Happiness is a Warm Gun: An Interlude with Theo
by Scott Thurlow
Theo looked at his reflection in the house’s dirty mirror. The suit still clung acceptably to him, being only slightly ruffled. His appearance at least remained relatively presentable. Theo felt that even in times such as this, it was no reason to let oneself go. Or perhaps it was the way he had been raised. Though, he was becoming increasingly unsure those values were pertinent, but old habits die hard.
Theo went back to the kitchen and looked at weapon he had left resting on the table that the gruff stranger whose name was Ike (an odd name, but Theo gave it no further thought upon introduction) had given him before tromping upstairs with his "crew"—Dave, Ike's ugly, annoying sidekick who had slugged Theo in the face; and the quiet, brooding Jack who rounded out the trio. Theo was unsure if he should feel regret for allowing the weird little band into his new home, or draw satisfaction in the grim relief at possibly having found salvation in their cartoonish yet effective methods of survival.
“We all deserve an option...” Ike's half-sarcastic suggestion to Theo echoed in his mind.
Theo felt the option Ike meant wasn’t the one he was really looking for. But the words still rang true in a way. He was aware that he couldn’t stay where he was forever. Anyway, he’d be out of alcohol in a few days, especially if he was going to be soon “sharing” some as seemed likely, and sober sulking just would not do for Theo. Instead, he found himself staring at the gun between sips of rum. He had never had to use a firearm before, but he thought himself nothing if not an astute student. Plus, a loaded handgun would be a terrible thing to waste. Even worse than wasting booze or the suit he was currently clad in. Perhaps it was his upbringing speaking again, but in this case he suspected his instincts could be trusted.
Theo thought he heard raised voices from the little tribe shuffling around the upper floor of the house and went back out on the balcony to survey the surrounding scenery. None of the monsters seemed to be in the immediate vicinity at the moment. He thought back to the parade of roof-crossing earlier than had led to his eventual possession of the weapon he was currently contemplating. Theo was ill-equipped for such an endeavor himself; it would have to be the streets when the time came. He returned inside to pour himself another drink, and to hopefully avoid the squabbles of the three armed stooges now intruding upon his little slice of heaven. He wondered if there was anything interesting in the house’s medicine cabinet, and went to check on it, his sense of purpose renewed for the moment.
Inside, treasures abounded. Theo never had much use for medication of this kind, though not to say he hadn’t dabbled in it at certain times. He had just never found much appeal in the process. But what’s the antidote to the apocalypse? Perhaps the answer lied in the small plastic pill bottles lined up like gravestones (Theo inwardly admonished himself for that being his first image connection) in front of him. What did the people who were in need of these kinds of pills do now? What were they doing now? Just because the dead have risen against the living, doesn’t make going cold turkey any easier. In fact, Theo thought the opposite really ought to be the case. His own logic told him that there should be a fairly decent chance someone in the militia-like group that was now occupying the town would be a member of that demographic. Inspired, Theo began to take down a catalog of the items before hastily stashing them away and anyone had noticed.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Volume 6: A Walk in the Park 4
THE HOST FROM THE SOUTH
A Walk in the Park IV
By J. Ian Manczur
I once had friends who spoke of immortality. Of future, today. We were the chosen. We were the generation to become gods. Hubris before the fall.
I wondered, what had become of these dreamers, these visionaries, these conspirators against God. I prayed they had been spared their wish. We challenged Him and He smote us. He granted us our greatest desire, only for it to become corrupted by our sin. Godhood… Gods indeed. Gods of a wasteland, the hell of our own making.
The fear of death? Laughable. We conquered it. No need to worry about life after death, either, or the wrongdoings that might damn us or even heaven and hell. We were never going to die. And the fruit of our labors? An eternity of strife, hunger and bloodlust. My only fear was abandonment by God. The one chance for salvation in a deity long imagined dead. God, I beg of you, save us sinners.
I reached for the Bible secured in my pack. It was soaked through with blood, but maybe, just maybe, I could find an untainted passage. The action required more energy than I had and the tome slipped out of my fingers. Foolish. Now, I had to move. Just an inch to the side, a simple shift. If only the book wasn’t so heavy…
Claire picked up the Bible that Kat had been struggling with. It was ruined, but perhaps Kat still had some sentimentality attached to it. Claire noted, in her little pocket pad, to find Kat another copy at the first opportunity. Flipping it closed, she tucked it in her back pocket.
Kat was unconscious. A deep sleep she may never wake from. No amount of begging, pleading or prayer could save her now. Through all efforts to retain some semblance of dignity, tears formed in Claire’s eyes. Never before had she felt so powerless, her faith so shaken. Of anyone, Claire was sure Kat would make it. Kat, Ike and Dave… so sure in their own strength and each lost to the cruel hand of chance. The dam burst and Claire wept openly.
Their friendship had always had potential, but truly blossomed through the salad days of mid-morning. With a pastoral setting that was filled to the brim with flora, the two young girls, a fleeting description as youth had died with the world, had taken advantage of a few minutes peace to reconcile what had been stolen. Kat and Claire had joked and picked the wildflowers that had reclaimed the land in humanity’s absence and relived a childhood that was only a memory.
Claire had been there when Kat challenged John and Steve for making too much noise. She had supported Kat when she protested Hurley’s callous answer to the mysterious disappearance of the same two noisy boys.
Kat had shielded Claire when the first of the creatures broke through the ranks and Claire even saved her, for once, when the group was being overrun. And Claire had been there when Kat was finally cut down, not by the savages but by a few errant bullets. What Hurley would call friendly fire. Boys and their god damned toys.
Now, in relative safety, Claire would not abandon Kat. If she couldn’t do anything else, she would be a friendly face in Kat’s last few minutes. “I’m here for you, girl. Keep awake for me. Please. Stay awake.” She brushed aside some loose strands of hair from Kat’s face.
Kat shifted, letting out a labored groan. “Thomas. Where is Thomas?”
“I don’t know.” Claire looked around desperately. There were a lot of people, none of whom were Thomas. “I don’t know. I don’t see him.”
“Please. Can you.. find him.. for me?”
Though hesitant to leave her friend‘s side, “I will find him. I promise.” With little time and not much faith in her promise, Claire headed directly for the man who would know where Thomas was.
Claire had no problem picking Hurley out from the line of soldiers. Not only was he a foot taller than the next man, but he was flanked by his ever present lackey, Sgt. Howard. Hurley was busy directing his soldiers and giving orders to Howard… and David Shiner. Other Dave’s presence did not bode well for her search. “Lieutenant, may I have a quick word?”
He was a gaunt figure with grey eyes recessed deeply into his face and a few weeks growth of patchy beard. Lt. Hurley was not a pretty man. If anything, he could best be described as having caught the sickness yet somehow remaining human through sheer willpower alone, damn the ravages on the body. Still, through all his shadowed image, a great strength of personality existed. One that could lead men. It also helped that he had one of those voices. At loudest, cannon fire signaling war. At softest, whiskey and cigarettes. “I’m sort of busy right now, Claire.”
She drew her resolve to ask the question she already knew the answer to, “Have you seen Thomas anywhere?”
His look spoke volumes, “I’m sorry Claire. Father Thomas Sarnowski was killed during the course of the operation.”
Claire stifled back tears. There would be time to cry later. “How did it happen?”
Hurley looked over at his soldiers, as if judging whether he had time to answer her. “Most likely killed by one of the zombies.”
“Most likely?”
“No one actually saw it happen.”
Claire was bewildered. “No one actually saw? So, for all you know, he is still alive? What the hell!”
“Let‘s take a walk, shall we?” Hurley composed himself. “We barely held back the initial wave as it is and more keep coming. There is no way anyone survived outside our little bubble here. What you see around you is what is left of our group. Half of what we started with! So, yes. There may be a chance he is out there somewhere. But God himself would have had to intervene on his behalf.”
Howard adjusted his spectacles, “Well he was a preacher, sir.”
“Howard, you will keep your mouth shut from now on or I will put you on point when we leave this hellhole.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now Claire, what do you need Thomas for? Maybe I can help in some way.”
Normally, she wouldn’t have shared what she did, but Claire was a defeated woman. “It’s Kat, Katrina. She was shot by one of your soldiers.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“Whatever. She wants a priest before she… before she dies.”
“Looks like I can’t help after all. I suggest you head back and provide her with as much comfort as possible. And make sure she doesn’t have any bite marks. I don’t want anymore surprises tonight.”
She ignored the remarks. “Oh, one more thing, Hurley.”
“I prefer Sir or Lieutenant, Miss Lombardo.
“Yes, sir.” She added with the most venom she could muster. “I was wondering if I could have a moment of Other Dave’s time.”
“You’d be doing me a favor. Shiner, front and center!” Other Dave waddled to them as quickly as he could move. “Claire would like to have a quick word with you. I expect you back to work immediately after she is done. Got it, soldier?”
“Yes, sir!” Other Dave saluted briskly.
“That a boy. Miss Lombardo, a pleasure.” With a tip of his cap, Hurley resumed his war.
“What’s up Claire?” Other Dave’s shit eating grin was even more pronounced than usual. Claire didn’t want to imagine how, but it seemed Other Dave had grown fatter with the end of the world.
“What the hell, Dave? Since when were you a soldier? And what about Thomas?”
“If today has taught me anything, it is the need for vigilance. Thomas may have believed that God would save us, but I now know that bullets do a heck of a job as well. I’ve been already promoted to sergeant, taking over writing operations reports for Little.”
“Steve’s dead, too? Oh, God.” So many dead today. Then again, so many over the past couple of weeks. What would tomorrow bring?
“Twice over. Killed his zombified corpse myself.”
Claire had heard enough. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” he panted running to her, “I had a point to this conversation.” He tossed her a small pamphlet. “A book of psalms that Thomas gave me. I think you will find something in Psalm 3, for her and all of us.” Other Dave scurried back to his new master.
Claire returned to her charge, thinking that Other Dave wasn’t such a bad of a guy after all, just a little bit skeevy, and how much she missed the real, better Dave. A terribly selfish thought for the circumstance. “Kat, honey, Thomas.. well you’ll be seeing Thomas real soon. But, I’m going to say a blessing in the meantime. I’m sure God will forgive whatever sins you might have done. Is that ok, Kat?”
Kat was in no shape to respond.
“Lord, how many are my foes! How many rise up against me! Many are saying of me, ‘God will not deliver him.’ But you, Lord, are a shield around me, my glory, the one who lifts my head high. I call out to the Lord, and he answers me from his holy mountain. I lie down and sleep; I wake again, because the Lord sustains me. I will not fear though tens of thousands assail me on every side. Arise, Lord! Deliver me, my God! Strike all my enemies on the jaw; break the teeth of the wicked. From the Lord comes deliverance. May your blessing be on your people.”
When she finally looked up, she realized that guests had arrived. Five soldiers had their heads bowed down in prayer, among them Hurley, Howard and Other Dave. Hurley was the first to finish his prayer and stepped forward, grasping Claire by the shoulder. “That was beautiful, Claire. Thank you.” Hollow sympathies.
Dave was the next to approach. “He’s right, Thomas would have been proud.”
“He will be proud.” Claire hastily corrected.
“Right. Speaking of Thomas, he wanted me to tell you something in case… in case of the worst.” Other Dave pulled her away, with the pretext of something that needed to be said out of earshot. Claire was hesitant to follow, she didn’t want to leave Katina alone, but if Other Dave was going to the trouble, it might be worth it. Dying surrounded by strangers and soldiers was as lonely a death as any.
When they were finally away from the others, Claire hastily started, “What does Thomas want me to know?”
Other Dave seemed uncertain, constantly glancing behind him. Claire suddenly felt like an idiot for leaving Katina behind. Something was wrong, she knew it, and her intuition was punctuated as Other Dave grabbed her shoulders, “I’m so sorry.” Claire broke his grasp and ran back only to find Hurley bent over Katina’s body, wiping a bloody knife on a rag.
“You bastard. You rat bastard. I trusted you.” She tried to hurt him, verbally and physically, ineffectual as either were. “Look at what you did! Look, damn you! See what you have done. All the dead who believed your promises: that everything would be ok. They all died for you and you do not give a damn.”
“What do you think I am made of? Stone? I am tortured for every man, woman and child who has died. A thousand times for every one of them that I sent to his death. She was dying. There was nothing any of us could do. I did the only humane thing and put her out of her misery. I’m sorry, I truly am, and if it is heartless so be it, but I cannot waste manpower on the dying when the living still need me. Now, leave me be and find something useful to do.”
Claire drew out her pocket pad and opened to a new page.
To do:
1) Survive the apocalypse.
2) Avenge Kat’s death. Preferably by fucking Hurley, and not in the way he would want.
…
3) Find Dave and Ike. They were her best bet for following through with a malicious plan.
Goals set, Claire gathered her things stealthily. The group of survivors were no longer her own. All her friends were dead or missing. Her thoughts drifted to the two young girls that had helped her with cooking and daily maintenance, but she couldn’t bring them with her. They would be as safe here as anywhere. She knew it was a justification, a lie, but her path was dangerous. It was time for something brave, something reckless. This is what Kat would have done.
Hurley did not even notice Claire’s departure. He fought back a sigh and took one last look at Katina. “Howard, add her to the list: Ivanova KIA.”
A Walk in the Park IV
By J. Ian Manczur
I once had friends who spoke of immortality. Of future, today. We were the chosen. We were the generation to become gods. Hubris before the fall.
I wondered, what had become of these dreamers, these visionaries, these conspirators against God. I prayed they had been spared their wish. We challenged Him and He smote us. He granted us our greatest desire, only for it to become corrupted by our sin. Godhood… Gods indeed. Gods of a wasteland, the hell of our own making.
The fear of death? Laughable. We conquered it. No need to worry about life after death, either, or the wrongdoings that might damn us or even heaven and hell. We were never going to die. And the fruit of our labors? An eternity of strife, hunger and bloodlust. My only fear was abandonment by God. The one chance for salvation in a deity long imagined dead. God, I beg of you, save us sinners.
I reached for the Bible secured in my pack. It was soaked through with blood, but maybe, just maybe, I could find an untainted passage. The action required more energy than I had and the tome slipped out of my fingers. Foolish. Now, I had to move. Just an inch to the side, a simple shift. If only the book wasn’t so heavy…
***
“Come on girl, I need you to stay awake for me. Please, Kat. Please stay awake.” Claire hadn’t left the side of Katrina Ivanova since they had been assigned partners that morning. She wouldn’t have had it any other way. Not only was Kat funny and down-to-earth, but she was one hell of a fighter. All that Claire wanted to, but could never, be. Now, it was her turn to carry Kat and she was grateful for that blessing.Claire picked up the Bible that Kat had been struggling with. It was ruined, but perhaps Kat still had some sentimentality attached to it. Claire noted, in her little pocket pad, to find Kat another copy at the first opportunity. Flipping it closed, she tucked it in her back pocket.
Kat was unconscious. A deep sleep she may never wake from. No amount of begging, pleading or prayer could save her now. Through all efforts to retain some semblance of dignity, tears formed in Claire’s eyes. Never before had she felt so powerless, her faith so shaken. Of anyone, Claire was sure Kat would make it. Kat, Ike and Dave… so sure in their own strength and each lost to the cruel hand of chance. The dam burst and Claire wept openly.
Their friendship had always had potential, but truly blossomed through the salad days of mid-morning. With a pastoral setting that was filled to the brim with flora, the two young girls, a fleeting description as youth had died with the world, had taken advantage of a few minutes peace to reconcile what had been stolen. Kat and Claire had joked and picked the wildflowers that had reclaimed the land in humanity’s absence and relived a childhood that was only a memory.
Claire had been there when Kat challenged John and Steve for making too much noise. She had supported Kat when she protested Hurley’s callous answer to the mysterious disappearance of the same two noisy boys.
Kat had shielded Claire when the first of the creatures broke through the ranks and Claire even saved her, for once, when the group was being overrun. And Claire had been there when Kat was finally cut down, not by the savages but by a few errant bullets. What Hurley would call friendly fire. Boys and their god damned toys.
Now, in relative safety, Claire would not abandon Kat. If she couldn’t do anything else, she would be a friendly face in Kat’s last few minutes. “I’m here for you, girl. Keep awake for me. Please. Stay awake.” She brushed aside some loose strands of hair from Kat’s face.
Kat shifted, letting out a labored groan. “Thomas. Where is Thomas?”
“I don’t know.” Claire looked around desperately. There were a lot of people, none of whom were Thomas. “I don’t know. I don’t see him.”
“Please. Can you.. find him.. for me?”
Though hesitant to leave her friend‘s side, “I will find him. I promise.” With little time and not much faith in her promise, Claire headed directly for the man who would know where Thomas was.
Claire had no problem picking Hurley out from the line of soldiers. Not only was he a foot taller than the next man, but he was flanked by his ever present lackey, Sgt. Howard. Hurley was busy directing his soldiers and giving orders to Howard… and David Shiner. Other Dave’s presence did not bode well for her search. “Lieutenant, may I have a quick word?”
He was a gaunt figure with grey eyes recessed deeply into his face and a few weeks growth of patchy beard. Lt. Hurley was not a pretty man. If anything, he could best be described as having caught the sickness yet somehow remaining human through sheer willpower alone, damn the ravages on the body. Still, through all his shadowed image, a great strength of personality existed. One that could lead men. It also helped that he had one of those voices. At loudest, cannon fire signaling war. At softest, whiskey and cigarettes. “I’m sort of busy right now, Claire.”
She drew her resolve to ask the question she already knew the answer to, “Have you seen Thomas anywhere?”
His look spoke volumes, “I’m sorry Claire. Father Thomas Sarnowski was killed during the course of the operation.”
Claire stifled back tears. There would be time to cry later. “How did it happen?”
Hurley looked over at his soldiers, as if judging whether he had time to answer her. “Most likely killed by one of the zombies.”
“Most likely?”
“No one actually saw it happen.”
Claire was bewildered. “No one actually saw? So, for all you know, he is still alive? What the hell!”
“Let‘s take a walk, shall we?” Hurley composed himself. “We barely held back the initial wave as it is and more keep coming. There is no way anyone survived outside our little bubble here. What you see around you is what is left of our group. Half of what we started with! So, yes. There may be a chance he is out there somewhere. But God himself would have had to intervene on his behalf.”
Howard adjusted his spectacles, “Well he was a preacher, sir.”
“Howard, you will keep your mouth shut from now on or I will put you on point when we leave this hellhole.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now Claire, what do you need Thomas for? Maybe I can help in some way.”
Normally, she wouldn’t have shared what she did, but Claire was a defeated woman. “It’s Kat, Katrina. She was shot by one of your soldiers.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“Whatever. She wants a priest before she… before she dies.”
“Looks like I can’t help after all. I suggest you head back and provide her with as much comfort as possible. And make sure she doesn’t have any bite marks. I don’t want anymore surprises tonight.”
She ignored the remarks. “Oh, one more thing, Hurley.”
“I prefer Sir or Lieutenant, Miss Lombardo.
“Yes, sir.” She added with the most venom she could muster. “I was wondering if I could have a moment of Other Dave’s time.”
“You’d be doing me a favor. Shiner, front and center!” Other Dave waddled to them as quickly as he could move. “Claire would like to have a quick word with you. I expect you back to work immediately after she is done. Got it, soldier?”
“Yes, sir!” Other Dave saluted briskly.
“That a boy. Miss Lombardo, a pleasure.” With a tip of his cap, Hurley resumed his war.
“What’s up Claire?” Other Dave’s shit eating grin was even more pronounced than usual. Claire didn’t want to imagine how, but it seemed Other Dave had grown fatter with the end of the world.
“What the hell, Dave? Since when were you a soldier? And what about Thomas?”
“If today has taught me anything, it is the need for vigilance. Thomas may have believed that God would save us, but I now know that bullets do a heck of a job as well. I’ve been already promoted to sergeant, taking over writing operations reports for Little.”
“Steve’s dead, too? Oh, God.” So many dead today. Then again, so many over the past couple of weeks. What would tomorrow bring?
“Twice over. Killed his zombified corpse myself.”
Claire had heard enough. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” he panted running to her, “I had a point to this conversation.” He tossed her a small pamphlet. “A book of psalms that Thomas gave me. I think you will find something in Psalm 3, for her and all of us.” Other Dave scurried back to his new master.
Claire returned to her charge, thinking that Other Dave wasn’t such a bad of a guy after all, just a little bit skeevy, and how much she missed the real, better Dave. A terribly selfish thought for the circumstance. “Kat, honey, Thomas.. well you’ll be seeing Thomas real soon. But, I’m going to say a blessing in the meantime. I’m sure God will forgive whatever sins you might have done. Is that ok, Kat?”
Kat was in no shape to respond.
“Lord, how many are my foes! How many rise up against me! Many are saying of me, ‘God will not deliver him.’ But you, Lord, are a shield around me, my glory, the one who lifts my head high. I call out to the Lord, and he answers me from his holy mountain. I lie down and sleep; I wake again, because the Lord sustains me. I will not fear though tens of thousands assail me on every side. Arise, Lord! Deliver me, my God! Strike all my enemies on the jaw; break the teeth of the wicked. From the Lord comes deliverance. May your blessing be on your people.”
When she finally looked up, she realized that guests had arrived. Five soldiers had their heads bowed down in prayer, among them Hurley, Howard and Other Dave. Hurley was the first to finish his prayer and stepped forward, grasping Claire by the shoulder. “That was beautiful, Claire. Thank you.” Hollow sympathies.
Dave was the next to approach. “He’s right, Thomas would have been proud.”
“He will be proud.” Claire hastily corrected.
“Right. Speaking of Thomas, he wanted me to tell you something in case… in case of the worst.” Other Dave pulled her away, with the pretext of something that needed to be said out of earshot. Claire was hesitant to follow, she didn’t want to leave Katina alone, but if Other Dave was going to the trouble, it might be worth it. Dying surrounded by strangers and soldiers was as lonely a death as any.
When they were finally away from the others, Claire hastily started, “What does Thomas want me to know?”
Other Dave seemed uncertain, constantly glancing behind him. Claire suddenly felt like an idiot for leaving Katina behind. Something was wrong, she knew it, and her intuition was punctuated as Other Dave grabbed her shoulders, “I’m so sorry.” Claire broke his grasp and ran back only to find Hurley bent over Katina’s body, wiping a bloody knife on a rag.
“You bastard. You rat bastard. I trusted you.” She tried to hurt him, verbally and physically, ineffectual as either were. “Look at what you did! Look, damn you! See what you have done. All the dead who believed your promises: that everything would be ok. They all died for you and you do not give a damn.”
“What do you think I am made of? Stone? I am tortured for every man, woman and child who has died. A thousand times for every one of them that I sent to his death. She was dying. There was nothing any of us could do. I did the only humane thing and put her out of her misery. I’m sorry, I truly am, and if it is heartless so be it, but I cannot waste manpower on the dying when the living still need me. Now, leave me be and find something useful to do.”
Claire drew out her pocket pad and opened to a new page.
To do:
1) Survive the apocalypse.
2) Avenge Kat’s death. Preferably by fucking Hurley, and not in the way he would want.
…
3) Find Dave and Ike. They were her best bet for following through with a malicious plan.
Goals set, Claire gathered her things stealthily. The group of survivors were no longer her own. All her friends were dead or missing. Her thoughts drifted to the two young girls that had helped her with cooking and daily maintenance, but she couldn’t bring them with her. They would be as safe here as anywhere. She knew it was a justification, a lie, but her path was dangerous. It was time for something brave, something reckless. This is what Kat would have done.
Hurley did not even notice Claire’s departure. He fought back a sigh and took one last look at Katina. “Howard, add her to the list: Ivanova KIA.”
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Volume 6: A Walk in the Park 3
THE HOST FROM THE SOUTH
A Walk in the Park III
By J. Ian Manczur
Breathe. Breathe. Ok. Oh, God. He’s coming over. Oh, God. I am going to die. I am going to die. He’s coming straight for me. For the love of God and all that is holy, don’t tell me your fucking name! Oh, God, he’s going to tell me his name. He’s killing me! Oh, God! I‘m so dead.
“Hiya, I’m Steve Little. A pleasure.” Steve was delightful and outgoing with a firm handshake and a friendship-winning smile. John had never hated anyone as much as he did Steve in that moment. Yet, the knowledge of his imminent death was no excuse for a lack of manners, thus he feebly shook Steve’s hand and muttered his own introduction. Steve accepted and continued with polite, sociable conversation, “I’m surprised we haven’t met before. I thought I met all the other-”
John had stopped listening. Oh, God. Breathe. Ok. We’re already in formation. What to do? What to do? Swap partners! But who? AJ! Don’t see him? Don’t see him. Damn, he’s probably already over the wall. Malcolm? Eh, who else? Eric! He’s partnered with Chris, no breaking that up. Other Dave? Not if my life depended on it, which it does, but…Malcolm it is!
Steve was still talking when John abruptly interrupted with, “I can’t do this. Sorry, but I can’t go into the park with you.”
Steve laughed good naturedly and his smile broadened, “I know, being on the ground sucks. But, I’m sorry to tell you, you can’t stay here. We’re all going to have to go over eventually. Might as well sooner than later.”
“No, no, no. You misunderstand me. I can’t go over with you.”
Steve looked hurt, confused and dejected, “But why?”
“Because you’re black,” John realized what he had said, “I mean, not like that. I’m not racist! It’s just… you’re, you know…black.” Steve looked skeptical. “I swear I’m not racist!” A little.. too loud. “See, there are zombies. And you are…well, you’re you. Zombies plus black people equals disaster for good old John here. You have to understand.”
“Ah.” Steve nodded, clearly not understanding in the least.
“Horror movies.” Simple explanation, he’ll have to understand.
“Horror movies?” Maybe not. “Are you suggesting that because I happen to be black, I’m going to die? I’m like bad luck or something?”
“Exactly, but not like, you are bad luck. And you’re going to die. And you are going to get me killed in your death throes. It’s simple really. And not racist at all. Understand?”
“Oh, I get it: the old horror movie cliché.” Finally. “That’s the stupidest thing I have ever heard. Frankly, I’m surprised you are still alive. And, on top of that, you are racist.” Ouch.
“Little! Morris! Stop flirting, you’re up!” Hurley was standing atop the wall, waving them on. Steve and John scampered up, across the plank and over the park gate. They argued all the way. Steve hit the ground running. John followed after losing a brief battle with gravity.
They resumed bickering immediately, “I‘m not racist!”
“The hell you aren‘t. Name one movie were the black guy dies first.”
Piece of cake. “Gremlins!”
“Another one.”
“Scream 2.”
“That doesn’t count. Parody of horror films.”
“Leprechaun in the Hood?”
“But..”
“And Leprechaun in the Hood 2: Back 2 The Hood.”
“Those are horror films for the African American community.”
“And thus the black guy dies first.” Whoot, whoot! John: 7, Steve: Zilch
“Doesn’t count.”
“And don’t get me started on Tales From The Hood, Bones and Blacula.”
“Please don’t. But I reiterate, none of those count.”
This guy is too much. “What does count then?”
“First off, watch your tone. Second, has to be a mainstream. Meaning white horror films.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to prove to you that the cliché isn’t as prevalent as you think it is. Thus, you’re racist.”
“I’m not racist and don‘t have to prove that. But I’ll play your game. The Edge!”
A girl in her early twenties, armed with a shotgun and baseball bat, turned back and scolded them in an aggressive whisper, “Will you two be quiet. Are you trying to attract them?”
They paused and simultaneously yelled, “Shut up!”
Steve took the initiative, “Edge doesn’t count.”
“Nothing counts with you!”
“It’s not a horror film.”
“It’s not?”
“No, action-adventure.”
“It’s about a fucking killer bear. Counts in my book. Jaws? Cujo? Deep Blue Sea? And the innumerable others both aquatic and terrestrial?”
“Thrillers!”
“Horror’s ginger step-brother. Still related, however embarrassing.”
“Even so, the pilot dies first in the Edge.”
“Oh boy, the nameless pilot dies first. Big whoop!”
“He had a name! Though, I can’t momentarily recall it. I’m just saying, someone cared about that pilot. You can‘t just write him off and then say the black guy dies first.”
“Nobody cares about nameless characters. Like the guy who gets killed in Jurassic Park first.”
“The lawyer?”
“Bam, nope. Point proven. The worker in the beginning gets slashed by a raptor. And quote, ‘Shoot her! Shooot her!’”
“I‘ll agree to that if, and only if, you agree to black guys not dying first. ”
Never. “Never!”
“Name another then.”
Friday the 13th’s? No. Are there even any black people in them? Um, Return of the Living Dead? YES! No, maybe, he might die first, not sure. Nightmare on Elm Street! No. Damn you, Laurence Fishburne!
“Time’s up, you can’t think of one more.”
“Just because I can‘t think of one, doesn’t mean it’s not true.”
“Alright, I’m going to approach this from a different angle.”
Thank God. “I see I’m starting to win you over.”
“Not a chance, but do you know Sheila and Neil?”
“Before my time.”
“Chuck and Rabbit?”
“Ditto.”
“You remember the kids?”
“Yes, and I see where you are going with this. Do you remember their names?”
“I’m ashamed to say I don’t.”
“Exactly, they were kids and nobody knows their names. Who gives a damn? Next.”
“Well, I know you know Ike, Dave and Jack.”
“Did you see the bodies?”
“Do you answer every question with a question?”
“When necessary. Haven’t seen the bodies, not dead yet.”
“Anyone ever tell you that you reminded them of Ike and Dave.”
“Ahem, remind them. Well, they are good friends. I must have taken some of their characteristics, but.. Thank you.”
“All three of you are assholes.”
“An asshole is a charismatic person you happen to disagree with.” Zing.
“We’re getting sidetracked. My point is-”
“Your point is wrong.”
“My point is! Your theory says I’m going to die first.”
“Not my theory, life’s fact.”
“Well, what about Andy Muir!”
“What about him?”
“He died yesterday!”
“Yes, and?”
“He died before me!”
“Well, I really never met Andy.”
“But I did.”
“Look, I’m sure you had a lot of friends before this, but that’s not how it works.” Skepticism again. “All the black guys who died first probably knew many people who died before them. That doesn’t alleviate their dying first. We just met, you are new to the story.”
“You’re delusional.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Even if I never met you, we are still talking about the same group of survivors.”
“I get where you are coming from, but again, that’s not how it works. It would be like saying, oh, I’m moving on to Elm Street because Freddy killed a black kid already. He’s filled his racial quota. Flawed logic. Look, pal, I’m sure you were an important part of someone else’s story, but here, now, you’re zombie fodder.” Wait. Where did everyone go? “Thus spoken, I‘ve damned us all.”
“Oh, fuck.”
“My thoughts exactly. I told you this would happen.” You’re not going to die. Fuck, we are going to die. We’re lost in zombie-land. I’m lost in the park with a black guy. Oh God, fuck my life. I’m going to die.
“How long has it been and why didn’t anyone warn us?”
“I don’t know, I was busy schooling you.”
“Keep quiet! Fuck, I don’t hear anyone. Backtrack?”
“What, are you fucking crazy? That will kill us!”
“Forward then?”
“Hopeless. No matter what we do, we’re going to die.”
“So, to you, no matter what, we’re fucked.”
“Well, you’re fucked. I have a one percent chance.”
“Shush up, that’s gunfire in the distance.”
“Lovely, it’s like that old Far Side comic. Guy’s in hell. One door says damned if you do, the other says damned if you don’t.”
“I always liked the elephant in a trench coat waiting for a guy. Says elephants never forget.. or forgive. So, we should check out the gun fire?” John wielded his rifle. “I’ll take that for a yes.” John nodded. Damned if we do, damned if we don’t. Might as well do. If I’m to die, I’ll die on my terms.
They started off through the trees to the source of the chaos, walking in silent apprehension as the shots grew louder, if still distant echoes. Steve finally broke the quiet. “I was thinking about horror movies.”
“Yea?”
“We actually have a good track record in zombie films.”
“No you don’t.”
“Yes, we do. Night of the Living Dead? 28 Days Later? That was a woman, true. Both Dawns of the Dead?”
“Dies, shot by white guys. Uncertain future. Uncertain future, for the original. Shot by white woman. Uncertain future.”
“Uncertain future?”
“Yup, if they do survive, zombie movies tend to have bleak endings for their characters. The initial safe house ends up destroyed and usually the endings leave the audience uncertain about the character’s chances of survival in the future. Only 28 Days Later had a positive ending, and that was for a black woman. Sorry, pal.”
“So, you are saying I’m either going to survive long enough to be eaten last or get shot by a white person?”
“No, I’m just saying, you should be lucky to be held in such prestige. My people-”
“Your people? White?”
“No, no, no, no. Well, yes, in a way…(not racist) genre-savvy white nerds. We have nowhere near the survivability. Plus, you might…and I say this reluctantly, but you might have a better chance of surviving than me. Backlash of your trope has led to black people not quite surviving, but a better chance. No one cares about nerds.”
“Then who will survive?”
“Claire.”
“Yea, that’s pretty obvious. Pretty, motherly, young-”
“White.”
“White.” They laughed. “You’re not so bad for a racist fucking cracker.”
“Well, I did fuck a racist once. And you’re not so bad for being an ill-omened, black, walking death trap.”
“Haven’t died yet.”
“Yet being the operative word.” John was chilled by Steve’s lack of a retort and more so by the unusual mask of horror, contemplation and grim determination set on his face. Steve’s gun was drawn and pointed directly at John. Oh, fuck, that last statement was one too much. The final straw. He‘s going to kill me. “Look, pal, you are not going to die-”
“Duck, you fool!” The gunshot rang, momentarily deafening John as a body crashed into him from behind. He flailed, throwing the now twice dead off him.
“What? Huh?” John paused for a second. “What?”
“Zombie.” Steve kicked the thing in the head. “To tell the truth, I considered letting it eat you. Just to prove the point that you could die first. But, it was only for a second. So, what do you say, we’ll get out of here together?”
Fucking A. “Well, thank you for deciding on that course of action. Yes, let’s move. Quickly. By the way, I owe you one, truly.” Hope that wins some points.
“You may have the opportunity to pay me back sooner than later.” Damn.
The two adventurers double-timed to the sound of gunfire. Breaking through the thicket, they realized what a mistake they made in trying to find the others. Between them and the next thicket stood a baker’s dozen of undead. The zombies were unaware of their presence, but headed in the same direction.
Guess he was right about the debt. Damned if we do, damned if we don‘t. “Steve, it’s been nice knowing you.”
“I thought you’d agreed that we are getting out of this alive. No more negativity.”
“You misunderstand. I’m about to do something very stupid.” Before Steve could ask what the hell he was talking about, John bonzaied out into the open. “All you fucking zombos! Ring a ding ding, baby, dinner‘s up!” He laid out a few quick shots, made sure they took notice, and booked it. Hell, this may actually work. Cowards always die. Maybe this heroic sacrifice will not actually be very sacrificial. To death, then, as pure and noble as I can fake.
Steve watched dumbfounded as John disappeared over the horizon, his one last piece of advice still reverberating through Steve’s head. Watch out for trigger happy white people. Steve wasn’t about to let John’s sacrifice go to naught. He crept from one hiding spot to the next, making a mad dash across the open field and back into tree cover. About a zombie-free mile onward, Steve saw the best sight he had seen all day: a perimeter of gunmen barricaded behind a gated basketball court. Steve set out with a friendly wave and immediately heard a loud blast. He fell to the ground as his knees gave out, but, fortunately, the pain was fading quickly.
***
“Got one!” Other Dave let out a celebratory cheer.“Settle down soldier,” Hurley gave him a quick pat on the back, “but that was a hell of a shot.”
“Thank you sir. Pity, I think that was Steve Little. I’m glad I could have put him out of his misery, though.”
“That was a good thing you did, Shiner, hell of a thing to be zombified. But, don’t be too sentimental, it’ll get you killed. Sergeant Howard, Little was KIA. Add him to the list.”
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Volume 6: A Walk in the Park 2
The Host from the South
Albert Joseph woke with a rather nasty kink in the neck. Nix that-- his whole body was sore. The result of a night spent draped over a coffee table. He groaned and swore and swore some more. He cussed with every word he could remember and a few he had forgotten until this passion took him. He cussed with modern slang. He cussed with classics. He cussed archaically. He cussed for generations to come.
He promised, too. A promise to quit drinking. A promise to avoid even a glance at alcohol. A promise to never again wake up on, in, or under any coffee tables, ottomans, hope chests, bathtubs, stairwells, or any variety of the equally uncomfortable sleeping arrangements he regularly decided upon in his many drunken stupors. He promised these on his life, his honor, his mother’s grave, to heaven above, hell below, and any other power that had ever claimed godhood. Finally, he finished as he always did: with a promise that this time, he meant it.
*********************
Outside, John, one of the night watchmen, waited anxiously for the final fifteen minutes of his shift to be over. He looked forward to some sleep, even more so than usual, for later that day his group would be crossing Beuller Park. John wanted to be as pleasantly refreshed as possible before marching to his death.
Thunder clapped loudly and the skies opened for another deluge, the fifth time since his shift began. John hoped it would stick. Heavy rains weren’t a part of the plan. Heavy rains meant reconsideration, delay, maybe even a stay of execution. Hurley would be positively livid if that happened.
John shivered under the barely-protective awning and wrapped his blanket more tightly around himself. Be it rain, sleet, snow, or hail, the night watch must bear through! Ever vigilant: that should have been their motto, or creed. He made a mental note to bring it up at the next meeting. Lightning momentarily illuminated the street and John’s heart sank at the sight. Ever damned was more like the truth. How could they hope to survive against such impossible odds? Against a countless legion? Again an enemy that, intended or not, had successfully laid siege and starved them out? Now they had to travel on the ground again. The park would be death of him and every man, woman, and child who entered it.
Perhaps not, though. Perhaps the rains would dissuade the undead. Or, even better, promote rotting or mold or —the storm suddenly lightened, leaving behind only a faint drizzle— or the rains would clear and he would die.
John glanced at his watch-- six in morning. His shift was over. On cue, AJ rushed through the sliding glass door and vomited over the side of the balcony. Retching—the sweet sound of routine. Of normalcy.
“Yo, Age.” No acknowledgement. “Good morning to you, too.”
With his head still hung over the railing, AJ flipped him the bird.
“Charming. I’m not liking the look of this weather. Think Hurley’ll cancel?”
“Not likely.” AJ wiped his mouth. “Got a smoke?”
John patted empty pockets. “Fresh out. So you don’t think--”
“Hold that thought,” AJ spun and started for indoors. “I’ll be right back.”
John winced as AJ broke the old horror rule. Survival had become his paramount interest and, as everything he had ever been taught no longer applied, he became a slave to his own unhealthy superstitions, fueled by popular culture, old wives’ tales, and paranoia.
*********************
AJ had no such imaginings. His focus was on keeping as close to the former quality of his life as possible. It was with that intention that he crept gingerly between the heaps of sleeping bodies spread out over every inch of the apartment. His ultimate goal was to reach Malcom. More specifically, Malcom’s pack, and even more specifically, Malcom’s cigarettes. It was a daunting task for any soul.
Malcom was an obscenely tall, bespectacled individual with more than a few eccentricities. The quirk most prevalent in AJ’s mind currently was of Malcom’s tendency to sleep sitting straight up in a chair, pack tucked under his feet and ever-present handgun resting in his lap. A warning to thieves. AJ briefly hesitated, heeding the warning only to just as quickly ignore it. However swift to the trigger Malcom may have usually been, his snoring was testament to his current state of sedation. Still, this was a time-sensitive operation. The longer AJ took to find the cigarettes, the more likely Malcom was to wake and do something irrevocably irrational.
AJ reached his hands under the chair, searching for the dark green, medium sized camping backpack. Aside from the main compartment, there were eight additional pouches of various shape and size. Plenty of potential storage spots. The question of which to try first came down to: What sort of smoker was Malcom? Regular, certainly, but rarely on the go. He’d probably keep the side pockets open for more vital items. The cigarettes would be accessible, but not a priority, and somewhere they wouldn’t be crushed…top front pouch.
AJ gripped the flashlight between his teeth and slowly as he thought he could manage lowered the zipper. Damn. Medical supplies. He noticed the snoring had stopped seconds before he felt cold steel pressing against his forehead.
“Chill, Malcom. It’s AJ.”
The hammer drew back.
“Cigarettes. Poker. You owe.”
The gun lifted and a murmur escaped from Malcom’s lips, “Bottom left.”
AJ snatched up a count of six and whispered back, “Thanks, buddy.”
“Fuck off.” Malcom then shifted his weight and fell back asleep. What a crazy bastard.
Next on the morning agenda was to find a light, so AJ headed for the kitchen. Claire was already awake and preparing breakfast, attended by her two inseparable young helpers. Their backs were turned to him as they focused on working. He slipped in quietly.
The kitchen required expert navigation. The linoleum was sticky and peeling. Pots and pans were scattered about. Propane fires were alight. Foodstuffs were stacked haphazardly, and other supplies and garbage littered the floor. John would have had a panic attack.
AJ went straight for the food stock, swiftly and silently obtaining two cans of Paradise Falls Peaches, in heavy syrup. He deposited them in the deep pockets of his coat. Styrofoam cups of coffee lined the formica counter, waiting to be served with the meal. AJ took a cup, sipped it, and placed it back exactly as it had been. The coffee itself was terrible. Watery, probably instant, and now, somebody else’s problem. He lowered a cigarette to one of the fires tasked with boiling water and took two puffs.
List complete, AJ began his retreat. He was proud of his accomplishments, especially that of leaving the girls none the wiser. He carefully opened the door. Almost home free…Almost.
“Albert Joseph!”
AJ whirled, hiding the still-burning cigarette behind his back. “Morning, my love.”
“Don’t you ‘my love’ me! What have I told you about smoking in my kitchen?”
Claire was just out of her teens, but already she was well established as the matron of their clan. She had recognized her own influence early on and promptly dismissed it as a natural product of her faith and unbending loyalty to Thomas, who had become both her religious advisor and surrogate father figure. AJ though, felt that the opposite was true; whatever power Thomas held was actually a result of Claire’s deference to him.
“I don’t--” AJ started his excuse before he was abruptly interrupted by Claire snatching away his cigarette.
She arched her eyebrow. “You were saying?”
He changed the subject. “Hi, girls.”
The older, probably ten or eleven, paused from her whisking. “Hello, Mr. Perry.”
The younger, not much more than a babe, clung to Claire’s dress, hiding her face in its folds.
“Alright, I’ll leave you to your thing, then,” AJ gave a quick wave and turned to go.
“Not so fast, mister.”
“Now, Claire, time is of the essence. I’ve got work to be getting to.”
“John can wait. Empty your pockets.”
“But…”
“Now!” Claire rose to her full height of four feet, eleven inches and stomped her foot. End of discussion. AJ removed the two cans of peaches and placed them on the counter.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” She studied both the purloined peaches and his eyes, then made her decision. “You can have one.”
“But the other was for John,” he lied.
“How thoughtful! Tell him, if he wants some, he can come here himself. Otherwise you two are going to have to share. And by the way, take the coffee. Honestly, putting it back? Where are your manners? Now, get going before John has another panic attack. Girls?”
“Bye, Mr. Perry!” both chimed in unison.
AJ quickly departed the scene before Claire could remember anything else that she could berate him about.
*********************
The apartment was a little less crowded by then, as the early risers had risen early. AJ was not harassed as he crossed the rooms to properly start his shift outside. John was still in the same spot as before, lost in thought and melancholy. He let out a heavy sigh as AJ approached, and muttered, “It’s an ill omen.”
With John, life was filled with ill omens. AJ decided to humor him for the moment.
“What is?” he asked, offering John the coffee, and, upon rejection, tossing it off the balcony.
“A crow.” John let out another sigh for emphasis.
AJ could not have cared less, so instead he asked John for a light. The inquiry immediately precipitated a hostile negotiation. John demanded payment on a total of seventeen cigarettes owed through poker and loans. AJ, with skills honed by years and practice, strongly argued his frivolous points.
They reached a settlement, agreeing to an even split of what AJ had just acquired. Two for himself, two for John, and a further two for himself that John didn’t need to know about. They were both satisfied. AJ, bitter at having to part with any at all, was thankful that at least he avoided having to hear more about the crow.
Or so he thought.
“You didn’t even react to my mention of a crow.”
AJ exhaled his smoke. “It’s just a bird.”
“Just a bird?” John looked incredulously at him. “Just a bird, he says. Crows have long been symbols of death, prophets of evil, bearers of unwelcome tidings, portents of doom! Just a bird!”
“John, I’m thirty-two. I’ve seen probably thousands of crows in my time. The devil willing, I’ll see thousands more. Not one has ever prophesied evil, and most certainly none have ever portended doom.”
John sat back against the wall. “The world did end.”
He had a point.
“Alright, what happened with ol’ Nevermore?”
“That was a raven, not a crow, but it doesn’t matter right now. As soon as you left, a crow landed on the railing. Right in front of me. A big, fat, nasty one. It wouldn’t stop staring at me. I couldn’t look at it. And then I did. I gazed right in its eyes and I saw my death.”
“How did you die?” AJ had to admit that he was intrigued.
“Well, I didn’t literally see my death. It was more like…a knowledge of my destiny.”
“Oh.” Asshole. “Where’d the little soothsayer go then?”
“Flew off as soon as you came out.”
“At least there’s some good news, I’m not cursed. Sorry, buddy.” AJ patted John on the back. “Cremation, or burial?”
“How can you joke like that! We’ll be walking into hell in a few hours and a fucking crow lands right there-- Right there! And you have the gall to joke about it? Fuck you!”
“Relax. And watch your mouth. Listen to me, nothing is going to go wrong. The park’s gated. We’ll be in, they’ll be out.” AJ smiled at his own wit. “It’ll be a walk in the park.”
John didn’t seem to enjoy the play of phrase. In fact, it seemed to take him as far from mirth as AJ had ever seen. His eyes smoldered with rage and his brow furrowed with dread, making his overall countenance one of tragic somberness coupled with a grim acceptance of his perceived fell fate. John threw his cigarette to the ground and left to go to bed. AJ let him by without comment. It was better to let John’s tantrums run their own course.
John paused just before the door, “Language evolves, you know.” Always a smug bastard.
“What of it?”
“I guarantee, after today, no one will ever speak lightly of parks again.” He laughed, but there was no humor in it.
“Only time will tell.”
John disappeared inside, with nothing more to say. He had already accepted death.
A Walk in the Park II
By J. Ian Manczur
By J. Ian Manczur
Albert Joseph woke with a rather nasty kink in the neck. Nix that-- his whole body was sore. The result of a night spent draped over a coffee table. He groaned and swore and swore some more. He cussed with every word he could remember and a few he had forgotten until this passion took him. He cussed with modern slang. He cussed with classics. He cussed archaically. He cussed for generations to come.
He promised, too. A promise to quit drinking. A promise to avoid even a glance at alcohol. A promise to never again wake up on, in, or under any coffee tables, ottomans, hope chests, bathtubs, stairwells, or any variety of the equally uncomfortable sleeping arrangements he regularly decided upon in his many drunken stupors. He promised these on his life, his honor, his mother’s grave, to heaven above, hell below, and any other power that had ever claimed godhood. Finally, he finished as he always did: with a promise that this time, he meant it.
*********************
Outside, John, one of the night watchmen, waited anxiously for the final fifteen minutes of his shift to be over. He looked forward to some sleep, even more so than usual, for later that day his group would be crossing Beuller Park. John wanted to be as pleasantly refreshed as possible before marching to his death.
Thunder clapped loudly and the skies opened for another deluge, the fifth time since his shift began. John hoped it would stick. Heavy rains weren’t a part of the plan. Heavy rains meant reconsideration, delay, maybe even a stay of execution. Hurley would be positively livid if that happened.
John shivered under the barely-protective awning and wrapped his blanket more tightly around himself. Be it rain, sleet, snow, or hail, the night watch must bear through! Ever vigilant: that should have been their motto, or creed. He made a mental note to bring it up at the next meeting. Lightning momentarily illuminated the street and John’s heart sank at the sight. Ever damned was more like the truth. How could they hope to survive against such impossible odds? Against a countless legion? Again an enemy that, intended or not, had successfully laid siege and starved them out? Now they had to travel on the ground again. The park would be death of him and every man, woman, and child who entered it.
Perhaps not, though. Perhaps the rains would dissuade the undead. Or, even better, promote rotting or mold or —the storm suddenly lightened, leaving behind only a faint drizzle— or the rains would clear and he would die.
John glanced at his watch-- six in morning. His shift was over. On cue, AJ rushed through the sliding glass door and vomited over the side of the balcony. Retching—the sweet sound of routine. Of normalcy.
“Yo, Age.” No acknowledgement. “Good morning to you, too.”
With his head still hung over the railing, AJ flipped him the bird.
“Charming. I’m not liking the look of this weather. Think Hurley’ll cancel?”
“Not likely.” AJ wiped his mouth. “Got a smoke?”
John patted empty pockets. “Fresh out. So you don’t think--”
“Hold that thought,” AJ spun and started for indoors. “I’ll be right back.”
John winced as AJ broke the old horror rule. Survival had become his paramount interest and, as everything he had ever been taught no longer applied, he became a slave to his own unhealthy superstitions, fueled by popular culture, old wives’ tales, and paranoia.
*********************
AJ had no such imaginings. His focus was on keeping as close to the former quality of his life as possible. It was with that intention that he crept gingerly between the heaps of sleeping bodies spread out over every inch of the apartment. His ultimate goal was to reach Malcom. More specifically, Malcom’s pack, and even more specifically, Malcom’s cigarettes. It was a daunting task for any soul.
Malcom was an obscenely tall, bespectacled individual with more than a few eccentricities. The quirk most prevalent in AJ’s mind currently was of Malcom’s tendency to sleep sitting straight up in a chair, pack tucked under his feet and ever-present handgun resting in his lap. A warning to thieves. AJ briefly hesitated, heeding the warning only to just as quickly ignore it. However swift to the trigger Malcom may have usually been, his snoring was testament to his current state of sedation. Still, this was a time-sensitive operation. The longer AJ took to find the cigarettes, the more likely Malcom was to wake and do something irrevocably irrational.
AJ reached his hands under the chair, searching for the dark green, medium sized camping backpack. Aside from the main compartment, there were eight additional pouches of various shape and size. Plenty of potential storage spots. The question of which to try first came down to: What sort of smoker was Malcom? Regular, certainly, but rarely on the go. He’d probably keep the side pockets open for more vital items. The cigarettes would be accessible, but not a priority, and somewhere they wouldn’t be crushed…top front pouch.
AJ gripped the flashlight between his teeth and slowly as he thought he could manage lowered the zipper. Damn. Medical supplies. He noticed the snoring had stopped seconds before he felt cold steel pressing against his forehead.
“Chill, Malcom. It’s AJ.”
The hammer drew back.
“Cigarettes. Poker. You owe.”
The gun lifted and a murmur escaped from Malcom’s lips, “Bottom left.”
AJ snatched up a count of six and whispered back, “Thanks, buddy.”
“Fuck off.” Malcom then shifted his weight and fell back asleep. What a crazy bastard.
Next on the morning agenda was to find a light, so AJ headed for the kitchen. Claire was already awake and preparing breakfast, attended by her two inseparable young helpers. Their backs were turned to him as they focused on working. He slipped in quietly.
The kitchen required expert navigation. The linoleum was sticky and peeling. Pots and pans were scattered about. Propane fires were alight. Foodstuffs were stacked haphazardly, and other supplies and garbage littered the floor. John would have had a panic attack.
AJ went straight for the food stock, swiftly and silently obtaining two cans of Paradise Falls Peaches, in heavy syrup. He deposited them in the deep pockets of his coat. Styrofoam cups of coffee lined the formica counter, waiting to be served with the meal. AJ took a cup, sipped it, and placed it back exactly as it had been. The coffee itself was terrible. Watery, probably instant, and now, somebody else’s problem. He lowered a cigarette to one of the fires tasked with boiling water and took two puffs.
List complete, AJ began his retreat. He was proud of his accomplishments, especially that of leaving the girls none the wiser. He carefully opened the door. Almost home free…Almost.
“Albert Joseph!”
AJ whirled, hiding the still-burning cigarette behind his back. “Morning, my love.”
“Don’t you ‘my love’ me! What have I told you about smoking in my kitchen?”
Claire was just out of her teens, but already she was well established as the matron of their clan. She had recognized her own influence early on and promptly dismissed it as a natural product of her faith and unbending loyalty to Thomas, who had become both her religious advisor and surrogate father figure. AJ though, felt that the opposite was true; whatever power Thomas held was actually a result of Claire’s deference to him.
“I don’t--” AJ started his excuse before he was abruptly interrupted by Claire snatching away his cigarette.
She arched her eyebrow. “You were saying?”
He changed the subject. “Hi, girls.”
The older, probably ten or eleven, paused from her whisking. “Hello, Mr. Perry.”
The younger, not much more than a babe, clung to Claire’s dress, hiding her face in its folds.
“Alright, I’ll leave you to your thing, then,” AJ gave a quick wave and turned to go.
“Not so fast, mister.”
“Now, Claire, time is of the essence. I’ve got work to be getting to.”
“John can wait. Empty your pockets.”
“But…”
“Now!” Claire rose to her full height of four feet, eleven inches and stomped her foot. End of discussion. AJ removed the two cans of peaches and placed them on the counter.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” She studied both the purloined peaches and his eyes, then made her decision. “You can have one.”
“But the other was for John,” he lied.
“How thoughtful! Tell him, if he wants some, he can come here himself. Otherwise you two are going to have to share. And by the way, take the coffee. Honestly, putting it back? Where are your manners? Now, get going before John has another panic attack. Girls?”
“Bye, Mr. Perry!” both chimed in unison.
AJ quickly departed the scene before Claire could remember anything else that she could berate him about.
*********************
The apartment was a little less crowded by then, as the early risers had risen early. AJ was not harassed as he crossed the rooms to properly start his shift outside. John was still in the same spot as before, lost in thought and melancholy. He let out a heavy sigh as AJ approached, and muttered, “It’s an ill omen.”
With John, life was filled with ill omens. AJ decided to humor him for the moment.
“What is?” he asked, offering John the coffee, and, upon rejection, tossing it off the balcony.
“A crow.” John let out another sigh for emphasis.
AJ could not have cared less, so instead he asked John for a light. The inquiry immediately precipitated a hostile negotiation. John demanded payment on a total of seventeen cigarettes owed through poker and loans. AJ, with skills honed by years and practice, strongly argued his frivolous points.
They reached a settlement, agreeing to an even split of what AJ had just acquired. Two for himself, two for John, and a further two for himself that John didn’t need to know about. They were both satisfied. AJ, bitter at having to part with any at all, was thankful that at least he avoided having to hear more about the crow.
Or so he thought.
“You didn’t even react to my mention of a crow.”
AJ exhaled his smoke. “It’s just a bird.”
“Just a bird?” John looked incredulously at him. “Just a bird, he says. Crows have long been symbols of death, prophets of evil, bearers of unwelcome tidings, portents of doom! Just a bird!”
“John, I’m thirty-two. I’ve seen probably thousands of crows in my time. The devil willing, I’ll see thousands more. Not one has ever prophesied evil, and most certainly none have ever portended doom.”
John sat back against the wall. “The world did end.”
He had a point.
“Alright, what happened with ol’ Nevermore?”
“That was a raven, not a crow, but it doesn’t matter right now. As soon as you left, a crow landed on the railing. Right in front of me. A big, fat, nasty one. It wouldn’t stop staring at me. I couldn’t look at it. And then I did. I gazed right in its eyes and I saw my death.”
“How did you die?” AJ had to admit that he was intrigued.
“Well, I didn’t literally see my death. It was more like…a knowledge of my destiny.”
“Oh.” Asshole. “Where’d the little soothsayer go then?”
“Flew off as soon as you came out.”
“At least there’s some good news, I’m not cursed. Sorry, buddy.” AJ patted John on the back. “Cremation, or burial?”
“How can you joke like that! We’ll be walking into hell in a few hours and a fucking crow lands right there-- Right there! And you have the gall to joke about it? Fuck you!”
“Relax. And watch your mouth. Listen to me, nothing is going to go wrong. The park’s gated. We’ll be in, they’ll be out.” AJ smiled at his own wit. “It’ll be a walk in the park.”
John didn’t seem to enjoy the play of phrase. In fact, it seemed to take him as far from mirth as AJ had ever seen. His eyes smoldered with rage and his brow furrowed with dread, making his overall countenance one of tragic somberness coupled with a grim acceptance of his perceived fell fate. John threw his cigarette to the ground and left to go to bed. AJ let him by without comment. It was better to let John’s tantrums run their own course.
John paused just before the door, “Language evolves, you know.” Always a smug bastard.
“What of it?”
“I guarantee, after today, no one will ever speak lightly of parks again.” He laughed, but there was no humor in it.
“Only time will tell.”
John disappeared inside, with nothing more to say. He had already accepted death.
Back from the Dead
After an extended break, we are proud to announce that new stories will be forthcoming, as well as a compilation of everything so far which will be collected into a single compendium, to be released in the not-too-distant future. Stay vigilant, for the dead never rest.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
LAD on Brief Hiatus
As you may have noticed, there has been a sizable gab between stories as of late. Some personal issues have recently arisen which have been slowing down production. At this point, we need to take a (hopefully) brief hiatus in order to re-engineer this project a bit. Sorry for the inconvenience and I hope you'll all keep reading when we come back! Watch Facebook for updates.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Volume 6: A Walk in the Park 1
THE HOST FROM THE SOUTH
A Walk in the Park I
by J. Ian Manczur
My dearest Felecia,
I thought I had the words to write this. They are failing me. So, I may as well fall on blunt truth. When you awake, I will be gone. You cannot come with me.
It must feel so tragic and so cruel. An unfair gesture in an unfair world. I wish I could explain to you in full, but even now as I write, I am being hurried. I guess time was always against us, perhaps we started out of time. Far from hyperbole though, I cannot muster the truth that you deserve.
There are certain expectations of me as a leader. Although, in many ways, the old rules no longer apply, I need to hold myself to their standards. I have built myself on a foundation of the old world and, with that, I have damned us.
Promising you anything was a mistake. It would cause a rift with my people that would never resolve. I do not want forgiveness, you have every right to hate me. I don’t even expect you to understand why. These are the sacrifices we must make. Perhaps, when the world grows a little saner, we will meet again. Until that time, stay safe, Felecia. I am truly sorry.
With all my heart,
Thomas Sarnowski
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Volume 6: Dead Dogwood Avenue Blues: Nathaniel's Journeys Part 2
Dead Dogwood Avenue Blues: Nathaniel’s Journeys Part 2
by Scott Thurlow
Nathaniel was entering another abandoned suburb. He could tell by the silence as he approached it. It was a natural type, just quiet enough. No trouble should be around to impede his usual search and scavenge methods. He went about to the normal spots, where people most often left goods unused in their homes, or fled without taking them. Nathaniel found a few remaining intact and usable items (batteries and duct tape being some of the more prized of such) which he packed neatly away in his bag before continuing his ransack of the dead town.
As he went on to the next house, he almost tripped over something. Lying by the side of a shallow ditch was a dead dog. Its eyes had been picked out by carrion-feeders of one kind or the other. Its tongue lolled out from the side of its mouth. Blood or bile matted its tattered greasy black fur, slicking it down in ratty clumps. Nathaniel glanced up at the street sign on the corner without really knowing why. It proclaimed the street he was on: Dogwood Avenue. Nathaniel didn’t see many dogwood trees around the neighborhood, but that sign, named such, and the dog itself, was bringing another memory rushing back to him.
It was the time Nathaniel found himself being chased by a wild pack of formerly family dogs. There were four of them. In the wake of the structural breakdown caused by the human infection, household pets were rediscovering their ancient instincts. Foremost, that they didn’t really need humans to keep them fed after all. At least, not with dog food. Friendly Fido furiously and fearsomely went ferociously feral. Nathaniel stumbled into this new reality as he was searching for useable utilities, performing the same task he currently was. It seemed things in life were constantly trying to eat Nathaniel. Then, as now, he often wondered if it would ever end.
The town Nathaniel found himself in at the time was a nondescript, generic, mediocre America type of place. He remembered then how closely it resembled his hometown much in a way. Nathaniel had never really noticed how alike all of them were, until he had to go from each to the next. “Americana”--approximations of the cherished idea of The American Dream. All packaged and produced wholesale across the country. (Even the dogs were mostly indistinguishable from each other.) Then abandoned en masse when the dream roller-coasted away into a nightmare, one also shared by the entire world.
Nathaniel had been salvaging what he could from the wreckage of that crushed, destroyed dream, to continue living to mourn its demise. He remembered sifting through scraps of anything useful left by those swallowed up by its death-rattle, when had just enough time to look up at the noise (a noise which didn’t sound like the infected, but was nevertheless alarming) and see the surprisingly speedy pace by which the pack was advancing on him. It was all strangely familiar to him at the time. Déjà vu of impending doom, but this time via rabid canines.
He had left his car too far away to easily retreat to, so he ran in the other direction, back across the lawn and around to the other side of the nearest house. In its backyard was an above-ground pool and patio set. As generically manufactured as the rest of the town itself. Nathaniel ran towards it without a second thought. He had to hastily avoid tripping over a faded white plastic lawn chair that was in his path. The lead dog followed at his heels as his momentum brought him to the edge of the pool, then up, over, and into it. Nathaniel flopped into the water with a splash as the dog made its own remarkably timed leap and followed him in.
There was a half-deflated polka-dotted plastic seahorse in the pool that Nathaniel tried pathetically using to fight the hound at first. When it bit through the float toy in half, ripping it from Nathaniel’s grip, he found himself grappling barehanded with the beast. He managed to quickly wrap his hands around its neck and halt it before its jaws could close in on him. A flash vision of Anna flew in front of his eyes, before his attention was snapped back to the fierce animal.
With no other options in sight, and feeling the instinct rise up in him, Nathaniel plunged the dog’s head under as forcefully as he could manage, submerging it under the grimy water. He wasn’t sure exactly how long, but it didn’t seem like much more than a minute or two before the dog ceased its rage and bobbed lifelessly beside him, like the sadly shredded seahorse, in the water. The other three still surrounded the pool yipping and snarling incessantly. Nathaniel had no time to cry over a dead dog. He looked around and spotted an elaborate children’s playset in the next backyard, beyond the short picket fence that separated the two homes. With the now depleted pack watching and hungrily tracking his every move, Nathaniel balanced up on the edge of the pool and readied himself to jump. His clothes dripped scummy water and he shook himself off as best he could before having to make his next move.
He was able to just clear the fence as the dogs came howling behind him. Nathaniel headed towards the red slide of the playset. He didn’t see at first the number of other dead and half-eaten smaller animals scattered in this yard. Squirrels, rabbits, what looked like a calico cat, all reduced to bloody leftovers and gnawed bones. Nathaniel skirted around them to the playset and ran to the slide, shimmying upwards while grabbing its edges for balance. When Nathaniel made it to the top, the dogs jumped and slid down it in vain a couple of tries (luckily his damp clothes had slicked the slide, making the dogs’ task more difficult) before settling on pacing and snapping impatiently around the perimeter of the playset itself. He looked then to the screen door at the back of the house he was at. It stood ever so slightly ajar. He couldn’t make out much more of the view inside. Nathaniel felt it was his best hope though, far better than being trapped outside on top of the playset. He gauged the quickest way off the slide and through the door and into what would hopefully be a safer place.
Nathaniel wasn’t quite fast enough to slam the door shut completely behind him. A single member of the pack had made it through inside with him. Nathaniel dove to the side of the first piece of furniture he saw, a bland cream colored couch. The dog wasn’t prepared for this and carried a bit past the couch, skidded across the tile floor as it tried to halt itself, before finally bouncing off a kitchen cabinet. It let out a wounded yelp. Nathaniel decided to act while the mutt was still stunned. He ran towards what he figured was the hallway leading to the front door of the house. The dog recovered itself and rapidly resumed its course, but Nathaniel had reached the exit ahead of it with seconds to spare. Shutting the lock into place behind him, he slammed the door and found himself back outside, on the front steps of the home.
The remaining two dogs had apparently plotted his course and were not interested in giving up the chase any time soon. They were waiting for him just outside. Nathaniel decided the house trick had worked once and still seemed the safest option. He ran in a beeline to the backyard of the neighboring house to see if it or any others had also been left open.
It took him a few more houses before he spied another open back door. Nathaniel zig-zagged this time across the yard, hoping to confuse the dogs, or at least tire them out, as he himself was expending much more energy than he was originally expecting to on this excursion. For this attempt, he tried to purposefully lead the dog through the door with him, hoping to be better prepared for his next action. What he was not prepared for was the sight inside.
Nathaniel had indeed managed to successfully trap himself in with yet another dog. Inside this second house however was a circus of another kind. If when it rains, it pours, then today it seemed to be a hurricane of canines and felines. Dozens of cats wandered the house, or lounged on pieces of furniture. Some mewed but most milled about or looked lazily up from their resting perches. That is, before they got wind of the hungry hound that had entered their domain. The interior erupted into chaos, the cats scattered in all directions as the dog tried to decide which one it most wanted to chase, abandoning Nathaniel as intensely as it had started hunting him. Nathaniel locked this dog alone in the house with the army of cats. It might have been a fair fight. Either way, he was left with just one canine assailant on his trail now.
With the faint sounds of the animal orgy he had just created and left emanating from the house, Nathan saw that the last dog awaited him patiently in the street. It stalked back and forth, no longer rushing blindly at him, having had time to recover itself. Now, it was intensely focused on Nathaniel, despite its successive loss of pack mates. Perhaps it had decided to see this battle to the bitter end out of a sense of revenge, so bent did the animal seem to be on finishing the pursuit. It glared and growled menacingly at him from a short distance away. Nathaniel knew it would soon spring and frantically surveyed his surroundings for an escape.
A few yards away, he could make out a shed of some kind. It appeared quite sturdy. Another staple of middle class home owning. The metal door swung open and shut a few times, banging in the breeze, then settled. He headed towards it. The dog sensed his intentions and was on his trail in seconds.
In a turn of maneuvers that worked out again in his favor, Nathaniel reached the door and grabbed its edge, slamming it shut behind him in one smooth series of motions. He heard it click into place. He was safe, for the moment. Protected by what appeared to be a well-stocked gardening enthusiast’s or construction worker’s supply shed. Shovels, rakes, and a variety of other implements of all shapes and sizes hung adorning its walls and shelves. Two chainsaws, one larger and the other smaller, leaned side by side in a corner. A number of two-by-fours and a table saw lay across a wooden workbench. Outside the shed, the last dog was wildly jumping and pounding against the door, barking nonstop and producing a raucous riot of noise.
Nathaniel looked around at the items contained in the shed and thought for a minute. He then selected a medium sized hammer and a small pair of recently sharpened hedge shears. He crept to the door, slowly unlocked it and kicked it open with more force than he thought he had in him. There was nothing there. A split second later, the last feral canine pounced on him, barreling in unseen from the side. Nathaniel dropped the hammer as he was knocked off balance by the force of the dog crashing into him. He fell and rolled, tumbling across the ground with it, attempting to grapple it in the same way as the one in the pool; but finding the circumstances and field of battle much more to his disadvantage this time.
The tangle of Nathaniel and dog came undone a few feet away from the shed. Nathaniel realized in an instant that he still gripped the shears in his other hand. He had just enough time to glance up as the dog came snapping back at him. He lashed out and slashed at its snout. As a splatter of its blood hit his face, Nathaniel saw that his wild swipe had caught the thing low across the throat with the shears, and mercifully ended its life. Nathaniel flopped back as the dog’s dead weight fell on top of him. He coughed, then rolled aside and pushed the carcass off.
Nathaniel sat up. He was panting like a dog himself with exertion, and finally starting to feel the chill seep into him from his wet clothes. But all seemed quiet again. He glanced about. Nothing new appeared to be menacing him just then. Nathaniel got up to check himself. He had had suffered some cuts and bruises in the struggles, but was otherwise unhurt. His travel pack was sealed and no supplies seemed to be ruined. He had survived the bizarre battle.
Nathaniel looked over again to the dog whose throat he was forced to slice open moments ago. He leaned over to inspect its collar and attached tag. At first he thought it read: Rex but upon closer examination, he could make out it was actually: Max.
“Sorry Max, old boy, but it was going to be either you or me,” Nathaniel quietly mumbled as an apology to the slain canine lying beside him. He realized he was actually (albeit a bit guiltily) relieved that everything had turned out the way it did, versus some of the many alternatives.
Nathaniel wondered at the time if anyone else had ever had to dispose of attacking animals in any such manners. He supposed it was possible, but as far as he knew, he was probably the only person in the world who could make the claim. It wasn’t exactly the most comforting feeling in the world, but it seemed like something to Nathaniel. He would see many more things beyond duels with wild dogs, and ponder the same type of question many times. But for that day, he had escaped the animals and had to concern himself with the next unforeseen peril. He gathered himself up and prepared to finally exit the dead town, which was now populated with four more canine carcasses.
Before he left, Nathaniel reached back over to the one lying by the shed and carefully removed its collar. “Sorry again, Max,” he said as he patted its unmoving body. He put the tag in his pocket, perhaps for luck, or so he told himself then. He decided that he would take the shears with him as well. He stashed them in his pack and headed back.
As he trudged cautiously to his car, after checking all the way for hidden attackers of any species, Nathaniel found himself wondering also how many other freshly formed wild packs of previously tame dogs had come running through how many other neighborhood yards. He also wondered whom they had belonged to, and what their former owners might make of the fate their pets had met at his unwitting hands. Most likely they would’ve behaved in the same manner as the dogs themselves, or worse.
Nathaniel looked down again at the dead dog presently lying in the ditch of Dogwood Avenue and reached in his left pocket. He pulled out Max’s tag, though the name had become barely legible on the cheap metal’s dull surface. It served as a reminder that unexpected danger was always lurking. It was not something he reflected particularly fondly upon, but it still taught him valuable lessons about the new state of the world. He dug out his watch from his pack and glanced at it. He did not have any more time to think further about dogs or dogwood, or the lack thereof either. There were no more dogs, dead or otherwise, to be seen this day, in this faceless town, on the wayside of Dogwood Avenue. Nathaniel thew the tag down alongside the dog’s rotted body. Then, he departed the town, like he had from so many others, all so much alike. He knew fully well that, in some way, every dog has its day.
by Scott Thurlow
Nathaniel was entering another abandoned suburb. He could tell by the silence as he approached it. It was a natural type, just quiet enough. No trouble should be around to impede his usual search and scavenge methods. He went about to the normal spots, where people most often left goods unused in their homes, or fled without taking them. Nathaniel found a few remaining intact and usable items (batteries and duct tape being some of the more prized of such) which he packed neatly away in his bag before continuing his ransack of the dead town.
As he went on to the next house, he almost tripped over something. Lying by the side of a shallow ditch was a dead dog. Its eyes had been picked out by carrion-feeders of one kind or the other. Its tongue lolled out from the side of its mouth. Blood or bile matted its tattered greasy black fur, slicking it down in ratty clumps. Nathaniel glanced up at the street sign on the corner without really knowing why. It proclaimed the street he was on: Dogwood Avenue. Nathaniel didn’t see many dogwood trees around the neighborhood, but that sign, named such, and the dog itself, was bringing another memory rushing back to him.
It was the time Nathaniel found himself being chased by a wild pack of formerly family dogs. There were four of them. In the wake of the structural breakdown caused by the human infection, household pets were rediscovering their ancient instincts. Foremost, that they didn’t really need humans to keep them fed after all. At least, not with dog food. Friendly Fido furiously and fearsomely went ferociously feral. Nathaniel stumbled into this new reality as he was searching for useable utilities, performing the same task he currently was. It seemed things in life were constantly trying to eat Nathaniel. Then, as now, he often wondered if it would ever end.
The town Nathaniel found himself in at the time was a nondescript, generic, mediocre America type of place. He remembered then how closely it resembled his hometown much in a way. Nathaniel had never really noticed how alike all of them were, until he had to go from each to the next. “Americana”--approximations of the cherished idea of The American Dream. All packaged and produced wholesale across the country. (Even the dogs were mostly indistinguishable from each other.) Then abandoned en masse when the dream roller-coasted away into a nightmare, one also shared by the entire world.
Nathaniel had been salvaging what he could from the wreckage of that crushed, destroyed dream, to continue living to mourn its demise. He remembered sifting through scraps of anything useful left by those swallowed up by its death-rattle, when had just enough time to look up at the noise (a noise which didn’t sound like the infected, but was nevertheless alarming) and see the surprisingly speedy pace by which the pack was advancing on him. It was all strangely familiar to him at the time. Déjà vu of impending doom, but this time via rabid canines.
He had left his car too far away to easily retreat to, so he ran in the other direction, back across the lawn and around to the other side of the nearest house. In its backyard was an above-ground pool and patio set. As generically manufactured as the rest of the town itself. Nathaniel ran towards it without a second thought. He had to hastily avoid tripping over a faded white plastic lawn chair that was in his path. The lead dog followed at his heels as his momentum brought him to the edge of the pool, then up, over, and into it. Nathaniel flopped into the water with a splash as the dog made its own remarkably timed leap and followed him in.
There was a half-deflated polka-dotted plastic seahorse in the pool that Nathaniel tried pathetically using to fight the hound at first. When it bit through the float toy in half, ripping it from Nathaniel’s grip, he found himself grappling barehanded with the beast. He managed to quickly wrap his hands around its neck and halt it before its jaws could close in on him. A flash vision of Anna flew in front of his eyes, before his attention was snapped back to the fierce animal.
With no other options in sight, and feeling the instinct rise up in him, Nathaniel plunged the dog’s head under as forcefully as he could manage, submerging it under the grimy water. He wasn’t sure exactly how long, but it didn’t seem like much more than a minute or two before the dog ceased its rage and bobbed lifelessly beside him, like the sadly shredded seahorse, in the water. The other three still surrounded the pool yipping and snarling incessantly. Nathaniel had no time to cry over a dead dog. He looked around and spotted an elaborate children’s playset in the next backyard, beyond the short picket fence that separated the two homes. With the now depleted pack watching and hungrily tracking his every move, Nathaniel balanced up on the edge of the pool and readied himself to jump. His clothes dripped scummy water and he shook himself off as best he could before having to make his next move.
He was able to just clear the fence as the dogs came howling behind him. Nathaniel headed towards the red slide of the playset. He didn’t see at first the number of other dead and half-eaten smaller animals scattered in this yard. Squirrels, rabbits, what looked like a calico cat, all reduced to bloody leftovers and gnawed bones. Nathaniel skirted around them to the playset and ran to the slide, shimmying upwards while grabbing its edges for balance. When Nathaniel made it to the top, the dogs jumped and slid down it in vain a couple of tries (luckily his damp clothes had slicked the slide, making the dogs’ task more difficult) before settling on pacing and snapping impatiently around the perimeter of the playset itself. He looked then to the screen door at the back of the house he was at. It stood ever so slightly ajar. He couldn’t make out much more of the view inside. Nathaniel felt it was his best hope though, far better than being trapped outside on top of the playset. He gauged the quickest way off the slide and through the door and into what would hopefully be a safer place.
Nathaniel wasn’t quite fast enough to slam the door shut completely behind him. A single member of the pack had made it through inside with him. Nathaniel dove to the side of the first piece of furniture he saw, a bland cream colored couch. The dog wasn’t prepared for this and carried a bit past the couch, skidded across the tile floor as it tried to halt itself, before finally bouncing off a kitchen cabinet. It let out a wounded yelp. Nathaniel decided to act while the mutt was still stunned. He ran towards what he figured was the hallway leading to the front door of the house. The dog recovered itself and rapidly resumed its course, but Nathaniel had reached the exit ahead of it with seconds to spare. Shutting the lock into place behind him, he slammed the door and found himself back outside, on the front steps of the home.
The remaining two dogs had apparently plotted his course and were not interested in giving up the chase any time soon. They were waiting for him just outside. Nathaniel decided the house trick had worked once and still seemed the safest option. He ran in a beeline to the backyard of the neighboring house to see if it or any others had also been left open.
It took him a few more houses before he spied another open back door. Nathaniel zig-zagged this time across the yard, hoping to confuse the dogs, or at least tire them out, as he himself was expending much more energy than he was originally expecting to on this excursion. For this attempt, he tried to purposefully lead the dog through the door with him, hoping to be better prepared for his next action. What he was not prepared for was the sight inside.
Nathaniel had indeed managed to successfully trap himself in with yet another dog. Inside this second house however was a circus of another kind. If when it rains, it pours, then today it seemed to be a hurricane of canines and felines. Dozens of cats wandered the house, or lounged on pieces of furniture. Some mewed but most milled about or looked lazily up from their resting perches. That is, before they got wind of the hungry hound that had entered their domain. The interior erupted into chaos, the cats scattered in all directions as the dog tried to decide which one it most wanted to chase, abandoning Nathaniel as intensely as it had started hunting him. Nathaniel locked this dog alone in the house with the army of cats. It might have been a fair fight. Either way, he was left with just one canine assailant on his trail now.
With the faint sounds of the animal orgy he had just created and left emanating from the house, Nathan saw that the last dog awaited him patiently in the street. It stalked back and forth, no longer rushing blindly at him, having had time to recover itself. Now, it was intensely focused on Nathaniel, despite its successive loss of pack mates. Perhaps it had decided to see this battle to the bitter end out of a sense of revenge, so bent did the animal seem to be on finishing the pursuit. It glared and growled menacingly at him from a short distance away. Nathaniel knew it would soon spring and frantically surveyed his surroundings for an escape.
A few yards away, he could make out a shed of some kind. It appeared quite sturdy. Another staple of middle class home owning. The metal door swung open and shut a few times, banging in the breeze, then settled. He headed towards it. The dog sensed his intentions and was on his trail in seconds.
In a turn of maneuvers that worked out again in his favor, Nathaniel reached the door and grabbed its edge, slamming it shut behind him in one smooth series of motions. He heard it click into place. He was safe, for the moment. Protected by what appeared to be a well-stocked gardening enthusiast’s or construction worker’s supply shed. Shovels, rakes, and a variety of other implements of all shapes and sizes hung adorning its walls and shelves. Two chainsaws, one larger and the other smaller, leaned side by side in a corner. A number of two-by-fours and a table saw lay across a wooden workbench. Outside the shed, the last dog was wildly jumping and pounding against the door, barking nonstop and producing a raucous riot of noise.
Nathaniel looked around at the items contained in the shed and thought for a minute. He then selected a medium sized hammer and a small pair of recently sharpened hedge shears. He crept to the door, slowly unlocked it and kicked it open with more force than he thought he had in him. There was nothing there. A split second later, the last feral canine pounced on him, barreling in unseen from the side. Nathaniel dropped the hammer as he was knocked off balance by the force of the dog crashing into him. He fell and rolled, tumbling across the ground with it, attempting to grapple it in the same way as the one in the pool; but finding the circumstances and field of battle much more to his disadvantage this time.
The tangle of Nathaniel and dog came undone a few feet away from the shed. Nathaniel realized in an instant that he still gripped the shears in his other hand. He had just enough time to glance up as the dog came snapping back at him. He lashed out and slashed at its snout. As a splatter of its blood hit his face, Nathaniel saw that his wild swipe had caught the thing low across the throat with the shears, and mercifully ended its life. Nathaniel flopped back as the dog’s dead weight fell on top of him. He coughed, then rolled aside and pushed the carcass off.
Nathaniel sat up. He was panting like a dog himself with exertion, and finally starting to feel the chill seep into him from his wet clothes. But all seemed quiet again. He glanced about. Nothing new appeared to be menacing him just then. Nathaniel got up to check himself. He had had suffered some cuts and bruises in the struggles, but was otherwise unhurt. His travel pack was sealed and no supplies seemed to be ruined. He had survived the bizarre battle.
Nathaniel looked over again to the dog whose throat he was forced to slice open moments ago. He leaned over to inspect its collar and attached tag. At first he thought it read: Rex but upon closer examination, he could make out it was actually: Max.
“Sorry Max, old boy, but it was going to be either you or me,” Nathaniel quietly mumbled as an apology to the slain canine lying beside him. He realized he was actually (albeit a bit guiltily) relieved that everything had turned out the way it did, versus some of the many alternatives.
Nathaniel wondered at the time if anyone else had ever had to dispose of attacking animals in any such manners. He supposed it was possible, but as far as he knew, he was probably the only person in the world who could make the claim. It wasn’t exactly the most comforting feeling in the world, but it seemed like something to Nathaniel. He would see many more things beyond duels with wild dogs, and ponder the same type of question many times. But for that day, he had escaped the animals and had to concern himself with the next unforeseen peril. He gathered himself up and prepared to finally exit the dead town, which was now populated with four more canine carcasses.
Before he left, Nathaniel reached back over to the one lying by the shed and carefully removed its collar. “Sorry again, Max,” he said as he patted its unmoving body. He put the tag in his pocket, perhaps for luck, or so he told himself then. He decided that he would take the shears with him as well. He stashed them in his pack and headed back.
As he trudged cautiously to his car, after checking all the way for hidden attackers of any species, Nathaniel found himself wondering also how many other freshly formed wild packs of previously tame dogs had come running through how many other neighborhood yards. He also wondered whom they had belonged to, and what their former owners might make of the fate their pets had met at his unwitting hands. Most likely they would’ve behaved in the same manner as the dogs themselves, or worse.
Nathaniel looked down again at the dead dog presently lying in the ditch of Dogwood Avenue and reached in his left pocket. He pulled out Max’s tag, though the name had become barely legible on the cheap metal’s dull surface. It served as a reminder that unexpected danger was always lurking. It was not something he reflected particularly fondly upon, but it still taught him valuable lessons about the new state of the world. He dug out his watch from his pack and glanced at it. He did not have any more time to think further about dogs or dogwood, or the lack thereof either. There were no more dogs, dead or otherwise, to be seen this day, in this faceless town, on the wayside of Dogwood Avenue. Nathaniel thew the tag down alongside the dog’s rotted body. Then, he departed the town, like he had from so many others, all so much alike. He knew fully well that, in some way, every dog has its day.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Volume 6: On the Trail of the Road Agents: The Gravestone of J. Allen Ducock, Sr., Beloved, (Catfucker)
On the Trail of the Road Agents: The Gravestone Of J. Allen Ducock, Sr., Beloved, (Catfucker)
by Scott Thurlow
Dead and mutilated bodies were scattered across the field in front of them. Humans, chickens, pigs, a cow or two in their best judgement. It looked like they had all been there a while. Most were dried up; appearing baked. Shriveled in the long days of the sun and other elements they’d been exposed to.
"Think that's a goat there, too," said Agent Toporidel.
"Hrm. Yes. If you say so,” responded Captain Planck.
Ahead, they came to farmhouse. It was a single bedroom that was best ascribed the dimensions of a shanty placed at what they determined to be the northern most edge of the property. It overlooked from the tiny kitchen window a single dirt road that stretched away into the wilderness beyond. A rising hill was visible to the west.
“This isn’t much of a defensible position. Not sure what else is close.”
“Hrm. We could pile the bodies into a wall. It might take a while though.”
It took a while, but not as long as being dead would be. It was an acceptable ratio of work to survivability. When it was done, the shanty-farmhouse was surrounded on three of its sides by a roughly two-body/body- part layer, reinforced with decaying wooden planks. The planks were from a pile they had found in the field and mistook for some of the carcasses at first.
For the door, they had removed its handle, since they decided it wasn’t going to be much use anyway, and no reason to give targets an open invitation. In its place they set two of the most intact planks across with their travel hammer and can of nails.
One knocked on it, and nodded approvingly at the resounding tone. “Seems good enough. Time to eat?” asked Agent Toporidel.
“Hrm. Yes,” replied Captain Planck.
They shared a cold meal of beans and bread.
“What now?”
“Hrm. Now we rest, and watch. As usual.”
“Alright. First guard?”
“Hrm. Yes. After you.”
Nothing came in the night but they had both already decided to leave the farm by afternoon of the next day.
They left the bodies and wood in place as they packed up again, then set fire to it. Some bodies seemed to burn better than others, but most burned more or less at the same rate, after a while. They enjoyed watching the conflagration before finally departing. They followed the dirt road out away from the main plot of land and did not look back.
As they came trudging up the hill they had spied earlier, they stumbled upon a sign lying next to a lump in the withered ground.
Agent Toporidel approached and read aloud the inscription that was on it.
It was thus:
Here lies:
J. Allen Ducock, Sr.
Beloved resident
Who, sadly, succumbed to a disease of insanity in nature,
And was subsequently devoured by his (beloved to all) cats.
And his body, being in a state of recoverability somewhere between therein by:
eaten and half-eaten
by his who are remembered here by the names of: Bella, Samus, Grue, Waldo, Zelda Fitzgerald, Princess Muffykins (mother of) Mewtwocute, King Richard III, Jezebel, and also of course, Lord Whiskers, who was the sire of…
(About a dozen more cat names followed)
Who, upon found having devoured dearly departed Mr. Ducock, Sr.,
were duly and faithfully buried next to their loving owner, in life.
The date underneath was rendered illegible.
They both agreed the obvious humor of the last name lacked the need for an accompanying remark.
Captain Planck said, “Hrm. Shouldn’t it say ‘unrecovered.’ As in, it wasn’t recovered. The other kind of implies…”
Agent Toporidel, retorted, “That is what it implies. Also, uncertain that’s a word. Perhaps they just refused to let a gravestone lie.”
“What, unrecovered? I don’t think this really qualifies as much of a gravestone. Though if it did, you should most definitely, without a doubt, let it lie.”
“Yes, unrecovered. Well, what would you like to call it? What, is it lying about?”
“It’s almost more of a cairn. Nothing.”
“Not really. No rocks involved.”
“Hrm.”
After a few short seconds, Agent Toporidel pronounced, “Such an insipid, unnecessary grave.”
“Hrm. Yes,” agreed Planck. “Let us spit on it.”
They spit upon the grave.
Toporidel continued, “Why so many cats? And why name and title them all, on the grave. Or whatever it may be. Jesus Christ, that is a biblical lineage of cats. Who would have that many cats, and why? Further, why name them all such inane names? To hell with this dead moron and his cats. Rest in peace, you old codger…catfucker.”
“Hrm. Well-said,” Planck offered to his compatriot’s rant.
The setting sun was now going down over the hill where they discovered the sign at the spot that marked the final resting place of one J. Allen. Ducock, Sr. whom, so clearly, was quite the crazed fornicator of cats. And also of all of his great magnitude of litters and royal guard of said cats. The matching body, they agreed, was, if not unrecovered or unrecoverable, (and it could be both, they decided) then definitely not in any kind of state that would warrant itself worthy to being “properly” buried in such a manner. Nor, of course, were all the cats.
They spit upon the grave a second time. Then they discussed the last name before this on the list. The only thing they remembered being recoverable about him, was his head.
Agent Toporidel asked, “Wonder where he was headed? Looks like nowhere now. If it was even the same guy. Catfucker’s head found in burned down shed. We should move on to the next.”
“Hrm. Yes.” Captain Planck agreed again.
They also agreed that “catfucker” was henceforth to be a newly incorporated term of theirs. But, to be used, that is, sparingly, with restraint, and only where most appropriate and/or hilarious.
They cut up the grave sign and used it to start a small but serviceable campfire. They shared another meager meal of canned beans and bread, but this time at least roasted. Captain Planck handed Agent Toporidel his gun. He watched while Planck ate or slept. Then they switched. This was the plan all night.
In the morning, Agent Toporidel went back and took a last look at the spot on the hill. Captain Planck joined shortly thereafter.
Agent Toporidel gave a short eulogy, “Godspeed, Ducock, Sr., Catfucker.” Both agreed it was the most appropriate, and fitting moment to say such.
“Let us now depart the premises of this fucker of cats grave, and leave it at once.
“Hrm. One last thing,” added Captain Planck.
They both spit a third and final time upon the grave and left it at once. Away with the deceased Ducock, and his cat fornicating ways as well. They packed up their supplies and headed away from the hill. Past the spot and over the rise, to another tract of low lying farmland.
Agent Toporidel asked, "Who does the list say?"
Captain Planck pulled out the carefully preserved page from their pack and answered, "Hrm. Seems the winner is Samantha Klostierman. From Rhubarb, Ilinois."
"That's still rather north a ways."
"Hrm. Yes, so it would appear. And a bit east, too. Is there a different way you'd like to go?"
"I suppose not. There's no one closer, right?"
"Hrm. If there was, wouldn't you think I would've said at the outset of this venture?"
“I was just checking that all the facts were in place."
"Hrm. Why wouldn’t they be?"
"Just checking, is all."
Silence stood between them again, but not an antagonistic kind. They let it permeate the walk for a while.
The next place they came to had less of a farm to it and more of a house. It didn't appear too badly dilapidated. Nor were there any dead bodies to inspect, human or otherwise. They performed a systematic check of the interior, as per usual routine. It had more of an acceptably defensible design, requiring few modifications. They ransacked the house for anything left or discarded that could aid them. Most of the leftover food was spoiled but the previous occupants had neglected to take a couple of cans with them into oblivion.
Toporidel contributed, “More beans. Can always use them."
Planck nodded assent. "Hrm. Yes indeed. Breakfast of champions."
They found a few items of note to add to their collection. Mostly kitchen household appliances and utensils that could be used to augment what they had already accrued.
They decided to spend a few days. Samantha Klostierman, from Rhubarb, Illinois, would have her time. And they theirs.
They stayed in the house for four days until such time upon when it was decided and agreed upon to leave once again.
In two more days they were no longer following dirt or local roads, instead having come to a major highway after emerging from the woods and crossing over to it. Cars were abandoned at various spots. The highway had more bodies scattered intermittently along it. They whittled the time by keeping count until they passed a road sign overhead that announced they were 74 miles from Rhubarb.
"Should be there before the week ends."
"Hrm. Yes. So it seems. Then what?"
"Then, we hope things go better there, or I swear by old Mr. Ducock, god rest his crazy cat fucking soul, we, and by extension, Ms. Klostierman herself, are all going to be rather unhappy. Again."
“Hrm. Yes. Excellent use, as well.”
“Agreed.”
There was nothing else to be said about the matter at the moment, so they journeyed some more before selecting a car to use as a hut for the night. They would have driven, but both knew cars could attract attention these days, of the usually unwanted kind.
Days passed as they moved from car to car like silent bees, draining them of anything useful, before methodically moving on to the next.
Fifty miles later, another road sign informed them it was now exactly 14 miles to Rhubarb. Precisely on schedule for their purposes.
Fourteen miles after that, Captain Planck checked that they had the correct address as they entered the town of Rhubarb.
Agent Toporidel declared that here in the town, could be finally what they were looking for.
Planck replied with a standard rejoinder, “Hrm. We’ll see.”
They saw. It wasn’t much. The town had clearly been overrun in a rush and left behind. Now almost nothing remained. No signs of any stragglers left behind to scavenge and pick its bones clean. Great piles of dead leaves blew through the streets constantly, forcing them both to shield their eyes from the drifting debris.
Samantha Klostierman’s house was in the middle of a row of fairly similar ones. She didn’t answer the door, which they took to be an ominous sign. It opened easily and they peered into a darkened hallway that led to a living room. The kitchen was adjacent. A staircase in the foyer led up.
Agent Toporidel inquired, “Upstairs first?”
Captain Planck was firm, “Hrm. No. Ground floor.”
The living room contained nothing special. It had long been plundered of anything useful. The kitchen was mostly the same. In any case, they agreed that they weren’t going to take anything.
“Upstairs it is then.”
“Hrm. Yes. Let us go.”
They guessed they had found Samantha Klostierman’s room because it was the only room upstairs aside from a bathroom that was pathetic in its bareness. An odd design for a house, but the fact was no help to them.
Of little Miss Samantha herself, there were not many signs. They combed through the dressers and closet and uncovered some dregs of dresses with tacky designs and twenty pairs of shoes, but found nothing that could provide any further direction.
Toporidel stated grimly, “Looks like we’re going to be unhappy.”
“Hrm. Didn’t we check everything?”
“Let us check again, just in case.”
They checked again. Upon the second search, they stumbled on a hastily scribbled note half-wedged and hidden under the corner of a dresser. They deciphered its brief message:
Went to West Freemantua!! Meet me please, pLEASE!!
-Sam k.
“That’s helpful. It’s something, anyway.”
“Hrm. Yes. Yes, it is.”
The city mentioned was another hundred or so miles south, but still roughly east.
“Looks like we’re going on the road, again.”
“Hrm. Yes. Here we go. It’s going to be for a while.”
Thus they went. On the road. Again. It was a while.
by Scott Thurlow
Dead and mutilated bodies were scattered across the field in front of them. Humans, chickens, pigs, a cow or two in their best judgement. It looked like they had all been there a while. Most were dried up; appearing baked. Shriveled in the long days of the sun and other elements they’d been exposed to.
"Think that's a goat there, too," said Agent Toporidel.
"Hrm. Yes. If you say so,” responded Captain Planck.
Ahead, they came to farmhouse. It was a single bedroom that was best ascribed the dimensions of a shanty placed at what they determined to be the northern most edge of the property. It overlooked from the tiny kitchen window a single dirt road that stretched away into the wilderness beyond. A rising hill was visible to the west.
“This isn’t much of a defensible position. Not sure what else is close.”
“Hrm. We could pile the bodies into a wall. It might take a while though.”
It took a while, but not as long as being dead would be. It was an acceptable ratio of work to survivability. When it was done, the shanty-farmhouse was surrounded on three of its sides by a roughly two-body/body- part layer, reinforced with decaying wooden planks. The planks were from a pile they had found in the field and mistook for some of the carcasses at first.
For the door, they had removed its handle, since they decided it wasn’t going to be much use anyway, and no reason to give targets an open invitation. In its place they set two of the most intact planks across with their travel hammer and can of nails.
One knocked on it, and nodded approvingly at the resounding tone. “Seems good enough. Time to eat?” asked Agent Toporidel.
“Hrm. Yes,” replied Captain Planck.
They shared a cold meal of beans and bread.
“What now?”
“Hrm. Now we rest, and watch. As usual.”
“Alright. First guard?”
“Hrm. Yes. After you.”
Nothing came in the night but they had both already decided to leave the farm by afternoon of the next day.
They left the bodies and wood in place as they packed up again, then set fire to it. Some bodies seemed to burn better than others, but most burned more or less at the same rate, after a while. They enjoyed watching the conflagration before finally departing. They followed the dirt road out away from the main plot of land and did not look back.
As they came trudging up the hill they had spied earlier, they stumbled upon a sign lying next to a lump in the withered ground.
Agent Toporidel approached and read aloud the inscription that was on it.
It was thus:
Here lies:
J. Allen Ducock, Sr.
Beloved resident
Who, sadly, succumbed to a disease of insanity in nature,
And was subsequently devoured by his (beloved to all) cats.
And his body, being in a state of recoverability somewhere between therein by:
eaten and half-eaten
by his who are remembered here by the names of: Bella, Samus, Grue, Waldo, Zelda Fitzgerald, Princess Muffykins (mother of) Mewtwocute, King Richard III, Jezebel, and also of course, Lord Whiskers, who was the sire of…
(About a dozen more cat names followed)
Who, upon found having devoured dearly departed Mr. Ducock, Sr.,
were duly and faithfully buried next to their loving owner, in life.
The date underneath was rendered illegible.
They both agreed the obvious humor of the last name lacked the need for an accompanying remark.
Captain Planck said, “Hrm. Shouldn’t it say ‘unrecovered.’ As in, it wasn’t recovered. The other kind of implies…”
Agent Toporidel, retorted, “That is what it implies. Also, uncertain that’s a word. Perhaps they just refused to let a gravestone lie.”
“What, unrecovered? I don’t think this really qualifies as much of a gravestone. Though if it did, you should most definitely, without a doubt, let it lie.”
“Yes, unrecovered. Well, what would you like to call it? What, is it lying about?”
“It’s almost more of a cairn. Nothing.”
“Not really. No rocks involved.”
“Hrm.”
After a few short seconds, Agent Toporidel pronounced, “Such an insipid, unnecessary grave.”
“Hrm. Yes,” agreed Planck. “Let us spit on it.”
They spit upon the grave.
Toporidel continued, “Why so many cats? And why name and title them all, on the grave. Or whatever it may be. Jesus Christ, that is a biblical lineage of cats. Who would have that many cats, and why? Further, why name them all such inane names? To hell with this dead moron and his cats. Rest in peace, you old codger…catfucker.”
“Hrm. Well-said,” Planck offered to his compatriot’s rant.
The setting sun was now going down over the hill where they discovered the sign at the spot that marked the final resting place of one J. Allen. Ducock, Sr. whom, so clearly, was quite the crazed fornicator of cats. And also of all of his great magnitude of litters and royal guard of said cats. The matching body, they agreed, was, if not unrecovered or unrecoverable, (and it could be both, they decided) then definitely not in any kind of state that would warrant itself worthy to being “properly” buried in such a manner. Nor, of course, were all the cats.
They spit upon the grave a second time. Then they discussed the last name before this on the list. The only thing they remembered being recoverable about him, was his head.
Agent Toporidel asked, “Wonder where he was headed? Looks like nowhere now. If it was even the same guy. Catfucker’s head found in burned down shed. We should move on to the next.”
“Hrm. Yes.” Captain Planck agreed again.
They also agreed that “catfucker” was henceforth to be a newly incorporated term of theirs. But, to be used, that is, sparingly, with restraint, and only where most appropriate and/or hilarious.
They cut up the grave sign and used it to start a small but serviceable campfire. They shared another meager meal of canned beans and bread, but this time at least roasted. Captain Planck handed Agent Toporidel his gun. He watched while Planck ate or slept. Then they switched. This was the plan all night.
In the morning, Agent Toporidel went back and took a last look at the spot on the hill. Captain Planck joined shortly thereafter.
Agent Toporidel gave a short eulogy, “Godspeed, Ducock, Sr., Catfucker.” Both agreed it was the most appropriate, and fitting moment to say such.
“Let us now depart the premises of this fucker of cats grave, and leave it at once.
“Hrm. One last thing,” added Captain Planck.
They both spit a third and final time upon the grave and left it at once. Away with the deceased Ducock, and his cat fornicating ways as well. They packed up their supplies and headed away from the hill. Past the spot and over the rise, to another tract of low lying farmland.
Agent Toporidel asked, "Who does the list say?"
Captain Planck pulled out the carefully preserved page from their pack and answered, "Hrm. Seems the winner is Samantha Klostierman. From Rhubarb, Ilinois."
"That's still rather north a ways."
"Hrm. Yes, so it would appear. And a bit east, too. Is there a different way you'd like to go?"
"I suppose not. There's no one closer, right?"
"Hrm. If there was, wouldn't you think I would've said at the outset of this venture?"
“I was just checking that all the facts were in place."
"Hrm. Why wouldn’t they be?"
"Just checking, is all."
Silence stood between them again, but not an antagonistic kind. They let it permeate the walk for a while.
The next place they came to had less of a farm to it and more of a house. It didn't appear too badly dilapidated. Nor were there any dead bodies to inspect, human or otherwise. They performed a systematic check of the interior, as per usual routine. It had more of an acceptably defensible design, requiring few modifications. They ransacked the house for anything left or discarded that could aid them. Most of the leftover food was spoiled but the previous occupants had neglected to take a couple of cans with them into oblivion.
Toporidel contributed, “More beans. Can always use them."
Planck nodded assent. "Hrm. Yes indeed. Breakfast of champions."
They found a few items of note to add to their collection. Mostly kitchen household appliances and utensils that could be used to augment what they had already accrued.
They decided to spend a few days. Samantha Klostierman, from Rhubarb, Illinois, would have her time. And they theirs.
They stayed in the house for four days until such time upon when it was decided and agreed upon to leave once again.
In two more days they were no longer following dirt or local roads, instead having come to a major highway after emerging from the woods and crossing over to it. Cars were abandoned at various spots. The highway had more bodies scattered intermittently along it. They whittled the time by keeping count until they passed a road sign overhead that announced they were 74 miles from Rhubarb.
"Should be there before the week ends."
"Hrm. Yes. So it seems. Then what?"
"Then, we hope things go better there, or I swear by old Mr. Ducock, god rest his crazy cat fucking soul, we, and by extension, Ms. Klostierman herself, are all going to be rather unhappy. Again."
“Hrm. Yes. Excellent use, as well.”
“Agreed.”
There was nothing else to be said about the matter at the moment, so they journeyed some more before selecting a car to use as a hut for the night. They would have driven, but both knew cars could attract attention these days, of the usually unwanted kind.
Days passed as they moved from car to car like silent bees, draining them of anything useful, before methodically moving on to the next.
Fifty miles later, another road sign informed them it was now exactly 14 miles to Rhubarb. Precisely on schedule for their purposes.
Fourteen miles after that, Captain Planck checked that they had the correct address as they entered the town of Rhubarb.
Agent Toporidel declared that here in the town, could be finally what they were looking for.
Planck replied with a standard rejoinder, “Hrm. We’ll see.”
They saw. It wasn’t much. The town had clearly been overrun in a rush and left behind. Now almost nothing remained. No signs of any stragglers left behind to scavenge and pick its bones clean. Great piles of dead leaves blew through the streets constantly, forcing them both to shield their eyes from the drifting debris.
Samantha Klostierman’s house was in the middle of a row of fairly similar ones. She didn’t answer the door, which they took to be an ominous sign. It opened easily and they peered into a darkened hallway that led to a living room. The kitchen was adjacent. A staircase in the foyer led up.
Agent Toporidel inquired, “Upstairs first?”
Captain Planck was firm, “Hrm. No. Ground floor.”
The living room contained nothing special. It had long been plundered of anything useful. The kitchen was mostly the same. In any case, they agreed that they weren’t going to take anything.
“Upstairs it is then.”
“Hrm. Yes. Let us go.”
They guessed they had found Samantha Klostierman’s room because it was the only room upstairs aside from a bathroom that was pathetic in its bareness. An odd design for a house, but the fact was no help to them.
Of little Miss Samantha herself, there were not many signs. They combed through the dressers and closet and uncovered some dregs of dresses with tacky designs and twenty pairs of shoes, but found nothing that could provide any further direction.
Toporidel stated grimly, “Looks like we’re going to be unhappy.”
“Hrm. Didn’t we check everything?”
“Let us check again, just in case.”
They checked again. Upon the second search, they stumbled on a hastily scribbled note half-wedged and hidden under the corner of a dresser. They deciphered its brief message:
Went to West Freemantua!! Meet me please, pLEASE!!
-Sam k.
“That’s helpful. It’s something, anyway.”
“Hrm. Yes. Yes, it is.”
The city mentioned was another hundred or so miles south, but still roughly east.
“Looks like we’re going on the road, again.”
“Hrm. Yes. Here we go. It’s going to be for a while.”
Thus they went. On the road. Again. It was a while.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Volume 6: Precipice
Precipice
by Steven Ormosi
AJ walked out of Mayor Jenkins’ office with a newfound sense of importance. He was going to be instrumental in developing the cure. He was going to be the one who determined if it was safe to go outside the walls. He was going to be a hero. The mayor had told him as much.
He had been going stir crazy in the lab lately. Nothing ever seemed to bother Dr. Harvey. She could always maintain her veneer of scientific detachment. AJ on the other hand felt constantly claustrophobic. Even though he knew he was doing important work with the infected and helping to ensure a future, he had begun to lose his cool. A blessing, that’s what this trip was. He strolled back towards Dr. Harvey’s lab with purpose.
Upon entering the lab, AJ could immediately tell that something was wrong. It was too quiet. Where were the infected banging on their cages? Paralyzing fear came over him then. How could they have gotten free?
“Dr. Harvey?” He shouted into the silence. “What’s going on?”
No answer. This was not good. He took the shotgun they kept near the entrance and walked towards the back hesitantly. There was still no sound. How could they have all escaped? He slowly opened the door.
Nothing. They were all gone. There was no blood, no sign of anything. He heard a footstep behind him and whirled, bringing the shotgun up.
Dr. Harvey screamed, “AJ, no!”
AJ managed to stop himself from pulling the trigger even though he was shaking like a leaf in the wind. “What the hell is going on, Dr. Harvey?”
“Oh, Jesus,” she managed looking out from behind her hands, which she had put up for defense. “I didn’t know you were going to be here this afternoon, I thought you had a meeting with the mayor. And will you put that thing down!”
AJ lowered the gun, “Sorry, I was just terrified that they’d escaped. The meeting with the mayor is over, I was coming to tell you about it when…well, this happened. Where are they all?”
“I’m changing labs, AJ, we’ve got a more secure location about two blocks away. I was going to tell you tomorrow when I saw you.”
AJ breathed a sigh of relief, “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I didn’t think it was going to happen so quickly. We got the resources we needed for the move and we got it underway. I didn’t want to wait.”
“I should’ve been here to help. How did you move them?”
“Oh, it wasn’t a problem, just tranqed the hell out of them and loaded them into a covered truck. It went pretty quickly. Permission to use the truck was what I’d been waiting for, so as soon as I got it, I started packing everything up. There was one unfortunate accident. One of the orderlies was bitten.” Dr. Harvey’s mood went sour. “It was…unpleasant.”
AJ was horrified, “Who?”
“Caleb. I liked him. But now you know why we have to be as careful as we can, one mistake and you’re a goner.”
“Is he—“
“He’s in a quarantine cage right now, just waiting. It’s awful. I keep trying to distance myself, tell myself that I have to look at him scientifically now, but the only thing I can see are his eyes, pleading for me to put him out of his misery. I wish I could.”
“Dr. Harvey, we should help him.”
“Oh, AJ, we couldn’t even if we wanted to, he’s under lock and key now in the quarantine zone. They won’t bring him to the lab until later.”
“We have access to those areas. We could figure something out. He worked for you, Dr. Harvey, you can’t just let him change into a monster. Look, I have nothing but respect for you as a scientist, but if you let Caleb go through that, I’m not sure I can respect you as a person anymore. What if it was me?”
“We all make our own choices, AJ. Caleb knew there were risks when he agreed to help us with our research, just like you do. Should we kill all of the specimens just because they used to be human? Hell, some of them still are. We can’t just ignore the established protocol because someone who’s been bitten is our colleague.”
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”
“I’m sorry, AJ, it’s the way things are.”
“Save it, doctor.” AJ spat as he stormed out.
************************************************************
Later that night, AJ showed up to the quarantine cages with a handgun tucked into his pants. There was extra security. The guards at the front stopped him, “Sorry, sir. No more traffic through the cages tonight.”
AJ was crushed; she must have told them he was coming. He didn’t think Dr. Harvey would have given him up. “Is something wrong?” he asked.
“We really aren’t supposed to say anything about it.”
“I need that information,” AJ pulled out his credentials, “I work in the city lab, those are our specimens.”
“Alright, alright. Some bum came in here earlier and just started popping all the null skulls. He got six of them before we could stop him. They’re cleaning up inside right now.”
AJ was confused, “How did he even get in?”
“He had an ID, must’ve stolen it from someone. Anyway, I guess one of the guards didn’t check it thoroughly enough because they let him through.”
“What’d you do to the guy?”
“We had to take him out. Larry over here popped him,” he motioned at the man standing near the door, “Dumb bastard just wouldn’t stop firing. He kept yelling, ‘Give me my family back!’ It was unreal.”
“Wow…do you have a list of which ones were killed?” AJ asked.
“It’s classified for everyone except the mayor and Dr. Harvey. Sorry about that.”
Something wasn’t adding up, who would be careless enough to let a streety steal their papers? “Ok, thank you…”
“Stan.”
“Thanks, Stan”
Stan said, “Sure thing, sir. Now clear outta here before you get us in trouble.”
Larry grunted.
AJ turned around and walked to Dr. Harvey’s house.
*************************************************************
When he got there, AJ knocked on the door. A few moments later, Dr. Harvey appeared wearing a robe.
“Hello, Dr. Harvey.” AJ said, “Did you hear about the quarantine cages?”
“Yes, yes, it’s a terrible tragedy.” She didn’t look too broken up about it.
“Was Caleb one of the occupants that were killed?”
“I’m really not allowed to say. Mayor Jenkins classified the information immediately.”
“Classified, right. Did you do get that man to do that?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about AJ and it is unwise to level accusations at your superiors without proof. See you in the lab tomorrow. Goodnight.”
Dr. Harvey closed the door.
*************************************************************
The day before he was to leave, there was a transfer of infected. There were only two. Caleb was not in the group. AJ was relieved.
Dr. Harvey was busy checking them in, and making sure all the proper forms were filed and approved. He walked over to her. “Looks like Caleb didn’t make it that night,” he said.
“Looks that way,” she responded curtly.
“Dr. Harvey, I’m leaving tomorrow and I just want to say, I know it was you that got the man in. No one is careless enough to leave those kinds of credentials just lying around where anyone could find them.”
Dr. Harvey stopped writing and looked at him, “I told you the other night, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
AJ continued, “I went there that night with a gun. I was going to do it myself. You saved my life.”
“Well I’m glad that someone else could take the bullet for you.”
“I feel really badly about that.”
“Look, AJ. If someone had to die that night, I’m glad it wasn’t you. But you really need to reconsider the work you’re doing if you can’t separate yourself from it.”
“But you couldn’t either. You couldn’t let me go and get myself killed.”
“You give me too much credit, AJ. I told you, I didn’t do anything and you’ll never hear me say otherwise so just stop trying to get me to admit something and get back to work or I’ll kill you myself and then that man at the cages died for nothing. Have you made all the preparations for Exploration One?”
“Yes, I’ve got a zombo protection suit and a sawed off. We’ll also be—“
“Wait. Zombo protection suit?”
“Yeah, that’s what the scavengers who collect the materials for the suits call them.”
“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Hey, I just go by what they tell me. We’ll also be carrying several sterilized collection jars. I have a full biology kit, five notebooks, twenty pencils and a razor to sharpen them with. If I realize I don’t have something that I need, we’ll bring it the next time out.”
“Ok, if you meet anyone else out there, be sure to question them, but be careful, they could be carriers.”
“I know, I know. I’ve got it all.”
“AJ, as long as your heart is in it, we need you here, so get out of the waste in one piece, alright? Watch your back.”
“I will Dr. Harvey. Thank you. For everything. See you on the other side.”
by Steven Ormosi
AJ walked out of Mayor Jenkins’ office with a newfound sense of importance. He was going to be instrumental in developing the cure. He was going to be the one who determined if it was safe to go outside the walls. He was going to be a hero. The mayor had told him as much.
He had been going stir crazy in the lab lately. Nothing ever seemed to bother Dr. Harvey. She could always maintain her veneer of scientific detachment. AJ on the other hand felt constantly claustrophobic. Even though he knew he was doing important work with the infected and helping to ensure a future, he had begun to lose his cool. A blessing, that’s what this trip was. He strolled back towards Dr. Harvey’s lab with purpose.
Upon entering the lab, AJ could immediately tell that something was wrong. It was too quiet. Where were the infected banging on their cages? Paralyzing fear came over him then. How could they have gotten free?
“Dr. Harvey?” He shouted into the silence. “What’s going on?”
No answer. This was not good. He took the shotgun they kept near the entrance and walked towards the back hesitantly. There was still no sound. How could they have all escaped? He slowly opened the door.
Nothing. They were all gone. There was no blood, no sign of anything. He heard a footstep behind him and whirled, bringing the shotgun up.
Dr. Harvey screamed, “AJ, no!”
AJ managed to stop himself from pulling the trigger even though he was shaking like a leaf in the wind. “What the hell is going on, Dr. Harvey?”
“Oh, Jesus,” she managed looking out from behind her hands, which she had put up for defense. “I didn’t know you were going to be here this afternoon, I thought you had a meeting with the mayor. And will you put that thing down!”
AJ lowered the gun, “Sorry, I was just terrified that they’d escaped. The meeting with the mayor is over, I was coming to tell you about it when…well, this happened. Where are they all?”
“I’m changing labs, AJ, we’ve got a more secure location about two blocks away. I was going to tell you tomorrow when I saw you.”
AJ breathed a sigh of relief, “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I didn’t think it was going to happen so quickly. We got the resources we needed for the move and we got it underway. I didn’t want to wait.”
“I should’ve been here to help. How did you move them?”
“Oh, it wasn’t a problem, just tranqed the hell out of them and loaded them into a covered truck. It went pretty quickly. Permission to use the truck was what I’d been waiting for, so as soon as I got it, I started packing everything up. There was one unfortunate accident. One of the orderlies was bitten.” Dr. Harvey’s mood went sour. “It was…unpleasant.”
AJ was horrified, “Who?”
“Caleb. I liked him. But now you know why we have to be as careful as we can, one mistake and you’re a goner.”
“Is he—“
“He’s in a quarantine cage right now, just waiting. It’s awful. I keep trying to distance myself, tell myself that I have to look at him scientifically now, but the only thing I can see are his eyes, pleading for me to put him out of his misery. I wish I could.”
“Dr. Harvey, we should help him.”
“Oh, AJ, we couldn’t even if we wanted to, he’s under lock and key now in the quarantine zone. They won’t bring him to the lab until later.”
“We have access to those areas. We could figure something out. He worked for you, Dr. Harvey, you can’t just let him change into a monster. Look, I have nothing but respect for you as a scientist, but if you let Caleb go through that, I’m not sure I can respect you as a person anymore. What if it was me?”
“We all make our own choices, AJ. Caleb knew there were risks when he agreed to help us with our research, just like you do. Should we kill all of the specimens just because they used to be human? Hell, some of them still are. We can’t just ignore the established protocol because someone who’s been bitten is our colleague.”
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”
“I’m sorry, AJ, it’s the way things are.”
“Save it, doctor.” AJ spat as he stormed out.
************************************************************
Later that night, AJ showed up to the quarantine cages with a handgun tucked into his pants. There was extra security. The guards at the front stopped him, “Sorry, sir. No more traffic through the cages tonight.”
AJ was crushed; she must have told them he was coming. He didn’t think Dr. Harvey would have given him up. “Is something wrong?” he asked.
“We really aren’t supposed to say anything about it.”
“I need that information,” AJ pulled out his credentials, “I work in the city lab, those are our specimens.”
“Alright, alright. Some bum came in here earlier and just started popping all the null skulls. He got six of them before we could stop him. They’re cleaning up inside right now.”
AJ was confused, “How did he even get in?”
“He had an ID, must’ve stolen it from someone. Anyway, I guess one of the guards didn’t check it thoroughly enough because they let him through.”
“What’d you do to the guy?”
“We had to take him out. Larry over here popped him,” he motioned at the man standing near the door, “Dumb bastard just wouldn’t stop firing. He kept yelling, ‘Give me my family back!’ It was unreal.”
“Wow…do you have a list of which ones were killed?” AJ asked.
“It’s classified for everyone except the mayor and Dr. Harvey. Sorry about that.”
Something wasn’t adding up, who would be careless enough to let a streety steal their papers? “Ok, thank you…”
“Stan.”
“Thanks, Stan”
Stan said, “Sure thing, sir. Now clear outta here before you get us in trouble.”
Larry grunted.
AJ turned around and walked to Dr. Harvey’s house.
*************************************************************
When he got there, AJ knocked on the door. A few moments later, Dr. Harvey appeared wearing a robe.
“Hello, Dr. Harvey.” AJ said, “Did you hear about the quarantine cages?”
“Yes, yes, it’s a terrible tragedy.” She didn’t look too broken up about it.
“Was Caleb one of the occupants that were killed?”
“I’m really not allowed to say. Mayor Jenkins classified the information immediately.”
“Classified, right. Did you do get that man to do that?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about AJ and it is unwise to level accusations at your superiors without proof. See you in the lab tomorrow. Goodnight.”
Dr. Harvey closed the door.
*************************************************************
The day before he was to leave, there was a transfer of infected. There were only two. Caleb was not in the group. AJ was relieved.
Dr. Harvey was busy checking them in, and making sure all the proper forms were filed and approved. He walked over to her. “Looks like Caleb didn’t make it that night,” he said.
“Looks that way,” she responded curtly.
“Dr. Harvey, I’m leaving tomorrow and I just want to say, I know it was you that got the man in. No one is careless enough to leave those kinds of credentials just lying around where anyone could find them.”
Dr. Harvey stopped writing and looked at him, “I told you the other night, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
AJ continued, “I went there that night with a gun. I was going to do it myself. You saved my life.”
“Well I’m glad that someone else could take the bullet for you.”
“I feel really badly about that.”
“Look, AJ. If someone had to die that night, I’m glad it wasn’t you. But you really need to reconsider the work you’re doing if you can’t separate yourself from it.”
“But you couldn’t either. You couldn’t let me go and get myself killed.”
“You give me too much credit, AJ. I told you, I didn’t do anything and you’ll never hear me say otherwise so just stop trying to get me to admit something and get back to work or I’ll kill you myself and then that man at the cages died for nothing. Have you made all the preparations for Exploration One?”
“Yes, I’ve got a zombo protection suit and a sawed off. We’ll also be—“
“Wait. Zombo protection suit?”
“Yeah, that’s what the scavengers who collect the materials for the suits call them.”
“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Hey, I just go by what they tell me. We’ll also be carrying several sterilized collection jars. I have a full biology kit, five notebooks, twenty pencils and a razor to sharpen them with. If I realize I don’t have something that I need, we’ll bring it the next time out.”
“Ok, if you meet anyone else out there, be sure to question them, but be careful, they could be carriers.”
“I know, I know. I’ve got it all.”
“AJ, as long as your heart is in it, we need you here, so get out of the waste in one piece, alright? Watch your back.”
“I will Dr. Harvey. Thank you. For everything. See you on the other side.”
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Volume 6: Constituent Parts
Constituent Parts
by Steven Ormosi
“I want that motherfucker found,” Kelly shouted, “Alive or dead, I don’t give a damn anymore. After what he did to Jonah, he doesn’t deserve that distinction.”
Perry, her right hand man, nodded, “We’re working on it, Kel. He’s just not going to be that easy to find. Unfortunately, we don’t have too much manpower for searching. We have, what, ten people to cover an entire city? All we can do is canvass the neighborhoods and you said yourself you don’t want innocents getting hurt. Well people are scared of Billy and scared people aren’t always the most forthcoming unless they’re more scared of something else. We’ll let you know as soon as we’ve got something.”
Kelly and Perry were sitting in the bar. She had called him here to discuss hunting down Billy the Kid. So far they hadn’t found shit, but that couldn’t be helped. The little fucker was slippery as an eel and a lot more dangerous. Kelly was not keen on losing any more of her friends or associates to that scumbag, so they had to be careful.
She was still mourning Jonah, who it had turned out wasn’t killed that day on the Wall as everyone had been told, but had been kidnapped by Billy’s underlings to try and swing the vote towards Donovan. When he had dissented, they killed him. Not only did they kill him, but they did it in the most horrific and undignified way possible. Jenkins’ men had found him in a quarantine cage, changed into a null skull as they called them on the Wall. Jenkins had to have him put down. Like a fucking dog. When she found out, Kelly had vowed that Billy and Max Donovan would be put down too.
She missed Jonah, missed talking to him at nights, missed drinking with him. She even missed saying goodnight to him. Cute little Jonah, always half asleep over a book, waiting up to say goodnight because he wanted to make sure she’d made it upstairs alright. She always told him that she could take care of herself and he would say, “I know. This is for me, not you.” And she would say, “Thanks, but go to sleep you sound like a fucking high school kid with a crush.” And he would say, “Oh, fuck you, sorry for caring.” But he meant, “Sleep tight, I’ll be here for you if you need me.”
But that was a lie. Because she needed him now.
She shook off the daydream and got back to the task at hand. “Well make sure everyone is on this. It is the most important thing right now. Priority one.”
“Got it. What else do we have going?” Perry asked.
“We’re sending a mechanic on the trip outside. I told Ed I’d get him a good one. Find someone we can trust, I don’t want any screw ups out there. We’re going to need to be able to salvage what we can in order to keep the wheels here oiled. Eventually we need to be able to bring more gas in here, siphoning it from the abandoned cars in the city is only going to go so far. We’re going to be waiting on citywide electric for a while. Ed’s got people working on converting the power plant inside the walls to wind and solar, since we don’t have nearly the amount of coal we need to run it anymore, but who knows how long that could take. I mean, we really just don’t have the tools for it yet. I try to stay away from that stuff for the most part, let the scientists and politicians worry about it, but it is something we’ll hopefully have within a year or two. Meantime, we need to keep our gennys running.”
Kelly continued, “I could use more liquor too, people seem to be shying away from the moonshine, don’t ask me why.“
“Well it tastes like acid mixed with shit, for one,” Perry interrupted.
“Whatever, you’d think people would be happy for anything that makes them forget at this point. Anyway, if you could rustle me up a few bottles from the market, I’d really appreciate it.”
“Ok, I think some scouts may have found some in no man’s land between the walls. I’ll see what I can do.”
“And can you tell Al to take it easy with the bar fights? We’re trying to get on people’s good sides here. We need to rally people around us, not tear them limb from limb.”
“I’ll tell him, Kel. Anything else?”
Kelly walked behind the bar and poured two shots, “Yeah, get some sleep, maybe get laid. You look like shit.”
“That sounds nice.”
“But do all that other stuff I told you first. Here, drink this,” she said, handing him a shot of moonshine.
*************************************************************
After Perry had gone, Kelly took a walk over to City Hall. She had to talk to Ed Jenkins. Luckily she had enough on her plate to keep her mind from drifting to Jonah too often. When she arrived she walked straight into his office.
“You know Ed,” she said, “Security here is for shit, I wish you’d let me post someone to watch your ass. You are aware that you have enemies, right?”
“You worry too much. The only reason you got in here is because my guards know who you are. I want to maintain the appearance of being fully accessible to everyone, not have a brute squad outside my door.”
“I’m just saying, someone strapping the right mix of cleaning supplies could turn you into an ugly stain on your wall.”
“At least then humanity’s fate would be in someone else’s hands.”
“Oh shut up you big cry baby.”
“How’s the mechanic search going?” Ed said, pouring himself a glass of water from a pitcher on his desk.
“It’s going. I’ve got Perry on it right now, actually. We’ll have one by next week. No worries.”
“Good,” Ed said, taking a gulp of water. “It’s amazing. The things we have to worry about now. This water I’m drinking. Know where it comes from?”
“No idea.”
“Filtered rain water. No shit. We collect the rain water, then filter the hell out of it. It’s probably still horrible for you, but that’s about the best we can do. We still have a small store of bottled water for long drought contingencies, but most of the water we have available literally falls from the sky like manna. Since we don’t really have access to any good water supplies here, we have to collect it, we have dozens of rooftop containers that do the job. The point is, I’m worried that we have so much to pay attention to, just to survive, that we’re going to miss something. And if we miss something, that’s curtains for us. Maybe as a species. Why am I responsible for that?”
“Because you were the best person available for the job.”
“Just because I’m better than what we had doesn’t mean I’m the best. I don’t know. I feel like the world is expected of me. How am I supposed to live up to that?”
“Look, Mr. Mayor, I’m not the kind of person that goes in for trying to make someone feel better about themselves. I’m here to get things done. You wanna wallow, do it after I leave, but for Christ’s sake, do it privately. We don’t need the population thinking you’re some whiney pussy right now, or ever.”
Jenkins looked her in the eye, “You think I don’t know that? Why do you think I’m trying to talk to you about it? You’re the one person I can trust to know that this isn’t a sign of weakness. I’m just working through everything that’s going on. Listen, Kelly, you have nothing to worry about with me.”
“Good.”
Jenkins shook off his malaise, “I’ve got some information that will interest you. We think we have the whereabouts of Billy. You know that after his weapons depot mysteriously exploded, he went into hiding. He’s had his head down for weeks, but we got a tip yesterday that he was seen on the east side of town, about two blocks in from the Wall over there. It appears that he has a place on Williams St. So, use that information as you will. I’m going to have some people start combing the area three days from now. It would be a damn shame if he were already dead.”
“I’m sure the public would be outraged,” said Kelly.
“Alright,” said Jenkins, “I’ve got a meeting I need to be at, so we’ll leave it at that today. It’s been a pleasure as always.”
“The pleasure was all mine, sir,” Kelly said, extending her hand to shake.
Jenkins grabbed it and smiled, “Keep doing what you do, Kelly. You’re making this a better town for all of us.”
“You too, Mr. Mayor. Come grab a drink sometime.”
“I will, I will. See you soon.”
*************************************************************
Kelly found herself at the makeshift graveyard near the center of town. It was full. She didn’t like coming here, there were always too many people grieving for their lost loved ones, she felt like she was at a social gathering, not a cemetery. Kelly walked up to Jonah’s grave and took out a copy of The Odyssey and a bottle. She placed his favorite book against his marker and poured two shots of moonshine.
“To liver explosions and brain aneurisms,” she said pouring the shot over his grave and then tipping back her own. “Who dies, you pussy?”
by Steven Ormosi
“I want that motherfucker found,” Kelly shouted, “Alive or dead, I don’t give a damn anymore. After what he did to Jonah, he doesn’t deserve that distinction.”
Perry, her right hand man, nodded, “We’re working on it, Kel. He’s just not going to be that easy to find. Unfortunately, we don’t have too much manpower for searching. We have, what, ten people to cover an entire city? All we can do is canvass the neighborhoods and you said yourself you don’t want innocents getting hurt. Well people are scared of Billy and scared people aren’t always the most forthcoming unless they’re more scared of something else. We’ll let you know as soon as we’ve got something.”
Kelly and Perry were sitting in the bar. She had called him here to discuss hunting down Billy the Kid. So far they hadn’t found shit, but that couldn’t be helped. The little fucker was slippery as an eel and a lot more dangerous. Kelly was not keen on losing any more of her friends or associates to that scumbag, so they had to be careful.
She was still mourning Jonah, who it had turned out wasn’t killed that day on the Wall as everyone had been told, but had been kidnapped by Billy’s underlings to try and swing the vote towards Donovan. When he had dissented, they killed him. Not only did they kill him, but they did it in the most horrific and undignified way possible. Jenkins’ men had found him in a quarantine cage, changed into a null skull as they called them on the Wall. Jenkins had to have him put down. Like a fucking dog. When she found out, Kelly had vowed that Billy and Max Donovan would be put down too.
She missed Jonah, missed talking to him at nights, missed drinking with him. She even missed saying goodnight to him. Cute little Jonah, always half asleep over a book, waiting up to say goodnight because he wanted to make sure she’d made it upstairs alright. She always told him that she could take care of herself and he would say, “I know. This is for me, not you.” And she would say, “Thanks, but go to sleep you sound like a fucking high school kid with a crush.” And he would say, “Oh, fuck you, sorry for caring.” But he meant, “Sleep tight, I’ll be here for you if you need me.”
But that was a lie. Because she needed him now.
She shook off the daydream and got back to the task at hand. “Well make sure everyone is on this. It is the most important thing right now. Priority one.”
“Got it. What else do we have going?” Perry asked.
“We’re sending a mechanic on the trip outside. I told Ed I’d get him a good one. Find someone we can trust, I don’t want any screw ups out there. We’re going to need to be able to salvage what we can in order to keep the wheels here oiled. Eventually we need to be able to bring more gas in here, siphoning it from the abandoned cars in the city is only going to go so far. We’re going to be waiting on citywide electric for a while. Ed’s got people working on converting the power plant inside the walls to wind and solar, since we don’t have nearly the amount of coal we need to run it anymore, but who knows how long that could take. I mean, we really just don’t have the tools for it yet. I try to stay away from that stuff for the most part, let the scientists and politicians worry about it, but it is something we’ll hopefully have within a year or two. Meantime, we need to keep our gennys running.”
Kelly continued, “I could use more liquor too, people seem to be shying away from the moonshine, don’t ask me why.“
“Well it tastes like acid mixed with shit, for one,” Perry interrupted.
“Whatever, you’d think people would be happy for anything that makes them forget at this point. Anyway, if you could rustle me up a few bottles from the market, I’d really appreciate it.”
“Ok, I think some scouts may have found some in no man’s land between the walls. I’ll see what I can do.”
“And can you tell Al to take it easy with the bar fights? We’re trying to get on people’s good sides here. We need to rally people around us, not tear them limb from limb.”
“I’ll tell him, Kel. Anything else?”
Kelly walked behind the bar and poured two shots, “Yeah, get some sleep, maybe get laid. You look like shit.”
“That sounds nice.”
“But do all that other stuff I told you first. Here, drink this,” she said, handing him a shot of moonshine.
*************************************************************
After Perry had gone, Kelly took a walk over to City Hall. She had to talk to Ed Jenkins. Luckily she had enough on her plate to keep her mind from drifting to Jonah too often. When she arrived she walked straight into his office.
“You know Ed,” she said, “Security here is for shit, I wish you’d let me post someone to watch your ass. You are aware that you have enemies, right?”
“You worry too much. The only reason you got in here is because my guards know who you are. I want to maintain the appearance of being fully accessible to everyone, not have a brute squad outside my door.”
“I’m just saying, someone strapping the right mix of cleaning supplies could turn you into an ugly stain on your wall.”
“At least then humanity’s fate would be in someone else’s hands.”
“Oh shut up you big cry baby.”
“How’s the mechanic search going?” Ed said, pouring himself a glass of water from a pitcher on his desk.
“It’s going. I’ve got Perry on it right now, actually. We’ll have one by next week. No worries.”
“Good,” Ed said, taking a gulp of water. “It’s amazing. The things we have to worry about now. This water I’m drinking. Know where it comes from?”
“No idea.”
“Filtered rain water. No shit. We collect the rain water, then filter the hell out of it. It’s probably still horrible for you, but that’s about the best we can do. We still have a small store of bottled water for long drought contingencies, but most of the water we have available literally falls from the sky like manna. Since we don’t really have access to any good water supplies here, we have to collect it, we have dozens of rooftop containers that do the job. The point is, I’m worried that we have so much to pay attention to, just to survive, that we’re going to miss something. And if we miss something, that’s curtains for us. Maybe as a species. Why am I responsible for that?”
“Because you were the best person available for the job.”
“Just because I’m better than what we had doesn’t mean I’m the best. I don’t know. I feel like the world is expected of me. How am I supposed to live up to that?”
“Look, Mr. Mayor, I’m not the kind of person that goes in for trying to make someone feel better about themselves. I’m here to get things done. You wanna wallow, do it after I leave, but for Christ’s sake, do it privately. We don’t need the population thinking you’re some whiney pussy right now, or ever.”
Jenkins looked her in the eye, “You think I don’t know that? Why do you think I’m trying to talk to you about it? You’re the one person I can trust to know that this isn’t a sign of weakness. I’m just working through everything that’s going on. Listen, Kelly, you have nothing to worry about with me.”
“Good.”
Jenkins shook off his malaise, “I’ve got some information that will interest you. We think we have the whereabouts of Billy. You know that after his weapons depot mysteriously exploded, he went into hiding. He’s had his head down for weeks, but we got a tip yesterday that he was seen on the east side of town, about two blocks in from the Wall over there. It appears that he has a place on Williams St. So, use that information as you will. I’m going to have some people start combing the area three days from now. It would be a damn shame if he were already dead.”
“I’m sure the public would be outraged,” said Kelly.
“Alright,” said Jenkins, “I’ve got a meeting I need to be at, so we’ll leave it at that today. It’s been a pleasure as always.”
“The pleasure was all mine, sir,” Kelly said, extending her hand to shake.
Jenkins grabbed it and smiled, “Keep doing what you do, Kelly. You’re making this a better town for all of us.”
“You too, Mr. Mayor. Come grab a drink sometime.”
“I will, I will. See you soon.”
*************************************************************
Kelly found herself at the makeshift graveyard near the center of town. It was full. She didn’t like coming here, there were always too many people grieving for their lost loved ones, she felt like she was at a social gathering, not a cemetery. Kelly walked up to Jonah’s grave and took out a copy of The Odyssey and a bottle. She placed his favorite book against his marker and poured two shots of moonshine.
“To liver explosions and brain aneurisms,” she said pouring the shot over his grave and then tipping back her own. “Who dies, you pussy?”
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Volume 6 release
Volume 6 of Life After Death will be released tomorrow. Though we usually strive for the first of the month with our releases, we decided to delay a little for our Halloween specials.
Precipice by Steven Ormosi
-In which a man's faith in humanity and faith in science are pitted against each other.
Constituent Parts by Steven Ormosi
-In which Kelly tries to ignore her demons.
-In which a man's faith in humanity and faith in science are pitted against each other.
Dogwood Ave. Blues by Scott Thurlow
-In which dogs are no longer a man's best friend.
Road Agents by Scott Thurlow
-In which the romantic interests of a deceased man are questioned.
A Walk in the Park by J. Ian Manczur
-In which an idiom takes on a dangerous new meaning
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Halloween Special: The Ghoul Gambit
The Ghoul Gambit
by Scott Thurlow
Now...
"This'll never work. I keep telling you."
"And I keep telling you-- we don't know until we try. It worked in movies before. And in that one book."
"I know, I know, you said that! But this is real life...and with real zombies!"
"Exactly! And how else can we know what'll work or not unless we try?"
"I...uh...don't...know, alright. I just don't think this is going to work."
"Yeah, that's right. You don't know. You don't know shit. Maybe I don't either. But I can't take this anymore--sitting here, waiting for something to go wrong. Or for them to get in. No one's coming to save us, you know that right? I told you we're on our own. So you can stay here if you want, but this is it. I'm doing it. With or without you."
"But what if it doesn't work?"
"Then I guess we're dead, right? Just like everyone else. Or undead. Whatever. Did we ever decide on that? Not like it'll really matter. Besides, what if it does work? We'll be the first to figure something like this out. We'll be free. Safe. Safer, anyway."
"Alright, alright! I guess there's a first time for everything. Fine. Fuck it. Help me get mine on."
A few days earlier...
by Scott Thurlow
Now...
"This'll never work. I keep telling you."
"And I keep telling you-- we don't know until we try. It worked in movies before. And in that one book."
"I know, I know, you said that! But this is real life...and with real zombies!"
"Exactly! And how else can we know what'll work or not unless we try?"
"I...uh...don't...know, alright. I just don't think this is going to work."
"Yeah, that's right. You don't know. You don't know shit. Maybe I don't either. But I can't take this anymore--sitting here, waiting for something to go wrong. Or for them to get in. No one's coming to save us, you know that right? I told you we're on our own. So you can stay here if you want, but this is it. I'm doing it. With or without you."
"But what if it doesn't work?"
"Then I guess we're dead, right? Just like everyone else. Or undead. Whatever. Did we ever decide on that? Not like it'll really matter. Besides, what if it does work? We'll be the first to figure something like this out. We'll be free. Safe. Safer, anyway."
"Alright, alright! I guess there's a first time for everything. Fine. Fuck it. Help me get mine on."
A few days earlier...
"Look-- we can disguise ourselves like them."
"What? How?"
"How? Man, look around us. We're in a goddamn Halloween superstore! There's all kinds of stuff we can use."
"Yeah? What about a gorilla suit? That might confuse the hell out of them."
"You going to try to run in that thing?
"I...uh...guess not."
"I'm serious though. Maybe if we look and act like them, they'll leave us alone. It's worked in movies before. And it worked in that one book."
"It'll never work."
"Got any better ideas?"
Now...
Simon and Nick donned the masks and matching costumes (complete with a concoction of "zombie blood") they had assembled and cobbled together from various outfits and paraphernalia in the store. As fate had it, the place they were hunkered down in was a Halloween chain outlet. Or used to be. They had found it abandoned, though mostly intact, and had been using it as their shelter since stumbling upon it. The nature of the store being the impetus for the "plan" Simon had come up with that they were now about to enact, despite some reluctance and skepticism over its overall possible effectiveness and merits (or lack thereof) on Nick's part.
Before they prepared to leave, they made sure their masks were on straight and the "blood" was properly applied.
"Looks good. Ready?"
"I guess so. Ready as I'll ever be. Let's go before I change my mind."
They exited the store as they began attempting to imitate the noises they had grown so accustomed to during their brief stay, mimicking the gurgling to keep up the charade as best they could. They made it a few yards out unmolested when, overcome by the initial "success" of his plan, Simon called to Nick, "It worked! It actually worked! Ha! I told you! Now hurry up--"
His jubilant statement was never finished, as Nick turned in time to see that the real creatures had sensed their ruse and were rapidly heading towards them.
"Fuck you! I told you this would never work! Why the hell did I listen to you, you son of a--" Nick's final words were also cut off, as the horde caught up. The costumes had been well-designed, though. The difference between both Simon and Nick's appearances before, and after, being consumed was nearly indistinguishable.
"What? How?"
"How? Man, look around us. We're in a goddamn Halloween superstore! There's all kinds of stuff we can use."
"Yeah? What about a gorilla suit? That might confuse the hell out of them."
"You going to try to run in that thing?
"I...uh...guess not."
"I'm serious though. Maybe if we look and act like them, they'll leave us alone. It's worked in movies before. And it worked in that one book."
"It'll never work."
"Got any better ideas?"
Now...
Simon and Nick donned the masks and matching costumes (complete with a concoction of "zombie blood") they had assembled and cobbled together from various outfits and paraphernalia in the store. As fate had it, the place they were hunkered down in was a Halloween chain outlet. Or used to be. They had found it abandoned, though mostly intact, and had been using it as their shelter since stumbling upon it. The nature of the store being the impetus for the "plan" Simon had come up with that they were now about to enact, despite some reluctance and skepticism over its overall possible effectiveness and merits (or lack thereof) on Nick's part.
Before they prepared to leave, they made sure their masks were on straight and the "blood" was properly applied.
"Looks good. Ready?"
"I guess so. Ready as I'll ever be. Let's go before I change my mind."
They exited the store as they began attempting to imitate the noises they had grown so accustomed to during their brief stay, mimicking the gurgling to keep up the charade as best they could. They made it a few yards out unmolested when, overcome by the initial "success" of his plan, Simon called to Nick, "It worked! It actually worked! Ha! I told you! Now hurry up--"
His jubilant statement was never finished, as Nick turned in time to see that the real creatures had sensed their ruse and were rapidly heading towards them.
"Fuck you! I told you this would never work! Why the hell did I listen to you, you son of a--" Nick's final words were also cut off, as the horde caught up. The costumes had been well-designed, though. The difference between both Simon and Nick's appearances before, and after, being consumed was nearly indistinguishable.
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