Baked Scribe Triple Feature!!!

Since I'm on vacation this week, there won't be a new story posted this week. I'm very sorry to disappoint you and I hope that your double helping of short fiction will be enough to tide you over until next week. But if not, here is a triple dose of Baked Scribe Flashback, three issues from the past brought back from the beyond, merely for your reading pleasure. I hope you enjoy and I will see you all again next week!
He let his body relax into the recliner, watching the cigarette burn down into a long, unkempt cylinder of ash. He had only taken one drag from it the entire time since lighting it and the rest of the time had been gazing down at it, watching the paper dissolve into wafting pieces of spent carbon.

The wind was picking up outside, making the two by fours he had nailed over the windows thunk softly against the siding. It was going to be another cold night, especially since the generator had run out of juice that morning. At least there were enough blankets and the canned food wasn’t going to be running out any time soon. Might be there was even enough juice left in the batteries to keep the flashlight going for a few more nights.

Despite the fact that all the windows were boarded over, the darkness outside still seemed to bleed into the house as the blackness around him swelled with its own life and intentions. It wouldn’t be long before he would hear them, shuffling around the house in their nocturnal wanderings. The moans were the worst, those disembodied lifeless moans so it was good that they would likely be drowned out by the wind.

The last few nights, there had actually been entire packs of the things making their way past the house. He had watched them from the upstairs as he peeked through a knothole in one of the boards. The herds were terrifying to watch but for some reason, it was the lone stragglers that scared him even more. At least with a herd, the things had something to follow. When they were alone, there was much more chance of wandering.

He reached down to the table and ran his finger around the mouth of the bottle of bourbon before reaching past and picking up the Smith & Wesson. The weight of the thing was reassuring, even though he knew deep down that it also would represent his ultimate demise. Better for it to happen at his own hand than from one of those mindless freaks out there.

For now, he still had a few rounds left and could use it to protect himself. He sat forward and pitched what was left of the cigarette into the fireplace and took a long drink from the whiskey. If any of those things got too close to the house, they would get what was rightly coming to them and he would be one bullet closer to eternity.

The health inspector walked alongside the counter, running his finger along the surface and frowning at the thick layer of grime and dust that he was pushing through. Dale watched him go through his routine, wondering how long this particular dance would have to go on.

“Happened to our regular guy?” he asked.

“Food poisoning, I’m afraid.” The twerp removed his non-latex gloves long enough to scratch his nose and adjust the wire-rimmed glasses that were perched on the end of his nose before replacing them with a fresh pair from his pocket. “Though I can’t say that his absence has been a bad thing, especially considering his obvious inattention to certain details.”

“Uh-huh.” Dale watched as the inspector looked over the menu scrawled onto an old chalkboard. He pointed at the listing for the house special which was currently listed as unavailable.

“What exactly is a … luck of the … luck of the day-wich?”

“Just a sandwich. We use whatever’s on hand, you know? You get what we give you.”

The inspector smiled, a thin expression that did nothing to convey any kind of mirth or good will. “Charming.” He turned his back on Dale and began his seventh tour around the diner, an establishment that was barely larger than a one bedroom apartment. This was going on way too long.

“So what’s the verdict?”

The inspector ignored the question as he did another soul-sucking lap. When he finally returned to his starting point, he took his gloves off and put the pen back into the breast pocket.

“Perhaps we should go somewhere more discreet to discuss this?”

Dale stuck out a lip and shook his head. “Just get out with it, I don’t care.”

“Well, then where do I begin?” He lifted up his clipboard and began tracing down it with his finger even though Dale suspected that he knew the whole thing by heart already. “You have no hand-washing stations anywhere in your restaurant. I have observed your cook returning from the lavatory twice without washing his hands and when I asked him, he was unable to tell me what your procedures are for properly holding perishable food. You have unlabeled bins of meat in your reach-in, you have cooked meat sharing containers with uncooked meat, vegetables that are mostly rotten, inadequate holding temperatures in all of your coolers, blood on the floors, no properly maintained dish-washing station and your waitress has been sneezing and coughing all over the food the entire time I have been here.”

He looked up from his clipboard with a smug look of self-satisfaction as if Dale was supposed to just figure out what the answer to his question was. He tried repeating it, but slower and enunciating the words more effectively.

“So, what’s the verdict?”

“Sir, I cannot in good conscience allow you to continue serving food to the public in these conditions. You will need to shut down your kitchen immediately, confiscate any food from your patrons and you are not to charge anyone for what they have ordered or partially consumed. I will also need to see the documentation from your last inspection.

“Yeah …” Dale looked around in the mess under the register, stealing glances at his customers who were all rolling their eyes at the show which this officious prick was putting on for everyone. “Tell you what. That green binder over there next to the phone? Down by your knees? Pretty sure it’s in there.”

The inspector leaned down to reach for the binder. As he did so, Dale grabbed the meat cleaver that the cook was passing through to him from the kitchen. He raised it up and brought it down into the center of the prick’s back. The man shrieked as he fell forward and Dale brought the blade up for a second blow, this time to the back of the head. After a third, fourth and fifth blow the screams stopped. He tossed the cleaver into the sink and stood up with a grin lighting up his face.

“Special’s back on boys!”

“Just call the fucking number!”

“I don’t know what the fucking number is, are you sure it even exists?”

“You call it to find out if the person trying to pull you over is real. Just Google it and stop asking me that because there’s no way that’s a cop.”

It couldn’t be. There was no way the car behind them was an official department vehicle. Not unless they started using ‘79 Dodge Darts for undercover vehicles. The light of the fading day had dropped enough to make seeing the driver hard enough, but the glare caused by the flashing light affixed to the roof made it impossible. All Samantha could see was the rough outline of the man, hulking behind the wheel as he gestured wildly towards the shoulder.

“Why don’t you just pull over?” Sara asked again. “What’s the worst that could possibly happen? It isn’t like we’re in the middle of nowhere, we’re just a mile outside of the city limits.”

Samantha ignored the question and accelerated, speeding up as she saw the Dodge behind them creeping right up to their bumper, now honking and weaving from side to side in an apparent attempt to get their attention.

“I don’t even know what I should search for.” Sara was staring at her phone blankly, her tone implying that she was expecting Samantha to spoon-feed the search parameters to her.

“For fuck’s sake, just call 911. Tell them someone is following us pretending to be a cop and ask what we should do.”

Sara dialed and put the phone to her ear. Samantha couldn’t hear what she was saying, the sound of the wind outside swallowing up her hushed voice, but what she could make out of her tone of voice did not suggest concern or danger in any way. She watched out of the corner of her eye as Sara shrugged and ended the call.

“Well?”

“He said we should just pull over.”

“What?”

“He said that we should just—”

“What did you say to them exactly?”

Sara rolled her eyes and looked out her window. “You heard what I said to them.”

“No, actually I couldn’t hear a word you were saying.”

“Just pull over!”

Samantha let out a breath of frustration before giving in. The gravel crunched as they pulled off onto the shoulder and the other car pulled in close behind, lights still flashing, bright red and white colors spearing into the growing darkness. Samantha watched as the dark figure stepped out of the car and began walking towards them. A flashlight flipped on and behind the glowing orb of light she could hear rocks scraping underneath the man’s work boots.

“You ladies having trouble with your hearing?”

“Officer?” Samantha asked as she put a hand up to try and see past the glare of the flashlight.

“Put your hand down.”

She complied before it even occurred to her how absurd the order had been.

“Officer—”

“Do you have trouble with your hearing?”

“No.”

“What about your vision?”

“I don’t—”

The man kicked the car door, cutting her off mid-sentence. “Do you have any problems with your fucking vision?”

“No.”

“How about your brakes? They working all right?”

Samantha stared up into the light and shifted in her seat, not understanding where this was going.

“No, officer.”

“Brakes are working?”

“Yes.”

“Then can you explain to me why it is that it took two miles for the two of you to pull the fuck over, since you saw and heard my siren and your car is capable of stopping on command?”

“Officer—”

“Just too busy putting on your fucking makeup while you’re driving? Why don’t you step out of the vehicle?”

She still only saw the light from the flashlight waving back and forth in front of her face. The man behind it was lost in darkness.

“Officer, maybe if you could just give me the ticket—”

“I’m sure you would like that wouldn’t you? Drive wherever you want, as fast as you want, shit all over this fine county of mine? Why don’t you step out of the car like I fucking told you.”

“Don’t get out,” Sara hissed at her from the passenger side. Apparently she had just clued in to the severity of their situation.

“What am I supposed to do?” Samantha hissed back.

“Just drive off. You can outrun that shit heap he’s driving back there. Get us to a real police station and we can deal with everything then.”

Samantha looked up at the flashlight and now saw a hand with clubbed fingers snaking out for the door handle.

“Little missy, whatever you’re chewing on there up in your head, I’d advise you to put it out. of. your. mind.”

Something inside of her snapped and her hand scrambled for the keys. The man’s hands were through the window in an instant, grabbing at her as she put the car into gear and accelerated away. His hands were wrapped around her throat even as the speedometer crept up towards fifty miles an hour. Sara was screaming as she beat at the hands, having no obvious affect on the man.

Samantha jerked the wheel, first to the right, and then after a few moments to the left, and back to the right again. The arms wrapped around her did not loosen. She could feel his breath on her cheek, boiling hot and smelling of something rotten underneath. For the briefest moment, she started to feel herself being lifted up out of her seat and pulled towards the window.

The car hit a rut in the road and bounced into the air, causing the cop to lose his grip. They drove off, leaving him behind on the road in a cloud of dust. They were approaching the bend in the road when she saw the flashes reflected in the mirror along with the popping sounds of--

Gun. Gun, he’s firing his, oh my God.

The windows exploded around them in perfect sequence. Samantha swerved as the storm of shattered glass was suddenly joined by a burst of fine, red mist. Sara was slumped against her window, a large part of the back of her head now missing. Samantha swerved again and this time, the tires caught the edge of the shoulder and pulled the car with it, first sliding and then rolling down into the ditch.

She had no idea how long it was before she came to, looking at the car around her that was now upside down,engine still revving uselessly. Samantha was hanging limply from the seat belt, arms still swaying slightly from side to side.

She heard footsteps approaching the car.

Samantha screamed and grabbed at her seat belt, trying to get the mechanism to release. She finally succeeded, falling to the ground and crawling backwards, out through the window to the ground outside. As she sat up, the flashlight came to bear on her, illuminating her in the light and there was another sound. It took her a moment to place it as the sound of a round being chambered. The man’s voice, somehow harmonic in its rage, called out to her with false sincerity.

“You folks need some help?”

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