by Joe DeRouen
Around noon, I crested a rise, the sun shining on my face. I sat, smiling as the blue bay shone, stretching out ahead. In the distance I saw the city, and the world famous Golden Gate Bridge. In the bay, lay a small speck which I knew was Alcatraz.
A voice deep within me urged me to make way there. An island might be the perfect haven from the Treaters; but I just wanted to sit. I didn’t want to be alone again.
Hours passed as I gazed at the water, dusk gathering around me. I guess I should have been scared. I mean, they were coming, weren’t they?
I reached into my sack, pulling out my Glock 9mm. It was still in its Velcro holster. I hadn’t even touched the metal of it in two years, ever since Tommy had found it in my dresser and shot himself in the leg, severing his femoral artery. My twelve year old son died alone, and according to the coroner, in extreme pain.
So, me and Mr. Glock had an appointment with Hell. Hey, I was already in here, wasn’t I? The sun set on the woods behind me. I felt movement all around me as I cocked the action and put the barrel in my mouth.
You won’t take me, you bastards!
About the Author
Author of the Tale of the Neverwar, a multi-dimensional, apocalyptic, fantasy romance series, CJ Rutherford is ex-Air Force. He is a self-proclaimed gibberish writer, yet people seem to still enjoy his novels. When he’s not writing or playing host to a very demanding dragon, he serves the role of ‘Dad’s Taxi’ to his daughters. Look for him on social media or his Facebook fan group, ‘Claude’s Cataclysm.’
www.talesoftheneverwar.com
https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100009647593558
https://www.facebook.com/talesoftheneverwar
Twitter: @coljr3
G+: https://plus.google.com/+colinrutherfordTalesoftheNeverwar/posts
Dead Eye
Jada Ryker
Dedication
Thank you to Jada’s Betas, superhero readers, for reviewing the short story. Through their efforts, it is a better quality and more polished story. Jada’s Betas are Paul “Eagle Eye” Carwile, Grace “Captain” Kirkland, and Joyce “Joy of Syntax” Beauchamp. Heather Osborne and Bryan Miller provided professional editing and proofreading services. They may be reached through the website at www.williambryanmiller.com.
Any errors are the sole responsibility of the author.
Chapter One
“When you said we’d indulge in stimulating reading material during the drive to the Halloween party, I thought you meant something else.” Alex Caldwell sounded like his teeth were clenched.
Surprised, Marisa Adair looked up from the glow of her tablet. “What can be more stimulating than ‘Will Your Self-Driving Car Be Programmed to Kill You?’ It’s on the University of Alabama’s webpage. Dr. Matt Windsor, the well-known bioethicist, wonders what will happen if an accident can’t be avoided. Will the automatic car be programmed to kill the driver, if it will save more people in the other cars? Or will the driver of the car be the computer’s number one priority…” Her eyes widened, and then closed, as Alex’s words penetrated her thoughts.
She twisted in the passenger seat to stare at him in consternation. “Oh. You didn’t think I meant intellectual stimulation.”
Alex stared straight ahead, his face bathed in the dim illumination of the Celica’s dashboard. Above his dark green, cable-knit sweater, his sharp, predatory face was flushed in mortification. Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, he ran the other one over his short, dark hair, spiky on top. He briefly glanced at her. He hastily turned away, his dark blue gaze firmly on the road. Alex looked attractive, dangerous…and embarrassed. He cleared his throat.
Wet sleet skittered across the windshield, popping like hot oil in an iron skillet. Alex flipped on the wipers. He leaned forward to peer at the windshield. “It looks like a wintery mix. We shouldn’t have snow in October.”
“Let me check the weather forecast.” Marisa touched her tablet. “I should have known, since we’re surrounded by isolated wilderness. No reception.”
“We’re still about fifteen miles from our destination. I hope the weather doesn’t get any worse.”
“You know how fluky Kentucky weather can be. I can remember going trick-or-treating in the snow. My brothers and I took old sheets we found in the dump, put them over our heads, and cut eyeholes in them.”
“Were there even houses within walking distance? Your family lived even farther out in the sticks than mine, less than twenty miles from this God-forsaken country road.” Alex slowed the car, taking the wet, hair-pin turns at a cautious speed. The headlights flashed on the tall trees, the bare branches gleaming with sleet and rain, and tossing in the cold wind. Looming on both sides of the narrow road, the trees pressed close to the winding lane, as if they were ready to grab the car and crush it in the gnarled branches.
“On Halloween, we had to walk a couple of miles to the church. The priest always had tons of popcorn balls and little paper bags of candy. Around the parsonage, there were a few houses we could hit.”
“Why did you walk, Marisa? I seem to remember your father roaring around the area in a battered pickup truck.”
“My father was too angry at us to take us trick-or-treating.”
“Angry?”
“He was mad at us for existing. He’d never drive us around to trick-or-treat. It was probably a good thing, since he was generally too drunk to drive.”
“Your mother could have driven you. She was behind the wheel from time to time…”
“She was only allowed to drive if my father wanted more to drink, and he didn’t want to leave the house. The rest of the time, my mother was sunk in a stupor of depression.”
“Mrs. Adair seems fairly stable now, considering she lives on cigarettes, diet soda, and her nerves. At the time, she didn’t get help for her illness?”
“What help? We lived in the middle of nowhere. My mother’s family ‘disowned’ her when she married her drunken brute of a husband. Her only hiding place was the dark abyss of her own mind. She didn’t even notice when we donned our sheets, woo hooing and shaking our arms as we headed out into the night.”
“They were simple, yet effective, costumes.”
“They also served as disguises.” Marisa laughed.
“Disguises? What do you mean?” Alex turned up the heat to clear the foggy windshield.
“The school bullies caught us the first year we went out on Halloween night. I was the oldest, and had learned about trick-or-treating at school. I convinced my younger brothers to go with me. With visions of candy dancing in our heads, we ran to the church in our normal, torn and dirty clothes. Unfortunately, the gang of bullies rounded us up and herded us home, like they were vicious sheepdogs, and we were sheep that had gotten above themselves.”
“I’m sorry, Marisa.” He reached over and placed a hand on her leg. He squeezed, offering comfort.
Marisa enjoyed the heat and comfort of his hand. She wondered what would happen after the party. They’d been dating for some time, but by mutual agreement were taking things slow. Will that change tonight? She imagined Alex taking her into his arms. In her low-heeled shoes, she’d be on eye level with him. The heat would build, low in her belly, as he stared into her eyes. He’d angle his head, and press his lips to hers. Marisa shivered in anticipation, huddling in her dark purple sweater.
Alex moved his hand to the heater controls. “Are you cold?”
“Not exactly.” She wondered how he’d react if she voiced her thoughts. Her lips twitched. He’d get his stimulating conversation, she thought.
“We went through the first eight years of school together. I wish I could have protected you.” He sighed. “At least today, schools take bullying more seriously.”
Marisa jerked her thoughts away from the excitement of speeding up—and heating up—her relationship with Alex. She frowned, memories of the past injuries, and Alex’s unexpected defense, engulfing her. “I’m almost forty years old, and yet the long-ago injustice
still rankles. The kids got away scot-free. Sometimes I wish I could go back in time. I’d have a hell of time, taking up for my younger self.”
When Alex remained silent, Marisa shook herself, as if shaking off the tendrils of the past. “Anyway, after we got as much candy as we could, we had to face the long walk back home.”
She stared through the wet windshield, the ice briefly glistening before it was swept away by the wipers, only to be replaced by the next gush of early winter. “This isolated country road reminds me of those long-ago trick-or-treating expeditions. We were so excited about the candy haul, we barely realized the walk was majorly spooky. No houses, impenetrable forest, owls hooting and animals rustling in the undergrowth, and no streetlights. Just like this road.”
A blur of black scuttling from the bushes caught Marisa’s attention. “Stop!”
Alex hit the brakes. The car fishtailed from one side of the narrow road to the other. The burning smell of brakes filled the interior.
The black form was motionless in the road, the eyes bright in the headlights.
“A black cat?” Alex guessed.
“That’s all we need is for a black cat to cross our path.”
“It’s not like you to be superstitious.” Alex leaned forward to peer through the icy windshield. “What’s he doing out here in the wilderness? He must be lost.”
Marisa stared at the form. It looked familiar, but not feline.
He unbuckled his seatbelt. “Let’s see if he has a tag.”
The little creature turned around, presenting his hindquarters to his watchers. His tail bristled, and then shook in a spasm that was definitely not like a cat.
“Don’t open the door!” Marisa clutched Alex’s arm. She pulled him nearer to her, and away from the door.
Alex leaned closer to her. “Marisa,” he breathed, leaning nearer. He stared into her eyes. Breathing sharply, he feathered his fingers down her arm. When he reached her hand, he gently caressed the back of it. His clean scent filled Marisa’s senses. He slowly slid his fingers between her fingers, like—
“Oh, my God!” Marisa choked, pulling away and hiding her face in her sweater.
“Hey—” Alex broke off and gasped. He buried his face in his green sweater. “What is that awful smell?”
“Skunk,” Marisa answered indistinctly from inside her sweater. “Look, he’s waddling back to the woods.” She watched the small form disappear into the forest. “Huh. He’s not waddling, he’s strutting, victorious against the interlopers.”
Alex kept his face in his sweater as he fumbled with his seatbelt. “We have to get away from the smell—” He threw the car in drive, and squealed tires.
“I don’t think we can get away from the smell,” Marisa said morosely. “I think the skunk sprayed the front of the car. On purpose.”
Alex glanced over at her, and then back to the road. He kept his sweater over his nose. “Marisa, the skunk didn’t have a hidden agenda.”
“His appearance was a sign. He tried to tell us to turn back.” Marisa shuddered.
“It wasn’t a sign. It was a natural defense. A skunk uses its smell to protect itself.”
Marisa perked up. “Speaking of protection, I brought my Firestar.”
Surprised, Alex emerged from his sweater. He hastily pulled it back up over his face. “Oh, no you didn’t bring your gun to a party,” he said accusingly, staring at her with narrowed eyes.
“Road! Curve!” When he quickly turned back to the road, Marisa crossed her arms over her chest. “Oh, yes, I did.”
“You’ll have to leave it in the car. They’ll check us for weapons at the door.”
Marisa sat up straight. “Where the hell are you taking us?”
Alex took a deep breath, and let it out, as if he were holding on to his temper. “I told you, it’s a Halloween party.”
The car rounded the curve. In a clearing on the left, a building squatted in the light of a single security light mounted high above it. The windows gleamed with a dull luminescence, different from the clean, bright glow of a modern convenience store. A metal sign at the gravel entrance to the deserted parking area was lit by a single, flickering bulb.
Alex straightened in his seat in anticipation. “Let’s stop. I’ll fill the tank, and we can grab a drink. Maybe there’s a carwash in back.”
“Unless the carwash shoots tomato juice, I don’t think that’s going to help.”
“What does the sign say? I wonder if they take BP cards.”
“Home of the Happy Hookers,” Marisa read aloud. She twisted in her seat. “Alex, I don’t think that’s a quick-stop gas station. I think it’s a brothel.”
“Marisa, there are gas pumps. I never heard of a house of ill repute with regular, plus, and supreme gasoline… not that I’ve ever been in one,” Alex added hastily. He signaled a left turn.
“Alex! You’re not stopping! We’re out in the wilderness at night, on a spooky one-lane road, with no cell service. If this were a movie, that old building would serve as our ticket to a bloody urban legend.”
“Marisa! You’re the bravest person I know. Stop acting like an empty-headed teenager in a horror flick. I’m stopping.”
Chapter Two
“Alex, this Ovaltine jar looks exactly like the jar my grandmother kept over her stove. She used to make it for me on the rare occasions my parents took us to her house. It tasted like crap, but I loved getting non-violent attention.” Marisa glanced around the dimly-lit, deserted store. The heavy wooden shelves, loaded with old-fashioned products, seemed to press in on her. As she nervously shifted, the uneven plank floor, black with age, creaked eerily under her feet.
Alex took the jar from her. “It’s so dark in here, it’s difficult to see, but I don’t think there’s an expiration date.”
“Nowadays, everything has an expiration date. I bet it’s the original stock. I wonder if it’s the store where my grandfather bought his moonshine. Did we go back in time fifty years?”
“No, it’s just as my mother left it,” a voice answered in Marisa’s ear.
Marisa jumped away from the sepulchral hiss, landing against Alex’s hard, muscular body. He put his arms around her, drawing her close in a warm, protective embrace.
“I’ve kept it exactly as my parents kept it when I was a little boy. My mother said the modern shops were too hygienic; her shop never was, and never will be, reminiscent of a hospital.” The top of the small man’s head didn’t reach Marisa’s shoulder. His short black hair was as smooth and unreflective as hard-mined coal. His face was gray, as though the skin leached its tone from the shadowy store. The black suit was shabby, with spots worn thin. The dark material looked as if an admonitory tap on the shoulder would raise clouds of dust.
“This outdated food might land you in a hospital.” Keeping one arm around Marisa, Alex slid the Ovaltine back on the shelf.
“The nearest gas station is in the city, over an hour away,” the storekeeper gloated. “We have a monopoly on the boondocks, Marisa Adair and Alex Caldwell.”
Marisa felt Alex stiffen next to her. She took a shaky breath. Did Alex miss one of the turns? Are we dead? Is this a bizarre purgatory? Marisa tried to rein in her galloping imagination. “How do you know our names?”
“My little hobby is keeping up with former classmates on the internet. To gather information, I have to travel to the library in the city. There’s no internet signal here, since it’s a dead zone, and a computer would be a waste of money.” He glided to Marisa.
Dead zone? Marisa shivered.
“You’ve done well for yourself, Alex. You’re the Chief Executive Officer of Kentucky’s only trauma hospital.” The storekeeper’s eyes narrowed. “Marisa, I’m not so sure about you. You’re on a leave of absence from the trauma hospital. Yet, here you are, gallivanting about the boondocks with your boss. I’d guess a pending sexual harassment suit, but I’m not sure which one is the plaintiff.”
Emotions, including anger followed by distaste,
flickered in Alex’s face. “What an unusual hobby,” he finally stated.
The storekeeper’s mouth twitched on one side. His dark eyes were impassive.
“I’ll grab some water.” Alex looked over his shoulder before he disappeared around the corner.
The small man moved, invading Marisa’s personal space. Before she could react, he took her hand. His icy fingers stroked hers. “I’m sorry about the passings of your father and brother. Billy Ray Adair and Mosely Adair made their marks in similar ways, through hard drinking and harder living.”
Marisa was shocked, both by his words and his unwelcome touch. She was rooted in place, unable to pull away. His fingers continued their rhythmic movements, like cold snakes writhing on her trapped hand.
“When my father was alive, I tried to stay off his radar.” The storekeeper stared up into her face. His dark eyes were focused on hers, waiting and watching. His sharp face was thin, his nose short, and his chin pointed, like a skull covered with opaque gray paper.
Marisa wanted to free her hand, but she couldn’t move. The frostbite-cold fingers reminded her of the tiny shack where she had spent her chaotic childhood. It was cold in the winter. The wood stove was too hot up close, with the rest of room freezing beyond its immediate vicinity.
The storekeeper’s words penetrated her distracted thoughts. Alex mentioned moonshine. The clerk said he tried to stay off his father’s radar. So did I, when my father was in a drunken rage... which seemed to be all of the time. “Your father was an alcoholic, and if you got his attention, you also got a beating.”
The cold fingers stilled. “That’s a good guess, from your perspective. Given your father’s history as a prolific drunk, yours is the voice of personal experience. No, my father constantly wanted to play ball or go fishing. My brother loves the outdoors, including fishing and hunting. Poss took the bullet, so to speak.”