Burner: A Compilation of Short Stories

Transcription

A compilation of abort stories
By:
H.B. Marion
(This is a work of fiction)
Author contact info: Marion H. Brown
AH-6319 3CO5-117L
CSP-Corcoran Prison
P.O.Box# 3471
Corcoran, CA. 93212
This is an original work of fiction. Any similarities to actual persons, places
or things is entirely coincidental.
All Rights Reserved By: H.B. Marion, Author - . 2016 Marion H. Brown....
Do you like violence?
You know...
The kind with infected cannibals and ultra
fast cars and Wicked Voodoo shamans and killer Cops
and ancient Demons and Gunfighters and witchcraft
and Pirate clones at the edge of the galaxy and space
fricken' roaches?
You know... Violence.
Real fucking violence.
How about psychotic Serial killers that
hear dead people as they dismantle other... people?
Or, Turtle zombies?
Yeah... It's all in here.
And, if you like violence the way that
I like violence... Then, there is a story in this
book just for you.
Guaranteed.
H.B. Marion, 2016
"Winter 1948"
Monster Camaro
Skitter
Burt
LoggerHead
Black Flag
Donkey Hole
Plus,
(Two new stories)
Belial's Conscription
and
Dinner
"Winter 1948"
Short Story By: H.B. Marion
Page .2
Winter, 1948
"That's far enough..." The man holding the double barrel
scattergun and wading through foot and a half deep fresh powder called out
to his shivering prisoner, "How's that ice look?" He asked, knowing the answer.
"Thinner..." Called the man who he had marched out onto it
at gun point, "It looks like it'll go with a nudge."
"That's good... Then, yes.. This will do jus' fine." The
man cocked back both of the banners, aimed at the other's back from two feet
"away and without anymore of a ceremony, fired with both barrels.
The thunderous clap of the shotgun echoed off into the snow
covered frozen mountains as his Chest exploded outward in a hot mist of red-black
rain across the thin ice before them.
"Tonight, you'll dine in Hell, with Theives, Liars, Assassins
and others of that ilk'... Tonight, you'll break blackened maggot festered
bread upon a table of brimstone set with fire an' the bones of yer' victims.
And, tonight, you'll be nothin' but a corpse at the bottom of this lake..."
The man took out two fresh shells from his pocket and cracked
the gun in half, ejecting the spent cartridges out into the snow. He took
his time loading it right, as it was not an easy thing to do with frost bitten
hands numb with the cold and stiff from lack of blood. He was shivering and
knew that if he dropped these last two into the snow that the wet might foul
them in their old paper casings and then he'd never get another chance at
this...
As it was, it seemed like an eternity until he'd had the
old gun loaded and pointed back at the dead man on the thin ice. Face down,
bleeding out into the perfectly White snow, turning it a soft shade of pink
that deepened to a purplish red nearest to the body.
"Come on..." He said, shivering with nervousness and impatience,
"Come on outta' there..." He waited, freezing to death on the snow covered
frozen lake.
Then, almost as if it was listening to him, obeying his mental
command, the body of the dead man moved. It shifted just slightly up then
down again. Almost as if the obviously dead man was trying to breathe. Than, it
quit. And, soon started again, only more of a wriggling motion in a pile of
bloody clothes and skin.
"There ya' are..." Said the man as he cocked back the second
hammer, "Come on... Come on outta' there and let ole' Big Dad have a peek."
S,.Story "Winter 1948"
Page .3
The day before...
"Are ya' sure that they are holed up there?" The man's southern
accent had a destinctive Texan twang to it, "I mean, I've tracked this type
before an' goin' north jus' ain't their style... Mexico. Senoritas' n' tequila..."
He made a slight spitting noise and turned his head to the left, "That's more
like it."
The Sheriff handed him a cup of fresh brewed coffee and
then smiled falsely as he pointed back to the wall map in his office
"Yeah, I'm sure as the day is long." He said, his pleasantry
was obviously forced and poorly practiced. He was clearly not used to being
questioned on his judgements in his own office. His Deputy just knew better
than to second guess his boss on things that were this gravely serious. But,
this Marshal had swooped into his town only one day after he had called it
in about the band of bank robbers to the Federal authorities.
Robbing banks is a Federal crime.
And, as it was...
This particular bank was far outside of the Sheriff's official
jurisdiction.
Hell, as it was... The only way that he had even heard about
the robbery was from the reward that had • been posted in the newspaper. And,
that had been the reason. The "real" reason why he'd called the Federal Marshals.
He just hadn't expected to see one in his little town so
soon. He thought that he would have a little time to do a few thingslirst.
He wanted to lay claim to that reward if they were caught...
No "when" they were caught in his County. He had no intention of letting them
get away up into the Canada territory. Which was obviously their idea, as
they had went north instead of the other.
"They had to hussle to get up here this fast. I'm thinking
train hopping or maybe stole a truck or two?" The Sheriff rubbed his stubbled
chin, "Maybe they had some help? Plan? They are moving far too fast to just
be running blind."
The Marshal sat and sipped his coffee and read the newspaper
article While the Sheriff told him things that he already knew.
It was funny, the article.
And, it made him smile.
S.Story "Winter 1948"
Page .4
The line read, "BANK! BLOWN!" and had the piCture of the
front of the money house in question, along withethe pictures of the four
"Suspected" armed robbers that had killed a teller, wounded a guard and killed
two more town cops in a bloody shoot-out as they had torn out of town two
States south of this one.
He folded the paper -just so-so that the headline declaring
a "Reward" looked like it was saying, a "Retard" for the dangerous gunmen.
And, he laughed.
He had his feet up on the Sheriff's big fancy oak desk and
his well traveled cowboy boots were wearing a scar mark from their bronze
rimed heels.
Mean man...
A mean man with mean boots.
The Sheriff was obviously quite annoyed with him but was
playing along. Smiling and being overly helpful. He didn't want anything spoiling
this chance at rare adventure and an even rarer big pay day.
"Well, alright." Said, the Marshal, "We'll:go an' gie em'
as soon as yet' ready." He flopped the folded paper down on the Sheriff's
fancy desk, "You an' me... Today, hopefully..." He was insinuating that they
were wasting precious time discussing anything further.
The Sheriff was puzzled, "You mean... Now?" He replied as
he adjusted his gunbelt, "Right, now?... Just us? No back-up?" For the Sheriff
this was getting stranger by the minute. He'd half expected to have to call
up the reserve Deputies and to pin a star on a few Chests of know-nothing
town's folk with deer rifles Pudgy hillbillies that would innevitably all
lay claim to a part of that reward money. And, thus woUld lessen the Sheriff's
honey pot of reward money... His reward money.
"Yep', It'd be jus' me but I don't know the area." He smiled
a smooth and poisonous devilish grin, "You scared er' sumthin l , Sheriff?"
He took his mean boots off of the man's desk and let them dig deep grooves
into the polished hardwood floor, "You feelin' like yer' needin' some kinda'
posse fer' these four low risk high reward types?"'
He was calling him a coward.
"No, It's just that it will take some time to get up there
and with all of this snow that we have had... It'll be tough going. This ain't
the easy to get to type of place, Marshal. My radio don't work out there and
we'd have to hike the last bit. This isn't something that you do when you're
expecting another storm soon."
Page .5
"Sensible..." The Marshal dug his heels in deeper, "So?
Yee not jus' the Law around here but tha t local weather gal and Den mother?"
His smile could sting just as much as his words and he knew
it as his grin widened and his heels scraped the wood, "We goin' er' what?"
"It seems that you are worried about something that I don't
know about... Why the rush Marshal?"
"See, I told ya'... Den Mother." The Marshal stood and put
on his black cowboy hat, "You commin' er' what? Den ma'?"
"This cabin looks deserted from the lake side and it's hidden
from the trail side by this thicket of trees and winter dormant berryvine."
The Sheriff pointed to the small structure that Was half buried in the semifresh snow.
It was More of a bunting shack than a cabin The only sign
of habitation being a thin Whisp 'of smoke from the stove pipe Chimney peeking
out above the snow on the leaning roof line.
"One er' more of these boys had ta' have been out here before."
Observed the Marshal, "This ain't the type of place that ya' jus' find and
decide ta' make into a hideout When yer' on tha' run... It's out of tha' way
sure... And, it's plenty lonely... But, unless ya l know yet. ' way into an'
outta' here... Yer' screwed." He used his hat to knock the snow off of his
pants and boot tops, "So, yep'... They had this place in mind this Whole time.
This ain't jus' a fortunate find. These boys seem to be plenty smart so far
and they'd know that hunters, trappers and fishermen up here
all carry guns
and are probably very territorial. They wouldn't want ta' get a hole put in
em' by Joe buckhunter fer' raiding his deerlodge."
"You can say that again..." Said, the Sheriff, %coal boys?"
"Did you recognize any of them from tha' paper?" The Marshal
figured that he could count the population of this town on his fingers and
toes, "New... It don't play... It has to be a trip er' sumthin'... Fishin'...
Huntin' ,... Spring time... Uncle... Cousin... Sumthin t ." He Checked his pistol
(a custom Colt revolver) and reholstered it, 'there a campground around here?"
The Sheriff looked at the Marshal in mild astonishment,
"Yeah, on the lake... Other side. It's about a mile as the crow flies and
aside from this place and one other, it's the only thing for atleast a dozen
harsh miles of dense wood."
S.Story "tarter 1948"
Page .6
The sun was soon to be setting and, the chill had krept
into the Sheriff's hands and he blew warm air into his snow wet gloves, "Are
all of you Marshals like this? Quick? Always figuring things and such?"
The Marshal ignored the question as he pulled up the collar
on his winter jacket against the slight wind that had developed as they had
made their long slaw way up to the cabin. The men had come this far, so far,
unnoticed and the silent calm of the frozen early evening was almost unnerving.
At the Marshal's direction, they split up.
The Sheriff going off to the right across the thicket of
bramble vine and around the back through the woods. And, the Marshal keeping
low and creeping up slowly from the trail side by the frozen lake.
The dim sunlight was casting long shadows and a perfectly
blue glare off of the ice sheet. The huff of their breath and the crisp of
the soft snow crunching under their boots were the only sounds stirring.
The Marshal paused to take in the majesty of it all.
"Pretty..." He said, to himself as he drew his .50 Calibre
six-gun from it's old style western leather and kicked in the front door of
the cabin, "Ain't nuthin e wrong
with pretty."
"What is it, girl?" Chummy Watson asked his five year old
husky bred from Alaskan sled dogs and timber wolves.
"Huh? What you riled up over?" He stood and peeked out of
the deerlodge window, "Awe... Knock it off... Ain't anything out there but
snow and snow rabbits."
She turned her wide head and perked up one ear and then
the other as she started a long slow growl.
• Yes. Yes, there was something out there. And, she didn't
like it one bit. She Whined and hopped from fluffy paw to fluffy paw.
"Alright, I believe you. But, girl were all alone out here
this time of year... You know that."
His dog, she had a name. But, he'd used it so rarely that
she'd nearly forgotten it. He just called her, "Girl or Dog or Missus."
She liked, "Missus."
It usually meant pets and treats from old Chummy.
Page.7
He went to the mantle and pulled down his granddad double
barrel and joined his husky near the window once more.
The dog had never been the nervous type.
Probably, because she had never lived a nervous day yet.
The only excitement usually coming from the odd wolverine or wayward grizzly
Ibear in the spring .time.
Chunny squinted into the darkness.
He gave it a few seconds. And, just When he had about given
up on spotting the trouble, it showed itself from behind the big tree on the
long lake trail.
It was two men. One helpinethe other Who was obviously
hurt, as he was limping very heavily on one leg, and Whimpering in a pathetic
sounding, "struggle through the pain" type of voice. They were both dressed
for the climate but carried only the one pack on the back of the able man.
No guns. None that Chummy could spot...
That meant:that they weren't lost hunters. Hunters or poachers
all carry long guns. Good practice out here even if you're not intending on
skinning anything.
"Hold it!" Chummy called out to the visitors.
They stopped where they were. He could see that the injured
one was bleeding badly from a leg wound and looked to be about ready to pass
out cold. He was pale and slouching heavily on the able man's shoulder.
"Who are you? And, what the heck are you folks doing way
the blizzard balls out here!?"
'Chummy and Dog had a reason... They lived there.
"Mister, my friend's hurt bad and we're fixing to freeze
if we don't get shelter and a fire soon." The one with the pack called out
to the brightly lit warm looking log cabin.
Missus whined and snorted.
"Awe, girl... Don't you look at me like that..." He said,
as he began to unbar the door, "Ain't Christian."
She whined obviously disaggreeing with Chummy's choice to
help the strangers and then as the cold licked the doorway, began to growl
slowly and deeply. She didn't care if it was the Christian thing to do or
not... She didn't like theM.
Page.8
No.
No, there is nothing wrong with pretty...
But, the scene that the Marshal had burst into was on the
backside of that coin.
Indeed, it was all wrong.
And, it definitely wasn't anykind of pretty.
Cannibals..
Rare'. Usually scattered reports from distant lands populated
by strange and relatively unstudied people.
Cannibals, they were Boogey men.
Boogey men, not bank robbers with a month's worth of food
and other supplies freshly bought with crisp bank money at the dry goods store
in that lame one mule town. That was when the Sheriff claimed that he'd spotted
them... Buying loads of supplies with new hundred dollar bills.
Which was in and of itself plenty stupid.
Yup, stupid... But, not the cannibal kind of stupid.
The Marshal called out to the Sheriff, "Got two in here!
An' whew boy!... MU gotta' see this!"
He had his pistol leveled On the one that appeared to still
be alive. Shaking his head the Marshal watched in silent disgust as the living
one stayed steadily chewing the raw flesh off of the other's ripped open throat.
He had apparently started at the top and worked his way down for some reason.
As, the other had no real flesh left on his face. What kind of creature eats
sometine...face first? There was a pistol in the faceless man's lifeless fingers
laying pointed at the small wood stove, with his index still on the trigger.
"Awe' Geez! The Fucking Hein!" The Sheriff had arrived
in the doorway. "Which one do you ,think that is?" He asked, as the Marshal
took a step to his left and opened up a pack on the table with his free hand,
being sure to keep the still eating cannibal in his sights.
"Got about half tha t money here..." The Marshal said cooly.
"Fuck the money!" The Sheriff called out as he aimed his
lever-action 30/30 at the sick mess infront of him, "You!" He screamed, "Damn
it! You quit that! You hear me?! You're under arrest! You quit that! Damn it!"
He did hear him.
The bank robbing cannibal stopped eating for the first time
and began to turn to look at the screaming red faced Sheriff. He still chewed
pieces of the dead man's throat flesh and had still more in his Cheeks.
S.Story -Winter 194o- Page.9
"Christ!" Called out the Sheriff.
The cannibal's hair was wild and matted with both fresh
and drying blood. His eyes were... A foggy white with deeply bloodshot corners.
And, his hands and face were drenched in the thick sticky mess of blood. He
was covered in gore and his stomach was distended strangely as he slowly stood
and began to lumber toward the Sheriff.
"HHHuuungry..." The wild man proclaimed, "S0000 HHUuunnngry..."
"Hungry?" The Marshal laughed, "Yeah, I'd say."
"Shut up! This isn't funny! You! You're under arrest! For...
For.. Robbery and murder and... And, whatever the fucking hell this is!"
The Sheriff took a step closer to the wild man.
"Den Mom er' not... I wouldn't try an' cuff that one..."
The Marshal was still laughing as he picked up the back pack with the bank
money and slung it over his shoulder.
"I told you to shut up! And, damn It! Stop laughing! This
is sick! It's not the least bit funny!... Now, Which one do you think this
s?" He pointed at the slow moving blood covered wild man Who had now seemed
i
to possibly have regained some of his human composure.
"Why, do you care? Huh? What's it matter which girl scout
this is?" The Marshal's eyes narrowed-.
"I... I... I just want to get it right on my report is all..."
The Sheriff studdered unconvincingly as the wild man suddenly took a fast
step forward suprising him as he did "Shit!" He called out as he shot the
gore covered mess between the foggy eyes with his rifle.
The shot was deafening inside of the shack and it brought
some of the snow down from the roof to partially block the shattered doorway.
"Awe... Wilt' ya l go an' fuckin' do that for?" The Marshal
asked, using his free hand to cup a ringing ear, "He could've told us wut'
happened to his pals? Now, I gotta' go after em' while you slog it all tha'
fuckin' way back down this God forsaken mountain fer' help." He was slightly
ticked off and it showed in his deepened accent and clipped tone. "God damned
Den Mammy'..."
'Nell, that ain't going to happen tonight." The Sheriff
pointed angrily out of the splintered door, "Storm's here..." The snow was
coming down in fluffy clouds of flurious sheets, "We're stuck here till' the
morning atleast."
"Fun." The Marshal put the heavy pack down and kicked the
pistol out of the man without a face's dead hand.
Page .10
He grabbed him by his belt buckle and looked up to the still
, stunned Sheriff, "WU' tha' hell weather girl?... You gunna' help me wit'
this er' wut'?"
He did.
They laid both of the corpses just outside of the cabin's
front door in the rapidly deepening snow.
"Cold'll keep em' fresh an' we ain't gotta' worry about
em' runnin' off anywhere." The Marshal Chuckled as he Mimed to face the 30/30
that had been pointed at his back by the Sheriff.
"Yep. " Said, the Marshal, "We're all jus' like this...
Figurin' things an' such like..."
"Damn, that bite... It looks bad, boy." Chummy had the injured
man stretched out on his cabin's floor, "What did this?" He knew bites and
he'd never seen one quite like this before... Or, had he? It was strangely
familiar and totally not, all at the same time.
"Wild... Dog " Said, the man with the pack, "It surprised
him While we were sleeping..."
Lies.
Chummy didn't know what had bit this man. But, he did know
lies, "Ahh..." He said, using alcohol to wash the ugly gash, "Yeah; there's
a dog or two out here."
The man that was bit screamed in agony and then whimpered
as Chummy used his first aid skills to patch him up, "These stitches might
be ugly but they'll hold him together atleast until we get you two down the
mountain in the morning."
"Yeah, thanks Mister." Said, the shifty eyed one with the
heavy pack.
He was acting peculiar with his bag. Most people when they
have had to carry a heavy load for a distance usually want to set it down
and Walk away from it for atleast a bit. He had taken it off. But, hadn't
opened it and would sling it around with him where ever he moved about inside
of ChumMy's cabin.
Chummy's not a genius.
But, he knew that that bag had something valuable in it.
8.Story -Winter 1948- Page .11
"This storm is going to blow all night." Chummy stood and
went to his small cooking stove, "I got stew in the pot and you two are welcome
to it."
"Whiskey?" The shifty eyed one , inquired motioning to the
mason jar of alcohol that he had just seen him Use to wash his friend's wound.
"No. Whiskey. No, ain't got any... But, I make a still mash
everclear that burns plenty."
"That'll do old man." Said, the shifty eyed visitor as he
quickly snatched the mason jar from Chummy's old warm hands.
His Missus growled and put herself between them.
"Awe, come on girl... It's not all that strong." He made
a joke about the dog not wanting him to drink infront of company.
"Better watch that dog old man." Said, the shifty one,
"I'm not one to play with animals." He pointed to his feverish and delerious
friend laying on the warm floor of the cabin, "And, we've already had our
Share of bites."
Chummy called Missus to his side with a knowing pat of the
thigh, "Yeah, it sure looks like you have." He said.
The Sheriff was inexperienced with the betrayal of dangerous
men...
He had stepped too close to the back of the Marshal and
hence was quickly disarmed by him in one swift motion of the trained and experienced
arm. In barely a breath the Marshal had his 30/30 rifle out of his hands and
pointed back at him. He jackked the old lever action, pumping round after
round out onto the hunting shack floor. When the gun was empty he tossed it
back to the Sheriff, "Money er' family?" He asked.
"What?" The Sheriff was puzzled and embarrassed.
"You gunna' cross me fee money er' family?" The Marshal
had his hand on the handle of his heavy six-gun but hadn't pulled it.
The Sheriff, stood silent. Partially surprized to still be
alive and trying to think of the right thing to say.
"Cuz' if'n it's money..." He motioned to the bag on the
table, "We can split that sack there. But, if i n it's family and it ain't one
of them there in the snow we might have cause ta' scuff."
Page.12
"Money..." The Sheriff glanced at the bag, "You serious?
You and me? That bag there?"
"Unrecovered funds." Said, the Marshal.
"Unrecovered funds..." The Sheriff looked wary, suspicious,
"I ought to tell you then that one of them on the run." He pointed out of
the door, "Might be my nephew once removed." He sounded uncertain. The faceless
man and the blood covered wild man could have easily either been him.
"Nephew? Once removed...? WUt's that? Like a cousin dad
er' sumthin' like that?" The Marshal smiled his poisonous grin, "We gunna
scuff... Den Mammy?" He looked ready to drill a .50 Calibre hole in the Sheriff,
"Or, are we in this ta' git' our share?"
The.Sheriff smiled for the first time for real.
"Nephew— Who?" He shrugged, "I never liked him or hip
momma anyways."
"Good, cuz' this'll go alot better with two cops tellin'
tha' story."
"But, we do have to atleast try to capture the other two?"
"Try? No... I am gunna' kill them. No loose ends." The Marshal
sat at the stove side and tipped his hat over his eyes, "I am jus' gunna'
sit fer' a spell an' get warm before I go after them."
"You sure are saying, "I" alot..." The Sheriff noticed warily.
"That, I am... Den Mammy..." The Marshal pulled his pistol
in the blink of an eye and put three holes into the Sheriff, "That I am."
The Marshal wasn't inexperienced with the betrayal of dangerous
men... Not At all.
"Hungry..." The feverish man moaned and figgitted on Chummy's
warm floor, "Ohh, God... I'm soo hungry..."
The shifty eyed one had tried to feed him some of the stew
several times already and each time he'd get a spoonful or two down before
he would upchuck the whole kit and kaboodle all over himself and his friend.
Soon, the shifty eyed one had just given up and was drinking
Chummy's everclear one gulp after the next. Chummy knew that it wouldn't be
very long before he was too drunk to think properly and then he and Dog would
be in real danger.
S.Story "Winter 1948" Page:13
He had let the wolf in.
That's atleast what Chummy's father would've said about
his
precarious situation that he had gotten himself and Dog into through his
kindness. His father, a long dead Irish irnigrant had always been good for
those little useful after the fact points of wit. And, even then he could
hear the cynical old bastard in the back of his mind.
"Nbu know, if your friend here doesn't break this fever
soon. He's going to have to be packed down outta here in a sack." Chummy motioned
to the delerious moaning sweating man on his floor.
"He's not going to die..." The newly drunkend Shifty eyed
visitor proclaimed as if he had the power to alter reality with just his will
and words, "He's too damn tough to die! He's a Marine, Damn it!!" The drunk
man swayed abit then caught himself and sat down next to his friend on the
floor, all While clutching the strap on the heavy sack and slogging it around
with him inside of the cabin.
"Marines? Some of Doug's boys? Pacific or the other?" Chummy
had figured them AS Veterans. The war was just fresh over and these boys were
the right age and grit, for the action.
"Pacific..." The visitor took another gulp of the liquid
fire in a jar, "Tommy . here..." He patted his friend's bloody sweaty mass,
"He saved my skin twice! Not once... No Sir! Twice on a little crappy hell
hole of an island named... Iwo Jima." He stopped speaking abruptly as if just
the memory of the place and it's shores was too horrific to explain.
Chuirmy knew about war.
He'd been in the So called "Great War" as an honest to God
Calvaryman. He was a mounted soldier in a modern war fought in trenches.
So, Chummy knew of war.
And, of it's horrific riddiculousness.
"Tommy, he got us a job when we come home..." The visitor
let his stringy hair fall to cover his eyes as he spoke, "He got ME one too,
you see?" He inphasized the word "Me" when he said it, "He's my pal. Said,
No sweat... 'You and me were thick as winter molasses..! Whatever that means.
But, I ain't no go6d at pitching hay or punching cows... Mister, I tried...
And, I just wasn't no fucking good's"
He was spilling it now.
Not the drink, but his guts.
s.story -winter 1946-
Page.14
He was a time-bomb and Chummy knew that he had to be a calm
ear for this story or him and Dog would be in for a struggle.
"Not everyone is a good cowhand..." Chummy nodded, "I tried
myself and got nothing but saddle sores for my troubles."
"Yeah!" The visitor agreed and nodded, "You're damn right!
Not everybody is good at animals and crap..." He took another drink.
"So? You found another job?" Chummy looked at the sack that
he was clutching like it would dissappear if he let go of it's strap.
"I told him... No problems... We're Marines... Tough as
it gets, right? Tough as nails. Harder than stone."
Just then, his friend raised up and grabbed ahold of him
by the wrist and the shoulder and took a bite out of his arm the full width
of his mouth.
Dog wasted no time but attacked the crazed man immediately,
causing him to have to let go of his best pal and stop eating his arm flesh
by the horrid mouthful.
"Missus!" Churrmy tried to call her off. He didn't know that
maybe the man was somekind of rabid and this would end her also. But, for
the first time in her life she would not listen and proceeded to maul the
crazed man on his cabin floor.
"Tommy! Geezus! Tommy! What the fuck?! What the fuck did
you do that for?!" The stringy haired shifty eyed man screamed out clutching
his wounded arm,."Hey! Call of? your dog, old man!" He had pulled the hidden
pistol from his waistband and was pointing it at Dog as she mauled and growled
and barked and mauled some more.
It was as if Dog had knownthatthis was coming and now that
it had begun. She wasn't going to quit for anything or anyone until her and
old Chummy were safe.
Loyalty.
Misaus, knew about loyalty.
Chummy decided to let her just go on do what she thought
was right. He trusted that dog more than he did anyone else. And, being so.
He decided maybe he should follow her lead.
He did his best football tackle to bring down the man with
his gun but that knocked over the old kerosene lantern and as it shattered
the fire was splashed around the cabin instantly.
5.5tory -winter 1946-
Page.15
The Sheriff laid on the floor of the dimly lit hunter's
shack and weezed and coughed and sputtered up blood for the better part of
an hour as the Marshal rested and gathered his thoughts next to the warm low
burning wood stove.
"Yee a toughie alright..." Said, the Marshal, "I ain't
seen too many that'd take three .50 slugs to tha' Chest an' keep tryin'."
It was true.
, There were few that would or could.
"But, you'll be dead Soon enough." The Marshal tipped his
hat back on his head... He thought he'd heard something move inside of the
shack with them.
He scanned the semi-darkness with cool steel gray eyes and
a calm that comes from experience with danger.
•
•
He was right.
Something was in the shack with him and the soon to be dead
sheriff. Rat?... No. Snake?... In this cold? No. Fox or a weasel, maybe?,..
No, ain't big enough and he would have spotted it sooner...
He sat still and calm with his hand on his gun and watched
as the strange creature finished slithering under the decrepid door and wriggled
it's nasty way toward the sheriff's waiting open bloodied mouth.
"Ain't seen one a' these before..." The Marshal cocked his
pistol slowly and stayed perfectly still and quiet.
•
The Creature was about the size of a fattened rattle snake
but was no kind of snake at all that he'd ever seen or heard of. It moved
strangely, like a big soft jelly bodied leech or an earthworm. Swelling and
then stretching. Swelling and then stretching. Not at all like a snake. It
was covered in what he figured to be fresh blood and it left a slick trail
of it as it moved across the shack floor toward the Sheriff's choking mess.
He pulled his Colt slower than he'd ever done before, "This
thing thinks that I am asleep." He reasoned, "And, it's looking for a new
home..."
It had slithered and swigged it's way about half way down
the Sheriff's throat When he finally died. He just quit breathing and that
seemed to repel the creature immediately. It began to back out of the dead
man and the Marshal knew what was next...
It was going to try and get inside of him.
S.Story "Winter 1948" Page.16
It was simple math.
2+2=4.
He drew a calm bead on the disgusting creature and when
he felt that he had it at it's fattest... He fired.
A large calibre pistol at pointblank range makes small prey
simply explode into a mess of parts and pieces. And, that is exactly what
happened to that thing. It exploded into a spray of sticky nasty bloody muck
that tpread out from the floor to the wall.
It didn't squeal or try to dart off or any such silly thing
like that... It simply died in a most violent and instantaneous way.
He poked at what was left of it with the tip of his sixgun. And, he laughed, "Well... That was different." He said, wiping the barrel
clean on the Sheriff's jacket, "Really fuckin' different."
Chuany and Dog had fought hard.
But, in the end they were no match for their guests.
Dog had torn out the throat of the crazed one in a few short
moments of the initial attack The strangely rabid man quickly bled out from
the opened arteries and was dead within seconds. But, the shifty eyed man
had shot her for it after he'd brained old Crummy over the head with the butt
end of his automatic. And, while the old man was knocked out he went ahead
and finished the few bullets that he had left on both him and his Missus.
He was out of amino. So, when he spotted the shotgun and
it's handful of shells on his Way out of the burning cabin, it was only natural
for him to grab them.
He ran out into the cold snowy bluster of night with just
his pack and the old double-barrel. How far would he get? How far could he
get? He had no idea.
But, he'd spent a summer or two in those mountains and he
knew his way back into town. If he could just stay alive that long, he might
have a drink in Tommy's memory in the Canada territory after all. He knew
that he couldn't go back the way that he had come. The other guys were back
there and he was sure that it was a sick nasty scene by now.
He wished that Tommy had never asked those guys to do the
job with them. Sure, they had been Marines... But, they weren't like him or Tommy.
S.Story "Winter 1948" Page.17
Not like them at all.
Ralph had shot himself.
And, for God only 'knows what reason. Ed had taken to eating
him right then and there infront of everybody.
Tommy tried to stop him and the coward that Ed was tore
at his ankle when he kicked him and drove them out of the little shack and
into the snow.
He'd grabbed the money.
His and Tommy's share anyhow.
And, they both decided it best to just get the/fuck out
of there. They had seen enough crazy shit like • that back on the island...
Now that he thought about it.
He wished that he'd shot Ed.
This whole mess was all his fault.
All Ed's fault.
They'd had a plan. And, it was fool proof. But, Ed had gotten
nervous and he shot the damn bank teller. The guard took two bullets one in
the hip and the other in the shoulder. That put him down and he dropped his
little black .38 police special. The gun shots panicked the clerks and customers
and the alarm soon sounded. Causing them to have to blast their way out of
the town, killing two cops in the process.
In mere seconds they had went from just bank robbers to
cop killers and dead men walking.
Ralph had shot himself out of fear and hopelessness.
He knew that the law wouldn't stop coming after cop killers
and soon fell into a strange semi-catatonic state of suicidal despair. It
was Tommy that had kept him from pulling the trigger even sooner. He was a
real pal. A rock. A true blue brother. A real Marine. But, once they had made
it to the shack and gotten snowed in before they could make their run across
the Canada border... Ralph had lost all hope of escape.
He simply pulled out his gun and ended it.
And, then Ed Who had complained about being huggry their
Whole hike decided to eat Ralph.
Fucking Ed was a Cannibal.
Yeah, now that he thought about it. He should have shot Ed.
Page.18
Three hours of walking in blizzard conditions wasn't fun.
But, the Marshal wasn't going to stay at that shack for another second and
once he'd made up a good pace on the lake trail, it didn't seem so bad.
He'd saw the smoke and smelled the fire long before he spotted
it's glow in the woods. It was big. Not a camp or a stove. No, this was a
cabin going up and he knew Who'd got it going.
It was easy after he had made it to the cabin.
The fire was still raging in a blizzard snow storm and the
light that it cast played tricks in the snowy sky. It kind of looked like
one of those dime-store glass globes that tourists would buy at roadside shops.
It made the snowflakes dance with light like fireflies on a Texas summer evening.
For the second time during this strange and bloody trip,
the Marshal had been moved by the beauty of it all.
He stood tired and speechless and watched as the cabin burned
and felt the warmth of it's blaze comfort his freezing bones.
"Ain't nuthin' wrong with... Pretty." He said, "Nuthin' ."
He knew which way the guy had fled.
A school child could follow that trail. He had noticed right
off that it was down to just the one man now and that he'd left in a hurry.
And, that he was hurt.
There was blood in the snow and the way that he was staggering
as he ran further up the trail and around the lake side toward the campsite
that the Sheriff had mentioned, meant that he was either drunk or hurting
very badly.
The Marshal didn't care Which.
It was just a matter of time now and he knew it.
He had two shots left in his custom revolver and six in
the 30/30 that he had liberated from the dead Sheriff and scooped up the ammo
from the shack floor. He had loaded it and noticed When he did that it had
a dent in the breach.
Page 19
He must have hit the gun flat-side with one of his shots
and bent the feeder. It was just a small dent and it really didn't worry him.
He had used guns in far worse condition under alot more desperate of situations.
Nope.
It hadn't bothered him at all until it blew to peices in
his hands When he had had the man cold in his sights from the back
He'd spotted him staggering clumsily ahead of him in and
out of the tree line. He was murmuring something to himself and dragging an
old double-barrel on the ground behind him. He had the drop on the guy and
the damn gun back-fired, injuring the Marshal's shooting hand. None the less
he drew his heavY Colt and with his left, charged at the man, firing one and
_then the next and last bullet at him.
He missed.
No. He couldn't believe it either.
•But, he had.
And, now the wandering murmuring man had seemed to wake
up froth his frozen nightmare transe. He spun and tried to bring up the shotgun
but couldn't find either the strength or the co-ordination to complete the
task before the Marshal was on him.
"HEHuuunngry..." He was saying as the Marshal rammed into
him at full speed, "Soo HHungry..."
The End
Monster Camaro
Page. 21
S.Story by H.B. Marion Rory liked cars.
Infact, he liked cars so much that he would steal them just
for the thrill of the drive. Just for the smell of the exhaust. Just for the
black smoke of the burning rubber. Just for the heart pounding adrenalin rush
of revving a V8 and feeling the coarse vibrations of unchained ponies ripping
through his body. Just for the wicked fast nirvana of it all at a hundred or
a hundred plus... alittle.
He smiled.
Yes, Rory really liked cars.
Liked fast cars...
"What year is it?" The man asked the salesman.
"It's a '68... But, it's been gone through and has the disposition
of a modern muscle car
This guy knew about as much about cars as did the rich
guy's daughter.
"Tell me something that I can't read on the window sticker
or get me a guy that can sales monkey."
Rich people are not easy, to sell expensive things to.
They all seem to think that they are "The big fish" and should
be handled with the softest gloves, and shown only the very best... By the very
best.
Rich people are assholes.
But, the smart have known this generality for eons. So, they
have just the right man for the job. A man with ' soft hands and a smooth voice.
Someone that has sharp eyes and a quick wit. Someone that the rich can connect
with and beleive in as one of their own.... An asshole.
"Here at CrossRoad Exotics and SuperCars... We are all knowledgeable
about our merchandise and..." The salesman was interrupted in the middle of
his practiced "Don't be a dick" speech.
"This car is not for them..." The man said from just over
his shoulder. "David, Show them a Porche or the Vantage convertible..." It
was his boss. The king of assholes.
S.Story "Monster Camaro"
Page. 22
"Ohh! Yeah, Daddy!!!" The teeny bopper blonde in her school
girl skirt hopped up and down, "Tiffany got a Porche... Its cute!"
The boss always knew the right thing to say.
"David, take them and give them the V.I.P. treatment. Can't
you see that this is a special day for these people?" He motioned to the slut
in her fuck me skirt, "He's buying her first car and he wants it to be just
right. Only the very best will do..."
"You like Porches? Why didn't you say so honey?" The father
of the spoiled girl asked in his I'll buy you anything tone.
Theywere gone from his vision in seconds. Off to drive and
swoon over luxury and speed and inflated sticker prices. The boss knew what
he was doing. He always did. They were all the same to him. A sale. One after
another would sign their name on that dotted line without so much as glancing
at what the contract really said.
All that mattered was the bottom line.
What was this machine going to set them back in cold hard
cash? No-one that shopped at the CrossRoads ever used credit. That was an
invention of the rich for the poor to make themselves poorer while filling
the pockets of the already wealthy. But, that didn't mean that credit wasn't
available to the right customer...
Adjusting his tie in the window reflection of the '68 he spotted
just such a case. He watched him as he passed over the mundane and lingered
on the truly exceptional. This kid didn't have money. He could tell just by
looking at him in his dirty jeans and grey hooded sweatshirt that he couldn't
scratch the surface of what one of these machines cost in a year's wages.
"Hello, son..." The boss said as he stood over the young man
who was laying on his back inspecting the undercarige of a custom '66 Mustang
fitted with a blower and track ready suspension.
"I'm just looking..." The kid said not budging. "Ain't a crimp
to look is it?"
"Why, No? Of course not..." The boss liked him already, "I
was just going to point out that you have good taste... In cars."
"Yeah, I've heard that before." The kid slid out from under
the Mustang and squinted up at the boss standing over him in his black on
black Armani suit and blood red silk tie. "I'll split man." He said standing
up and dusting offhis already dirty jeans. "You ain't gotta make an issue
out if it or call the cops or whatever."
Page. 23
"Split?" The boss smiled, "Oh, you mean leave?.. Why, would
you do that? You just got here. I was wondering if there was anything that
I could show you... We have a very extensive collection of some of the finest
sports cars found anywhere on Earth." He smiled.
The boss Iss smile was almost hypnotic in it's charm.
"Uhh, I don't want to get you in trouble or whatever by wasting
your time..." The kid had been down this road before, "I'm really just looking."
"Just looking?" The boss extended his hand in a handshake
gesture, "But, cars are meant to be driven." He opened his hand and let a
set of keys dangle bouncing in his palm.
"Are you serious dude?" Rory couldn't beleive it.
"Do I look serious...?" The boss took a step to the left
and waved toward the '68, "1968 Chevrolet Camaro SS... Updated of course,
Track ready suspension, Brembo crossdrilled disk brakes, 20 inch aluminun
wheels with Nitto rubber, and last but not least a big block V8 454 polished
ported blue printed bored over and sleeved not to mention stroked and supercharged
electronically fuel injected variable cam and optimal timing all wired through
a dedicated onboard laptop computer... Oh, did I forget the Nitro?"
"Yeah, and the six speed manual and dual plate clutch..."
Rory knew the wet dream when he saw it.
"Forgive me..." The boss tossed the keys to the boy, "I'm
getting forgetful in my old age."
"Open her up..."
The boss sat next to Rory as they screamed
down the highway, "I thought you were a driver? Come on!" He jidded, "Let's
see what this Monster will do!"
"Dude? You nuts or what? Your boss is going to kill you This
car's got to be sixty grand atleast!" Rory was starting to doubt the sanity
of the smooth talking extremely well dressed salesman.
"One hundred." The boss laughed.
"No were going one twenty." Rory pointed to the digital speedo.
"The car," He smiled, "Is a hundred grand."
Rory almost peed his greasy holey pants, "This machine is
a hundred grand! Oh my God! This is awesome!"
"No, not God son... Chevy." The boss's eyes twinkled.
Page.24
"Man, what's your manager going to say when you get back with
this thing hot and oiled rubber still smoking?" Rory couldn't beleive his
luck. This was a once in a lifetime joy ride.
"Manager?" The boss laughed, "I'm the boss, Son... The boss."
Rory pictured the salesman in a straight jacket sitting next
to him, because he was nuts. Totally nuts.
"Do you like the car?" The boss reached out and ran his smooth
hand over the vibrating dashboard slowly, "it's a nice car... A fine machine...
As fine of craftsmanship that I've ever seen...
Rory was puzzled, "Whoa? Are you trying to sell me this thing?
I ain't got no hundred grand man!" He took his foot out of the accelerator.
He'd known that it was too good to last for much longer.
"Credit..." The boss tapped his temple, "We have a special
plan... One just for cases like this one."
"Cases like this? Dude, I can't afford that kind of payment."
"It's a very special plan, One just for you. Sometimes,
the machines choose their owners... I can't go against that... This car and
you are meant to be together."
Yup, Straight jacket.
100% pure nut basket.
"It's a simple thing... A matter of contract you see?.. All
I'll need is collateral against the cost of this Monster..." The boss dangled
the bait, "What have you got to sign away, Son?" His eyes twinkled as he sized
the gasoline intoxicated boy up in the seat next to him, "I tell you what...
You look like an industrious sort of guy. Hard worker and all of that... Oh,
but not honest... No, not honest one bit are you?"
"Hey! What's that supposed to mean, man? Are you calling me
a liar or something?" Rory knew insults. He was the buttend of this sick jokee's
daily charity run or something.
"No! No, I'm simply pointing out that I think that you seem
to have the qualities that we're looking for at CrossRoads Exotics... Maybe,
we could iron out a way for you to work off the balance of this utterly beautiful
perfectly wicked machine of raw speed and power..." The boss sank the hook.
"I'm offering you a job, I'll give you this vicious Monster no strings
attached if you come to work for me... All I'd need is your signature on the
dotted line... You know for collateral." He reached into his jacket pocket
and produced a folded contract in a parchment envelope complete with an unbroken
wax seal and an expensive fountain pen.
S.Story "Monster Camaro" Page. 25
"So? Do we have a deal?"
The boss waved the contract
and smiled his sweet slow poison grin.
"Dude. It would take forever for me to work that off wrenching
in your garage. And, I gotta eat."
"Ahh, yes, yes, you do... And, will..." The boss stabbed Rory's
thigh with the sharp steel pen, "Oops! I'm sorry it got away from me! Soo,
sorry..." He pulled out his handkercheif and handed it to the kid. "Look,
I never said that you would be just using your obvious talents with tools...
No, Son I have another job for you."
"Whoa! Man! I don't swing like that!"
Gay..
Rory's not gay.
Not that he has anything against them... He's just not.
"Don't flatter yourself kiddo." The boss slicked back his
jet black hair, "You're not my type either...
this job is one that I'm
sure you will like and are already quite good at."
"Pullin' cars?" Rory loved to steal cars... Expensive fast
cars... "You mean rippin' inventory for you?"
The boss's smile brightened and his eyes twinkled with ' excitement
as he slapped the contract against the dashboard and used a long black perfectly
manicured fingernail to break the wax seal.
"Do we have a deal?' He offered the pen.
"How much a job?" He didn't want to be doing this for this
guy for all eternity.
"Let's say... Ten grand a car... That's ten cars and then
this monster will be yours and you can keep your collateral..."
Rory signed the contract at a hundred and thirteen miles an
hour on route 66 against the dashboard of the scaryiest wickedly fast car
he had ever driven. He signed with a razor sharp fountain pen of ink mixed
with blood... His blood.
The boss laughed.
Another sale.
He'd done it again.
"Welcome aboard Rory... CrossRoads Exotics and SuperCars is
glad to have your services at it's disposal..."
The End
Skitter
Short Story by: H.B. Marion Page. 27
"EmmyLouise!! Get in here and finish your chores!" Her mother
called from the kitchen of their old farm house. "Dishes don't wash themselves!"
She knew that she was serious by the way she'd used a longer
version of her name to summon her back to work. Her name was Emily Louise. But,
most of the time it was just EmmyLou. If it was Emmylouise that meant an whoopin'
if she didn't get there before it was. "Emily".
She put the frog back in the tall green wet grass by the stream
and turned and ran back up to the house. The place was just her and her mother's.
Father having died some time ago in an accident at the sawmill. He'd left them with
just enough to make it another winter on their plot of dirt. So, her and Momma had
hired out a share croppih' patch ou the bottom twenty.
It paid enough for them to have a life of modest comfort. They
had two permanent farm-hands and in the harvest would employ up to fifty in two
rotating crews of twenty five give or take a soul. They were nietber rich nor poor.
They armed sugar beets and had an extensive personal garden
inwhich her and Mamma would grow just about anything and everything that the soil
and temperment could support. Momma loved to cook. She would dream up recipes for
squash or tomato fried dishes seasoned with oil of the olive and lemon black
pepper. Things with flavors that the other women of their little town couldn't even
begin to imagine. They had their own "secrets" of course. But, Momma's cooking was
not anything like any of their traditional dishes,
Momma's mother had been an "Italian" and had come over on one of
the big steam ships all the way across the wide blue sea. She had taught Momma how
to cook and sew and how to be a good mother... And, wife of the time
EmmyLou never met Nana.
She was long dead before she had been made in a bed by Momma and
her Daddy out of the love that they shared. That's how babies are made.
She knew this because her Momma had told her so.
And, Momma never lied.
Never.
Nana had been strict about the virtue of honesty. And, so had
passed that value on to Momma and thus. to EmmyLou. Not that she and Momma didn't
have any secrets... No. they had many infect. But, Momma had taught her how to have
.secrets and not have to lie in order to keep them.
S.Story "Skitter"
Page. 28
Momma told her that it was an ancient art. An art of the Gypsy.
The very best could hide all that they were and thought and never once speak a
single mistruth. Never once give the Devil a crack to sneak through and into their
lives. That's how he gets you. you know...
Through lies...
She knew that because her Momma had told her so.
And. Momma never lied.
Their house sat on the top of a small hill that over looked
the northern most part of their,property. It was near a picturesque stream of
crystal clear mountain snow water that cut a winding path through the middle of
their land
on it's way to join up with the big river.
The hillsideswere covered in beautiful wild flowers and herbs.
Momma and EmmyLou would cut them carefully and hang them to dry on the lines under
the eaves and around the doorways and window sills and sashes. Beautiful and fragrant
wild flowers and herbs adorned their home year round,SnapDragon and Honeysuckle,
Butterfly orchids and brightly petalled poppies hung from twine in bundles next
to the strong medicinal plants like, Sorrel, Gentian, Marjoram, Thyme, Mandrake,
Wolf's bane and Meadow Saliva...
Whole cloves of garlic hungby the bundle and Sage and blood
red Roses. momma used the mint and dried peppers the most. She loved those flavors
mixed and sweetend with Rose petals in water.
"Delicious." She would say simply each time after her first
drink, "Delicious."
EmmyLou liked it also. But, not nearly asmuch as momma.
She kicked off her meadow sandals and ran through the open
door. She hadn't made it three steps before Momma Chimed up, "Emily!"
She stopped dead in her tracks and gingerly stepped backwards
in the places where her feet had been across the threshold. Once, out side again,
she used the lit candle to light the sage twigs and then blew them out so that
they were just smoking. She hummed the tones and turned to the left three times
as she allowed the smoke to bathe her spirit in it's purifying scent.
"Sorry, Momma..." She said, holding her head down as she passed
her into the kitchen, "I wasn't thinking."
"No. No, you weren't. But, no matter. You were quick and made
it right again. After your chores we will have lunch under the cherry tree and
do your lessons for the day."
EmmyLou didn't go to school with the other childen in her town.
S.Story "Skitter"
Page. 29
And, there was good reason for that.
Mamma handled her lessons because Emily Louise was "Special"
"Gifted" just like Momma was and Nana had been. What she was to study and learn
they were not going to teach her in that school house.
Sure, she'd learned how to read and write... In English,French, Italian,
Spanish, Greek (What Momma called pig Roman), Latin and . Majik.
She prefered Majik.
It was what just felt right and came natural to her.
Often times she would find herself daydreaming in Majik's mystic
sounding tones and vibrational songs. She would gravitate in her waking transes
toward the thin soft song of her mother's lullaby's gone past. She would compose
mystical poetry in Majik as she gazed up at the clouds and wondered where they
were going? She would balance the wet stones of the babbling brook and write mystikal
stories of kings and Barons, Maidens and Knights, all in Majik's natural language.
She could do Arithmetic...
She disliked it so, But she was knowledgable.
She knew the Seas, the Continents, Many Countries and Capitals
She knew the States and the names of each President starting with George Washington.
She knew more about the Planets and stars and constellations and their movements
than did any instructor at one of those schools. She could rattle off the names
of dozens of species of plants and animals including their uses both worldly and
otherwise. She had read some of the greatest written works ever put forth by human
bands in their native tongues. She had even studied the Bible (Old Testiment)
quite thoroghly. It was a good book.
Momma had three.
EmmyLou was a physical marvel,. She'd never been sick. Not one
time. Not one day, in her so far beautiful life. She was tall and thin for her
age of eleven solar calendar Earth years. And, Momma kept her hair braided in
twin twisting braids that she had learned from an Austrian woman that they had
befriended when Father had purchased the land and moved them all there from their
home in Massachusetts.
EmmyLou barelyremembered Massachusetts. But, Momma grew up
there and she would tell her all about it in her stories both tangible and majiwal.
She would tell her of the scary times for them and their people. The reasons why they
must always be soo secretive and wary of those that would do them harm.
Which was almost everyone.
Everyone.
Page. 30
S.Story "Skitter"
It was on a day when they were at the Mill's General
Store picking up "Pantry" as her Momma would call the basic supplies of life,
Lard, Salt by the pound, Flower and beans and coffee and tea in the sacks
and two inch iron nails.
Nails by the hundred.
The store man would always tease her about the box of nails.
He would ask silly questions like, "Hangin' more pictures?" or "That floorboard
loose again?" Or the one that would always make himself laugh, "Finished with
the boat? Just a few more nails and she's done?"
Momma would just smile and nod.
Smile and pay.
EmmyLou knew that the use for those nails was just another
one of her and Momma's many secrets and that the store man couldn't imagine
in his mind what they were going to be used for.
It was on this day that the school teacher woman (who snubbed
Momma greatly) was gossiping with the wives of other men in their town just
behind them in line. Gossiping loud enough for others to bear, should they
wish to or not.
"Oh, Did you hear?" She asked another, "The Banker's boy..."
She pretended to stop because it was just "Too Horrible" as she fanned herself
and used a hand cloth to dab at her forehead, then continued, "He was struck
by the Mill train while playing with other boys out at the tracks."
They all gasped in practiced shock and pretended that the
news was truly painful to them as she continued, "He's hurt very badly. The
Banker's wife is all a shambles." They each tisked one at a time as if it was
to be understood, "They say that he may lose a leg."
EmmyLou knew of who they spoke.
She'd played with the boy in town before when Father was
still alive. He'd have buisness with the Banker and the boy would always take
her by the band and off they would go to get dirty. Playing in the alleys
under the trucks or climbing the fences to reach Miss Robin's prized peaches.
She'd liked the boy...
He was nice.
"Did you hear them, Momma?" She asked in her whisper tone, "Should
we go and try to help them? Couldn't we do something to help?"
S.Story "Skitter"
Page. 31
"Shhh, EmmyLou..." Momma stopped her, "They have their ways
and we have ours... Remember?"
She did.
She never forgot anything that Momma taught her.
She knew that it was forbidden.
That night there was a late caller at the door.
It was the Banker's wife and the nice Austrian woman that
was Momma's friend. They looked sad and scared and tired and so very worried.
EmmyLou strained to hear what was being said in the light
of a lantern at their front door. She knew that Momma would tell her if she
asked. But, it would be rude to pry.
It was a tough thing... The Gypsy way.
The women stayed outside as Momma came back and gathered
her things. She took some of her herbs and oils, clean clay for a salve or
poultice. Tea leaves and five nails.
"Momma?" EmmyLou asked, "Can I come? He's my friend... And,
I want to help. Or, atleast learn how..."
Momma paused, She struggled with a decision then said, "Go,
get your coat and boots, get your candle and prepare a sweet Majik for your
friend... He is very ill."
EmmyLou ran through the small home and felt as if she was
flying grabbing her things as she threw herdress on over her head and made
for the door with the other women waiting out in the buggy.
The ride into town was a quiet one with the Austrian woman
driving her buggy as Momma tried to console the Banker's wife and wiping away
her motherly tears of worry.
As sad and scary as all of this was, she was proud of her
Momma. She stayed calm and poised and was emanating a strong aura of love
and strength. Her vibrations, the thtngs that the other women could not see
or would not see with their internal eyes were all of love and compassion.
EmmyLou was in awe of her Mother then.
Page. 32
S.Story "Skitter"
Her powers were building up as they drove the short miles
to the town house of the Banker. EmmyLou could feel them more than anything.
It was a warm pressure in the air all around her and Momma was drawing the
life energy to her from the ambient world. She'd never seen her summon so much
melik to herself as then.
The Banker was there with the town Doctor and Minister.
They three were holding a strange vigil out in the parlor room with wiskey
and pipe tobbacco smoke. They did seem concerned greatly, though they were
far away from the source of the concern and in EmmyLou's young opinion doing
absolutely nothing to help the situation.
They all seemed to wish to control things from a distance.
To change the illness without being close enough to effect it. The Doctor
had traces of rinsed off blood on his hands and atellirujpink ring upon his
upturned shirt sleeves. He'd atleast started in the same room as the boy...
He'd done something. What it was EmmyLou would soon find out and be angry
for. It would explain why they all felt it best to stay away.
Because, it was best if they did.
"EmmyLou, come here." Momma was in the room with the boy
and her Austrian friend. The Banker's wife had needed to sit and cry in the
parlor with the men for awhile. She went through the small doorway and felt
it instantly. The pulse of Momma's deepest Majik.
"Look here..." She lifted the blanket covering the boy's
legs. "This is their way..." She said, pointing to the bloody infected stump
bleeding out painfully into the cotton bandages. "They took his leg and didn't
even take away the pain first. Your friend has suffered greatly at the end
of their saws."
EmmyLou stared in wide eyed horror at the mutilated leg
as Mamma unwrapped it carefully. She was humming softly in sweet Majik tones
and soon the feverish boy was asleep even though the pain must have been unbearable
and the fever intolerable.
"Do you see Emily Louise?" She pointed to the crude way
they had hacked off the leg. It was horribly infected already and the arteries
• were carrying the toxins all over inside of the boy's body.
S.Story "Skitter"
Page. 33
Yes.
Yes, she saw.
And, it was horrible.
"I want to help him Momma." She said, "I need to help him."
"He is going to die." Momma was sadened, "My majik is not
enough to cure this... Butchery." She'd whispered under her breath before
saying to EmmyLou, "Yes. Do what you can to comfort him. Helga and I will
prepare a poultice to draw out the poisons and soothe the pain."
Momma made a tea of stricknine leaves and fever bark. She
had EnunyLou use a cloth to soak it up and place drop after bittersweet drop
into her friend's fever cracked lips. Sbesoftly sang to him in Majik the sweet
lullaby's that Momma had taught her as a baby andwiped away his sweat.
Soon, the town Minister was in the room. He came in and
shooed away EmmyLou. "Be gone girl, be is in need of Christ not the cooing
of a baby." He said, with whiskey and tobacco breath, "I will deliver this
boy into Heaven clean and with grace be will be saved."
"But?" EmmyLou was confused, "But, he's not dead?"
The Minister waved at her as if she was speaking nonsense
"He will be dead soon enough. The Doctor is certain. It will take a miracle
to save this child... A miracle."
Momma took her by the hand, "Come, we have done all that
we can do for him." She showed her the small doll of iron nails held together
with a lock of the boy's own hair. The left leg was bent and broken off.
"Leave this under hi pillow." She instructed in pig Roman,"EmmyLou say
goodbye for now and put it under his pillow." They were speaking secrets and
had to be very careful of who heard what.
And, so it went that they had done their best and strongest
majik to save the Banker's boy.
And, they had broken the rules.
They had done the forbidden.
The next day was greeted with good news.
The Austrian woman had come bearing churn butter and eggs
from the Banker's wife. She said that the boys' fever had broken during the
night.
S.Story "Skitter"
Page. 34
Momma made her special drink and delicious fluffy pancakes
topped with the wild berries that EmmyLou had picked. All three ate and laughed
with the good news. The boy surely would have died if they had not intervened
and all that were there could atest to that. The Banker's wife was do greatful
that she told all that she met on the streets about Momma and her miracles.
The banker even came by one day about a week after the boy
was up on his crutch and tried to give her money.
"Money?" Mother was offended. "No. I could not take money
for such a thing as that." Yes, she was offended but she wouldn't show it
to the Banker who thought that everyone loved money as he did.
Everyone was pleased that the boy was getting better and
that was enough for Momma.
It was enough for EmmyLou aswell.
But, not for the Minister or the Doctor.
They wanted answers. They felt that something other than
just good home medicine had happened in that boy's room that night to save
his life. They started a rumor that Momma had called on the Devil to save
the boy. Had brought him back from the edge of death with black majik and
evil promises. Soon, they were finding thingsaround the town to blame on Momma.
Bad things. All of them... Lies.
And, when the house keeper found the charm that Momma had
left to soak up the sickness from the poor boy under his pillowy mattress.
They had their "Proof" of her Devilry.
EmmyLou was playing in the meadow when they came in their
motorcars and on the backs of the trucks and in buggies and on horseback.
It seemed like the whole town was there but really it was just the men and
they had their guns and cloth sack5over their heads with eye holes cut in
them.
They looked riddiculous.
It wasn't as if they were biding their indentities with
those masks. They wore them because they knew that what they were planning
to do was wrong. It was wrong and they used the sacks to bide their shame.
Page.. 35
S.Story "Skitter"
With their guns they dragged Momma out of the house kicking
and screaming biting and scratching. She was in her apron and chore dress,
bare foot with pins in her long black and greyhair.
"You've been tried and convicted of witchcraft!" The Minister
proclaimed from the top of one of the trucks with his sack over his bead and
the Bible in his hands. "And, that Means that you are to be banged as the
consort of the Devil that you are!"
EmmyLou watched in horror as they threw a rope with a noose
in it over the branch of her favorite cherry tree. They put the rope around
her Momma's neck and without anymore being said, hoisted her up using the
man's who's rope itwas horse to do it with.
"No!" EmmyLou screamed and ran from the meadow. "Mona!
Stop! She's never hurt anyone! Momma!"
She was caught by some of the men that laughed and swung
her around as they lifted her young body up by the waist.
"You! Child of Satan!" The Minister screamed from his truck
top pulpit,"You're next!" The men were all laughing and smelled of whiskey
and beer. "String her up!" Was the call, "String her up next to her whore
Momma!" Screamed the drunken mob.
"Yes, kill me..." EmmyLou couldn't bare anymore of this
horror, "I will join Momma and Father..." She was eager and helped the men
to place the rough rope around her tender throat, "Quickly!" She cried, "Kill
me quickly! You bastards! You cowards! And, evil men!" That was a tongue thrashing
in EmmyLou's soft spoken upbringing. "Cowards!"
They had all but cinched the rope to the horseman when another
voice called out from a trucktop.
"Stop!! Stop! I will not abide by the murder of an innocent
child! It was the town Sheriff with his sack off of his head holding his
rifle. "She's just a child Morseby! Damn! Damn it! She's nomore a Witch or
Devil dog than I am!"
The Minister raised his hands, "God's Law is clear! She
will swing with her Devil mother!"
The Sheriff leveled his rifle on the man with the rope getting
ready to cinch it down. "You do and you're a deadman." He said.
Page.. 36
S.Story "Skitter"
"No!" Cried EmmyLou, "No! No! No! Kill me!! Please!I want
this! It's too terrible! Sheriff, let them kill me!"
The men were no longer laughing as the cries of this little
girl begging to die before them at their cruel and dirty bands was beginning
to sober them to the reality of the evil they had committed.
The Sheriff would not relent with his rifle, "You tie her
down and I'll end you myself!" He screamed so that they could all bear him,
"You string her up... Any of you touch that young 'un and I'll end you damn
it!" He'd done the work of the Devil already once on that day and he could
not do it for a second time.
They left.
They left quietly back the way they had come.
They left her there with the still banging corpse of her
Mother in the cherry tree. The wind gusted swinging her ever so slightly in
the breeze. There were no crickets no frogs singing their songs no birds flittering
and chirping. It was stone still.
EmmyLou knelt under her swinging body and wept.
She would stay there until Momma's Austrian friend Helga
had come and collected her. She arrived in her buggy with lathered horses
tired from the frantic drlve. She arrived with wet womanly tears of sadness
and pity and anger and outrage still banging in her eyes. She arrived to a girl
catatonic with greif and that could not speak. A girl that was emotionally shattered
and hiccupping with sorrowful pain.
A girl that wanted to die.
"No, Helga... She cannot stay." The mans Austrian accent was
still quite thick even though they had lived there for a dozen or more years.
"No. We cannot look after her... Not this one. She is cursed... I mean to say,
what would the people think of us? Hmmm? Taking in a witch's daughter?"
Helga held her ground. "She stays." She said with her hands
balled into fists on her wide motherly hips, "She stays and we will help her."
EmmyLou just sat staring off into the blackness of the night
as the two nice friends of Momma had their arguement over her burden.
Page. 37
S.Story "Skitter"
Time passed on Helga and Attila's dairy with hardly any notice
for EmmyLou. The towns people all had their opinions about her and her Mother
and now of her mother's friends but, they mostly kept it to themselves. It
was a forbidden subject. All of the men that had been there (which was most
of the town) would shy away from the subject and would avert their eyes whenever
EmmyLou would ride by in the back of Helga's buggy.
The Sheriff had turned to alcohol.
He more than all of the others felt the weight of guilt over
what they had done on that day. He more than anyone wanted to set things right
for the poor girl. During that winter Solstice(What they called Christmas) he
had brought her a bunny. It was white with pink eyes and floppy ears.
Helga named it Attilla.
Who was less than pleased at her choice of names for the hare
and voiced his displeasure in a song about wives in their native tongue. A
language that EmmyLou did not speak.
But, it was nomatter since EmmyLou hadn't spoken a word since
that wicked day. She had become a mute and at times she would seem mentally
damaged to those that did not know her. She would wander off into Majik as
she helped Attila on the dairy or as she would assist Helga with her deliveries
of milk and cream.
The Banker's wife had convinced him to help the girl by handling
the finances of the farm while she grew to an age that would be suitable for
her to run it herself... Should she so choose.
It was pity.
It was shame and false charity.
It was for them. Not for EmmyLou. It was for them to try
and help themselves feel better about what they had done. It was a shallow
attempt at somekind of forgiveness from the girl.
Forgiveness.
EmmyLou would never forgive them.
Never.
S.Story "Skitter"
Page. 38
EmmyLou grew as all children do.
She made herself useful and a part of Helga and Attilla's
little family. They had grown fond of the strange and very sad little girl that
would not speak. Attilla, reluctant at first, had become the girl's strongest
supporter and ally in town. He would have blushed and denied it to her if he'd
ever been confronted with his outspoken strongly positive opinion in front of ner.
He was still quite gruff with her at home on the Dairy. He
didn't want her to think that she'd grown on him or something silly like that.
But, it was clear that she had.
Helga did her best to fill the gap of a mother. She taught
her stitchwork and quilting and braiding and how to make traditional Austrian
meals. EmmyLou liked her cooking when she would add a little spice...
But, her lessons were at an end in Majik. And, the school
teacher woman had convinced Helga that she must enroll ExmyLou in the town school.
"An education..." She had proclaimed,"Is imperative to a modern young lady's
upbringing... She will do better with experience learning with her peers."
As she sat in the class room with her book and plain paper
and looked around at the other children, she realized that she had no "Peers".
These people were blind to the world around them, singing and vibrating, pulsing
and humming filled with the bright Majik of life. They could no-more hear the call
of the Earth than feel the pain of an injured animal. They were the ones that were
in the most need of a true education. She closed her riddiculous text book and
never opened it again. It held nothing for a person with her gifts.
Momma had been right.
Momma had always been right.
"They have their way and we have ours..." She would say.
Her and Momma's farm sat virtually untended for the bulk of
the five years that she lived and worked under the Austrian's roof. And, so at the
age of sixteen she decided to go home. She wanted to live on her land and sleep in
her house and drink from her brook and...
She wanted to be close to Momma.
She wanted to compose her Majik in peace and without needless
interruption. She was going to go her own way from now on.
Another way.
S.Story "Skitter"
Page. 39
"Ahh... Emily Louise..." The Banker said as she stood infront
of him at his desk in the town bank. "It has been a long time. How are you doing?"
She smiled and nodded as she slid him a piece of paper.
"Oh, I see..." He sat up in his chair, "You wish to remove
all of your families funds from our bank... Might I ask why?"
She stared at him blankly.
"Well... I'm not so sure that it will be just as easy as this
you understand... It's quite a substantial sum." He shuffled papers around on his
big desk, opened And then closed a ledger book in a show of how busy he was.
She pointed to the signed official withdrawal form and tapped
it with a lengthened manicured fingernail.
"I'm sorry Emily Louise... But, you can't have the money now
like this... I wasn't... I mean "we" were not expecting you to make such a drastic
demand. And, so the funds are currently "Frozen" and unavailable pending a legal
review of your claim of ownership..."
She tapped the paper harder and glared at the Banker.
"I'm sorry Emily Louise... There's nothing I can do right
now... There's just not enough money "in" the bank's reserve to allow this to
happen." He smiled and stood gesturing her to follow him to the door. "Now, please
if there is anytning else that I can assist you with, do not hesitate to ask..."
He , laughed at his own folly, "Oh, my! That's right! You can't ask... Can you?" He
closed the office door In her face. 'Goodbye Emily." He called through the door
"Please feel free to pursue legal action."
The Banker had stolen her money.
Everything that Father had left Momma and inturn everything
that Momma had left her. She had trusted him... The Banker.
She left letting her heels click as she strode purposefully
past the snickering tellers and sour eyed clerks out of the bank.
She knew that the only attourney in their town was the
Banker's brother in-law and had probably told him to steal it from her to begin
with. But, this was not over.
EmmyLou wasn't going to be his victim once more.
They had used their ways to cheat her.
But, she had ways of her own...
S.Story "Skitter"
Page. 40
Even with the Banker holding her money from her, she still
had funds. Father owned a part of the sawmill and the farm wasn't mortgaged
like most other properties. Father hadn't beleived that credit was a good
thing to live by. He'd paid cash for the land and in doing so had insured
that it would not be stolen from his family through the tactics that had denied
her her inheretance for now.
She had two ponies and a new hired man working the farm.
She was again arranging for seed to be sewn in her land and was beginning
to groom the garden and had made the house warm once more with the fire of
it's hearth. While the other girls of her town that were her age were fretting
over the boy next door and what color of corsage to wear to the spring formal.
She was using her most hated arithmetic to ensure that her farm was solvent
and productive, she was a good buisness woman for a sixteen year old muted
orphan that hated math.
She had opened the cedar chest of Momma's things and found
that her dresses fit her now. They were just right with a little tuck in at
the hips. It was cold comfort. The feel of the smooth silk and lace fabric
of the old style dresses with their bussels'and lace up boots to match was
like stepping into her mother's skin from ages past. The Massachusetts finery
was a bit much for a lady to wear out here in the country.
Momma was conscious of that and only ever wore it sparingly
Weddings, funerals, important Hollidays for... Them. And, when attending the
church. Momma had always stressed the importance of "fitting in" and so, they
had been regular attendees at Morseby's sermons.
Morseby, the man that had convicted her of being a whore
of Satan... Morseby that had tried to have EmoyLou hoisted up next to her mother in
that cherry tree not ten paces from her front step.
Helga made frequent stops by the house to "Visit" or "Drop
off milk or cream". She was really hard hit by EmmyLou's choice to go home
and yet Was trying to be as supportive as she could. She knew that the girl
was capable, and, she knew that she was smart.
But, she also knew that she was damaged.
Very, very, very damaged.
And, angry.
S.Story "Skitter"
Page. 41
The Sheriff didn't recognize the newly painted black buggy
with it's fancy carved ornaments and fragile looking thinly spoked wheels
being drawn by a midnight black two or three year gelding. The pony was magnificent
and stepped with rythm and pride as it pulled the mistress in her gloved silk
and lace finery into town.
He squinted through the haze of alcohol and was shocked
when he realised that the lady in the buggy looking like a page out of history
as she made her way through town was... EmmyLou!
She pulled to a stop infront of his office and tied her
buggy brake. In the age of motorcars, buggies were becoming more and more
rare and truly novel. The Sheriff knew that this girl... Woman... Had every
right to be, as"novel" as she wanted to be. Besides, she didn't own a motorcar
and he was certain didn't know bow to drive one even if she did.
"EmmyLou, You are well?" He kept his eyes pointed at her
shiney black ankle boots with their ribbon wide laces. "No trouble out at
the house? The new man's no problem is he?" He knew that the only way to communicate
with a mute was to keep trying until you hit the right vein.
She smiled and removed her gloves. He offered a hand and
she stepped down out of her buggy. She had with her a leather file satchel
and her... Parasol? She really had a parasol?
She did.
And, she opened it immediately sheilding her from the sun's
rays that she had soaked up as a young girl in the meadows.
The sheriff looked her over.
She did look pale, but not at all sickly. She was wearing
as nice and expensive a dress as could have been had anywhere in the big cities
of thirty years ago. But, it was not 1900 anymore.
She let him lead her into his office and once there she
handed him the file satchel. He opened it and found papers... Bank papers.
"Shouldn't you be talking to the Banker about this EmmyLou?"
He knew that what he was looking at wasa statement of account and that it
said that the Bank held over fifty thousand of her dollars in it.
"You want your money?" The Sherriff knew about the Banker's
treachery... Everyone did by now.
She nodded.
"Well, EmmyLou... You need a Lawyer not a Sheriff. I wouldn't
know here to start with this?" He scratched his head, "Lawyer..."
S.Story "Skitter"
Page. 42
"Wait a minute!" He opened up the newspaper, "The new folks
here in town ..." He pointed to the article, "They have a son that's a Lawyer
in the big city... They might know what to do and who to talk to."
EmmyLou smiled.
She would have her money from the Banker.
While in town she made a point to visit the Mill store
and in so doing she stirred up all of the old ladies and young girls into
fits of gossip. They were offended by her "Air" of superiority and found it
unlady like to be so confident at such a young age.
The storekeeper hadn't looked EmmyLou in the eye since that
day and she knew why. He was ashamed as well be should be and would be until
he died. He asked when she came to the counter, "Sugar, Salt, Lard, Flower
and ..': He placed the box of iron nails upon the counter, "One hundred nails."
No stupid joke about the nails.
Not anymore.
It was spring.
Spring and the meadow was alive with the wild flowers and
herbs and grasses that had captivated her as a child. The soft song of nature's
Majik all around waking up to bring forth new life...
She was sitting out under her cherry tree in the cool of
the evening enjoying one of her mother's "Special" drinks when she first heard
it's call.
It coinsided with a stillness of the air and thena soft
whisper on the waves of majik into her gifted ear "It's time..."
She smiled.
She was ready now.
That Sunday morning was a busy one for Morseby. He had two
of the local girls wanting to get married and needed to counsel them before
band. He had his sermon to give and he bad_ EmmyLou?
S.Story "Skitter"
page.
43
She was sitting in the very, first pew of the church in
an old style black lace formal dress and a hat with a veil. She looked
morbid, As if she was attending a funeral. Black silk gloves, black knee
high lace up spike heeled boots, complefe with a matching lace adorned
silk fan.
Her look was dark when the Minister appeared upon his
dais ready to preach the Gospel of how to be a good Christian and not to
abide by the ways of Sin...
The rest of the congregation were all whispering amongst
themselves and had given her an entire pew to herself. Causing many to
have
to stand in the isles. No-one it seemed wanted to risk sitting next
to the Witch... In church.
Lest she should burst into flames... No-doubt.
Morseby stuttered to start his sermon, "Praise Jesus! He
is the light!" He wiped his strangely sweating brow, "He has delivered us
from our Sins and given us a pathway to Heaven!" He looked down at EmmyLou
who sat stone motionless and watched as he forgot his words...
"Uhh, Salvation!... Uhh, Hallelujah!... Uhh, God? God is
great!... God is... Good... Jes... Jesus teaches that... Uhh, that..."
EmmyLou's icy glare had unnerved the old preacher into a
fit of rare panic upon his own dais in his own church. She reached up and
ran a gloved hand across her smooth throat where the rope had been all of
those years ago. Morseby's self-righteous voice had returned the memory of
it's rough fibers eager to snatch her up into the cherry next to her
mother. Eager to stretch her until she fell still and cold.
You could cut the tension in the air of the church with
a
knife when she suddenly snapped open her silk fan causing everyone to
jump in shock or fear or both at the crack of it's "Snap!". She uncrossed
her legs with a toss of her petticoat to align the seams and stood up
board straight, chin up, eyes cold, and walked directly out of the church
amid the gasps of shock and the sensitive women fainting from the
excitement
of it all. She mounted her buggy and with a sharp whistle
through her teeth in the cool still Sunday morning air, was off at a pace.
She had made her point.
She did not fear their God.
$.Story "Skitter'
Page. 44
That night, as soon as the sun had cast it's last rays
of light upon their patch of Earth, she drew her pentagram of protection
with salt at the foot of her cherry tree. Lit a special consecrated tallow
candle at each corner and painted her naked pasty sunlight deprived flesh
with the symbols of Leviathan and Legion. Branded her navel with the symbol
of Lilith and then drank a special spirit made from the cherries of this tree.
Momma's tree.
She took her time weaving the vibrations of this Majik's
threads into chords as she made
a careful
tangle of twenty iron nails at each point
by pinning them, each. One at a time slowly the way the Majik needed to be
pinned. Only two inch iron nails would do. They were uniquely suited for
this otherworldly purpose and her mother had shown her how to use them
quite effectively in weaving Majik. EmmyLou had planned this greatly and
she knew what she wanted and to who she wanted it to happen and was
willing to pay the price for her to have her revenge.
She called out in Majik's mystical language and broke
her silence for the first time in five years.
"I call thee! She Demon of the Dark! Mother of all that
is wicked and wretched and vile! I call thee with my Majik! My heart! I
summon thee! Do my bidding! Send your minions! Move your Legions! I summon
thee!"
To those watching that did not speak the language of
Majik, it would have seemed to have all been just a beautiful but
unintelligible song. A song of long tones ane harp like vibrations.
She cut herself deep across the abdomen, "I giveth my
young fertile womb so that your daughter of darkness shall be born unto
me!" EmmyLou knelt in agony as she carved out her own womb and placed it
in the offering bowl at the base of the cherry. It smoked and then caught
flame as it left her bloodied fingers.
She had heard her call!
She had accepted her greatest offering!
There was a rustling wind that moved the grasses of the
meadow and a howl of power and Darkness upon the Majik.
It was done.
Wombless, she had conceived...
There was a whispering voice echoing out of the deep
upon the Majik as she stitched up her stomach with a bone needle and stiff
gut thread in the circled star. "Ssskkiittterrr..."
S.Story "Skitter"
Page. 45 ,
It was the Dark Mother herself. She had given the wicked
one a name... "Skitter..." EmmyLou was to birth the Demon of vengeance and
hate into this world from the Darkness of the void.
She labored there for long painful hours as the night
progressed and the creature grew inside of her. And, she gave agonizing
birth to the wicked thing, bloodied and worn upon her salted circle. It
was a foul thing, born of a wombless virgin, made entirely of hate and her
flesh, it crept off into the darkness of the night. An older Witch or a
lesser one would never have survived such a brutal summoning. And, as she
lay drained of Majik and clinging to life, painted red with her own blood
and marked with the Runes...
She smiled.
Skitter had come.
Helga stood silent and mortified.
She had come to check on her beloved EmmyLou and
witnessed her give birth to a Demon of Hell.
Conflict'd as to what she should do, she watched as the
creature slinked off into it's shroud of night and thought of Attilla...
Her poor husband that would be devastated with news such as this about the
little girl he had come to love and cherish soo much as his own daughter.
Even though he would never admit it to anyone... Especially to his wife.
He loved EmmyLou in his own Attilla way.
His own gruff standoffish way.
A thing like this would kill him from the inside.
She went to the girl laying nude in her own blood and
juices under, the cherry tree. She went to her to help. She gathered her up
with her strong dairymaid arms and kicked the circle away into the soil.
"No-one must know of this..." She said as she destroyed
the evidence of EmmyLou's sorcery, "No-one."
S.Story "Skitter"
Page, 46
It took several days of bed rest and careful care by Helga
for EmmyLou to start to gain back her natural strength.
The summoning had been a violent and draining bloody affair
and as she lay in her Mother and Father's bed healing with the salves and
broths of a loving friend... She almost felt bad about what she had done.
Almost.
Helga had been there when she awoke and had not shown an
ounce of fear toward the Black witch of the night. The Majik's weaver of the
evil depths... EmmyLou.
"Why?" She'd started to ask... And, then decided to let
it alone. "Your mother would be ashamed of you Emily Louise." She said, with
a "Tisk, Tisk..." and, a "Shame on you."
She was right.
Mother would have been outraged.
But, her and Father were dead.
And, Aside from the love and care heaped upon her by Helga
and Atilla... She'd had no experience with "them", the non-seers the non-hearers
the non-worthy... That would justify her having anymore of a problem with
feeding them to a Demon than that of swatting a pesky mosquito.
She had changed...
Once a girl with love and light and compassion for all...
She had become a pale beacon of hatred.
Attilla had not known what to do. He was only aware that
EmmyLou was ill and needed care for a bit. He would come and help her during
the day when he had finished his morning chores and would be sent away by
his wife each day before the sun had set for the night... Lest he chance at
seeing the Demon. A Demon that stalked and waited at the cherry tree each
night for it's Mistress Mother...
For EmmyLou.
"Lard, Sugar, Beans, Coffee, Flower, Salt and... One hundred
iron nails." The Store keeper placed the box of nails upon the counter. "Anything
else for you EmmyLou?" He asked, eyes down cast at the counter top.
S.Story "Skitter"
Page. 47
She smiled and nodded.
"Well, you are going to have to help me with it..." He said,
as she pointed to the jar of candies. "Oh, By the peice or the pound?" He
loved to sell the sweets...
She held up her hand all the fingers extended.
"Five peices it is then." He looked her over for the first
time in years. She had changed considerably in the time since he'd tied her
mother down to his saddle pommel and pulled her skyward in a fit of drunken
fever fueled by the mob.
She reached into her coin purse, eyes big as if to ask "How
Much?"
"Awe... Just take it." The store man said sliding it across
the counter, "I wish you well, EmmyLou..." He started to say but couldn't
find the finish of the words.
Her' eyes darkened and her smile disappeared.
She looked ill to the man. He'd heard that she'd fallen
victim to a sickness recently but one that could take all of the color from
her smooth skin? One that could darken the light of her bluest blue eyes?
One that could make her as if a corpse upon the living world?
She had become a woman in that time. A woman that was beautiful
and somehow terrifying. A lady of stature that held herself as
such. A land
•
owner that handled her affairs with a silent dignity.
She dropped two bits and left the candies.
She would have none oftheir "Charity".
None.
The string of his apron had frayed and he'd placed it upon
the counter to remind himself to mend it.
EmmyLou pulled a fiber from it's frazzled end as he was
carrying the sacks out to her waiting buggy. It was more than enough for what
she intended to use it for.
"Wished her well..." She fumed, "I do not wish you well,
Sir! I most definitely do not wish you well!"
That night at the Cherry it came out of the darkness and
presented itself before it's mother.
She held out the small charm made of tallow wax and five
iron nails... It was held together with the Store keeper's apron thread.
The Demon took it from her and made off toward the town.
S.Story "Skitter"
Page. 48
The Store Keeper was late locking up that evening. He'd
had a busy day and was tired when he had finally turned the open sign around
to the closed side on it's chain and retired to the storeroom.
There, be rummaged through the small desk that he used for
his office and come up with the needle and thread. He'd torn the end off of
his apron and cutting a new string and attatching it was just another of his
duties for the day.
That's when he heard the bells tinkle as if someone had
come through the door. He hadn't actually locked the doors yet as the sign
was usually enough until he'd left for the night.
No-one had to lock their doors in this town.
Never have.
"I'm sorry" He called out into the store, "We're closed
for the night... Come on by in the mornin'."
There was no second tinkling of the little bells so he knew
that the customer hadn't left. Then, there was a sound of something moving
about out in the darkened store. A shuffling of a sort and a deep labored
breathing...
"Hey? There anybody in here?" He called out, "I said we're
closed! Now go on!" He had never been robbed but there was a first time for
everything. So, he reached into the desk drawer and pulled out his snub nosed
revolver. "I can bear you out there! Now, go on and come back in the morning!"
He checked that it was loaded and came out of the storeroom with purpose in
his steps.
"Holy Jesus..." He said dropping the gun and pissing himself.
Only this thing was far from Holy and it definitely wasn't
Jesus It stood tall on long wicked muscled legs, three toed feet with
enormous black talons. It's long spine stretching it to a proud height of
at:Least seven feet. It's arms hung down to it's boney knees, with three
fingered hands the size of pitch forks. Twisted knobby horns upon it's massive
head and hourglass lanterns of Hellfire for eyes.
It made a noise with it's huge jaws like that of steel upon
Stone, "SSSkkkittteeerrr..." It scratched out as it reached and grabbed
the fear frozen store keeper by his neck. Then, lifted him effortlessly off of
the floor with one arm. It held him closer now, so that it could see his
terror up close. It's breath was foul it's skin was pale and thick.
Page. 49
S.Story "Skitter"
The Demon sniffed the Store keeper with it's flared nostrils
and gnashed it's iron spikes of teeth.
"Skitter..." It licked his sweaty prey's cheek and then
snapped the Store man's neck with a twitch of his massive fingers. It killed
the man with no more effort than it would have needed to make it's next breath.
Killing him quickly...
But, taking it's slow calculated time in the dismembering
and devouring of his freshly shattered and shredded corpse.
The next day was met with the singing of birds and the
smell of Jasmine on the air for EmmyLou.
She made her breakfast and then went over the details about
the law suit that she was bringing against the Bank. The Banker, it seemed
as she was told by her new "Big City" Lawyer, enjoyed some kind of "Protection"
under the financial laws of her State...
She could not sue him directly for having stolen her family's
money through the means of the Bank but she could persue action against the
Bank itself. The Lawyer had read her "evidence" of account and ownership
and had determined that it should be a simple • case to remedy. But, punishment
for the abuse would have to be handled by other means.
Other means.
She had another appointment to keep first and as she passed
the cherry tree she noticed something dangling in it's low branches, It moved
with the breeze and as she came closer she saw that it was the charm that
she had given the wicked one.
It was hanging by it's neck of a two inch nail and it was
covered in blood. Dried blackened blood of the store keeper.
She plucked it from the tree and took it inside to be placed
away, buried deep in her newly created trove of dark Majiks. It had worked!
She knew that when she beaded into town on that day to see the Doctor for
her requested "Check up" since she'd had the mysterious and consuming illness
that Helga had tended her through. That she would be the subject of whispers
and stares, that she would hear of the store keeper's brutal end.
Page. 50
S.Story "Skitter"
"Anemia,.
The Doctor had diagnosed EmmyLou in moments after having
taken her pressure of blood and looking her over here and there.
"Eat more meat..." He said, placing his stethoscope around
his neck, "Red meat... Beef."
She smiled a shy smile and nodded.
"You have a weakness of the blood itself which explains
the weakness and pallor and poor blood flow and pressure." He shook his head,
"EmmyLou, this is not a light illness. You need to rest and allow your blood
to build in strength. This is not something that just goes away with time."
He was right.
She did have a sickness and only blood would cure it.
Her smile faded away.
"This is the type of thing that runs in families..." The Doctor
had absent mindedly stuck his foot in his mouth, "Do you know if your mother
had?..." He didn't finish the question as he caught himself.
She stared at him coldly. Blankly. Darkly.
No.
She shook her head, no. Momma had never had any problems
with her beautiful blood. The fluid that flowed through her like the goodness
itself of her loving heart.
No.
He was ashamed for the moment and stood to turn and write
her a prescription, "Iron." He said, "Vitamins A and B and Iron..."
She reached out and snatched one of his monogrammed cufflinks
off of the small table next to his medical bed.
He had a habit of rolling
up his sleeves whenever he was to work with a patient. She remembered those
same sleeves rolled to the elbow and ringed with watered down pink blood
from the Banker's son.
That night she wove the majik and used the stolen cufflink
to bind the threads of revenge. She created another charm of nails and tallow
wax and met the wicked one at the cherry.
It took the figurine and immediately began to walk toward
town and the Doctor's home.
Blood and Iron.
EmmyLou knew that she had both comming.
Blood and Iron.
S.Story "Skitter"
Page. 51
The Demon stood at the end of the Doctor's bed and watched him
as he slept peacefully with his ugly wife.
And, you got to be ugly for a Demon to think so.
It drooled with anticipation as it studied the couple unawares
of the horror that would soon unfold in their home. The wife, as ugly as she
was, had no need to worry as long as she didn't try to stop the Demon from
devouring it's prey marked by it's mother. She could sit and scream and pray
and piss herself. She could stare in wide eyed terror and disbelief clutching
the comforter in her fists with her ugly hair in ugly rollers wearing her ugly
sleeping mask in her ugly night gown all she ugly wanted.
And, so she did.
The wicked one lifted the cover and snatched up the Doctor
in it's strong hand and then disemboweled him with a rake of the claws upon
the ugly woman's floral print bed cover.
No quick death for this one.
"Ssskkiiittteerrr..." The Demon's teeth ground together in
delight. The steel on stone sound echoed inside of the Doctor's large home
and caused every dog in the town to start barking wildly.
The Demon started with his feet and legs then moved on to
his arms and then his entrails and torso. It ate him slowly amid the screams
and gasps of his wife and the loud crunching and snapping popping noises of
his bones shattering in the wicked one's powerful jaws. It tore the man apart
as does an owl with a field mouse. Using it's talons and jaws to shred and
tear, slinging bloody flesh all about as it chewed sparingly and swallowed
as much whole as it could.
Mother would be pleased.
The Sheriff drove out to EmmyLou's farm with a heavy heart
and an anxious mind. He'd responded to a late night call from the Doctor's
wife... Geez, is that lady ugly... She was stuttering and talking nonsense
about a monster eating her husband.
"Lucky him.." His Deputy had commented.
The scene was a mess. It fit with what the ugly woman had
said happened there.
S.Story "Skitter"
Page. 52
A monster had eaten the Doctor.
It was eerily like the scene inside of the Mill general store
and no-one has seen the Store keeper since either. No body was found in the
store but there was blood from one end to the other of that place . Just like
the Doctor's home. Tons of blood and gore but no body.
A monster?
Really?
The Sheriff wasn't going to EmmyLou's farm because be thought
that she had anything to do with these strange events. He was heading there
because he knew that once the town woke up to this news and with the other...
She may not be safe there, given the history of their town and her family.
He wanted to be ahead of the mob. A mob that he'd taken part in the first time
around and regretted it grately ever since.
"EmmyLou, you'd best go and stay with old Helga and Attilla
for awhile..." He said, with his hat in his hands at her doorstep,"There's
something hurting people in town and. don't want you should get caught up
in this fever once more."
She offered him a cup of freshly brewed coffee and then invited
him in... Just as her Momma would have done.
She followed behind him purifying the steps one at a time
until it was done. She'd learned the craft of discretion from her mother and
so, could do these things slyly without anyone noticing usually.
He repeated his monologue about how it would be good for
her to abandon her farm and home and flee to the arms of her only friends and
thus, put them in danger also.
She calmly shook her head,"No."
She offered him some of her warm baked biscuts and sweet
cherry jam. She had churn butter from Helga's churn and had infused a hint
of oil of the olive herself. Momma would have liked EmmyLou's flavorful butter.
The Sheriff did. He ate with her there, like they had been lovers of a kind.
She served him and he allowed it. She had a way about her, a quiet power that
the Sheriff respected and was even attracted to. It charmed him into sitting
and calming as he ate and drank her delicious coffee. It had been soo long
since the man had a woman serve him that wasn't in the diner as a waitress
that he'd rather enjoyed the attention from the pale and quiet but beautiful
• EmmyLou. She charmed him.
It was easy.
He'd "liked" her for a long time.
And, she'd known this as all women do.
S.Story "Skitter"
Page.
53 •
This charm did not take much weaving, nor did it take any
sacrafice as the affection was freely given and understood.
The Sheriff left EmmyLou's having had the best experience
with a woman that he'd ever thought could have been real. No sex. No physical
affection could compare to the aknowledgement of trust. He left her knowing
that she trusted him to help keep her safe.
Safe from harm.
Safe from... Monsters.
She waved to him as he drove off in his white and black painted
Police sedan. And, she knew by the walking on air smile that he had that her
minor charm of sweet Majik had worked well upon his already jaded eyes. He
saw what he'd wanted to see and heardand tasted what he'd wanted to taste and
hear. She had "Bewitched" the man with her... Sex of a sort.
This was the oldest of all Majik.
The Majik between a man and a woman.
She smiled... "Easy."
So very easy.
That afternoon...
She came riding into town on her shineyblack buggy being
pulled by her proudest black pony, wearing one of her mother's finest town
dresses and with her silky black hair up in a tight bun pinned with intricately
carved whale ivory. She looked good. She looked proud and untouchable. She
looked as if she could pluck the sun out of the sky and replace it with a
blackened disk of hatred at a whim.
The towns people were mostly in one of two places.
Either the church... Or, the Sheriff's office.
She had no buisness at either just then and so kept going
until she had reached the bank. There she parked her buggy and got out with
her parasol shielding her from the suns scortching rays. She'd never been so
Sensative to light before but was taking it as just part of the price that
she was paying for her to have her revenge.
"EmmyLou..." The Banker was nervous as he adressed the girl
from behind his big fancy desk, "It seems that the bank has found it's error
and I do appologize for any inconveinince that this... Delay, has caused you."
S.Story "Skitter"
Page. 54
She signed the withdrawal slip and slid it across the desk
with her lengthed hard polished nail. Once, infront of the Banker she tapped
it twice and then stood patiently waiting for him to produce the funds.
He could not.
They still did not have enough money actually in the bank
for her to collect the whole balance at once. The Banker sat nervously and
offered her a solution.
He would sell her a portion of the bank for half of her inheretance
and pay her the other half out of the reserve.
She smiled.
Now not only did she own a part of the sawmill and a farm
but was a "Partner" in the towns only bank. She had a big city Lawyer and the
town Sheriff was in love with her.
Yes, EmmyLou was a good buisness woman for an orphaned muted
girl of sixteen with no formal education...
The Banker signed away a quarter of the bank to her with
his nice oyster shell pen and she took her money and papers of ownership with
her along with his fancy pen to her buggy.
Money is heavy.
She had two sacks of it when she returned home and then that
night created the wax charm with the ink pen and five iron nails.
The Demon met her at the Cherry tree and was keen to the
coming totem. It seemed to understand how important this one was to it's mother
and it did not want to disappoint her by making his death too easy upon him.
"SssKkkiittteeerrr...." It ground it's teeth.
Then, took the wax doll and clawed gracefully toward town.
The Banker sat alone in his office drinking whiskey and crying.
He'd almost lost his position in the trust and the lawsuit could have ruined
him if he hadn't done some quick maneovering to secure the funds for EmmyLott.
The fact was that he'd stolen her money and flittered it all away just as he
had with almost everyone else in that town. Poor investments, large dangerous
loans and embesselment not to mention his expensive tastes and the gambling.
But now h e* had her as a partner... A witch with a young and aggressive big
city Lawyer. She would not allow any impropriety to continue, he was sure.
Page. 55
S.Story "Skitter"
And, that meant that he was penniless until the Bank caught
up to all of the money that he had stolen.
He sat weeping like a woman.
Weeping and feeling sorry for Himself and his situation.
It was all her fault, the Witch and her Mother... He wished
that they had let his boy die as he should have that day.. ."He's a gimp now
anyways." He said, meanly into his scotch, "Useless gimp. Going to be a burden
on me for the rest of his life. He should have died... Atleast I would have
gotten his mortality insurance payout..." His son had lost his leg but not
his life and even though he could never be a big rugby hero like his father
or would never round the bases after swatting one over the fence like the other
boys. He was loved by his mother and had a good head for school work. He would
be fine aslong as he never sought approval from his drunken theif of a father.
The man that wished he'd died.
The bank was locked and he was alone when he heard a window
shatter. The night watchman had gone home at the direction of the Banker and
in those days there were no alarms as we would think of them now. He pressed the
alarm button and then sat in shock and then in fright as he had heard of
the gruesome killings and dissappearances of the Store keeper and the Doctor.
He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out his pistol. He didn't beleive
in monsters or even witches... But, he suspected that these were robbers looking
for money that simply wasn't there.
He kept low and in the shadows as he krept out into the Bank's
lobby. The only way into his offices was through a steel floor to ceiling set
of bars with a gate. It sat open most of the time.
There had never been a reason to close it except after everyone
had left for the day. And, true to form it was open then. He reached the lobby
gate and fumbled with the ring of keys trying to find the right one. He finally
did after a noisy few seconds and locked the gate securely.
"There..." He thought to himself, "Now nothing can get in
here with me..."
Except, it had already made it past the steel bars and he
had just locked himself in with the Demon... The wicked one.
He turned and fired, pulling the trigger all six times as
fast as it could shoot. The monster stood wounded. It bled from the holes in
it's torso but nothing more. It was unphased as it tore the man's spine from
his body by digging its raptor like claws into his screaming struggling flesh
And with a hand at each end tore him in two.
S.Story "Skitter"
page.%
His dying shreiks mixed with the roar of the wicked beast.
"SSSKKKIIITTTTEEERRR!!!!" It's teeth ground together in it metal on stone
peircing roar. The whole town was awakened by the sounds of gunfire and the
metallic bowl of the creature mixed with the alarm bells of the bank.
It was gone by the time anyone had gotten up the nerve to
go inside of the bank. The mess was as before only this time the monster had
left a momento. It had rendered the mans flesh from his spine. It had left
his head upon a stake of his own vertibrae. Stabbed upright into the floorboards.
Gruesome.
The Sheriff thought only of protecting EmmyLou from the coming
mob. He'd let them have her over his dead body. Sweet pure beautiful EmmyLou...
If be was only twenty five years younger.., and... and...
And, the Banker was dead.
"You Have to stop
EmmyLou. It's killing them..."
Helga had made an appearance at the house. "Is this justice?" She was trying
her best to convince EmmyLou to banish the creature.
Something that she could not do.
She wasn't strong enough of a witch to do something that
powerful. And, to be honest... She didn't really know how. Nor, did she want
to yet as it still had the Minister to destroy before she was done with it's
claws and teeth of iron.
Helga fretted and wrang her hands as she paced infront of
the cberry."Emily Louise!"She was at her wits end. "This just will not do!
Don't you understand? It's wrong!" She said something in her Austrian language
but EmmyLou had an idea of what it was... A curse word.
Not a witch's curse but a dirty word.
EmmyLou smiled and took Helga by the bands. She held her
gaze and broke her silence.
"Thank you... I love you too Helga."
The old woman wept all the way back to the dairy and she
could not find the words for Attilla and so he just tried to comfort her_as
sne biuobered into his caring shoulder.
S.Story "Skitter" Page. 57
That morning was met like those before it.
With sunlight and song birds. A sweet breeze that
carried in the soft scent of the flowery meadow. And, with a bloody totem hung
from a low branch in her cherry tree.
The towns people would surely be coming for her soon.
And, she felt that she was as ready for them as she would ever be. The Sheriff
had vowed to protect her at all cost... He was heavily under her spell now and
would do anything in his power to keep her safe. She'd woven a strong spell upon
him. One that other Witches would envy. One that Fairy Tales are written about.
it was Sunday.
And, she knew that they would all be huddled together
shivering in fear and red faced in outrage over what had become of their little
nice and quiet town. They were so predictable...
The cowards... And, evil men.
She dressed in her Sunday formal black dress and
completed, the grave look with a matching black pillbox hat with a veil and silk
gloves. She drank her mother's potion of rose petals and mint in spiced water and
then made off into town upon her buggy.
She was going to go where they were and she was going
to offer them a solution to their fear and outrage. It was simple and if history
would serve as a template for their behavior, it would be accepted readily.
She rolled at a slow trot into the scared and silent
town. She studied the "closed" sign on the door of the Mill Store and then as she
passed the Doctor's offices... The curtains were drawn and it was dark inside...
The Bank was strung with the Sheriff's "Crime Scene"
ribbon and had the front glass shattered upon it's masonry foundation... Yes,
they were predictable. Hiding in their homes from a little girl. Hiding behind
their bars and their guns from a wombless virgin...
She pulled to a otop outside of the church and set
her buggy brake. She would be going inside and she would be... Speaking.
The Sheriff was in his car and got out immediately when
he saw her coming and took off his hat and smoothed his hair back in the door
mirror. "Miss EmmyLou..." He said, "I don't reckon that I should ever endeavor to
tell you what to do er , what's right... But, I think that going in there would be
dangerous and that you ain't going to like what you see and hear... None at all."
He was cute... Like a puppy or a kitten with those big
eyes of love and wonder. He'd even shaved and was wearing a cologne.
page. 58
S.Story "Skitter"
She handed him her "speech" and waved for him to follow her
inside. He made a shuffle with his boots but then followed as she instructed.
She had expected that the whole town that was not cowering in their basements
would be there in attendance and was pleased to see that she'd been correct.
Morseby was up on his pulpit hollering about God and righteousness
as he shook his white knuckled fist at the sky and congregation. He bad his
collar unbuttoned and was flush with exertion and sweating through his shirt.
His eyes were wild and his thin wisp of a comb over was standing up on his
head. It would flail and fall with his manic movements upon the dais.
The place was a standing house affair, with no room in the
pews and the isles full of terrified citizens. EmmyLou was brave indeed to
enter here. She was the topic of discussion. She was the Devil in their midst.
The double doors closed behind her and her escort of the
Sheriff armed with her flash cards that contained her statement to them all.
They each turned and stared in fright and bate and wonder as she made her
way up the center isle to the dais steps and then up onto the raised platform
with the Minister Morseby.
"See her! Devil's whore! Evil spawn! See her come to lie
to you! Come to deny and to profess innocence!" Morseby was wailing as be
backed away from her in childish fear.
The room was silent as she and the sherriff took their position
behind the lecturn. EmmyLou nodded to the Sherriff who then began reading
from the cards.
"I Emily Louise am here to offer you and your remaining people
a way to end this horror that has befallen you."
The Minister jumped
in
delight as he pointed and screamed
and waved a Bible at EmmyLou, "See!" He pulled at his collar, "She doesn't
even deny it! We should have banged her that day! we should..."
The Sheriff pulled his pistol and fired a shot through the
roof. "BANG!" Morseby shut up instantly and let him continue.
The Sheriff read on, "You have brought this evil and destruction
upon yourselves..." He looked at the cards and hesitated, "The deaths will continue
until
the creature is appeased." He swallowed hard, "But, there is hope for some.-
The congregation eat still and scared.
S.Story "Skitter",
Page.
59
The towns people were beginning to whisper back and forth
about her "Offering a deal..."
The Sheriff spoke louder, "It's a simple trade." He pointed
to Morseby, "Tonight you will deliver the Minister Morseby to my family's
farm and tie him to the hanging cherry,"
The congregation gasped in shock.
"If you give this... It will be over."
Emily Louise and the Sheriff turned and strode off of the
dais down the steps and out of the church amid the whispers and fainting women.
A man in the front pews screamed out, "You beard her! All
she wants is the Minister! If we give him to her for justice... Then we will
all be safe from harm!"
Morseby was stunned, "Lies!" He stuttered,"She speaks only
lies!" But, the damage had been done and be knew that it was only a matter
of spare moments before someone would seize him to trade with the witch.
A cry went up for the Minister to be delivered as requested.
EmmyLou heard it as she released her buggy brake and gave
the sharp whistle. She smiled.
Cowards...
They were soo predictable.
She waited that night at the farm still dressed in her black
dress and pillbox bat and veil. The sun set and within moments she spotted
the first of many lamps and lanterns of the buggies and wagons and trucksand
motorcars and men on their dusty horses.
They had their hoods on and were leading Morseby by a rope
with a potato sack over his head up her long land dividing road.
They had acceptedher terms.
morseby was screaming and kicking as they tied his battered
beaten and demoralizedsoftbody to the cherry. There were a few words spoken
on his behalf by the mayor about his noble sacraf ice and then they were off
back the way they had come as fast as was safe.
EmmyLou watched it all from her porch in silent satisfaction
and waited for the wicked one...
The irony was that in the end it was not EmmyLou that ,banished
the Demon. Having beard of the tragic carnage, a man set about to remove the stain.
e.Story "Skitter"
Page. 60
The next morning Attilla came andhe cut down the bloody tree
with his wood axe. He felled the wicked thing before the girl and thus unknowingly ended
the Demon's hold upon this Earth. She could see the shame and sadness written
in his eyes as he chopped and swung chopped and swung.
He had trusted and loved EmmyLou and she had betrayed his
families generousity... He never spoke of or to her again. She was dead to
him. Dead in his heart just as that cherry was on the ground.
She was heartbroken once more.
"And, that!" The headmistress slapped the wall near an old
oil painting portrait of Emily Louise, "Is the ugly story of how a sixteen
year old orphaned mute with no formal education and that despised arithmetic,
founded Cherrywood Academy for the orphaned unwanted and exceptional..."
The children all sat in wide eyed fascination and shock
at the brutality and wickedness of the Headmistress's story.
She slowly circled the room with her pointing stick, letting
her sharp pointed heels click on the hard floor. Back straight, chin up, and
spectacles on the end of her nose. She stopped infront of the school's coat
of arms banner with it's shield of
a white fighting rabbi , with flaming eyes, "The
lesson here children is "Maturity" maturity is the understanding that reguardless
of love or righteousness, one's actions have consequences that effect the
one's around us both near and distant. The lesson here is "Sacrafice" Emily
L6uise sacraficed much to birth the Demon... The lesson is "Speak only the
truth" Because that is how the Devil destroys you... Through lies!"
The class bell rang it's soft mystical sounding chime and
the children all stood up at once and began making their way to their next
respective classes.
"Don't forget! Tommorrow there will be a quiz!" The Headmistress
called out to the busseling children in their pressed uniforms carrying their
books of Majiks and natural Sorcery next to History, Math and sciences.
"The lesson here is..." She sat behind her desk and pulled
out an old box of two inch iron nails, "When hanging Witches... make damn
sure that you hang them all."
The End
Burt
Short Story by: H.B. Marion Page. 62
Padded cells aren't really all that bad.
Burt had been in this one for nearly two "ears straight
and it had begun to grow on him. It was like thawarnpadded l in ing cf an enormous
uterus. Like the soft loving embrace of a thoughtful mother. It Shelters and
it Protects And no matter how hard he tried he would never be able to harm
himself or othersinside of his cushioned room of utter... Sanity.
The restraint . jacket was also an often undervalued object
of loving responsible maternal comfort. Burt had worn several types since
his strange trio into psychiatric hands began and his current model. (with
the Padded shoulders) was by far the most comfortable. Allowing him to hug
himself in his own reassuring, embrace for days on end.
Burt wore diapers.
Not because he truly needed to
But, because if he didn't
he would need to be kept unrestrained at intervals during his daily life.
This was, for many reasons not an option for him and so, he was forced to
wear the adult potty p ants while he lived out his confined life of shame security
and padded comfort.
He really didn't have much choice. If he refused them or
gave a struggle then there would be the, needle. They used the needle when
ever they would move Burt and he would need to be unrestrained. Or, when they
would bathe him and shave him and do his medical evalua t ions They would put
him to sleep for untold days with the needle.
He hated the needle.
He alway s had a poundin g headache after they had used it
on him. And, the dreams that he would have were utterly horrific. Plus, he
would loose all sense of time When they would put him under.
The cell had a clock.
But not a calendar... They had reasoned that depriving
a person (And ) Burt was still a person) of so much and then removing all sense
of time passing would be highly detrimental to the subj ect. (That was Burt...
The Subiectk' d they were tr y ing to study him not make him worse weren't they?
None of the scientists or doctors could. have ever answered
that Question with a straight face. But, none the less they had given Burt
a simple round faced wall clock that ticked on each second.
Tick.
S.Story "Burt"
Page. 63
The doctors would show off Burt to the visiting bigwigs
of the hospital. "this is patient 51-U-003 Burt Foreman...." They would all
take
PA-17ns
looking in at him through the little window in the door of his
cell. "Burt is the infamous, Mangler ,.‘" They would all go about their nods
and gas's. "He is restrained 24 hours a day seven days a week... This is not
a part of his therapy... It's security. Patient 003 is incredibly violent
and needs this level of immobilit y inorder to allow us to study him and to
-
"Treat" him with. his issues."
It was true.
Burt could be incredibly violent at times,
Most times intact.
But, that was not the whole reason why they had to keep
- him strapped into and or down to almost everything and anything. It was their
way of guaranteeing that he would not f ake his own life as soo nary others
with no hope of freedom had done before him. Them wanted to stud y Burt. Not
cure him or even punish him. They wanted to figure Burt out and for that they
needed him alive and hopefully not catatonic.
He had a gift.
A gift that was most rare and 1483 almost unstudied by modern
science... *Burt could talk to dead people.
sure that you just wentah! Eight! Sure... Sure
he can! And, I'm George Washington reinr arnated ! " Or something like that.
But,it was a documented fact for him that he had the ability to communicate
with the departed energy fo:mis 3f people.
He could even taJk to them.„
The ones that ho had killed himself with his own two huge
brutal rough muscled-boney knuckled hands. Severed into managable eices with
his dull chipped bladed machete' and skewered upon
his
thick steel skinning
hooks in his blackened torture chamber that he'd constructed in his basement
apartment. A sound proof room strung with chains and hooks and a long metal
table with wrist and ankle shackles.
Burt liked to take things ap artTelevisions. Video game consoles and computers.
Cars. Bikes Animals and... People.
The evidence of this deconstruction fascination waS strewn
through out his dank apartment when he'd lived there.Pieces of tv's would
be mixed with car parts and dried tanned human or animal skin and bones or
both. Arranged into elaborate sculptures that flowed seamlessly throughout
his dark spaces.
Page464
S,Story "Burt"
Burt was an artist.
Pictures printed from the official forensic photos would
eventuall y sell for thousands of dollars and would be coveted by artists with
a serial killer fascination or collectors of the rare and macabre.
Meat and , organs rotted miserabl y and the stink was unbearable
so Burt would usually stud y them quickly and then dispose of theli by feeding
them to his dogs. He was allowed to kee p his Dobermans in a dog run and chainlink
kennel in the. back of the house 'by the landlord, Mrs. Wang.
She was nice to Burt.
She rented him the basement for a fair rate and never asked
any stupid questions that could get her hurt. She was deaf and wouldn't admit
it to herself or anyone else. And, as long as he paid his rent and didn't
bother her as she watched her game Shows (with the ca ptions on) and at top
volume, She could care less what it was that he did down there.
She was a shut in..
Almost never left her home. She would have nearly everything
that she needed delivered or would ask Burt to fetch it for her when he had
the time. For Mrs. Wang... Burt would make the time.
She was embarrassed about her age and deafness. Two things
that no-one should ever be held accountable for. Even Burt would laugh to
himself sometimes when she would pretend to have heard What he'd just said.
It was a shame that she lived with so much anxiety about What other people
thought or said of her. Burt didn't care that she was old or deaf.: She was
nice to him and he would never pass anykind of judgement upon her for anything
that she did.
He was a Psychopathic homocidal maniac...
How could he ever judge anyone else? Anything that almost
anyone ever did would pale in the human mind for it's heinousness compared
to the sickness and brutality of Burt's deeds.
If you looked up "sicko" in the dictionary...
There would be
a
picture of 51 -U-003, Burt Foreman. In his
straight jacket chained down in the center of his padded cell wearing his
bite muzzle half mask and wild eyed with murderous thoughts:
So?
HOW
did. he get here? Bow was he finally caught and placed
into the care of these fine professsionals?How did he come to understand who
it was that he was caamunicating with behind his eyes? That these murmuring
chanting cry i n g
g lixieking groaning voices were really dead people clawing
their way into Burt's mind through a window of his soul.? A. Black crack in
his immortal being. An opening that they could scratch and dig at...
S.Story "Burt"
Page, 65
Otto BlackThe white eyed man.
.To understand Burt's capture, you have to start with the
ghost eyes of the man that the Government sent to stop him from disassembling
any more humans upon his books and bloody table. The man that the ghosts never
told Burt was coming. The man that ran this strange project inside of this
strange hospital...
Otto Black.
"Otto. new file..." His robotic voiced assistant called
out over the old fashioned crackly intercom as hie computer screen instantly
showed headlines from the newspapers and a clip from the national news. "They
want us to look into this for an official evaluation of it's probable project.
usefulness...."
He knew the drill.
The F.B.I. profiler-bad sniffedHout a Serial killer in the
cases and ever since they had noticed a connection (bow ever sma).l) in the
deeds of these killers and the ability to tap into the afterlife, the nrojert
leaders wanted him to find and assess the subject before he would undoubtably
ultimately be caught by the normal authorities.
Even though he and his project were indeed Government funded
and had the authority to investigate these things... They were very far from
any kind of normal.
"The Project" as it was called was an off the books Black
Operations Unit researching the potential use of the energyscane known as
the "afterlife" as a weapon...
Active or passive.
Intelligence or combat.
They wanted the edge of the dead.
Just like the space race of the nineteen sixties— This
'was the gr ave race of the millenium and Otto Black and his small team was
our dark horse in this strange competition.
A competition that we dared net lose.
S.Story "Burt"
Page. 66
"Send me the full file and designate this one priority..."
He said., studying the digital images of what was left of the murdered people.
"Oh yeah... This guy's sick... There's something here I think..." He menuad
into the Police notes and high resolution forensic pictures, "I'm going to
have to go here and see these places to get abetter feel for the case but,
there is definitely something here -
Something—. Sick." His eyes glowed
very softly with the use of his strange powers of perception.
To most people Otto would have appeared to ho ve been clearly
a blind man. His eves were a solid cloudy milky white with just the tiniest
black specks for pupils. But, the fact was that he could see just fine with
those strange looking eves. He could even see many things that other people
with similar gifts could net or would choose to ignore out of fear.
Otto was a. gifted and "schooled clairvoyant.
E.S.P. Extra Sensory Perception.
His gifts were rooted in this side of existence. The material
world. Otto had the ability to see the truth of thin g s—. TT/ things...
All he reeded was somethin g to go off of. Something to link
himself with the.peonle place or thing that he wanted to see and at times
even experience. It could he any thing, something small like a blood droplet
or a pair of eye glasses. Anything...
A touchstone as it was called.
He was the product of another dark horse project, this one
funded by the C.I.A. and based out of Menlo Park, a small collegiate town
lust south of SanFrancisco.
Otto was a remote veiwer.
A Government spy in a Project named... Touchstone.
It was a ekill that was particularily suited, to his current
lob and with the training and Government backing, he and his unit had a small
yet impressive track record so far. They had already found two other Rifted
ones that had the abilities that this project was tr y ing to study, understand
and ultimately recreate in others Others that they could control.
The problem that they had found with the people that could
communicate or effect the s p irit world was that for the most part it was an
exceptionally rare and limited Rift... One that most "Hosts" or "Mediums"
may not even know that they have.
Well... that.
And, most of them were homicidal freaks Hell bent on killing
nearly eveything within arms reach.
S.Story "Burt"
Page. 67
"Judith, make travel plans and feed the fish..." He was
already mentally pecking his bags and preparing his tags.
"One step ahead of you, Sir..." She answered in her usual
non-emotional manner, "Project bird, Leer jet out of O'Hare."
He liked his assistantNot only was she pretty easy on the eves and a basic emotional
VaCCUM,.. A consumnte proffessional. She was like an extension of his own
hand and will. She "was" her job and it showed in her insanely perfect performance.
inanely nerfect.
"File 5l-U-003... " She pronounced over the static cracked
intercom, "Subject unknown. Abilities probable. Subject clearly extraordinarily
homicidal...." She lingered on that as the images of people torn li.rcb from
limb in various locations slowly flashed u pon the screen, "Good hunting Otto."
"Put togethez an X-Trac team and have them on stand by."
He shut down his computer and began to leave, "Be.]] rolling?" He asked as
be stood and put on his grey suit jacket.
"Ball rollin g ." She confirmed his orders.
Otto had a feeling about this one.
A bad feeling.
For most people a feelin g had or otherwise wouldn't he much
of a problem. But, Otto had some good reasons to worry about his feelings.
Very good reasons.
Burt had a job.
He was a back alley pit fighter.
Not entirely unlike the popular sport of MMA. cage boxing
buttheewere unsanctioned blood matches and the only rule was usually...
No weapons.
Usually.
Burt's body was huge and hard, covered in scars and still
healing bruises and cuts. To look at him he was the p icture of brute force.
• And, his strange murderous life reflected this.
Page. 68
S.Stroy "Burt"
Re made good money fighting.
Far better than throwing bags at the trainstation or unloading
trucks. The only other jobs he'd ever had.
But, the money waan't why he did it.
Burt loved to beat people to death with his bare fists.
To hash them and thrash them, bend them and break them,
to smash them and feel them shatter in his massive crushing hands.
It was a type of therapy for him.
An emotional salve... A way to please the voices in his
head... If
for awhile.
They were alwawwith him you know.
The voices.
His fights were arranged by a sleezy manager named. Tommy.
His pay was immediate and in cash upon completion of his work. And, his work
was a gruesome spectacle of blood and carnage for a crowd of the most -blood
.thirsty people that Burt could imagine.
Narcissists. Sociopaths. Abusers and Users. Egotists. Murderers.
Thieves and Liars... You know...
The fine upstanding citizens.
The ones that would cross the street if the y saw him coming.
The ones that wouldn't dare live in Burt's neighborhood. The ones that would
judge and torment nice old women like Mrs .Wang. Then cut a check for one charity
or another and beleive that the y were good People. The ones that would pretend
not to see him if he was in their vision.
In their . offices... Asking for something.
Asking for anything.
Asking for
Help.
He fought for them then. And, When he did they cheered him.
Shook their fists in the air and cried out in excitement
and thrill- Screamed in deli ght as he would destroy another man not entirely
unlike himself for their amusement in a dark and dirty makeshift ring of a
warehouse or under a ca roark or on the river in an old. factory... Abandoned
and. decrepid.
They used him.
And, he let them.
The wolves in their respectable sheep's clothing.
The fine upstanding citizens.
S.Story "Burt"
Page. 69
Not every Serial killer is a monster.
And, not every monster is a. serial killer.
The world is not black and white. No Tatter how much we all
would truly like it to be... There are always the grey areas.
The ugly grey areas.
Otto krelt to touch the water washed but still blood stained
concrete where some of the peices of one of the victim's had been found. A
kid and his dad duMoster diving for cardborad. and other recyclables had come
across the shattered remains of two young men. Theysefflhad their wallets
and whatever valuables on them. Rin gs, gold medallions on thick gold Plated
"Gangster" Chains. So, it was clearly not a slaughter motivated by theft.
These "Bad boys" had come across something that was much
much badder than they were. Something sick and strong and huge with destructive
power. Something that had not cared for them being armed or in public. This
alley was just paces off of the busy downtown street and both had been armed
with knives and pistols. Neither, had been effective against whatever it was
that destroyed them. Tore them limb from Gangster limb in the alley's darkened
, corner. The blood was still visibly splattered all around the scene.
He. ran his warm clean fingers over the cold filthy ground.
Nothing.
He got nothing from here.
He stood and wiped his hand clean with his pocket cloth.
So far, he hadn't come up with any usable touchstone from any of the scenes
that he'd visited.
-
Rare.
But, not unheard of. All it really meant to Ottn was that whoever did these brutal
dismembering beatings definitely had a gift of sometype. A strong one for
it to obscure his own.
He decided to pursue another direction. He would start with
these two remodeled Gangsters. He would talk to their people (Family. Friends)
and see if they could provide him with an untainted personal item. Something
that may point him in the right direction as a touchstone. Something that
this murderer hadn't fogged with his immense power of spirit.
"Judith." He called to his assistant in her tan Armani power
•
suit and stilietos.
S.Story "Burt"
Page. 70
"You get something, Sir?" She asked, as she figgited with
her eyeglasses and tried not to touch anything.
"No." He answered frankly, "We need another tack... Get me
the address for T-Bone and Dre-Dog here.. We're gunna try and find their path
to extinction."
Within moments she had the infomation on her BlackBerty phone.
And, within minutes they were at the listed address of the
one called T-Bone's Grandmother. She lived within walking distance of the
alley and the Police had both victims listed as local Gang members.
Otto let Judith do the smoothing.
She had a non-invasiveness about her lack of emotional investment
and it allowed her to ask for things from and of people that most would never
he able to do. She stood at the door with the security screen propped partway
open and politely interveiwed the greiving Grandmother.
Grandma T-Bone.
Soon, she joined Otto at the rented SUV and handed him a
small wooden box that contained T-Bone's baby teeth.
"I told her that we needed them for DNA purposes.... I also
told her that she would get them back." Judith's monotone changed just slightly
"T also told her that we were F.B.I..," She kind of cracked a smile.
Kind of.
Otto took two of the teeth from the box and handed it back
to her. "Take her the rest. I got what I need with just these." He shook the
teeth in his loose fist and immediately
was
•
into Terrell. "T-Bone's" childhood
memories of people,places (Parksolides,basketball courts and schools) and
thing s (Guns,drugs.and fancy cars with enourmous Chrome Wheels).
Terrell had been a busy boy at being bad.
He'd done his share of neighborhood crime in his short time
that he'd had on this earth as a livin g person. Otto wasn't surprised or phased.
When he witnessed the boy ra p e a classmate and then kill another for his hew
sneakers...'No hundred dollar Basketball shoes. Maybe this psycho was doing
the world a favor by removing the T-Bone's from the population? This was a
question that Otto had no interest in entertaining morally or idealoginal3y.
It had no bearing on What he hoped would happen if he caught this man's destroyer.
He couldn't care less to or how many this monster had killed.
He just wanted to study him and his spiritual abilities. Abilities that he
was now certain that he possessed and were stronger than an yone he'd found before. "The F.B.I..." Otto chuckled,"She's hillarious."
•
S.Story "Burt"
Page. .71
It was an inside joke around the Project.
They hated the Feds... Especially the F.B.I.
The boy's teeth showed him numerous crimes and sexual conouests
as they recounted this waste of a human being's short life. The final images
were of an elderly Asian woman's face and her ang uish at their being inside
of her home—. Stealing her things and breaking most everything else.
He knew that she was important in thisas the images ended
shortly after that. He put the teeth into a small evidence plastic baggy.
He used them to store and separate his touchstones. He labeled it 1-Bone and
laughed as he did it.
"FB-I.,.. She's hillarious."
He needed to find this little old Asian woman.
Tommy came by Burt's apartment and gave him the directions
to his next fight. He said that it would pay double the usual five grand because
it, was with another undefeated fighter from back east somewhere. A real behemoth
of a man that went by the boxing name of"The King". At six feet nine inches
tall he was easily a half of a foot taller than Burt who went by the name
of "Burt" When he fought.
Itdidn't matter.
The voices Were all in agreeance.
Burt would smash this King's crown and make enough money
to live comfortably for a few months. Maybe even a year.
That was all he cared about.
The voices, were chattering in anticipation of the carnage
and he had to destroy somethin g to calm them otherwise they would drive him
crazy with insistence. With the urge.to kill.
He reached into his kennel and picked up one of his Dobermans
and taisted its head off with his bare hands in one motion.
"Mt... There... That's better."
He fed the remains to the rest of them in chunks that, he
tore off by hand. He dismantled the toughened dog in moments.
S,Story -Burt"
Page.72
Judith and Otto made a few passes around the neighborhood •
in their SUIT and soon were spotted by some of the local gangsters and tagged
as "Cops" an the prowl.
. They knew that one or more of these guys knew Who this old
Asian woman was and where She lived hut they also knew that getting that information
would he difficult on the street...
Nobody wants to be labeled "The snitch" infront of his Homeboys
or Whatever, So, he told Judith to stop at a local Hotdog stand so that they
could get some lunch and scope the street. Maybe he'd hear somethinguseful.
about the killer that they had begun to call "The Mangler" in the News media.
The Press have always. found a way to make murder larger than
life and Deathan irrational fear of the masses.
"Mustard dog?" He asked.
"No." Judith was content. with a bowl of chili in a styrofoam
cup with a lid and a spork (Spoon/fork) combination utensil to eat it with.
The man running the cart stand called out to a short gapped
toothed guy in a cheap leather jacket and too many gold chains.
"Hey! Tommy! Hey, I wanna go the usual on Burt... You got
me down right? That's five thin on What's the rate?"
-Otto hadn't taken a bite of his delicious smelling hotdog
when he brushed against the „sleezy Bookie's chea p leather and was overcome
by images,— Sweating men, bloody and tired, an octagonal cage with e Cheering
crowd... Dobermans growling and snapping with foamy slobbery teeth... A man
with huge muscles and scars and fresh stitches in jeans and a white T-shirt
with a. black wornout basebal cap pulled down hard on his head obscuring his
eyes in the deen shadow of it's brim... Burt.
"It's two ta' one... This
guy's a
real monster..." the Bookie
Pulled out his little black ledger and scribed the hotdog man's bet down,"
"Yeah, Big Burt's got his hands full tonite..: This guy The king... He's undefeated.".
Otto spoke up. "Fights? I love boxing. Hey? Uhh, how would
T. get in on that? You know something me and the little woman can see and maybe
have a good time?"
The Bookie stared at Otto.
Then. after a few seconds said, "You got cash? Tickets go
quick around here.... Burt's kind of a legend you want to see a real fight
you want to see Burt fight..: I got tickets.,'. For you and your sexy lady
friend there but cash only andthey'sfour hundred a pop."
Page. 73
S.StOry "Burt"
"Pay the man Judith." Otto took a bite of his hotdog, "Give
me a grand on thehometown hero..." he looked to his assistant as she was
handing the money off of a roll to the sleez y Tommy. 'You want any of this
action Judith?"
She handed the roll to the small man in his cheap jacket
with his astonished look on his face. "Three grand on... Burt." She said with
her perfect computerized tone.
She wasn't stupid.
Otto had called her his . , "little woman.„" She threw away
the chili. She wasn't hungry anymore.
It wasn't anythine that the Bookie had said that told Otto
that Burt was his mystery Psycho. Subject 51-U-003.
It was the asian woman in the reflection of a broken window
pane at the toe of the monstrous boxer's boots. It was the same old lady
that he'd seen through T-Bone's eyes as he'd robbed her and broken the window
in the process. She and the psycho were connected and Tommy had just been
with them both... Otto didn't beleive in luck.
But, if he had.
He'd say that he had just hit the jackpot.
"City records has this place listed as condemed and waiting
to be demolished. It's an old rice mill." She pointed to the huge fat missle
shaped silos, "They produce. rice flour for processed foods."•
The place was packed with bodies that night though instead
of rice. There was an octagonal shaped chainlink fenced boxing ring elevated
in the lit center of an otherwise almost pitch black empty factory warehouse.
No seats., Standing room only and shoulder to shoulder with everykind of humanity
from the dirty and obviously hardworking to the men in their suits worth thousands
of dollars with their arm candy women. Big blonde hair and hooker heels.
Rubbing elbows in the semi-darkness waiting for the show.
The Burt show.
sistory • nurr.
Page. 74
After two matches of men beating eachother senseless the
crowd was ready for the main attraction. The announcer got up in the ring
and did his best to elicit applause for the out of town challenger "The King"
as he was called made his way to the octagon cage amid the cat calls and jeers
and taunts of the crowd. This was clearly Burt's turf. His massive frame glided
up the stens and took his p1aCe in his corner.
The man as advertised was a monster.
He looked to be nearer to seven feet tall than not and easily
over 325 pounds of muscle packed in a sack of rough blacl‘skin. He bounced
a little on his toes and threw a few quick combinations for the crowd..
Next came ... Burt.
Otto watched as he made his way through the lane that the
crowd had provided to the cage The place was stone silent atfirst then as
he tonped the steps to the ring broke out into cheers. The announcer tried
to scream out above the proud crowd of locals cheering on their hometown legend.
"Burt..." Was all that Otto could make out from his speech.
The guy just went by his own name.
This was business.
Brutal dangerous buisness.
Burt was in the exact same clothes that he'd pictured him
in during his breif encounter with the Bookie. Blue jeans with holes in the
knees and a white T-shirt. Instead of the boots he had On an old pair of Nike
high top s and his wrists were wrapped in boxer's tape. He even had the worn
dirty black baseball. cap pulled down . shading his eyes from the lights. The,
bill curved just right so that he could see and yet no-one could ever spot
an eve. The country way. It wouldn't surprise Otto if Burt somehow proves
to have come from rural roots.
The cage closed and the men met immediately in the middle.
No gloves to touch.
No rules to discuss.
Just work to do.
The crowd went bananas.
The King danced to the left and put a couple stiff jabs into
Burt's chin'. Then went for the kill. shot. A haymaker right from his belt line.
Burt caught it with his hand and put a left hook to the bigger
man's temple. It knocked him off of his feet.
"Geezus, That guy's strong.,." Judith stated the obvious.
ii.btorv -Purr
Page.75
The King was down but not out.
He hopped up and gave a trained MuyTai front kick knocking
Burt backward. The crowd was stunned. They screamed and cheered as Burt came
forward again and unphased. He didn't dissappoint.
The King threw
a round
of complex combinations bloodying
Burt's nose and busting his lips but not knocking off his bellcap. The more
that they fought and boxed end danced and grappled the more Otto was certain
that Burt's hat was sewn to his head. It moved now and then. But, Burt would
take it offend smooth his greasy . stringy sweaty jaw length brown hair back
and put it back on before smashing his massive fists into the giant infront
of him, . Burt showed some training. A little technical skill here and there
but his fighting style Was to brawl. He was fast and strong and tough as iron
and relentless.
The beginning of the second round was new territory for The
King. He was used to chewing a guy up in no time and Burt had taken- his very
best and was still coming. It was then that Otto saw the madness
in -
Burt's
energy. It was a shift. A small ramp up of brutality that came from out of
nowhere it seemed. The King slipped a right and put a hard upper cut right
on the button. Burt took it and grabbed the man by his skull and put a huge
knee into his bloody swollen face Then as he was dazed and falling backward
Burt grabbed his left arm and with a foot at the joint of the shoulder broke
his clavicle and collarbone.
The King shreiked like a dying woman.
But, Burt had just gotten started.
The King's cornermen threw in the towel and started to rush
the cage. But, Burt was going to take out something on this man. He was fueled
with the rage of angry souls seeking only destruction. He put a Nike across
the downed man's bloodied beaten face and stomped.
The crunch was loud and The King's cries ended immediately.
The crowd had become used to Burt's endings.
They cheered and called his name in a chant as he had just
killed the man before their lusting blood drunk eyes.
Otto and Judith had found their psychopath.
S.Story "Burt" Page.76
"Say What you want about the-guy,.. He's got good taste
in music." Judith fli pped threw the stack of vintage heavy Metal vinyl.
"Ozzy. Metallic:a, Slayer. Motorhead. Ac/Dc... Wow." She declared
in her own calml y excited non-invested way. "Lynrd Skynyrd and Led Zep IV."
"I didn't know that Columbia had a Metal head program..."
Otto was trying to be funny.
Judith was taking pictures and scoping the basement's few
dark and dank rooms. "Yeah, me and two Nazi programmed Democrats." She sounded
serious... But, then again she always sounded serious.
Otto ran his. bare hand across the blood. stained. metal dismembering
table and was treated to an orgy of mental carnage and psychosis. "He hears
them." He said, his eyes glowing softly with power, "The y tell him to kill."
They were being careful not to disturb anything as they
rooted threw the Subject's belongings. They had followed him here after the
fight and Otto was pleased to find the elderly Asian woman of his visions
in an easy chair watching a game show on her televisionat earshattering volume,
Burt, the Subject had cleaned up and left shortly after
he'd enjoyed a. meal of ramen noodles and seasoned browned ground beef. He
was swollen and bruised with an obviously broken jaw. Explaining the soft
and simple to swallow but nutritious Meal. They resoned that he would have
to have that jaw set and a few stitches made here and there before he could
find the rest that he probably needed.
"I'm sure that he's got a street Doctor on the bookie's
payroll somewhere around here." Otto wiped the ti ps of his fingers with a
wet nap and pocketed the trash. "That means that we have a little time maybe
before he gets back tonight."
They were done anyways.
They'd found 51-11-003 and now came the interesting part.
How do you capture such a beast as this without killing
him in the process? The answer was ambush. You surprised the Subject with
overwhelming force in a place that he feels is safe.
A place like his own apartment.
"Let's get an X-Trac team around this place and get ready
for the takedown." Otto was excited, "This guy's got the juice we are looking
for and
I
think he's smart enough to tell us about it."
Page. 77
S.Story "Burt"
•
•
,
The disgraced surgeon half drunk and without anykind of
current valid medical license, wdred Burt's jaw. It was shattered and he did
the best that he could to make it servicable for the big man. He'd patched
Burt back together several times before this. The last time was just a few
nights ago When he'd pulled four 9mm slugs out of him and sewn closed
a gaping stab wound to his upper back. How this guy had found the strength
and will to fight a bareknuckle boxing match before he'd evenhealed from those
injuries was just another one of Burt's mysteries.
Tommy's fighters all came to the Doc.
They would have to spend What they made fi ghting on medical
care after each fight if they didn't. He sent him home to rest that night
with a pocket full of Oxvcontin that he knew Burt wouldn't' . take.
"Tough son of a biteh..." Was the Doc's diagnosis.
Burt stumbled home still groggy from the anesthetic that
the surgeon had used on him. He hated to lose time. It was like a peice of
his life that he'd never get back. It was something, stolen from him. He flitted
his swollen aching face. The King had almost had him.
If Burt hadn't somehow stayed concious when he Da that
uppercut on his chin. He'd had surel y knocked him out and won the match. That
probably would have been the end of his life just • as it proved to be for the
King instead. Burt got lucky. And, he knew it.
He scooped up two heaping cups of the Doberman's kibble
and opened up their cage. They knew their master and went about wagging their
nubs of tails and rolling over in puppyish displays of submition. He took
his time that night and was generous with his pets and affection. The voices
were a dull distant chatter : having been appeased earlier and hurt found same
strange comfort in this type of inbetween calm.
The eye of the storm as it was.
He keyed the door and stepped into his apartment. Placing
the pills from his pocket into the mason jar that held the other ones that
the Doc had given him times before this. They were all there. Like little
brightly colored. jelly beansorcandy coated chocolates that came in baggies.
When the jar was half full he'd give it to Tommy to sell for him. Five hundred
bucks for thousands of dollars in dope. Good deal. for Tommy.
It was then that he sensed it.
Something was different... Wrong.
-nurt
Page. 78
Someone had beemliere.
He smelled the hint of a woman's perfume.
Something that definitely did not belon g in his home.
it wasn't that it didn't smell nice.
It did.
But, Burt knew that meant that someone was stalking him.
'Someone that the voices (who were always good about forwarning Burt) had not
seen coming. Another like him? They had come running to his mental call.
His mind was abuzz with their insistent voices spilling
the beans about what they saw. A Woman, brunette. Thin. Avera ge height. Well
dressed with cold eves. Eyes of Death's mistress...
He walked over to his records. She had spent time here studying
the music... it smelled as if she had left a mark upon his records . like a
cat rubbing her whiskers against a car tire in an alley When she's in heat.
The voices told him of another.
A matt A black men with power.
They couldn't get a handle on Who or what he was or wanted
with Burt... But, they'd done their job.
He packed nothing but a few knick Knacks, underwear, t-shirt
put on his boots and poured a beer throngh his wired teeth. He had his duffel
ha g and machete' in hand as the first man in black tactical clothing, came'
bursting through one of his only two windows.
The guy looked like a SWAT Cop or something . like that with
his combat helmet on and yellow tinted goggles. He had an automatic rifle
slung over his arm and was shouting at Burt to drop the knife. Soon, another
was bursting through his door dressed the same and armed with a shotgun.
"Get down!!" The first one screamed, "Drop it!!" The eeccnd
one screamed. Laser beam dots were painted on his broad sore chest and the
voices wen screaming for murder. Screaming for carnage and destruction. •
Burt dropped the sack and spun on his heel using the dull
machete' to slice a. ripping path through tha first one's throat.Helired with
his assault gun grazing Burt in the legs. But, this did very little to stop
the big man from charging the
guy
with, the thotgun. He fired point blank into
Buct's Chest and he thought f”rsure that he was
It was a pause of
a.
a
goner...
seccnd's heartbeat until Burt realized
was loaded with rubter bullets!!
The cop shot again and agein backing out of the apartment
dcor. " Shitlit He screamed.
that the
gun
S.Story -Burt-
Page. 79
The guy pumped and shot again and again as he back peddaled
out of Burt's apartment and into the small gravel yard where his dogs were
going nuts in their cages.
"X-One is down!!" He screamed, throwing the empty shotgun
down and pulling his pistol from it's holster.
Burt was willing to bet that the pistol had real bullets
in it and being so, he swatted it from the stumbling man's hands and grabbed
him by his helmet strap. He slung the man up to his eye level and groweled
through bloody teeth wired shut and showing the man his cloudy glowing white
eyes... The voices were loving it.
"Destroy him!" They cried.
The cop or whatever he was struggled with real purpose as
he socked Burt in his freshly wired jaw and kicked him repeatedly as hard
as he could put together from his off of the ground position.
"For Fuck's sake!" He screamed into his communicator's mic,
"Help me!!" Burt's hat had come off and exposed his face.
His shame.
He had the forever white albino irises that marked most
of the people with his kind of powers. The cop looked less affraid than most
anyone else had ever been when he'd seen Burt's crazy white eyes. The voices
cheeredBurtas he slammed the man's head into the bricks of his building and
dropped him like a heavy sack of trash. He'd smashed a cracked dent into the
cinderblock as the cop's head popped like a crunchy balloon full of meat and
Jello... Meat and Jello.
He turned to leave and was caught in the middle of half
a dozen spotlights. He ran but stopped inside of five steps. Everywhere he
looked there were these guys in black with guns and even some with plastic
riot shields and nets... Big nets.
"Burt..." The voice was calm and forceful, "Burt Foreman...
My name is Otto Black." The man had a megaphone and was standing next to a
spotlight. "If I may Burt... I'd like to talk to you before anyone else gets
hurt." The man put down the megaphone and began to walk forward into the center
of the spotlights with Burt.
A sensible person would have stayed as far away from him
as possible. But, this man in hisbluesuit and tie, shoes shined and hair
clipped short, he wasn't the least bit affraid of Burt or his strength or
his wild possessed looks.
o.otory -burr
Page. go
As sensible as the man looked. He was clearly off of his
rocker as he calmly approached Burt unarmed.
t Nbu see, Burt..." He said, once he was inside of a few
feet, "I have them aswell..." He made a slight movement toward his dark black
face with a pleasant smile, "I know... I know how they think of us..."
Burt was transfixed.
He'd never seen another like himself.
Another with the ghost white eyes.
The voices were screaming for blood. They wanted more. They
wanted death and destruction, violence and pure carnage. And, then came a
warning... "Land lady's got balls..." They declared.
The spotlights shifted their intense glare from Burt and
Otto to half of them pointing up at the main house's back stairs.
"Burt good Boy!!" She screamed, bathed in the high powered
lights from the landing of her doorway, "He so quiet! Always pay rent on time"
It was Mrs. Wang. In her night gown and hair curlers. She
was smoking a cigarette and holding a vintage AK-47 assault rifle.
•
The guys in black were all looking at each other and then
back to the little old smoking Asian woman in her floral print MooMoo night
gown and flip-flops.
"Fuck a deal!" She screamed to Burt, "No take box! Spin
wheel... Win big! Free trip Aruba' Take door number three!!" She pulled
the bolt on the rifle and pointed it down at the stunned men trying not to
laugh, "Run! Burt! Run!" She started blastingaway at the suprised men in black
who were diving in every direction to avoid her wild gunfire.
"Buy a vowel, bitches!!" She lit them up.
Burt seeing his chance pushed past the suprised black man
and used his fist to smash the lock on his doberman t s pen. The dogs spilled
out in a wild frenzie of barking teeth and slobber and claws.
They tore into the cops in black further distracting many
of them and giving Burt a window to flee. He jumped one of the cops fighting
off his female Mrs. Wang had named her"Dorothy" after the Wizard of Oz. The
• guy had his hands full of biting dog and crazy Asian woman with AK-47. It
was a credit to his training that he even saw Burt coming.
Burt took his plexiglass shield and used it to take out
two other men in black. The guy was trying to shoot Dorothy with his handgun
but she was shaking him too violently for him to get a good shot off.
S.Story -Burt-
Page. 81
Mrs. Wang was putting down some of these men in the black
tactical from her position above. She knew how to use that old AK-47 and it
showed as man after man was either hit or saved by their body armor. Burt
grabbed the cop fighting with Dorothy and slung him at the black man with
the white eyes. He had pulled a hidden pistol and was about to shoot Mrs.
Wang. But, that soon proved unnecessary as his soldier or cops or whatever
they were used their rifles to put her down.
A barrage of shots silenced the AK and the little old lady
forever. Just as the man named Otto sidestepped to avoid the flying man and
being slammed to the ground by his tactical weight. He spun to find
Burt and was dissapointed.
He had escaped.
In the few short seconds that all of this occurred there
had been no doubt in Otto's mind that he had him. That it was just a matter
of handling the big man and his strength with overwhelming numbers.
He'd been wrong.
Otto didn't like being wrong.
You didn't get to a level in a job like Otto's by being
wrong often... If ever.
There were sirens blaring in the distance and growing nearer
by the second and he had lost his Subject. They would nolonger enjoy the advantage
of suprise. A key element in capturing people. The cops in this town were
going- to be asking a lot of questions that Otto didn't want to answer so he
tasked that to Judith and went beck to work trying to see the unseeable.
They were the real F.B.I.
And, they were pissed as fuck.
"So?" The Agent with his cheap suit asked as he rounded
the small table, "You just decided to go after a serial killer without notifying
the PROPER authorities?"
Judith looked at him impassively, "Yup."
"You killed an innocent civilian in the process..." His
partner also in a cheap suit added.
"Innocent? The lady had an.AK-47." Judith hated Feds.
Page.f 82
S.Story "Burt"
"I don't care if she had a fucking RPG..." The Fed was eager
to make an example out of someone, "You guys are way out of line on this one!!"
He loosened his ugly tie, "Way the hell out of line!"
And, so it went like that for Judith as she waited for the
higher ups to straighten this out for these chumps. She knew that before she
would pass through their doors once more they would be tripping over themselves
trying to kiss her ass with shriveled lips of cowardice worried about their
careers and reputations inside of the Bureau
The higher ups tended to have that type of effect on people.
All people.
Burt hadn't gone far.
He had no-where to go really.
So, he went to his "safe" place
Tommy unlocked the basement' door and flicked the light switch
on the wall. "You stay down here for now..." He said, "I saw what they did
to your place and that old lady..." Tommy shook his head, "These guys ain't
fuckin' around Burt."
He'd fled the apartment weaving through the back alleys
turning left and right on the directions of the voices... They had led him
straight to the gym. Tommy's Boxing Academy or the TBA Gym as it was called
was a men's boxing gymnasium going back almost a hundred years and atleast
twenty different owners. Burt remembered seeing that it was originally called
"Mort's Muscles" somewhere in all of the old pictures and newspaper clippings
that covered the walls in the office
Tommy not only owned the gym but lived there and was home
When Burt arrived tired from running and tormented by voices. He'd been in
the alley when they tried to take Burt down and double timed it home in anticipation
of Burt's visit. "Listen, I'm gunna go an get us some grub and call the Doc.
Those bullet holes in you don't look too bad but damn we gotta make sure right?"
Tommy led him down to the basement's boiler room and showed him a cot, "Burt?
Why are these guy's after you? Did you rob an armored car or something?'
The old cot creaked with complaint as Burt Sat and shook
his aching head "No." in reply.
Page., 83
S.Story "Burt"
"Well, they are up your ass about something and I think
it's pretty serious." Tommy was half way back up the stairs, "You just stay
right here and I'll fix you some meat and eggs n' shit put in a blender."
He was no stranger to a boxer's wired jaw.
The door slammed closed and Burt was alone in the semi-darkness
with just the voices and his own fears to keep him company.
For the first time in years Burt was affraid.
Affraid of what was going to happen next.
He spotted her quickly as she came out of the hotel's lobby
cellphone in one hand and breifcase in the other.
"Hey, lady..." He said, from across the semi-busy street,
"Hey, you the one that's lookin' for Burt?"
She stopped dead in her tracks and nodded.
Hanging up the cellphone she jogged across the street and
approached the sleazy looking bookie in his Cheap out of style leather jacket
and too many gold chains.
"You know where I can find Mr. Foreman?" She said coldly
with a passionless voice, "Would you please come with me?.." more: of a statement
than a request.
"No." Tommy refused as she started to do that "cop" came
with me elbow thing. "I ain't gunna follow you anywhere lady." He pointed
down the alley, "I know where he is right now and if there's a reward I'll
give him up... But, if not forget it."
Judith knew that if she could get this guy to Otto then
they wouldn't need to pay him shit. But, it had been over a week since the
Subject 51-U-003 had taken to ground and they were working on nothing for
leads. Otto had other duties and so was doing his specialized type of work
at that time somewhere else on something else with someone else...
He'd left this to Judith.
They'd blown their surprise and he knew that with this guy's
effect upon his abilities of perception that they might never have another
chance.
Burt's power blinded Otto and it unnerved him.
o.story -Burt-
Page.B4
So, he'd abandoned the search hoping not to get tagged for
the failure. He left that for Judith to reap all on her own in the eyes of
the higher ups. So, when this guy asked her if she wanted to find Burt Foreman
she seized the chance to salvage the operation and thus save herself from
the stigma of a failed mission.
A cardinal sin of the Project.
Failure would not be accepted or tolerated.
This was her chance to save her career and maybe even her
life. There are no friends in the world of Black Operations... Only enemies
of different natures.
He pointed down the ally and started to walk that way adjusting
his jacket as he talked and smiled.
•
"He's hiding out in a place you'll never find him without
me... And, beleive it or not... I'm the only person that he trusts."
"I don't beleive it." She said, as an insult as they passed
the second in a row of large trash bins.
"Well... It's true." Tommy pulled out a ciggarrette and
lit it, "Yeah, me and Burt are pals..."
The huge metal container moved suddenly to the side blocking
the alley and screening the roadway from view.
"What the fuck!?" Judith called out as she tried to pull
her pistol from her shoulder holster. But, she was a second too late as the
big man smashed her over the head with a heavy fist.
She was out cold.
And, she was his now.
Burt scooped her up as he and Tommy made their way back
to the basement through the narrow maze like back alleys.
It had taken a week but Tommy had come up with a plan.
Was it a good one?
Probably not...
But, it was the only one they had.
Page.-8-5
S.Story "Burt"
"Hiya lady..." The sleezy bookie said to her as she came
to, "Sorry we had to rough you up. But, you was packin" he held up her gun
so that she could see it, "And, Burt was scared that you might know some kind
of crazy Government Kung-fu or something." He smiled his gapped toothed grin,
"Nah... Burt wasn't worried about nothin' never has been."
She was tied at the wrist and ankles to the old steam pipes
that lined the walls in somekind of old boiler room. They had used good strong
cords and she was stretched in a full "Jumping Jack" position off of the ground.
"Let me go." She almost laughed at that one herself.
But, she had to ask atleast.
"Sorry. Can't do that yet." The bookie said as he sat down
at a small card table and started flipping over cards in a game of solitaire.
"Nbu aren't going to get away With this..." She sounded
almost bored. That was Judith's default tone.
"Probably not. But, Burt was my meal ticket and could be
again in another place... Somewhere far... Exotic... Somewhere the U.S. Government
couldn't do shit to us..." He waved at a calendar on the wall behind him with
a lazy arm. It had a beach scene with white sands and coconut palm trees.
"They aren't going to give you any money for
"Ain't money that we need..." The bookie flipped over another
card. "No, we have money... Enough atleast to get us started. No, honey cakes
you're our cheese.... You're our bait on this drag line."
"Bait?"
"Yeah, see... I did some askin' and you know what 'I found
out?" He flipped over another card, "I found out that you don't exist... Officially."
He cracked a slight smile and she could hear it in his tone, "You ain't no
kind of regular cop." he looked over at her; "So, I got to figuring that if
you,don't exist then how can you go missing?"
She knew that she was in trouble.
"They will come for me."
"That's what we are counting on..."'
"Otto, we have some troubling news..."
S.Story "Burt"
Page.86
Burt stood close to the woman tied to the pipes in Tommy's
basement hideaway. He'd left Burt to watch their "bait" as he had called her
as he set about finalizing their exit plans.
She was pretty.
Not stunning. Not a Barbie type.
He'd once seen a movie with a woman that could have passed
for this one's sister or close cousin. He thought that her name was Sandra,
or something like that...
The voices told him he was right.
"Yes..." They said,"She is pretty..."
She stared down the few inches to Burt's softly glowing
white eyes in the darkness as he gently sniffed his way up from her navel
to her bosom and then the tailings of her brown soft hair and then to her
milky white swan-like neck.
He could smell her...
The excitement... It was the same woman that had marked
his records with her scent unknowingly.
She was scared.
She was reluctantly giving off all of the chemical signals
of sexual arousal and Burt waS the cause of that pheremone eruption. She was
shivering to his touch, flinching to his soft warm breath upon her skin, twitching
to turn away from his piercing glowing gaze of ghostly eyes.
She wanted him.
The voices told him so.
"Kill her..." They chanted wanting blood, "She's a dog...
A wanton twisted dog... Nothing but meat in a pretty shaped and soft skinned
flesh sack... Kill her!!!" They were persistent but would not win this time.
She wanted him.
And, the feeling was mutual.
Burt reached out and gently smoothed the stray hair from
her face with his thick rough hands. He tucked the strands behind her ear
and ran his thumb along her high set cheek bone.
"Burt." She had a voice of ice in a glass melting on a summer
day, "Are you going to hurt me?"
He growled slowly through wired teeth and then turned
away from her.
Page. 87
S.Story "Burt"
Beleive it or not, he hadn't actually wanted to do it in
the first place. He had regretted leaving her there to corral this monster
by herself from the very start. They had already lost X-Trac team members
and killed a civilian woman in a failed and underplanned operation and the
higher ups would be ready to skin someone for this thing if he were to lose
an Operator in this thing... Let alone one as valuable and trained and prized
and perfect as Judith.
B4, it was what was required by the visions.
He pictured her alone. In the dark. Crucified? But, alive.
She could hold her own. She was a professional. And, as soon as X-Trac team
three signalled that they were in position they would be taking down this
Gymnasium and liberating her as they captured their Subject 003 in the process.
She had been as good as a homing beacon for Otto.
And, the visions had told him that she would be taken.
he let the dangerous action play it's way out.
Sorry Judith.
But, we were all expendable ultimately.
"Team one in position. Team two in position. Team three
in position...." They called over the radio in Otto's ear.
"All teams 80." He said, gun in hand following the battering
ram and two other team one members through the door. He usually would stand
off and let the teams do their work as he gave orders from a "safe" position.
But, this was his assistant and failure was not an option.
They burst through the windows and doors flooding into the
buildings two upper floors and sweeping them clear in practiced clear and .
secure techniques. X one called out"Stairs down!" and, his team shattered
the old wooden door and plowed down the stairs covering one another in a leap
frog "move and signal" manner. The little red laser dots from their guns dancing
all around the darkness.
"Clear!" X-Two called out.
"Clear! Level two!" X-Three called out. Signalling that
the top two floors were swept and clear of any possible threats.
The dots danced all around the old boiler room and eventually
found Judith's tied form. She was blindfolded and gagged and tied tightly
to the warm steam pipes.
Page. 88
S.Story -bun- Otto ran over to her and pulled the blindfold off and her
eyes were wild. Not a usual expression for his dead calm assistant even under
stress. He pulled the gag out'of her mouth and she immediately screamed.
"Get out of here!" She wasn't cut down yet and an X-Trac
team member was doing the cutting slowly and safetly.
"What?" Otto could beleive his ears.
"Damn it Otto! It's a trap!" She cried as the first of many
large explosions rocked the building.
Tommy and Burt stood on the top of a building a block south
and overlooking the old gym.
They had watched as the men in black got into position and
then stormed the building. They gave them enough time to get deep into the
brick building's depths before pressing the button. Tommy was a demo expert
from the Navy... Who'd have thought it by looking at him? No-one.
Tommy had told her that it wasn't money that they needed
and it was true. No, what they had needed was the opportunity to flee the
country unnoticed. And, they needed their persuers to be occupied inorder
to be able to do that.
Digging out yourselves and your dead from a collapsed building
could be just distracting enough for them to make their getaway.
Burt wanted the woman.
Tommy had a devil of a time convincing him that it was important
that she stay and be alive When they came to get her.
The dust roiled up into the air in big folding waves that
extended up into the clouds and swept through the streets of their city.
"Come on Burt..." He patted him on the back, "We're burning
daylight and we're gonna have to be quick with this."
Rio De Janero, Brazil
"So, what's your fighter's name?" The announcer asked from
the middle of the ring.
Page. 89
S.Story "Burt"
"Brutus." The sleazy fighter manager called in from the
corner, "He's undefeated..."
Burt stood in the middle of the boxing ring wearing a Mexican
Luchadore's wrestling mask of a fierce looking Death skull. It was hot under
the light here in this arena. In Brazil he and Tommy had made a new start
and were doing well. Too well...
His opponent was a man equal to Burt's size and skilled
in the strange dance fighting that these people had pioneered.
"Taking bets!" The call rang out.
"Three to five! On the challenger... Brutus!"
Burt looked around at the crowd as he raised his fists and
and flexed his muscles. Tommy had told him that here it was important to "Hype"
the crowd if you wanted to make money from your fights. So, he'd learned to
do a little posing and strutting before each match.
The lights here were bright and at times he could even see
off into the crowd. See the faces of the men and women throwing money at the
bookmakers and see their thrill as he would utterly destroy anyone that he
faced. He had found a deeper source of anger to draw upon than ever before
in his life... The voices knew what it was...
"She's here..." They said on this night, "See her there..."
And, so he did.
He turned and looked straight at the woman that had haunted
his dreams waking and pot since that day in the basement.
"Kill her again.. .'They purred, "She liked it Burt...."
The voices were flooding into his mind clouding out all
that was around him as he stared up into the crowd at the beautiful woman
from behind his silly wrestler's mask.
"Is she real?" He asked the voices. "She's dead..."
The bell rang and the Brazilian fighter tore out of his
corner at a distracted Burt. Tommy was shouting and waving his arms trying
to wake him out of this strange and sudden trance, "Wake tha'juck up Burt!"
But, he just stood and faced the crowd as the man came on.
"She's not affraid..." They told him as the Brazilian smashed
a heavy kick to the side of Burt's head from behind and then went for a rear
naked chokehold.
Burt let the man get his arms around his throat and crank
his head to the side.
Page. 90
S.Story -Burt"
It was looking bad for him and Tommy was just staring up
at the fighters as they struggled in shocked disbeleif.
Then just as Burt was about to go out from lack of blood
to his brain, Judith nodded and Burt reached up with one of his massive
strong hands and drove his thumb into the other man's eye socket. His eye
ball popped in a bloody gush and the fighter released Burt immediately.
Still screaming and clutching his face, Burt grabbed the
Brazilian by the back of his head and punched a fist into his face. The bones
shattered and crunibled under the force and the man went down in a lifeless
heap. He proceeded to tear the Brazilian limb from broken bloodied limb.
"She found us..." The voices said.
"Break him for her!!!" They cried, "Kill him!!!"
And, so he did.
Judith knew that they had him this time.
Otto had set up a perimiter and there was no-where for him
to run. She knew that there was something special between her and
this man... Even though she was on the opposite team she was rooting for him
on the inside. And, she clapped as she watched him utterly destroy the other
man for her amusement. She knew that he'd done this one just for her.
And, she had liked it.
"Subject 51-13-003, Burt Foreman... Status... Aquired." She
spoke into her communicator.
"Aquired..."
THE MD
Logger'lead
Short Story by: H.B. Marion
Page. 92
Log•ger • head/noun: any of an agressive species of
large hawk-billed and horned carnivorous snapping turtle with
a thick shell; common to brackish semi-salt waters and lowland
swamps; See also, terrapin
Louisiana, 1790
He had done it!
He cried tears of joy mixed with fear at what would come
next for him in his sad, hard and painful life,as he stumbled and rambled
as fast as he could through the swamp's marshy ground. He wished that he could
take his time and find his barefoot way carefully but that was an impossibility
if he wanted to survive.
It was thick with swamp fog that night and it made his escape
possible but all the more dangerous and unlikely to succeed.
Columbo was a slave.
He still had the leg and wrist shackes and horrible neck
bells to prove it. Not to mention the branded mark of "S" upon his left breast
and the whip scars stitched across his broad black beck.
In the distance he heard the baying of the hounds.
"Dem' Devil hounds..." He turned his head this way and
that around in the utter fog thick blackness. He was trying to locate which
direction they were coming from so he could avoid their path entirely. They
could and would move faster through the blackness than he would be able to and
they had the benefit of swamp sciffs and lanterns and torches to burn pockets
of light into the fog. So, He'dlearned from experience not to try and out run
them so much as to play a deadly game of hide and seek. Let them pass him
and circle around and cross him as he would slowly pick his way a path through
the dense vine tangled marsh.
He knew the sound of the bog hounds when they had a scent
and when they didn't. He'd run off again and this time the Master had said
was going to be his last for sure. But, by the sound of them...
Them old hounds were just as lost as he was in this blackness.
S.Story "LoggerHead"
Page.93
"Mada Timsy! Mada Timsy! Columbo, he dun' run oft' again!!"
The child cried as he came in the high priestess's slave shack, "He gunnal
be dead fo l sho dig ' time! Dead fo'shor
He was right.
The Master would not spare her son another time for this.
Columbo, as strong and brave as he was... Wasn't suited
for slave living. He hated the Master and the Master's men. He hated the fields
and the plow. He hated the chains and the whips and the hot days and the cold
nights. He hated so much... So much that was just a part of living....
For as much trouble as he'd been, Mada Timsy loved Columbo.
Loved him unfailingly as any mother does her child. She'd
promised much to the Master the last time that he had run. She'd payed a heavy
price for her son's hatred at the hands of the Master's men. They'd hobbled
her to show Columbo that there was no power that they feared. That there was
no-one above the Master's law.
A board between the knees and a three stone sledge club
had been her price for his life the last time.
What would she pay this?
She woke and thanked the boy, sending him back out into
the thick swirling fog. It enveloped him. Wrapping him in it's misty white
tendrils just beyond the shack doorway.
"Ole' LoggerHead hide him... Ole' LoggerHead protect him...
Ole' LoggerHead gun' take an' keep him some Columbo... Ole' LoggerHead gun'
save my boy... Gun' save Columbo folsho..."
She was more praying than predicting.
"LoggerHead, yah'... Ole' one da l take it up
Lookin'
out fo' strong Columbo... Ole' LoggerHead... Yah."
She worried and wrang her old twisted arthritic hands as
she made her slow hobbled way through the shack's rows of bunks and the wary
looks of the other slaves. They respected her for her age and wisdom and they
feared her for her majik... VooDoo...
Deep with VooDoo majik was Mada Timsy.
Deep.
Page- 94
Columbo ran and hid in the tangle of one old mossy tree's
roots and then another. Fording his way through waist high water and sinking
sand. He listened for the sound of the hounds in the shroud of swirling darkness.
As far as he could tell they hadn't caught his scent but he had given up his
head start on them. They had caught up and passed by him several timedealready
with him staying still and silent as he could in the nasty water.
He had seen the warm glow of their lanterns and torches
and heard the sloshing and splashing of their boots.
They had been close... Many times.
The sun would be coming up soon and would burn off the fog
that had so far hidden him from the Master's men. He knew that he would have
to pick up the pace and try to create distance before that happened or this
all would have been for nothing.
The kat time that he'd run off they whipped him bloody
and took Mada's . legs... Poor Mada Timsy... She'd worked so hard for so long,
that she knew no other way of living. She was broken.
His mother was a broken woman.
Once, she was the Master's woman... Proud Math Timsy...
She once shared a bed with the Devil himself.
Strong, proud Math Timsy.
He moved abit faster now than before, and packed the metal
bells around his neck with moss and mud,all but silencing them.Butkas ankle
shackle chains would get snagged on unseen branches and the waist high water
was making it slow going in spots. All he could do was keep the sound of the
hounds at his back and try • to not run in circles through the blackness.
He worried much as he ran.
The Master's men were not the only dangers there in the
swamp's mucky waters. Gators and mocassin adder snakes with puffy jaws full
of venom and raptor beaked snapping turtles...
The sneaky ole' LoggerHead. A turtle that could bite through
bone cleanly in one hard "Snap!" turtles as heavy as two men and as big as
a Wheel on master's cart.
Mada told stories on the plantation about those turtles
beingffajik... Being Demons....
"Come'n Columbo... Move dem' legs boy..." He said, forcing
himself through the blackness, "Sunshine a'comin soon."
Page. 95
Mada Timsy shuffled her way out of the shack and into the
cool thick fog. She headed straight for her "Lair" a grouping of four old
trees on the field's edge of the plantation.
There she would do her majik alone.
She would make offerings to the LoggerHead and to the Demons
below him. She would summon up help from beyond for Columbo.
Headstrong selfish childish, Columbo.
As strong as he was, Columbo had been running and hiding
all night and he was beginning to tire.
With each passing hour —he felt more and more of his strength
fading away... As if it was being sapped away by the swamp itself. Draining
off his will to run, his will to survive. His life's blood growing colder
by the minute by the mile in the marshy darkness.
(Ole' LoggerHead... Keep him some Columbo!)
He heard the hounds...
They had him.
They were coming on faster and with his scent there would
be almost nowhere for him to run that they couldn't track. His only hope was
the treacherous water. Staying in the chest high brackish log and vine tangled
water meant no hope from gators or LoggerHeads.
(Ole' LoggerHead... Hide him some Columbo!)
He waded in and was tested in moments as a water walking
Adder with it's white puffy mouth came slicing across his wake.
The Master's men had sciffs and dogs and torches and lanterns
and guns and they weren't chained at the ankles and wrists. They were almost
upon him and he knew that it would all be over once the sun broke the back
of the already lifting swamp fog.
(Yeah! Da' LoggerHead... One dat' look outs fo° some Columbo!)
He tried to swim through the deepening water with the heavy
chain pulling him down, trying to drown the tired man with it's weight. The
Master's men were just beyond the trees He could see the glow of their torches
as it warmed up the grey swirling mist.
(Run! Columbo! Go! LoggerHead gun' save ya' boy! Go!)
S.Story "LoggerHead" Page. 96
Mada Timsy was cheering on her son and praying to the Demon
turtles of the swamp to hide and keep her boy. If she was going to be paying
a heavier price for his disobediance and freedom minded spirit then she wanted
it to be worth the cost!
(Go! Boy! Run Columbo!... LoggerHead save ya!)
She spun and danced with hobbled legs in her witch'n circle
as she cried out to them old Demons. She took up a rooster bird and cut it's
red feathered neck with a deft hand.
(Tis: Done!)
She spun and sprinkled the bird's warm blood all around
in her circle. (Tis'Done... LoggerHead... Keep I n him some Columbo.)
•
He was about out of energy when he felt the slick hard shell
just under his feet. It could've been a boulder stone worn smooth from age
in the water... Only it meved.
LoggerHead!
He was ready to panic as the first of the hounds broke
through the treeline just at his back. It pounded into the water after him
and was immediately followed by two more baying Devil dogs.
The moving boulder swam off and he sank instantly under
exhaustion and the weight of the iron chain. His head slipped below as he
heard the hound's cry of pain. He struggled and fought the water hard paddling
fiercly away from the Master's men that had now plowed through the tree line
with their sciff boats.
"There! There he is!" the men called back and forth to one
another, "He drownin'... Look he drownin for sure!"
The hounds were under attack though,and the dog keepers
were busy fighting off hungry gators that had been after Columbolut went
for the hounds instead. They were beating at the water and the flurry of activity
had caused even more of Chem to swim their way toward the ruckus. Columba
knew from the stories that it meant more turtles soon also... They would sit
ana wait on the bottom for the gator's scraps to float by.
Page. 97
Using those strong beaks to snap and tear off chunks to
swallow whole. Only, soon there would be dozens of LoggerHeads and gators
looking to feast and they wouldn't be very discriminating about what flesh
it was that they were snapping chunks out of... Scraps or not...
It would be eaten.
The boy came crying out through the lifting foggy gray, barefoot
and in tattered breeches. 'Nada Timsy! Mada Timsy! Da' Mesta' a'callin' fo'
yuh! Best come! An' come quick! He hot mad! Red mad!"
She finished the rite and dowsed out the flame. Cracking
open her eyes just as the smoke and steam passed her face
"Here. Here I am... I a'comin l boy... I a'comin'."
"What of Columbo?" The Master asked from the head of his
ornately set breakfast table. Dressed for the day with a napkin tucked into
his opened shirt collar.
"Drowned... Eaten." The houndsmap said, hat held in his
freshly washed hands and eyes pointed at the floor.
"Certain?" The Master was busy cutting his half inch thick
slab of hamsteak, "I'll have no boy escape my plantation... There was nothing
left? Some scrap?Ashred to prove you • and your men's account of things?"
The Houndsmanmotionedtoanother that held a sack, bloodied
and muddy, still damp with the muck of the swap. He stepped up to the table
and looked to the lead Houndsman.
"Well? Let's see it? What proof do you have that he died
as you said and that you all were not just out running the hounds with 'cards
and booze on your minds instead of recovering my property?"
Just then,Mada Timsy came up to the back door of the kitchen's
servant's entrance, "Mesta' callin' fo' me I hears." She said, leaning hard
and out of breath from the fast hobble.
"S.Story "LoggerMead"
Page. 98
"You heard correctly... Timsy." The Master called to her
from his seat across the kitchen's narrow space from his table, "The last
time that he ran, you promised me much woman... This time it seems that I
have lost my property... Unrecoverable investment. if this proof that my
Houndsmen have brought me can be indeed identified as Columbo then, I'll have
my due from your hide!"
The Master tapped the table with his knife handle and the
Houndsman turned the sack over and let it's contents fall out in a rattling
thud upon the cloth, causing the china to shake in complaint.
All that were present jumped in shock at the sight of a
half eaten arm,with the hand still attached and chained, in it's shackle
to another hand,eaten through at the wrist and missing the first finger in
an old injury from the knuckle onward.
"Oh! Lord Be! That Columbo's parts n' peices fo' sho!" Mada
Timsy called out at the sight of her son's dismembered hands, still chained
in Master's heavy iron shackles.
"The boy was drownin' in the brackish when we found him
and the hounds was fightin' gators." Said the man, as he shook the last piece
of person from the nasty burlap sack, "The LoggerHead got him before we could."
A swollen foot, lascerated and mushy skinned from too much
time in water landed lastly on top of the cruel pile.
The Master poked the limbs with his ham fork and lifted
the chain with it's silver tines. "Very well then..." He said, "lake her hands
and which foot is this? Left or right?" The Houndsman picked it up and held
it straight for a moment.
"Right Sir..." He put the peices back into the sack.
"Fine... Both, it will be." The Master dismissed the men
with a wave of the fork, "Nada Timsy will pay me for Columbia, with what was
left of the boy from her own flesh." The master wiped his fork on his napkin
tie and then resumed eating his breakfast, "Cut off her hands and both feet
and bring them to me by the afternoon tea."
And, so they did.
They severed her hands and feet to pay Master for Columbo's
cost. But, not before she had cursed them. Cursed them all in the name of
the great Demon LoggerMead.
Page .99
All-State Football Championship, 1990
"Go! Terrapins! Fight! Fight! Yay! Go Columbus High!" The
cheerleader joyfully bounced up and then down with her green and black porn-pans
in her hands as she screamed to the crowd in the Home bleachers.
"Come on team! Go Terrapins!" She tried with her chorus line
of other cheergirls to pump the crowd.
"Shut up!!" Someone called out from the sea of dissapointed
family, faculty and students. And, soon was joined by other disspirited voices
along with soda cups and popcorn in the bags and not. "We Suck!" A voice cried.
The score was 42 to 10 infavor of the visitors.
If it hadn't been the State championship game she probably
would have agreed with them. But, just getting to this game had been a tough
road for the fighting turtles and her boyfriend had the injuries to prove
it. He was playing in the game hurt, as many a Quarterback often had.
"We Don't Suck!" Tammy Lynn threw her porn-porn at the nearest
nay-sayer... As a cheerleader she had a unique way of lifting spirits,
"Tammy Lynn!.. What has gotten into you?!" Becka her best
friend and assistant cheer Captain reached out and fished the fluffy spirit
ball from the crowd. "That's not the Terrapin way!" She chastized , as she handed
the pom-pom back to her, "What do we do?" She asked, with a picture perfect
smile, "What do We say?.." She was slow pitching this one for a disgruntled
cheerer.
"Never die... Never quit... If all else fails you can do
the splits!" The line of girls all raised one leg gp.inthe airl bringing their
knee up level with their ear. Showing the crowd a very pretty line of young
crotches in tight green panties. They held that position for a few seconds
letting the pervs get a good look,before falling forward all at once in the
splits, porn-pains waving above their heads.
The crowd, made up of mostly men and boys,errupted into
the first real cheers of the evening. Cat calls and wolf whistles carried
on for the next few. minutes.And,Tammy Lynn regained her inner Terrapin smile.
It was just too bed that their little display hadn't helped
their fighting turtles to victory. The final score was a dismal 49 to 13 and
her boyfriend, Johnny was in no mood for her pep.
She found him easily still in the locker room long after
everyone else had left to go to any number of the crazy parties that their
class was throwing that night.
"Seniors rule!" could be heard all over Columbus, Louisiana.
S. Story "LoggerHead"
Page. 100
And, who was she to disagree with that?
Johnny sat,still in his tape and football pants, shirtless
and covered with bruises. His already bruised ribs looked now to have finally
broken all of the way. They were swollen and an ominous blackish purple color.
"Come on Johnny..." She stood infront of her chosen boy.
"Everyone knows that you did your best and that you are a great player..."
He barely moved his head up to look at her, the stringy
blonde hair still damp with sweat. She put her arms on the tops of his shoulders
and said softly, "Take me..." She breathed into his ear, "Take me Johnny..."
He ran his hand up the back of her thigh to cup her butt cheek under her short
pleated cheer skirt, "Take me to a party..." She swatted at his hand, "I hear
that there is a kegger out at plantation island, there's supposed to be a
bonfire at the choppin' rock... Come on Johnny, let's go."
Tease.
She was always playing her "fuck me" games with him and almost
never giving up the gift. Johnny looked at her through clear eyes for the
first time in a long time. She was using him. •
Just like everyone else.
"We gotta pick up Becka and Kyle on our way so hurry up
Mr. Down in the dumps!" Tammy Lynn's voice was like a spike through his brain
as he struggled to put on his fresh t-shirt and button up his Levi's. He briefly
considered having her drive him to the hospital instead of the kegger but
he barely trusted her to drive his Bronco with him in it,let alone with just
her and Becka and Becka's drunk ass boyfriend.
"Yeah, I'm sorry... I just can't really lift my arms right
now T.Lynn." That was his nickname for her and atfirst she'd really liked
it, but as time had moved on her enjoyment of Johnny's pet name had worn thin.
"Tammy Lynn." She corrected, setting her jaw and popping
her bubblegum, "Mbrma couldn't decide Which she liked more.... Tammy Wynnette
or Lorretta Lynn, remember? And, if it was good enough for my momma then it
should be plenty good enough for you!"
Spike... Brain.
Page. 101
"Seniors Rule!!"
The party was raging in the spot on plantation island known
as the Choppin' rock. And, Tammy Lynn was ready to dance and show off with
her girls for what would probably be one of the last times before everyone
graduated and split up off to college or whatever would become of them.
"Beer me Johnny." Kyle was already drunk. He'd started the
to pick them up.
party long before he and T.Lynn had showed "Dude, get it yourself." Johnny had to be nice to T.Lynn
or face the bitch consequences. But, her galpal's boy toy was another matter
all together. He had his own drink anyway... It was a protein and carb nutrient
boosted muscle restorative shake. He pulled out a bottle of prescription Vicodit
that Coach had given him and popped three of the big pills with the first
drink of the canned shake.
The girls all squeeled in teenaged delight as they met together
in the light of the raging bonfire and soon Were dancing to the beat of the
music, barefoot, turning and swirling, grinding and spinning with one another
at the foot of the old legendary choppin' rock. A huge black boulder with
a flattish top that was worn smooth and weathered. The fire light flickered
and danced with the girls, reflecting long shadows off of the huge stone and
into the night. The music wasn't helping Johnny's headache so he decided to
back away out into the plantation's long oVergrown stand of big trees. A quiet
place where he could sit and gather his thoughts as the Vicodin did it's trick
and dulled the knives of pain in his ribs and behind his eyes.
He stumbled across a couple of lovebirds making out in the
secluded darkness of the cove of tall old trees. But, they barely noticed
him as they continued their dry humping and he just made his way deeper into
the stand. Soon, there was the dim light of candles glowing just on the other
side of the jungle of swamp vine and he heard the voice of the very last person
that he'd wanted to come across on that sofar crappy night.
"It is said that she cursed them..." The girl's voice said
in her most solemn tones, "They cut off her hands and feet and gave them to
the Master and she has been forever searching for them in the swamp!"
Johnny stepped through the thin curtain of vines and said
in his most sarcastic of tones, "Yeah, Leah... Tell them the one about the
slave and the LoggerHead next..."
Pages=
"Shut up Johnny. Just because you don't beleive doesn't
mean that it didn't actually happen." Leah was sitting Indian style with her
legs crossed infront of her at the baSe of the "Timsy stone" an old grave
marker that had asmuch legend woven around it as did the pyramids of Giza
or the circles of stonehenge. She had a half dozen candles lit in a crude
circle infront of her and a gathering of an equal amount of kids to candles.
"Where's Scooby and the gang?" Johnny tried to laugh but
it hurt too bad still.
Lealtjust sat angry in her circle's candle light. She couldn't
beleive that she'd ever liked him as much as she had. Johnny and her had grown
up together as close as it could get. Their parents were good friends and
they were the same age and it didn't hurt that they lived across the street
from one another their whole lives.
And, yes... They had dated.
Infact,when she fantasized in the shower with the hose nossle
it was still Johnny that she pictured between her thighs kissing her belly
and breasts. But, he didn't need to know that. He'd made his choice and she
had grown to despise Johnny's choices.
"These kids don't need the crap scared out of them Leah.
I mean they are what?.." He looked at the gaggle of Gothic white faced witches
in their black lace craiping and eyeliner. "Two freshmen and a couple sophmores
oh! andTroy. ... What's up skizz."
Troy Was the token male of the witch clique at Columbus
Highschool. He swore that he had actually seen LoggerHead once... The Demon,
not the turtle that was as ubiquitous out there as were leeches.
"Just get the fuck outta here Johnny!"leah was the leader
of these gothic vixens and their man pet. "I'm sure that perfect fake ass
barbie Tammy Lynn is missing her footstool."
"Hey, peace
Peace. I didn't come out here to fight with
the wicked witch and her coven. I was just looking for a quiet place for a
minute, okay?" He held his hands up infront of himself in the "I surrender"
pose."Aack!" He coughed in a sudden burst of pain from his head.
"Dude are you okay?" Troy looked truely concerned and Johnny
didn't know why, "Man you are leaking blood out of your nose."
Johnny looked down and saw the Mess down the front of his
shirt, "What the hell?" He started to say as he stumbled forward and collapsed
into the middle of leah's gothic tangle.
Page'
The blood from his nosebleed spraying across the Timsy stone
and Leahas he landed almost perfectly face down in her lap. His fall had
strewn the candles about l dowsing many with their own wax.
"Johnny?" He could hear Leah asking, pleading, shaking him
trying to wake him but he couldn't do anything to reply.
And, then came the seizure.
Concussion.
Brain bleed.
Stroke and seizure.
Those were all words that any football player high in the
national rankings and top on recruiter's lists never want to hear.
None the less, those were the words that the doctor's kept
using when talking to Johnny and his devastated parents while he recovered
in his private hospital room filled with flowers and cards and stuffed get
well soon animals.
(Gun' keep him some Columbo...)
Johnny knew that he was hurt bad this time. He had a persisting
ringing in his ears and the chiming would often build into a peircing shreik
behind his eyes that no pills would ever take away.
But, the worst was the knowing that it was all over.
The knowledge that he would never play again and that meant
that he had missed his shot. His shot at getting out of this town forever.
He was no scholar. He had been counting on football to get him into a good
school and then even maybe the Professional leagues.
He was good enough.
He knew it... And, he blew it.
Concussion. Brain bleed. Stroke and seizure.
Johnny would heal. The doctors had all said so. But, he
couldn't risk another concussion like his last and hope to not live out his
days as a vegetable in his parent's basement. It's not as if he was completely
out of options. His family had been in that town for over two hundred years.
He'd find a job... Probably working on cars in his dad's shop...
(LoggerHead
Keep him some Columbo...)
103
Page. 104
He winced at the thought of turning bolts for his utterly
dissapointed father in that tiny shack of a tin roofed shop.
Football had been his life. His chance to run from Columbus
Louisiana and to never ever look back. If there was one thing that he and
Leah still had in common at all, it was the need to flee this place. A need
that was almost irrational in it's intensity at times.
She had probably saved his life according to the paramedics
that responded, she had known what to do while he seized and kept a calm head
while she called 911. And, she had been the one to stay with him until his
parents got to the hospital...
She had also been the one to freak the fuck out on Tammy
Lynn in the waiting room of the Emergency room... Apparently, Johnny wasn't
the only one that got treated that night for head trauma.
He smirked a smile...
"Leah, she still cares..."
Columbo... Run...)
He grabbed his pounding head in reaction to a sudden flood
of images. Women dancing, barefoot, spinning in circles to the drum beat.
Fire as high as a rooftop raising up into the night with it's fireflies of
sparks and the rythmn driving them faster, harder, higher.
lie reached for his "call" button but fell to the hospital
floor. His mind was awash in images of slaves and slavery long past. Johnny
cried out and rolled in agony on the cool linoleum.
The last images, an old white haired slave woman wrapped
in rags for clothes but with power in her eyes and pride in her features.
She offered him a goblet of rum held in one iron hook for a hand and a large
tobacco leaf wrapped cigar, peirced with a second identical hook in the other.
"lis done..." She said, then with a mouthful of smoke and
rum she spit a foggy mist of alcohol.
(Tis done... LoggerHead keep him some Columbo!..)
Mada Timsy smiled and laughed deeply from the beyond.
LoggerHead old Demon of the swamp...
Had finally found the blood of Columbo.
Page. 105
"Welcome Home"'• was what the banner read above the doorway
of his parents house. He knew better than to think of it as his home though.
He and his father had long understood that they would part as soon as it was
possible and this was a serious set back in those plans.
Johnny's mom had been the one to insist upon the banner,
he was certain. She always had been the one to go the extra inch in an effort
for every mile. She was also the only one that saw any upside to his injury.
She would have been a fool and a liar not to have admitted it to herself that
she hadn't been ready to let go of her son... Her baby boy.
Johnny was by definition a mamma's boy.
And, that had probably been the reason why he'd sought out
a dominant woman for a doomed relationship. And, allowed nearly everyone to
use him to their own ends.
Mom, Dad, Coach... Tammy Lynn. They were all the same.
Users.
Takers and/demanders.
Johnny sat alone on his front step and drank a bottled water
as the friends and family gathered inside partied unaware that the guest of
honor had slipped away. He looked up and saw a familiar face staring down
at him. It was iedh, she had a platter of"Leah Cookies" and was weating her
usual ankle length black lace skirt and a Depeche Mode t-shirt. Doc Marten
boots and way too much make-up.
"Leah CookiesWere regular chocolate chip cookie bars only
infused with a tiny hint of marijuana butter and a fine sprinkle of magic
mushroom dust... Not much. Just enough to make everyone have a good time whether
they knew why or not. And, to make everyone crave more Leah Cookies.
"Really? Leah specials?" Johnny asked as she stepped closer
and unwrapped the plastic wrap covering the delicious squares.
"Yeah, I looked on the web and it said you could indulge without it screwing with your medication." She smiled, "So? What you doing out here
all alone brain bleed boy?" she offered him a cookie, "Where's T.Bitch?"
"Uhh, yeah... She broke up with me. Said that she had to
think of herself and all of that,you know? A sick boyfriend wasn't in the
big picture for her college years.
I
don't really blame her."
She sat down next to him on the step, "Dude, screw her.
She was just a fake ass twat anyways."
Leah could and often would curse like a sailor.
Page' 106
Johnny bit into the delicious if not slightly odd tasting
cookie bar. "I don't know if we are done though..." He smirked, "We have broken
up before you know. And, it really is alot of change all at once."
"Don't do that." Leah set the platter down on the porch
above the step.
"Do what?"
"Justify it for her... Appologize for almost dying and lie
to me to make it somehow not her fault that you were at that party instead
of the hospital." Leah was as serious as he'd
ever seenher.
"I heard about the cat fight." Johnny smirked, "what was
that about? She step on your tail or something?"
Leah brushed the dyed black hair out of her eyes and tucked
the strands behind dn ear, "Naw... She called me a fat Witch."
"Well... You ain't fat."
"I'm not a witch either, Johnny." Leah laughed.
"You're more of one than has been seen around here in a
very long time Leah... And, I know that you know what I mean." He held up
the remaining cookie bar, "I mean,even your cookies are enchanted with witchcraft!"
She lightly punched him in the shoulder. "Not funny."
"Valet?"
"You scared me, Johnny." She stood up, "Don't scare me like
that again... Okay?" She was referring to his stroke and seizure.
"I'll really try, I promise."
The fog had started to roll in and it was going to be thick
that night. They knew that in minutes they wouldn't be able to see for ten
feet in any direction until morning and the sun would burn it away for the
few hours of the day.
"I gotta split." She pronounced, "I have A.P. Chem and History
homework. See ya later, Johnny." She left him alone on his front step and
faded off into the rolling gray mist.
He finished his cookie bar and dusted the crumbs off of
his hands with a crossing clap of the palms. He knew that she had left because
of the fog. She was affraid of it but wouldn't admit it to anyone.
Least of all herself.
(Dems i Devil Hounds...)
Johnny had a sudden shooting pain and a
fleeting
vision
of running through the swamp... Barefoot. The fog was thick and the hounds
were baying in the distance.
Page. 107
"What the fuck?.."
He grabbed his head.
He'd been having these visions ever since his stroke and
the doctors told him just to ignore them as "dreams" of an injured mind.
But, This was all too real.
All too real.
The fog swirled thickly up the steps, lapping at his sneakers
like waves in a pond. He sat for a moment and then once he felt that he had
gathered his thoughts,hestood. Leaving the Leah Cookies where they were and
headed into the house.
The tendrils of thick fog followed closely behind him and
after the door had closed and severed the groping
only retreated
tips of white gray mist.
(LoggerHead... Gun' keep him some, Columbo...)
Ti!
"nk
Johnny laid in bed and heard another sharp, "Tink!" noise
like a small stone being thrown at his window.
He rolled out of bed and looked out into the thick foggy
night. He was about to give it up when another stone tapped against the glass
from out of the mist.
"Dude? Who the fuck is out there?" He threw open the window
and peered across his lawn from his upstairs vantage point.
"Come on Johnny..." The voice was familiar and not at the
same time since it was trying to whisper, "Come on Johnny... Play with us..."
It was Kyle.
He stood,half blasted drunk on Johnny's front lawn in the
dark gray moving swirling fog. "Dude... Come on... Let's go... They sent me
to get you... It's fogball... And, we can't play without our Quarterback..."
Kyle was a drunk. But, he was also a damn good receiver.
"I can't..." Johnny thought of the risk, "I'll be down in
a sec." He finished, closing his window and throwing on his jeans.
"Screw the risk."
Page.
108
"Johnny!" They called out as he and Kyle made it to the
field at Columbus High.
They were all there. The whole Varsity squad. His team the
kids that he'd played with nearly his entire life and now they were there
to welcome him back from their own worst nightmare.
"Come on... Johnny one game, two hand touch, for old time
sake? It's fogball Johnny... You can't say Pb remember?" Kyle tossed him a
football, "It's Terrapin tradition, no-one can say no to fogball."
He had to admit that the ball felt good in his hands. He
looked at all of the guys, some drunk, some high, some sober, but all of them
were already muddy and grass stained from playing before he arrived.
"Let's rock." He said, and they all cheered.
The longer he and the boys played that night the better
and stronger he felt. It was as if the cobwebs were clearing in his mind and
he found himself doubting that he was ever injured to begin with. He grew
bolder and with each passing snap and run, leap or deep throw he felt the
blood returning to his muscles and the pain in his creaky joints fade.
"Kyle, Red eightysix! Set! Hike!" He spun with the ball in
his hands and waited for his drunken receiver" to put the move on his defensiveback
down field. "Kyle! Break!" He dodgedone would be tackler and then another
with a tight spin and studder step, "Kyle! Break!" He screamed out to his
covered receiver as he just let it fly down field.
The Pass was a real rocket.
It arched up and flew perfectly down into Kyle's waiting
arms in the end zone.
"Touch Down!" Johnny threw his fists up in celebration.
"Doctors... Shmocktors... He was okay. He was just fine and
could still play with the very best of them..
He thought,before he passed out cold in the foggy wet grass
of the field. He collapsed with a trickle of blood coming out of his nose.
"Johnny?" His teammates were gathered around him quickly.
"Damn it! Kyle! I told you that this was a shitty idea!"
Said one of the boys, "Look, we fuckin' killed him or something!"
That was when Tammy Lynn and the girls arrived looking their
absolute sluttiest,as was also fogball fighting Terrapin tradition. The cheerleaders'
would show to support their jocks... Litterally. And, this time they came
bearing fizzy pink wine and ciggarettes.
Page. 109
"Dude, Kyle fucking broke Johnny again... Way to go assneck!"
The beast of an offensive lineman then pushed Kyle and threw him to the ground
out of anger as much as worry for his friend.
Tammy Lynn, seeing him prone on the field shreiked and ran
to his side. She had been drinking with the girls and they had all just reminded
her of how great of a guy that he was and how she had missed him, as they all had said
unison, "S000 Much!!!" She knelt by his side and smoothed his stringy blonde
hair from his bloodied face.
(Strong... Proud... Columbo...)
Johnny sputtered and mumbled in her lap. He was moving
his head as if trying to shake away a bad dream. Tammy Lynn looked to the
boys all gathered around them, "What happened? Who hit him? You guys all said
that it would be safe!" Said, the Head Cheerleader with her still blackened
eye and slightly puffy nose.
"Oh, God!" Johnny jumped to life in her arms, "They're going
to cut off her hands!" He clambered to his feet with a dazed look of fear
and sadness and outrage on his face, "Stop!" He spun and looked around at
the group, "We gotta' help her! Oh,my•God! Stop! No!" He cried at the top
•of his lungs.
And, then just as it came It went. And he was left
standing in a crowd of baffled teenagers worried that they were going to get
into trouble for having broken Johnny again.
Tammy Lynn took his hand and asked, "Johnny? Are you okay?"
He looked her over and then Kyle and Becka and everyone
else all gathered staring at him. "Uhh, yeah... I'm okay... I just was having
a bad dream or something is all. Don't worry about me guys. The doctor said
that this is normal or whatever until I'm all better you know?"
They all seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief
as he and Tammy Lynn started off toward his house. "Come on Johnny." She said,
"I'll take you home and tuck you in."
The group disbanded from there,Becka and Kyle drifted off
with some others and it was just he and Tammy Lynn in the thick gray.
And, Mada Timsy laughed loudly from the beyond.
Page' 11.0
"Shouldn't you be going home?..." Johnny asked, drying his
head with a fluffy White towel. He'd thanked T.Lynh and left her to go shower
once he had made it home.
"Well, I just thought?.. You know?" She was wearing his varsity
jersey and a pair of thong panties and nothing else ,standing almost shyly
in his room.
"You thought wrong." He threw the towel over the back of
his office style chair, "You can't just break up with me anytime that you
get nervous about our future, T.Lynn."
"Oh, Johnny..." She waved as in dismissal of his silly , ideas.
"We never broke up. I was just being stupid. That wasn't for real"
Games.
Tammy Lynn loved to play cruel, hurtful games.
But,he knew that it had been different this time. And, her
immediate offer of "make up" sex was proof of that.
Besides,, she looked riddiculouswith that black eye and was
slurring her speech from the pink fizzy wine.
"Just go home T.Lynn."
She ignored his standoffishness end did her best sexy strut
over to him, "No." She leaned into his"bare chest, "I want you, Johnny...
I did some thinking while you were in the hospital and... and... I really
love you." She looked completely sincere. A rarity for Tammy Lynn.
User.
Abuser Controller... Taker.
Just like the rest of them.
"Get me my pills and a Pepsi..." He was giving in. He was her
footstool, just like Leah had said that he was.
"That's my Johnny." She said, turning on her heel and bending
over the edge of his bed to open up the mini-fridge and fetch his soda. But,
she did it in a way so he would get a great veiw of her from behind in those
tiny thong panties. "I knew that you would see things my way."
They had sex.
It was different for him that night though.
He was rough with her. Angry. Fierce and cold. And, he knew
then that it was over between them. They were not two lovers sharing anything
warm or special. They were just animals...
Animals mating... Aggressively.
Page.
(Master's men a l comin... LoggerHead save yuh'...)
Johnny woke up alone with a note on his pillow.
T.Lynn had left while he slept and amazingly enough had
enjoyed the rough emotionless sexual beating that had occurred well enough
to leave a sweet note with lipstick kisses and big hearts and a line of XXX''s
and 000's that would have covered his last two valentine's day cards from
her top to bottom... End to end.
"Who knew?" He thought as he tore the note in two and pitched
it into the trash. "All she needed was to be treated badly:.." He shook his
head and felt a deep dizzyness, as if he was sea sick on dry land.
"Crap." He sat still,clutching his swimming head in both
hands and begging for it to stop.
It did. But, not without considerable effort.
Today was supposed to be his first day back to school since
his seizure and he found himself dreading those halls. Everyone looking at
him whispering about him and asking him if he was7all better now?"
"Yuck..." He thought outloud. "Maybe Leah will skip with
me atleast through to lunch?"
He found her infront of her house trying to start he# crappy
old Volvo wagon that used to be her Mom's car. It had a dead battery, Johnny
could tell by the way it was just clicking as she turned the key and begged
it to start for her.
"Hey, rag-a-muffin... Car trouble?" He stepped to the window
and gave his best million dollar smile, "Pop the hood, maybe I can help."
"Go away Johnny." She seemed especially ticked off at him
for some reason But, pretended to ignore him at her window as she continued
to test Einstein's definition of insanity.
"Hey? What gives Maleficent? Last night I get cookies and
this morning poisoned apples?" He stood infront of her dismal sounding car
and motioned for her to pull the interior lever.
"Screw you Johnny..." She said, yet pulling the lever so
he could look at her engine. "Wait T.Bitch already did that right?"
Jealous.
Johnny smiled hidden by the upraised hood, "Uh, yeah...
she was at fogball and..."
Leah got out of her Volvo and slammed the door, "FOGBALL!"
S.Story "Logged-lead"
Pne.112
"Fogball!!" She had strange wet things starting to develop
in the corners of her over painted eyes, "What the fuck!? You just got out
of the God shit damned fuckin' fuck hospital!" She cursed irrationally and
punched him repeatedly with her tiny pale white fists with jet black fingernails
curled over her palms, not inside... The girl way... And, it made Johnny laugh
despite his surprise that she was crying and striking him. "Uhh, Kyle... Uhh, the guys..." He tried to hold her without
hurting her, Iihh,T.Lynn..."
She blew up at the last name, "Grrr..." was What Johnny
heard) But she actually said, "You could have died!"
He was holding her wrists and smiled, "I'm not scared to
die... Anything to get outta here remember?"
She did... And, he was holding her scarred wrists from the
first time that she had tried to leave Columbus.
"Not fair Johnny." She started to calm down, "Can you fix
Tabitha or not?" That was her name for the Volvo... Tabitha.
"Let's see..." He fiddled with the battery cables and saw
that they were not overly corroded and shouldn't be effecting the delivery
of current to the starter, "Not without a battery... And, even then it's probably
your altenator that's gone to shit."
All of that was Greek gobbelty gook to Leah.
"Yes or No?" She was pissed on many levels but the longer
she stood in the towering shadow of blue eyed , blonde haired All-American Johnny
with his perfect smile and eyes that she could drown in...
"Yes... But, it's going to cost you Witchie Poo."
"What?" She knew that he didn't mean money.
"Skip with me today... And, I'll have Tabitha purring before
tommorow... Promise." He smiled wider.
If she had been made of butter you would have seen her melt
into the puddle of person that she was around his feet... Only for Johnny.
"Okay, But just today."
He smiled, "Come on, we'll take the Bronco." He had originally
found Leah with the intention of "finding" a reason to skip. But, as his strange
luck would have it she'd given it to him and besides... He had a few questions
to ask her about the crazy dreams that he had been having.
S.Story ItoggerHead"
Page.113
"Say that again?" Leah was captivated by what Johnny was
telling her, "She had white hair and two metal hooks for hands?"
"Yeah, Crazy dream right?" He was rooting through his dad's
auto-parts and service store for an altenator and he already had the appropriate
battery out and on the counter.
"Dream... No, Johnny what you are having are called visions."
She walked through the cold darkly lit shop of orange rubber air hoses and
strange dangerous looking machines, huge tools that seemed to be feeding upon
the dismantled remains of the cars instead of actively repairing them.
"Visions?''Johnny almost laughed. "You're the one that has
those Leah medicine woman..." He had to hurry if he was going to be out of
there before his dad came to open up for the day. He wasn't going to ask Leah
to pay the hundreds of dollars for the parts and his dad worked on soo few
Volvos that it probably wouldn't be missed until he was either dead or retired.
Stealing?
Maw... Not really.
It's Leah afterall.
His mom would have jumped for joy like in a Toyota commercial
if he and her were to finally get beck together and then of course followed
the natural path of marriage and kids and settling down two blocks over in
a small but warm little house and...
Yuck.
He held his swimming head.
"Mada Timsy, Johnny. You have described her perfectly according
to the legends. She touched a table with an extended fingernail and scraped
up some of the thick oily black goop. It smelled strongly like burned grease
and felt gritty between her fingers. "She's coming to you for some reason...
When did this all start? Was it before or after Plantation Island?"
"What's it matter?" He had her stuff in a repurposed blue
milk crate and was gesturing for her to follow him out of the door.
"It matters..." She knew that something mystikal had occured
if the greatest VooDoo priestess ever known in their area was coming to him
in any form... Dream or vision it was an ominous sign.
"After, while I was in the hospital and more recently...
When , I was playing with the guys."
Page.
After locking the door behind them he put the heavy crate
into the back of his Bronco, "Hey, Leah... Anyone tell you that you are looking
especially pale lately?" He had said it as a rib joke but she took it hurtful.
"Yeah, everyone." She squinted her eyes at him as she jumped
up the two feet into his lifted truck. "Quit changing the subject. You're
the one that wanted my help remember?"
He did He was just not enjoying what it was that she was
telling him. He had hoped that she would have called him silly or injured
like the doctors all had. But, instead she found it intriguing and somewhat
scary. She suspected something and he wasn't sure what it was.
And, he wasn't sure if he wanted to know what it was.
-Hey? Bet you that there's a picture or two of her in the
old town exhibit at Colubus library. Let's go by there and check it out."
She was certain that there were a half dozen drawings and paintings that had
been done of the Preistess there and a few artifacts from that period of their
little town's history.
"Alright..." Johnny said, eyeing his rearveiw mirror, "But
it looks like we're gunna have to get pulled over first." He hooked a thumb
behind them and she turned in her seat to see the town Sheriff in his patrol
car with the red and blue lights flickering behind them.
"Why ain't you two in school?" Was Sam's first question as
he came to the driver's window of Johnny's Bronco.
"Leah's Volvo's busted... So, I'm fixing it." Johnny smiled.
The Sherriff looked past him to the Higgins girl in her
white ghost make-up and jet black eye liner. She was just a darling little
thing before all of this "Gothic" non-sense, he thought. He tipped his hat
by touching the brim the old fashioned way and asked bluntly, "Either of you
two seen or heard from Kyle Treach or Rebecca Cole in the last twenty four
hours?"
They looked at eachother, "Yeah, sure..." Johnny spoke up
"We had fogball last night and they took off When I went home."
"Fogball... At Columbus Field, Around what time?" The Sherriff
had pulled his pocket note book and was scribbling in it as Johnny spoke.
"Uhh, hard to say... Midnight maybe?"
114
Page. 115
The Sheriff looked over to Leah, "And, you? Were you at
fogball with them?" Sam knew that the girl wasn't a part of that crowd and
would've probably been somewhat out of place at the traditional meeting of
the "In Crowd" in the mist.
"No." She said with a shake of the head, "I was studying."
Infect, she'd taken a long bath with her shower nossel and had finished just
in time tolvsmrTammy Lynn's drunken giggling as she escorted Johnny home.
Dear God,she hated Tammy Lynn.
The Sherriff then switched his gaze back to Johnny, "What
about Tammy Lynn Pierce?" He had his pen ready to write, "Was she there at
fogball with you and the guys?" Sam knew all about fogball... He had played
four straight years of it back in his highschool days... And, things tended
not to change very much in Columbus, Louisiana.
"T. Lynn? Yeah, she was there." Johnny was instantly worried
and it showed in his tone. And, it served to sour Leah all the more.
"Did she leave with them also?" Sam had an idea that she
had not.
"No, she helped me home... I fainted on the field and that's
When the game ended." Johnny looked cooly at the Sheriff, "Has something
happened to T. Lynn?"
"No..." The Sheriff put away his note pad. "Not that we
know of. They, just haven't been seen since last night and their parent's
are, beginning to worry... I'd bet they went off somewhere and got stuck in
the mud or something silly like that. But, we gotta look into it... You understand?"
Johnny nodded. "Yeah, they are probaby just hung over."
He wasn't saying anything that the Sheriff didn't already know about Kyle
Becka or even T. Lynn.
"Well, if you see any of them tell them to get home right
quick or to call their mothers!"
The Sherriff walked off to his cruiser and Johnny looked
to Leah, "I don't know about Kyle or Becka but T. Lynn was with me until early
this morning."
Ott, Goodie! Just the image that Leah wanted! T. Lynn laying
next to him... All night...
Leah faked a worried look and tone. "Do you think that she
finally turned all of the way plastic? And, maybe a store keeper found her
and made her a mannequin?"
Page.'
116
"Not funny." Johnny did crack a smirk though because it
was kind of funny and it was a possibility, "I say we go and look for them."
"Dude, you can leave me out of that." She crossed her arms
across her breasts. "I'm not gunna shotgun it for you to go and rescue a hung
over barbie."
Johnny said, "Alright, look... We'll go to the library and
look up whatever it is that you think will help me with my dreams..."
"Visions." She corrected.
"Visions... Whatever. Then I'll fix your car.."
"labitha." She corrected.
"Tabitha... Whatever, and that should take us till atleast
noon. If we haven't heard anything by then, I'll go looking for them myself
and you can do whatever it is that the undead do on Mondays."
"Tuesday." She corrected.
Monday had been a local holiday... Plowman's run.
(Strong proud Columbo... He'd hated so much of what was
jus' living... Master's fields n' Master's ... Plow.)
The boy was stripped to the waist and painted with the blood
of the rooster. He played the small leather skinned drum slowly in the dim
light of the overgrown stand of big trees. His face blankly staring off into
the distance of the next world, the world beyond.
Mada Timsy walked around inside of her lair, tending to_
the needs of it's majik. She looked down at her pale white hands, so soft and
white and without callouses and most importantly they were there. All eight
fingers and two thumbs...
"Dis' girl nevah' work a day in her life..." Thought the
Priestess, "She so'
smooth and firm." She ran her hand over Becka's developing
busom, "New." She smiled, "Like a baby from da l teat."
Mada Timsy had come forth in the fog and taken the lovers
as they humped and rutted like boar and sow. She'd needed a body to do what
the majik was bidding and a zombie for the heavy hauling.
She smiled as she looked at the living dead boy, playing
the tribal beat with his bone sticks, mouth sewn shut with gut thread
"Been long time since Timsy hada' Zombie..."
13'4'117
"See?" Leah pointed to the picture of Mada Timsy. It was
a painting done by a slave long after the fact. But, the placard stated that
it depicted an accurate account of the plowman's price.
The painting was Of the Priestess bound and shackled up
on the choppin' rock out on plantation Island. Fire raging in the old fire
pit and the Master's men weilding large machete' blades.
"They cut off her hands and feet..." She said in a solemn
Whisper, "To pay for her son."
Johnny could barely look at any of the drawings or paintings.
He knew instantly that the woman in his "visions" had been this strange and
grim historical figure. He squinted out of pain in his temples, "Yeah, that's
her the lady from my dreams."
Leah led Johnny back to the less public part of the old
exhibit. There she pulled a velvet cloth off of an old wood and thick glass
display case.
"These were the plowman's shackles..."
There was a set of old iron slave shackles.
"These were all that was found of him after it's said that
he was eaten by a monster LoggerHead." She made her spooky eyes and wiggled
her fingers, "A Demon..."
He knew about all of this.
Everyone in Columbus did.
"That's your ancestor there Johnny." She pointed to the
painting of the Englishman that had purchased the PlantaXion from the French
in the 1700's "He was as wealthy as he was cruel, it is said."
Johnny knew the stories of his great great great great grand
father and he hated being linked in with that lore.
"Okay, Velma... Tell me something that I don't koow."
She turned on her heel and squatted down to a book shelf
that was just behind the display case. Soon, she popped back up with a heavy
old leather bound book.
"Well, what you may not know is that the plowman, the slave
that was Mada Timsy's son was also the first of a great many of illegitimate
children fathered by your ancestor... The cruel Master."
"He was his dad? And, he still had him as a slave?" Johnny
was horrified.
"Yes, it was a common practice back Chen." Leah smiled,
"Wicked shit ,Huh?" She opened the dusty book.
Page.
118
"What's this got to do with me?" Johnny's head was pounding
again and his vision was blurring in and out of focus.
"Everything!" She flipped through the pages until she had
the passage that she'd been looking for. "It is said that Mada Timsy had worked
majik that night to help her son escape the swamp and plantation." She slapped
at writing that Johnny couldn't read with his blurred vision, "But, she messed
up! She asked the Demon turtles to take and protect her son... And, so they
did. But, not how she had intended! They all came and devoured him, thus preserving
him in their forms... In their shells his spirit was trapped!"
Johnny stood, dizzy, trying to hold onto a shelf as not
to collapse on top of her.
"It say's that she would come from the mist, once the blood
of her son had been born again. And, would do her majik to right what she
had done wrong... Johnny, you're that person! You're the blood of the plowman!"
She looked up just intime to watch as he collapsed backward
into the isle, eyes rolled up into the back of his head and convulsing.
She stood horrified.
Concussion. Brain bleed. Stroke and seizure.
She started to run for help but then stopped, "What if?...
What if Johnny wasn't really injured? What if this was all just an effect
of Mada Timsy's black Voodoo upon him?" She thought quickly and reached into
her backpack/purse, after a few seconds of digging around she found what she
was looking for.
"Don't worry Johnny... If this doesn't work then I'll call
911..." She untied the leather thong lacing that held the small sack closed,
"I ward thee!" She sprinkled the salt on his spasming form, "I hold thee with
my majik and keep thee from harm!" She concentrated on the image of an inpenetrable
dome of majik around Johnny as she sprinkled the salt around him in a circle.
Soon, she too was in a slight transe from the concentration
and the chanting of the majikal vibrations.
Johnny woke up with foamy slobber drying in the corners
•
of his mouth. And, with Leah sitting indian style murmuring something as she
spread a
fine sprinkle of salt around him by pitching it in elaborate movements.
As if drawing ancient runes upon the air above him.
"Not a witch, my ass..." He said, sitting up.
"I'm not..." She still had her eyes closed but at the sound
of Johnny's voice, she smiled, "I just know a tiling or two..."
Page' 119
And, she did know a thing or two, that was for certain as
Johnny stood up dusting the coarse salt from his hair and clothes. She finished
the rite and closed her purification sack.
She sat for a moment and felt bad.
She thought of the risk she had taken with Johnny's life
and was somewhat angry with herself. "What if I'd been wrong?" She thought,
"What if I'm still wrong?" She made a show of standing up with an old guy
type groan... She hadn't been wrong though. And, as she stood looking up at
a salty Johnny,she was thankful that she knew a thing or two.
"Leah, what happened just then?" Johnny was trying to peice
it all together, "I mean I suddenly felt dizzy and then another dream came
flooding through my mind."
"lasion..." She corrected.
"Yeah, whatever... But, it was horrible! The woman was standing
up on Choppin' rock and had her arms out stretched... As if calling me to
her! Calling me with those mean looking hooks for hands!"
Then it hit Leah.
What if she was only partially right about Johnny and Mada
Timsy's Voodoo majik? What if Johnny's injury was causing some kind of interferrence
with her majik! She paced behind the display case as she thought about all
that she knew of VooDoo and other majik and how soo much of it could depend
upon slight chemical changes in the body's chemistry...
"How many Leah cookies did you eat last night?" She asked,
with a serious look.
"One, why? Hey... I'm not tripping on cookies Leah!" Johnny
was thinking that she was calling him stoned.
"She's trying to summon you " Leah finally understood, "She's
trying to use her majik to draw you to her... But, she's failing!" She tapped
her temple with a finger, "Chemistry... Chemistry Johnny! She's calling you
and your Concussion's neuralogical effects are short circuting her spell!
It's crappy for her and you because, you're having more seizures and she's
failing and doesn't know why!"
Johnny understood the words but not exactly what she meant.
SO,
he just nodded so that she would continue and hopefully finish her thought
with something helpful to them.
"Of Course! The Leah Cookie last night kept you from seizing
right away and then when it had started to wear off... you passed out!"
Pageuo
"So? What do we do? Do I gotta eat a Leah cookie every four
hours and everything will be okay? Or what?"
"No. She'll be getting frustrated soon if she's not already
and I'm not sure that we can stop her now that she's found the blood of the
Plowman." Leah looked into the display case, "Unless..."
Johnny finished shaking the sandy salt out of his clothes
and smiled, he felt good. He actually felt refreshed. As if the salt had cleaned
him of something hidden and foul. Something that he had been carrying around
with him spiritually and hadn't known it.
"We might be able to bind her..." She shook her head, "No.
I'm not strong enough to do that. But, if I were to place a binding spell
on these... The Plowman's very shackles! Then, that might work! It wouldn't
banish her spirit but it would make her majik useless."
"So? No cookies? But, yes to grand theft?" Johnny had no
idea how much an artifact like those wicked looking handcuffs cost or even
if they could be priced.. ."Crap, priceless historical item." Came ringing
through his mind. "5 to 10 years up State..."
She looked at him with the big eyes.
You know the ones.
They're like looking at a puppy begging for a treat.
"We need them." She said, "I think we can do this Johnny
but, we absolutely will need these to do it with."
He raised a fist wrapped in his Varsity jacket and smashed
the glass. She reached in and took the shackles, placing them in her backpack/purse
next to her passionfruit lipgloss and A.P. Chemistry book. Then, Johnny took
the velvet cloth and recovered the empty case
"Leah, They may not notice that they are missing for a very
long time." He said, "But, let's get the fuck out of here just in case!"
Becka's eyes snapped open.
"Ohh... So, they's a Witch dat' thinkin' she can play wit'
Made Timsy's majik!" She had failed again to summon the blood of Columbo and
this time she had felt the presence of majikal intervention.
Mada Timsy reached out with the young girl's perfectly smooth
hand and picked up a mirror, "What you think... Zombie? Should I keep this
shell or find a bettah' one wit' majik?"
s.Story Loggerhead-
Pageui
Mada Timsy liked the look of this shell.
She reached down and rubbed her body's breasts and then
stomach, "Shame waste dis' one... Shame."
'Once back at Leah's, she set about finding everything she
could on majikal binding spells and instructed Johnny to eat a Leah cookie.
"It just might be enough to ward off another summoning attempt
while I do the research and prepare the spell." She was like a woman possessed
as she stalked back and forth in her room.
"Okay, so? What should I do While you... Read and mumble
stuff?" Johnny smiled.
"Tabitha needs you... Handle that and maybe by the time
that you are done then I'll have the spell ready."
Turning bolts...
Johnny saw the future suddenly with a strange clarity.
He saw her... reading and being bossy. And, he saw him...
turning bolts and being... Happy.
He shook his head to clear the image away.
"Damn it." He said, knowing what he had just envisioned.
"Damn it."
Sam found the road out to the Plantation Island almost impassible
with his heavy low slung cruiser. Thewarsh Y land had all but reclaimed the
rubble fill roadway and he'd started to wish that he'd brought the PowerWagon
with it's four wheel drive and bigger spotlight.
But, as it was..,. It was just a hunch that had led him out
there at all. He knew that the local kids would often hideout and party on
the secluded overgrown island and with three kids missing it was an even bet
that they were probably drunk or high out of their minds running around in
the old crumbling plantation house or stuck out in that swampy muck.
He knew this place pretty good.
The main house, the long field, the well, the multiple boat
docks, the choppin' rock and the Timsy stone. All surrounded by miles of nasty
thick dangerous swamp.
Page. 122
What better place to hide and party for teenaged kids?
He parked his cruiser just across from the old house and
looked around in the growing mist. The sun hadn't fully driven back the fog
that day and it was thick, hanging low around the edge of the tree line.
The place was eerie.
It was silent aside from the normal sounds of the swamp.
Bugs buzzing. Frogs chirping. Birds calling back and fourth and gators clicking
deeply out in the tall glades.
Eerie.
Sam turned his focus on where he felt it was most dangerous
for the kids to be if they were indeed out there. The house was over two hundred
years old and was mostly just a crumbling dry rotten husk. It looked plenty
stately from the outside, with it's columns and tall multi-paned windows that
ran the length of it's upper two floors. The peaked roof line jutted out over
the front porch and swayed from old age and disrepair as it covered the leaning
columns.
There was no front door. He knew that from long experience
with the structure. It had been in better condition when he and his teenaged
cohorts had played in it's ghostly halls. But, Sam also knew that it was a
drastically unsafe place to hang out.
So, that was why he got out of his patrol car and clicked
on his Mag-lite flashlight.
"Kyle Treach!.. Rebecca Cole!... Tammy Lynn!..." He called
out into the semi-silence. "It's Sam!" He started up the wide warped rotten
steps to the doorway, "You ain't in trouble yet!... So, come on out if your
in there!" He paused a moment and listened.
Something shuffled around inside of the old building. It
could have been them hiding from him just as easily as it could have been
an owl or a
TOSSOM or a large rat.
"Damn it." He said, pulling his pistol, "You kids know I
hate rats and possoms!" If he came face to face with one he'd shoot on sight.
"Alright, I'm coming in!" He walked gently on the sparse
wood that was left of the porch.
Coming to the doorway he called out again for the kids and
reminded them that they weren't "In trouble... Yet." There was no reply but
he heard something or someone move around upstairs.
He shined his light around into the swamp rotten space.
S.Story"LoggerHead"
Page. 123
It was almost exactly the same as he'd remembered it with
it's warped walls and long peeled paint. The central staircase still had the
wide handcarved swirling banister and the landing still had the empty hole
of an arched stained glass window that had been long broken. There was grass
and thick moss growing up and off of nearly every surface. A heavy coating
of mushrooms blanketed the inside of the west wall. The warm afternoon sun
providing an inviting place for them to spore and root.
Since the house was built as a grand open central space
with a high ceiling anatwowings with a total of three levels. Sam knew that
he could spend all afternoon clearing the place and he had no intention of
trying to drive out of there in the Chick fog that was sure to be coming on
soon. He knew that most of the first floor was impassible and so after clearing
the entry and grand dining or ballroom he started up the creaky stairs.
"Kyle Treach!... Rebecca Cole!... Tammy Lynn Pierce!"
No reply.
But, upon reaching the landing he ticard.a scraping sound
coming from the East wing. It was a soft metal on wood sound. Sam felt the
hairs on the back of his thick neck rise.
,"You kids!"He called out, "This is getting to be a problem!
And, you kids know that I don't like problems in my town!"
The scraping stopped just as he passed the old overlook
doorway. He paused checking his creaky footing on the old wood and looked
out of the window opening across the long field that sprawled out before the
mansion, flanked on one side with the old boulder stone called the Choppin'
rock and on the other with the stand of big trees that held the slave's cemetary
and the legendary "Timsy stone" in it's tangle of thick vine.
The fog had indeed already started to defeat the sun and
the long field was covered in a slow rolling layer of light gray mist.
"What the?.." Sam had to do a double take as he thought
he'd seen a man with the head of a snapping turtle and the thick stubby arms
of a brackish Terrapin. But, once he shook it off he looked once
more and saw that it was Kyle Treach! He was standing in the middle of the
knee high thick fog in the long field between the Choppin' rock and the stand
of big trees. It was about a hundred to a hundred twenty yards from where
Sam stood.And,he could see that the boy was shirtless and stood stone motionless
While holding a shovel in both hands across his waist. He appeared to be just
floating legless in a swirling ocean of white.
"Kyle Treach!" Sam called out from the window, "Stay there!"
Page. 124
As Johnny had finished with the repairs to "Tabitha" he
noticed that the fog was already returning and it was barely the middle of
the afternoon. The day had been hazy and the way Columbus was that time of
the year, fog ruled.
He knew that Leah was working on his "VboDoo" problem and
he smirked, "She's crazy..." He was wiping his wrenches clean with a red shop
rag, "She really believes in all of this hocus-pokus... But, is always denying
that she's a witch." He had often wondered what Leah's definition of a witch
was if it wasn't what she seemed to be. The girl knew more about majik and
it's ways than did anyone else that Johnny had ever knowh or been around.
She had the reputation clearly as The Columbus High Witch Queen" and still
When confronted would always deny actually being a-real witch.
"Maybe, she's scared that it's true?" Johnny thought seriously
about that for a moment, "Even though I don't think that shit is real... She
does and that would make being a real witch a very scary idea for her..."
He vowed not to tease her about it ever again, as he knew
how scary uncertainty could be. Evenifitwasn'tthe mystkal kind. He put his
tools into his red Snap-on travel tool box and closed the lid."She really
thinks that Made Timsy is after me for some reason!' He thought about how much
she had shown in the last few days that she really cared for him and realized
that she must be scared half to death that harm will come to him.
"Holy crap..." Johnny empathized with his friend, 'Might
-now, she's up there trying to figure out how to save my life in her mind."
He huffed and closed Tabitha's hood.
just have to play along.- He thought, "I was planning
on going out and looking for Kyle and Becka and T. Lynn... Anyways." He placed
the box into the back of his bronco where he kept it: "And, she'll just have
to put up with me looking for Tammy Lynn while she does her witchcraft on
the ghost of Mada Timsy."
"The fog will probably side line her anyways." He thought
out loud as Leah came out of her front door.
"What about the fog?" She asked.
"Oh... It's gunna be really thick soon. So, you should probably
stay here and work on that spell... Or Whatever.." Johnny smiled knowing that
he had been caught thinking outloud.
Page' 125
"It's done, Johnny." She held up the heavy iron shackles
in her hand, "Iplacedthe strongest binding spell that I could find in all
of my books upon this already cursed object " Then she did something that
he had never seen her do before... She "Bounced" the way a girl does when
she really likes a guy. He stood confounded.
"Did you just... Bounce?"
She had.
But, she would die before admitting it.
"No... You're imagining things Johnny... I don't do the
teeny bopper bounce... Only plastic bitches with pom-poms and eating disorders
do the boy crazy bounce... Not me."
She was mortified
Because, he caught her being girly
and he'd known why... She still "Liked" him.
Johnny smiled. "Fog. You don't really dig it. I know it
and you don't have to try and be a tough girl for me Leah. I won't and don't
think less of you because you have a fear or two."
"Is this your way of ditching me nicely?"
"No. I want you to come with me to look for Kyle and Becka
and..."
She finished his sentence, "T. Bitch."
Her eyes squinted, "I'm going to Plantation Island... Not
looking for some slutty whorebag bag cunt trash twat... Bitch... Barbie."
She cursed irrationally when truely upset. "Johnny, I'm going out there today...
Fog or not... With or without you."
He could tell that she was serious and he knew that her
Tabitha wouldn't do well on that old road. Especially in the zero visibility
fog that was dup any minute.
"Okay, we will start on Plantation Island." He used her
water hose to wash the Lava soap from his knuckles, "No sense in having to
go looking for you too when you get stuck in the marsh."
"So much confidence in my driving." She smiled and put the
shackles into her backpack/purse. "Oh... And, you should probably • bring a
shovel."
"A shovel?.. Why?"
"For digging up Math Timsy... Of course."
Page. 126
•
"I feel the' blood of Columbo...
Becka's hands held the bloodied badge of the sheriff and
her body quaked with the rythmn of thezombie'sskin drum.
•
"Mada Timsy's ready fo'
rill..." she
said with the smoke
of her witching fire wafting all around her, "Columbo... He gun' live again!"
A mother's love for her first born and only Child could
be powerful majik... Powerful indeed.
"Come on boy... an' bring yourS witch wit' yuh..."
It was strange.
The temperature seemed to dip as they drove along the overgrown
long road flanked by swamp. The vine tangled trees dangled long ropes of
mossy vegitation on either side of them and in a few spots directly above
or infront of them.
"Why me?" Johnny was curious what had caused Leah to beleive
that [Hada Timsy thought that he was the blood of the plowman reincarnated.
"It fits..." She shrugged, "She's calling for you so that
she can use your body to ressurect her son's spirit that has been held in
limbo by the Demon LoggerHead... It fits."
"Yeah, it fits." Johnny sighed, "Just another person wanting
to use me for their own purposes... It fits alright."
"Oh, cry me a river All-American boy." She looked to him
with a twinkle in her eyes. "Life really that tough? Huh? So, what if football
is over for you. So What if you and T. Bitch don't go to the same college
far far away from here. So what?"
He smiled, "Thu really hate her don't you?"
"No, not so much hate as despise."
"You know she's really not all that horrible of a person.
She volunteers
at the..."
She interrupted him by sticking her fingers into her ears
and binning loudly, "La-la-la-la-la-la!"
She didn't want to hear anything that would give her nemesis
a heart. It was bad enough that She had a face.
A pretty pretty pretty... face
.oLory Loggerneau Page. 127
The fog was so thick by the time that they cleared the tree
line of the Plantation propper, that Johnny was driving blindly. He was going
from memory and instinct along the almost washed out rubble fill road. The
Bronco had no problem with the roughness of the terrain but that was only
half of the problem. Seeing where to drive was a whole nother issue. He wisely
had decided to slow down to an idling crawl of about five miles per hour and
that had enabled him to spot the ass end of Sam's parked patrol cruiser in
time enough to stop without plowing into the back of it.
It just seemed to appear instantly out of a sheet of solid
light gray. A wall of swirling White mist that his headlights and fog lamps
and high powered spot light could barely make a crack in.
Leah, was scared.
But, she was doing her very best not to show it as she sat
shivering in the Bronco's passenger seat. Johnny offered her his Varsity letter
jacket and she readily agreed. Putting on the jacket and smoothing her long
dyed black hair out from under it's collar with a quick flip of the wrist,
she tucked her tiny hands inside of the sleeves that were too long for her
frame. Johnny looked her over in the dim light of his cab
She looked right.
She looked
his.
"Damn." He thought, "Damn it all to Hell."
He pulled off to the left of the cop car just in case someone
else Who was not thinking about safety were to come along behind them and
not have enough time to stop before wrecking the lot of them.
"Come on Buttercup." He got out with his flashlight and
camping collapsible trenching shovel. "No time like the now."
Leah hopped out of the Bronco and put the heavy backpack/purse
on fully with the straps over both shoulders. She met Johnny on his side as
he was coming to the driver's window of Sam's cruiser.
atleast we know that we aren't alone out here." He
pointed the light up at the steps of the old house. The mansion was "off limits"
to the kids of their town. They would police each other strongly on staying
out of the rotting and unstable structure.
"You think Kyle and Becka are in the Master's house?" She
asked, knowing that it was highly unlikely.
"No. But, Sam probably is if his car is here and not at
the dock or out in the long field."
S. Story
- LoggerHead -
Page .
128
"Sam!" They called out into the structure, "Hey! Sam!..."
But, there was no reply.
"Well, if he was in there he'd have heard us for sure."
Johnny looked around in the swirling fog. "I can't see shit in this mess."
"Neither can I..." Leah, started to say then fell silent.
"Shh!" she tapped Johnny, "Ssh... Do you hear that?"
He did.
It was the low scraping sound of someone digging in the
soft marshy earth. The shovel's metal blade making an undeniably familiar
sound as it sliced deeply into the earth.
Slice... Thump... Slice... Thump...
"Kyle! Becka! T. Lynn! Sam!!" Johnny called out into the
blankness as he and Leah headed toward the sound.
Soon, they came to the field's edge and the stand of big
trees. The vines and dense brush obscuring what was making the digging noise
just yards from them. There was a slight flickering glow in the fog from
a small fire on the other side of the foliage, they knew that it was a fire
from the distinct smell of moldy swamp wood burning and producing heavy eye
burning smoke that seemed to fill the circle of trees.
"Hey? Who's there?" Johnny called out into the treeline.
"Slice... Thump... Slice... Thump..." was the reply from
the glowing circle. Whoever it was that was digging didn't want to talk.
Johnny used his arm to usher Leah behind him as they made
their way into the VooDoo Priestess's grave yard.
They walked slowly,deliberately,as silently as they could
through the twisted vines and swollen fat roots of mangrove.
They broke the trees at the head of the Timsy Stone and
what they saw was nothing short of... astonishingly horrific.
Johnny stohd silent, the blood draining from his face to
his feet as Leah turned and projectile vomited. Doubling over instantly at
the sight of the carnage. Nothing could have prepared them for the reality
of LoggerHead's wickedness. Nothing could have readied them for MadaTimsy's
demonic ritual.
"Welcome!" Becka's arms flew up in greeting, "This' here
party is to' yuhs l !!!" She was almost nude aside from Sam's Sheriff uniform
shirt that was °pelt, uub;Ittoned and her lace panties. "LoggerHead beeh waitin'
a long time fo' dis... Columbo." Becka's nudity wasn't shocking, it was the
thick coating of rich purplish arterial blood that covered her from head to
toe. Slicking her hair smoothly to her skull that made Leah nervous and Johnny
want to flee.
Page. 129
Her eyes were solid white. Rolled up into her head and
yet she seemed to be watching them. She had chunks of flesh dangling from
a necklace made of what looked like tightly braided intestine that had been fished
through select peices of... Person.
An ear.
A couple of severed fingers.
An eyeball tied with it's nerve...
Sam's badge ,she had as the center peice of her nasty jewelry.
Leah straightened up and took a good look around. It wasn't
long before she wished that she hadn't. Becka was clearly Mada timsy's vessel
and she had done carnage in a short time. The digging noise stopped and out
from the grave came Kyle... Kind of.
He was filthy and his mouth was sewn shut with thick raw gut
thread through large punctures on the bottom of his mandible. The laces extending
from under his chin,up across his lips and in through his nostrils. Effectively
sewing his entire jaw closed tight.
"Zombie bite.., it over fo' yUh." Becka smiled, "It over
fo' yUh... anyway." She waved around at her witch's lair, "You like? Timsy
been callin'
and, you
al'
one witch..." She pointed at Leah.
Kyle was still holding his shovel and staring blankly with
the white eyes of a zombie. Leah wanted to cry. It was just too much to take
in all at once. There were huge posts that had been sank into the soft earth
at the opposite end of the circle. Tied to one was what remained of the town
Sheriff and tied to the other was Tammy Lynn, she was nude with her lovely head cut
off and replaced with that of an old LoggerHead turtle who's huge shell had been pried
open, like a clam at her feet,with her headplaced inside of it like a pearl.
"That's her Demon shrine..." Leah tried to make sense of
this mess. "Johnny, it looks like Kyle's been digging her up already... That's
good for us... Maybe." She looked to Johnny who was fear frozen. His lips
trembling with a combination of fear and anger and sadness.
The Sheriff's head had been removed and replaced likewise
with that of a LoggerHead, his entrails had been pulled and were spilled
out across the shell of the other decapitated terrapin.
Leah tried to keep her calm, "Male and female idols..."
She looked down past Kyle and saw the mouldered remains of a coffin, "I bet
that she's needing something in there to complete the ceremony."
Johnny looked astonished at Leah's calmnesS as she tried
to assess what was happening majikally.
"Run!" He finally managed to scream, "Leah! Run!"
a-fluty Loggerneaa
Page
130
The witch's fire crackled inbetween the twin Demon idols and
sent sparks up into the swirling smokey evening foggy gray.
Becka made no attempt to stop them as Leah and Johnny retreated
back into the overgrown stand of trees. She just pointed and Kyle picked up an old
machete' and went after them immediately.
"Bring me da' boy... alive." She called out to the zombie
"The lil t one witch.., feed her to tha l Demon!"
Becka jumped down into the deep rectangular grave pit on
top of Timsy's rotten coffin. The wood was soft from hundreds of years in
the marsh's soft earth. She used her bare hands to break the weak boards and
paused once she got to her own decayed remains.
"Woo..." She winced, "Good thing yuh' got this new one..."
She looked at her hands, "Cuz' dat' one worn out fo' sho' Timsy... Fo' Sho'."
She reached inside of the coffin and after a few seconds
of rooting around she came up with an old leather skin sack that was tied
at the top but almost completely rotted through. She tore it open and pulled
out an oil skin cloth that was wrapped around something.
"There yuh' be..." She smiled. "Columbo's parts an' pieces."
She unwrapped the cloth and in her hands were the nearly
mummified remains of her son's hands and right foot.
An eerie deep throated roar peeled out through the fog from
somewhere close in the swamp. It was unlike any animal that she'd ever heard
before and she knew instantly what it was.
"LoggerHead... He here!" She looked up at the dimming light
in the sky, "An' it almost dark! Come Columbo! Come! !Nada here fo l yuh'!"
The roar echoed again across the plantation.
LoggerHead the great Demon of the swamp was heading her
call! He was on his way to her shrine with the spirit of her boy held safe
within his thick Devil's shell!
Columbo would live again!
They ran.
Johnny had ahold of Leah's hand and was doing his best to
help her keep up with his All-American speed. He had to slow himself considerably
inorder to not leave her behind with an armed and crazed Kyle hot on their
Tail.
S. Story -LoggerHead"
Page.
131
"Did you hear that?" Leah huffed and puffed from the fear
and running, "I've never heard anything like that before." She was still-trying
to figure out what to do about their majikal enemy while Johnny was just doing
his best to flee with her into the coming night.
"Yeah, alot of firsts today..." He ran through the swirling
thick fog blindly, "Do you see Kyle or Becka back there?" He asked, knowing
that Kyle could if he wanted to match his speed stride for stride.
"No." Leah could hardly hear anything over their breathing
and pounding heartbeats.
"Okay, we are almost to the Bronco." Johnny slowed, "When
we get there I want you to get in and start it up. Lock the doors and hit
the lights. I'm going to try and call for help on Sam's cop radio and I know
that he has a shotgun in the trunk... We might have to kill Kyle or Becka "
"They aren't Kyle or Becka anymore, Johnny." Leah was exhausted
and too tired to tell him that she hated his plan. "It's Mada Timsy's spirit inside
of her and Kyle's... Dead already."
He wanted to dissagree but after what he had just seen and
the groaning roar that they had just heard, it was seeming more and more likely
than not. One day when they were safe and reading a newspaper over cups of
coffee in their tiny kitchen two blocks over from their parent's street, he
would freak the fuck out over all of this... But, not now.
Now, they had to survive.
They reached the patrol car first and Johnny gave leah his
keysfloor's open..: Easy, no tricks... Just turn the key and lock the doors
until I get there."
Damn, she hated this plan. It separated them and she was
terrified but she did what he said. She backed away Erom him into the fog
and lost sight at about ten to twelve feet. It wasn't long before she banged
her elbow against the raised up fender of the Bronco.
And, she heard a scream and two quick shotgun blasts.
"Oli, my God... Oh, my God... Oh, my God..." was her mantra
chant as she shivered and twitched in sheer terror and tried to start the
big 4x4. "Johnny!" She cried out as the truck sprang to life "Johnny!" She
had locked the doors and pulled the knob for the headlights.
"Johnny!!!" She screamed and waited.
But, there was no reply. And, no Johnny.
o.oLury Loggerneact
Pege.132
She waited with the Bronco idling for what seemed like an
eternity. He wasn't coming. Something had happened and he wasn't coming...
She sniffled as tears streaked her already ruined make-up down her cheeks. •
"That am I going to do?" She thought outloud, "I can't drive
this thing..." It was a stick with a heavy clutch, and she had never learned
how to drive a Manual. Tabitha was an automatic, like all civilized autos
should be. "Besides, I'm not going to just leave him here with them... I'd
never forgive myself."
She reached into the backpack and pulled out the shackles.
"You're Johnny's only hope." She held them as another groaning
roar peeled out acrosssthe swamp, "IoggerHead..." She knew that they had Johnny
and she was going to do her best to stop them.
Math Timsy stood at the head of her opened grave and writhed
with the rythmn of the VooDoo majik upon the air. She liked this new body,
it felt good and she would make improvements once this work was done. She
had used the heavy coating of sticky blood from the pretty one and the lawman
to bind her new straight hair into twisted braid locks in the way that she
had been taught. It took only moments and was a good time killer as she waited
for zombie to bring her Columbo's new body-. The spider legs of braided hair
flowed about and tickled her blood covered face
Timsy had enjoyed life when she had it.
Even,. the work and the pain.
Even the Master's bed.
"From dat' bed come Columbo..." She smiled, "Master give Timsy
a gift and a curse..."
A shuffling noise of someone coming through the stand of
trees caught her attention and broke her light daze of remeberance.
"Alt! Zombie, Put him there!" She pointed to the leveled
ground before her fire between the shrines. There were smaller stakes hammered
into the ground that Kyle used to tie Johnny's unconcious arms and legs to,
spread out wide.
Becka's hands ran over his muscles on his chest and stomach
and then tore his shirt open. She poured some rum from the bottle of Captain
Morgan's original spiced ,that Kyle and she had been enjoying as theyscrewed
in the fog, onto his bare Chest.
o.oLuLy lauggetnedu
Page. 133
"Wake up!" She commanded as she poured the rum, then took
a drink and spit it into his face, "Wake up! VW don't wannah' miss dis'!"
She called out to Kyle, "Zombie... You all tore up! Look
at ydhs'!" She was referring to the dozens of shotgun pellet holes in his
face throat and chest. Part of his shoulder bone showed through his lascerated
flesh. "Find the Lil l one witch and brings her here... She make new zombie fo'
Timsy."
Kyle stalked off, machete' in hand.
Mada Timsy now had all of her peices assembled and knew
that it was time to finish the ritual. She stood over Johnny with an old rattle
made from the shell of a small LoggerHead over two hundred year prior.
"LoggerHead! I Callin' yuhs l ! Here is °tat' blood reborn!
Here is the blood of Columbo! Oh, great Demon of the swamp!' Bring fo' and
come fo' wit' the spirit of Columbo!"
A roar came from the treesjust beyond the witch's lit circle
inbetween the shrines. And, in moments the fire danced upon the form of the
great Demon hisself, he rose slowly from the water of the swamp.
As old and .deep with VooDoo as Mada Timsy was, she was barely
prepared herself for the form of the living Demon.
The creature stood seven feet high on hind legs as thick
as the posts thatiesshrine was created from. He walked slowly with a man's
stride and swing of the arms. His head was slick and green with a thick raptor
beak and protruding nose horn. His shell was huge and encompassed his entire
frame , covered in moss and muck and mire. Vegitation clung to his body from
the brackish water of the mangrove swamp. And, then he roared...
It shook the trees and hurt Math Timsy's ears.
The turtle Demon pointed a stubby limb with wicked sharp
two inch blackened claws, "Who dare?!" .
"I dare!" Timsy puffed her Chest out, "YUIl l havin' sumthin'
that belongs ta l me! And I am a' claimin' it! Now Demon!"
It took it's time as it squatted down and began to withdraw
it's arms and massive legs into it's shell. The Demon had heard her! It was
calling up Columbo from it's depths!
Leah sat still and quiet at the edge of Timsy's lair. She
had snuck up on the priestess just as she had admonished her zombie for having
been injured by Johnny.
o.cory toggerfteaa
Page. 134
"Zombie? Me? No fuckin' way..." She thought as she held
the big shotgun, "Okay... Okay... He's still alive and that Demon is as slow
as he is powerful... Mada Timsy is busy focusing on controlling the Demon
so that he won't attack her..."
She jumped into action.
"If I think this out I'll never do it!" She thought.
And, was right.
Because, it was a crazy thing to do.
But, it was the only thing to do.
It would have helped if she had ever held or fired an actual
gun before. She instantly thought of the dozen times that her father had tried
to engauge her with a trip to his favorite place.. The shooting range.
She was totally going to go next time.
Leah came rushing out of the vines with the shotgun and
shackles in her hands. She raised the gun and took aim. Becka's head barely
awknowledged Leah's presence Mada Timsy was using much of her power to keep
the Demon from rebelling against her wishes and probably devouring her soul
as well. She raised a bloody hand in Leah's direction.
"So far Lil l one witch... I keep yuh l ... I play wit' yuh'
I think maybe Columbo make you wit' child someday... An' it be strong wit'
VooDoo... Majik blood wit' majik blood.,. So far I keep yuh' fo' sho l ... But,
now Lil l witch... Now you challenge Mada Timsy in her lair! Wit' her Demon
king! Now, I crush yuh'!" She made a fist and waved her outstretched arm and
the gun went flying from Leah's grasp. "LoggerHead let go him some Columbor
She cried out, "Let go my boy! He stayed long enough in there! Ole' Demon
of the swamp as strong and old as the earth' Free him some Columbo!"
Smoke started to come rising up out of the Demon's immen8e
shell and it formed into a flowing stream that made it's way toward Johnny's
prone body. Leah charged at the VooDoo Priestess and was thrown back with
a wave of the hand. The power that Mada Timsy had drawn to her was showing
itself with her strength over the physical world with majikal energy. It takes
alot of energy to move the physical world on a whim, with a motion or a glance.
Kyle came through the vines into the circle of light. He
looked like hamburger from the waist up.
S.Story - Loggerhead -
P'ge.135
"Zombie, kill her!" Made Timsy was through with the games.
This witch had crossed the line.
Kyle raised his Machete' and Swung at Leah. She was able
to duck and dive for the shotgun. He was quick for a dead person and got there
before she did. He kicked the gun into the open grave pit as she reached out
for it with both hands. She was able to avoid another slash of the knife and
went over with a roll into the grave pit after the gun.
Kyle dove in after her and was greeted with a face full
of pump-action Mossberg lead. She blew his head off as he fell on top of her
in the grave. His brains and bits of skull exploding up into the fog and raining
back down in a strange sprinkle of fatty fleshy pieces and hard bone chips.
She pushed him off of her and tried to climb out of the
grave. It's not an easy thing to do for a tired girl all of five foot three
inches tall. She tried to pump the gun and was confused by how it was supposed
to work. She tried and tried but it wouldn't move.
"Damn it!" She cried, as she struggled to do the simplest
thing in the world... Had the shotgun not been empty. She dry fired and pumped
and dry fired again.
Kyle's machete' was laying; next to his decapitated mutilated
corpse in the pit on top of Mada Timsy's long rotted remains. She picked it
up and swung it a couple of times to get the feel.
"Okay... Okay... Leah, you can do this." She gave herself
the pep talk of a lifetime. Simple direct and to the point. "You can do this."
Mada Timsy dared not break her concentration on the Demon
king. He could and would if given the opportunity take her spirit with him
back down to the bottom of this swampy muck.
The girl witch rose up out of Timsy's hole slowly and with
much effort but she made it. She was proving to be more than Timsy had given
her credit for. The Demon had released Columbo's spirit who wafted up from
his shell in a stream of majikal smoke. A swirling smoke that hovered about
just above the body of the boy bound by his wrists and ankles.
"What you waitin' fo'?!" She cried out to the spirit of
her son, "It's yo' blood! It's yo' skin! LoggerHead save'yuh l and Hada Timsy
dun' free yUW! Rise Columba! Rise!"
o.tory Loggermaa Peq3e. 136
Something was wrong.
"Mada Timsy!" Leah stood at the foot of her grave facing
the Priestess and her Demon. "Mada Timsy!!" She called out, holding the machete'
in one hand and the shackles in the other. Herclothestorn and make-up running
in long black streaks down her pale cheeks, Wearing Johnny's Varsity jacket and
knee high Doc Marten's. "I bind thee!" She felt a surge of majik run through
her, "Your ritual has failed! And, I bind thee!" Leah's eyes shone bright
with majikal power, "I take thy power and I... Bind thee!". She raised the
plowman's shackles just as the Demon turtle king had regained his full stature
inbetween the two idols.
Mada Timsy looked baffled and frustrated.
"Columbo! Tis' yo' blood!" She screamed in rage. "What wrong
wit' yuhs'7!"
The smoke stayed above them, hovering, swirling around Johnny
and not making any more attempts at entering his body.
"Chemistry!" Leah laughed hard with a majikal voice of power,
"This host is mine! He's mine Made Timsy! I ward him! I claim him! And, I
shield him with MY majik! Chemistry, Mada Timsy! Johnny is a damaged vessel!
Columbo can find no home in him!"
"Lies!" She screamed l and turned her back on the Demon and
her son's disincarnated spirit, "Lies!" She howled. "Girl dis' wut' you do...
You not know my power! She raised a hand and nothing happened.
Leah was almost as suprised as Timsy was by the sudden failure
of her majik. But, once she assessed what was happening she knew what she
had to do to end this.
Mada Timsy had turned her back on the source of all of her
power while Leah held a powerful binding spell inside of her circle. The Demon
king had stripped her of the majik that he granted her because she had proven
herself to be disrespectful and unworthy of what he had given to her.
She stood confounded and tried to use power that was nolonger
there. It was much like repeatedly trying to start a car with a dead battery...
Something that Leah knew a thing or two
The smoke spirit of Columbo made it's way back into the
huge Demon in the span of two deep breaths through his horned nostrils. His
large liquid black eyes stared coldly down at the VooDoo Priestess with her
back turned upon her God.
"NMa Timsy! You're time is done! It is time for a new Witch
Queen!" She knew that all she needed to do was say the words...
o.oLury buggerneau
Page.
137
"ttda TiMsy..." She said, loud in a clear voice as she stalked
toward Becka's nasty carnage covered body, "I bind thee and take thy majik
into me in the name of the Great Demon of the swamp! I bind thee in the name
of LoggerHead!" She swung the machete' and decapitated the powerless Priestess
were she stood. Becka's head rolled off of her shoulders and hit the ground
before her knees buckled ., her body spraying hot blood across Leah from opened arteries.
The Demon roared and snatched up the head as it rolled to
him. It bit the skull and crushed it in one hard "Chomp!" The taste of human
blood seemed to make him swell with power. It reached down and grabbed Becka's
headless remains with a huge clawed fist and turned,dragging the lifeless girl's
body behind itself back into the brackish of the swamp.
As it slowly dissapeared,Leah knew that she could not afford
to take the power that he had granted her lightly. She could never again deny
that she was a witch... A real witch... Or, LoggerHead might come for her spirit.
She had chosen by saying the words and killing her predicessor
to become LoggerHead's Witch Priestess.. While saving Johnny's life, she had violently
pledged her own to the majik of the Demon.
The Demon turtle of the swamp.
LoggerHead.
Johnny never played football again.
He took a job as a mechanic in his father's shop and he
and Leah were married after Highschool. She went to State College and teaches
chemistry at Columbus High.
They bought a house three blocks over from their parents...
And, they named their daughter...
Timsy.
DIE END
Black Flag
An original short story
By:
H.B. Marion
(This is a work of fiction)
Author info: Marion H. Brown
AH-6319 3CO5-117L
CSP-Corcoran Prison
P.O.Box# 3471
Corcoran, CA. 93212
All Rights Reserved By: H.B. Merlon, Author - 2016 Marion H. Brown....
Short Story By: H.B. Marion Page.
139
Coffin Bob was a Burner.
Burner, was what the Company Cops called the pirates that
rode on the edge of the dimensional strand in their patchwork speedships and
armored freighters that would bend gravity to - "burn" light and thus, burn
them forward at system-shocking, mind numbing speeds through out the galaxy
and in some very sad cases beyond.
Burners were a plague upon the good peace loving orderly
civilized Company endorsed merchant ships and busy Clone Company trader bases
on the Outer Rim. Atleast, that was the Clone Cop's take on how they had chosen
to live out their lives and do their business.
Like most Burners, Coffin Bob had been born in deep space to
a mother that was a Burner herself and a father that was most likely born
in deep space on the Outer Rim to a pirate mother...
The date?
Hell... He didn't know.
Infact, very few actually did.
It all depended entirely upon what calendar that you decided
to go with and what unit of measure that you favored.
Time for Bob was measured in "Rim Cycles". A cycle was determined
by the distance traveled in P.S.A.E. years. "Pre-Stellar Ancient Earth" years
or as it was more commonly called... Clone time.
One Rim Cycle was usually around ten or so Clone P.S.A.E. years.
So? How old was Coffin Bob?
"Black Flag" By: H.B. Marion Page.140
He'd done hundreds of burn cycles, varying in length and speed
by as much or more than ten thousand light years. On some planets he would
be hundreds of thousands of years old. But, in ship time on the Outer Rim...
Around thirty.
His ship was a speed burner. What everyone called a "Coffin".
All go... No saftey.
Saftey, was what slowed a ship down... Well, that and mass.
But, it was mostly a saftey issue. Complex shields and built-in limiters,
nanny computers hell bent on doing everything the hard way. The safe way.
The slow way... The Clone way.
Bob's ship was a pure speed machine of death.
It was a converted long distance Clone bomber from the Rim Wars.
It was blinding fast for it's size and armed to the teeth with lasers, phasers,
photon projectile cannons, torpedoes and a 50mm Hi-cyclic cold cannon that
fired super-heated depleted uranium plasma rounds by the thousands per second.
He had stripped it of any useless mass and chopped the nanny out of the heart
of the beast. Re-worked pod fighter thrusters, or "cooked" thrusters as they
were called, burned his metal terror beast forward at blistering speed.
It was the ultimate coffin.
Enough space for dark freight or plunder and enough guns
to destroy an outpost or two before darting off to the next solar system at
teeth smashing speed.
"Vicki, plot new course..." He punched in a code on the
manual, "Rim base Rhonda Seven... Full burn."
It was also known as R7 or... Burner's home.
"Black Flag" By: H.B. Marion Page.
141
R7 was an asteroid.
It had originally been mined for it's valuable minerals
by a legion of bio-clones and turned into an enourmous honeycomb of maze like
caverns large enough to fly small freighters into and out of. There was
a
main harbor that could house a great many medium and even some large ships.
The miners had named their base computer, Rhonda. So, naturally the lonely
rock became known as Rhonda Seven for it's number in the cloner's mining string.
That was a long time ago.
So long infact that hardly anyone could tell you the dates
that all of this had occurred. Rhonda was long dead. Her files frozen in the
archaic loop. She had passed away eons before any of the Burners had found
and decided to habitate her. She had ancient but serviceable life-support
equipment and the clone miners had been industrious with their time on Rhonda.
They had left her with hundreds of structures mostly on the interior of the
asteroid and nearly all of them were linked in one or more ways to each other.
They'd had generations of miners either born or cloned that
had died there, having never left Rhonda Seven. People born to slave away
at the extraction of the precious ore from a hunk of space debris for the
Clone Company.
The Cloners ruled most of the known space that Coffin Bob
and his merry band of plunderers burned through. The remenants of an ancient
type of culture called a "Mega-Company". The cloners were the direct descendants
through cloning of the all powerful ancient ones known as "The Board". It
was said the the Board could give life and take it away simply by deciding
so. They had lived in the before of it all. When there were still questions
and arguements about the ethics of burning light and bending space-time to
meet mankind's will.
"Black Flag" By: H.S. Marion
Page-142
People like Coffin Bob were the product of the great many
wars over just those questions and their , often horrible answers.
"Vicki... Ring the bell." He ordered his computer to send
the standard greeting.
His ship was the "Victoria Revenge".
He hadn't named her. It was just what had been painted on
her nose when he'd salvaged her from the belt of derelicts abandoned to drift
after the last Rim War. An orbiting band of battered, beaten, partially frozen,
military and merchant ships left to die due to their damage or obsolescence.
She'd been a Clone ship, like most. And, the Cloners had named her. He'd liked
the sound of it... So, it had stayed.
Bob was a deeply practical man.
What had mattered had been her bones. Not her name. And,
good those bones were... Good and strong. She had served him and his crew
greatly in the time that they had been together.
The ship informed him that there was no reply.
"Ring it again and keep trying until we have handshake."
Vicki tried for the entire approach to gain recognition,
verification and handshake. But, was unable to raise anything computer or
Bio... That's what the Comps called people... Bios.
"No handshake Bob." Vicki signalled for auto-approach outside
of the blast channel doors and coded for auto-docking on a spar-lock, "Our
crew is not cleared to board Rhonda Seven... Captain."
"A mere formality, Vicki..." Coffin Bob already had on his
Captain's crossbones and his drinking hat, "Simple pleasantries I assure you."
"Black Flag" By: H.B. Marion Page'
The hatch door that would usually automatically secure to
the ship's bull had not extended it's gang-plank. Bob stood with his crew
or great rowdies breathing heavily over his shoulder.
"What happened Capt'n?" They asked.
"Hmm... I don't know for sure, men." Coffin Bob slid his
hand over the hatch access panel. It did nothing. He tried it again... Still
nothing... Then, he beat it with the base of his palm. Once... Twice...
It lit.
The crew all sighed as the plank made it's slow way toward
the ship. The men cheered in expectation of th4 drink and the fighting and
the games and the women! And, for the women in his crew... The women!
Once opened the access functioned as normal. It locked and
regulated the batch pressure between the ship and the sallyport's open bay.
The crew piled into the sallyport and were greeted with
a horrendous stink.
A stench that was rare in space since nothing rotted in
a vacuum. It burned and it froze. Irradiated and baked in pulsar waves. But,
for the most part it did not rot.
"Damn! What's that dastardly grim odor!" Bob held his nose
pinched between two fingers.
The crew were instantly wary. They drew weapons and huddled
together in instinctual battle formations.
Bob took the lead.
They hadn't even cleared the sally and so they had no way
of knowing what the main mining harbor of Rhonda looked like. The blast doors
had been shuttered all across the asteroid's freight enterances. They were
coming in through the "back door" so to speak. And, without permission from
the Port Authority, a shrimp of a cockadoodle named, Shrewter.
143
"Black Flag" By: H.B. Marion Page- 144
Bob and he had often had disagreeable words over his place
in the harbor or the actions of his rowdy crew upon Rhonda Seven. He would
try and surprise the pirate Captain with "inspections" sanctioned by the harbor's
Pirate Guild an organization that every pirateworthhis crossbones belonged
to in this Sector.
Really, they were shakedowns. Forced bribery to keep the
grease on the wheels of the local Pirate Lords.
"Ping... Pong, you two scout the watchstation." Bob waved
at the twin half-clone women that made up the female portion of his small
but aggressively effective crew. They were identical sisters. Something that
was not a rarity in an age of clones and cloners. It was hard to find a living
person that didn't have a considerable amount of clone in their genetic make-up
anywhere remotely close to the Rim. With trillions of them having been produced
over the eons they made up a large segment of what was left of humanity.
They immediately headed in the direction of the security
station's viewing room. Bob held up two fingers and pointed to the elevator
doors. They were stuck halfway open... Or, closed. It all depended upon how
you interpret life. Half empty or half full.
Coffin Bob was a "full" guy all
of
the way.
The rest of his crew, two huge men and a midget named... Barry.
Went to the doors. Barry held his double-barrel sawed-off scatterblaster at
the darkness fhbetween the big men, Griffon and Ham. They were Bob's muscle
• and heavy gunners. They manned the cannon and the torpedo tubes on Vicki.
Automated systems tended to malfuction on the older Clone ships and it took
a lot of meat to move photon projectiles.
Barry was the ship's sneak tbeif.
He was a cutpurse from a drift colony at Rim's edge.
"Black Flag" By: H.B. Marion
Page.
145
His stubby fingers could pick your pockets clean before
you had ever noticed his shortened form in the room!
The stink seemed to be coming from the shaft. Griff and
Ham each took a door and pulled until they slid the rest of the way open.
That action seemed to wake up the auto-system and the elevator started moving
it's way down to their sub-level. The shaft lit up and the sallyport's gangway
plank that had extended to Vicki began to retract.
"Vicki." Bob spoke into his collar communicator, "Vicki, extend
gang-plank. We need to be able to board in a hurry if necessary."
"Sorry, Bob... Rhonda's systems are on emergency override...
I can't access." Vicki sounded calm.
Then again... She always sounded calm.
The stink wafted down as the elevator traveled it's distance
and the men all grimaced in it's horridness. Pong came out from the security
station's door and motioned for Bob.
"You gotta' see this Capt'n." She said, "It's bad..."
Bob jogged the short distance and entered the small security
room. It had one window facing through the stone inside of Rbonda's main harbor
and a dozen viewing monitors. Ping was sitting at the control panel and had
needed to "jack" in with her stemwire inorder to just get the blast shield
doors open on the little window.
"All be!!!" Coffin Bob was stunned, "How could this have
happened?!" He looked to Pong who shrugged.
The inner harbor was dark aside from the few emergency lights
and the docking illumination from the ships themselves. There were atleast
thirty mid-sized and larger vessels in various states of distruction. Pong
pointed to the fuel coil of one of the newer Clone merchant ships.
Page.
146
"That Newton coil would last us eighty cycles on Vicki."
She was always the greedy engineer, "We'd only have to fill up on ugly two
moretimesin any of our lifetimes."
"Ugly" was pirate speak for fuel. And, the fuel for a gravity
drive was anti-matter that could only be stored in a complicated contraption
known popularly as a Newton coil.
Not every warp ship used anti-matter burners. Some of the
larger vessels had blackhole generator drives. They went "Bang!" far too often
for Coffin Bob's liking. Infect, he had declined to even escort an outsized
bargeship if it had a blackhole generator.
"Ping, pull up visual." Bob knew that this was the end of
Rhonda Seven. And, as the plunderer that he was... He wanted to try and scavenge
all of the best treasure for him and his crew.
She shook her head, "Negative." And, then detatched her
stemwire from the panel. "Can't access video visual."
"Capt'n!!" Griff called out from the sallyport, "Elevator's
down! And, we found the stink!"
All three of them exited the security room with their weapons •
drawn. It was just their pistols and Ping's knives since they had been planning
on a vacation... Not an armed raid. Bob knew that they all wished that they
had come aboard Rhonda armed to the teeth with heavy rifles and bio-armor
now that they were stuck in a strange and possibly dangerous situation.
It was only a few quick steps from the watch station's viewing
room through the sally to the elevator. And, the trio met up with the heavies
and the mini in seconds. They all stood with watering eyes from the aweful
stench that was coming out of the elevator car.
"It's a warning Capt'n..." Barry motioned with his sawed
off gun to the festering resin covered rotting corpse of a harborman.
He was sitting with his back against the glass of the elevator
car with an unfurled black flag across his chest. It was thick with hardened
dried blood where he held it by the corners in rotted skeletal fingers that
were visually bubbling as they slowly lost their flesh to somekind of bacteria
or parasite.
"Those ain't blaster wounds." Said Ping, "Looks like he
was stabbed to death... Repeatedly with something large and not particularly
sharp... See how it's ripped around the punctures..."
She was Bob's Medic aswell as Science Officer and First
Mate. Her twin sister Fong was his Engineer and equipment scavenger. Both,
were equally important in the success of Coffin Bob.
"Aye... Tis' the flag of death." Bob looked to his somewhat
nervous crew, "Vicki say's that we're stuck on Rhonda for now." He looked
into the elevator car by leaning in and moving his head about, "We're going
to have to find another sally to gang out on." He pointed to the harborman's
putrid remains as he said, "Griff, Ham, move this into the security watchroom."
The crew all climbed in the smelly elevator and Bob bit
the access panel. It's doors closed and the lights flickered as it then started
moving upward. Slowly atfirst. But, then picking up speed as it needed to
travel quite a distance to the next level that wasn't on security lockdown.
Deck 11, Deck 16, Deck 25, Deck 47, Deck 101 and so on until
it came to a squealing stop at Deck 231.
The doors opened and they were greeted with the sound of
emergency system sirens from several of the docked ships and all manner of
protocal siren and bell from the harbor itself.
Page. 148
Flashing lights and honking warning horns blared and strobed
out of sync with one another. Each ship and it's sallyport in varying states
of distress and anchorage.
"It looks like the Telluride was trying to escape the harbor
by blasting the moorings and got stuck on that big Clone Destroyer." Ham pointed
out of the viewport, "And, thatmissilefriggate is just floating free!"
The Telluride was a legendary pirate ship on the Outer Rim.
It was an old Resistance fighting Cruiser from the second of the major Rim
Wars. It was updated and outfitted with only the very best of what it's Captain
could plunder. It was a grim marvel to see it there, entangled with it's bitter
nemesis in a cold state of rest.
"What ever happened here happened a long time ago." Bob
said, observing the lack of any movement what-so-ever anywhere in the immense
harbor cavern. It was a noisy ghost town with flashing lights and blaring
sirens signalling alarm but no-one to respond to the emergency.
"Barry, find us a sally to gang out on." Bob was already
planning their exit while still thinking of looting anything of value that
wasn't welded down or on a sovereign ship.
There were rules to pirating.
Ships like the Telluride could only be plundered if taken
in open space and by force or capitulation. The salvage of her from this harbor
would indeed be a grand feat but one that without good reason would undoubtably
have Bob and his crew cast out of the pirate community for having done.
It would be a death sentence to do little more than move
her from the lane to clear a way out of the bottleneck.
"Black Flag" By: 11.8. Marion Page.
149
"Capt'n." Pang pointed again to the fattened Clone merchant
ship, "With that Newton..." She was already plotting bow she would shear it
from it's bloated cow of a ship.
"No." Coffin Bob said, "Tis' a place of death and we will
leave it much as we have found it."
Ping and Barry dissappeared into the Deck Control room and
got busy on trying to wake up a sallyport. Bob and Pong went off toward the
dockyard's warehouses and Ham went straight to the harbor's armory. Griff
found a working harbor cart and was soon tearing around the deck on the little
car with it's flatbed in the rear and robotic pincers on the front. He was
picking up anything that looked reasonably valuable with the robo-arms and
depositing it into the back of the cart.
Looting could be fun when done with a positive attitude.
"Access denied." The armory door's key pad was completely
fried. Ham had used the thick pads of his huge hands to wipe away the black
blaster residue and strange crusty greenish film.
He looked in through the blast glass and saw that the armory's
Deck Annex was practically fully stocked. Pulse-rifles, blasters and even
a few suits of old style bio-armor. The Annex, like all of the others in Rhonda's
main harbor, had an elevator that spanned a total of six decks. It was lit
and the doors were open... Waiting for the next ride. All Ham had to do was
get to it from the outside and he had access to three of the locked decks
below them and two above. He tried to hack the control pad once more.
"Access denied."
Page.
150
He cursed and wiped the sticky greenish slimy half dried
muck onto his pants, "This shit's screwed..." He pulled his blaster pistol
and pointed it at the key pad and fired. It made a hell of a racket but only
added a small amount to the ear shredding music of the harbor's distress horn
and sirens of the various ships.
"Access granted." The panel lit green and the blast glass
door slid to the left with a slight whoosh of rank smelling air.
"Good news Capt'n." Barry's voice chimed inside of Bob's
ear, "We have another sally warming up and Vicki's going to meet us there
but..."
"But... What?" Bob knew that there was more. There was always
more.
"It's on the otherside of Rhonda." Said Ping, "It's the
spar-lock out on Red Sector... Deck 008."
"That's the pipes!" Pong shook her head violently, "No!
No fricken' way! You ain't gunna' get me in there!"
The pipes was the skidrow on Rhonda Seven.
It was dangerous just to breathe down there. Spores and
microbes abounded and mutated generations of clones had claimed it as their
own little peice of the rock. They were generally hostile to outsiders as
a rule.
"Nothing closer?" Coffin Bob didn't want to have to brave
the pipes if he didn't have to either.
"Sorry, Capt'n... Everything else is either damaged or completely
unresponsive." Barry answered truly appologetic, "Tis' the only one."
"Black Flag" By: R.B. Marion Page .151
"The only one is the only one..." Said Bob, "Good job you
two. Now plot us a course and let's rally the crew. I have a feeling that just
getting to Red Sector is going to be a challenge!"
They all met back at the main freight elevator within a few
ticks of having set off from one another.
"Warehouses?" Griff asked from his seat in the harbor cart.
"Nothing but millions of tons of flash ration mix." Fong
answered, "And, we've got enough stores on Vicki for ten to twelve cycles
already." She poked at her sister's tummy, "Besides Ping's gettin' fat."
"Flash rations" were the common term for printable food
enzymes and proteins, sugars and glutens, fats and acids, vitamins and minerals
that were used to create whatever foods requested through a simple process
of 3-Dimensional printing. It was standard food on the Outer Rim. Where farmable
planetoids were scarce. Nutrient barges, or "Grow tubs" as they were called,
grew the plant material necessary to create the flash ration mixes. It was
an old system. But, one that the Cloners had almost perfected.
With thousands of enourmous nutrient barges all slowly making
their long way around the Rim's edge... No-one need starve... As long as they
had Creds. No Creds... No flash.
Creds... That was money.
Simple term... Simple concept.
Virtual money had proved itself to be a hassle. It was not
a securable way to do commerce. Comps repeatedly snatched up entire fortunes
from the purest of the Clone families and made off with them.
_
"Black Flag" By: H.B.•Marion
Page. 152
So, the oldest families that were still in control through
their individual Clans had decided to go low-tech.
They named their money Cred.
And, with it you could buy virtually anything your heart
desired in the civilized galaxy. The Cloner controlled space and even the
Free-Trade resistance had taken to the easily transactible funds.
Aliens?
Well, it was true that humans had found plenty of life through
out the galaxy. But, none of which had so far proven itself to be a truly
intelligent species. Most were insect like hive driven creatures and or billions
of different types of various lethal spores or microbes. But, nothing that
had traveled using technology or that had ever tried to communicate in a meaningful
way to them. It was much like the wildlife on the ancient Earth. All types
of creatures abounded in the vast wilderness and most of it was completely
unlike anything human.
If you imagined the known galaxy as all of the old planet
and the unbelievably diverse amount of life that it had contained. It was
the same concept only on an unphathomable larger scale.
Everywhere that they had looked they had found "somekind"
of life. And, the galaxy flourished with all types of deadly creatures and
nasty illnesses that humans had no defense against.
Ping and Fong upon meeting one another, used their stemwires and jacked into eachother immediately. They were sharing the chosen
information between eachother in the most efficient way possible. Direct
sensory memory download. A common practice between clones and half-clones
but entirely avoided by anyone else. It was risky if you were not genetically
compatible and deadly if you were not atleast half-clone or more.
153
Barry used his wristcomp to projedt a hologram of Rhonda
Seven's tunnel network. He had hi-lighted the path that he and Ping had felt
most comfortable with taking out to Red Sector.
"The sally is ready and waiting for us Capt'n." He said,
"But, it's a ways and we are going to have to have some luck with Rhonda's
sympathetic-comp emergency system."
The "real" Rhonda was dead.
She hadn't been in control of the asteroid's functions for
thousands of year-cycles. It was just short-hand to refer to the symp-comp
as "Rhonda" though it was infact deeply inaccurate. The symp-comp was the
Burner's system that they had piggy-backed, installed over the corpse of the
old comps files as they had taken over the long abandoned network of tunnels
and structures.
"Rhonda's freaking out." Barry used his imaging system to
put up another diagram of her security locks, "Almost everything is slammed
down and unresponsive. Battened down as if there is a breach of somekind... Here."
He pointed to Yellow Sector.
Yellow Sector was the only active minig area left on Rhonda.
The Burners had found that there was still a small pocket of ore left and
they had secretly set about to remove it and to sell it on the black market
as a shadow seller. All of the proceeds were to be divided amougnst the Pirate
Lords evenly. But, you know how that usually ends up going.
"Inorder to get to Red Sector we are going to have to be
prepared to travel light." Barry looked to Griff in his harbor cart, "sorry,
Griffon,.
He got out and kicked the tire with his boot, "Too good
to be true." He said, "Too good."
154
Ham stood almost silent but distributed pulse-rifles to
Ping and Griff and a couple photon grenades. He was wearing the lower half
of a bio-fit armor suit. Saying, "The rest was too small..." for him to fit
into. Coffin Bob was just right for the chest and arms portion and the whole
other suit fit Griff almost like a glove. They all looked at eachother and
nodded. They were as well armed as they could be without finding more rifles,
armor and grenades. Ping and Pong were far too lean for the old hard shelled
bio-fit blaster armor that he'd found. They would've looked like children
inside of it's man sized casing. And, Barry never wore anything but a shockshield vest and a gunner's helmet when boarding an enemy vessel. So, he was
half-way there already with his vest. Plus, be always carried his double barrel
scatter blaster and declined a pistol when Ham had offered him an extra.
"Well, crew..." Coffin Bob looked to his closest friends
and people that he Considered to be his family, "We will have to plunder as
we go. Nothing that we can't sack and carry. The route that Barry's laid is
by my judgement the finest chance." They all nodded in agreeance, "Let's get
ourselves off of this rock of misfortune." He said, as he made towards the
elevator.
They all climbed into the huge main harbor lift with it's
reinforced steel floor and thick blastglass walls. They stood silently adjusting
the ill-fitting armor and old heavy rifles as Barry used his wristcomp to
wake up the control panel.
"Deck 1684" The stump of muscle and good nature proclaimed.
That was the long way around on Rhonda but it had to be done.
"Black Flag" H.B. Marion Page.
155
After a long and atypically silent elevator ride, the crew
were nerVous as the huge lift finally slowed to a whisping stop and the doors
Slid open. Again, they were greeted with a nasty wretched stench as soon as
the doors had slid apart. A flashing sign well above their heads proclaimed,
"Welcome to Mid-Rock! The finest town in the finest Sector!" It flashed and
blinked as if it was damaged somehow.
"Name's appropriate..." Said, Coffin Bob, "This place is
nearly half-way through Rhonda." He clicked on his blaster's laser sights
and bio-lights as he pulled them from their twin shoulder holsters, "Be ready
men... Smells plenty grim in here."
Unlike the main harbor several miles below them, this place
was eerily silent. No flashing lights other than the broken welcome sign and
no alarm sirens or horns to try to scream over. They deployed from the lift
in their standard ship boarding raid formation.
Coffin Bob first.
Then, Pong with her blaster in one hand and wrist mounted
bio-buckler on the opposite arm. Ham with his pulse rifle and then Ping with
Barry and Griff bringing up the rear.
They were all experts by now at doing their part in the
strange looking but effective formation. They stayed low, croutching as they
walked scanning the semi-darkness with their laser sights and bio-lights.
As far as settlements went this place looked to have once
been quite the place to visit. There were large hotels and advertisements
for the Mid-Rock mineral springs on nearly every corner. It was a vacation
town in the center of an asteroid. Cafe's boasted gourmet flash menus and
expensive shops ran the length of most of the wide streets.
Streets inside of a hunk of space trash on the Outer Rim.
156
Bob nor any of his crew had ever been to this particular
Sector. And, for good reason. This was the stomping ground of the Pirate Lords
and their usually soft and spoiled families. One scuff with them and you could
end up in shackles waiting for the end.
"Okay, we're going to try and make it to the Tram-way and
hopefully find a working tram or tube car to take us the long distance across
Rhonda." Barry showed them the Tram-station on his wristcomp display, "I don't
know the condition of the tram network because it was unresponsive from the
harbor's interface."
Ping added, "I think it's just asleep."
It would have taken one hell of a battle down in the tube
to have knocked it completely out of order. The system ran across Rhonda Seven
in long criss-crossing tunnels that the original miners had dug for the extraction
of the precious ore. The Burners had built the Tram-way but the tube cars
were from the miners. They were slow compared to the trams and were really
built to move large loads of ore.
Bob turned a corner and was greeted With a strange and wicked
sight in the bio-lights of his blasters. Off in the darkness the weapon had
hi-lighted some clear signatures of a half dozen humanoid life-forms. They
were feasting upon the remains of another humanoid... life-form.
He called a halt to the team's procession.
"Found the stink." He motioned with his hand for Ping to
take a look around the corner over his shoulder.
"Eaters..." She proclaimed.
"Aye, eaters..." Coffin Bob waved for Barry, "Do we have
to go that way? Or, can we find another path to the tram?"
Barry used his wristcomp and in short order replied with
a slow shake of the head, "Tram is just up on the port side Capt'n... They
are between us and it no matter how we approach."
Eaters were a commonly enough found condition in space.
It was what happened when people ran out of flash or Cred
or had contracted one of the many eater related viruses or bacterial diseases
or had been invaded by a colony of alien microbes that could only digest host
material until the host was rendered useless. They would spread with bites
or direct fluid contact. The point was...
Eaters were to be avoided.
Coffin Bob doubted that they were the cause of all of this
devastation on Rhonda. Most likely they were survivors that had become infected
with eater virus, microbes or bugs and had taken 'to feasting upon the weakest
and wounded among their pack.
"Firing line men..." He ordered in a hushed tone for them
to assume a straight line across the wide roadway, spaced out by four or more
feet shoulder to shoulder. "On my order..." He aimed his weapons upon the
closest eater and the others followed suit. Training their laser sights and
bio-lights on the pack of nasty gore covered decaying people.
The eater that Fong had in her sights turned on them with
a severed leg in her hands, the foot still attatched and dangling loosely
as she chumped and chewed smacked and slurped, mouth full of raw meat.
She was infected.
More than just hungry or broke.
Page.158
She had burst blood vessels in her eyes and was bleeding
out of her ears and nose as she chewed the flesh off of the leg. The visibly
decaying woman looked at the advancing line of armed pirates with absolutely
zero concern.
"Well... Ain't she just something?" Ping commented on the uber
stylish designer clothing and shoes worth thousands of Creds, "Yeeesh... She
could really use a facial and a manicure and, wow... is her hair stylist gunna'
panic when she sees those roots!"
Pong smiled but otherwise ignored her sister's off color
humor as she shot the poor infected woman between the eyes upon the nod of
the Captain, who then took to blasting also. The rest followed in a short
span, blowing the rabid pack to bits in seconds.
Pieces of infected people littered the width of the roadway.
The problem with eaters apart from the highly contagious
state of most of them... Was that they usually responded to loud noises and
commotion. And, pulse-rifles were about as loud of aweapon as had ever been
invented by humans. Followed closely by blasters... They were like ringing
a ship's dinner bell for the infected cannibals.
They had only moments to clear the area or risk being descended
upon by a horde of infected and wildly hungry rotting rich people.
When in combat, your team is only as fast as it's slowest
member. Barry was slower than the rest due to his shortened stature and shallow
Stride. But, it was not an option to leave the man. If anything, Coffin Bob
or another member of his crew would have slowed to stay with their friend
without the slightest hesitation or thought of it's consequences.
So, they had come up with a solution.
One that Barry had deeply resented atfirst.
"Black Flag" By: H.S. Marion Page.
159
But, after the many cycles and combat raids, he had come
to accept it as just another part of their unique tactic.
Griff stretched out an arm and Barry grabbed ahold and swung
up onto his shoulders in one quick motion. Now, he sat atop the big man and
where he went... Barry went. They had four arms and two heads and the ability
to act as one or two in a fight. Barry had practiced this manmver with Ham
and Bob once or twice. But, Griff and he were by far the best match. Ping
and Pong were not much bigger than Barry in all reality and being so they
never tried to carry him in combat. Even though they were probably plenty
strong enough to have done it atleast passibly.
The crew made a bold dash through the darkened street covered
in the remains of the blasted eaters. Pulse-rifles could litterally blow
people to pieces and had just seconds before in that now quiet bloody roadway.
They quickly found the Tram-station and began to descend it's switchback of
miner carved steps.
"I hope that there aren't any down here..." Bob flashed
his bio-light around the station, "Damn." He said in frustration, "Well...
Crew, it looks like we are in for a hell of a fight!"
The station was dark aside from the emergency lighting and
the Tram's control bay room sat empty with it's lights blazing through the
thick blast glass. There was blood and gore smeared all over the control bay's
windows and a nasty looking coating of a brightish green slime covered nearly
everything in it's crusty sticky muck. The Tram-train itself was dark aside
from a flickering light in each car that seemed to be following the pulse
of the main emergency lights.
The crew stood in battle formation, one shoulder to the
station wall and their weapons trained upon the dozens of bio-lit life-forms.
"Black Flag" By: H.B. Marion Page'160
"What do you suppose they are?" Bob asked Ping.
"My guess Capt'n... Space roaches. Only, they are about
ten times larger than any that I have ever seen or heard tell of..." She was
guessing on the actual insect's possible species. But, they did resemble the
common ship and base vermin.
"Good call. Well done." He could be an appreciative Captain.
Bob stood silent for the moment deciding what to do next.
The insects were not attacking them... Yet. And, he knew
that getting across a giant rock like Rhonda without use of a Tram or tube
car would take atleast several work/sleep cycles in Clone time. Maybe even
a full ten-shift...
"Ping. Pong... Try and wake up the tram from the control
bay. Barry. Griffon... Cover them." Bob motioned to Ham, "We got the tram-cars."
He started shooting the four foot tall roaches, firing both blasters at once.
Ping and her sister were
a thing of beauty in combat.
They acted almost as if sharing a single mind. This was not at
all uncommon with clones or half-clones that were deeply connected. They could
seemingly magically anticipate eachother's moves naturally and fluidly as
they would duck and spin, roll and fire.
Both, beautiful and lethal...
A dance of engineered human combat.
The huge roaches showed themselves to be far more numerous
than originally thought or counted. And, they quickly acted upon the invaders
of their sticky crusty Tram tube hive.
161
Pong used her bio-buckler to block the thrusting forelegs
of a roach as Ping jumped and put her boot into her sister's strong back.
Pushing her forward into the enemy insect and at the same time launching herself
up toward the entrance to the Tram control bay. Once she had grasped a rung
of the high ladder, she reached down and slung her twin up out of reach of
the fighting soldier roach.
Pong put two well placed shots from her blaster pistol into
the huge bug creature but it did little more than wound it.
"Pull me up!!" She screamed, feet dangling down with a few
more of the soldiers clamboring up to attack them quickly.
"Ping!!!" She screamed again but it was too late. The soldier
roaches had responded to the threat and were swarming the invaders. One of
the roaches had already put it's semi-sharp spike of a foreleg through her
thigh and was ripping at her. Repeatedly stabbing at her and trying to pull
her from her sister's grasp. "Ping!" She screamed in agony as she fired her
blaster pistol, emptying the magazine into the growing number of soldier roaches.
Blood was going everywhere from Pong's opened arteries and the
multiple rawly torn holes in her legs and a few to the lower abdomen.
"Ping! Pull me up!" She cried, hysterical, "Please! Please!!"
Griff and Barry were blasting the roaches two at a time
with a combination of pulse-rifle and scatterblaster rounds. They were coming
up from the deeper tunnel faster than they could kill them. Dozens crawling
along the whole surface of the tunnel's wall. 'Soon, they were indeed everywhere.
Hanging from the ceiling of the tunnel and falling to attack them from every
angle. Griff saw that the twins were in dire trouble aswell and pointed for
Barry to see. The little man tapped him and in one practiced shot putter's
spin, he tossed Barry up at the control bay and toward the girls.
"Black Flag" By: H.H. Marion
Page.
162
Barry was flying through the stale musty air of the Tramstation in a strange blaster lit flashing darkness toward the screaming crying
bleeding twins who were in serious need of assistance.
Coffin Bob and Ham had blasted their way onto the closest
Tram-car only to find that the roach creatures tad laid fat clatches of wet
crusty eggs inside of it. They had coated the walls of the car in a thick
sickly green slime that extended through the doors and out onto the tram track
and then up to the tunnel walls themselves. The egg clusters were moving and
pulsing with life and the more of their guardians that they killed, the more
that came it seemed.
"I think... I think that we have found the source of the
emergency!" Declaired an overworked Bob as he and Ham retreated out of the
Tram-car and back into the station platform.
Barry was still in mid-flight as he used his high pbwered
double-barrel blaster to shred the spiked legs of the soldier roaches that
were harassing Pong. He was deft and quick of hand as he was able to do this
twice and then even reload before landing upon the control bay's platform.
Where be added his muscle to that of Ping and pulled her wounded twin up and
into the control bay's blast glass enclosure. They shut the door with hundreds
of the roaches trying to get inside with them. Legs and sharp mandibles poking
and probing trying to get through the thick glass. They couldn't see anything
aside from the bodies and parts of the huge scurrying insects as they swarmed
with intent over the entire control bay and it's windows.
Running low on ammunition and seeing Griffon utterly surrounded
Coffin Bob instantly regretted this action of attack. He and Ham were doing
their best to fight off the thickening horde as they tried to reach him.
Griff, out of ammunition, looked to Bob and shook his bead.
Page •163
He knew that in just a few more ticks he would be enveloped
by the horrible digging, stabbing, clawing creatures and be didn't want Bob
or Ham in the range of the blast.
He had pulled the pin on a photon grenade and held it high
with one arm so that the men could see , it and hopefully have enough time to
make it partway around the Tram-station's switchback of stairs or into the
control bay with the twins and Barry.
It was a shame.
Griffon had been a great pirate and a good man and friend.
They were able to make it to the stairway just as the grenade
went critical. The blast shook the whole of the station and even dislodged
a few of the tram-cars from the mucky slime. The one closest to them had derailed
and it's car swung wildly off of the track and into the station's tube-ways.
The photon blast disintegrated most of the roaches at the
station-head and on the platform. But, many more were coming from deeper in
the tunnels to replace them. Coffin Bob spoke into his collar communicator,
"Ping! Pong! Barry! Sound off!" One by one they each called back with the
exception of Griff. They all knew what that meant even if they hadn't actually
seen it occur.
"Capt'n..." Ping called out, "Got a tube car on track three
that has just responded and is ready for us."
"Great! We will meet you at the car!" Bob and Ham raced
across the photon scortched tram-way platform.
They all made it to the tube car at about the same time.
"Black Flag" By: H.B. Marion Page" 164
Ping was showing her strength as she was carrying Pong over
her shoulder and using her big pulse-rifle one handed as they came rushing
to the dirty and neglected freight car.
"What happened?!" Coffin Bob ran his hand over his face
in shock at the sight of Pong's utterly mangled legs, "Ping!" He ordered,
"You do your best! Look after her and we will get us out of here!" He hadn't
needed to make the order but it was just compulsory and a gut reaction.
Barry had already taken the controls of the old mining cart
and they were beggining to move along the tunnel slowly but surely.
"Good bye... Griffon." Barry mumbled under his breath but
the others did hear and repeated with equal sadness.
As they traveled they saw many such places like Mid-Rock.
The roaches had made the Tram-ways into an enourmous hive
and Barry and Bob discussed at length options to using them to cross Rhonda.
They knew that at some point they would come across an obstacle that they
couldn't push through with the heavy slow freight car.
"Let's just get as far as we can." Coffin Bob knew that
Pong was really in no shape to walk... Let alone to try and make a dash across
an infested rock. She was delerious with pain and sweating buckets as she
labored to breathe and whimpered in her sister's arms.
"Don't worry Capt'n..." Ham nodded at the twins on the floor
of the tube car, Pong whining pathetic in Ping's worr : iedlap, "I'm gunna' take
her and we are all going to make it... Aye?" Ham looked grave.
"Aye, Ham... We will gang out of here and never look back."
165
Vicki chimed, "Captain?"
"Yes? Report?" He called out on speaker so that they could
all hear the comforting monotone of their ship's Comp.
"We are being hailed, Captain." She put it soo simply.
"By who Vicki?"
"The Telluride... Captain." Vicki's voice proclaimed.
"Well! Put them through!" Coffin Bob had a feeling then
that, yes... they just might make it... "Captain Coffin Bob of the Sovereign
Vessel Victoria Revenge here, Sir! And, who is it that hails from the Telluride?"
"Bob..." The transmission was weak and crackling with humming
static; "Victoria Revenge... Do not approach... I repeat, do not dock! This
port is infested... Black flag... I repeat, black flag!"
"Too late for that, Telluride. We're on Rhonda, in the Tramways well past Mid-Rock... We have injured and are heading on course for rendeyous
with the Victoria Revenge as we speak for exit on Spar-lock in Red Sector."
• "Negative!" The voice was suddenly shrill and so very familiar
to them all, "Negative! Bob! You cannot leave Rhonda Seven!"
It was... Shrewter.
He was in command of the Telluride and that meant that all
things were far more dire and worse off than Bob or anyone else could have
ever imagined. Shrewter was no kind of Captain.
"We have to contain them! You said that you have wounded?!
Kill them! Kill them, now! They're infected! Kill them or we'll all die! You
have to help stop this! Kill them before you're all infected!"
"Bugs..." Coffin Bob looked at his poor Engineer as she
labored hard to breathe, sweating with intense fever, "I hate bugs... grim
damned creatures that they are.., grim creatures."
Page-
166
"Can we believe him? Capt'n?" Barry was skeptical of Shrewter
and his claims of a possible humanity ending epidemic.
The crew all looked at one another with the grim knowledge
in their eyes. Knowledge that they dared not take that chance.
"Barry, ETA Spar-Lock 008?" Bob suddenly sounded cold of
tone, "Less than a pop?" A "pop" was about an hour.
"Aye... half er' so... Capt'n" Barry read his wristcomp
and figured the distance minus the speed of the tube car, "If all things stay
the same... Capt
"
"Bob!? Victoria Revenge'',
Do you read'',
Kill them! ! ! "
Shrewter's shrill screaming voice added palpable tension in the tube car.
"Vicki, await further order... Maintain contact with the
S.V.W.S. Telluride... Command." It tortured Bob to have to call Shrewter such
of the great ship, "And, prepare alert bouy... Repeat signal... Rhonda Seven
is infested do not dock... Do not board... Black flag... R7 is contaminated."
"Bouy prepared..." Vicki signalled.
Bob looked at Barry with an open question in his eyes. Then
checked his own wrist time device. Then looked at Ham who's eyes were downcast
and then to Ping who was trying to shoosh and caress a clearly dying Pong.
"Bugs... Grim creatures..." Coffin Bob commented as he pulled
a blaster from his shoulder holster, "Vicki... Launch bouy." He ordered as
he turned and quickly shot Pong through the sweating pain sufferring head.
Ping cried out in sorrow as she cradled her dead twin's
remains and Ham went to her as she was soon hysterical with thick voiced grief
and irrational spasmic anguish.
Clones who were close share a heavy bond. You kill one and
the other will sometimes die out of pure heartbreak.
167
There was no anger at Bob.
They all knew that their Captain had done the right thing.
*
And, that it had hurt him just asmuch if not more to having
had to do that. They knew that he never would have hurt any of his crew unless
it was to save the rest of them in the process. Still, it was a sad task and
no real consolation for him as he holstered his blaster and turned to a teary
eyed Barry.
Suddenly, the ride was in near silence aside from the whirring
of the ore cart's wheels upon the track and Ping's sharply hiccup filled sobbing
and repeated pleas for a chance • to save her sister from the bugs. She blamed
herself for not having been fast or strong enough when it had counted most.
The truth was that it was Bob's fault.
As Captain it was his fault that they had even landed at
all upon Rhonda Seven and he was the one who had given the order to fight
the horde of infesting roaches.
Hoping for a quick victory. He had lost two of his great
crew and they all had lost two of their closest friends. As a man and a friend
he would never forgive himself. But, as a Captain... He still had four other
lives to save including his own.
Coffin Bob, pirate Burner of the Outer Rim, set his jaw
against the situation. He would lead them out of this. He looked around at
his saddened crew. Dispirited though they were, they were still twice the
crew of anyother ship! Shrewter had said that they would need to all stay
trapped here forever inorder to contain these rather nasty critters...
Page.
168
Hang Shrewter.
Double hang Shrewter.
Infect, the more that Bob thought on it... The more likely
it had been Shrewter that had used the Telluride's guns to rain havok upon
the main harbor and blockade it's use as an exit for all of the ships that
were moored there.
"He sealed the harbor and tried his best to seal off Rhonda..."
He looked to Barry, "Shrewter... He sealed off R7 but couldn't access the
old stuff like the spar-locks out in Red Sector... The pipes were out of his
control using Rhonda's symp-comp! That might mean that they are still active
if they were able to close the blast batches and seal themselves off from
the bugs!"
Barry nodded, "Aye, Capt'n... Makes good sense. And, if
it's true then we are headed right. The spar-lock on Deck 008 was plenty cold
when Ping and I woke her up. It being an old mining hatch and all."
Ping took a short break from crying, "It wasn't on the regular
symp-comp command grid... It was on a sub-grid of the Red Sector main hatch array."
"Rhonda?" Coffin Bob knew it couldn't possibly be her.
Ping shrugged, "Probably a seperate symp-comp put in by
the freaks that live in the pipes."
Bob nodded, "Aye, must be so..."
Ham had readied himself and made busy collecting arms and
ammunition, "Two clips pulse-rifle. Three total blasters with one magazine
each and one grenade. Plus, whatever Barry's got left... Another battle like
that last and we are done."
Barry called out and pointed out of the tube car's viewport,
"Looks like our half-pop just became a full work-cycle Capt'n... We've found
the end of the line." '
"Rock fall... The cavern's collapsed." Barry said, dialing
back the ore cart's control, "End of the ride."
Up ahead there was just that.
It looked intentionally done from the way that the blast
marks seared the walls at the end of the long siding of tram decking. The
placard on the cavern wall above the rough metal decking read...
"Ice-Town Blue Sector Deck 1282"
Ice-Town was where they produced the cooling and water for
all of the sectors on Rhonda. Contrary to it's chilly name it was indeed the
hottest place on all of the asteroid. They used giant cooling networks to
pump cool air all over and the hot exhausted air came back here and was used
to melt the ice that was trapped in the rock to produce the hot springs like
the ones found at Mid-Rock.
"Gear up." Bob helped a weary Ping to her feet, "Let's not
let their great lives have been for nothing."
They each said their good-bye's to Pong's dead body as they
exited the tube car onto the decking. The last was her sister but when she
came through the cart's hatch, she came with steel in her heart and a pulserifle in her arms.
When they exited the Tram-way's doors they were greeted
instantly by the nasty dry heat that baked everything and everyone that lived
there non-stop. The lights were on here. Simulating a state of daylight workcycle. They all squinted in the unforgiving dry heat.
There was one good upside to the heat there in Ice-Town.
"Black Flag" By: H.B. Marion Page-170
There weren't any four foot tall killer insects in sight.
"They must stay below in the Tram-ways or inside of the
vent shafts." Barry waved an already sweating arm around at the abandoned
rock caves and mining tunnels that housed small shops, living quarters and
the cooling stations.
Humans, clone or not... Need to regulate their core temperature
quite finely inorder to stay alive. And, there in Ice-Town, it wouldn't be
very long before a person would over-heat if it wasn't for the cooling stations.
Small booths that bathe one or two people at a time with
a chilly blast of water and pure Oxygen.
"Yeah, that might be true for the bugs... But, that doesn't
explain why there are no people?" Ping walked over to a tinted blast glass
shop window and peered inside, "Damn creepy." She said, "You'd think where
there are no bugs there would be people trying to do something about the bugs.
Strange, it doesn't make any sense. It's like a ghost town... An unbelievably
hot dry ghost town."
Coffin Bob squinted into the oppressive hot breeze of dry
fouled Oxygen and Carbon xDioxide. The whole of Blue Sector was just like
this. Hot arid and cramped. It's tunnels all having been dug originally for
the sole purpose of extracting the ore vein. They zig-zagged and criss-crossed
and would climb or descend without warning or notice of anykind until you
had gained or lost dozens of Decks.
"Deck" was a generic term on R7.
Unlike upon a ship, it was used for any section of likewise
used tunneling or platform. A grouping that could be asmuch as ten or more
levels could comprise one Deck. Though they were usually demarked with a "Sub"
number... It was not mandatory.
171
There were indeed very few things that were ever mandatory
on Rhonda Seven. It was the kind of thing that happens when you have an oblong
free-spinning asteroid that is turning on two axis at once and was only being
explored for financial gain by following the rich veins of ore. Terms like "up"
"down" "front" and "back" were all easily open to individual interpretation.
"Ham, didn't you used to have a lady friend from this Sector?"
Bob was looking around at the closeness of the warm walls. The only good thing
so far about that place that he had seen was the brightness of the Work-cycle
lighting and the lack of the deadly bugs, "Did you come to Blue Sector enough
to know where the Security-stations are?" He was thinking about weapons and
armor.
Barry chimed in, "Capt'n we'd probably be best just trying
to find our way down to Red Sector being that Vicki tossed a bouy and all...
Plus, will need to find somekind of transpo or this trip is gunna' take us
a couple of full work-cycles."
"Aye... You're right it may..." Bob wiped his dripping brow
of salty sweat, "But, no... Not yet."
He'd had to rethink their situation.
Coffin Bob had tried to do a dash with his crew but had
failed from lack of information and general preparation. He looked to Ham
who was already on one knee breathing hard inside of a cooling booth.
"Weapons... Ham?" He tapped the booth's glass, "Aye? Or, Nay?"
"Aye..." Said, the big man already feeling refreshed and
just abit chilled from the cold mist, "Aye, Capt'n."
"Black Flag" By: H.S. Marion Page.172
The group made their way with Ham leading and Bob bringing
up the rear. They came to a set of triple forked tunnels. Two ontop of two
ontop of two. None were labeled in the slightest.
"This is called... The Spur." Ham was already breathing
heavy from the high levels of Carbon xDioxide in the fouled air and the relentless
heat, "We will need to go down at some point to get to Red Sector." He motioned
with his dripping chin, "But, Security-stations here are few and far between
and they are all up through those two." He pointed to a tunnel in the middle
set and one at the top right, "Capt'n..." He said, sweating like rain, " I
need a cooling station... Soon."
In truth, they all did.
It was hotter there than it had been by the Tram-Station.
"Ping, see if you can raise Vicki. I am getting no response
and I'm starting to grow annoyed..." A rare thing for Bob.
It was the heat.
Heat does strange things to people.
Plus, he felt like this whole adventure was getting to be
just abit silly. It was taking far too long to get him and his remaining crew
off of this rock. And, indeed they had done quite the opposite from the desired
extraction... Having bloodily fought their way to the hot center of the free
floating space trash. He'd underestimated by a great deal the slowness of
their pace. An unrestricted Quick-Tram would usually cross the whole of Rhonda
proper in just under forty ticks...
And, they had been fighting, riding and marching for pops.
(If you haven't figured it out yet... A "Tick" was pirate
speak for about a minute in Clone time. A "flick" was around a Cloner second.
And, a "Pop" was generally about an hour... Give or take a few seconds.)
"Slack Flag" By: H.H. Marion Page.
173
Space pirates were nothing if not flexible when time keeping
was considered...
In short order they had come to a cooling station in the
uppermost tunnel of the spur. Ham and Ping went first and then Haryy and Bob.
The cold water was nice but in reality it was the pure Oxygen that truly refreshed.
Almost a full pop after arriving in Ice-Town they came to
the Security-station. It was quiet and still but Bob sensed something dangerous
inside. He looked to Barry and gave him the nod to enter first.
People would usually aim high when trying to shoot a surprise
intruder. And, Barry had had many a blaster round sail harmlessly over his
head as he opened a sealed hatch. He was just the right stature to be able
to handle himself in a close-in fight and his scatter blaster was extremely
deadly at close range.
The blast glass slid to the left and Harry hustled inside
as the cool air rushed out in a "Wb000sh!" and a slight fog. Ham followed
and then Ping and Bob held the hatchway.
Scanning the semi-darkness of the cool room with their weapons
they all soon decided that it was empty.
"Ping, you need armor." Bob said, "Everyone bio-armor up
if you find it and can fit. These things infect us with something if they
hurt us... Lord knows what it is? Spores? Microbe? Virus? Hut, I don't want
to have to put down another member of my crew to end their suffering or to
save us from maybe having to fight them off."
Ping nodded and set about it.
She found a full suit of old and quite dusty Clone Security
Trooper armor that fit her reasonably well. It was complete from toes to throat
armor capable of withstanding a direct shot from a blaster.
"Black Flag" By; H.B. Marion
Page-
174
She cursed because it was the old style and was horribly
inflexible. The newer models were of a far better design. Besides... It was
Cop armor and she hated looking like Company filth.
Ham cracked open the double locked armory locker door with
a makeshift prybar and out fell a corpse with it's eyes rotted out of it's
head. It had been it the large locker's walk-in bay and the stink instantly
filled the room.
"No!" It
was an unfamiliar cry, "Don't! He's infected! I
locked him in there before he changed! He'll make us all sick! It was the
voice of a girl... A young girl.
Bob bent down and looked into the dark corner with his gun's
bio-light. Panning it left and right under the long steel bench.
The girl was huddled there surrounded by flash ration foil
wrappers and hydration packs, some empty and some still full. She was filthy
and scared and couldn't have been more than a Rim-Cycle in age. There on Rhonda
that would be around ten or eleven P.S.A.E. Clone years old. She huddled shaking
and shivering with fear in the darkened corner underneath the table with her
knees pulled up tight to her chest and eyes wide from adrenalin.
Bob straightened up, "Ping, Barry... Fetch her."
Ping squatted down as best as she could in the movement
limiting armor, "Hi..." She gave her best smile, "Hi, sweetheart... My name
is Ping." She extended a bio-gauntleted hand, "We're going to get you outta'
here... Okay?"
Barry wasn't all that much taller than the child but was
far wider with shoulders and muscle. He stood with his hands on his hips and
laughed and smiled warmly just behind Ping, "Just what we need!" He boomed,
"Hello, little girl!"
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"No! It's not okay! Stay away!" The girl was feisty and
kicked at them, "Mommy's coming back! I can't go with you!" She screamed and
crawled further under the table, "She told me to stay here with Daddy while
she went for help because Daddy was hurt real bad." She pointed to the rotted
corpse on the floor at Ham's bewildered feet, "He told me to lock him in there
and not to open it for anything... Not even him... Not even Mommy."
Bob nodded at Ham, who took the corpse by the stiff underarm
and dragged it out of the Security-station and into the tunnel. They both
noticed that the tips of it's fingers were missing from trying to tear it's
way out of the weapon locker with it's bare hands. It's skin was dried out
and it's lips were gone.
"Probably ate it's own lips before it died of the rot."
Coffin Bob had seen enough, "Ham, put him in that rubbish
port." Better for the girl not to see her father like this... He thought but
said, "Pulse-rifles and ammo for all. Barry, make due with your scattergun
and an extra pistol with loads of clips... That's an order." He checked his
own blaster pistols, "We are going down swinging if we go! But, I doubt that
we will lose another man,.. Crew!" He looked to his men as be holstered his
loaded blasters and picked up a pulse-rifle, "We are going to make it! We
are going to get off of this blasted rock if my name isn't... Coffin Bob!"
Barry held the girl up by her waist and lifted her up off
of the tunnel floor. She was screaming and exerting herself dangerously in
the already ugly heat. They had resorted to dragging her out from under the
table and were making slowed progress due to her barefoot pajama clad tiny
ball of anger and fear and sadness.
"Black Flag" By: H.?. Marion
Page. 176
"Mommy said she's coming back!!" She kicked and struggled
and wriggled, "And, she won't find me if I'm not there!... Mommy said!"
They all knew that her mother was long dead.
Bob tried to reason with her, ham tried to smile at her.
And, Ham doesn't smile... Ever. Ping had gathered her little bit of remaining
flash and the hydro-packs and stuffed "Biggle Bear" looked for her shoes
and soon figured out that she had none. They had obviously fled during a
sleep-cycle to the saftey of the Security-station and found it deserted. The
man she said had been injured (Probably by eaters) since there were no signs
of the large bugs in the hot arrid tunnel network.
"What did your daddy do?" Ping tried to make conversation
with the girl hoping that it would help calm her, "Did he work here in Ice-Town?"
"Daddy's a coolerman..." She said, sounding quite proud
of the title, "He works at the biggest exchanger it all of Blue Sector." Her
voice changed, "He said that they came through the chill pipes from the Tramways." She stopped crying her voice hardening, "The bugs... They make people
sick. And, the sick people hurt other people... Even people that they love...
That's what Daddy said..." Her eyes were filling with tears of memory.
Bob looked at the girl, "He said that?"
She nodded.
"Then, it must be so little one." Bob was intrigued that
his best source of information so far had been a sprout of a scared shoeless
coolerman's daughter. She had with just those few teary words confirmed his
and Ping's suspicion tbat the two were linked. The bugs caused the eaters
and the eaters spread quickly. But, why would the bugs carry eater bacteria
or venom or spores or whatever? /t had to be somekind of biological co-operation.
The girl calmed the further that they moved from the Security
station.
Page.
177
Coffin Bob realized by the temperature of the rock that
she had ineffect been trapped there all of this time. Shoeless, she would
have only made it .a few dozen yards before her feet would have been blistered
and horribly baked with real burns.
Her father must have been carrying her in his arms when
they had fled for help or escape... Only, to have found neither.
"Which way are the living quarters?" Bob asked Ham.
"The opposite way than we need to go to get to Red Sector
Capt'n..." Ham could figure what Bob was thinking.
"Well... She needs foot coverings and proper clothing."
Barry was on the Captain's wavelength. Also, he was getting tired and really
very hot trying to carry her. They switched. Bob took the girl and cradled
her in his strong arms.
"What's your name wee one?" he was dripping sweat that stung
his eyes and blurred his vision.
She stuck out her chin, "Harvey... Just like my Dad."
"Harvey, You say?" He held her a little closer allowing
for her to get comfortable in his arms, "Well, my name is Bob... Just like
my father... I'm Captain Coffin Bob and this here is my crew of great rowdies."
They each did introductions as they walked and cleared the
hot tunnels scanning them with their pulse-rifles left and right. The last
was ham. He'd headed up the motley train since he kind of knew the Sector
and he did not even turn to face her when he said... "Ham."
She laughed, "Is his name really... Ham?"
"Aye... Just as sure as yours is Harvey." Bob caught alittle
twinkle of humor from the girl. She was beginning to relax with them and that
was good if she wanted to live.
178
"Ping to Vicki?... Come in Victoria Revenge?" She had been
trying to raise the ship on Comm. but had had no luck, "Capt'n" She said,
"I think that it may be the heat exchangers. I think that they are blocking
our Comm. Interferrence of somekind."
He knew that they were deep inside of Rhonda and the relays
• that usually carried ship signal down deep were probably damaged or dormant
or locked knowing... Shrewter.
"Keep trying on the... Tick." He said, gasping with exhaustion.
They had to find a cooling station soon or they would all be
toast. Ham stopped abruptly just ahead of them and went to- a knee.
"Capt'n..." He whispered back to them, "Capt'n eaters dead
ahead..." He pointed down the tunnel to the blast doors of a hatchway that
had been somewhat fortified from the outside, "It looks like they made a stand."
The eaters were all gathered together slowly scratching,
digging and clawing at the sealed doorway. They had worked their fingers to
the bones and the door was smeared with streaks of dried blood. The sign said...'
"Blue Sector Terminus"
And, had a lit panel that was still operational. The coolermen
had held the terminus from the pressing wave of infected for as long as they
could. There were blasters and pulse-rifles scattered about and piles of eaters
in various states of decay and consumption. Eaters... Eating eachother opportunistically.
Eaters, they were to be avoided... Avoided.
The Coolermen had made a brave stand and fought to the last
man and no-one could ever fault them for having lost in the end.
"Close your eyes, Harvey." Ping said to the girl, "It looks
like we are gunna' have to work for a tick."
Page'
179
There were atleast a hundred eaters piled up at the terminus
and they could see a cooling station sign glowing on the otherside of the
blast glass. They had to do this. They would never make it to another cooling
station in time. They were already exhausted.
Coffin Bob gave the girl to Ping, "Hold her away from the
gore if you can." he said, "No reason for her to have to see this mess if
she doesn't have to."
Barry took up his position at the foot of Ham with his
Scattergun. He could sweep the legs out from under many of them before they
could come close enough to threaten. Bob and Ham would flood them with pulserifle tungsten plasma rounds, blowing them to shreds... Hopefully.
Bob gave the signal and Barry whistled, "Hey! Over here!
Come and get it!"
They stopped clawing at the door and turned, a half-dozen
or more at a time. They were disgusting -Dzled-sArin-fxom-baking-in-the dry
heat of the caverns had shriveled back exposing their teeth in wicked sneers
and their eyes were almost all shriveled or gone from a kind of rot.
"They can't . see us!" Ham had spotted their missing holes,
"They're almost all blind!" He started blasting away at them. Going for short
bursts with the hi-cyclic weapon as to conserve ammunition.
Starving and crazed the eaters came on.
Even blinded by rot and stiffened by baking mummification,
they were still quite quick. And, they made enmass toward the men standing
shoulder to shoulder and taking out as many as they could.
Ping held Harvey and watched the tunnel behind them. She'd
figured that the blaster fire would be loud enough to draw more and quickly
to their position. She waited... Scared shoeless child in her overworked arms
and blaster in hand.
"Black Flag" By: H.B. Marion Page'180
She'd had to sling the big pulse-rifle to carry the girl.
Something that she had really wished hadn't been the case. She waited there
with a growing dread in her belly.
It wasn't long.
Just as she had expected. The infected horde was soon clamboring
through the tunnels to them. She spotted the first group as they rounded the
cavern's slight bend.
"There's too many of them Capt'n..." Ham knew that they
would be overrun in moments if they didn't do something quick, "Grenade?"
"No!" Bob called back, "Might damage the door's entry pad
and we have to cross here! Besides... The blast'd kill us all!"
He was right. But, so was Ham.
Barry knew what needed to happen. He pulled his extra blaster
pistol and two-handed went for the key pad as fast as his little legs could
carry him.
"No!!" Bob screamed out, "Belay that action!!" But, it was
already too late and he was into the thick of the half-blind decaying vicious
bloody monsters. In a short second, Ham started after him but Bob put his
hand on his shoulder with a quickness, "No, Man!" He knew what Barry was trying
to do. And, they needed it to happen.
The access panel lit green and in a great cool "Whoosh!"
the door split apart. There was a cry of pain and then several blaster reports
and Coffin Bob knew that he'd lost another friend.
"Barry!!!" Ham was moved.
He kicked one that had come too close as they had had to
retreat somewhat as the sickened crazed mummies attacked. He stomped and stomped
and stomped the thing's head under his heel while shooting two more, blowing
them to pieces all about them.
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"Barry!" Ham cried, "Damn, you! Barry!!" He was mad at him
for having died. Ham had lost too many friends already on that rock.
"Capt'n!" Ping shouted from behind them, •"Capt'n we have
to move now!"
He turned and saw her backing down the tunnel toward them
•and their gorey fight. She had the girl over a shoulder and was using a blaster
pistol to head shoot as many as she could. The body shots from a blaster pistol
did little to the infected.
They were sandwiched.
Infected infront and even more coming quickly from behind.
"Time to move is right!" Bob allowed Ping to pass him and
get between him and Ham as they just darted toward the opened terminus doors.
Pushing and shoving and blasting and kicking the blind clawing figures until
finally they reached the otherside. what was left of the original group of
infected had been virtually decimated. Blown into flinching jerking chunks
by the molten tungsten projectiles. But, the horde of newcomer infected were
hot on their heels and they closed the blast doors of the hatchway with difficulty
from the many struggling arms and legs protruding through the crack. Ping
had taken swift aim and head shot the two that had made it inside of the terminus
room with them when they entered and quickly set the girl down on the cooling
station's metal grate.
"We have got to find you shoes kid!" She buffed in exhaustion.
•
Ham held up two miss-matched smallish shoes. One right and
the other left, both... Bloody.
"Here" He tossed them to Ping, "I pulled them from the bone
yard..." He hooked a thumb at the terminus doors, "... Bone yard."
"Black Flag" By: H.B. Marion •
Page.
182
They rested in Blue Sector Terminus.
It was here also that they found the answer to atleast one
more of their questions about the bugs and the eaters.
After things had settled down in the tunnels. Ping sat at
the viewport and watched as the big bugs came scurrying out of the vent shafts
and picked up asmuch of the dead remains as they could carry in a nasty green
slimy sticky ball. They secreted the slime over the remains of the eaters
and then rolled them up in great big balls to take back with them to their
hive in the vent shafts or the Tram-ways. They rolled and carried their disgusting
meal away for later consumption and long-term storage.
"They must need the bacteria or whatever inorder to digest
the food. It turns humans rabid and infectious, creating a self-generating
food supply and all they have to do is start the cycle and then sit back and
multiply as their food source builds itself. They don't even have to hunt.
It's all done for them!" Ping was astonished at the complexity of the bug's system.
"Captain Coffin Bob..." The girl was playing with her biggle
bear, "I'm going to get us out of here!" She tried to imitate Bob's deep and
authoritative sounding voice.
He watched her.
Out of the corner of his eye. But, he watched her.
She was part of his crew now.
Hell... By the old law in trade-space he'd effectively own
her outright. But, they were not in trade-space. They were in Clone space
on the Outer Rim and burrowed deep inside of Rhonda Seven... Burner's Home.
He took his time deciding what to do next.
Barry had died with his wristcomp and the map out of there.
Ham only knew the main passages in Ice-Town and from what they had experienced
it was those that were most deadly.
183
Ping made time to study the bugs and the eaters.
And, the girl... Harvey played courageous pirate Captain
with her purple and blue stuffed space bear.
The hatches were four in number.
Two above the one that they had come in through and one
across and below. The Terminus Computer was fried and the grid map was of
little help if trying to avoid the main batch-ways.
"Ping, First Officer... Calling Victoria Revenge... Vicki, pick
the heck up... Vicki, Victoria Revenge This is First Officer Ping... Crew
lost in Blue Sector, terminus number 14377... Vicki?"
"First Officer, Ping?... This is the Victoria Revenge..."
The voice was unfamiliar, "Where did you say that you are?"
"Capt'n!" Ping shot up out of her seat, "Capt'n! I got Vicki...
Well, not Vicki... I got someone that's on Vicki!" She said, with a reddened
face flush with anger and violation, "We've been... Boarded!"
The problem with bouys was that they broadpast
a beacon
that is bound to attract the attention of the authorities.
Bob had known when he'd had Vicki launch that warning beacon
that the Company Cops would home in on it's signal and would inevitably come
to investigate it's source and validity. He'd just firmly believed that they
would be off of that rock by the time that they got there. But, things hadn't
worked out that way and now his ship was in Clone Cop hands...
"Company filth..." He spat as he thought. Coffin Bob hated Cops.
"Black Flag" By: H.B. Marion Pago.184
The Company Cops were stunned under which circumstance that
they had finally found the long hidden secret pirate port of fabled riches.
And, in what a pitiful condition it was in when they had found it. No Burner
would've ever dared to toss a bouy with-in a full Cycle of there but R7 was
indeed completely screwed.
Bob had been very aware that this was the end of Rhonda
Seven and being so... He had decided to warn all others from stumbling into
danger clumsily as they had. At the cost of the port he had tried to save
Burner lives.
"Officer Dave, First Officer Company ship... C.P.F. Hudson.
Reporting from the bridge of the... Captured vessel, S.V.V.R. Victoria Revenge."
"Hello, Officer..." Coffin Bob could hardly contain the
thickness of sarcasm in his voice, "This is Captain, Coffin Bob. Of the fighting
ship Victoria Revenge... And, I'd deeply appreciate it if you would unbind
my Comp and immediately unceremoniously exit my ship... Sovereign vessel that
she be, Sir!"
"Uhh... No can do, Captain Bob." The Cop was atleast being
pleasant with them, " Your Sovereign Vessel fired upon us as we came out of
short-cycle burn... She seemed to think that we we're here to damage her."
"Vicki! You lie, Sir! Vicki's a solid Comp! She'd never
do something like that on her own!" As soon as he'd said them, he knew that
he would regret those few words.
"Aye?" The Company Clone said agreeing, "Well, then you
must have ordered her to do it... Solid Comp that she is."
Problems... Problems... Problems...
Always problems.
Ham grimaced and groaned as be beat a meaty fist against
the carved stone wall.
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185
Ping's eyes were already long cried out at the loss of her
sister and her closest friends Griffon and little Barry who was soo very good
natured and big of heart. Now they flashed with outrage and anger and a deeply
violent sadness. Her choice was plain even without words.
This... It was atravesty.
Another horrible tragedy.
Bob hated to do this but it had to be done...
He called out into his collar communicator, "Vicki. Slip
cuff. Protocol five dash C dash B... Initiate."
"Good-bye Bob..." The suddenly unbound Vicki accepted his
self-destruct command and immediately detonated her gravity drive.
The blast was such that they had actually felt a slight
tremor deep inside of Rhonda... Or, atleast they had believed it to be BO.
The promise of the spar-lock evacuation and all of their
hope about getting to Red Sector had vanished when Bob had blown up their
home... Their, ship.
But, the Company Cops would have hung them all or fed them
to a sucker for piracy and stripped Vicki to the deck of her dignity. It was
better that Coffin Bob had ended her than the Clones... They all felt that way.
Some problems required painful solutions.
They rested and hydrated and cooled off and counted ammo
and studied the bugs and watched the eaters as they silently dug and clawed
at the thick blast glass doors. They checked themselves and eachother for
injuries and made little Harvey's "new" shoes fit by stuffing them with rags
and tying them tightly.
Bob had lost his ship.
His friends and his crew and his... Ship.
He shook his fist at the air in defiance, "We are getting
off of this blasted rock!" He declared.
He meant it.
No-one could have doubted his conviction in the matter.
"We will need leave of a vessel..." He said, rubbing his
stubbled chin, "Gear up! Be ready! Ham! Ping!... Err? Harvey! We are going
to liberate the Telluride from the most undeserving command of Shrewter!"
The Pirate Lords would understand this action in lieu of
the awful situation. This, they all knew.
Shrewter was no kind of Captain.
"But? How Capt'n?" Ham couldn't figure it.
"You'll see... But, first we have to get back to the main
harbor. It's going to take a fight but we are the crew to do it!"
Harvey soon sensed that they didn't know how to get to the
main harbor quickly from Blue Sector. They had immediately set off in the
wrong direction, "Capt'n Bob?" She tried to imitate their pronunciation of
Captain, "I know how to get to the harbor deck... We should use the pipe."
She knew that the cooling pipe that ran straight to the harbor was the fastest
way there as nearly all of the coolermen would rather take a pipe than a Tram.
The pipes were far faster but were restricted and a one-way trip. The pressure
of the cold air pushing you to where you needed to go. They just needed to
go to the heat exchanger and find the right pipe and... Go!
"Black Flag" By: H.S. Marion
Page 187
Bob could have kissed her.
Harvey led them straight to the heat exchanger and the way
was almost totally clear. They had put down a few eaters but it wasn't a drain
on resources. The raw unchecked heat there had kept the area somewhat clear
of the menace and so they pounded up the exchanger with renewed hope and determination.
And, urgency.
Bob had just killed who knows how many Clone Company Cops
and sent a strong no surrender messege of, "Here we are! Come and get us!"
Bob and his rowdies were already quite well known and were
indeed a very wanted bunch of convicted criminals.
They needed a ship and it would have to be either lightning
fast or loaded with weapons... Or, both.
"Here!" The little Harvey pointed to the big pipe's rotating
glass door hatch, "Just climb in and go!"
And, they did just that.
Ham went first. He held his pulse-rifle between his feet
and aimed ahead of himself as he screamed and with a chilly "SOOF!" was rocketed
down the pipe. Then went Ping. She slung her rifle and focused on happy thoughts
as the pressure built up and then "BOOF!" she was off behind Ham.
"Harvey, I'm going to make you into a fine pirate someday."
Bob was really very proud of the little one, "You just might have saved us
all..." He put her into the tube and sealed the hatch. The pressure built
up and then with a nose tickling ear popping "HOOF!" Harvey was off behind Ping.
That was when he noticed the long foreleg of a soldier bug
crawling out of the coolant pipe from the Tram-way. It was moving quickly
in the heat and only seemed to notice Bob in passing as it crawled into the
ventilation shaft for Blue Sector. Then, another and another and then one
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188
slowed as it noticed him. He didn't know that maybe the damned thing would
follow him down the pipe and thus, lead them to his crew and he knew that
blasting would soon draw a horde of them down on him. He looked to the tube
as the creature made it's quick way toward him.
"This had better work..." He said outloud as he climed into
the pipe and pulled the pin on the last photon grenade.
The roach creatures were flooding the hot decking two at
a time now out of the coolant pipe responding to the chemical signal of the
other soldier bug that had spotted him. The tube built up pressure and soon
Bob's ears were popping. He tossed the grenade out of the hatch and with a
"BOOF!" was off just as the grenade had went critical. The blast blew the
bugs apart and atomized much of the growing pile of roaches and whatever else
may have been on that decking. The cold air pipe shook hard but was unaffected
as Bob rocketed along the slick surface at nosebleed speed.
"What took you so long? Capt'n?" Ham was not the questioning
type but he'd had enough of his people die on Rhonda as it was and he was
at a loss as to Bob's grand plan to board a Sovereign Ship in mid-harbor floating
free.
"Had to roast some roaches." Bob dusted off his clothes. The
explosion had sent all kinds of dirt and smoke down the pipe with him.
The harbor lights and sirens were all still clanging honking
and flashing. They had come out on the opposite side of how they'd come in
and were only a ten-deck away from the Telluride.
"Ping, find us a port-tug..." He had a plan. And, it was
definitely going to work!
"Black Flag" By: H.S. Marion Page.189
Port-tugs were robotic craft that had no life-support. They
functioned automatically or remotely. But, if you knew how... You could board
one through a repair sally and service it or what have you.
Coffin Bob planned to trick a tug into docking for service
and then board her with his raiding crew all in emergency atmosphere respirators.
Saftey gear, common to every port worthy of it's machinery.
They'd need to be quite fast.
Even though they would be shielded from the radiation of
open space by Rhonda itself, they would still be in a frigid blood boiling
vacuum. Humans aren't really suited for "Zero atmosphere" conditions.
Quick.
They needed to be quick
Shreyter sat at the Captain's command station aboard the
Telluride and watched as a robo-tug drone came puttering past the bridge.
Those silly things had been trying to clear the port's obstructions for Clone
weeks and to no avail thanks to him. He would occassionally blast one just
for fun and then the others would go into auto-defense until their internal
danger sensor had calmed down once more. They would hide in their docking
bays and then when they figured that the coast was clear, come out and start
working again at unjambing Shrewter's little intentional ship wreck.
He briefly considered blowing this one to smithereens but
then decided against it. He'd lost the taste for it and it would take weeks
for it to make anykind of a dent in that pile up without active control or help.
"Tug docking." The Telluride's manly sounding Comp proclaimed
"Tug signalling for repair."
"Black Flag" By: H.B. Marion Page .190
"The stupid thing's confused.., or broken. Or, both." Shrewter
laughed and patted his round belly. He could've cared less. This thing could
float out there trying to fix itself all it wanted, "It must think I'm it's
robo-momma." He laughed his shrill nasal laugh.
"Four Bios detected in ship's bridge gang-bay..." Telluride
advised unemotionally, "Four Bios..."
"What? Now you're broken too?" Shrewter banged on the control
panel, "Everyone's dead except for me! Everyone is dead! And, besides robo-tugs
don't even have life-support, stupid! Stupid Computer! No Bios can use it!"
"Wrong... Shrewter." Coffin Bob stood just behind the little
man in the big captain's chair. He held a pulse-rifle on him and had a look
like the Grim Reaper in a hospital ward.
Deadly serious... Grave.
Shrewter spun in the captain's chair in surprise but held
a blaster pistol in his hand when he did, "Coffin Bob!" He screamed in shock
mixed with outrage and worry, "Get off! Get off of this ship! You're covered!
Covered in gore and who know's what else! Infected! You're infected!"
"Nay..." Bob held his rifle steady, "Now, you're going to
tell me what happened here... Little man."
"The bugs?" Shrewter laughed, "They were here all along!
They were what happened to the original miners! Those things ate them! Bones
and all! The precious ore..." Shrewter was manic and sweating hysterical,
"The ore was their waste hardened after millenia!" He held the blaster halfheartedly on Bob, "The science men that the Pirate Lords hired when they found
their eggs buried dormant in the ore vein were the ones who put it all together
for us... It was already too late though."
Ping and Ham had split up and swept most of the ship proper
and were just now approaching the bridge. They had their Pulse-rifles all
lit up with bio-lights and movement sensors and laser sights. They panned
the whole of the bridge and settled on Shrewter from opposite sides.
"Makes sense." Bob wasn't going to back off, "The bugs hatched
when the miners uncovered their eggs and it wasn't long before all Hell broke
loose... But, why can't anyone leave?"
"Spores!" Shrewter seemed resigned to his fate, "The bugs
are infected with eater spores! No-one knows exactly how the contagion is
Spread! There wasn't time to investigate it all scientifically... All we knew
was that the wounded change first!"
"New... I don't buy it." Said Ping, "Shrewter, the good
of all mankind type of guy? No way... He's trying to play us... He's holding
something back."
He was.
Ham spotted Harvey out of his periferial vision as she came
through the bridge hatch-way. She was carrying fistfuls of Creds. They were
spilling from between her tiny fingers.
"Aye... I see now." Coffin Bob nodded to the girl dripping
money from her small fists, "You were hiding out here until the whole rock
went cold and no-one would dare venture in. You were blockaiding the harbor,
not so that they couldn't get out but so that no-one could get in! Then, once
you were certain that no-one would doubt your story about having miraculously
survived the Rhonda tragedy... You would blast your way out of here with the
Telluride's big guns and then live out your days as a rich man fat in the
far Quadrants with the Pirate Lord's stolen horde of Cred. Shrewter living
the good life with Pirate Lord money!"
Shrewter looked foiled. He hunched in his seat with anger
in his eyes, "My money..." He said, "It's all mine now!"
He rushed to point his blaster pistol at Bob and was then
shot to bloody pieces by three pulse-rifles at once.
They had to hurry.
They were certain that the Company Cops would be waiting
for them to come out of R7's main harbor once they had blown the blast shutters
open. Ham and Bob went out in a transpo-shuttle and rigged the big doors with
highly explosive demolition putty. The Telluride had a storeroom of all sorts
of goodies and that had been among them. Ping directed the robo-tugs to clear
the path for the great ship and in a matter of ticks it was a clear lane.
It was tight and still quite cluttered but there was a straight "ish" shot
out of the huge harbor through the main doors.
Harvey played "Greedy Mr. Shrewter and courageous Captain
Bob" with her Biggle Bear at the foot of the freshly cleaned Captain's control
panel while Bob gave the signal for Ham to blow the demo charges and for Ping
to pilot them out of there at "Full Screw" and prepared for "Full Burn" once
they had made safe distance from Rhonda Seven. Harvey repeated all of his
words and tried to sound heroic and brave as she did.
The demolition charges broke the great doors open and the
Telluride's main gun did the rest. With one well placed volley from it's huge
plasma-cannons the doors blew the rest of the way open and off into space.
Harvey cheered and they all smiled aside from Ham.
Ham never smiled... Never.
"Black
Flag"
Page.193
By: H.B. Marion
The old RWII Resistance Heavy Battle Cruiser sailed neatly
out of the center of the shrapnel of the harbor's blast shutters.
It was indeed a grand ship.
Though it was not the Victoria Revenge. And, it definitely
was not a coffin ship. it's armor was thick and it's guns were huge in their
massive double turrets. It was what the Burners called a "Dredship" or' a "Dragon".
"Telluride, raise our colors..." Coffin Bob ordered the
ship to hoist their flag and in so doing declare their Sovereignty to all
and the ownership of Bob and the crew over the vessel. The virtual banner
fluttered atop the superstructure's telescopic mast in a soft holographic
breeze. It was bright red and bordered in black scrollwork. The image of a
skull and crossed bones emblazoned upon it's middle in bright white. It was
a sight to behold in the darkness of space.
It was a fine flag... A pirate flag.
As the ship slid through the passage and out into clear
space under screw, their sensors lit up with the signatures of a pack of Company
Cop Scouting Patrol ships and one well armed Pursuit Fighter. They were like
gnats buzzing by a giant's head. They made no threatening moves or noise as
the very last thing that they could have ever expected to have happened when
they arrived at R7,(by all accounts a cold lifeless rock in some sort of distress)
had just happened. Out of the rock itself came a true Battleship. One that they
would not have stood any kind of fighting chance against even at twice their
number. The Company Police Force were making no sudden moves.
"This is the Sovereign Vessel War Ship, S.V.W.S. Telluride..."
Coffin Bob broadcasted to all of the Clone ships, "Rhonda Seven is infested...
Eaters and Spores and Bugs... Aye... Do not dock... Do not board... No survivors...
Black Flag... R7 infested...
I
repeat Black Flag."
Page. 194
There was a short delay and then, "This is Captain, Steve
of the Company Ship C.P.F. Hudson, Rim Police... We thank you for you're warning
Telluride... And, will take into strong advisement... To whom am I speaking?"
The lead Clone C.P.F. Scouting ship cleared the way for
them to proceed and flashed it's signal lights in salute as they passed.
Coffin Bob pulled little Harvey up onto the control panel
just to his right, "Go ahead." He said, to the girl freshly scrubbed and dressed
in a highly altered Resistance Marine's uniform complete with Honorary Captain's
Crossbones at the collar and tiny shiney black Trooper boots.
"This is Honorary Capt'n Dragon Harvey!" She tried to mimic
Bob's booming voice of strength and confidence, "....Of the fighting ship
S.V.W.S. Telluride!"
Ham smiled.
She would make
a good pirate. He had lost three great friends
but had gained a new one...
"Aye... Aye... Captain Dragon Harvey... Fair sailing." The
Clone Company Captain signed off, "Fair sailing..."
The End
Donkey Hole
A Short Story By: H.B. MArion Page496
The wagon came to a sudden dusty stop just ten paces from
his worn through boots. He had his rifle trained upon it's laughing driver
with his hands full of long reigns and huge fat belly.
"You lost, mister?" The Driver choked out with a mouth full
of black chewing tobacco and road dust.
"I'll have tha' box." He said, motioning with his rifle
to the carriage, "It won't do to put up no fuss."
The Driver laughed loud and hard, choking on his tobacco
juice, "Ain't no damn box in this here wagon, boy!" He waved a filthy hand
toward the darkened coach, it's curtain drawn tight and heavy door pinned
closed.
"Non-sense!" The Bandit fired a shot just over the Driver's'
head, "You're carryin' sumthin' back there! An' I wants it!" He motioned with
hie rifle for the Driver to disembark and open the door.
The Driver climbed down slowly and deliberately, with his
hands not making any movements toward his loosely worn beltgun or the old
double barrell on the seatboard. He groaned and took a second to stretch his
legs bending his knees and kicking his feet just a bit, "Been driyin' a long
piece " He said, as he arched his aching back and started toward the coach
door.
"Open it!" The Bandit demanded.
"You don't want wut' I got in here, Son." Said, the Coachman,
"It'll turn Yer' hair white and leave you standin' in Piss wet boots." He looked
at the Bandit's hole ridden footwear and laughed, "But, I don't suppose those'd
hold much piss fer' too long anyhow." The Coach driver wasn't one bit affraid
of the little man with his bandana mask and lever rifle.
The Bandit was becoming nervous as the Driver took his time
to unlock the latches, "What you mean? It'll turn my hair white?" He asked,
obviously growing in unease. The door had three heavy steel locks and he'd
never seen a coach this braced and sturdy.
S.Story "Donkey Hole" Page._197
It had bronze fittings and cast-iron straps holding it's
heavy hardwood planks tightly together. It was painted in black laqeur and
the only window was double barred and black curtained.
The Coachman had one lock open and was preparing to start
on the next, "Ain't no money in here... Is wut' I'm sayin' to you... Wut'
I gots in here is soo damn ugly it's own momma wouldn't kiss it... And, if'n
yer' a smart feller' you'll leave this one be... But, I don't figure you fer'
a smart one none."
The Driver started on the second lock.
"Wait..." The Bandit said, "What's in there if'n it ain't
payroll fer' them Miner's up at Donkey Hole?" He was trying to rob his very
first stagecoach and so far, well... it had gone alright... If he had indeed
managed to stop the right coach!
"I cain't say fer' certain..." The Coach Driver hadn't quite
undone the second lock and as he turned he squinted into the setting sun,
"But, if'n you want this opened up, I'd suggest that we do it before that
lights gone..." He spat to his right, "Cuz' I ain't gunna do it in tha' dark!"
"Awe! Hell! Yer' jus' tryin' ta buck me!" The Bandit pulled
down his makeshift mask of a bandana tied around his narrow face, "This is
tha' mine's paywagon! That's why it's locked up tight and built like a dang
strongbox!"
The Coachman laughed and slapped his knee. He smiled a wet
lipped black toothed grin and turned to unlock the door, "Yeah, I'm twin'
ta' buck you alright!" He laughed, fiddling with the huge ring of thick brass
keys, "I tell you wut'... You're gunna wish I had! Once this here door opens
yer' on yer' own boy! And, at night ta' boot! Shee000t'! I'll be nuthin' but
road dust and frothy fat makin' deep tracks! Yessir', you'll sure be wishin'
I'd bucked you then!"
"Wait!" The Bandit paced a short step, "So? Ain't no money
in there?"
"Nope." The Driver had the second lock undone.
The sun's glow was fading as it had slipped just below the
horizon. The Driver stood with his hands in the air holding the keys in one
hand and the second lock in the other. He smiled and kicked a little dust
with his dirty boots, "Times up fer' me stickin' around if you open this here
door." He said, laughing yet completely serious in tone.
Page.i98
S.Story "Donkey Hole" "I hear thaethe sunlight is the only thing that hurts it
any." He tapped on the wagon door with a meaty knuckle, "That levergun you
got there ain't gunna' do anything but fill it with pointless holes that make
it mad..."
"So? You do know wut' it is that yet' . haulin'?" The Bandit
had begun to seriously second guess this whole thing, "Tell me! WUt's back
there?!"
Just then, something inside of the wagon stirred and shuffled
and then tried the door. It shook the last lock and caused the metal straps
to pop open on the two already unlocked hasps. The Bandit jumped in fright
and shot a hole into the thick hardwood paneling.
The wood was so hard and dense that it probably didn't even
go all of the way through the panel. But, it had caused who or whatever it
was in the wagon to try the door even harder. This time it pushed hard enough
to bow the metal strap of the third and final lock. It was clear....
Whatever it was that was in there was strong and it really
wanted out.
"Tell me!" The Bandit demanded, "Wut's in there?!"
The Coachman smiled and said, "The Spanish call it... El Diablo
er' El Chupa Cabra... The Goat sucker." He motioned to the rattling door,
"And, it's dun' got loose in there too! They'd had it all chained up tight
they told me. I'm jus' supposed ta' be taking it up to tha' Donkey Hole mine
so they can bury it in the deepest hole that they can dig
"The Goatsucker?..." The Bandit looked bewildered.
"(up, it eats whatever it finds in it's path though... Drains
it of it's blood with a bite to the throat." The Driver motioned like a.knife
across his own throat, "Drinks blood like whiskey at a Saloon."
"The Bandit's eyes widened,
"Yer' buckin'
me?..." But, he'd
heard tell of these things though... Around the campfires of the Mexican riders
and cowhands.
"Gee, I wish that I was Mister..." Said, the Driver, "Hey?
Ya' know? I'd sure feel a whole lot better with another one of these here
locks on that there door being that it's loose inside of there now an'
So? How bout' it? You either gunna' piss er' shake it off an' put it away."
The Bandit looked undecided for a few moments and then nodded
to the Driver, "Coachie..." He said, "You go on an' put both of them locks
on that thing... Ain't no sense in lettin' a thing like that get loose!"
S.Story "Donkey Hole"
Page. 199
"Smart thinkin'..." The Driver put the locks through the
straps as the door shook and rattled hard, "I guess I'd figured you wrong..."
Said, the Driver, "I thought sure as the day is long and the night is dark
that you weren't no kind of smart feller'... An' Hell, I was figurin' you
fer' a dead man as I made tracks.... But, you sure showed me alright." He smiled,
"Can I go on now an' finish drivin' this ugly wicked thing back ta l Hell from
which it came?"
The Bandit nodded and was gone from sight in seconds. Leaving
only a puddle of coward in the imagination of the Coach Driver where he had
once been standing.
That night, the black unmarked stage slow rolled into the
mining town of Donkey Hole later than usual. And, the Driver got off at the
miner's office, groaning and stretching his sore muscles.
The office man came out with his shirt sleeves held up with
garters and his black felt visor on his balding head.
"Any trouble, Mack?" He asked.
"Naw, just took a rest an' stretched my legs is all." He
said, as he quickly undid the three door locks with a deft hand and swung
the heavy coach door open.
"Goat Sucker!!!" The Marshal said loudly, "Pre been called
a lot of God forsaken putrid evil rotten vile nasty things in my murderous
life!... But, a Goat Sucker... Now, that's jus' plain dirty... Plain dirty."
"Yeah, well maybe so..." Said, Mack the Coachman, "But, I
saved that dusty kid's life back there and that's the truth of it..."
The Marshal sized up the Coachman with his cool steel gray
eyes, "Yet. ' right..." He said, "I was set ta l drill him as soon as that door
came open."
"Like I told that kid... El Diablo." He spat black juice
as he helped the Marshal with the heavy strongbox of bank notes and coin,
"Yup, good ole' El Diablo... The ugliest meanest lowdown dirtyiest gunfighter
this side of Perdition... Longhorn tinstar whiskeyboot Marshal and now of
all things... The Donkey Hole Goat Sucker!"
Page.200
S.Story "Donkey Hole" The Marshal stood holding the heavy box by it's metal handle
and looked the Coach Driver dead in the eye.
"By God..." His voice was like ice, "By God, I'll shoot
you Mack if'n you spread this one..." He was deadly serious, "A man cain't
never live a name like that down... Cain't never."
The End
(Bonus Material)
Belial's Conscription
Short Stor y By: 14.8. Marion
Page. 203
The Tiny Fool
4
Despite the sirens.
Mine had known to be affraid until it was already far too
late t o save mos s, . Many had stood panicked and hysterical. Frozen in terror .
as the flames leot and krept, raged and crackled, ever closer.
Ever higher.
Everywhere that they looked was engulfed in the wild liquid
fire that rained from the sky in a misting down pour of sizzling phosphorous .
that seemed to have no end.
If they chose to run, it was not far.
There were ten stor y walls of explosive flames in the streets
of the great city... Burning..
Burning out of control, and undeterred as the hot 'winds whipped
and howled, feeding the new born flames with. more and more ox ygen to devour.
It wasn't long before the heat was such that being near to a building would
start clothin g smoOldering and threatening to ignite. Jackets smoked and shoes
burned upon the normally cool paving stones. Men, women, children, their livestock
and pets were either soon cook ed from the heat or turned to cinder and ashes
with-in seconds.
Hell's legion had come.
A thousand, g roaning, droning, black-winged bombers crowded
the fire lit smokey night sky as the flak guns boomed and search lights swung
wildly back and forth in the semi-darkness.
It was utter terror and tonicThe Allies had fire bombed, Berlin.
But, there was one boy who was not affraid.
Not affraid to die.
One child which sat in the chaos and Death, playing games
and clanning his young hands to a mystikal tune. One dark haired rosev checked
boy in his short pants and rationed shoes with holes in the toes. Who sat
unaffected, Unformed by the heat and violence, the smoke and the terror that
consu4d his home and dest r oyed his family.
One boy who wasn't affraid because he had a secret...
A secret friend.
A charming little Devil that he'd only just met. He had
come and led the boy away down into the depths o f th s basement and there, he
S.Story "Belial's Conscription"
Pele.204
Played him songs and told him riddles and jokes and shared with him many secrets
and wonders and... lies.
A great many grand lies he did share with the boy.
For Hellequins are most proud of their lies...
The boy enchanted, giggled and clapped. Laughed and skipped
a merry circle around his strange new little friend as he played the Devil's
tune upon a tiny violin, the perfect size for his frame.
"Again! Again!" The boy smiled. wide.
Corrupted, he did this while the old city burned and Death
called for his people. He played games with the tiny King's fool in his red
and black leggings and boots with bells at their tops. And, as the boy's world
turned to ash, they laughed and jested and shared spirits from a single cup.
Magical upon his strings he sawed on....
The screams of the twisted and the cries of the burning
combined with the music and the roar, and the crackle and the pop, of the
great fire that could not be stopped.
The tin y red eyes of the sharply fanged demon glowed with
deli ght at his perversion and corruption of the child's mind.
"Easy, the young ones..." He smiled, and then played
as the bombs blasted and boomed and the flames turned the great cit y to cinder.
With each note and each chorus the boy became ever more
entranced in his lies and games and devil's magic. The clown's sickly pale
skin shown alabaster in the • explosive phosphorus fire light while he would
di p his tiny fool's cap and dance to the screams and the shrieks of terror,
murder, horror, and misery. And, as the earth above shook and burned in a
Hell of man's creation. The wicked little creature ke pt his Demon's Promise
to the boy.
He guarded him and kept him safe from harm.
Encased in his strange magic they stayed and they played
in the belly of the wicked furnace as the bombers flew and dropped ton after
ton of killing mayhem.
Safe was the pledge.
And, safe was the promise.
But, the boy's life had not come without cost of cnurse.
For, thi s strang e creature of long forgotten fairytale that
was mocked and shunned as a fool and as a jester. Kicked and flogged as comic
and as mime in the silly foolish games of great King s... Was indeed a very
powerful figure.
S.Story "Bel i al's Conscription"
Page- 205
A Demon of great rekno-,./n in Satan's court.
For, his cruel jests and t r icks were often the best gifts
of his master's delight.
The Hellequin named, Belial.
A King Fool. Demon.
A. creature of grand mocking misery.
One whr's rhymes always grew greater the longer the lie.
The boy's tiny magical friend danced with him ha pp ily in
the blazing fire light. Consumed in the hatred they spun and they laughed.
Arm in arm they danced and they clapped.
For his part. Death had been denied his prize hit not his
claim. And, thus he knew that for this one... Hell would have to wait.
"Black of heart and without a soul in another war he would
fight..." Death turned his smouldering cloak of embers, "A soldier of Satan...
Twisted away from the light."
The Russians libe r ated the boy's section of Berlin.
Moving their vile troops into the fire scortched, bombed
out husks of what was left of the ancient great city. They were ill mannered
and angr y . The Nazis had done horrible things to their women and children
in the battles east and they had wanted revenge.
But, there was almost no-one left alive in Berlin that had
had
an y thing to do with the war or it's brutality. They were taking their
ang er and criminal minded lusty rage out upon thefew scared, starved, orphaned.
or widowed that remained huddled in the ruins of the Reich.
The women were rated.
The children were beaten and they were starved.
But, safe was the promise.
AM, safe was the pledge...
The boy was kept safe and hewas kep t fed.
S.Story "Bell al's Conscription" Page.206
A kind friend the Hellequin could be.
He'd play a sweet song While his friend ate stolen bread
and stiff salted pork all winter long. He'd sing lies of maidens and witches
from ages gone past as the boy would drift off to a deep safe slee p in his
tiny devil's hands.
While others they died, sufferred and scraped.
Starved and froze as they lost di g its to frostbite, fingers
and toes.
The boy learned from the clown the lessons of darkness.
The lies of the Devil in both song and in prose.
The story long twisted and much. perverse.
HP
learned it eagerly...
Chapter and then line and then verse.
The names of great. Demons, the ancients they be... Disgraced
Angels of darkness turned black with the vengeance.. God's wrath. Bloody winged.'
traitors they were cast from his sight. Into the blackness and cut of the
light.
The clown master made the lessons both fun and sleek...
Waving his sword of short willow as he would dance and he
would sing. Playing out the battles of ancient men,.. Both, Pagan and Greek.
"Hannibal,..." He said, pointing to the magic.al armies arrayed
for false conflict, "Great was he... But, the Roman General called "The Delayer"
made him wait unti l his African beasts'had died and his forces they were:weak..."
The boy learned much in this time about strateg y and patience.
He learned the cruel way of nature and the power of hatred.
Belial's conscript.
Many lives he would soon harvest.
With the Spring the Americans the y did come.
Like the warming sun upon the blackened bricks they lifted
the stench of the decay and the Russian bleak. They gathered the l ost and
the widowed_ The hungry. The orphaned and the weak.
And, so...
To America the boy with his Hellequin did sneak.
S.Story "Belial's Conscription"
Page •207
Tn New Yo rk they gave him a family.
He now had a sister and a dog. A mother tall and blonde
of good old German stock-And a father much respected upon the street of...
Wall.
Soon, he learned English to speak.
And the Hellequin into his room to corru p t his aoul be
did greet. Each night the lessons grew longer and more complex. And, each
night the boy's darkness erew stronger, buried deeper into his chest. For
many a year this it did last. Until, finall y from West Point the boy he did
pass. A General he would one da y be. The Banker's great strong dark German
son. A fine American warrior he had become.
A soldier of Satan in a war that could never be won.
The Hellequin named, Belial.
A King Fool Demon.
Who's rhymes grew greater the longer the lie...
For many hard years the boy he did fight.
Leading young men wielding the false sword of right.
Koreans and Chinos... Vietnamese.
Afghan-Turks and ArAbs... There were piles of these.
Great stacks of dead bodies. Many meters high. In the sand
east of Eden they all did die.
For his part the toy he did flourish.. The demon fool had
indeed kept his long, held Promise. His health it was steady and his family
strong. His bank accounts Were filled and his life bad been long. All of these
things the Helleouin did grant with a wave of his willow. Until, one Oil y the
boy awoke to the fool uton his bedroom pillow.
"A deal is A deal..." The red eyes glowed, "A g reat man
of you I did make and never once did I take..."
The boy was not scared. Though his hands the y did shake.
Pa.
S.STory "Belial's Conscription"
This was his oldest friend after all, "Sing me a song."
He did request, "One of knights and Kings... And, one that is long."
He sat up smartly and then began to dress. In the mirror
he smoothed his uniform, he wore it quite well.., So neatly pressed.
"Your time it is nigh..." The Helle qui n finished with a
slash of the sawing bow, "Boy, it is over. The darkest Master is callin g for
his fine new General. The one that I did take such care from seed to sow.
Leadar you are and leader you will. For
Hell is full of blood drunk Demons
to drill!" He cracked a sickly fanged grin, "A General of evil in a battle
that will never end... From fire I found and to fire T will return... The
Master is calling... Tt is your time to burn!"
And, with that it was done.
Death claimed his prize AS the gray haired man grown from
boy burst into long overdue flame and then fell down dead.
For, his place in Hell it was already set.
Gangland, Inner-city America
"Hello, young one..." The tiny joker did smile and sa y to
oirl "I an a liar and a trickster, a comic in make-up and in song... "
the :)-He held out a small black taloned hand in gestured greeting,
"And, T am most pleesed that onto this path you have come along." He waved
to his left, "Come, Child we have much to discuss,..."
The police sirens were blaring and the bullets let fly.
But, alone with her new friend the girl did not cry.
He offered her his cup of wine spirits trong. Pressed to
her lips she drank of it deep and drank of if long.
"A deal is a deal..." The Demon did smile.
"A deal is a deal." Agreed the child.
The End
208
Dinner
Pag e—210
Short story By: H.B. Marion
Dinner
She stood in the hot afternoon sun-baked parking lot of
asbhalt, filled with similar vehicles to her own;with little white stickers
of stick figure families stuck to their black tinted back windows.
"Oh, flippin' Hell..." She said, in an exhaused gasp.
She had just finished pushing the heavy cart filled with
it's bagged. groceries to the back of her mid-sized light tan Shy,
just like the million others all around her. Fumbling with the ca r t f o keep
it from rolling heavily inte another's bumper, sherealized that she had
left her purse inside of the store along with her car keys.
She would have
to push
the bastard cart back with her all
of the way or risk losing her hundreds of dollars in food that she had just
spent an hour after a busy day at work buying from her carefully crafted list.
•
"Oh, Hell." She turned the cart and be gan to push the long
way back, "I must be losing my mind."
Karen, was her name.
She was. a wife and a mother of two.
boy that was five and a girl that was three. She was a
pretty child, blonde haired and fair skinned like her mother but with the
brooding deep set dark eyes of her father.
And, for that... Karen was most thankful.
It meant that her child would not have to endure the life
long stares and whispers, strange looks and riddicule that Karen had for soo
long.
Her son was the dark skinned raven haired spitting image
of his father in everything including attitude. He already held himself upright
and had a slight swagger to his steps like his macho father.
She pushed the cart through the double automatic sliding
doors with a "Whoosh" from the air-conditioner and a rattle of the wheels
over the rubber mat.
Short story by: H.B. Marion
Page.211
"Oh...jhank God." She said, as she approached the checkout
l ine at the front of the store, "It's still there." She hurried and grabbed
the strap. She was running late as it was and if her husband's dinner wasn't
ready at
six-
thirty, he'd be a real jerk for the rest of the night if not
week.
"Uhh? Ma'am..." The clerk stopped her by grabbing her elbow
"Is that your bag, Ma'am?" He asked, sharply. Almost rudely.
"Of course it's my bag!" She wieeled free of the clerk,
"I left it when I checked out and had to come all of the way back here to
get it!" She was upset at the accusation but wasatleast pleased to know that
the store was serious about protecting it's customers, "I've got my I.D, right
here..." She unzipped the beg and rooted around in it's side pockets.
"Ma'am." The clerk looked annoyed, "That is not your bee.
Ma'am." He reached out to try and snatch it from her as two more peo ple with
name tags and matching shirts Who worked at the place came up slowly from
behind her.
"Well, I am certainly not trying to steal my own purse!
If that's what you're trying to say!"
She found the wallet and opened it for then to see. .There
was a small crowd gathering and people in the lines where whispering and pointing
as she held the open billfold out for, them to inspect.
The
c la-1/4
took it from her and made a small show of looking
the identification over, then handed it to emitter woman that had been ringing
up her groceries in that line, "Fare is your wallet, Miss." He said, "She
has grabbed it by mistake." He looked at Karen with a strangely soft . understanding
placid win, "Please, give the lady back her bag... Will you?" He pointed
to the familiar feeling and looking purse in Karen's hands, "This is obviously
just a misunderstanding."
Karen was lost.
Beyond confused, Bewildered.
She handed the Dutey 6, Burke purse to the clerk slowly And
looked around at the shoppers end clerks with dazed confused eves.
. "See? She was just confused is all..." The clerk reassured
eVeryone in the store, "Just confused."
Karen looked around, "But, I was just here. I left my bag
right here. I bought t'aese groceries..." She pointed to the heavy cart that
she was pushing and looked down to fetch her receipt.
Page. 212
"Where's my cart!?" She screamed in strange panic. The cart
that she Was pushing was old anddirty, rusty with nothing but old blankets
and dirty clothing- mixed with bags of aluminum cans and plastic hettles in
it There were no gra:eries in their neat - little eco-friendly sacks waiting
for her to take than home and unload them into her ver y clean and always perfectly
organized pantry. A food closet that Martha friggin' Stewart herself would •
have creamed over.
The clerk just Continued to smile in a soft . and pleasant
manner, "Are you... okay?" He asked, sounding as if he felt sorry fo: her
for some reason. "I'll help you out with your cart and we'll see about some
help for you... okay?" He grabbed her elbow again and began to lead her out
the way that she had came in.
She trembled and stumbled over her words as she tried to
explain the problem to the clerk While he steered her clear of the store and
back out into the unforgiving heat of the parking let,
"Okay, Ma'am..," He gave her cart a nudge in a soft redirection
"You take care now." He stood barring the doors with his hands on his hips.
After a few confused paces, out in the blazing sun. Karen
turned back to the long familiar store and took off her dark sunglasses to
wipe her eyes free of the salty team that had developed in them.
"I'm going fricken' crazy..." She said, using a car door
mirror to check her make-up and the puffine ss of her crying-eves, "Fricken'
bat crap crazy.' She re peated., a s she stared herself in the depths of her
deepest shame.
Karen, she hated her eyes.
Always
As . ,
had.
they were a source of bitter torment for her fcr: most
of her life. They were not beautiful, as was the rest of her. They were empty.
Ghostly empty, milky white pools of swirling colorlessness. Infect, most people
thought that Karen
was
blind with her strange albino irises and hard tiny
black specks for pup ils. But,, the fact was that she could see perfectly fine
with her eyes.
Well.,. When they were working properly to show her the
world as it really was anyhow.
Page.213
She stood and took a deep breath, arching her aching back
and sighing with the stretch, "Jesus, Karen..." She said, Pushing her cart
the rest of the way to her tan Landrover, "What has gotten into you?" She
looked down at her cart of neat little brown paper begs made of recycled paper
and stuffed neatly with their fresh groceries, "There's your friggin' purse..."
It had fallen down into one of the bags in the cart.
She fished it out and found her keys quickly. The little
dangley b l ack fob wi th it's alarm and entr y buttons felt familiar in her grasn
and she unlocked the doors with the orooc of a button, The horn honked and
the lights flashed as she lifted the hatch to begin the unloading of her bags
from the bastard cart.
"If I had a dime..." She said, referring to the way the
whole world had hist went crazy around her .and then somehow had righted itself
just as fast, "I'd be a friggin' millionaire." -
"Burner" By: H.B. Marion - 2016
Page.214
About the Author,
H.B. Marion is a self-taught writer that has only begun
to explore the depth of his talent for fiction. Born in California, and raised
by his maternal grandmother in Sacramento, Calif. He is currently serving
a 26 year 8 month sentence for assault with a deadly weapon (fire-arm) in
Corcoran State Prison, Corcoran, Calif.
He began to write while in the ADM= unit of Salinas Valley
State Prison, as be was waiting to be housed in their population. Alone, and
without anything to read, he decided to write his own stories. Now, several
years later be still has not stopped and has recently been honored with a
2nd Place finish in the Golden State Care Packages Hollywood script writing
contest for another of his short stories, "The Tall Wheat" a western based
Sci-fi tale that is at times as funny as it is dark.
Author contact info: Marion H. Brown
AH-6319 3CO5-117L
CSP-Corcoran Prison
P.O.Box# 3471
Corcoran, CA. 93212

Burner: A Compilation of Short Stories

Transcription

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