Sitting on the dock of the bay

Vacation Sydney Australia; I really wasn’t happy about it but the tickets had been paid for and there was no refund available so I bit the bullet and went.  Fifty seven years old with fifty eight just around the corner; I was pretty much sick of my life, I dreamed of a change.

 

Sitting along the harbor wall watching the ferries come and go I was quite bored with the whole thing; my thoughts kept creeping back to having a nice glass of Pinot Nor, maybe a couple glasses.  The bench was hard and uncomfortable, my ass was starting to cramp and I was just about to get up and walk for a spell when I realized that something was happening on the far side of the harbor.  Squinting to see through the glare of the afternoon sun all I could make out was that people were running and screaming; it was getting louder with each second.   Shielding my eyes with my hand from the sun I could just make out a tide of people running along the wharf and bodies lying all over the cement behind the rushing hoard; as I watched those towards the back of the stampede were falling and joining the mass of fallen bodies.  It was like a wave was coursing along the wharf dropping people with an increasing speed; the fastest runners were just barely keeping out in front of the speeding wave but when they’d slow to dodge slower runners the wave would over take them and they’d fall with the rest.

 

I sat and watched as the bodies fell along the far side of the harbor and continued through the waiting areas of the docked ferries.  It was like watching domino’s fall; the invisible wave raced along through the crowds. People dropped in mid sentence talking with wives and children; some standing along the harbor walls fell, bounced off the low wall and rolled into the water; none fought once they hit the water they must have been dead before they even hit the ground; they just rolled like rag dolls in the harbor surf.

I very nice looking Asia girl brushed past me hitting my arm pulling my attention from the racing doom; she was maybe sixteen, about a hundred pounds with Converse tennis shoes and a short skirt.  She turned and looked right into my eyes.  They said in silence the same thing I was thinking; we’re fucked.  I shrugged my shoulders and smiled; she broke and ran for her life.

I must be morbid, I just couldn’t pull my eyes from the falling people; it was incredible.  I guess I had already made a decision to just sit and watch the wave come until it over took me; some place deep in my mind I knew at my age that running would just make me die tired; so I sat and watched it come.

The wave raced up the walk ways to my left dropping people in mid stride; French fries hitting the ground in their little round cups spilling out onto the cement.  The sea gulls where diving and swarming over the growing feast of falling food as people hit the walk and lunch flew from dead hands.  Two gulls had a full hamburger in their mouths and flew straight up trying to break each other’s grip.  I watched as a family of four was cut down; mom carrying a small baby with a pacifier in its mouth.  A gull swooped and grabbed the pacifier on the first bounce; it was chased by two other gulls eager for a meal.

Two bodies from an upper balcony fell and bounced on the concrete walk way hitting just seconds after the wave downed those standing below, they made a neat pile two deep in a vast field of the dead.

I figured I had maybe ten seconds before the wave over took where I was sitting watching; I took a deep breath and held it as the wave raced to me.  Funny thing was, in my head I singing the Otis Redding song “Sitting on the dock of the bay” I’d just got to the part “Watching the waves roll away” when my wave struck.  A young couple had been standing only about four feet in front of me watching the wave come in too; they fell at my feet as the wave passed leaving me sitting wondering why I’d be spared.  I finished the next verse of the song and released my held breath. Just the salty smell of the harbor with a tint of fishy smell greeted my nose; not at all what I was expecting.

I had been so engrossed watching the wave knock people down that I didn’t even see the Manning Ferry racing towards its dock at full speed.  The decks where covered in fallen people, a few dangling over the edges of the rails, swinging back and forth with the rocking of the ferry.  The ferry hit the dock plowing into the building smashing the wooden dock and knocking the roof off sliding in to the pedestrian area.  I watched as a street vender food cart was smashed flat, spilling its hot oil across the pavers.  Flames leaped across the walkway and into a nearby café; I don’t think the Fire Department is going to show up flashed across my mind.  It was time to leave, leave before the fire really got going. 

I stood looking the way the wave had gone, no one was standing as far as I could see, just fields of bodies.  I guess through the adjoining park would be the smartest way to go, so I picked up my lunch bag and headed that way.

A half mile or so along the park I heard a small child crying; little girl maybe four sitting by her dead parents.  I put out my hand and she took it; we walked away from the raging fires of down town Sydney on into the night.

From the Ramblings

t

Day of days

I feel your roar deeply vibrating in my bones; it pulses in the morning air, rising and falling in low tones of coming battle.  The crack of axe on shield jolts the air; infinite boots stomp in unison stirring clouds of thick dust bellowing before your leagues. Your numbers are many; uncountable in the haze of your movements. 

  

I wait; patiently wait for you.  The sun rises from your rear; tinted red by blowing dust; rainbows of swirling color dance announcing your approach; my smile reveals my delight of your coming.

We are but a small force; made smaller by your sheer numbers. You don’t see our joy of the coming battle; our happy voices among our ranks are smothered under the clamor of your cries.  You will soon learn; dust settled by your soaking blood.  We will walk upon your empty shells; silence your shouts, your blood will spoil the ground you pray to master.  History is written of your defeat; your slaughter will be complete. 

It is time; we walk hand in hand with death; the closes of friends.  You will soon walk with us as lovers do a closeness only battle and death makes possible.  We will pass on the stories of your deaths proudly into history; men will shake and lower their heads in praise of your endings; die well this day of days; this I pray.

From the Ramblings.

t

Ghosts

“Think god damn it, what did you hear, what did you see”  “I, I don’t remember!  I’m trying; don’t you think I’d tell you if I could remember anything?” James! She just can’t remember anything, she’s traumatized by the whole thing; she’s the only one that made it back, they’re all dead”! Nicole said with tears in her eyes.  “She’s doing the best she can” Sgt. Nicole Benson had been placed in charge of the only survivor of last week’s mission and all missions had been cancelled since.

PFC Simons had come staggering into the compound in the hours after midnight.  She’d ignored the sentry’s commands to halt; walking with head down stumbling, kicking up dust into a cloud around her.  She’d been tackled by the secondary line and taken down in a pile by five large men.  Surprised by no resistance they stood her up and realized that she was covered in blood; her uniform markings showed her to be from the fifth ranger group, third battalion, group seven scouts.  She’d either dumped her gear or it had been taken from her.  They treated her gently but she was transported in full restraints and constantly guarded.

It was determined she’d been taken by the ghosts and extensive testing was ordered.

She was patched up by medical and escorted back to her group.  Her paperwork said she had sustained a bad concussion, numerous contusions and an injury “sprain” to her left ankle and foot. 

James had grilled her for hours.  He was furious that she couldn’t remember more than just a few details of the battle and her final capture.  “Tell me what happened when they took you” James asked as gently and with as much compassion as he could muster. 

Female medical orderlies had searched every inch of her body; they’d scanned every orifice for hidden incisions or surgical marks.  She had none.  She’d been run through numerous physiological tests and results ran against previous tests.  The entire complex of tests came up negative with no disparately from previous testing.  She was clean.

“Tell me from the beginning what happened on the patrol” said James.  “I want to know every detail from the time you left the wire to the point you ended up in medical”

“Ummm, we left the wire about 4am and headed due south as our mission plan stated.  We moved along with about five meters between us for about an hour and a half when a break was called and we had rations and water.  We didn’t talk much, we had been told to keep as quiet as possible.  I spoke with Johnson for a second about my left foot bothering me, but it was just a short conversation.”  “What happened after that” James asked.  Hesitantly, head down staring at her hands PFC Simon continued “We again headed south; the travel was slowed by the heavy under brush.  We had to cut our way through it.  The front man would hack it down for about thirty minutes and then we’d rotate back along the line, everyone taking a turn at the front.  We moved south for about five hours; I don’t think we made more than about three miles.  We were making a lot of noise just hacking our way through the brush.  I was kind of surprised that we didn’t hear any wild life as we moved along.  It was kind a creepy, the only thing you could hear was the chop, chopping of the brush at the front of the line.” 

“I had just taken my turn at the front with a machete hacking the brush back so we could walk through.  I’d rotated back to the rear guard position and was waiting for the patrol to start moving forward again.” 

“It happened really fast; I heard a blast from one of the saw guys, the squad automatic weapon is very distinct; then all hell broke loose.”  “Do you know where in line the first shooting started” James asked.  “I’m not sure, there were only ten of us in the patrol, but it was up in the front.  I dropped to the ground at the first burst and froze; listening for any return fire.  I hadn’t heard a thing before the saw’s opened up.”  “What did you hear?” “Did they keep shooting?”

“There was about thirty seconds of firing and then it stopped, my ears were ringing.  I couldn’t see anyone in front of me.  Jones must have moved forward when the shooting started, he was about ten meters in front of me when I hit the ground.  I’d just made the rear of the patrol and was waiting for the patrol to begin moving again; I was close to Jones’s rear when the shooting started.  I crawled forward to where I’d passed Jones; he wasn’t there, so I continued forward.  I kept moving forward as quietly as I could, I found an empty saw magazine but I couldn’t find anyone.  It was so quiet; one minute the saw’s opened up breaking my ear drums and a minute later all I could hear was my ears ringing and nothing else.  I couldn’t find anyone from the patrol; so I froze in place and listened for any sound.  “Did you hear anything?” James asked in near silence.  “All I could hear was the soft wind through the jungle.  The noise the leaves make when the wind gently moves them in the wind.  It was hard to hear anything my ears where still ringing from the shooting.”  “Where’d the rest of your patrol go” Nicole whispered.  “I don’t know.  I sat down and kept quiet and listened for anyone for at least a half hour, I didn’t hear anything and I didn’t see anyone.”  PFC Sara Simons said with tears streaming down her face.  She’d wrapped her arms around her legs and lowered her head to the top of her knees.  “Let’s take a short break” James said and motioned for Sgt. Benson to follow him out of the room.

Lt. James Mack and Sgt. Nicole Benson walked down a tight hallway and into a small office; sitting on one side of the minuscule desk Nicole sat on the other.  “It just doesn’t make sense; one minute there’s ten very heavily armed squad members and the next everyone’s gone, just a few shots fired.”  “It just doesn’t add up; and she’s the first we’ve got back“James said as he ran a hand down his face.

Lt. Mach had immediately sent out a rescue team to search for the missing squad after they didn’t return at the planned hour.  It had been a simple plan for the team; work south for six to eight hours looking for sign of ghosts then swing east for three hours and then straight back to camp, round trip 24hrs with a sun up return into the camps area.  When noon came with no radio contact or sign from the squad a rescue mission was formed.  The rescue team quickly followed the hacked trail. Moving with ease having a ready trail to follow through the jungle, they radioed in as soon as the found the end of the trail and reported what had the look of a quick fight but no sign of any of the mission squad.  They returned following the trail.

A small knock came at the door.  Sgt. Benson swung the door open and there stood PFC Simons, hands wringing each other at the door.  She said “There was a whirling sound.”

Three days later;

Under deep hypnosis PFC Simons revealed the whirling sound came from small cylinder shaped craft.  She told investigators her squad members where carried away by what appeared to be meat hooks strung under the craft.  They made a whirling sound, but no other.  She was unable to give any further details.

Lt. Mach laid out what they knew to the scout squads.  “We have unknown ghosts in nearly soundless machines.  Our squads have put up small amounts of defensive fire before being over run.  We have one survivor that tells us the craft make a whirling sound when approaching.  It is unclear at this time how our teams are being defeated.”  A murmur went through the men and women; eyes met eyes and signs of disbelief went though the squads.  “From now on we will have listening devises front, middle and rear of the scout squads.  Also each squad will be equipped with multiphase disrupters to foil electronics of any craft that uses normal electronics when it approaches our teams.”  “Each team will carry numerous short range surface to air missiles; these are fire and forget.  They will track and hit any airborne target within a half mile of our teams.”  Questions?  There were none.  “We will begin normal patrols at zero three thirty hours.”  “Dismissed”

The first team went out the wire at zero four hundred hours.  They were in constant radio contact; following the cut trail from the earlier team they made good time through the jungle.  The second team left the wire at zero four thirty hours and cut brush in a south west direction putting them about five miles from team one in an expanding arc.

Team one announced contact at 1330 hours coming in fast from the east.  Both teams were told to build defensive positions as fast as possible.

“Scout five, scout five we have contact, bearing east at approximately five miles closing fast on our position over.” 

“Base, scout five; defensive positions, repeat defensive positions.  Fire ground air at ½ mile; ½ mile no sooner over.” 

“Copy; closing two miles.” 

“Base Scout six.” 

“Scout six we copy; defensive positions; we are six miles from Scout five over.”

 “Copy; hold for further, over.”

“Copy”

“Scout five we hear them; closing at ½ mile, ground air away.”  “Scout five, multiple hits; their coming in, their coming in……… sound of heavy gun fire over the radio….”Scout five their…inaudible… on the left, on the left… inaudible... get that one get that one…inaudible…loud gun fire over radio no voice audible”

“Base Scout five do you copy?"  Base to Scout five do you copy?”  Loud gun fire over the radio no voice audible… 

“Scout five we got one, we got one… loud gun fire over radio no voice audible… inaudible… inaudible…loud gun fire over radio… inaudible…inaudible…“Get the hooks, get the hooks they’ve got Williams”… inaudible… inaudible…

“Base Scout five do you copy over, Scout five do you copy”

“Scout six we hear them coming; one mile coming fast over” 

“Base, six give them everything you got over.” 

“Scout six, ground air away”

“Base Scout five over.” 

“Scout five, scout five…inaudible; they got Williams, grappling hooks like a side of beef, they took him.” 

“Base fire disrupters, fire disrupters over.” 

“Scout five…inaudible…loud gun fire over radio no voice inaudible… inaudible…inaudible…

“Scout six their coming through, their coming through.” 

“Base fire disrupters, fire disrupters over.” 

“Scout six firing, firing… inaudible…inaudible… screaming…no audible voices…inaudible… get that fucker… inaudible…loud gun fire…inaudible…

“Scout five, we got em’ we got em’…inaudible… “

“Base to Scout five over, base to Scout five over.”

“Scout five we got one it’s got, it’s got little fuckers inside…inaudible…loud gun fire… ““inaudible…inaudible”

_______________________________________________________________

This report has been censored by the national security agency; this report has been classified as top secret…if you have received this correspondence by error you are required by the national security agency to notify the closest FBI office. Distributing this report is forbidden by the nsa and disclosure will result in severe penalties under u.s.d.f 105/1203.125

From the Ramblings

 t

Match.com

He met her on the internet, it was one of those numerous date sites; He can’t even remember which site it was, does it really matter.

His spiel; his profile was total bull shit.  He’d give them what they wanted to hear; oh I’m so sweet, so smart and so fun to be around.  I love exercise and travel; love to dance.  Oh that was a big one with the silly bitches; love to dance hahahahah yeah love to dance.  Whatever you want I’ve got, just believe me when I say so; my dance card is wide open and I’m everything you ever wanted.

“I’ve had the same job for twenty three years; kind of boring but it pays well and I’m vested.  I have vacation time built up to the point I can take time off whenever I want; I’m at the top of the seniority list in my department so I can take off any time it’s right; two years out from full retirement and looking for fun.”

“I like to travel but not alone; looking for a soul mate that has the time to be out there in the world of sun and fun; I’m not rich, but I can afford a second on adventures.  Are you my travel soul mate?”

Hook, line and sinker!  The bitches were all over it.  Who could pass up a middle aged; probably fat, sex starved man who couldn’t get it up half the time that is looking for a woman that can fill his fantasy.  There must be a thousand women in any Metro area to choose from, maybe tens of thousands who are looking for Mr. Right, day and night.

Yep he was set; he had his net, he’d throw it to the waves; a net that was soon to be full to capacity; the problem was to catch just the right one. 

He was looking for one that was filled with just enough longing; wanting to find the perfect man after all the wrong choices; the one that would fix all the wrongs of a life of picking the wrong man time and time again.  This one would be; “Mr. Perfect for me; he’s my Mr. Everything that I ever wanted in a man.”  He sounded too good to be true; no not at all!  I told all my female friends online every detail, every nuance of our internet relationship. How he’d made himself; a real self made man.  He loved to travel; but not alone, he was looking for a travel mate.  He’d been on a single boring job for years waiting for the chance to have a soul mate to share the discoveries of the world with; “he’s perfect for me.”  How could you say anything bad about this perfect man? 

No one did.  What the hell, he was perfect?  Who could deny that she’d found the perfect man at the perfect time in her life?  No one is who; … no one was going to rain on her parade, sneeze on her cake.  She was the perfect victim. With friends like you, she was served up on a platter; hell you, her friends shoved her along all happy, singing the praises of new found love.  Who knew she’d be dead in a couple months, she was the perfect victim at the perfect time; she was everything he’d been looking for too.  Yep, dead as a cucumber in just six weeks; you all acted surprised?

It made the Web headlines:  U.S woman found dead after the perfect holiday.  CNN headline news…

Yep you’re all to blame; you sent her off with your blessings and smiles; those little face book “smiley thingy’s” that you can just press a button and send your “blessings” saying that you are “all in” with the crazy decision that she’d made.  None of you really talked to her about it; you were so sure in your logic that this was the right thing for her at the time.  “No one can blame me; I just thought it was a good deal” Gosh the way she preached how good it was for her over and over, who was I to think of raining on her perfect party.  Not one soul asked if she was sure about “his facts” no one asked “did you do a back ground on this guy” Nope not one of you took the time to give a damn and think this through; you knew she sure wasn’t!   You didn’t care enough to take a single minute out of your busy day and be a real friend and ask the hard question; the questions that would have kept her alive.

Oh in your silence you gave the ok; your silence aided her demise.  You knew deep in your heart this guy was too good to be true; but you kept your silence; you held your thoughts, just so damn busy.

 

Maybe, just maybe you wanted to believe deep in your heart that you too could find Mr. Perfect; maybe if you finally decided to dump the lousy dead beat you’d married you too could find a Mr. Perfect like she had. You’ve complained to your girlfriends for years about your husband, how he never did this, never did that. 

You sat on the side line watching, reading, sending those little words of encouragement; maybe you were hoping that even you could change your life and live the dream.  You’d made a simple mistake and married the wrong man; if you’d do what she was doing you could live the life you always wanted too.

Yes, yes you and you’re little sunny day friends killed her.  Killed her with your facebook friendships and little smiley faces; you’ve walked away from being real friends with caring thoughts taking the time to sit down and really talk. 

It’s time to power down.

From the Ramblings

t

Captain Tom Nash

Hi my name is Tom Nash; Captain Tom Nash of the People’s Free Army.  I was retired; happily retired until the winter of 23.  Things are a little different now.

I saw the elk at about two hundred meters; head down feeding.  He must have been digging a long time to get through the ice and snow.  He was down on his front knees, legs folder down under his chest, his  hind quarters almost sticking straight in the air; It was a long reach from the surface of the snow to the grass at the bottom of the hole he’d dug.

 

It just broke my heart to take him; wasn’t even fair chase.  He was mostly skin and bones; but I have a number of people to feed and a couple hunting dogs we need to keep fit as possible.  He was chewing and pushing snow away from the grass at the bottom of the hole he’d dug and didn’t even hear me approaching through the deep snow.  I stopped about twenty feet away and just watched him for a few seconds.  I had to admire the effort he was putting out for just a few mouths full of food.  I pushed my hood back to open my field of view; no telling how many other predators were watching.  The wind pushed rock hard shards of blowing ice into my face; the shards cut like glass, frozen to a hardness never heard of before.  I pushed my goggles tight against my eyes; we’d lost one hunter to ice cut, he’s blind in one eye and cut to out of focus in the other.  I quickly stepped forward and jammed my spear into his chest; he tried to back out of his hole and stand up, I pinned him down with the pressure on the spear buried deep in his chest; he fought hard to pull himself out of the hole he’d dug but he was too weak and I was engulfed with adrenalin fighting for mine and others belly’s to fill.  It was over in less than two minutes.  I prayed over his body.

I was a hunter back before the world changed; elk, deer, antelope, bear, even got a cougar once.  I hunted geese, ducks; fished, got really good at catching salmon.  Those were the days; I use to field dress a kill right on the spot where they lay.  Now we have to use every piece of their bodies; no waste is allowed these days; lives depend on using every fiber of our kills.

It’s kind of funny; I’m not a Captain, never was.  Peoples free army? very funny; but for some reason it make people feel better to make up names for things.  Doesn’t help keep you alive any longer but I guess it makes people feel like they are a part of something, gives the sense of order when there isn’t any.  The group of us just kind of found each other.  Sometimes the wind and weather just push you to an area by wind current and maybe a little less snow to fight through.  I followed the scent of a wood fire; losing it the blowing snow and ever changing currents; Blowing this way and two minutes later blowing the opposite direction; didn’t really matter; I was just getting away from the killing fields of the cities; if I froze to death I figured it was better than dying at the hand of some punk gang member.  I stumbled on the small wooden shack hidden in heavy timber by complete accident.  Bumping into trees, stumbling over twisted fallen trees and brush; running into something that I didn’t just bump and bound off of, couldn’t just roll off and continue bonking from one tree to another in the blinding howling blowing snow, it was wide and solid.  I pulled my hood back and was looking into a window at faces looking back at me.  I pulled off a glove and gave them a peace sign.  They waved me in.  Five days later I shot two porcupines out of a tree with my revolver and became Captain Tom Nash; hunter and first Officer of the People’s Free Army.  Those porcupines fed us all for three days. I didn’t argue about my new title; Captain Tom Nash without a single enlisted man to order around; happy days.

I covered the elk with two feet of snow and packed it down real tight after cutting off one hind quarter hair and all; I carried as much as I could.  The extra weight was all I could handle on my snow shoes; shoes we built out of tree limbs and coat hangers from the cabin.  We’d be back to the kill as soon as I reached the cabin and dropped off what I carried.  I picked two of our strongest men to return to the kill with me.  Jason Cain and Brian Smith, both city slickers but quickly learning how to survive and live under the conditions we now lived with.  My turn around time was well under twenty minutes; five miles or so through the woods with my quarter; drop it in the snow at the cabins front door.  Pick Jason and Brian, suit them up and out into the snow as fast as we could make it.  The woods were full of predators which would quickly eat my kill to the bone in minutes if it was found.  This was dangerous work; bears, cougars or both would run to the smell of a kill and defend it with their lives; the kill meant life to whoever finds it and has the power to keep it.

Three months into being the new Captain Tom, I made the decision that our hunters would hunt alone.  I had to shout down the out pouring of voices disagreeing with me; “it’s too dangerous to hunt alone”  “You’d have no backup” “What if you were hurt, you’d be alone” on and on until I’d heard enough.  When you’re in charge you have to make decisions that are hard, they might not make sense to the average person; but when you’re in charge and you have a number of people you’re try to keep alive, it changes the way you think and see things.  I explained the risks, I explained that the number of animals in our area where dwindling fast; we’d either hunt in two directions from the base or hunt in all four directions; too live we had to make use of all the chances for a kill we could find.  Possibly losing one man vs. finding game to feed all of us only made sense at this time; we had to use our limited man power to cover as much ground as we could.

In a short single file line the three of us hurried along trying to follow my trail back to the kill; the snow was quickly covering my tracks and it was getting very hard to see even the slight depression in the snow where I’d packed my way back to the cabin with my load.  Four miles into our hike I began to hear the bark and howl of wolves; they sounded as though they’d smelled the kill or were on an animal in the direction to where I’d hidden my elk.  I waved back at Jason and Brian to close the gap between us; blowing snow limited what I could hear or see and I went minutes without seeing either Jason or Brian because of the falling blowing snow.  I realized the large pack of wolves was actually stalking us;  I’d stopped, waiting for the white out to clear enough to see Jason and Brian again, or for them to catch up with me;  I heard screaming from down the trail.  I ran back as quickly as I could through the snow; two wolves ran along each side of me no more than fifteen feet away paralleling me waiting for me to stumble and fall.  I saw through the white blowing snow a pile of wolves two deep on top of what would be Jason, they were ripping at his clothing and pack, digging biting towards his flesh.  I kicked them off of his body and yelled at the top of my lungs; they backed away only far enough that I couldn’t hit or stab them with my spear.  It was a deadly standoff for at least ten minutes before the lead dog decided that he didn’t want to lose a pack member fighting a human only to eat a skinny human; they disappeared into the blowing snow.  Jason had fallen but covered his face and head in the deep snow.  He had a single bite to the back of his neck; he was freezing solid in my arms.  I yelled and yelled for Brian; I never heard him or found any trace of him.  I dug through Jason’s pockets and took what we could use from pockets and pack; I left Jason where he had fallen.

I headed back to the cabin with a broken dead heart.

I cancelled all hunts for three days in the hope the pack of wolves would move on and leave the area.

Five days later after a rough couple days of storms dumping four additional feet of snow on the already deep pack snow I took Mike Miller and we headed out for the elk I’d killed, now nearly a week old.  I had little hope that the elk would still be there but we might have a chance at another animal on the way.  The snow depth was now incredible; I’d never seen it even half this depth.  We were walking at half the height of the scrub pines; their bases were buried feet below our trail.  Two hours into the hike I called it off; I’d never be able to find the kill in these conditions.  We hadn’t seen a single track in the snow; I was starting to believe we were alone in the woods.  No grass eating animal would be able to dig deep enough to survive in this snow and ice. 

I had a lot to think about as we trudged home.  I announced we would be having a meeting as soon as the other hunters returned from their hunts.  I ask everyone to write inventories of all their possessions and have them ready for the meeting.  Jim Thompson arrived back to the cabin just at dark; he reported that he too hadn’t seen a single animal track.  Well after dark Bob Nelson stumbled into the cabin half frozen and exhausted; not a single track and he’d covered about eight miles in a large sweep. I gave them both two hours to rest, eat and inventory their property.

It was morning before we came to a group decision that nearly everyone would buy into.  We all had reservations about abandoning the cabin; but without a source of food we were doomed to stay here.

There are nine of us; four of us fit men that could hunt and pack supplies, Pete Sands ice cut to nearly blind but could pack supplies, Jan West and her daughter Kim 11yrs old, Beth Spear and her son Bobby 7yrs old.  We’d load the women lighter along with the kids, but everyone would have to carry their weight.  We worked two long days and nights making packs and snow shoes for everyone.  We fashioned smaller spears for the women and kids; we’d all have to fight for our lives if we were jumped by wolves or worst.

On the morning that we were to head out the women made a huge breakfast while the rest of us finished loading packs.  Pots and pans were cleaned and packed with the rest of our supplies; as much as nine could carry.  At about ten am we were ready to go.  I led the group out heading due South towards what I hoped would be warmer weather and it just happened to be the direction of my elk kill; we couldn’t waste a single chance at picking up anything we could eat.

We all took turns breaking trail; pushing snow to near exhaustion with heavy packs didn’t take long.  I made sure I was breaking trail when we were in the area I had left Jason Cain dead.  I’d leave a wide margin between where he’d died and our trail.  I didn’t want anyone to happen to stumble over him and I really didn’t want to know if the wolves had come back for him. 

We made slow advance in the deep powder snow; and only just made it to the area of my elk kill as the hour to make camp before our first night away from the cabin came.  As I’d figured I couldn’t even guess where I’d buried the elk.  There must have been six or seven extra feet of snow since I buried him; that would make the carcass somewhere between eight and ten, eleven feet deep in hard packed snow.

Two and a half hours to make temporary shelter to protect us over night.  I carried some dry moss and a few sticks of wood to help with a fire.  I’d have to replenish my supply as I found pieces along the way.  I didn’t plan or even realize the problem of building a fire on top of feet of snow; it was going to be a long cold night.  We lost Pete sometime in the night; Jan discovered him dead early the next morning when he didn’t get up from his pad to eat.  He must have had a bad heart or maybe just was heartbroken from his loses and losing his sight and gave up.  We left him wrapped in his pad.  His useful belongings were spread out to everyone’s packs.  One less mouth to feed, but heavier loads for all; I really just wanted to sit down and cry.  Jan, Beth and the kids were silent; they put on their packs and stood waiting to get in line for the days march. We all felt the loss; Pete brought in a scraggly deer just after we’d finished every piece of my porcupines and were completely out of food.  It wasn’t until after we’d all eaten that we’d discovered the heavy price Pete had paid to get that deer back to camp. We covered both his eyes with gauze and without any medicine had to hope for the best; it wasn’t going to come.

The next few days match took us miles south; everything looked the same.  Deep snow and ice, blowing winds whipping the snow into blinding clouds; just trying to keep us heading due south was demanding.

I was third in line when I smelled the faint smell of burning wood smoke.  I stopped everyone and hid them while I and Mike slowly moved forward to find the fire.  Fire meant people and we couldn’t just assume that they’d be happy to have eight people walk into their camp.  It was a short walk when Mike stopped and slowly turned and pointed to a tree ahead of us.  I looked where he was pointing and saw it too; a body hanging in a large tree, rope clearly around its neck.  We quickly turned and headed back to our group; we missed it as we were sneaking forward, but going the other direction now it was hanging in clear sight.  We’d walked right under another body hanging in a tree over our heads.  We whispered the bad news and made a large circle around the camp.  We could hear loud angry voices and it was clearly a camp to avoid.

We stopped just long enough to put white sheets over our heads and packs; luckily the powder snow was quiet and we skirted the camp without being discovered.  The next couple days we moved very slowly looking for hunting parties from the camp.

 

We came down into a long narrow valley; flat as a pancake the full length of the center with large humps every hundred or hundred and fifty meters or so.  We’d found a freeway; a freeway full of vehicles buried under the snow.  We dropped our packs and in groups of two dug down to the vehicles one after another.  After digging out the tenth we found what we were looking for; a small sized box van with “Joe’s fresh meats” written on the side.  All eight of us dug in; the hole was huge to get the snow cleared from the back double doors of the van.  Dropping into the hole and packing the snow sides tight we pried the doors open and discovered a single box of frozen prime ribs sitting on the front shelf of the van; a mutual gasp came from all of us.  This was enough to feed us all for at least a week.  We were all in heaven.  It was close to four in the afternoon; it was decided we’d camp in the back of the van over night and cook fresh frozen prime rib for dinner. 

They came in the night; Duke woke me up with a low growl, I patted him on the head; but he continued staring at the back doors of the van.  I shoved Mike; he was awake in an instant.  We’d positioned ourselves at the back of the van, as close to the doors as you could get without the blowing wind pushing snow in your face. A man dropped into the hole and threw open the rear doors to the van.  Mike was up and on him in a flash of movement.  A spear ended Mike’s fight from above and an instant later a rope loop fell over his head and he was gone, pulled from the hole by the rope around his neck.  Another man jumped into the hole and they grabbed and pulled Jim out of the van still in his sleeping bag, into the snowy hole we’d dug.  The first man jammed a spear into Jim’s chest.  I was grabbed from the rear by Jan; she trust a small gun into my hand.  She’d been keeping it quiet that she had it the whole time; my revolver was empty and thrown away as extra weight long ago.  I brought the little gun up and shot the first man in the forehead; he dropped like a rock.  Two more men dropped into the hole with spears slashing into the van.  I shot both leaving one man pinned under the two when they dropped; Jan sent a spear into his chest just missing my right ear.  Spears rained down from above ricocheting off the floor and bounding up into the depths of the van compartment.  Bobby went down with a spear to his throat; the van floor was slick with blood; our, theirs and wet snow.  We retreated to the front of the van compartment.  It was quiet except for the growling from Duke for ten minutes; then an avalanche of snow feel into the pit, four men with it.  They stormed the van compartment with spears slashing in front of them; three fell from the slick floor landing in a tangled pile; I shot the standing man as he drew back to launch his spear into my chest.  I turned the gun on the three men wrestling on the floor; only clicks answered my squeezing of the trigger.  Jan and Beth jammed spears into any part of their bodies they could find.  The van was rocking and men were screaming with blood lust and pain.  Kim, Jan’s daughter stepped through our jammed bodies and pinned the last man to the floor with her short little spear; the last charge was over in seconds.  Ears were ringing from the little gun and screams; little Kim twisted her spear in the man’s chest and smiled up at me.  I realized I didn’t know where Bob Nelson was; I could just make him out in the front of the van compartment sitting on the floor spread legged with the body of Turner our other hunting dog dead; pinning his legs to the floor.  Bob was ashen colored and had a finger pushed into his femoral artery which had been laid wide open by a bouncing spear point.  I could hear voices above the van in the blowing snow; we had no choice but to ready ourselves for another attack.  A half hour turned into an hour; Kim was crying at Bob’s side; everything else was dead quiet.  The moon had risen and was casting bright moon light straight into the van compartment.  It was a ghastly sight; a pile of dead men half way into the van blocking the pile of dead men where they had fallen in the snowy hole at the back of the van.  Bobby was lying at the wheel well dead with both hands wrapped around his torn open neck; Rivers of quickly freezing blood ran down the rough floor dripping into the white snow at the doors.  Bob Nelson died in Kim’s arms as we waited for more men to attack us.

Morning came without any further attacks; we pushed the dead men; ours and theirs into the snow and made a four foot high pile of bodies; filling the hole half way to the top of the snow.  Whiffs of snow blew into the doors pinned open by the bodies; snow started covering and ending the sight of blood and gore.

We’d lost four to their eight; I heard at least four voices earlier up in the snow above the hole.  The camp we passed must have found our trail and followed us.  If we’d camped in the open that night we’d been over ran and all killed; again a few of us had survived by dumb luck.  How long our luck would hold out I didn’t want to think about; we’d lost over three quarter of our numbers to this point; death is stalking us day and night.

The next morning came and all was quiet.  I climbed up from the van into bright clear skies; the first for over a month.  I counted six sets of tracks returning to the trail heading back towards the camp.  I stood guard while a meal was prepared and repacked our packs, dividing up what we could carry.  The four of us set off somewhere near noon; I wanted to put some distance between us and the van.  Not knowing if they’d limped back to camp defeated or for reinforcements; we needed to move and move fast.

We pushed on well past dark; dangerous as hell but no more dangerous than not getting enough distance.  If they were coming for us again, they’d be on the run mad for revenge.  We camped under a large tree that made a sunken hole under its big branches; we flatten out the snow, ate and climbed into our sleeping bags hoping that we wouldn’t be surprised in the night.  Morning came and we finished our left over steaks.  I managed to get a smile from Kim by making faces about the cold meat; we didn’t dare make a fire and signal how far ahead we might be.  Duke got part of my portion since he had saved us two days prior.  Just as we had our packs on Duke growled a warning; something was in the area and he could either smell them or heard them.  We dumped our packs and huddled together under the tree, backs to the trunk.  I shushed Duke and we listened as snow was pushed and crunched under boots. 

A loud “Hello” was shouted; we didn’t make a sound.  “Hello is anyone there!”  “I mean you no harm” It sounded like a single person; I peeked out from the branches of the tree and saw a young man standing looking away from our tree.  He turned back and forth looking for what he’d heard or smelled.  He was carrying a carbine rifle with a scope on it.  We would have no defense against the rifle; I looked at the three women and rolled my eyes; Nodded towards where the man was standing and stood up.  He spun around looking me straight in the eyes no more than thirty feet from where I’d just appeared.  He stumbled back and fell in the snow.  “Fuck me” was what he said.  “A little help please” I walked over to him; he’d fallen in the soft powered snow and his head was down, his feet just showing at the top of the hole he’d made.  I reached down and pulled him to his feet; he handed me the rifle as he shook the snow from his clothing; when he was done I handed the rifle back.  He offered me his hand and I shook it.  "Johnny Walker" he said his name was; and added "don’t laugh".  I did anyway; the women stepped out from the hiding place and walked to us.  I introduced all of us.  He said he was from the small farming community just about two miles from where we stood and said "we all looked like we could use a good meal and a shower".

Three months we’ve been in town; town if that’s what you want to call it.  Only five houses and barns in a small valley is enough for me to call a town.  We’ve made our selves useful and both Jan and Kim have new boy friend’s; I think we are going to do well here; it’s safe; they’re a self sufficient little community and heavily armed; they know and are ready for any bad camps. 

They all call me Captain Tom; go figure.  Sometimes there is happy endings.

From the Ramblings

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Voices

Voices

“Slut”……….. Oh that’s Jimmy; he’s not very nice, I try to keep him under control as much as I can.  Every once in a while he gets the best of me and shouts out what he wants.

“Pussy fucking bitch”……….. Carl; Great, I guess they are all going to start up now…….

I’ve been on medication for so long I can’t remember a time I wasn’t.  The voices started when I was five my mom said.  I’m not sure she’s right; I never remember a time without the voices. Jimmy’s saying she’s a “fucking stupid bitch”. I learned how to talk by listening to the voices.  My mom and Dad were very surprised by my first spoken words.

I’m always in trouble at school; I’ve learned to try to cover up what the voices want to say.  They get really mad when I clinch my teeth and don’t let them have their say.

Ellen is very religious; I don’t mind letting her have her voice for a while.  Sometimes she’s so funny she gets excited spouting her religious stuff she starts to stutter; I can’t help but bust up laughing.  Jimmy, Carl, sometimes even Sally will try to shout over the top of her and use their dirty words.  I do my best to jam my teeth together and let them scream their heads off but not udder any of their fowl words.

Sometimes Jimmy and Carl will come up with an idea that they talk about until I’m just so worn out listening to them talk about it I’ll just do anything to stop them yammering on.  Like when we killed the neighbor’s yappy little dog; I thought all the talking and talking, arguing about it would never end, I finally couldn’t just stand it anymore and said “Ok, Ok let’s just just do it, I’m tired of hearing about it.”  I snuck into the neighbors yard and the little fucker ran right up to me, even stopped barking for just a second.  Jimmy started yelling “Choke the fucker, choke him!” but James my savior with  his calm deep voice told me to pick up the two by four and hit the little fucker on the head, which I did.  James deep southing voice told me to continue; my arms got so tired I could barely lift the heavy piece of wood.  It smelled so bad; James talked to me and told me to just listen to his voice and let Jimmy and Carl take care of their work.  We dug a nice deep hole with Mrs. Fischer’s hand hoe and even put a couple flower bulbs over our work.  I really liked the way James told me to finish up the job.

Here lately Jimmy, Carl and Brian are all talking about getting rid of Mom.  They say she’s lived past her usefulness.  I tell them she’s my Mom; what are you talking about her usefulness, I love her and need her.  They say she’s getting in the way of us coming into our own, doing what we want; becoming what we were meant to be.  I don’t understand them.  I’ll ask James what he thinks; he’s my calm southing soul mate.

I’ve been trying to talk to Ellen about this, but she doesn’t seem to want to talk to me.  I’m working as hard as I can to shush the talk.  James will only say that change is in the works.  I don’t know what that means.  I go to school, I see my counselor, my shrink, but I just don’t know what to think.

We are out of school for a snow storm; Jimmy says it’s “fucking great, party on” Carl is Carl and says “We should party and kill the nah Sayers” whatever that means.  Ellen has returned and is mumbling her bible verses.  I’m just so tired of them all, I just want to sleep.  I’m pushing James hard to explain what I should do.  He says that we are at a cross roads and that change is in the air.  I don’t know what that means but I’m fed up with my little brother getting into my things.  With the snow storm we are all a happy little family together in this little house; we need to make some room.  I’m getting pissed off with everyone telling me what to do; what not to do.  Jimmy says we should “kill them, kill them all”.  Carl is talking in languages that I just don’t understand.  I just don’t know what to think but they are all getting on my nerves; even Ellen’s preaching is saying the damned should be burned and the forsaken should something?  I don’t know.

James says we need to make some changes.  He says that change will make us strong; we need to work together and be one.  Jimmy and Carl are all in.  Even Brian and Ellen are making sounds as though we should work together and silence the nah Sayers.   They mean Mom, Dad and Scott my little butt face brother.

I can’t do this.  James says to let Jimmy, Carl and Brian do the work; just let them take over and everything will fall into place.  I don’t want to hurt my mom; she’s been there for me so many times.  She cares for me; Dad and Scott don’t care that I have problems; they feel that my problems hurt the family and cause them all kinds of grief. I’ve heard Dad talking on the phone telling one of his friends that he can’t do this or that because I’m having one of my problems.  Well he’s about to have a problem. Jimmy says he’s going to get what he deserves; I hope he’s right.

James says I should move on them while they are sleeping; I think this is the right time to act.  Jimmy is driving me crazy with his shouting “Kill them, hack them to pieces, kill them” Even Carl is now ranting to Kill them.  I’ve talked to Ellen and she just repeats her sermon that “Damn be thy ones that lay burden on touts who strive to free ones of impendence of servitude” I think she means the rules that have been forced on me by my parents.  I’ve got to be free; free to evolve into what I’ve been meant to be.  I have power; power to break the bonds that hold me.  I must be free; Jimmy is shouting at the top of his lungs “Kill the holders of powers; the power is in your hands, make us free!”

I can’t do this alone; James will calm my nerves, he will guide me.  I squash Jimmy and Carl; even Brian I force to be silent.  I pray Ellen will help me in my hour of action.  It’s two o’clock in the morning and I hear my family sleeping in their rooms; this is the hour to free us from their tyranny.  I ask James to be with me as I move silently from my room towards that of my brothers.  James tells me to release control to Jimmy and Carl and just listen to his voice; just like with the neighbor’s dog.  I stand at the threshold of a new beginning James says; open the door and let Gods work be done says Ellen.

My hand trembles on the door knob; slowly twisting, releasing myself to Jimmy and Carl.  They take over with glee.

From the Ramblings

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Itch

Itch

It started Thursday morning at nine; I remember it so well, I was sitting at my desk looking out the window of my office on the fourteenth floor at a sullen sky wondering if it was ever going to stop raining.  Sometimes I wonder if it’s really worth living in the North West; damn rain forest is what it is.  Oregon; starts raining in September and rains until the 5^th of July; makes me want to slash my wrists and roll up in a ball and die.  I’ve started light therapy; Doctor said it would do me good, help with the depression.

The phone rang; I jumped and swore under my breath; Johnson again, Christ, for the twentieth time trying to explain the new roll out plan.  Annoyed by the call I realized I’d been scratching the top of my left thigh.  Not really digging at it, but rubbing, lightly scratching trying to get a spot that I just couldn’t quite find; I chased it across the top, over the left side and back up to the top always an inch or two behind it.  “Hang on a minute” I set the phone down and stood; really digging in.  It was that type of itch that is deep like almost to the bone but the damn thing just wouldn’t stay still.  “Let me call you back” I dropped the phone in its cradle.  This is crazy; must be nerves.  I popped a couple Tylenol and walked to the floor length window; from fourteen floors up the people look really small down there.  All the umbrellas; black ones, white, even a couple that must have been golf umbrellas by the size of them.  Flash of lighting lit up the office, counting to three a muffled crack of thunder; all the little umbrellas stopped for an instant then started moving again.  Freaking Oregon rain, no one even notices unless we have thunder and lightning with it, go figure. 

I live alone; wife up and walked out about four years ago.  Took a couple years to get use to living alone; no one but the cat in the house, now I look forward to my alone time.  Too many hours, too many parties;  on and on, she just didn’t seem to understand that if you want to make it in this town you’d better put in the hours, lots of face time with staff, clients and always looking to make an impression with new prospective customers.  My normal time home is about seven; early enough for dinner but late enough that all the bad news is over with on the TV.

Walked through the door at exactly seven; Tiger was sitting on the back of the couch waiting for me.  He didn’t even start complaining until I was in the bathroom throwing stuff around and cussing; l was looking for the itch cream I remembered the wife used every once in a while, four years ago. I found it and put a dollop of it on my left thigh; cracks me up, I’ve never used that word until seeing a commercial on TV where the song goes “Just put a dollop on it” now it’s stuck in my brain forever.  Dollop this, dollop that; I put dollops of shit on stuff all the time now, fucking TV.   I rubbed it in; scratched it in is more like it; been driving me nuts most of the day.

It never entered my mind that itch cream might go bad over nearly half a decade; damn cream must be past its expiration date; woke up at one am itching like an old’ dog with fleas.  Damn if it isn’t both thighs now; I’m scratching with both hands, finger nails bending back to the quick, now I’ve got two fingers aching along with this damn itch.  Two more Tylenol and a Darvocet should do it; I’ve got to get some sleep I’ve got a big ass client coming in tomorrow I’ve got to land this account.

Oh holly shit I’m so tired, must have scratched half the damn night.  The second dose, a pair of Darvocets at three did the trick until six when I woke digging at my legs.  Both are swollen and raw looking I must have dug at them while I was asleep. 

Why do people think it’s so fucking funny when they ask you if your all right; cause you look like shit in the morning and when you answer that you’d been scratching all night they laugh their asses off and walk off; it’s not fucking funny, not funny at all. 

“Mr. Christenson is here to see you.”  The intercom announced “I’ll be right out Jan” Jan the one that spit she was laughing so hard at my expense when told “I had an itch” fucking bitch.  Lost that client; I think he thought I was crazy.  I’d stop in mid sentence and dig at my legs; the fucking itch is consuming my thoughts, I can’t help it.

I had to go home at noon; how do you drive with both hands busy scratching, ripping at the tops of your thighs?  Ran a stop light at 245^th and Biscayne St. fucking cop gave me a ticket and asked if I’d been drinking.  Yeah I should be drinking you fucking idiot, you’d be drinking if you itched like I did.  Made it home at twelve thirty ran up the driveway to the front door, dropped my keys, fuck me, dropped to my knees scratching like a mad man; I am a mad man.  Fucking key in the lock; ran for the master bath, five Darvocet down looking at the clock; I’ll give it another fifteen minutes then I’m gonna drop another two more Darvocet and call the doctor, this has got to stop.

 

Two o’clock; I’m stoned, I can’t keep my eyes on the clock long enough to see the time for sure.  Seven down and I’m ripping like a demon; I turned the music up and poured a glass of red wine.  Fuck the itch it’s party time.  Bottle is going fast, I’m only itching a little but my hands are tingling like they have electricity running through them; fuck I hope it isn’t something else.   Bottoms up; I fumble the uncorking of the second bottle but who really gives a fuck?  I have seven more wonder pills then one more bottle of wine, then I’m fucked; it’s going to be ok, floating, just a little spinning, I can’t even feel my cheeks.  This is gonna work; I’ll be ok, I know I will.  The Doctor will know what to do; I’ll call in the morning.  It isn’t so bad now; just rub a little and it’s hardly there.

 

My hands are on fire; woke at two am.  What do I do? I’m on fire fire.  The itch is crazy.  Rubbing hands on thighs just makes it worst; I slam my hands on the night stand, there’s no response no pain, just the itch.  Itch like ants running crazy; thousands of ants eating eating running in circles tearing at my hands, my thighs are on fire blood boils from tears, sheets sodden in red clots, running red rivers of black flowing blood.  Bathroom, I have to get to the bathroom; seven more life savers down,  swimming in despair, thick sticky ribbons of black viscous gelatinous globs run from sleeves, dripping claws that where once hands.  Grasping at the half full bottle of red wine with claws of a demon curled blood soaked knuckles fresh meat hanging from ripped nails.  Neck itching, veins swollen from clawing, red blood trickling from gouges dug deep from clawed hands.  High pressure spouts of ripped arterial crimson geysers paint murals on egg shell colored walls.

CNN Headline news:  Morbid pictures of ripped flesh, walls painted red in blood met Police in what is described as the worst suicide scene remembered by veterans of Portland’s Police Department in years. Reporter Nick Robinson reports a ghastly crime scene in NW Portland this Saturday night…………

From the Ramblings

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