Part 5

Something was definitely wrong.

The sunshine was gone. Worse, something had woken me. My confusion didn't last long: everyone was running from the restaurant. I got up, and followed the crowd to the door.

In the middle of the street was a mob of people - crowded around someone laying on the ground. Chuck was kneeling beside the person and, when he reached his hands back to wipe them on his pants, I could clearly see they were red.
I started to run, to see if I could help, but someone grabbed my sleeve.
It was an old woman, leaning on a cane, her eyes wide with concern. Holding my shirt both for balance and in plea, she asked, "what is it? What's going on?" I couldn't let her down.
"I don't know! I was going to find out! Whoever that is, they're bleeding pretty bad." I tried to see through the crowd, without much luck.
"Oh dear! I thought I heard a rifle. I hope it was just an accident." She was shivering, but just a little. She shook her head back and forth as if she could simply disagree the situation away. She didn't look at all like she thought it an accident.
"You think they got shot?"
"People don't just lay down in the street, bleeding. "
"You're right. Look, I've got to go see -"
"Are you a doctor?" I looked. Her eyes were stony. I wondered why.
"No."
"A nurse?"
"No!"
"Any medical training?"
"No, ma'am," I spat out, trying to stare her down "look, I -"
"Then don't get in the way. That boy looks like he knows what he's doing." Damnit. I couldn't just run from such a helpless (and demanding) old woman.

The crowd drifted a little. That seemed like a good sign. But, as it began to break apart, I saw him. That pale kid was right there in the crowd. He was smiling...at the wounded man?
It was a little creepy.

The crowd faded into darkness, as though something had covered the sun. No, my head...something...can't focus. The bottom dropped out of my stomach. I shuddered uncontrollably. I saw the crowd staggering, even through my dull vision. What was going on?

Then I saw him moving - and heard a sudden, slick sound. I hoped I had misheard, but it replayed in my mind. The man he had been near slumped forward, and then met the ground. The sound repeated, another man curled up on himself, then fell.
I think it happened more, and the sound was very wet. That's all I know. A wet sound, obscene. I kept hearing it.
I don't know why no one moved. I couldn't see.

Someone was yelling. Someone angry. It was Chuck! With that thought, my vision came back. I was laying on the ground. Chuck had a big gash in his shirt, and there was blood everywhere. On him and on the ground. I hoped it wasn't his. He was still yelling when he lunged at the kid.
That pale freak's eyes widened, and he reeled back, arms out. I was glad to see him surprised. He tripped as he threw himself backwards, and suddenly I felt much better. Everything would be alright.

But, still falling, he smiled again, wider than ever. I wanted the moment to end, but time was slow. Chuck tackled him. They skidded slowly through the air. I worried - what was behind that lunatic, beatific smile? I felt like I could reach out and grab him, demand to know what he was doing, and still have time left before he hit the ground.
There was a sudden, hollow sound, a resounding heavy drum, and they were down. I wondered if his ribs were broken. Chuck pinned him. The kid did nothing but wheeze, and weakly struggle - I felt exultant. Then I noticed why he was able to struggle as much as he was - Chuck was getting very, very pale, and shaking like a sheet in the wind. He slouched forward, slowly. And then, like he was laying down to sleep, ever so slowly, with his arms resisting, he fell, and there was a heap of two bodies.

I was halfway there before I remembered the old woman. I turned my head quickly, and, unsurprisingly, she had collapsed without my support. I looked forward again, and I was already there. I rolled Chuck over, and looked at the kid: sure enough, he wasn't moving. So I turned my attention to Chuck, and to his wounds. Where his shirt was torn and bloody, there was an oozing hole, and blood coursed from it. I fumbled around, trying to apply pressure, but I'm not sure it did any good. A little less leaked out, but I think it leaked out inside, instead. Or maybe there wasn't much left. No! Damnit! He couldn't die!
He moaned. He was alive! I never thought I'd enjoy hearing moans of pain, but it meant he was alive!
"Chuck, buddy, you gotta help me out. Hang in there. Tell me what to do. You know what to do. You're bleeding. A...a stab wound. A puncture, I guess. I'm trying to stop the bleeding but I don't know how! Help me out!" He rolled his eyes to me, slowly.
He mumbled, "...shit. Praugh...probably too late. So cold. .... I need...a little water."
I really wanted to get him some water. I didn't think it'd do much good, but I really wanted to help. I got up - and the kid was gone. I panicked.

Up the street just a bit, I saw him. He seemed to have recovered. He saw me, and started running, hard. His knife swung in his hand, tearing the air. This couldn't be! He had been so weak only moments before! I ran.

I felt ashamed, running off to let Chuck die. And these people, too. I couldn't even think straight.
I collapsed again. Before I hit the ground, all I could think of was, "why?"

I was terrified, yet, I could not move. In a way, it was peaceful. Everything was out of my control now. There was nothing I could do; no reason to worry. I'd always known I was going to die, sooner or later. Now was not so -

There was a harsh grunt. That got through to me. It was followed by a sound - perhaps like the sound of a sack of flour, filled with sticks, cracking against the ground. From the tops of my eyes, I saw the kid slide down a wall, and Chuck's limbs drop to the ground. I couldn't understand.

My senses returned, at least a little. That perplexing sound...
Then I knew. That was the sound of bones breaking. Somehow, whether by luck, or blind rage, or divine intervention, the kid had run right overtop of my dying friend. The old man must have willed enough strength to pull off a throw - transferring all that forward momentum into a short flight to the wall. I felt sick from the sound.

Slowly, unsteadily, I rose to my feet. There were a lot of people on the ground, now that I had time to look. I moved to my friend as quickly as my legs and balance permitted.
There was just a flicker of life left in his eyes. He looked around, dully, and though I called his name, he did not look. He did not hear, and he could not see. He whispered, "it's only fear, only fear, that's all, that's how they do it, just...weak mind...just...." Almost imperceptibly, he was moving slower, and less, each instant. Each moment was a short age. I pleaded with him, and with God. Nothing happened. And, before I was ready, there was no movement at all.


I felt sticky.
I was covered with drying blood, and with tears. I do not know how long it was, but as the blood was not dry, and the body not cold, it could not have been long. Something had broken through my sorrow. It was...it was another noise. A slick noise. That same one as...what was it? That was so long ago. Another. Again. Oh, wait...my stomach knotted up. It was...it was....

Oh shit.
I looked up. There, as if reaping a crop, was the thing. Kneeling, cutting, rising, and then stumbling to the ground again. It was only a thing now. No human being could do that. Not so...gleefully. So mechanically. He limped, and sagged, and was misshapen. I could not understand how he still moved. He staggered from body to body. His head rolled to one side, and he saw me. Blood leaked into his eyes, and a crusty stream ran from his mouth. He straightened somewhat, and turned to me. He shambled towards me, smiling, but his jaw hung to one side, and there were new gaps in his grin. Before, his eyes had sparkled with evil delight. Now, they were vacant, dead, empty - they simply saw. But still he smiled, and shambled more.

Directly before him, a woman woke up. Before she could move, though, he stooped, and put his knife through her neck, just behind her windpipe. He pulled, and I saw it rise - oh, it rose! He never looked away from me.

I was running. I did not know it, and then, once I did, I did not know where I meant to go. Away. I only wanted away. But he would follow me! Like before! He followed me from the woods. It did not matter if I ran - I would tire, and he could not. He would walk until I collapsed, and then he'd have me, too.
I saw a van. A white van. The driver was slumped in the seat, leaning against the door. It was patiently trying to idle forward, but a...a something I would not look at was keeping it back (oh her eyes! They...stared!). I scrambled to it, and yanked the door open. I was not sure, but I thought the driver might be alive. Before I had decided anything, I tossed him from his seat and onto the pavement - the murderer was almost here.

I was driving away already. I thought, "I could not run him over - I would have to run over the people who might not be dead. I can't." But this was just an excuse - the van was turned around before this even occurred to me.


After that, I do not know what happened. I was at home. I did not want to sleep. There were times when I was not awake - black times - but they were not sleep. I could see the heaps of bodies, still, and I imagined that poor old woman I had let fall, murdered because of me. Chuck was breathing raggedly, leaking blood, staring at me with hateful accusation. That driver...he was in his rightful place, in his own vehicle, bloody from the wounds that killed him, and he watched my every move. They all watched me. All of them. I screamed, and I told them it wasn't my fault, but they did not care. They were dead. They had all the patience in the world. They would never stop.

I am not sure how long I was there. I had not changed clothing. I could not shower. It would be too noisy - I couldn't hear if I showered. And what if he came when I was changing clothes? I didn't eat. There was no way to eat.
Even though it was noisy, I turned on the television. I had to know.
"We bring you more on this evening's tragic news. Police responding to a nearly incoherent motorist found a grisly sight - an entire town, murdered. Police do not have any details, but they are recommending that people in the local area stay in their homes, and be on the lookout. And for those of us further away, they urge caution as well - they do not know where the killers went. Whoever did this, whatever group it was, is very dangerous, and presumably heavily-armed. Police have not yet said what they think killed these people, or how long it took, or why no one called for help. But they stressed that they do have some leads - some witnesses recall the last vehicle on the highway from that direction as being a white van." My mind went blank, and the room was suddenly cold. The TV said something about the model and license. "Preliminary reports are sketchy, but it appears that the vehicle was stolen from town - its owner was among the victims. The police ask that any and all possible sightings be reported - and that if you spot this van, do not go near it. I repeat, do not go near this van. It may very well be the murderer's getaway vehicle.
Even more troubling, it appears that most of these victims did not put up a struggle. Only one young man survived, and he appears to have put up a fierce fight - many of his bones are broken. He currently is in extremely serious condition. But he alone seems to have resisted. Could this have been a chemical or biological attack? Is this the work of terrorists? The governor and the President both are asking people around the nation to join in prayer for -"

I switched it off. They were coming for me. Coming for me. And they would not believe.... They would never believe anything I said! I felt like I deserved it. I abandoned those people. They all died. And here I was, alive. They all died so I could get away.
Damn them all! The cops had their killer. But they were coming for me! Why? Why had any of this happened?

Further non-work on that story

But seriously, I'll finish it sometime. There are two reasons why I haven't so far:
1. It takes time, which I unfortunately have wasted on other things.
2. It takes the right mood, and honestly, I'm far too cheerful to finish this the way I intended. At least for the past few weeks.

I'm thinking of something to write in the future. It's about...space Mormons!
...
I wrote a description on it. The description was desperately boring. So, I deleted it. If I get around to fleshing it out (or perhaps flushing it out), maybe it will be funny. Or maybe it'll piss people off. Either way, I'll be entertained.
Well, it's more than space Mormons. But that probably doesn't matter to you right now.


When I'm tired, like I am now, I can't write for crap. It comes out boring and insipid, and kind of depressing (I have now gone through and rewritten every sentence - because they were all crap the first time, and some even the second or third. When I'm less tired I need less revising). So, why don't I go to sleep and write later? When I am well-rested, I want to do everything but write. That's why. Come to think of it, I'm most lazy when I feel good. When I'm tired, or overwhelmed with work - that is when I am usually most productive. I could speculate that's it's because when I feel good, it doesn't seem like I need to do anything further. So I don't. Hmmm....

Why did you read all that? It couldn't have been very interesting.

Sleep is sounding really good now.

Want a poem? No? Unfortunately, the Internet is not yet interactive through time. If you are protesting, you'll have to do it just a little louder and without regards to the usual chronological flow. If you do that, I'll definitely do as you ask, just for the novelty of it.
Of course, you could easily stop reading.

How about this one -


If ever I gain
enough acclaim,
perhaps I shall be renouned -
recalled by a different name.


(I am such a sucker for bad puns. My apologies to those of you who aren't - http://dictionary.reference.com/search?q=renown might help you figure things out.)

Unfortunately, it's still not finished (unless you don't want it finished, in which case you are in luck)

Things have been a little busy. But just you watch - if they get busier, I'll retreat by writing. Then it'll be finished. And we can all be happy. Unless you're disgusted by such a worthless collection of words. Hey, at least I have started a small collection. Maybe it's not very exotic or well-arranged, but at least it's something.


Anyway. Here's a poem.


Raised and called,
raised and called
Good Christian nation
that we are, but
Lazarus's not involved.
The preacher's going
to drive me to drink
I wish instead
I could be seeing the shrink.
He wants me to give up
all my earthly possessions -
and he'll get them all
in these damn poker sessions.



Heh.