Hand

By Brandon Trask

"It wasn't all bad, but when it was, it was bloody." -Hazel Jensen

 

Brace yourself for an adrenaline-fueled rollercoaster ride where a severed hand becomes a twisted symbol of power, held hostage by two audacious teenagers hell-bent on defying the norms.

 

But that's just the beginning.

 

In the heart of this tempestuous storm, a talking canine, tormented by the haunting memories of control and manipulation, is thrust headfirst into the heart-pounding chaos of a bank heist. Meanwhile, the unassuming local auto parts manager, an unsuspecting pawn in this swirling vortex of mayhem, finds herself thrust into a maddening whirlwind of events she could never have foreseen. As she grapples with her own demons, her once-ordinary world becomes inextricably entwined with the lives of these desperate souls.

Note: This story is a novelization of a screenplay. It reads like a film. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brandon Trask
• Release date: Dec 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223224143

Book preview

Hand

Brandon Trask

Copyright © 2023 by Brandon Trask

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Contents

1.ONE

1. Fear's Veil

2.TWO

2. Enduring Bequest

3.THREE

3. Money! Money! Money!

4.FOUR

4. Mental Velocity

5.FIVE

5. Cadaver

6.SIX

6. Stump

7.SEVEN

7. Betrayal

8.EIGHT

8. Supermax

9.NINE

9. Rebirth

ONE

Fear's Veil

Under the blazing sun in the heart of a desolate rock quarry, laughter echoing through the air, rambunctious youth tear through the rugged terrain on their bicycles, weaving around towering remnants of dilapidated mining machinery.

With a thunderous roar, a 1975 Chevrolet Blazer hurtles down a treacherous hill, its engine growling with power. In a frenzy of movement, the youth scramble in every direction as the vehicle spins recklessly, kicking up a tempest of dust that blankets the surroundings in a hazy shroud.

As the swirling smokescreen dissipates, the machine screeches to an abrupt halt, its tires leaving deep imprints in the earth. Through the dust-choked windshield, the worn but determined visage of Beth Jensen, age forty-five, emerges with a simple button-up shirt proudly declaring her role as manager of Gulch Auto Parts.

Leaning into the steering wheel, Beth’s weary eyes betray a solitary tear that journeys down her cheek, tracing the path of hidden sorrows.

***

Beth guides the Blazer along a desolate two-lane road. The sun casts long, dramatic shadows that dance across the cracked asphalt, lending an air of melancholic beauty. The road is flanked on either side by weathered, rusty barbed-wire fences protecting forsaken pastures, stretching as far as the eye can see.

The vehicle glides into the forgotten burg lined with historical buildings and weathered wooden structures. The essence of bygone eras permeates the air, whispering through the creaking timbers and peeling paint.

The Blazer passes a dilapidated stagecoach stenciled:

Welcome to Gulch Grove. Pop. 398. Est. 1859.

A three-legged canine chases a nimble feline past a weather-beaten truck parked in front of Gab’s General Store.

Beth’s firm grip on the steering wheel guides the Blazer with purpose, propelling it past the familiar sight of Gulch Auto Parts.

With a calculated halt, she brings the vehicle to rest in front of Lee’s Savings & Loan, the worn tires brushing against the dusty ground. Her fingers snatch crumpled financial documents, bearing the weight of her burdens.

Beth steps out of the truck, her Tecovas boots connecting with the earth, sending a small cloud of dirt swirling into the air.

She marches into the dimly lit office of Lee’s Savings & Loan. The air crackles with tension as Mr. Lee, a weathered man of sixty-seven in a ruffled suit, impatiently thumps his fingers on a cane, stealing glances at his Timex watch. The weight of their appointment hangs heavy in the room.

Our appointment was at ten sharp, Mrs. Jensen.

Beth’s frustration is evident as she forcefully tosses the crumpled financial documents on the worn desk.

We’ve had this conversation several times before. You don’t qualify for a refinance loan, Mr. Lee says, unwavering.

I can make a cash payment now, Beth asserts.

Not gonna happen. Unless you have the full eleven grand, I’ll be forced to start foreclosure proceedings on your home.

Beth’s fists clench. Mr. Lee readies his cane for an attack.

Beth stomps out of the bank, down the sidewalk, and enters Gab’s General Store.

Inside the store, with trembling hands, Beth carefully scoops peanut butter cups and delicate malt balls into a flimsy plastic bag, stuffing other candy into