Jason Z. Christie's Blog, page 11

N.W.A. - King of the Hill Meme

Name This Novel - Chapter 11

Chapter 11 – Dosed“Doug,” I started to say. I felt I had to say something. Goodbye, perhaps. But he cut me off.“Just do your job, boy. That's the best any of us can do. Do what is expected of us.”I composed myself and nodded, then switched on the fan we had rigged in the window. I looked him in the eyes, and gave him a dose of the gas. It was perhaps a little bit more than rabbits had gotten, but this was pretty crucial. His face contorted and changed at an alarming rate. He didn't transform, as such, or anything like that. But it was nevertheless some Jeckyll and Hyde shit.Hate. That's the best way I can describe it. His face became a mask of hate. There was a primal sort of animism to it. Less than human, or what we consider human, might be the best way to describe it. Students of Freud might say he became a creature of pure id. Another way to say it was that he regressed to the reptile core of his brain. There seemed to be little left of his being other than his fight or flight response.Except he had no interest in flight.The sounds he made were chilling. There were no vowels or consonants, nothing that could be considered speech, as such. It was effective communication, none the less.He wanted to kill.After the growls and howls ceased, he began to assess his situation. Tommy and Shannon were at the door staring, astounded. We all knew what to expect, but still. When you see a long-time friend change into someone else entirely, well, how can you prepare for something like that?Thank fucking God we erred on the side of caution. Doug was coon-ass tough, solid and wirey, but he couldn't really be considered a big guy. Nothing compared to Shannon's gym-manicured physique, or Tommy's natural country boy build, really.Even so, if you could have asked them neither one would have wanted to be in a fight with Doug before the gas. After the gas, I don't think we wanted to be in the same parish.Like I said, we had him strapped down pretty good. He jerked his arms and shoulders, trying to move his hands up. I had to back away even further. He craned his neck forward as far as he could and snapped at me. I've seen some shit, but I think that single act was the scariest thing I've ever encountered.Despite the handcuffs, and the chains holding down to the floor, he tried to get up. Don't ask me how, but he managed to get his ass up off of the floor. When a few of the secondary nails we had driven began to straighten, Shannon unholstered his pistol. He's big on open carry, and he packs the most lethal combination allowed, a Remington 1911 .45 with 10mm Black Talon bullets. His copkiller, he calls it.None of us wanted to see Doug die, but it pert near happened anyway. Shannon's a pro. He never actually pointed it at Doug, or fingered the trigger, but he was ready. I held my hand up to tell him to hold off. But if a few more nails had straightened, it would have been over.And not just for Doug. Without him, we never would have moved forward. I don't think we would have even known how to proceed. Plus, we'd have killed our own buddy. Even if we had somehow gotten away with it, which was possibly, as absolutely no one else knew what was going on, that's a hell of a thing to have on your conscience.Another scary aspect of what was going on was that, despite the loss of his speaking ability, it didn't seem to be from a loss of intelligence. Doug's eyes were wide and bright, almost glittering with cunning. He struggled a bit more, and then gave up when he ascertained that he wasn't going to break free. In my mind, this was a clear-cut sign that his cognitive abilities weren't impaired.Later on, with others, we learned his wasn't necessarily the case. But I'll get to that when I get to it.The gas was long gone, so I took my regulator off. Tommy and Shannon came inside, keeping a respectful distance. Doug's eyes moved from one of us to the next. There was nary a hint of recognition there. Only, like I said, hate. He looked at us as a predator would prey. A hungry predator, at that.If he could have spoke, I daresay he would have said, “I'm gonna kill you motherfuckers as soon as I get out of here.” I could almost hear him say it.In retrospect, I wish we had filmed it. We learned a lot, and I'd like to have shown him. Again, we did film a few transformations later on. It's all for shit now, of course. Video is not really a thing anymore. But what happened next was unexpected, and made me panic. A nearly fatal mistake. Again, we learned something crucial that we were able to apply later.His eyes passed over each of us once more, and then he started bashing his head against the wall. Violently. By the looks of things, he was trying to crack his own skull.Before I could even react, a bloody spot appeared behind him, the size of a softball. So I had to act quick.It's just something you would never expect, outside of the insane, I suppose. But ordinarily, if you think of suicide, bashing yourhead against the wall would be pretty low on the list of possibilites.So I did the only thing I could think to do, I ran and got a pillow. Like I was saying, I panicked, and it almost got me killed. Or, all of us, really.I rushed back in, and as I got near him, I tripped over my own dumb feet. As I fell, I heard his teeth snap inches from my ear. We weren't sure then if it was communicable in humans or not. But we assumed it was. I landed across his legs, and I'm not gonna lie, I nearly pissed myself. The one upside was that Doug was momentarily distracted. I crawled away and screamed. Shannon kept watch, pistol in hand, and Tommy put the pillow behind his head. It didn't stay put for long, though.“Goddamn it,” Tommy said. “You almost lost your fuckin' ear.”I stood up and actually checked to see if I had wet myself.With the excitement over, Doug had resumed his banging, the pillow now getting soaked in blood. He wasn't doing much damage, though. I still winced every time his head hit the wall. Chances are he might have abandoned this as well, after a time. But of course, the pillow started to slip.“We gotta do something,” Tommy said. “Our boy is gonna have a fuck of a headache in the morning.”“If he comes out of it,” Shannon added.I didn't like the sound of that. “What can I do?” I asked, as much to myself as to them.“You're the engineer,” Tommy said.So I went to the bedroom and got the thickest comforter he had, and more pillows. Doug's toolbox had a big stapler.“We put the pillows behind his head, cover them with the blanket, and then staple them to the wall.”“Not bad,” Tommy said. “But we can't get that close to his body.”“I got somethin',” Shannon said. “Cover him.”He handed me his pistol and went to his truck. “No turnin' back now, is there?” Tommy said.“I reckon not.”He shrugged.Shannon came back with a battery-powered nail gun.“Check you out,” Tommy said.Doug's relentless bashing continued, now against the bare wall again.“Ready?” I asked them.“We are,” Shannon said. “You're out of this one. Just keep him covered. And if you point that thing at me, or touch the trigger, I'll knock you on your ass.”Not much I could say 'bout that. Them boys were wild, but gun safety was serious business to them. They grew up shooting. But even piss-drunk, they never violated the cardinal rules of gun handling. Gun control, to us, meant a steady aim and a clean shot.But it went okay. I gotta say, getting that close to Doug took real balls. The nail gun gave them a little extra distance. Tommy held the pillows in place, and Shannon shot a few quick nails, first to one pillow, and then another one on top of that. The blanket was probably overkill, but they hung that next, and managed to get it between his head and the pillows.Once they were far enough away, Doug knocked his head against the wall a few more times, but it was no use. He seemed to sense that, and gave up.He actually leaned his head back and relaxed, studying us with the same relentless intensity. I noticed for the same time that he never seemed to blink.“Who's got first watch?” Shannon asked. “I'm ready to go to sleep.”I looked at Tommy, and he shrugged.“I guess I do,” I said. “I can't sleep anyway.”“Wake one of us up in three hours. Don't try and push it. We don't need you noddin' off too, and putting us all at risk. I don't trust this evil motherfucker for a minute. For all we know, he's bullshitting us.”“Give me a minute,” I said. “I have an idea.”I came back with a white rabbit in a cage.“I want to test for communicability.”“He's got a point,” Tommy said.“Can you do it without fallin' over?” Shannon asked me. I ignored him, and opened the latch on the cage. As I grew closer, Doug snarled and snapped at me again.I let the door fall open and moved it close to his head. He actually calmed down for a moment, and flared his nostrils. The unsuspecting rabbit did the same. But when it was close enough, turned away from him, he lunged forward and bit it in the side. Hard. I mean, I heard ribs crack. The rabbit screamed. They make a terrifyingly human sound when they're in pain. The only thing I can compare it to was when one of my kittens fell asleep on my engine block one winter. I started the truck, and the fan mostly severed it's front paw.The cat ran around howling on three legs, which was bad enough. But I had to put it out of its misery. I grabbed some welding gloves and managed to catch it. The only thing I could think to do was drown it. So I put it into a five-gallon bucket full of rainwater, and put a lit on it.Its dying screams as it drowned sounded way too close to human. It seems a terrible thing to do, but it wasn't done maliciously. Intent has to count for something.Anyway, the rabbit screamed, and turned and bit Doug on the cheek.He just crunched down harder, and then it fell dead. I moved the cage away, and Doug looked at us, grinning. Blood ran down his cheek as he chewed and swallowed, bones and all.“Motherfuck,” Shannon said, dumbfounded.I closed and latched the cage with the remains of the rabbit inside of it, just in case, and threw it outside.When I came back in, I said, “Results inconclusive. I think any rabbit would have done that, given the circumstances.”Tommy and Shannon had to agree.“Welp,” Shannon said. “On that note, goodnight.”Tommy and I smoked a joint, and then he too went off to sleep.
We rotated shifts through the night, which thankfully proved to be uneventful.

Name This Novel - Chapter 10

Chapter 10 – Gamble This time, we brought two suits to the valve station. Doug and I removed the insulation carefully, so as to not damage it, while Shannon and Tommy sat in the boat and pretended to fish. What they were really doing, of course, was keeping watch. Once we had the new valve on and re-covered, he filled the blaster with gas again. I thought it was a stupid idea, myself. I didn't want to try it on anyone I knew. Doug's argument was logically sound, however. We needed to know the effect on humans, and it had to be done in a controlled environment, lest it get out of hand. I had no idea what he was ultimately planning, though. I should have guessed, or inferred, rather. Or just asked him... To be honest, I thought it was more or less crazy talk. Silly me. It was crazy talk. But damned if we didn't do it. I'm not sure that I don't regret it, now. I lost my family, of course. Most of us did. On the other hand, we're free. There's an excess of everything. It's paradise, in a lot of ways. At the same time, it's a sadder, more somber world. Back at the camp, Doug said, “After this, we need to find the source of the pipeline. It's all for nothing if they can just turn a valve and cut us off. Tommy, I want you and Shannon to do that. Boats, cars, four-wheelers, whatever it takes.” “Man, I got work,” Shannon said. “I only have two more days off.” “I gotta take a load to Mena tomorrow,” Tommy said. “Oh, yeah. I forgot you still work for the Mafia,” Doug said. Tommy drove for J.B. Hunt. Doug maintained that they ran drugs, primarily coke and heroin. They were the most heavily monitored drivers in the industry. Even their bathroom breaks had to be cleared with dispatch. Mena happened to have a “Free Trade Zone” airport. That meant international flights could refuel there without having to deal with Customs. Tyson Chicken, Wal-Mart, and Hunt were all headquartered there. Doug said that Tyson brought dope in from Mexico in frozen chickens. Wal-Mart was the Chinese connection. J.B. Hunt drivers moved it from there to Chicago, and all points beyond. “Work is canceled. So is school,” he said to me. “Aw, fuck that, man,” Tommy said. “I got a mortgage.” “Mortgages are canceled. Look, I understand your concerns. But I'm going through with this, with or without you guys. Tell you what. I've got, oh, a little bit of cash saved up. I'll cover your expenses for the indefinite future.” “Define a little,” Shannon said. “We both make serious jack.” “Roughly a hunnert and forty thousand.” “Motherfucker,” Tommy said. “So, are we cool?” Doug asked them. “You make it difficult to say no,” Shannon said. “We're golden,” Tommy said. “I hate sitting in that cab all day.” “How about you, college boy? Can you skip a semester?” “Yeah, of course. I'm pretty disillusioned with the educational process, at this point, anyway.” “Boys,” Doug said. “This is the most important thing any of us will ever do.” They went back to the deer camp to get supplies, while Doug and I made preparations to test the gas on him. We went to Ace Hardware in Gonzales and picked up a length of chain, and a few padlocks. “If I can get out of that,” Doug said, “Shoot me. Because you're definitely fucked if you don't.” I nodded, and considered this. On the way back, I called the boys and had them meet us. Back at the shack, he said, “Look here”, and unlocked a chest at the foot of his bed. “Dildos?” “Come on, man. This was for my special lady friend.” He pulled out a pair of handcuffs and handed them to me. “Even the strap-on?” I asked, laughing. “Goddamnit, that was for threesomes. Here we go.” He removed an off-white piece of canvas from the bottom. A straitjacket. “Really?” I asked. “She had some, uh, peculiar fetishes.” “What happened with you two, anyway?” “Dope. Dope happened to us. She started shooting it in secret. Stole from me. I'd have her make drops, and the packages would be tampered with. I pretended not to notice, of course. But I knew.” “So you left her.” “Huh? Fuck no, man. I loved her more than I thought was possible. Still do. She left me.” “What?” “Let's just say it was a combination of factors. Her family was a big influence. We were both hooked hard. But part of it was that the sex got too freaky for her, too.” “Too freaky, for a girl who was into that kind of stuff?” I said, indicating the footlocker. “When you do dope to that degree, your inhibitions go right out the window. Some of the things we did and said started to trouble her.” “So she just up and left you one day?” “Oh, no. Much worse. She left me when I was locked up. Pretty much the ultimate betrayal.” “Wow. That's rough, man.” “Tell me about it. That's why I stay single, now. If your soulmate can stab you in the back, what hope is there for anyone else?” “That's a depressing thought.” “Yeah, well. We've got other concerns, now. Have them boys come in. Let's get started.” I went and got Tommy and Shannon, while Doug took a leak. When he came back out, we helped him into the straitjacket, buckled it up, and put the cuffs on him. “Too tight?” I asked. “I've had tighter.” “So how are we doing this?” “I guess I'll sit up. Mainly because I'm afraid that if I don't, I'll aspirate into my lungs and die. That'd kinda ruin the test. Just wrap me up good, and nail the shit out of the ends of the chain to the floor and wall. That's prolly the weak part of the whole set-up.” We wrapped him up like Houdini, arms, legs, chest. Each end was nailed down with as many nails as a link could hold, with a few extra links nailed in for good measure. “I guess we're good,” Shannon said. Tommy nodded. “A man that could get out of that would be a force to be reckoned with.” He patted the pistol he had holstered. “You scared, boy?” Doug asked me. I guess he could see it on my face. “How could I not be? You might get shot, or you might be a zombie forever.” “Or I might chew your throat out.” “You better be bulletproof,” Shannon said. There was no tinge of humor in his voice, at that point. The atmosphere was deadly serious. “Even if you come out of it alive, we're still facing a nightmare scenario,” I said. “Yeah. But knowledge is power. If it's gonna happen, we'll be prepared. “Ready?” Tommy asked. “Ready as one can be, given the circumstances,” Doug said. “Let's go.” None of us had any response to that. We walked outside and I suited up. “Dose him up, then turn on the fan and get out,” Shannon told me. I had never seen him so grim or serious before. I took the bayou blaster and left the door open. We were about to witness something that possibly no one outside of a government research lab had ever witnessed. And it went off without a hitch. Almost.
I was shaking. To Doug's credit, he showed no apprehension at all. 

Name This Novel - Chapter 9

Chapter 9 – Hope It was the smell of frying bacon that woke me up. That, and Shannon and Tommy's loud mouths. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” Tommy said. “Get up. We got work to do.” I felt worlds better, if a little disoriented. In fact, my first thoughts were that I had a terrible dream. That lasted oh, less than a minute. “Come see,” Doug said. Out back, flies buzzed on the rabbit corpses. What was left of them, anyway. The infected ones were bloated, sluggish, and swamped in gore. To my dismay, Doug opened a cage and pulled out before I had a chance to react. He cradled it to his chest like a baby and stroked it's blood-matted fur. It was more than docile. It seemed downright affectionate. “Are you crazy?” I asked. “It's fine. Twelve hours or so is all it took, by my estimation. Then it wears off. In the meantime, it's infectious, of course.” “What if it had bitten you anyway?” He shrugged. “I'm not willing to find out. But I'm willing to be it's no longer contagious, either. Check this out. It's now immune to the gas.” “No shit?” “I shit you not.” I pondered the implications. “So what do we do now? Go public?” “Are you serious? You naive little bastard. Do you really think any news outlet would touch this in a million years?” “The internet...” “No one would believe us. Well, some people would. But no one would believe them. That's the beauty of the internet. Tons of truth is out there. Ignored, discredited. You know 'conspiracy' is synonymous with 'kook', by design. It's been that way since JFK. Plus we don't want to tip our own hand. If they know we know, It's game over. We have a slight strategic advantage right now. A small one, sure. But it's something.” “What do you want to do? “I want a reboot. Revenge. Total war.” “A second American Revolution.” “You're fuckin' a.” “That's crazy.” “What's crazy is doing nothing. It will be used against us. The only way I see to stop them is to turn it against them.” “How?” “Oh, I got some ideas. Hungry?” I was. Famished. Back inside, the four of us ate breakfast and had coffee. “Shit, Jimmy,” Shannon said. “You go off alone, see some crazy shit, and don't even tell us.” “I thought I was crazy. Hallucinating. Plus you guys would have just clowned me.” “You got that shit right,” Tommy said. “A deer biting an alligator...” “But you believe Doug?” “We do, now. He showed us the body. We cut the tail off. Mama's dressing it now. Fried alligator and sauce piquant for days. Plus he showed us the killer rabbits. Scary shit.” I had never known Tommy to be scared of anything. “I think their teeth will grow back,” Doug said through a mouthful of eggs. “We should test it on reptiles,” I said. “That's a good idea. Maybe birds, too. But first we need to cover our tracks better. Shannon welded us up a tap.” He pointed in the corner, and there was a sort of clamp with a valve on it. “We're going to put that on over the hole, then recover it with insulation,” Doug said. “Won't someone notice?” “I doubt it,” Shannon said. “If they inspect the station, which ain't even likely, they won't be doing QC with an iso or somethin'. Just a simple visual inspection. It'll look like a normal piece of pipe.” “We thought about doing a hot tap,” Doug said. “Drill into it underwater, and weld on a new o-let and valve.” “Why aren't we?” “Too much work. Risky. Shannon's never dove before, much less welded underwater. Besides, my buddy with the gear is locked up. So I consider this an acceptable risk. I think expediency is the key. Strike hard, strike fast. But first we're gonna test it out on me.” “What?” “We can't assume it works on all mammals. Maybe it only works on animals. Creatures from 'Bambi'.” “So we're going to turn you into a...” “Go ahead and say it. A zombie.” “What if it doesn't wear off?” “Shoot me. Bury me in the swamp. Call the whole thing off.” “I couldn't do that,” I said. “I could,” Tommy said.
“Me, too,” Shannon added.

Name This Novel - Chapter 8

Chapter 8 – Confirmation At the shack, Doug went in and got a notebook and pen. “Here,” he said. “You're the official record keeper.” “I thought this wasn't going to be published?” “This is just for us.” We walked around back, and there were twelve rabbit cages, each with one or two gigantic bunnies in them. “They're huge,” I said. “Why play around? I can eat for nearly a week on one rabbit.” We separated a few cages, and I took notes. Doug spoke as he worked. “Cage one. Single rabbit. Male. Cage two, two rabbits, female. You can only cage a male and female together for breeding purposes. Then you have to separate them.” “Why's that?” “The phrase 'breeding like rabbits' isn't just related to gestation. Once the female is bred, she'd had enough. The male will just keep at it. Eventually, the female will fight back. They will basically render them impotent by cutting a nerve or tendon or something on the male's genitals.” “Crazy.” “Cage three. Two rabbits. Male. That should be enough.” We moved them into the cages we had set aside. Doug put his suit on, and told me to stand back. Then he untaped the top of the bottle. He took a handful of rabbit food, held it near the cage, and it came forward. Then he squirted a puff of gas into its nose. The change was dramatic, and instantaneous. The rabbit began screaming, a sound that was too close to human for my liking. It opened its mouth and hissed, baring its teeth. It leaped forward straight forward at Doug. Right for the jugular, it seemed. If it hadn't been for the cage, I think it would have gotten him. Even then, it tried several times. I kept thinking about the rabbit in Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Except this wasn't funny. Not at all. It didn't give up, but ran around the cage, looking for an exit. When it didn't find one, it tried to chew the metal. Soon, its mouth was bloody, and its teeth were breaking. It didn't seem to feel pain, or have any concern for self-preservation. “Cage one. Feral,” Doug said, and I remembered the notebook in my hand. I scribbled a few notes, jotting down the date and time, as well. He repeated the process at the second cage, and infected one of the two rabbits. It reacted much as the first had. But after trying to get at Doug and failing, it turned its attention its cage mate. The second rabbit didn't stand a chance. It was dead in seconds, throat chewed out. But it didn't stop there. The feral one actually began eating the dead one. “Cage two. Cannibalistic,” Doug said. He was awfully clinical about the whole thing. I almost puked. At the third cage, he infected them both. I'm not even sure why. Doug used to fight pitbulls, and I think he just wanted to see a battle royale. It was a brutal fight, but it didn't last long. In less than thirty seconds, both were a bloody mess, and one was dead. The victor began to feast on the vanquished, until it too died of blood loss. “Brutal,” Doug said. “I have an idea.” He opened a fourth cage, grabbed the rabbit that was in it, and put it against the cage of the second, which had become stuffed with meat. It wasn't any less vicious, though. The infected rabbit rushed forward and bit the untainted one through the wire. The one Doug was holding almost got away, and he threw it back into another cage, like it was on fire, with another unaffected rabbit. But nothing happened. The rabbit that had been bitten sniffed its wound, and then curled up to sleep. The second curled up next to it in sympathy. It was sort of heart-warming, after what we had just witnessed. “What do you think?' I asked him. “I don't know about you, bruh, but my mind is blown. This is like super-rabies. But rabies is biological. And rabbits eating meat? It's off-the-charts crazy.” “Do you think it's contagious?” “Too soon to tell. Actual rabies takes a few days. But that might not be an apt comparison. It's just the only thing I can compare it to.” As soon as he said that, we heard a howl. The newly infected rabbit had killed the other one. “Well, that answers that,” Doug said. Turning to face me, he said, “You need sleep.” I nodded. Despite the excitement, I was winding down. I could better ponder the situtation if I had some rest, furthermore. But I was still sort of wired. “I got what you need.” He pulled out his pistol from the small of his back, aiming to shoot one of the rabbits, when I stopped him. “What are you doing?” “Putting them out of their misery. They're pets. I mean, sure I was going to kill and eat them. But they don't need to suffer.” “What if it wears off? Could be critical data.” “Damned good point. But rabies doesn't wear off.” “This isn't rabies.” “You're right, of course. Let's get some sleep.” Inside, Doug pulled out a hollowed-out Bible. He opened a bottle of pills and handed me two small white tablets, which I immediately swallowed. “Dilauded,” he said. “The crown jewel of pharmaceuticals.” Then he pulled out a syringe and drew some clear liquid from a bottle. “I don't do needles,” I told him. “I just use this to measure the dosage. Open your mouth.” I did, with some reluctance. He squirted a not unpleasant tasting shot onto my tongue. “Morphine sulfate, two cee-cees.” He rolled us each a joint, and we fired them up. “This is chocolate Thai. Creeper sleeper.” After a few tokes, I was already getting heavy-lidded. “So what do you think?” I asked him. “I need to do more research. I think this is a new chemical. Possibly biological. What I don't think is that this is just a side effect of some petroleum product.” “Then what is it?” “A weapon.” “Really?” “If this was just some sort of process gas for industry, we'd have heard about it. I mean, maybe it's new. But your industrial processes are pretty common knowledge. They have gasses that will kill you, ruin your lungs. Chemicals that will give you cancer, or suffocate you. But turn you into an insane cannibal? It couldn't be covered up. Someone would have said something. You know construction workers gossip like women.” “Maybe no one's been exposed to it in the field.” “Yeah. Maybe not. But that really supports what I'm sayin'. Covert activity. The line is old. Most industrial hands don't know or care what they're dealing with. So switching the line over to something else could probably be done with very few people knowing what's going on.” “What's your theory?” “Like I said, a weapon. Chemical or biological warfare. Think about it. Release it somewhere, maybe overseas, and they kill each other. Then bring in the troops to mop up. Win/win. You've eliminated a bunch of people, and you can justify cracking down, instituting martial law.” “Kinda like 9/11.” “Yes. Except...there are a lot of plants overseas. If it's manufactured here, it's for domestic use.” “You think so?” “Most likely.” “Why?” “Look. The dollar is going to collapse. In less than a hunnert years, its lost ninety-two percent of its value. That means a dollar is effectively worth eight cents. It can't get much lower. The stock market will crash. The government will fall.” “Yeah, I think so, too.” “I think they want to institute civil unrest before it happens. It could be an out for them. A lot of the patriot network have felt that way for years now. They think the feds have been trying to goad them into fighting. They're just too smart to fall for that shit.” “What 'patriot network'? You don't own a computer or a phone.” “Ass. We don't trust electronic communication. Only a fool would. The internet was developed by the military. Do you think they just forgot about it after that?” “No. Of course not.” “Well, the first thing they probably did with it was to set up monitoring. It's been that way ever since. And now the phone system is just another part of that. So why would we discuss overthrowing them on their own network?” “Overthrowing them?” “It's us or them, cousin. Can I use your truck?” “You don't even have a license.” “Fuck a license. Dang, man. Even you're brainwashed. I have natural rights, mobility being one of them. Besides, if I get stopped, that cop's gonna get a snoot full of gas.” He grinned. “Be careful,” I said, handing him the keys. “Oh, fuck off, Nervous Nelly. Get some sleep.” By the time he left, I was out. I slept for fourteen hours.
I woke up to madness, and the dawn of a new America.

Name This Novel - Chapter 7

Chapter 7 – Investigation I hauled ass back to Doug's as fast as the boat would carry me. By the time I got there, I had already convinced myself that I had imagined the whole thing. Maybe I just didn't want to believe it. On the other hand, I'm not sure what was worse. The feeling of losing your mind is pretty terrifying. Ultimately, of course, what happened was worse. I wish I had just been losing my mind. I fairly ran back to his camp. As luck would have it, he was right where I left him. In fact, he was at the door with his pistol. “What the fuck, man?” he said when I was within earshot. “I thought the DEA was coming for me. Only the police would make such a noisy-ass entrance.” “I'm going crazy,” I said, panting. “I think I need some sedatives or something.” “Shit, man. You only been awake twenty-four hours. Talk to me when you hit five days. Or three weeks. Then you'll know what crazy is. What happened?” “I saw something. I think I'm hallucinating.” “Not after one night, you're not. What did you see?” “A deer.” “You goofy bastard. You were fucking deer hunting. Was it Old Buck?” “No. I mean yes. I saw him. Sort of. But this was...” “Fucking what, man? Just spit it out. Was it shadow people?” “What?” “Sometimes I've encountered other-worldly things. Dark shapes. They're invisible. But dark. Blacker than the darkest black. They can put a scare in you, for sure. I don't think they're malevolent, as such. But your fear of them can make them seem so.” “No. It was just a deer. It...attacked an alligator.” Doug started laughing. “I think you've got that backwards. It happens. The really big ones will pull a deer into the water. Drag it under a log to rot for a few days. Consider yourself blessed. I've never witnessed such a thing myself.” I shook my head. “No. The buck, little five pointer, at its eye.” “Oh, bullshit. Deer are herbivores. Timid ones, at that.” “Swear to fucking God. I think it was the gas.” “Gasoline? What?” “I hit a pipeline. Something was coming out of it.” “Ain't nothin' in those pipes that could cause something like that.” “Then I imagined it.” “I'm not saying that. I just find it unlikely. I also find the idea of a deer fighting a gator to be highly unlikely. I'm not saying it couldn't have happened.” “It ate its eyeball.” “What?” “That's what I saw.” “Then maybe you did imagine it. But...” “What?” “Neither scenario is impossible, as such. You seem pretty lucid, now. In my experience, once things like this start happening, delusions, I mean, it doesn't end until you sleep for a while, at the very least. But I don't like the implications. Do you know what Sherlock Holmes said?” “I haven't read a lot of the classics.” “Well, it was actually Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. But he said, 'When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however implausible, is the solution'.” “What should I do? Sleep?” “Yeah, of course. But let's do a little investigation, first. I'm thinkin' it's rabies, maybe.” “That makes sense. I never thought of that.” “If it happened at all, that's the best explanation.” We took the boat back to the spot, and tied off to the platform at the valve station. If the wind hadn't been in our favor, I probably wouldn't be alive today. We saw the arrow sticking out of the pipeline, and Doug said, “Well, that part checks out, at least. Yellow smoke, too. Gas, I mean. Must be some really old pipe, or something like schedule ten. Which is odd.” He bent down to smell the pipe near the arrow, and I stopped him. “Don't. Just in case it was the gas after all...” “Prudent. Good call.” We went down the steps, and checked out the riverbank. The deer tracks were right where the deer would have been. Was. “They're deep. Could be soft mud, could be a deer bent down and bit an alligator's eyeball,” he said with a twinkle. I pointed to a spot to the right of the tracks. “Is that blood?” Doug pressed his finger to it, and then stuck it in his mouth. “Tastes like it.” He stood and stared at the river for a little while, looking contemplative. I thought he was just thinking. Then he said, “There,” and pointed across the canal. We got back in the boat and paddled across. Floating belly up near the bank was a nice six-foot alligator carcass. Doug rolled it over, and it was missing an eye. “Well, I'll be fucked,” he said. “Why would it have died?” I asked him. “It was just an eye.” He shrugged. “It might have gone into shock and drowned or something. I'm no herpetologist.” “So what do we do now?” “Just rethink everything we know, is all. I propose we run some tests. The scientific method.” “Sounds good. I'll write the research paper.” “Kid,” Doug said. “If this turns out to be true, the gas, I mean, writing about it would get you killed.” “Think so?” “I know so.” “Then why do it?” “The unadulterated thrill of scientific discovery. Let's go back to the shack. We need a few things. Mainly to cover our tracks.” “What about Tommy and Shannon?” “Call 'em.” “My phone's at the camp.” “Alright. We'll pass by Chinquapin and you can use the phone at the store.” I left Tommy a voicemail telling him I would see them in a day or two, and then we headed toward Lake Maurepas. Instead of going back where I had found Doug, we went to his other house. “Two minutes,” he said, and ran inside. When he came out, he had a flat white package, and a toolbox. “Hazmat suit,” he explained. “Every smart cook has one. Although I should point out that there are very few smart meth cooks.” “Isn't that a dead giveaway?” “Not as long as it's not on the same property as the precursors. No one can prove either of these places are mine, either. Owning a hazmat suit is not illegal.” Within twenty minutes, we were back at the pipeline. Doug got a respirator, hacksaw, and a roll of metallic tape out of the toolbox, and then said, “Got your blaster?” I nodded. The bayou blaster was a plastic jug, sort of, with a picture of an alligator smoking a joint on it. You put the lit end of one into it and squeezed, then a thick stream of smoke came out of the top. Sort of like someone giving you a shotgun. We always used it when we went fishing, for some reason. Again, tradition. Sometimes you do things because that's what you did in the past. “Not really the time and place for that, is it?” “Just gimme the damn thing.” I pulled it from my tacklebox, and he suited up. When he was protected, he said, “Upwind,” and indicated I should get on the other end of the platform. Only a few wisps of smoke escaped the hole the arrowhead had made, at random intervals. But it pooled up in the depressions in the mud below the deck where the wind couldn't get to it. Doug leaned the arrow to one side, and squeezed the blaster, letting it fill with gas. Then he taped the top and side shut. Finally, he sawed the arrow off flush with the insulation, and wrapped that up, too. He put it in his toolbox, and got back out of his suit. “The perfect crime,” he said. I have to admit, it was a pretty convincing repair. We took off in the boat again, and I said, “Now what?” over the whine of the engine.
“Did I ever tell you I was raising rabbits?” he yelled back.

Name This Novel - Chapter 6

Chapter 6 – Nature It was a quiet fall morning. Idyllic. The calm of the day was disturbed only by the sound of the Evinrude. For some reason, the noise irritated me. I wasn't tired, but I was on edge. I attributed it to the dope, but perhaps it was an inkling of the trouble to come. I made it near the clearing under the power lines, and then doubled back a quarter mile or so to tie up the boat. I was so happy to turn off the engine, I sat for a bit and had a sandwich. Then I took a leak in the river. You can't just piss all over the woods, the deer will smell it. It was a mistake many hunters made, either through inexperience, or just drunken carelessness. I sat and thought for a while. My mind was still racing, but I no longer had visions when I closed my eyes, which suited me just fine. In fact, my head seemed clear. When I could just relax and listen, it was almost as if I wasn't there at all. It felt very zen. I think that's the word. Zen is a tricky concept. That brought to mind Emerson again. “I become a transparent eyeball” fit my situtation perfectly. I've always considered that one of the greatest lines ever written. The first mistake I made was parking upwind. It turned out to be inconsequential, and it was far from my only mistake, much less my biggest one. So I got out of the boat and headed upriver, which was downwind, on that day. Had I been smarter, I would have moved the boat, too. Deer are pretty easily spooked, and wary. I bet they can smell gas from miles away. The only thing I carried was my crossbow. I wish I had brought my phone, too. The footage would have been impressive. I studied the tracks along the riverbank, and considered the situation. Old Buck drank there, most definitely. There were a few other sets, smaller, and the mostly headed upriver. Like Tommy said, deer aren't going to venture out into the open during the day. But the tracks heading north were in an overgrown area that might provide enough cover for one thirsty enough. By the same logic, the warmer the day got, the better my chance might be. But the bank was too steep near the lines. I followed the trail a bit, and found the perfect spot. In another sense, it was the worst possible spot on the planet. It was a little pipeline platform with several pipes that came up out of the water. Natural gas, I assumed. Daddy was a pipe welder, so I knew a thing or two about that sort of stuff. In fact, it drove Shannon crazy that I didn't work in the plants. I could weld like it was nobody's business. Had to. I learned how when I was twelve or so. He said I could walk into any plant in the country and make a hundred and fifty thousand a year, doing very little. Instead, I was getting a Master's Degree in business management, having gotten my engineering degree. I wanted a construction company. Renee Hollander of Zen Construction was my idol. Plus, daddy said he'd put his foot up my ass if I ever went down the same path as him, so there's that. God rest his soul. Several sets of tracks led down to the water, so conditions were ideal. I checked the existing path in from the woods, and positioned myself accordingly, getting as far away as I could and still reasonably expect to make the shot. I guess my intuition was good. I had planned to stay there until two or three o'clock, long enough for it to get good and warm. As it turns out, one came along before noon. It snuck up on me. One minute there was nothing, the next, a five-pointer was on the bank. It stood there for a moment, head raised, and I finally reacted. I raised my bow and aimed, intending to strike the neck. Right as I was squeezing the trigger, it bent down to drink. I missed, and the arrow struck the pipeline about a yard behind it. I think the insulation must have muffled the sound. It raised it's head up, alert, but then just went back to drinking. Gas, what looked like yellow smoke, started to come out of the pipe, settling along the ground. I was going to reload and make the kill, when the damnedest thing happened. I saw a shape swim toward the watering spot. Alligator. Now, alligators are not like crocodiles. I've never known one to attack a person. And I've definitely never heard of one attacking a deer, for that matter. But I've watched my share of nature shows in my day, and it felt like one of those moments. So I just watched. Right about the time the gator was close enough to strike, if that's what it was going to do, that buck got a whiff of the gas. It reached out over the water...and plucked the alligator's eye out. I couldn't believe it, of course. Never in a million years would I have expected that to happen. The gator rolled and thrashed in the water, and then went under. I bet it didn't see that coming either. No pun intended. Then the deer raised its head and bellowed. It was genuinely frightening, very guttural and primal. I don't think that was normal, either. It turned and ran into the woods like it had somewhere to go. I immediately began to question what I saw, and whether or not it had actually happened. Either way, I was scared. I needed to see Doug.
It was the beginning of the end.

Name This Novel - Chapter 5

Chapter 5 – LoadedOn the other hand, maybe the other bundle was for someone else. I never did ask Doug about it. We had bigger problems, at that point.But I loaded them both into the boat, and put my coat over them in case a game warden stopped me. Silly paranoia, I realize. But I didn't have a record, and I couldn't see getting one out of pure carelessness.I made my way to my daddy's camp, to find Shannon and Tommy drinkin' beers around the campfire.“Boys,” I said with a nod.“What's up, Poindexter?” Shannon said, tossing me one.I threw it back. “No beer. Papers.”They both pulled out packs, and I laughed. I cleaned a handful and rolled joints as we shot the shit. When I was done, I said, “Let's go inside.”“Come on, man,” Tommy said. “I sit in a rig all day long. Let me enjoy the wide open.”“This will definitely be worth your while.”Inside, we blazed our weed, and I got a plate from the cabinet. Without saying a word, I untied the baggie and dumped some out, handing the rest to Shannon.“Oh, shit, son,” he said. “Is that from...”“Yep. Ninety-nine percent pure, he told me.”“Ain't no way,” Tommy said. He's good, but he ain't that good.”“I guess we'll see,” I said.“What do you mean, 'we'? Don't tell me you're gonna do some.”I raised my eyebrow.“Now I've seen it all. Mr. Goody Fucking Two Shoes, Mr. Altar Boy is going to do a blast?”“I'm a grown man,” I said, repeating Doug's words. “I have a pretty good head on my shoulders.”Tommy and Shannon looked at each other for a moment, then burst out laughing. Now I was determined to try it. I got a straw from the silverware drawer.In response to their mockery, I put the straw in my nose and inhaled a huge amount.“Oh, shit, son,” Shannon said, and they both started laughing even harder.“What?”“We usually cut the straw shorter,” Tommy said. “But mostly you just did a shit ton of dope,” Shannon added. “You're gonna be up for days.”I shrugged and did it again with my other nostril, and handed the straw to him amidst howls of laughter. When they could stop giggling long enough, they trimmed it down and each took about a quarter of what I had done. Maybe less.“Let's go kill somethin',” Tommy said.“You ought to drink some beer,” Shannon told me.“Why?”“Take the edge off.”“I'm fine.”“Well, you're cut off until you sleep, at the very least. Whenever that will be. And leave your weed here. It ain't gonna do you no good. Plus I don't want you scarin' my deer away.”We grabbed our gear and started walking to the cut we usually hunted. I was feeling pretty euphoric, but I also had an odd calmness, despite the fact that my heart was racing.We dropped Tommy off first, and watched him climb into his stand. About a mile away, Shannon claimed the second one.“See you tomorrow,” I said. “Unless I get one.”He laughed. “You damn sure won't be sleepin'. You know where to find us, either way.”I nodded, and set out toward the third tree stand. But by the time I got there, I didn't feel like stopping. I was elated and full of energy, but more to the point, I felt in touch with nature. Probably for the first time ever.Everything, from the leaves on the trees, to the setting sun, had a new sharpness to it. But even more than seeing, I could feelnature. More to the point, I think I felt Old Buck. And I wanted a picture.Eventually, I left the boundaries of the lease, further than I had ever walked. I reached a set of high-tension power lines that I didn't know existed, and followed them to the east.I ended up by Diversion Canal, and aside from the power lines, it was as unspoiled a wilderness as any place I had ever been. Better yet, there were deer tracks in the river bank. Big ones. So I found a spot upwind where I would be concealed by the undergrowth, and waited.My body relaxed, but my mind never did. When my eyes were open, I felt sort of blank, like I was a camera or something. I actually had the feeling that someone or something was looking through me. It was more than a little unsettling. But when my eyes were closed, it was even crazier. I seemed to be thinking a thousand thoughts a second, and anything I imagined and visualized became real. Or, almost real, I should say. I'm pretty good at keeping reality and fantasy separate, for the most part. I have to be, given my condition, whatever it might be. More than once, I forgot where I was, and started to believe what I was imagining, until I opened my eyes.A little after dawn, I had a vivid image of Old Buck. He was, as described, an almost snowy white. He even had a long, shaggy beard. I imagined him walking right up to me, no more than a foot away, and staring me down. I even saw his nostrils flare as he smelled me. Then he meandered off, back into the woods, never making a sound.Like a ghost.Then I opened my eyes. There were hoofprints in the soil in front of me.I jumped up and tried to follow them, until I realized it was useless. No matter how I tried, I crashed through the woods like an elephant. Old Buck, if he was there at all, was long gone.I think it was real, though, somehow, and Doug later agreed.I decided to head back and see how the boys had done. I called up to both stands, which was silly, but they weren't there. As I approached the camp, I realized why. There was a path with a small indention in the dirt that was free of leaves. Someone had killed a deer, and it was a pretty good sized one, at that, or one of them would have carried it on their shoulders.Them boys were fools like that. More than five years out of high school (neither of them graduated), and they still tried to outdo each other in machismo like a couple of sophomores.When I got there, they had covered the picnic table with plastic and had more or less fully dressed their kill. There was part of a leg hanging from the tree where they had strung it up and drained the blood, a pile of skin and guts on the ground, already covered in flies.At the table, they had their backs to me, engrossed in getting the rest of the meat off of the carcass.“Boo,” I said from about a foot behind them.It's a good thing I was that far away, because they both jumped, and Tommy spun around and took a swipe at me with that Ramboesque buck knife he carried. “Ass,” Shannon said. “Where ya been?”“Communing with nature in the tradition of James Audubon and Ralph Waldo Emerson.”“Whatever,” Tommy said. “We're not here to communicate with nature. We're here to kill it.”“I saw Old Buck.”“Bullshit,” Shannon said.“Pics, or it didn't happen,” Tommy added.“In my mind's eye. But I found his tracks, too.”“Mind's eye,” Tommy scoffed. He was swaying a little.I peered into the fifty-five gallon drum we used to burn trash, and it was half-full of beer cans.“Christ,” I said. “How much did y'all drink?”“'Bout thirty,” Shannon said. “This is thirsty work.”“Shit, I done most of it,” Tommy said.“It was your deer!”“Where's the weed at?” Shannon asked. “I need to go to sleep.”I rolled joints, and then helped put away the meat, which was wrapped in butcher's paper and labeled. We smoked, then they took turns showering while I fried up the tongue, liver, and heart. It was sort of a tradition we had, but it was almost a ritual. In some strange way, we were paying tribute to the animal we had just killed. It wasn't really enough of a meal between three people, but it was delicious, and a good indication of the quality of the meat.I enjoyed the smell of the frying delicacies, and briefly wondered why deer weren't farmed like cattle. Economics, I decided. That's the reason for most things that don't otherwise make sense.Deer enjoy a special place in the food chain in Louisiana. You can't legally buy or sell deer meat, here. You either kill one yourself, or you know someone else who did. I'm sure a few people did traffic in it, but there wasn't a lot to go around in the first place.There was one good way around that, though. Sometimes people will bring one to a butcher for processing, and never pick it up, because they can't afford it or something. So at the beginning of the season, if you leave a few hundred dollars with them, you'd usually get a call to come pick up your meat.Sausage, loin, backstrap. And you could get it for two or three dollars a pound. All legal-like.All my musings are pointless, now. As I write this, I'm sitting in an overgrown public park, watching a small herd of them graze. I've fed them by hand before. They're really closer to overgrown dogs than cows.Most of the actual cattle are dead, now. They died of dehydration, or starvation, in some cases. There just wasn't anyone to care for them, at the time. As I said, we had much bigger problems to worry about, then. Things like our own survival. So most of them died, held in by flimsy fences. Perhaps that's an apt metaphor for the human condition.We ate, rice and gravy on the side, and Tommy told me his deer story. They each had one more beer with breakfast, and we lit another joint to share. Two hits, and Shannon was nodding out on the couch he slept on.“You tired yet?” Tommy asked me.I shook my head no.“I think I'm going back to the spot.”“You oughta bring you a sleepin' bag,” he said. “When you crash, you're going to crash hard.”“I'll be alright. Prolly just a few hours. Be back by sundown, I expect. I just have a good feeling about that spot. Lots of tracks.”“Where at?”“Up on the other river.”“That's like eight miles.”“I'm takin' the boat, this time.”“The chance of baggin' one in broad daylight is slim, you know that, right?”“Yeah, sure. I just can't sleep yet.”“That was a damn fool thing to do, takin' those big rips like that.”“I just, I don't know. I don't want to always be a pussy.”“Yain't no pussy, Jimbo. You're just...different. You get in a bind, call me, hear?”I nodded.“Y'all get some sleep. I might even make the hunt tonight if I still feel like this.”“Cool,” Tommy said, but his eyes were already closed. He probably slept the day away in the recliner he was sitting in. I grabbed some bottled water and sandwich stuff, and headed back. Things were never the same again after that.
I really miss those days.

Name This Novel - Chapter 4

Chapter 4 – WeightIt was an arrangement that suited us both, but truth be told, Doug came off a lot better than I did. Two gallons of anhydrous could run twenty thousand dollars on the black market. In exchange, I got five pounds of primo, which, even at the best of prices, would only be worth ten thousand or so.I didn't care about the differential, of course. Five pounds lasted me almost a year, unless I sold half of it to friends. Needless to say, I was pretty popular on campus, and I had no shortage of girlfriends, either.That's not really why I did it, though. More of a side benefit. I was studying mechanical engineering, and it really extended my ability to study deep into the night and remain focused. One of my professors, a cultural anthropologist, once told a class I was in that pygmies in Africa only cultivated marijuana, hunting and gathering whatever else they needed. But the weed enabled them to stand for hours on end at a riverbank, spear upraised, waiting for a fish.I always thought that was really cool.“Got your phone?” Doug asked.I nodded. He refused to own one, himself. Said there wasn't anyone he wanted to talk to that bad. Plus, he didn't want his movements tracked, which was pretty prudent. He actually didn't want me to bring mine, for a time, until I pointed out that most hunters and fisherman now carried them, and it wasn't anything he should worry about.“Double or nothing,” he said. It wasn't a question.“Maaan...”“Give it to me.”I handed him my iPhone.“When's the last time you checked it?”I thought back. “Yesterday morning when my alarm went off.”“Go.”With barely a pause, I said, “Four thirty-seven. Temperature eighty-four.”He touched the weather icon and nodded to himself, then went back to the clock.“Wrong,” he said, holding it up. The display read four thirty-eight.My shoulders slumped. I had just lost my five pounds. More distressing, I was wrong for the first time since I had discovered this particular talent.“Just fuckin' witcha,” he said, laughing. “It changed when I was looking at it the second time.”“Goddamn it.”When I was about sixteen, I had discovered that I always knew the exact time. Doug said it could be explained by quantum mechanics, and that I was a mutant of sorts. I had thought I was psychic, and he said it was the same thing, just different terminology.I just considered it a neat bar trick in my first year of college, until I realized that people were genuinely unnerved by it. At best, they thought I was cheating, somehow. Either way. I learned to keep it to myself.“Let's go inside,” Doug said.We sat down on his two director's chairs, and he handed me a bomber, lighting one of his own. “How's Dora?” I asked.Dora was his grand experiment. A seven year-old pot plant. He wanted to know what a plant did if it was never harvested. As far as we knew, it had never been tried. But surely it occurred in the wild, somewhere.“She's 'bout eighteen feet. Eleven inch diameter trunk. Still budding.”“Circumference,” I corrected him.“Shut up, college boy,” he said, holding in a hit.I smiled. It was so rare for him to make a misstatement, I had to relish the moment. “Stayin' at the camp a while?” he asked.“Yeah. Gonna go huntin' with Tommy and Shannon.”“Gonna kill Old Buck this year?”I laughed. “I'd like to see him.”Old Buck was a local legend. Doug was one of only three people who had claimed to have seen him, and he was convinved one of them was lying. He was an albino deer that was somehow as old as I was. He said it was a twenty-pointer, and actually had a long white beard.He also said he would kill anyone who shot Old Buck, so the idea of me hunting him was also something of a running joke. Doug considered it to be the spirit animal of the region, akin to the great white buffalo of Plains Indian prophecy. I did want to see him, someday, if not get a picture. It was like hunting Bigfoot. But Old Buck was real.“Give this to your boys,” he said, throwing me a small ball of pink crystals in a tied-off plastic baggie. Tell them I said, 'Welcome to the one percent.”I gave him a look bordering on suspicion. “You told me never to touch the stuff.”“Do as I say, not as I do. Or not. It's your life.”“Do as thou wilt shall be the whole of the law,” I said. “Aleister Crowley.”“Yabba dabba fucking doo. Fred Flintstone,” he said. “You're not doing it, anyway. Just delivering it. On the other hand, you're a grown man. Pretty good head on your shoulders. I'm sure you could try it and not get hooked. Besides which, it's not like you could get more if you wanted to.”“That shit is everywhere,” I said.“Aw, now. You insult me. This is exclusive. Medical grade. Accept no substitute.”“Why, after all these years of warning me against it, would you be more or less encouraging me?”“Shit, I don't know. Why do I do anything?”“Good point.”“I guess I'm just proud of this batch. I've worked twenty years on this formula and process. And I'm a firm believer in 'Try anything once.'”“I might try a little...”“If you do, come back and give me a review.”“Alright. Can I get my weed? They're waitin' on me. We're gonna try and get to the stands before dark.”“On the way back to the boat, 'bout halfway, you'll see a stump. Lift the top off of it. What you seek can be found there.”“Thanks, man. Want to come? First day of bow hunting season starts today.”“Naw. I hunt when I need to. If I was to start followin' the laws, I'd feel emasculated. Like you boys,” he said with a grin.“Change your mind, you know where to find us.”He nodded. “That I do. Y'all have fun. Try not to kill no one.”With that, I left. I found the stump he had told me about, but I never would have suspected it had been cut and hollowed out. The top lifted off, and inside was my five pound bundle. But when I pulled it out, there was another one beneath it.He had known he was going to bet me, and he also knew I was going to win.
It was shaping up to be a very good year.

Name This Novel - Chapter 3

Chapter 3 – Anhydrous Like I said, it was a pain going see Drug Doug, but it was always worth it. His houseboat was usually pretty easy to find. He was rarely there, though. His two camps actually floated on pontoons as well. When the water rose enough, he moved them. Security through obscurity, he called it. You'd never suspect it was possible, either. You'd look at the tangle of cypress and oak trees, and think there's no fucking way. But if you knew Doug, you'd know he's capable of anything. If you were really sharp, you could see the narrow paths he'd cut through the trees, just wide enough to get his houses through. He never put up any sort of markers or anything, either. Sometimes finding him took days of work, or just blind luck. People rarely ventured into these swamps. There weren't no point, really. Deer really didn't go there, and there were easier places to hunt squirrels. So hunters were out. It was a pretty safe system he had. And he did need it. Doug grew weed, and made meth. He never taught me to cook. He said it was essentially evil. I tend to agree. I only did it once, and that was enough, as you'll see. He was really open to me about growing weed, though. It was pretty clever. He'd climb to the top of the tallest cypress trees, and haul up buckets of fertile river silt. Like he told me, how often did people look up? In the spring, summer, and fall, you couldn't see them through the canopy, anyway. So the plants were well-fertilized, got plenty of water, and full sun. When they reached the budding stage, he'd lower them a few feet and adjust the light cycle, slightly. It was always skunk. What we at school came to call dank. Bomb-ass weed. I'd come by every few months or so to re-up. This time it was spring break, and I managed to locate him in only two days, finding the right house on the first try. But as was often the case, I didn't really find Doug. He found me. I had tied my boat up several yards into a small inlet near a part of the swamp he favored. I had only walked a quarter mile or so away, when I felt cold steel on the back of my neck. “Click”, a voice said. “Goddamn it, Doug,” I said, exasperated. “I almost dropped the jugs.” I turned around to the biggest shit-eating grin he could muster. In his hand was a small flashlight. “It's a good thing that wasn't a gun,” I told him. “Or what?” “Or I'd have to beat your old ass.” “Son, the day you can do that, I'll give you my entire empire.” “Wow,” I said, gesturing around me. “Someday this will all be mine.” He walked, and I followed. “So how's school?” he asked. “Better than the job market,” I offered. “I thought a Bachelor's would make a difference. Turns out, I'm competing with people with Master's degrees.” “Yup. And they're competing with people with PhDs. By the time you get out, you'll be up to your ears in debt. I don't owe nobody nuthin'.” “You shit in a bucket, and read by candlelight.” “Touche, young padwan. But if it was good enough for Abraham Lincoln, it's good enough for me.” Abraham Lincoln was sort of a running joke with us. When I was in first grade, I had played him in a school play. When my family came to see it, they had to sit in the back, as the front rows were all occupied by black people, which caused my grandmother to famously reply, “If it wasn't for him, we'd have a place to sit...” We walked for a while, and my arms got sore. But I didn't complain, or hand one of the jugs to him. I would have lost face. Doug liked to say I never lifted more than a fork or a pen, and that was mostly true. “How much further is it?” “'Bout a hunnert feet.” I looked ahead for the familiar black tarpaper, but I didn't see anything. It wasn't until we stopped about twenty feet away that I finally noticed. The entire structure had been painted to blend in with the trees. Up close, it was abstract, but from a distance, it blended in perfectly. “Nice job,” I said. Doug shrugged. “I got a lot of time on my hands.” “And energy,” I said, gesturing slightly with the jugs. “Around the corner...” We went around the side, where Doug had a non-functioning moonshine still, and I set my jugs down among the others. It was more subterfuge on his part, in case the law gave him any scrutiny. It had worked twice in the past. Country cops turn a blind eye to moonshine, if they don't imbibe themselves. They had never even checked the jugs, according to Doug. Which was a good thing. Mine contained anhydrous ammonia, a key component in his meth recipe. I got it from my dad's farm in north Louisiana, but it was nearly impossible for most people to obtain. “Full?” he asked. I nodded. “Two gallons.” “I got you.”
He and I had a nice arrangement. Anhydrous for weed.