Federal Underground

I don't do this very often, but here's a sneak peak at Federal Underground, my current work in progress. Not much to say except that I hope you like it. I'm sure you'll understand that I cannot reveal the synopsis at this time. As always, comments are appreciated.

Federal Underground

By Jeff Bennington

Chapter 1

My legs strained to climb the dark and musty mineshaft as I ran from the depths of the federal underground. My hands scraped the edges of the rocky wall, caking my fingernails with dirt and decades of filth. Every step I took injected a cold burn into my lungs, every breath thrust me beyond the point of exhaustion. My red jump suit smelled of the underworld and clung to my skin, wet and ragged. I stopped running for a moment and rested my body on the earthen wall.

I could barely stand.

My body trembled with terror.

I remember thinking that my legs felt like liquid tissue, jellifying beneath my skin. When I put my hands to my chest, I could feel my heart pumping to the rhythm of my fears, thumping, thumping, thumping anxiety through my veins. The running, my memories and the book had taken me to Hell and back. The climb through the abandoned mineshaft had become my last hope. I knew I was close. I knew the tunnel would get me outside; my friend, Seven, had told me so and I believed him.

 Sweat flowed down the lines of my face like a river. I wiped lakes of perspiration from my eyes, but more followed. The resting eased the pain in my lungs and stiffened my leg muscles. I didn’t think I could continue. I felt so dizzy. Just breathe, I thought. Keep breathing…keep moving.

I looked back. They’ll kill me if I don’t get out of here. The thought was enough to push me forward. With my hands guiding my withering frame through the cave and a headlamp lighting my way, I lifted my eyes, inhaled the smell of dusty death and noticed a faint luminescence further down the passageway. The light invigorated my spirit and the rush of the whistling wind ahead strengthened my resolve.

Air. Real air. I had forgotten what it tasted like, what it smelled like.

I ran my hand across my hairless scalp and felt the heat—I was so hot—I took a energizing breath, pumping strength into my lungs. When I looked back into the darkness my eyes wrinkled and my throat filled with a fearful lump as I remembered the last forty-eight hours—two days that would forever change my life.

I stepped forward, climbed over a pile of fallen timbers and quickened my pace. The light drew near, shimmering through what looked to be a tiny crevice in the distance. The air felt thinner, smelled fresher, tasted cleaner. Tiny rocks and rubble shifted beneath my feet, but I kept my balance by pressing my hands against the narrow walls. The light grew brighter and I could hear the wind blowing, watch the dust stirring. I began to wonder what I’d see at the mouth of the cave: a mountain range? a river? I distinctly remember thinking I don’t care! Anywhere is better than here.

The path continued to rise and the burn returned to my legs. I squinted and covered my eyes with my hand, guided by the sunshine that streamed between my fingers. I could taste my freedom. My feet pounded faster and faster, dragging slightly from fatigue, fleeing the Hell that I had discovered below the crust of the earth. My mind felt as if it were a storm of trauma imploding my understanding of the universe. I staggered to the top of the mineshaft and my filthy body burst out of the mouth of the tunnel into a blinding bath of light, like a jet blasting through billowing clouds at thirty thousand feet.

I stopped, closed my eyes, swallowed the fresh air with my hands behind my head and fell to my knees. Blood rushed to my head and I was overcome with nausea and dizziness. I could feel tears escaping and a swell of stress rumble out of that hidden place where fear takes cover until it can safely escape. In that moment, I felt liberated and cleansed, but the joy of my deliverance was cut off by the sound of a click. I suddenly felt as if I were being watched. Although I knew my brain couldn’t handle the brilliance of the sun without disorienting my equilibrium, I opened my eyes, squinted into a blur of light and shadows. A gust of wind blew into my ears followed by an angry chorus of voices.

“Federal Agents! Get on the ground!”

I peered at the blurry figures, lost in the daylight and the openness of the vast blue sky. Queasiness filled my throat and chest, and my head began to spin as I feared it would. There must have been ten shadows surrounding me, clicking and shouting. “Get on the ground! Get on the ground! Now!”

Their bodies came into focus in that fraction of a second. They were human. They had guns. Their faces looked jumbled, but the desert like mountains, pines and shale cliffs in the distance began to take form. It was Dulce—Dulce, New Mexico. I knew where I was even though I had never been there.

Before I could fully lift my eyelids, a brief sense of gladness rose within me. I felt like weeping. I felt like laughing. And then I felt my face slam into the rocky ground with a thud.

One by one the men backed away, whispering as their feet shuffled over the ground. All I could see were the mountains far off in the distance, a sharp drop off and dozens of shoes, some military boots and some dress shoes.

I spit out a clump of dirt from my mouth and forced my head upward, hoping to catch a glimpse of my captors. The dark figures that stood around me huddled in groups of three or four, snapping pictures and taking notes on their hand held devices. One of the suits, looked familiar. When my eyes connected with hers, she took a step forward, bent down and stared directly at me. I knew her face, but I couldn’t speak her name. I couldn’t remember.

I watched her lips move. “Penn?”

Her voice seemed to blow with the mountain breeze. “Pennnn?”

The mountains, her face and the sounds coming from her mouth began to fade. “Pennnnn Miiiitcheeeellle?”

Her shadowy figure stooped closer to me. I blacked out.  

Sample Scene from REUNION

In honor of Twitter's #SampleSunday author promotion hash-tag thingy, I'm posting one of my favorite scenes from REUNION. I have already posted a link to the first two chapters in the previous post, so I wanted to add something different. Thanks for reading my #SampleSunday excerpt from REUNION.   

An Excerpt from REUNION. 
By me, Jeff Bennington, the dork in the profile pic!

.....David and his ramshackle vehicle were parked in the back of the school parking lot at 9:22 a.m. He stepped out of his car, walked toward the rear of the vehicle and carefully opened the dilapidated trunk. He lifted his duffle bag with a grunt and set it on the ground. After slamming the hatchback shut, he reached inside the car and pulled out his manifesto. Careful not to bend or disfigure the critical document, he painstakingly inserted the proclamation into a plastic zip-lock bag. With the paper securely in place, he fastened the bag to his shirt with four baby pins to protect the document from the spray and splatter of the massacre. He posted it on his chest to ensure that those who’d find him read the document.

Satisfied with his preparations, he pulled his black jacket over the holstered guns, threw the duffle bag strap over his shoulder and began to walk toward his destiny. Aware that he would be hated forever, he ignored the consequences. He looked straight ahead, took one last drag from his cigarette and flicked it to the ground.

As David walked across the pavement, a young mother led her son away from the school.

“Hurry up! We’re going to be late for the orthodontist,” she said as she pulled at his jacket.

The boy and the mother stared as David came closer. David sensed her distrust. That’s right, lady. Don’t trust the boy in black, he thought. He stared back at the woman and grinned a villainous smile.

As the mother and son approached him, David recalled a time when Sheila had taken him out of school for a court appearance when he was six. She had pulled and tugged at him too. The memory reminded him of how she grew desperate for stability and financial security, and eventually shacked up with John Ray. They married and he gave his name to David to serve as a reminder of his affection. Four years later, they divorced and Sheila pressed charges against John.

“Come on David! Hurry up!” Sheila had scolded her 6-year-old son, as she pulled him along.

“But I don’t wanna go. I hate him! I don’t ever want to see him again!”

“Listen baby; you gotta go. The court said you gotta be there and you gotta say what he done to you.”

“No!” he fired back. David pulled away from Sheila and ran into the playground. Sheila chased after him. She caught up with him at the jungle gym, grabbed his arm and yelled, “David! Stop it! Now listen to me. I done everything I could to take care of you. I done my best to find you a daddy and a father figure. I ain’t perfect! Ain’t no one perfect. But you gotta tell the judge everything, if you want John Ray to leave us alone. You gotta tell the judge where he touched you and what he done to you, and everything! I can’t do that for you, Baby!” Sheila wept and wiped her tears as she cried out, “I can’t help you this time! You gotta do it, boy.”

“But I’m scared, Mama.” David started to cry. “I’m scared he’s gonna get me again. I’m scared he’s gonna make me do those bad things or hurt you! What if they let him go, Mama? What if he kills me like he said he would? What if he comes back into my dreams again? What if—?” David collapsed into Sheila’s arms, crying as she held him tight. He trusted her. She kissed his little head.

Moments later, she pulled away, looking him square in the eye. David remembered her promise. “Listen, Davey. I love you more than anything in the whole world! You know that. And I ain’t ever gonna let anyone hurt you or me again, you hear me? You hear me, boy?” David nodded his head. “Ain’t nobody ever gonna do that to you again. If they try, they’re gonna have to kill me first, cause life just wouldn’t be worth livin’ knowin’ that someone touched you or hurt you again. Do you hear me, Davey?”

David heard her loud and clear. He told the whole truth and nothing but the truth that day in court. The jury convicted John Ray of several counts of child molestation, neglect and battery. Sadly, Sheila didn’t keep her promise to her son.

Returning to the moment, David stood in the parking lot, absent of all emotion, while the mother glared at him suspiciously. David looked at her and shrugged. “Better get the hell out of here, lady,” he said. “You and your boy.” 

She grabbed the boy’s hand and took off running toward her car. She don’t know shit, he mused. Probably thinks I’m gonna start a fight or something. He laughed and picked up his pace. He looked at his watch and thought, right on schedule. It was 9:28 a.m. He heard the woman’s car tear out of the parking lot, but kept looking straight ahead. By the time David stood in front of the glass entryway into the cafeteria, which also served as the school auditorium, he could hear sirens screaming in the distance. He grinned, growled and reached for the door.

REUNION By J. Benningto

Thanks for reading. REUNION will be available on May 1, 2011
            You can dowload it to your eReader on April 1st!   

             As always, I'd love to hear your comments! BOOM!

Preview of TEN DEAD, a Paranormal Thriller. Chapter 1, Scene 1

I've been working on my latest paranormal thriller, Ten Dead, and wanted to give you a glimpse into what I've been up to. I'll start sending it to editors and agents within the next few weeks. Here's a glimpse of the first scene, starting from the beginning. Enjoy and let me know what you think!

Ten Dead

By Jeff Bennington                                                                                                                                     

Chapter 1

Detective Rick Burns slammed on the brakes and stepped out of his rusty red Pontiac. He gazed into the crowd, took a deep breath and recalled the other murders. The heaviness, the blood, the darkness had finally pricked its sharp edge into his soul. He peered into the night and wondered, no, he feared, that this one would be like the others.

Red and blue lights enveloped his body and danced across the frightened neighbors that had gathered together, shaking and shivering. The car door let out a lingering squeak, slammed shut and he walked forward.

Rick lifted the crime scene tape, rushed past an ambulance and heard a woman whimpering. He turned his head, continued forward and studied her face with twisted brow.

“Teary and swollen,” he whispered to himself.  “Shocked at best, but not grief stricken.”

He examined her slow, careful movements as she gingerly wiped her tears. Her eyes lacked the hollow, desperately confused grief that he’d seen far too often. Lady of the house, or mistress perhaps, it mattered not, something about her seemed amiss. He pulled his notepad and pen from his jacket pocket and scribbled a few words regarding his first suspect: female caucasian, mid-fifties, pinstriped suit, stilettos, shoulder-length red hair, five-foot-eight, no blood visible, September 23, 9:30 p.m.

The detective weaved through the crowd of wealthy onlookers wrapped in lush throw blankets, Swiss satin pajamas, and lama-lined slippers. They watched and whispered. Fearful murmurs and conjectures splashed his ears amongst the waves of apprehension. He listened to their wonderings and walked on.

As he approached the home it was clear that he stood out from the other cops. Although he had a higher pay grade than the first responding officers, his running shoes, faded jeans, wrinkled t-shirt and patchwork sport coat made him look more like a down-on-his-luck-reporter than an eight-year veteran of the Indianapolis Police Department. But that was Rick Burns. He cared little for appearances. In his line of work, he found that appearances, more often than not, were deceiving.

He walked through the moistened grass and noticed that a second story window was open and the room illuminated. The house was a lovely Meridian Street classic with intricately stacked Bedford stone, copper gables and staggered limestone quoins. He could smell the fresh scent of glory maple and the last of the purple pansies at the base of the stamped-concrete entrance. He took one last look before entering. The elegant contours, lines, and lighting looked great from the outside. To Rick Burns, however, it appeared beautifully deceiving.

The detective opened the glass entry door, observed that the doorjamb had not been tampered with, and approached a group of officers gathered at the base of the stairway.

“Which way, fellas?” he asked.

They pointed toward the stairs. Rick noticed their disturbed behavior, arms crossed, eyes reeling in fear. Officer Nick Carmichael, the rookie, had recently vomited and was busy wiping the acidic residue from his chin.

One officer called, “Hey, Burns!”

The detective stopped. “Yeah?”

The cop shook his head. “It’s not pretty.”

Rick’s eyes jetted back and forth, observing the dread in the remaining officer’s expressions. “On a scale from one to ten; what’ve we got?” he asked.

The officer scratched his forehead. “Twelve. Maybe thirteen.” He looked directly into Rick’s eyes. Rick felt as if he were trying to warn him, offering an unspoken heads-up into the dreaded scene that awaited his inspection.

The detective looked up the stairway and imagined the grisly scene. He reached into his pants pocket and grabbed a bag of sunflower seeds and popped a handful into his mouth and sucked on the salty shells. Six dead in two years, he thought. And all on my watch. He swallowed, nearly choking on the apple sized lump in his throat.

 “Game’s on, boys.” He headed up the steps and slapped his hands together. “Time to get dirty.”

Throughout his career, he knew what to say to keep his fearless detective image intact, but the words never soothed his spirit. He took a deep breath and his heart raced in anticipation of the unknown...

I'll send out a few more excerpts to my blog followers over the next few weeks.  If you know anyone interested in this type of book, share this blog with them. Thanks and I hope you had a great Thanksgiving!