America the Dead Episode 17


Episode seventeen of the popular America the Dead series:

March 23rd


The cave was up early the next morning. It seemed as though everybody had some task to complete, some job to fill the day.

The open space of the large limestone cave accommodated all the people and all the supplies and possessions they had accumulated over the short period they had been together. Now it also held the first truck that Bob and Tom were going to convert. Everybody found a reason to stop and look at what they were doing as they went about their chores.

Bob and Tom would be left behind for the next several days as the others continued to search out items on Jan’s lists as well as a few parts Bob and Tom had been unable to find.

Mike was working on getting some coffee into him when Tim and Annie came back into the cave in a hurry, looking around. When Tim’s eyes fell on Mike he headed straight for him. Mike glanced from Tim and Annie to the covered entrance way but no one else came through it. “Ronnie wants you,” Was all Tim said. His frightened eyes said more than his words. Everyone had seen Tim and Annie rush into the cave and they looked at Mike now, wondering what had caused them to hurry in. Mike shrugged his shoulders and headed for the entrance way, Candace and Patty behind him. Everyone else paused in what they were doing; waiting to learn what was going on.

Mike stepped outside into the early morning quiet. Ronnie,

Nell and Sandy were staring down the river road toward the old restaurant that graced the end of the street. Mike walked up, but before he reached them, a volley of gunshots reached his ears. It sounded to him as though they had come from lower State Street, just off the square, very close by.

The sound of a revving engine reached his ears at nearly the same time, and a speeding truck raced by the end of the road about a quarter mile away. The shots came heavy and hard. It sounded like a war zone.

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America the Dead Apple Podcasts Episode: Ten


Episode ten of the popular America the Dead series: The survivors have gathered a few together, lost one of their own, and now will have the opportunity to bring more survivors into their circle…

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America the Dead Podcast episode 15

Episode fifteen of the popular America the Dead series: I was not religious before this happened. I didn’t go to church. And I’m not religious now, not really. I simply believe in Christ. That’s a belief, not a religion. A belief can last, religion fails sometimes, and I can’t afford to be part of a failure. I need absolute. I need something sure. I need belief, and that’s what I have. Don’t get the idea that I’m fanatical, I’m not. I guess if we’re keeping this for the children then this will be for you, my baby, my girl, my boy, someone who I have not yet met. That gets so deep. I don’t want you to misunderstand who I am or what I believe in. Eventually there will be all this space between us and this night when I sat down, thought about you, how much I love you before I have even met you, and how I want things to be for you. I know things will not be as I see them. I know that time changes everything so easily. I just want you to see who I am right now. Not a crazy; not a fanatic. I am just a young woman who believes that all that is left is Christ to see us through.

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“Okay,” Paul said. “Morbid… Sure it is. I know that, dick-wad, but death is always morbid, man, for real. The thing is what happens after and that is that life goes on am I right? I mean, my Bro. flies back to Seattle, he don’t like me anyhow… Randy goes back to work bustin’ his ass down the paper mill and so do you. End of story. Oh, maybe you think of me tenderly from time to time.”

This material is copyright protected. It is not edited for content. You may not use this material for any purpose with the express permission of Wendell Sweet, and, or his assignee.


“No,” Paul slurred, as he shifted around on his bar stool and looked directly at Jack, “I mean dead as in gone! As in outta here, friggin’ history, get it?”

“Yeah, dead as in dead, as in suicidal again as in I told you I don’t know how many times you can’t do that. You got resposisilillyties? No, resposabilities. To-hell-with-it, you know what I mean.”

Apparently Jack couldn’t talk any better than he could, Paul thought, but they had both been drinking since eight this morning and it was now nearing four PM what else could you expect? Paul asked himself. And not beer either. If they had stuck to just beer they would have been be fine. But Jack had got him going on the ginger brandy chasers. Beer… Shot of ginger brandy… Beer… Shot of ginger brandy. And that was the way the day had gone. “I knoooh,” Paul said, still slurring his words, “that I got them things, respectabilities, but I. Have. Had-it. Fuck it! I mean, less say I croaked right now. Jess sittin’ right here on this beer-stool-Beer-stool was a private joke. Neither of them could remember which had started calling it a beer-stool, but they both knew one of them had-drinkin’ and then I croaked. Say a freakin’ heart attack, prob’ly would be, or a stroke. Anyway! Dead, like, right now… You’re sitting right freakin’ there and I buy the farm. Then what?”

“Hey for real, man, like, mental health might be a thing to think about here.”

“Uh uh, you ain’t got it yet is all. I don’t mean dead as in dead I mean dead as in gone, get-it?”

“Same thing, man, same…”

“No it ain’t,” Paul said as he leaned forward from his stool nearly surprising Jack into falling off his own stool. “I mean the supposing thing is the same, but the premise ain’t. Hey, I said premise right I ain’t too far gone. In other words, just play along for a quick sec., okay?”

“Fine,” Jack said wearily. He tipped back his glass of beer, drained it, and looked at Paul.

Paul nodded.

“Two more, and a couple a more shots too,” Jack said, once he got the beertenders attention.

Beertender was another private joke, but one they had picked up rather than invented. “Okay,” Jack said once the beers and shots had come and he had downed his shot and chased it with some of the beer. “Gotta piss like a race horse, man. Then we’ll get back to this.”

“Again? Man you’re pissin’ like every ten minutes,” Paul said, quickly cutting his eyes to the darkened rear area of the bar.

“Yeah? Well so are you, man,” he got up and staggered back towards the men’s room. Laughing as he went.

Paul cut his eyes quickly toward the darkened rear area once more, as a shadow parted from the darkness and came forward quickly. Jack was back a few seconds later.

“Okay,” Jack said picking up the conversation once again. “You’re croak city right here. Right now so… I guess I call the cops, right? Friggin’ CSI time or somethin’?”

“Sure you do, or the beertender does, but I mean after. After they come and get me and drag my ass down to the city morgue or whatever it is they do, then what?”

“Well…” he thought for a moment, not sure where Paul was trying to lead him. “Okay, the funeral. Me, probly Randy from work, your brother’d fly down from Seattle probly. We all cry, an… An then we plant you. Over and done.”


“And what? You’re frigging worm food there ain’t no and then what.”

“Sure there is. There always is.”

“Got me swingin’, man. I don’t know where the hell you’re goin’ with this and I’m seeing two of you sittin’ there and I ain’t really sure which one of you came up with this bull-shit, but it sucks. It’s morbid, man, kinda sick.”

“Yeah? well now I gotta piss, but you hold that thought, man. I’ll be back in a flash.”

Jack watched him go, and then turned away from the dark area at the rear of the bar. He ignored the slight rustling noise beside him. Concentrating instead on the back bar. Counting the bottles. He didn’t turn back around until Paul came back and seated himself on the barstool once again.

“Okay,” Paul said. “Morbid… Sure it is. I know that, dick-wad, but death is always morbid, man, for real. The thing is what happens after and that is that life goes on am I right? I mean, my Bro. flies back to Seattle, he don’t like me anyhow… Randy goes back to work bustin’ his ass down the paper mill and so do you. End of story. Oh, maybe you think of me tenderly from time to time.”

“Not friggin’ hardly… I got somethin’ you can tenderize, man,” Jack said laughing.

Paul laughed right along with him. “Okay,” he said at last, “that was cute, but for real life will go on; end of story. I don’t have that ever-lovin’ Mortgage comp’ny on my ass. Same for the bank that has my truck loan. Joan can’t grab me for no more fuckin’ alimony, it’s the end… The real end, it’s over and life goes on.”

Jack stared back speculatively. “Listen, for real now, you’re startin’ to scare me, man. There’s no reason to do somethin’ like that. Hire a friggin’ lawyer, man. Go to court and fight her. Hand the goddamn keys to the truck back and the keys to the house and file bankruptcy. The end, problems gone, fini.”

“Not true, man I thought about it. Even talked to a lawyer. As long as Joan doesn’t ever remarry I gotta pay her. If I don’t have the money they’ll throw me in the slammer until I come up with it. As for the house I could give a shit. The truck’s nearly paid for why should I hand over the keys just because we can’t get no hours down the mill? Uh uh; I spoke to the same lawyer bout that. They’d make me pay it. I’m single, no dependents. They’d grab my whole fuckin’ check and send it off to the court every week. I’d end up bustin’ my ass for nothin’.”

“Okay… Okay fine, but dead? Being dead ain’t the answer, Paul, for real.”

“I agree.”

“Well, what the hell! You been arguing that bein’ dead is the answer!”

“It is… But not really dead: As good as dead, but still alive.”

“Okay, splain this one to me.”

“Easy… I been thinkin’ for over a year about it; here’s my plan. I go huntin’, right?”


“That’s it. I never come back.”

“A year? A whole friggin’ year and that’s the best you came up with?”

“Uh uh. I got a plan… A real good plan too… I’m about average size, right?”


“Do you know how many guys are average size?”

“Like, a real number?”

“Uh huh.”

“Well, since it’s average I guess a lot would be.”

“Zactly. Friggin-a. In fact you’re average, am I right?”


“Okay, well since I’m average all I need is another guy that’s average, to make my plan work.”

“Uh uh, flawed to the max., man. What about, like, dental records. Or, like, blood type, or, like, I don’t know there’s a friggin’ million other things they can compare. Scars, uh, shit, I really don’t know, but I do know there are a lot of things.”

“All true,” Paul said, as he took a deep drink from his glass. “All true, but who gives a damn.”

“You would. See, if you do what you’re thinkin’, like switchin’ a body for your own, they’ll know, and… And why in hell am I even discussing this with you? Do you know how crazy this sounds?”

“Prolly does sound crazy, but I worked it all out. You know I got this partial plate, on account of that football thing back in school right?” Jack nodded. “Well last year when I went up to Canada huntin’ I had a new one made. I wear it a lot too, to get used to it. It’s a little bit different than the one Doc. Freiler made me, but I am used to it.”

“So a persons mouth is different. A lot different,” he signaled the beertender once more, and waited for the fresh shot and beer. “How you gonna find someone with the same teeth missing in the front like you? And even if you did they’d have to be average and then the partial plate would have to fit. A lotta if’s, if you ask me.”

“Well the thing is I didn’t ask you, but if I did you’d have to give it the same amount of thought as I did, and you’d see it ain’t rilly a big deal. A pair a pliers, pull out the teeth so it’ll fit…”

“Jesus, Paul that’s sick. You tellin’ me I don’t know you? You tellin’ me you’re the sort of man that could do somethin’ like that?”

Paul grinned. “No. Just bustin’ your balls, Jack. You fall so friggin’ easy that I can’t resist it.”

Jack broke into a huge bray of laughter. “Oh shit. Oh shit, you had me… I gotta admit it, you had me hook line and sinker, Paul. Oh that was good, Jesus that was good, really I mean it.”

Paul laughed right along with him. “So’d you tell your old lady you were goin’ huntin’ with me this weekend?” he asked once he got the laughter under control.

“Christ no! She’d have a shit-fit if she thought I was out enjoying myself. Uh uh. She thinks I’m doin’ my hitch with the guard this weekend. She don’t know my hitch ended last year. You know… It’s so Cindy and I can have some time alone occasionally.” Cindy was Jack’s girlfriend, Paul knew. They’d all gone to school together and knew each other well.

Paul nodded. “Well, I’m for the woods for an hour or two. Pick a good spot. I’d like to get one this year. Then we can rent a room for the weekend, stay the hell outa this bar and bag somethin’ decent tomorrow, hopefully.”

“With ya,” Jack said, as he tossed back the last of his beer. He followed Paul out of the bar.

Paul drove the twenty miles up into the forest preserve in silence. Jack had passed out beside him nearly as soon as they had left the bars parking lot. He parked and shut off the truck. Jack came awake.

“There?” he asked foggily.

“Uh huh,” Paul agreed, his voice blurry, and indistinct. He levered the door handle open, and nearly fell getting out of the truck. Jack tumbled out from the other side, and they stumbled off up a nearby trail into the late afternoon darkness of the forest.

“So,” Paul said, after they had walked a few hundred yards. “I never finished my idea.”

“But I thought you said you were kiddin’?”



“Wasn’t,” Paul said simply.

“You’d really be able to do that?” Jack asked looking directly at Paul for the first time since they’d left the truck. He had his rifle with him. Not only was it with him, but it was in his hands, and he’d come to a dead stop in the middle of the trail.

“It ain’t so much that I want to,” Paul said softly. “I have to. The banks really are drivin’ me crazy, Jack and I’m sorry, but it has to be this way…” He raised the rifle slowly as he finished speaking.

“Hey,” Jack said in a near whisper. “It was funny before, but this ain’t, man. This ain’t even slightly funny.”

“I don’t suppose it is… Do you want to hear the rest of my story?”

“Uh uh. You’re sick man, you’re goin’ too far with this… Jesus Christ, we’re friends, Paul, we’ve…”

“Been friends since first grade,” Paul finished. “That’s why I chose you, Jack. I know you, in and out. We’re built the same, we look a lot alike…”

Jack stared back at him.

“so,” Paul said quietly. “What you have to do is burn the body. I lied, it can’t work as a huntin’ accident. But as a drinkin’ and drivin’ accident while you’re huntin’, especially with all these curves up here. It’ll do just fine. It’s gotta look real obvious too. Real obvious so they don’t check too close.”

“First grade, man, think about it…” Jack blubbered.

“I did and the trouble is how am I goin’ to get you to voluntarily hop in that truck and drive it off a cliff? So I said to myself shoot his ass, stuff him in the truck and then set the pedal and let it drive itself off the cliff. Won’t work though, or it could, but a bullet’s a chancy thing. Could hit a bone, leave a hole that ain’t natural, tip them off. Uh uh, I sez finally, won’t work. Won’t work at all,” his hand fell down to the side of his belt buckle, where his knife case was. He patted it affectionately. “Knife? That’s risky too though. Nick a bone, leave a mark that ain’t supposed to be there, who knows what could happen? And besides it’s too messy to deal with,” his hand fell away from the knife case. “so I decided the thing to do is put you out some other way so’s I can get you into that truck… You agree?”

“Jesus, Paul, first grade and all. First grade!” he pleaded.

“Yeah… I know… First grade… And there was someone else there in the first grade with us wasn’t there? There was and I knew I would need help and I knew it had to be somebody I could trust too.”

“Huh? Hey come on, man. Think it over, Paul… Please?”

“You know. I didn’t expect that you’d go jelly on me, Jack, I really didn’t… Cindy? Our Cindy? Wasn’t Cindy there in the first grade too?” he raised his eyes up and past Jack. Staring into the woods. “Come on out, honey. It’s okay.”

A tall dark-haired woman stepped slowly from the trees.

“You-You, knew?” Jack managed.

She said nothing.

“So… Gangs all here, and all that leaves is the how of it. So I said to Cindy-Did you know about Cindy and me? Obviously you didn’t-So I said, how? No gun… No knife, how? Oh she’s good, Jack,” he stopped and wiped the sweat that was running in his eyes away. He had gone easy on the beer, but even so he had drank quite a bit. And he was feeling it. Dizzy, sick even and now was not the time for that. He drew a deep breath before he spoke again. “So, Ciny… I mean, Cindy said, the thing to do is to slip a sedative into a drink… But how? I asked, Well easy, she sez. He slips off to the bathroom and you slip it in. No big deal. He comes back, he drinks it, you get the both of you the fuck out of Dodge, he passes out, plop him in the truck… The end, she said,” he took two steps backwards. The friggin’ ground was all the sudden moving, he thought with alarm.

Jack suddenly straightened and stood from the ground where he had been curled nearly into a ball. The mask of fear gone from his face. A wide smile setting comfortably there now. Paul took two more steps, lost his struggle to keep his balance, and sat down hard.

“Good plan,” Jack said softly.

Paul tried to raise the rifle, but it seemed to be glued to the ground. He pulled the trigger anyway. Nothing… A dry click. He was positive he had loaded it before they had gone into the bar.

“If you hadn’t of told Cindy,” Jack said as he stumbled forward, “it would have worked. I knew about you all right. I figured it out a long time ago, buddy-boy. Cindy always was a slut. Never could keep those legs shut… But we both know that don’t we. I went right to her, Paul. Laid it all out and man was she sorry. She begged me to forgive her and she told me what you had been planning. She ain’t as sick as you are, Paul. She couldn’t and wouldn’t go through with it,” he paused and stared down at Paul who was still trying to stand up. He was having no success at all. Jack giggled before he continued.

“I can do it, though. That’s why I drank so much today. It ain’t goin’ to be easy, but I’ll make it: I’m drunk enough to do it. Switched the beers while you were in the can… Ain’t that friggin’ funny? Ain’t it?” he asked. The truth was though, that Cindy had switched the beers, he hadn’t been able to do it… She’d been in the bar, hiding back at one of the dark corner tables towards the rear and Paul had never once looked in her direction. He’d gotten the rear area where the light wasn’t so good so she could do the thing while he was in the can, for just that reason. But he’d drank maybe a little too much beer trying to work his courage up, and far too many shots. He wasn’t feeling all that good, and there were three Paul’s looking up at him from the ground. He stumbled again himself.

“Cindy switched ’em,” Paul mumbled from the ground.

Now how the hell’d he know that? Jack wondered. He stumbled again, and finally found himself sitting back on the ground. One second up the next second down. He swiveled his eyes toward Cindy.

“Had enough,” Cindy said quietly. “Had enough of you promising to leave your old lady for me. Had enough of both of you treating me like shit… Like a slut. I switched them all right. To you, when you were in the bathroom and then back to Paul when he was in the bathroom.” she smiled thinly.

Paul groaned from the ground, and his eyes suddenly slipped shut.

Jack tried to hold his eyes open, but they just wouldn’t stay.

“Shoulda treated me better. Shoulda treated me like a lady. Shouldn’ta told all your buddies about what we did in bed. Shoulda…”

Jack lost the battle to keep his eyes open, and they finally slipped shut. Darkness… A bird calling from far away in the forest… Cindy’s voice droning on and on from far away… Fading away, farther and farther, and…

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Unused Diary Entries: Earth’s Survivors-10

Conner ~ March 10th ? (probably)

Another long day. More trips back and forth to the market. The days are definitely longer, but so are the nights. I don’t see how that can be, but it is. I have no real way to judge it; it’s just a gut feeling. I found several watches by the checkouts. None of them work either. But I know its true. I feel the longer days. I feel the longer nights. That’s all I can say.

A few days back I became sure that the days were even longer, and that’s changed. They’re not as long as that, but still longer than they used to be.

I was thinking, who are you? I know that’s kind of dumb, but you’re somebody, right? And you’re reading this, right? And, how far away is it in time? Place? Do you know who I am, or did you just find this and begin reading it? Have you been through this too? Is it over and explained? For all I know, no one is here to read this. I can’t really believe that though. Man, I really can’t… won’t. It’s the only reason I’m writing this. So that someone, you, will know who I am and that I made it, at least so far. And as I go along, I hope to get some answers. There must be some somewhere. Maybe you have them. Maybe.

So my name is Conner, Conner Davis. I’m a web site designer… Was, I guess. I guess there’s no more internet, right? Hopefully it’ll be back though. I’m twenty three years old and I live here in Old Towne, have all of my life. Old Towne is one of those sections of the city that you have to live here to know about. New York, I mean. I’m single, and it looks like I might remain single for awhile. That’s not funny really. Hopefully I’ll find other people soon. I can’t be the only one left. But if I do, or if I don’t, I’ll have this written record.

I dragged about fifty sled loads of stuff down here today. The inside of the market is really beginning to smell bad. No, really bad. And I found more bodies also; two today. I’ve been concentrating on canned stuff, trying to make sure I don’t get sick. There is a lot of it, and I have a lot of it here now.

I heard dogs today and not far away either. And there were paw prints in the supermarket. And something had been at the bodies. The dogs, I suppose. I was kind of leery of going in, but they weren’t there. And had they been, they probably would’ve been as afraid of me as I was of them. But I was also wondering, were they dogs? Wolves? I mean, don’t they sound the same? Leave the same sort of tracks? Maybe not to someone who knows what to look for in the tracks, but to me they look like dog tracks. And the bodies I had found had been partially eaten. Something was eating them. Dogs? Wolves? I didn’t know, but I knew I had to be careful.

That got me thinking about the zoo. Our zoo. Not as big as the one over in the park, but a nice zoo just the same. What happened to all of the animals there? So I walked out State Street, but I couldn’t get all the way up to the park entrance. The road’s gone. The whole park area seems to be gone. No trees, just raw earth. I turned back around and came back. I don’t think anything could’ve lived through that. But lions, wolves, bears? There are a few new things to worry about, right? Can a lion survive in the winter? I don’t know. But I walked back from my trip to the park a whole lot faster than I walked up there.

But I heard dogs… or wolves. I heard them, and if they lived, other people had to live, right? And a few times now I’ve felt that I was being watched. You know that feeling you get? Well I’ve gotten it a few times in the last few days. I still haven’t seen anyone though. I’ve called out a few times; no one has answered.

I haven’t seen other footprints, but it’s been a little warmer, and the snow has melted. Not all of it, but a lot of it. And they could also walk where I’ve been walking, in which case I wouldn’t see their tracks. But they should have no trouble finding me. I’m not trying to hide or be careful about the tracks I leave. I don’t know if that’s good or not. I’ve been thinking about that too.

I’m not much for guns. I’ve never shot a pistol or a rifle or gone hunting. But I’m thinking of walking back out Arsenal Street. There were a few sporting goods stores out there by the interchange. I even took a few things from one of them the other day, but I didn’t think about guns at the time. Maybe I’ll go tomorrow.

Updating me

Hello everybody and welcome to Quarantine day 29. Today we will be drinking coffee, writing, videoing songs for YouTube, posting articles and books, pretty much the same thing I have been doing every day for the last few years, long before the government said I had to do it.

I like myself, and so it’s no big deal to be alone. I have a compromised immune system, so for me, staying home and not catching something that might do me in is normal.

Up until early last year, I used to stay at home except weekly Walmart shopping trips. I mean, if you are going to go out you might as well enjoy yourself, and I love Walmart because you never know what you might see. I keep my distance from people, kids with runny noses, old folks running people down with those electric carts the store supplies for them to do that with. Imagine that. If you get older, so old you can’t walk that well, you can still enjoy yourself by going to Walmart, hop in an electric cart, mow all those young people with properly functioning bladders, backs, and livers right down, and??? It’s legal, and all good fun. I see them smiling when they do it, so I always made sure I got the hell out of the way as soon as I would see one coming.

Now I stay at home all the time, and when I get bored I watch videos of folks at Walmart doing stupid things on YouTube. So, quarantine? No big deal to me, I’m glad to say…

Or is it? Well, to be truthful, now that it isn’t voluntary? I want to go out. Why? Because President Trump said I couldn’t, or our Governor Cuomo. And, also, I feel guilty because there has to be a side of me that is anti-social to not be bothered by staying at home. And, as a writer, I have my share of broken brain problems, maladjustment, failed relationships, baggage, drinking, drugging (I do neither anymore, years, in fact two decades of sobriety), I mean to say I am just as screwed up as any one else out there, and pretty much normal for a writer. The difference is that I write about it. Remember that time my ex cheated on me? Of course, you don’t, unless it was you they cheated with, but when you stick it to a writer, someday you are going to read about it. Oh, it won’t be your name, but as you read the details you’ll know it was you. Of course, we all add that disclaimer saying the entire account is fictional and completely from the authors head, and, well, that is true in the broadest sense. It is used in a fictional setting, and it did come from my head, but no, Shelia, it isn’t about you. (Disclaimer, I have never had a relationship with anyone named Shelia). Anyway, it makes me want to go out, so I compromised and walked out in my woods and snapped some pictures…

Of course walking around the woods made me feel better, and it made me glad I hadn’t over-reacted and went Walmart to see what is going on there. I returned home, poured a cup of coffee, and returned to my office and realized it needed an overhaul…

Yes, a Christmas cup. I do know it’s not Christmas, but it is the biggest cup I own, besides the Elvis Cup I have, and since I need massive amounts of coffee to motivate me, I need the big cup, and the Elvis cup (It holds 2 1/2 cups of coffee, it must have been modeled after the fat Elvis) is for emergencies, you know, like Fridays, or Mondays.

So that is a look at writers, or me, or both. Every writer I know, who is good, is also interesting, meaning they have lengthy and complicated back stories.

Stay home, read my blog, pray, if you do go out treat yourself to Walmart. You might as well have a good laugh, Dell

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Unused Diary Entries: Earth’s Survivors-9

Candace ~ March 9th

I saw him! I know there is this other person just across the river. It was while we were on the way back, and I happened to look back across the river from the rail trestle, and there he was by the river bank. Climbing it? I think so, but why? And how can I say it was the same man that belonged to the footprints? I can’t. I feel it though. I believe it was him. Who else could it have been?

I wanted to go back right then, but Jake refused. There was no reason for him to refuse, but he did. We argued about it. I mean really argued. I hadn’t realized or really even thought about what it is about Jake that I don’t like. Maybe a better way to say that is, what keeps me away from him. Why didn’t I, in all this destruction, hopelessness, just fall into his arms, or love, or whatever would pass for love in this world? Isn’t that logical? Shouldn’t I have? But I didn’t, and the reason is because he’s got this attitude about what place a woman has in his world. It came out today when we argued. I think I picked it up subconsciously before that though, and it kept me away from him.

Anyway I’m not going to go there. I’m leaving in the morning to go over there and find the man that I saw. I know that sounds crazy. I know it does, but I’m going. I’m getting up at sunrise, and I’m going. Jan and James said they would go with me. If Jake doesn’t want to go he doesn’t have to. We’re not speaking at all. Lydia seems upset by that. She wants him, but not at my expense. I guess that makes me like her a little more than I did.

I was outside until way after dark looking for firelight on the other side of the river. I didn’t see any at all. I don’t know that area though. Maybe I wouldn’t see a fire over there. Maybe he is being careful. I want to know so much. When will I know it?

FINISHING REPAIRS from Guitar Works and Geo Dell


This section deals with repairs and or blending paints for repairs.

The photos below are of neck repairs to a Fender CD60 acoustic guitar.

The neck before the repair: There was wood and finish loss on the neck. The guitar was being built for a specific purpose and so there would be a reshaping and a color change to this instrument as well as the neck and other repairs to it.

Finish: Sand down the repair and apply your finish. For the Fender Acoustic I rounded the top of the headstock over sprayed it with primer, sanded it back and moved on to the next repair. I use basic lacquer primers. Gray, white, black, red, it dries fast and the colors can bring me back to a closer match to a painted surface fairly quickly. If I am working with wood I can use a clear lacquer primer, or sealer to achieve the same ends, sealing the wood and the area. The break areas were sanded with 220 grit wet or dry sandpaper and then primed or sealed. They were then sanded with 320, 400 and then 1000 grit and re-primed. If there are problem areas I will find them then. Pinholes, scratches that escaped my eye, an additional coat of primer or a small amount of lacquer spot putty will fix the larger pin holes or scratches. Sand that to 1000 grit and then re-prime. Although I use wet or dry sandpaper I do not use it wet on bare wood. I prefer it for its anti clogging properties.

I accomplished the repair on the neck and after a few coats of primer to catch the small imperfections I moved on to the bridge and body of the guitar to ready them for paint as well.

The repaint for this guitar was an unorthodox approach to refinishing. There were so many repaired areas and so much fade damage done from the sunlight exposure that I decided to paint this body a solid color.  The bridge and the neck near the headstock were the areas that received the most work as far as sanding them to remove imperfections and marks caused when the guitar was damaged. The rest of the body was simply scuffed, sealed and then shot with the chosen base color coat.

The headstock was reshaped; the body was primed and readied for artwork.

The body received a gray primer undercoat and then a white primer fogging. It gave it an aged look. The edges were then worked with a scuff pad and taken down to the original finish under the gray and white primer coats.

The paint scheme was something I had been thinking about for awhile. I entitled the project 62 Chevy in honor of my first car, a 62 Chevy that spent its entire life in gray primer.

The rosette area was hand painted to match the wood grain of the bridge and the fret board.

I accomplished the look with the scuff pad and about an hour of work. I just worked at the edges, scuffed the primer until the natural finish was revealed. I followed that to where I wanted to follow it, exposing defects in the body, and areas that were repaired and still others that looked as though they had been repaired. The idea was to have fun with the finish. In several places I scuffed through the white primer to the dark gray primer. I finally came to a finish that I was happy with. That is a matter of taste. What you like may not be what the next person likes. When I originally did this build I got overwhelming feedback on two clear avenues. The first was, I love that. It’s cool. The second was, I hate that. Why did you do that? The point is to please yourself with what you do. This guitar was purpose built as a studio recording guitar and I love it. It serves its purpose and it is pleasing to me.


As a point of fact I have done two similar builds for people who saw the build and wanted one similar. To each their own taste: My only goal is to get you to think outside of the box with your own projects and builds. Build something you like, with a finish you like.

You can see I have also done the bridge work. The bridge is temporarily mounted with screws at the center points the same as it was in its former life as an Ovation guitar bridge. I used two bone skull heads to cover the holes instead of the wood plugs that were there.

I next turned to some artwork for the top of the guitar. I took my time picking it, came very close to drawing a 62 Chevy for the face, but in the end I chose another piece of artwork instead.

I wanted something subtle. I didn’t want something that took away of the primer finish. I used standard pencils to sketch the drawing onto the top and then did the shading as I would have with the same pencils. It was a little harder to achieve the same depth of shading, primer does not hold the graphite as well as paper will, but a little experimentation and I was okay

After the drawing was done I wiped the entire guitar down with mineral spirits on a soft cloth, taped it up and shot two coats of clear.

I hope this gave you some ideas.

Guitar Works: AmazoniBooksNookSmashwords


DAW Digital Audio Work Stations you can get for free

DAW Digital Audio Work Stations you can get for free


For the uninitiated Audacity is a free, open source DAW that takes audio recording back to its basics. It has seen massive popularity. With Audacity you can create multi-track recordings and edit them with effects for removing noise, stretching time, correcting pitch etc. Take a look around the web and you will find thousands of Plug-ins that will work with it. I use this myself and I love it…
Audacity is available for free on Windows, Mac, Linux and other OS’s


Traction is a complete DAW you can get for free. Yes you will have to input your eMail and a password, download and install Traction and when it prompts you to unlock it enter your eMail and password you chose and that is it. A completely free DAW (Digital Audio Workstation).


LMMS may not feature audio recording capabilities but what that means for LMMS is that they’ve designed one of the best DAWs for MIDI recordings and arrangements. It features multiple instrument and effect plugins as well as supporting VST plugins.

Its multitude of easy to access synthesizers is one of the most appealing features of LMMS which ranges from its embedded ZynAddSubFx to Nintendo, Gameboy and game sound effect emulation.

LMMS is available for free on Windows, Mac and Linux…

Kobo: Earth’s Survivors Apocalypse Review

Interesting: 4 Stars

Well done. Did get lost a couple of times as there are a lot of characters to keep in mind but overall a really good story. If you like end of the world type stories this is the book for you. I’m onto Book 2!! by Bubbles G on March 22, 2015 2 people found this review helpful