HOLD

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HOLD Page 3

by Duane P. Craig


  Sid and I en­ded up ri­ding the truck down pe­ri­me­ter stre­ets aro­und the city that we­ren’t full of cars. I had to slowly plow a few mo­re cars out of the way, but everyt­hing went smo­oth.

  Not te­aring up the trans­mis­si­on on the truck is still a pri­ority. It was abo­ut 12:30pm and rat­her over­cast when the fu­el light star­ted blin­king on the truck. The best I co­uld do was to dri­ve us in­to a high scho­ol fo­ot­ball fi­eld. Ex­cept for the small por­ti­on of a ga­te that I ran over, the rest of the fi­eld was comp­le­tely fen­ced in. I let Sid out to re­li­eve him­self and run aro­und a bit whi­le I to­ok my ho­se and gas can up on top of the tan­ker to sip­hon so­me mo­re di­esel. I got a mo­uth­ful of it aga­in and was cho­king when I he­ard Sid yel­ping out lo­ud. I lo­oked up and saw a sea of tho­se fuc­kers co­ming to­wards us. I ad­mit that I abo­ut pis­sed on myself. It was the most of them I’ve se­en at one ti­me so far. I ma­de has­te se­cu­ring the tan­ker lid, re­fil­ling the cab’s tank with what I had and get­ting Sid back in the truck. The gho­uls se­emed to co­me fas­ter as they got clo­ser. I cran­ked the en­gi­ne and dro­ve all the way to the ot­her end of the fo­ot­ball fi­eld whe­re I tur­ned aro­und and pa­used a mo­ment. The gho­uls star­ted co­ming thro­ugh the ga­te I had run over, so I gun­ned the truck and got a spe­ed of 70 by the ti­me I co­ve­red the hund­red-yard fi­eld. I swe­ar that so­me of them to­re comp­le­tely apart as I ran over them. One of the­ir he­ads ac­tu­al­ly ca­me off and split the up­rights of the end zo­ne - 3 po­ints as I re­mem­ber. I was shoc­ked they didn’t at­tempt to climb or fol­low the truck - not that they wo­uld ha­ve ca­ught me, but they se­emed to be ac­ting mo­re li­ke a herd that was stam­pe­ded in the di­rec­ti­on I had be­en. I didn’t stop the truck un­til I re­ac­hed the hu­ge par­king lot of the city’s the­me park. The lot is mas­si­ve, wi­de open and gi­ves me bet­ter vi­si­on.

  I spent the rest of the af­ter­no­on re­fu­eling the truck comp­le­tely.

  I tos­sed tho­se fu­el so­aked clot­hes and chan­ged in­to new ones.

  I’m go­ing to le­ave my sho­es on top of the cab to­night so they can air out. I’m thin­king abo­ut the the­me park - it’s qu­ite se­cu­re and the­re’s a lo­ading ga­te.

  DAY - 15

  Sid slept just fi­ne - the lit­tle shit. I tos­sed and tur­ned all night. As so­on as dayb­re­ak ca­me I put on my much bet­ter smel­ling sho­es, grab­bed the sword and star­ted to walk abo­ut the pe­ri­me­ter of the the­me park. I left Sid in the truck. I knew he’d yelp lo­ud if I had to co­me back. It wasn’t long be­fo­re I fo­und an un­de­ad park wor­ker. He was just on the ot­her si­de of its wro­ught iron ga­te. It re­ac­hed thro­ugh at me as so­on as it saw me. A ring of keys on its belt lo­op pin­ged aga­inst the ga­te. I stab­bed the fuc­ker right in its he­ad and held it still - with one hand cont­rol­ling the sword - whi­le I re­ac­hed and grab­bed its ring of keys with my ot­her hand. When I got the keys I just kic­ked the ga­te and snag­ged my sword back out of its he­ad. It fell to the gro­und and ac­ted li­ke a turt­le on its back.

  Sid la­zily gre­eted me as I got back to the truck. I dro­ve us to the lo­ading dock, which was just a big­ger ga­te in the wro­ught iron fen­cing. Mi­nu­tes la­ter and I fi­nal­ly fo­und the right key to un­lock the ga­te. I ma­de has­te and dro­ve the truck in­si­de and loc­ked the ga­te back. I fi­gu­red that with the luck I had in the last fen­ced in area I had en­te­red, it wo­uld be best to dri­ve aro­und the area be­fo­re wal­king it. Sid and I dro­ve the en­ti­re park, aro­und the ri­des or ne­arest the­ir pa­vi­li­ons. Ex­cept for a few mes­ses of folks and a few stumb­ling un­de­ad ones, we had the pla­ce to our­sel­ves. I de­ci­ded to park the truck next to the fo­od co­urt area with the big bath­ro­oms. I re­mem­be­red tho­se bath­ro­oms as be­ing the sturdy brick type with de­ad­bolt locks on the in­si­de - of co­ur­se I al­so ha­ve the keys.

  It was la­te af­ter­no­on be­fo­re one of the few gho­uls in the park had star­ted to co­me to­wards Sid and I. We we­re both full on pop­corn that I had ma­de us and a snow co­ne each I ma­de for us too. The gho­ul star­ted stumb­ling and mo­aning to­wards us as we sat at a ro­und pic­nic tab­le with one of tho­se sun umb­rel­las that ex­tends from the mid­dle of the tab­le. I pro­bably lo­oked li­ke a slob - full and lazy as I sto­od and re­adi­ed my sword. I ac­tu­al­ly to­ok my ti­me wal­king to­ward the gho­ul. I was thin­king that I ne­eded to fo­cus or I'd mess up li­ke how I did on the brid­ge. The gho­ul then de­ci­ded to try and climb the back lad­der on the tan­ker. I had to cut its hands off so it fell to the gro­und. From the­re I to­ok a golf swing at its he­ad - my first, thirty-deg­ree ang­led be­he­ading. I co­uldn’t help but la­ugh my ass off. I think it spe­aks vo­lu­mes abo­ut sa­nity. I’m adap­ting - sur­vi­ving as only a hu­man can. I'm still not­hing li­ke them. I must be in my right mind.

  DAY - 16

  Last night’s sle­ep was a bit in­ter­rup­ted. Sid was ac­tu­al­ly bar­king alo­ud at abo­ut fi­ve gho­uls that we­re wal­king aro­und in the fo­od co­urt area. Had they not be­en tras­hing everyt­hing they to­uc­hed I wo­uld ha­ve left them alo­ne and told Sid to shut-up. As my luck go­es, tho­ugh, they we­re be­ing dest­ruc­ti­ve - they dum­ped the pop­corn mac­hi­ne. That was ba­si­cal­ly the na­il in the cof­fin. I grab­bed the sword jum­ped out of the truck, and then the ot­hers I didn’t see ca­me af­ter me.

  They had ac­tu­al­ly set a trap to which I had to cut my way out of. I was lucky that most of them we­re slo­wed with ha­ving po­or legs. As they ca­me at me with outst­retc­hed arms, I cut them off. Next I just circ­led the pic­nic tab­les to split them up - easy pic­kings. I jum­ped atop the tab­les, as they are very sturdy. I then jum­ped from tab­le to tab­le un­til I had cut off each of the­ir he­ads. Fi­nal co­unt re­ve­aled twel­ve of them. I’m pro­ud that I still ha­ve my qu­ick wit and re­ac­ti­on ins­te­ad of pa­nic­king. Mom wo­uld be pro­ud aga­in. I didn’t want to sle­ep in the cab of the truck af­ter that, so I got out Sid, and we loc­ked our­sel­ves in­si­de the hu­ge bath­ro­oms. I, of co­ur­se, loc­ked the truck.

  Ne­it­her Sid nor myself re­al­ly got up and mo­ving aro­und un­til aro­und 1pm as it sa­id in the truck. Ope­ning that bath­ro­om do­or to the unex­pec­ted to­ok a bit, but I went di­rectly to the truck as so­on as I knew everyt­hing was cle­ar. We ate so­me lunch­me­at and had wa­ter.

  I de­ci­ded to drag away the bo­di­es from the pic­nic area. I li­ked the way the fo­od co­urt lo­oked when cle­an. The funny part is that I put all of the bo­di­es in the wo­men’s si­de of the bath­ro­om.

  As a tra­de, I re­mo­ved all of the to­ilet pa­per and pa­per to­wels and put them in the men’s si­de. I still loc­ked the do­or, just in ca­se tho­se bo­di­es find a way to co­me back. I still worry abo­ut that.

  The rest of the day, Sid and I wal­ked the en­ti­re the­me park. I didn’t see a sing­le ot­her gho­ul. As for­tu­ne wo­uld ha­ve it, I fo­und the ma­in bre­akers to the park and tur­ned them on.

  So­me of the ri­des star­ted up per ti­med ope­ra­ti­on. May­be if I get mo­re com­for­tab­le with the pla­ce we can try so­me. Al­so in­si­de the park tho­ugh, is a wa­ter park with a hu­ge wa­ve po­ol.

  It has its own ga­te and is loc­ked. The Wa­ter Park wasn’t open when everyt­hing went to hell. The­re's no one in­si­de. The wa­ter lo­oks very cle­an. Had it not be­en ne­ar dark, I wo­uld ha­ve chec­ked it out. I'm go­ing to dri­ve the truck up be­si­de it in the mor­ning. We'll see what’s in sto­re, then.

  DAY - 17

  I grab­bed Sid’s lazy ass as so­on as I awo­ke this mor­ning. I de­fi­ni­tely wan­ted him at my si­de. If the­re we­re anyt­hing wrong with the Wa­ter Park he wo­uld sen­se it for me. Abo­ut fif­te­en ke
ys la­ter, I had un­loc­ked the ga­te to the Wa­ter Park.

  Sid se­emed li­ke a dog on a mis­si­on, snif­fing out everyt­hing and pis­sing on everyt­hing too. I yel­led at him for pis­sing in the kiddy po­ols. I wasn’t abo­ut go in them, but the idea still didn’t sit right with me. We chec­ked the en­ti­re area and fo­und not­hing - un­til we chec­ked the bath­ro­oms. We ha­ve ac­tu­al­ly fo­und so­me­one el­se who is he­althy, ali­ve and unaf­fec­ted. She was al­most ca­ta­to­nic and had loc­ked her­self in a wo­mens­ro­om. Wit­ho­ut the key ring, we may ha­ve ne­ver fo­und her.

  I pro­bably spent an ho­ur tal­king to her and be­aming with ho­pe, yet she wo­uldn’t say a word. I can ima­gi­ne why. It wasn’t un­til Sid ap­pro­ac­hed her and lic­ked her fa­ce that she even re­ac­ted to us. She im­me­di­ately be­gan pet­ting Sid and then le­aped in­to my arms. I co­uld only hug her back and lis­ten to her sob­bing.

  Sid and I ma­na­ged to spend the rest of the day wal­king her thro­ugh the en­ti­re the­me park and sho­wing her how I had se­cu­red it for the ti­me be­ing. She se­emed ap­pre­hen­si­ve in al­most every step but still sta­yed at our si­des. I no­ti­ced that she was dres­sed in kha­ki, Cap­ri pants and the usu­al red, col­la­red, the­me park shirt. Then I saw her na­me­tag. Her na­me is Beth. Af­ter that I be­gan to ad­dress her by na­me.

  Beth to­ok to the truck qu­ite well. She hur­ri­ed in­si­de the cab li­ke it was her sanc­tu­ary. I lo­aded Sid in the cab, loc­ked the wa­ter park ga­te and then got be­hind the whe­el of the truck. I dro­ve us back to the fo­od co­urt. On­ce back to the fo­od co­urt area, I star­ted to fix her so­me stuff to eat. Beth pus­hed me asi­de and star­ted to get her own fo­od. She knew exactly whe­re everyt­hing was, too. I co­uldn’t be­li­eve a pe­ti­te girl co­uld eat so much. She lo­oks li­ke any num­ber of chicks I wo­uld da­te, but I’d ha­te to pay for her ap­pe­ti­te. She still won’t spe­ak eit­her. All she’s do­ne is of­fer me a thank­ful lo­ok oc­ca­si­onal­ly or ta­ke to scratc­hing Sid be­hind his ears. She didn’t re­act well to me tal­king abo­ut sle­eping in the truck, tho­ugh. I'm gu­es­sing she has fa­ith in loc­ked bath­ro­oms. It's go­ing to be hard exp­la­ining why she can't go to the wo­mens­ro­om.

  DAY - 18

  A storm rip­ped thro­ugh the city be­fo­re dawn. The thun­der awo­ke us. It wor­se­ned our si­tu­ati­on in that it knoc­ked out the po­wer. Sid whi­ned, and Beth fo­und me with her hands and then clung to my left arm. Af­ter I fi­nal­ly ma­na­ged to get Sid and Beth in­to the truck, I dro­ve us to the lo­ading ga­te, un­loc­ked it on­ce mo­re and left the the­me park be­hind us.

  I spent the en­ti­re day go­ing down storm-ra­va­ged stre­ets. I mostly stuck to the pe­ri­me­ter of the city. It was get­ting to be la­te af­ter­no­on when Beth po­in­ted out of the winds­hi­eld to the sa­me thing I had just no­ti­ced - the city’s hu­ge, mu­ni­ci­pal air­port still had po­wer and was all lit-up. I ins­tantly dro­ve us the­re. On­ce at the ma­in ent­ran­ce, we co­uld see that the­re we­re hund­reds of the gho­uls stumb­ling abo­ut in the area. Most of them we­re ne­ar the hubs and ter­mi­nals; so­me in the par­king are­as and the ot­hers we­re lag­ging abo­ut on the run­ways. I ma­de a qu­ick de­ci­si­on for us to at­tempt en­te­ring the best pla­ce in the en­ti­re air gro­unds - the flight to­wer. It was still lit-up as well, and the gho­uls we­re now­he­re ne­ar it. I dro­ve us right to the to­wer’s ent­ran­ce. Beth grab­bed Sid and both got out, I grab­bed the sword and ma­de su­re the truck was loc­ked up and we all en­te­red the to­wer lobby wit­ho­ut a prob­lem. In the lobby I had only to re­mo­ve the ID cards from one of a few che­wed up wor­kers in the to­wer. The cards got us in­to the ele­va­tor and up to the ma­in deck. I cut the hell out of the only three un­de­ad wor­kers that we­re in the ma­in deck. We got lucky that they didn’t rush us as so­on as the ele­va­tor do­ors ope­ned. I ma­de a mess of tho­se three pretty qu­ick. Beth lo­oked a bit imp­res­sed, but she se­emed to want to stay mo­re at­tac­hed to Sid the rest of the eve­ning. I ma­de anot­her trip in the ele­va­tor for our lunch­me­ats and the last of our so­das. No gho­uls we­re even ne­ar the truck - an easy task for on­ce.

  I tri­ed to com­mu­ni­ca­te a few things to Beth aga­in. I am star­ting to won­der if she ever did talk in the first pla­ce.

  May­be she’s a mu­te. Still, tho­ugh, she trusts me and la­id her he­ad upon my sho­ul­der as we all three sat in the flo­or eating. I la­ter la­id her sle­eping he­ad atop Sid’s sle­eping body. Ne­it­her of them even bud­ged from the­ir slum­ber. I ha­ve tur­ned my at­ten­ti­on to the com­pu­ters he­re in the to­wer. I won’t be sle­eping un­til I find so­me ans­wers.

  DAY - 19

  I las­ted a few ho­urs on the In­ter­net last night. I still awo­ke be­fo­re Sid or Beth and was back on the In­ter­net aga­in. I ha­ve fo­und not­hing that exp­la­ins what’s hap­pe­ned. My only ho­pe is that I can find a func­ti­onal chat ro­om. That wo­uld be the only thing that wo­uld ma­ke sen­se if pe­op­le we­re on­li­ne now.

  The prob­lem is that I ne­ver sig­ned up for any of tho­se high pri­ced ser­vi­ces with all of the chat ro­om fe­atu­res, and I highly do­ubt they are re­gis­te­ring new users any­mo­re.

  When Beth and Sid awo­ke, we all to­ok a trip down in the ele­va­tor. I held the sword re­ady stan­ding in front of them as the do­ors ope­ned at the ba­se of the to­wer. I was ex­pec­ting a very ru­de re­cep­ti­on. I was thank­ful­ly let down. The­re we­re only a few gho­uls slap­ping at the tan­ker. I told Beth to stay back with Sid as I ad­van­ced in­to what I do best. The gho­uls tur­ned on me as so­on as I got ne­ar them. I ac­tu­al­ly cut two of them ac­ross the­ir fa­ces at on­ce. It only stal­led them, tho­ugh. I ra­ced to the back of the tan­ker to ma­ke su­re the­re we­ren’t any­mo­re co­ming that I hadn’t se­en yet. I saw a mass of them all po­un­ding on the glass ent­ran­ce do­ors to the ma­in ter­mi­nals of the air­port. The rest we­re still very scat­te­red abo­ut. Then Beth scre­amed. One of the gho­uls was pa­cing af­ter her. I qu­ickly dow­ned the ot­her gho­uls aro­und me and ma­de has­te to re­ach Beth. Beth was trying to get the ele­va­tor do­ors to open aga­in. I got right up be­hind the gho­ul just as the ele­va­tor do­ors ope­ned. Beth drag­ged Sid away from the do­ors, off to the si­de, and I bu­ri­ed the sword down in­to the gho­ul’s sho­ul­der and tor­so. The gho­ul fell for­ward in­to the open ele­va­tor on its kne­es. The ele­va­tor do­ors then shut on my sword and didn’t open up. I snatc­hed the sword from its stuck po­si­ti­on. Beth tug­ged at my sho­ul­der to get back in the truck. I ha­ted to le­ave be­hind so­me of our fo­od, but I ob­li­ged her. We lo­aded up, and I dro­ve us out to the back of the ter­mi­nal to­wards the bo­ar­ding ga­tes. I fo­und an iso­la­ted re­pa­ir shed for tugs and bag­ga­ge carts. It’s big eno­ugh I co­uld park the tan­ker in­si­de.

  It has a roll down do­or that has us se­cu­red qu­ite well. The­re we­re no thre­ats in­si­de this re­pa­ir shed for me to ha­ve to de­al with - a wel­co­me thing, as I’m no­ti­cing how I get easily ti­red from figh­ting when eating less. Se­arc­hing the shed for anyt­hing use­ful, I fo­und a com­pu­ter still log­ged on to AOL. I chec­ked for users on­li­ne and fo­und them all in one ma­in chat ro­om tit­led, “sur­vi­vors.” I’m ho­ping to find ans­wers.

  DAY - 20

  The­re’s be­en one cons­tant guy log­ged on to the chat ro­om all night. His scre­en na­me is GE­NE­RALS­TAR3. He’s be­en pos­ting just one thing all night long to ever­yo­ne who’s log­ged on wan­ting to know the truth. This is it… …Na­no­tech­no­logy was to be the mic­ro­bi­olo­gi­cal wa­ve of the fu­tu­re. It was be­ing per­fec­ted every­day for the past fif­te­en ye­ars ba­sed on mic­ros­co­pic com­pu­ter­bots the si­ze of the smal­lest c
ells in any ani­mal or­ga­nism. They had re­ac­hed ani­mal bi­os­ta­sis and re­ge­ne­ra­ti­ve sta­tus as of three we­eks ago. Or­ders we­re to re­le­ase them in­to a cont­rol­led, air­tight gre­en­ho­use of sorts with a slew of fresh kills (in va­ri­o­us ways) of cat­tle. The sa­me ex­pe­ri­ment has be­en fa­iling for over a de­ca­de le­aving only the mass cons­pi­ra­ci­es of cat­tle mu­ti­la­ti­ons when the cows are dum­ped on va­ri­o­us farm­lands.

  This last ex­pe­ri­ment, tho­ugh, did not fa­il. Each mu­ti­la­ted cow was re­ge­ne­ra­ted ex­cept for the ones that had se­ve­red ne­uro systems. The bra­in is still the ca­talyst for every ot­her func­ti­on to ope­ra­te in the rest of the body. The ex­pe­ri­ment went wrong in terms of simp­le prog­ram­ming. The na­no­tech­no­logy are com­pu­ters but un­for­tu­na­tely sto­red only with mi­ni­ma­lis­tic in­for­ma­ti­on ac­cor­ding to ac­ti­ons and ro­uti­ne func­ti­ons of ani­mals. The na­no­tech­no­logy simply per­for­med the­ir de­sig­ned task in re­pa­iring bra­in tis­sue first and then furt­her thro­ug­ho­ut the bo­di­es. The fa­ult tho­ugh, is in the prog­ram­ming me­mo­ri­es that de­fa­ul­ted to ani­ma­lis­tic ins­tinct - not­hing mo­re. The cat­tle went crazy, tur­ned on each ot­her and even­tu­al­ly bro­ke out of the gre­en­ho­use. Every per­son en­co­un­te­red and kil­led from the car­ni­vo­ro­us cat­tle was re­ge­ne­ra­ted via furt­her na­no­tech­no­logy - the trans­fer is thro­ugh blo­od or sa­li­va. The na­no­tech­no­logy self-rep­ro­du­ce al­so, thus not al­lo­wing an ab­rupt end to this si­tu­ati­on. One’s best de­fen­se is to hold up anyw­he­re se­cu­re with fo­od and wa­ter. We will so­on be mo­un­ting a mi­li­tary of­fen­si­ve from our ba­se in Gro­om La­ke. God bless….

 

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