The following passage is taken from Chapter Two of my novel: Guinea Pig Maverick.
The rusted truck bumps me across endless miles of desert. It’s safe to say I really am in the middle of nowhere. Any civilization daring enough to live this far from the city has long since disappeared in the dust from our tires. The man driving the truck never once offers to make conversation, and I have no interest in starting one. He is my third hire, agreeing to take me the final forty minutes of my trip in exchange for the money in my pocket.
The voice on the outdated GPS unit tells us that we’ve arrived—not that we could have missed it. A fifty-foot wall doesn’t go unnoticed in the middle of a flatland.
The truck grinds to a stop near the massive concrete fortress. I thank the man and hand him the cash. He gives me a wary smile and stares past me at the wall.
“This a prison?” he drawls. I crane my neck to see the top of the wall. Spirals of barbed wire coil around electrified wires. I don’t remember reading anything about this place keeping prisoners. Maybe it’s meant to keep people away.
“No,” I say only because I don’t feel like explaining myself.
“You sure someone’s expecting you?” he asks through tobacco-stained teeth. He counts the bills while waiting for my answer. I jerk on the door handle and step out of the truck.“Yeah,” I reply over my shoulder. “I’m meeting a close relative of mine.”
The man puts the ...