Gerald Dean Rice's Blog, page 115

30 Minute Plan - 19

He wanted to get away, but was unsure how to get back out. Danton supposed he could try climbing over top of the cars, but there were too many sharp edges. If he cut himself on one of them there'd be almost no way to prevent an infection.

 

At the end of the corridor there was a small opening. Maybe he could get through there and get to her. Danton got down on his knees and put his head and an arm through. Brief panic struck as he got stuck at his chest but he was able to wedge through without taking off his jacket.

 

Where had she gone? Danton scanned the enclosed area. There was a blanket on top of a bunch of old, rolled up newspapers and a pillowcase filled with something lumpy. This wasn't a bad living arrangement. The cars kept out all the elements but rain, at least until winter, and Ziggy would have a helluva time getting in here. The only reason he'd made it inside was because she'd led him here.

 

Why would she bring him to her home?

 

His legs were weak and he leaned on a pile of tires to keep himself upright. He saw stars like he'd been sucker punched and had to concentrate on his feet on the earth and close his eyes as everything began spinning and he could feel the blood flowing through his veins.

 

She came out from where ever she'd been hiding and began pummeling him with her tiny hands and feet, making high-pitched grunting noises. Danton swung wildly with his machete, hoping in vain to catch her. The blows didn't hurt but if he couldn't stop her now he had no clue what she'd do next.

 

Danton was finally able to open his eyes and he chopped at her head. She easily leaned back and out of the way, coming back to give him a one-two combination to the groin for good measure. He staggered back, shards of pain lancing the underside of his belly. She stood and watched him, her head cocked to the side.

 

By the time he was able to move again the stars had cleared from his eyes. He felt odd. No, odd was the wrong word. Different. Like he'd been taken from a warm bed and dumped in the middle of a snow storm. It wasn't a shock to his system but the change wasn't dissimilar. Everything was the same as it was a moment ago, but the view was definitely altered.

 

Danton went after her again, but the energy wasn't in his legs. He didn't know if it was from whatever had just happened to him or if he just didn't want to catch her. She grunted and ran around the pile of tires, slowing down to let him catch up, then speeding out of reach. He hit the tires over and over again and realized he was missing her on purpose. He started laughing.

 

He was enjoying this and didn't understand why.

30 Minute Plan - 18

Cargill jumped off him just as fast as he'd jumped on, coughing and clutching at his throat. He disappeared into the pack and several ziggies glared at him as they began to move. Danton had no clue what had just happened. He stood and collected his other machete, watching the pack leave.

 

He hoped it was the last time he saw his brother.

 

Danton didn't know what he was going to do, where he was going to go. He turned to head in the other direction.

 

And saw the little girl standing thirty feet away in a nest of remnants of burned out cars in a semi-circle.

 

He knew she would run so he didn't, but he kept walking in her direction, his eyes darting left and right in case she was setting up an ambush. Whatever she was, he wanted to take her head off before whoever she was with got to him.

 

There was something metallic and sour on his tongue. He spat but it was still there. Danton rolled his tongue around his mouth, the distance closing between him and the girl. His gums were tender.

 

When they were ten feet apart the girl started walking to him. They were five feet apart when she dipped behind a twisted rusty steel door. Danton followed, gripping the handle of his machete. It was tight in the cabin of the half-crushed mini-van and he saw her slipping out of the rear window. He pushed his way to the back and saw he couldn't exit the way she did so he kicked the door with both feet until it fell off its hinges.

 

She skittered over the roof of another car. There wasn't that much clearance as another car rested on top of it. No way was Danton fitting in there, but he squeezed behind the rear of the car where its bumper was melted to another. He was in a narrow corridor of skeletal automotive remains and could see her through holes in the melted, flaked metal wall, separating them.

 

She twirled around with her hands over her head and then placed her palms on the wall where he was. She was toying with him. Was this how she killed her prey?

 

Danton saw a thin slit in the wall and punched his machete through. She gasped, but easily slipped around it before returning to her mock-ballet dancing. Her jerked his machete back, his head feeling thick and swimmy. Maybe that poison was working on him after all.

30 Minute Plan - 17

"Boyle said there couldn't be another group experimenting. Anyone else who could do it is too far away. Oh yeah, and if you come back to base they'll kill you."

 

Cargill nodded. "Figures. Don't think I'd go back anyway. It's not safe.  These guys are protecting me. Hell, they even find food for me."

 

Ziggy's groans started getting louder.

 

"I don't think you can hang around anymore. You're still food. It's agitating them." Cargill dropped his hands. Danton put his machetes away.

 

He didn't know what he was supposed to do here. His brother hadn't been infected. Not only that, but he seemed to be thriving. WWGTD?

 

Either way Danton was on his own. He figured he may as well leave Cargill be.

 

"Wait a minute—what's that stink?" Cargill leaned in close and sniffed. "You smell like… like ashes." Danton didn't know what he was talking about. Cargill grabbed his hands, turned them over and smelled the skin at the wrist exposed between his gloves and jacket. "It's you!"

 

Cargill shoved his hands away and growled. Ziggy stepped up behind him. Danton didn't know what happened but it looked like he was going to have to put a fellow dog down after all. He threw a left hook, catching Cargill on the temple, sending the man back into two ziggies.

The other man's eyes rolled around in his head, but he stood up, assisted by the ziggies he'd fallen on.

 

"So you're one of them now." Cargill didn't say it like he was asking. Danton didn't know who he was talking about but he drew his machetes again.

 

"Yeah," he said. "I'm one of them. And we're gonna rip all of you lemon-scented pussies to shreds."

 

"No." Cargill shook his head. "You came alone." He was on top of Danton in a flash, one of the machetes tumbling out of his hand. Danton tried to slice at him with the other, but Cargill had his arm pinned down. He snapped his teeth way too close, but was held at bay by Danton's hand at his throat.

 

Danton felt something burning at the back of his throat and under his upper gums. It wasn't just Cargill's disgustingly effervescent breath, something was happening. Cargill put his weight down on his arm, bringing his face even closer and that's when something happened.

30 Minute Plan - 16

Considerably thinner and gaunt-looking but those were the eyes of a human being. Danton checked his dual swing and tumbled away from another ziggy that lunged at him.

Cargill blinked down at him and his mouth fell open.

 

"Danton?" His voice was a whisper.

 

"I have to get you out of here." Danton chopped into another ziggy's dome and his machete made it midway down its forehead before it slumped to the ground. The pack was beginning to turn on him. He had to get away.

 

Danton began slicing at arms and hands and mouths as they drew nearer. He kicked one center mass, pushing it back into four others and creating a small gap he might be able to squeeze through. A hand grabbed his shoulder before he could jump and he smelt cold, rancid-fruit breath as another ziggy's mouth drew much too close.

 

Cargill elbowed the ziggy aside and broke the grip of the one holding him. He grabbed Danton and shoved his way through until he'd broken the pack.

 

Danton was ready to fight them off; he could definitely do it from outside the pack. Maybe he could take them all down. He was fast enough even though his eyes burned from the thick lemony smell from within the pack. But they stopped where they were.

 

Danton didn't get it.

 

"I'm their… I'm their leader," Cargill said, his hands resting on his shoulders. "We protect each other. I don't understand it, probably something Boyle put in those canisters. Maybe it has a symbiotic effect on living humans in relation to Ziggy." Danton didn't know what that one word meant, he figured it must have meant 'calming' or some shit like that. "But that's why they broke in the base and took me. They sensed me—sensed I was one of them. Except I'm still alive."

 

"Why aren't they eating you?" Danton asked.

 

"I can control them, for the most part. It's a low level grunting kind of thing. I warn them away from dangers and keep the pack tight. There's another pack following us."

 

"The ones that smell like burning wood?"

 

"Yeah, that's them. You've seen them?"

 

"No, but I was close. Got a good whiff."

 

"Good. Avoid them. When we first saw them there were only a dozen. I don't know where their numbers were coming from, but three days ago there were twenty at least. And I think they're all singles."

 

"But they don't pack up," Danton said.

 

"I know. There's something else going on."

30 Minute Plan - 14

"Son, you are on the thirty minute plan," Tarver said, handing Simpson his sidearm after they'd bandaged his hand. The general turned to all of them, his voice still that same even tone. "Each of you has a responsibility to your brothers. To take care of your brother and for him to take care of you whenever either of you is unable to take care of yourself. Man can no longer afford to be an island unto himself, he is part of the greater community of humanity. We owe Ziggy our gratitude; he has reminded us of this.

 

"With or without honor," he turned and looked at Simpson. "The choice is yours." The younger man looked at the gun in his hand, looked at Tarver, looked at all of us. His eyes were great big pools, ready to flood at any moment. That was the first time Danton had heard the term 'thirty minute plan'. He didn't know what it meant, but he was slowly getting the idea. He'd seen men turn two hours after being bitten. He figured in a half hour a body could get himself right with the Lord if he was motivated.

 

But Simpson seemed unsure. Ten minutes had been used up stopping the bleeding. Tarver glanced down occasionally as they all stood around, watching the man with the gun. Danton later saw Tarver's palm-sized pocket watch.

 

Twenty minutes went by. Twenty-two. Twenty-four. Simpson didn't seem to be able to do anything more than shift from side to side and stare down at that gun like some mighty anchor holding him to the earth beneath his feet.

 

Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight.

 

Nobody else seemed to move except him and Danton. And Tarver's head going down-up, down-up, every minute or so. Even Gibbons, the other prisoner, was still as a statue.

Twenty-nine.

 

Danton didn't know why he felt unsure what to expect. Either Simpson would do it or he wouldn't. Why was he so nervous?

 

"I-I can't," Simpson said. "Can't we just wait to, y'know, be sure?"

 

Nobody answered. Danton wanted to chime in and say he'd watch over him. That he would take care of Simpson if and when he turned. But he couldn't even open his mouth.

 

"That's time, son," General Tarver said, stepping up to Simpson and holding out his hand for the gun. Simpson was afraid. He raised the hand with the gun, holding it out limp before letting it slide from his palm. "It's all right now." Simpson's arm fell back to his side.

 

Danton felt nervous energy pour down and out of his feet. If he'd been tired after the last three days of no sleep and constant fighting for his life now he felt like a hundred pound weight had been tied around his neck.

30 Minute Plan - 15

The gunshot jerked him erect again and he looked up to see Simpson pressed against the wall behind him, his head against a giant red Rorschach blot. His eyes were half-lidded and he was gone before his butt hit the floor.

 

Tarver holstered his other gun and turned back to the dogs.

 

"The same for every single one of you. If you cannot die with honor, you will still die with dignity. I will not abide Ziggy amongst any of our ranks, either former or present. Neither will you. We will approach Ziggy without animosity, without hate, but with the certainty that we will absolutely do to him what he would not hesitate to do to us."

 

By the time they'd reached the base Danton was a full-fledged dog. He'd been ready to take on Ziggy but General Tarver had been cautious, negotiating them away from Ziggy as often as possible. But eventually they'd had to engage and Danton had acquitted himself well. He didn't know if anyone else kept count, but he'd personally slaughtered seven ziggies.

 

The last one had been the hardest.

 

Danton felt his anger ease and he was able to think more clearly, though the first thought that popped into his mind was a pipe dream: killing that brain Boyle. On the one hand he felt he was doing what was the right thing in finding and destroying Cargill, but on the other he felt his hand had been forced, like he'd been manipulated into handling this all wrong.

Either way Cargill would be destroyed. But he hoped Boyle wouldn't be far behind.

 

Danton smelled something. Lemons! He ducked behind a section of sidewalk that was standing almost vertically out of the ground. The ground in a forty foot radius was deeply pitted as if it had rained fire here. A moment later and he began to hear the groans of Ziggy.

 

The lemon scent swelled in his nose. This was definitely them. He drew his machetes. Danton didn't have enough ammo to put them all down and he didn't care to anyway. He was only doing this to get to Cargill. Ziggy could be caught off guard and if he gave them the bum's rush he could get away with his skin still intact.

 

They were twenty feet past, walking to his right when he spotted Cargill right in the middle, eyes straight. He estimated thirty so far. This was going to be harder than he thought, but still doable. They were in an ovular pattern and Cargill was three or four bodies in.

 

Danton rushed them, slicing off the first two ziggies' heads. One of them grabbed his shoulder and he spun and sliced off its hands. Another ziggy lunged and his blade sliced through its head and eyes, blinding it. He shoulder bumped the last one between him and Cargill and was about to bring both his machetes down on his brother's head when he saw Cargill's eyes.

 

He was alive.

30 Minute Plan - 13

His fear was bleeding over into anger. Danton hated being afraid. The last time he'd felt this was he was still in the penitentiary, right as the world had started going to hell. He remembered hearing a guard had attacked an inmate and a few days later things had dissolved into chaos.

 

General Tarver had marched in and made camp just outside the outer fence. Danton and a few others had tried to tear their way through the fence, one had tried to climb over and gotten tangled up long enough for Ziggy to pick him down piece-by-piece.

 

"You gotta get me out of here," Danton had begged, banging on the fence.

 

"No son." General Tarver's tone was impossibly calm. He didn't shout, but his voice carried to Danton just the same. "You need to do one of two things: get yourself out or survive the next three days."

 

Danton shuddered at what he'd had to do to make it. But at the end of the third day the general and his men marched in and slaughtered every Ziggy in sight. Danton and two others had survived unscathed, but there were dozens of men who been bitten or injured. That was when Danton had learned fealty to his fellow man.

 

He'd been in the system over five years. He could honestly say he'd spent majority of the time hating everyone in there. The Aryans, the Brothers, the Chicanos, the Asians. Danton didn't join the Aryans because he'd been a dick on the outside, but not that kind of dick. But that didn't stop the other gangs and the Aryans from coming at him. But Danton had always been able to handle himself. He almost always had given more than he got.

 

But Tarver showed him that all these men—regardless of color—were his brothers. There was a new enemy that was counting on men being divided to win and when he turned his back on his brothers he was offering his throat to Ziggy. General Tarver had seen to it personally that each man who had been bitten or scratched was put down in the most humane way possible. By the last few he'd had Danton take over—a clean shot to the dome.

 

Danton was weeping by the time he'd shot the second man because he truly understood. All this time his love for these people had been disguised as hate, but he was making amends for it by sending them home.

 

The other two prisoners had had to go through the same process and by the time they were done they were crying too. But Simpson couldn't pull the trigger on the last one, he just didn't have it in him. And the man, even though the infection hadn't taken him yet, jumped Simpson, biting off two of his fingers before two dogs swiftly dispatched him.

Dry...

Blogging '30 Minute Plan' has been so fun I just may blog another one.  Around the time I wrote 'Mona' for the Harvest Hill anthology I wrote 'The Best Night of the Year'.  I also started, and stopped, 3 other stories.  'Debbie Doesn't Die', 'Punkin'' and 'Dry'.  The last I'd written the most of before quitting, but I've since picked it up again in the last few weeks as I was really drawn to the story. 

 

It's about a guy named Monster who lives in a dry county in Tennessee who hosts parties every few months, but he has to drive a few counties over to get the hooch that he turns around and sells at a premium.  But on this one particular night things go wrong; starting with his hung over uncle waking up in the back of his U-haul. 

 

Don't want to give away too much, but I've got about half of it drafted and blogging it will be the perfect excuse for me to finish.

30 Minute Plan - 12

Where ever she'd run, she was quick. Other than a few burned out cars spread out pretty far from each other there wasn't anything really to hide behind.

 

Danton realized he was afraid. He was alone now. Truly alone. He'd already accepted that, but now there was an x-factor. An unknown quantity, as Boyle liked to put it. Except he'd actually come face-to-face with it and it had spat in his eye.

 

Speaking of which, Danton realized his eye wasn't burning any more. It still teared up and he could feel the gun accumulating each time he blinked, but it was better. Much. So far as he knew poison didn't do that.

But if it wasn't poison…

 

Never mind. Best not think about it. If he started trying to be like the brains out here he'd be chow for Ziggy by noon.

 

The sky had turned a bruised red by the time he saw anything else that moved.

 

It was a shamble. Hell, it could have been a single, he couldn't tell. It had no legs, but it had propped itself up on its… well, he guessed its waist. Entrails spiderwebbed from its body into the street and when it saw Danton it began reaching for him with the hand it wasn't using to balance itself.

 

He took out his nightstick and hefted it. It wasn't fair, but that was life, or afterlife. Danton laughed at his half-joke as he circled the ziggy. It feebly turned to and fro, staying mere inches out of its impotent reach.

 

Danton's mind went back a couple weeks ago when he'd last been outside, spraying that stupid crap of Boyle's that had gotten this whole mess started to begin with. Well, not the whole mess.

 

But Cargill would never have gotten that lemony gunk all over him had it not been for Boyle and Danton wouldn't be out here now, an exile, trying to find the man, if not for the good doctor.

30 Minute Plan - 11

As if on cue, Danton caught movement from the corner of his eye. He got into a crouch and peaked beneath the burned out car he was next to, sliding his machete back in its holster as his took out his sidearm. A pair of tiny feet in black dress shoes were running his way.

Running. That meant whoever it was was alive. And young from the looks of it. She was probably running from something.

 

Danton scanned around then peaked up above the door and through the empty windows. The little girl had her head ducked low as she ran and when he looked past her he saw it. A single was about forty yards behind her.

 

She must have seen him because she was headed right for him. The little girl rounded the car and ran into his arms, burying her face in his jacket. He didn't want to shoot the single, but he had no choice. It had seen her and she had run to him and the zig would follow them around until it had forced the situation. Hell, if it recognized that he was carrying things could get real cat-and-mouse.

 

Danton waited until it was about fifteen yards before he squeezed the trigger. Ziggy's scalp lifted like a puff of air had been injected beneath it and the flesh-eater fell over on its face mid-stride.

 

Danton looked around to see if anything else moved before checking on the girl.

 

He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen a child. Well, a couple of the civvies had had kids, but they were babies, not even a year old. But what must have happened to the children out here in the wild… Danton got choked up just thinking about it.

 

He holstered his gun and pushed the girl back by the shoulders. She was filthy and stunk. He hair was a tangled black mess that had grown down to her knees. Danton took an index and tucked the slick ropey mess behind her ear.

 

She was pretty. Maybe not traditionally so, but in that all children were beautiful kind of way. He'd gladly shoot a hundred more ziggies in the face if it meant protecting her. She was looking down when he hooked his index under her chin and raised her face.

 

"Honey, you okay?"

 

Her golden-grey eyes flashed up and he knew something was wrong. There wasn't any time to stop it as she opened her mouth and a putrid green spray shot out of her mouth, hitting him in the eye. Danton fell onto his butt, blind, spitting and gagging as the smell threatened to overcome him. He pulled his sidearm and shot where he thought it was, hoping he could at least wound the thing before it could attack him again.

 

Neotony. Danton had no clue how he knew such a word, or why it would choose now to pop into his head, but whatever that thing was, it wasn't a child. He dug out his flask of water from his thigh pocket and did a quick eye rinse and squinted his eye open.

 

She was gone. Maybe whatever that poison was it was meant to debilitate him. He felt fine now, relatively, but that could change in a few minutes. He had to find a place to hide, but where?

 

Danton stood and ran, hoping he might be able to spot whatever that thing was and shoot it. He'd stomp on its head too if he got a chance. Maybe that would send a message to any more of them if there were others.

 

"That's it, no more kids," he said.