HSnodgrass
5th Jun 2009, 03:46
In the middle of a lonely stretch of desert in the American Southwest sat an old bed and breakfast with an unused gas pump out front. The paint on the pump was chipped and the metal underneath was as rusty as the few cars that remained, abandoned, in the small parking lot in front of the building. The sign hanging over the double door entrance was dilapidated and faded beyond recognition mirroring the weather-stained boards covering up windows that once held glass. A loud hum from a gas generator competed with the wind for the title of being the only sound for miles.
Inside, two men sat at a bar on the floor level of the three story abode. One man, his hair gray and skin like leather, sat on a stool with a glass of dusty whiskey in hand. The other had feint red hair and stood with a slight hunch behind the bar, cleaning a glass with a dirty rag.
Neither one talked much but occasionally the sitting man would grunt and wave a hand. The bartender would pour him more ancient whiskey out of a dirty bottle with an unreadable label then go back to washing dishes as the sitting man stared into his drink.
Light from the setting sun shone through gaps in the plywood over the windows and doors. It reflected at obtuse angles off of the old bottles of liquor behind the bar, cutting trails through the ambient light provided by two dim bulbs at either end of the bar. The dust in the air became illuminated with streaks of reddish orange beams that complemented the wood interior of the small room.
“Rustic,” the sitting man said in a low tone of voice, never taking his eyes off of the auburn liquid in his glass.
“Yeah?” the bartender sat his glass down and it sparkled for about five seconds before dust gathered on it, rendering the cleaning pointless.
“Like a cabin in the woods. Wooden bar, shelves, walls. Even the felt on the pool table compliments it. You build this place?”
“Naw, after the war I wandered a bit. I hit some trouble and decided I wanted to settle down. I wound up here, it was abandoned, and decided to set up shop.” The bartender leaned over the bar, resting his elbows on the wood.
“Not bad. You get a lot of visitors?” the sitting man now raised is face from the drink and sat up straight.
“Every once and a while, generally wanderers like yourself. The name’s Devlin, Devlin Sharp.”
Devlin extended his hand towards the sitting man, who shook it briefly.
“Able Lynch. You ever have any problems with raiders or cannibals posing as guests?” Able hunched over the bar again, face down.
“Strange question, stranger. I did once. Raider came in here, drank with me and talked, then in the middle of the night let his two friends in the door. I woke up when they were robbing the bar. I didn’t even fire a warning shot, just three from my twelve gauge. Dropped every one dead. Never happened again. I’m a damn good shot and sleep light, you’d do best to remember that.”
Devlin stared at Able’s lowered face, noticing the deep creases of age and the large scar over his right eye. Able looked up at Devlin and for the first time looked him in the eye. His eye underneath the scar was pure white, with only a hint at where the pupil used to be. As Able spoke his mouth barely moved but his grizzled face articulated his speech well.
“Don’t worry about that Devlin, I’m too old to steal. Now I just wander. I’m looking for something.”
Devlin lightened up a bit, the suspicious look on his middle aged face was replaced by a hearty smile showing his yellow teeth.
“What is it?”
“I’m not sure yet, but I know it’s out there.”
The bartender laughed and turned around, grabbing the glass he had just cleaned. It was dirty again from all the dust in the air so he began cleaning it again.
“I get it. The old mysterious guy.” He said.
Able said nothing; just finished his whiskey, grunted, and waved for another.
The gas generator was silent now and the sun had fully retreated. Wind rustled throughout the bed and breakfast, shaking the boards over the windows and making the bottles of liquor in the bar clink together. Able was fast asleep on a grungy bed on the second story of the building. A rifle leaned against the nightstand on his right and his hand gripped a large knife hidden under his pillow.
He slept in his clothes, a sweat stained, olive green t shirt with black, military issue cargo pants. Around his waist was a large belt adorned with pockets and compartments that held ammunition, small rations, and other survival equipment. His boots were black leather and held an empty sheathe on the left ankle. A large backpack rested at the foot of the bed.
A piercing wail violently awoke the old man. He snapped out of bed, backpack on and rifle in his hand within a second. He heard frantic footsteps coming down the stairs and stepped out of his door to meet Devlin.
The younger man held a sawn off shotgun gun in one hand and a large flashlight in the other. He had not bothered to get dressed and was in nothing but boxer shorts and sandals.
“What the hell is that?” Able questioned in a low but harsh tone.
“Motion sensor alarm. Follow me.”
Able followed Devlin down the dark, narrow hall and downstairs to a room behind the bar. Devlin started a small gas generator in the room and turned on a television screen against the wall across from the door. A white light illuminated the otherwise black room showing a rack with two rifles on it and a crate half full with boxes of ammunition.
The television flickered a few times and slowly the static turned into a picture. The men saw a humanoid figure approaching the gas pump and, even though the picture was in black and white, could tell he or she was bleeding badly. They watched as the figure reached the pump and slumped against it leaving a trail of dark black on everything it touched.
“It looks like a kid.” Able remarked.
“Yeah, yeah it does. Should we go see if we can help?” Devlin didn’t take his eyes off the picture for a second.
“I guess we ought to.”
The men walked hesitantly out into the parking lot, guns loaded and at the ready. The figure near the pump was now slumped on the ground, obscured by the near total darkness of a moonless desert night.
The figure’s breathing was loud, heavy, and wet with erratic gasps. When they were about ten feet away from the pump, they got their first real sight of the person.
Devlin’s flashlight lanced through the dark and illuminated a teenaged male in the fetal position hugging the base of the gas pump. The kid was covered in dark red blood and had several visible puncture marks on his chest, forearms, throat, and face. As the men got closer the kid let out a moan that chilled them both to the bone.
“Aw Jesus Christ, buddy, what did this to you?” Devlin stood about five feet away from the mess, flashlight and shotgun aimed at him.
The kid let out another moan then gasped for air but got mostly blood with a loud gurgle.
Devlin crouched down and got closer, Able was standing behind him. Before the bartender got within reach of the boy a shot rang out. Blood erupted from the head of the kid and sprayed the bartender.
“Holy s***! What the f*** did you do that for?” the bartender shot up straight and wheeled around, gun and light aimed dead at Able’s face.
“He was suffering. You know there was nothing we could do to help him.” Able’s voice was somber as he loaded another shot into his rifle.
“Now let’s get this kid into your bar. I want to find out what mauled him.”
Devlin went for the generator behind the building as Able carried the body in on his shoulder, laying it down the bar. The hum of the gas generator came back as the lights inside the bar came on, illuminating the carnage.
Devlin came through the double doors leading from the bar to the parking lot, admiring the trail of blood leading into his home. He approached Able who was quick at work, cutting the clothes off of the corpse with his knife and examining the various puncture wounds. Able, like the doors, parking lot, gas pump, and now bar, was covered in a deep crimson liquid.
“So,” Devlin asked, his voice shaky from the sight, “What got him?”
Able was prodding the wounds with his fingers, measuring depth. The shallowest was a quarter inch, the deepest the length of his middle finger. The throat was almost completely torn out, seemingly from a claw or long fingernail. What puzzled Able the most, though, were the deep cuts on the forearms. They were fresher than the other wounds indicating that the kid fought back after he had been ravaged.
“I’m not sure. Must’ve been bad though, the kid kept fighting back with a ripped jugular.”
“Jesus, what should we do with him?” the bartender’s fear and disgust seeped into his demeanor.
“Keep him here until morning, then bury him. I’d suggest we get to barricading this place, whatever he ran into might still want him.”
Able covered the body then joined Devlin gathering stools, loose wood, and anything else they could use to fortify the bed and breakfast with.
They reinforced the plywood over the windows on the first floor with barstool legs and flipped the pool table on its side and shoved it up against the double front doors. The barred the back door with an old chair from upstairs, putting the back of the chair against the handle and reinforced the legs with two of the heavier mattresses from upstairs.
On the second story, they propped the bed frames against the windows and left the doors to the rooms open.
They made their way to the third floor, Devlin’s room. The door was on the roof and had a pull string that, when pulled, brought down a ladder. They agreed that if they were attacked this would be their Alamo but the room, a converted attic, also had a ladder leading to the roof incase they needed to get out quick.
Devlin went to a dresser near his bed, rummaged through it, the came out with two walkie talkies. He gave on to Able and they discussed their plan of action.
“Alright,” Devlin started, “This is the most fortified place in the building. I’ve got food and water up here enough for a month, just incase. I’ve also got shotgun shells and a couple pistols stashed up here but the best advantage is the roof access. That’s where you come in.”
“I get you, I’ll be on the roof with my rifle and you watch the motion sensor cameras.”
“Exactly,” Devlin said, “I see something I don’t like down there I radio you and you shoot it.”
“Sounds good to me,” Able said, “But how am I going to see anything from up there? It’s damn near pitch black outside.”
“I’ll give you the flashlight, it’s five hundred thousand candle power. It’ll light anything up at a hundred yards.”
“Alright, any contingency if something gets inside?”
“I run up here and we hold out. There’s food and water for a month.”
“Alright. Simple enough.”
It had been about forty five minutes of boredom for Able, sitting in an uncomfortable position on a hot roof and he was now starting to get a headache from the booze earlier. Thoughts of anything coming after the body were slowly fading from his mind as he stared out into the darkness ahead. Even with his eyes adjusted to it he could only make out very feint shapes of cars in the parking lot and he couldn’t even see the gas pump. He was contemplating a nap when he heard the siren shriek to life inside the bed and breakfast.
It startled him so bad he jumped, in the process loosing his backpack. As it rolled off the roof and landed with a thud he came to the frightening realization that most of his ammo was in there. Brushing the fear aside, he picked up the walkie talkie.
“Devlin, this is Able. Can you see it?”
The radio hissed and crackled for a second.
“Negative. I’ve been through all the cameras. Could’ve been a big lizard or some tumbleweeds. Keep on guard and I’ll let you know if I get a visual.”
This did not reassure Able, who was now counting his remaining ammo.
“Twenty shots in the belt, six in the gun.” The old man said to himself.
He stared out into the horizon. Shapes of mountains could be made out in the distance, a slight shade darker than the moonless night. The vast track of stars shone with vigor and every beam of light tried it’s hardest to reach the surface of Earth but was defeated by the enormity of infinite space.
The old man thought about how his life was like the stars. He just moved throughout a hostile space, ever drifting but never getting anywhere. Constant motion until the big rip when he would be pulled out of existence and, just like a star, he was just one of many heading towards the same fate.
Able was snapped out of his thought by the motion sensor alarm. Immediately his walkie talkie snapped and hissed as Devlin’s voice came through.
“I’ve got a visual on movement out by the gas tank. Can you see it?”
Able raised the flashlight and could faintly see a figure hunched over by where the kid had died.
“Affirmative. I can’t make it out. Looks humanoid. I think it’s examining the blood.”
“Okay, shoot it if…”
Devlin’s voice was cut off abruptly.
“Devlin? Devlin, you there buddy?”
Able was answered with silence. Something didn’t feel right. He kept examining the figure in the distance. It didn’t seem to notice the light shining on it. Or maybe it didn’t care.
As the creature moved out from behind the gas pump Able could see its shape more clearly. It walked like a ape, almost upright but using its arms to walk. It appeared to be slightly larger than a man with a very large head set on broad shoulders. It was following the kid’s blood trail with its face to the ground like a dog.
“What are you?” Able whispered to himself.
The old man lifted his rifle up, aiming it at the creature. The light still shown on the thing and now it was getting closer to the building.
The walkie talkie hissed violently, almost making Able jump again. He grabbed it up, taking his mind off the creature which was still out of range.
“Devlin! You okay, man?”
“Jesus! Able, Able they’re everywhere!” Devlin’s voice was high pitched and panicked.
“What are? What is everywhere?” Able raised his voice, starting to get alarmed.
“Please, God, help me…”
Devlin’s voice was cut off by silence once again. By the way he was speaking Able knew he was terrified. The old man once again turned his gaze towards where the figure was but it had disappeared.
“F***!” The old man exclaimed as he opened the trap door down to the attic.
The attic was eerily silent now that the motion sensor alarm had gone off. All the Able could hear was the low hum of the large gasoline generator outside. The old man was trying his hardest not to panic as he grabbed a larger pistol from out of the nightstand next to Devlin’s bed. He had a rifle, but that would be useless in close quarters. He again tried to reach Devlin.
“Devlin, can you hear me?”
Silence.
“Devlin, come on bud. If you can hear me get to the Alamo! Come on!”
Silence again.
Able sat at the foot of the dirty queen sized bed and contemplated his next move.
I can stay up here and hope Devlin comes up, he thought, or I could go down there and look for him. God knows what’s down there with him but he’s a guaranteed dead man if I don’t go down there.
A large crash came for somewhere downstairs, startling Able.
If I go down there, there is a significant chance that I will get killed. If I stay up here Devlin will die and whatever else is down there will still be there. I don’t even know if Devlin is still alive.
Another crash rang out from the depths of the bed and breakfast, this time accompanied by a scream.
“He’s as good as gone,” Able said somberly, “But what do I do?”
The old man got up and examined the room. Two large caliber pistols, some ammo and shotgun shells were the only offensive weapons. There was also a small propane tank for a grill, some tape and various other little essentials, and a bottle of clear liquor.
“What to do.” The old man muttered to himself.
He sat, once more, on the foot out the bed and just listened to the hum of the generator. I wonder what Devlin meant when he said they’re everywhere? If there’s more than one of those things I’m in serious trouble. I can’t let them win.
Able gazed around the room, listening to the ambient hum. Two pistols, bullets and shells, tape, propane tank, liquor.
The old man began laughing hysterically. He quickly stood up and took off his shirt. He grabbed the propane tank and the tape along with some pistol ammo and shot gun shells. He taped each bullet facing inwards, towards the tank. He then grabbed his shirt and put the tank inside of it, tying the top. He pulled a sheet off the bed and tied it to the knot made in his shirt. He grabbed on pistol and stuck it in his belt, and with his rifle over his shoulder carried the propane tank and the bottle of liquor to the roof.
His contraption was heavy, but he maneuvered himself down a story and around back of the bed and breakfast. The generators hum was now a low roar as he got right above it. He lowered the propane tank down next to the generator with the sheet, grabbed the bottle of liquor and took a swig, then poured it all over the sheet and shirt. He pulled a Zippo lighter from a pouch on his belt.
Alright, old man, he thought, you’re going to have to haul ass. Grab the back pack off the ground and run. Make it past the gas pump and you’re fine.
Able faced the direction of the gas pump and readied himself.
“This is really stupid…” the old man said as he dropped the lit lighter on the homemade bomb.
When he was in his prime, Able was a fast man. He had never ran faster then he did getting away from that bed and breakfast, though. He covered the thirty feet from one edge of the roof to the next and leaped off of the second story. He landed hard on his feet with a loud crunch and rolled, coming back around to his feet. His backpack was in front of him and he grabbed it up on the move. His ankles ached and were probably broken but that slowed him down none, he saw the pump and had to make it past.
About ten feet past the gas pump everything went silent for Able as he was picked up and thrown through the air. His body twisted and turned and he caught glimpses of a burning house collapsing, the entire bottom story nearly blown away. The old man blacked out shortly after.
Able’s toes were cold as he awoke to blinding light. He was on a strange metal bed and he could feel a strange apparatus attached to his head.
“How are you feeling, friend?” A familiar voice called to him
The voice came from across the room but Able couldn’t turn his head.
“Alright, a bit cold. Is… is that you, Devlin?” the old man was a bit delirious and very confused.
“Aye, it is.” Devlin said as walked up to Able’s bed, unhooking the machine from the old man’s head.
Able sat up and examined his surroundings. It was a white room with bright white lights and computer equipment surrounding his bed. The machine on his head was a simple metal band with wires coming out of it. Everything was connected by various cables.
“What the hell?”
“You passed!” Devlin said excitedly.
The door on the end of the room opened and in walked three men in military uniforms. The man in the middle was older, about Able’s age, and adorned with various ribbons and medals. The other two were young, in their early twenties, and had bulletproof vests and combat helmets on. They carried assault rifles, the likes of which Able had never seen.
“Congratulations, Able Lynch. You are the only person who has ever passed The Crucible.” The older man said extending his arm for a handshake.
“My name is General Jason Gallows, United States Restoration Battalion. These two gentlemen are Private First Class Westerly and Private First Class Houston. Welcome to Sepulcher, our base of operations.”
Able shook each private’s hand and looked at Devlin quizzically.
“Ah, I’m sorry! I guess we don’t really know each other yet. My name is Sergeant Devlin Sharp, USRB. I run The Crucible and currently hold the battalion sharp shooting record.”
The two men shook hands. Able was overwhelmed. He checked his ankles which, no more than five minutes ago, were shattered. They felt fine.
“W…what the hell? Where are we?” Able questioned.
“We are underneath my bed and breakfast.” Devlin answered.
“All of that was… some sort of video game?” Able still didn’t fully comprehend what had just happened.
The two privates broke into a quiet laugh as Devlin’s face turned red.
“Not a goddamned video game! Hyper realistic combat simulation!”
“Sorry,” Able managed, “When did I get here?”
“Same time you arrived yesterday. I slipped a sedative into your drink at the bar. When you fell asleep we carried you down here. The simulation played out in real time, looked real, felt real, the whole nine yards. Cool huh?”
“I guess. Why?”
Devlin began to answer but the General cut him off.
“I’m going to cut to the chase, Mr. Lynch. After the plague and resulting war, after the bombs, America went to s***. Our situation is f***ed beyond belief, as I’m sure you know from your travels. Giant man-eating lizards. Bodies not staying dead. Freaks and mutants. The complete and utter lack of any semblance of a society. Things are bleak. The United States Restoration Brigade will change all that. We specialize in all those anomalies of nature that keep popping up, namely their extermination. So I’ve got to ask you; are you in?”
Able’s mind was in shock. He didn’t know what to think of all this. An hour ago he was sure that the bartender he met was monster chow. Ten minutes ago he blew up a house. Now he was being asked to join some secret branch of the military that was funded by a government he hadn’t seen for twenty five years. He looked the General straight in the eye and gave him his answer.
“No thanks. I’m looking for something and I’m not sure I can find it here.”
“You sure?” General Gallows questioned, shocked by the refusal.
“Positive,” Able then turned to Devlin, “Solutions.”
“I’m sorry?” Devlin stared at Able with a puzzled look.
“In the simulation you said ‘they’re everywhere.’ You meant solutions didn’t you?”
Devlin was set back by the question and offered a hesitant reply.
“I did.”
Able thanked the men and gathered his gear. He had a nice meal courtesy of the government and one last drink then set off walking down the dilapidated highway. As he got farther away from the bed and breakfast he thought less and less of what had just happened to him. After about seven miles he saw a sign on the side of the road. It was old and rusting bust still legible.
“Las Vegas, thirty miles. I may not find what I’m looking for there, either.” The old man said to himself.
“But I can find another drink and a lady, and that’s good enough for now.”
With that the old man set off into the inhospitable desert with nothing but more experience and a full belly.
Inside, two men sat at a bar on the floor level of the three story abode. One man, his hair gray and skin like leather, sat on a stool with a glass of dusty whiskey in hand. The other had feint red hair and stood with a slight hunch behind the bar, cleaning a glass with a dirty rag.
Neither one talked much but occasionally the sitting man would grunt and wave a hand. The bartender would pour him more ancient whiskey out of a dirty bottle with an unreadable label then go back to washing dishes as the sitting man stared into his drink.
Light from the setting sun shone through gaps in the plywood over the windows and doors. It reflected at obtuse angles off of the old bottles of liquor behind the bar, cutting trails through the ambient light provided by two dim bulbs at either end of the bar. The dust in the air became illuminated with streaks of reddish orange beams that complemented the wood interior of the small room.
“Rustic,” the sitting man said in a low tone of voice, never taking his eyes off of the auburn liquid in his glass.
“Yeah?” the bartender sat his glass down and it sparkled for about five seconds before dust gathered on it, rendering the cleaning pointless.
“Like a cabin in the woods. Wooden bar, shelves, walls. Even the felt on the pool table compliments it. You build this place?”
“Naw, after the war I wandered a bit. I hit some trouble and decided I wanted to settle down. I wound up here, it was abandoned, and decided to set up shop.” The bartender leaned over the bar, resting his elbows on the wood.
“Not bad. You get a lot of visitors?” the sitting man now raised is face from the drink and sat up straight.
“Every once and a while, generally wanderers like yourself. The name’s Devlin, Devlin Sharp.”
Devlin extended his hand towards the sitting man, who shook it briefly.
“Able Lynch. You ever have any problems with raiders or cannibals posing as guests?” Able hunched over the bar again, face down.
“Strange question, stranger. I did once. Raider came in here, drank with me and talked, then in the middle of the night let his two friends in the door. I woke up when they were robbing the bar. I didn’t even fire a warning shot, just three from my twelve gauge. Dropped every one dead. Never happened again. I’m a damn good shot and sleep light, you’d do best to remember that.”
Devlin stared at Able’s lowered face, noticing the deep creases of age and the large scar over his right eye. Able looked up at Devlin and for the first time looked him in the eye. His eye underneath the scar was pure white, with only a hint at where the pupil used to be. As Able spoke his mouth barely moved but his grizzled face articulated his speech well.
“Don’t worry about that Devlin, I’m too old to steal. Now I just wander. I’m looking for something.”
Devlin lightened up a bit, the suspicious look on his middle aged face was replaced by a hearty smile showing his yellow teeth.
“What is it?”
“I’m not sure yet, but I know it’s out there.”
The bartender laughed and turned around, grabbing the glass he had just cleaned. It was dirty again from all the dust in the air so he began cleaning it again.
“I get it. The old mysterious guy.” He said.
Able said nothing; just finished his whiskey, grunted, and waved for another.
The gas generator was silent now and the sun had fully retreated. Wind rustled throughout the bed and breakfast, shaking the boards over the windows and making the bottles of liquor in the bar clink together. Able was fast asleep on a grungy bed on the second story of the building. A rifle leaned against the nightstand on his right and his hand gripped a large knife hidden under his pillow.
He slept in his clothes, a sweat stained, olive green t shirt with black, military issue cargo pants. Around his waist was a large belt adorned with pockets and compartments that held ammunition, small rations, and other survival equipment. His boots were black leather and held an empty sheathe on the left ankle. A large backpack rested at the foot of the bed.
A piercing wail violently awoke the old man. He snapped out of bed, backpack on and rifle in his hand within a second. He heard frantic footsteps coming down the stairs and stepped out of his door to meet Devlin.
The younger man held a sawn off shotgun gun in one hand and a large flashlight in the other. He had not bothered to get dressed and was in nothing but boxer shorts and sandals.
“What the hell is that?” Able questioned in a low but harsh tone.
“Motion sensor alarm. Follow me.”
Able followed Devlin down the dark, narrow hall and downstairs to a room behind the bar. Devlin started a small gas generator in the room and turned on a television screen against the wall across from the door. A white light illuminated the otherwise black room showing a rack with two rifles on it and a crate half full with boxes of ammunition.
The television flickered a few times and slowly the static turned into a picture. The men saw a humanoid figure approaching the gas pump and, even though the picture was in black and white, could tell he or she was bleeding badly. They watched as the figure reached the pump and slumped against it leaving a trail of dark black on everything it touched.
“It looks like a kid.” Able remarked.
“Yeah, yeah it does. Should we go see if we can help?” Devlin didn’t take his eyes off the picture for a second.
“I guess we ought to.”
The men walked hesitantly out into the parking lot, guns loaded and at the ready. The figure near the pump was now slumped on the ground, obscured by the near total darkness of a moonless desert night.
The figure’s breathing was loud, heavy, and wet with erratic gasps. When they were about ten feet away from the pump, they got their first real sight of the person.
Devlin’s flashlight lanced through the dark and illuminated a teenaged male in the fetal position hugging the base of the gas pump. The kid was covered in dark red blood and had several visible puncture marks on his chest, forearms, throat, and face. As the men got closer the kid let out a moan that chilled them both to the bone.
“Aw Jesus Christ, buddy, what did this to you?” Devlin stood about five feet away from the mess, flashlight and shotgun aimed at him.
The kid let out another moan then gasped for air but got mostly blood with a loud gurgle.
Devlin crouched down and got closer, Able was standing behind him. Before the bartender got within reach of the boy a shot rang out. Blood erupted from the head of the kid and sprayed the bartender.
“Holy s***! What the f*** did you do that for?” the bartender shot up straight and wheeled around, gun and light aimed dead at Able’s face.
“He was suffering. You know there was nothing we could do to help him.” Able’s voice was somber as he loaded another shot into his rifle.
“Now let’s get this kid into your bar. I want to find out what mauled him.”
Devlin went for the generator behind the building as Able carried the body in on his shoulder, laying it down the bar. The hum of the gas generator came back as the lights inside the bar came on, illuminating the carnage.
Devlin came through the double doors leading from the bar to the parking lot, admiring the trail of blood leading into his home. He approached Able who was quick at work, cutting the clothes off of the corpse with his knife and examining the various puncture wounds. Able, like the doors, parking lot, gas pump, and now bar, was covered in a deep crimson liquid.
“So,” Devlin asked, his voice shaky from the sight, “What got him?”
Able was prodding the wounds with his fingers, measuring depth. The shallowest was a quarter inch, the deepest the length of his middle finger. The throat was almost completely torn out, seemingly from a claw or long fingernail. What puzzled Able the most, though, were the deep cuts on the forearms. They were fresher than the other wounds indicating that the kid fought back after he had been ravaged.
“I’m not sure. Must’ve been bad though, the kid kept fighting back with a ripped jugular.”
“Jesus, what should we do with him?” the bartender’s fear and disgust seeped into his demeanor.
“Keep him here until morning, then bury him. I’d suggest we get to barricading this place, whatever he ran into might still want him.”
Able covered the body then joined Devlin gathering stools, loose wood, and anything else they could use to fortify the bed and breakfast with.
They reinforced the plywood over the windows on the first floor with barstool legs and flipped the pool table on its side and shoved it up against the double front doors. The barred the back door with an old chair from upstairs, putting the back of the chair against the handle and reinforced the legs with two of the heavier mattresses from upstairs.
On the second story, they propped the bed frames against the windows and left the doors to the rooms open.
They made their way to the third floor, Devlin’s room. The door was on the roof and had a pull string that, when pulled, brought down a ladder. They agreed that if they were attacked this would be their Alamo but the room, a converted attic, also had a ladder leading to the roof incase they needed to get out quick.
Devlin went to a dresser near his bed, rummaged through it, the came out with two walkie talkies. He gave on to Able and they discussed their plan of action.
“Alright,” Devlin started, “This is the most fortified place in the building. I’ve got food and water up here enough for a month, just incase. I’ve also got shotgun shells and a couple pistols stashed up here but the best advantage is the roof access. That’s where you come in.”
“I get you, I’ll be on the roof with my rifle and you watch the motion sensor cameras.”
“Exactly,” Devlin said, “I see something I don’t like down there I radio you and you shoot it.”
“Sounds good to me,” Able said, “But how am I going to see anything from up there? It’s damn near pitch black outside.”
“I’ll give you the flashlight, it’s five hundred thousand candle power. It’ll light anything up at a hundred yards.”
“Alright, any contingency if something gets inside?”
“I run up here and we hold out. There’s food and water for a month.”
“Alright. Simple enough.”
It had been about forty five minutes of boredom for Able, sitting in an uncomfortable position on a hot roof and he was now starting to get a headache from the booze earlier. Thoughts of anything coming after the body were slowly fading from his mind as he stared out into the darkness ahead. Even with his eyes adjusted to it he could only make out very feint shapes of cars in the parking lot and he couldn’t even see the gas pump. He was contemplating a nap when he heard the siren shriek to life inside the bed and breakfast.
It startled him so bad he jumped, in the process loosing his backpack. As it rolled off the roof and landed with a thud he came to the frightening realization that most of his ammo was in there. Brushing the fear aside, he picked up the walkie talkie.
“Devlin, this is Able. Can you see it?”
The radio hissed and crackled for a second.
“Negative. I’ve been through all the cameras. Could’ve been a big lizard or some tumbleweeds. Keep on guard and I’ll let you know if I get a visual.”
This did not reassure Able, who was now counting his remaining ammo.
“Twenty shots in the belt, six in the gun.” The old man said to himself.
He stared out into the horizon. Shapes of mountains could be made out in the distance, a slight shade darker than the moonless night. The vast track of stars shone with vigor and every beam of light tried it’s hardest to reach the surface of Earth but was defeated by the enormity of infinite space.
The old man thought about how his life was like the stars. He just moved throughout a hostile space, ever drifting but never getting anywhere. Constant motion until the big rip when he would be pulled out of existence and, just like a star, he was just one of many heading towards the same fate.
Able was snapped out of his thought by the motion sensor alarm. Immediately his walkie talkie snapped and hissed as Devlin’s voice came through.
“I’ve got a visual on movement out by the gas tank. Can you see it?”
Able raised the flashlight and could faintly see a figure hunched over by where the kid had died.
“Affirmative. I can’t make it out. Looks humanoid. I think it’s examining the blood.”
“Okay, shoot it if…”
Devlin’s voice was cut off abruptly.
“Devlin? Devlin, you there buddy?”
Able was answered with silence. Something didn’t feel right. He kept examining the figure in the distance. It didn’t seem to notice the light shining on it. Or maybe it didn’t care.
As the creature moved out from behind the gas pump Able could see its shape more clearly. It walked like a ape, almost upright but using its arms to walk. It appeared to be slightly larger than a man with a very large head set on broad shoulders. It was following the kid’s blood trail with its face to the ground like a dog.
“What are you?” Able whispered to himself.
The old man lifted his rifle up, aiming it at the creature. The light still shown on the thing and now it was getting closer to the building.
The walkie talkie hissed violently, almost making Able jump again. He grabbed it up, taking his mind off the creature which was still out of range.
“Devlin! You okay, man?”
“Jesus! Able, Able they’re everywhere!” Devlin’s voice was high pitched and panicked.
“What are? What is everywhere?” Able raised his voice, starting to get alarmed.
“Please, God, help me…”
Devlin’s voice was cut off by silence once again. By the way he was speaking Able knew he was terrified. The old man once again turned his gaze towards where the figure was but it had disappeared.
“F***!” The old man exclaimed as he opened the trap door down to the attic.
The attic was eerily silent now that the motion sensor alarm had gone off. All the Able could hear was the low hum of the large gasoline generator outside. The old man was trying his hardest not to panic as he grabbed a larger pistol from out of the nightstand next to Devlin’s bed. He had a rifle, but that would be useless in close quarters. He again tried to reach Devlin.
“Devlin, can you hear me?”
Silence.
“Devlin, come on bud. If you can hear me get to the Alamo! Come on!”
Silence again.
Able sat at the foot of the dirty queen sized bed and contemplated his next move.
I can stay up here and hope Devlin comes up, he thought, or I could go down there and look for him. God knows what’s down there with him but he’s a guaranteed dead man if I don’t go down there.
A large crash came for somewhere downstairs, startling Able.
If I go down there, there is a significant chance that I will get killed. If I stay up here Devlin will die and whatever else is down there will still be there. I don’t even know if Devlin is still alive.
Another crash rang out from the depths of the bed and breakfast, this time accompanied by a scream.
“He’s as good as gone,” Able said somberly, “But what do I do?”
The old man got up and examined the room. Two large caliber pistols, some ammo and shotgun shells were the only offensive weapons. There was also a small propane tank for a grill, some tape and various other little essentials, and a bottle of clear liquor.
“What to do.” The old man muttered to himself.
He sat, once more, on the foot out the bed and just listened to the hum of the generator. I wonder what Devlin meant when he said they’re everywhere? If there’s more than one of those things I’m in serious trouble. I can’t let them win.
Able gazed around the room, listening to the ambient hum. Two pistols, bullets and shells, tape, propane tank, liquor.
The old man began laughing hysterically. He quickly stood up and took off his shirt. He grabbed the propane tank and the tape along with some pistol ammo and shot gun shells. He taped each bullet facing inwards, towards the tank. He then grabbed his shirt and put the tank inside of it, tying the top. He pulled a sheet off the bed and tied it to the knot made in his shirt. He grabbed on pistol and stuck it in his belt, and with his rifle over his shoulder carried the propane tank and the bottle of liquor to the roof.
His contraption was heavy, but he maneuvered himself down a story and around back of the bed and breakfast. The generators hum was now a low roar as he got right above it. He lowered the propane tank down next to the generator with the sheet, grabbed the bottle of liquor and took a swig, then poured it all over the sheet and shirt. He pulled a Zippo lighter from a pouch on his belt.
Alright, old man, he thought, you’re going to have to haul ass. Grab the back pack off the ground and run. Make it past the gas pump and you’re fine.
Able faced the direction of the gas pump and readied himself.
“This is really stupid…” the old man said as he dropped the lit lighter on the homemade bomb.
When he was in his prime, Able was a fast man. He had never ran faster then he did getting away from that bed and breakfast, though. He covered the thirty feet from one edge of the roof to the next and leaped off of the second story. He landed hard on his feet with a loud crunch and rolled, coming back around to his feet. His backpack was in front of him and he grabbed it up on the move. His ankles ached and were probably broken but that slowed him down none, he saw the pump and had to make it past.
About ten feet past the gas pump everything went silent for Able as he was picked up and thrown through the air. His body twisted and turned and he caught glimpses of a burning house collapsing, the entire bottom story nearly blown away. The old man blacked out shortly after.
Able’s toes were cold as he awoke to blinding light. He was on a strange metal bed and he could feel a strange apparatus attached to his head.
“How are you feeling, friend?” A familiar voice called to him
The voice came from across the room but Able couldn’t turn his head.
“Alright, a bit cold. Is… is that you, Devlin?” the old man was a bit delirious and very confused.
“Aye, it is.” Devlin said as walked up to Able’s bed, unhooking the machine from the old man’s head.
Able sat up and examined his surroundings. It was a white room with bright white lights and computer equipment surrounding his bed. The machine on his head was a simple metal band with wires coming out of it. Everything was connected by various cables.
“What the hell?”
“You passed!” Devlin said excitedly.
The door on the end of the room opened and in walked three men in military uniforms. The man in the middle was older, about Able’s age, and adorned with various ribbons and medals. The other two were young, in their early twenties, and had bulletproof vests and combat helmets on. They carried assault rifles, the likes of which Able had never seen.
“Congratulations, Able Lynch. You are the only person who has ever passed The Crucible.” The older man said extending his arm for a handshake.
“My name is General Jason Gallows, United States Restoration Battalion. These two gentlemen are Private First Class Westerly and Private First Class Houston. Welcome to Sepulcher, our base of operations.”
Able shook each private’s hand and looked at Devlin quizzically.
“Ah, I’m sorry! I guess we don’t really know each other yet. My name is Sergeant Devlin Sharp, USRB. I run The Crucible and currently hold the battalion sharp shooting record.”
The two men shook hands. Able was overwhelmed. He checked his ankles which, no more than five minutes ago, were shattered. They felt fine.
“W…what the hell? Where are we?” Able questioned.
“We are underneath my bed and breakfast.” Devlin answered.
“All of that was… some sort of video game?” Able still didn’t fully comprehend what had just happened.
The two privates broke into a quiet laugh as Devlin’s face turned red.
“Not a goddamned video game! Hyper realistic combat simulation!”
“Sorry,” Able managed, “When did I get here?”
“Same time you arrived yesterday. I slipped a sedative into your drink at the bar. When you fell asleep we carried you down here. The simulation played out in real time, looked real, felt real, the whole nine yards. Cool huh?”
“I guess. Why?”
Devlin began to answer but the General cut him off.
“I’m going to cut to the chase, Mr. Lynch. After the plague and resulting war, after the bombs, America went to s***. Our situation is f***ed beyond belief, as I’m sure you know from your travels. Giant man-eating lizards. Bodies not staying dead. Freaks and mutants. The complete and utter lack of any semblance of a society. Things are bleak. The United States Restoration Brigade will change all that. We specialize in all those anomalies of nature that keep popping up, namely their extermination. So I’ve got to ask you; are you in?”
Able’s mind was in shock. He didn’t know what to think of all this. An hour ago he was sure that the bartender he met was monster chow. Ten minutes ago he blew up a house. Now he was being asked to join some secret branch of the military that was funded by a government he hadn’t seen for twenty five years. He looked the General straight in the eye and gave him his answer.
“No thanks. I’m looking for something and I’m not sure I can find it here.”
“You sure?” General Gallows questioned, shocked by the refusal.
“Positive,” Able then turned to Devlin, “Solutions.”
“I’m sorry?” Devlin stared at Able with a puzzled look.
“In the simulation you said ‘they’re everywhere.’ You meant solutions didn’t you?”
Devlin was set back by the question and offered a hesitant reply.
“I did.”
Able thanked the men and gathered his gear. He had a nice meal courtesy of the government and one last drink then set off walking down the dilapidated highway. As he got farther away from the bed and breakfast he thought less and less of what had just happened to him. After about seven miles he saw a sign on the side of the road. It was old and rusting bust still legible.
“Las Vegas, thirty miles. I may not find what I’m looking for there, either.” The old man said to himself.
“But I can find another drink and a lady, and that’s good enough for now.”
With that the old man set off into the inhospitable desert with nothing but more experience and a full belly.