Plague

I have to tell you I don’t want to write this; my heart is broken; not really broken, crushed. I really thought since I lived to be sixty I’d pretty much had it made; bullet proof. I’d beat the threat of cancer, heart disease and pretty much anything else that could come along as you age. Then the world turned over; Global warming? Yeah now that’s a freaking joke.

I’m screwed; I’m all alone. My family is dead; neighbors are all dead, what the hell am I suppose to do? I have to tell you I’m thinking of taking my own life rather than face what will become shortly; how I’m I gonna feed myself? Grow a damn garden?

I’ve decide to write this journal; I found a plain white paged hard sided notebook; I’ll write until I make up my mind, what difference it really makes I don’t know but it just seems like the right thing to do?. I’ll sit under my little light and write this shit down; it fills the hours until bed time and keeps my mind from wanting to end this crap with a loud bang.

Let me lay out what has happened to this point; the most important stuff won’t take long; I ask that you read this journal to the end; I’ll put my most into it and hope not to bore you, times have changed.

Ebola, Rabies, Plague, Cancer the list goes on forever and new things jump on the list every month of the year. The newest is Zika, a virus that they thought was only transferable by mosquito’s bites; then through sexual transmission; now respiratory infection. The third world is all but dead or in the process of dying. But that’s not what took my family and the whole neighborhood in ten days.

I don’t think there is a name for it at this point, least one that’s stuck yet; who the hell really cares; they’re gone, my world has ended. My wife started coughing with a little congestion on January 17th, my daughter started up two days later; they both died in five days; five days, January 24nd marking the worst day of my life; do you have any idea what it’s like to have the woman you love and your only child dead? I walked around the house undecided what to do in a fog for hours.

I buried both my wife and daughter on the high side of the yard next to the fence; it’s the flattest area in our yard and the soil was pretty soft with the heavy rains of January. I had some concrete I’d picked up from down the street, a driveway was being replaced a few months ago, I had the thought of using it as stepping stones along the deck to the lower door to my shop; I used it to cover the swollen earth from my digging to cover the graves making them secure.

My neighbors haven’t fared any better; Buck’s wife died a day after my family died. I stood with him and talked about the future as we dug the hole; He was very depressed and told me his son was sick in the house. I helped bury his son two days later just a few feet from the broken ground of his wife’s grave.

Sitting in my family room just before dark; a family room without any family, I heard a single loud blast from what I think was a shotgun; it was close by, I’ll have to go check on Buck tomorrow after the sun comes up; I think I’ll be digging another grave tomorrow morning.

I’m alone now; one dog, two cats and four chickens, no family and no neighbors; they’re all gone. I wait for my time to come; I’m concerned with the animals. As soon as I think I’m coming down with the pox I’ll have to start leaving the doors and gates open so the animals have a half assed chance at survival when I’m gone. I’ll break open all the bails of bedding and dump the feed out so they can get to it; I hope to give them a fighting chance; it’s the least I could do for them.

All the news talks about is the plague; how many have died, how many are suppose to die. They’ve decided to just call it the plague like in the dark ages; we’re in our own dark ages now.

The news and TV is getting sketchy with long dead spells; the power went out yesterday for a full hour; then came on for ten minutes and then out for another two hours; I don’t think they have enough crews left to fix stuff as it goes down.

My Iphone 6L went off this morning with an emergency warning that power and telephone service might be interrupted; it’s been stone cold dead for three days; no signal no facebook nothing, why would they send out a warning when it’s been dead now for days? Crazy.

I pulled my two generators from the garage around the side of the house to the deck; the Traeger needs power to work; smoking all the elk and salmon in the freezers on the Traeger hoping to keep the meat good. I’ve got ten gallons of pure gas to run the generators, I hope it’s going to be enough to smoke everything and preserve what I’ve got or it’ll go bad fast.

Smoke billowing from the Traeger on the deck I heard a pounding on the front door; Sick guy coughing up huge globs of shit wanting something to eat. I cut a nice section of half cooked meat off the traeger and he went away; I hope he dies happy with a full stomach.

I’m so depressed; walked down the street slowly looking at all the houses. Most seem to be empty no movement; I can’t see any light from camp lanterns on inside; powers been out for six days straight. No smoke from wood stoves or cars on the street; I think the extended neighborhoods dead also.

Five houses down Ben’s laying dead in his driveway; no one’s stopped to bury him; I’m just too tired to dig another hole; my heart breaks, he’ll have to lay where he is; so sad.

I don’t know what I’d do without my animals they are the only company I have now; god I love the hell out of them. I realized there must be dogs and cats locked in houses as their owners have died. I’ve been going door to door down the neighborhood pounding on front doors to see if anyone comes to the door or if I can see any sign of animals in the house trapped. My biggest fear is that I kick a door in to save a dog or cat and get shot by the home owner that is still alive; a risk I’m willing to take.

I seem to have a following; dogs I’ve freed walk along with me as I kick doors down and break windows; they greet those set free; I throw treats to give them, something to fill their stomachs as I move along. I don’t think there is anything I could do that is more important in this world; time is of the essence.

Two weeks; I’m not finding any more animals alive now, it’s just been too long. I keep looking but the rewards have stopped; I’ve got to stop taking chances of cutting myself or sustaining injuries that I can’t take care of; I’m totally alone now, except for all the animals. Some are starting to move away finding their niche in the new world; some going wild very fast preying on others and forgetting who saved them from their certain deaths locked in houses and businesses. It won’t be safe to walk the streets for very much longer I’m starting to see packs of dogs running together.

This is a whole new world I’m dealing with; I don’t think I can continue to stay in my home. I can’t heat all of it and the waters finally stopped running. I think it’s time to down size into my travel trailer and the truck. I think I’ll slowly head south towards the warmer weather and away from some dangers that I’ve thought of in my area. Power, gas, water and of course all the other services that we learned to count on have all gone dead. What worries me is the dam system along the Columbia River; I know no one is caring for those infrastructures and depending on how they were set when everyone died they’d be in danger of failing. I don’t think it would be a good idea to be anywhere in the area if that happens, plus Hanford is just up the River and could pose a real threat.

I pulled out Tuesday morning with my dog and two cats. I put the chickens into a little wire crate in the back of the truck; I hope they don’t mind the wind. I’ve got maybe sixty dogs running along the sides of the truck and camper.

It’s so funny to keep thinking in the way of what day of the week or month, now nothing depends on the day of the week anymore.

I’m really surprised that the roads are clear of stalled vehicles; I imagined millions of cars left along the roads and freeways. I guess when people started getting sick they all headed home; makes sense, who’d want to be on the road when you’re coughing up a lung. My next problem will be getting some fuel into the truck; there’s no power anywhere so I’ll have to rig up my own system to refuel.

Genius; pull all the wires out of the electrical box, fire up the 3000 watt generator and jump the wires from the generator and the whole gas station comes to life. “Fill it up? Why yes thank you.” Nothing easier; thirty minutes and I’m all gassed up with extra gas cans filled and back on the road. I’m so surprised with myself I can’t take the smile off my face. I should have gas available for years with it stored underground and easy to get to; one worry off my plate.

Food; now that’s been a real torment. I’m going to save and horde canned food until it goes bad; I remember that should be around 18 months so I’m stocking up on canned food for the near future. Nothing better than a nice can of peaches after dinner. I’m not liking the canned meat but it’s better than going without; Spam; it’s what’s for dinner ahahahhahaa Yuck. Stopped by a Pet Smart and loaded fifty bags of dog food and hundreds of boxes of treats into the truck; my tired boys and girls are sleeping on their bags of food as we drive along.

I’m not making at lot of mileage with the dogs having to keep up running a long side the truck and trailer. I’ve started stopping every few short miles and letting the slower older dogs hop up into the bed of the truck so we can move along without stopping constantly. We keep picking up new dogs along the as they see us going by and just can’t keep from running along with us. I throw box after box of dog treats out the windows all day long too keep their energy up. The new dogs are eager to run along the side of the truck looking in and smiling as I throw them more treats; I’m slowly building an army. I’ve run into what might be a problem in the near future; small dogs can’t keep up with the truck. I’ve got them stuffed in every nook and cranny in the trailer and bed of the truck; I’m running out of room.

I’ve run the pack as far as they can go; we need a few days off to recoup and build strength. A couple of the smaller dogs need some medical attention; they must have had to fight off bigger dogs and they have bite marks that need to be attended too.

I’ve decided to find a truck and trailer that can carry my hoard; I’ve got close to two hundred dogs with me now.

I’m slowly learning to be the pack leader; I’ve have to put down challenges to my authority or risk the larger dogs taking over and preying on the weaker little ones. Since I control the food I haven’t had to resort to violence yet, but I can see it’s going to come to a head shortly. I’ve got two large heavy dogs of some mixed breed that are pushing me on every decision that I’m making. They don’t like being told what to do and are showing aggression towards me.

I hated to do it but they gave me no choice; thank gawd I had a big stick, really a pick axe, or I’d be dead and all my dogs would be on they’re own. Breakfast came early, I wanted to get on the road and make some head way. The two big dogs snapped at the little ones trying to get their food; stepping between them they teamed up against me snarling and snapping. I had to beat them both half to death before they stopped coming at me. I wrapped them in blankets and laid them on the back of the truck; they growled and snapped but it was clear they’d been beat and didn’t want to fight any further; I’ll give them extra food and hope they make a full recovery; nothing seems to be broken just badly bruised.

I’m shaken; my two biggest dogs have attacked me. I just barely fought them off; what if three or more dogs decide to test me as leader, I won’t stand a chance. I guess I’d better start packing my firearms 24/7.

My luck is holding out, I found a flatbed truck with a huge trailer attached, even better it’s full of gas and started right up. The whole pack is now riding instead of running all day long. I’m making good progress towards Northern California stopping just to pick up more dogs as they run along the truck and trailer. I wish I had a picture of the whole mess; two hundred plus dogs, four chickens and my two cats riding shotgun, what a picture that’d make.

Making camp just outside of Yreka, California for the night; everyone is tired and hot from the road. I have so many food bowls the whole truck trailer is surrounded, makes me very happy.

Bellies full of food the big dogs 75 strong head out into the woods to look around and get some exercise since they now ride all day. I hate to think they maybe hunting but I don’t think they stray too far; miss the truck pulling out tomorrow morning is a death sentence and they all know it.

I’m going to head South down to around Mt. Shasta; lots of water and not far from towns I can slip down into to fill up on provisions. I’m hoping to find a nice small house or cabin with a big barn or multi door garage that will give shelter to all my animals I’m packing. After that I’ll just have to see where we all should end up for a permanent place. Lots to think about food, water, safety; I have no idea what to look out for in Northern California. Oregon has damns, nuclear dumps, Ammo dumps, all kinds of things that without care are going to spill or blow up. I’m now below all that and the winds should keep it all North of here if my guesses are correct, time is going to tell.

All the big boys and girls came back to camp just at sundown; they seem to be happy and I haven’t been challenged since the beatings in front of all the dogs. Under the truck and trailer is solid dog as far as the eye can see, everyone seems to now have a place and dog snores are filling the night. I’ve got an early start tomorrow; we will have to search to find the best place to make a home and I expect it to take a number of days.

Everyone is fed and watered we are pulling out just after dawn. Heading down the interstate I see the biggest Pet Smart I’ve ever seen. I pulled over a hundred beds from the store and we are now filled in every spot with dog food and treats, what a treasure trove; we are set for several days if not weeks. Stopping at a grocery store I’m stocked up on everything canned; getting tired of canned everything but it keeps us moving in the right direction without having to search for food.

Driving slowly along the I5 I have to wonder how I’m the lucky guy that the plague ignored; what special gift did I pick up along the way over my life of colds, flu and runny nose that the plague just can’t seem to break through; I haven’t seen another human being in nearly six weeks now, just me and my animals.

Pulling into Weed California driving very slowly though the empty streets winding around a few stalled cars and a few burnt buildings I’m surprised to see that the fires didn’t spread like you’d think they would; I wonder if maybe there was still snow on the ground here when the world ended for everyone but me.

Out of the corner of my eye I’m sure I saw a fleeting shadow, the dogs all start to bark and I stop as fast as I can without throwing the dogs around on the trailer. All the big dogs jump down off the trailer and truck staring down a long street I’ve stopped in the middle of. I see the shadow again moving between piles of debris and cars heading for cover, the dogs all see the same thing. A hundred and fifty plus eyes are now are looking at me; GET EM! I shout and all the dogs race down the street a cacophony of sound as they sprint after the phantom. Now I’m hoping I haven’t put my dogs in danger; I’m sure it was a human and would probably be armed and dangerous with over seventy five large dogs chasing them.

I can hear the chase as it goes between buildings and the sound wavers as it finds straight paths back to the truck and trailer then blocked by buildings and trees; whoever it is, is giving the dogs a good run.

Suddenly silence; my heart stops what if the dogs take the person down, hurts or kill them? I can’t leave the truck or the smaller dogs will start to try to jump down and it’s just too tall for them to make the jump. I stand at the side of the trailer looking down the long street hoping I haven’t caused a tragedy.

Minutes go by the silence is deafening; my eyes water looking for signs of my dogs and what they were chasing, dread fills my brain as my ears struggle to hear what’s going on.

I see one dog slowly coming out from a side street, blocks down, then more, the whole pack slowly turns the corner heading back for the truck and trailer; I see a figure walking head down defeated in the center surrounded by my pack of dogs. I pray to god that they haven’t hurt this person; my heart booms just seeing another human. I can’t wait to talk to him, learn his story, his survival against all the odds.

A few of my dogs run forward making a long line of dogs with the figure still slowly walking in the center of dogs. I start to pickup and off load all my dogs. Still a few blocks away I can now see that the person is clearly a she, her long red hair blows in the wind and the dogs seem happy not menacing. I call out and wave; my little dogs are racing down the street to join the crowd running in circles around her. She finally raises her head and looks towards my waving and calling to her. She gives me a slight wave and all the dogs start to bark and jump around; they know they’ve found a very special human.

Her name is Rose; I’m the only human she’s seen in weeks.

I think I’m in love; I’ve got to find us all a home now.

It took over an hour to get the excited dogs to calm down and load up, I’m the most excited. I fixed Rose a huge lunch and she says it’s the first good meal she’s had since the world ended.

Rose sits in the passenger seat of the truck with both my cats fighting for her lap; I hope we can all become a big happy family. Time will tell; wish me luck, I’m one happy guy. One world ends and another starts up; Rose calls me the dog man, that suits me just fine.

From the Ramblings; Plague.

t

5221

5221

 

Dispatch:            5221

Me:                      5221; Hwy 47, Greenville Rd, North bound.

Dispatch:            5221 Single car accident Hwy 26 approximately 4 to 6 miles west of the tunnel.

Me:                      5221 any further information; injuries?

Dispatch:            5221 no information available from caller; said he was stopped by a guy in the highway             

and asked to call 911 as soon as he found a phone booth.  Caller called from Staley’s Junction. 

 

Me:                      Copy; running code.

 

Dispatch:            5221 is running code at 18:21 hours.

 

I’m Mackenzie Clark, 5221, they call me Mac; let me give you some back ground so you know what, where, when and how come.  5221 is my call sign; Swing shift (52) and (21) is me, regardless of what shift I’m working I’m going to be (21).  With that high of a number it’s clear to all the jurisdictions that I’m a pretty new guy with the Sheriff’s Department; I just went past 18 months with the Department starting in late September of 1980.  All the Departments use the same radio channel regardless if it’s a city or the County.  To identify which agency dispatch is calling you have to throw in the 52 so everyone knows this call is going to the Sheriff’s Department.  If I was working day shift I’d be 5121 and grave 5321; the big cheese is the Sheriff and when 5100 comes on the air you know it’s the boss.  5101 Captain on day shift, 5102 Lieutenant, 5103 and on up a few numbers are Sergeants; you get the drift. 

 

Washington County, Oregon is a rather large geographical area and the west end towards the Coast Range is sparsely populated and has only a few small towns. One could say almost villages they are so small.  Closest town with any population and a Fire Department from the call area is Banks and it’s manned only by volunteers, there is no staff on duty.   When a call comes in the siren on top of the Fire Department building blasts and the volunteers rush to the Fire house, grab equipment and respond when they have enough people to man a truck or trucks.

 

Dispatch:            5221

 

Me:                      5221, Hwy 26 at Phil Rd, running code.  (Siren drowning out the words.)

 

Dispatch:            5221, Second caller reports injuries, possible fatalities.

 

Me:                      Copy, can you roll Banks.

 

Dispatch:            Bank has been notified, waiting for personnel to respond, estimating fifteen minutes to                    respond and roll.

 

 

 

Me:                      Copy, I’ll step it up, out running my siren.  (“Out running your siren” happens when you               

are driving so fast that vehicles can’t hear or react to your siren before you’re on them or passing them, you can only hope they see you coming.)

 

Dispatch:            5221 at 18:26 hours.

 

It’s been five minutes and I’m making good time, punched it up to 90mph, the new Impala is purring, happy at this speed, traffic is light, visibility is clear and the road is dry.  Wednesday early evening second week of April is not a busy time of the year on these back roads as you head up and over the Coast range to the beach.  Hwy 26 to the coast is a decently maintained road with few patches and wide lanes; west bound cars are few and they see the overhead lights well before I’m running past them at this speed. 

 

Me:                      5221 dispatch.

 

Dispatch:            5221

 

Me:                      Couple minutes to the tunnel and loosing radio contact.

 

Dispatch:            5221 Copy loosing radio contact; be aware Banks Fire has been unable to fill a team we are rolling Hillsboro Fire rescue estimated time to arrival 45 plus minutes.

 

Me:                      Copy, it’s the west end; at the tunnel.

 

Dispatch:            5221 at…………  (Cut off, dead air.)

 

 

Sweeping long turns, dropping the car back into the 70’s, these long curves won’t support anything more and I’m getting close to where the caller reported the accident.  Second long curve and a short straight stretch I can see a man standing on the right side of the road waving; I pass him going into the long curve rolling just over 60mph as I drop the siren reducing speed more.  At the far end of the curve, I can see three cars parked bumper to bumper along the left side of the road just a few feet off the pavement; there’s a long wide gravel area from the parked cars to the tree line along this section of road giving a good area to park away from traffic but they’re all bunched up next to the traffic lane, strange.

 

Grey Black smoke drifts from West to East across the road pretty much pin pointing the location of the wrecked car but I can’t see it buried deep in the trees from my approach.  Slowing I pull into the graveled area sliding slightly in the loose gravel as I break; I drive towards the drifting smoke stopping the car a good distance from the accident site not wanting to disturb any possible tire tracks etc. 

 

Welcome to my nightmare.

 

There are a couple things I notice right away as I step from my patrol car; no one is near the crash site lending aid. A small group of people are standing clustered by their vehicles a good 70 yards from the wreak by their cars up at the highway.  It’s a group of three people; I can see a man further up the Highway waving to slow traffic of trouble ahead. The small group gives me a little wave but no one walks towards me or the accident.  I can see the group is one man and two women, they’re just huddling together not moving, looking everywhere except towards the crash site.

The second thing I noticed are the Ravens eagerly eating in the gravel a few feet from the opening into the trees and about four more spaced in a line towards the cars parked along the highway. 

 

I take a couple pictures with the 35 mm as protocol dictates and slowly move forward taking it all in; I still can’t see the wreaked car as it was just inside the tree line which is blocking my view, if it wasn’t for the smoke drifting from inside the trees and across the wide gravel area, you’d never know it was there. 

 

A Raven takes to wing as I near it, there lays a large pile of puke that trails off towards the direction of the man that had waved at me earlier as I arrived.  I’m now close enough to see the other Ravens were also at splashes of puke; that little voice in my head started to groan.

 

The winds picking up a little changing from the West sweeping around to the North pushing the smoke down to a low level; I’m going to have to walk through the smoke to get into the slight hole in the woods that the wreak is someplace down in.  As the wind swings, I can smell the heavy sultry carbon smell of hot oil and some other smell I can’t quite make out, something sweet but strangely gagging at the same time, doesn’t smell like anti-freeze it’s something else I can’t quite identify.

 

The strange smell is still dancing digging on my mind as I round the last trees blocking my sight of where the wreak lies.  I’m about twenty feet out to the right of the tree line still walking in the gravel keeping way out where I can see a wide view taking 35 mm photos as I go.   I can finally see the wreak but it’s in shadows even though it’s now only about 20 yards distance, the smoke is obscuring, fogging the crash site swirling around being held tight by the thickness of the trees, one moment clearing then nearly completely obscured.  I stop taking two quick pictures recording the crash site and the depression in the woods the car has come to a stop in.

 

 I look towards the parked cars along the highway before stepping into the small opening in the trees. I see the smoke has swung around and is now pouring in a direct line to the cars parked up by the far pavement. 

 

Something’s strange out of place startling me; the man is bent over one of the women and the other woman I can’t locate.  I can only see the two by the side of the middle car, man over the woman his hands at her head, neck; Oh, she’s puking and he’s pulling her hair away from her face; I stand watching for a few seconds until she finishes, lots of dry heaves.  He opens the passenger door and she falls into the seat.  I finally see the other female, she’s sitting in the front car with her head down, I can just barely make her out as the smoke swirls.

 

Barbeque; the oily smoke is covering the sweet smell of what I associate with a barbeque; sweet earthy aroma but off somehow. 

 

That voice in my head is now getting loud, a constant high-pitched squeal.

 

I take the last few steps into the small opening to the rear of the wrecked car; I can’t make out the type of car other than there’s a Volkswagen emblem on the rear panel.  The smoke is thick this close coming from the middle of the wreak swirling and twisting into tight circles making it hard to see even now just five feet from the rear bumper.  It’s confusing the shape of the car is all wrong, way too short, the width is correct but the length is all off; then I realize, it’s a Volkswagen beetle maybe a mid 1960’s beetle, the front is pushed back smashed from the impact with the tree the whole car now only about five feet in length from tree to that V.W. emblem on the rear.  Engine compartment, passenger area is all combined and pushed together in a tight wad.  The roof is ripped from the A pillars, flipped over and inverted so the inside is facing up and twisted so pointing straight out to the right of the car flat like a flapping wing.  The car is sitting at an angle running up the side of the tree from the impact making it seem even shorter.

 

I realize my feet are getting wet, looking down, I’m standing in a pool of liquid maybe four inches deep pouring into my boots over the laces; but it doesn’t make any sense, it’s split neatly in two parts in a distinct line separating half the pool from the other.  Way back in my mind over the howling internal screams comes the old saying “Oil and water don’t mix” but this isn’t oil and water as the color returns to my eyes, one side is hot black oil, the other cooling glossy bright red blood.  I force my eyes away from the pool and back to the rear of the car; I don’t understand how shock works but I realized that I’d completely ignored the smashed twisted smoking wreak sitting before me and only focused on the pool of liquid.  Jumping out at me are three people jammed between the engine that had once been in the rear compartment now rammed forward jamming the front seats car into the dash and crushed windshield.  

 

Time went away; the smoke was choking making it hard to breathe, my mouth was dry.  I was mouth breathing fighting to get enough air, there was a deep roar in my head mixing with a high-pitched squeal that was hurting my ears; but something was pushing into my head riding just over the top of the din, I realized it was a voice “Deputy” louder, “Deputy; are you, all right?”  I turned, the sound blasting in my head dropped, I could hear the splash of my boots in the sickening pool as I turned; there was a young man standing a few feet from me his eyes on the wreaked car, eyes growing big as I watched, he blinked a couple times, he looked me in the eye then eyes slowly working down the front of my Uniform to my feet and the cooling gelling pool.  His face twisted into a knot as he spun running towards what were now four cars parked at the hard top.

 

The roar in my head of a few seconds ago ended completely in dead silence; I could hear the gravel under his feet as he ran to his car, door slamming, engine starting, tires spinning gravel as he raced away down the highway. 

 

I tasted barf, the space between my teeth and cheeks full.  I looked down at my hands, they were covered in puke, closer the front of my uniform is no longer brown but now shades of glistening barf.  The smell of oil, barbeque and blown bowels is gagging.  I could hear the ticking of the engine cooling behind me, splashes as fluids dripped into the cooling pool.  Everything was over bright hurting my eyes, the smoke has cleared, everything over sharp over exposed.  One ham sized arm of the driver riding along the driver’s door window sill, the tattooed forearm resting comfortably, elbow at a 45-degree angle against the stub of the front A pillar.  Head tilted back bright pinkish red at the eye line as something sharp had sliced his head in half from the eyes up, top wedge of his head hanging over the seat back connected by thin skin and membranes.  These people were huge, grossly overweight, obese.  A picture of a clown car flashed in my brain; I thought how could these people all fit in the front of this little car; then it hit me the center person a woman judging from the watermelon size bare breast the areola the size of my fist must have been riding in the back jump seat area.  She was now sprayed smashed across the tree, upper body flattened by the impact thinned by three quarters, her skull pancaked, teeth embedded into the bark, her lower legs pinned under the rear car frame, the motor ran up between her large ass cheeks cracked and burnt, heavy black oil smoke billowed between her ass crack drifting off into the trees. 

 

The screaming voice in my head was rising to a crescendo.

 

Number three occupant far right in the car was a woman, she was once huge, obese beyond possibility.  She rested arms sprayed over the hood jammed against her chest, head laying between her arms the car hood pushed back against her over the hood looking like she was resting comfortably on the metal of the hood.  Looking past and out into the trees she’d completely emptied her insides as they were hanging from low branches, intestines twisted grey trailing back into the car.  Shades of pulsating grey poured into my vision, deafened by the roar, high pitched shrill screaming.

 

I was shocked by the coldness of the water as they rinsed the puke from the front of my uniform using a hose and the water from the fire truck tanks, my Sergeant standing just out of the splash zone.  I rode the first rescue unit to the hospital alone, just me and the EMT sitting on the gurney in the back, we didn’t speak.

 

A day or so later my Sergeant visited me in the hospital; we talked a little about the crash.  He said I’d done a great job my first twelve pictures of the crash scene had turned out great but the rest of the roll of 36 exposures didn’t come out because the camera lenses was covered in puke and had been saved from the drenching by taking so many pictures the film had come off the roller and was wrapped tight in the film roll.  He said I’d taken 12 to 15 pages of notes in my notebook but they were unreadable being wet, soaked and soiled, only my diagram of the crash site was readable.  He told me the local paper had done a short article on the crash making me a hero suffering smoke inhalation trying to save the occupants. 

 

He had paperwork all filled out for me on the transfer out of Patrol Division moving to Corrections special teams at the first of the next month if I thought I was ready.

 

I wonder if I will ever be ready.

 

 

From the Ramblings

t

Sand

The heat was smothering at 115 degrees; it’d be cooler if there was any place to get out of the blistering sun; winds blowing in the 30’s gusting to over 45mph’s.

Flat as a pancake, the sand blowing up to four feet high offs the never ending flat dunes of scorching desert.

Punished to walk; sitting would put you in the blowing sand level were the particles tore at every fiber of clothing, pitting goggles, scopes, every piece of equipment.

Stumbling forward leaning into the winds progress was measured in yards not miles; foot prints disappeared in seconds as the shifting sands blistered polishing stones to a gloss finish in fine glass blown particles.

Vision obscured by height from the desert sand; two feet zero, four feet twenty yards, six feet above the blowing sands fifty yards dependant on the heavy gusts that brought the sands up into swirling clouds blanketing over everyone’s heads. Five lives tied together by light rope flapping in the heavy winds, fibers cutting away with every razor sharp sand particle rubbing abasing against the thin ropes.

Communication between beings defended by screaming winds and pounding heavy particles made even the thought of conversation ear shattering over the cacophony of the blowing winds.

Two hundred and fifty yards from the insertion point the winds split around a wind block; winds blowing left and right leaving a narrow alley of slower moving participles visible by the brightening clouds of lesser blowing sand and backwards dancing dust from the heavy winds made an alley to the base of the towering monolith.

Shouting above the roar Stevens screamed “Can you find the door; where’s the doorway?!”

Digging deep below the swirling stacking sands; dragging huge hands full of dry powdery sandy dust away from the upper recess of the doorway, five beings dug for their very lives as their suits filled with sweat and oxygen supplies fell from the heavy work. The winds sucked the light sand dust from the digging clearing of the doorway in a vacuum caused by the turbulent wind creating a huge whirlwind to form behind the monolith helping clear the door opening.

A small number pad appeared from under the sands; punching in the emergency code the door slid open dumping buckets of sand into the doorway. Jumping down into the open doorway the five shoveled pouring sand away from the door way finally allowing the door to close and lock in its tracks.

“Door closing…….. Sealed” Five bodies hit the flood in exhaustion.

“It’s five o’clock; dinner in thirty minutes, lamb chops in a light gravy with oven roasted asparagus and chilled Resling wine finished with orange marmalade on deck seven” “Would you like to make reservations the computer voice asked?”

“Yes, five for dinner” Master Sergeant Stevens said sliding his helmet over his head dropping it in the flattening spreading sands from the escape hatch.

From the Ramblings.

t

Micah

He awoke to the smell of mother earth’s rich deep sweet organic musky scent; a scent he knew well over the centuries, it comforted and calmed his mind as he awoke from death. Arms stiff and achy from the unnatural position they’d been placed in crossing his chest fingers interlaced, he slowly brought them up from his chest; crackling popping elbows he wiped the dust from his face. He knew he’d been buried in a well drained plot probably up the beautiful hillside overlooking the small town; the sweet damp organic smell so soothing to his nose told him so, no ammoniac stench of dank wet stagnate earth or hint of old penny metallic scent of desert sands.

From his death row prison cell window he’d seen the little cemetery up the hill; a smaller unfenced plot sat just outside of the enclosed manicured garden; having no headstones he’d deduced that the open plot held the bodies of prisoners who had died during their incarceration or been put to death as he would be in just a few days if the body wasn’t taken by family.

Taking in a deep breath of the sweet earth he relaxed slipping into the silent devils mantra that’d been burned into his memory as a small boy freeing his mind to wander as he waited knowing he’d be freed from his grave in the near future; his lips moved ever so slightly as he chanted the words, a small smile etched his scared face as a dry tear rolled down his cheek.

Deep in the mantra his thoughts flowing freely; he pushed back to the beginning when he was a very small boy lying frightened in his bed as shadows danced across the ceiling and walls; remembering his mothers angry words “Go back to sleep Micah, it’s nothing” he pressed his lips tight fighting his way into sleep, he deafened his ears to the screams, the hacking chopping sounds of his mother’s satanic murder only waking as the demon chanted the devil’s mantra deep into his mind as he was endlessly assaulted earning the devil’s mark. He remembered the pain growing in intensity until he finally screamed out; silence, not a sound in the dark, he lay still paralyzed by fear until the sun broke the horizon of the morning. Calling out to his mother he was answered only by the chilled morning air and a heavy bitter metallic coppery stench that filled the hut gagging him.

The Capital murder trial was cancelled when he’d plead guilty to the six horrific murders and waited only two months for the State to seat a twelve person penalty phase jury with four alternates in the case one or more of the jurors couldn’t make it through the horrible evidence that they would be shown. The jury would only deal with the penalty phase of the trial but would have to review all the States evidence. They’d only decide whether he’d be sentenced to life in prison or be put to death.

Called to the stand to testify everyone expected him to plead for his life. Glaring at the jury from the witness box he relived the glory of the slaughter clearly in his low cold voice, you could nearly smell the retching tic of blown bowels of the murder scene as he told his story in minute detail.

The fear was visceral in the Courtroom; his testimony coming to a crescendo he told how he stabbed and cut the victims their breaths coming in short moaning gasps, he sprang to his feet and shook the heavy chains that bound him. People in the galley jumped to their feet fighting each other as they piled up trying to escape through the small exit door; he roared in laughter, his deep dead voice shaking the room freeing fine dust from the overhead lighting. Jumping to his feet red faced the Judge bellowed orders at the bailiffs who couldn’t hear over the shrill screams from the men and women of the jury; armed security guards pulled their weapons pointing first at the laughing madman then at the screaming jury; it was chaos.

Taking his seat in the witness box he roared in laughter as the jury raced from the Court Room; he shook his chains one last time bringing fresh screams from the last jurors racing for the door hands over their ears. The Judge continued screaming orders then threats then orders for minutes until he ran out of breath; silence finally fell over the Court Room with the exception of the low deep rumbling giggles from the damned as tears rolled down his face in glee.

The Court lost three jurors that absolutely refused to return to the Court Room; seating alternates took two days as the Judge threatened them with jail time if they refused.

Seated next to his terrified Attorney the Jury found that if spared death he’d continue to be an unreasonable threat to those that he was incarcerated with or if ever released would pose an undue risk to the community; they voted for his death.

Before delivering the death sentence the Judge was compelled to allow the defendant a chance to address the Court.

Standing at the defense table Micah once a small scared boy now a huge man addressed the Court and the Jury; pulling his jail uniform shirt up he displayed the devil’s mark to gasps from the jury and gallery as his fingers caressed the outline of the mark. Speaking in a low rumble he promised they’d all pay with their lives for the decision they’d made.

His execution date was set and making no appeal the date came quickly, he walked proudly to the hangman’s noose; asked if he had any last words he stood silently slowly looking over the small group of witnesses staring into each of their eyes; nodding his head he spoke directly to each and every one of them; this was not the end, he’d give each a visit in which he’d slowly end their lives in the most grotesque fashion.

Placing the noose around his neck with the knot just to the right side of his neck the floor dropped away; falling five feet the rope made a snapping sound as his weight hit the end, stretching and rebounding he danced like a rag doll, lifeless.

The hangman left him swinging several extra minutes making sure he was very much dead. Anyone who’d been to a hanging before would have known that the slow methodical pace of the hangman and helpers was out of the ordinary as the drop from the platform should have snapped the neck and death nearly instant; they weren’t taking any chances with this one letting him hang as they slowly moved around the platform picking up stray items sneaking looks at each other keeping as far away from the dead man as possible; the body swung slowly on the rope in circles, each circle just a little less in the gloom of the death chamber.

Such a small noise but enough to bring Micah out of his whispering mantra; an intense smile slowly spread on his face, he could clearly hear a shovel digging into the earth; low barely audible he began to laugh freeing fine dust that swirled in the stagnate air sticking to his face with the vibrations of his laughing. What had the demon preached to him? Ahhhh……. Matthews 28:6 “He is not here, for he has been raised, just as he said.” That’s what they will find tomorrow morning and so very much more he thought laughing harder.

Timing it perfectly as the guard looked into his cell through the small opening in the door he acted as though he was hiding something in his mouth “What you got?! Don’t you swallow it, you hand it to me NOW!” The guard barked. Micah rose from his hard bunk, palm open he grasped the small object between his thumb and index finger, passing his hand through the door opening he dropped a small perfect diamond into the guards open hand. “What’s this?” the guard Williams said with disbelief. “I have many, hidden if you know what I mean.” Micah whispered to the guard. “Many many more.” He rubbed his stomach turned his back and walked to his bunk. Pulling the single blanket over him he rolled to the wall ignoring the sputtering questions of the guard.

Long hard labor for one man to dig out a grave but Williams was a determined man. Keeping his discovery to himself he waited for the killer to be hanged and managed to beg his way on to the hanging detail. He rode along in the pickup truck to the prisoner’s graveyard and made sure he’d be able to find the grave in the dark when he returned in a few days to collect his treasure from the damned man. The backhoe made quick work of the excavation and Williams waved the local operator off half way into packing the earth tight after the casket was lowered into the hole. He grinned at his ingenuity hoping he wouldn’t get many blisters removing the dirt and loose rocks; he’d hate to have to explain what he’d done to his hands as he waited out the two weeks’ notice he planned to give the prison after he was rich.

Lying in wait, blade finally hit wood; the cheap wood box he was buried in splintered easily under the metal shovel, Micah rolled to his side and pressed up against the side of the casket. Shovel blade pounded between the ill fitting boards of the lid prying the wood apart breaking a small opening into the pitch black casket. Flashlight shining into the casket found only thick swirling dust. Cussing under his breath the shovel pried under the next flimsy board breaking it making the opening bigger. Micah heard the shovel as it was thrown against the open holes side, the flashlight beam danced across the opening as Williams took to his knees to look into the casket. His head dipped into the broken casket the flashlight closely behind, Micah grabbed Williams by the shoulders and pulled him into the rickety wood box pushing him head first arms pinned to his sides to the bottom of the casket as he climbed Williams body using his hands and feet to push him further into the black box as he climbed up and out of the splintered hole broken in the casket lid. William’s legs thrashed and he screamed in hysteria as he fought to back out of the casket begging God to save him. Micah kneeled down reaching back into the cheap casket throwing the flashlight to Williams head so he would have light as he slowly screamed himself to death. Micah shoveled dirt first into the broken caskets lid on thrashing legs then covering the casket drowning out the screams little by little as the hole was filled and the dirt smoothed and manicured at the surface.

Looking down from the cemetery hill at the glistening lights of town Micah had a full night’s work ahead of him; he’d made promises he intended on keeping.

From the Ramblings



t

Touch

I’m not going to go into a lot of detail; what could I say that you’d believe?

I’ve never liked to be touched; that little brush of the curly hair, the gentle little cupping of the chin or cheeks as we all do when presented with little babies. Those are the things that have set me off from the time I was born. Mother made all kinds of excuses when family or friends would embrace me; screaming was the result with very few exceptions. Those few who didn’t receive the unwelcome cries knew deep in their hearts why I’d endure their touch when all others received screams and fits whether they’d accept the truth or not.

Mother found early on that cute and stylish baby clothing that included little gloves had a huge calming effect on the baby growing into a toddler as her baby discovered the world with busy little hands; without she’d have a screaming terrified toddler on her hands.

She’d ask people not to touch her child as she had the most perfect answers to those who’d ask why the child always wore long sleeves and some sort of gloves over those little hands. She was quick to distance us if any pressure was put on the set answers with further questions.

I’ve stopped seeing people and closed my shop named the Touch after five years; the burden was just too great and people got crazy with the information I’d provide; they’d literally lose their minds; it became dangerous and exhausting work with countless clients wanting to subpoena me into Court. I now only take clients by word of mouth and charge a premium price for my time cutting the number of people I see from hundreds to just a very few a week; a thousand dollars an hour, but it only takes a touch.

Client 17-1477 I’ll call her Joyce; she’s had depression and anxiety for years, unable to sustain any sort of meaningful relationship having three divorces over the last twenty two years; she’s searching for answers to why she can’t trust and get close to anyone in her life. In just a touch; she knows the answer but she’s closed it off and shut those memories away forever, at least that’s what she’s wanted to do; but the questions just won’t stop. Gently I place on finger on her wrist and get the jolt I’ve come to detest; memories explode, a kaleidoscope of imagines flood my mind, a video of her life plays on fast forward as I scrunch my face with the pain. June 8th, 1985 2:34pm Uncle Eddy babysitting the four year old Joyce finds he’s turned on while changing diapers and molests the child; this goes on for three years.

Client 17-1656 I’ve been summed by the local police and asked to interview an arrestee. With just a touch; a flash of dashingly white light strikes my brain as I place a partial index finger on the back of the arrestee’s hand, my ears ring from the concussion of the point blank explosion of the .357 revolver pointed at the chest of the victim; I feel my hair blow back from the blast screaming through my mind.

Placing my ungloved hand on the back of the restaurant chair to pull it out from the table I get a wash of residual memories of those who’ve come and gone; they wash my mind in sparkling short glimpses of lives lived and memories remembers and those squashed, silences by fear and guilt.

I’ve began working for high level security companies searching for the best candidates to hire. With just a touch……..

From the Ramblings



t

Number 57

The patrol car turned right at the corner of 288th street in front of Dek cutting him off just as he stepped off the curb; he dug in his heel making a hard left behind the cruiser crossed the wide Street on the “Walk” signal away from the cops as they now crept down 288th; he didn’t speed up or slow down, keeping cool.

He’d been slowly shuffling his way along for six blocks heading due south straight away from his kill. He didn’t notice the slowly moving squad car coming up McDermott until they were right on his ass; “ah fuck” slipped from his lips as he saw them over his left shoulder. They’d been pacing him almost half the last block cruising along at two miles per hour looking at him and all the other brothers dragging their broken asses down the filthy run down Street; he did his best to blend in “I’m just another nigga walkin down the street” he murmured under his breath. The Street was busy on Friday night; worn out hookers leaned against store fronts in their dirty tight short skirts “Want ta fuck” just wasn’t a turn on when they were charging a hundred bucks a fuck looking like thin skinned bags of bad drugs and deadly disease.

He wasn’t worried much about the patrol car; he’d stuffed the dead guy under a stack of pallets and cardboard. They wouldn’t find the body until at least Monday when the garbage got picked up; what he was worried about is that he was covered in blood. The piece of shit put up quite the fight even though Dek had a gun and the dick didn’t have a damn thing to defend himself with. Dek jammed the gun under the guys nose and pulled the trigger; huge flash, bang that still had his ears ringing, blinded by the flash Dek couldn’t see a damn thing with his eyes full of sparkling lights; the damn dead man took off like a rabbit; what he did get was sprayed by arterial blood like a rain bird sprinkler from the man’s face. Five explosions later from the short barreled .357 revolver the piece of shit was down and bleeding out under the garbage that piled up as he skidded to a dead stop.

Derek Priestley Williams born August 27th 1973; one of the hottest days of the decade brought one more miserable mouth to feed into a family of eight kids and one run down drugged out mother living in a two room apartment that just got posted for razing in two short months. Thelma pushing 325 pounds was one pissed off junky; hotter than hell and another mouth to feed, she was thinking of killing the dick that pumped her up; the additional money the baby would bring her on welfare never covered what it took to feed them; this one would be raised by the street just like all the others.

Derek was run through school just like all inner city kids; no child left behind, nope they all got pushed from one grade up to the next regardless of achievements. Graduating early like all his friends; some called it dropping out but to his group it was graduating early. Derek’s only chance for a job was with the local drug trade. Starting out as a lookout then promoted to low level dealer, finally making it to small infraction enforcer Derek was getting into the money; he’d even paid a few bucks towards some of his mother’s overdue account at the grocers.

Derek made the leap to full enforcer after stepping in front of a bullet meant for the drug boss fired from a passing car; he’d never looked back since.

Waiting across the street until a group of four wandered away from the building entrance Dek stepped out from the shadows and hurried into the apartment building. Running up the three floors of stairs he banged on the door of 312 to be let in.

Door opening a crack then wide “Well looks like you got into the wet work Dek” JT said stepping out of Dek’s way.

“Yeah I’m gonna ask for a raise for this one; my clothes are ruined.” Dek said with a little bravado in his voice.

“Fat chance” JT slammed the door “That guy paid two hundred and that’s what you get. Getting a blood shower is part of the job.”

Dek showing his middle finger kicking the bathroom door closed. “What a fucking douse.” Dek yelled through the door looking in the mirror.

Two minutes in the shower JT was banging on the door yelling “Mac D is on the phone for you fucker get out here!”

“You fix that problem; you get my paperwork?” Mac D growled in Dek’s ear.

“Yeah yeah I fixed it; ummmm… there was no paperwork, ahhh… nothing.” Dek said, eyes closed, skinny body wrapped tight in a dirty towel.

“You sayin nothin, not a thing, no nothin huh?” Mac D’s voice began to rise. “No money, product nothin, that’s what you tellin me Dek?”

“Fucking guy was clean; maybe someone had already jacked him?” Dek said weakly.

“Where he at?” Mac D clearly livid breaking code talk; his voice ice cold and deadly. Mac D repeated every word Dek said to him; snapping his head to the right two of his Lieutenant’s busted out the door heading to the spot Dek had given.

“You fucking lied to him man, you’re dead fucking dead!” JT yelled into Dek’s face.

I gotta go; “He was covered in blood, he shit himself, it was everywhere. I forgot; he was covered in shit!” Dek screamed throwing on clothes as fast as he could. “I’ll beat them there and clean this mess up.”

Sliding around the corner breathing hard, real hard from running the mile and some to the alleyway Dek only hoped he’d gotten there first. Not seeing anyone he crept down slowing keeping far into the shadows; pulling cardboard and then pallets off the body he pushed his hand into the man’s front pocket.

“You lookin for this Dek; the paperwork Mac D told you to get?” Sammy Tower asked and spit in Dek’s face.

Taking a hard side kick to the face Dek rolled up against the grimy ally wall; jamming the 9mm barrel past Dek’s teeth Sammy pulled the trigger; muffled blast, both men looked for prying eyes.

Derek Priestley Williams became Chicago’s 57th homicide of 2016; his murder didn’t even make the evening news or mentioned in the news papers.

From the Ramblings



t

Night things

I have to admit I was in total disbelief; who would believe me.

My house sits on the top of a little hill, no more than five hundred feet from the top to the bottom. It looks down into the lower neighborhoods then out across the city into the distance; it’s kind of a fish bowl effect from my large windows. I sit on a little out crop of the hill, so my house juts out sitting separately from my neighbors and has an unobstructed view of the lower areas since there aren’t many big trees.

Built in the fifties I have huge pane glass windows in the front room that are six by ten feet across; two of them fill nearly every inch of the room which sits on top of large pilings standing twenty feet high from the sloping ground to the bottom of the house. Looking out from the windows the city spreads out into the distance, it’s quite beautiful on a clear night. I have a telescope that I bought after retiring a few years ago; yes sometimes I use it to spy on the lower neighbors. I don’t look for sexual things, I’m not that screwed up but I do like to see families sitting down to the table and having dinner together and parents helping children with home work in the mid evenings.

I seem to be developing some kind of insomnia; I sleep a couple hours and then wake up, not being able to sleep I sit in the dark of the living room waiting for sleep to call me back to bed. I fill the hours looking down into the city; it’s easy to see the flashing lights of police cars or ambulances doing their jobs. Pushing the magnification to the highest levels I can zoom in on any flashing lights no matter how far out into the city they appear looking at the action as though I’m standing just feet away; that’s a powerful telescope!

Last night I was up at the usual 2am looking at the city in the distance. As I brought the telescope to my eye I caught something move between me and a house a couple hundred feet down the hill from my window; wasn’t anything huge just something stepped between a night light in the sleeping house and my field of vision. I lowered the telescope from the distance, backing the power way up and looked down towards the sleeping house below me. What I saw chilled my soul; moving between the houses was some kind of creature, tall maybe six or seven feet, slender, long legs, long arms; it was moving slowly in the shadows keeping in the darkest places; hard to see. I turned the power higher and the small field of view made it extremely hard to track the thing as it moved slowly then jumping from one building to another quickly covering thirty or forty feet in a flash; there will be no sleep tonight as I try to explain what I’ve seen.

Two weeks; I’m getting better at tracking the strange beings, yes there seems to be a number of them; backing off of the power of the telescope helps when they move quickly between buildings. I haven’t seen anything that they are doing that gives me the feeling of danger; they just prowl through the lower buildings looking in windows and jumping from one house to another always moving in a slow wave staying pretty much in a line as they slink along the houses keeping in a constant line moving through the neighborhood.

Things are different; I’m starting to see small night things now; they must be breeding. They now accompany the larger “adults” as they patrol the neighborhoods. I’ve blacked out my house; no night lights or power on lights from anything electrical now totally dark.

My big windows have lower small windows that pivot from the upper third opening outward letting in fresh air with mosquito mesh to keep the bugs out; as the temperatures of July heats up I’ve been opening them nearly every night. Last night as I watched the night things move across the buildings below my house a small animal maybe a raccoon jumped from the bushes and ran across an open yard; I heard a extremely high pitched squeal almost above my hearing as an adult night thing reacted and pounced from the side of a house onto the frightened animal; within seconds the backyard was full of night creatures feeding on the little animal; things are getting serious, they are clearly hunting. I wonder how I hadn’t recognized the hunting behavior, since the way they move along through the houses it’s clear they must be hunting or did I just see the first time that they caught something in my field of view? I think the latter………..

I’m now up at sunset and sleep only during the day light hours keeping the night things in my view as much as possible. I start seeing them around one thirty in the morning long after the sun has set and the city is sleeping. They always come from the West, sometimes lower along the hill, maybe at the two hundred foot level and sometimes higher up just below my windows, but always from the same direction; they must have a nest hidden out that way.

I’ve seen five more instances of feeding on small animals over the last few days; it’s clear to me I was just missing the feeding with buildings between me and the night things. Lost dog and cat signs are up everywhere.

This can’t stay a secret much longer their numbers have doubled in the last few weeks with the smaller night things gaining the size of the adults.

Standing in the center of one of my huge windows leaning against the glass looking down tracking the night things at 3:30am through ten power binoculars my home phone rang lighting the area behind me with its digital display face. I saw at least five night creatures turn towards my back lighted silhouette in the window. Dropping like a stone below the lower windows I pushed my back against the small pony wall under the windows hopping to be out of sight. I knew my upper shoulder had to be above the lower windows edge, the pony wall is only about sixteen inches tall. Lying there listening for the night creatures I realized I’d dropped right in front of one of the small open windows my shoulder only protected by bug screen in the little window.

I could hear faint scratching along the windows and siding of the house as the night creatures crawled along gripping the house. One of the things sled down from above the big window claws making a high pitched screeching sound like fingernails on a black board; catching its slow decent on the open window its weight pushed the small window down closing it with a click. I could hear claws working to get under the edge of the window trying to open it just inches from my head. With my back against the pony wall I lay looking back into my front room; mirrored in the black TV tube I could see the night things softly glowing green eyes searching my front room for what they’d seen in my windows.

I lay perfectly still holding my breath under the window pushed tight against the short wall for what seemed like hours. Nearly falling asleep I heard one last night creatures nails scrape along the window pane just over my head as it left no more than an hour before sun up; I’d survived my first close encounter. I know my house will be under close observation from here on out.

I’ve decided to take a few days off watching the night things; I had just come out of the back of the house with all the lights off as usual. Slowly coming down the hallway I was just about to step out into the front room when I thought I’d better look before entering just to make sure and stay safe. Carefully peeking over a stand up wood and paper room divider near the back of the room a few feet from the hallway, I slowly peered out the windows into the distance trying to see any movement beyond the dark windows. Seeing nothing I was about to step out when in the lower corner of the left window I just by chance recognized the very faint green glow of two eyes watching my front room; freezing in place I watched for minutes until my feet ached and slowly slid back and away from the front room escaping into the back of the house. Grabbing my Glock I stood with my back against the bedroom wall listening and waiting for the attack to come.

Finally sliding to the floor after a good two hours waiting; I can’t feel my feet any longer, numb; it’s going to be a long night, I’m a prisoner in my own house.

I’m pissed; a prisoner in my own home during the night, but free to roam during the day. I bought a 930 Mossberg semi-auto 12ga shotgun today; two boxes of OO buck to fill out the order. Came with a nice short eighteen and a half inch barrel; guy at the counter said it’d throw a wide pattern with that short barrel; I said perfect.

Moving into my front room checking all the corners for eyes it took a full hour to get behind the telescope; they should be coming out any time now. I moved the telescope to the far left hand side of the windows tight in the corner aiming back across the windows looking as far right in the windows as I could, I wanted to see if I could tell where they were coming from or at least narrow it down some.

I saw the first ones come into the wavering view at 2am the harsh angle looking through the window glass making it hard to focus at the high power setting. Moving the telescope to the maximum edge of the glass I could just make out a line of the night things coming from an old warehouse way down across town in the industrial area. Most of these building were scheduled for demolishing in the next few years as they’d stood falling apart over most of the last decade.

Slowly backing the power down on the telescope as the night things spread out across the city in a steady flow I saw a small group break off from the others as they reached the bottom of my hill. It was clear where they were going as they bound from one house to another making a straight line up the hill towards my house. I quickly left the corner with the telescope and low crawled keeping out of sight of the windows to the safety of the hallway. Peeking carefully over the room divider two night things hung down from the top of one window looking for any movement inside. I heard a screech and both jumped across the window to the left out of my sight; I quickly moved into the bedroom and slowly pulled the shades apart far enough to see outside towards my nearest neighbor’s house. The side of the house was covered with five or six night creatures all pushing and pulling fighting one another around a bedroom window, I could see broken glass shinning in the moon light. They pulled Jim from his bedroom window tearing him to pieces before my eyes; the night creatures pounded their sharp clawed upper arms into his chest and legs driving them through him into the ground. I puked down the wall under the window; one night thing flew to my window as the curtains moved ever so slightly closing.

I wasn’t the only one that had been watching them; Jim’s death saved my life this night.

I hid under the covers clutching my new shotgun to my chest all night planning my attack for the next day. As the sun came up I brought my field glasses up looking at the side of Jim’s house. The window was broken out into a thousand pieces laying in a wide pattern spraying out from the side of the house showing the force it had been ripped from the building. Under the window the grass was torn and trampled but I couldn’t see any sign of blood; they cleaned up every spot and must have carried him off with them.

It was time to get to work; Home Depot, Sears and the nearest gas station selling diesel. My truck bed was stocked full of what I was going to need to bring the war to the creatures in just a few hours. Checking Google earth against where the telescope was pointed it came down to just a few buildings the night things had come out from. I’d narrow it down shortly as I head into town.

I know you’ve been asking yourself one question as I’ve told this story; why didn’t I notify the Authorities and get some help? Well I had a run in the local cops a couple years ago and was labeled a nut, yep a 12-34 a 51-50, a mental. Don’t question it; lots of people putting in a weird complaint are thought of as just plain crazy and they shut the case without thought, I wasn’t going through that again.

Pulling into the deserted industrial area I immediately saw the building I’d been watching through the telescope since it was the only one in the area that had a cupola, three actually making figuring out which building easy. My extra large bolt cutters made simple work of the cheap lock on the double swung gate; I relocked it with the new Sears lock in the hopes of slowing the response time.

The sun was just starting to peek out from the low morning clouds as I parked in front of the old warehouse; my truck hidden in the industrial park by other dilapidated builds ready for the wrecking ball.

Cement then brick changing into corrugated steel and grimy windows nearly six stories tall and a overhang of maybe two feet at the roof line; fifty feet deep and over a hundred feet long, big building.

Empty for decades the corrugated steel was full of rust, the cement and bricks pock marked; so why the huge lock on the front man door? I tried my over sized bolt cutters bought from Sears this morning and they didn’t even put a mark in the damn lock hasp; I’ve got to find a better way into this building. Swinging along the side of the building there must be a back door; delivery entrance with loading docks have the same looking huge locks on them, I’ll never get in this way. Around the back a small single rear door, the door has a small feeble looking rusty lock; scratching my head in wonderment I barely had to squeeze on the bolt cutters and the lock falls to the ground in pieces, amazing.

Running back to the truck I slowly and as quietly as possible pulled the pickup around to the open door; now the hard part, I’ve got to go in and make sure I’m in the right building and if I am, there must be a hundred night things waiting for me inside.

Glock on my hip and shotgun at the ready I step into the gloom of what use to be a small Office; it dawns on me I’m not sure I can hit anything with the shotgun, I’ve never really shot one before, sure I’ve tried one before out on a range throwing clay pigeons of which I hit maybe two out of a full box of shells, I’ll have to hope the guy was right about the spread of the pattern as I move further into the shadowy dark.

The Office area is just a twenty by twelve foot box setting in the center of the large building; coming to the open door leading out into the warehouse it would appear I’m in the right place. The acidic smell hits me like a hammer as I put a hand over my nose and mouth. Feces covers the cement floor in long straight lines running from the far distance past the open door and disappearing into the gloom towards the other end of the building. There is no machinery or boxes just a totally empty huge building with rows of night things shit in perfect rows several inches deep as far as the eye can see; I may puke.

Still a couple feet from the door I listen for any noise; straining to hear anything a large turd hits the cement a foot into the warehouse from the open door splashing a foot high in the gloomy light. I jumped like I was shot had I not had my hand tightly over my nose and mouth I would have screamed; the only thing saving me from the noise I made had to have been the echo of the splash bouncing off the walls of the echoing interior of the large open space; a long line of pee danced along one row of feces in the near distance; I was in the right building for sure.

Backing out of the Office I realized had I been able to break the lock on the front door I would have stepped into the building back lit and in full view of the night things at roost in the top of the building. I walked to the pickup trying to come up with a plan that would work; I’ve got twenty five gallons of diesel, a Glock and a shotgun. The short plan was to pour the diesel all over the building and set the damn thing on fire; good plan but the building is huge and the rafters where the night things are roosting high off the floor. If I can pour all the diesel without getting torn to ribbons the fire will burn so slowly they will just fly out the top and find another building to nest in.

“You’re one brave man mister” Scared me so bad I fell down. “Those fuckers will tear you to pieces” The old hobo looking man said holding his torn and faded hat in both hands not three feet away.

“What the fuck” I said gasping for air. “You scared the hell out of me!”

“Yup, figured I would; gotta be quiet around those fuckers.” He said quietly bringing his finger over his lips as he looking up at the high windows. “I been watching them for a good few weeks now; strange fuckers they are; they see you they come right for yah; that’s not to smart just walking in on em’ you know.”

“I know I’m trying to kill them; they killed my neighbor.” I said under my breath.

“Well, they sleep all day don’t make much noise; but you’d better watch out towards night, that’s when they’ll get you.” The old man said in a tired tiny voice. “I see your plan there; that diesel or gas? Gotta get high up where they sleep or forget about it.”

“It’s diesel; you got a plan or are we just going to stand here and talk?” I said getting plain pissed off now that it was becoming clear I wasn’t going to have a heart attack.

“Yup; let me help you get unloaded and I’ll tell you about it.” He said grabbing a five gallon can of diesel out of the bed of my truck. “Not gonna happen until tomorrow morning though; I’d put some dirt on that shiny new lock you put on the gate or someone will start snooping around.”

The old guy was sharper than a tack; he’d been watching them oh right, up close and he knew what he was talking about.

Sitting and having a couple beers at his make shift home two building down from the night things building he’d been living here for the last two years. Lost his small home not being able to afford the taxes on his meager veteran’s retirement he’d been an EOD tech for just over fifteen years in his youth.

“I figure after they all fly out hunting tonight you can finish any leftover with that fancy shotgun; then it’s gonna be a climb up to the rafters in all that shit to set out buckets of diesel we can pour on them when they come home to roost tomorrow.” He said finishing off a sixth can of Bud.

“And how are we going to pour buckets of diesel on them from way up there?” I asked not believing what I was hearing; I might have even rolled my eyes.

His tone turned hard as he looked me in the eye. “You ever hear of tipping a bucket from over a door onto someone with a rope to pull it over with? Well my little home here came with a few thousand feet of small diameter rope ready to use and the building over there is full of small to large buckets.”

“Ummmmm… you have my full attention; sorry” I felt like a fool; an old fool at that.

The last night thing flew out the cupola at just after one am; holding my breath with the shotgun pointing up towards where I hoped any left over’s would come from I switched on the flash light; everything stayed quiet.

“Good now hurry up there and run this rope over something so I can start pulling buckets of diesel up to you; place them in those very top rafters and run rope down the lower rafters over along the wall to the Office area. Last thing we’ll do is tie them to the handles of the buckets.” The old man was back living in his twenties barking orders under his breath and pulling with all he had on those ropes.

The stench was gagging; climbing the ladders to the top of the building was the easy part, the night things crapped further out from the walls and the ladders were clean but dusty. We found areas they mostly roosted in and placed extra buckets in those areas; the cupola got over lapping buckets and those ropes would be pulled first to keep them from getting out there.

I was just finishing tying off the last couple buckets when I heard scratching sounds along the East side of the building; they were coming home. As they climbed the outside of the building I climbed down the inside; they came into the cupola as I carefully rounded the door frame into the little Office area turning off my flash light. Standing panting into my shirt sleeve they poured into the top of the building making a huge racket; falling feces hit the floor sending pools of piss flying into the air, the stench rose in seconds.

Whispering in my ear “Now just stand still and we’ll see if they notice anything; if they do it’s been good knowing you”

Slowly over the next thirty minutes the scratching from climbing night things and fighting over perching space lowered and then settled into near total quiet broken only by shit hitting the floor with raining piss in showers.

We had decided to wait to light the fire until the sun was well up in the sky; his ignition system so simple and easy, a flare ground into powder layered over a single piece of notebook paper with a long string of striker paper pulled by a rope from below would ignite the flare material and burning through the paper would send a cascade of burning flare into the buckets and on down to the floor lighting everything it passed. We triple duplicated them leaving no chance of the diesel not lighting.

The ropes had been carefully pulled through the top of the Office and lined up from the first three igniter ropes to all the bucket ropes; we were ready the sun was slowly coming up.

Climbing ladders all night and after standing waiting for the attack at my home the night before my feet were in agony; I slowly moved through the gloom and sat down on a lone desk pushed into the far corner of the Office to get off my feet. I’d just pulled my feet off the floor when the desk collapsed in a roar; jumping to my feet I ran to the open door into the warehouse; night things were already coming down the side of the walls heading for the crash; slamming the Officer door I grabbed towards the igniter ropes.

“NO don’t; you have to pull them just right” the old man screamed at me. “Get your shotgun he yelled in my face”

I grabbed my shotgun from against the wall next to the only door out as the warehouse door blew open with three night things trying to come through the door at once; the first OO buck round cleared the door way as the igniter ropes were pulled. Cascades of sparks rained down from the rafters; then sheets of flaming diesel as the old man slowly pulled one bucket rope after another moving down the long line of hanging ropes through the ceiling of the Office.

Firing one round after another as the night things fought to get into the Office kept them out and off of us; the open space beyond the door stacked up with bodies. The last rope he pulled was just in front of the exit door leading out of the building; pulling this one rained diesel onto the top of the Office ceiling. Pulling hard on the rope I could hear flaming diesel rain down on the rotting ceiling over my head; one last shot through the warehouse door and we jumped out the exit door slamming it behind us; the Office burst into flames.

We ran for cover in his make shift home; standing at the door we watched as the entire building burst into flames. Flames were coming out every little hole in the corrugated steel; the wind was pushing the flames back inside making the fire roar with extra air. My ears hurt from the high pitched screaming of the night things as the building buckled and sank into its self.

“I gotta get out of here before the cops show up” The old man said and disappeared into the gloomy building he’d called home and was gone.

I had other things to do; getting my truck I pulled around to the front of the burning warehouse far away from the flames. Standing next to my truck with my back to the main gate I waited until two fire trucks pulled up at the gate and started working on the lock and chain. I raised my shotgun and fired two rounds into the flaming building; worked like a charm, the firemen jumped back into their trucks and got the hell away from me leaving the area completely.

Ten minutes later a swat vehicle showed up at the gate yelling for me to drop the guns; I laid my shotgun on the pavement amongst the weeds and debris, pulled my Glock from its holster never looking over my shoulder towards them and stepped a number of steps backwards away from the guns and laid on the pavement with my hands behind my head. Took them another ten minutes to get the lock and chain off the gate the whole time screaming that if I moved they’d shoot me; Oh I wasn’t going to move I was just letting the building burn to the ground.

I now sit in jail waiting for my trial for arson; they don’t have a clue why I burned the warehouse down and I’d end up in the funny farm if I tried to explain it. I have no idea if we got all the night things or not; I think we did. The old man is a genius without him I would have failed; I think he got away clean and I’m not about to tell anyone I had any help, now you keep my story to yourself and don’t let anyone else know what I’ve told you; it’ll be our little secret.



From the Ramblings

T

Authors note: A decade or more ago I read a story which mine mirrors to a certain extent; I can’t find the old story or know who the writer was. I think my story is unique enough not to be plagiarism so much since I can only remember the first part of the old story. If you know the story I’m talking about please leave me a note so I can read it again and make right if it’s just too damn close to the same story line.



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