Randomness

Posted by Ami

These are random thoughts I wrote out and then left: As a writer there are somewhere around three million thoughts streaming into your brain at the speed of light all the time unless you are sleeping…

Lasting Legacy:

What if you knew that the last image of you in death, like Elvis sitting on the toilet seat, would be seen by everyone? Would it make you live your life differently if you knew at the very last breath that everyone would know who you are, what you were in life, see a clear picture, see a picture of you, dead, reduced to an inanimate corpse. No magic. You can’t fly. You didn’t miss the bullet. You are no longer a star, bigger than life, you died, just like everyone else. And all the things you covered up during that lifetime, all the times when you could have bent, changed, helped, are gone. And everybody knows what you did and didn’t do. Would it change you? Would it mean anything to you to know that, or would you continue to be the person you are right now? (I went searching for a picture of Elvis. I found a picture of Elvis dead, sitting on the toilet. I was sort of shocked. I felt as though it made who he was kind of small. In the end there he was, dead, sitting on his toilet.)…

Coffee:

Did you know there are places in this world where people start their day without coffee? Like a refugee. A refugee doesn’t get the chance to have coffee in the morning. If I was a refugee I’d be like, “Hold your ass! I’m having my coffee here! You rebels are starting to piss me off!” (One of those mornings, any morning really, when I have to do things before I have had my coffee.)…

The Litter box zone:

If you have a cat you have a litter box, unless you’re one of those aliens that teach their cats to use the toilet (They’re probably alien cats. I tried to teach mine and it nearly drowned… Twice). We scoop cat crap, get embarrassed when our friends come over and the cat suddenly decides that fancy fish dinner has settled enough and blows up the house, but if your friend Bob came over, walked into the corner of one of your rooms and took a crap, and then threw some sand over it, would that be okay?

“Whew,” says Bob as you are trying to decide what in hell just happened. “That fancy fish dinner had to go.”

Of course it wouldn’t be okay, so why do we allow cats to do the very same thing and then calmly take a scoop and cover it or remove it? And what about litter that absorbs odor? Doesn’t work. You could blindfold me, walk me around my house and I guarantee I could tell you when I hit the liter box zone. “Yep… Right here. Smells like wet sand/clay and cat sh*t,” I would say. (Do you have a cat? Enough said then.)…

Bad ideas:

Cat Trials: To determine whether cats truly do have nine lives.

Closed after one test… No, Cats do not have nine lives.

Excuses for why the cat is gone.

It was past it’s expiration date so I had to chuck it.

There was a terrible showdown between the cat and three mice. I think the mice were carrying knives. It was bad. Yes, they may have been blind mice, but they were friggin’ mean blind mice.

I traded that cat for a Volkswagen

What cat? We had a cat?

Other Cat Stuff…

Used cats: You never see ads for used cats, you know, “Gently used cat. Very low miles. Will trade for good dog, beaver or camping tent.”

One of the things I have against cats: They have fur all over them, and since I am in denial about having evolved from some sort of monkey or other animal, it bothers me to know they may rise and take over the world some day. Funny? I’ll bet that’s what the other monkeys thought about 25,000 years ago when Bob the different monkey shocked them all by fixing a hamburger and fries for dinner instead of insects and grass.

Whistling: If you whistle to a dog they’re coming. He or she will be right there. Whistle to a cat and they may flip you off, but they’re not coming.

Things you never hear… “Brother, can you spare a cat?”

Famous Quotes:

“Give a man a potato he can eat for a day. Teach a man how to grow a potato and a cat will probably come along, dig up his garden and crap in it.”

Things I have not seen:

Three legged cats. Cats with their suitcases packed (Do they have suitcases?). Cats with a drivers license. Talking cats. Unpretentious cats.

From a real Social Website Commentary

The following conversation contains bad remarks about cats and cat like creatures. If bad remarks about cats or cat like creatures offend you, you should not read this. Also, no cats were harmed in the making of this commentary, nor do any of the participants wish any cats to be harmed for any reason… Except the ones trying to take over the world…

(The conversation started in response to an Article about Cat Allergies)…

Geo Dell: I am not going to read it. I don’t want to learn how to get along with cats… Here’s my theory of how cat allergies happen. I think the ACD Gene detects their presence and alerts you. Of course we should pay attention, but we don’t. I also have another theory. There is a pheromone cats send out. This enters the brain through our olfactory organs and then is, unfortunately, absorbed into the blood stream. Suddenly, usually within hours, you find yourself liking cats. WHAT? you think, How in heck did that happen? Easy, that pheromone carried a destructive gene sequence that attacked and overcame the ACD gene. After that contaminated people are screwed. Those people will continue to like cats, and, unfortunately again, the cats will take over the world and make us their enslaved race of human pets… Or… When the ‘Fridge is empty… Pet Food…

(Name Changed for protection): I had a dream like that once where cats had taken over the world and people had to worship them or be killed. lol

Geo Dell: True, sad, but true. It will happen. It’s inevitable…

Geo Dell: Oh… ACD = A**hole Cat Detector

Geo Dell: Reasons to not like cats… They used to be ten feet tall at the shoulder… They used to catch us and take us back for the kits to chase around and learn to hunt… They are only tolerant of us… THEY WANT TO TAKE OVER THE WORLD!

Geo Dell: Every year thousands of people die in their homes and are eaten by cats. You never hear of cats dying in their homes and being eaten by us, do you?

(Name Changed for protection): lol

Geo Dell: Old people are forced to eat dog food. Well, cats are cheaper.

(Name Changed for protection): Hey, I think people forget they are living with animals. if you die, they will eat you. You’re meat at that point

Geo Dell: Yes, but I believe cats have secretly learned how to use the phone and call their friends over. Sort of like a… Fancy Feast

(Name Changed for protection): “Hey Oscar, this is Simon, my food supply died. you wanna come over and help me eat him? Tell whiskers and the crew that dinner’s on me this weekend.”

Geo Dell: Exactly. Now you are thinking. Rise up! Rise up, I say. And… Uh, well, I really don’t have a plan, but I would say start installing video cameras, keep track of these cats, especially the radical Pink Panther cats. And then, well, we’ll do something. Start a revolution or something. Sit around smoke pot, drink and say really deep things that nobody remembers the next day. At least that’s the way it was in the Seventies when we used to talk about revolution…

(Name Changed for protection): lol…

Okay, enough foolishness…

On other fronts….

I don’t know why I should be surprised when Monday shows up and I am no further ahead to catching up on things than I was the week before. Yet every Monday here I am, surprised again. And that would be funny except it’s true, which sort of makes it even funnier.

There was progress last week of course, just not as much as I would like to see. I always want mega progress, the whole board wiped clean, and of course that is not going to happen because as the board empties on one end it fills on the other. That is life for most of us I would bet.

The fifth Earth’s Survivors book Plague, the last book for the series until next year (maybe).

Free Preview and links: https://books.apple.com/us/book/earths-survivors-plague/id1015630497

This blog is where you will find information from me every Monday. Dell will do informational blogs as well, usually on Fridays or the weekend. Ami will do blogs throughout the week and load blogs for others.

That’s it for this Monday. I hope your week was a good one, I’ll be back next week, Geo Dell

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America The Dead: The Fold 2 Apple Books

EARTH’S SURVIVORS AMERICA THE DEAD: THE FOLD TWO

Copyright 2020 Lindsey Rivers

All Rights Reserved

Additional Copyrights © 2010, 2012, 2015 by Wendell Sweet.

All rights reserved, foreign and domestic

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your bookseller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

LEGAL

This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places or incidents depicted are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual living person’s places, situations or events is purely coincidental.

This novel is Copyright © 2016 Wendell Sweet and his assignees. Dell Sweet and Geo Dell are publishing constructs owned by Wendell Sweet. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means, electronic, print, scanner or any other means and, or distributed without the author’s permission.

Permission is granted to use short sections of text in reviews or critiques in standard or electronic print.

NOTICE: This material is not edited for content


THE FOLD TWO


Prologue

Rochester New York

Leaving

While Jimmy searched out Hank Nelson, one of his ex-police buddies who had been helping to coordinate things, Frank set off with Gary to find Jessie. Jimmy could fill Hank in, and Jeremiah had gone over to the television station to set a plan in motion, that they had all agreed upon. Frank needed to find Jessie. He couldn’t leave without seeing her, even if it only made it harder for him, and she was also part of the plan they had come up with, and, she needed to know about the children, Frank reasoned.

He found her with Lisa and Connie, in the old County Court House building, setting up the make-shift Red Cross kitchen for lunch.

“Frank,” she asked when she saw his red eyes, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing is,” Frank said, mildly, “but I need to talk to you…” he looked over at Bessy, the formidable woman who had run the kitchen on her own for three days, “Bessy?” he asked.

“Go on ahead,” Bessy said, “we’re just about finished here anyhow. Jessie, go on ahead, Lisa and Connie can help me serve.” The old gray-haired woman nodded her head sternly at Jessie as she spoke.

Frank waited until they were outside before he spoke. Gary had followed them out, but walked a short distance away. “First,” Frank said, “I love you, Jessie, I do with all my heart, and I should’ve already said it.”

“Jessie, we, Gary, Jeremiah, Jimmy and I have to leave. I can’t tell you all reasons right now… it has to do with something I know about those caves, but we have to go, Jessie. We have to.”

“Okay,” she said in a low voice, as she brushed tears from her eyes, “just come back, Frank…” she burst into tears as she finished. Frank took her chin in his hands, and gently lifted her face to his.

“Jessie, do you trust me?” Frank asked.

“Of course, Frank!” she was crying harder but her voice had taken on a rough edge, a panicked pleading was mixed in with it.

“Jessie, trust me, it’ll be okay, I swear it,” he said.

“I believe you, Frank, and believing will help me hang on,” she replied.

“I… I wanted to say something else, Jessie… Something.”

She put one finger to his lips and stopped his words.

“Frank… Not at a time like this… I don’t trust emotion in a time like this.”

He looked at her for a second and then nodded. He turned to Gary and nodded decisively.

The three of them walked quickly toward the television station, meeting Jimmy along the way.

“All set?” Frank asked.

“All set,” Jimmy answered, “Hank, will see to things here.”

They walked in silence to the station, and Jeremiah met them at the door. “Think it’ll work?” Gary asked him.

“No way to know, but it can’t hurt,” Jeremiah responded.

Two hours later, Frank, Jeremiah, and Jimmy, as well as Gary, were standing at the village of Fairport’s main dock.

“Several to choose from,” Gary said, as he stared out over the muddy banked channel.

“At least they’re not all in the mud,” Frank agreed. “Makes me wish we had John with us. I’d feel a heck of a lot better with him steering us out to the lake.” They had gone to John before they left to find out which was the quickest way to get to the lake, without chancing a trip through the north side of the city. John had suggested Fairport, because of its man-made channel that served the lake.

“Well, let’s do it, Gentlemen,” Jeremiah said, as he walked across the concrete lip of the channel, and out onto a short pier. A length of yellow nylon rope was still bound, although it was pulled tight, around a wooden piling, and Jeremiah followed the rope to its ending, at a fairly good sized fiberglass speed boat about three feet below them. Lilac City Baby, was stenciled just below the port side in script. After carefully untying the knot in the nylon rope; holding it tightly against the wooden piling as he did, allowing the tension to slowly bleed off, Jeremiah jumped down the three feet to the deck.

“Well?” he said looking up, “you guy’s gonna just let me float away?”

The remaining three men jumped down to the deck, as Jeremiah made his way back to steering console.

“No keys,” he said frowning.

“I can fix that,” Jimmy said, “lemme see…” he reached his hand under the panel, and emerged with three pig-tail ends of wire. “I learned this at the jail,” he said, as he slid two of the wires together, “listening to a kid we had in one night, talking about how he did it.” The small red indicator light to the right of the switch lit up. “Now,” Jimmy said, as he touched the remaining wire to the already connected two. “Presto-chango,” he finished as the electric starter began to whir, turning the in-board motor over. He reached to the throttle and edged it forward slightly, while still holding the wires together with one hand. The engine caught, and the low burble of the motor came to him from the exhaust that bubbled up from the rear of the boat. “No probleemo,” Jimmy said, as he released one of the wires. “I don’t however, know how to drive this thing,” he finished sheepishly.

“I do,” Gary volunteered, “I owned one like it.” He took over the controls and slowly backed the boat away from the dock, turned it around, and headed down the channel toward the lake.

“Owned your own gravel pit,” Frank said, “I guess you were pretty well off if you could afford a boat like this.”

“That I was,” Gary said, “but I ain’t sorry I don’t have it all still, Frank… In fact I’m glad I don’t. It was too much of a headache. When this is over I’m retiring.”

Frank chuckled. “Me too, Gary, me too.”

Twenty minutes later they were leaving the channel and entering the lake. The sun rode high in the warm air, and Jeremiah asked, “How long did John say it would take to get there, Frank?”

“Two, maybe three hours tops,” he replied.

“Gee, Frank, how come we didn’t think of this?” Gary asked, with a smirk on his face.

“Dunno, should have,” he said laughing. It felt good to laugh, he thought, and he was pretty sure none of them would be laughing once they got to Fort Drum.

“How are we going to do it when we get there?” Frank asked, to no one in particular.

The laughter died down quickly, making Frank wish he hadn’t asked.

“We’ll see when we get there,” Jeremiah said, “all we kin do, Frank.”

“How close you think you can get us, Gary?” Jeremiah asked.

“Well, if the town’s flooded like I think, we’ll probably be able to take it right into Watertown, and probably most of the way to Fort Drum. From there I guess we hoof it, guys.”

Frank checked the clip in the nine mm machine pistol, before he spoke. “You really think we’ll need these, Jeremiah?”

“I’m ‘fraid so, Frank, we can hope this Jeffery’s guy ain’t there, I doubt he is, but there’s the other guy to contend with… He may know we’re coming, he may not. Hopefully Jessie and Hank can fool ’em for a while… No telling, Frank, but I’m sure we’ll need ’em,” he checked the clip in his own weapon when he finished.

The machine pistols were fully automatic, and each held a two hundred round clip. Jimmy had liberated them from the evidence room of the Rochester Police Department’s downtown office, along with several spare clips, and more than two thousand rounds of additional ammunition. “These will do the job,” Jimmy had said, “if anything will.”

The machine pistols had been taken in one of the many raids on drug houses on the city’s north side, Jimmy had told them, as he had pointed out a room that to Frank looked as if it could hold a small banquet.

The room had been filled to overflowing with weapons of all types, including what looked to Frank to be an Army issue fifty mm anti-aircraft gun. “They use those?” Frank had asked, incredulously.

“Those and anything else they can get their hands on,” Jimmy had answered solemnly.

I wonder if we should have bought the anti-aircraft gun, Frank thought now, as he watched the calm blue-green water of the lake slip by. “I hate the thought of having to use this,” he said, as he slipped the gun into a leather side holster that had been with it. The holster had obviously been custom-made for the previous owner of the weapon and included a long slit in one side that allowed the weapon to be holstered with the clip in place. The initials A. S. were burned into one side of it.

“So long as you use it when the time comes, Frank,” Jeremiah said. “Don’t hesitate, just do it, it’s us or them.”

“Oh I wouldn’t hesitate, Jeremiah,” Frank said, “I just won’t like it while I’m shooting it.” He frowned, but in truth the weight of the gun against his hip was comforting.

Gary pushed the throttle forward as they left the shallows of the lake, and began to move across the dark blue waters toward Fort Drum. Frank relaxed back into one of the vinyl boat seats, and let the wind flow through his black hair. Had it ever smelled so sweet, or felt so good, he asked himself. Probably not, he told himself. He wondered if maybe that was the way it was though when you were about to die. If suddenly everything began to look a lot better, he supposed it was. He couldn’t rightly say that he felt as if he were going to die, but he couldn’t say he didn’t either. He looked around at the others. Gary had a grim smile plastered across his mouth as he leaned into the rush of wind, piloting the speed-boat. Jeremiah was sitting in the seat across from Frank, idly picking at a loose thread in the cushion, a worried look on his face, and Jimmy was leaned back in a backwards facing seat directly in front of Frank, with his hands clasped behind his head and his eyes shut. Frank tried but he could not shake the doomed feeling that had clutched him. It wouldn’t let go, no matter what he tried to think of besides where they were going, and what they were going to attempt to do. He couldn’t shake it, the grip was too tight.

Jeremiah turned and spoke. “Seems like the end don’t it, Frank,” he said in a matter-of-fact voice.

Jimmy opened his eyes and leaned forward as Frank spoke. “It does at that, but I’ve never had much that I cared about in life except my kids, and now Jessie; and now God. I don’t want to die, but it isn’t something I’m afraid of anymore.”

“I feel about the same,” Jimmy said, “no kids, no wife, I thought being a cop was all there was,” he shook his head, “I’m in no hurry to die either…” he shrugged his shoulders, “It won’t make me avoid it though, or walk away from it, I’m in it to the end.”

They both looked at Jeremiah as he spoke. “It ain’t so hard to die. It ain’t something I want to do again though. At least I know there’s something there, and it makes a big difference far as I’m concerned.”

“What’s it like, Jeremiah?” Jimmy asked, echoing the same question that Frank had been thinking.

“I don’t know as I kin explain it well enough…” Jeremiah replied, “It’s sort of like what you think it is. Like…if you think it’ll be hangin’ around in a cloud all day, and talkin’ to angels, I guess it could be that for you,” he paused. “For me it was playing checkers. It was something I used to like to do, and never had time for. I played a couple of games with my dad…” his voice broke softly, “he hadn’t changed a bit, still cheated’. It also means spending time with God, talkin’ to him if you want to. I played checkers with him too, beat him on occasion, course I think he let me. It’s everything you think it is, that’s the best I kin say toward explaining it,” he paused, and sighed. “One thing is life does have a bit on it. The taste of a cold beer, food, Maggie, feelin’ hungry even, life does have something on it. But death ain’t a bad place at all, you kin live there and have it agree with you.”

“That’s a good thing to know, Jeremiah,” Frank said quietly, “if it’s what you say, I guess it isn’t half bad then.”

Jimmy had once again closed his eyes and leaned back against the seat. “It’s a damn sight better than I thought it would be,” he said softly.

“What the hell you worrywarts talking ’bout now?” Gary called out, over the sound of the wind.

“Just life in general, Gary’,” Frank answered. “How you doing?” Frank asked of Gary’s back. “Why can’t you put this thing on auto pilot or something?”

Gary stared over his shoulder at Frank, a look of disgust mingled with a smile on his face. “This boat doesn’t have it, that’s why, mister smarty-pants,” Gary yelled above the wind. “The throttle will stay open, but the steering won’t lock, we’d go around in circles.”

“Gee, so touchy,” Frank said with a smile, as he got up and steadied himself. “I’m gonna watch the water go by, I guess,” he said to Jeremiah as he walked away. He moved slowly up to where Gary stood, and stared out over the water. The waves were choppy and Frank could feel the boat skipping over them. They were hugging the coast line, about a mile out, he figured, and from here the world looked beautiful, he thought, it looked like nothing at all had happened. The vast expanse of water was entirely empty though, and that shattered the illusion. “Worried, Gary?” he asked.

“Nope, I ain’t,” he replied. “I’m ready as I can be, and I ain’t a bit afraid,” he added. “You?”

“We talked about it…” Frank said.

“Heard most of it,” Gary returned.

“What do you think, Gary?”

“Same as you, Frank, it’s a big comfort to know.”

Frank nodded his head, and the two men fell into a comfortable silence as the boat skimmed over the water toward Fort Drum.

Rochester

Jessie

In Rochester, Jessie sat in the small studio, staring intently at the television. Beside her John was silent, watching the recording that Frank and the others had viewed earlier.

She had never promised Frank she wouldn’t, and she wanted to see for herself what kind of a monster they were sent to deal with. They watched it all, and as they did the paleness that had crept into Jessie’s face turned red, and her eyes reflected the anger that was building within her. John reacted similarly, and Hank who was also with them refused to watch after the first few minutes, preferring instead to stare idly at the ceiling, as if inspecting it for damage, until the recording finished.

Willie Lefray

In a small run-down apartment on Hudson Avenue, on the north side of the city of Rochester, Willie Lefray sat talking to Alfred Harding.

Al had been with Willie since the day he had arrived in Rochester. Al was devoted. Totally devoted, and Willie knew he would balk at nothing he asked him to do. He stared at the slight red-haired pimple-splattered young man that was Alfred Harding, thoughtfully, before he spoke.

“Today, Al, today. Take three or four of your guys with you. Do you think you can handle it, Al?” Willie asked.

“Oh yeah, Willie, sure, sure I can,” he responded.

He’s like a fuckin’ puppy dog, Willie thought, before he spoke. “Okay wonder-bread, it’s on you. You get that bitch, and you get her alive, understand?”

“Sure, sure I understand, Willie, what’re you gonna do to her, huh? Gonna kill her or something, Willie?” his eyes shone with adoration as he spoke.

“Don’t worry, Al, tell you what, you want to do her first, Al? Before I do what I have to?”

“Oh sure, Willie, that would, you know, that would be cool, I think,” Alfred answered fairly drooling with anticipation.

“Okay, Al, calm down. Now tell me what you’re gonna do,” Willie asked.

“Sure, Willie,” he answered. “We’re gonna sneak in, and we ain’t gonna kill nobody unless we hav’to. We’re gonna get this Jessie and we’re gonna bring her back to you… Not hurt,” he added hastily.

Willie took a long swig from the bottle between his legs. “Good, Al, very good, now get the fuck out of here and get ready, ’cause in just a few, you’re going,” Willie said.

“Sure, I’m gone already, Willie,” Alfred said as he got up and beat a hasty retreat out of the living room, and through the front door.

Willie listened as the door slammed shut behind him, and took another long pull on the bottle.

He had run out of the white powder. He could settle for cocaine, he supposed, there was a virtual glut of it just laying around waiting to be picked up, but after the magic white powder that Luther had given him, cocaine was nothing.

He had fully expected to be dead by now, and it baffled him that he wasn’t. He hadn’t eaten in ten days or better, and he’d had nothing to drink that didn’t contain alcohol in at least as many days. He sighed. “Fuck it,” he said aloud, as he took another swig from the bottle.

The phone on the coffee table suddenly burred, and Willie nearly choked before he managed to swallow, and then quickly snatch the phone from the table.

“Yes,” he said into the phone, in a small voice. “Yes, today, Luther,” he set the phone back down and got serious about killing off the half empty bottle, “No place to hide, nowhere to go,” he muttered as he drank.

Jessie

Jessie was angry…No, she corrected herself, pissed off big-time, not just, or only mad, pissed off big-time, in big capital letters. She envisioned it in her mind, PISSED OFF BIG-TIME, that’s what she was she told herself, as she sat at the small table and stared at the blank screen of the television monitor.

John spoke. “You okay, Jessie?”

“No, I’m not,” she said, “I’m Pissed off… Big-time,” she said vocalizing the thought. “What a rotten piece of shit he is,” she said, referring of course to Luther.

“Yeah, he’s a piece of work all right,” John agreed with a sigh, “you’ve got to let it go though, Jessie, we have things to do, and you can’t allow your anger to get in the way of it.”

“I know that, John,” she said, still angry, “I’m trying to get a handle on it, okay?”

“Okay,” John said soothingly, as he got up. “Want some coffee?”

“Yes,” she replied, a little bit calmer, “that might help.”

“Be back,” John said, as he walked off.

Hank had stepped out a few minutes before. When Jessie had finished watching the recording she had been steaming, and it had scared him.

Hank liked things nice and straight forward, and in his mind women didn’t get that mad. Why, women were kind and soft and gentle, like his mother, he reasoned, things like that. But they were never angry, they never swore like Jessie had, and men were never afraid of them either, he had told himself as he left the room. Maybe it would be a good idea if he just took a short walk, he had convinced himself. In fact it was time to take a walk… A long walk. Time to lay low maybe, he told himself.

Jessie drew in several deep breaths, as she sat at the table, and once she felt she had herself under control, she snatched the disc from the machine and forced herself to set it down instead of throwing it across the room, which is what she wanted to do. “Prick,” she mumbled under her breath, as she sat the disc down. She reached across and picked up the disc that Frank, Gary, Jeremiah, and herself, as well as Jimmy, had made before they left. She slid it into the machine and hit the play button, then leaned back into her seat to watch it.

ONE

Watertown

Frank

Frank turned from staring out over the water and asked, “How much longer you think, Gary?”

“Twenty minutes, maybe less,” he responded, after checking his watch.

Frank turned. “Almost there guys,” he said. Jeremiah and Jimmy walked forward and stared out over the water.

“It’s changed a bit,” Gary said, “we should already be on dry land, and, as you can see, we ain’t.”

“That bad?” Jeremiah asked.

“Not if we want to save time it ain’t,” Gary replied, “the closer the better, I just gotta be careful is all, don’t know how deep it is here.”

“Seems pretty deep to me,” Jimmy said doubtfully.

“Seeming deep, and being deep, is two totally different things,” Gary said, as he dropped the throttle to a low idle. They coasted slowly up what looked to be a wide and calm river.

“This is new,” Gary said, a trace of wonder in his voice “looks like it might be what used to be White creek. If it is, we’ll be coming in a lot closer than we figured to be,” he finished.

“How’s that?” Frank asked, feeling foolish.

“White creek comes right into Fort Drum, is why, and if this is it, we’re coming straight into… Damn if it ain’t!” he said pointing ahead. “That’s the water tower, and soon as we get through these trees, I’ll bet ya dollars-to-donuts it says Fort Drum on it,” he finished excitedly.

“Well, how far from here to that Jeffery’s place you figure?” Jeremiah asked.

“Mile, maybe mile and a half,” Gary answered, smiling. Jeremiah started to turn to Frank. “Be about forty hours left,” Frank answered, before he could ask.

The boat coasted through the trees, and they all read the lettering on the water tower, slapping Gary on the back as they did.

“Good navigating, Gary,” Jimmy said.

“Fine, that’s for sure,” Jeremiah said also. They all knew they were trying to hold the lighthearted mood that they had just acquired seconds before, they knew as well that it was no use. It was time to be serious, lives, not the least of all their own, were at stake.

Frank jumped to the grassy shore, caught the rope Jeremiah threw to him, and pulled the boat in closer, tying it off to the thick trunk of a nearby tree.

“Think that’ll be okay, Gary’?” he asked as he knotted the rope, and the remaining three men stepped ashore.

“I take it you were never in the Navy, Frank,” he said, as he looked over the three square knots, Frank had used. “It ain’t going nowhere I don’t think. The rope’ll break first, Frank.”

Frank put one more knot in the rope to be sure, before he looked up and then followed Gary, who was shaking his head, away from the boat.

“What?” he asked, as he caught up to him.

“Nothin’, Frank, I was just bustin’ your chops is all,” Gary replied smiling. They walked up to a vine covered road. Or at least it looked like it had been a road, Frank thought, as he joined Jeremiah, and Jimmy.

“What’s with the vines?” Jimmy asked.

“Don’t know, but they’re everywhere, Jim,” Gary replied, “started the same night the bombs fell… Jeremiah?”

“Don’t know any more than you do, walked over a whole bunch of them myself. Wasn’t something He thought to let me in on,” Jeremiah replied. “Which way, Gary?” he asked, as he looked up from the vines, and down the road in both directions.

“Left,” Gary replied, and started away. The others stood for only a second, and then fell in behind him. 

Jessie

Jessie watched the recording that was due to be transmitted in little over four hours. It was an old ruse, probably wouldn’t work, she thought, but it had been the best they could come up with on short notice.

The six of them, John included, stared grimly at the camera. Their reasoning had been simple. If Luther was aware that they could transmit, then he had probably been, and would probably continue, monitoring their broadcasts. The recording was set up to appear live, and the speed with which they had recorded it heightened that quality.

Frank stared grimly into the camera and spoke…

“…We felt we needed to inform you of something that developed earlier today,” he began. Behind him a large screen lit up and began to replay carefully edited parts of Luther’s recent broadcast, as Frank spoke. The clock behind Frank read 6:00 PM, and the hope was that Luther would buy it as a live transmission. If not it would all be for nothing…

“…Think it will work?” John asked from behind her as he re-entered the room.

“No,” she replied, “I don’t, at least not entirely. Can somebody like him even be fooled?”

“I don’t know,” John said tiredly, “if he can’t be fooled, maybe he can be confused. I mean he can’t be all seeing, and all knowing… he’s not God.”

Jessie’s eyes brightened. “Maybe then,” she said hopefully.

“Maybe,” John agreed, “just maybe.”

They watched the rest of the short ten minute recording in silence. It consisted of showing the edited recording, while Frank talked about their need to discuss it with everyone else, and a short plea for more time at the end. They made no mention of Luther’s demand to turn over five of the assembled group. It had been Frank’s suggestion to leave it out, but Frank did say they were considering his demands, which left it open to Luther’s interpretation. At the most, they knew, it would only buy them a few extra hours if Luther went for it, but those few extra hours might allow Frank, Jeremiah, Gary and Jimmy, to get to Fort Drum.

They also knew that once Luther realized that he had been tricked, he might push the button right then. The whole thing’s a crap shoot, Jessie thought, as the recording ended, and she turned off the machine.

She looked at John. “No way to know,” he said, as if reading her mind, “but it beat’s doing nothing.”

“Jeremiah thinks they’ll come at us today from the north side,” she said.

“When did he say that?” John asked, surprised.

“After Frank went for coffee, he told Hank, I guess. He didn’t want Frank to know. Hank told Jimmy too, and Jimmy told him to make sure that I was aware. Jeremiah told him to tell me I should make myself scarce,” she said, “wonder why?”

“No telling with him, but… If it was me he had said that to, you can bet I’d be making myself scarce,” John said thoughtfully, and then continued. “Odd though that Jeremiah didn’t tell you or me directly,” he shrugged. “I believe I’ll just keep an eye on you today, if you don’t mind,” he held up his hand when she began to protest. “I’m not saying you can’t handle yourself, Jessie, but two is better than one any way you look at it,” he favored her with a stern look. “I mean it, Jessie, if he said it, even if he didn’t say to us directly, he didn’t say it to hear himself speak.”

“Okay, “she said, “you win. You can babysit me, John.”

“That makes me feel better,” John said. “I’m an old man, Jessie, but I spent a lot of years in this city dealing with the bad elements of it, I can hold my own, and then some if I have to,” he patted the .38 that was holstered at his hip as he finished speaking.

“I intend to stay right in here today anyway,” Jessie said, “I want to make sure nothing goes wrong when we broadcast that recording.”

“Well in that case,” John said, getting up from the small table, “I guess I’ll go get us some more coffee,” he walked off as he finished speaking.

“Thanks,” Jessie called after him.

Willie

Willie Lefray leaned back into the worn old couch in the living room of the house on Hudson Avenue. The empty bottle lay in shards in one corner of the room, where Willie had flung it. He had drained the last drop from the bottle, and then flung it against the wall when he realized there was not another bottle to replace it. He had of course called Mike in from the front porch, and had him dispatch someone to liberate a new supply from one of the many liquor stores that dotted the avenue. Whoever he had sent would be in hot water when they returned though, Willie promised himself, they had already been gone for more than three hours. How long does it take to follow simple fuckin’ directions and go to a damn liquor store, Willie wondered. Probably forever, he told himself. Especially with this bunch of morons he was saddled with.

He debated calling Mike back in to find out what was taking so long, but rejected it. Mike was dumber than Alfred, he knew, and Alfred was a frigging moron. A creepy moron, but still a moron. Actually, Willie thought, the guy scares me a little. He looks like a little kid, and even acts like a little kid. Sort of naive, maybe even innocent-looking to someone who didn’t know better. Willie knew, however, that it was nothing but an act. Alfred was a straight out nut-case, and the calm kid-like demeanor could change in an instant, without warning.

The kid was also loyal. Well, not loyal, he reasoned, more like devoted, or fanatical. Alfred embraced evil and death, more even than Willie himself did.

The day Willie had arrived he had dismissed Alfred out of hand, simply because of that kid-like quality. Alfred had begged Willie to make him one of his right hand men, the friggin’ kid had been in tears over it, and Willie had jokingly told him that all the positions were filled, and that if he wanted in, he would have to kill his way in. Willie had figured that would satisfy the kid. Either he would be killed trying to take out someone, or he would simply walk away, and Willie would have bet ten to one on the walking away. Either way Willie didn’t have the time for him.

But, no sooner had the words been out of Willie’s mouth, than the kid had turned quickly, cat-like almost, Willie thought, and slit the throat of one of the guys Willie had bought with him. The guy had been standing there laughing at Alfred. At how pitiful he looked, and a second later he had been gagging on his own blood, and trying to hold his neck together, before he crashed to the floor.

Yeah, Willie thought, Alfred was a nasty little bastard all right, and he had no doubt that he would manage to bring the woman back.

The phone call from Luther had been short and to the point. Get her, but get her alive. “It should be easy, even for a no-brained fuck-up like you, Willie,” Luther had said. “After all, Willie my sweet, I did the hard work for you, I lured their big shots away, I opened the door and left her alone, and I think you should be able to handle one old man, hmm, Willie, think you can handle it?”

Luther had an inside man over there, Willie correctly guessed. He had no idea who, and hadn’t asked, but whoever it had been had told him that the four men, who in Luther’s estimation held everything together, were gone. While Alfred went for the woman, Willie himself would lead a small army right into their midst. There wouldn’t be anyone, or anything, to stop them, Luther had assured him.

Willie planned to be sneaky about it though, he already had snipers stationed close to the roadblocks. They were so stupid that they didn’t even try to hide behind their barricades. They just walked back and forth, like they were on guard duty at a friggin’ factory somewhere. Apparently, Willie thought, they didn’t take a threat from the north side seriously. After today they would though, Willie promised himself, and smiled as he did.

He got up from the worn sofa. “MIKE, where the fuck is that little bastard you sent to the liquor store?” he yelled, as he opened the front door. If the little prick didn’t get back soon, there wouldn’t be time for another drink before he’d have to leave.

Jessie

Jessie stood up from the small table. It was nearing 6:00 PM, time to play the tape. John had left ten minutes before to get them some fresh coffee, but hadn’t returned yet. What’s keeping him? She wondered, as she walked toward the hallway. She was almost to the door when a red-haired wild-eyed looking kid came running through it, nearly knocking her over.

“Ma’am…Miss Stone, ya gotta come quick, ya gotta, they’re coming through the barricades, and they got John, Ma’am, they got… you gotta come quick!” the kid said in a panicked voice.

The kid was clearly scared witless, Jessie realized. “Calm down, calm down,” she said as she grabbed him by the shoulders, and shook him. The kid was carrying what looked to be a machine gun, Jessie saw. What the hell are they doing putting a young kid like this on guard duty? Jessie thought angrily.

“Miss Stone?” the kid asked still sounding panicky, “you are Miss Stone I was supposed to come get, right?”

“Yes, now calm down,” Jessie said sternly, turning away from the kid and heading toward the table where she had left her gun, “just let me get my…”

“Good,” the kid said from behind, cutting her off. “Real good.”

Bright stars exploded in her head, cutting off the rest of what she had been going to say. WHAT… she thought, as she crumpled to the floor. She was dimly aware of the sound of gun fire, before she passed out.

Hank Nelson entered the room just as Alfred clubbed Jessie in the back of the head with the machine gun. Alfred quickly reversed the gun and aimed it at Hank.

“Hey!” Hank yelled in surprise, and then looked fearfully to the gun in Alfred’s hands. “Hey, don’t kid, I’m on…”

Alfred didn’t let him finish. He squeezed the trigger and in a split second Hank was cut in two by a hail of bullets.

“Fuck you,” Alfred spat, as Hank fell to the floor. Two men appeared in the doorway behind him, Alfred whirled around cat-quick but lowered the weapon once he recognized them. “Pick her up, let’s go,” he ordered. The two men quickly did as ordered, and followed Alfred out into the hallway. They passed John’s lifeless body in the corridor, where Alfred had let it fall, after he had snuck up behind him and clubbed him in the back of the head as he had Jessie. He had slit John’s throat, almost before he had hit the ground, and so he had made no sound whatsoever. Alfred kicked an empty paper coffee cup, resting by one of John’s outstretched hands, out of his way as they trotted by.

Outside, in the late afternoon air, the sound of gun fire reverberated through the Streets. It was audible now, even inside the building. Alfred mowed down a group of seven people with the machine gun, who had been crouched fearfully just inside the doorway to the building, as he came upon them. None of them had the chance to return fire, or even turn around, and Alfred, followed by the two men, trampled over their bodies as he pushed through the doorway and out into the street.

The South side of the city was in the grip of a battle that had begun two blocks away, when Willie himself had taken out the patrolling guard, and then quickly rushed through the barricade, toward the War Memorial.

All was not going as planned however, as a heavily armed group in the County Court House building had pinned them down before they had been able to take the War Memorial, and that had allowed the people in the War Memorial, to react.

As a consequence Willie’s group was rapidly falling in numbers, and although he did not wish to, he would have to drop back, or risk losing all of his men if Al didn’t show soon. He had just started to draw back, when Alfred came trotting out of the television station, in a deafening roar of gun fire. The kid had done it, Willie realized, as he saw the two men running behind him, carrying a slumped form in their arms as they ran. He could see even from the distance of the two hundred yards that separated them, that the form was female, and he was quite sure that Al knew better than to bring him the wrong woman.

As Willie watched, one of the men carrying the woman was cut down by gun fire, and Alfred quickly picked up the fallen mans’ burden and continued forward. Willie was torn, Alfred had to make it through in one piece with the woman, or Luther would have Willie’s balls, he had told him as much, and Luther didn’t bull-shit.

The gunfire from the Court House, and the War Memorial was restrained somewhat, but they apparently had more than a few shooters who could aim well enough to miss the woman. When they were less than a hundred feet away, the kid went down, and the remaining man struggled to get the woman over his shoulders and continue on. Willie hesitated, only an instant longer, and then leapt up and sprinted for the man. Chips of asphalt flew all around him as he ran. The War Memorial crowd was trying to stop him from reaching them, he realized. But gunfire was nowhere near as bad as Luther, so he kept on, marveling that he hadn’t yet been hit, as he ran the last few feet and grabbed the woman’s body along with the other man.

He felt the man behind him go down just ten feet from the safety of his small band of disciples, and he felt as well the ripping of his flesh, as three rounds caught him in the back. He stumbled the last few feet pushed forward by the impact of the rounds, fully expecting to finally drop dead as two men rose from behind the barricades to take the woman’s body.

He had done it, he had reached safety, he realized, and he had also caught three solid rounds in the back doing it. That made him happy, as he wanted nothing more than to lay down right here on the pavement and die, it would feel so good, so right, he thought, as he began to ease toward the road. His hands were clasped across his stomach. What’s left of it, he thought. He could feel his insides trying to squirm out through his fingers.

Good, he thought, very fuckin’ good. Very, very, good. So, how come I’m not dead? he asked himself.

Takes longer, his mind whispered, this ain’t a friggin’ movie.

Okay, fine, he reasoned, this ain’t a movie. But how come it don’t hurt even, huh?

Shock, his mind told him.

Well fuckin’ fine, but…

Two of his men squatted and quickly picked Willie up, just as his eyes slipped shut. “His gut’s is hanging out, Tommy,” one complained, gagging.

“Shut up and get going, we ain’t leaving his body here, no way.”

The two men ran off down the street, and deeper into the north side of the city, carrying Willie’s body between them as they ran.

Frank

Frank crouched low, looking over the layout of the Jeffery’s farm along with the others, from a thick stand of trees that came up to within one hundred yards of the rear of the house. The barn and the twin silos were even closer, maybe two hundred feet, he estimated.

A heavily bearded, biker type stood on the rear porch of the farm house, casually picking his nose, while simultaneously, drinking a can of beer. His machine gun resting against the porch railing less than two feet from where he stood.

“That guy’s got to go three hundred pounds,” Frank whispered, as he watched him.

As if he had heard him, the biker suddenly tossed his thick greasy hair out of his eyes, and looked out toward the woods, directly, it seemed to Frank, where they were hiding. Frank held his breath and waited, mentally kicking himself as he did. If he had heard him though, he certainly didn’t act like it. He suddenly crushed the beer can in one fist, threw it out into the yard, where it joined countless others, turned heel and walked to the opposite end of the porch. Once there he lowered his wide bottom into a rusted green metal deck chair, and propped his feet up on the rail of the porch as he lit a cigarette. The machine gun still rested against the rail on the opposite end of the porch, perhaps twenty feet away, Frank saw.

“Piece a work, ain’t he?” Gary whispered, to no one in particular.

“That he is,” Jeremiah whispered back.

A foggy belch, along with the hiss of an opening carbonated beverage, could be plainly heard from the rear porch in the quiet mid-afternoon air.

“Real pig too,” Jimmy whispered, “if he drinks enough we might be able to just walk over to those silos.”

“That’d be nice,” Frank whispered back.

“Gonna have to try for it soon,” Jeremiah said, “maybe now’s the best time, he ain’t got his rifle. Might not get a better opportunity.”

They had spent over an hour crouched down in the trees hoping for a good opportunity. Trouble was, Frank thought, we still don’t know if there’s anyone inside the house. The biker was the only one they had seen so far, and he had not ventured into the house once while they had watched him, so they had no idea what to expect if they tried to move on the silos. There could be, Frank thought, a whole house-full of re-enforcement’s just waiting to come out of the rear of the house. Jeremiah was right though, he realized, they had to make a move soon, either that or wait for night fall, and none of them wanted to do that.

“Lets’ do it,” Frank grunted decisively as he slowly stood up. The other three men stood up with him.

At first the biker type seemed not to notice them as they slowly walked from the woods. The way his feet are propped up, Jeremiah thought, he might not be able to see us. Two steps later though, the biker suddenly jumped up and began to sprint for the machine gun at the opposite end of the porch. All four of their machine pistols chattered at once, and before he had made it more than ten steps, he was cut down. Frank ran as hard as he could toward the silos behind Jeremiah. Jimmy and Gary brought up the rear. They all dropped to the ground once they reached them, and scurried around behind them.

Although the silos protected them from the gun fire they expected, they also blocked their view of the house. They heard nothing, no doors suddenly slamming open, no footfalls, but that didn’t mean they weren’t already closing the distance to the silo, Frank knew.

“Gonna check,” Frank grunted, as he belly crawled around the side of the silo so he could see the house. No one was in sight, and he could make out the prone body of the biker behind the spindles of the porch railing, where it had fallen. Frank stared at the house for a few minutes longer, before he crawled back around the silo.

“Looks good,” he whispered, “can’t be certain, but nobody’s come out yet.”

“We have to check it though,” Jimmy said, “no telling for sure until we do.”

“Yeah,” Gary agreed, “I don’t want to get inside this silo and then find out that we were wrong, that there is somebody in there.”

“It don’t make sense,” Jeremiah said, “that they’d put the guy out here alone… Not if it’s really important anyhow.”

Frank looked at the silo. It looked like an ordinary see-it-any-day-of-the-week sort of silo. He had seen hundreds just like it back in Seattle. He looked down at the base of the silo. The base was just concrete. Could be Peter’s lied, his mind whispered. It might be just an average ordinary silo, and he didn’t feel like getting his ass shot off for an average ordinary silo. The door however, was around the front, and like it or not, they would have to be reasonably sure the house was empty before they entered, or they would be trapped, he realized, like fish in a barrel. “Lets’ go,” he decided, crouching low as he ran around the silo toward the house.

The house was empty. The house was completely empty. No people, no furniture, no nothing. The only thing that was in the house were three cases of beer piled just inside the rear door, that matched two on the rear porch, apparently to keep the biker type happy. Along with a deep midnight blue Harley sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor, its chrome winking, even in the muted light falling through the windows of the kitchen. Other than that it was completely empty. They searched the attic, basement, and found nothing. After the quick search they trotted past the body on the rear porch, and back out to the silo.

“Here goes,” Frank said, as he shot the padlock off the silo door they had hidden behind. He turned the knob and the door swung open. The door was not lead lined, Frank noticed, the pristine interior of the silo was empty. No silage, and definitely no missile, and no false bottom either, the floor was solid concrete, they crawled around the perimeter and checked on their hands and knees to make sure.

“Other one,” Frank said, “it must be in the other one,” he finished, and bolted toward the other silo, with the others close behind.

The second silo had a small key-pad installed into the solid metal door, with both a green and a red indicator light. The red indicator light was pulsing steadily.

“Bitch, what do you make of it, Gar’?” Frank asked.

“Looks almost like a simple house alarm type setup,” Gary responded.

“I wouldn’t try shooting it off, Frank,” Jeremiah cautioned, “could be maybe it would set off some sort’a warning.”

“Believe me I wasn’t entertaining the thought,” Frank responded dejectedly, even though he had been thinking of doing just that. “Does anyone have any idea on how we can get in?”

The silo was connected to the barn, or at least to Jimmy, who had been looking it over, it appeared to be. “Through the barn maybe?” he offered, “looks to be connected to me.”

They circled the entire barn twice, before they came back to the double sliding front doors. From a distance they had appeared to be ordinary doors, but up close they could tell that they were not. They looked to be better than ten inches thick, and that was only what they could see. The sliding mechanism was only for show, the doors either swung inward, or outward, it was hard to tell, but they definitely did not slide. The windows were likewise fake. Within ten feet they had been able to tell they were nothing more than painted replicas. The weathered wood siding was also a sham, Gary discovered, after he kicked the side of the barn in frustration. One rotting board had fallen to reveal the thick concrete shell of the building beneath.

“Well, one thing’s for sure,” Gary said, “there’s something in there, or they wouldn’t have gone to all the trouble of disguising it so well.” He stepped back and stared up toward the roof of the deceptive building. “Might be maybe another way in though,” he said, gazing upward.

The other three men stepped back and looked up as well.

“Through that air vent you thinkin’?” Jeremiah said.

“Might work,” Frank agreed.

Jimmy’s eyes flew open. “I saw a ladder, one of those aluminum jobs around the back,” he exclaimed.

“I saw that myself,” Frank agreed, as he followed Jimmy around the building. They were back in a few minutes carrying the long ladder between them. Jeremiah helped set it up, and then began to climb it toward the top.

The others were positive, at first, that Jeremiah would come tumbling back down the roof to the hard ground.

The roof pitch was steep, and once he had left the ladder he’d had a bad moment or two before he gained his balance. “Don’t worry, I ain’t goin’ to fall,” Jeremiah assured them once he regained his footing, “I climbed my own barn roof more times than you could shake-a-stick-at, and this one ain’t near as steep.”

Still, the three remaining men on the ground were apprehensive, until Jeremiah gained the top of the roof, and the large turbine-type air vent. He seemed to test the solidity of the mounting once he reached it, and then called, “Look out boys, she’s comin’ down.” He twisted the round steel top, the muscles in his arms standing out, crouched down, and let the top fall free, as it came loose with a high squeal of metal against metal. The top tumbled end over end to the ground, the turbine still spinning, until it hit the ground and burst apart, no longer an air-vent, but a small pile of shiny scrap metal.

“Well, what you waiting for?” Jeremiah called down, a smile on his face. “She’s open straight into the loft, come on.”

The others wasted no time in climbing the ladder, and they dropped the six feet to the loft floor, as Jeremiah had, once they had crawled through the now open vent.

The interior of the old barn had been as extensively modified, as the exterior. The entire upper loft area still resembled an actual barn, but below that was where the real renovations had taken place. The entire one hundred foot by forty foot space was completely open, and steel girders now supported the weight of the structure, instead of the massive hand hewn beams that had once done the job.

Excluding the small loft, that had been left intact to facilitate easy access to the roof vents, heating ducts, and electrical conduits, eighty feet of the structure rose unobstructed to the ceiling from the concrete floor thirty feet below. There was no sign of equipment, military or otherwise in the building, it was empty, and the pristine off white of the concrete seemed to bear out the feeling they all had, that the renovation had been fairly recent, and whatever equipment that had been destined to be installed in the structure had not been.

“Looks more like an aircraft hangar than a barn,” Jimmy said, as he stared down into the well-lit space. The building was obviously powered by some electrical source, but no tell-tale sound of a generator could be heard within the structure, and they had heard nothing outside that would indicate the presence of a power plant either. In fact the only sound in the building itself, was the low buzz of the florescent lights suspended from the steel girders.

“You think it’s powered from the caves?” Gary asked.

“Has to be,” Frank responded. “Unless there’s a sound proofed building close by that we missed, and I doubt that,” he finished, and shrugged his shoulders. The empty building echoed their voices, seeming to amplify them as they spoke,

Has to…has…Be…be, and that tended to make them speak in whispers, to avoid the eerie echoes of their own voices.

The barn was extremely oppressive to Frank. He had the feeling that a full scale war unfolding directly outside the building would not be heard, and it was almost as if the building ate the sound of their voices, or absorbed them into its walls after it bounced them around.

“I really don’t like this place much,” Frank said, vocalizing his apprehension.

“Me either… Lets’ see what we got, and whether we kin get into the silo,” Jeremiah said, as he began to climb down a steel ladder to the floor below, “then lets’ get out of here.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Frank said, as he followed. Jimmy scrambled down next, and Gary followed at a slightly slower pace nervously clutching the steel rungs as he did, as though they would suddenly disappear.

“Hey, you comin’, or what?” Frank called up teasingly, as Gary slowly descended. He regretted it a few seconds later as Gary turned his sweat slicked face to him. “Scared a heights a little,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Sorry, Gary, take your time,” Frank said apologetically, as he mentally chastised himself.

To Gary the thirty feet to the concrete seemed more like a mile, and until he finally set one foot on the cement floor, he had been convinced that the ladder would either suddenly fall away, or his own fear would cause him to lose his sweaty grip on the iron rungs, and he would plummet to the cold concrete far below. “Unreasonable, I know,” he said with a shaky voice once he was standing beside Frank. “Unreasonable or not though, I never been able to shake it. Goin’ up ain’t much of a problem, but comin’ down…” He finished, shaking his head, with more than a trace of embarrassment.

“I wish you’d told me, Gary you could have stayed up there, or outside, and I sure as hell wouldn’t have kidded you about it, I feel like a real ass,” Frank said, concern in his eyes.

“Oh sure, I stay outside and get my ass shot off, while you guys get to do the fun stuff,” Gary said in a serious voice. “No thanks, we’re stickin’ together. I’ll deal with the ladder, it ain’t so hard going up, only comin’ down,” he finished smiling. They walked toward Jeremiah and Jimmy at the rear of the structure.

The silo did have a connecting hallway to the barn, but another key-pad, complete with a flashing red indicator light, protected the steel door of the silo, just as the one outside had.

“Any suggestions?” Frank asked.

“Maybe you’ll have to shoot it off after all,” Jeremiah said, a frown settling on his face.

“Maybe I can take it apart,” Jimmy said, as he bent and began to study the key-pad, “gimme that pocket knife of yours, Gary.”

Two slotted screws appeared to be all that held the small black device to the wall. Using the edge of one of the smaller blades Jimmy carefully unscrewed the key-pad, and gently started to ease it away from the wall. The mounting screws were apparently an intrinsic part of the alarm system, for as soon as Jimmy lifted the key-pad a loud braying siren began to wail in the building. “Damn!” Jimmy yelled, and dropped the key-pad as though it had burned him.

“So much for surprise,” Jeremiah yelled above the braying of the siren, panic in his voice, “We better take out the door if we’re going in.”

Luther

Eleven miles away, Luther sat mesmerized by the pulsing message on the monitor. He was replaying for yet another time just exactly how he would enter the remaining codes, and launch the missiles from wherever they were buried in the huge underground complex.

He had men searching them out, but there were miles of underground roads, tunnels, corridors, and natural rock passages to search, and it would take forever for them to search them all. He could only hope that they would stumble upon them in their searching. After all, the law of averages must be tipping in favor of it, he thought, they had already searched better than half of the complex itself.

It still made him angry that their location had not been known to him. He had known several other things. He had known of their existence, hadn’t he? So why was it he didn’t know where they were? He supposed it didn’t matter, not really anyway, as everything was close to being over, and regardless of where they were, they would still do their intended job.

He was anticipating word from Willie later on this evening, concerning the woman. Her capture was assured though, he knew, and Willie would not really be telling him something he didn’t already know, rather just confirming it for him, and once he had the woman, he would have them all.

Another thing that really pissed him off was that he was not positive of where the four men were. He had been able to see them leave Fairport he had even been able to glimpse them briefly as they sped across the lake. After that though, he had not been able to track them, and had no idea where they had gone. But they would have to come here eventually, wouldn’t they? After all they were seeking the missiles, and they had left Rochester.

So far they had not been spotted trying to enter the caves. They would be, he assured himself, and the orders he had issued concerning them were to shoot to kill, on sight, no fucking around. He had no doubt that he would be in possession of their bodies by night fall, and once he was, he would punch in those codes, and send the fools in Rochester a little present.

He didn’t question why in his mind it was so important to him that their top people were dead or at least captured, before he sent the missiles. It was just part of The Plan. His Plan and he had thought it out carefully. Plans were important, and once a plan was devised it was even more important to stick to it. Follow it. See it through to the end. He wanted their deaths to be more personal, he wanted to look at their dead bullet-riddled bodies, and maybe stomp what was left of them, or order their remains torn to shreds.

Yes, he decided, as he watched the screen, torn to shreds, ripped limb to limb. “Yes indeedy,” he said aloud, and shuddered with delight.

He was still thinking of how much he would enjoy the little scenario he was playing out in his fevered mind, when the screen suddenly went blank, and then a split second later began to flash a new message. The wide grin that had been plastered on his face, suddenly slipped as he looked at the screen.

SECURITY BREECH ZONE 7…….

INITIATING POWER DOWN SEQUENCE IN TEN SECONDS.

ENTER COMMAND CODE SECTOR SIX, ZONE SEVEN TO

ABORT POWER DOWN SEQUENCE NOW __

A small cursor blinked, waiting for the requested input.

Now what the fuck did that mean exactly? Luther wondered, and where the fuck was sector six, or zone seven for that matter? And just what the fuck was going on, he asked himself. Power down what? Sector six and zone seven? Did it mean that the four men had somehow managed to enter the underground facility undetected? If so, Luther assured himself, somebody’s balls would be hanging from his belt. They would join several others he had skewered, that now hung suspended from a leather thong at his waist. Fucking-up was not allowed, and the punishment he had devised for it, was a powerful deterrent. As he watched, still puzzled, the screen changed once more.

INITIATING POWER DOWN NOW.

ESTIMATED TIME TO POWER DOWN SECTOR

SIX TEN MINUTES.

ABORT COMMAND ON STANDBY.

A small computer generated digital clock appeared in the upper left hand corner and began to track the time second by second.

Slowly it began to dawn on Luther that the termination might be referring to the missiles. That maybe sector six, zone seven, might be where the missiles were located, and that possibly the four had not only broken into the underground facility, but that they may also have found the missiles, and that maybe, just maybe, they were trying to disarm them, and if that were the case, it couldn’t be allowed, it just could not. Because, he told himself, well because it couldn’t, because…Well, because that wouldn’t be fair, that would be cheating, and even that old bastard who was passing himself off as God wouldn’t cheat, would he? Could he?

No, Luther decided, he was too much of a goody-two-shoes, for that shit, and besides, he didn’t know how to cheat, that was… Well, that was just the way it was, he reasoned. Only I can cheat, it had always been that way, and… and… Well, anything else wouldn’t be playing the game fairly, it would be… cheating, and cheating was no fucking fair, no fucking fair at all, and… So, it couldn’t be, it was against the rules. Not allowed, but… Just in case he was thinking of cheating, not that he could, he assured himself, but just in case, just in case that old bastard was trying to be crafty, hadn’t he better try punching those codes in right now? Hadn’t he better? He glared at the computer screen. Yes, he decided, just in case, not that it was possible, but… “Just in case,” he whispered, as his fingers deftly punched the terminals keyboard, and entered the final codes. “Just in-fucking-case,” he whispered again. He was rewarded with a new screen for his efforts, as the old one blinked away.

TERMINATE POWER DOWN SECTOR SIX ZONE

SEVEN? Y/N __

The screen asked, as the cursor blinked, waiting for input. He quickly punched Y on the keyboard and was rewarded with yet another screen.

CONFIRM ACTIVE LAUNCH STATUS Y/N __

He pushed Y once more.

ENTER LAUNCH COORDINATES_________

Luther referred briefly to a small blue book he had liberated from the base commanders safe. He punched in the specified code for an in-country launch, and then entered the required coordinates.

SPECIFIED COORDINATES INDICATE

10% SURVIVAL RATE THIS FACILITY.

TERMINATE/PROCEED T/P____

Luther pressed P, and the screen went blank. 

Frank

Frank emptied the full clip of the machine pistol into the steel door, which seemed to absorb the bullets rather than bounce them back at him which had been his concern. The heavy steel lock-set blew apart and fell to the floor. Smoke and the smell of burnt gunpowder hung heavy in the air. Jeremiah wriggled his fingers into the bullet-warmed opening that had once contained the lock-set, and tugged sharply. The door swung slowly open, and they stepped inside the silo.

Luther

Luther had begun to panic. A new screen had not appeared, and just what did that mean? He wondered. He refrained from touching the keyboard, or the monitor, although he would have liked to, he was too afraid he would not be able to control himself, that he might just rip the keyboard from the station and smash it to bits, and if it didn’t respond soon, he was afraid he would, and what would that do, and… The screen blinked back on, interrupting his thoughts.

CALCULATING SAFE-FLIGHT STAND BY.

The screen blinked.

Now what the fuck did that mean? Luther asked himself. What was safe flight, and how come it had to calculate anything, and how come it wasn’t just launching the fucking missiles, and this is really beginning to piss me off, and… The screen changed. 

Frank

Frank stepped into the silo behind the others. The smoke was heavier inside the room, and the stench of sulfur dioxide was almost gagging in its intensity. The room however was not so obscured by the smoke, that he could not see that it was empty.

“There ain’t a damn thing in here,” Gary said, echoing their thoughts, “now what d’you make of that?”

Frank was examining the walls of the silo. What had appeared to them to be solid brick on the outside, was not. “Fiberglass cast,” Frank said, “it’s fake, this isn’t a silo…” He had been about to say more, when the floor beneath his feet suddenly began to tilt. “Out!” Jimmy yelled in surprise. “Its’ under the damn floor, get out!”

Luther

Luther stared at the new screen.

SAFE-FLIGHT INSTALLED.

DESTINATION.EXE INSTALLED.

SYS LOC.EXE INSTALLED.

INS.EXE ACTIVE.

24:12:06 TO LAUNCH.

The clock-like entry began to run backwards second by second, as Luther watched in anger.

“NO!” he screamed into the room. “Right fucking now, not twenty-fucking-four-fucking-hours, RIGHT NOW!” He fought to control his temper, and forced his hands to release the key board.

NOW,

He typed out with a jab of one finger, and pressed enter. The terminal beeped, but other than the small beep, nothing happened. He forced his anger down, typed,

TERMINATE,

and again pressed enter. Other than the same small beep, nothing happened. His hands spasmed and he once again grasped the keyboard. One finger jammed the enter key, and a rush of beeps issued forth from the terminal.

NO, he told himself, as he ripped the key board loose, and rocketed it into the screen. The screen imploded with a bright orange shower of sparks.

“NO, NO, FUCKINGFUCKINGFUCKING,” he screamed as he pummeled the monitor with his fists.

Frank

As the four men watched from the relative safety of the hallway, the concrete decking tilted to one side, and a slim white missile glided out of the abyss below the silo. Before it was entirely out of its dark prison, the fiberglass silo began to tip and then crashed to one side. All obstructions removed, the missile, along with its launch mechanism, glided out of the dark socket, and rose majestically into the late afternoon air. Once fully extended the launch assembly swiveled, and canted the missile to an almost flat trajectory, then the hydraulic machinery fell silent. The missile was aimed to the southwest, Frank saw, directly at Rochester.

Ten seconds later the same heavy thudding of hydraulic machinery, came from the direction of a field behind the barn. All four men sprinted to the outside, and around to the rear of the barn. A second missile was rising out of the field, impossibly white against the back-drop of the deep blue afternoon sky.

They watched in silence as the missile swiveled, and assumed the same nearly flat trajectory as the first had. When it was finished the silence seemed deafening in its intensity. Frank broke it.

“We’re screwed,” he said softly, a defeated look on his washed out face, “it was all for nothing.”

“What about trying to find the wiring and cutting it?” Jimmy asked, with no trace of hope in his voice.

“Never get to it time,” Gary said softly, his eyes locked on the missile that had magically risen from the field. “And where would we look?”

“Why ain’t it launching?” Jeremiah asked, Shouldn’t it oughta?”

“We’re screwed,” Frank repeated, as if he had heard none of the other men speak, as if he were totally alone, and really only speaking to himself. “We are screwed.”

Jeremiah’s hand shot out, and smacked loudly against Frank’s cheek. “We ain’t screwed, Frank, so don’t say we are, we ain’t,” his eye’s flashed with anger. “It ain’t launching, Frank,” he repeated as though he were speaking to a child. “And if it ain’t launching,” he continued, dropping his voice to a calmer level, “we ain’t screwed.”

“He’s right, Frank,” Gary said, with a note of hopefulness in his voice, “there ain’t no steam, or whatever that stuff is you see when a rocket gets launched. There ain’t none of that comin’ out the bottom… they ain’t launching, least ways not yet they ain’t.”

Frank shook his head and looked at the missiles, first one, and then the other. “Can we disarm them somehow? Turn them away from Rochester somehow?” he asked.

“We kin try,” Jeremiah said, “but we don’t want to get too near ’em. In fact maybe this is too close, anybody know?”

“If they’re nukes, we’re way to close,” Gary said, “but who gives a shit, I don’t. If they launch they’ll kill a hell-of-a lot more’n just us four. I vote we try, if it kills us… so be it. I’d rather die trying,” his face was grim and determined when he paused and looked around at them. “Well,” he asked, “what’s it gonna be?” 

Luther

Luther was standing in the Main Operations Room. His mangled hands dripped green fluid onto the white composite top of the partition he was leaning against, as he watched the wall of screens. The fluid bubbled and hissed as it ate its way through the top and ran down the sides.

The room was nearly empty, save Luther himself, and some of the computer jocks. He had sent everyone else searching for the four men he was convinced were somewhere in the facility.

All of the screens were in countdown mode. They had switched automatically as soon as the last sequence of numbers had been entered.

If Luther had been in the operation room before the change-over, when the screens were still monitoring outside cameras, and if he had been looking at one monitor in particular, he would have seen the objects of his wrath, as they had stormed the Jeffery’s farm, and killed the biker that had taken up residence there.

Luther knew about the biker. He had been informed by Willie himself two weeks before when the man had moved himself into the farm house. “Willie,” he had said, with a sneer, “who gives a shit about a farm house?”

Willie, who had thought at first that it might be important, had immediately dismissed it, and told the control room personnel not to keep track of the farm.

Steve Iverson, however, had kept track of the man in spite of being told not to. The biker seemed to be up to something, and Iverson hoped that he would be the one to figure out what. Today the watching had paid off, and Luther would have known what had transpired, if he hadn’t ordered one of the men in the control room to shoot Iverson, who now lay dead on the floor by Luther’s feet. Iverson had watched the whole thing, and had been in such a hurry to tell Luther, that he had forgotten to ask permission to speak.

Luther had been far to consumed with anger, to listen to someone who did not even have the courtesy to wait until he was asked to speak, and so had ordered Iverson shot, without ever knowing what sort of information he was so eager to depart.

Far better to nip disobedience in the bud quickly, Luther thought, as he gazed down at Iverson’s crumpled body.

Once he had been able to calm down, he had wondered briefly what Iverson had wanted to say, but only briefly, and then his attention had been drawn to the screen-wall, and the count-down clocks that they showed.

He knew for sure now, that he had been cheated, but it was still salvageable, he told himself. He had called Willie, to make sure that they would get the woman, impressed upon him how severe the penalty would be if he didn’t, and then had allowed himself the joy of watching the screens count down.

It could have been worse, he reasoned, the missiles might not have set at all, the old bastard might have jinxed that too. But he hadn’t, and if he had to wait a few hours so what, hadn’t he already waited for thousands of years? What was a few more hours compared to that?

“Nothing at all,” he whispered calmly into the quiet room. “No big deal.” No sooner had he spoken the words out loud, when all the screens in the Operations Room went blank.

Frank

“We do it,” Frank said, as he stared at the missile in the field and sighed. “Gary’s, right, four of us, or all of them.”

“How come there were no warnings,” Jimmy asked, “shouldn’t there have been those triangular warning plaques inside if they’re armed with nuclear war-heads?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Gary said, “but what else would they be? I don’t have a clue, ‘less they’re chemical war-heads could be some sort of regular war-head. Maybe even CFP’s. Trying to figure out what it is, ain’t gonna help us at all,” he said, as he turned and started toward the missile behind them. The others followed, and when they reached the missile, they began to circle it. Taking their first real look at it.

They had been too panicked before to notice much of anything, other than, it was white, it was big, and it looked like death, and it was the last thing they had really wanted to see, even though they had come here to find it.

The launching mechanism was almost as big as the circumference of the silo had been, and the massive steel girder-like arms that protruded upward, cradling the missile securely, also held two thick cables of wires that entered the body of the missile about twenty feet from the ground.

“What happens if we cut those wires?” Gary asked, as Jeremiah and Frank left to get the ladder they had used to climb onto the barn roof.

“Wouldn’t it blow up?” Jimmy asked.

“It ain’t like a bomb, like you see defused on TV,” Gary answered. “Least I don’t think it is. But I ain’t sure if cutting those wires will do the trick. It might not. I think though, that they might be to guide it… I wish to hell I knew for sure, but I don’t, I’m guessing. But it’s a place to start, I suppose.”

Frank and Jeremiah came back around the barn with the ladder, and leaned it up against the smooth surface of the Missile, adjusting it so it fell just below the cables that entered the body.

“I’ll go,” Jeremiah said, as he started up at the ladder before anyone could protest. He gained the top of the ladder, and gently pulled at the bundle of wiring, after first peeling back a protective rubber hood that shielded the wires where they entered the missile. The wires did not budge.

He looked down at the upturned faces of the other men. “Looks to be a special sort of plug-like thing can’t see how it releases though.”

“Probably don’t ’till it launches,” Gary said gloomily, “cut the buggers, Jeremiah, if she blows, she blows, we got nothin’ to lose.”

Jeremiah began to cut, and as he cut each wire all of them cringed, expecting the missile to suddenly explode. When the steel blade of the knife grounded out one of the wires that was obviously hot, the resulting shower of sparks caused them all to cry out. The shock nearly knocked Jeremiah from the ladder, but he managed to loosen his grip on the knife and hold on. The knife fell to the ground below, the blade distorted and notched where the high voltage from the wire had arced into it, the plastic handle smoking.

Frank was up the ladder quickly, and only half way up did he remember that the ladder was metal, and if… If nothing, he told himself, as he continued to climb.

“You okay?” he asked, once he had gained the top of the ladder, and grabbed Jeremiah’s jeans to steady him. “Come on, let’s get down from here, come on, Jeremiah, back up, I’ll hold you.”

Once they had reached the ground, and Jeremiah had shaken his head several times, he began to feel somewhat normal again. He didn’t remember Frank climbing the ladder, and he didn’t remember coming down either. He picked up the knife, which was still warm to the touch, and looked at it. The blade was curved, almost hooked now, and he could clearly see the notch that the wire had burned into it. The plastic wood grain of the handle was nearly smooth too.

Other than a small burn in the palm of his right hand, and a slight vibrating sensation in that same arm, he felt okay, he guessed, and he certainly looked a lot better than the knife did, he reasoned. “I think I’ll live,” he stated matter-of-factly, as he let the knife fall back to the ground, “anyone have another knife?”

Gary pulled one from his front pocket, and Frank grabbed it before Jeremiah did, turned, and quickly climbed the ladder up to the bundle of wires. “Don’t be a friggin’ hero,” Gary called after him, “for God’s sake be careful,” he warned

Frank had no intention of being anything but careful. He slowly pulled each wire apart, making sure it couldn’t touch any others, as he finished cutting all but the last wire. “Now what?” he asked, “if I cut the last one the cables gonna fall, and if it hits the beam, or the ladder…?”

Jimmy scrambled up the ladder and supported the cable as Frank hacked through the last wire, then they carefully backed down the ladder. About ten feet from the ground the cable came up short, and Jimmy was forced to let go of it. They both jumped, as he released the cable, and landed in yet another shower of sparks, as the cable swung against one of the steel girders support rods. It stuck fast, at first, welding itself to the rod. But its own weight pulled it free within a few seconds, and it swung out and away, ending up far from the girder, where it slowly swung to a halt.

“Lets’ do the other one,” Frank said, as he and Jeremiah carefully pulled the ladder down.

Twenty minutes later they were finished. Frank had taken a great deal of care with the second cable, to be sure there was no repeat of the first incident. They had taken the ladder down, and left it in the field.

“I wish I knew for sure if those wires being cut will stop ’em from launching,” Gary said glumly, as they walked away from the missiles. They sat on the long rear porch of the old farm house and stared out at the missiles that sat gleaming in the late afternoon sunlight.

“I don’t see why they haven’t launched already,” Jimmy wondered aloud.

Frank pulled a case of the beer close to him, opened it, and they each took one, sipping quietly, as they stared glumly at the two slender white needles that rose from the farm.

“I’m going back,” Frank said at last. “If they launch on the way… fine. If they don’t, maybe I’ll be able to see Jessie once more before they do. I sure don’t want to just sit here and die, or wait to die,” he finished solemnly.

“How long before radiation can kill you?” Jimmy asked in a resigned voice.

“Maybe a couple of days at the outside,” Gary replied. “But, we’ll probably wish we were dead long before that,” he paused. “Might be that they ain’t nukes,” he continued hopefully, “but if they are, I guess we’ll know soon enough. Maybe within a few hours, as close as we was to ’em.”

“Well,” Jeremiah said, “seems to me that if they were nuclear warheads, that silo would’ve been lead lined. Don’t that make sense?”

“Yeah!” Jimmy said enthusiastically. “It should’ve been and it wasn’t, just fiberglass, and that wouldn’t have been any protection from radiation, and the Army had to have had guys working here, right?”

“Okay,” Frank said, “maybe so, but if they aren’t nuclear, then what are they?”

“Maybe conventional,” Jimmy said, still enthusiastic.

“Probably chemical,” Gary followed, “and if they are, it probably won’t matter where we go, or what we do…The wind will spread it everywhere. I ain’t so sure we killed ’em. I ain’t so sure they ain’t gonna launch.”

They sat in silence, sipping at the warm beer, staring at the missiles.

“Then we have to do more,” Frank said, a determined look on his face. “We have to make damn sure they don’t launch.” Frank looked around at the farm.

Besides the barn, silos, and house, there were two other outbuildings. Both were falling down sheds really, they didn’t look to him to have been converted for use by the Army. “Listen,” he said “farms have tractors, right? You ever see one around here, Gar’?”

“Always used to be,” he answered, “what’re you drivin’ at, Frank?”

“I think he’s thinkin’ about pushin’ those babies over,” Jeremiah answered. “That about right, Frank?”

“Yeah, it is. I mean they look as though they’re only resting in those launchers, don’t they? It shouldn’t be too hard to tip them up and over, would it?”

Jeremiah was already up and walking toward one of the sheds. “Could blow ’em though. You think, Gary?” he asked, as he walked away.

“Could, but you’re gonna do it anyhow ain’t you,” Gary sighed, as he got up and followed.

“I am at that. Course it’s been a while since I was on a tractor. I hope this time ain’t like the last,” Jeremiah said.

Gary looked over at Frank. “Beats me,” Frank said as he shrugged his shoulders.

The first shed was empty, but the second yielded the tractor, and not the old International that Gary remembered, but a new-looking John Deere model.

Jeremiah started the tractor, after locating the keys on a peg just inside the shed door, and drove out into the field, coming to stop underneath the slim missile. He raised the bucket slowly until it clinked softly against the metal underbelly, then slowly gave the up-lever little nudges, until the missile lifted about a quarter inch off the launch cradle. He jockeyed the tractor forward, and carefully lifted the bucket simultaneously, raising the missile higher as he did. The tractors front tires began to sink into the ground once the full weight of the missile was on the bucket, and the missile screeched as it swiveled up from the launch mechanism. Jeremiah cramped the wheel full right, as he backed slowly away, and just cleared the launch arm with the forward most part of the missile. He lowered the bucket as he continued to reverse, transferring the full weight of the missile onto the front of the large tractor, and dragged it the remaining few feet, up and over the launch assembly. The rear of the missile reached the edge of the launch arm, and they all held their breath as Jeremiah slowly reversed, and the missile came free, crashing rear first into the ground.

The impact buried the rear of the missile a good foot into the ground. But it did not explode, or start ticking, or whatever the hell it was that missiles did, Frank noticed with relief.

The second one was even easier, due to the concrete pad of the silo, and the much harder ground surrounding it. Less than an hour after they had begun, they were finished, and once again seated on the rear porch of the old farm house.

“That was nut’s,” Gary said, “nobody would ever believe it if we told ’em. In fact if any of you guys had told me I’d help do something like that, I would’ve told you, you were soft in the head.”

“Yeah,” Frank said smiling, “but we did do it, didn’t we? Can you believe it?”

“Only ’cause I did it,” Jeremiah said.

“Surprising what fear can make you capable of,” Jimmy said softly.

“I’ve read stuff like that though,” Gary said, “people lifting” cars off loved ones, things like that, fear is a mighty strong motivator all right.”

“Well if you ever write a book, you can add this to it,” Frank said, “chapter seven four scared men dismantle two nuclear bombs. Should sell like hot-cakes.” He stood as he finished speaking. “I’m going back, how about you guys?”

“Only thing to do, we’re done here,” Gary agreed.

Jeremiah and Jimmy stood, and the four men began to walk back toward the road, away from the farm.

“If it kills me; if it was a nuclear job,” Gary said, as they walked away, “I don’t care. It was worth it.”

“Is it a good idea to go back?” Jimmy said, suddenly alarmed, “could someone else… Well, could someone else catch it, are we, like, contaminated or something?”

The question brought them all to a sudden halt in the middle of the vine covered road.

“Don’t look at me,” Gary said, as they all turned toward him, “I don’t know, I really don’t,” he paused for a second. “He’s got a good point, and I ain’t got a clue, ain’t that a bitch?”

“Lets’ not go jumpin’ to conclusions,” Jeremiah said calmly. “If we are, going back ain’t gonna make a real big difference. Nothing saying we gotta leave the boat once we get there, especially if we take sick along the way. It’s a good three hours back, and as close as we were I think we’d be feelin’ it by then. If we’re sick… We just stay on the boat in Fairport, we don’t get off, so we can’t make anybody else sick, if it is catchin’,” he finished.

“If we aren’t sick?” Frank asked.

“We play it by ear, I guess,” Jeremiah replied. “But staying here ain’t gonna help us at all, is it?”

“No, it sure ain’t,” Gary agreed.

Jimmy seemed calmer, as he agreed, and Frank nodded his head as they struck off down the road, back to the boat. Silence descended between them as they walked. Even once they had started the boat and Gary had piloted them out into lake, the silence still held.

We’re waiting to see who gets sick first, Frank thought, as the boat plowed through the water.

When darkness finally descended a few minutes later they were all relieved. The darkness was good, Frank decided, they didn’t have to look at each other as they waited.


America The Dead: The Fold 2. The Fold begins to grow from discontent and becomes an enemy #iTunes #Horror #Survive https://books.apple.com/us/author/w-g-sweet/id1156638419


America the Dead episode 22

America the Dead Episode 22: Check out this free Podcast from author Dell Sweet… #HorrorPodcast #Free #AmericaTheDead

The first days of the battle see large loses for the opposition, and because of their infighting the survivors have thus far escaped serious injury, and have taken the time to formulate a plan of their own…

Remodeling my house, and my truck…

Uploaded by Dell

I am in the middle of home construction, writing, and a half dozen other projects. I spent yesterday doing yard work, cutting tree limbs and trees, clearing out an old garden, and in the midst of that the delivery truck showed up with all the building materials I ordered and, of course, I was here alone when it showed up.

The delivery guy uses a lift to take the stuff off the truck bed, a tractor trailer flatbed actually, and sets it on the ground. So there it was, a pile of Sheetrock, studs, and other building materials sitting in my driveway. I had been in the middle of cutting down a tree, so I went back to that. A kind of, ‘Finish one thing before you start the next thing,’ approach. And of course I was hoping someone might show up to help.

The Tree: If you have ever cut down a tree you have maybe been where I was yesterday. In the ground, stretching up into the sky, the tree didn’t look so big, tall, formidable. First, a short explanation about why I had to cut down the tree: It was where it should not have been. Maybe that’s a little too short, here is a longer explanation: Over the years the previous owners had allowed the tree to grow right next to the house. As a result the trunk was now touching the roof edge, and towering over the garage, and the base was right up against the garage wall, to one side of the door.

At first, I thought, I’ll buy an ax and chop it down. Then I looked it over and decided it would take all weekend to chop it down, and, besides, I don’t know anything about chopping trees down, so I canned that idea. Next I thought of a chainsaw. But, I thought, if I buy a chainsaw to cut down this one tree that isn’t a very good tool cost to tool return ratio. And, knowing me, I will begin to look for other things to cut down. And that is bad as there is a whole forest behind my house. And I have seen people juggle chainsaws, not that I would, but… So, I decided against the chainsaw. So how to get the tree down?

I looked it over, judged the tree to be no big deal. Went and got my new reciprocating saw (This is a great tool for any do it yourself-er.). It is like the electric knife you use to slice the turkey with, only a lot bigger and with a selection of blades to cut through nearly anything at all. Cut a car in half? No problem. Cut a wall right out of your house? No problem. Cut a pipe, piece of wood, window opening into a wall (That is why I bought it. I want a window where there is none), no problem. I know these things are true because I have used a reciprocating saw to do them at various times in my life, but cut down a tree? No. Never.

Looks a lot like my reciprocating saw. Built for home construction/destruction, sometimes incorrectly called a chop-saw, but absolutely not meant for chopping a damn thing…

I sorted through the blades. I bought blades for everything, but there were none marked ‘Tree Cutting’ so I selected one marked ‘Wood and Metal’. I ran out the extension cord, plugged in the saw and started cutting. I mean, why think it out first? It’s a tree. It needs to be cut down. The saw is in my hand. Could it be any clearer? Well, as it turns out, it could be.

I began my cuts on the front, a wedge chunk cut out in the direction I wanted the tree to fall (I saw that as a kid hanging around loggers one day in the woods. The north country used to be full of loggers. That’s how they did it). Step one done. My cat, Buster, peeked around the corner of the house at me, decided I was crazy, and took off toward the other side of the house. But I have noticed, unlike dogs, cats will abandon you in times of need, or just when you need a little encouragement. A dog will look at you and grin, and your confidence soars. A cat looks at you, shakes it head and runs away and you begin to rethink your entire life. Don’t get me started on cats.

Okay, I moved on to step two, coming from the back of the tree and cutting towards the front notch I had made. I guess now would be the appropriate time to say I had taken off my gloves, believing I did not need them. And also, to note three other things. First: A reciprocating saw is not made to cut down trees. Second: If you’re going to use a reciprocating, or any type of saw, for something other than what it was intended for, wear your damn gloves! And Third: Don’t try this at home kids. I’m a trained professional writer, and I have written about people who have cut down trees with reciprocating saws, so I have some experience.

Ten minutes later, I realized my plan was not going according to, well, my plan. My plan was simple and effective, cut the tree through until it fell. I like simple plans like that because there isn’t much to go wrong. But, the blade was not coming through the tree, so I stopped. That is when I realized I had misjudged my angle, I had cut through part of the trunk and was now cutting a swath through the dirt, stone, etc, that surrounded the tree, but not actually making any progress into the trunk itself.

$#@%*$#, I said. And then a few other things I have neglected to write down here. I looked at my palm, no gloves, so I had blistered the palm in a quarter sized circle. Brilliant, I thought. Then, @#$%^*$# Tree, I muttered. The tree didn’t seem to mind. It sort of just stood there. I re-positioned the saw, and began again. This would have been a good time for someone to interfere, but no one did.

It only took a half minute of cutting at the right angle to cut through to the notch, and then the tree swayed back onto the garage and the blade, stopping the saw. The tree seemed about to go over onto the roof, and that was when I realized just how big that tree was. Even so, I put my weight into it, convinced it to pivot, and down it came, away from the roof and the garage, just like I had planned it.

That was when I noticed that neighbors on both sides had stopped to watch. Probably sure I would drop the tree on the house or the garage, but I disappointed them and dropped the tree on my truck instead. Everything got quiet instantly it seemed. I heard my neighbor on one side snigger, but when I turned in that direction he seemed to be looking up at the sky for rain. Which, I might add, I should have been doing.

So, there I am. Tree on truck. A huge load of building materials sitting in my driveway, neighbors amused to say the least, a hole worn into my palm. A second blister on my thumb.

I know, quit whining.

Okay, I will.

After I cut up the tree into manageable chunks with the reciprocating saw, I realized that my mistake had been misjudging the size of the tree. And the weight of the tree. And the wisdom of cutting down a tree with a reciprocating saw. And, well, maybe the cat was smart to hit the road early on. Once it was in pieces it didn’t seem so big to me. I had planned to load the pieces into the truck and take them to the land fill. But the truck was a little messed up, so I dragged the trees around to the back of the house and made a pile, called the wrecker for the truck, and about the time I had that done it was obvious I had to get the materials inside before the rain began. I barely made it.

In the end I sat and watched the rain fall as I sipped a Lipton Iced tea (Love that stuff), picked at the broken blister on my injured hand, and wondered why I ever decided I could cut down a tree with a reciprocating saw in the first place. Was I really an idiot, or only a throw back to the days when… Uh, I have no ending for that, because I’m pretty sure there never were days where men and women cut down trees with reciprocating saws. I mean, how would they get the power out there in the deep woods? And in my deep woods there are always bad things lurking about, so they would have been killed and eaten by something long before they cut any trees down, with or without a reciprocating saw.

I thanked God that I didn’t hit the car too, which had been sitting right next to the truck. At least there is something to drive until the truck comes back… If the truck comes back. On the plus side, the tree is no longer growing into the garage roof, and since I was on a roll I actually raked up all the mess I made and things look pretty good. And all the materials are here for me to start the remodeling job on Monday. And skin grows back. My palm will heal. I fear the truck is terminal though.

In other news. I got very little work done on Earth’s Survivors Six, but it is progressing. The Zombie Killers book three is still with the editor. The oppressive heat wave and high humidity broke for a while last night. A promise of things to come? I hope so. And, Open Office, the software I use, has a new version 4.0 if you are an Open Office fan. If you aren’t, you should be. It is very good.

The rain was good for all things living, except the cat. He did not appreciate the rain at all. Came running up to me and jumped on my lap soaking wet, and cats do not like being wet, so, instead of shaking like a dog will, he just rubbed against me until he was dry again. Great. None of the drywall got wet. That would have been worse. And nothing lasts forever. And, the tree is not rubbing against the garage. I know I said that but it bears repeating because it was the whole reason I went out there in the first place. Oh, and the reciprocating saw was not damaged at all. So I can cut that hole in the wall tomorrow that I wanted to cut to install a new window. Wish me luck…

Hope you had a great week…

BLACKNESS OF THE SOUL

“I know… You know, Paul, people sometimes think I don’t listen to prayer anymore… If I ever did. They tell themselves that and then they begin to believe it. I do listen though. I do. Every prayer. Every time. Do you believe that, Paul?”

Blackness Of The Soul

This material is copyright protected. It has not been edited for content. This material can not be used without the express permission of Wendell Sweet or his Assignee.


Paul Brown settled the barrel of the nine Millimeter pistol against his left palm, curled his hand around it as if to hold it forever, and then released it finger by finger. A sob escaped his throat and a fat tear drop rolled down his left cheek and splashed against the butt of the pistols grip where the clip protruded slightly. He took his free hand, wiped the tear away and then reached for the beer that sat beside him.

He raised the can to his mouth, drank deeply, and then continued to stare at the black pistol that rested in his right hand. Once again his left hand closed around the barrel, but lightly. Stroking it. Caressing it. He fished a cigarette from the pack beside him on the floor, thumbed the wheel of his old Zippo and pulled the harsh tobacco smoke into his lungs.

The smoke, or the beer, or both seemed to calm him, at least momentarily. His chest hitched but he stifled the sob this time. The sobs frightened him more than the gun. The sobs came on their own and there seemed to be no way to fight or stop them. They were a life unto themselves. The gun on the other hand only had to speak once. And technically he would never hear it.

“Probably never hear it,” he whispered into the semi darkness of the living room. He had pulled the curtains on the outside world. Blocked it away from him.

Probably never hear it. He wondered about the truth of the statement for what seemed to be an excessive amount of time to him, caught himself, and took another deep drink of the cold beer followed by a near frenzied pull from the cigarette. He waited on the sob but it came when he didn’t expect it. A flood of tears came with it, falling from his eyes, staining his reddened cheeks before he could think to try and stop it.

“Oh, God,” he moaned. He sucked in a deep breath, lifted the pistol to his mouth and bumped the barrel across his teeth and into his mouth.

Everything seemed to freeze. The taste of oiled metal flooded his mouth He gagged, and then nearly squeezed the trigger too hard because of it. Panicked, he ripped the gun from his mouth tearing open his upper lip on the gun site as he did.

He was breathing hard. He needed to calm down. The tears just continued to fall. His cheeks felt raw. His eyes full of sand. His head began to pound harder. It had begun to pound earlier. He thought about that too. No more headaches. None. No more worries. No more anything at all. He sighed and returned the gun to his lips. He could taste the oil and metal once more, mixed with the blood from the torn lip.

His lips did not seem to want to part. He eased the gun away, took a deep drag off the cigarette, his breath shuddered in and out. He tipped the can and took a deep drink to rinse his mouth of the tastes that had made him gag, then upended the can and drained it. He reached over and pulled another beer from the bag on the carpeted floor, took another deep drink to rinse the tastes from his mouth and then lit a new cigarette from the butt of the old one. He dropped the old butt into the freshly emptied can beside him. He pulled the smoke deeply into his lungs and then let it drift from his nose as he slowly exhaled, trying to calm himself. If he could only think this out, his mind jabbered. He took another deep drink from the can.

In a way it would be nice to sit down and think this through, but in another way he didn’t care if he ever had another thought in his life. He didn’t want to take the time to think it out at all. He had made up his mind earlier. In a few minutes, when he finished the cigarette and the beer he’d do it, he decided.

He didn’t want to die with a lit cigarette in his mouth and burn down the house. Anne had to live here… Well, maybe not, but even so she’d have to sell it or something… If she didn’t lose it…

He pulled hard on the cigarette as if rushing it to its end so he could rush his own end. He took a deep drink from the beer and felt the headache ease back a little.

He could feel the buzz from the beer. Maybe it would knock down the headache after all. Either way the headache was not long for this world, he decided.

Calm seemed to come over him all at once. The sob that he had been waiting for didn’t come. His chest didn’t hitch. His cheeks still felt irritated, his eyes full of sand, his mind weary and removed from him to a degree, but the hysteria he had been sure was going to grab him didn’t make another appearance.

Through the curtains he could see the late afternoon sunlight. Still gold in the sky. Heating up his part of the south. There was no noise except the steady rumble of the air conditioner. Whatever heat the sun held was lost on him today.

He pulled on the cigarette, noticed that it was all but dead and dropped it into the can with the last one. He upended the beer can and drained it. He waited, expecting the sobs to come back but the calm remained. He sighed once, was surprised to find that the gun was only inches from his lips, opened his mouth and slid the barrel in. The hysteria stayed at bay. He adjusted the barrel so it would be more comfortable, sighed at the absurdity of that thought, and then squinted his eyes down as his finger tightened on the trigger.

~2~

“How do you feel, Paul?”

Paul blinked and tried to look around him. He found that it was not entirely possible. He couldn’t really turn around to where the voice had come from no matter how he tried.

“It doesn’t matter though,” the same voice said.

And it didn’t. It became completely unimportant right then. Just like that.

“How do you feel?”

“I’m pretty upset. I…” He stopped. He had been pretty upset, but he wasn’t now. Now he felt… Well, at peace.

“That’s good, Paul. You should feel at peace.”

“It feels good,” he said. It seemed entirely normal that whoever was behind him could read his mind… Am I dead?

“I wanted to talk to you about how you got here, Paul.”

“How?”

“How.”

The time spun out.

“I stole about… I guess I don’t even know how much… I kept stealing and it kept adding up. And I knew they’d catch it… And they did… My boss must have called the cops,“ Paul said.

“Actually the company accountant… But I meant how you got here… To this point.”

“I… … I don’t know what you mean.”

“To kill yourself, Paul. I mean how did you get to this point where you decided to kill yourself… Take your own life… How did you reach that point, Paul?”

“Oh… I thought about it… I…” He stopped and thought about it. “I see… It’s just tough to understand… I don’t really know exactly… Are you God?”

“Do you think of me as God?”

Paul thought about it. “I think I do… I think so… I believe you are God.”

“Then I am.”

“You are? … Really? You really are God?”

“I really am, Paul…”

His voice was soft. Reassuring.

“I… I thought you would sound different… I… Am I dead?”

“No… Not yet… You have some little time left… I thought, since you asked, that before you do something that will change everything we should talk.”

Paul nodded. “I prayed… Earlier I prayed.”

“I know… You know, Paul, people sometimes think I don’t listen to prayer anymore… If I ever did. They tell themselves that and then they begin to believe it. I do listen though. I do. Every prayer. Every time. Do you believe that, Paul?”

“I do… I mean I do now. I do know that now. I’m ashamed to say that.”

“Don’t be. There is no shame here. You are used to saying words that really don’t mean anything true. They are there, you say them… In this case you say that you are ashamed when you are not ashamed.”

Paul examined himself. “You’re right… I don’t feel ashamed. I feel good still. At peace still.”

“So how did you get here. How did you come to be here? Who told you that suicide was a solution?”

“I… It was painful… My wife will leave me. We’ll lose everything… The kids… I can’t imagine what the kids will do… Feel… It seemed… It seemed right.”

“Did it?”

Paul thought about it. “Maybe not… It felt like the only choice I had.”

“Yet you called out to me. Why?”

“Because… Because I used to believe in you… I…”

He laughed. “And I am still here. Did you think I had died? Did you think I had stopped believing in you?”

“Some people think so… That you died.”

“You?”

“No… I guess the truth is I just stopped believing… I believed in other things… Taxes… Bills… Mortgage payments… Summer… Fall…”

“The things you see every day.”

“That’s a good way to put it.”

“I have a way with words.”

Paul laughed and then stopped. “I thought maybe that was a joke.”

”It was… Do you wish you had not stopped believing? Do you see how things could have been different?”

“I can see that now, but what good is it after the fact? I pulled the trigger… I remember that.”

“Did you? I think you asked me to help… Sometimes I help in unexpected ways… Thomas needed to see… To place his hand in my side… Peter needed to see me risen… Sometimes my people ask me for help and then don’t recognize the help when it comes.”

“Like now?”

“Like now, yes. It’s time to think. To breath… To make a decision… A different decision.”

“Then what?” Paul asked.

“Then? … What comes, comes… I know what it is to live. I have felt what you feel. Struggled with the same temptations. We take it as it comes to us, Paul.”

“So the problems would still be there?”

“Yes.”

“That’s help?” Paul asked.

“I will help you all that you will allow.”

Paul thought about it and realized it was true.

“So… How did you end up here?”

“I guess I just walked away… I guess I chose to do that.”

You still choose words that are untrue. Do you guess or do you know?”

“I know. I walked away.”

“You know, it’s a split second decision… Many times if you take the time to think you can get through whatever comes at you.”

Paul nodded, took a deep breath. “I see.”

~3~

The finger stopped. He remembered something… Something… Summer. A thousand years ago it seemed… Anne… When they had first met… The picture in his mind was so perfect, so intense. So real, and a flood of images followed it… But… There had been something else there for a moment, hadn’t there? He had been focusing on the trigger… The pressure… And there had been something else there… Just for a moment… It seemed so. It seemed as though he had been ready to pull the trigger and… And someone…


Thank you for reading my work! Please check out my Sponsors, Dell…

www.wendellsweet.com


Earth’s Survivors: The NationDreamers


Dreamer preview from Ami Adams

Dreamer’s Preview

Book Previews Posted by Ami Adams

This is an excerpt from the Dreamer’s book. The first book is available…

In The Sunlight:

The Book Of Memories;

Laura

I started from the first page of the book of memories. It was not a long book. Not a new book. The leather covers were old, mellow, but it had been taken care of. The pages were yellowed, slightly stiff, but they were not falling apart. A slim book, but I felt that what words it did contain most likely more than made up for the size. I began to read from the first page…

… In the beginning there was only the Creator. There was no Earth Mother. No Grandfather Sun to shine. No Grandmother Moon to light our way in the night. No Animals. No Thunders. No Directions. No legends to tell, because there were no peoples.

The Creator lived with the Star People in the heavens. But The Star People were not talkers, and so the Creator became lonely and wished for someone he could talk with.

One day as he walked among the Star People, he decided that he would create a world where he could go and talk to his creations.

Now all the things that ever were, or ever could be, lived within the Creators words. Within himself. So even though he had never walked on a world of the kind that he had in mind, he knew exactly what he wanted and what it should look like.

As he walked among the Star People thinking it out, he realized he did not want just another world full of rocks and trees, mountains and plains. The stars were full of worlds just like that. Those were worlds that were alive, but they were not the kind of life that the Creator was. What the Creator wanted was companionship. Someone he could visit with. Talk with. Someone like himself.

Now a tree or a rock could be visited, talked to, but what he had in mind was something that would answer back. At that time trees and rocks were not much on talking. There came a time within the legends when the trees and the rocks, when many things we do not think of as talkers, did talk. But that was not at this time.

Many cycles passed by as the Creator decided on what he wanted to do and how he should do it. What it would look like: Where it would live. And what the Creator would talk about with this new creation.

Finally, the day came when the Creator decided to create. He chose the earth as the place to create. At that time the Earth was a small, dead world with no Sun. No Moon.

He formed the Sun from the Star People around him and he set it into the void. He formed Grandmother Moon from a small part of the Earth and set her on her path. They had no life of their own at that time though, they simply reflected the life of the Creator.

The Creator then began to speak the words of life as he stepped from the stars onto the Earth, coming to stand in a summer tall field of wheat.

Next he made the directions and named them. The winds; and he gave individual names to each wind. But there was nothing yet to move the winds. No reason yet to the directions. No purpose yet to the greenery, for the wheat, for the rocks. For the Creator had not yet made purpose.

The Creator then bent and placed his hands upon the Earth and spoke her into life, calling her Mother. The Mother of all that could be.

As he stood from the ground he began to create purpose and assign it to his creations: The winds to move the air. Mother Earth’s breaths to move the winds. The directions so that the winds could find their way over the Earth Mother as they moved.

Mother Earth took her first breath and the tops of the Wheat began to sway as the winds picked up her life giving breath and began to carry it to all the corners of the Earth.

The Creator and Mother Earth spent the next several cycles talking. The Creator was pleased with his creation.

Now the Creator enjoyed Mother Earth’s company, but he also had many friends and favorite places among the Star People. Sometimes he would go for long walks among the Star People. Every time he left Mother Earth would become lonely and long for his companionship.

One day when the Creator returned from a walk among the Star People, Mother Earth spoke about her loneliness. The Creator understood her loneliness. It was the same loneliness that the creator himself had suffered through. So The Creator reached deep inside of himself. Taking a part of himself, the Creator mixed this with the words that lived within him, the words of Power and Life. He sowed this seed into the soil that covers Mother Earth.

“These seeds are the words of life become whole. They are of me,” the Creator told her. “Part of your Creator. They will speak themselves into being in the fullness of time and you will never be lonely again.”

The Creator lifted his hands and spoke Grandfather Sun and Grandmother Moon into life, causing the Creators own breath to fall upon them; and so they began to move on their own paths of purpose. “They will be for Times and for Seasons,” he said.

Now several cycles passed and the seed that the Creator had planted within the Earth Mother began to grow. The day came when Grandmother moon came down to hold Mother Earth’s hand and comfort her during her birthing of life.

Grandfather Sun spilled his light upon them and spoke quietly with the creator as the Earth Mother cried out in her birthing pains.

The peoples came first. Red, Yellow, Black, White, the Brown man, and all the shades in between. The birth waters gushed forth from her as Mother Earth’s womb opened and all the peoples were born.

The birth waters became oceans, lakes, rivers and streams.

The Clan Totems and Animal Totems came next. Their place was not on the Earth. Their place was among the Star People where they would live with the Creator. But they bought the Earth animals before them and instructed them on what they were to be for, before they themselves ascended into the Heavens.

Mother Earth’s sacred birth waters bought life to all that they touched. The fish swam in them. Brother Eagle came from the waters and ascended to the sky. Brother Wolf walked from the birth waters and made his home in the forests and the mountains with brother black Bear. Each animal found its place and knew its purpose.

Now the people had no spirits living among the stars. They had no ancestors to guide them. They did not come to fully know the Creator or the Mother Earth. They had no leaders. Knew nothing of totems. Spirits. Brotherhood. And they did not seek to learn because there was no one they would listen to that would tell them.

Now after a time the people began to divide themselves according to their colors. Leaders arose, but leaders who ignored the purpose within their souls, so they began to provoke wars among each other. With the other peoples. This was their nature.

Mother Earth became sadder and sadder as the peoples continued to war and fight. Many died, sending more and more of our kind into the spirit worlds, but they were proud. They didn’t understand life or purpose and they would not lift their arms or their voices to the Creator or the Earth Mother to ask for help. In fact as time passed they did not speak to Mother Earth or the Creator at all. They withdrew and became laws and Gods unto themselves.

One day a little boy was born to a great war chief. The chief held him in his arms at the naming and called him ‘He who speaks with those unseen.’ He did this because even with his first words he began to speak to the ancestors and those who had passed into the spirit worlds and now lived among the Star Peoples.

As the boy grew he spoke of the things that the ancestors told him with his people: He told them everything that the ancestors talked to him about.

He warned them about war. Spoke to them about peace and how all people, every one, were made for a purpose, to live a purpose. How part of that purpose was to live together. Even so the way of death and war continued.

But his own peoples believed and they began to worship the Creator. Speak to the Earth Mother. Sending praises up to the Creator and asking Mother Earth for guidance. In return The Creator and Mother Earth taught them about purpose, life, and to respect all living things on the Earth.

As the creator listened to his peoples, he realized that many of them wished to live in peace, even though some of them desired to make war and follow the way of death. With Mother Earth’s help he made places for all of them to have their own territories; and he separated them with oceans and deep lakes to keep them apart.

“We will have to hope that they have learned to live in peace by the time they learn to cross the great waters,” the Creator told the Earth Mother.

Time moved on. ‘He who speaks with those unseen’ grew up to become the leader of his people. They prayed to the Creator and kept his ways. They held Mother Earth in great regard, respected her ways, and the people grew and prospered. There were no wars, no famines, no sickness in his people.

‘He who speaks with those unseen’, finished his time and went to be with the spirit people among the stars. As the generations passed, however, the peoples again forgot the ways of the Mother Earth and the Creator. They learned to cross the great waters. They learned to hate again: To make war again. And Mother Earth called to the Creator to separate them once more, but he refused to do it.

“They will only come to kill each other once again. To Enslave. To make war. They must learn to make their own peace. Learn their lessons as a law. Come back to us as they should: As they once were. They will have to learn what peace means. Respect, until then we can do nothing with them.”

Mother Earth knew that the Creator was right. Even so with his words she wept. Her tears became the rain that we know. Lifted into the air and carried by the cloud people, to bring her gift of life from the heavens to all peoples through her tears.

It is said that they will continue to come as Mother Earth weeps for all the peoples. And they will be a sign for all peoples to remember that war and killing is not the way.

They will be a sign to us that Mother Earth will continue to bring life from death, the peoples cause. Sending her tears to us in hopes that they may heal us. And to show us that her love will always be with us.

I held the place in the book as I closed my eyes and sent a small prayer to the Creator for allowing me to read those words.

Across from me Bear slept. His paws twitching. The fire crackled companionably. I opened the book and began to read once more…


Enjoy your weekend! Check out Dreamers at the link below, or if you need a free book to read check out Earth’s Survivors: Apocalypse below, Ami…

DREAMERS


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America the Dead podcast on Apple Episode Twelve

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Episode twelve of the popular America the Dead series: The survivors go out looking for vehicles and find death instead. During the destruction death was loose and causing its own destruction to people who may have survived if someone had not decided their time was through…


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SE books from the Earth’s Survivors collections and a short brain fart concerning Microwave ovens…

Classic Posts: Dell Sweet. Posted by Ami Adams

NEWS

This week: It seems like last to this, the week flew by and I had so much to do that I really couldn’t stop to think about it.

Microwave ovens and presets on microwave ovens:

I like microwave ovens. They have made our lives better, I truly believe that. How else can you get a hot cup of coffee from yesterdays leftover coffee in just about 120 seconds? Not that I do that. I mean drink yesterdays left over coffee… Okay… I do.

Here’s the thing though, it’s coffee! That’s my only argument. It should be enough though. I mean it’s like sacred, isn’t it? If I were living in a cave and discovered the coffee bean and bought it to my fellow cave dwellers they would probably build a shrine for me and worship me… Paint pictures of Coffee beans on the cave walls instead of hands, horses and signs for water. History would have been changed! Well, would have been changed had that happened.

So, no. I won’t throw out coffee. I guess that is a shocking admission but it’s true.

Once, I can’t remember the movie, some western, the character threw the dregs of then coffee in his cup on the fire. The other guys around the fire looked at him like he was crazy… Crazy! And, he must have been. I was just a kid at the time and I thought he was crazy! After that the other cowboys ostracized him. And he wasn’t asked along for the next roundup. That’s how serious a thing coffee was for cowboys back in the day. So, I don’t throw away coffee. Which brings me back to microwaves: Don’t you wish your mind worked the way mine does? See how I came right back to where I wanted to be? Okay. I don’t even know how my mind works, I just thank God that it does. So, Microwaves…

I like the idea of a Microwave, but I do have some issues with them. First, you can not make popcorn consistently. In fact, I went to make popcorn the other day and the bag said “Do not use the Popcorn Setting on your Microwave.” Huh. Then why have the setting there? Isn’t that the whole idea? Ease of use? Push one button? Well, we’ll get to that in a minute. The bag went on to give precise microwave instructions: If you have this many “Watts” use this amount of time. This many, that amount of time. I had a headache when I finished reading it. Finally, I put the popcorn back into the cupboard and got some chips instead, and sank into a deep depression over the whole technology thing. How can you eat microwavable popcorn if the button settings are wrong and you have to spend three hours figuring out wattage? You can’t just get out a pan and some butter, tear open the bag and do it that way, can you?

Well, as I sat eating my chips that I didn’t want I thought about that. There are a lot of buttons on a microwave. For instance, there is a beverage button on mine. It doesn’t work for beverages though. It leaves them too cold or too hot. But, what if you accidentally pushed the popcorn button? And, you then found out the popcorn button worked for beverages? Wouldn’t that be great? Well, it does. I tried. But the beverage button will not work for Popcorn. What a mess that was. But, in the end, I did go back out there, rip a popcorn bag open, and put it in a pan with some butter. Guess what? That did work.

As for the coffee on the popcorn setting it did come out pretty good, but I have an aversion to using a button marked Popcorn for Coffee. But, I wonder. If the popcorn companies don’t want you to use it, why do the microwave companies still make a popcorn button? Hmm. And if the beverage button doesn’t work for beverages, what the hell good is it anyway? And, if coffee is the most nuked beverage, why not a Coffee button? And, stay with me here, if the Popcorn button isn’t used anyway, why not re-label it Coffee? Then I wouldn’t have to feel so bad about using the popcorn button for my coffee. Hey, I’m going to get one of those little label makers and make a coffee sticker and put it right over the Popcorn label. That will solve my problems for now. Feel free to just copy the picture above, print it out, and paste it on your own Microwave! No need to say thanks.

That only leaves the power button on mine. But, that is kind of cool. You can press it, set the time amount, and watch the little turntable go around and around….

Have a good week…

Check out The Earth’s Survivors Newest: SE collection books:

By Geo Dell The SE books are two book collections from the Earth’s Survivors series. The Earth’s Survivors books follow survivors of a worldwide catastrophe. A meteorite that was supposed to miss the earth completely, hits and becomes the cap to a series of events that destroy the world as we know it. Police, fire, politicians, military, governments: All gone. Hopes, dreams, tomorrows: All buried in desperate struggle to survive. From L.A. To Manhattan the cities, governments have toppled and lawlessness is the rule. Los Angeles: Billy and Beth start out with a small group and wind up on their own as they make their way across America trying to find others and safety. Manhattan: Adam leaves the safety of his apartment to find his way out the dying Manhattan, gathering others as he makes his way. Old Towne New York: Conner is alone for the first few weeks, but then he finds Katie and a reason to live again. They set out to survive and find much more than survival. Watertown New York: Mike Collins goes to sleep thinking about his first vacation in many years that he will start in the morning. He awakens to destruction.

Earth’s Survivors Collected Books

Earth’s Survivors SE 1 by Geo Dell Series: Earth’s Survivors Collected Books. Price: $4.99 USD. Words: 202,170. Language: English. Published: July 5, 2015 by independAntwriters Publishing. Categories: Fiction » Fantasy » Epic, Fiction » Science fiction » Utopias & dystopias Earth’s Survivors SE 1 contains the complete text from the first two Earth’s Survivors books, Apocalypse and Rising From The Ashes. It includes a character bibliography. It follows survivors of a worldwide catastrophe. A meteorite hits and sets off a series of events that destroy the world as we know it. From L.A. To Manhattan the cities, governments have toppled and lawlessness is the rule.

Earth’s Survivors SE 2 by Geo Dell Series: Earth’s Survivors Collected Books. Price: $4.99 USD. Words: 219,100. Language: English. Published: July 5, 2015 by independAntwriters Publishing. Categories: Fiction » Fantasy » Epic, Fiction » Science fiction » Utopias & dystopias Earth’s Survivors SE 2 contains the complete text from the Earth’s Survivors books three and four, The Nation and Home in the Valley. It includes a character bibliography. It follows survivors of a worldwide catastrophe. A meteorite hits and sets off a series of events that destroy the world as we know it. From L.A. To Manhattan the cities, governments have toppled and lawlessness is the rule.

Earth’s Survivors SE 3. The Outrunner Books by Geo Dell Series: Earth’s Survivors Collected Books. Price: $4.99 USD. Words: 205,340. Language: English. Published: January 31, 2016 by independAntwriters Publishing. Categories: Fiction » Science fiction » Apocalyptic, Fiction » Horror » Undead Earth’s Survivors SE 3, The Outrunner Books is all the collected OutRunner books in one place. There were three books written that were then discarded and the storylines were written into the Earth’s Survivors books instead. This Collection follows the OutRunners as they assemble from L.A and N.Y. The only book that tells the full tale of the outrunners…

Earth’s Survivors Se 4: The Story of Candace and Mike by Geo Dell Series: Earth’s Survivors Collected Books. Price: $4.49 USD. Words: 192,410. Language: English. Published: April 3, 2017 by independAntwriters Publishing. Categories: Fiction » Horror » Undead, Fiction » Science fiction » Utopias & dystopias The Earth’s Survivors SE series follows follow Mike, Candace and a few other survivors as they struggle to stay alive in a vastly changed world. In the early morning hours of March 1st great change came upon the entire planet, touching the small northern New York town where Mike and Candace lived. Earth’s Survivors SE four is the only story that completes the original story of Candace and Mike…

Earth’s Survivors SE 5 by Geo Dell Series: Earth’s Survivors Collected Books. Price: $4.49 USD. Words: 284,070. Language: English. Published: May 1, 2017 by independAntwriters Publishing. Categories: Fiction » Horror » Undead, Fiction » Science fiction » Utopias & dystopias Earth’s Survivors SE 5 brings together book Six and book seven from the earth’s Survivors series in one volume. From the theft of the virus from a top secret facility to the births of The Nation’s first babies, to the formation of The Fold and how it came to be founded. Watertown begins the tale and World Order ends it after picking up at the end of Watertown. A hard, fast read start to finish…


I hope you enjoyed the preview. You can get a longer preview at any of the links, or buy the books.

Enjoy the rest of the weekend and I’ll be back in a few days,Ami.


Earth’s Survivors America The Dead: Begins The End

Earth’s Survivors America The Dead: Begins The End

America The Dead, no. 1

Dell Sweet

  •  3.3, 3 Ratings
  • $2.99

Publisher Description

When a catastrophic natural disaster looms on the near horizon, the government releases an airborne virus designed to make the human race tougher, better able to survive. It was developed for soldiers to make them better able to fight, go longer without food and water, and increase their strength.

In its virus host it bonds itself to our own cells and helps them to regenerate at an advanced rate, so that even if you die you can rise again. In non combat field tests the soldiers become aware of this, they called the phenomenon Overclocking and looked at it in a positive light. How could you look negatively at being able to live forever? A quick shot of the antidote after the heart had begun to beat again and the virus seemed to slip into remission, leaving a healed body the would come out of the virus induced coma in a few days once again its own.

But the virus does something the governments didn’t consider, it never stops working, never truly becomes dormant. Even after the body has ceased any real life, the virus lives on, rebuilding it’s host in a new and potentially indestructible way. Days later, what was dead becomes alive once more.

In this book those closest to Project Bluechip begin to pick up the pieces of their world and get themselves to safety. They have heard rumors of a place in the South that might offer safety, but getting there may require a price that is far too high to pay…

Apple: https://books.apple.com/us/author/w-g-sweet/id1156638419

America the Dead on Apple Podcast, Episode 16

Apple: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/america-the-dead-new-york-podcast-wendell-sweet/id1495878572

Episode sixteen of the popular America the Dead series: He lay for a few minutes thinking about how much he loved Candace, wondering how funny it was that he had lost so much yet gained so much, something he had never had and had been in no hurry to go out and find. He wondered how he had ever managed to live his life without her in it. He wondered over how deep his love was in such a short period. It seemed like it was just yesterday when he had first met her. He had remembered how he had never really found tattoos attractive on a woman, but she had this tribal thing that started on her left hand, wrapped around that wrist and then sleeved her arm, disappearing under her shirt sleeve. It was one of the first things he had noticed, and when she had been reaching for something he had seen another piece of the same work that came down across her flat stomach and slipped below the waist band of her jeans. While he had been wondering if it was a second piece or part of the same piece, she had caught him looking. Her eyes had settled on his own and the next thing he knew he was thinking about her in an entirely different way. Thinking about making love to her, about being with her. Thinking that could never happen, Tom was obviously interested. And then she had walked over and changed his entire life. He couldn’t be without her now. The man he was becoming had a lot to do with her, probably would have never existed without her, and he had never even known she existed, never even known that love could be like that. The entire world was destroyed, but he had found himself. And she loved him too. He could feel it, see it. It was every bit as strong as what he felt for her. Not clingy, just real. Total. “Hey,” Candace said. His eyes had slipped closed; he opened them to see her standing over him, a cup of coffee in one hand. “Coffee,” He said. “Good,” she said. “It’s alive. Were you going to sleep the day away?” She handed him the coffee carefully as he sat up. “Something wore me out,” He grinned. “You okay?” “More than okay,” She answered. She leaned over and kissed him.


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