Two Authors. One Story
40 Going On 14 marks something new for us- a novel written together. After years of working side by side on individual projects, we are combining storytelling styles in one adventure.
Meet Rylan Wayne- and get your first look at what happens when two very different authors build a fictional universe.
WHEN EVERYTHING GOES WRONG
Ry’s eyes snapped open. His gaze darted around, trying to adjust to the inky darkness.
The chamber lurched, and he gripped the padding beside him. There was a thump; he rocked again, then he heard the squeal of brakes.
Eyebrows furrowed, Ry peeled off the medical band around his arm. With stiff fingers, he pushed the door open and hesitated. The potent smell of rusted metal and stale sweat washed over him.
He stepped out and focused on a thin stretch of light leaking from the bottom of the far wall. He shuffled toward it, trying to keep his balance on the uneven floor. The East Coast pod chamber should mimic his; why weren’t the emergency lights on? Reaching out, he felt rough metal. Running his fingers across it, he eventually found a latch. Pulling it up, he winced as it made an awful creaking sound. A giant door swung open.
Ry blinked, realizing the light came from the high beams of an ancient-looking minivan. The woman in the driver’s seat was gawking at him like a disgruntled bird. Ry turned, letting the lights from her car flood the space behind him. A line of UCU pods were strapped to the walls. He wasn’t in Delaware; he was standing in the doorway of a truck!
Slipping on a patch of mud, he regained his balance and glanced at his shoes… awful white sneakers. Why would a UCU be wearing sneakers? What was he disguised as? And, now that he thought about it, why did he feel so short? The females tended to be shorter than the males, but he wasn’t driving a female; that much he could tell. He ran a hand across his face; no stubble. He held up both hands. The fingers were pale and spindly.
Crossing the intersection, he walked through a Walmart parking lot. Avoiding the crowded door, he kept going until he reached the other side of the plaza. Pausing in front of a Little Caesars Pizza, he caught his reflection.
Unkempt, whiskey-brown locks fell in disarray around a lean face sprinkled with freckles. The eyes were his own, and reflected his shock, uncertainty, and anger.
His exclamation of dismay made the crows in a nearby tree take flight, cawing indignantly.
“A TEENAGER?”
Impossible! His thoughts screamed. Not only were they weaker and slower, but everyone knew Dr. Chow had forbidden the creation of younger UCUs.
How could this unit exist? And what awful fate had ensured that this was where he ended up?
When he realized people inside were staring at him, he felt a flush of heat warm his cheeks, and quickly backed away.
He pushed a hand through the hair, trying to straighten the chaos. Breathing heavily, he fought for calm. It wasn’t unusual for a teen to want pizza, right? He needed to blend, not draw attention to himself.
Walking quickly through the door, the smell of burnt bread and too much cheese made him wrinkle his nose, but he surveyed the space. Floating screens hovered above circular card readers. Soda machines played music and chrome spigots glimmered with rainbow strobe lights. A cashier leaned against the counter, staring at him lazily, tapping her glittery nails. “So you gonna order or…?”
“Do you have a phone I can use?”
“Not here, Squirt. But there's a payphone at the corner of the plaza.”
“Squirt?” He sneered. Swallowing his frustration, he pushed back through the door. “Great. Just terrific”
