Green Eyed Monster

Zombie or Post Apocalyptic themed fiction/stories.

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Re: Green Eyed Monster

Post by maldon007 » Thu May 31, 2012 12:18 am


It had been an accidental discharge, that’s what Lester assured Alden. And Jimmy had applied for a permit anyway and since nobody had been hurt, the police, being understandably busy with more serious matters, let Jimmy go ‘on his own recognizance’ or some such thing. And Sheila’s brother Marcus, had been taken into custody just for observation (and his own safety), and probably just had sensitivity to light or something, no green skin.

Also, getting a metal detector for the meeting hall was going on top of next season’s “to do” list. The bottom line, according to Lester, was that the meeting was a complete success, regardless of it’s raucous conclusion. After all, everyone now understood the seriousness of the situation.
Alden thanked Lester for the update, very cordially, then gave a little wave goodbye as he shut the door more or less in his face.

He should have been at work, but had called in sick. Not that he was actually ill, but thinking of Sam at home alone, with all the crap going on, did make him feel a little sick. Her school had been canceled for the week, it was district wide… maybe state wide, Alden wasn’t sure.

Maresa was going to be home soon anyway, then things could get back to normal… Or at least if not normal, than abnormal, together. Not having Maresa with him… with them, was really starting to ware on him. She was in charge of the house, though Alden did his fair share, Maresa kept them going… But that wasn’t it, he could handle the day to day… and it wasn’t as simple as just missing her either. Their family was a team, a unit, and it didn’t function right without her. But she was close now.

The latest news prattled on, in the background. A leggy blond reporter was distressing that even though it had been less than a week since the green disease had appeared in the news, the CDC now estimated up to five percent of the US population was infected or had been exposed and would be infected. She didn’t say a number, but by Alden’s math it was upwards of fifteen million, that, in less than seven days. He had seen independent sources putting the number at ten percent, and growing exponentially. For a fleeting moment, Alden supposed they might never be able to stop the spread, saw it in his mind’s eye filling every nook and cranny of the world with greenness…
“Eh, it hasn’t even been a week, they’ll get a hold of it.” He said, nodding & reassured.

He looked absently out the window as Lester made his way up the other side of the street. He seemed to be making good time since most people were either not home, or not answering the doorbell. The nice little old lady across the street didn’t even come to the door, odd given her interest in all neighborhood goings-on. Come to think of it, she hadn’t been out in the yard at all lately, hand watering her grass as she normally did. Alden thought he saw the curtain of the front window part, ever so slightly, as Lester cut through her lawn, heading to the next house.

Derailing that train of thought, Samantha weakly yelled from somewhere upstairs.
“Daddy!... I need you.”

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Re: Green Eyed Monster

Post by maldon007 » Thu May 31, 2012 12:41 am

Tom had driven through the night, all the way across Kentucky. They should’ve only had to cross the tip of Indiana, only an hour or so, to the Illinois border, but no. Another road block turned them north, toward Indianapolis. But it was ok, Tom would skirt Indianapolis to the west, and hit 36. It ran due west to Decatur, and home.

Maresa called home, what seemed like hourly. The rest of them, except Tom who had no family to speak of, used the phone only once or twice each. She noted this, not in condemnation of the others, but in surprise at her neediness or homesickness or whatever it was making her uneasy about… home.

As though reading her mind, the phone chirped & her home number popped up, it had been exactly one hour since her last call.

“Honey… listen, don’t freak out.” Alden began, not a great way to start a conversation.

“…Sam is sick, a stomach bug I think, no big deal… Just didn’t want you to show up and… freak out.”

It didn’t dawn on her, until Alden made such a fuss about her reaction, that it could be…
“What are her sym…” Maresa thought better of talking about it in front of the rest of them. Though she thought hiding it from them, sort of made it like she thought it really might be…

Instead, she just said “Explain.” And tried to not look upset.

“She called me up maybe a half hour ago, said her stomach was all tied up. I put my ear to it, and it was churning… Some kind of stomach flu I think. I gave her some Gas-X and it seems to be helping, she will be ok.” He said the last part emphatically, as though saying it strongly enough, would make it so.

Sweat beaded up on her brow as she listened, knowing the symptoms could be, probably were, one of a hundred other things, but it could be… She didn’t say anything, hoping Alden would continue in the silence… Convince her more, that Sam was going to be fine.

“Really babe, she just has the poops, no big deal…”

He was right, he had to be right, she had not had any contact with… crap, that fucking meeting he took her to. If Alden exposed her to… No, no she was fine.

“If she is not busy, put her on.”

“Ok, but she’s a bit woozy… I’ll bring her the phone.”

She heard the creak of their stairs, then her daughters voice.
“Is it mom?... Mom! Are you almost home?” She sounded weak, but in good spirits.

“Yes, we are just around the corner… well a couple of hours anyway, I love you only the most, Sam.” It was a little poem from when Sam was a baby, I love you only the most, everything in the whole wide world.

“I love you too, mom… I’m fine by the way, dad exaggerates, it’s just a tummy ache.”

She was a good kid, and obviously felt like crap. Maresa pushed back tears, & wrapped up the call while she still could push them back.
“I will see you soon, love. Tell your dad… you know.”

After hanging up, she looked around the van to see most of the occupants looking at her with concern. Deputy Chief Ross asked “Trouble at home?”

“Boy trouble… having a teenage daughter is… fun.” Still not sure exactly why she was lying.

Philippe chimed in. “You must have eh… ténacité, how you say, like strong… tough… to raise children.”

“Yes, it can be hard, but Sam is my life, and…” Maresa chocked a bit, but was saved from crying by yet another road block.

All eyes turned forward as they rounded a slow bend and they could finally see the entire wall. It extended out into the farmland, north of the road, and as it came into view, to the south as well. Two large rubber tired loaders, one at each end, were digging holes right in the ground and dumping the dirt into the wall. On the south side, a truck was rolling slow, letting out a long slinky of razor wire, parallel to the wall, but out in front twenty yards or so.

On the road ahead, clusters of the same white wall… cubes, they looked like cubes anyway, littered the asphalt. Tom eased the van to a stop a hundred yards from the first set of blocks. At first they looked random, but on closer inspection their purpose could be seen, to cause approaching vehicles to zig-zag between them, slowing them to a crawl.

“Hesco barrier… Fucking army.” Tom mumbled

Where the two walls met on SR 36, only one lane of the two lane road was passable, though it was blocked by a bulldozer. Behind the wall, in the other lane, a truck mounted gun was manned & trained in their van’s general direction.

A large metal sign leaned against the first blockade; spray painted on it was the following-

Wabash River Closed
IL State Line Closed
1610 AM For Information

Tom had the station tuned before anyone could suggest doing so. A gruff sounding male voice was in mid sentence.
“…weighing 50lb. or less. All non-residents are restricted from entry at this time.

Section- B, All persons who attempt to enter Illinois sovereign territory, without following approved procedure, to the satisfaction of state officials or their agents, shall be in violation of state and federal statutes, and subject to immediate action and or punishment, under martial law.”

There was a click & a fairly long, hissy pause, after the “martial law” bit, then another click. The hiss died down and the same voice began again.

“In accordance with Illinois state chapter 430, part 157, communicable disease prevention act, and in cooperation with the state of Indiana, the eastern Illinois state border is temporarily closed, until such time as the Illinois General Assembly finds such closure unnecessary.

Section- A, Any Illinois residents wishing to reenter the state shall be required to show proof of residency and absence of communicable disease, to the satisfaction of state officials or their agents. Residents may be sequestered in secure and safe quarantine facility for up to 48 hours, pursuant to proving absence of communicable disease. Residents wishing to enter, must report to one of the marked state entry points, be unarmed and have no more than one suitcase or bag, weighing 50lb. or less. All non-residents are restricted from entry at this time.

Section- B, All persons who attempt to enter Illinois sovereign territory, without following approved procedure, to the satisfaction of state officials or their agents, shall be in violation of state and federal statutes, and subject to immediate action and or punishment, under martial law.”

The click and hiss again, then it repeated.

“In accordance with Illinois state chapter 430, part 157, communicable disease prevention act, and in cooperation with the state of Indiana, the eastern Illinois state border is temporarily closed, until such time as the Illinois General Assembly finds such closure unnecessary.

Section- A, Any Illinois residents wishing to reenter the state…”

Tom flipped the volume down, and looked back into the passenger compartment.
“I don’t know about you all, but I don’t plan on hanging out in a ‘quarantine facility’ for however many days it takes to ‘satisfy’ some ‘state official and their agents’ if you know what I mean.”

“It was ‘officials OR their agents’ I think…” DC Ross said, quickly realizing it was a pointless distinction to make. “This is complete bullshit, why did the governor’s office not let us know this was going on?”

“They haven’t answered any call from any of us, since yesterday… Unless one of you got through?” Tom searched the eyes of his passengers, looking over his sunglasses.

“Same message on the service, all operators busy, call back, blah blah blah. Anyway, I have no idea where we go now, maybe head down to Kentucky and…”

Philippe cut him off. “I don’t want to drive around for days! I want to go home, I haven’t seen my girlfriend in a week! I vote we do what the radio says, do the quarantine… Two days max, and we are back home.”

Jordan Parks was slowly shaking his head. “I will pass on the government hospitality… Don’t really want to be cooped up with a bunch of people who may or may not have the green disease.”

“So, should we vote?” Tom asked.

DC Ross- “I think whoever wants to go into quarantine, should do so and whoever wants to take their chances on the road, stay with Tom and Jordan.”

Philippe- “That makes sense!”

It was fairly obvious DC Ross was going to do the quarantine, along with Philippe. Tom and Parks would go on looking for a way home, by road… They all looked at Maresa like two teams picking sides for a kickball game, both wanting that last player.

“I would rather be home in under forty-eight hours, do you think we can, Tom?”

“I really can’t say, there are back roads, logging roads, but the river… Can’t cross it without a bridge, at least without getting wet… No guarantees.”

“Well, I can always opt for quarantine later… if we get stuck, so I’m with you guys.” Maresa grinned at Tom and Jordan.

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Re: Green Eyed Monster

Post by maldon007 » Thu May 31, 2012 12:59 am

“What do you mean ‘taken it over’? Another whole prison?” General Leland Drucker spoke, animatedly, into his com/phone. Major General Celletti, Illinois Army National Guard spoke on the other end.

“We have had no help from regular army, I have maybe five thousand state wide, and they are God damn busy!... These green fuckers killed thirty some of my men, and headed for Chicago, from Dixon… at least we thought they were… Stateville Correctional called for help around three, no more contact after three twenty.”

“It took you an hour to get this up the chain?...”

“You are NOT up the chain from me, Drucker! We have been closing our borders up since this morning, we had them… we have them hemmed in, they are NOT getting away.”

“Again… getting away again, you mean?”

“I was under orders to play nice with these fucks… give them a chance to surrender, partly to get YOU people some live smarties to poke and prod, at least that’s the way I understood it, sound familiar to you?”

Drucker fumed quietly, he had a point.

“Well anyway, the gloves are off now, especially since we found you two lives ones at Dixon. We have five sniper teams moving into place around Stateville, nothing gets out alive, if it’s green.”

“Listen, Dennis… thank you for getting us those smarties, I know shitty ROE orders can ruin a perfectly good day. So I’m gonna tell you something you may not know… if those smart greenies look like they might become a flight risk… Arclight will be go. Collateral, friendlies, will all be secondary… so keep that in mind. The joint chiefs want these guys halted, at all costs. Word is they smart ones are going to be the real trouble, northern Europe is having big issues with them.”

“Well, thanks Drucker… glad we are on the same team after all. I will keep you informed.”

And he was gone. Leland held his chin with both hands, weighing the damage he may have done, over-informing the Guard general. It seemed like the right thing to do, so he would probably end up with a JAG up his ass, over it.

The problem with this green shit was the pervasiveness, it wasn’t one area you could lock down, or even a few areas… It was everywhere. Manhattan was the new paradigm, a ring of blockades, fence & water surrounding the compromised area, and a second ring outside of that, for quarantine. Containment was the key, and extrication of non-infected. But the outbreak zones were growing so fast in number, it seemed almost likely they would end up with fewer “safe” areas, than green ones. They might end up with small green free zones, surrounded by seas of green… And that, he thought, was not sustainable.

No cure yet, nothing even close actually. The carbon structure of the “plates” was so tough and hard, nothing would touch it, at least not without first destroying the host cell. Mixtures of sulfuric & nitric acids and hydrogen peroxide had shown the best results, but destroyed all nearby cells long before the green plates were anything more than lightly etched. Attempts at breaking the carbon bonds were equally unsuccessful, ethyl, methane, sulfinate as an alkylating agent and potential mutagen; it created a virus so lethal, the subject was dead before it even left the table.

The only way to beat it, at least in any useful time range, was to find it’s maker & learn from them, how to un-make it. Or at least find a way to protect from it, without living underground in a bunker for life. On that front, CIA inquiries had uncovered one connection between most of the communities and cities hardest hit. Receipt of overseas shipments from one specific area near Nanping, China. At least five different companies were listed in customs forms, but all coming from the same small industrial area, it was no coincidence. The possibility of Beijing’s fingerprints on the green disease made everyone involved about as nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. That investigation was ongoing.

Drucker’s meditation was cut short a sound to his right, he jumped halfway out of his chair, seeing the tall figure of Devin McCloyd. “I did knock, Sir.”

“Yes, yes… I was deep in thought I guess.” McCloyd was the lead interrogator on the base, maybe in the western hemisphere. Recently though, he lead all efforts in testing captured greenies. They looked for shared behaviors, common traits & weaknesses… Basically how to kill them efficiently, though this was never a stated goal.

“Sir, you asked to know, specifically, if any changes occurred, over time.”

“Yes, Fredrickson has a theory, I thought it might be borne out in your… observations.”

“What is the theory?”

“I would rather you not have it in your head, and influence your findings. So, what are you finding?”

“It’s their resilience to trauma, Sir, It seems to be increasing over time. It is hard to say for sure, some of the tests are… not repeatable. But I think I am seeing a general increase in resistance to injury, as in they are getting tougher. It seems to be in direct relation to the length of time they have been green.”

“Do you have a guess as to why?”

“Sorry Sir, the science end is not my department… But I will say, it IS happening, and most likely to all of them, everywhere. Because it made no difference where the test subject was from or how they were exposed, all exhibited similar increases in toughness over time...” The Captain hesitated.

“What is it?... Any ideas, theories, guesses, or anything else, might help.”

“It’s not a conclusion yet, but the strength… We know it is unnaturally high, at ten to fifteen percent above a subject’s pre-infection strength, but I think that maybe be increasing as well. Maybe not as fast as the resilience, more like… they learn, learn what they can do. It’s like they only tried to do what their muscle memories had stored, but over time they are learning the limitations they used to have, are… not there.”

Drucker frowned and exhaled audibly, reflecting on Captain McCloyd’s suspicion.

“The thing that bothers me most is, I haven’t seen a ‘plateau’ on the toughness increases, as in; what if there isn’t one? What if they keep getting tougher? As the green agent settles in, or whatever… They will eventually be very hard to kill, at least by mechanical trauma of any sort.”
He paused, looked down.
“I dropped one from twenty feet yesterday, onto pavement… Landed like a sack of potatoes, then stumbled to it’s feet and shuffled away… You already know how they are with bullets, at least that has not appreciably changed… gotten worse.”

“Ok… this tracks with other theories and observations, McCloyd. Don’t hesitate to update me on ANY new findings.” The general paused. “Oh yeah, it seems we have two of the smart ones on the way here… Any plans for them?” Drucker asked, dryly.

“We have some… ideas, Sir.” Unflappable.

“Well, get back to work… and try thirty feet next time.”

The Captain nodded and saluted. Drucker returned the salute, and shuffled papers waiting for McCloyd to leave, but when he looked up, he was gone. The guy was freaky that way, maybe the years of black ops.

Fredrickson had found, in the deeper tissues and bones, that the green plates were slow to cover all the cells. That it would take time for the core of the larger muscles, the tendons, and slowest, the bones, to be fully infected. It could take a month or more, he surmised, for every cell in the body, to be covered… and at that time, the subject would be at it’s toughest and now it seemed, maybe it’s strongest as well. One month from infection, would be the ‘plateau’ Devin was looking for… he hoped.

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Re: Green Eyed Monster

Post by maldon007 » Thu May 31, 2012 10:14 am

8.5 Redux (four days earlier)

“Jesus Christ, what is that? All ships are supposed to be out of the channel!” Tim Lazingo yelled, trying to be heard over the battlehawk’s twin turbo-shaft engines. His helmet and com had been removed without consent, by a crazed green monster.

Laramie Chisholm was busy sending the last three hellfire missiles into the belly of the Paridisio. He hoped by hitting the same spot, the last one might go deep enough to get at the engines… But he was guessing at the location of the engines. With the last bird away, ‘Larry’ looked up and saw what his door gunner was all excited about, another ship ahead.

“Well shit, that’s not supposed to be there…” Speaking into his com, to no one. By then, Tim was grabbing his shoulder and pointing at this new exacerbation to their situation.

“That fucking lunatic is going to ram it, isn’t he?” He yelled now, seeing Lazingo’s missing com.

Not waiting for an answer, Chisholm emptied the thirty millimeter chain-gun into the smoking missile hole, the sound was deafening. As the last of the two-hundred depleted uranium rounds smashed into the guts of the ship, the white swirling prop wash decreased substantially.

“Yes! That bitch is dying! One engine must be dead… dump a belt in that hole, maybe kill the other one!” But the celebration was short lived, as the behemoth barely slowed. Lazingo fired into the jagged opening, just below the main deck, till the barrel of his M240 glowed a dull red, and the cyclic rate slowed to a sputter. He grabbed his M4 and switched the selector to full auto, then dumped a thirty round mag into the hole. Chisholm shook his head, indicating the futility of the action.

The heavy Paridisio was already moving too fast, it would ram the other ship in seconds and there was nothing they could do about it. Except make sure that fuck of a captain was dead, that they could do.

The high pitched cry of steel giving way to steel, could be heard easily over the rotor and engine noise. Tearing the black hulled tanker nearly in two, the fat white cruise ship became part of it, almost like yin and yang, good and evil, but color switched. The entangled ships finally came to rest against the footer of a four lane bridge.

“Bring us around on that wheelhouse, if those things didn’t eat that captain yet, I’m gonna do it.”

The veteran pilot deftly maneuvered the grey chopper over and down in front of the shattered windows, just as the bloodied captain pulled himself up on the console. The flare gun in the captain’s hand flipped on a switch in Lazingo’s head, he smelled the fuel, saw the liquid spilling from the tanker, could even smell it. He knew what the psycho was trying to do.

Without hesitation, the expert marksman took aim and fired at the stumbling captain, the second round hit dead center mass, dropping the man. As his knees hit the floor, his flare gun fired, bouncing back at him, off the bulkhead to his right. The burning flare found a home up against his pants. He then fell over forward onto it. He smoldered for a minute before finally becoming fully engulfed by flames.

Chisholm pulled up away from ships and bridge, gaining a thousand feet of altitude & lateral distance in less than a minute. It was right about then, that a random spark or a bit of burning captain, ignited the leaking fuel. The fireball looked down right thermo-nuclear, rising into the sky past the escaping helicopter with a speed they would not have considered possible.

The initial blast of flame did not diminish, but engulfed both ships within seconds and smaller explosions seemed to feed it. The fire swelled under the Narrows Bridge, and black smoke began to billow from under it. Soon, flames engulfed a hundred foot section of the bridge, obscuring the view of anything within.

Even at a distance of five hundred feet, they could have roasted marshmallows out the side door. Not having any, the decided to call in the disaster instead. Amazingly, many survivors made it to the water, either swimming away or bobbing around in the water. Normal people don’t swim through burning petroleum and survive, so Lazingo shot all of them, it took three magazines.

After returning to base, Chisholm and Lozingo were shipped off to a secret location for quarantine & debriefing.

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Re: Green Eyed Monster

Post by Bearcat » Thu May 31, 2012 7:08 pm

Need moar now that you're throwing four at us at once.

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Re: Green Eyed Monster

Post by maldon007 » Wed Jun 06, 2012 3:15 pm

Bearcat wrote:Need moar now that you're throwing four at us at once.
Yeah, but the 4 took six months! :?

If I figure right, the story is about half done... Unless I cut a few corners later, to get to the friggin end.

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Re: Green Eyed Monster

Post by Bearcat » Wed Jun 06, 2012 5:04 pm

maldon007 wrote:
Bearcat wrote:Need moar now that you're throwing four at us at once.
Yeah, but the 4 took six months! :?

If I figure right, the story is about half done... Unless I cut a few corners later, to get to the friggin end.
Wtf you mean it's half done!?! It's just getting started! The mom hasn't gotten home yet and the PAW hasn't totally kicked off yet!

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Re: Green Eyed Monster

Post by maldon007 » Wed Jun 06, 2012 5:25 pm

Well, from the start, till now, has been almost two years, to make a week of story time... So if it's not half done, but say only 1/4 done, it will be complete somewhere around Jan. 2018 :lol:

...ok, really gonna start writting now (stop distracting me! :P )

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Re: Green Eyed Monster

Post by Bearcat » Wed Jun 06, 2012 5:38 pm

maldon007 wrote:Well, from the start, till now, has been almost two years, to make a week of story time... So if it's not half done, but say only 1/4 done, it will be complete somewhere around Jan. 2018 :lol:

...ok, really gonna start writting now (stop distracting me! :P )
I mean do we gotta bribe you with brownies like Kathy?

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Green Eyed Monster

Post by Bostoned » Wed Jun 06, 2012 7:18 pm

Just found this but it is very good.

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Re: Green Eyed Monster

Post by maldon007 » Wed Jun 06, 2012 11:29 pm


“You just do it man, it aint no thing.”

“But Wise, it feels so… gay!” The large red haired man was naked, except for a pair of grey prison issue boxer-briefs, and rubbing against a few other nearly naked men.

“Most uh you fucks done this for fun already… no need to turn all red now, wrong color! Ha ha ha!” Russell Weisz sat in a white plastic chair, legs crossed, arms on the rests, as though it were a throne. From it, he directed the ‘initiations’.

“You guys need to figure this out, I got other shit to do… You have to be STILL for a few seconds, then move to a new spot. The stuff doesn’t stick, unless you stay put… all that rubbing around is doing nothing… for me anyway, ha ha ha!”

Mathew ‘Mat’ Klein, watched from the safety of an upstairs guard office, as Weisz created more greenies. He had turned the interior recreation area, into his own monster maker. New prisoners from Stateville would come in, undress, then be molested by Weisz’s infected men. He had discovered, through trial and error, how to best infect new ‘soldiers’ for his little mutant army. After his men took turns dry-humping the initiates for ten minutes or so, the new men were covered in green over most of their bodies.

Mathew was fitting into his new role very well, as the group’s IT guy. He was locating the right “type” of prisoner for Weisz’s needs, using the Prison data base. It was not as he had assumed, just finding the worst killers in the place. No, he said murderers, especially one-time offenders, were really not reliable. He wanted violent repeat offenders, specifically those with ties to gangs or other organized crime. A slightly lower than average IQ, was also a plus and the younger the better.

Mat would cross reference names, ages, crimes, test scores, etc. and send one of Weisz’s goons to retrieve the inmate. He would then be quickly interviewed by the Weisz, and turned green, if he was not killed. Of the twenty-seven Matt had sent him so far, twenty had survived the interview process.

He had likewise cut heads from his original escape group, by strategically sending them headlong into police barricades & armed civilian groups they came across on the way to Stateville. These also-rans would ignore withering rifle fire, as they had been told to, thinking themselves invincible, as they had been told they were. The other men, ones he actually given weapons and proper instruction, would use the distraction to flank any surviving cops or militia, and finish them. From the original two-hundred or so, less than a hundred were left, the “core group” as he called it. No need for such a process with the Sateville inmates, he would just leave in their cells or kill, the ones he didn’t need.

“Hey, Mat… you see this?”

Mathew jumped out of his seat, surprised by his “boss” somehow appearing in the adjacent room. He was looking up at a wall mounted TV that was streaming local news.

“What is it?”

“Dumbass newsies, just bird-dogged two cop shooters… they’re on the roof of that barn down the way, ha ha!”

On the screen, a zoomed-in shaky video of the prison, with the barn in the foreground, two riflemen on the roof, prone, dressed in all black.

“Like snipers?”

“Yeah, but not as good, hehe… They probably won’t fall for the exploding bus trick again though, will they?”

“I assume not… so, how do we get out of here?”

“We don’t, this place has supplies for a week, for three thousand men… Which means, supplies for a year, for the number I wanna keep. They got generators, kitchens, bathrooms, defendable perimeter… Why leave? The staff is locked up safe and sound, no worries there… cops outside got no idea if we gonna kill these guards, or what… They aint commin in, we safe for a while. You want one of them female sexretaies in the lockup?... You know, do what you want?”

Weisz winked a creepy wink, accompanied by an equally creepy grin and a punch in the shoulder. The green didn’t let the punch hurt much, but it did feel like there was a dent in his skin, shaped like Weisz’s bony knuckles. Matt nearly shivered with disgust, but resisted the urge. He was no boy scout… well, actually he had been, but that was just out of the question. But the thought… not of the act, but of the control, did give him a slight tingle of power.

When Mat looked up, Wise had moved to the large window overlooking the central area. He looked slowly left and right, surveying his dominion with a very wide grin.

“Whatever happens, Mat, we sure are makin a go of it, right?”

Mat nodded, thinking about “whatever happens”.

“They will nuke us, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. Pretty cool way to go, right?”

Mat nodded, while thinking, no… no it was not.

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Re: Green Eyed Monster

Post by maldon007 » Sun Jul 08, 2012 1:08 am


Alden did not know what to do. His daughter was spiking a 102.5 temperature and fighting nausea, while his wife was again turned around by roadblocks and stupid bureaucrats, unable to get home. Add to that, he had not heard from Claudia, their housekeeper/nanny for days. He was alone, unable to convey has crippling worry over Samantha’s illness to Maresa, since it would only cause the same in her, and unable to take Sam in to a doctor, for fear of her being quarantined.

He checked her temp again and while feigned a look down her throat, he gave her eyes a quick, but close look, no green just red.

“I saw that dad, Is there… anything?”

“Anything, what?”

“I know what you were doing, checking my eyes, I see the news you know.”

“I wasn’t checking your eyes, you have a stomach bug, not the green disease, ha ha.” He knew the laugh sounded fake and his casual nonchalance probably seemed overly casual and too nonchalant.

“I don’t have any numbness or stiffness… or any of the other watch signs, just the stomach pains.”

Alden almost flinched at her dispassionate accounting of the symptoms. She made the whole situation too real, while at the same time sounding more mature than her thirteen years should allow. He pursed his lips trying to think of what to say, but only an involuntary exhale/sigh came out. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he blinked them away.

“It’s ok dad, I got a bad cold… I’m not dying or turning green, that’s it, ok?”
She grabbed his hand, like a doctor reassuring a patient.

“I know! You just need to rest, yes? Maybe take a break from the internet for a while?”

“You know I can’t do that dad, a lot of people count on me…”
She trailed off, a slight look of self-consciousness crossed her face. Alden had advised her previously, that strangers on the internet were not her friends, that her real family and friends, the ones she actually saw face-to-face, were who she should spend her time/energy on. But Alden didn’t want to upset her, as sick as she was.

“Listen… just get some rest, Ok? I will keep you in drinks, if you will drink them, you have to stay hydrated. Do your forum surfing if you must, but getting rest is job one! Ok?”

“Where’s Dia, anyway?” She asked, obviously changing the subject.

“She is spending some time with her family, she’ll be back soon.” He lied, not actually knowing why she had not showed up or returned his texts.

“She makes me soup when I’m sick, you know… that been soup, can you make that?”

“If it is from a can, I can. It wasn’t from a can, was it?”

She punched him in the shoulder, weakly.
“The chicken noodle is fine… in the blue can though, not the red & white one, it tastes like beach water.”

He mussed her curly hair, as he always did, after she punched his shoulder, and left to go “make” soup.

The news was just catching onto the cooperative state border closures in the mid-west & northeast, as he stirred the soup. 20 states in all, including every eastern seaboard sate above North Carolina, had at least partial border closures with varying degrees of security, permissiveness and punishment. The area around DC, being the least porous, no ingress whatsoever, no exceptions.

Everything was closing off, pulling in, getting smaller… from nations all the way down families, friends, households. Whole cities were disappearing, or being abandon at least. Unknown numbers of countries were under siege, rebellion or both.

Unconfirmed reports of nuclear weapons use were rampant. First it was said Russia had nuked northern Chechnya, no confirmation. Then, that China had set off a tactical nuke in Tibet, this was refuted. Finally, that North Korea had accidentally nuked itself, refusal by US officials to comment either way on that one had Oliver North certain it was true.

President Clinton said she believed they were close to getting the green epidemic under control in the US, but this statement was written only, not even video to accompany it. She had not appeared in public for a week and not on TV in five days… Undisclosed location.

In local news, the guy who lived behind them was out in his back yard, rock music playing, with some sort of rifle in pieces on his patio table, cleaning it, or something. The guy was a nut, obviously, but maybe not a bad guy to have around if, as the young man was fond of saying, “the shit hit the fan”.

Alden watched him for a minute, then thought, the shit had already hit the fan, the brown spray just hadn’t reached his home yet. Which made him think of the rifle in the attic, it had been his dads before he left for parts unknown. He didn’t recall the caliber, but it was a hunting rifle, bolt action if he remembered right. Maybe a good time to drag it down and see how it had faired over the last nearly twenty years.

Alden checked in on Sam, who was listening to internet radio & typing away, animatedly. Probably some dispute over which of the recently popular young male singers, had the “best butt” or maybe “best abs”. He really hoped it was “best smile & personality” but doubted it. Then he pulled down the creaky attic ladder, trying to unfold it quietly and not let it slam into the hallway floor, as it loved to do.

Once up, he looked around trying to remember where he had last seen the rifle bag. It was mostly green canvas, but had some leather trim… There it was, the back end poking out from under a dusty rolled up rug they had brought to the new house & never used.

With some effort, he lifted one end of the rug & slid out the case. Dust wafted into the air, lit by the single sixty watt bulb, it looked like a miniature snow flurry. He felt the heavy rifle shift in the case as he lowered it to the floor, it almost felt taboo, like he shouldn’t be touching it, or something bad might happen. It was not that firearms were so foreign to him, as a young man he had actually shot this rifle on two occasions (though it had scared the shit out of him) and since, had been range shooting with friends and coworkers a few times. It must have been the connection to his dad, who left this implement of death, then dropped off the face of the earth.

The brass zipper had turned green and resisted opening with twenty years of corrosion, Alden assumed this did not bode well for the metal parts inside. After some coaxing, he managed to get the zipper open enough that the rifle should slide out.

It was in a clear plastic bag, and somewhat vacuum sealed, though obviously not a true vacuum, since the thing could be slid around inside. It looked like a typical hunting rifle, more or less as he remembered, though it seemed bigger back then. Three small green & yellow boxes sat in the bottom corner of the bag, along with a dozen or so desiccant packets. Loose in the case, were three other items, one small leather case Alden remembered as a cleaning kit, a very nicely tooled leather strap that he didn’t remember and a baggie with a few thin metal pieces, he had no idea the purpose of.

He tore at the plastic bag surrounding the wood stocked gun, it was surprisingly tough. Thinking himself resourceful, he hooked a loose end of the bag on one of the many nails coming down through the attic ceiling, using it to rip a hole in the bag.

The smell of “gun” filled the air, as he removed the rifle from it’s plastic cocoon. Pulling the bolt handle up & back, Alden inspected the breech and magazine. Finding it empty, he pushed it back to the forward stop & down, then raised it and aimed at the motor of the attic vent fan, in the front of the house. As his finger began to squeeze, the doorbell sounded loudly, being mounted on the wall directly below his feet. The gun (with a doorbell helping it) had now scared the shit out of him as an adult.

“Dad, you gonna get that?”

Samantha’s voice was distant, filtering up through the attic floor. Alden stood, frozen in place, stuck between running down to answer the door & trying to put the rifle away before Samantha could… She wouldn’t come up in the attic anyway, and a quick hiding spot was just as well. Alden slid the rifle up onto the highest shelf, atop a pile of baby crib parts and cardboard boxes with unknown contents. He then hurried to the attic opening & down the rickety ladder/stairs.

As soon as his left foot landed on the second stair, he felt the crack… it had to be that loose hinge, the screws finally gave, or the hinge pin sheered, either way one side of the ladder had given way. He thought all that before hitting the hallway wall like a ton of bricks. He had his arm out, but his palm smashed into the first of three hung pictures, ripping it from it’s hook, sliding it down the wall. His head slammed into the wall an instant later, at which point everything got fuzzy. The wood floor rushed up toward him, what feels like bear trap shuts on his right leg.

Alden dreamed of being chased by dogs around an ice-cream truck, it’s dual speaker horns blaring a tinny rendition of smoke on the water. The ice-cream truck and dogs disappeared as Alden opened one eye, but the music continued. Lester Hynemin’s bald head came into focus as he fumbled for his ringing phone. The music stopped as he answered, turning away, he whispered into the phone.

“Yeah, he’s out cold!...”

His voice sounded sincerely concerned, a voice on the other end spoke indiscernibly. They went on, but Alden was more concerned with not knowing where the hell he was or why Lester was kneeling over him. Realizing he was prone on the upstairs hallway floor, he remembered the attic, the doorbell, the fall, the floor… He couldn’t open his left eye & his head throbbed.

Samantha’s head appeared over Lester’s, her face red and wet from tears.

“Dad!... He’s alive!! Look!”

Alden slowly raised his hand, like an outfielder after a rough catch. Lester said something into his phone, then pocketed it. Sam rushed over to hug him, he put up one finger in a ‘just a minute’ jesture.

“What happened? Was I unconscious?”
When he spoke it hurt, when he moved at all, it hurt.

“Yeah buddy, you were out for like ten minutes… Samantha let me in, she thought you were dead.”

“My eye is swollen up, isn’t it?... Is my leg broken?”

“Yeah dad, your face is getting pretty… ugly, it looks like you did that cage fighting thing. Your leg got caught in the steps when you fell, luckily the step broke instead of your leg… we think.”

“I checked it, feels solid… Does it hurt anywhere else?” Lester asked

Alden appraised his pain levels, the right leg being worst, with shooting pain. Left hip, shoulder, hand and knee had some pain. His face & head throbbed, left cheek was second worst overall.

“You want to try an sit up?”

“Yeah, I’ll give it a shot.”
Alden slowly raised himself up on his right elbow, one place on his body that didn’t hurt, much.

Knocking on the door again.
“That’ll be Jed, he’s down on Fairfield, twenty four twelve… That’s who I was on the phone with, I told him you were hurt, he’s good at first aid and stuff.”

“Maybe a real doctor would be best?” Samantha said.

“I’m not hurt that bad honey, just sore…”

She cut him off.
“You were unconscious dad! You need a x-ray or cat scan or something, right Mr. Hynemin?”

Lester seemed to be on the same page with Alden, as far as hospitals maybe not being the best places to be at present.
“Well… he should be fine, just need to keep an eye on him I think… Jed will know what to do, can I let him in?”

“Yeah sure, make it a party.”

Lester hurried down the stairs as the knocking continued. After a few muffled words, Lester reappeared at the top of the stairs with the largest Asian man Alden had ever seen, sans Sumo wrestlers. Strikingly dissimilar in attire to Lester’s yuppie polo, kaki shorts & new balance, Jed wore a faded number thirty two Cleveland Browns shirt, tiger stripe cut-off shorts and black slip-ons.

“You must be Alden, Jed… how are you feeling?”
Alden shook his hand, gingerly.

“I felt worse after a five-k I ran a few years ago, but not much.”

“I got some stuff that will take that bruise down.”
Jed kneeled down and opened an unmarked green canvas bag, revealing assorted bottles, rolls and packages. He pulled out a small bottle with a red label, the writing on which looked to be of Asian origin.

“It’s zheng gui shui, lets the blood flow free, takes away bruises & pain.”

“What, no acupuncture?” Alden said, nervously.

“Maybe later, for your back.”

“My back doesn’t hurt, it’s mainly…”

“Doesn’t hurt, yet.”

Jed dabbed some of the blackish liquid onto a swab and rubbed it gently onto Alden’s face. He recoiled, but Jed followed deftly, smearing the viscous lotion all around. It smelled like a mixture of Vicks rub, vinegar and hot peppers, and stung like hell.

“That is awful! What’s in that stuff?”

“Little of this, little of that… you need some ice on it too, your daughter can help you?”

“Yeah, yeah… we’ll be fine, thanks so much for helping, I owe you guys one.”

“That’s alright, we help our own around here, gotta stick together.”

By this time Alden had drug himself to his feet, he rested on the banister cap, trying to move his guests down stairs. He really was greatful for the help, but didn’t think it wise to have all his business be neighborhood chit chat. Just then his right ankle gave out, and the two visitors caught him before he went to his knees.

“Oh, bad leg too? Let’s get him to a bed so I can fix him up.”

“No, really, I will be fine…”

“Shut up dad, let him help, your face looks better already, and I’m too sick to carry you around.”

Everyone stopped, Lester and Jed both eyed Samantha, obviously chewing on this information.

“It’s just a stomach bug… she’s fine.”

“How long?” Jeb asked, seriousness overtaking his previously jovial face.

“A day or so…”

“Eh, she’s fine then… it shows in hours after stomach pain, in the eyes… Come on Alden, we will get you back on your feet in few minutes.” Jed said, obviously relieved.

“What are you going to do?”

“Can’t tell you, ancient Chinese secret!”

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Re: Green Eyed Monster

Post by maldon007 » Thu Jul 19, 2012 1:35 am


The big silver-grey van pulled away from the army road-block at twenty till five in the afternoon. They said their goodbyes & left the army captain there with the impression they would stay in Indiana, find lodging in Rockville, a few miles back.

Maresa was not sure if she actually missed Philippe already, or just wished he had stayed with them. Either way, she wondered how he would do… a meek young foreigner, only in the US a few years, in what was basically an internment camp. Meanwhile she continued poking at her phone’s screen & holding it high in the van, hoping for a signal. Garry Ross would get along fine, probably end up running the place, getting along was what he did. She aimed the phone different directions, to no avail.

“Damn, there’s a tower right there, why no signal?” Maresa aimed her phone at the approaching tower.

“Maybe that’s a radio tower or something… or a different provider?”
“Radio tower, out here? Come on Tom, and I have roaming you know, it’s not a cheap plan!”

“I got a GPS anyway, not sure why you need internet…”

“Does your GPS have every back road, dirt road, logging road… or local bridge, that was maybe just built, or… I don’t know, but anyway I think the internet may have better answers than the robotic woman’s voice in your little black box.”

Bingggg! The phone chirped, letting everyone know internet was loaded.

“Ok! What should I look for?”

“What you said, unnamed roads, small town bridges, any way across the river & then the state line.”

Jordan Parks, who had been leaning back in the seat, looking bored, popped up with a start.
“Darwin.” He said.

“Yes Jordan, Darwin will fix this, one way or the other.” Tom said, probably knowing Jordan didn’t mean that, but hating to pass up a chance to show he knew who Darwin was.

“Darwin Illinois, smart ass. They have a ferry there.”

“Every town has a gay or tw….”

“Shut up, Tom. Seriously, Darwin ferry, it’s for farm stuff mostly. Of course this was… fifteen years ago, but unless they built a bridge, they probably still need it.”

“A ferry would be well known, probably shut down, blockaded or whatever, already.” Maresa said.

“That’s just it, it’s not well known except for locals. I only know cause my aunt lived in Martinsville, just up the road. It’s small, one tractor only I think, but good size tractors not lawnmowers.”

“Maybe we could call, see if it’s still there?” Maresa didn’t want to go running for miles on a wild goose chase.

“Not sure if there’s anyone to call, it was self service if I remember right… it’s that small. Farmers in the area kept it up, don’t think it was a company or anything.”

Maresa searched for the ferry online, soon finding a few blurbs.
“Clark county officials seems like the ones to call, sheriff maybe?”

“Might not be the best plan to call the locals, just like the other places we’ve been, suspicion of strangers…”

“Fine! Looks like it’s about forty miles south-west of Rockville, at least an hour from here… If I don’t find anything else by the time we get to Rockville, we head south to your ferry.”

She searched for another rout as the ten miles back to Rockville clicked by. Finally, with the town in sight, their exit just ahead, she found it.

“Ok! To the north, near a town called Newport, people are posting pictures of crossing the river by car, right on the rocky river bed… It gets wide and shallow there, open fields on each side…” She scrolled while talking. “River there is usually only a foot deep this time of year.”

“Hmph… this ain’t no four by four, you know… Do they say what type vehicles are doing this? And if they get stuck… ever?” Tom grumbled.

The details were sketchy, mostly trucks and a few jeep type vehicles were pictured. No dwellings close by, just fields and dirt roads, but they led to main roads.

“So my choices are, fording a running river and hoping there is a road on the other side and we don’t get stuck… Or putting the van on a big pool footie, and trying to row across?”


“Great… I am running on empty guys, gas wise and sleep wise… Can’t even think straight really. I’m pulling in for gas, getting a sandwich and hopping in the back for a nap. You two decide who drives, where we go, I’m done!” Tom indeed sounded beat.

Gas at the BP was cheapest, at $6.25 a gallon. The cashier sat behind a makeshift metal grate, saying it was to keep out “them greenies”. Burger King on the other hand, had pretty much regular prices, and semi-normal ambiance but was out of french fries. They fueled up, ate up and sat in the parking lot deciding which way to go.

“Jordan, I know you like ferries, but there is a town right there, there must be feds there… The river crossing is in the middle of nowhere, lets head north.”

“Maybe, but this ferry is a friggin raft, it is not going to be on the feds list of crossings, you barely found it online, right? And I actually know people in the area, that might come in handy. Plus, this ferry is tried and trusted… not a muddy riverbed we might get stuck in!”

Tom had been quiet, reclined in a rear seat, seemingly asleep.
“Flip a fucking coin, I just want to be home!”

Maresa called heads in the air, tails landed so they headed south, to the Darwin ferry.

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Re: Green Eyed Monster

Post by maldon007 » Fri Aug 24, 2012 12:35 am


He keyed in his personal code first, then checked the ten digit key he wore on a chain next to his dog tags. It contained a random code that changed every thirty seconds. A set of five bars would disappear in succession, one every five seconds to show a countdown to the change. You had to know you could type in & enter the code before the next change, or BING! You were locked out. Finally a small camera above the monitor checked his retina pattern and blood flow, to ensure the eyeball in question not only belonged to general Leland Drucker, but that it was still attached, down the chain, to a beating heart. ‘Eyes only’ documents always required this pain in the ass procedure, Drucker longed for the days when a report would just be dropped on his desk for leisurely perusal.

He probably already knew ninety-nine percent of it, but would read it anyway. Maybe looking at it all, put together in one place, the “big picture” would give him insight.

The page had the standard headings for an internal report, the date, the authorship being Leonard Fredrickson and two assistants, the base ID, document ID, a few other details & the title- ‘Description and attributes of virulent crystalline structures and infected subjects’.

The report went on to describe the first contact with infected persons, six days before. It then detailed the locations of known outbreaks & small or single subject occurrences, this part was probably at least ten percent low, if only because of the exponential growth & hours old age of the report. Finally he came to the part of most interest, what the thing was.

Physical Description- Roughly hexagonal crystalline structure, consisting of semi-repeating cubic lattice allotropic carbon molecules. Differentiates from diamond lattice by variations in lattice sections, and inclusion of C-12 and C-14.
Width/Height, apx. 42nm, thickness apx. 3nm.
Component Elements, Carbon, Carbon-12, Carbon-14 respective to ratio, apx. 57/29/14 %.
Refractive Freq, 5.769 Hz.
Structure, semi-repeating face-centered cubic lattice.
Bravais, modified/unknown.
Thermal cond. 2197
Thermal exp. 0.8 µm•m−1•K−1
Method of reproduction, nucleation.
Mechanism of nucleation, unknown.

An example of smallest semi-repeating lattice section was shown-

Drucker stared at the picture. "Great, our enemy is attacking us with tiny jungle-gyms."

Behavior- Crystallines are inert, except when in contact with living human cells, method of differentiation between human cells and other cells or materials in general, is unknown. Once in contact with human cells, crystallines liberate carbon atoms from cell membrane and surroundings, nucleating exact clones at once…

“Nucleating… huh, must be tiny nuclear jungle gyms!"

Crystallines adhere to cell membrane only (inner & outer). Using bridged alkenic bonds, with over 300 kJ/mol bond strength. No known method can dissect this bond, while leaving the cell membrane intact. Crystallines follow cell membrane protein gates, acting as gate reinforcers. Nuclei and organelles are not adhered to, nor effected in any way that can be determined. Some effect by proximity of C-14 radiation is expected on DNA/RNA, but effect/result is as yet unknown.

Crystallines protect cells from a great number of external trauma, as well as internal ones such as pressure, thermal & entropic based degradations. Crystallines re-adhere after trauma causes separation, causing rapid “healing” of wound sites.

Once encased by crystallines, all cell division ceases. The initiation of which is suspended by the inability of the cell membrane to expand. Internal cellular activity/metabolism otherwise seems unaffected, study still under way.

All fully encased cells have so far not perished as would be expected, once removed from neighbor cells & host. Non effected (normal) human skin cells die at a rate of 10%+- (of a given sample group) per day, crystalline infected skin cells taken 5 days ago, at printing, are all still living (0% mortality rate). All cells not connected to or otherwise provided with sustenance, that would normally die in a given time, go into what seems to be a dormancy, instead of cell death. So far, these dormant cells will revive instantly upon replacement of nourishment.

The above phenomenon is not concluded to cause any specific behavior or condition in affected persons, except a general high tolerance of trauma or degradation. Observations for further conclusions incomplete at present…

“Hmph, I conclude these fuckers won’t fucking die, unless we fill them with bullets.” The general grumbled.

Virulence- Crystallines appear to reproduce in a given host with a similar mechanism to that of infection transmission. Crystalline acquisition of local carbon atoms is similar, whether from infected sub straight too contiguous uninfected sub straight or from infected sub straight to uninfected “new host”.

Drucker stared at the screen, muttering. “Fuckers were supposed to dumb this shit down, for non-nerds. Confusing bullshit, fucking use English… not an unreasonable fucking request…” The general made a note to check with Fredrickson and make sure he understood this part, then went back to reading the text.

Known infection rate is 100% from any exposure, to as few as one single crystalline. No known examples of immunity have presented to date. All test tissues exposed become host tissue (have at least one adherent crystalline) no faster than .9 seconds, 87% in under 1.2 seconds. Longest time to infection from contact 3.8 seconds, >1% of tested (low carbon14 content in host substrate suspected for these rare outliers).

The general’s eyebrows raised about as high as they would go. “Holy shit… if one of them just grabs you for a second… or two, you are fucking toast… Well shit on me.” Back to reading.

Infection spread speed, within a given host is governed by 3 known factors- 1. Contact density, encompassing size and dispersion of contact area(s) and specific number of contact points. Clinically, the actual number of crystallines in contact with “new host” decreases time too full infection. 2. Contact location(s), as internal contacts spread 3 dimensionally/spherically. As opposed to skin/surface only exposure, which spreads hemispherically inward. Blood borne spread is not fully understood yet, but it is clear blood contact reduces time to full infection.

Most easily identified infection vector is physical contact with human hosts, skin too skin (no animal hosts have been identified thus far). Momentary or contact of a small area may not generate a sufficient static relationship between infected-host and new-host for infection, stationary skin contact of greater than 2 seconds is generally sufficient for infection. Highest percentage contact vector is bare skin bite, exact mechanism not fully understood, but bites seem to be 100% infectious. It is assumed blood to skin contact is the reason for high virulence.

Lesser understood vectors are ingestion and airborne. Ingested crystallines may pass though digestive tract without infecting subject, if bound inside food. Thus, the likelihood of food borne infection vector only rises to clinical level when contamination% too food is very high, say 500/ppm or greater.

Conversely, crystalline laden liquids have a far higher infection percentage, as the heavy crystallines always leave suspension after a few hours, settling on digestive tract walls. It is assumed liquid ingestion is vector for most US infection, supported anecdotally by various tested subjects. Disperse outbreak locations trend toward a plurality of subjects with digestive tract indicated infection vectors.

“Just fucking English… ‘most folks seem to be getting the green disease from their water supply’. Vector this and disperse that, bunch of bullshit.” The general grumbled.

Given the high specific gravity of crystallines, airborne vectors require special mechanisms, such as high altitude dispersal (no evidence of this so far), or fire-column lofting. Only know incidence of aerial dispersion is NYC ship/bridge fire…

Drucker stopped reading, a light bulb went on over his head. Installed it himself, an old fashioned pull-chain porcelain fixture with an incandescent bulb. He had turned it on to better see the folder he was leafing through, he called it his overview folder. It contained all the key facts of this “case”.

He was right, of the seventeen community water sources that had been tested, not one trace of green disease agent had been found. At the time, the test method was not fully trusted, being exposing human tissue to dredged material from reservoirs or well samples, but it should have worked, that test was now the standard. The disease appeared overnight in most of the tested areas, the water almost HAD to be the culprit, unless there was still an unknown ‘vector’ out there…

“If it was water, but not in the supply, the crystallines must have been inserted between the source and the victims.” The general murmured aloud. “…Something in the system, the treatment, filters… chlorination… That could be it, nobody checks chlorine for disease contamination, nothing can live in it… except these things.”

He spent the next hour on the phone, making sure every agency involved, from the CIA to NSA, had potable water infrastructure on their front burner. A half hour after that, the first confirmation came in. Carter Reeve, a director at Homeland, sent a file showing a nearly perfect correlation between the Baltimore city water grid & the initial extent of infection, two days after the first outbreak. He had colored one map yellow to show infection extent, another in blue showing municipal water coverage, when the two blobs merged only a thin edge of yellow here and there escaped the solid green shape. Baltimore’s Liberty Reservoir was one of the water sources checked for contaminants, so it was clear contamination occurred between water source and victims.

Then the Nanping China connection reared it’s ugly head again. A thousand government nerds, all searching vast government data-bases, can have incredible results. It was FBI this time, finding a customs slip from two shipments received by the Baltimore Public Works, originating from Nanping China. The bill of lading revealed little about the contents, possibly intentionally vague, calling it ‘Industrial machinery components’. The Jia Mao Corporation was nonexistent, as was the address listed. At the other end, records of receipt & what exactly the stuff was, were trapped in a quarantine zone, guarded by sixty thousand hungry greenies.

The investigation Leland Drucker had at first assumed was going too well, and must soon hit a snag, had done so in short order. He leaned back in the cushy leather chair, running through everything again, looking for a missed detail or…

A single drop of coffee ran down the general’s stainless cup, it had a vaguely green tint, it was very unsettling, yet he slowly raised the cup to his lips. It was not scalding hot, as he normally takes it, barely lukewarm really. He knew he shouldn’t drink it, but it was already there, wet against his mouth, soaking into his graying mustache. Lips still pursed, but closed tight, he felt the liquid slowly creeping up into his nose like a billion tiny insects. It was searching for an opening, a way to get to his eyes, it wanted inside his eyes to operate his body like the tiny pilots of a huge Japanese armored robot…


Druckers eyes snapped open as though pneumatically assisted, Joel Redbrave stood in the open door, smiling like a cat with a canary. The slightly disoriented general quickly dismissed the dream, though not without a quick shiver, and a quick recon of his coffee cup and eyes. Finding them free of green creepy-crawlies, he concentrated on trying to act as though he hadn’t, just that very second, awoke from his catnap.

“Yes, Joel, what do you have there?” Pointing to the folder Joel carried.

“I messaged you, but I know you like paper anyway, so here…” The brigadier general tossed a folder on his desk. Drucker had three more stars on his shoulder, sure, but he didn’t begrudge Joel the occasional impertinence.

“Are you gonna make me get me glasses, or just tell me what this is?”

“Get them, you’re going to want to read it all. It’s companies, it’s connections… it’s money. The payments were the key, I had a friend over at treasury push a few buttons for me. Bank records, transactions, billing destinations, we got it.”

“Is this… the receipts of the Nanping purchases? We know what was purchased now?” Drucker read.

“No sir, not yet, but we know who it is, in Nanping. The company is called Shui Hongya, they had a website and everything, it’s down now, like most everything coming out of south-east Asia. But CC was able to scrounge up a few pages from the site, advertising some interesting products, like stainless steel potable water valves… And the prices, there were basically giving this shit away for shipping cost. Look at this one, six hundred eighty US dollars, for a fourteen inch valve, shipped. A similar piece from a company out of Shanghai, costs Twenty-two hundred, shipped to the same address…”

“Ok, I get it, it was a set-up, water system parts so cheap, everyone bought them… But, really, how many communities bought them? Do we know?” The general paced back and forth, reading. “So we think the crystals were… are in the valves? The valves go into water systems, the stuff is released into the water, BAM, greenies everywhere.”

“Yes sir, that’s what we think… CDC is already on disseminating water safety info, about letting it set till solids settle out. Pentagon is surveying all their purchases, but buying the cheapest equipment is not a common military practice, as you know. FBI, justice and treasury are all crossing up searches on company ownerships…”

“Ships?... Ownerships, as in multiple owners?”

“Multiple companies… each owned by the next, a ‘shell game’ I guess they call it. Thirteen companies so far, out of China, Taiwan, South Korea and one in the UK…”

“How the hell did you get all this already?” Drucker imagined his discovery was not a discovery at all, and everyone must have already been on this path, but… Then he noticed the time on his monitor.

“Sir… you’ve been sleeping in your chair for six hours. Our finding… well, your finding the connection to water infrastructure has pretty much been the buzz for the last five and a half.”

“Wow, didn’t realize I was so tired!” The general chuckled, his spirits lifted substantially.

“Not that you weren’t a big deal before, sir, but you’re a BIG deal right now.” Joel looked over his oval wire-framed glasses at the general, with a big shit eating grin.

“Alright, enough of that crap, we’re all on this together… Who’s saying that anyway, joint chiefs… the prez?” The general smiled his first smile in days. “So, is there an estimate? How long before we have the parent company nailed down?”

“Not sure sir, but I think it will be soon. I’m sure you can hide a company from the IRS or Justice Department… but not everyone, not from every agency, all focused on you, like frickin’ lasers.”

“Hope you’re right Joel, whoever this is really needs their ass kicked.”

“Yes sir, they do… well, back to it then.”

Drucker watched the door close after Joel, thinking the man needs another star after this shit gets cleaned up. At least he was now thinking it might actually get cleaned up.

He tapped the wireless mouse, waking the monitor from it’s slumber. The report he fell asleep reading, popped onto the screen. He scrolled down through more stuff he already knew… List of containment zones, a few new cities, as expected… It was a new city or town every few hours now. A blurb concerning whether MOPP3 or 4 will protect, depending on blah blah blah… Then he came to another section of interest, the smart greenies or ‘sapients’ as Fredrickson was calling them.

…SCI subjects (subjects with Sapient [presentation of] Crystalline Infection), appear to have normal cognizance, can converse and understand complex concepts. Detailed comparison of post infection IQ to pre-infection is so far impossible. Extrapolation suggests IQ remains consistent with pre-infection IQ. Conclusion, no change in mental capacity has been noted or observed.

Aggression, hostility and/or general indifference toward others appears increased, but observations & reports must be considered anecdotal. Personality type, physiology, general mental state and other factors may contribute. Effects of infection, perceptually, on mental state, is assumed to be a factor and may indeed be the ONLY factor that degrades sociability. Two (2) sapient subjects have so far been examined, all other data is second hand. Conclusion, no physiological causation of mental changes can be attributed to crystalline infection, but anecdotal observations of negative behavioral changes can not be ignored.

Drucker noted the next section was coauthored with Devin McCloyd, and titled, tactical strengths/weaknesses of crystalline infected persons. He nearly laughed at the use of the over-used term ‘tactical’ and would have, if not for McCloud being involved. He skimmed through some boring setup bits, stopping at the greenies dinner menu.

…concerning the feral greenies, recognition of a living animal if it has been an hour or more since it has fed, seems to be all that is required to trigger an attack. Animals including cats, chickens, rabbits and a large dog, have been released in the presence of feral greenies, or FCI’s (subjects with Feral [presentation of] Crystalline Infection), and were immediately attacked, killed and consumed. They appear to have no particular affinity for human flesh, but have not been observed eating any non-live food items, even when presented directly with raw meats, cheeses, vegetables, eggs, baked items, and a variety of edible plants. Live, mobile prey seems to be their exclusive preference, dead animals presented to them are ignored in favor of attacking the human doing the presenting. Their own prey, once killed, may be ignored (and not returned to) if a distraction is presented. Sounds, either animal or human, seem to draw their attention, as does any sudden or sharp sound, or any sound of movement.

All observed FCI’s attack prey in a similar, straight forward manner. Generally grabbing prey items with outstretched hands, then pulling prey towards their mouths. No striking, kicking, grappling, or any martial tactics have been observed, whatsoever. No FCI has been observed using tools or weapons. As well, no complex behaviors or dexterous operations have been observed. FCI’s may learn, but this is speculation based on anecdotal reports of proper door-knob manipulation, after numerous failed attempts. It is possible pre-infection memories may give them an “instinct” for some tasks. Basic muscle memory may also be a factor, or some combination of the 3 (learning/memories/muscle memory).

Observations of FCI agility indicate slowly increasing aptitude, as (we assume) the body and brain acclimate to the effects of crystallines. It is estimated the ceiling of large-muscle agility/foot speed is approx. 90% of pre-infection agility/foot speed. It is assumed this is due to the increased weight & lack of flexibility. Also assumed, small muscle group agility/dexterity will eventually reach 100% of pre-infection, but may be immaterial, due to lack of higher cognitive function. The hands may have the dexterity to sew or tie shoe strings, but the brain will not order it done.

Recent development- several study subjects, being of the group infected longest, have today began climbing. Using the 2” X ¼” dia. square-mesh containment material, 4 have climbed to the top (being 11’), where they remain, with toes and fingers through the mesh to hold them up. The fifth subject reached over to the light fixture, inset in the ceiling, smashed through the plastic cover & hung from the inside edge, until knocked off. It is unlikely that all these subjects had rock climbing experience or other pre-infection muscle memory to explain this, bolstering the precept that FCI’s can learn new behaviors. As a ‘control’ comparison, a lieutenant (un-infected), known to rock climb, was ordered to climb the cage. He made it to the top, but could only hold on there for 2 minutes, before pain & muscle fatigue/injury cause him to let go [he is in a foot cast, with a torn plantar fascia]. The FCI’s in question have hung from the cage for most of a day, only climbing down when some stimulus draws their attention.

“Just what I fucking need ‘climbers’ scurrying around on the sides of buildings like fucking Spiderman.”

It may have been a mistaken perception, but Leland Drucker felt his hair graying. He was certain it had been salt & pepper a week before, and was now almost solid grey. He leaned back again, this time making sure not to fall asleep…

“Sir, wake up, we got something!!!”

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Re: Green Eyed Monster

Post by deathstalkertwo » Tue Sep 04, 2012 6:16 pm

Great, course you know that now I have caught up again, I, or maybe I should say we, need MOAR.

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Re: Green Eyed Monster

Post by maldon007 » Tue Sep 04, 2012 7:29 pm

Progress is slow, 3 kids, etc. BUT it will be finished... sometime in 2014 if the trend continues :lol:

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Re: Green Eyed Monster

Post by maldon007 » Sun Sep 09, 2012 8:43 pm


Wolf Blitzer, CNN- “But, how do you know it is terrorism?... This has not been confirmed anywhere!”

Richard Barrett, terrorism expert- “Wolf, it is obvious to those of us who’s contacts range beyond public relations spokesmen, that this outbreak is the result of the intentional air-born release of an, as of yet unknown pathogen, causing these people to revert, evolutionarily.”

Wolf- “Can you say, Rich, where this information is coming from?”

Richard- “The name is Richard, Wolf… This information comes from many places, SIS, CDC, MI5, DOD, FBI, CIA… DEA, and basic critical thinking by people who know this type of thing…”

Wolf (incredulous)- “Sorry to interrupt but, there are ‘people who know this type of thing’? …About crazed zombie-like crazy people, running around killing everyone?... And what do these zombie experts say we should do, if one of these things come after us? Huh?”

Richard- “First of all, these are suffering people, not ‘zombies’. To stay safe, you stay inside, keep your doors lo…”

Ted Nugent, Rock n Roll hunter- “Lock your doors? Are you kiddin’ me? These things rip doors off hinges, man… Which federal agency has their boot on your throat, buddy?”

Richard- “I have no obligation to any agency or government, to say anything other than my honest opinion, sir.”

Ted- “Being honest is all well and good, but that don’t mean you know your ass from a hole in the ground, does it? These things are killin’ people left and right, they should be given a third eye on sight, period!”

Wolf- “Isn’t that inciting violence, Mr. Nugent?”

Ted- “What? What the hell?... You just asked what people should friggin do if one of these damn greenies comes after em’. Well, shoot em’ in the head, is the answer!! I personally like the compound bow with carbon shafted, broad-head ti…”

Richard (interrupting the Nuge)- “These are people, sir! There has been no revocation of their right to live, just because they are ill… Of course, if an individual is attacked, and has no other option, defending one’s self may be required. But people are not allowed to preemptively attack…”

Ted (face reddening)- “Allowed? Allowed by who? I haven’t seen one damn federal agent out near my place, protecting me. I’m pretty sure they’re all busy keeping those things locked up in pens… That doesn’t seem very constitutional, if they are ‘just sick people’ does it?”

Wolf- “What would you have them do? Murder them all, I assume?”

Ted- “You’re about stupid, aren’t ya, Woof. If you were treadin’ water in the Atlantic, and a great white comes nosing around, would you kill it if you could? Or wait till it bites you, to give it a fair chance, in case it’s one of the nice ones?”

Richard- “Again, these are not animals, but people! Yes, you can assume the worst of an animal, and preemptively defend yourself, because if you are wrong, you have only killed an animal… You can’t just kill people who may have done nothing, nothing except catch a disease!”

Ted (angrily standing up, his lapel-mic popping off)- “Bottom line, there is not ONE of these things that will not eat you’re damn face soon as look at ya!”

“Ted fuckin’ Nugent, always liked that motherfucker…” Russell Weisz chuckled, he was making a habit of sneaking up behind Mathew Klein, who was watching a corner mounted flat-screen, in the warden’s office. It was perpetually set to CNN since the remote had not been found.

“He wants to kill us, Wise, still a big fan?”

“I would too, wouldn’t you? We are like fuckin’ super men, ya know? Or super monsters, depending. But even if we weren’t somewhat… antisocial, I don’t think those nine-to-fivers out there could abide our existence, much less those dumb ones running around.”

Richard Barrett (looking smug)- “That is actually not the case, it has been confirmed that the prison riots in the north central US are perpetrated by what has been referred to as ‘smart greenies’. The strain of disease effecting these prisoners is clearly different, and seems to allow some modicum of normality…”

“Oh shit! He’s talkin’ about us, Mat!”

Wolf (interrupting)- Whoa, whoa! There hasn’t been confirmation on that… what is your source on tha”
The screen changed to a test pattern.

“What the hell, did they cut our cable?” The authorities had already cut the power, but the prison generators had kicked in, and were supposed to have a weeks worth of fuel. Wise headed toward the window in a huff.

“It would just be static, I think… The station must have cut the broadcast… That’s the only way you could see a test pattern.”

The lanky menace to society peaked through the drawn shades. Mulling over the info, Wise asked, maybe to himself. “Why cut that show… right there? Trying to hide our existence? The station… or the government?”

“Maybe, boss. I have heard it mention on the news, that there are, or may be, ones like us… Greenies that can reason. But not anything specific, more cryptic… insinuation, whatever you want to call it.”

“I call it damned interesting… Anyway, you find anything worth a shit in the files or computer? Any skeletons… location of a nearby weapons cash? Swiss bank account numbers? Anything?”

“Nothing like that, found the last of the prisoners that match your requirements. Though I’m not sure on this one…”

Mathew held up a printed sheet, pointing at a specific name.

“This guy, Williams, gang affiliation when young, arrested for manslaughter at sixteen, been in eleven years… Problem is, his weight is listed as ‘est. 320lb.’ which I assume means, he is too fat to be weighed. He also has an asterisk by his name, meaning ‘special treatment’ same as the ones in medical block.”

“This is your job, Mat. Just go check him out… If he is a big fatty, put him on the waste case list. But think, three-twenty at five foot ten, means big fat fatty… Three-twenty, at six foot ten, might be the incredible fuckin hulk, do they list height?”

“Oh yeah… Six, eleven… holy crap he’s tall!”

“Exactly, see? It’s the details sometimes buddy, right?”

Mathew nodded, the crazy bastard was crazy smart sometimes. It made him wonder what he could have been, if not a lunatic killer, politician would have been a cinch.

“Come on, Matty, let’s go see what uh… What’s his first mane, that Williams?”

“Uh… think it was Michael.”

“Yeah, see what my man Michael is up to.”

They walked together, down to the wing where Michael Williams’ cell was located. It was in the solitary confinement block. Toilet paper and feces were strewn on the hall floor, having been thrown through the dinner tray holes, by pissed off prisoners. They stepped up to the cell door, Mathew staying behind Wise. He tried to get a look at the behemoth, through the reinforced glass square but toilet paper had been plastered over it like papier-mâché, presumably by the man inside.

“Hey, Mike, you in there?” Wise called through the tray opening. The sound of bed springs being relieved of a great weight, echoed into the hall.

The opening in the door darkened, a hulking figure fully blocking the light from inside. A low booming voice spoke. “Who’s askin?”

Wise chuckled. “I like him already… It’s Wise, I run things, since the warden is on vacation… In a cell.”

“You one of them greenies then?”

“Yeah, that’s it, how’d you know?”

“News gets around, even in the shu… Whatchu want with me? Gonna turn me into one of you… Make me a greenie?” He rested one meaty hand on the edge of the tray opening, absently tapping his kielbasa sized fingers on the steel lip.

“You know, a lot of guys are happy to get the power and invincibility that comes with being a greenie… You probably don’t care about that, huh? Big as you are, strong as you are, tough… I know you don’t need it…”

“It makes you stronger?”

“Yeah, hell there may be some smaller guys as strong as you, now!... So, any interest in being bullet proof and maybe the strongest man on the planet?”

“How you prove it makes people stronger, huh?”

“Hmmm… Well, have a look at me, thin as a rail, not a muscle on me… Come on, have a look.”

The paper covering the window started pealing back, the visage of a huge dark face filled the square. Williams, having bent down to be at eye level with the window, looked back and forth, checking the hall. He then looked up & down appraising Wise.

“Alright, I see ya… you green and skinny, what’s that prove?”

“Back up from the door.”

Wise didn’t wait for the man to oblige, but took a step forward and slammed his fist into the glass. It spider-webbed & bowed inward. Another hit and small shards popped off as it pulled free from one corner, a third quick punch released the glass’s connection to it’s surrounding and it flopped onto the cell floor.

“Pretty good… lemme’ see that hand now, is it broke?”

“Nah, still good.” Holding his hand up in front of the window opening & grinning, Wise did a princess wave to show it was intact. Williams studied the undamaged hand through the empty window opening.

“I’m sold boss, what I gotta do?”

Wise signaled and the door lock clunked open. Michael Williams ducked under the door frame, instantly crowding the hall with his massive form.

“Just head that way, Mike. My ape-rent-ass, Mr. Chung down there, will get you hooked up.” Wise motioned to the heavily tattooed Asian man, waiting at the end of the hall. Williams obliged, nodding before heading up the hall.

“Gimme ninety-nine more like him, and… Mmmm, I don’t even wanna think about it. So, Mat, we need to procure us a bus, and bullet proof it… You wanna get on that?”

“Wait, wut?... We talked about this, you said we are staying here, as long as we can.”

“Yup, as long as we can, and after that, we leave.”

“Leave?... They will shoot first and not even ask questions… You KNOW they aren’t going to fall for the bus trick again.”

“No trick, just a bullet proof bus full of fucking monsters, runnin up their asses… No tricks, just treats.”

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Re: Green Eyed Monster

Post by deathstalkertwo » Mon Sep 10, 2012 8:30 pm

Kinda sounds like the Great Kali, the huge actor/ wrestler is about to be a zombie, Think his name is Dilip or something like that. Anyway, MOAR plese.

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Re: Green Eyed Monster

Post by maldon007 » Mon Sep 10, 2012 9:16 pm

Same size guy, but looking more like this-

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Re: Green Eyed Monster

Post by maldon007 » Fri Sep 14, 2012 4:54 am

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Author[online]: samkins99 Topic: My Dad Busted His Butt! Post Number#1 September 8th, 2012, 9:37am
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Hey guys/girls, not sure if this is the right place, but omg my dad fell down the attic stairs! Couldn’t believe it, like theres not enough going on without me having to wait on him hand & foot. Moms still out of town, return date keeps getting pushed back, dad keeps spinning me on whats going on with her. Oh yeah, our housekeeper is missing, no word for days, hope she is ok. And I’m still sick, fever is mostly gone tho but still feel like crud.

Well, enough rambling, whats up with you guys?

Author[offline]: Climacticus Topic: My Dad Busted His Butt! Post Number#2 September 8th, 2012, 9:51am
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Sorry to hear about your father, I hope he pulls through. Did you not call an ambulance, or is there no service there? We still have it in SF, but I understand LA and parts south are… Out of service.
Author[online]: samkins99 Topic: My Dad Busted His Butt! Post Number#3 September 8th, 2012, 10:02am
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He will be fine, just looks like he lost a fight :P Not sure about hospitals and stuff around here (Decatur), but some neighbors are helping out. Very strange people :o

Author[online]: Hedonist11 Topic: My Dad Busted His Butt! Post Number#4 September 8th, 2012, 10:16am
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Its not your job to nursemaid your clumsy pops imo. Call a relative or something, like his mom. You should go live your life & have some fun, before this all blows up! Leave him with some herb, that’s the best medicine anyway.
Author[online]: Gadget Topic: My Dad Busted His Butt! Post Number#5 September 8th, 2012, 10:28am
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How exactly is smoking marijuana going to help someone with a severe injury, Hedonist?

I hope he mends quickly, samkins. I know how you feel, we all either have issues like this, or will have them, shortly… bad times.

Author[online]: samkins99 Topic: My Dad Busted His Butt! Post Number#6 September 8th, 2012, 10:33am
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Thanks Ray! I think he will be ok, one of the strange neighbors is here now, doing some kind of eastern “medical” procedure on him, he cussed a few times but now he is kind of moaning (no not like a zombie!) like it feels good…. Im not looking in there, who knows what there up to :D
Author[offline]: Mitsy Topic: My Dad Busted His Butt! Post Number#7 September 8th, 2012, 10:58am
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I will be praying for your dad Samkins, Im sure he will fine. And Gadget, no need for the fatalism, we will get through this with GOD’s help, I pray for all of us.
Author[online]: Gadget Topic: My Dad Busted His Butt! Post Number#8 September 8th, 2012, 11:19am
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Not fatalism, Mitsy, realism. I’m sure many people prayed for salvation when GOD flooded the entire earth, killing everyone, well almost everyone. I guess you could say we “got through” that event, but again, pretty much everyone died.

Doesn’t god help those who help themselves?

Author[online]: samkins99 Topic: My Dad Busted His Butt! Post Number#9 September 8th, 2012, 11:41am
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I am pretty much agnostic, but I appreciate the kind gesture Mitsy.

Ray, I agree these are very tough times, but whether through God or out own perseverance, I think we (as a species) will get through it. Hopefully with more than two of @ left in the end ;)
Author[online]: samkins99 Topic: My Dad Busted His Butt! Post Number#10 September 8th, 2012, 12:20pm
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So he is up and around, sort of. He is kind of walking like a zombie! (don’t get excited, he’s NOT a greenie) All slow and shambling, limping around. He is restricted to the upstairs, and wont take any advil like I am telling him to, he says it may “interact” with whatever odd “medicine” the Asian neighbor gave him ~

Weird day gets weirder, our neighbor behind us apparently shot an arrow (yes, I know, but yeah, an arrow) through his fence & popped the tire of another neighbors car. So glad to be living in crazy town :vmad:

Author[online]: Hedonist11 Topic: My Dad Busted His Butt! Post Number#11 September 8th, 2012, 12:37pm
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Your neighbor sounds like an @$$ hole, you should call the cops, before he kills someone!
Author[online]: samkins99 Topic: My Dad Busted His Butt! Post Number#12 September 8th, 2012, 12:55pm
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The police are already aware of him, think they are too busy with other things to mess with him.

On another note, my mom just called, she will be at least another day. So that’s really really really great D:

AND she doesn’t have “time” to talk to ME! Time to run around for work yes, time for a few word with her own daughter no. Im not crying right now, just mad & have allergies.
Author[online]: Gadget Topic: My Dad Busted His Butt! Post Number#13 September 8th, 2012, 1:19pm
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I’m sure your mother has important work, or she would be home with you. Remember many people have it worse. I have a family staying with me from a nearby city that is over run, their home is pretty much gone. And im not sure how long my family and I will be able to stay here. And obviously there are many people who have it worse, as in, they have green skin or have been eaten alive.
Author[offline]: Climacticus Topic: My Dad Busted His Butt! Post Number#14 September 8th, 2012, 1:30pm
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You cant be eaten alive (at least not by greenies), “eaten” describes being fully consumed, a human would be long dead before the last bite was taken, think about it.
Author[online]: samkins99 Topic: My Dad Busted His Butt! Post Number#15 September 8th, 2012, 1:41pm
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I would rather not, thanks :<

I know my mom is doing important work I guess, but it doesn’t remove the sting. I feel like I am alone, even with dad here, mom is just….. mom. This stuff is really PEEing me off, why did this have to happen, did someone do it on purpose? 9/11 is in a couple of days, Washington dc is pretty much overrun almost seems like there must be a connection…. Maybe.

Its like we are diminishing as a people, everyone pulling in like a hermit crab disturbed. Distrust, fear, anger, it seems to be bringing out the worst in us. I thought this country anyway would be different, handle it better. Now I am crying.

Author[online]: truthhurts Topic: My Dad Busted His Butt! Post Number#16 September 8th, 2012, 2:09pm
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911, just like this bull**** is a product of this fascist illegal government, a manufactured disaster to fill the pockets of the military industrial complex. If our “leaders” provided for the security and basic rights of its citizens, all this **** would not be an issue. I hope these zombies eat every last politician, so we can start over, might be the best thing that’s ever happened.
Author[online]: Sharpnel Topic: My Dad Busted His Butt! Post Number#17 September 8th, 2012, 2:36pm
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Though this thread is IN off topic, the thread itself does HAVE a topic. Please try to stick to it. And welcome to the forum truthhurts, please check out the rules & intro section.
Author[offline]: Climacticus Topic: My Dad Busted His Butt! Post Number#18 September 8th, 2012, 2:50pm
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You are misinformed truthhurts, the military is pulling back from everywhere in the world, a high % of troops are quitting and returning to their homes. Military spending will undoubtedly be lower, since nobody is really manufacturing anything right now. The military will use it’s stockpiles till they are gone or until the greenies are gone….. or the military is gone. The military industrial complex is essentially no more, whilst greenies roam the land.
Author[offline]: Ludovico Topic: My Dad Busted His Butt! Post Number#19 September 8th, 2012, 3:19pm
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I think he has a point, who else could make a bug like this? It is obviously designed, the odds against a bug affecting only humans, affecting them in such a specific way, making them harder to stop, basically turning people into weapons.

My guess is it was created in a gov lab somewhere, and it got out. Probably meant to be dumped over china some day, but somebody screwed up and let it out.

-Alex D
Author[online]: Sharpnel Topic: My Dad Busted His Butt! Post Number#20 September 8th, 2012, 3:27pm
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There are 23 threads at last count, about the green disease, zombies, government zombies, the president is a zombie, zombies are awesome, etc. No need to trash up every thread with greenie talk. If we can’t get back to it, the ban-hammer is going to start swinging.

Sorry to hear about your dad, samkins.
Author[online]: samkins99 Topic: My Dad Busted His Butt! Post Number#21 September 8th, 2012, 4:48pm
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Im pretty sure hes going to be fine, hes actually downstairs cooking something & it smells awful! I think its something the odd neighbor gave him, smells like….. rotten eggs I think?

Edit: Its not the food, its him. He is covered in some kind of cream that smells like a sewer overflowed. It seems to be working though, his face doesn’t look so bloated & he is walking better. The neighbor must be a doctor in whatever country hes from, I think.

Btw, did anyone see the news? Holy you-know-what!

Post edited [1] time, last edit [September 8th, 2012, 4:52pm]

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Re: Green Eyed Monster

Post by maldon007 » Sun Oct 07, 2012 11:45 am

(part one)

Jordan Parks had driven the fifty miles that was supposed to be forty miles, to what was supposed to be Darwin ferry. Maresa deftly navigated, taking them on only a few wrong turns, which added the ten miles. On the dirt & gravel farm roads, the extra ten miles was an extra hour, an extra hour Tom used to sleep in the back. By the time the GPS said they had reached their destination, the sun had long since set.

“Maresa... when you see the little arrow, us, getting really close to the blue line, the river, let me know next time.”

“I did! I said, we’re almost there... Didn’t I ?”

West Oxendine Drive dead ended at the shore of the Wabash, where, in the moonless dark, Jordan almost ran the van right into the river. The tree strewn bank obscured the view of the water till the last turn, a sharp left, rounding to a fast downhill grade of slippery marble sized gavel, that disappeared into the dark water.

“Fine... could we be in the wrong place, though?”

“It says we have reached our destination.”

No ferry or even a dock was visible, just greenish grey water, wide and slowly flowing.

“Well, shit... it does seem like the place, but... Oh, look!” Jordan backed up and swung the van left a bit, aiming the headlights across the hundred yards of river, illuminating a small barge... or large raft, he called it a ‘punt’.

Maresa and Parks got out to size up the situation. They searched the shore for a tether and found two ropes tied through a rusty steel pipe that was driven into the bank.

“You pull the ferry over with that one... the other one keeps it from floating downstream, like a... guide line.” Jordan parks said, one hand pointing at the ropes the other scratching his chin, as though not quite sure.

“You seem to know about this stuff, so pull that raft over here.”

Jordan looked at Maresa with narrowed eyes. “You can help little lady, I’m an old man you know.”

“I know... Which rope?”

“The thinner one, I think.”

Together, they pulled on the mildewed rope. The dry weathered bit gave way to wet & slimy, as the slack was taken up. Finally the weight of the barge, aground on the opposite shore, brought the tightening rope up out of the water.

“I think it’s moving!” Maresa said, pointing at the raft-like ferry, across the river. The lights from the van allowed them to see it slowly slide down the gentle gravel slope, as they pulled. It emitted a deep grinding sound that carried across the water.

“That's good, I was afraid they might have tied it to...”

A shuffle in the gravel behind them raised the hairs on Maresa’s neck, she spun to see a large figure silhouetted in the vans headlights. Lumbering toward them, arms reaching, stretching, Tom Mclaughlin yawned, then scratched his belly.

“What the fuck, guys... Were you gonna send the van over with me sleeping in the back? Seems like a major safety violation.”

“Hey Tom, when you decide to sneak up on people and act all zombie like, maybe say ‘hey!’ before I pee my pants, Ok?” Maresa said, sincerely annoyed. She removed the hand from her pocket, letting the knife fall back in.

“I knew it was him.”

“Sure you did, Jordan, you know I could see the look on your face in the head-lights, right? Ha ha.” Tom chuckled.

“Whatever, help us pull the ferry over, huh?”

“It’s pitch black out here, almost ten o’ clock at night... How about we sleep in the van, and cross at first light? He he, that rhyme was pretty tight.”

Jordan sighed. “Are you drunk?”

“No but that couple hours of sleep is all I’ve had in... I’m not sure how many days. What day is it?”

“Ok, you have a point, probably be better not to drive the van off into the water, cause someone is half asleep. But let’s finish getting this thing pulled across anyway, it’s almost half way now.”

The barge pulled surprisingly easy, they had it tied off at their end inside of ten minutes. Then they faced another uncomfortable night sleeping in van seats. Maresa spent some time on the sat. phone, finding out Alden had been injured, but was making a quick recovery. She was less concerned than she thought she would be, something about the neighbours actually helping out, lifter her spirits.

At six thirty the next morning, a rooster crowed, waking the trio. It was directly outside the van, pecking around. Maresa yawned & rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

“Wow, I know we were near farm lands, but we are actually ON a farm I guess?”

She pointed at three cows standing on the gravel ramp across the river, where they had pulled the ferry from the night before. Two of the cows were the classic world-map black & white spotted type, the third was all black except a white stripe running from crown to muzzle. Where the animals stood was a short tee off of a main dirt road, paralleling the river. Behind them, running along the far side of the road, was a weather beaten four-rail fence. A small bungalow sat back beyond the fence, surrounded by flower beds.

“How did we not see that last night?” Jordan Parks asked, with eyebrows raised.

“It was dark as a coal mine? We were tired?... Someone built it while we were sleeping?”

“Funny Tom, I just meant, I didn’t think there was a farm right at the crossing.”

Everyone stretched, yawned and tried to rub the seat texture marks off their faces. The cows were obviously the milking type, given the distended udders. Maresa thought the way they slowly milled around, looked as if they were waiting for a bus.

“Well, anyway, what do we do now... just drive up onto it, hope it doesn’t sink?” Maresa asked, trying to hurry things along.

“I think it would most likely capsize, not sink. But yeah, we just drive up... maybe just me though, you two guide me from the ground... less weight in the van might help, you know.”

Maresa looked at Jordan and he at her, both with semi-concealed grins. She knew he wanted to say the same thing she did, that Tom weighed more than both of them together, but it went unsaid. The two exited the van and stood on either side to help Tom avoid giving the van a bath.

With guidance, Tom easily stayed centered on the barge between the two low, sheet-metal clad fences, running down the sides. Once aboard and parked, tom climbed back to the rear of the van and got out through the back doors, not having room to open the side door far enough.

“What are you two grinning at?”

“Nothing!... I’m not sure if I could have gotten out the side door either.” Maresa said, holding in a giggle.

The large raft was fifteen or so feet longer than their vehicle, so once the van sat in the middle, only a few feet remained for the three to stand on the deck.

Tom looked around. “Shit, now what?”

“Punt means: boat you push with a pole... There!” Jordan said, reaching for a long aluminium pole that sat in a track, running the length of the boat. It was just outside the right guard rail, at floor level.

“You push it like those Italian gondolas.” He pushed against the shore with the pole, the boat didn’t move. Jordan backed up and put a foot on the van bumper for leverage and tried again.

Tom looked over the side. “Uh... we pulled it too far onto the bank, too much weight on it now... Shutup!”

“Wasn’t going to say anything Tom, but maybe you and Jordan go stand on the front & I will push us off?”

Tom narrowed his eyes at her. “fine, but it’s called ‘the bow’ not ‘the front’.”

Jordan easily maneuvered between the van and boat’s rail, Tom edged sideways, as though on a narrow 3rd story building ledge. He had to grab the mirror as not to fall in, as he went around it. Once the two men stood at the bow, the stern raised noticeably off the bank and slowly drifted from shore all by itself. Maresa gave it an extra shove with the pole, for good measure.

“Nice job guys, just the right weight distribution!” Maresa yelled up to the bow.

“It only gets funnier and funnier, Mare!” Tom yelled back toward the stern.

Maresa pushed again on the pole, this time six feet of it disappeared into the turbid water before hitting the bottom. She noticed the rope guiding the raft angled down-stream slightly, from their side to the other, letting the river’s flow aid in the crossing. Had they been crossing the other way, with the slight up-river direction, gondolier duty would have would have been a more strenuous job.

The steady ringing of a cowbell from somewhere south, gained volume. Then the sound of hoof beats joined the clanging bell. Maresa discontinued punting and stared at the gap in the tree line, as a brown cow galloped past. She had never seen a cow gallop, bulls running, sure, but never a milk cow, at full gallop.

“Did you see that? The back end, it was all... messed up!” Tom called back, unable to turn away from the sight, even after the animal had disappeared behind the trees. Maresa realized she had seen it too, the tail was... missing, and there was a lighter brown, no it was red, all over the hind end.

“Was it all bloody?” Maresa asked, hoping someone would laugh and say, no of course not, that’s silly.

Before anyone replied, a screeching metallic cry broke the near silence of the pleasant country morning. The humans froze, the three cows standing in the opening began heading off in the direction of their tail-less bloody sistren. More cowbell, as they began galloping as well.

“What the fu...” Tom started, then swallowed the last bit.

Into the opening trudged a green skinned farmer in bloody coveralls. He was clearly chasing the cows, and almost passed the opening in the trees without noticing the boat-borne travelling trio... almost. He glanced their way at the last moment, and was heard skidding to a stop in the gravel, just past the opening.

“Get down!” Tom whispered, frantically.

They all ducked down, but Tom had no cover, out in front of the van. Maresa hid behind the van, Jordan hid behind Tom. The grotesque farmer backed up in a slow motion double take, looking over his right shoulder at the drifting ferry, still headed slowly toward shore.

Tom realized that pretending to be a statue was not working, he yelled. “SHIT! Maresa, reverse! Push us the other way, NOW!!!

Maresa stuck her head out from behind the van just for a quick peek but her focus was snared, it was the hypnotic effect of seeing a green bloody farmer with half of a cow’s tail in his hand. She stared transfixed as the thing turned towards them, it’s quest for beef on-the-hoof apparently forgotten.

“Brakes, Mare... stop us!”

Then she shook off the freezing terror, and jammed the pole into the river bed, trying to pry back against their forward motion. Meanwhile, farmer green shuffled into the water with a wide grin, like a toddler into a wading pool.

“I can’t... It doesn’t work this way!”

“Toss it up here, I can stop us from the front, quick!... Jesus, he’s coming.”

Maresa pulled up the pole, and started to throw it to Tom, but realized it might hit the van and bounce into the drink, so instead she slid it hard, under the van. It rattled across the uneven planks, going between Tom’s legs and into the water, while Tom waited with his hands up like a wide receiver. He slowly turned and watched it slip through the water, torpedo like, just missing the zombie farmer’s left shoulder. Then it sank.

“Shit shit SHIT!” Tom said, drawing his pistol. He racked the weapon, and drew aim on the thing.

The raft drifted slowly onward, unchecked by Maresa’s attempts to paddle with her hands. The creature plunged forward, till the water covered it’s chin. It reached in earnest for them, as it’s head went under, still ten feet away. Then only bubbles & two grasping green hands marked the things position, as boat and monster converged. Tom tracked it with his sights, until it disappeared under the boat.

“Maresa! Get your hands out of the water, he’s coming your way!”

She obliged, quickly sliding backwards on her butt, till she hit the van’s bumper.

“Watch the back, Mare... Parks watch over there... Anyone sees that fucker, yell out!”

Each scanned their area, every bubble was a potential monster. Soon their forward progress slowed to a halt just outside spitting distance of the shore. After a few minutes, when no sign had been seen of the cow molesting farmer, Tom relaxed a bit.

“Humph... that worked out pretty good, he committed suicide so no need for all the paperwork and red tape.”

Jordan Parks didn’t look convinced. “Yeah, or he is right under us, waiting.”

“Maybe, but I don’t think so, I could hear him breathing, they must have to breath... he’s dead. Damn, we’re so close to shore, but no pole.”

“I may be able to jump that far...” Jordan said. “...or close to it, if you promise to shoot that fucker when he pops up out of the water like Jason Voorhees”

“Yup, no problem.” Tom still carried the pistol, now held close to his chest.

“Fuck it.” Jordan stepped back against the van, took two long strides and jumped from the edge of the boat. Just clearing the water, his expensive looking shoes sank up to the laces in the mud. He then scampered away from the water as though it was boiling.

“Good job... now just pull us in, before any more show up!”

“Aye aye, captain Thomas, just keep your shooter ready!”

Jordan began reeling in the rope, but realized there was a hundred yards of slack to be gathered in, before the raft could be pulled. So instead he threw a loop of the rope to Tom, who used it to pull them in.

After tying off to a cleat on the bow, Tom asked Maresa to drive the van off the raft, probably not wanting to navigate the narrow space between the van and boat rail again.

Idling forward, Maresa paid close attention to Tom and Jordan’s guidance, almost missing the young man coming from the farm house. It was the movement of the fence that snapped her eyes up to the shaggy haired boy. He was maybe sixteen, standing at the fence shaking it and staring at them.

“TOM!” She yelled, pointing toward the new visitor. The boy’s face was oddly pale, but not green... though he acted like them, or he was special.

“Hurry up Maresa!”

The boy started climbing the fence and awkwardly fell to the ground on the other side.

“Yes, yes I’m on it.” She said, realizing she had stopped the van’s egress to stare at the odd boy. Tom gestured with the standard ‘keep coming forward’ two-handed motion, while backing up & looking over his shoulder at the boy. Finally the vehicle’s rear wheels touched ground, Maresa pulled forward part-way around the corner.

“Get in, Jordan, quick... we’re outta here.” Tom said.

Maresa stopped the van to let the men get in, noting the boy had got up from his fall without dusting off the dirt and rocks stuck to him, it was just not normal. Once up and moving again, he made a bee-line for the van, running gawkily. As he neared their vehicle he raised his arms in a frankensteinian lunge, a shiver ran down Maresa’s back, seeing his up-turned green palms.

“He’s green! The hands, look!”

The boy gained speed, closing the last fifty feet in a few seconds. Jordan jumped in the passenger seat and got the door closed, just as the flannel shirted kid slammed into it.

“Damn! What are you doin’ kid?!” He yelled through the closed window. The only reply was a vacant stare, from a set of green eyes. Jordan slapped at the door lock like it was a wasp about to sting him.


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Re: Green Eyed Monster

Post by maldon007 » Mon Oct 08, 2012 3:19 am

(part two)

Tom slammed the rear door, as he had entered the vehicle that way. Then yelled forward, while unzipping one of his bags. “Just drive Maresa, get us out of here now!”

“Can’t Tom, he’s in the way!” The young greenie had gone around to the front, attempting to climb up on the hood. The creepy boy-thing looked back and forth between Jordan and Maresa, drooling on the window, like a fat kid who couldn't decide between cake or pie.

“You gotta move, Mare.” Tom urged, with dark sincerity.

“He’s a hood ornament, Tom... How am I supposed to...”

“Just GO!... we can’t stay here, he will fall off.” Tom climbed toward the front of the van, now armed with an MP5.

The creature reached for a hand-hold and grabbed the windshield wiper with one hand and the back side of the hood with the other. The wiper snapped off in his hand, leaving a bent metal stub, but his focus never seemed to leave van’s occupants.

“He’s a kid, Tom, I can’t... he’ll fall of... and get run over.” Maresa was almost crying.

By this time the little guy was smashing his face against the windshield, actually biting at it, putting scratches on it.

“Maresa, if I have to shoot him, it will be worse than falling off the car! DRIVE! or let me.”

Maresa pulled forward slowly, the kid ignored the van’s movement, continuing to attack the windshield.

“It’s makeup, he’s got makeup on his face. Look... it’s smearing on the window, are they smart enough to hide their green-ness?”

“No way, somebody must have done it for him... Maybe his dad, before he started chasing cows around.” Jordan quipped, as he moved his seat back from the windshield as far as it would go.

“Who cares, get going forward, then slam on the brakes, then go around him when he falls off!” Tom pleaded, while doing the HK slap.

The van lurched forward as Maresa mashed the accelerator. The green teen had begun pealing the hood off, from the back side. It pulled up in the middle first, making a pup-tent shape, then the welds gave & the whole right side folded up.

“Brake now!” Tom yelled.

Maresa stomped on the brake, skidding to a halt from thirty five. The boy beast did indeed fall off, but having a death grip on it as he did, he took most of their hood with him. It laid over and wrap around the van, while he swung on it Tarzan style.

“Go go go! He’s out of the way, go!” Tom shouted in Maresa’s ear, having climbed into the second row bench from the rear.

She gunned the engine, the wheels spit gravel as the van sped away, but their hitch hiker was still with them. He hung on the peeled back hood like a water ski rope. Jordan Parks recoiled as the greenie banged into the passenger door, and tried to run alongside the van, still holding the hood remnant.

“Faster, Mare.” Tom said.

“If I go faster, we’ll spin out in the gravel!”

The thing grabbed the side mirror with one hand, still holding the flopping hood with the other. It then tried to step up on the spinning front tire, slamming it’s feet into the ground and then bouncing up almost horizontal, before returning to an almost water-ski like position, feet skidding on gravel. If he wasn’t trying to eat them, it would have been comical.

“Jesus friggin Christ!” Jordan squealed, grabbing his door handle and pulling back hard.
“My door... it didn’t close all the way, seat belt jammed in it, I think”

The thing must have noticed the gap in the slightly open door, and grabbed for the top, just getting it’s fingers between the door and it’s frame. It then swung over like an orangutan, releasing the hood to hang from the door top, with both hands.

“Fuck me... I can’t hold this door... he’s gonna reach in and...”

“Just hold it Jordan, he’s a kid!” Tom said.

Like an impossibly talented rock-climber, it moved its feet up, till one was against the side mirror, the other just passed the door on the frame, giving it leverage to pull on the door.

“Kid or not, Tom, I can’t... Shit! Can’t hold it for real, he’s...”

“Fuckin’ hell, Maresa, brake again HARD!” Tom barked, at the same time reaching for the rear side door handle.

Again she stood on the brake, dragging the heavy vehicle to a dead stop in a handful of seconds. The force slammed the passenger door all the way forward against it’s hinges, breaking it off it’s hinges. The door, with the boy still attached, skipped down the road ahead of the van.

“Stay here.” Tom said, stepping out the side door the instant the van stopped. He walked toward the greenie kid, who was now pinned under the van door, with his MP5 up and aimed.

“Stay down, or I will shoot you!”

The little beastie pushed the door off of himself, ignoring the command. Tom’s deliberate forward pace continued, then only ten yards away.

“Stay down, kid!!”

He didn’t, instead quickly standing and moving forward to meet Tom. Five quick pops, then two more, the thing wend down on one knee, clutching at it’s neck. It screamed like a stuttering air-raid siren for a moment, then stood again, a dark stain spreading across the grey and white plaid shirt.

Tom halted, fifteen feet from the thing that wouldn’t die. “Fuck this.” He muttered, flipping a switch with his thumb and bracing his back foot. The black gun jiggled in his hands and for a second as the sound of a loud lawn mower filled the air. Zombie boy’s head snapped back convulsively, blood poured from one eye socket, and oozed from other places. Tom dropped the empty magazine from the gun, as the creature fell to it’s knees, it’s perpetually grasping hands finally resting calmly at it’s sides.

With the weapon reloaded, Tom stood waiting, gun aimed at the monster’s one remaining eye, as it stared blankly ahead. Finally the bloody mess of a greenie, slowly fell forward, gaining speed till it’s face slammed into the pebble covered road.

“Now, fucking stay down.”

“Is he... dead?” Maresa asked, after hopping out of the van.

“I think so, it doesn’t seem like playing possum is in their repertoire.”

Jordan parks jumped out through the empty door frame and gave the hood a push, it clattered against the front fender. “Who signed the rental on this van?... Hope you paid for gap insurance.”

“That would be me, but no, I didn’t pay for the extra insurance, thanks.” Maresa sighed.

“I know you guys are trying to lighten the mood, but damn it... if this shit is way out here... in bum-fuck Illinois, we may be well and properly fucked... as a people.”

The three stared silently at the bloody corpse for a moment. Then Tom shook his head slowly, turned and walked back to the van. He stared at it, shaking his head again, then circled it, inspecting the damage.

“Guys... we don’t know how this spreads, right? I mean, bites are for sure, direct contact skin to skin... seems like everyone on the news is in agreement on that... But all the stuff he touched, maybe we should wash it? Jesus, I wonder if any blood sprayed on me...”

He pulled the front of his shirt out with his fingertips, to look down at it. Then took off his blue windbreaker, trying to avoid touching the outside.

“I’m gonna go over to the water and wash this... In the big black duffel there’s a twenty liter dry bag, somebody grab that and bring it down to the river... We can wash off the places he touched... or bled on.”

Tom disappeared through a small gap in the trees, that led to the river. Maresa and Jordan rock-paper-scissored to decide who would dig through Toms gear for the dry bag, after Jordan told her what a dry bag was. Jordan, having drawn scissors to Maresa’s rock, found the bag and down it over to Tom.

“You guys want to hurry up... someone is coming up the road.”

Maresa heard Tom scrambling up the bank, a moment later he burst through the trees.

“Where... where are they?”

Tom looked around franticly, finally noticing Maresa was pointing down the road from whence they came. A tiny figure wavered in the morning haze. It was nearly a quarter mile back on the road, near the farm house.

“Wow, you got good eyes, I can hardly see that.”

Tom grabbed the blanket wrapped sniper rifle from the rear of the van, uncovered it and used the scope to have a look.

“Old lady... walking this way, messy hair... bloody hands and face, friggin greenie. But she’s at least five or ten minutes away at that pace. Let’s get the van washed off & hit the road... Oh yah, I just realized, we’re finally in Illinois! We did it.”

Jordan tilted his head slightly and raised an eyebrow. “Tom, our van looks like Buford T Justice used it to chased the bandit through twelve states, we’re now apparently in the middle of zombie farm country... and we’re still a hundred miles from even Maresa’s place. Home free, we are not.”

“Thanks, I know this... so let’s get moving.”

After shuttling three dry-bag fulls of water to wash parts of the van, the shambling woman in the denim dress was a couple of football fields away, but picking up speed. Her left leg was just wrong, twisted and looking somehow shorter than the other. As they pulled away, a scream cut the air that seemed almost exasperated.

“Listen, she’s pissed, walking all this way and not even one brain to eat!”

“Not funny, Jordan.” Maresa said, watching the pathetic creature recede behind them.

The town of Darwin Illinois was hardly a town, more a collection of small farm properties, checkered between a grid of unpaved roads. In ten minutes they were well past the last home and travelling west on county highway 32, passing what looked like a small strip-mine or borrow pit.

“Any signal yet?”

“Seriously Tom? Look around, they don’t put cell towers where the population is one person per hundred square miles.”

“Well, that’s what we have the sat. Phone for.”

Maresa proceeded to call the Illinois state police and let them know of the Darwinian outbreak. She left the information on their voice mail, since all the lines were busy. Another ten minutes and they were turning north on State Road 1, toward Marshal.

“Cool! An actual paved road.” Tom said, over the sound of rushing wind through the missing passenger door.

After a few minutes more, Tom slowed the van some and sighed, looking skyward.

“That’s a lot of smoke... how far is that next town supposed to be?”

Jordan tracked over on the gps. “yeah, only a few miles, about where that smoke is coming from.”

“Uh... maybe they’re having a big, town barbeque?”

One main column of dark smoke, flanked by smaller grey trails, rose and bent eastward in the blue mid-day sky.

“On a Tuesday?”

“Yeah.” Tom replied sadly, then slowed the van to a crawl.

“Well, we can double back past Darwin, take a different road west, let me look.”

“Damn it! Behind us boys.”

A hundred yards back, two figures angled onto the road from a nearby bungalow. They were large men, not teenage kids or old women. One was shirtless, wearing only what looked like swim trunks, green belly hanging slightly over his waist band. The other, almost Tom’s size and dressed in full black military style gear.

“Fuck fuckity fuck, can we not get a break?” Tom slammed his meaty fist down onto the steering wheel.

“They don’t look particularly fast, maybe drive around them, in the grass?” maresa said.

“Or keep heading north, see what’s cookin’ in Marshal.”

“Funny, Jordan... shit, I don’t know.” Tom seemed almost overwrought.

“Last time, you guys flipped a coin, right? And that got us on the zombie river ferry, right? So maybe a vote this time, instead. Forward into the fire, or back towards the frying pan... quick vote?”

Tom kept the van rolling forward at idle, trying to at least keep pace with the two lumbering greenies.

Jordan Parks said. “I guess so... all in favour of checking out Marhsal, say aye...”


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Re: Green Eyed Monster

Post by DTyra » Mon Oct 08, 2012 9:50 am

I almost had to re-read the story to remember what was happening. Good story and waiting for moar.
You weren't born with a silver spoon in your mouth; you were born with a shovel up your ass, so pull it out and start digging!
Short stories about the subsidiary characters of "Behind a Veil of Darkness"" onclick=";return false;

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Re: Green Eyed Monster

Post by maldon007 » Mon Oct 08, 2012 1:37 pm

Me too! And it's supposed to be in my head... I forget what I wrote a year ago and say- Maresa's steely grey eyes... When I already said they were blue :lol:

Trying to move a bit faster now, though.

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