CHAPTER 3: AN AUDIENCE WITH THE ENEMY
Earl "Duke" Pyke had never been much for stealth. Hell at 6' 10" and packing 380 pounds on his muscled frame, he was about as subtle as a tank trying to pass for a Volkswagen Beetle. But today Duke had a mission straight from the boss and he didn't make a habit of failing at the tasks assigned to him. Luckily for him today's prey seemed distracted and intent on its own prey, bearing him no mind at all as he closed in on the petite feminine figure crouched beside the run down service station.
Duke knew not to underestimate this one, small as she may be, he knew what she was capable of from the boss's stories and the devastation viewed by his own eyes. He approached his target from behind slowly and cautiously. He heard her say something to herself about the boss and he knew he had to move now before it was too late to stop her. She began to move and quick too toward the tree line. He had to think of some sort of distraction!
He looked at his feet to find an empty, half rusted can of pork and beans and he picked it up quickly. He took his aim and fired it as hard as he could at his moving target. It hit its marked, striking the girl on the shoulder and deflecting to the side. Duke, for one of the few times in his life, instantly began to regret his actions, as the figure pivoted at an alarming rate and began charging straight at him. The speed and grace with which she moved was stunning, so much so that she had fired six 9mm rounds at him before his mind could even catch up to the fact that she had drawn to pistols seemingly from nowhere.
___________________________________________________________________
Just as she had gotten herself all prepared for a surprise attack on the unsuspecting miscreants just through the tree line, Jo felt something glance off her shoulder. Not losing any momentum, she felt herself round back in the other direction drawing her dual 9mm pistols from her chest holsters. She had fired off 3 rounds from each in rapid succession at the behemoth of a man standing where she had just been crouched. She was dumbfounded when all shots found there targets in various places on the burly male figure only to dead stop at the surface of his hide and fall to the asphalt in a rain of flattened lead. She continued to charge headlong at this impossibly still standing mountain with legs, re-holstering the useless pistols and drawing her hunting knife.
___________________________________________________________________
Duke felt the hot metal of each projectile striking his clothing and flattening on his miraculous flesh underneath. Each round felt like being stung by a small swarm of bees but none punctured the skin. That was never going to be something he would get used to. Every time he found himself in a life threatening situation he always thought "This is the last one! This is the one that is gonna break through and end it!", but they never did.
He watched as she switched from the pistols to a well crafted hunting knife. He had no intention of fighting her, as harming her was against the specifications of his mission, so he raised his hands in a symbol of surrender. Yet she still continued to close the gap between them. He was not about to let little miss hothead slice and dice the on decent outfit he had managed to scrounge up over the last couple of months that actually fit, so he resorted to a even greater weakness and tried reason.
"Will you stop for 2 seconds! Please!" he bellowed at her. To both of their surprises she did just 5 feet away from where he stood, looking ridiculous with his massive hands held high in the air. "What ever it is you plan on doing to me isn't gonna work and I have no intentions of harming you. So can we just stop and talk for a minute?"
"So talk!" she responded, secretly grateful for the change of events at least delaying the seemingly impossible task of taking him down.
"Fine! I know what you were about to do, but you should know they have already been alerted to your presence and you won't catch them off guard. As for what I want, I was only told to bring you to Thinker unharmed."
I told you they knew we were following them!
Shut up and let me handle this!
"If they all know I am here, then how is it that I am not surrounded right now?"
"Because Thinker's ghost stories are not taken lightly and I was deemed capable enough of the task of bringing you in alive. In case you haven't noticed, we are a bit short-handed lately and we could afford any more casualties."
"Why does Thinker want to see me, alive of all things, if he knows who I am and what I have done?"
"I honestly have no idea and have learned not to ask when it comes to the orders I am given."
"What if I refuse to go with you?"
"Then the alive part still stands, but the unharmed part gets a little hazy."
Despite her better judgement, Jo put her blade away slowly and sarcastically gestured for Duke to lead the way. He walked past her cautiously and headed for the tree line as she fell into step behind him. Duke was not sure what to think about this one. For some reason Jo felt comfortable even safe following in his wake covered by his enormous, lengthening shadow.
What do you think you are doing?
Getting an armored escort straight to our target!
A sly smirk crept onto her face as the shadows of the forest engulfed them.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
The Gold Coast
CHAPTER 2: JOCELYN & CHLOE
A cool breeze cut through the humid evening, sending a chill up the spine of the young auburn haired woman sleeping in the chapel's bell tower. She stirred in her slumber as yet another horrid memory slithered its way into her peaceful dreams. She sat bolt upright, effortlessly unsheathing the hunting knife, she kept on her at all times, from its concealed holster strapped across her chest.
Remembering how difficult it had been for her to get up here, by herself , at little more than 150 pounds, she tried to reassure her instinctual mind she was safe. Her pulse quickened. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the receding daylight. Her senses kicked into high gear absorbing all sensory info to be had from her surroundings. As she felt her toned muscles tense in preparation of trouble, she knew she would find no more rest here.
"They know we are following them and they are coming to kill us! I told you to leave it be, but you never listen to me! Have I ever led us into danger!?! No! I am always the one getting us out of the crap you get us into!"
"Shut up twit or they will find us!"
She lifted herself up just enough to see out of the broken stained glass window, surprisingly the only one broken of the 4 that encircled the tower room. Paranoia, wile enemy to most, had become a valuable aspect of her survival these last few months and she knew not to take an intuition lightly. She pulled the binoculars from her tattered backpack and focused on the tree line, just visible over the rundown service station two blocks east of her current perch. When she was sure no one had heard them, she sat back down with her back against the wall and scowled at her sister.
" What is your problem, Chloe? I am doing this for you!"
" Don't give me that load of crap! You are doing this for you! I have pleaded with you for months to let them go and stop putting yourself in harm's way for your own little helping of vengeance!"
" I WILL NOT LET THEM GET AWAY WITH WHAT THEY DID!"
"JOCELYN! When I yell you are the only one that hears me! When you yell the world hears you! Best take another look hothead!"
This statement sliced through her growing rage and filled the wound with sorrow. She reluctantly turned from her sister, pulling the binoculars out again and checked the tree line again. No movement confirmed they savages just inside that wooded fortress were on the hunt for tonight's provisions for the meal fires. They always went out just before nightfall for concealment and easy prey.
Gathering her belongings back into her backpack and replacing her arsenal of holsters and weapons to their respective hiding places all throughout her camouflaged, multi pocketed outfit, she felt a knot building in her throat. She glanced around the small chamber again and saw that her sister was gone again. The rational side of her fractured mind reminded her that she hadn't been there in the first place, while the delusional portion scolded herself for speaking only in anger toward her before she disappeared again.
It had been 4 months since that fateful night back in Fruitport. That was the night her mind had began to slowly fragment like a car windshield hit by flying rock from a dump truck. As time passed the cracks had spider-webbed out from that initial point of impact, resulting in the emotionally distraught, paranoid, creature of raw rage and vengeance sitting in the bell tower silently weeping at this very moment.
She dried her tears knowing that haunted recollections could wait. Right now she had business to attend to and the tugging of that instinctual beast within told her she needed to move now. As the sun descended into the west, Jocelyn used the gathering shadows to climb to the ground unnoticed by even the diseased pigeons nested under the eaves of the church house.
As she crept across town she thought of how far she had followed these scumbags. From Fruitport, the small legion of miscreants had followed I-96 across most of the state. Jo, as her sister used to call her, had overheard them talking one night around the fires, that it was the path chosen by their immoral leader, Damon. The ultimately destination, the notorious rock city of Detroit. The motivation, a city that large must be full of food to eat and people to terrorize. Hell, with some luck maybe they still had electricity. (Damon wasn't the most educated of individuals even before the world went down the toilet!)
Damon he played a major role in the murders of Jo's family and she wanted nothing more than to watch his slow painful demise, but she bided her time until the right moment presented itself. She had trailed them the entire trek from Fruitport to Redford, careful to not be seen or detected. She had lived off the scraps they left in their wake to survive, thinking that the opportunity to bring him the pain she fantasized about would not present itself before they reached Detroit. His fatal misstep happened on a stormy night when they had set up camp in Redford to ride out the storm.
Normally Damon traveled with an entourage at all times, but one night he chose to venture from the pack, as Jo watched from a third floor apartment she had chosen not only for its view of their camp but also that it appeared to have never been inhabited. (Staying somewhere that someone had died or seeing family photos creeped her out and made her pine for her own family too much.) She was amazed at the gall of this guy, did he think he was invincible? He left the relative safety of the encampment with only a flashlight and a small handgun.
Jo briefly congratulated herself on stumbling upon the danger room in that old farmhouse several days back. She had found a loose fitting camouflage outfit, a few easily carried firearms (complete with body holsters for most of them), a large hunting knife with a leather sheath that fastened across the body and rested in the middle of the chest, an military issue backpack and some dried rations. She had loaded herself down with all that she could possibly travel with and transport, already a victim of her growing paranoia. She now geared up and set out to find him out there in the darkness and make him pay.
When she was finally able to track him down at ground level, it was evident that the point of his little late night excursion was to seek out food and "toys" that he could selfishly claim as his own. In her adrenaline fueled fervor, Jo through some cautions to the wind in tracking Damon. Around one corner she lost sight of him and once she had caught up and peered around the edge of the building, he was gone. She inched around the building and moved slowly down the street, nerves on edge, anticipating him appearing out of nowhere. As she sidled past a darkened doorway, she felt a strong hand snap out of the darkness and cover her mouth firmly and violently fling her onto the darkened floor of the abandoned store.
She fled from the abrasive beam of the flashlight, as Damon took stock of his twilight stalker. She didn't know what to do, he was blocking the only visible escape and she was not expecting such an exhibit of strength from what appeared to be a tall but overall malnutritioned man. As she felt the fear rising somewhere from deep within her, she suddenly understood how this man had intimidated his way into a leadership role.
"Well ain't choo a right fine sight for so' eyes?" he said as he slowly advanced on the retreating young girl, bearing his browned and broken teeth in a malicious grin. Something about this girl seemed vaguely familiar to him.
"Stay away from me! I am warning you!"
"It tawks and its fiery too! Dis may jus' be my lucky day!" he said, licking his chapped lips and then puckering up in an exaggerated kissing gesture.
"I mean it scum sucker! I am warning you!"
"OOOO WEEE! Bes' watch m'self or 'lil miss muffet' gone claw my eyes out!" laughing at his own little joke, he lunged at her.
Close your eyes little sis!
Not knowing how to react and certainly not wanting to see what he was about to do to her anyway, she clenched her eyes closed as tight she could. She waited for his weight to descend on her, but it never came. Suddenly a bloodcurdling scream filled her ears. She flung her eyes open to find the hunting knife mysteriously in her hand and, even more mysteriously, buried hilt deep in the man's groin as he wailed in pain. Partially in horror and partly out of instinct, she attempted to pull the 8 inch blade from its resting place, but as she pulled the man tried to retreat backward and the blade came out at an odd angle. Jo heard something, that sounded like raw ground beef, hit the laminated concrete floor of the store and a hot liquid spattered in her face upon its impact with the floor.
Jo picked up the discarded flashlight to discover there was blood all over. She directed the flashlight toward the screaming writhing figure about 6 feet in front of her. Damon was desperately clutching between his legs to try and stem the blood flow but it was doing no good, he was bleeding out fast. In his pain, he seemed to have totally forgotten her presence. She leaned over the rapidly dying man, grabbed his face and made him look her in the eyes. It was as if she was watching the scene through someone else's eyes and she couldn't control what was happening.
"Best enjoy this, scumbag, cause where your headed this will seem like a paper cut in retrospect!" she heard the words coming from her mouth but couldn't believe it herself.
She brought the heavy metal flashlight down on the man's head repeatedly until, not only was he thoroughly dead but, his skull was little more than a fine powder in the gelatin of what was left of his brain matter. That was when she heard the others responding to the screams, rummaging the town in search of their fearless leader. Surveying her surroundings with the beam of the flashlight she saw a door that lead to the storage room for the store and probably a back door.
Still lead/controlled by that instinctual, aggressive being that had surfaced, she bolted for the door and charged on through. She could see the dock door and her escape but as she ran across the stock room she notice a couple of propane tanks stacked in a corner. She felt herself stop and stare at the tanks. She tried to scream for her body to run and get out of here before more of them showed up, but she could already tell that the beast within had a plan for those tanks before they left.
She made fast work at lining the four tanks up in domino fashion between the door to the store front and her escape door leaving the last in front of the dock door, in plain sight of someone outside. She then jumped down from the dock and ran several paces to the edge of the wooded area on the other side of the alley that ran behind the store. She then turned and pulled out a 9mm pistol from one of her waist holster and took a bead on the tank and waited to hear voices through the open doorway. It didn't take long before she heard a man yell in horror and rage as he found the bloodied corpse of ringleader. This was exactly what she was waiting for. She squeezed the trigger twice in rapid succession and dived into the safety of the woods.
The explosion was louder than anything she had ever heard, as the bullets ripped through the first tank igniting the contents in a spectacular, thundering fireball. The explosion of the first tank created a chain reaction as each successive tank detonated ripping the building and the surrounding structures apart in its wake. The damage was unbelievable and the body count, minus the already dead leader, was at least 10 of the gang instantly and 6 more of injuries later for lack of medical attention. The latter deaths became meal fire fodder for those that remained.
Jo snuck back to the apartment she had claimed. When she snapped out of her demented trance she vomited until there was nothing left inside of her. She then wept though she didn't fully understand why. She then curled into the fetal position in a corner and tried to stop her mind from replaying the whole gory occurrence in explicit detail over and over again. She finally passed out from exhaustion and didn't wake again until the sun was on its westwardly course again.
She was sure the group had moved along by now after the events of the previous evening, but, when she went to the window to check, she saw that they were still in the same place they had been the night before. She found out later that they had not known what to do after such a devastating attack on what they had know for most of their miserable lives until a strong young man, affectionately known as Ox, stepped up and took the reins, stating they would continue to Detroit as planned and anyone against him would wind up supper.(No arguing with those terms!)
From Redford they had continued on to Woodbridge without anymore visits from "the angry spirits of their victims," who had received the blame for the Redford incident. Jo found this somewhat amusing as the only part they were off on is that she was still very much alive. At Woodbridge they had found a water tank with drinkable water. As they all slept one night, Jo snuck in and filled all her canteens then deposited an industrial size bag of pesticide she had found at a local farm supplies store into the water receptacle.
At dawn the first group drank from the reservoir and by the time the sun peaked over the horizon these individuals were having crippling pain in their abdomens and vomiting nonstop. By noon half of the group was either dead or dying, including new head honcho Ox, whose finally words were "Don't drink the water!". Like some sort of twisted parody of the story of Montezuma.
The dimwitted survivors, now a mere 29 down from their starting total of nearly just under 80, mistook this warning as stay away from all large bodies of water. One of the riffraff with a semblance of a brain remembered Detroit was right near a river. Thus the detour north up I-94 under the sagely knowledge that water ran down and the fresh stuff must be where is started at. Damon had been stupid but in the land of the blind the one eyed man is king. Since Damon and Ox had both died badly the idiots clung to the man they now viewed as their savior for steering them clear of Detroit.
They traveled north along I-94 until they saw "the top of the water" to their east and cut cross country to the "the land of clean water". They settled in at Anchorville for a time before moving southeast into the "land between the river and the bay". In case you hadn't noticed, Thinker, the new leader, like giving things titles. In fact, he was the brilliant mind that had given the label to the party responsible for the original tragedy that befell them. That is how she came to be in Pearl Beach.
Jo had reached the rundown service station and was now focusing on the tree line again. From this new vantage point she could see the hunters coming back with tonight's provisions. Some of the prey was still alive and that somehow made her even more angry, as she knew what torture was in store for those poor creatures. She felt that familiar beast rising from within again and welcomed it like an old friend.
"Welcome back, big sis! Let's go pick Thinker's brain!"
A cool breeze cut through the humid evening, sending a chill up the spine of the young auburn haired woman sleeping in the chapel's bell tower. She stirred in her slumber as yet another horrid memory slithered its way into her peaceful dreams. She sat bolt upright, effortlessly unsheathing the hunting knife, she kept on her at all times, from its concealed holster strapped across her chest.
Remembering how difficult it had been for her to get up here, by herself , at little more than 150 pounds, she tried to reassure her instinctual mind she was safe. Her pulse quickened. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the receding daylight. Her senses kicked into high gear absorbing all sensory info to be had from her surroundings. As she felt her toned muscles tense in preparation of trouble, she knew she would find no more rest here.
"They know we are following them and they are coming to kill us! I told you to leave it be, but you never listen to me! Have I ever led us into danger!?! No! I am always the one getting us out of the crap you get us into!"
"Shut up twit or they will find us!"
She lifted herself up just enough to see out of the broken stained glass window, surprisingly the only one broken of the 4 that encircled the tower room. Paranoia, wile enemy to most, had become a valuable aspect of her survival these last few months and she knew not to take an intuition lightly. She pulled the binoculars from her tattered backpack and focused on the tree line, just visible over the rundown service station two blocks east of her current perch. When she was sure no one had heard them, she sat back down with her back against the wall and scowled at her sister.
" What is your problem, Chloe? I am doing this for you!"
" Don't give me that load of crap! You are doing this for you! I have pleaded with you for months to let them go and stop putting yourself in harm's way for your own little helping of vengeance!"
" I WILL NOT LET THEM GET AWAY WITH WHAT THEY DID!"
"JOCELYN! When I yell you are the only one that hears me! When you yell the world hears you! Best take another look hothead!"
This statement sliced through her growing rage and filled the wound with sorrow. She reluctantly turned from her sister, pulling the binoculars out again and checked the tree line again. No movement confirmed they savages just inside that wooded fortress were on the hunt for tonight's provisions for the meal fires. They always went out just before nightfall for concealment and easy prey.
Gathering her belongings back into her backpack and replacing her arsenal of holsters and weapons to their respective hiding places all throughout her camouflaged, multi pocketed outfit, she felt a knot building in her throat. She glanced around the small chamber again and saw that her sister was gone again. The rational side of her fractured mind reminded her that she hadn't been there in the first place, while the delusional portion scolded herself for speaking only in anger toward her before she disappeared again.
It had been 4 months since that fateful night back in Fruitport. That was the night her mind had began to slowly fragment like a car windshield hit by flying rock from a dump truck. As time passed the cracks had spider-webbed out from that initial point of impact, resulting in the emotionally distraught, paranoid, creature of raw rage and vengeance sitting in the bell tower silently weeping at this very moment.
She dried her tears knowing that haunted recollections could wait. Right now she had business to attend to and the tugging of that instinctual beast within told her she needed to move now. As the sun descended into the west, Jocelyn used the gathering shadows to climb to the ground unnoticed by even the diseased pigeons nested under the eaves of the church house.
As she crept across town she thought of how far she had followed these scumbags. From Fruitport, the small legion of miscreants had followed I-96 across most of the state. Jo, as her sister used to call her, had overheard them talking one night around the fires, that it was the path chosen by their immoral leader, Damon. The ultimately destination, the notorious rock city of Detroit. The motivation, a city that large must be full of food to eat and people to terrorize. Hell, with some luck maybe they still had electricity. (Damon wasn't the most educated of individuals even before the world went down the toilet!)
Damon he played a major role in the murders of Jo's family and she wanted nothing more than to watch his slow painful demise, but she bided her time until the right moment presented itself. She had trailed them the entire trek from Fruitport to Redford, careful to not be seen or detected. She had lived off the scraps they left in their wake to survive, thinking that the opportunity to bring him the pain she fantasized about would not present itself before they reached Detroit. His fatal misstep happened on a stormy night when they had set up camp in Redford to ride out the storm.
Normally Damon traveled with an entourage at all times, but one night he chose to venture from the pack, as Jo watched from a third floor apartment she had chosen not only for its view of their camp but also that it appeared to have never been inhabited. (Staying somewhere that someone had died or seeing family photos creeped her out and made her pine for her own family too much.) She was amazed at the gall of this guy, did he think he was invincible? He left the relative safety of the encampment with only a flashlight and a small handgun.
Jo briefly congratulated herself on stumbling upon the danger room in that old farmhouse several days back. She had found a loose fitting camouflage outfit, a few easily carried firearms (complete with body holsters for most of them), a large hunting knife with a leather sheath that fastened across the body and rested in the middle of the chest, an military issue backpack and some dried rations. She had loaded herself down with all that she could possibly travel with and transport, already a victim of her growing paranoia. She now geared up and set out to find him out there in the darkness and make him pay.
When she was finally able to track him down at ground level, it was evident that the point of his little late night excursion was to seek out food and "toys" that he could selfishly claim as his own. In her adrenaline fueled fervor, Jo through some cautions to the wind in tracking Damon. Around one corner she lost sight of him and once she had caught up and peered around the edge of the building, he was gone. She inched around the building and moved slowly down the street, nerves on edge, anticipating him appearing out of nowhere. As she sidled past a darkened doorway, she felt a strong hand snap out of the darkness and cover her mouth firmly and violently fling her onto the darkened floor of the abandoned store.
She fled from the abrasive beam of the flashlight, as Damon took stock of his twilight stalker. She didn't know what to do, he was blocking the only visible escape and she was not expecting such an exhibit of strength from what appeared to be a tall but overall malnutritioned man. As she felt the fear rising somewhere from deep within her, she suddenly understood how this man had intimidated his way into a leadership role.
"Well ain't choo a right fine sight for so' eyes?" he said as he slowly advanced on the retreating young girl, bearing his browned and broken teeth in a malicious grin. Something about this girl seemed vaguely familiar to him.
"Stay away from me! I am warning you!"
"It tawks and its fiery too! Dis may jus' be my lucky day!" he said, licking his chapped lips and then puckering up in an exaggerated kissing gesture.
"I mean it scum sucker! I am warning you!"
"OOOO WEEE! Bes' watch m'self or 'lil miss muffet' gone claw my eyes out!" laughing at his own little joke, he lunged at her.
Close your eyes little sis!
Not knowing how to react and certainly not wanting to see what he was about to do to her anyway, she clenched her eyes closed as tight she could. She waited for his weight to descend on her, but it never came. Suddenly a bloodcurdling scream filled her ears. She flung her eyes open to find the hunting knife mysteriously in her hand and, even more mysteriously, buried hilt deep in the man's groin as he wailed in pain. Partially in horror and partly out of instinct, she attempted to pull the 8 inch blade from its resting place, but as she pulled the man tried to retreat backward and the blade came out at an odd angle. Jo heard something, that sounded like raw ground beef, hit the laminated concrete floor of the store and a hot liquid spattered in her face upon its impact with the floor.
Jo picked up the discarded flashlight to discover there was blood all over. She directed the flashlight toward the screaming writhing figure about 6 feet in front of her. Damon was desperately clutching between his legs to try and stem the blood flow but it was doing no good, he was bleeding out fast. In his pain, he seemed to have totally forgotten her presence. She leaned over the rapidly dying man, grabbed his face and made him look her in the eyes. It was as if she was watching the scene through someone else's eyes and she couldn't control what was happening.
"Best enjoy this, scumbag, cause where your headed this will seem like a paper cut in retrospect!" she heard the words coming from her mouth but couldn't believe it herself.
She brought the heavy metal flashlight down on the man's head repeatedly until, not only was he thoroughly dead but, his skull was little more than a fine powder in the gelatin of what was left of his brain matter. That was when she heard the others responding to the screams, rummaging the town in search of their fearless leader. Surveying her surroundings with the beam of the flashlight she saw a door that lead to the storage room for the store and probably a back door.
Still lead/controlled by that instinctual, aggressive being that had surfaced, she bolted for the door and charged on through. She could see the dock door and her escape but as she ran across the stock room she notice a couple of propane tanks stacked in a corner. She felt herself stop and stare at the tanks. She tried to scream for her body to run and get out of here before more of them showed up, but she could already tell that the beast within had a plan for those tanks before they left.
She made fast work at lining the four tanks up in domino fashion between the door to the store front and her escape door leaving the last in front of the dock door, in plain sight of someone outside. She then jumped down from the dock and ran several paces to the edge of the wooded area on the other side of the alley that ran behind the store. She then turned and pulled out a 9mm pistol from one of her waist holster and took a bead on the tank and waited to hear voices through the open doorway. It didn't take long before she heard a man yell in horror and rage as he found the bloodied corpse of ringleader. This was exactly what she was waiting for. She squeezed the trigger twice in rapid succession and dived into the safety of the woods.
The explosion was louder than anything she had ever heard, as the bullets ripped through the first tank igniting the contents in a spectacular, thundering fireball. The explosion of the first tank created a chain reaction as each successive tank detonated ripping the building and the surrounding structures apart in its wake. The damage was unbelievable and the body count, minus the already dead leader, was at least 10 of the gang instantly and 6 more of injuries later for lack of medical attention. The latter deaths became meal fire fodder for those that remained.
Jo snuck back to the apartment she had claimed. When she snapped out of her demented trance she vomited until there was nothing left inside of her. She then wept though she didn't fully understand why. She then curled into the fetal position in a corner and tried to stop her mind from replaying the whole gory occurrence in explicit detail over and over again. She finally passed out from exhaustion and didn't wake again until the sun was on its westwardly course again.
She was sure the group had moved along by now after the events of the previous evening, but, when she went to the window to check, she saw that they were still in the same place they had been the night before. She found out later that they had not known what to do after such a devastating attack on what they had know for most of their miserable lives until a strong young man, affectionately known as Ox, stepped up and took the reins, stating they would continue to Detroit as planned and anyone against him would wind up supper.(No arguing with those terms!)
From Redford they had continued on to Woodbridge without anymore visits from "the angry spirits of their victims," who had received the blame for the Redford incident. Jo found this somewhat amusing as the only part they were off on is that she was still very much alive. At Woodbridge they had found a water tank with drinkable water. As they all slept one night, Jo snuck in and filled all her canteens then deposited an industrial size bag of pesticide she had found at a local farm supplies store into the water receptacle.
At dawn the first group drank from the reservoir and by the time the sun peaked over the horizon these individuals were having crippling pain in their abdomens and vomiting nonstop. By noon half of the group was either dead or dying, including new head honcho Ox, whose finally words were "Don't drink the water!". Like some sort of twisted parody of the story of Montezuma.
The dimwitted survivors, now a mere 29 down from their starting total of nearly just under 80, mistook this warning as stay away from all large bodies of water. One of the riffraff with a semblance of a brain remembered Detroit was right near a river. Thus the detour north up I-94 under the sagely knowledge that water ran down and the fresh stuff must be where is started at. Damon had been stupid but in the land of the blind the one eyed man is king. Since Damon and Ox had both died badly the idiots clung to the man they now viewed as their savior for steering them clear of Detroit.
They traveled north along I-94 until they saw "the top of the water" to their east and cut cross country to the "the land of clean water". They settled in at Anchorville for a time before moving southeast into the "land between the river and the bay". In case you hadn't noticed, Thinker, the new leader, like giving things titles. In fact, he was the brilliant mind that had given the label to the party responsible for the original tragedy that befell them. That is how she came to be in Pearl Beach.
Jo had reached the rundown service station and was now focusing on the tree line again. From this new vantage point she could see the hunters coming back with tonight's provisions. Some of the prey was still alive and that somehow made her even more angry, as she knew what torture was in store for those poor creatures. She felt that familiar beast rising from within again and welcomed it like an old friend.
"Welcome back, big sis! Let's go pick Thinker's brain!"
Thursday, June 3, 2010
The Gold Coast
CHAPTER 1 : RUSSELL
As the sun began its descent on the horizon, a young man in a tattered dress coat and slacks sat on the sand weeping. He saw no harm in it, as no one would hear him and he felt he deserved to weep and no one would argue that. After all, what happened had been his fault, he knew better. He cursed himself as night slowly stole the last remnants of the day away.
Why had he gone to the mainland? What other choice did he have, they would have starved without the meat? To hell with those stinking vulturous barbarians with all their rage and greed! It was all there fault that any of this had ever happened in the first place. The tears began to flow again and a blood curdling roar ripped its way from his lungs.
He awoke several hours later with sand caked in his dark brown hair with the musty smell of his clothes mildewing from the river moisture filling his nostrils. How long had he slept? He still had a long way back to the cabin from here and the beasts on the island roamed at night. What if he came across one of the infected? In the daylight he could outmaneuver them, but at night they had the advantage. He cursed himself again for bringing only his crossbow with him.
He picked himself up off the barren stretch of beach and prepared himself for the venture home. The air was already chilled on his damp clothes, he needed to get back before he fell ill from the cold. A doctor was not an option and his pilfered supplies from the deserted mainland hospital were running short. Squaring his shoulders and notching a bolt in the crossbow, he set out up the dirt path through the copse of trees separating him from Russell Drive.
Though it was only a small clustering of leafy giants he still half sprinted until he was on the other side of Russell. His mind began to wander again as he headed southeast at the intersection of St. Clair and Riverview. Its funny how the mind will slowly blur the edges of memories we try to hold on to, but the inane details somehow remain vivid. He could remember Saginaw in the summer when he was a kid. He remembered the smell of his mother's rose garden, carried on the cool lake wind, as he chased the shade to the eastern corner of the two story brick house they had lived in, at the west end of Gallagher Street. He could remember listening to her hum old tunes through the kitchen window as she prepared supper in anticipation of his father returning from work. All these things he could remember, so why could he no longer summon up a mental picture of his parents' faces?
He felt the tears coming again and this time bit them back, remembering this was neither the place nor time to be blubbering about the past. A tree limb scrapping against an old tin roof to his left snapped him out of his foolish reminiscing. He looked around to regain his bearings to discover he had already crossed over Temagmi and Algonac and quickly approaching Walpole to which he lived on the other side. He really needed to focus! What would have happened it he had come across someone or something out here while he was fantasizing about things that would never be again?
He was almost home now, as he entered the wooded area surrounding the cabin he had selected as sanctuary on the lonely island, he felt another knot rising in his throat as he remembered there would be no one there waiting for him. No one worried about where he had been and what he had been doing. Knock it off you ignorant sap, he mentally scolded himself. He did not allow his well honed senses and paranoia to ebb until he was safely within the confines of his hand crafted fortress.
He had assembled his one room sanctum out of welded steel plating he had found in a small barn at the north end of the island. Probably some husband's unfinished project, left unfinished when he either died of the infection or struck out in search of the fabled Spared Lands. No such place in Russell's opinion. Just some fairy tale survivors had made up to take their minds off of what was happening around them.
He chuckled to himself at the thought of his name. An alias stolen from a welcome sign he had seen hanging over the docks at the harbor on the island. This place was called that once, Russell Island. It suddenly escaped him what state he was in, not that it mattered anymore anyway. They were the Disconnected Zones of Chaos now! He laughed at his own private joke!
Sometimes he wished he hadn't ran all the gas and batteries out in the golf carts on the island, dragging supplies and building materials out here. Just to relax in a cushioned seat as an engine, and not his own two feet, transported him about the island. That was just a dream though. He had burned all the gasoline he had found on the island either powering the carts to move the steel, propane tanks, rebar, and tools out here, or starting fires last winter when kindling and burnables were becoming hard to come by.
He engaged all ten of the deadbolts he had built into the reinforced aluminum door he had taken from one of the houses over on South Russell Drive. (Good thing his father had been an architect, and took pride in bonding time teaching his son his way around a job site and its various tools. This thought made Russell smile.) He laid the wooden beam, hand carved down from a tree stump, across the cradles on either side of the door to further reinforce what he thought of as the weak point of his domicile. He then placed his crossbow back in its respective place among his other compiled weapons he kept at the back of the hut.
He closed the one vent in the structure he had put in to let out the smoke from the charcoal grill he used for both cooking and heating the place. The vent was small, barely large enough for a squirrel to get in if it wanted to, and he had a bolted shutter to cover this as well. He then stripped off his damp clothes and laid them out over the table and chair, he had taken from the local cafe, to dry.
He changed into a baggy t-shirt and shorts he had taken from the house where he had found the coat and slacks in, the only house that had men's clothes that would fit him. He settled into the mattress on the floor and pull the covers around his neck to fight back the chill in the room. The covers still smelled like Delilah and he began to feel lonely again.
He felt the anger rise in him. Feast on my canine companion tonight, you psychopaths! I hope you all choke, because those of you that survive the night won't feel so victorious tomorrow! Tomorrow I come back revived and carrying a loaded shotgun! Russell dozed off wondering what barbecued thug tasted like with an evil grin on his face.
As the sun began its descent on the horizon, a young man in a tattered dress coat and slacks sat on the sand weeping. He saw no harm in it, as no one would hear him and he felt he deserved to weep and no one would argue that. After all, what happened had been his fault, he knew better. He cursed himself as night slowly stole the last remnants of the day away.
Why had he gone to the mainland? What other choice did he have, they would have starved without the meat? To hell with those stinking vulturous barbarians with all their rage and greed! It was all there fault that any of this had ever happened in the first place. The tears began to flow again and a blood curdling roar ripped its way from his lungs.
He awoke several hours later with sand caked in his dark brown hair with the musty smell of his clothes mildewing from the river moisture filling his nostrils. How long had he slept? He still had a long way back to the cabin from here and the beasts on the island roamed at night. What if he came across one of the infected? In the daylight he could outmaneuver them, but at night they had the advantage. He cursed himself again for bringing only his crossbow with him.
He picked himself up off the barren stretch of beach and prepared himself for the venture home. The air was already chilled on his damp clothes, he needed to get back before he fell ill from the cold. A doctor was not an option and his pilfered supplies from the deserted mainland hospital were running short. Squaring his shoulders and notching a bolt in the crossbow, he set out up the dirt path through the copse of trees separating him from Russell Drive.
Though it was only a small clustering of leafy giants he still half sprinted until he was on the other side of Russell. His mind began to wander again as he headed southeast at the intersection of St. Clair and Riverview. Its funny how the mind will slowly blur the edges of memories we try to hold on to, but the inane details somehow remain vivid. He could remember Saginaw in the summer when he was a kid. He remembered the smell of his mother's rose garden, carried on the cool lake wind, as he chased the shade to the eastern corner of the two story brick house they had lived in, at the west end of Gallagher Street. He could remember listening to her hum old tunes through the kitchen window as she prepared supper in anticipation of his father returning from work. All these things he could remember, so why could he no longer summon up a mental picture of his parents' faces?
He felt the tears coming again and this time bit them back, remembering this was neither the place nor time to be blubbering about the past. A tree limb scrapping against an old tin roof to his left snapped him out of his foolish reminiscing. He looked around to regain his bearings to discover he had already crossed over Temagmi and Algonac and quickly approaching Walpole to which he lived on the other side. He really needed to focus! What would have happened it he had come across someone or something out here while he was fantasizing about things that would never be again?
He was almost home now, as he entered the wooded area surrounding the cabin he had selected as sanctuary on the lonely island, he felt another knot rising in his throat as he remembered there would be no one there waiting for him. No one worried about where he had been and what he had been doing. Knock it off you ignorant sap, he mentally scolded himself. He did not allow his well honed senses and paranoia to ebb until he was safely within the confines of his hand crafted fortress.
He had assembled his one room sanctum out of welded steel plating he had found in a small barn at the north end of the island. Probably some husband's unfinished project, left unfinished when he either died of the infection or struck out in search of the fabled Spared Lands. No such place in Russell's opinion. Just some fairy tale survivors had made up to take their minds off of what was happening around them.
He chuckled to himself at the thought of his name. An alias stolen from a welcome sign he had seen hanging over the docks at the harbor on the island. This place was called that once, Russell Island. It suddenly escaped him what state he was in, not that it mattered anymore anyway. They were the Disconnected Zones of Chaos now! He laughed at his own private joke!
Sometimes he wished he hadn't ran all the gas and batteries out in the golf carts on the island, dragging supplies and building materials out here. Just to relax in a cushioned seat as an engine, and not his own two feet, transported him about the island. That was just a dream though. He had burned all the gasoline he had found on the island either powering the carts to move the steel, propane tanks, rebar, and tools out here, or starting fires last winter when kindling and burnables were becoming hard to come by.
He engaged all ten of the deadbolts he had built into the reinforced aluminum door he had taken from one of the houses over on South Russell Drive. (Good thing his father had been an architect, and took pride in bonding time teaching his son his way around a job site and its various tools. This thought made Russell smile.) He laid the wooden beam, hand carved down from a tree stump, across the cradles on either side of the door to further reinforce what he thought of as the weak point of his domicile. He then placed his crossbow back in its respective place among his other compiled weapons he kept at the back of the hut.
He closed the one vent in the structure he had put in to let out the smoke from the charcoal grill he used for both cooking and heating the place. The vent was small, barely large enough for a squirrel to get in if it wanted to, and he had a bolted shutter to cover this as well. He then stripped off his damp clothes and laid them out over the table and chair, he had taken from the local cafe, to dry.
He changed into a baggy t-shirt and shorts he had taken from the house where he had found the coat and slacks in, the only house that had men's clothes that would fit him. He settled into the mattress on the floor and pull the covers around his neck to fight back the chill in the room. The covers still smelled like Delilah and he began to feel lonely again.
He felt the anger rise in him. Feast on my canine companion tonight, you psychopaths! I hope you all choke, because those of you that survive the night won't feel so victorious tomorrow! Tomorrow I come back revived and carrying a loaded shotgun! Russell dozed off wondering what barbecued thug tasted like with an evil grin on his face.
Monday, May 31, 2010
About Me
Bordnan Veit is obviously an alter ego of mine invented in that awkward stage some experience in earlier high school. It is an anagram on my first name coupled with a sample name for a male dwarf in a Dungeons and Dragons Guidebook. It was the name of my second character I ever made for the game.
It marks a time in my life when I was somewhat antisocial both by choice and by social status. An acquaintance of mine from middle school invited me to join some friends and himself for a session to see if I liked it. I was skeptical going into it but went anyway and a monster was born. Soon Adam became a friend and not just an acquaintance anymore. I began to make more friends and became a member of the group and eventually to newly appointed leader after our long time friend and leader moved back home to New Jersey.
Those were the some of the best days of my life before meeting my beautiful wife. Part of myself from that phase in my life took on a personality of its own and became part of me. This entity I affectionately entitled by my favorite character played and Bordnan Veit was no longer on paper but in my heart and mind.
One of my idols is Stephen King. The master of horror has tackled many forms of media from comic books to novels to screenplays to motion pictures. So I must admit he and my wife have inspired me to attempt what I hope to achieve from this blog. King has released some of his novels in serial format and recently, at least to my knowledge it was only recently, has tackled online serials. So what I plan to attempt is to write a story that I have been brewing over for some time in installments.
My wife's role was to encourage me to overcome my procrastinatory ways and start the project. She helped me set up this blog and get started on one of my dreams of having others read my works. She always has faith in me and that too is motivation for me. She too has a blog on here if you would like to check it out: http://slandgrebe.blogspot.com/
So wish me luck in this endeavor. Keep reading them and spread the word if you like what see. I will try to write regularly.
It marks a time in my life when I was somewhat antisocial both by choice and by social status. An acquaintance of mine from middle school invited me to join some friends and himself for a session to see if I liked it. I was skeptical going into it but went anyway and a monster was born. Soon Adam became a friend and not just an acquaintance anymore. I began to make more friends and became a member of the group and eventually to newly appointed leader after our long time friend and leader moved back home to New Jersey.
Those were the some of the best days of my life before meeting my beautiful wife. Part of myself from that phase in my life took on a personality of its own and became part of me. This entity I affectionately entitled by my favorite character played and Bordnan Veit was no longer on paper but in my heart and mind.
One of my idols is Stephen King. The master of horror has tackled many forms of media from comic books to novels to screenplays to motion pictures. So I must admit he and my wife have inspired me to attempt what I hope to achieve from this blog. King has released some of his novels in serial format and recently, at least to my knowledge it was only recently, has tackled online serials. So what I plan to attempt is to write a story that I have been brewing over for some time in installments.
My wife's role was to encourage me to overcome my procrastinatory ways and start the project. She helped me set up this blog and get started on one of my dreams of having others read my works. She always has faith in me and that too is motivation for me. She too has a blog on here if you would like to check it out: http://slandgrebe.blogspot.com/
So wish me luck in this endeavor. Keep reading them and spread the word if you like what see. I will try to write regularly.
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