansy.” Brandon turned his cobalt gaze to the driver’s side mirror, took Barringer’s cigarette without looking, without a fumble or a miss.

“So what’s the problem?” Mike, one of the kids in the back seat, demanded to know.

“Problem?” Brandon repeated, no longer concentrating on the subject. Something in the driver’s side mirror had caught his eye… but it was gone now. Maybe just a weird pattern of raindrops on the mirror, but…

“Yeah. ‘I need your advice’ – remember?” Mike crunched into a tortilla chip, passed the bag of chips to the curly-headed kid next to him whose name Brandon didn’t know.

“Oh… yeah.” Brandon drummed his fingers on the wheel, trying to remember what he’d been about to say. Then it came to him – “Things to get Brigette for Christmas.” He slowed the car barely enough to swing through a tight leftward curve. The rear wheels squealed in protest, but a touch of counter-steer brought them in line.

“God dammit I hate it when you do that!” Barringer complained – but he was laughing all the same.

“Quit your bitchin’.” Brandon chuckled. “Any ideas from the brain trust?”

“Could always get her what you got her last year.” Barringer smirked. “You never know, she might need another power drill by now.” Laughter bubbled up from the back seat.
“Hardy har fucking har.” Brandon rolled his blue eyes. “Pure accident. The packages were the same size, how was I supposed to remember which was which?”

“Yeah, so how’d your uncle look in that negligee?” More laughter, and this time Brandon joined in.

“Well, you’d know better than I would. Ugh. Kevin, what the hell are these?” Brandon regarded the cigarette with distaste. “Generic. Cheap bastard.”

“What’s wrong with generics?” Barringer asked, wounded.
“Oh, nothing really… except they taste like shit.” Brandon rolled down the window to flick away the offending cigarette; a damp blast of cold air chilled Mike Scanlon, who slumped deeper into the back seat. Brandon chuckled at Scanlon's scramblings, and continued, “I heard about you and the shed out back of… whoa. What’s up with this asshole?”

“Now what?” Barringer craned his neck over the seat to look. “What the – “

“Hold on.” Brandon said calmly, slowing the Nova as he watched the black Peterbilt behind them, still accelerating, pull into the opposite lane of the dangerously winding two-lane highway. Before the license plate was obscured, Brandon thought he glimpsed the letters ‘X ODUS’.

“Jesus, this guy drives worse than you!” Barringer said, trying to force a laugh. It was clear from his expression, though, that he was scared. He wasn’t the only one.

“I don’t like this.” Brandon slowed even further. The speedometer dropped even further – 50… 45… 40… Rather than passing, the flat black flank of the Peterbilt matched the Nova.
“Oh, this is not fucking cool, man!” Scanlon whispered, ducking to stare nervously up at the looming machine's passenger window. The speedometer now read 30.

“Shut up, Mike. Just… I’m sorry, man, just chill.” Kevin was watching Brandon, whose forehead had begun to bead with sweat. “You okay, bro?”

Brandon didn’t answer – a faint look of nausea crossed his face. Something’s going to happen, he thought miserably. Something very bad. In his peripheral vision, he watched as a garage, a house, a yard with children playing in it droned past.

“What does this fucker want, already!” Mike couldn’t keep quiet.
“God dammit, Mike – “ Kevin leaned over the seat.

“Sit down, Kevin.” Brandon put a hand on Barringer, pushed him back into his seat. “I think we’re about to find out what he wants.” Brandon’s face was going pale – he could barely feel his fingers on the wheel.

His friends ducked low to see what Brandon was looking at – and, sure enough, the nearly black passenger-side window was sinking, and a face clambering into view.
“Wait, he can’t – “
“What the fuck is he doing?”
“Can’t drive in the passenger seat, you – “

Then the face came into the light, and time slowed. This is a dream. That can’t be real. Brandon thought. Wet wind whipped past his face from his open window, but his vision was clear, certainly clearer than he would have liked.

Centered in the black frame of the semi’s window, not six feet from them, the driver leered. Raindrops beaded and streaked on his chalky cheeks and forehead, rolled down until they turned his torn lips into a slobbering, lunatic grin. His long and stringy hair bustled in the wind. A good portion of it clung to his cheeks in matted clumps where the blood had already dried.

A few squirming maggots made their laborious way in and out of his empty eye sockets.

“No.” Brandon felt his stomach drop and fill with ice. A pregnant drop of rain splattered against his nose, but it wasn’t enough to bring him around. He was frozen, unable to decide what to do. Speed up? Could he outrun that thing? Stop? What if it got out? Maybe it wasn’t real. Maybe it would just… disappear.

The grin on the ruined face widened, and an emaciated claw of an arm, the waxy skin covered in a thin sheath of black hairs, rose above the sill of the passenger door. A bony, twisted finger extended lazily to point at Brandon.

“What –“ Barringer started. The black Peterbilt lurched.
“The –“ Brandon saw what was coming, but panicked, slammed the brake pedal to the floor. The Nova’s brakes locked, there was a light but noticeable jerk as the tires lost traction on the wet pavement. The Peterbilt began to pull ahead as the Nova entered a slow, inexorable spin. The gravel shoulder slid into view before them from the right --
“Fuck!” Brandon twisted away from his door as the Peterbilt slammed the Nova's rear wheels aside in a bone-bruising violation of metal and glass.

Nausea -- spinning -- mad top full of broken glass, howling wind, howling people. Brandon watched, his mind blank, as the rictus of mirth on the Peterbilt driver’s face widened as it disappeared from view. Rear tires hissed across wet pavement, roared across the gravel shoulder -- dropped soundlessly over the grassy embankment of the six foot drainage canal that runs the length of Ramsey Stenner’s property.

Brandon saw the bottom of the ditch, the white-topped yellow water moving fast through it. With a sick thud and a white flash, the A-pillar slammed into his forehead, and for a time, Brandon saw nothing.

“Is he…” Cold.
“Life Flight is on the…” Wet.
“Brandon? Brandon!” A woman’s voice, familiar… “Oh, my God!” Wailing. Animal or mechanical? No way to tell. No need. Salt. Silicate fuses to iodide. No, not right.

“Mr. Cole! Mr. Cole, I think he’s awake.” No, I’m not. Beat it, Etin.

“Brandon? Son, do you know where you are?” Edge.

“What did he say?” Mumble. “Come on, son! Do you know where you are?” Descending bird or insect. Feel sick. Wrong. No flight. Not in the steel roach. Wrong.

“Oh, god, there’s so much blood… Oh…” Mammal vomit. Heh, heh…

A blackened, swollen eye opened, stared past Steven and Kelly Cole, unfocused. Then, something… raindrops, caught on the helicopter’s windshield. From beneath the restraints of the gurney, Brandon’s chest drew a deep, labored breath.

Fighting for thought, for clarity in the mud of his battered body and mind, he pushed two words to the surface, words that he would not remember uttering until much, much later:
“Storm coming…”

[Rob Wilson]

For those of you unfamiliar with Stormfront, the prologue (Storm Warning) can be found in this forum -- it's probably a few pages back by now. If you haven't read it, it's not entirely essential for the purposes of this chapter -- but it will be immensely helpful in answering some questions you may have otherwise.

In any case, here's chapter one of Act One -- Black Ice.



Black Ice

Interesting, not so much of the Mythology this time, but why should there be? I like the touches, his easy control of the vehicle, the not needing to look where he's going or where objects are in relation to him, nice hints at what lays beneath the surface. The bits with the comments at the end (Metal Insect, etc) were good and matched the theme in the prologue. The dialogue is excellent, very natural and pally, though there is one instance of possible confusion :

“Well, you’d know better than I would.” Brandon rolled down the window to flick away the spent butt of his cigarette; a damp blast of cold air chilled Mike Scanlon, who slumped deeper into the back seat. “I heard about you and the shed out back of… whoa. What’s up with this asshole?”

The ending of the description in the middle as the Second person might get some less familiar readers thinking he says the second half. Maybe a return to Brandon (smirking at his passengers reaction, grining in his rearveiw mirror, something that gives an indication that it's him saying the second part and leading to his looking back). Only real problem I found.

As I don't know anything About Chevy Nova's i don't know if they are front or rear wheel drive, so i cu;ldn't tell you whether Opposite lock would correct a slide (Rearwheel drive) or simply catapult you in the opposite direction and lead to a heavy bout of swerving (Front wheel drive) on a wet surface.

If the truck braked, then the collision damage is nowhere near as bad, the energy is going through the tires and swerving into the car would be difficult at best. If he didn't then as the car brakes the truck goes past and only hits the front of the car, pinwheeling it, the braking action and the torsion applied will simply snap the car off its wheels as it pinwheels and send it rolling along the road for a short distance, so the drainage ditch needs to be near the road and preferably at a corner to allow the car to roll into it.

Other than that, I've nothing else to say beyond, A damned well written piece give us more.

Anyone else?

[Raoul Duke, Jr.]

Interesting, not so much of the Mythology this time, but why should there be? I like the touches, his easy control of the vehicle, the not needing to look where he's going or where objects are in relation to him, nice hints at what lays beneath the surface. The bits with the comments at the end (Metal Insect, etc) were good and matched the theme in the prologue. The dialogue is excellent, very natural and pally, though there is one instance of possible confusion :

“Well, you’d know better than I would.” Brandon rolled down the window to flick away the spent butt of his cigarette; a damp blast of cold air chilled Mike Scanlon, who slumped deeper into the back seat. “I heard about you and the shed out back of… whoa. What’s up with this asshole?”

The ending of the description in the middle as the Second person might get some less familiar readers thinking he says the second half. Maybe a return to Brandon (smirking at his passengers reaction, grining in his rearveiw mirror, something that gives an indication that it's him saying the second part and leading to his looking back). Only real problem I found.

Absolutely right, and fixable in four words or less. Groovy.

As I don't know anything About Chevy Nova's i don't know if they are front or rear wheel drive, so i cu;ldn't tell you whether Opposite lock would correct a slide (Rearwheel drive) or simply catapult you in the opposite direction and lead to a heavy bout of swerving (Front wheel drive) on a wet surface.

70s-era muscle car. RWD.

If the truck braked, then the collision damage is nowhere near as bad, the energy is going through the tires and swerving into the car would be difficult at best. If he didn't then as the car brakes the truck goes past and only hits the front of the car, pinwheeling it, the braking action and the torsion applied will simply snap the car off its wheels as it pinwheels and send it rolling along the road for a short distance, so the drainage ditch needs to be near the road and preferably at a corner to allow the car to roll into it.

The visual I had of the drainage canal is that it's about three feet or less from the shoulder of the highway, three feet across and six feet deep. Not sure how I could get away with giving it a corner, as it's frontage on a highway.

What I'm trying to convey is that, before the semi veers into the Nova's lane, there's about three feet at most between the semi's passenger door and the Nova's driver door, and about the same amount of space between the Nova's passenger door and the drainage canal. When the semi veers into the Nova (which is basically just sliding with its brakes locked) it simply forces it off the road. The rear wheels need to go canal-ward first in order for Brandon to keep the visual of the driver's face -- but that visual, I suppose, isn't an absolute must, and certainly shouldn't take precedence over realism and detail in the crash.

Other than that, I've nothing else to say beyond, A damned well written piece give us more.

Groovy, glad you liked it. There is more to transcribe -- this came from preexisting script-format material that I gave a little revision to in the translation process.

By the way, one thing I've noticed is that the time between Brandon lighting the cigarette Kevin gives him and the time he rolls down the window to toss the butt is too short. Can anyone think of a different reason for him to roll down that window or look in the driver's side mirror again?

[Rob Wilson]

By the way, one thing I've noticed is that the time between Brandon lighting the cigarette Kevin gives him and the time he rolls down the window to toss the butt is too short. Can anyone think of a different reason for him to roll down that window or look in the driver's side mirror again?

I just visualised them having a damned good laugh and chuckle over the present mix up, that can take a short while and let him burn through the cigarette. You could maybe add something extra to this line :

More laughter, and this time Brandon joined in.

To show the time pass, or have Brandon take a set of big drags as he laughs. As to the Looking back, when a driver talks to a rear passenger they normally look in the rearview mirror when making a specific point. Just a quick line there (as suggested about clearing up the who's speaking ) and you're sorted.


As to the distance to the truck being Three feet, Well Brendan will see the Passenger side indow, but no one on the right side of his car will. I envisioned one of the wider two lane US raods, rather than the More Prototypical UK narrow Two laners.

Going in rearward can be done:

“What –“ Barringer started. The black Peterbilt lurched.
“The –“ Brandon saw what was coming, but panicked, slammed the brake pedal to the floor. The Nova’s brakes locked, there was a light but noticeable jerk as the tires lost traction. The huge Tractor-Trailer seemed to suddenly shoot forward in relation to the Chevy, even as it swerved into the cars lane.
“Fuck!” Brandon twisted away from his door as the trailer of the swerving Peterbilt slammed the front of Nova sideways in a bone-bruising violation of metal and glass.

The car spun – slowly, it seemed to Brandon, though much faster in reality. The impetus of the trailer pinwheeling the car about it's axis, as the brakes removed all traction from the tires on the wet road. In his slow-motion view of events he watched, his mind blanked, as the rictus of mirth on the Peterbilt driver’s face widened visible in the trucks huge side Mirrors as the car completed it's first full spin and then started its second. Time returned sharply as the violent spin put the car reafacing again and the outraged shriek of the Nova’s rear tires disappeared as they lost contact with the pavement… skidded through gravel… dragged the Nova almost sideways and momentum pulled the car over onto its side and rolled it heavily into the six foot drainage canal that ran the length of Ramsey Stenner’s property.

Just as a direction (though a bit wordy, maybe a break down into flash moments as each part happens would work better?)

ADDENDUM : added the wet raod bit I forgot the first time. Me sleepy, missing obvious bits. Sleep now.

[Raoul Duke, Jr.]

Good advice has been taken -- see what you think of the revised crash and lead-in.