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Saturday, October 12, 2013

Desert's Dawn - Chapter One: Angel and the Bad Man

Hey Y'all I know this isn't a movie review but Terr of Down With Media wanted to share my book with you. My novel was influenced by exploitation and B-movies of the 80's I wanted to do something different where the female heroine is the strongest character. Anyways without further ado... please enjoy the first chapter.


Desert's Dawn 



Fifteen years ago, the residents of a small Arizona town, just north of the Mexican Border, began to feel the criminal 
effects of a small band of survivalists.
Five years later, a young District attorney by the name of Jennifer Danials found the evidence she needed to finally bring the
despots to justice.

One week later, her dead body is discovered floating in a nearby river.

Now, ten years later, the woman's seventeen-year old daughter, Sheila, leads a very extraordinary life. Raised alone, by
her wheelchair-bound older brother Andrew, since she was just seven, she has excelled from a distraught young girl to a
black-belt in the martial arts and a near academic genius.

Meanwhile, after fifteen years, Tom Roberts, has honed his skills in his shadowy acts of lawlessness.
Although the people of this town suspect him of deeds ranging in murder to abductions, his involvement in any such criminal
Activities are nearly impossible to prove.
But even a crime boss has to retire eventually. Acting on a plan to steal twenty-five million dollars, Roberts pulls out all stops,
in order to purchase a retirement refuge for himself and his survivalist companions in Mexico.
Sheila Danials, her friends, and family know nothing of Roberts plans as they go about their everyday lives.
But every day that brings Tom Roberts closer to his retirement...brings the Danials family closer to a showdown with him.

continued after the break. 


Desert Shootout 

2:23 p.m., somewhere along Arizona highway 89, just west of Prescott, a familiar cherry red, Ford Mustang, roars down the deserted roadway. True to Joe, and her older brother's prediction, the car's speedometer registers in the triple digits.
“Oh, man…what a car!” Sheila elated. “120 mph and the pedal is only half way to the floor. God…I love you, Joe!” Adjusting the car's radio to a clear station, she happens to notice a set of blue and red flashing lights in her rear view mirror. “Damn!” she curses, “Just what I need...a $300.00 speeding ticket.” Still cursing herself for her lack of good judgment, she slows down and starts to pull over, when to her relief, the police car continues going on its way. After a few minutes, she notices the same police car parked along side the roadway, behind another police vehicle. Recognizing the officer, she decides to stop.
“Hey, Ken,” she greets, walking up to him, after stopping her own car behind the two squad cars.
“Sheila Danials,” the officer responds. “I thought that was you back there blowing the pavement off the highway! Don't worry,” the officer grins, “If I arrested every teenager that ever sped down that highway...99% of Arizona's population would be behind bars…including me!”
“What are you doing out here, Ken?” she asks.
The officer hesitates a moment. “We lost radio contact with this car,” he explains. “There were two officers assigned to it ...Karen Parker and Dean
Olson. No relation,” he clarifies. “We haven't heard from them in three hours, since they last radioed in.”
Suddenly, a gunshot rang out, impaling Ken in the back. Sheila is in shock to see a man walk up behind the downed officer, holding a smoking gun in one hand, and a near empty beer bottle in the other.
“Well, lookie what we got here,” the man drunkenly sneers, as he walks toward Sheila. “Come on...me and you are gonna have us a little fun, behind those bushes over there,” he motions with his gun, relaxing his aim to reach for her.
“Go to hell, you ugly bastard!” Sheila responds, using the opportunity to spin out of his reach and kick the gun out of his hand.
“You damned bitch...I'm gonna kick your Ass!” he swears. Awkwardly, he swings at her, only to have her counter the move and deliver three hard punches to his head. The man stumbles backwards, and then makes a dive for her.
Anticipating his move, Sheila easily avoids his attack, and knocks him out with a kick to the head.
Almost as quickly as the man is rendered unconscious, a barrage of gunfire erupts, just inches from her position. Without really thinking about it, Sheila hurls herself over the hood of the police car, taking cover on the other side of the vehicle.
“Son-of-a-bitch!” she swears, peering over the vehicle’s front fender for a moment to assess her situation, barely avoiding a barrage of bullets, ricocheting less than an inch away.
With a lull in the gunfire, she is able to pinpoint the gunman's position, about 100 yards uphill of the highway, behind some rocks.
“So, there you are… you bastard!” she curses again, surviving a hailstorm of bullets and breaking glass, to retrieve the shotgun from the front seat of the police car. Firing one shot toward the rocks, she makes a mad dash for a clump of trees, a little less than 100 yards uphill, of the shooter's position, with gunfire hammering just centimeters of her every inch of the way.
Finally, she dives behind the cover of the trees, to ponder her next move. Taking a moment to ready herself, she then fires another shot that hits the rocks next to the shooter distracting her assassin long enough for her to get within 50 feet of the man.
Completely out in the open now, she rolls to her left to avoid the shooter's next shot, feeling the hot lead projectiles brush past her ribs, as she barely avoids certain death. Sheila is almost face to face with the man trying to kill her, as she fires point-blank coming out of her roll, blasting the man squarely in the chest with her shotgun.
After checking the area, and making sure that her assassin was truly dead, she notices something out of the corner of her eye. Upon closer inspection, she realizes that it is the body of a man, partially buried.
Assuming that the man was most likely one of the officers Ken told her about, she checks for a pulse. Finding no signs of life, she walks back down the hill, feeling a burning pain in her side with each step she takes.
Relieved that Ken has a strong pulse, she quickly lifts him up onto her shoulders, after finding all three vehicles disabled in the attack, and starts walking with him to get help. Spasms of pain shoot through her entire body, as she carries the wounded police officer toward a farm house she spotted. It appeared
about a half mile away.


Chapter One: 
Angel and the Bad Man


Dawn…on the Arizona desert. The moon still shines brightly, as an old van pulls up to a weather-beaten old ranch house.
Not far away, maybe a hundred yards or more stands an old barn. A thick patch of trees and sagebrush surround the house,
with the exception
of a thousand meter area cleared out around the compound.
As the doors slide open, four men dressed in camouflage clothing emerge from the vehicle. Gathering at the rear of the van, they
reach in and roughly pull another man from the van. An elderly man, about 50 to 55 years of age, with his hands bound behind
his back, and an old rag draped over his eyes as a blindfold, is quickly led inside. Despite his feeble protests, he is taken to a
small office where his blindfold is promptly removed.
“Well...hello there, Mr. Janson,” a heavy-set man, behind a desk greeted him.
“What am I doing here?” Janson demanded to know. “Your ransom note said to bring $50,000.00 to the First Baptist Church
on 2nd Street at 4:00 a.m. I did that!” he states. “So…where is she? Where is my daughter?”
“Patience! Patience!” the big man laughs. “First, the money,” he insists.
One of his men puts a briefcase on his desk. “Here ya go, Colonel!” his flunky announces.
“Hum...yes, it all seems to be here,” the big man comments, as he flips through the cash, making a quick and practiced
evaluation of the contents of the briefcase that his subordinate had handed him.
“You got your money, Roberts,” Janson states. “Now release my daughter!”
There is a long silence, as Roberts considers Janson's remarks. “Very well!” he begins, leaning back in his chair.
“You see, Janson,” he explains.“Before I have those ransom notes delivered, a lot of work goes into it. Including a thorough
assessment of a particular family's financial assets.”
“My daughter!” Janson demands.
Roberts smiles. “You see...with men such as yourself, with limited resources, I'm forced to profit from them in other ways,”
he says, flicking his cigar ashes a few times in an ashtray.
“You've already got every dime I have,” Janson complains.
Roberts grins, as he continues. “True enough,” he responds. “But, there are other ways as well!” he added.
“Take your daughter for example!” he implies. “A pretty girl like her...with the knock out figure she has!
I'll just bet I could get some serious cash for her from a man I know in Mexico,” he laughs.
“You filthy Bastard!” Janson screams. “I'll kill you!”
“Hardly!” Roberts laughs. “But, it's certain that I'm going to kill you,” he states, signaling to his men.
“Take him outside...blow his brains out and toss him in the hole,” Roberts casually orders.
“Sir!” Another of his men spoke up, after they take Janson away to be executed. “I have the profile on the next batch of girls
for you to see.” Roberts takes the folder from his hand and glances at it briefly. “When can you and your team snag em?”
he asks. The man hesitates for a moment to carefully formulate his response, knowing full well, that his boss doesn't
tolerate guess work and has killed men outright for lesser mistakes.
“If all goes well, we'll get em in the morning,” the man answers.
“Good!” Roberts praises, looking into the eyes of his most trusted aide. Over the last five years, Trent Jackson had become one
of the few people Roberts trusts implicitly. The truth was, he regarded Jackson almost like his own son and never doubted the
man's loyalty or his professionalism. However...Jackson knows nothing of Roberts’ admirations.
“Take care of it Jackson!” Roberts orders, handing the file back to him.
“Yes, Sir!” Jackson quickly responds.
“Oh…and Jackson,” Roberts suddenly spoke out, as the man turns to leave the room to carry out his orders.
“Take real special care of the blonde on that list,” he comments, grinning, as he puffs on his cigar.
“I want her for myself.”
* * *
8:00 a.m. in a small town, 100 miles south of Phoenix, a single porch light flicks off, as the only awake member of
this modest dwelling, starts his morning routine. Maneuvering across the carpet in his wheelchair,
Andrew Danials stops to knock on his baby-sister's bedroom door. Hearing no response, he ventures in.
“Sheila!” he calls out, slowly, rolling forward in his wheelchair until he notices his sister sound asleep on her bed, with several
school textbooks lying all about, where she had been studying. At first glance of this bedroom...this would not be a room you
would expect to find a female. Across the walls, are football posters. Baseball cards are displayed in a collection that is
sealed and locked in a glass case. There are boxing gloves, baseball bats, and lots of other sports equipment visible all around
her closet and desk area, along with several trophies and awards, showing excellence in those fields. But, don't call her a
tomboy! In her own words, she'd tell you that tomboy is a word people made up to make a girl feel ashamed to compete on the
same level as a man. Like you're not even a female anymore...but, rather some freak of nature!
Andrew moves in a little closer and tries to rouse her. “Hey, sleepy head,” he urges, shaking her vigorously.
“Time to rise and shine!”
“I'm up! I'm up!” she mumbles into her pillow.
Andrew smiles involuntarily down at the beautiful, short-haired, blonde girl buried underneath a twisted mess of blankets.
“Good!” he teases, giving her a playful shove, as he starts to leave. “And if you have any dirty clothes to wash, I suggest that you
get them out here now!” he warns, shutting the door behind himself, as he exits her room. Crossing back towards the kitchen,
he hears a knock on the back door. “Come on in Joe,” he invites.
Joe Masters, a long time friend of the family, served with Andrew during the Vietnam War. An Army staff sergeant at the time,
Joe had his life saved, when a young Andrew pushed him out of the way of a sniper's bullet. An act that left Andrew paralyzed
for life, and Joe forever in his debt.
“Coffee?” Andrew offers, as Joe steps inside. Joe silently takes a seat at the kitchen table. “So...what brings you over here this
time of morning?” Andrew asks, pouring him a cup of coffee. “Lax day at the shop?”
Joe hesitates a moment. “Far from it!” he finally answers. “In fact ...I ...” Joe stops in mid-sentence and shakes his head.
“Oh, hell!” he exclaims. “You know damned well why I'm here Andrew!” he grumbles. “You know full well that I have a shop
full of non-running cars and I need your sister's help yet again, to get them all going.”
“Yes, I do,” Andrew responds with a slight chuckle in his voice. Many times before, he has played out this typical Saturday
morning routine, with his best friend...and it always ends the same way.
Andrew sighs. “Joe...when are you just gonna break down and hire yourself a full-time mechanic?” he questions.
Joe chuckles slightly. “Probably never!” he replies. “Besides,” he grins, “where am I going to find a mechanic as good as she is
for what I can afford to pay?”
Andrew beams with pride. “True enough!”
Joe stirs uneasily. “Well...is she up yet?” he asks.
“Just hang on!” Andrew quells him, by refilling his coffee cup. “She should be out as soon as she gets dressed. Just give her
about ten minutes.”
Joe relaxes a little. “Good,” he responds, helping himself to a cookie, from a plate that Andrew had laid out for the two of them.
“Although,” he continues after a few seconds, “I can't figure out for the life of me...where she even finds the time to help me t
he way she does. I swear,” he chuckles, “if that girl isn't studying, she's lifting weights or doing that Kung Fu stuff!”
Andrew grins. “She is good. Isn't she?”

Joe looks at him intently for a moment. “Good!” he corrects. “Hell, that's an understatement...that girl knows moves that Special
Operations soldiers would pay to learn,” he comments. “Remember when she was nine, and those two boys took her ice cream cone
at the carnival?” Joe reminds him.
Andrew cringes, “Please! Don't remind me. I could have gotten sued over that little incident with those Crenshaw boys!”
Joe shook his head. “No way!” he argues with him. “There was no way that big Buck Crenshaw, was ever going to admit in public
at least, that his two boys were beaten black and blue, by a little girl, half their size!”
Andrew smiles at Joe's defense of his younger sister. “Funny,” he ponders, “How some forms of prejudice, can actually work for you.”
Joe nods, as he sips his coffee. “Very true!” he agrees.
“But, don't worry!” Andrew assures him. “I think she'll have some extra time on her hands this week.” Joe gives him an odd
look, as he refills their coffee cups.
“Really…how's that?”
Andrew sighs. “Oh, she got a week's suspension from school, when she beat the hell out of some basketball jock, who
slapped her butt.”
Joe shook his head, before responding. “Seems to me, the boy had that ass whipping coming.”
“True,” Andrew nods. “But, the principal seems to be under the impression that slamming the boy's face repeatedly into the
lockers was a little extreme.”
Before Joe can respond, there is another knock at the back door. “Come on in, Albert,” Andrew responds, greeting a tall, lanky boy
looking through the screen door.
“Yes, Sir,” the boy responds, stumbling on the back steps as he enters the house.
“How's it going, Albert?” Joe greets, helping himself to more coffee.
“Hi, Mr. Masters...not bad, Sir!” he returns, hopping up on the kitchen counter. “Is she up yet, Mr. Danials?”
Andrew glances up at him annoyed. “You do know that there are chairs to sit in down here,” he grumbles.
“Oh...sorry, Sir!” Albert apologizes, re-seating himself at the kitchen table.
Andrew sighs. “Thank you,” he replies, turning his head to see Sheila walk into the kitchen dressed in shorts and a tee shirt, toting an
armload of dirty clothes, that she abruptly drops into a hamper by the washing machine.
“You ready?” she questions Albert.
“Right behind you!” Albert responds, almost tripping on the chair he is sitting in to catch up with her, before she can get outside.
“Hey! Where you going, Creeper?” Joe calls out to her.
Sheila steps back inside for a moment. “Twelve mile run,” she answers. “I do it every Saturday morning at this time,” she adds,
fidgeting at the back door. “Something wrong?” Albert remains silent.
Joe shook his head. “No,” he hesitates. “I was just hoping that...”
Sheila looks over at Andrew, who shrugs his shoulders. "Is 11:30 OK?" she asks, responding to his silent question. Joe nods his
approval.
“That will be just fine,” he agrees. “Thank you!”

Sheila gives him a grin starting back outside again. “Come on Albert!” she urges. “Let’s get going!”
* * *
8:45 a.m., about 40 miles away in a remote wealthy sub-division in Prescott, Arizona, the back door to a two story home, is suddenly
swung open. A man about 30 years old, dressed in jeans and a green shirt, quietly sneaks out. Checking to see if anyone is around
first, he then secures the back door wide open, before tapping on the side glass of an old van.
“Come on!” he whispers to the three men inside of the van. “We're ready.” Quickly two of the men open the side doors to the van,
while the other two men go back inside the house. After about twenty seconds, the two men return, along with two others and three
teenage girls. Bound and gagged, they are roughly shoved into the van.
“Let's get the hell out of here!” the leader of the group orders, ushering his men into the van, before he slams the side doors shut.
“Move it!” he yells at the driver, sliding into the front seat, as the vehicle speeds away.
“Hands off the girls!” the leader ordered, as the men start to molest their bound captives.
“Oh, come on!” one man complains. “It's a long ride back to the compound.”
The leader grins. “Sorry…the Colonel's orders.” he stated, addressing their disappointment. “He doesn't want them bruised!”
* * *
2:00 p.m., back in town, at a small automotive garage located near the edge of town, Joe and Sheila are hard at work, while the sun is fully out and cooks the tin roof of this local business.
“Want a soda?” Joe asks, wiping the sweat from his forehead, as he opens the door to a rusted old refrigerator. “I’ve got Coke and Pepsi.”
Sheila looks up for a second. “Pepsi.”
“So...figure it out yet?” he asked, sitting down in a metal chair in front of a large shop fan.
“Yep!” she responds, tossing him a round plastic object. “Distributor cap,” she explains. “See…a hairline crack on number seven.”
Taking a quick look, Joe scratches his head and puts it back down. “Damned if I can see it,” he commented, sipping on his soda. “I'll just have to take your word for it and have the parts house bring one over with my order.”
About that time, a car's horn sounds and a vehicle pulls into the service bay. Seconds later, a well dressed man in his mid-40s gets out. “Afternoon, Mr. Smith,” Joe and Sheila greet him almost in unison.
“Well…what do you think?” the man asked. “I picked her up in Flagstaff, just this morning.”
Joe and Sheila walk around looking the car over.
“A 1965 Ford Mustang ... in mint condition!” Mr. Smith bragged.
“What color is this?” Joe asked, running his hand along the paint's finish.
“Cherry red,” Smith quickly responds. “What do you think of her, young lady?” Smith asked, noticing Sheila's utter fascination with the car.
“Beautiful!” Sheila expressed, walking around to admire the car from different angles. “Someone's dream come true,” she commented, her eyes ablaze with envy, never once taking her gaze away from the vehicle. “Whose is it anyway?” she inquired.
Smith hesitates, looking over at Joe, who hands him a check he has in his shirt pocket. “Well…”, he hesitated again, seeming to be enjoying a private joke with Joe. “I guess it's yours,” he announced, handing her the keys.
Sheila looks down at the keys in her hand, not daring to even believe that what he said could be true. “Oh, come on...enough of this joke!” she exclaimed, starting to get angry at thought of being teased.
“Whose is it, anyway?” she asks.
Mr. Smith shakes his head, then turns to look at Joe who simply shrugs his shoulders, to his silent inquiry.
“Young lady,” Smith said, reaching into the car to grab his briefcase, from the front seat, before he closes Sheila's hand around the car
keys. “Like I said,” he repeats. “IT...IS...YOURS!”
“Wait up, John!” Joe yelled out, running to catch up with Smith, before he walks though one of the bay doors. “I just wanted to thank
you for helping me out with this little surprise.”
“My pleasure!” Smith replied, smiling as he accepts Joe's handshake.
“But I have to tell you,” he said, looking over at Sheila by the car. “I did question if this loan was a good move on my part, with your
business revenue being down like it has been this year,” John declared.
”But, after that girl risked her life to carry my little boy out of that fire last year,” he commented. “I would have approved his loan,
even if the money had to come out of my own pocket.”
After Smith leaves, Joe walks back to the still very much in shock Sheila. “Mine?” she asks, almost inaudibly.
Joe grins. “I saw you drooling over one just like this in Phoenix last month,” he explained to her. “So, I figured since I haven't paid
you enough in ten years to even buy tires for a car...I arranged a loan with Mr. Smith at the bank and asked him to keep an eye out for
one just like it for a surprise.”
“Oh, my God!” Sheila shrieks! “Then, it is true!” she responds, taking an even more intense look at the car. “This car REALLY is
mine!” she screams excitedly, reaching up to hug Joe.
“You're incredible! Do you know that?”
Joe grins down at her. “So, I take it...you like the car?” he teased, getting a playful punch in the arm from Sheila.
“Ya...big galloot!” she yells out, giving him another playful jab…this time in the stomach, before she hugs him tightly.
“Madam,” he teases, opening up the driver's side door of the car for her. “Your chariot awaits.”
Sheila hesitates. “Go ahead,” Joe insisted. “I can finish up here by myself,” he said. “Take her for a spin.”
Grinning from ear to ear, Sheila eagerly climbs into the driver's seat and with shaky hands, fumbles with the keys.
“Here...let me do that for you,” Joe laughs, putting the key in the ignition for her. After a few deep breaths to calm down, she turns the
key, and the engine roars to life. Then fifteen seconds later, she puts the car into reverse and backs slowly out into the street.
“Have a good time,” Joe yells out, a moment or two before she revs the engine and screeches out of sight. Joe shakes his head and
laughs. “Kids!”
* * *
Night falls on the desert, as Tom Roberts sits

back in a large leatherback chair inside of his office, puffing on an expensive Cuban cigar.
“Sir,” one of his men interrupted, peering through the office doorway.
“Yes...what is it, Jackson?” Roberts responds.
“I'm sorry for disturbing you, Sir!” Jackson reported. “But, I have the new batch of girls for you to look over.”
Roberts leans forward in his chair. “Bring em in!”
The man grins happily. “Yes, Sir!” he responds, disappearing into the hallway for a second.
“Get your butts in there!” he barked at three teenage girls, as they are led in for Roberts’ approval. Two of the girls are very well
dressed, including expensive jewelry, obviously coming from very affluent families, while the third girl is adorned less extravagantly.
“These two,” Jackson stated, referring to the lavishly dressed girls, “we've already checked out,” he explained. “Their parents can
easily come up with the ransom you want.”
“And that one?” Roberts inquired of the third, less elegant girl.
“She's...sort of a bonus,” Jackson replied.
Roberts frowns slightly. “I see.”
“Yes,” Jackson continues. “She just happened to be there, when we nabbed the others...but, get this,” Jackson adds. “
She's Sheriff Tyler's kid.”
Roberts grins. “Good work! Now I got a “wild card” to keep that meddling sheriff out of my affairs!” he stated, taking a beer out of a
little refrigerator by his desk. “I'm gonna have to give you a raise.” He praised Jackson, handing him a beer also.
Two other men in the room lick their lips, envious of Jackson, who on more than one occasion has enjoyed a drink or smoke with their
boss, when they had not. But, they never complained or even mentioned their observation. They enjoyed their life too much.
“OK ladies,” he ordered. “Let’s see what you look like...strip!”
“What?” one of the girl responds.
“Take your damned clothes off!” Roberts growled. “Now!”
The oldest of the girls crosses her arms in defiance. “Go to hell...you bunch of perverted bastards!” she responds, while the other girls
just look on in fear and confusion.
“Well, I guess we'll just have to do this the hard way,” Roberts replied, signaling to one of his men, who lashes out at the stubborn girl
with the butt-end of his rifle, to send her sprawling to the floor. Quickly, two men pick up the girl and await Roberts instructions.
“Take her outside!” Roberts orders. “Strip her and give the stubborn bitch about ten lashes,” he instructed. “That ought to take some of
that sass out of her!”
The guards just laugh, as they take the girl out to be punished. “Be sure not to damage the merchandise!” Roberts instructed, gradually
returning his attention to the two remaining girls. “Now,” he continues. “Are you two going to cooperate?” he questioned. “Or, would
you like to join your friend? I'm sure she'd like the company."
The girls look at each other for a second, and then slowly begin to disrobe.
“Ah, now that's better,” Roberts grinned. “Yeah! that's right…take it all off!” he instructed. “And I do mean everything...hurry up!”
Once naked, Roberts shoves the plainer looking of the two girls towards his men. “Here, take the sheriff'’s brat and have your fun with
her!” he chuckled. “Just make sure you get plenty of pictures for her to share with her daddy. As for the blonde,” he stated, leering at
the remaining young girl, “after you get what you need for the ransom note, bring her to my room.”



Thank y'all for reading Stay tuned for more in the future!
or you can always buy the Nook eBook at Barnes & Noble
or the get  Novel at Amazon
Please Comment Share and Retweet!
Don't forget you can follow me on Twiiter @DesertsDawn
And on Facebook at Deserts Dawn FB


Thank you again Author B.D. Phillips