Ask any tourist caught doing something wrong in the French Quarter and they will tell you the same thing. "Do NOT FUCK with NOPD." This is followed very closely with, "Do whatever you can to avoid going to OPP." Orleans Parish Prison. Full of people awaiting trial for murder, rape, theft. There had never been a place that Arthur had wished to see less. But here he was sitting in general lock-up, hoping Lee would show up soon. She was his only chance.
New Orleans Police were not buying his story. They didn't believe that he didn't murder the woman. Especially when it turned out that she was a high-priced call-girl who specialize in the macabre. If you had perversions, and money, you called her. She would do just about anything. Or so Arthur had been informed repeatedly by the detectives. They tried every which way to get some scrap of confession out of him. After Arthur had given his statement, what he could remember, the police immediately arrested him on suspicion of murder. Apparently blacking out wasn't a legitimate excuse for not remembering the night before.
The detectives interrogated Arthur over and over, but Arthur hadn't been a private eye this long not to know how to avoid answering a question. The third time they tried to get Arthur to change his story, he refused to answer any more questions, and just repeated that he wouldn't answer any more questions without his lawyer. That behavior ended up with him sitting behind bars, waiting on his lawyer Lee.
While Arthur sat there waiting, he racked his memory to provide some clue as to what happened the previous night. He remembered setting up the tail for the assignment, waiting in the bar, following the assignment. Arthur rubbed his right hand gently, his knuckles still hurt from disabling the two men in the alley. "Funny," he thought, "the police haven't made that connection yet. Maybe they were found and released." Arthur was fairly certain that if the police knew about it, they would be piling charges on his head, locking him away in a deep dark hole. Arthur remembered opening the door and going down the hallway. After that, he could remember nothing until waking.
Arthur was sure he had been drugged, but no matter how much he searched himself, Arthur could find no needle marks. There should have been something, and yet the only wounds he had were from fighting the previous night. And the large lump on the back of his head. Arthur thought wryly that he was lucky to be alive. "A blow that hard should have killed me." Indeed, the back of his head hurt fiercely to the touch, making Arthur wonder if it wasn't cracked or damaged. "That's all I need now, for my brain to start leaking out." He chuckled in derision. The way his luck was going, that might soon be the reality.
Lost in thought, Arthur didn't see Lee approach. It wasn't until she cleared her throat that Arthur looked up. And then found himself grinning ear to ear. Lee wasn't a supermodel by any means. She was short, with long legs and a small torso. She had nice hips, but a flat butt. Her stomach was as flat as she could make it, but Lee's genetic make-up didn't give her much help, she still had a slight stomach. Her chest was full and quite a nice place to rest one's head. Arthur liked her raven black hair the most, it was so silky smooth and electrified one's touch. She was the perfect woman for him. Except she was married. And wouldn't leave her husband. No matter how many times he asked. Lee was also his lawyer. That was her stated reason.
Lawyer, or lover, Arthur couldn't have been happier to see her. Lee, on the other hand, was not so excited to be here, in this manner. The frown on her face, and stiff way she held herself betrayed this. She looked quite lawyerly in her dress suit, all formal. Arthur stood and approached the bars of the cell. Lee stepped forwards, but still out of arm's reach. Affection of any sort was immediately out of the question, Lee was letting him know that she was here strictly professionally. Arthur's smile slipped from his face, he started to worry a little.
"What the hell have you done now?"
Lee's voice was stern and cold, distant. "No, don't answer yet. I don't want to talk about that here." Taking a deep breath, Lee's voice gained some more warm as she continued. "Since you called 911, have no priors, and don't seem to have any real connection to the whore, the police are releasing you. However, you cannot leave town, as they still have questions and are looking for some sort of solid evidence to lock you in here for good." Arthur nodded. He had figured as much. Arthur knew he had no blood on him, and the 911 call helped. But there was still the problem with the dead woman, and Arthur also knew the police weren't just going to let him walk right out of here.
"But they are going to let you leave with me," Lee continued, "even though I am not sure I want anything to do with you right now." Lee's disapproval of the whole situation was palpable. All Arthur could do was nod. Though he longed for the chance to explain what had happened, Arthur knew this wasn't the place for it. It would need to wait until they were safe and secured.
Thirty minutes later, Arthur was on the street with Lee walking towards her car. "I'm going to take you home," she spoke. It was the first time she had said anything since speaking to him outside the cell. After that, silence. Cold, hard silence. "You need a bath, you smell like dead fish." Arthur said nothing until they had gotten in the car and pulled out into the street. Then he spoke, quietly and concisely,
"I am sorry you had to come down there."
Lee started to open her mouth to speak, but Arthur raised his hand to forestall her.
"Let me finish, please."
Lee nodded her head. Arthur continued, "I am glad that you came, and you are right. I stink to high heaven, but home is not where I need to go." Lee looked at him in puzzlement. "I need to go to my office. We can talk there. It will be safe there." Giving him a long hard stare, Lee reluctantly nodded and turned the car down the next street, changing directions. Arthur was staring in the rearview mirror. Very shortly, he nodded to himself.
"We have a tail." he thought. Arthur was fairly sure it was the police, but he wasn't sure. It probably didn't matter anyway. Whomever had killed that poor hooker probably had more than likely already searched his office. Arthur was fairly sure they weren't the ones tailing him. Either way, he had to get to his office. Arthur felt that it wouldn't be a good idea to tell Lee about this. She had been through enough already, and Arthur really wasn't sure what another scare would do to her. Best not to find out until he had to.
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Jazzing Life Away (part 2)
There was always this tiny voice in the back of Arthur's head when it felt that he was doing something he shouldn't. It was usually reserved for social interactions that he hated immensely. When Arthur heard the voice, it was generally quiet and non-intrusive. Right now, it was neither. Every sense Arthur possessed was tingling, his inner voice screaming at him to leave NOW!!!!
Arthur hadn't made the reputation that he had by walking away from a situation. As well as he should have, considering the number of times it ended in either the hospital or jail. Arthur didn't feel as if this situation was going to end in either place. His sense of foreboding left Arthur with the unmistakable feeling that this was going to end with someone going to the morgue.
With this sense of foreboding, Arthur pulled his pistol from his holster and checked the chambers. It wasn't a large gun, simply a police issue Smith & Wesson .38 caliber. It had belonged to Arthur's grandfather, a police detective and had served him well. Arthur had never had to fire it outside of a firing range, but he did know how to fire it. Pulling his coat tight, and checking his phone, Arthur also scanned the hallway. It was long and narrow and poorly light. Every other light was out it seemed, and the ones lit had dims bulbs or just flickered in and out. The hallway ended in a heavy metal door about 100 feet from where Arthur was standing. There was only one door. Therefore, only one way for the assignment to have gone. Arthur was positive it was a trap, the men outside had given that away. But why Arthur had no clue about. And he felt he HAD to know at this point.
Approaching the door as quietly as he could, Arthur strained to hear sounds on the other side. Something that would give him some inkling of what was going on. The only sounds Arthur could make out, besides his own quiet breathing, was the faint echoes of thunder and occasionally a snippet of a jazz song, what the wind didn't whip away. Arthur's feeling of trepidation was so strong that he leaned against the wall taking deep breaths. He knew there was just as good of a chance of him being shot when he opened the door as not. But to proceed further, Arthur knew he had to open the door.
With the greatest of care, Arthur slowly pressed the latch down and gently pulled open the door. Once the door was open enough for someone to slip through, Arthur paused and waited. No sound came from inside the door. All he could hear was his own muted breath. And the pounding of his heart. He was so nervous, it felt like it was going to beat its way out of his chest.
Deciding that it was a now or never situation, Arthur threw open the door, and leapt into the room, pistol drawn and ready. As soon as his feet hit the ground, he found himself staring at a scene beyond his wildest dreams. It was a warehouse full of marijuana. Stacked along the walls, hanging from drying racks, growing in a self-contained greenhouse. "What the hell is going here?" Arthur muttered to himself. That was when the world went black.
The first thing that occurred to Arthur as he came to was that he had the worst taste in his mouth. It tasted of week-old socks left to mildew in the sun. It made him gag, and Arthur didn't have a weak stomach. His next thought was that he had been hit by a semi-truck. His body ached as if some giant had tossed him around like a bean-bag. Every muscle felt bruised and banged. Arthur felt as if his head was going to explode from the pressure. Slowly pulling himself into a sitting postion, Arthur leaned back against the wall. He had no idea what had happened to cause him to feel this way, and Arthur also realized he had NO idea where he was.
Working his jaw to loosen it and generate some saliva for his parched mouth, Arthur surveyed the room. He was sitting in his living room. Looking down to the coffee table, he saw a couple of freshly emptied bottles of rum. While not entirely sure, Arthur felt this might explain the condition he now found himself in. If he had tied on a drunk like that, it was no wonder that Arthur's body was now protesting. He wasn't 25 anymore. Hell, he wasn't 35 either. But at that moment he felt 105.
As his body starting waking up, Arthur became of the urgent need to relieve his bladder. This was consistent with the number of empty liquor bottles Arthur saw on the table. Making his way to the bathroom, Arthur scratched his head. While he hurt like he had been drinking all night, Arthur couldn't recall getting drunk. Or why he would have done so. Arthur liked the drink as much as the normal person, but he normally didn't binge as much as he apparently had the night before. Most times he had gotten drunk like that, it had been for a reason, not just a random occurrence.
Pushing the door open to the bathroom, and standing there relieving himself, Arthur let his head roll back and closed his eyes. Finally relieved, Arthur turned around, and opened the door to the bedroom. He was tired and ready to just crawl into bed and get some much needed, alcohol-free sleep. Pulling his clothes off as he crossed the room, Arthur was still struggling with the reality that he couldn't remember anything from the previous night. Pulling back the covers from his bed, Arthur thought it was strange. "I don't ever make my bed." As a bachelor and work-a-holic, Arthur rarely did the house chores another more domesticated man might have. He washed dishes when he had no more clean ones. The same could be said for his clothes. He tried to sweep one a week, and that was the extent of Arthur's housecleaning schedule.
Arthur found himself staring in disbelief at the sight in front of him. "there is so much blood," came the unbidden words to his lips. "where, what...." Arthur couldn't form a complete sentence. He just stared at the naked lifeless woman laying there in his bed. Her throat had been sliced from ear to ear. The sheets were soaked in her blood. Finally a coherent thought floated into Arthur's mind. Even with this awful discovery, Arthur found himself admiring her body. She would have been a hot woman alive. Very much Arthur's type.
With that thought, Arthur reached for his phone and dialed 911. He couldn't remember what he did last night, but Arthur was pretty sure it wasn't this.
Arthur hadn't made the reputation that he had by walking away from a situation. As well as he should have, considering the number of times it ended in either the hospital or jail. Arthur didn't feel as if this situation was going to end in either place. His sense of foreboding left Arthur with the unmistakable feeling that this was going to end with someone going to the morgue.
With this sense of foreboding, Arthur pulled his pistol from his holster and checked the chambers. It wasn't a large gun, simply a police issue Smith & Wesson .38 caliber. It had belonged to Arthur's grandfather, a police detective and had served him well. Arthur had never had to fire it outside of a firing range, but he did know how to fire it. Pulling his coat tight, and checking his phone, Arthur also scanned the hallway. It was long and narrow and poorly light. Every other light was out it seemed, and the ones lit had dims bulbs or just flickered in and out. The hallway ended in a heavy metal door about 100 feet from where Arthur was standing. There was only one door. Therefore, only one way for the assignment to have gone. Arthur was positive it was a trap, the men outside had given that away. But why Arthur had no clue about. And he felt he HAD to know at this point.
Approaching the door as quietly as he could, Arthur strained to hear sounds on the other side. Something that would give him some inkling of what was going on. The only sounds Arthur could make out, besides his own quiet breathing, was the faint echoes of thunder and occasionally a snippet of a jazz song, what the wind didn't whip away. Arthur's feeling of trepidation was so strong that he leaned against the wall taking deep breaths. He knew there was just as good of a chance of him being shot when he opened the door as not. But to proceed further, Arthur knew he had to open the door.
With the greatest of care, Arthur slowly pressed the latch down and gently pulled open the door. Once the door was open enough for someone to slip through, Arthur paused and waited. No sound came from inside the door. All he could hear was his own muted breath. And the pounding of his heart. He was so nervous, it felt like it was going to beat its way out of his chest.
Deciding that it was a now or never situation, Arthur threw open the door, and leapt into the room, pistol drawn and ready. As soon as his feet hit the ground, he found himself staring at a scene beyond his wildest dreams. It was a warehouse full of marijuana. Stacked along the walls, hanging from drying racks, growing in a self-contained greenhouse. "What the hell is going here?" Arthur muttered to himself. That was when the world went black.
The first thing that occurred to Arthur as he came to was that he had the worst taste in his mouth. It tasted of week-old socks left to mildew in the sun. It made him gag, and Arthur didn't have a weak stomach. His next thought was that he had been hit by a semi-truck. His body ached as if some giant had tossed him around like a bean-bag. Every muscle felt bruised and banged. Arthur felt as if his head was going to explode from the pressure. Slowly pulling himself into a sitting postion, Arthur leaned back against the wall. He had no idea what had happened to cause him to feel this way, and Arthur also realized he had NO idea where he was.
Working his jaw to loosen it and generate some saliva for his parched mouth, Arthur surveyed the room. He was sitting in his living room. Looking down to the coffee table, he saw a couple of freshly emptied bottles of rum. While not entirely sure, Arthur felt this might explain the condition he now found himself in. If he had tied on a drunk like that, it was no wonder that Arthur's body was now protesting. He wasn't 25 anymore. Hell, he wasn't 35 either. But at that moment he felt 105.
As his body starting waking up, Arthur became of the urgent need to relieve his bladder. This was consistent with the number of empty liquor bottles Arthur saw on the table. Making his way to the bathroom, Arthur scratched his head. While he hurt like he had been drinking all night, Arthur couldn't recall getting drunk. Or why he would have done so. Arthur liked the drink as much as the normal person, but he normally didn't binge as much as he apparently had the night before. Most times he had gotten drunk like that, it had been for a reason, not just a random occurrence.
Pushing the door open to the bathroom, and standing there relieving himself, Arthur let his head roll back and closed his eyes. Finally relieved, Arthur turned around, and opened the door to the bedroom. He was tired and ready to just crawl into bed and get some much needed, alcohol-free sleep. Pulling his clothes off as he crossed the room, Arthur was still struggling with the reality that he couldn't remember anything from the previous night. Pulling back the covers from his bed, Arthur thought it was strange. "I don't ever make my bed." As a bachelor and work-a-holic, Arthur rarely did the house chores another more domesticated man might have. He washed dishes when he had no more clean ones. The same could be said for his clothes. He tried to sweep one a week, and that was the extent of Arthur's housecleaning schedule.
Arthur found himself staring in disbelief at the sight in front of him. "there is so much blood," came the unbidden words to his lips. "where, what...." Arthur couldn't form a complete sentence. He just stared at the naked lifeless woman laying there in his bed. Her throat had been sliced from ear to ear. The sheets were soaked in her blood. Finally a coherent thought floated into Arthur's mind. Even with this awful discovery, Arthur found himself admiring her body. She would have been a hot woman alive. Very much Arthur's type.
With that thought, Arthur reached for his phone and dialed 911. He couldn't remember what he did last night, but Arthur was pretty sure it wasn't this.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Jazzing life away
The thunder punctuated the deep beat of the drum, creating an off-tempo effect. It fitted the place, and the night. It was an ominous night, full of evil tidings; but it was a night he had no choice being out in. He had to work, because working meant food on the table and a roof to sleep under. Working meant keeping out of weather like this, staying warm and dry. Unless you had a job like his, then it never seemed to matter. "Such was life. C'est la vie." was his motto. Life had never been good to him anyway. You just made the best of things that you could.
The smoke was thick in the bar tonight, the jazz band crooning out a slow soft melody. The thunder had quieted down, but the sky still lit up with lightning flashes. He peered down at the drink in his hand. The scotch wasn't aged enough for his tastes, but as he was working he probably wouldn't drink it anyway. He peered through the smoke out of the open door. Now that the rain had ceased, the door had been propped open to allow the air to circulate some. It didn't really do anything except allow the sound to escape, the sound of a good time to lure new patrons into this dim lair. "A futile effort," he thought, "there isn't any tourists in this neighborhood. Nothing but drunks and low-lifes. And me." He chuckled at the thought that he was any different than the drunks or low-lifes.
"And now to work." he muttered. He had finally seen his assignment walk by. He had to tell this guy to wherever he went. That was what the client was paying for. Just a simple case of surveillance. Except nothing was simple about this assignment. The guy followed one of three routes. The only problem was he switched them at will. You couldn't simply walk behind the guy and not give away suspicions, one had to be a bit more careful. The best way was multiple tails, both following and leading. But the way this guy switched routes made it nearly impossible to stay ahead of him. They always lost him on the other side of Canal Street. He was exceptional about losing a tail in foot traffic.
So to get ahead of the assignment, Arthur made a gamble. No tails, and just hope he would pass by. Arthur had been sitting in this smoke filled bar for over an hour watching it rain, and nursing the scotch. Now was the time for action. Gathering up his bag, Arthur stumbled out the door, just another drunk headed home. He blended into the crowd, easily following the assignment. A block or two, and the assignment made a quick cut into a hotel lobby. "So that's how he is doing it." Arthur nodded. The assignment was ducking through one door, and then out on the other side, but a block away. His team wasn't quick enough to keep up with him, and by the time they realize he was gone, it was too late.
Arthur knew he wouldn't be able to follow the assignment this way, so he hurried to the corner, rounding it just in time to see the assignment's back walking away. "Perfect," Arthur thought, smiling to himself. He was just far enough behind the assignment to not be seen as a threat, but close enough to be able to watch him. The man strode through the French Quarter without a care. Now that he thought he had lost his tail, he wasn't quite as difficult to follow. A few more blocks and he turned towards the river.
"Shit!" Arthur exclaimed, shabbling into run. He had to turn the corner before the assignment vanished. There were too many alleyways ahead for him to disappear into. Puffing from the exertion, he wasn't used to running, he turned the corner to spy the assignment's body disappearing down a dark alley, just as Arthur had feared. Trotting with a stitch in his side, Arthur approached the alley as quickly as he could. Slowing at his final approach, Arthur found himself staring into deep darkness with only the other end illuminated in the street lamps. Arthur didn't really want to go down this alley, but he knew he had no other choice. The assignment couldn't be seen from Arthur's end, so either he was hiding in the alleyway, or there was a door somewhere.
Checking the holster holding his pistol, Arthur trepidaciously entered the alley. This wasn't his idea of a good night at work. "But at least it's not raining anymore," he thought. Just then lightning flashed in the sky, illuminating the alley for all to see. That's when Arthur saw the men. He had all of a split second to react as they came charging at him. The lightning passed and everything plunged into darkness.
A passerby would only have heard the cracks and smacks of fist on skin. Lightning flashed again to show Arthur crouched over the men, unconscious now. He had learned quite a few things street fighting. But now, his investigator skills were kicking in, and instead of relishing the victory, Arthur was rapidly searching the men for weapons, wallets, cash. Valuables quickly recovered, Arthur scanned both entrances to the alley. No one had seen anything, there was no screams, no cries for help. It was as if nothing had happened. Arthur smiled, that was just the way he liked it.
Pulling zipcords from his pockets, Arthur quickly immobilized the men and pushed them out of the way. As the lightning flashed again, this time punctuated with close thunder, Arthur saw the door. It was disguised well, he might have missed it in the daylight as well. But just the slightest crack of light shone out from under it tonight. Checking his pistol once again, Arthur debated going in. He was only supposed to tail the assignment here. Nothing more. But the two men attacking him made Arthur wonder if he should let it go at that. The investigator in him felt that there was more to be learned by going inside.
The rain starting to fall made up Arthur's mind. He hated getting wet. So, throwing caution aside, Arthur slowly opened the door and stepped in.
The smoke was thick in the bar tonight, the jazz band crooning out a slow soft melody. The thunder had quieted down, but the sky still lit up with lightning flashes. He peered down at the drink in his hand. The scotch wasn't aged enough for his tastes, but as he was working he probably wouldn't drink it anyway. He peered through the smoke out of the open door. Now that the rain had ceased, the door had been propped open to allow the air to circulate some. It didn't really do anything except allow the sound to escape, the sound of a good time to lure new patrons into this dim lair. "A futile effort," he thought, "there isn't any tourists in this neighborhood. Nothing but drunks and low-lifes. And me." He chuckled at the thought that he was any different than the drunks or low-lifes.
"And now to work." he muttered. He had finally seen his assignment walk by. He had to tell this guy to wherever he went. That was what the client was paying for. Just a simple case of surveillance. Except nothing was simple about this assignment. The guy followed one of three routes. The only problem was he switched them at will. You couldn't simply walk behind the guy and not give away suspicions, one had to be a bit more careful. The best way was multiple tails, both following and leading. But the way this guy switched routes made it nearly impossible to stay ahead of him. They always lost him on the other side of Canal Street. He was exceptional about losing a tail in foot traffic.
So to get ahead of the assignment, Arthur made a gamble. No tails, and just hope he would pass by. Arthur had been sitting in this smoke filled bar for over an hour watching it rain, and nursing the scotch. Now was the time for action. Gathering up his bag, Arthur stumbled out the door, just another drunk headed home. He blended into the crowd, easily following the assignment. A block or two, and the assignment made a quick cut into a hotel lobby. "So that's how he is doing it." Arthur nodded. The assignment was ducking through one door, and then out on the other side, but a block away. His team wasn't quick enough to keep up with him, and by the time they realize he was gone, it was too late.
Arthur knew he wouldn't be able to follow the assignment this way, so he hurried to the corner, rounding it just in time to see the assignment's back walking away. "Perfect," Arthur thought, smiling to himself. He was just far enough behind the assignment to not be seen as a threat, but close enough to be able to watch him. The man strode through the French Quarter without a care. Now that he thought he had lost his tail, he wasn't quite as difficult to follow. A few more blocks and he turned towards the river.
"Shit!" Arthur exclaimed, shabbling into run. He had to turn the corner before the assignment vanished. There were too many alleyways ahead for him to disappear into. Puffing from the exertion, he wasn't used to running, he turned the corner to spy the assignment's body disappearing down a dark alley, just as Arthur had feared. Trotting with a stitch in his side, Arthur approached the alley as quickly as he could. Slowing at his final approach, Arthur found himself staring into deep darkness with only the other end illuminated in the street lamps. Arthur didn't really want to go down this alley, but he knew he had no other choice. The assignment couldn't be seen from Arthur's end, so either he was hiding in the alleyway, or there was a door somewhere.
Checking the holster holding his pistol, Arthur trepidaciously entered the alley. This wasn't his idea of a good night at work. "But at least it's not raining anymore," he thought. Just then lightning flashed in the sky, illuminating the alley for all to see. That's when Arthur saw the men. He had all of a split second to react as they came charging at him. The lightning passed and everything plunged into darkness.
A passerby would only have heard the cracks and smacks of fist on skin. Lightning flashed again to show Arthur crouched over the men, unconscious now. He had learned quite a few things street fighting. But now, his investigator skills were kicking in, and instead of relishing the victory, Arthur was rapidly searching the men for weapons, wallets, cash. Valuables quickly recovered, Arthur scanned both entrances to the alley. No one had seen anything, there was no screams, no cries for help. It was as if nothing had happened. Arthur smiled, that was just the way he liked it.
Pulling zipcords from his pockets, Arthur quickly immobilized the men and pushed them out of the way. As the lightning flashed again, this time punctuated with close thunder, Arthur saw the door. It was disguised well, he might have missed it in the daylight as well. But just the slightest crack of light shone out from under it tonight. Checking his pistol once again, Arthur debated going in. He was only supposed to tail the assignment here. Nothing more. But the two men attacking him made Arthur wonder if he should let it go at that. The investigator in him felt that there was more to be learned by going inside.
The rain starting to fall made up Arthur's mind. He hated getting wet. So, throwing caution aside, Arthur slowly opened the door and stepped in.
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Journeys
He paused in the shade of the tree. It was a scorching hot day. The kind where the sun evaporates the sweat as soon as it forms. The shade was a nice respite. Looking around, he spied a little stream making it's merry way a short distance off under the canopy of the forest. It seemed the idea place to take a break. His stomach rumbled it's agreement, and sealed the deal. He would stop and eat.
As he sat his pack down, he looked around. The shade prevented a lot of undergrowth from growing, but not everything. Small pockets of ferns dotted the area, and thick, mossy grass lined the edges of the stream. It was a clear stream, and seemed to be of good enough quality, he bent down to take a drink. The water was cool to the tongue, and quite nice on such a hot day. He settled himself against the tree, and removed his boots. It seemed a good idea to air out his feet while he had a chance. Sweating in boots was just as bad as walking through water. Sweat could soak socks just as quickly. Wet socks brought blisters, and blisters would hinder his progress.
Pulling his meager lunch from his pack, he leaned against the tree behind him and thought about his progress, where he was going and why. Life hadn't always been like this for him. Once he had everything that anyone could have wanted. A great job, a beautiful wife, an inquisitive son, all things he could have ever wanted. His life was one of happiness and fulfillment.
But it all ended in a flash of light. Literally. A flash of solar light. That was all it took to end the world.
He looked around, examining his surroundings. He hadn't seen many people since that day, but the ones he had seen made him very, very wary. Not seeing anything amiss, he settled back down. The end of world hadn't been anything like anyone thought. There was no big nuclear explosion, no nuclear fallout. No country to dominate the world, no USA, no China. There was no world-wide catastrophe, just plain human laziness and greed. We never thought about what the sun could do to us. We were more worried with fighting amongst ourselves. The solar wave destroyed all satellites, all means of communication, all sources of electricity. If it was connected by a wire, it exploded. The fires raced through cities that had no way of fighting them. People were stuck in buildings with no means of escape. Cars lost control and crashed into one another. It was mass chaos.
As he had traveled, he learned that even small towns were affected. Not just cities. With no power, no way to keeping food fresh, people started starving, and fighting for what food was left. The desperate ones sort of lost their humanity. They would attack the weak and old to survive. Those who had weapons fought as long as they could, but there are only so many bullets in a gun, and too many people who want what you have sometimes. He thought about how lucky he had been. Having grown up in small town USA, he knew how to survive of the land. And he had no trouble walking. When it all happened, he had been traveling home to parents on his way to see her. It was going to be the weekend he proposed to her, and asked her to come back to the city with him. They were supposed to be going camping. He had all the gear loaded. As the fires raged, and people started panicking, he just grabbed his gear and headed out.
Weeks later, he found himself here. He had yet to fire his pistol in his own defense, but there were several close calls. It hadn't taken him long to realize that major thoroughfares were not the place a person traveling wanted to be. Desperate people will try anything. He had followed the interstate at first, thinking that it's straight route would get him there quicker. And at first it had. Then he had come upon the scene of a brutal gang-rape. Her screams could be heard for nearly a mile. He had slipped into the woods beside the interstate, not wanting to be involved, not knowing how many were involved. He saw a group of men, horses nearby, doing unspeakable things to a family. The only merciful thing they did was shoot the father before he saw too much. He knew the women would soon wish for the same fate, a fate they wouldn't have. Not wanting to be caught by people such as this, he moved on as stealthily as he could. It hurt him that he didn't do more to help the people, but his own survival was paramount to him at this point. There was nothing he could have done for them that didn't involve him dying.
Soon after that, he switched to smaller highways, then to less populated back roads. The highways kept bringing him to towns and villages where marauders kept bases. After finding a treasure trove of food at an empty home, he avoided these vague memories of civilization, preferring the solitude of the back road. He slept way of the road at night, usually as close to running water as possible. Fires were small and quickly put out to avoid detection. He suffered bites and stings from pests until he found some bushes that kept them away. He kept as many of leaves as he could and would rub them on himself from time to time to keep the scent fresh. He was sure he didn't smell that great, but then no one was around to complain either.
Navigating with an old map, and a compass, he had traversed most of the way to his parents home. What usually only took him two hours had taken nearly two months. And to reach her, he still had months more to go. He only hoped that he could gain a horse at his parents. They raised cattle, and God-willing, would be in a position to help him.He just had one last obstacle to tackle, then he could finish out the last ten miles before dark. But that obstacle wasn't a little one.
A group of bandits had set up a toll bridge on what was once the bridge spanning a large creek. He knew he could get around them, he had waded many creeks, and swam one river, but they had obviously had that problem before, as they were patrolling the river in boats. He had watched them for a while, observing the situation, plotting out his course. Charging over was out of the question, he didn't have enough bullets or a way to get away other than run. Swimming across here would be perilous, but he knew a place upriver where they had once swam. If he could avoid them, he could travel far enough upriver that he might be able to avoid them all together. But to get anywhere in that direction, he would have to cross an open field. One that they were guarding. The bandits had thought this situation out quite well.
And so he sat in the shade and ate his lunch pondering. So close and yet so far away.
(to be continued...)
As he sat his pack down, he looked around. The shade prevented a lot of undergrowth from growing, but not everything. Small pockets of ferns dotted the area, and thick, mossy grass lined the edges of the stream. It was a clear stream, and seemed to be of good enough quality, he bent down to take a drink. The water was cool to the tongue, and quite nice on such a hot day. He settled himself against the tree, and removed his boots. It seemed a good idea to air out his feet while he had a chance. Sweating in boots was just as bad as walking through water. Sweat could soak socks just as quickly. Wet socks brought blisters, and blisters would hinder his progress.
Pulling his meager lunch from his pack, he leaned against the tree behind him and thought about his progress, where he was going and why. Life hadn't always been like this for him. Once he had everything that anyone could have wanted. A great job, a beautiful wife, an inquisitive son, all things he could have ever wanted. His life was one of happiness and fulfillment.
But it all ended in a flash of light. Literally. A flash of solar light. That was all it took to end the world.
He looked around, examining his surroundings. He hadn't seen many people since that day, but the ones he had seen made him very, very wary. Not seeing anything amiss, he settled back down. The end of world hadn't been anything like anyone thought. There was no big nuclear explosion, no nuclear fallout. No country to dominate the world, no USA, no China. There was no world-wide catastrophe, just plain human laziness and greed. We never thought about what the sun could do to us. We were more worried with fighting amongst ourselves. The solar wave destroyed all satellites, all means of communication, all sources of electricity. If it was connected by a wire, it exploded. The fires raced through cities that had no way of fighting them. People were stuck in buildings with no means of escape. Cars lost control and crashed into one another. It was mass chaos.
As he had traveled, he learned that even small towns were affected. Not just cities. With no power, no way to keeping food fresh, people started starving, and fighting for what food was left. The desperate ones sort of lost their humanity. They would attack the weak and old to survive. Those who had weapons fought as long as they could, but there are only so many bullets in a gun, and too many people who want what you have sometimes. He thought about how lucky he had been. Having grown up in small town USA, he knew how to survive of the land. And he had no trouble walking. When it all happened, he had been traveling home to parents on his way to see her. It was going to be the weekend he proposed to her, and asked her to come back to the city with him. They were supposed to be going camping. He had all the gear loaded. As the fires raged, and people started panicking, he just grabbed his gear and headed out.
Weeks later, he found himself here. He had yet to fire his pistol in his own defense, but there were several close calls. It hadn't taken him long to realize that major thoroughfares were not the place a person traveling wanted to be. Desperate people will try anything. He had followed the interstate at first, thinking that it's straight route would get him there quicker. And at first it had. Then he had come upon the scene of a brutal gang-rape. Her screams could be heard for nearly a mile. He had slipped into the woods beside the interstate, not wanting to be involved, not knowing how many were involved. He saw a group of men, horses nearby, doing unspeakable things to a family. The only merciful thing they did was shoot the father before he saw too much. He knew the women would soon wish for the same fate, a fate they wouldn't have. Not wanting to be caught by people such as this, he moved on as stealthily as he could. It hurt him that he didn't do more to help the people, but his own survival was paramount to him at this point. There was nothing he could have done for them that didn't involve him dying.
Soon after that, he switched to smaller highways, then to less populated back roads. The highways kept bringing him to towns and villages where marauders kept bases. After finding a treasure trove of food at an empty home, he avoided these vague memories of civilization, preferring the solitude of the back road. He slept way of the road at night, usually as close to running water as possible. Fires were small and quickly put out to avoid detection. He suffered bites and stings from pests until he found some bushes that kept them away. He kept as many of leaves as he could and would rub them on himself from time to time to keep the scent fresh. He was sure he didn't smell that great, but then no one was around to complain either.
Navigating with an old map, and a compass, he had traversed most of the way to his parents home. What usually only took him two hours had taken nearly two months. And to reach her, he still had months more to go. He only hoped that he could gain a horse at his parents. They raised cattle, and God-willing, would be in a position to help him.He just had one last obstacle to tackle, then he could finish out the last ten miles before dark. But that obstacle wasn't a little one.
A group of bandits had set up a toll bridge on what was once the bridge spanning a large creek. He knew he could get around them, he had waded many creeks, and swam one river, but they had obviously had that problem before, as they were patrolling the river in boats. He had watched them for a while, observing the situation, plotting out his course. Charging over was out of the question, he didn't have enough bullets or a way to get away other than run. Swimming across here would be perilous, but he knew a place upriver where they had once swam. If he could avoid them, he could travel far enough upriver that he might be able to avoid them all together. But to get anywhere in that direction, he would have to cross an open field. One that they were guarding. The bandits had thought this situation out quite well.
And so he sat in the shade and ate his lunch pondering. So close and yet so far away.
(to be continued...)
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