Tales of Interest!
Saturday, April 29, 2006
EMP - Chapter 2
It was bright outside, Steve could tell, even through the closed blinds and drawn shades. He sat in his kitchen, propped up against his refridgerator, clutching his revolver tightly against his chest, trying to figure out what he was going to do. He didn't want to go out in the daylight, but even less so at night. Plus, in order to leave he'd have to go through the living room, and he didn't want to even think about that. The grim fact was, he had eaten the last of his food two days ago, unless you counted the condiments, and those were going fast. He had even tried eating some flour with a spoon yesterday. He choked it down, but it wasn't something he wanted to try again. He needed to eat, but it was too dangerous outside. If he didn't leave he would die here, but if he went outside he was sure there would be more people like the man in the orange jumpsuit. He had learned to live with the rank smell in the apartment, he could almost pretend that there was no smell, but if he tried to look into the living room he felt knots in his stomach and could taste the bile rising. He banged his head back against the fridge in frustration. Steve didn't know whether it was the thought of what could be outside, or the knowledge of what was in here with him that was keeping him trapped in his kitchen even though his front door stood wide open.
It was about ten days ago that the power went out. Steve Golven was a network technician, and had been in the middle of troubleshooting a bit of code that was causing problems for the local video rental chain when his screen went black. He was outraged. What was the point of having a two thousand dollar battery backup system if it was going to shit out on him the first time there was a power outage? This was different, though. When Steve tried calling the power company, he found the phone line was dead, and that was just the beginning. His work cell was out as well, and he couldn't even get his battery powered radio to turn on. What the hell was going on? Steve had always been the cautious type, so he decided to wait it out. After all, where could he go? What could he do? Steve had some canned food and some candles and matches, so he waited, even through the occasional disturbing sights he could see from his third story condo. On the second day he saw a pair of young hooligans with a jug of gasoline setting fire to cars in the road, which were all stopped dead as if someone had taken a photograph of traffic. That's when he remembered the pistol. Several years ago one of his neighbors had been robbed by unarmed men who had forced their way into her apartment, raped her, and then made several trips emptying her condo as she lie naked and hog tied on her bedroom floor. That story chilled Steve to the bone, and the day after he heard it, he had rushed out and bought a safety chain for his door and a .38 snub nosed revolver, which sat unused and forgotten under his bed until now. Steve liked the weight of it as he slipped the gun into the waistband of his pants.
It was on day five that the water stopped. Until now it was the only thing that had been working, and Steve hadn't even had the foresight to bottle any. There was a little bottled water in the closet, and some warm juice in the fridge, but it was obvious that the food was going to run out long before the water. He had a single can of tuna left, and some baked beans and chili. That was about it. Steve didn't want to think about what he was going to do when there was no food left, so he lay down on the couch and closed his eyes. He was sleeping pretty deeply when he was jostled awake by a knock on the door. Thank god, it was probably someone official making rounds to inform people what was going on. Steve was glad he decided to burn the candle in his window every night so that people would know that there was someone alive up here. "Hold on, I'm here!" He jumped up off the couch and rushed to the door. He twisted the deadbolt open and opened the door as much as his safety chain would allow. When he looked outside he saw a large man in an orange one piece jumpsuit. Was he a power company worker? Suddenly, Steve caught sight of stains on the man's jumper, dark maroon, and stenciled numbers above the left breast pocket. Christ, it was a county jail jumper, this man was a prisoner!
He tried to slam the door shut but he was too late. He saw the man outside place his slip on shoe squarely next to his door handle in a hard kick. He watched his safety chain rip free from the door frame in slow motion, he could trace the trajectory of all four screws as they popped free and started to fly their separate ways across the room. Then the door struck him, knocking him back onto his living room floor. He hit his head hard on the ground, there was a flash of bright white in his vision, then black started creeping in around the edges. Steve felt like he was going to pass out, but he fought against it with every ounce of willpower he had. The next thing he knew the man in the orange jumper was on top of him, holding him down with his weight, and Steve felt rough, unbelievably strong hands close around his neck. Was he going to die? Steve was beginning to lose consciousness. He felt the man's body pressed against his, hot, heavy, and strong, and felt what could only be an erection pressing against his thigh. No, he wasn't going to let this happen. He suddenly remembered the gun in his waistband, and realized that his hands were unrestrained. He pressed his hand between himself and the prisoner, and managed to wiggle it down to his waistline. The man shook him by the neck, knocking his head into the floor hard in an effort to speed up the process. Steve managed to wrap his hands around the pistol grip, but couldn't pull it free, it was caught on his jeans and the man's weight was too much to fight against. He pressed the handle down hard into his stomach, elevating the barrel until it was taut against his jeans. The prisoner's face stretched tight with a grin, mistaking the stiffness of the barrel poking into his gut. Steve pulled back the hammer and the man's eyes widened with the audible click. The gunshot was muffled between their bodies, but there was no mistaking what had happened. Steve saw a spray of crimson dot the walls as the bullet passed easily through the man's soft midsection. The heat of the shot burned his groin, and Steve finally managed to wrestle the gun free as the man relaxed his grip on Steve's neck, and began to groan with pain. Steve felt warmth spreading from the man's belly and realized that he was bleeding out onto him. He remembered statistics he had heard about prison AIDS rates, and quickly rolled the man off of him. Steve stood up and looked at the man, lying on his back and writhing in pain from the gut shot. He contemplated shooting him again, but a mixture of wanting to let the man suffer and not wanting to make a calculated move to end a man's life kept him from doing so. Instead he left him there and went to his bedroom to change, wishing that this would have happened yesterday so that he could have washed the man's blood off of him. He had to settle for wiping it off with toilet paper.
So here he was, sitting in his kitchen and starving to death. Still afraid of the prisoner in his living room, though he had been dead for four days now. Steve would have likely sat here until he eventually passed out and died from dehydration or starvation if he hadn't heard the woman laughing. Laughter in the parking lot, it seemed such a foreign sound when everything had been so silent, and those sounds he could hear were the sounds of chaos. The crackle of fire, the tinkle of breaking glass, the grunts and scuffling of people fighting. Lately, though, more silence than anything. And then, here was laughter. Still, Steve was too terrified to move. He needed to be saved. Finally he mustered up the courage to yell. "HELP! Somebody please help me!" And then he began to cry. The footsteps in the parking lot stopped and he heard the woman's voice.
"Did you hear that, Paul?"
"Yeah, it sounds like someone needs a hand."
"Should we trust it?" The woman asked.
"I think humanity deserves the benefit of the doubt." Steve had never heard anything more kind in his life, given the situation. He doubted that he would have had the trust in people that this man seemed to have. He felt a wave of relief wash over him, he knew that Paul was going to make everything all right again.
"Wait there, I think I can make it, now." Steve yelled, getting to his feet. He heard Paul talking to the woman in the parking lot.
"See, a little faith can go a long way!" That was all Steve needed to make it out alive, it turned out. A little faith. ¶ 1:04 PM 1 comments
It was about ten days ago that the power went out. Steve Golven was a network technician, and had been in the middle of troubleshooting a bit of code that was causing problems for the local video rental chain when his screen went black. He was outraged. What was the point of having a two thousand dollar battery backup system if it was going to shit out on him the first time there was a power outage? This was different, though. When Steve tried calling the power company, he found the phone line was dead, and that was just the beginning. His work cell was out as well, and he couldn't even get his battery powered radio to turn on. What the hell was going on? Steve had always been the cautious type, so he decided to wait it out. After all, where could he go? What could he do? Steve had some canned food and some candles and matches, so he waited, even through the occasional disturbing sights he could see from his third story condo. On the second day he saw a pair of young hooligans with a jug of gasoline setting fire to cars in the road, which were all stopped dead as if someone had taken a photograph of traffic. That's when he remembered the pistol. Several years ago one of his neighbors had been robbed by unarmed men who had forced their way into her apartment, raped her, and then made several trips emptying her condo as she lie naked and hog tied on her bedroom floor. That story chilled Steve to the bone, and the day after he heard it, he had rushed out and bought a safety chain for his door and a .38 snub nosed revolver, which sat unused and forgotten under his bed until now. Steve liked the weight of it as he slipped the gun into the waistband of his pants.
It was on day five that the water stopped. Until now it was the only thing that had been working, and Steve hadn't even had the foresight to bottle any. There was a little bottled water in the closet, and some warm juice in the fridge, but it was obvious that the food was going to run out long before the water. He had a single can of tuna left, and some baked beans and chili. That was about it. Steve didn't want to think about what he was going to do when there was no food left, so he lay down on the couch and closed his eyes. He was sleeping pretty deeply when he was jostled awake by a knock on the door. Thank god, it was probably someone official making rounds to inform people what was going on. Steve was glad he decided to burn the candle in his window every night so that people would know that there was someone alive up here. "Hold on, I'm here!" He jumped up off the couch and rushed to the door. He twisted the deadbolt open and opened the door as much as his safety chain would allow. When he looked outside he saw a large man in an orange one piece jumpsuit. Was he a power company worker? Suddenly, Steve caught sight of stains on the man's jumper, dark maroon, and stenciled numbers above the left breast pocket. Christ, it was a county jail jumper, this man was a prisoner!
He tried to slam the door shut but he was too late. He saw the man outside place his slip on shoe squarely next to his door handle in a hard kick. He watched his safety chain rip free from the door frame in slow motion, he could trace the trajectory of all four screws as they popped free and started to fly their separate ways across the room. Then the door struck him, knocking him back onto his living room floor. He hit his head hard on the ground, there was a flash of bright white in his vision, then black started creeping in around the edges. Steve felt like he was going to pass out, but he fought against it with every ounce of willpower he had. The next thing he knew the man in the orange jumper was on top of him, holding him down with his weight, and Steve felt rough, unbelievably strong hands close around his neck. Was he going to die? Steve was beginning to lose consciousness. He felt the man's body pressed against his, hot, heavy, and strong, and felt what could only be an erection pressing against his thigh. No, he wasn't going to let this happen. He suddenly remembered the gun in his waistband, and realized that his hands were unrestrained. He pressed his hand between himself and the prisoner, and managed to wiggle it down to his waistline. The man shook him by the neck, knocking his head into the floor hard in an effort to speed up the process. Steve managed to wrap his hands around the pistol grip, but couldn't pull it free, it was caught on his jeans and the man's weight was too much to fight against. He pressed the handle down hard into his stomach, elevating the barrel until it was taut against his jeans. The prisoner's face stretched tight with a grin, mistaking the stiffness of the barrel poking into his gut. Steve pulled back the hammer and the man's eyes widened with the audible click. The gunshot was muffled between their bodies, but there was no mistaking what had happened. Steve saw a spray of crimson dot the walls as the bullet passed easily through the man's soft midsection. The heat of the shot burned his groin, and Steve finally managed to wrestle the gun free as the man relaxed his grip on Steve's neck, and began to groan with pain. Steve felt warmth spreading from the man's belly and realized that he was bleeding out onto him. He remembered statistics he had heard about prison AIDS rates, and quickly rolled the man off of him. Steve stood up and looked at the man, lying on his back and writhing in pain from the gut shot. He contemplated shooting him again, but a mixture of wanting to let the man suffer and not wanting to make a calculated move to end a man's life kept him from doing so. Instead he left him there and went to his bedroom to change, wishing that this would have happened yesterday so that he could have washed the man's blood off of him. He had to settle for wiping it off with toilet paper.
So here he was, sitting in his kitchen and starving to death. Still afraid of the prisoner in his living room, though he had been dead for four days now. Steve would have likely sat here until he eventually passed out and died from dehydration or starvation if he hadn't heard the woman laughing. Laughter in the parking lot, it seemed such a foreign sound when everything had been so silent, and those sounds he could hear were the sounds of chaos. The crackle of fire, the tinkle of breaking glass, the grunts and scuffling of people fighting. Lately, though, more silence than anything. And then, here was laughter. Still, Steve was too terrified to move. He needed to be saved. Finally he mustered up the courage to yell. "HELP! Somebody please help me!" And then he began to cry. The footsteps in the parking lot stopped and he heard the woman's voice.
"Did you hear that, Paul?"
"Yeah, it sounds like someone needs a hand."
"Should we trust it?" The woman asked.
"I think humanity deserves the benefit of the doubt." Steve had never heard anything more kind in his life, given the situation. He doubted that he would have had the trust in people that this man seemed to have. He felt a wave of relief wash over him, he knew that Paul was going to make everything all right again.
"Wait there, I think I can make it, now." Steve yelled, getting to his feet. He heard Paul talking to the woman in the parking lot.
"See, a little faith can go a long way!" That was all Steve needed to make it out alive, it turned out. A little faith. ¶ 1:04 PM 1 comments
