Adarac truck rack with tonneau cover
THE BADGER AND THE BEAR
2023.05.29 06:35 JoshAsdvgi THE BADGER AND THE BEAR
 | submitted by JoshAsdvgi to Native_Stories [link] [comments] THE BADGER AND THE BEAR On the edge of a forest there lived a large family of badgers. In the ground their dwelling was made. Its walls and roof were covered with rocks and straw. Old father badger was a great hunter. He knew well how to track the deer and buffalo. Every day he came home carrying on his back some wild game. This kept mother badger very busy, and the baby badgers very chubby. While the well- fed children played about, digging little make-believe dwellings, their mother hung thin sliced meats upon long willow racks. As fast as the meats were dried and seasoned by sun and wind, she packed them carefully away in a large thick bag. This bag was like a huge stiff envelope, but far more beautiful to see, for it was painted all over with many bright colors. These firmly tied bags of dried meat were laid upon the rocks in the walls of the dwelling. In this way they were both useful and decorative. One day father badger did not go off for a hunt. He stayed at home, making new arrows. His children sat about him on the ground floor. Their small black eyes danced with delight as they watched the gay colors painted upon the arrows. All of a sudden there was heard a heavy footfall near the entrance way. The oval- shaped door-frame was pushed aside. In stepped a large black foot with great big claws. Then the other clumsy foot came next. All the while the baby badgers stared hard at the unexpected comer. After the second foot, in peeped the head of a big black bear! His black nose was dry and parched. Silently he entered the dwelling and sat down on the ground by the doorway. His black eyes never left the painted bags on the rocky walls. He guessed what was in them. He was a very hungry bear. Seeing the racks of red meat hanging in the yard, he had come to visit the badger family. Though he was a stranger and his strong paws and jaws frightened the small badgers, the father said, "How, how, friend! Your lips and nose look feverish and hungry. Will you eat with us?" "Yes, my friend," said the bear. "I am starved. I saw your racks of red fresh meat, and knowing your heart is kind, I came hither. Give me meat to eat, my friend." Hereupon the mother badger took long strides across the room, and as she had to pass in front of the strange visitor, she said: "Ah han! Allow me to pass!" which was an apology. "How, how!" replied the bear, drawing himself closer to the wall and crossing his shins together. Mother badger chose the most tender red meat, and soon over a bed of coals she broiled the venison. That day the bear had all he could eat. At nightfall he rose, and smacking his lips together, -- that is the noisy way of saying "the food was very good!" -- he left the badger dwelling. The baby badgers, peeping through the door-flap after the shaggy bear, saw him disappear into the woods near by. Day after day the crackling of twigs in the forest told of heavy footsteps. Out would come the same black bear. He never lifted the door-flap, but thrusting it aside entered slowly in. Always in the same place by the entrance way he sat down with crossed shins. His daily visits were so regular that mother badger placed a fur rug in his place. She did not wish a guest in her dwelling to sit upon the bare hard ground. At last one time when the bear returned, his nose was bright and black. His coat was glossy. He had grown fat upon the badger's hospitality. As he entered the dwelling a pair of wicked gleams shot out of his shaggy head. Surprised by the strange behavior of the guest who remained standing upon the rug, leaning his round back against the wall, father badger queried: "How, my friend! What?" The bear took one stride forward and shook his paw in the badger's face. He said: "I am strong, very strong!" "Yes, yes, so you are," replied the badger. From the farther end of the room mother badger muttered over her bead work: "Yes, you grew strong from our well-filled bowls." The bear smiled, showing a row of large sharp teeth. "I have no dwelling. I have no bags of dried meat. I have no arrows. All these I have found here on this spot," said he, stamping his heavy foot. "I want them! See! I am strong!" repeated he, lifting both his terrible paws. Quietly the father badger spoke: "I fed you. I called you friend, though you came here a stranger and a beggar. For the sake of my little ones leave us in peace." Mother badger, in her excited way, had pierced hard through the buckskin and stuck her fingers repeatedly with her sharp awl until she had laid aside her work. Now, while her husband was talking to the bear, she motioned with her hands to the children. On tiptoe they hastened to her side. For reply came a low growl. It grew louder and more fierce. "Wa-ough!" he roared, and by force hurled the badgers out. First the father badger; then the mother. The little badgers he tossed by pairs. He threw them hard upon the ground. Standing in the entrance way and showing his ugly teeth, he snarled, "Be gone!" The father and mother badger, having gained their feet, picked up their kicking little babes, and, wailing aloud, drew the air into their flattened lungs till they could stand alone upon their feet. No sooner had the baby badgers caught their breath than they howled and shrieked with pain and fright. Ah! what a dismal cry was theirs as the whole badger family went forth wailing from out their own dwelling! A little distance away from their stolen house the father badger built a small round hut. He made it of bent willows and covered it with dry grass and twigs. This was shelter for the night; but alas! it was empty of food and arrows. All day father badger prowled through the forest, but without his arrows he could not get food for his children. Upon his return, the cry of the little ones for meat, the sad quiet of the mother with bowed head, hurt him like a poisoned arrow wound. "I'll beg meat for you!" said he in an unsteady voice. Covering his head and entire body in a long loose robe he halted beside the big black bear. The bear was slicing red meat to hang upon the rack. He did not pause for a look at the comer. As the badger stood there unrecognized, he saw that the bear had brought with him his whole family. Little cubs played under the high-hanging new meats. They laughed and pointed with their wee noses upward at the thin sliced meats upon the poles. "Have you no heart, Black Bear? My children are starving. Give me a small piece of meat for them," begged the badger. "Wa-ough!" growled the angry bear, and pounced upon the badger. "Be gone!" said he, and with his big hind foot he sent father badger sprawling on the ground. All the little ruffian bears hooted and shouted "ha-ha!" to see the beggar fall upon his face. There was one, however, who did not even smile. He was the youngest cub. His fur coat was not as black and glossy as those his elders wore. The hair was dry and dingy. It looked much more like kinky wool. He was the ugly cub. Poor little baby bear! he had always been laughed at by his older brothers. He could not help being himself. He could not change the differences between himself and his brothers. Thus again, though the rest laughed aloud at the badger's fall, he did not see the joke. His face was long and earnest. In his heart he was sad to see the badgers crying and starving. In his breast spread a burning desire to share his food with them. "I shall not ask my father for meat to give away. He would say 'No!' Then my brothers would laugh at me," said the ugly baby bear to himself. In an instant, as if his good intention had passed from him, he was singing happily and skipping around his father at work. Singing in his small high voice and dragging his feet in long strides after him, as if a prankish spirit oozed out from his heels, he strayed off through the tall grass. He was ambling toward the small round hut. When directly in front of the entrance way, he made a quick side kick with his left hind leg. Lo! there fell into the badger's hut a piece of fresh meat. It was tough meat, full of sinews, yet it was the only piece he could take without his father's notice. Thus having given meat to the hungry badgers, the ugly baby bear ran quickly away to his father again. On the following day the father badger came back once more. He stood watching the big bear cutting thin slices of meat. " Give -- " he began, when the bear turning upon him with a growl, thrust him cruelly aside. The badger fell on his hands. He fell where the grass was wet with the blood of the newly carved buffalo. His keen starving eyes caught sight of a little red clot lying bright upon the green. Looking fearfully toward the bear and seeing his head was turned away, he snatched up the small thick blood. Underneath his girdled blanket he hid it in his hand. On his return to his family, he said within himself : "I'll pray the Great Spirit to bless it." Thus he built a small round lodge. Sprinkling water upon the heated heap of sacred stones within, he made ready to purge his body. "The buffalo blood, too, must be purified before I ask a blessing upon it," thought the badger. He carried it into the sacred vapor lodge. After placing it near the sacred stones, he sat down beside it. After a long silence, he muttered: "Great Spirit, bless this little buffalo blood." Then he arose, and with a quiet dignity stepped out of the lodge. Close behind him some one followed. The badger turned to look over his shoulder and to his great joy he beheld a Dakota brave in handsome buckskins. In his hand he carried a magic arrow. Across his back dangled a long fringed quiver. In answer to the badger's prayer, the avenger had sprung from out the red globules. "My son!" exclaimed the badger with extended right hand. "How, father," replied the brave; "I am your avenger!" Immediately the badger told the sad story of his hungry little ones and the stingy bear. Listening closely the young man stood looking steadily upon the ground. At length the father badger moved away. "Where?" queried the avenger. "My son, we have no food. I am going again to beg for meat," answered the badger. "Then I go with you," replied the young brave. This made the old badger happy. He was proud of his son. He was delighted to be called "father" by the first human creature. The bear saw the badger coming in the distance. He narrowed his eyes at the tall stranger walking beside him. He spied the arrow. At once he guessed it was the avenger of whom he had heard long, long ago. As they approached, the bear stood erect with a hand on his thigh. He smiled upon them. "How, badger, my friend! Here is my knife. Cut your favorite pieces from the deer," said he, holding out a long thin blade. "How!" said the badger eagerly. He wondered what had inspired the big bear to such a generous deed. The young avenger waited till the badger took the long knife in his hand. Gazing full into the black bear's face, he said: "I come to do justice. You have returned only a knife to my poor father. Now return to him his dwelling. His voice was deep and powerful. In his black eyes burned a steady fire. The long strong teeth of the bear rattled against each other, and his shaggy body shook with fear. "Ahow!" cried he, as if he had been shot. Running into the dwelling he gasped, breathless and trembling, "Come out, all of you! This is the badger's dwelling. We must flee to the forest for fear of the avenger who carries the magic arrow." Out they hurried, all the bears, and disappeared into the woods. Singing and laughing, the badgers returned to their own dwelling. Then the avenger left them. "I go," said he in parting, "over the earth." |
2023.05.29 06:17 iwant_torebuild I'm afraid for my life.
I don’t know where to even start... Mainly I'm writing this because I'm terrified and I figure if something happens to me then maybe they’ll at least find this and other people also seen it. I also desperately want to reach out to anyone to get this off my chest because I've been pretending everything is fine for far to long and i just can't anymore. I haven't told anyone about what's been happening. But IF something DOES happen to me, it was 100% my husband and his family/friends will all help him try and cover it up.
I’m sorry I’m way ahead of myself and jumping all over because of exhaustion, stress and being terrified. Im going to try and fit in as much as I can but there's alot and it's been going on quite some time. First, My name is Jenny and right now, I’m hiding at a truck stop in between two semis with my 2 year old daughter, praying that if my husband thinks of this place that he won’t be able to see us. I’ve never been so scared, since Friday he has choked me into unconsciousness three different times, pushed me onto walls repeatedly and so hard that there’s now one with a hole matching the back of my head and shoulders, locked me in the basement when I went down to get laundry saying he’d let me out when I learned to “behave”- he let me out after two hours, dragged me off the bed by my legs telling me I deserve to sleep on the ground like the “dog I am”, pinched, pulled and shoved me, threw things at me and my daughter while I was sitting on the couch trying to comfort her because he wouldn’t stop screaming and breaking things, he finally stopped when the remote hit me in the head, he hid my phone, laptop, wallet and car keys and has threatened to steal our daughter and run away and has also threatened to kill me. This all happened over the weekend but other things similar to this have been happening for at least a year. Ever since he convinced me to move to his small hometown and away from DC, it’s been happening.
I know some of you are asking “how is he not in jail?” Or “why didn’t she get him arrested?” Well, I tried. I used to think that when people would say things like small town police are corrupt or don’t care or whatever or when movies showed the "evil/corrupt small town police department" that it was all bullshit and exaggerating. Because of course police wouldn't do any of that right? Well, I found out quick this morning that it’s absolutely true. When my husband finally fell asleep this morning, I pretended I heard the baby crying and I was going to check on her but I was actually trying to find my keys and grab whatever I could for my daughter. I finally found them in those little cupboards that are above the fridge inside a cup. I immediately grabbed my daughter and got the hell out of there and went right to the police station and I’ve never been so scared and sick after speaking to them. At one point they told me they know Joey and are sure this is just all some “misunderstanding” and that I didn’t “want to ruin my marriage like this” and that “WE”just needed to cool down. We. As if I had done something to him or like it was my fault he did all that because I upset him and that I needed to “take a few days to think this over”. I hadn’t left there not even 5 minutes before his mother and sister in law were trying to get me to come talk to them at their house and they used that same “misunderstanding” bullshit but added in that “he’s been under a lot of stress” and even slipped in some comment about being the breadwinner. I guess they forgot their son and brother manipulated me into quitting my job in DC to move here and since then hasn’t allowed me to get a job. I have literally no one here to turn to. There’s so much I could say about what I’ve dealt with with his family and friends since moving here but there’s so much. I just want to say when all this started happening, I tried to turn to his family who basically let me know they were on his side and would say comments to let me know they were intimidating and threatening me without saying it directly.
I haven’t been allowed to make even one friend since coming here and he had cut off all contact with almost everyone I know. My parents have passed away and I only have a sister who is currently overseas. As of this afternoon when I refused to answer his calls or tell anyone where I was, he has cut off all access to our bank account, restricted access on my phone so I can only receive calls but not call anyone or text anyone or use the internet (I’m currently on the free WiFi here), he has long since deleted all my social media and he has all my passwords to everything but Reddit as he doesn’t realize what it is, all I have is a small bag of clothes and baby supplies and I have less than 50 dollars in my personal account and I still have to get food for my daughter I don’t care if I eat but she obviously needs to and gas for the car so we’re not stranded or cold.
I don’t know what to do. I’m kicking myself for not somehow skimming money off the grocery and “errand” money he allowed me to spend every week (yes I was only allowed to spend a certain amount). If I had somehow been smarter and been thinking ahead and planning my escape I could’ve put at least a few hundred aside to get me home to DC where I could get help and to keep us going until I could work again. At least there I would have resources to get on my feet but I wasn’t smart. I didn’t plan. I’m a complete idiot failure who can’t even keep my daughter safe. I’m scared I’m going to have to go back. I can’t let her starve or live out of a car with no money.. he would take her from me in a second once he finds me and then I know she’d be in danger as he’s been rough with her several times before I stepped in to make sure if he was going to hurt anyone it would be me and I know his threats of keeping her from me are VERY real threats. There’s not even a women shelter or homeless shelter near here and He has literally a whole town of people to back him up and I have no one. He has completely isolated me from everyone and I just hate myself so much.. I have ruined my daughters life and I’m a failure as a mother. I can’t even keep her safe.
I don’t know what will happen if I go back. But I don’t know what I could do. I don’t even know why I’m writing this other than what I said in the beginning… that if something happens to me, it was my husband. And maybe because I just needed to reach out to someone. I know I’m setting myself up for cruel comments and I guess I deserve it for being so stupid.
I never believed in prayers but right now, I’m willing to give it a chance. Please everyone, even if you think I’m an idiot, please send positive thoughts my way for it to be ok, for me to figure something out, for us to stay safe. If something does happen to me, please don’t forget me or let him get away with it. Please don’t let him hurt our daughter.
submitted by iwant_torebuild to confessions [link] [comments]
I’m sorry I’m way ahead of myself and jumping all over because of exhaustion, stress and being terrified. Im going to try and fit in as much as I can but there's alot and it's been going on quite some time. First, My name is Jenny and right now, I’m hiding at a truck stop in between two semis with my 2 year old daughter, praying that if my husband thinks of this place that he won’t be able to see us. I’ve never been so scared, since Friday he has choked me into unconsciousness three different times, pushed me onto walls repeatedly and so hard that there’s now one with a hole matching the back of my head and shoulders, locked me in the basement when I went down to get laundry saying he’d let me out when I learned to “behave”- he let me out after two hours, dragged me off the bed by my legs telling me I deserve to sleep on the ground like the “dog I am”, pinched, pulled and shoved me, threw things at me and my daughter while I was sitting on the couch trying to comfort her because he wouldn’t stop screaming and breaking things, he finally stopped when the remote hit me in the head, he hid my phone, laptop, wallet and car keys and has threatened to steal our daughter and run away and has also threatened to kill me. This all happened over the weekend but other things similar to this have been happening for at least a year. Ever since he convinced me to move to his small hometown and away from DC, it’s been happening.
I know some of you are asking “how is he not in jail?” Or “why didn’t she get him arrested?” Well, I tried. I used to think that when people would say things like small town police are corrupt or don’t care or whatever or when movies showed the "evil/corrupt small town police department" that it was all bullshit and exaggerating. Because of course police wouldn't do any of that right? Well, I found out quick this morning that it’s absolutely true. When my husband finally fell asleep this morning, I pretended I heard the baby crying and I was going to check on her but I was actually trying to find my keys and grab whatever I could for my daughter. I finally found them in those little cupboards that are above the fridge inside a cup. I immediately grabbed my daughter and got the hell out of there and went right to the police station and I’ve never been so scared and sick after speaking to them. At one point they told me they know Joey and are sure this is just all some “misunderstanding” and that I didn’t “want to ruin my marriage like this” and that “WE”just needed to cool down. We. As if I had done something to him or like it was my fault he did all that because I upset him and that I needed to “take a few days to think this over”. I hadn’t left there not even 5 minutes before his mother and sister in law were trying to get me to come talk to them at their house and they used that same “misunderstanding” bullshit but added in that “he’s been under a lot of stress” and even slipped in some comment about being the breadwinner. I guess they forgot their son and brother manipulated me into quitting my job in DC to move here and since then hasn’t allowed me to get a job. I have literally no one here to turn to. There’s so much I could say about what I’ve dealt with with his family and friends since moving here but there’s so much. I just want to say when all this started happening, I tried to turn to his family who basically let me know they were on his side and would say comments to let me know they were intimidating and threatening me without saying it directly.
I haven’t been allowed to make even one friend since coming here and he had cut off all contact with almost everyone I know. My parents have passed away and I only have a sister who is currently overseas. As of this afternoon when I refused to answer his calls or tell anyone where I was, he has cut off all access to our bank account, restricted access on my phone so I can only receive calls but not call anyone or text anyone or use the internet (I’m currently on the free WiFi here), he has long since deleted all my social media and he has all my passwords to everything but Reddit as he doesn’t realize what it is, all I have is a small bag of clothes and baby supplies and I have less than 50 dollars in my personal account and I still have to get food for my daughter I don’t care if I eat but she obviously needs to and gas for the car so we’re not stranded or cold.
I don’t know what to do. I’m kicking myself for not somehow skimming money off the grocery and “errand” money he allowed me to spend every week (yes I was only allowed to spend a certain amount). If I had somehow been smarter and been thinking ahead and planning my escape I could’ve put at least a few hundred aside to get me home to DC where I could get help and to keep us going until I could work again. At least there I would have resources to get on my feet but I wasn’t smart. I didn’t plan. I’m a complete idiot failure who can’t even keep my daughter safe. I’m scared I’m going to have to go back. I can’t let her starve or live out of a car with no money.. he would take her from me in a second once he finds me and then I know she’d be in danger as he’s been rough with her several times before I stepped in to make sure if he was going to hurt anyone it would be me and I know his threats of keeping her from me are VERY real threats. There’s not even a women shelter or homeless shelter near here and He has literally a whole town of people to back him up and I have no one. He has completely isolated me from everyone and I just hate myself so much.. I have ruined my daughters life and I’m a failure as a mother. I can’t even keep her safe.
I don’t know what will happen if I go back. But I don’t know what I could do. I don’t even know why I’m writing this other than what I said in the beginning… that if something happens to me, it was my husband. And maybe because I just needed to reach out to someone. I know I’m setting myself up for cruel comments and I guess I deserve it for being so stupid.
I never believed in prayers but right now, I’m willing to give it a chance. Please everyone, even if you think I’m an idiot, please send positive thoughts my way for it to be ok, for me to figure something out, for us to stay safe. If something does happen to me, please don’t forget me or let him get away with it. Please don’t let him hurt our daughter.
2023.05.29 05:44 HeadOfSpectre The Casanova
Even though I knew that it was probably just going to be a hookup, I still wanted to look nice. I spent a lot of time agonizing over the outfit that I’d wear. The black dress showed off some cleavage (not that I had much), but it didn’t really seem very me. The floral blouse and skirt combo on the other hand was much more my speed, but I didn’t know if it looked too frumpy or not. I didn’t really want to show up to my first casual hookup looking like somebody's grandmother.
Then there was the choice of underwear. I didn’t own anything that sexy, so I’d bought something just for the occasion. It was comfortable but I didn’t really know if it was me or not.
I guess if all went to plan, my clothes weren’t really going to matter, were they? They were probably going to be in a puddle on the floor pretty early into the night, but I still wanted to look sexy. I wanted to make a good impression! Maybe if I did, it might lead to something a little more lasting… I doubted it, but… well, a girl can dream, right?
I’ve never had a lot of luck with dating. Putting myself out there isn’t easy. I want to do it! But I just struggle. The moment I try to talk to someone, my voice dies in my throat and I immediately run out of things to say. I struggle to make eye contact. It’s not an attractive look. I’d always imagined that someday my love life would just work itself out and that I’d meet the perfect girl in some charming little meet cute. But by the time I was 32, it still hadn’t happened yet and I was starting to doubt that it ever would. I think that’s why the ad I saw a few weeks ago really got to me.
‘Life’s too short to wait for someday! You deserve to find someone! Sign up today and feel the butterflies!’
I’d seen worse advertisements for dating sites before, and considering the headspace I was in, signing up for another one didn’t seem like that bad of an idea. Besides, ‘Butterfly’ was supposed to connect queer girls to queer girls and well, I just so happened to be a queer girl so why not give it a try? It’s not like I had a lot to lose. Although I can’t say I did a whole lot better with online dating than I did with in person dating. I just never seemed to know what to say and most of the conversations I had fizzled out pretty quickly when I either got nervous or ran out of things to talk about. I’m an accountant with no social life. Unfortunately I’m exactly as boring as I sound.
Then I met Dominique… and she seemed to be able to do the talking for both of us.
I matched with her about a week or so after I’d joined up, although I admittedly didn’t think our conversation would last that long though. Dominique was pretty upfront about what she was looking for.
“I’m just in town for a few weeks. So I’m sorta looking for a summer fling, you know?”
Honestly, I didn’t know. I never really saw myself as a ‘summer fling’ kind of girl. But despite how clear she was on what she was looking for, Dominique was sweet, she was charming and she was easy to talk to, so I let things play out just to see where it went. I mean, I may be a socially awkward introvert but I’ve still got needs! And judging by her pictures, Dominique was a very good looking woman. She had the body of a goddess, tall and tanned with messy red hair, nice arms, and a full set of abs. And while I was pretty sure that she would snap me like a twig if she so much as put an arm around me, I still couldn’t say no to her.
When she’d asked if I wanted to meet for dinner yesterday, I hadn’t been able to stop myself and even though I knew that this was probably going to end in meaningless sex, I was okay with that. I ended up unable to pick an outfit and sent a picture of both to Dominique, asking which one she liked more.
She picked the skirt and blouse combo, so I went with that. Then, with my heart racing so fast that I could almost hear it and with my legs a little shaky in anticipation of just where this night might lead, I called an uber to take me to meet her.
***
“Dina! I’m so glad you could make it!”
The way that Dominique greeted me honestly made me blush a little. She already had a table at the restaurant and she stood up to pull a chair out for me. I don’t know how she pulled it off, but she was somehow even hotter in person, with sun kissed skin, hair tied back in a messy bun and warm smile that almost made me melt.
“Y-yeah, I’m sorry I’m late!” I said.
“It’s fine! I actually got here a little early,” She said. “I actually kinda love this restaurant. So I might have had a second reason to be excited for tonight!”
“You’ve been here before?” I asked.
“Yeah, my sisters and I always go whenever we’re in town. We love Thai. You ever been here before?”
“Once or twice,” I admitted, watching as she sat back down across from me. As she did, I noticed a tattoo on the back of her right hand. It sort of looked like the zodiac sign for Sagittarius, with the point of the arrow resting on the knuckle of her middle finger.
“You’re into astrology?” I asked.
“Oh? Yeah, kinda.” Dominique said, “It’s more of a family thing. My sisters and I all got one.”
“Sounds interesting, how many sisters have you got?” I asked.
“Twelve. One for each sign,” Dominique said caually, before correcting herself. “We’re technically not all related, it’s just sorta a… I dunno, like a found family kind of deal, you know? None of us really have anybody else, so we mostly just call each other sisters since it’s basically what we are, and we call our Mother our Mother because… well… you get the idea, right?”
“Found family?” I repeated, before stifling a laugh. “That actually sounds kinda wholesome.”
“Yeah, it is for the most part. We’ve been through a lot together. They mean the world to me,” Dominique said. “What about you? Got any family?”
“Eh, yes I don’t keep in touch with them,” I said. “My parents and I sorta stopped being on speaking terms after I came out of the closet… liking girls wasn’t part of ‘Gods Plan’ I guess.”
“Oh… I’m sorry to hear,” Dominique said softly. She reached over to put a hand over mine.
“It’s fine! They made their choice! If they never talk to me again, it’s their loss, really!” I said although I couldn’t hide the flush in my cheeks. “So… um… your family, do they…”
“They’re all pretty supportive. And I’m not the only one who’s not exactly straight,” Dominique replied. “One of my sisters even got married a few years back… Vera. She’s the Gemini, funnily enough. Now her wife is also Gemini. I mean, if the shoe fits, right?”
“Really? Sounds like you’ve got a very interesting family,” I said.
A waiter showed up and took our drink orders before she could reply to that. Dominique ordered herself a beer, I just got water. Alcohol never really agreed with me.
“So… do you do this kind of thing often?” I asked, when the waiter left.
“Dating? Yeah. I like meeting new people,” Dominique said. “You?”
I laughed nervously.
“Not really… this is… um… this is my first time out in about a year, actually. I’ve never really been good at this sort of thing and I’ve never really done anything… you know… casual, before…”
“Well hey, good on you for getting out of your comfort zone, a little!” Dominique said.
“Thanks… I’ve got to ask… these kinds of dates… I’m not implying I’m expecting you to do anything but… you mentioned… I…”
My words completely and utterly failed me at this point, and honestly, it was kinda impressive that I’d managed to last so long with her. But here was the inevitable moment where I went and royally fucked it all up. Good job, Dina!
Dominique just smiled at me, though as if my flustered babbling didn’t put her off in the slightest. Her hand was on top of mine again.
“Hey… we don’t need to do anything you’re not comfortable with, okay? If you just wanna have dinner, then we’re just gonna have dinner. We’ll see where the night goes, alright?”
“A-alright…” I squeaked, still not entirely convinced that I hadn’t just blown it with her. Her hand was comfortably cool on top of mine, and she gently ran her thumb over my knuckles.
I’d been half expecting her to be a little more… I don’t know… straightforward with what she wanted but she made me feel like she really cared about me! Like I really mattered to her! She made me feel so warm and soft and she made my heart race and I just wanted to kiss her and feel her arms around me and… oh God, I was so fucking red!
“Sorry, too much?” Dominique asked, lifting her hand away from mine.
“N-no! Just enough! Just fine! A-okay here!”
Was I coming on too strong? Was I not coming on strong enough? How exactly did I let this woman know that I was very interested in kissing her without coming across as a fucking psychopath? She just chuckled, although the waiter brought us our drinks before she could put her hand back over mine.
I may have drank my water a little too fast.
“So… you’re an accountant, right?” Dominique asked. “What’s that like?”
“Boring,” I said. “Really… really boring. I mean, I find it interesting. I’ve always sort of had a head for numbers and everything, but most people find it boring, I guess.”
Case in point, the people at the next table were leaving. Oh God, I hoped I hadn’t just ruined their dining experience. The people at the table behind us were leaving too, and I caught Dominique eying them warily before her attention returned to me.
“Well, maybe it’s not interesting to everyone but, we need people with a head for numbers in the world. My sister Claire’s always been like that. It’s part of why Mom has her running a lot of the family business. Me? I’m more personable. I do better in sales.”
“Is that why you’re in town?” I asked.
“Yeah, meeting up with a client. I probably shouldn’t get into the details, but it’s mostly just a distribution thing. I don’t really need the money, but I like to travel and I like to feel like I’m contributing, you know?”
“If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your family business?” I asked.
“Jewelry, clothes, fashion items. Stuff like that. It’s more of a luxury brand, I guess but it pays the bills. I’ve been looking for other oppotunities, though. I figure it might be time for a change of pace. Do something a little more… altruistic, I guess? I mean, jewlery really isn’t the business you get into when you want to save the world.”
“I guess not. What did you have in mind?”
“I dunno. Something… helpful…” Her voice trailed off as she watched the customers at another table quietly get up and leave. The restaurant wasn’t empty yet. But there were only a small handful of people left, sitting alone at a few tables. All of them men, all of them well dressed.
Something felt off about this… although I couldn’t exactly tell just what. It almost felt like the men in the restaurant were sitting there, watching us. Dominique looked around at them, before her attention shifted to a man coming out of the back of the restaurant. He appeared to be middle aged, with a full head of thick hair and a large moustache. He wore an expensive suit with a black vest underneath it, and a bolo tie. He sort of reminded me of a cowboy.
I saw Dominique’s eyes narrow, but she didn’t say a word.
“That’s funny…” The man said coolly, “Alturism ain’t really common in your kind.”
He stopped by our table, before fixing me in a cold glare that made my skin crawl.
“You’d best git, girl. Your date and I have some business.”
I looked back at Dominique, who looked more annoyed than intimidated.
“So can I not just have a night out… or is that against your religion, or something?” She asked.
“Your very existence is against my religion, vampire.” The Cowboy replied.
Vampire?
I looked over at Dominique. She looked like a lot of things, but a vampire wasn’t one of them! She sighed, and hardly seemed to notice as the other people in the restaurant who’d been watching us rose from their seats.
“You know what, my sister Claire told me that this was going to happen… she fucking told me. And you know what I said? I said that you guys wouldn’t be stupid enough to try anything, especially after the other recent ass beatings you got from her and Eris. But here I am, eating my words… good grief…”
Dominique shook her head before looking at me and putting on a sheepish smile.
“I’m so sorry about this!” She said, “I really didn’t think that this was going to happen. You should probably just go.”
From the corner of my eye, I saw one of the men surrounding us taking a gun out from his jacket, and felt my heart skip a beat.
They were here to kill her.
And for a moment the restaurant went silent.
They were waiting for me to leave… and it would have been so easy to do it. So easy to run, and let these men… these vampire hunters kill Dominique. I mean, if she really was some kind of creature of the night, that was probably what was best, right?
Right?
“Well?” The Cowboy said impatiently, “Get a move on, dyke!” I noticed a gun in his belt too.
I felt my entire body tense up… but I couldn’t make myself move. I couldn’t leave her to her fate.
I wouldn’t.
Whatever she was, in the short amount of time that I’d known her, she’d been nothing but sweet to me, nothing but kind and understanding and goddamnit even if she’d only done that to get me alone so she could feed on me… hell, I’d probably welcome it.
“N-no…” I said, “You leave her the heck alone!”
I caught Dominique raising an eyebrow as I stood up, looking the Cowboy dead in the eye. He looked moderately surprised, before looking back toward his companions and scoffing.
“Welp… you heard her boys. Looks like we’ve got collateral.”
I saw him go for the gun and felt my heart stop in my chest. It briefly dawned on me that I’d just tried to talk back to a man with a gun, and that this was about to go exactly as badly as expected.
But before he could even get the gun out of his holster, I saw a flash of movement. Dominique lunged at the man with almost blinding speed, grabbing him by the arm and slamming him down into the table between us. The Cowboy hit it hard enough for the table to actually break and he landed at my feet, still alive, but probably no longer entirely sure exactly what day of the week it was anymore.
I heard a few guns go off, but Dominique appeared between me and the shooters. I saw one of them collapse dead to the ground, his head burst open like a watermelon and I really should have been more horrified by that than I was.
“She’s a Di Cesare you idiot! Don’t shoot!” I heard someone else cry, although Dominique had moved to subdue the next man before they could do anything else.
She moved quickly, grabbing a bowl of pad thai off one of the empty tables and smashing it against his head, before using a shard of that same bowl to open the throat of the next man. They struggled to try and stop her, but Dominique was too fast. The next closest man was grabbed by the shirt and pulled toward her. She sank her fangs into his throat and immediately dispelled any lingering doubts I’d had that she was actually a vampire. She was very clearly drinking that mans blood, and when she was done she kicked him into the last two of his friends who were still standing.
“Somebody get the goddamn Malvian stake!” I heard one of them yell, and from the back, I saw two new men coming out, one of them holding something that looked like a stake made out of a pinkish ice. Dominique turned her head toward them, before grabbing one of the nearby chairs and hurling it at the men. Then, her mouth still covered in blood, she ran for me, grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the door.
I really wasn’t in any state of mind to fight her, considering the fact that I’d just found out that vampires were real, and watched one kick the shit out of an entire resturant in the span of about three minutes. As Dominique pulled me down the street, toward a sporty red Dodge Challenger, I barely even had time to adjust my glasses before she’d unlocked the doors and was getting inside.
“C’mon, they’re gonna be following us,” She said.
I blinked in mild disbelief at the absolutely madness that had just seemed to happen around me before realizing that my legs were already carrying me into the passenger seat of Dominique’s car. The engine roared to life, as she tore out onto the street, while Guns and Roses screamed out over the speakers.
Five minutes ago, this had not been the direction I’d figured that this date would go in.
It’s amazing what can happen in five minutes.
I looked out through the rear view window to see the men that Dominique hadn’t just killed shuffling out of the resturant, onto the street. The Cowboy was among them, and I saw him staring at our car as we sped away.
“Sorry about this,” Dominique said. “I really, really didn’t think these jokers would actually have the balls to take a run at me.”
“Who the heck even are those people?” I asked.
“Oh, just some assholes. Long story short… they think they’re the Knights Templar and really hate anything that’s not human,” Dominique said. “They’re not a big fan of a lot of humans either… and my family may or may not have a four hundred year long blood fued with them.”
“Oh…” I said, “Is that all? The rest of your family, you’re all… you’re all…”
“Vampires? Yeah. Sorry… it’s not really the sort of thing you bring up on a first date,” Dominique said, sounding a little embarrassed. “Technically, my sisters and I are a cut above your average vampire. We were actually witches first. The vampirism came later. It’s sorta a whole thing… I can tell you about it later, if you want.”
“A vampire witch…” I said, trying to wrap my head around exactly what the hell that was. I couldn’t so I gave up and tried to focus on another one of the millions of questions racing through my mind.
“Were you going to eat me?”
“What?” Dominique asked, “No! I mean… okay, to be fair I probably would have asked after I told you I was a vampire. But just so we’re clear, no. I don’t really feed on the girls I date unless they tell me I can. It’s sort of an ethics thing, you know?”
“So where do you normally get your blood?” I asked, a little bit suspicious of that answer (and for good reason.)
“I mean, lots of different ways. There’s a lot of us out there, you know? Thousands at least. Maybe even millions. We’ve got infrastructure. It reduces the need to hunt. Gives us access to either living donors, or blood from a source that’s reasonably fresh. I guess most of us do still hunt for fun, and so long as we don’t leave bodies we don’t really get in any trouble for it. But I generally prefer something a little more personal.”
She looked over at me and took note of the look of utter confusion on my face.
“I’m probably not explaining this all that well, am I?” She asked.
“I have no idea,” I replied honestly, “So… you’re not going to kill me, then?”
“No Dina, I’m not going to kill you… hell, I’m actually kinda impressed! That was pretty ballsy of you, standing your ground back there!”
I had no answer for her as to why I’d done that, and I may have just caught myself mindlessly blushing again.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed a pair of SUV’s coming up behind us in the side view mirror and looked back at them. They weaved violently through traffic, trying desperately to catch up to us and though I couldn’t see through the tinted windows, I knew who was behind the wheel.
“Jeez… they’re really determined today…” Dominique said under her breath.
“Why exactly do these people hate you again?” I asked.
“About four hundred years ago they tried to kill my sisters and me for being witches, and we kinda responded by becoming vampires… then after they killed one of us, we may have killed a bunch of them in turn, and they never really got over it,” She said. “Like I said, it’s a whole thing.”
“Yeah… clearly…”
“I’m kinda impressed that they’re still trying. My sisters and I went out of our way to be hard to kill,” Dominique said. “We kinda cursed ourselves, so that anytime someone wounds us, they get hurt instead. Attribution on the spell can be a little sketchy at times, but it works for the most part. Although that stake they had looked like it’d cut right through the spell… guess they’ve gotten smarter.”
The SUV’s were catching up and Dominique watched them closely as they drew closer.
“So, they can’t kill you without that stake, right?” I asked, hoping that meant that we weren’t actually in any danger.
Dominique’s brow remained furrowed.
“I mean it would help… dunno if the spell would help me survive a car wreck, though.”
Her tone implied that she was starting to have second thoughts about the whole ‘getting into a car and driving away from them’ plan.
“I don’t suppose you know any witchy things that will get rid of them?” I asked.
“I just might…” She replied, “Here, take the wheel for a moment.”
“W-what?”
She didn’t wait for me to take the wheel, she just let it go and forced me to grab it. I watched as Dominique bit down hard on her finger, drawing blood before reaching up toward the windshield to start drawing some sort of sigil on the glass in her own blood.
I kept my eyes on the road, trying to keep us from hitting any of the cars we passed, so I didn’t get a particularly good look at the sigil.
“What’s that supposed to do?” I asked although Dominique didn’t respond to me.
The streetlights that we passed started to flicker violently. I watched as Dominique pressed her hand into the center of the sigil, before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. The streetlights around us dimmed, then grew brighter, almost to the point where they were blinding.
“Bruciare,” I heard her say under her breath.
The lights grew even brighter, before one by one they started to burst. The explosions from them were blinding, as sparks showered down on the road around us. I heard something that sounded a little bit like a deafening thunderclap, but I couldn’t see a thing! I felt Dominique grabbing the steering wheel from me as we veered into another lane. I looked back to see what was left of one of the SUV’s sailing through a shower of sparks, its cabin looked as if it had exploded, with little left of it but twisted metal and angry flames.
Dominique smirked as she saw the totaled SUV, before focusing on the road again.
"Electrical rune. Hell of a shock, right?" Dominique said.
Oh, so the magical vampire just deep-fried the religious Knights chasing us with lightning. That was all. I mean, I might have thought it was a little too much but clearly all logic had gone out the window now and insanity had taken hold. I briefly wondered if perhaps I was actually just hallucinating all of this and drooling on the table back at the Thai restaurant while the real Dominique called for a doctor. Or maybe I'd just embarrassed myself so badly that I'd gone completely mad and this was all simply my delusion with which to escape from reality. Who could say, really?
I saw the second SUV weaving through traffic behind us. I guess watching their friend explode hadn't dissuaded the driver at all, since they were still coming right for us. Dominique's eyes were on the road. I didn't know if she'd noticed them or not. The SUV sped closer to us before suddenly slamming into our side and the entire car lurched violently as Dominique tried to right it.
"Asshole!" She spat. "Dina, the wheel!"
This time I was ready. I grabbed the wheel as Dominique prepared another rune. The SUV was coming to ram us again. They dipped into oncoming traffic to build some distance between us, before suddenly veering closer to try and ram us again.
I jerked the wheel to the side, slamming Dominique's car into the SUV before it could hit us and keeping them on the wrong side of the road. Even through the tinted windows, I could see the driver glaring at me... and it wasn't until the last second that he saw the oncoming truck I'd seen about a minute ago. I actually heard him screaming from inside his car the instant before the truck hit him.
I wasn't really sure how to feel about that and decided that I'd probably need to process the complex emotions that come with having just killed a man later.
Dominique was looking at me with a look of utter bewilderment. She looked back at the truck, then back to me.
"You said to take the wheel!" I said!
"Yes... Yes. I did." She replied, before taking the wheel back from me. She took a hard turn onto a new, slightly less busy road. Around us, I could see some quiet warehouses, telling me we'd ended up in the more industrial part of town.
For a moment, everything was quiet, and we sat there in silence, my heart still racing from experiencing my first ever car chase.
"So… I'm guessing you just want me to drop you off somewhere, huh?" Dominique asked.
"Actually…I could still really go for something to eat," I said quietly just embracing the madness. I was hungry. I had not eaten yet. Might as well fix that!
"Wait, really?" Dominique asked. "Well… shit, what's around then?"
"I'm really not picky," I said. "What do vampires eat?"
"Whatever we want. The blood is more of a nutritional thing. We only really need it every few days or so We still need to eat otherwise."
"Really?" I asked, "So what happens if you don't drink blood?"
"You basically just waste away," She said, "And usually you go a little bit crazy… it's never happened to me, but I've heard things. It's not pretty."
"Jesus… yeah, that does sound pretty awful," I said. "Wait, was Jesus real?"
Dominique shrugged.
"I dunno. I'm only about 400 years old, give or take. Christianity was a thing long before I was born."
"Right… sorry," I said.
"It's alright! I can tell you a lot about the history of Venice and Brazil though!"
I was about to take her up on that when I noticed a new set of headlights behind us.
"Oh hell… are there more of them?" I asked, almost exasperated at this point.
"Seriously, how many people do they have?" Dominique asked, "This is getting stupid!”
“How do you deal with this on a daily basis?” I asked.
“Funnily enough we don’t, they usually leave us alone. I heard that somebody’s jonesing for a promotion though and figured they’d take another crack at us… guess they forgot how badly all of their previous attempts went.”
The final SUV sped closer to us, and Dominique pumped the brakes, letting him shoot past us. She jerked the wheel hard, pulling into the parking lot of some nearby warehouse, and I saw the SUV desperately trying to make a U turn. I clamped onto the passenger side grab handle (I didn’t actually know what they were called before I sat down to write this. I’ve always called them the ‘Oh Jesus Handle’) as Dominique did a donut, spinning her damaged car to face the entrance to the parking lot she’d just entered. She watched intently as the SUV followed her in, before revving her engine like a complete and total psychopath and rocketing toward the SUV.
Normally I would have voiced some concern over her absolutely reckless driving skills, but at this point all I could really say was something that sounded a little like: “OHMYGAWHA ARE OH GAAAAAHHH!”
The SUV jerked to the side, trying to avoid being hit by Dominique, who turned her wheel suddenly, doing a wide donut around the SUV. Her tires squealed against the asphalt as the SUV tried to avoid her, heading toward the factory before making another hard U Turn to try and face us again. I could see some muzzle flashes through the SUV’s window and heard the sound of bullets striking the body of the car. One of them must have hit a tire, since Dominique seemed to suddenly lose control and the overpowering smell of burning rubber filled my nostrils. The car spun, and Dominique gripped the wheel tightly, trying to control it. She looked up at the SUV, which was coming around to ram us.
Her eyes narrowed.
“Out,” She said.
“But what about-”
“Out!”
Before I could say a word of protest, she’d hit the brakes, stopping her spin.
“Go!”
The SUV was speeding toward us. I didn’t want to leave her, but every self-preservation instinct I had was telling me to move! I looked Dominique in the eye. She had a stern, somewhat determined expression. I trusted that she knew what she was doing.
I mean, I don’t think I really had a choice but to trust that she knew what she was doing… I got out of the car, running as fast as my legs would let me as Dominique sped away.
The SUV followed her, veering to pursue her as her battered car tried to circle around the SUV again. The destroyed front tire of her car smoked and screamed against the asphalt as she made a hard turn, letting her car fishtail. The rear end of it slammed into the front of the SUV, sending it slightly off course, toward the warehouse.
Dominique hit the gas again, driving up alongside the SUV and slamming her car against theirs, trying to force them toward the wall. The SUV tried to turn, but couldn’t do so fast enough.
Both cars hit the wall and crumpled.
I felt my breath catch in my throat.
For a few moments, everything went silent. I stared at the cars, waiting for some kind of movement… and when the door of the SUV opened, I felt my heart sink.
I watched as the Cowboy dragged himself out of the drivers seat, before his legs gave out from under him. He collapsed onto the pavement, breathing heavily before trying to pick himself up. His hat tumbled off of his head, and he paused to grab it, before gripping the side of his totaled SUV to try and stand again. I saw his eyes shift toward me, although he didn’t say a word. We stood there for a moment, staring at each other from across the parking lot before he reached back into his car and took out the stake I’d seen earlier. The one that Dominique said could probably kill her.
He looked back at me, before limping around the back of his SUV, heading for Dominique’s car.
I was running for him before I even knew what I was doing. I grabbed at his jacket, trying to hold him back, stop him from getting closer to her. He growled in frustration before slapping me hard across the cheek and sending me crashing to the ground.
“Enough!” He snarled, “Enough…”
He glared down at me, and for a moment I thought he was going to use that stake on me.
But he didn’t.
“I don’t know what the hell you think you’re trying to protect, girl… but that thing in there… that isn’t a goddamn person. It’s a fucking plague. I dunno why you motherfuckers try and defend these things. They ain’t human! They ain’t people! Not anymore. Killing it… it’s God’s work, girl. And you don’t stand in the way of God’s work. You understand that? He always wins, girl. God. Wins.”
“Fuck God…” I rasped, trying to pick myself up again. “A-and fuck you, Mister!”
The Cowboy just laughed breathlessly.
“Ah hell… welp, shoulda known better than trying to reason with stupid, I guess.” He said, before taking a step toward me. I stumbled back, as his gaze fixated on me with a single minded, murderous dedication.
Dominique’s engine roared to life. The Cowboy froze, looking back at it with wide, terrified eyes. I took the opportunity to run, getting out of the way before Dominique’s car jerked backward, slamming into the Cowboy and sending him back to the ground with a cry of pain. Dominique’s car door flew open, and I watched as she stumbled out. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth and she had a few minor cuts on her face from where her windshield had shattered. Her hair was a mess.
But she was alive.
“Leave the girl alone… jackass…” She spat, as her car door came off entirely.
The Cowboy brandished the stake he had at her, holding it between them as if it was going to shoot out some kind of death beam that would instantly kill her. Although he didn’t seem to have the strength to actually use it. Dominique stared down at him, before looking back at her fallen car door and grabbing it, dragging it toward him.
The Cowboy watched as she came, and I saw a grim resignation settle over his face.
“There’s gonna be more of us, Di Cesare…” He hissed, “So long as your motherfuckin’ family is still alive, we will never stop coming for you. You hear me? God wins, vampire! God… wins…”
“Yeah, you guys have done great so far. This is the closest you’ve come in what, over 200 years? Nice work. I’m sure God’s gonna be real proud of you,” Dominique huffed as she approached. She gingerly kicked the stake out of the Cowboy’s hand. He meekly tried to reach for it, although I grabbed it off the ground, keeping it away from him as Dominique stood over him with the car door.
He looked up at her, trying to remain composed but I could still clearly see the terror in his eyes.
“Hail Satan, asshole,” Dominique replied, before lifting the car door and bringing it down hard on his head. I didn’t watch as she killed him. But I heard his skull cracking and from the corner of my eye, I saw his body twitch before going limp.
Dominique tossed the broken piece of the car door aside, before looking down at the body, and giving an exhausted sigh. She looked back at her totaled car, frowning and taking a moment to quietly mourn it before leaning against it and letting out an exhausted groan.
After a moment, I stepped over the body of the man she’d just killed and stood beside her.
“So… wanna go back to my place?” I asked, looking up at her.
Dominique looked back over at me, and for a moment we just sort of stared at each other.
***
About thirty minutes later, I was back at my apartment, on my back with Dominique on top of me, having the most intense orgasm of my life. My fingernails dug into her back as she kissed me over and over again. I could still taste my own blood on her lips but I didn’t care. I could see stars and there wasn’t a single coherent thought in my mind.
I vaguely remember screaming her name as she sank her teeth into me again, and oh God, why did nobody tell me that getting bit by a vampire felt so fucking good?
I felt a little dizzy, but in a good way as Dominique kissed the small bite mark she’d left on my neck. My entire body trembled as she lifted her hand from between my legs, smiling knowingly as she kissed me one more time. I held her close, losing myself completely in this moment, and savoring the sensation of her arms wrapping around me. It was exactly as nice as I’d hoped it would be, and as we basked in the afterglow of what had easily just been the best sex of my life, I felt content.
Dominique kissed me on the head, before checking on the bite mark again.
“Still doing okay?” She whispered to me.
“Y-yuh…” Was the only response that I was really able to get out.
“Good.”
She kissed me again before playing with my hair and fixing my glasses, chuckling softly as she did. I curled up beside her. Her body was cool to the touch, but she pulled the blanket over us so we’d be warm. I closed my eyes, feeling sleep calling me and quietly wished that Dominique would be staying in town for a little bit longer.
Oh well.
I had every intention of making the most of our time together.
***
It’s been about a week after Dominique left, and since then I’ve found myself back on Butterfly. I didn’t think I’d have much success there… especially after what happened with Dominique, but strangely it’s been going pretty good, lately. It’s hard to say what’s changed about me, but I’m finding that I’m having an easier time talking to people lately.
I guess once you’ve survived a car chase with a bunch of religious fanatics, talking to strangers online doesn’t seem as scary anymore.
I’ve even got another date lined up for tonight! Her name is Piper, and while I don’t think it’s going to be as crazy as my first date with Dominique was, I’ve still got a good feeling about it. For the first time in a while, I feel like things are going to work out for me.
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Then there was the choice of underwear. I didn’t own anything that sexy, so I’d bought something just for the occasion. It was comfortable but I didn’t really know if it was me or not.
I guess if all went to plan, my clothes weren’t really going to matter, were they? They were probably going to be in a puddle on the floor pretty early into the night, but I still wanted to look sexy. I wanted to make a good impression! Maybe if I did, it might lead to something a little more lasting… I doubted it, but… well, a girl can dream, right?
I’ve never had a lot of luck with dating. Putting myself out there isn’t easy. I want to do it! But I just struggle. The moment I try to talk to someone, my voice dies in my throat and I immediately run out of things to say. I struggle to make eye contact. It’s not an attractive look. I’d always imagined that someday my love life would just work itself out and that I’d meet the perfect girl in some charming little meet cute. But by the time I was 32, it still hadn’t happened yet and I was starting to doubt that it ever would. I think that’s why the ad I saw a few weeks ago really got to me.
‘Life’s too short to wait for someday! You deserve to find someone! Sign up today and feel the butterflies!’
I’d seen worse advertisements for dating sites before, and considering the headspace I was in, signing up for another one didn’t seem like that bad of an idea. Besides, ‘Butterfly’ was supposed to connect queer girls to queer girls and well, I just so happened to be a queer girl so why not give it a try? It’s not like I had a lot to lose. Although I can’t say I did a whole lot better with online dating than I did with in person dating. I just never seemed to know what to say and most of the conversations I had fizzled out pretty quickly when I either got nervous or ran out of things to talk about. I’m an accountant with no social life. Unfortunately I’m exactly as boring as I sound.
Then I met Dominique… and she seemed to be able to do the talking for both of us.
I matched with her about a week or so after I’d joined up, although I admittedly didn’t think our conversation would last that long though. Dominique was pretty upfront about what she was looking for.
“I’m just in town for a few weeks. So I’m sorta looking for a summer fling, you know?”
Honestly, I didn’t know. I never really saw myself as a ‘summer fling’ kind of girl. But despite how clear she was on what she was looking for, Dominique was sweet, she was charming and she was easy to talk to, so I let things play out just to see where it went. I mean, I may be a socially awkward introvert but I’ve still got needs! And judging by her pictures, Dominique was a very good looking woman. She had the body of a goddess, tall and tanned with messy red hair, nice arms, and a full set of abs. And while I was pretty sure that she would snap me like a twig if she so much as put an arm around me, I still couldn’t say no to her.
When she’d asked if I wanted to meet for dinner yesterday, I hadn’t been able to stop myself and even though I knew that this was probably going to end in meaningless sex, I was okay with that. I ended up unable to pick an outfit and sent a picture of both to Dominique, asking which one she liked more.
She picked the skirt and blouse combo, so I went with that. Then, with my heart racing so fast that I could almost hear it and with my legs a little shaky in anticipation of just where this night might lead, I called an uber to take me to meet her.
***
“Dina! I’m so glad you could make it!”
The way that Dominique greeted me honestly made me blush a little. She already had a table at the restaurant and she stood up to pull a chair out for me. I don’t know how she pulled it off, but she was somehow even hotter in person, with sun kissed skin, hair tied back in a messy bun and warm smile that almost made me melt.
“Y-yeah, I’m sorry I’m late!” I said.
“It’s fine! I actually got here a little early,” She said. “I actually kinda love this restaurant. So I might have had a second reason to be excited for tonight!”
“You’ve been here before?” I asked.
“Yeah, my sisters and I always go whenever we’re in town. We love Thai. You ever been here before?”
“Once or twice,” I admitted, watching as she sat back down across from me. As she did, I noticed a tattoo on the back of her right hand. It sort of looked like the zodiac sign for Sagittarius, with the point of the arrow resting on the knuckle of her middle finger.
“You’re into astrology?” I asked.
“Oh? Yeah, kinda.” Dominique said, “It’s more of a family thing. My sisters and I all got one.”
“Sounds interesting, how many sisters have you got?” I asked.
“Twelve. One for each sign,” Dominique said caually, before correcting herself. “We’re technically not all related, it’s just sorta a… I dunno, like a found family kind of deal, you know? None of us really have anybody else, so we mostly just call each other sisters since it’s basically what we are, and we call our Mother our Mother because… well… you get the idea, right?”
“Found family?” I repeated, before stifling a laugh. “That actually sounds kinda wholesome.”
“Yeah, it is for the most part. We’ve been through a lot together. They mean the world to me,” Dominique said. “What about you? Got any family?”
“Eh, yes I don’t keep in touch with them,” I said. “My parents and I sorta stopped being on speaking terms after I came out of the closet… liking girls wasn’t part of ‘Gods Plan’ I guess.”
“Oh… I’m sorry to hear,” Dominique said softly. She reached over to put a hand over mine.
“It’s fine! They made their choice! If they never talk to me again, it’s their loss, really!” I said although I couldn’t hide the flush in my cheeks. “So… um… your family, do they…”
“They’re all pretty supportive. And I’m not the only one who’s not exactly straight,” Dominique replied. “One of my sisters even got married a few years back… Vera. She’s the Gemini, funnily enough. Now her wife is also Gemini. I mean, if the shoe fits, right?”
“Really? Sounds like you’ve got a very interesting family,” I said.
A waiter showed up and took our drink orders before she could reply to that. Dominique ordered herself a beer, I just got water. Alcohol never really agreed with me.
“So… do you do this kind of thing often?” I asked, when the waiter left.
“Dating? Yeah. I like meeting new people,” Dominique said. “You?”
I laughed nervously.
“Not really… this is… um… this is my first time out in about a year, actually. I’ve never really been good at this sort of thing and I’ve never really done anything… you know… casual, before…”
“Well hey, good on you for getting out of your comfort zone, a little!” Dominique said.
“Thanks… I’ve got to ask… these kinds of dates… I’m not implying I’m expecting you to do anything but… you mentioned… I…”
My words completely and utterly failed me at this point, and honestly, it was kinda impressive that I’d managed to last so long with her. But here was the inevitable moment where I went and royally fucked it all up. Good job, Dina!
Dominique just smiled at me, though as if my flustered babbling didn’t put her off in the slightest. Her hand was on top of mine again.
“Hey… we don’t need to do anything you’re not comfortable with, okay? If you just wanna have dinner, then we’re just gonna have dinner. We’ll see where the night goes, alright?”
“A-alright…” I squeaked, still not entirely convinced that I hadn’t just blown it with her. Her hand was comfortably cool on top of mine, and she gently ran her thumb over my knuckles.
I’d been half expecting her to be a little more… I don’t know… straightforward with what she wanted but she made me feel like she really cared about me! Like I really mattered to her! She made me feel so warm and soft and she made my heart race and I just wanted to kiss her and feel her arms around me and… oh God, I was so fucking red!
“Sorry, too much?” Dominique asked, lifting her hand away from mine.
“N-no! Just enough! Just fine! A-okay here!”
Was I coming on too strong? Was I not coming on strong enough? How exactly did I let this woman know that I was very interested in kissing her without coming across as a fucking psychopath? She just chuckled, although the waiter brought us our drinks before she could put her hand back over mine.
I may have drank my water a little too fast.
“So… you’re an accountant, right?” Dominique asked. “What’s that like?”
“Boring,” I said. “Really… really boring. I mean, I find it interesting. I’ve always sort of had a head for numbers and everything, but most people find it boring, I guess.”
Case in point, the people at the next table were leaving. Oh God, I hoped I hadn’t just ruined their dining experience. The people at the table behind us were leaving too, and I caught Dominique eying them warily before her attention returned to me.
“Well, maybe it’s not interesting to everyone but, we need people with a head for numbers in the world. My sister Claire’s always been like that. It’s part of why Mom has her running a lot of the family business. Me? I’m more personable. I do better in sales.”
“Is that why you’re in town?” I asked.
“Yeah, meeting up with a client. I probably shouldn’t get into the details, but it’s mostly just a distribution thing. I don’t really need the money, but I like to travel and I like to feel like I’m contributing, you know?”
“If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your family business?” I asked.
“Jewelry, clothes, fashion items. Stuff like that. It’s more of a luxury brand, I guess but it pays the bills. I’ve been looking for other oppotunities, though. I figure it might be time for a change of pace. Do something a little more… altruistic, I guess? I mean, jewlery really isn’t the business you get into when you want to save the world.”
“I guess not. What did you have in mind?”
“I dunno. Something… helpful…” Her voice trailed off as she watched the customers at another table quietly get up and leave. The restaurant wasn’t empty yet. But there were only a small handful of people left, sitting alone at a few tables. All of them men, all of them well dressed.
Something felt off about this… although I couldn’t exactly tell just what. It almost felt like the men in the restaurant were sitting there, watching us. Dominique looked around at them, before her attention shifted to a man coming out of the back of the restaurant. He appeared to be middle aged, with a full head of thick hair and a large moustache. He wore an expensive suit with a black vest underneath it, and a bolo tie. He sort of reminded me of a cowboy.
I saw Dominique’s eyes narrow, but she didn’t say a word.
“That’s funny…” The man said coolly, “Alturism ain’t really common in your kind.”
He stopped by our table, before fixing me in a cold glare that made my skin crawl.
“You’d best git, girl. Your date and I have some business.”
I looked back at Dominique, who looked more annoyed than intimidated.
“So can I not just have a night out… or is that against your religion, or something?” She asked.
“Your very existence is against my religion, vampire.” The Cowboy replied.
Vampire?
I looked over at Dominique. She looked like a lot of things, but a vampire wasn’t one of them! She sighed, and hardly seemed to notice as the other people in the restaurant who’d been watching us rose from their seats.
“You know what, my sister Claire told me that this was going to happen… she fucking told me. And you know what I said? I said that you guys wouldn’t be stupid enough to try anything, especially after the other recent ass beatings you got from her and Eris. But here I am, eating my words… good grief…”
Dominique shook her head before looking at me and putting on a sheepish smile.
“I’m so sorry about this!” She said, “I really didn’t think that this was going to happen. You should probably just go.”
From the corner of my eye, I saw one of the men surrounding us taking a gun out from his jacket, and felt my heart skip a beat.
They were here to kill her.
And for a moment the restaurant went silent.
They were waiting for me to leave… and it would have been so easy to do it. So easy to run, and let these men… these vampire hunters kill Dominique. I mean, if she really was some kind of creature of the night, that was probably what was best, right?
Right?
“Well?” The Cowboy said impatiently, “Get a move on, dyke!” I noticed a gun in his belt too.
I felt my entire body tense up… but I couldn’t make myself move. I couldn’t leave her to her fate.
I wouldn’t.
Whatever she was, in the short amount of time that I’d known her, she’d been nothing but sweet to me, nothing but kind and understanding and goddamnit even if she’d only done that to get me alone so she could feed on me… hell, I’d probably welcome it.
“N-no…” I said, “You leave her the heck alone!”
I caught Dominique raising an eyebrow as I stood up, looking the Cowboy dead in the eye. He looked moderately surprised, before looking back toward his companions and scoffing.
“Welp… you heard her boys. Looks like we’ve got collateral.”
I saw him go for the gun and felt my heart stop in my chest. It briefly dawned on me that I’d just tried to talk back to a man with a gun, and that this was about to go exactly as badly as expected.
But before he could even get the gun out of his holster, I saw a flash of movement. Dominique lunged at the man with almost blinding speed, grabbing him by the arm and slamming him down into the table between us. The Cowboy hit it hard enough for the table to actually break and he landed at my feet, still alive, but probably no longer entirely sure exactly what day of the week it was anymore.
I heard a few guns go off, but Dominique appeared between me and the shooters. I saw one of them collapse dead to the ground, his head burst open like a watermelon and I really should have been more horrified by that than I was.
“She’s a Di Cesare you idiot! Don’t shoot!” I heard someone else cry, although Dominique had moved to subdue the next man before they could do anything else.
She moved quickly, grabbing a bowl of pad thai off one of the empty tables and smashing it against his head, before using a shard of that same bowl to open the throat of the next man. They struggled to try and stop her, but Dominique was too fast. The next closest man was grabbed by the shirt and pulled toward her. She sank her fangs into his throat and immediately dispelled any lingering doubts I’d had that she was actually a vampire. She was very clearly drinking that mans blood, and when she was done she kicked him into the last two of his friends who were still standing.
“Somebody get the goddamn Malvian stake!” I heard one of them yell, and from the back, I saw two new men coming out, one of them holding something that looked like a stake made out of a pinkish ice. Dominique turned her head toward them, before grabbing one of the nearby chairs and hurling it at the men. Then, her mouth still covered in blood, she ran for me, grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the door.
I really wasn’t in any state of mind to fight her, considering the fact that I’d just found out that vampires were real, and watched one kick the shit out of an entire resturant in the span of about three minutes. As Dominique pulled me down the street, toward a sporty red Dodge Challenger, I barely even had time to adjust my glasses before she’d unlocked the doors and was getting inside.
“C’mon, they’re gonna be following us,” She said.
I blinked in mild disbelief at the absolutely madness that had just seemed to happen around me before realizing that my legs were already carrying me into the passenger seat of Dominique’s car. The engine roared to life, as she tore out onto the street, while Guns and Roses screamed out over the speakers.
Five minutes ago, this had not been the direction I’d figured that this date would go in.
It’s amazing what can happen in five minutes.
I looked out through the rear view window to see the men that Dominique hadn’t just killed shuffling out of the resturant, onto the street. The Cowboy was among them, and I saw him staring at our car as we sped away.
“Sorry about this,” Dominique said. “I really, really didn’t think these jokers would actually have the balls to take a run at me.”
“Who the heck even are those people?” I asked.
“Oh, just some assholes. Long story short… they think they’re the Knights Templar and really hate anything that’s not human,” Dominique said. “They’re not a big fan of a lot of humans either… and my family may or may not have a four hundred year long blood fued with them.”
“Oh…” I said, “Is that all? The rest of your family, you’re all… you’re all…”
“Vampires? Yeah. Sorry… it’s not really the sort of thing you bring up on a first date,” Dominique said, sounding a little embarrassed. “Technically, my sisters and I are a cut above your average vampire. We were actually witches first. The vampirism came later. It’s sorta a whole thing… I can tell you about it later, if you want.”
“A vampire witch…” I said, trying to wrap my head around exactly what the hell that was. I couldn’t so I gave up and tried to focus on another one of the millions of questions racing through my mind.
“Were you going to eat me?”
“What?” Dominique asked, “No! I mean… okay, to be fair I probably would have asked after I told you I was a vampire. But just so we’re clear, no. I don’t really feed on the girls I date unless they tell me I can. It’s sort of an ethics thing, you know?”
“So where do you normally get your blood?” I asked, a little bit suspicious of that answer (and for good reason.)
“I mean, lots of different ways. There’s a lot of us out there, you know? Thousands at least. Maybe even millions. We’ve got infrastructure. It reduces the need to hunt. Gives us access to either living donors, or blood from a source that’s reasonably fresh. I guess most of us do still hunt for fun, and so long as we don’t leave bodies we don’t really get in any trouble for it. But I generally prefer something a little more personal.”
She looked over at me and took note of the look of utter confusion on my face.
“I’m probably not explaining this all that well, am I?” She asked.
“I have no idea,” I replied honestly, “So… you’re not going to kill me, then?”
“No Dina, I’m not going to kill you… hell, I’m actually kinda impressed! That was pretty ballsy of you, standing your ground back there!”
I had no answer for her as to why I’d done that, and I may have just caught myself mindlessly blushing again.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed a pair of SUV’s coming up behind us in the side view mirror and looked back at them. They weaved violently through traffic, trying desperately to catch up to us and though I couldn’t see through the tinted windows, I knew who was behind the wheel.
“Jeez… they’re really determined today…” Dominique said under her breath.
“Why exactly do these people hate you again?” I asked.
“About four hundred years ago they tried to kill my sisters and me for being witches, and we kinda responded by becoming vampires… then after they killed one of us, we may have killed a bunch of them in turn, and they never really got over it,” She said. “Like I said, it’s a whole thing.”
“Yeah… clearly…”
“I’m kinda impressed that they’re still trying. My sisters and I went out of our way to be hard to kill,” Dominique said. “We kinda cursed ourselves, so that anytime someone wounds us, they get hurt instead. Attribution on the spell can be a little sketchy at times, but it works for the most part. Although that stake they had looked like it’d cut right through the spell… guess they’ve gotten smarter.”
The SUV’s were catching up and Dominique watched them closely as they drew closer.
“So, they can’t kill you without that stake, right?” I asked, hoping that meant that we weren’t actually in any danger.
Dominique’s brow remained furrowed.
“I mean it would help… dunno if the spell would help me survive a car wreck, though.”
Her tone implied that she was starting to have second thoughts about the whole ‘getting into a car and driving away from them’ plan.
“I don’t suppose you know any witchy things that will get rid of them?” I asked.
“I just might…” She replied, “Here, take the wheel for a moment.”
“W-what?”
She didn’t wait for me to take the wheel, she just let it go and forced me to grab it. I watched as Dominique bit down hard on her finger, drawing blood before reaching up toward the windshield to start drawing some sort of sigil on the glass in her own blood.
I kept my eyes on the road, trying to keep us from hitting any of the cars we passed, so I didn’t get a particularly good look at the sigil.
“What’s that supposed to do?” I asked although Dominique didn’t respond to me.
The streetlights that we passed started to flicker violently. I watched as Dominique pressed her hand into the center of the sigil, before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. The streetlights around us dimmed, then grew brighter, almost to the point where they were blinding.
“Bruciare,” I heard her say under her breath.
The lights grew even brighter, before one by one they started to burst. The explosions from them were blinding, as sparks showered down on the road around us. I heard something that sounded a little bit like a deafening thunderclap, but I couldn’t see a thing! I felt Dominique grabbing the steering wheel from me as we veered into another lane. I looked back to see what was left of one of the SUV’s sailing through a shower of sparks, its cabin looked as if it had exploded, with little left of it but twisted metal and angry flames.
Dominique smirked as she saw the totaled SUV, before focusing on the road again.
"Electrical rune. Hell of a shock, right?" Dominique said.
Oh, so the magical vampire just deep-fried the religious Knights chasing us with lightning. That was all. I mean, I might have thought it was a little too much but clearly all logic had gone out the window now and insanity had taken hold. I briefly wondered if perhaps I was actually just hallucinating all of this and drooling on the table back at the Thai restaurant while the real Dominique called for a doctor. Or maybe I'd just embarrassed myself so badly that I'd gone completely mad and this was all simply my delusion with which to escape from reality. Who could say, really?
I saw the second SUV weaving through traffic behind us. I guess watching their friend explode hadn't dissuaded the driver at all, since they were still coming right for us. Dominique's eyes were on the road. I didn't know if she'd noticed them or not. The SUV sped closer to us before suddenly slamming into our side and the entire car lurched violently as Dominique tried to right it.
"Asshole!" She spat. "Dina, the wheel!"
This time I was ready. I grabbed the wheel as Dominique prepared another rune. The SUV was coming to ram us again. They dipped into oncoming traffic to build some distance between us, before suddenly veering closer to try and ram us again.
I jerked the wheel to the side, slamming Dominique's car into the SUV before it could hit us and keeping them on the wrong side of the road. Even through the tinted windows, I could see the driver glaring at me... and it wasn't until the last second that he saw the oncoming truck I'd seen about a minute ago. I actually heard him screaming from inside his car the instant before the truck hit him.
I wasn't really sure how to feel about that and decided that I'd probably need to process the complex emotions that come with having just killed a man later.
Dominique was looking at me with a look of utter bewilderment. She looked back at the truck, then back to me.
"You said to take the wheel!" I said!
"Yes... Yes. I did." She replied, before taking the wheel back from me. She took a hard turn onto a new, slightly less busy road. Around us, I could see some quiet warehouses, telling me we'd ended up in the more industrial part of town.
For a moment, everything was quiet, and we sat there in silence, my heart still racing from experiencing my first ever car chase.
"So… I'm guessing you just want me to drop you off somewhere, huh?" Dominique asked.
"Actually…I could still really go for something to eat," I said quietly just embracing the madness. I was hungry. I had not eaten yet. Might as well fix that!
"Wait, really?" Dominique asked. "Well… shit, what's around then?"
"I'm really not picky," I said. "What do vampires eat?"
"Whatever we want. The blood is more of a nutritional thing. We only really need it every few days or so We still need to eat otherwise."
"Really?" I asked, "So what happens if you don't drink blood?"
"You basically just waste away," She said, "And usually you go a little bit crazy… it's never happened to me, but I've heard things. It's not pretty."
"Jesus… yeah, that does sound pretty awful," I said. "Wait, was Jesus real?"
Dominique shrugged.
"I dunno. I'm only about 400 years old, give or take. Christianity was a thing long before I was born."
"Right… sorry," I said.
"It's alright! I can tell you a lot about the history of Venice and Brazil though!"
I was about to take her up on that when I noticed a new set of headlights behind us.
"Oh hell… are there more of them?" I asked, almost exasperated at this point.
"Seriously, how many people do they have?" Dominique asked, "This is getting stupid!”
“How do you deal with this on a daily basis?” I asked.
“Funnily enough we don’t, they usually leave us alone. I heard that somebody’s jonesing for a promotion though and figured they’d take another crack at us… guess they forgot how badly all of their previous attempts went.”
The final SUV sped closer to us, and Dominique pumped the brakes, letting him shoot past us. She jerked the wheel hard, pulling into the parking lot of some nearby warehouse, and I saw the SUV desperately trying to make a U turn. I clamped onto the passenger side grab handle (I didn’t actually know what they were called before I sat down to write this. I’ve always called them the ‘Oh Jesus Handle’) as Dominique did a donut, spinning her damaged car to face the entrance to the parking lot she’d just entered. She watched intently as the SUV followed her in, before revving her engine like a complete and total psychopath and rocketing toward the SUV.
Normally I would have voiced some concern over her absolutely reckless driving skills, but at this point all I could really say was something that sounded a little like: “OHMYGAWHA ARE OH GAAAAAHHH!”
The SUV jerked to the side, trying to avoid being hit by Dominique, who turned her wheel suddenly, doing a wide donut around the SUV. Her tires squealed against the asphalt as the SUV tried to avoid her, heading toward the factory before making another hard U Turn to try and face us again. I could see some muzzle flashes through the SUV’s window and heard the sound of bullets striking the body of the car. One of them must have hit a tire, since Dominique seemed to suddenly lose control and the overpowering smell of burning rubber filled my nostrils. The car spun, and Dominique gripped the wheel tightly, trying to control it. She looked up at the SUV, which was coming around to ram us.
Her eyes narrowed.
“Out,” She said.
“But what about-”
“Out!”
Before I could say a word of protest, she’d hit the brakes, stopping her spin.
“Go!”
The SUV was speeding toward us. I didn’t want to leave her, but every self-preservation instinct I had was telling me to move! I looked Dominique in the eye. She had a stern, somewhat determined expression. I trusted that she knew what she was doing.
I mean, I don’t think I really had a choice but to trust that she knew what she was doing… I got out of the car, running as fast as my legs would let me as Dominique sped away.
The SUV followed her, veering to pursue her as her battered car tried to circle around the SUV again. The destroyed front tire of her car smoked and screamed against the asphalt as she made a hard turn, letting her car fishtail. The rear end of it slammed into the front of the SUV, sending it slightly off course, toward the warehouse.
Dominique hit the gas again, driving up alongside the SUV and slamming her car against theirs, trying to force them toward the wall. The SUV tried to turn, but couldn’t do so fast enough.
Both cars hit the wall and crumpled.
I felt my breath catch in my throat.
For a few moments, everything went silent. I stared at the cars, waiting for some kind of movement… and when the door of the SUV opened, I felt my heart sink.
I watched as the Cowboy dragged himself out of the drivers seat, before his legs gave out from under him. He collapsed onto the pavement, breathing heavily before trying to pick himself up. His hat tumbled off of his head, and he paused to grab it, before gripping the side of his totaled SUV to try and stand again. I saw his eyes shift toward me, although he didn’t say a word. We stood there for a moment, staring at each other from across the parking lot before he reached back into his car and took out the stake I’d seen earlier. The one that Dominique said could probably kill her.
He looked back at me, before limping around the back of his SUV, heading for Dominique’s car.
I was running for him before I even knew what I was doing. I grabbed at his jacket, trying to hold him back, stop him from getting closer to her. He growled in frustration before slapping me hard across the cheek and sending me crashing to the ground.
“Enough!” He snarled, “Enough…”
He glared down at me, and for a moment I thought he was going to use that stake on me.
But he didn’t.
“I don’t know what the hell you think you’re trying to protect, girl… but that thing in there… that isn’t a goddamn person. It’s a fucking plague. I dunno why you motherfuckers try and defend these things. They ain’t human! They ain’t people! Not anymore. Killing it… it’s God’s work, girl. And you don’t stand in the way of God’s work. You understand that? He always wins, girl. God. Wins.”
“Fuck God…” I rasped, trying to pick myself up again. “A-and fuck you, Mister!”
The Cowboy just laughed breathlessly.
“Ah hell… welp, shoulda known better than trying to reason with stupid, I guess.” He said, before taking a step toward me. I stumbled back, as his gaze fixated on me with a single minded, murderous dedication.
Dominique’s engine roared to life. The Cowboy froze, looking back at it with wide, terrified eyes. I took the opportunity to run, getting out of the way before Dominique’s car jerked backward, slamming into the Cowboy and sending him back to the ground with a cry of pain. Dominique’s car door flew open, and I watched as she stumbled out. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth and she had a few minor cuts on her face from where her windshield had shattered. Her hair was a mess.
But she was alive.
“Leave the girl alone… jackass…” She spat, as her car door came off entirely.
The Cowboy brandished the stake he had at her, holding it between them as if it was going to shoot out some kind of death beam that would instantly kill her. Although he didn’t seem to have the strength to actually use it. Dominique stared down at him, before looking back at her fallen car door and grabbing it, dragging it toward him.
The Cowboy watched as she came, and I saw a grim resignation settle over his face.
“There’s gonna be more of us, Di Cesare…” He hissed, “So long as your motherfuckin’ family is still alive, we will never stop coming for you. You hear me? God wins, vampire! God… wins…”
“Yeah, you guys have done great so far. This is the closest you’ve come in what, over 200 years? Nice work. I’m sure God’s gonna be real proud of you,” Dominique huffed as she approached. She gingerly kicked the stake out of the Cowboy’s hand. He meekly tried to reach for it, although I grabbed it off the ground, keeping it away from him as Dominique stood over him with the car door.
He looked up at her, trying to remain composed but I could still clearly see the terror in his eyes.
“Hail Satan, asshole,” Dominique replied, before lifting the car door and bringing it down hard on his head. I didn’t watch as she killed him. But I heard his skull cracking and from the corner of my eye, I saw his body twitch before going limp.
Dominique tossed the broken piece of the car door aside, before looking down at the body, and giving an exhausted sigh. She looked back at her totaled car, frowning and taking a moment to quietly mourn it before leaning against it and letting out an exhausted groan.
After a moment, I stepped over the body of the man she’d just killed and stood beside her.
“So… wanna go back to my place?” I asked, looking up at her.
Dominique looked back over at me, and for a moment we just sort of stared at each other.
***
About thirty minutes later, I was back at my apartment, on my back with Dominique on top of me, having the most intense orgasm of my life. My fingernails dug into her back as she kissed me over and over again. I could still taste my own blood on her lips but I didn’t care. I could see stars and there wasn’t a single coherent thought in my mind.
I vaguely remember screaming her name as she sank her teeth into me again, and oh God, why did nobody tell me that getting bit by a vampire felt so fucking good?
I felt a little dizzy, but in a good way as Dominique kissed the small bite mark she’d left on my neck. My entire body trembled as she lifted her hand from between my legs, smiling knowingly as she kissed me one more time. I held her close, losing myself completely in this moment, and savoring the sensation of her arms wrapping around me. It was exactly as nice as I’d hoped it would be, and as we basked in the afterglow of what had easily just been the best sex of my life, I felt content.
Dominique kissed me on the head, before checking on the bite mark again.
“Still doing okay?” She whispered to me.
“Y-yuh…” Was the only response that I was really able to get out.
“Good.”
She kissed me again before playing with my hair and fixing my glasses, chuckling softly as she did. I curled up beside her. Her body was cool to the touch, but she pulled the blanket over us so we’d be warm. I closed my eyes, feeling sleep calling me and quietly wished that Dominique would be staying in town for a little bit longer.
Oh well.
I had every intention of making the most of our time together.
***
It’s been about a week after Dominique left, and since then I’ve found myself back on Butterfly. I didn’t think I’d have much success there… especially after what happened with Dominique, but strangely it’s been going pretty good, lately. It’s hard to say what’s changed about me, but I’m finding that I’m having an easier time talking to people lately.
I guess once you’ve survived a car chase with a bunch of religious fanatics, talking to strangers online doesn’t seem as scary anymore.
I’ve even got another date lined up for tonight! Her name is Piper, and while I don’t think it’s going to be as crazy as my first date with Dominique was, I’ve still got a good feeling about it. For the first time in a while, I feel like things are going to work out for me.
2023.05.29 05:26 Gonzok Purchasing new truck method
I'd like some advice on if my means to acquire a new vehicle will work like I intend and if it is a good idea.
My thought it this..
Trade in truck for ~10k
New truck ~40k
Loan 30k through dealer with their 3.49 rate for 2 years (first 2 years on a 5 year loan I assume?) Monthy should be $550
Just before the 2 years are up borrow against 457 to cover the remaining balance ~20k and pay myself the future interest rate and dictate loan duration. Monthly would be $300-$500
This method is to get a vehicle while inventory and price are good before the new year model roles in.
submitted by Gonzok to personalfinance [link] [comments]
My thought it this..
Trade in truck for ~10k
New truck ~40k
Loan 30k through dealer with their 3.49 rate for 2 years (first 2 years on a 5 year loan I assume?) Monthy should be $550
Just before the 2 years are up borrow against 457 to cover the remaining balance ~20k and pay myself the future interest rate and dictate loan duration. Monthly would be $300-$500
This method is to get a vehicle while inventory and price are good before the new year model roles in.
2023.05.29 04:48 yoowerethegoo My LAR Review and tips for living there
I have lived in LAR in the past and I want to share my experience and opinion to help students pick out where they want to live. In general, it's a very "okay" experience, there are good and bad points like every other dorm, but I was very happy to move out of it.
LAR is located east of the bottom-right corner of the Quad. It is behind Allen Hall, and so is next to the CRCE gym and the McKinley Health Center. The location is pretty nice, I can walk to the Union in like 12 minutes, to ISR in 10 and to PAR in less than 10. There is a bus stop behind LAR (in front of Allen) and in front of LAR, so getting around the campus is not too difficult.
The building is pretty old, which has the plus of looking cool from the outside, and a nice ballroom where there is often someone playing piano. It has the downsides of lacking air conditioner, which is mostly a problem during the first and last 3-4 weeks of the year, getting a box fan or borrowing one from the dorm if available is necessary. I have lived most of my life without AC, so it is pretty bearable for me, but the thick concrete and brick walls make it so heat stays inside. It also faces the problem of having an old heating system. It automatically turns on when it gets cold enough, and it sounds like something is crawling up the pipes when it starts. The heater works too well, and many times I've had to open the window during the winter while it runs, even with the vent always closed, as the heat emanates from the radiator.
The room size is pretty nice, I always had room for random things and food, and the beds can be lofted. A bed rail can be ordered and installed for free from the campus housing website. The mattress is pretty mediocre, there is a soft side and a firm side that is more "less soft" than firm. There is a lot of space for clothes in the two drawers, and space for additional furniture if needed. There's one half-mirror in the room attached to a closet door, and the closet is pretty spacious. A mini fridge and microwave can be rented from the dorm, but it's pretty easy to find a cheap one on Facebook or Craigslist. If you're picking a room, try to get one that doesn't face the backside, as the food delivery truck or the garbage truck comes in the morning and is super loud. Also, remember that the fire alarm will go off at some times during the year, and I suggest covering your ears or wearing headphones once it goes off as it echoes off the walls to become super loud in the rooms and hallways.
The bathrooms are shared on each wing (usually 2 male or 2 female hallways per wing) of a floor, and there is about 25 people on each wing. The cleanliness of the bathrooms depends on the people using them, personally I found them pretty gross as people leave hairs in the shower stalls or on the toilet seat pretty often, or don't wipe the toilet seat after themselves. Luckily housing cleans the bathrooms every day at around noon, however paper towels always seemed to run out at the end of each day. If there is a problem, notify maintenance and they are pretty quick to respond, usually in the same day or the day after.
The 2 laundry rooms in the basement have 5 machines, and usually one or two of them are out of order. There is a lot of dryers, but be sure to turn the dryer setting on low, as they run super hot for some reason. There's also a big sink if you want to hand wash your clothes. Also located in the basement is a music practice room and a study room.
The food at LAR is pretty hit or miss. There's no breakfast and the dining halls close an hour earlier than the others, but it also has a vegetarian/vegan dining hall. I found myself going to ISR or PAR pretty often during my second semester, as it was much better, and the meats don't have just a surface level of seasoning. The burgers and fries at LAR were pretty good though. The salad and yogurt bar is the same as PAR's, and the lines are a lot shorter. The close distance to PAR and ISR also make it easy to use your dining dollars at the stores.
I had a good experience with the people that lived there with me, there are also a lot of dorm events every month. I found myself out of my room a lot of the time busy with clubs or studying, so a lot of the downsides of the dorm weren't that impactful. Hearing someone play in the music practice room or the piano in the ballroom was always nice. The biggest part of your first year experience is always what you make out of it, and your room is mostly just a place for you to sleep or do work in, so as long as you make yourself active you'll have a good time living anywhere. If you have a problem, talk to your RA or the person directly to sort it out. If it's unsolvable, you're still able to switch rooms and buildings during the year.
submitted by yoowerethegoo to UIUC [link] [comments]
LAR is located east of the bottom-right corner of the Quad. It is behind Allen Hall, and so is next to the CRCE gym and the McKinley Health Center. The location is pretty nice, I can walk to the Union in like 12 minutes, to ISR in 10 and to PAR in less than 10. There is a bus stop behind LAR (in front of Allen) and in front of LAR, so getting around the campus is not too difficult.
The building is pretty old, which has the plus of looking cool from the outside, and a nice ballroom where there is often someone playing piano. It has the downsides of lacking air conditioner, which is mostly a problem during the first and last 3-4 weeks of the year, getting a box fan or borrowing one from the dorm if available is necessary. I have lived most of my life without AC, so it is pretty bearable for me, but the thick concrete and brick walls make it so heat stays inside. It also faces the problem of having an old heating system. It automatically turns on when it gets cold enough, and it sounds like something is crawling up the pipes when it starts. The heater works too well, and many times I've had to open the window during the winter while it runs, even with the vent always closed, as the heat emanates from the radiator.
The room size is pretty nice, I always had room for random things and food, and the beds can be lofted. A bed rail can be ordered and installed for free from the campus housing website. The mattress is pretty mediocre, there is a soft side and a firm side that is more "less soft" than firm. There is a lot of space for clothes in the two drawers, and space for additional furniture if needed. There's one half-mirror in the room attached to a closet door, and the closet is pretty spacious. A mini fridge and microwave can be rented from the dorm, but it's pretty easy to find a cheap one on Facebook or Craigslist. If you're picking a room, try to get one that doesn't face the backside, as the food delivery truck or the garbage truck comes in the morning and is super loud. Also, remember that the fire alarm will go off at some times during the year, and I suggest covering your ears or wearing headphones once it goes off as it echoes off the walls to become super loud in the rooms and hallways.
The bathrooms are shared on each wing (usually 2 male or 2 female hallways per wing) of a floor, and there is about 25 people on each wing. The cleanliness of the bathrooms depends on the people using them, personally I found them pretty gross as people leave hairs in the shower stalls or on the toilet seat pretty often, or don't wipe the toilet seat after themselves. Luckily housing cleans the bathrooms every day at around noon, however paper towels always seemed to run out at the end of each day. If there is a problem, notify maintenance and they are pretty quick to respond, usually in the same day or the day after.
The 2 laundry rooms in the basement have 5 machines, and usually one or two of them are out of order. There is a lot of dryers, but be sure to turn the dryer setting on low, as they run super hot for some reason. There's also a big sink if you want to hand wash your clothes. Also located in the basement is a music practice room and a study room.
The food at LAR is pretty hit or miss. There's no breakfast and the dining halls close an hour earlier than the others, but it also has a vegetarian/vegan dining hall. I found myself going to ISR or PAR pretty often during my second semester, as it was much better, and the meats don't have just a surface level of seasoning. The burgers and fries at LAR were pretty good though. The salad and yogurt bar is the same as PAR's, and the lines are a lot shorter. The close distance to PAR and ISR also make it easy to use your dining dollars at the stores.
I had a good experience with the people that lived there with me, there are also a lot of dorm events every month. I found myself out of my room a lot of the time busy with clubs or studying, so a lot of the downsides of the dorm weren't that impactful. Hearing someone play in the music practice room or the piano in the ballroom was always nice. The biggest part of your first year experience is always what you make out of it, and your room is mostly just a place for you to sleep or do work in, so as long as you make yourself active you'll have a good time living anywhere. If you have a problem, talk to your RA or the person directly to sort it out. If it's unsolvable, you're still able to switch rooms and buildings during the year.
2023.05.29 04:47 JLGoodwin1990 If you ever think you see something peering at you from around a corner, ignore it
Have you ever had the experience of swearing you saw something at the edge of your vision, peering at you from around a corner before? I’m fairly sure a good chunk of people have, maybe even you reading this right now. Regardless of whether you’re in a crowded area such as a mall or school, or home by yourself, you’ve more than likely had that strange sensation of being watched, usually accompanied by a slight shiver down your spine. You’ll snap your head up from whatever it is you’re doing, or whoever you’re talking to. And nothing will be there. But, you always swear that, at the very edge of your vision, you saw something. A slight blur, as if something was there, but seemed to anticipate your move, and pulled back out of sight. I’m fairly certain most of you just end up shaking it off. You shake your head, telling yourself that nothing was there, and go back to what you were doing.
That’s a good thing. Because it’s what keeps you safe. It’s what keeps you alive.
Like many of you, for years, I always wrote seeing the slight blur at the edge of my sight off as a trick of my eyes. “Being so focused on one particular area that the rest of your vision goes fuzzy” as my mother once told me when I, as a child, told her I’d seen something at the doorway to my bedroom. And as I grew older, I simply took it as fact, the way every child takes their parent’s wisdom to heart. And once I became an adult, I simply waved it away completely.
That was, until one night.
You see, as a thirty-something year old bachelor who makes just above the line of adequate pay, I live by myself in a small, one bedroom apartment. It means having to live farther out from the city where I work, but I prefer living alone over not having to make the rather long drive to and from work every day. And, because my free time during the day is close to zero, I also am a bit of a night owl. This particular night, about three and a half weeks ago, I was up late, sitting at my kitchen table with my laptop out in front of me. I was surfing the net, looking for good deals on EBay for a new DVD/VCR combo since my old one broke, when the feeling came over me. The small, but noticeable shiver shot up my spine, and at the upper edge of my vision, just below where my hair began to drift into my eyes, I saw it.
It was a black and silver blur. At least, that’s what it looked like to me. I lifted my head quickly, looking towards the corner I’d seen it. My kitchen is in the back of the apartment, and where the table is set up, I was looking back out into the living room. The bedroom also sits next to the kitchen, and the wall separating the two stretches out a bit, causing a rather large blind spot from where I sat. Of course, when I looked up, there was nothing there. For a few more seconds, I simply sat, staring at the corner. Nothing moved. There was no sound except for the quiet whine of my laptop’s fan, and the hum of the fridge. I snorted. Really, Eddie? You’re jumping at shadowy blurs now? What are you, eight years old again? And with a shake of my head, I went back to the computer screen.
The hours seemed to pass by at an accelerated pace, and to my surprise, when I checked the clock at the bottom right of my laptop screen, the time said quarter to three in the morning. “Holy crap, I stayed up too friggin’ late!” I whispered to myself. I’d barely be getting four or five hours of sleep. And so, with a yawn, I shut my computer down and put it back into its carrying bag. As I stood up, though, a slight feeling of apprehension wiggled its way to the forefront of my mind. I lifted my head from zipping up the bag and again stared at the corner. This time there was nothing there. No blur at all. Recalling what my mother had told me years ago, I stood up and slowly stepped into the center of the kitchen, where I could see around the corner. I felt a small pang of embarrassment at the relief that washed over me as I saw nothing was there.
“What next, you gonna start believing in the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus again?” I muttered to myself. And with that, I entered my bedroom, shutting the door behind me and climbing into bed. For a moment, the image of the blur danced behind my eyelids. And then the sandman overtook me, plunging me into a deep and dreamless sleep.
The next day passed by like I was wading through quicksand. Of course, it likely had to do with how tired I was. But I got through the day, and soon enough, I was back home. This time, I resolved to get to bed before midnight. One AM at the latest. So I didn’t go on my computer. Instead, I watched some TV, and indulged myself in a few online matches in Battlefield 1. Soon enough, the clock sitting next to the TV displayed 12:35 in big red numbers. Alright, time for bed, I thought, and stood up, shutting off the TV and Xbox. I decided that I would get myself a drink before bed, and moved to the fridge. Opening it, I pulled a pitcher of juice out, and grabbing a glass from a nearby cabinet, poured myself some. The cold liquid felt good sliding down my throat, and I let out a relieved sigh. For a moment, I closed my eyes. Apart from the sound of a diesel truck passing by outside, and the ticking of the clock over the sink, all was silent. And I loved it. I placed the glass in the sink to wash tomorrow, and turned to take the pitcher back to the fridge.
And nearly dropped it at what I saw. As I turned around, I had a clear view across the kitchen and living room toward the small alcove where my front door sat. And for just a second, I saw the same black and silver blur, pulling back out of sight from the edge of my vision. Except this time, I know it wasn’t just a trick of my vision, or a strand of hair flashing in front of my face. “Hey!” I reflexively yelled out. I didn’t expect any response, and I didn’t get any. But now I knew for certain. There was something, or someone there. I felt my pulse rapidly quicken, and my heart began to beat like a drum against my chest. Fucking great, did someone decide to break in and try to burgle my apartment, of all places tonight? I looked around quickly for something to defend myself. My eyes fell upon the block holding all my kitchen knives, and moving quickly, I pulled the largest one out and turned back towards the entryway.
There was no movement now, but I noticed a change in the atmosphere. Gone was the simple, vacant air the apartment always held. Now, it seemed to contain a charge to it. As if seeing the figure had been something they hadn’t planned on. As if I weren’t supposed to have seen it. Probably figured I’d already be in bed. Well, they have a massive surprise coming their way. I cleared my throat. “You back there” I called out simply. Again, there was no reply. I spoke again. “Look, I saw you there peeking around the corner of the entryway. The jig is up. I don’t want a fight right now, so, I’ll make you a deal. If you turn around right now and leave, I won’t call the cops on you, and I won’t come at you with this knife. Just, go find someone else to rob, okay?”
Still, there was silence. But the tension in the room seemed to have racked up more than a few notches at my words. I waited for a minute, feeling my temper begin to flare. Does the dumbass seriously believe that if he stays quiet, I’ll believe he’s not there and go to bed or something? It wouldn’t be a surprise; the people who usually broke into houses and apartments in my neighborhood were usually strung out on the drug of choice for the week, or, in all truthfulness, simply not that bright. I let out an annoyed growl. “If I have to come over there to get, it’s not gonna end well for you” I said. At six feet even, and in good shape, I could easily take on whoever it was.
The silence was almost deafening. Okay, the hell with this, man. I strode quickly across the room, the knife held out in front of me in a vice like grip. I stopped for a moment, drawing in all my strength and reflexes. For a moment, though, an odd sensation seemed to wash over me like a wave. To my surprise, it was a bolt of fear. But, fear of what? Yes, it was a bit dangerous to about to confront a cornered intruder, but fear shouldn’t be one of the experienced emotions. Shaking it away, I put all the muscle into my legs, and leapt around the corner.
There was nobody there.
For a moment, I simply stood there, feeling dumbfounded. “Uhhh….what?” I blurted out. I knew for a fact I’d seen someone there. It hadn’t been a trick of my eyes. And I hadn’t heard the front door open. In fact, looking down at it now, I saw the little knob on the door handle was, in fact, twisted into the locked position. As I stared down at it, a sudden, huge shiver rushed up my spine, combined with the feeling of being stared at intensely. In fact, it almost felt as though whoever were doing the staring, were almost directly behind me-shit!
On instinct, I whirled around, slashing out with the knife as hard as I could. But again, there was nothing. No one stood behind me. The oddest thing, though, was that as soon as I spun around, the feeling of eyes boring into the back of my skull ceased. As if the watcher had simply blinked out of existence the moment I turned. But the tension in the apartment didn’t go away. In fact, it almost seemed to intensify. And it kept me on edge. Enough to the point that I searched the entire apartment. I went into the bathroom, drawing back the shower curtain. I went into my bedroom and opened up the sliding doors to the closet. I even opened up both closets in the living room, pulling out all the coats and boxes someone could hide behind. But I found nothing. No trace of anybody. Even still, though, when I went to bed, I locked the door to my bedroom behind me, just in case. And I slept with the knife on my bedside table.
The next morning, when I awoke, the feeling had vanished from the apartment. It was almost as if the daylight had banished the tension filled aura away, and I was glad for it. Along with the fact that I had a full day of work ahead of me. And so, with a final look around, I locked the front door behind me, climbed into my old, but well taken care of Mitsubishi Starion, and made the two and a half hour drive into the city for work. The day passed by without much fuss, aside from a mandatory team meeting my dickhead boss decided to impose on us during our lunch break. The monotony calmed me down somewhat, and I began to mentally tease myself for how bent out of shape I’d gotten last night. I even decided to tell some of the guys at the water cooler about it.
Everyone, of course, had a good laugh over it. “Well, Ed, if I ever need someone to slice away at the dark emptiness of my house, I’ll be sure to give you a call!” Mark, one of my coworkers joked, causing everyone, including myself, to guffaw some more. The joking shoved it completely out of my mind, and before I knew it, the evening had arrived. I packed up my belongings back into the car and made the journey back home, still chuckling a bit to myself and humming along to the songs playing on the car’s radio. As I pulled into my apartment building’s parking lot and into my space at close to ten at night, however, I saw something which tore away that relaxed, relieved emotion from me like it’d been a loved one in the grip of a tsunami.
My complex is set up in a U formation with two floors, sort of similar to how an older built motel looks. My apartment was the second one on the top floor, and from where I sat in my car, I could look up and see the living room window of my place between the slats of the walkway’s railing. As I always did, when I left, I’d twisted shut the white venetian blinds so nobody walking past the window could look into my place.
Someone was peering down at me from between the blinds. From between my blinds.
I felt my blood turn to ice as I saw the obvious parting in the middle of them, signifying someone was pulling down on a section of them. And then doubly so when they, just as quickly, snapped back into position. Shitttt, I mentally hissed. I fumbled around in my coat pockets, looking for my cell phone. I let out a groan as I suddenly realized I’d forgotten it when I’d left home that morning. Which meant it was up there. With them. “Shit” I hissed again, out loud this time. I gazed around for a moment at the darkened windows of the other units. But I knew none of my neighbors would be of any help to me. Long gone were the days of neighbors looking out for each other; they would, inevitably, tell me to either find a way to call the cops myself, or straight up tell me to go fuck myself, that it wasn’t their problem. Which, unless I wanted to drive straight to my local police station, over twenty minutes away, the only other option was…to go in myself.
Hissing through gritted teeth, I pulled the door handle and kicked the door open, letting the chilly night air flood into the car’s interior. I reached down and yanked on the trunk release before climbing out and slamming the door. Crossing to it, I pulled the glass hatch up and fumbled around inside for a moment, before withdrawing a tire iron from the mess of crap cluttering up the trunk. Slamming the hatch closed, I took a deep breath, then, leaving my car’s engine running in case I needed to make a quick getaway, I took the stairs to the top floor two at a time. A moment later, I was standing at the head of the landing, staring at the Tweety-Bird yellow painted door of my apartment. My heart pounded in my chest as I took a step forward, reaching out slowly and gripping the handle in one hand. I gave it a small twist to see if it would turn.
But it stayed in place, showing that the door was still locked. Or, whoever’s in there locked it behind them. Swallowing a bit, I reached into my pants pocket for my house keys with my free hand. Pulling them out, I slid them as quietly as possible into the lock in the center of the doorknob. I took a deep breath, knowing as soon as I twisted the key, the doorknob would turn with it as well. “God, please don’t let me get jumped as soon as I step inside” I quietly whispered towards the dark sky. I let out the deep breath, then raised the tire iron over my head and twisted the key.
The knob turned, and I immediately pushed the door open. It swung inwards, before hitting the wall with a soft clunk. The porch light cast a long, narrow shaft of light into the dark room beyond, reflecting off my flat screen TV on the far side of the living room. Aside from that, though, the place was as dark and silent as a tomb. My pulse quickened as I slowly reached inside, my hand searching for the light switch. Part of my feared that, as I blindly searched, I’d suddenly feel a vice like grip seize my wrist and pull me into the dark. The mental image sent a shiver of fear through me, just as my fingers found the plastic switch. Flicking it on, the living room suddenly became awash in the bright overhead light. Still holding the tire iron over my head, I took a tentative step inside. The atmosphere in here had changed again. Gone was the tense one which had accompanied seeing…whoever the other night. In its place was….an almost threatening one. And realizing it set me even farther on edge.
Moving quickly, I leaned around the corner, giving me a glimpse of the kitchen beyond. Both it, and the living room were empty, from initial appearances, anyways. But that still left the bathroom, and the kitchen. Something caught my eye, however, which filled me with relief. My cell phone still sat where I’d left it, in the middle of the living room coffee table. I moved slowly, trying to stay as quiet as possible so whoever was hidden wouldn’t realize I was going for my phone and bum rush me. I held my breath as I passed by the half open doors of both my bathroom and bedroom, stepping around the couch and picking up my phone. I decided right there and then, that I’d step back outside and call the cops. There was a fine line between being courageous, and being suicidally stupid, and searching this place on my own, with just a tire iron to defend myself, especially knowing someone was hiding somewhere in here, was firmly on the latter side of that line.
I turned to begin walking quickly back to the open front door. But something stopped me. Something which made me freeze. There was a small section of eggshell white wall between the door to one of my closets, and the bathroom door. Something had been written there. No, not written, I realized. It had been scratched into the wall. My eyes flashed over the three words etched into the paint and plaster. Videre nos potest. My head swam with confusion, trying to place what language it was. That was when I felt my heart almost stop in my chest, my breath along with it.
Out of the left corner of my vision, I saw the door to my bedroom had slowly, but noticeably swung open a bit. That wasn’t what had caused my heart to skip a beat, though. It was seeing the black and silver blur again. Ohhhhh, shit. Before the thought had finished in my head, I was dashing for the door. Out of the corner of my vision, there was a sudden blur of movement as the black and silver figure came flying out of the room. It never made a sound, though. I dodged it, somehow, and flew around the corner, snatching the doorknob in my free hand and yanking the door shut behind me. Twisting the keys to the right to lock the door again, I tore them from the lock and thundered back down the stairs, yanking the door to my car open and crashing into the driver’s seat. Slamming the door shut and locking it, I dropped the tire iron and fumbled with my phone.
As the voice of the emergency dispatcher came on the other end of the line, and I stumbled through explaining what had happened, I kept my gaze locked through the windshield on the front door and the living room window. I swear I saw the blinds part again as I heard the wail of the police sirens approaching.
When the police arrived, I jumped out of my car and quickly explained what had happened. They took my house keys from me and with their pistols drawn, climbed quickly up the steps to my place. With neighbors opening their doors and parting their blinds to see what was happening, they unlocked the door and quickly entered. A few minutes later, they both reappeared and waved for me to come up and join them. “I’m sorry sir, but whoever it was, they’re gone” one of them said to me. He then showed me that the window in the back of the apartment, which was in the back of the kitchen and opened out onto a main road, had been opened, the mosquito screen having been cut to allow someone to jump out. I stared out and down at the two story drop. It would hurt to jump from this height, but it’s doable, I thought. The cops again did a sweep of the apartment, turning the entire place upside down with me there, and again, found no one. They both promised to stay the night outside, to keep an eye on the place in case the person attempted to try and come back, and would make sure an officer was posted outside for the next week or so. It made me feel more than a bit better.
“What about the writing scratched into the wall?” I asked them, pointing to it. The first officer shrugged. “I honestly don’t know, sir” he said, giving me an apologetic look, “That’s a language I’ve never seen before” That’s when the second spoke up. “It’s Latin” he said simply. We both looked at him. He was staring at the writing with a bit of a confused, if not apprehensive look on his face. “But what freaking low level criminal knows Latin?” he murmured quietly, more to himself than us. “Well, what does it say?” I asked him. For a few seconds, he didn’t answer, then he finally turned and looked at me.
“He can see us. That’s, roughly, what it says”
I felt a massive chill shoot up my spine at his words, though I couldn’t understand why. Not at the time.
As promised, the officers watched over the apartment the rest of the night. And for the next week, there was always at least one cop car sitting outside. It was also, thankfully, quiet that next week. I was almost able to feel completely calm, putting the frightening experience out of my mind and allowing my life to regain a bit of normalcy. I didn’t feel any sensation of being watched. One thing I did do, though, was type the Latin words into Google, in an attempt to see if anything came up. But nothing did. I decided to push the last remnants out of my conscious mind. And as the weekend came, I looked forward to sitting on the couch, playing video games all night, and having a bottle of Hypnotiq to myself. Saturday night, I played until almost one in the morning, before stumbling my drunk ass to the bed. I passed out almost as soon as my head hit the pillow.
I’m honestly not sure what woke me up. But when I slid my eyes open, it was still to darkness. I felt my head begin to spin, showing that I wasn’t fully sober yet. I shot a look at the bright red glowing numbers of the clock on the bedside table next to my head. 3:30AM. Ugh, what the hell? Do I have to piss? What woke me u-
Everything stopped. My mind froze mid-thought, and my heart fluttered in my chest. My breath hitched in my chest as my eyes adjusted to the dark, staring across the room. I was looking at my bedroom closet, which, when I’d fallen asleep, I’d looked over and seen it closed. But now, as I stared, I realized the sliding right door had been pulled back some. A chill ran through me. And then it was replaced by a bone chilling shiver of fear as my eyes locked on to something else. Something which stared at me from around the edge of the half open closet door.
It was the black and silver blur. Except this time, it wasn’t a full on blur. I’m not sure whether it was the darkness or the alcohol still flowing through my veins, but…I could see it a bit more clearly now. I couldn’t see much. Just what looked like two large, very dark eyes, glaring at me. I felt frozen in place, fear quite literally paralyzing me to the bed. As I lay there, my eyes widened to the size of saucers, I slowly became aware of something else. Something which I’ll never forget, which I can still hear in the silence. It was whispering. It was a soft, hissing voice, sounding as grating as sandpaper, but it almost seemed to be growing in intensity. As if it knew I was awake and was staring at it. And it was not even remotely happy about it. The words were indistinguishable at first, but as the voice grew louder, the words became clear. But they weren’t words I knew. Or a language I knew.
“Tolle qui nos videre potest. Tolle qui nos videre potest. Tolle…qui nos videre potest!” I recognized some of the words as the same as the words written on my wall. It was speaking in Latin. The voice grew angrier and angrier, turning from a hiss into almost a demonic growl. And then, it went deadly silent. It almost seemed as though the entire world had gone dead silent, as if everything were being sucked out of the world.
That’s when I saw the hand reach up from underneath the bed to grab onto the sheets, less than a foot from my face. A hand which more resembled a claw, tipped with five razor sharp fingernails. There’s more than one….and it’s under my fucking bed!
Seeing that hand…that claw reaching up from under the bed broke the paralyzing hold that had come over me. I flew up in bed, flinging the sheets up and forwards and letting out an involuntary scream. Instantly, there seemed to be a world of motion in the bedroom. Black and silver blurs seemed to appear from everywhere. From the closet, from under the bed. Even from inside my armoire I used to store candy, books and CDs. And they were all coming for me.
But I was already moving, practically flying for my open bedroom door. Behind me, I caught the blurs following after me. They were terrifyingly fast, but they stayed silent. Silent, that is, except for the mantra they all suddenly began to angrily whisper. The same words I’d heard the one in the closet angrily hiss. “Tolle qui nos videre potest!” they chanted, just loud enough for me to hear. But not enough for anyone else in the complex to. I ran through the bedroom door, grabbing it and slamming it shut behind me. A moment later, I felt the push from the other side as whatever the things were attempted to force it open. Looking around, I spied a kitchen chair within reach and grabbed it, forcing it under the handle to block the door.
I knew it wouldn’t hold for long, though. I could hear the creatures practically throwing themselves at the door. I used the time I had to grab my computer bag, along with the clothes I’d left strewn on my living room floor and my cell phone. I’d just snatched my car keys from their hook, when I realized they’d gone silent. The assault on the door stopped. For a split second, I felt a wave of relief. And then I saw something out of the corner of my eye from the kitchen. My blood turned to ice as I realized the cabinet doors under the sink were beginning to open. And that demonic growl of a mantra was beginning to pour out from under it. So was my bathroom door. And both closets. “Oh, fuck me” I whimpered, then dashed for my door, snatching up my sneakers as they rushed out from their new hidey holes.
I unlocked and threw the door open, dashing out into the night and yanking it shut behind me. Bolting down the steps, I jammed the key into the door of my car and unlocked it. I piled into the driver’s seat and yanked the door shut, slamming down on the lock button. Forcing the key into the ignition and twisting it, the engine roared to life. I knew I should simply call the cops, but I knew at this point, if I did, when they arrived, they’d all have disappeared. Maybe even make it look like another person had jumped out the window again They're THAT smart. Instead, I jammed the shifter into reverse and peeled out of the parking lot. As I left, I saw the blinds part again. As they watched me go.
I haven’t been back to my apartment in weeks. I drove all through the night, fighting back the waves of nausea from the alcohol still in my system until I made it to the city where I work. I rented a motel room, and ever since then, I’ve been staying there. I figured I could just eventually have movers go and collect my things from the apartment, and give my thirty day notice. There was no way I was ever going back there.
I thought I would be safe in the city. I thought I would be safe anywhere else but my apartment. That they were bound to the place.
I was wrong. So very wrong.
Because I’ve started seeing them everywhere now. I’ve seen them while out in crowded places such as the mall or Wal-Mart. I’ve seen them in my coworker’s houses when I’m invited over by them as they tell me they’re concerned about how I’m beginning to act. I’m even seeing them at work. Peering at me from around the corners of hallways, from behind the water cooler. I’ve even caught them glaring at me from around the corner of my office cubicle. They whisper that horrible Latin mantra to themselves, now added with evil chuckles. And whisper it to me. I ended up entering the phrase into Google Translate, to understand what they were saying. But wish I never had. Because knowing meaning of the words fills me with an existential dread and terror I’ve never felt before.
Take away he who can see us
You need to listen to me now. You, reading this account I’m posting. I don’t know what these creatures are. I wish I did, because then, I might have some way of fighting back against them. I don’t even know what they fully look like. I’ve only seen their eyes. And their clawed hands. The only thing I can deduce, is that they are incalculably old. Centuries old. Maybe even eons. I now understand that those blurs I saw all throughout my life, from the corner of my vision, were them. They’ve lived alongside us for all of humanity’s existence, staying just out of sight. They like it that way. They don’t like us humans knowing about them.
But I know others, not just myself, have likely seen them.
How many strange cases of people disappearing in their homes, with all the doors and windows locked from the inside have you heard about. I know I’ve heard more than a few. And I think I know what happened to them. They saw these creatures. And when they realized the people could see them? They came for them. They wore them down, mentally and physically. Like they’re doing to me now. I’m afraid to fall asleep. Afraid I’ll wake up to see them right in front of me. I feel so weak now. I couldn’t fight them off if I tried. They know that. They knew that about the others. And that’s when they dragged them away….to God only knows where.
I know I'm going to find out soon enough.
Because all of today, they’ve been getting closer. I caught one trying to grab my leg under my desk. That wasn’t the scariest encounter I’ve had. The worst was driving back to the motel. Looking in the rear view mirror of my Starion. And seeing one of them glaring at me from just behind the rear seat. It caused me to nearly crash into a telephone pole. I’ve locked myself in my motel room, which is where I’m writing this. I don’t have much time left. They’re beginning to poke their heads out from everywhere in here. Multiple have popped their heads up from under the bed, watching me frantically typing this out on my laptop. And they’re all laughing at me. Today is when they're going to take me. They know I know that. I can’t do anything more now. I can’t run from them anymore. I’m too tired. Too weak.
But I can do one final thing. I can warn you. I can post this account here as a warning. I know for a fact most of you won’t believe me. And that’s fine. It may even be what saves you in the end.
But please, listen to me when I say this. If you ever think you see something peering at you from around a corner? If you ever catch a glimpse of a black and silver blur disappearing just out of sight? Don’t investigate it. Just ignore it. Tell yourself it’s nothing, and go about with your lives.
Because you don’t ever want them to realize you can see them.
submitted by JLGoodwin1990 to nosleep [link] [comments]
That’s a good thing. Because it’s what keeps you safe. It’s what keeps you alive.
Like many of you, for years, I always wrote seeing the slight blur at the edge of my sight off as a trick of my eyes. “Being so focused on one particular area that the rest of your vision goes fuzzy” as my mother once told me when I, as a child, told her I’d seen something at the doorway to my bedroom. And as I grew older, I simply took it as fact, the way every child takes their parent’s wisdom to heart. And once I became an adult, I simply waved it away completely.
That was, until one night.
You see, as a thirty-something year old bachelor who makes just above the line of adequate pay, I live by myself in a small, one bedroom apartment. It means having to live farther out from the city where I work, but I prefer living alone over not having to make the rather long drive to and from work every day. And, because my free time during the day is close to zero, I also am a bit of a night owl. This particular night, about three and a half weeks ago, I was up late, sitting at my kitchen table with my laptop out in front of me. I was surfing the net, looking for good deals on EBay for a new DVD/VCR combo since my old one broke, when the feeling came over me. The small, but noticeable shiver shot up my spine, and at the upper edge of my vision, just below where my hair began to drift into my eyes, I saw it.
It was a black and silver blur. At least, that’s what it looked like to me. I lifted my head quickly, looking towards the corner I’d seen it. My kitchen is in the back of the apartment, and where the table is set up, I was looking back out into the living room. The bedroom also sits next to the kitchen, and the wall separating the two stretches out a bit, causing a rather large blind spot from where I sat. Of course, when I looked up, there was nothing there. For a few more seconds, I simply sat, staring at the corner. Nothing moved. There was no sound except for the quiet whine of my laptop’s fan, and the hum of the fridge. I snorted. Really, Eddie? You’re jumping at shadowy blurs now? What are you, eight years old again? And with a shake of my head, I went back to the computer screen.
The hours seemed to pass by at an accelerated pace, and to my surprise, when I checked the clock at the bottom right of my laptop screen, the time said quarter to three in the morning. “Holy crap, I stayed up too friggin’ late!” I whispered to myself. I’d barely be getting four or five hours of sleep. And so, with a yawn, I shut my computer down and put it back into its carrying bag. As I stood up, though, a slight feeling of apprehension wiggled its way to the forefront of my mind. I lifted my head from zipping up the bag and again stared at the corner. This time there was nothing there. No blur at all. Recalling what my mother had told me years ago, I stood up and slowly stepped into the center of the kitchen, where I could see around the corner. I felt a small pang of embarrassment at the relief that washed over me as I saw nothing was there.
“What next, you gonna start believing in the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus again?” I muttered to myself. And with that, I entered my bedroom, shutting the door behind me and climbing into bed. For a moment, the image of the blur danced behind my eyelids. And then the sandman overtook me, plunging me into a deep and dreamless sleep.
The next day passed by like I was wading through quicksand. Of course, it likely had to do with how tired I was. But I got through the day, and soon enough, I was back home. This time, I resolved to get to bed before midnight. One AM at the latest. So I didn’t go on my computer. Instead, I watched some TV, and indulged myself in a few online matches in Battlefield 1. Soon enough, the clock sitting next to the TV displayed 12:35 in big red numbers. Alright, time for bed, I thought, and stood up, shutting off the TV and Xbox. I decided that I would get myself a drink before bed, and moved to the fridge. Opening it, I pulled a pitcher of juice out, and grabbing a glass from a nearby cabinet, poured myself some. The cold liquid felt good sliding down my throat, and I let out a relieved sigh. For a moment, I closed my eyes. Apart from the sound of a diesel truck passing by outside, and the ticking of the clock over the sink, all was silent. And I loved it. I placed the glass in the sink to wash tomorrow, and turned to take the pitcher back to the fridge.
And nearly dropped it at what I saw. As I turned around, I had a clear view across the kitchen and living room toward the small alcove where my front door sat. And for just a second, I saw the same black and silver blur, pulling back out of sight from the edge of my vision. Except this time, I know it wasn’t just a trick of my vision, or a strand of hair flashing in front of my face. “Hey!” I reflexively yelled out. I didn’t expect any response, and I didn’t get any. But now I knew for certain. There was something, or someone there. I felt my pulse rapidly quicken, and my heart began to beat like a drum against my chest. Fucking great, did someone decide to break in and try to burgle my apartment, of all places tonight? I looked around quickly for something to defend myself. My eyes fell upon the block holding all my kitchen knives, and moving quickly, I pulled the largest one out and turned back towards the entryway.
There was no movement now, but I noticed a change in the atmosphere. Gone was the simple, vacant air the apartment always held. Now, it seemed to contain a charge to it. As if seeing the figure had been something they hadn’t planned on. As if I weren’t supposed to have seen it. Probably figured I’d already be in bed. Well, they have a massive surprise coming their way. I cleared my throat. “You back there” I called out simply. Again, there was no reply. I spoke again. “Look, I saw you there peeking around the corner of the entryway. The jig is up. I don’t want a fight right now, so, I’ll make you a deal. If you turn around right now and leave, I won’t call the cops on you, and I won’t come at you with this knife. Just, go find someone else to rob, okay?”
Still, there was silence. But the tension in the room seemed to have racked up more than a few notches at my words. I waited for a minute, feeling my temper begin to flare. Does the dumbass seriously believe that if he stays quiet, I’ll believe he’s not there and go to bed or something? It wouldn’t be a surprise; the people who usually broke into houses and apartments in my neighborhood were usually strung out on the drug of choice for the week, or, in all truthfulness, simply not that bright. I let out an annoyed growl. “If I have to come over there to get, it’s not gonna end well for you” I said. At six feet even, and in good shape, I could easily take on whoever it was.
The silence was almost deafening. Okay, the hell with this, man. I strode quickly across the room, the knife held out in front of me in a vice like grip. I stopped for a moment, drawing in all my strength and reflexes. For a moment, though, an odd sensation seemed to wash over me like a wave. To my surprise, it was a bolt of fear. But, fear of what? Yes, it was a bit dangerous to about to confront a cornered intruder, but fear shouldn’t be one of the experienced emotions. Shaking it away, I put all the muscle into my legs, and leapt around the corner.
There was nobody there.
For a moment, I simply stood there, feeling dumbfounded. “Uhhh….what?” I blurted out. I knew for a fact I’d seen someone there. It hadn’t been a trick of my eyes. And I hadn’t heard the front door open. In fact, looking down at it now, I saw the little knob on the door handle was, in fact, twisted into the locked position. As I stared down at it, a sudden, huge shiver rushed up my spine, combined with the feeling of being stared at intensely. In fact, it almost felt as though whoever were doing the staring, were almost directly behind me-shit!
On instinct, I whirled around, slashing out with the knife as hard as I could. But again, there was nothing. No one stood behind me. The oddest thing, though, was that as soon as I spun around, the feeling of eyes boring into the back of my skull ceased. As if the watcher had simply blinked out of existence the moment I turned. But the tension in the apartment didn’t go away. In fact, it almost seemed to intensify. And it kept me on edge. Enough to the point that I searched the entire apartment. I went into the bathroom, drawing back the shower curtain. I went into my bedroom and opened up the sliding doors to the closet. I even opened up both closets in the living room, pulling out all the coats and boxes someone could hide behind. But I found nothing. No trace of anybody. Even still, though, when I went to bed, I locked the door to my bedroom behind me, just in case. And I slept with the knife on my bedside table.
The next morning, when I awoke, the feeling had vanished from the apartment. It was almost as if the daylight had banished the tension filled aura away, and I was glad for it. Along with the fact that I had a full day of work ahead of me. And so, with a final look around, I locked the front door behind me, climbed into my old, but well taken care of Mitsubishi Starion, and made the two and a half hour drive into the city for work. The day passed by without much fuss, aside from a mandatory team meeting my dickhead boss decided to impose on us during our lunch break. The monotony calmed me down somewhat, and I began to mentally tease myself for how bent out of shape I’d gotten last night. I even decided to tell some of the guys at the water cooler about it.
Everyone, of course, had a good laugh over it. “Well, Ed, if I ever need someone to slice away at the dark emptiness of my house, I’ll be sure to give you a call!” Mark, one of my coworkers joked, causing everyone, including myself, to guffaw some more. The joking shoved it completely out of my mind, and before I knew it, the evening had arrived. I packed up my belongings back into the car and made the journey back home, still chuckling a bit to myself and humming along to the songs playing on the car’s radio. As I pulled into my apartment building’s parking lot and into my space at close to ten at night, however, I saw something which tore away that relaxed, relieved emotion from me like it’d been a loved one in the grip of a tsunami.
My complex is set up in a U formation with two floors, sort of similar to how an older built motel looks. My apartment was the second one on the top floor, and from where I sat in my car, I could look up and see the living room window of my place between the slats of the walkway’s railing. As I always did, when I left, I’d twisted shut the white venetian blinds so nobody walking past the window could look into my place.
Someone was peering down at me from between the blinds. From between my blinds.
I felt my blood turn to ice as I saw the obvious parting in the middle of them, signifying someone was pulling down on a section of them. And then doubly so when they, just as quickly, snapped back into position. Shitttt, I mentally hissed. I fumbled around in my coat pockets, looking for my cell phone. I let out a groan as I suddenly realized I’d forgotten it when I’d left home that morning. Which meant it was up there. With them. “Shit” I hissed again, out loud this time. I gazed around for a moment at the darkened windows of the other units. But I knew none of my neighbors would be of any help to me. Long gone were the days of neighbors looking out for each other; they would, inevitably, tell me to either find a way to call the cops myself, or straight up tell me to go fuck myself, that it wasn’t their problem. Which, unless I wanted to drive straight to my local police station, over twenty minutes away, the only other option was…to go in myself.
Hissing through gritted teeth, I pulled the door handle and kicked the door open, letting the chilly night air flood into the car’s interior. I reached down and yanked on the trunk release before climbing out and slamming the door. Crossing to it, I pulled the glass hatch up and fumbled around inside for a moment, before withdrawing a tire iron from the mess of crap cluttering up the trunk. Slamming the hatch closed, I took a deep breath, then, leaving my car’s engine running in case I needed to make a quick getaway, I took the stairs to the top floor two at a time. A moment later, I was standing at the head of the landing, staring at the Tweety-Bird yellow painted door of my apartment. My heart pounded in my chest as I took a step forward, reaching out slowly and gripping the handle in one hand. I gave it a small twist to see if it would turn.
But it stayed in place, showing that the door was still locked. Or, whoever’s in there locked it behind them. Swallowing a bit, I reached into my pants pocket for my house keys with my free hand. Pulling them out, I slid them as quietly as possible into the lock in the center of the doorknob. I took a deep breath, knowing as soon as I twisted the key, the doorknob would turn with it as well. “God, please don’t let me get jumped as soon as I step inside” I quietly whispered towards the dark sky. I let out the deep breath, then raised the tire iron over my head and twisted the key.
The knob turned, and I immediately pushed the door open. It swung inwards, before hitting the wall with a soft clunk. The porch light cast a long, narrow shaft of light into the dark room beyond, reflecting off my flat screen TV on the far side of the living room. Aside from that, though, the place was as dark and silent as a tomb. My pulse quickened as I slowly reached inside, my hand searching for the light switch. Part of my feared that, as I blindly searched, I’d suddenly feel a vice like grip seize my wrist and pull me into the dark. The mental image sent a shiver of fear through me, just as my fingers found the plastic switch. Flicking it on, the living room suddenly became awash in the bright overhead light. Still holding the tire iron over my head, I took a tentative step inside. The atmosphere in here had changed again. Gone was the tense one which had accompanied seeing…whoever the other night. In its place was….an almost threatening one. And realizing it set me even farther on edge.
Moving quickly, I leaned around the corner, giving me a glimpse of the kitchen beyond. Both it, and the living room were empty, from initial appearances, anyways. But that still left the bathroom, and the kitchen. Something caught my eye, however, which filled me with relief. My cell phone still sat where I’d left it, in the middle of the living room coffee table. I moved slowly, trying to stay as quiet as possible so whoever was hidden wouldn’t realize I was going for my phone and bum rush me. I held my breath as I passed by the half open doors of both my bathroom and bedroom, stepping around the couch and picking up my phone. I decided right there and then, that I’d step back outside and call the cops. There was a fine line between being courageous, and being suicidally stupid, and searching this place on my own, with just a tire iron to defend myself, especially knowing someone was hiding somewhere in here, was firmly on the latter side of that line.
I turned to begin walking quickly back to the open front door. But something stopped me. Something which made me freeze. There was a small section of eggshell white wall between the door to one of my closets, and the bathroom door. Something had been written there. No, not written, I realized. It had been scratched into the wall. My eyes flashed over the three words etched into the paint and plaster. Videre nos potest. My head swam with confusion, trying to place what language it was. That was when I felt my heart almost stop in my chest, my breath along with it.
Out of the left corner of my vision, I saw the door to my bedroom had slowly, but noticeably swung open a bit. That wasn’t what had caused my heart to skip a beat, though. It was seeing the black and silver blur again. Ohhhhh, shit. Before the thought had finished in my head, I was dashing for the door. Out of the corner of my vision, there was a sudden blur of movement as the black and silver figure came flying out of the room. It never made a sound, though. I dodged it, somehow, and flew around the corner, snatching the doorknob in my free hand and yanking the door shut behind me. Twisting the keys to the right to lock the door again, I tore them from the lock and thundered back down the stairs, yanking the door to my car open and crashing into the driver’s seat. Slamming the door shut and locking it, I dropped the tire iron and fumbled with my phone.
As the voice of the emergency dispatcher came on the other end of the line, and I stumbled through explaining what had happened, I kept my gaze locked through the windshield on the front door and the living room window. I swear I saw the blinds part again as I heard the wail of the police sirens approaching.
When the police arrived, I jumped out of my car and quickly explained what had happened. They took my house keys from me and with their pistols drawn, climbed quickly up the steps to my place. With neighbors opening their doors and parting their blinds to see what was happening, they unlocked the door and quickly entered. A few minutes later, they both reappeared and waved for me to come up and join them. “I’m sorry sir, but whoever it was, they’re gone” one of them said to me. He then showed me that the window in the back of the apartment, which was in the back of the kitchen and opened out onto a main road, had been opened, the mosquito screen having been cut to allow someone to jump out. I stared out and down at the two story drop. It would hurt to jump from this height, but it’s doable, I thought. The cops again did a sweep of the apartment, turning the entire place upside down with me there, and again, found no one. They both promised to stay the night outside, to keep an eye on the place in case the person attempted to try and come back, and would make sure an officer was posted outside for the next week or so. It made me feel more than a bit better.
“What about the writing scratched into the wall?” I asked them, pointing to it. The first officer shrugged. “I honestly don’t know, sir” he said, giving me an apologetic look, “That’s a language I’ve never seen before” That’s when the second spoke up. “It’s Latin” he said simply. We both looked at him. He was staring at the writing with a bit of a confused, if not apprehensive look on his face. “But what freaking low level criminal knows Latin?” he murmured quietly, more to himself than us. “Well, what does it say?” I asked him. For a few seconds, he didn’t answer, then he finally turned and looked at me.
“He can see us. That’s, roughly, what it says”
I felt a massive chill shoot up my spine at his words, though I couldn’t understand why. Not at the time.
As promised, the officers watched over the apartment the rest of the night. And for the next week, there was always at least one cop car sitting outside. It was also, thankfully, quiet that next week. I was almost able to feel completely calm, putting the frightening experience out of my mind and allowing my life to regain a bit of normalcy. I didn’t feel any sensation of being watched. One thing I did do, though, was type the Latin words into Google, in an attempt to see if anything came up. But nothing did. I decided to push the last remnants out of my conscious mind. And as the weekend came, I looked forward to sitting on the couch, playing video games all night, and having a bottle of Hypnotiq to myself. Saturday night, I played until almost one in the morning, before stumbling my drunk ass to the bed. I passed out almost as soon as my head hit the pillow.
I’m honestly not sure what woke me up. But when I slid my eyes open, it was still to darkness. I felt my head begin to spin, showing that I wasn’t fully sober yet. I shot a look at the bright red glowing numbers of the clock on the bedside table next to my head. 3:30AM. Ugh, what the hell? Do I have to piss? What woke me u-
Everything stopped. My mind froze mid-thought, and my heart fluttered in my chest. My breath hitched in my chest as my eyes adjusted to the dark, staring across the room. I was looking at my bedroom closet, which, when I’d fallen asleep, I’d looked over and seen it closed. But now, as I stared, I realized the sliding right door had been pulled back some. A chill ran through me. And then it was replaced by a bone chilling shiver of fear as my eyes locked on to something else. Something which stared at me from around the edge of the half open closet door.
It was the black and silver blur. Except this time, it wasn’t a full on blur. I’m not sure whether it was the darkness or the alcohol still flowing through my veins, but…I could see it a bit more clearly now. I couldn’t see much. Just what looked like two large, very dark eyes, glaring at me. I felt frozen in place, fear quite literally paralyzing me to the bed. As I lay there, my eyes widened to the size of saucers, I slowly became aware of something else. Something which I’ll never forget, which I can still hear in the silence. It was whispering. It was a soft, hissing voice, sounding as grating as sandpaper, but it almost seemed to be growing in intensity. As if it knew I was awake and was staring at it. And it was not even remotely happy about it. The words were indistinguishable at first, but as the voice grew louder, the words became clear. But they weren’t words I knew. Or a language I knew.
“Tolle qui nos videre potest. Tolle qui nos videre potest. Tolle…qui nos videre potest!” I recognized some of the words as the same as the words written on my wall. It was speaking in Latin. The voice grew angrier and angrier, turning from a hiss into almost a demonic growl. And then, it went deadly silent. It almost seemed as though the entire world had gone dead silent, as if everything were being sucked out of the world.
That’s when I saw the hand reach up from underneath the bed to grab onto the sheets, less than a foot from my face. A hand which more resembled a claw, tipped with five razor sharp fingernails. There’s more than one….and it’s under my fucking bed!
Seeing that hand…that claw reaching up from under the bed broke the paralyzing hold that had come over me. I flew up in bed, flinging the sheets up and forwards and letting out an involuntary scream. Instantly, there seemed to be a world of motion in the bedroom. Black and silver blurs seemed to appear from everywhere. From the closet, from under the bed. Even from inside my armoire I used to store candy, books and CDs. And they were all coming for me.
But I was already moving, practically flying for my open bedroom door. Behind me, I caught the blurs following after me. They were terrifyingly fast, but they stayed silent. Silent, that is, except for the mantra they all suddenly began to angrily whisper. The same words I’d heard the one in the closet angrily hiss. “Tolle qui nos videre potest!” they chanted, just loud enough for me to hear. But not enough for anyone else in the complex to. I ran through the bedroom door, grabbing it and slamming it shut behind me. A moment later, I felt the push from the other side as whatever the things were attempted to force it open. Looking around, I spied a kitchen chair within reach and grabbed it, forcing it under the handle to block the door.
I knew it wouldn’t hold for long, though. I could hear the creatures practically throwing themselves at the door. I used the time I had to grab my computer bag, along with the clothes I’d left strewn on my living room floor and my cell phone. I’d just snatched my car keys from their hook, when I realized they’d gone silent. The assault on the door stopped. For a split second, I felt a wave of relief. And then I saw something out of the corner of my eye from the kitchen. My blood turned to ice as I realized the cabinet doors under the sink were beginning to open. And that demonic growl of a mantra was beginning to pour out from under it. So was my bathroom door. And both closets. “Oh, fuck me” I whimpered, then dashed for my door, snatching up my sneakers as they rushed out from their new hidey holes.
I unlocked and threw the door open, dashing out into the night and yanking it shut behind me. Bolting down the steps, I jammed the key into the door of my car and unlocked it. I piled into the driver’s seat and yanked the door shut, slamming down on the lock button. Forcing the key into the ignition and twisting it, the engine roared to life. I knew I should simply call the cops, but I knew at this point, if I did, when they arrived, they’d all have disappeared. Maybe even make it look like another person had jumped out the window again They're THAT smart. Instead, I jammed the shifter into reverse and peeled out of the parking lot. As I left, I saw the blinds part again. As they watched me go.
I haven’t been back to my apartment in weeks. I drove all through the night, fighting back the waves of nausea from the alcohol still in my system until I made it to the city where I work. I rented a motel room, and ever since then, I’ve been staying there. I figured I could just eventually have movers go and collect my things from the apartment, and give my thirty day notice. There was no way I was ever going back there.
I thought I would be safe in the city. I thought I would be safe anywhere else but my apartment. That they were bound to the place.
I was wrong. So very wrong.
Because I’ve started seeing them everywhere now. I’ve seen them while out in crowded places such as the mall or Wal-Mart. I’ve seen them in my coworker’s houses when I’m invited over by them as they tell me they’re concerned about how I’m beginning to act. I’m even seeing them at work. Peering at me from around the corners of hallways, from behind the water cooler. I’ve even caught them glaring at me from around the corner of my office cubicle. They whisper that horrible Latin mantra to themselves, now added with evil chuckles. And whisper it to me. I ended up entering the phrase into Google Translate, to understand what they were saying. But wish I never had. Because knowing meaning of the words fills me with an existential dread and terror I’ve never felt before.
Take away he who can see us
You need to listen to me now. You, reading this account I’m posting. I don’t know what these creatures are. I wish I did, because then, I might have some way of fighting back against them. I don’t even know what they fully look like. I’ve only seen their eyes. And their clawed hands. The only thing I can deduce, is that they are incalculably old. Centuries old. Maybe even eons. I now understand that those blurs I saw all throughout my life, from the corner of my vision, were them. They’ve lived alongside us for all of humanity’s existence, staying just out of sight. They like it that way. They don’t like us humans knowing about them.
But I know others, not just myself, have likely seen them.
How many strange cases of people disappearing in their homes, with all the doors and windows locked from the inside have you heard about. I know I’ve heard more than a few. And I think I know what happened to them. They saw these creatures. And when they realized the people could see them? They came for them. They wore them down, mentally and physically. Like they’re doing to me now. I’m afraid to fall asleep. Afraid I’ll wake up to see them right in front of me. I feel so weak now. I couldn’t fight them off if I tried. They know that. They knew that about the others. And that’s when they dragged them away….to God only knows where.
I know I'm going to find out soon enough.
Because all of today, they’ve been getting closer. I caught one trying to grab my leg under my desk. That wasn’t the scariest encounter I’ve had. The worst was driving back to the motel. Looking in the rear view mirror of my Starion. And seeing one of them glaring at me from just behind the rear seat. It caused me to nearly crash into a telephone pole. I’ve locked myself in my motel room, which is where I’m writing this. I don’t have much time left. They’re beginning to poke their heads out from everywhere in here. Multiple have popped their heads up from under the bed, watching me frantically typing this out on my laptop. And they’re all laughing at me. Today is when they're going to take me. They know I know that. I can’t do anything more now. I can’t run from them anymore. I’m too tired. Too weak.
But I can do one final thing. I can warn you. I can post this account here as a warning. I know for a fact most of you won’t believe me. And that’s fine. It may even be what saves you in the end.
But please, listen to me when I say this. If you ever think you see something peering at you from around a corner? If you ever catch a glimpse of a black and silver blur disappearing just out of sight? Don’t investigate it. Just ignore it. Tell yourself it’s nothing, and go about with your lives.
Because you don’t ever want them to realize you can see them.
2023.05.29 04:30 _thedogfather_ [P&P Round 2] Completely Sane Industries Reliant 'B' Light Tank
![[P&P Round 2] Completely Sane Industries Reliant 'B' Light Tank](https://b.thumbs.redditmedia.com/Lw6GGYiMdNF_Yx2COXO03WCOksBRArQ8sFwRsagiSeM.jpg "[P&P Round 2] Completely Sane Industries Reliant 'B' Light Tank") | submitted by _thedogfather_ to SprocketTankDesign [link] [comments] HEY, THIS IS NOT WHAT I MEANT WHEN I ASKED FOR A HALF TRACK! Trust me, I'm an engineer. A well-dressed kobold stands alone at the front of the room, shuffling note cards and sipping something that fizzes and smells awful. Clearing his throat, he begins: Before we get into the full presentation, I'd like to thank the organization for their feedback on our ‘Precious’ prototype. We've incorporated numerous improvements to our design process as a direct result of that feedback, most prominently the consideration of crew members larger than kobolds. We do ask, however, that you please save any questions related to the unconventional layout of the tank to the end. I believe we'll be able to answer your questions during the presentation. Our Reliant 'B' prototype. The 'A' variant has been cannibalized for parts and the engine returned to Infernal Armories after numerous complaints about it's, ah, appetite. Plus, from this view, it almost looks like a normal tank. You asked for a new light tank design with unparalleled speed, visibility, and enough armor to survive any unfortunate engagements with the enemy, while also carrying sufficient firepower to eliminate any targets of opportunity that may present themselves. With the Reliant B prototype, we feel we have the answer to your problems. No photographers were harmed in the making of this pitch. First, speed: The Reliant can reach a top speed of just over 40 mph forward and (while slow to accelerate) 36 mph backwards as well. Using the M89 engine means the Reliant accomplishes this through nonmagical methods, so that even in the case of an antimagic field, the tank remains mobile. Driving around our proving grounds. Regarding engines- this prototype is equipped with the M89 8-cylinder option. We found the slightly reduced engine power was an acceptable tradeoff after an intern on a tour with Infernal Armories was nearly consumed by their prototype. Using the lighter engine allowed us to add additional armor, resulting in better protection for minimal loss of speed. Luckily, the intern survived with no detectable loss of brainpower. Upper view- note the oversized rear engine deck, forward fuel tanks, and offset exhaust. Coupling the high speed with twin 10 speed transmissions gives the tank excellent turning performance at speed, and while the unconventional layout makes turning in place something of a misnomer, it is capable of it. 100% MORE TANK PER TRACK UNIT THAN OUR COMPETITORS As this is a scout tank, visibility is a top priority- we've set up the driver position with three linked view ports giving a 90 degree clear view to the front, supplemented by two additional side periscopes. For night driving, six lights cover the full 180 degree arc to the front. In the turret, the commander's cupola is equipped with a separate spotlight, and a further 4 lights are attached covering the front arc of the turret- the multiple lights and coverages allow the crew to look in separate directions regardless of day or night conditions. The risk of being spotted by the enemy was deemed minimal considering the engine is loud enough to be heard from nearly a mile away- this tank relies on speed, not stealth, to accomplish its mission. The tank carries a crew of only 3- a dedicated driver, a combination gunneloader, and commanderadioman. While multiple roles can be difficult in combat, we've left as much space as possible for each crewman to avoid cramping them too much. 6 hull lights, 4 turret lights, 1 cupola light. Definitely not subtle, but at least you can see where you're going, where you've been, and where your friends are. An internal 550 liter tank gives a reasonable combat radius, but the addition of 300 liters of additional fuel in quick-detachable external tanks significantly extends the range, allowing longer scout missions without increasing the size of the vehicle. Excellent view of the forward tanks, taken after a mishap during hill climb trials. To reduce the risk of being immobilized in enemy territory, a complete set of replacement road wheels and idlers are mounted on the fenders, with additional spare track links. Use of small bogie style suspension allows the crew to perform the maintenance themselves, even if they're all kobolds. Not that unlike torsion bar suspensions, ours is entirely outside the vehicle- provided you can at least get the rear of the vehicle on jacks or blocks, you can fix it without need heavy equipment. Extra road wheels/idler wheels (identically sized for supply chain commonality) Armor is still fairly thin, but for a light tank it's an efficient layout. We’ve managed to meet the 17mm protection request, at least for sides and rear of both turret and hull, without exceeding the weight limit. Hull frontal thickness is approximately 73mm all over, with side and rear armor of 18mm for both hull and turret- note that the turret front is actually slightly less well protected, at only 69mm. The bottom is protected by only 10mm plate. The hull top plate was increased to 12 mm, and the turret top increased to 18mm due to the high risk of attack by enemy aircraft. Use of the tank's incredible visibility is strongly encouraged to avoid minefields, as even light antipersonnel mines are likely to penetrate the lower hull. The turret is equipped with the ToM104 3” field gun, primarily for the versatility offered by the wide selection of ammunition types. Carrying only 55 rounds (15 in the turret ready rack, 40 in the hull) means you won't be engaging in long, drawn out fights, but gives enough capacity to pack a few of each type of round to ensure you can pick off any lightly defended targets you find- storage caches, convoys, command posts, etc. A cupola machine gun is mounted above the turret for the commander, and a coaxial machine is also fitted for cases where the main gun is low on ammo. Main gun, coax MG, and cupola MG. Now, to address the layout- yes, we're aware that tanks generally have treads running the full length of the tank, but frankly we determined through testing that it simply wasn't necessary and added too much weight to the tank. Instead, we fitted much shorter tracks to the rear section and replaced the forward portion with an extended skid plate. Interestingly, this configuration actually improved step climb performance (from almost nothing to clearing the 0.75m step) and had no impact on hill climb, keeping the original 40 degree target from our internal specifications for light tanks. Clearing the 0.75m step- a small running start is required. Not just clearing the 40 degree slope, but catching air at the top. Altogether, this tank provides the complete package- speed, visibility, protection, and enough firepower to handle light targets. Reliance on magic is minimized to avoid complicated maintenance requirements, and in fact an anti magic field will have almost no effect on the tank. Superior hill climb performance means a squadron can strike or disengage through paths many would consider impossible terrain, like this prototype cresting the steep slopes adjacent to the shore on our proving grounds. — Out of character notes: Once again, thanks to u/28th_Stab_Wound for putting on the contest, it's been a blast building these things and being able to exercise a bit of an unconventional flair on the design side. If at any time these pitches become too outlandish for the lore you're working towards, let me know and I'll tone it down. For now, though, I'm just having fun :D Thanks to u/Terianis for allowing me to include the Infernal Armories reference, and for the inspiration to attempt this absolutely ridiculous hill climb test- I'm still flabbergasted by the things we can climb with the traction changes lately, and the fact that I can make a 9 ton tank with skinny little tracks covering less than half the length of the tank climb a hill like that is just bonkers. While the Reliant can't compete with IA's entry, it can climb the lesser portion of the slopes by the waterfall at the shore. Seconds from disaster- this is what happens you challenge a tank driven by a construct engine fueled by the flesh and souls of its enemies. Disaster imminent Even inverted, the sole hatch is still accessible! |
2023.05.29 04:12 erange18 Rack and Pinion keeps failing
I have a 2011 ford ranger with 116,000 miles on it. In the last year I’ve replaced the rack and pinion twice, and it’s leaking once again. It’s for sure not the pump. I know I have to replace it, but is there any reason my truck would have eaten through 3 in a year? The suspension was revamped last may (shocks, struts, all ball joints, a CV axle, tie rod. New tires and brakes, rack and pinion). I had to replace the rack and pinion this February due to it leaking power steering fluid. Now it’s leaking again, and the worst it’s leaked any of these times. Is there’s something I should be looking for that would cause another one to fail? Or did I get 2 bad replacement parts back to back? The shop that did the work in February closed up shop a month ago so I can’t go back to them on warranty.
submitted by erange18 to fordranger [link] [comments]
2023.05.29 04:07 demondork224 [F4GM] Running the Gauntlet. A new frontier for reality TV.
I’m 18+ and all characters and participants must be 18+
Even backstage, the roaring sound of the audience is almost deafening. With the shouting and jeering, it's hard not to feel the adrenaline pumping through my body while i await the fate of the contestant ahead of you. Collectively, they start counting down the clock, the dramatic music rising in intensity as they approach the end of the clock. In a dramatic twist, however, the clock stops, the crowd starting to boo and jeer loudly, clearly disappointed. She failed. A production assistant walks up to me, adding a bit of final make-up. She smiles, almost reassuringly. "You're up after the break. Just relax, don't let the audience intimidate you, just do your best."
As the crowd settles down, the commercial break currently airing, i see the previous contestant walk down the corridor. She's naked, her face and body covered in cum, shivering, make-up running down her cheeks. I met her briefly in the green room, earlier. Ashley, 21 years old, running the gauntlet to pay off her student debt. She had a pretty face, long straight copper hair brushing her shoulders, wider hips and a bigger rack than you imagined when the two of you shook hands earlier. Now, you see she avoids you entirely, still sobbing, while she's ushered away to another room. I knew this wasn't going to be easy, but seeing her in that state made you even more nervous. With a deep sigh, i look up at the countdown clock, while the assistant counts down with it.
3,2,1. Go.
Down the catwalk i go, lights flashing in my face, while i hear the "Next Contestant!" announcement ring through the studio. A busty woman in a suit is standing center stage, inviting me to stand next to her, while the audience claps politely upon my entry. The music ends, the lights focused on me and the presenter of this wicked show. She smiles, before turning to camera 4. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back to the Gauntlet. Ashley didn't make the cut, but don't worry, we've got a fresh contestant lined up for you." She turns towards me. points towards camera 3. "Please, tell the audience who you are and why you're running the Gauntlet today?"
---
Thanks for reading this far! Reality TV is taking on a new frontier, with girls doing depraved things for money. It might be an attempt to pay off their student debt, save up to purchase a house or just responding to a deep rooted desire to be used. Running the gauntlet seems easy; it can be quite lighthearted and quirky if you want, or dark if that's what you prefer. The idea of the gauntlet is that my character will be pushed to her limits.
Kinks: cum, cum eating, cum food, cum play,bukkake,cream pie,bdsm, bondage, forced, body writing, spanking, cuddling, degradation, rough partners, sizeplay, dominant partners, toys, multiple partners, spit roasting, mating press, full Nelson,frenching,rimming,body oil,bestiality,water sports,wax play,sex machines,being filmed,cosplay,NTR,petplay,exhibitionism,biting and pretty much anything that isn’t my limits
Limits:
Scat,gore,vore,hyper sizes,necro and vomit
If that's of interest to you, please get in touch at Demondork on Kik and come with any questions you have, clarifications you need and ideas you'd like to share. Just please do more than just tell me you're interested. Don't worry about responding slowly/late, I still want to hear from you. Finally, please no chat requests, I will simply ignore them.
submitted by demondork224 to KikRoleplayers [link] [comments]
Even backstage, the roaring sound of the audience is almost deafening. With the shouting and jeering, it's hard not to feel the adrenaline pumping through my body while i await the fate of the contestant ahead of you. Collectively, they start counting down the clock, the dramatic music rising in intensity as they approach the end of the clock. In a dramatic twist, however, the clock stops, the crowd starting to boo and jeer loudly, clearly disappointed. She failed. A production assistant walks up to me, adding a bit of final make-up. She smiles, almost reassuringly. "You're up after the break. Just relax, don't let the audience intimidate you, just do your best."
As the crowd settles down, the commercial break currently airing, i see the previous contestant walk down the corridor. She's naked, her face and body covered in cum, shivering, make-up running down her cheeks. I met her briefly in the green room, earlier. Ashley, 21 years old, running the gauntlet to pay off her student debt. She had a pretty face, long straight copper hair brushing her shoulders, wider hips and a bigger rack than you imagined when the two of you shook hands earlier. Now, you see she avoids you entirely, still sobbing, while she's ushered away to another room. I knew this wasn't going to be easy, but seeing her in that state made you even more nervous. With a deep sigh, i look up at the countdown clock, while the assistant counts down with it.
3,2,1. Go.
Down the catwalk i go, lights flashing in my face, while i hear the "Next Contestant!" announcement ring through the studio. A busty woman in a suit is standing center stage, inviting me to stand next to her, while the audience claps politely upon my entry. The music ends, the lights focused on me and the presenter of this wicked show. She smiles, before turning to camera 4. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back to the Gauntlet. Ashley didn't make the cut, but don't worry, we've got a fresh contestant lined up for you." She turns towards me. points towards camera 3. "Please, tell the audience who you are and why you're running the Gauntlet today?"
---
Thanks for reading this far! Reality TV is taking on a new frontier, with girls doing depraved things for money. It might be an attempt to pay off their student debt, save up to purchase a house or just responding to a deep rooted desire to be used. Running the gauntlet seems easy; it can be quite lighthearted and quirky if you want, or dark if that's what you prefer. The idea of the gauntlet is that my character will be pushed to her limits.
Kinks: cum, cum eating, cum food, cum play,bukkake,cream pie,bdsm, bondage, forced, body writing, spanking, cuddling, degradation, rough partners, sizeplay, dominant partners, toys, multiple partners, spit roasting, mating press, full Nelson,frenching,rimming,body oil,bestiality,water sports,wax play,sex machines,being filmed,cosplay,NTR,petplay,exhibitionism,biting and pretty much anything that isn’t my limits
Limits:
Scat,gore,vore,hyper sizes,necro and vomit
If that's of interest to you, please get in touch at Demondork on Kik and come with any questions you have, clarifications you need and ideas you'd like to share. Just please do more than just tell me you're interested. Don't worry about responding slowly/late, I still want to hear from you. Finally, please no chat requests, I will simply ignore them.
2023.05.29 03:31 TriIl Looking for build advice - Do-it-all 2009 Forester 2.5 NA
Hey everyone, been scrounging across forms for info and figured this was a good place to ask. I'm trying to build a budget do-it-all work vehicle for myself, with my only needs being: - Versatile and reliable enough to take through rough back roads - Efficient enough to handle highway driving from site to site (I'm a geologist)
Settled on 2004-2009 subarus for a base, and have found a 2009 Forester X2.5 (with 220k km) nearby for 2500$
My main question is then, what modifications and add-ons fit my current needs?
My current order of operations is: - Get on top of all maintenance, flush and replace most fluids etc. (Timing belt and head gasket was already done at 150k) - ADR front skid plate - Get a roof/truck rack with an extra Jerry can - ADR 2" lift (or smaller? Not sure with what amount of lift is appropriate), new tires and rims with full size spare
And that's as far as I've gotten. Any advice or critiques of what I got so far is appreciated, cheers.
submitted by TriIl to SubaruForester [link] [comments]
Settled on 2004-2009 subarus for a base, and have found a 2009 Forester X2.5 (with 220k km) nearby for 2500$
My main question is then, what modifications and add-ons fit my current needs?
My current order of operations is: - Get on top of all maintenance, flush and replace most fluids etc. (Timing belt and head gasket was already done at 150k) - ADR front skid plate - Get a roof/truck rack with an extra Jerry can - ADR 2" lift (or smaller? Not sure with what amount of lift is appropriate), new tires and rims with full size spare
And that's as far as I've gotten. Any advice or critiques of what I got so far is appreciated, cheers.
2023.05.29 03:18 RZHS2016 Random Ford Maverick build I came up with because I am bored.
I kind of wanted fo go with that Menards rental truck bibe, so here it is.
This build is based on the XL Hybrid. The color that I'll be using is Oxford White.
Once you have completed all steps, your truck would look good for hauling truck stuff.
submitted by RZHS2016 to FordMaverickTruck [link] [comments]
This build is based on the XL Hybrid. The color that I'll be using is Oxford White.
- Remove the GOD AWFUL steelies and replace them with the 8-Point Steelies* from the F-150, as they look MUCH better in my opinion.
- Install running boards on the truck. They would look best if the running boards were black.
- I stall a cab protector on the Maverick that doesn't interfere with the tonneau, if you plan to have a tonneau. 4 and 5. Install a bed divider and bed lights.
- Paint the mirrors black.
Once you have completed all steps, your truck would look good for hauling truck stuff.
2023.05.29 03:15 Lucas_TheVlogger How would you rate lego city undercover?
So I just finished Lego city undercover and it was phenomenal! Now I will probably be pretty long winded in this, so to save those that don’t have the time to listen to a ramble that is passionate but long, I will give my rating first
Story- 8/10 Gameplay 8/10 Open world 9/10
My rating is very high, but I think you will understand why, once I explain my history with this game and it’s predecessor
The first gaming console that I owned (meaning not shared with siblings) was the Nintendo 3ds. This system was amazing to me, allowing me to experience some games that still mean so much to me today.
Lego city under cover: the chase begins was one of those. If you play a decent amount of video games, then I’m sure you know that feeling of being so engrossed in the experience that you can’t put the game down until you finish it.
I would say this was my first or second time experiencing this, and of course it led to me seeking out more games that had this same effect, games like rdr2, the Spider-Man trilogy (soon to be) and the Arkham games.
This game found a way to make the most mundane tasks like picking up donuts for Dunby non-trivial and rather entertaining. Though I am still quite mad at him for the ending of the game. He kind of reminds me of a more lazy version of Jameson from Spider-Man. No matter what I do he seems to always find a way to hate me (though at least Jameson doesn’t send spidey away and take credit for his accomplishments)
It also had great mechanics for detective work like the magnifying glass. I don’t really remember what the combat was like for that game but I will assume it was similar to the newer one. It was just ok in my opinion. Definitely not my favorite Lego game combat.
Where the first game really excelled though was in the feeling the story gave you. You felt like a cop trying to take down the big bad that was Rex fury (though I suppose he really is more of a henchmen in the second game)
So all in all lego city undercover the chase begins was probably a 7 or 8.
This game cranked everything up a notch, improving the open world, possibly improving the combat I’m not to sure, and giving you better missions overall. Instead of a battle on the back of a truck, you get to fight Rex on a dinosaur while piloting a robot! Then you fight him again while falling from space!
The music is just as good as it was in the first game (that scene where your falling toward the rocket, beautiful!!!) The comedy was also amazing. Just wow I could go on forever about the jokes. They where genuinely hilarious
“How dare someone draw a beard on my mother, do you know how much I had to pay the artist to not paint it in the first place” 😂
Not a quote I don’t quite remember the exact phrasing.
I actually didn’t think I would end up liking this game more than the original. The campiness of it threw me off a bit, since I didn’t really remember to many specific lines from the original. It took me realizing that this game is the embodiment of a cheesy cop show to accept the corniness. It took several new save files for me to fully get into it, the newest one being on steam deck which game me 40 fps. So much better than any of the console counterparts that I had played on before!
I would say this game is a must play for anyone looking for a new Lego game to play or just a chill game to play in general.
Well that’s it for my thoughts on this game. I am interested to see what other people have to say about this game.
Thank you if you read through this :)
submitted by Lucas_TheVlogger to legogaming [link] [comments]
Story- 8/10 Gameplay 8/10 Open world 9/10
My rating is very high, but I think you will understand why, once I explain my history with this game and it’s predecessor
The first gaming console that I owned (meaning not shared with siblings) was the Nintendo 3ds. This system was amazing to me, allowing me to experience some games that still mean so much to me today.
Lego city under cover: the chase begins was one of those. If you play a decent amount of video games, then I’m sure you know that feeling of being so engrossed in the experience that you can’t put the game down until you finish it.
I would say this was my first or second time experiencing this, and of course it led to me seeking out more games that had this same effect, games like rdr2, the Spider-Man trilogy (soon to be) and the Arkham games.
This game found a way to make the most mundane tasks like picking up donuts for Dunby non-trivial and rather entertaining. Though I am still quite mad at him for the ending of the game. He kind of reminds me of a more lazy version of Jameson from Spider-Man. No matter what I do he seems to always find a way to hate me (though at least Jameson doesn’t send spidey away and take credit for his accomplishments)
It also had great mechanics for detective work like the magnifying glass. I don’t really remember what the combat was like for that game but I will assume it was similar to the newer one. It was just ok in my opinion. Definitely not my favorite Lego game combat.
Where the first game really excelled though was in the feeling the story gave you. You felt like a cop trying to take down the big bad that was Rex fury (though I suppose he really is more of a henchmen in the second game)
So all in all lego city undercover the chase begins was probably a 7 or 8.
This game cranked everything up a notch, improving the open world, possibly improving the combat I’m not to sure, and giving you better missions overall. Instead of a battle on the back of a truck, you get to fight Rex on a dinosaur while piloting a robot! Then you fight him again while falling from space!
The music is just as good as it was in the first game (that scene where your falling toward the rocket, beautiful!!!) The comedy was also amazing. Just wow I could go on forever about the jokes. They where genuinely hilarious
“How dare someone draw a beard on my mother, do you know how much I had to pay the artist to not paint it in the first place” 😂
Not a quote I don’t quite remember the exact phrasing.
I actually didn’t think I would end up liking this game more than the original. The campiness of it threw me off a bit, since I didn’t really remember to many specific lines from the original. It took me realizing that this game is the embodiment of a cheesy cop show to accept the corniness. It took several new save files for me to fully get into it, the newest one being on steam deck which game me 40 fps. So much better than any of the console counterparts that I had played on before!
I would say this game is a must play for anyone looking for a new Lego game to play or just a chill game to play in general.
Well that’s it for my thoughts on this game. I am interested to see what other people have to say about this game.
Thank you if you read through this :)
2023.05.29 02:33 tundra8ft Does Maxcare actually cover repairs?
I recently purchased a 2011 Toyota tundra 5.7 liter with 74 thousand miles.
I also purchased the 100k mile Maxcare warranty. I was reading the Maxcare contract and on page 3 under the "What this service contract does not cover" section number 34. It states "Any repair or replacement of a covered part if no breakdown has occurred regardless of repair facility recommendation: or if the wear on a part has not exceeded the specified field tolerance, as defined by the manufacturer."
A salesman at Carmax told me this is included incase of unscrupulous repair shops up selling me and that repairs will be covered. I'm wary to believe what the salesman says. I'd appreciate opinions on what this part of the contract means because it sounds like to me that any repairs won't be covered unless I'm broken down on the side of the road.
I'm already taking advantage of the 90 day warranty, getting a valve cover and steering rack leak fixed.
submitted by tundra8ft to carmax [link] [comments]
I also purchased the 100k mile Maxcare warranty. I was reading the Maxcare contract and on page 3 under the "What this service contract does not cover" section number 34. It states "Any repair or replacement of a covered part if no breakdown has occurred regardless of repair facility recommendation: or if the wear on a part has not exceeded the specified field tolerance, as defined by the manufacturer."
A salesman at Carmax told me this is included incase of unscrupulous repair shops up selling me and that repairs will be covered. I'm wary to believe what the salesman says. I'd appreciate opinions on what this part of the contract means because it sounds like to me that any repairs won't be covered unless I'm broken down on the side of the road.
I'm already taking advantage of the 90 day warranty, getting a valve cover and steering rack leak fixed.
2023.05.29 01:03 SmallTruckBigPP Has anyone used this tonneau cover with LED built in?
 | I want to get this Oedro hard tri-fold since it is reasonably priced for a hard cover and has a neat LED built in. Anyone have it that can comment on the quality? None of the amazon reviews mentions the "hinged" version. Is there anything else in this price range that's a better alternative for a hard tri fold? submitted by SmallTruckBigPP to FordMaverickTruck [link] [comments] https://www.amazon.com/Tri-fold-Tonneau-Compatible-Maverick-Fleetside/dp/B0BKFZKS4V https://preview.redd.it/w76jjc812p2b1.png?width=1500&format=png&auto=webp&s=c0fd8cb9348c4e8fd48375470f77b5f84a96d8e7 |
2023.05.29 00:58 TSMaynard1 [RF] ABP "Always Be Preparing"
Pine needles brushed across Paul's arms as he charged through the trees with his bugout bag slung over his shoulders. Weighing in at forty pounds, it hardly slowed him down as he’d practiced this hike many times. He flicked his wrist and checked his Garmin Solar 2 Tactical Watch. The timer read: 2:23.
“You can do this, Paul.” He increased the pace and gritted his teeth, the weight finally having an effect. Paul bounded over a small creek, up a rolling hill, and pushed through a row of baby birches into a clearing. He doubled over to catch his breath and looked at his watch one more time. Two hours and twenty-eight minutes. Paul pumped his fist in victory.
After a short break, he approached a thorny bush in the center of the clearing. Paul brushed aside sand at the bush’s trunk, revealing a yellow rope. He pulled it, which lifted a hidden door in the ground covered with dirt, shrubbery, and other camouflage on the top side, and drab gray iron on the other. Underneath, wooden stairs descended into darkness. Paul retrieved a flashlight from his pack, clicked on the beam, and disappeared into the earth.
At the bottom of the steps, Paul faced a steel door and a combination lock. With several quick swipes of the dial, he opened the lock and tugged the metal door, which creaked as it cracked open. Paul flashed the beam on the offending hinges and shook his head. Something to fix later. He stepped into the secret chamber and pulled a hanging aluminum chain that turned on a large halogen light, illuminating a twenty-foot by eight-foot metal rectangle. The exposed corrugated walls revealed the bunker was nothing more than a shipping container. Paul buried it two years ago and had divided the interior into three spaces. The entry had a shelf with four dozen gallon jugs of sealed water along with a portable toilet, stacks of toilet paper, and a wastebasket. The middle section was the main living area and contained a futon, a TV with a DVD player, and a neat collection of movies underneath. A nightstand housed a small library of books, including the Bible, The Art of Meditation, Buddhism for Dummies, and other spiritual tomes. The back area of the unit had two shelves filled with canned food—black beans, green beans, peaches, peas, carrots, beef, and chicken. There was also a stationary bike, which was Paul’s proudest accomplishment because he had rigged it to a giant battery that provided power to all the electronics.
Paul was a prepper, and this would be his home when the end of the world came, an event he believed was imminent. The global economy was a house of cards built on greed, corruption, and inflated asset prices, but worst of all, it was based on a faith in paper and digital money.
His fear was triggered four years ago when he attended a lecture by a professor who explained the fragility of the world’s financial system. If a few banks failed, it would rattle people’s confidence, causing a herd-like response. Thousands of people would rush to withdraw their cash, which the banks no longer had because they’d invested it. The banks would either fail, and everyday folks would lose their life savings, or the government would print new money to replace the missing money, making all money worth a lot less. Anyone holding dollars would attempt to convert them to other assets.
Just like dominoes, the banks would topple over one by one, and as they crashed, people’s faith in money would crater. After all, what was money? It was just paper with printed images and numbers that we’d all accepted as having value. More recently, money had become numbers displayed on a computer screen, something Paul knew firsthand as he spent the first seven years of his career working at a regional bank in Asheville, North Carolina. Paul could literally change someone’s net worth with a few keystrokes. He could turn a pauper into a millionaire, or he could bankrupt the richest account holder. Sure, there were safeguards, but all were built on faith, which Paul believed was misplaced. Most people didn’t realize that the Federal Reserve only required each bank to hold at least ten percent of its deposits as a reserve. Ten percent. That’s it. The rest of the money was invested in loans or other financial instruments. As the rich bank owners and executives pushed for bigger and bigger returns, they invested in riskier and riskier assets. The lessons from the financial crisis of 2008 had been forgotten.
Once the monetary system collapsed, the entire economy would become paralyzed. Without a means of exchange, transactions would halt. Think about it. If someone tried to give you a slip of paper that you thought was worthless, would you give them anything of value in return?
The doomsday scenario would escalate. Food and water prices would skyrocket, but with no way to purchase them, many would starve. But people don’t just roll over and die, they would riot and take what they need to survive. Marshall Law would be implemented, but citizens would revolt against the government they felt had cheated them.
As Paul listened to the lecturer that fateful day, a depressing epiphany struck. Everything he’d learned and everything he’d spent his life acquiring was worthless.
Growing up, Paul had been taught the value of money, saving, and planning for retirement. He internalized these lessons as a teen after his father got sick and lost his job. His mother had died when he was very young, but his father still managed to provide him with a stable childhood, even though they were barely middle class. When his father fell ill, Paul witnessed firsthand how fast a family could sink into financial trouble, which couldn’t have come at a worse time. He was applying to colleges, and instead of choosing the one he liked best, he chose the one that gave him the most financial aid, which turned out to be a small school half-way across the country. He also didn’t choose a major he was excited about; he chose the one that would offer the safest financial prospects—economics with an emphasis on banking.
The distance from home meant that Paul didn’t see the rapid deterioration of his father. It wasn’t until he returned for the funeral that family friends told him how the disease had spread. His father had refused to let anyone tell Paul because he didn’t want that to distract Paul from his studies.
After graduating, Paul accepted a job at a bank, and immediately signed up for the company’s 401K match. Most college graduates can't grasp retirement when they enter the workforce, but a 401K match was free money. Over the next several years, Paul worked diligently to advance his career while saving most of his salary. He’d mapped out his life on an excel spreadsheet and calculated that he’d be financially secure at 53.
Everything went according to plan until that damn lecturer came along and blew it up. Sifting through the rubble of his grand scheme, Paul realized that in the new world order, he possessed no skills to survive. The savings he’d so meticulously built up would have little to no value. When the economy collapsed, he'd be like a baby, unable to do anything for himself.
After a week of wallowing in despair, Paul rallied himself. “I can still fix this” became a daily mantra. To start, he threw himself into survival classes. The first was a basic camping course where he learned how to create shelters and start a fire. The next class was more advanced and focused on water purification and building snares for small game.
Paul continued working at the bank, because he needed to pay for the classes and survival equipment he began hoarding, but on his next vacation, he put his training to the test. He planned to camp for a week in the Appalachian Mountains, but the temperature swings, especially at night, were too much. Paul lasted three nights in the wild. The humbling experience forced him to admit that he wasn’t a bushman. His depression returned until he stumbled upon an article about “preppers”—individuals who prepare for end of world disasters. Suddenly, things made sense. He didn’t need to abandon all the comforts of modern society. He needed to prepare for the end of the world the way he had planned for retirement.
As Paul traveled down the rabbit hole of prepping, he uncovered an underground society of people like him who knew the truth about the world’s demise. Of course, not everyone believed it would end because of an economic collapse. Some thought a nuclear war would destroy civilization. Others feared electromagnetic pulses from the sun would wipe out all modern electricity. And still others worried a massive volcanic eruption would spew enough ash and soot into the air to blot out the sun. There was no shortage of theories about the world ending, but one thing was clear. The world would end. Did it matter how it happened?
Paul began his prepping quest by purchasing ten acres an hour and a half outside of Asheville. It had plenty of small animals and a creek running through the middle. He then transported an unused cargo container to the land and buried it. This was the toughest part of the plan because it required heavy equipment. Next, he dug out a staircase and installed a steel door at the entrance. Finally, he furnished it with a mix of modern comforts and survival essentials.
Almost every weekend, Paul trekked to his underground sanctuary and made improvements. He also planned his bugout strategy. When the end of the world hit, he figured he needed to be safely hidden in his home within two and a half hours, a time he had achieved with this latest trip. Everything was set, and Paul could finally relax. He was prepared.
Paul slumped down on his futon and considered playing a movie or cracking the bottle of Jim Beam whiskey he stored in a special cabinet, but he shook off the urge. Those things were the rewards and comforts he’d enjoy after the world ended. His fingers rubbed the top of the Bible, something he planned to read cover to cover once the global economy cratered. He’d have plenty of time then to discover his spiritual side, but not now. Something else needed to be done. Something he’d missed.
The biggest mistake a prepper can make is assuming he had everything covered. This was the lesson taught by Yannis, the guru of the prepping world. He was so well-known within the doomsday community; he only went by one name. The guy was sharp as a whip and could live off the land, if necessary, but he preferred a more sophisticated lifestyle, so he created a luxurious cave that contained backup systems for all his backups. Food, water, shelter, and electricity were all taken care of, and it was projected that Yannis could survive ten years comfortably after the apocalypse. His famous blog titled “ABP” stood for Always Be Preparing. It was a motto Yannis lived by and something Paul aspired to, but as he sat in his bunker after the relentless hike, fatigue set in. He didn’t want to think about prepping or his bugout strategy. He wanted to just be.
Paul tilted his head back onto the futon’s cushion, and a loneliness crept into his mind. All his prepping left little time for relationships. He dated off and on in college, but it was never anything serious. It wasn’t like his high school sweetheart, Kristin Summer. They dated junior and senior year, but then Paul broke it off when his father got sick. Paul couldn’t focus on romance, and he knew the relationship wouldn’t have worked when he left for school 1,500 miles away. It still hurt when he learned from a friend that Kristin started dating Derek Gorman, an old classmate Paul hated. It hurt even more when he found out they had gotten married.
After college, Paul joined a couple of dating sites, but he hadn’t used them in over two years. Most women wouldn’t understand his prepping lifestyle, at least that’s what he feared, so he rejected dating before anyone could reject him. But most wasn't all, and with eight billion people on the planet, there had to be someone for him. Almost without thinking, Paul pulled out his phone and opened “My Match,” the site where he’d had the most luck. His profile still had a photo from his early banking days. He was clean shaven with a naïve smile. The face staring back in the picture differed greatly from the bearded survivalist he’d become. Would anyone consider a relationship with the new Paul? Only one way to find out. He snapped a selfie, uploaded it, and then updated his hobbies with the first being “prepping” followed by “survival skills training.” He finished by pressing the button that showed he was actively looking for someone. All he had to do now was wait.
After spending the night in his bunker, Paul checked the dating site in the morning. No response. “It was a stupid idea,” he told himself, and stuffed his phone back into his pocket. He locked his container and returned home.
Over the next two weeks, Paul received zero requests for a date. He didn’t even receive a message from anyone to start a conversation and test the waters. “Shake it off, dumbass,” he said alone in the confines of his cottage-style home. “The world is going to end, anyway.” He clenched his jaw and did what he always did. He researched more ways to survive. Paul poured over blog posts and imagined worst-case scenarios. How could his water be contaminated? Maybe he should bury some caches of water. What if someone finds his shelter? Maybe security cameras were needed. What if he gets lonely in his shelter? No ideas came to mind.
After his eyes got tired from reading, Paul clicked out of his browser, and the list of all his apps stared at him. For reasons unknown to him, he opened Facebook, something he hadn’t done for months. There were a handful of notifications and a couple of friend requests sent weeks ago. His heart raced when he saw the name of one—Kristin Summer. When he accepted, he saw she was on-line right then.
Should he message her? Would that be weird right after accepting her request? But wasn’t it weird that he hadn’t responded for several weeks? He pulled up the messenger and typed. “Hey. Sorry for the delay in accepting your request. Hadn’t been on Facebook in a while. Been busy. Hope you and Derek are well.”
He curled his lip in disgust as he typed Derek’s name and considered deleting it, but he took the moral high ground and hit “send” with his message unaltered.
Kristin Summer. Just the thought of her name brought a smile to Paul’s face.
Bing.
The sound alerted Paul to a response, which he read out loud. “Hey Paul. Good to hear from you. Derek and I divorced a little over a year ago. It was rough at first, but it was for the best. How are you?”
Paul’s eyes widened with shock and excitement. He couldn’t believe Derek was so stupid to let Kristin go. Paul could at least blame their breakup on his father’s illness. His fingers prattled away on the keyboard. “Things are amazing.” He stopped typing. That was a lie. Should he pretend like things were great or should he be honest and tell her about his prepping and the end of the world? Neither option sounded appealing. He tapped the keys without writing until he settled on something uncontroversial.
“Working at Trinity Bank in Asheville. It pays the bills. Where are you?”
Within a minute, the sweet sound of the notification binged. “I’m not too far away in Durham. If you’re ever in town, let me know.”
If you’re ever in town, let me know.
Paul couldn’t believe his eyes. Was Kristin asking him out? He shook his head. Nah, she’s probably just being polite. But maybe. If there was any chance, he had to find out. He chewed his lip and deliberated his next response. Fortune favors the bold, he told himself. Then he remembered Matt Damon telling people that in the now infamous commercial for FTX months before its collapse. When that occurred, Paul thought it was the beginning of the end, and he lived in his bunker for two days before emerging and finding the world still intact.
Paul clenched his fist. It was still good advice, and he had to try. Almost involuntarily, he typed, “I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon. If you want to get together, let me know.” His finger hit send before he could talk himself out of it. There was no qualification in the message. No waffling or hedging. It was clear Paul wanted to see Kristin. The only question now was whether she wanted to see him.
The next ten minutes felt like ten days. Paul paced back and forth with his hands over his head, and he glanced at the monitor every few seconds, just in case his ears had missed the notification alert.
There was nothing.
A dark depression filled the room. Why had he gotten his hopes up? What was the point, anyway? The world was going to end.
Bing.
Paul leapt to the computer and his eyes widened with each word he read. “How about a lunch at The Fig Tree Restaurant on 7th?”
People overuse the word literally, but Paul at least felt like his jaw was literally on the floor. He had a date with Kristin Summer, the one woman he had loved. His hands rattled away at the keyboard. “See you at 1 tomorrow.”
“Holy crap,” he muttered to himself.
Panic replaced his excitement when he imagined sitting down and talking to Kristin. What would he say? “Hey Kristin, what have you been up to? Oh me? I’ve been working at a job I hate and planning for the end of the world.”
He drifted into the bathroom and stared at the scruffy character in the mirror. Paul could only cringe at the thought of Kristin’s reaction upon seeing him. She might not recognize the bearded loner who resembled Ted Kaczynski more than the short-haired, clean-shaven teen she last saw.
Only one thing to do.
Paul had to prepare. He opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of clippers. He began trimming his beard and mustache as short as the clippers would allow. Next, he applied a generous amount of cream and shaved all of it off. Paul smirked at the young man hiding under the shabby beard, but it still wasn’t enough. He set the guard on the clippers to a four and began shaving his head. In college, Paul cut his own hair to save money, and the skill came back to him quickly. He dropped to a three and worked in a fade on the sides and then finished with a two. Paul turned to the left, then to the right, and assessed his work. Not bad.
Next thing to prepare was his outfit. Paul slid the door of his closet open and evaluated his choices. A banker’s suit was too stuffy, and his mountain man denim was too hermit inspired. He yanked the clothes aside and climbed deeper into the recesses of his wardrobe until he found a nice buttoned-down shirt and a dark pair of slacks. It gave just the right vibe of successful and stable, while not trying too hard to impress, even though that was his precisely his goal. Paul laid the selection on the chair by his bed. Durham was a three-and-a-half-hour drive away, and he wanted to make sure he got there with time to find parking, and maybe use the restroom. He set the alarm on his iPhone for 6 a.m. That would give him plenty of time to take a shower, have breakfast, and get dressed.
There was no chance of falling asleep easily. His mind raced with thoughts, questions, and various scenarios about what the day would bring. To relax, he poured himself a double whiskey, which he downed with a single slurp. He poured another and sipped.
Kristin Summer. He shook his head, still in disbelief.
As the effect of alcohol set in, Paul laid down on his bed and shut his eyes. Tomorrow would be a good day.
Paul slipped into a deep, satisfying sleep until his mind jolted him awake. It was past 6 a.m. He didn’t know how he knew. He just knew. Paul had slept through his alarm. He snatched his phone off the nightstand, but it was out of battery. He checked his watch and saw it was 7 a.m. There was still time to get to Durham.
Paul jumped out of bed and into the bathroom. He flicked on the light switch, but nothing came on. Paul toggled it on and off, but the outlet was dead.
Police sirens wailed in the distance. Paul meandered out of his house and onto the front lawn. Aside from the sirens, there was an uneasy stillness. Paul’s neighbor Kurt ran out from his home with two suitcases that he flung into the trunk of his car.
“Kurt. What’s going on?” Paul asked.
“Fort Knox was bombed. All the gold was obliterated. And something happened to the electricity and the internet. They shut it down.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know, man, but it’s not good. No one has access to news, no money, nothing.”
“Where are you going?” Paul asked.
“I don’t know. Somewhere isolated. I’m just hoping there are no more bombings or other attacks.” Kurt jumped into his car and sped away.
This was it. The world was ending. All of his preps were about to pay off. But what about Kristin? Paul didn’t want the world to end. If he tried to get Kristin, there was no chance he could reach his shelter before things get hairy. Plus, there was no way he could find her. He didn’t have her address, and she might have already left Durham for somewhere safe.
Paul forced himself to focus on his plan. This was what he had prepared for. He dashed back inside and changed into his camouflage gear, grabbed his bugout bag, and then sprinted to his truck. He drove through his neighborhood and reached the main road. His shelter and plans were to the left. Kristin and the unknown were to the right. The whites of Paul’s knuckles flared as he gripped the steering wheel. Now was not the time to waffle. He turned left and hit the accelerator.
Paul gritted his teeth and raced down the street. Keep going. Keep going. He urged himself on. Almost involuntarily, his foot slammed on the brakes. Paul couldn’t do it. He’d planned for the worst all his life, and while he sat alone with the engine idling, he had to admit the truth. He’d lived all his life in fear.
Paul yanked the wheel and turned around toward Durham.
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“You can do this, Paul.” He increased the pace and gritted his teeth, the weight finally having an effect. Paul bounded over a small creek, up a rolling hill, and pushed through a row of baby birches into a clearing. He doubled over to catch his breath and looked at his watch one more time. Two hours and twenty-eight minutes. Paul pumped his fist in victory.
After a short break, he approached a thorny bush in the center of the clearing. Paul brushed aside sand at the bush’s trunk, revealing a yellow rope. He pulled it, which lifted a hidden door in the ground covered with dirt, shrubbery, and other camouflage on the top side, and drab gray iron on the other. Underneath, wooden stairs descended into darkness. Paul retrieved a flashlight from his pack, clicked on the beam, and disappeared into the earth.
At the bottom of the steps, Paul faced a steel door and a combination lock. With several quick swipes of the dial, he opened the lock and tugged the metal door, which creaked as it cracked open. Paul flashed the beam on the offending hinges and shook his head. Something to fix later. He stepped into the secret chamber and pulled a hanging aluminum chain that turned on a large halogen light, illuminating a twenty-foot by eight-foot metal rectangle. The exposed corrugated walls revealed the bunker was nothing more than a shipping container. Paul buried it two years ago and had divided the interior into three spaces. The entry had a shelf with four dozen gallon jugs of sealed water along with a portable toilet, stacks of toilet paper, and a wastebasket. The middle section was the main living area and contained a futon, a TV with a DVD player, and a neat collection of movies underneath. A nightstand housed a small library of books, including the Bible, The Art of Meditation, Buddhism for Dummies, and other spiritual tomes. The back area of the unit had two shelves filled with canned food—black beans, green beans, peaches, peas, carrots, beef, and chicken. There was also a stationary bike, which was Paul’s proudest accomplishment because he had rigged it to a giant battery that provided power to all the electronics.
Paul was a prepper, and this would be his home when the end of the world came, an event he believed was imminent. The global economy was a house of cards built on greed, corruption, and inflated asset prices, but worst of all, it was based on a faith in paper and digital money.
His fear was triggered four years ago when he attended a lecture by a professor who explained the fragility of the world’s financial system. If a few banks failed, it would rattle people’s confidence, causing a herd-like response. Thousands of people would rush to withdraw their cash, which the banks no longer had because they’d invested it. The banks would either fail, and everyday folks would lose their life savings, or the government would print new money to replace the missing money, making all money worth a lot less. Anyone holding dollars would attempt to convert them to other assets.
Just like dominoes, the banks would topple over one by one, and as they crashed, people’s faith in money would crater. After all, what was money? It was just paper with printed images and numbers that we’d all accepted as having value. More recently, money had become numbers displayed on a computer screen, something Paul knew firsthand as he spent the first seven years of his career working at a regional bank in Asheville, North Carolina. Paul could literally change someone’s net worth with a few keystrokes. He could turn a pauper into a millionaire, or he could bankrupt the richest account holder. Sure, there were safeguards, but all were built on faith, which Paul believed was misplaced. Most people didn’t realize that the Federal Reserve only required each bank to hold at least ten percent of its deposits as a reserve. Ten percent. That’s it. The rest of the money was invested in loans or other financial instruments. As the rich bank owners and executives pushed for bigger and bigger returns, they invested in riskier and riskier assets. The lessons from the financial crisis of 2008 had been forgotten.
Once the monetary system collapsed, the entire economy would become paralyzed. Without a means of exchange, transactions would halt. Think about it. If someone tried to give you a slip of paper that you thought was worthless, would you give them anything of value in return?
The doomsday scenario would escalate. Food and water prices would skyrocket, but with no way to purchase them, many would starve. But people don’t just roll over and die, they would riot and take what they need to survive. Marshall Law would be implemented, but citizens would revolt against the government they felt had cheated them.
As Paul listened to the lecturer that fateful day, a depressing epiphany struck. Everything he’d learned and everything he’d spent his life acquiring was worthless.
Growing up, Paul had been taught the value of money, saving, and planning for retirement. He internalized these lessons as a teen after his father got sick and lost his job. His mother had died when he was very young, but his father still managed to provide him with a stable childhood, even though they were barely middle class. When his father fell ill, Paul witnessed firsthand how fast a family could sink into financial trouble, which couldn’t have come at a worse time. He was applying to colleges, and instead of choosing the one he liked best, he chose the one that gave him the most financial aid, which turned out to be a small school half-way across the country. He also didn’t choose a major he was excited about; he chose the one that would offer the safest financial prospects—economics with an emphasis on banking.
The distance from home meant that Paul didn’t see the rapid deterioration of his father. It wasn’t until he returned for the funeral that family friends told him how the disease had spread. His father had refused to let anyone tell Paul because he didn’t want that to distract Paul from his studies.
After graduating, Paul accepted a job at a bank, and immediately signed up for the company’s 401K match. Most college graduates can't grasp retirement when they enter the workforce, but a 401K match was free money. Over the next several years, Paul worked diligently to advance his career while saving most of his salary. He’d mapped out his life on an excel spreadsheet and calculated that he’d be financially secure at 53.
Everything went according to plan until that damn lecturer came along and blew it up. Sifting through the rubble of his grand scheme, Paul realized that in the new world order, he possessed no skills to survive. The savings he’d so meticulously built up would have little to no value. When the economy collapsed, he'd be like a baby, unable to do anything for himself.
After a week of wallowing in despair, Paul rallied himself. “I can still fix this” became a daily mantra. To start, he threw himself into survival classes. The first was a basic camping course where he learned how to create shelters and start a fire. The next class was more advanced and focused on water purification and building snares for small game.
Paul continued working at the bank, because he needed to pay for the classes and survival equipment he began hoarding, but on his next vacation, he put his training to the test. He planned to camp for a week in the Appalachian Mountains, but the temperature swings, especially at night, were too much. Paul lasted three nights in the wild. The humbling experience forced him to admit that he wasn’t a bushman. His depression returned until he stumbled upon an article about “preppers”—individuals who prepare for end of world disasters. Suddenly, things made sense. He didn’t need to abandon all the comforts of modern society. He needed to prepare for the end of the world the way he had planned for retirement.
As Paul traveled down the rabbit hole of prepping, he uncovered an underground society of people like him who knew the truth about the world’s demise. Of course, not everyone believed it would end because of an economic collapse. Some thought a nuclear war would destroy civilization. Others feared electromagnetic pulses from the sun would wipe out all modern electricity. And still others worried a massive volcanic eruption would spew enough ash and soot into the air to blot out the sun. There was no shortage of theories about the world ending, but one thing was clear. The world would end. Did it matter how it happened?
Paul began his prepping quest by purchasing ten acres an hour and a half outside of Asheville. It had plenty of small animals and a creek running through the middle. He then transported an unused cargo container to the land and buried it. This was the toughest part of the plan because it required heavy equipment. Next, he dug out a staircase and installed a steel door at the entrance. Finally, he furnished it with a mix of modern comforts and survival essentials.
Almost every weekend, Paul trekked to his underground sanctuary and made improvements. He also planned his bugout strategy. When the end of the world hit, he figured he needed to be safely hidden in his home within two and a half hours, a time he had achieved with this latest trip. Everything was set, and Paul could finally relax. He was prepared.
Paul slumped down on his futon and considered playing a movie or cracking the bottle of Jim Beam whiskey he stored in a special cabinet, but he shook off the urge. Those things were the rewards and comforts he’d enjoy after the world ended. His fingers rubbed the top of the Bible, something he planned to read cover to cover once the global economy cratered. He’d have plenty of time then to discover his spiritual side, but not now. Something else needed to be done. Something he’d missed.
The biggest mistake a prepper can make is assuming he had everything covered. This was the lesson taught by Yannis, the guru of the prepping world. He was so well-known within the doomsday community; he only went by one name. The guy was sharp as a whip and could live off the land, if necessary, but he preferred a more sophisticated lifestyle, so he created a luxurious cave that contained backup systems for all his backups. Food, water, shelter, and electricity were all taken care of, and it was projected that Yannis could survive ten years comfortably after the apocalypse. His famous blog titled “ABP” stood for Always Be Preparing. It was a motto Yannis lived by and something Paul aspired to, but as he sat in his bunker after the relentless hike, fatigue set in. He didn’t want to think about prepping or his bugout strategy. He wanted to just be.
Paul tilted his head back onto the futon’s cushion, and a loneliness crept into his mind. All his prepping left little time for relationships. He dated off and on in college, but it was never anything serious. It wasn’t like his high school sweetheart, Kristin Summer. They dated junior and senior year, but then Paul broke it off when his father got sick. Paul couldn’t focus on romance, and he knew the relationship wouldn’t have worked when he left for school 1,500 miles away. It still hurt when he learned from a friend that Kristin started dating Derek Gorman, an old classmate Paul hated. It hurt even more when he found out they had gotten married.
After college, Paul joined a couple of dating sites, but he hadn’t used them in over two years. Most women wouldn’t understand his prepping lifestyle, at least that’s what he feared, so he rejected dating before anyone could reject him. But most wasn't all, and with eight billion people on the planet, there had to be someone for him. Almost without thinking, Paul pulled out his phone and opened “My Match,” the site where he’d had the most luck. His profile still had a photo from his early banking days. He was clean shaven with a naïve smile. The face staring back in the picture differed greatly from the bearded survivalist he’d become. Would anyone consider a relationship with the new Paul? Only one way to find out. He snapped a selfie, uploaded it, and then updated his hobbies with the first being “prepping” followed by “survival skills training.” He finished by pressing the button that showed he was actively looking for someone. All he had to do now was wait.
After spending the night in his bunker, Paul checked the dating site in the morning. No response. “It was a stupid idea,” he told himself, and stuffed his phone back into his pocket. He locked his container and returned home.
Over the next two weeks, Paul received zero requests for a date. He didn’t even receive a message from anyone to start a conversation and test the waters. “Shake it off, dumbass,” he said alone in the confines of his cottage-style home. “The world is going to end, anyway.” He clenched his jaw and did what he always did. He researched more ways to survive. Paul poured over blog posts and imagined worst-case scenarios. How could his water be contaminated? Maybe he should bury some caches of water. What if someone finds his shelter? Maybe security cameras were needed. What if he gets lonely in his shelter? No ideas came to mind.
After his eyes got tired from reading, Paul clicked out of his browser, and the list of all his apps stared at him. For reasons unknown to him, he opened Facebook, something he hadn’t done for months. There were a handful of notifications and a couple of friend requests sent weeks ago. His heart raced when he saw the name of one—Kristin Summer. When he accepted, he saw she was on-line right then.
Should he message her? Would that be weird right after accepting her request? But wasn’t it weird that he hadn’t responded for several weeks? He pulled up the messenger and typed. “Hey. Sorry for the delay in accepting your request. Hadn’t been on Facebook in a while. Been busy. Hope you and Derek are well.”
He curled his lip in disgust as he typed Derek’s name and considered deleting it, but he took the moral high ground and hit “send” with his message unaltered.
Kristin Summer. Just the thought of her name brought a smile to Paul’s face.
Bing.
The sound alerted Paul to a response, which he read out loud. “Hey Paul. Good to hear from you. Derek and I divorced a little over a year ago. It was rough at first, but it was for the best. How are you?”
Paul’s eyes widened with shock and excitement. He couldn’t believe Derek was so stupid to let Kristin go. Paul could at least blame their breakup on his father’s illness. His fingers prattled away on the keyboard. “Things are amazing.” He stopped typing. That was a lie. Should he pretend like things were great or should he be honest and tell her about his prepping and the end of the world? Neither option sounded appealing. He tapped the keys without writing until he settled on something uncontroversial.
“Working at Trinity Bank in Asheville. It pays the bills. Where are you?”
Within a minute, the sweet sound of the notification binged. “I’m not too far away in Durham. If you’re ever in town, let me know.”
If you’re ever in town, let me know.
Paul couldn’t believe his eyes. Was Kristin asking him out? He shook his head. Nah, she’s probably just being polite. But maybe. If there was any chance, he had to find out. He chewed his lip and deliberated his next response. Fortune favors the bold, he told himself. Then he remembered Matt Damon telling people that in the now infamous commercial for FTX months before its collapse. When that occurred, Paul thought it was the beginning of the end, and he lived in his bunker for two days before emerging and finding the world still intact.
Paul clenched his fist. It was still good advice, and he had to try. Almost involuntarily, he typed, “I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon. If you want to get together, let me know.” His finger hit send before he could talk himself out of it. There was no qualification in the message. No waffling or hedging. It was clear Paul wanted to see Kristin. The only question now was whether she wanted to see him.
The next ten minutes felt like ten days. Paul paced back and forth with his hands over his head, and he glanced at the monitor every few seconds, just in case his ears had missed the notification alert.
There was nothing.
A dark depression filled the room. Why had he gotten his hopes up? What was the point, anyway? The world was going to end.
Bing.
Paul leapt to the computer and his eyes widened with each word he read. “How about a lunch at The Fig Tree Restaurant on 7th?”
People overuse the word literally, but Paul at least felt like his jaw was literally on the floor. He had a date with Kristin Summer, the one woman he had loved. His hands rattled away at the keyboard. “See you at 1 tomorrow.”
“Holy crap,” he muttered to himself.
Panic replaced his excitement when he imagined sitting down and talking to Kristin. What would he say? “Hey Kristin, what have you been up to? Oh me? I’ve been working at a job I hate and planning for the end of the world.”
He drifted into the bathroom and stared at the scruffy character in the mirror. Paul could only cringe at the thought of Kristin’s reaction upon seeing him. She might not recognize the bearded loner who resembled Ted Kaczynski more than the short-haired, clean-shaven teen she last saw.
Only one thing to do.
Paul had to prepare. He opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of clippers. He began trimming his beard and mustache as short as the clippers would allow. Next, he applied a generous amount of cream and shaved all of it off. Paul smirked at the young man hiding under the shabby beard, but it still wasn’t enough. He set the guard on the clippers to a four and began shaving his head. In college, Paul cut his own hair to save money, and the skill came back to him quickly. He dropped to a three and worked in a fade on the sides and then finished with a two. Paul turned to the left, then to the right, and assessed his work. Not bad.
Next thing to prepare was his outfit. Paul slid the door of his closet open and evaluated his choices. A banker’s suit was too stuffy, and his mountain man denim was too hermit inspired. He yanked the clothes aside and climbed deeper into the recesses of his wardrobe until he found a nice buttoned-down shirt and a dark pair of slacks. It gave just the right vibe of successful and stable, while not trying too hard to impress, even though that was his precisely his goal. Paul laid the selection on the chair by his bed. Durham was a three-and-a-half-hour drive away, and he wanted to make sure he got there with time to find parking, and maybe use the restroom. He set the alarm on his iPhone for 6 a.m. That would give him plenty of time to take a shower, have breakfast, and get dressed.
There was no chance of falling asleep easily. His mind raced with thoughts, questions, and various scenarios about what the day would bring. To relax, he poured himself a double whiskey, which he downed with a single slurp. He poured another and sipped.
Kristin Summer. He shook his head, still in disbelief.
As the effect of alcohol set in, Paul laid down on his bed and shut his eyes. Tomorrow would be a good day.
Paul slipped into a deep, satisfying sleep until his mind jolted him awake. It was past 6 a.m. He didn’t know how he knew. He just knew. Paul had slept through his alarm. He snatched his phone off the nightstand, but it was out of battery. He checked his watch and saw it was 7 a.m. There was still time to get to Durham.
Paul jumped out of bed and into the bathroom. He flicked on the light switch, but nothing came on. Paul toggled it on and off, but the outlet was dead.
Police sirens wailed in the distance. Paul meandered out of his house and onto the front lawn. Aside from the sirens, there was an uneasy stillness. Paul’s neighbor Kurt ran out from his home with two suitcases that he flung into the trunk of his car.
“Kurt. What’s going on?” Paul asked.
“Fort Knox was bombed. All the gold was obliterated. And something happened to the electricity and the internet. They shut it down.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know, man, but it’s not good. No one has access to news, no money, nothing.”
“Where are you going?” Paul asked.
“I don’t know. Somewhere isolated. I’m just hoping there are no more bombings or other attacks.” Kurt jumped into his car and sped away.
This was it. The world was ending. All of his preps were about to pay off. But what about Kristin? Paul didn’t want the world to end. If he tried to get Kristin, there was no chance he could reach his shelter before things get hairy. Plus, there was no way he could find her. He didn’t have her address, and she might have already left Durham for somewhere safe.
Paul forced himself to focus on his plan. This was what he had prepared for. He dashed back inside and changed into his camouflage gear, grabbed his bugout bag, and then sprinted to his truck. He drove through his neighborhood and reached the main road. His shelter and plans were to the left. Kristin and the unknown were to the right. The whites of Paul’s knuckles flared as he gripped the steering wheel. Now was not the time to waffle. He turned left and hit the accelerator.
Paul gritted his teeth and raced down the street. Keep going. Keep going. He urged himself on. Almost involuntarily, his foot slammed on the brakes. Paul couldn’t do it. He’d planned for the worst all his life, and while he sat alone with the engine idling, he had to admit the truth. He’d lived all his life in fear.
Paul yanked the wheel and turned around toward Durham.
2023.05.29 00:48 Content-Fan3984 Impatience and superheated agar.
 | I was itchy to get both agar and grains cooked up last evening before bed. agar first and then the 2.5hour pc cook for my grain bags. Anyway, I was waiting for the exact second that the PC was safe to open. i watched the pressure indicator thingy drop and within 5 seconds the lid of my pc was removed. As you could imagine, the water was still boiling. I didnt pay any attention to this and grabbed the back of this agar bottle with the edge of a hand towel. While walking over to the rack i was going to place it on to cool, i noticed that there was quite a lot of sediment at the bottom. submitted by Content-Fan3984 to Agarporn [link] [comments] Then i did the unthinkable. I gave the bottle a swirl. The agar must have been super heated because it didnt like that. INSTANTLY the agar was brought to a violent boil, shooting the polyfill out of the bottle and covering my hand in molten agar. |
2023.05.29 00:46 JoshAsdvgi Thankfulness
 | submitted by JoshAsdvgi to Native_Stories [link] [comments] Thankfulness It was a long time ago. I was twenty-five years of age at the time. I was stacking hay up north of Meadow Lake by the Beaver River when a foxtail floating through the air went into my right eye. Unable to get the foxtail to work itself out, I was rushed to Meadow Lake for treatment at the agency office. After being taken care of by the doctor I was informed that local people, Aboriginal and Métis, were being recruited for the Canadian army. This meant front line combat. Sparked by interest and curiosity, I filled out a form and was recruited immediately. I had signed up for World War I. Jim Merasty, Alex Bear and my brother, Alphonse Merasty were other Flying Dust members who also enlisted. First, we would all be trained through the Saskatoon Light Infantry (SLI). Then I would be on my way to the slit trenches in Italy, Sicily and Holland as a machine gunner (MG). On one of the expeditions that took us through Italy, our unit had to go along a very narrow road trailing on a mountain-side in a brin-carrier. The driver had a limited view from inside the truck which allowed only a narrow slit for a front window. On the one side of the road it was sheer cliff. The brin-carrier suddenly took a spin off the road. As the brin-carrier spun it veered towards the cliff and hung half way over teetering like a see-saw. I tell you, we were scared. Luckily, we had a good driver and he maneuvered the brin-carrier out of danger. We had another close call one day on the Adriatic Coast of Italy as I could not remember the password to enter the castle on the hill our regiment was guarding. The regiment wanted a reply, but I was not told of the new password. After two tries, one of the men in my section hollered ‘Judy' - the proper password. Luck was on our side that day. If we hadn't said the proper password our own men guarding the castle would have had no other choice but to shoot. During our time off, we would visit beautiful museums that had been abandoned. Although some looting took place, the Canadian army had a strict ruling against stealing. Other places I had a chance to visit during war were the ruins in Rome and the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Alphonse, my brother suffered from shell-shock on one expedition. The commanding office, Sergeant Bailey (who now resides in St. Walburg) noticed Alphonse was missing and found him covered over with sand that was thrown from the blast. Unable to recover from the shock of the blast, Alphonse was assigned to Regiment Police. He remained there until he took a fatal bullet from a sniper. I felt fortunate when WWII was finally over. I was so happy to have my feet back on this land and the feeling of peace and freedom was a welcome relief upon my return to Canada." There is a lot more to tell, but it would take a long time to write it all down. That is all I will tell you as I am not one for telling stories. nanâskomowin kayâs aspin ôma, nîstanaw niyânosâp ê-itahtopiponêyân êkospî. ê-wîstihkêyân mêkwâc amisko-sîpîhk kîwêtinohk ohci paskwâw sâkahikanihk. maskosîs ê-pisiniyân ôma êkwa namôya ê-kî-otinamân, namôya mîna nânitaw ê-wî-isi-wayawîpayik, ê-kî- itohtahikawiyân paskwâw sâkahikanihk, sôniyâw-okimânâhk maskihkîwiyiniw ta-wâpamak. êkosi! êkota kâ-pêhtamân nêhiyawak mîna âpihtaw-kosisânak ê-otinihcik ta-nitawi- nôtinikêcik, akâmaskîhk. mitoni nicihkêyihtên, êkosi nimasinahên masinahikan, ê-masinahosoyân ta-nitawi- nôtinikêyân nîsta, êkospî oskac kâ-nôtinitohk. Jim Merasty awa pêyak, Alex Bear, êkwa nîcisân Alphonse Merasty wîstawâw kî-masinahosowak. êkosi nikiskinwahamâkawinân ôtê Saskatoon Light Infantry (SLI) ohci. êkotê ohci Italy, Sicily, êkwa Holland ê-at- îtohtêyân. pêyakwâyak kâ-pimâcihoyâhk Italy isi, mitoni ê-cacayâwâsik mêskanaw kâ- pimâcihoyâhk sisonê wacîhk. namôya tâpwê kwayask kî-wâpahtam mêskanaw ana opamihcikêw êyikohk ê-apisâsiki wâsênamânisa otâpânâskohk. mitoni napatê ê-misi- kîskahcâk mêskanaw, kâ-patotêpayiyâhk êkotê isi. âpihtaw êyikohk akocin otâpânâsk, kêkâc ê-cahkâskopayit. kwayask ani nisêkisinân. nitaki ê-nihtâ-pamihcikêt opamihcikêw, kwayask kâwi ê-âhcipitât otâpânâskwa. kihtwâm mîna kêkâc nikî-misihonân, êkotê Italy, ê-wanikiskisiyân tânisi t-êtwêyan icwêwinis mâna pêyak ê-âpacihtâyâhk t-êtwêyâhk tôh-kiskêyimikawiyâhk. ê- kakwêcimikawiyâhk, êkwa namôya niya nikiskêyihtên; nîswâw piyisk ê-kakwêcimikawiyân, pêyak niwîcêwâkan kâ-misi-têpwêt, "Judy," êwako êsâni icwêwinis anima takî-itwêyân. nimiyonikânân ani êkospî. êkâ ayisk nânitaw kî-ay-itwêyâhk êkosi piko ta-kî- pâskisokawiyâhk. ôma êkâ kîkway k-ôsîhtâyâhk, k-âywêpiyâhk, misiwê mâna nikî-pa-pâmohtânân ê- wâh-wâpahtamâhk kayâsi-wâskahikana, kâ-sâsîkwaskatahamihk. âtiht mâna kî-kâh- kimotiwak, mâka wiyawâw, "The Canadian Army," namôya ohci pakitinamwak awiya êkosi ta-itôtamiyit. kotaka mîna Rome nîkî-wâh-wâpahtênân wâskahikana, "misi-kayâs-âya" êkwa, "The Leaning Tower of Pisa," mîna. Alphonse awa mîna pêyakwâw kî-micimisêkisiw. nitôkimâminân ana Sergeant Bailey (St. Walburg) êkwa ayâw êwako; êyakwâna kâ-kwêtawêyimât êkwa kâ-nitawi- miskawât ê-ayâhôkoyit asiskiy, ê-ohpwêkotêk. namôya ohci miywâyâw kâ-kî-micimisêkisit anima, êkosi simâkanis kî-itapiw, êkota kî-atoskêw iskohk kâ-pistahoht nanânisk ê-isi- tasinamiyit anihi kâ-kî-pistahokot. mitoni ninanâskomon ê-nahipayik kâwi ta-takohtêyân kâ-pôni-nôtinitohk. miton âni nimiywêyihtên ê-tahkoskêyân ôta askîhk kâwi. ê-kiyâmwahk mîna tipêyimisowin ta- wâpahtamân ispî kâ-takohtêyân Canada. mistahi kiyâpic nikâh-âcimon mâka kinwêsîskamik nikâh-nôcihtân ta-masinahamân. êkosi piko pitamâ kâ-wihtamâtân. namôya tâpwê niya ninihtâ-âcimon. |
2023.05.29 00:40 RandomAppalachian468 Don't fly over Barron County Ohio.
The whirring blades of my MD-902 throbbed against the warm evening air, and I smiled.
From 5,000 feet, the ground flew by in a carpet of dark forests and kelly-green fields. The sun hung low on the horizon in a picturesque array of dazzling orange and gold, and I could make out the narrow strip of the Ohio River to my left, glistening in the fading daylight. This time of year, the trees would be full of the sweet aroma of fresh blossoms, and the frequent rains kept small pockets of fluffy white mist hanging in the treetops. It was a beautiful view, one that reminded me of why being a helicopter pilot trumped flying in a jumbo jet far above the clouds every day of the week.
Fourteen more days, and I’m debt free.
That made me grin even more. I’d been working as a charter pilot ever since I obtained my license at age 19, and after years of keeping my nose to the grindstone, I was closing on the final payment for real-estate in western Pennsylvania. With no debt, a fixer-upper house on 30 rural acres all to myself, and a respectable wage for a 26-year-old pilot, I looked forward to the financial freedom I could now enjoy. Maybe I’d take a vacation, somewhere exotic like Venice Italy, or the Dominican Republic. Or perhaps I’d sock the money back for the day I started a family.
“Remember kleineun, a real man looks after his own.”
My elderly ouma’s voice came back from the depths of my memories, her proud, sun-tanned face rising from the darkness. She and my Rhodesian grandfather had emigrated to the US when they were newlyweds, as the violence against white Boer descendants in South Africa spiraled out of control. My mother and father both died in a car crash when I was six, and it had been my grandparents who raised me. Due to this, I’d grown up with a slight accent that many of my classmates found amusing, and I could speak both English, and Afrikaans, the Boer tongue of our former home.
I shifted in my seat, stretched my back muscles, and glanced at the picture taped to my console. Both my parents flanked a grinning, gap-toothed six-year-old me, at the last Christmas we’d spent together. My mother beamed, her dark hair and Italian features a sharp contrast to my father’s sandy blonde hair and blue eyes. Sometimes, I liked to imagine they were smiling at me with pride at how well I flew the old silver-colored bird my company had assigned to me, and that made the long, lonely flights easier to bear.
A flicker caught my eye, and I broke my gaze away from the photograph.
Perched in its small cradle above the controls, my little black Garmin fuzzed over for a few seconds, its screen shifting from brightly colored maps to a barrage of grey static.
Did the power chord come loose?
I checked, ensuring the power-cable for the unit’s battery was plugged into the port on the control panel. It was a brand-new GPS unit, and I’d used it a few times already, so I knew it wasn’t defective. Granted, I could fly and navigate without it, but the Garmin made my time as a pilot so much easier that the thought of going blind was dreadful.
My fuel gauge danced, clicked to empty, then to full, in a bizarre jolt.
More of the gauges began to stutter, the entire panel seeming to develop terrets all at once, and my pulse began to race. Something was wrong, very wrong, and the sludge inside my bowels churned with sour fear.
“Come on, come on.” I flicked switches, turned dials, punched buttons, but nothing seemed to fix the spasming electronics. Every gauge failed, and without warning, I found myself plunged into inky darkness.
Outside, the sun surrendered to the pull of night, the sky darker than usual. A distant rumble of thunder reverberated above the roar of my helicopter’s engine, and I thought I glimpsed a streak of yellowish lightning on the far horizon to my left.
Calm down Chris. We’re still flying, so it must just be a blown fuse. Stay in control and find a place to set her down.
My sweaty palm slid on the cyclic stick, and both feet weighed heavy on the yaw pedals. The collective stuck to my other hand with a nervous vibration, and I squinted against the abyss outside.
Beep.
I jumped despite myself, as the little Garmin on my panel flared back to life, the static pulling aside to reveal a twitching display. Each time the screen glitched, it showed the colorful map detailing my flight path over the ground below, but I noticed that some of the lines changed, the names shifting, as if the device couldn’t decide between two different versions of the world.
One name jutted out at me, slate gray like most of the major county names, appearing with ghostly flickers from between two neighboring ones.
Barron County.
I stared, confused. I’d flown over this section of southeastern Ohio plenty of times, and I knew the counties by heart. At this point, I should have been over the southern end of Noble County, and maybe dipping lower into Washington. There was no Barron County in Ohio. I was sure of it.
And yet it shown back at me from the digital landscape, a strange, almost cigar-shaped chunk of terrain carved from the surrounding counties like a tumor, sometimes there, sometimes not, as my little Garmin struggled to find the correct map. Rain began to patter against my cockpit window, and the entire aircraft rattled from a strong gust of wind. Thick clouds closed over my field of vision like a sea of gray cotton.
The blood in my veins turned to ice, and I sucked in a nervous breath.
Land. I had to land. There was nothing else to do, my flight controls weren’t responding, and only my Garmin had managed to come back to life. Perhaps I’d been hit by lightning, and the electronics had been fried? Either way, it was too dark to tell, but a storm seemed to be brewing, and if I didn’t get my feet on the ground soon, I could be in real trouble.
“Better safe than sorry.” I pushed down on the collective to start my slow descent and clicked the talking button for my headset. “Any station, this is Douglass Three-One-Four-Foxtrot, over.”
Nothing.
“Any station, this is Douglass Three-One-Four-Foxtrot, requesting emergency assistance, over.”
Still nothing.
If the radio’s dead, I’m really up a creek.
With my hand shaking, I clicked on the mic one more time. “Any station, this is—”
Like a curtain pulling back, the fog cleared from around my window, and the words stuck in my throat.
Without my gauges, I couldn’t tell just how far I’d descended, but I was definitely very low. Thick trees poked up from the ground, and the hills rolled into high ridges with flat valley floors, fields and pastures pockmarking them. Rain fell all around in cold, silvery sheets, a normal feature for the mid spring in this part of Ohio.
What wasn’t normal, were the fires.
At first, I thought they were forest fires for the amount of smoke and flames that bellowed from each spot, but as I swooped lower, my eyes widened in horror.
They were houses.
Farms, cottages, little clusters that barely constituted villages, all of them belched orange flames and black pillars of sooty smoke. I couldn’t hear above the helicopter blades, but I could see the flashes on the ground, along the road, in between the trees, and even coming from the burning buildings, little jets of golden light that spat into the darkness with anger.
Gunfire. That’s rifle fire, a whole lot of it.
Tiny black figures darted through the shadows, barely discernable from where I sat, several hundred feet up. I couldn’t see much, but some were definitely running away, the streaks of yellow gunfire chasing them. A few dark gray vehicles rumbled down one of the gravel roads, and sprayed fire into the houses as it went. They were fighting, I realized, the people in the trucks and the locals. It was horrific, like something out of war-torn Afghanistan, but worse.
Then, I caught a glimpse of the others.
They didn’t move like the rest, who either fled from the dark vehicles, or fired back from behind cover. These skinny figures loped along with haphazard gaits, many running on all fours like animals, swarming from the trees by the dozens. They threw themselves into the gales of bullets without flinching, attacking anyone within range, and something about the way they moved, so fluid, so fearless, made my heart skip a beat.
What is that?
“Echo Four Actual to unknown caller, please respond, over.”
Choking back a cry of shock, I fumbled at the control panel with clumsy fingers, the man’s voice sharp and stern. I hadn’t realized that I’d let go of the talking button and clicked it down again. “Hello? Hello, this is Douglass Three-One-Four-Foxtrot out of Pittsburgh, over.”
An excruciating moment passed, and I continued to zoom over the trees, the fires falling away behind me as more silent forest took over.
“Roger that Douglass Three-One-Four-Foxtrot, we read you loud and clear. Please identify yourself and any passengers or cargo you might be carrying, over.”
Swallowing hard, I eyed the treetops, which looked much closer than they should have been. How far had I descended? “Echo Four Actual, my name is Christopher Dekker, and I am alone. I’m a charter flight from PA, carrying medical equipment for OSU in Columbus. My controls have been damaged, and I am unable to safely carry on due to the storm. Requesting permission to land, over.”
I watched the landscape slide by underneath me, once catching sight of what looked like a little white church surrounded by smaller huts, dozens of figures in the yard staring up at me as I flew over a nearby ridgeline.
“Solid copy on that Douglass Three-One-Four-Foxtrot. Be advised, your transponder shows you to be inside a restricted zone. Please cease all radio traffic, reduce your speed, climb to 3,000 feet and proceed north. We’ll talk you in from there. How copy, over?”
My heart jumped, and I let out a sigh of relief. “Roger that Echo Four Actual, my altimeter is down, but I’ll do my best to eyeball the altitude, over.”
With that, I pulled the collective upward, and tried my best to gauge how far I was by eyesight in the gathering night, rain still coming down all around me. This had to be some kind of disaster or riot, I decided. After all, the voice over the radio sounded like military, and those vehicles seemed to have heavy weapons. Maybe there was some kind of unrest going on here that I hadn’t heard about yet?
Kind of weird for it to happen in rural areas though. Spoiled college kids I get, but never saw farmers get so worked up before. They usually love the military.
Something moved in the corner of my eye, and I turned out of reflex.
My mouth fell open, and I froze, unable to scream.
In the sky beside me, a huge shadow glided along, and its leathery wings effortlessly carved through the gloom, flapping only on occasion to keep it aloft. It was too dark for me to see what color it was, but from the way it moved, I knew it wasn’t another helicopter. No, this thing was alive, easily the size of a small plane, and more than twice the length of my little McDonald Douglass. A long tail trailed behind it, and bore a distinct arrow-shaped snout, with twig-like spines fanned out around the back of its head. Whatever legs it had were drawn up under it like a bird, yet its skin appeared rough and knobby, almost resembling tree bark. Without pause, the gigantic bat-winged entity flew along beside me, as if my presence was on par with an annoying fly buzzing about its head.
Gripping the microphone switch so tight, I thought I’d crack the plastic, I whispered into my headset, forgetting all radio protocol. “T-There’s something up here.”
Static crackled.
“Douglas Three-One-Four-Foxtrot, say again your last, you’re coming in weak and unreadable, over.”
“There’s something up here.” I snarled into the headset, still glued to the controls of the helicopter, afraid to deviate even an inch from my course in case the monstrosity decided to turn on me. “A freaking huge thing, right beside me. I swear, it looks like a bat or . . . I don’t know.”
“Calm down.” The man on the other end of the radio broke his rigorous discipline as well, his voice deep, but level. “It won’t attack if you don’t move too fast. Slowly ease away from it and follow that course until you’re out of sight.”
I didn’t have time to think about how wrong that sounded, how the man’s strict tone had changed to one of knowledge, how he hadn’t been the least surprised by what I’d said. Instead, I slowly turned the helicopter away from the huge menace and edged the speed higher in tiny increments.
As soon as I was roughly two football fields away, I let myself relax, and clicked the mic switch. “It’s not following.”
“You’re sure?”
Eyeing the huge flapping wings, I nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see me. “Yeah, I’m well clear.”
“Good. Thank you, Mr. Dekker.”
Then, the radio went dead.
Something in my chest dropped, a weight that made my stomach roil. This wasn’t right, none of it. Who was that man? Why did he know about the thing I’d just seen? What was I supposed to—
A flash of light exploded from the trees to my right and shot into the air with a long finger of smoke.
What the . . .
On instinct, I jerked the cyclic stick to one side, and the helicopter swung to avoid the rocket.
Boom.
My world shook, metal screeched, and a dozen alarms began to go off inside the cockpit in a cacophony of beeps and sirens. Orange and red flames lit up the night sky just behind me, and the horizon started to spin wildly outside. Heat gushed from the cockpit door, and I smelled the greasy stench of burning oil. The safety belts dug into my shoulders, and with a final slip, the radio headset ripped free from my scalp.
I’m hit.
Desperate, I yanked on the controls, fought the bird even as she spun toward the ground in a wreath of flames, the inky black trees hurtling up to meet me. The helicopter went into full auto-rotation, the sky blurring past outside, and the alarms blared in a screech of doom. Panic slammed through my temples, I screamed at the top of my lungs, and for one brief second, my eyes locked on the little black Garmin still perched atop my control panel.
Its screen stopped twitching and settled on a map of the mysterious Barron County, with a little red arrow at the center of the screen, a few words popping up underneath it.
You are here.
Trees stabbed up into the sky, the belts crushed at my torso, glass shattered all around me, and the world went dark.
Copper, thick, warm, and tangy.
It filled my mouth, stank metallic in my nose, clogged my throat, choking me. In the murkiness, I fought for a surface, for a way out, blind and numb in the dark.
This way, kleineun.
My ouma’s voice echoed from somewhere in the shadows.
This way.
Both eyes flew open, and I gagged, spitting out a stream of red.
Pain throbbed in my ribs, and a heavy pressure sent a tingling numbness through my shoulders. Blood roared inside my temples, and stars danced before my eyes with a dizzying array. Humid night air kissed my skin, and something sticky coated my face, neck, and arms that hung straight up toward the ceiling.
Wait. Not up. Down.
I blinked at the wrinkled, torn ceiling of the cockpit, the glass all gone, the gray aluminum shredded like tissue paper. Just outside the broken windows, thick Appalachian bluegrass and stemmy underbrush swished in a feeble breeze, backlit by flashes of lightning from the thunderstorm overhead. Green and brown leaves covered everything in a wet carpet of triangles, and somewhere nearby, a cricket chirped.
Turning my head from side to side, I realized that I hung upside down inside the ruined helicopter, the top half burrowed into the mud. I could hear the hissing and crackling of flames, the pattering of rain falling on the hot aluminum, and the smaller brush fires around the downed aircraft sizzling out in the damp long grass. Charred steel and burning oil tainted the air, almost as strong as the metallic, coppery stench in my aching nose.
They shot me down. That military dude shot me out of the sky.
It didn’t make sense. I’d followed their orders, done everything they’d said, and yet the instant I veered safely away from whatever that thing in the sky had been, they’d fired, not at it, but at me.
Looking down (or rather, up) at my chest, I sucked in a gasp, which was harder to do that before.
The navy-blue shirt stuck to my torso with several big splotches of dark, rusty red. Most were clean slashes, but two held bits of glass sticking out of them, one alarmingly bigger than the other. They dripped cherry red blood onto my upturned face, and a wave of nausea hit me.
I gotta get down.
I flexed my arms to try and work some feeling back into them, praying nothing was broken. Half-numb from hanging so long, I palmed along my aching body until I felt the buckled for the seat belts.
“Okay.” I hissed between gritted teeth, in an effort to stave off my panic. “You can do this. Just hold on tight. Nice and tight. Here we go . . .”
Click.
Everything seemed to lurch, and I slid off the seat to plummet towards the muck-filled hole in the cockpit ceiling. My fingers were slick with blood and slipped over the smooth faux-leather pilot’s seat with ease. The shoulder belt snagged on the bits of glass that lay just under the left lowest rib, and a flare of white-hot pain ripped through me.
Wham.
I screamed, my right knee caught the edge of the aluminum ceiling, and both hands dove into a mound of leaf-covered glass shards on the opposite side of the hole. My head swam, being right-side-up again enough to make shadows gnaw at the corner of my eyes.
Forcing myself to breath slowly, I fought the urge to faint and slid back to sit on the smooth ceiling. I turned my hands over to see half a dozen bits of clear glass burrowed into my skin like greedy parasites, red blood weeping around the new cuts.
“Screw you.” I spat at the rubbish with angry tears in my eyes. “Screw you, screw you, screw you.”
The shards came out easy enough, and the cuts weren’t that deep, but that wasn’t what worried me. On my chest, the single piece of cockpit glass that remined was almost as big as my palm, and it really hurt. Just touching it felt like self-inflicted torture, but I knew it had to come out sooner or later.
Please don’t nick a vein.
Wiping my hands dry on my jeans, I gripped the shard with both hands, and jerked.
Fire roared over my ribs, and hot blood tickled my already grimy pale skin. I clapped a hand over the wound, pressing down hard, and grunted out a string of hateful expletives that my ouma would have slapped me for.
Lying on my back, I stared around me at the messy cargo compartment of the MD-902. Most of the medical supplies had been in cardboard boxes strapped down with heavy nylon tow-straps, but several cases had ruptured with the force of the impact, spraying bandages, syringes, and pill bottles all over the cluttered interior. Orange flames chewed at the crate furthest to the rear, the tail section long gone, but the foremost part of the hold was intact. Easily a million-dollar mess, it would have made me faint on any other trip, but today it was a godsend.
Half-blind in the darkness, I crawled along with only the firelight and lightning bolts to guide me, my right knee aching. Like a crippled raccoon, I collected things as I went, conscious of the two pallets of intact supplies weighing right over my head. I’d taken several different first-aid courses with some hunting buddies of mine, and the mental reflexes kicked in to help soothe my frazzled mind.
Check for bleeds, stop the worst, then move on.
Aside from my battered chest and stomach, the rest of me remained mostly unharmed. I had nasty bruises from the seatbelts, my right knee swelled, my nose slightly crooked and crusted in blood, but otherwise I was intact. Dowsing every scratch and cut with a bottle of isopropyl alcohol I found, I used butterfly closures on the smaller lacerations that peppered my skin. I wrapped soft white gauze over my abused palms and probed at the big cut where the last shard had been, only stopping when I was sure there were no pieces of glass wedged inside my flesh.
“Not too bad.” I grunted to myself, trying to sound impassive like a doctor might. “Rib must have stopped it. Gonna need stitches though. That’ll be fun.”
Pawing through the broken cases, I couldn’t find any suture chord, but just as I was about to give up, I noticed a small box that read ‘medical skin stapler’.
Bingo.
I tore the small white plastic stapler free from its packaging and eyeballed the device. I’d never done this before, only seen it in movies, and even though the cut in my skin hurt, I wondered if this wouldn’t be worse.
You’ve gotta do it. That bleeding needs to stop. Besides, no one’s coming to rescue you, not with those rocket-launching psychos out there.
Taking a deep breath, I pinched the skin around the gash together, and pressed the mouth of the stapler to it.
Click.
A sharp sting, like that of a needle bit at the skin, but it didn’t hurt nearly as bad as the cut itself. I worked my way across the two-inch laceration and gave out a sigh of relief when it was done.
“Not going to bleed to death today.” I daubed ointment around the staples before winding more bandages over the wound.
Popping a few low-grade painkillers that tumbled from the cargo, I crawled wriggled through the nearest shattered window into the wet grass.
Raindrops kissed my face, clean and cool on my sweaty skin. Despite the thick cloud cover, there was enough constant lightning strikes within the storm to let me get glimpses of the world around me. My helicopter lay on its back, the blades snapped like pencils, with bits and pieces of it burning in chunks all around the small break in the trees. Chest-high scrub brush grew all around the low-lying ground, with pockets of standing water in places. My ears still rang from the impact of the crash, but I could start to pick up more crickets, frogs, and even some nocturnal birds singing into the darkness, like they didn’t notice the huge the hulk of flaming metal that had fallen from the sky. Overhead, the thunder rumbled onward, the feeble wind whistling, and there were other flashes on the horizon, orange and red ones, with crackles that didn’t sound quite like lightning.
The guns. They’re still fighting.
Instinctively, I pulled out my cellphone, and tapped the screen.
It fluttered to life, but no matter how I tried, I couldn’t get through to anyone, not even with the emergency function designed to work around having no service. The complicated wonder of our modern world was little better than a glorified paperweight.
Stunned, I sat down with my back to the helicopter and rested my head against the aluminum skin of the craft. How I’d gone from a regular medical supply run to being marooned in this hellish parody of rural America, I didn’t know, but one thig was certain; I needed a plan. Whoever fired the missile could have already contacted my charter company and made up some excuse to keep them from coming to look for me. No one else knew I was here, and even though I now had six staples holding the worst of my injuries shut, I knew I needed proper medical attention. If I wanted to live, I’d have to rescue myself.
My bag. I need to get my go-bag, grab some gear and then . . . head somewhere else.
It took me a while to gather my green canvas paratrooper bag from its place behind the pilot’s seat and fill it with whatever supplies I could scrounge. My knee didn’t seem to be broken, but man did it hurt, and I dreaded the thought of walking on it for miles on end. I focused instead on inventorying my gear and trying to come up with a halfway intelligent plan of action.
I had a stainless-steel canteen with one of those detachable cups on the bottom, a little fishing kit, some duct tape, a lighter, a black LED flashlight with three spare batteries, a few tattered road maps with a compass, a spare pair of socks, medical supplies from the cargo, and a simple forest green plastic rain poncho. I also managed to unearth a functioning digital camcorder my ouma had gotten me for Christmas a few years back, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to do any filming in such a miserable state. Lastly, since it was a private supply run from a warehouse area near Pittsburgh to a direct hospital pad in Ohio, I’d been able to bring my K-Bar, a sturdy, and brutally simple knife designed for the Marine Corps that I used every time I went camping. It was pitiful in comparison to the rifle I wished I had with me, but that didn’t matter now. I had what I had, and I doubted my trusty Armalite would have alleviated my sore knee anyway.
Clicking on my flashlight, I huddled with the poncho around my shoulders inside the wreck of the chopper and peered at the dusty roadmaps. A small part of me hoped that a solution would jump out from the faded paper, but none came. These were all maps of western PA and eastern Ohio. None of them had a Barron County on them anywhere.
The man on the radio said to head north, right before they shot me down. That means they must be camped out to the north of here. South had that convoy and those burning houses, so that’s a no-go. Maybe I can backtrack eastward the way I came.
As if on cue, a soft pop echoed from over the eastern horizon, and I craned to look out the helicopter window, spotting more man-made flashes over the tree tops.
“Great.” I hissed between clenched teeth, aware of how the temperature dipped to a chilly 60 degrees, and how despite the conditions, my stomach had begun to growl. “Not going that way, are we? Westward it is.”
Walking away from my poor 902 proved to be harder than I’d anticipated. Despite the glass, the fizzling fires, and the darkness, it still held a familiar, human essence to it. Sitting inside it made me feel secure, safe, even calm about the situation. In any other circumstance, I would have just stayed with the downed aircraft to wait for help, but I knew the men who shot me down would likely find my crash site, and I didn’t want to be around when they did.
Unlike much of central and western Ohio, southeastern Ohio is hilly, brushy, and clogged with thick forests. Thorns snagged at my thin poncho and sliced at my pant legs. My knee throbbed, every step a form of self-inflicted torture. The rain never stopped, a steady drizzle from above just cold enough to be problematic as time went on, making me shiver. Mud slid under my tennis shoes, and every tree looked ten times bigger in the flickering beam of my cheap flashlight. Icy fear prickled at the back of my neck at some of the sounds that greeted me through the gloom. I’d been camping loads of times, both in Pennsylvania and elsewhere, but these noises were something otherworldly to me.
Strange howls, screeches, and calls permeated the rain-soaked sky, some almost roars, while others bordered on human in their intonation. The more I walked, the softer the distant gunfire became, and the more prevalent the odd sounds, until the shadows seemed to fill with them. I didn’t dare turn off my flashlight, or I’d been completely blind in the dark, but a little voice in the back of my head screamed that I was too visible, crunching through the gloomy forest with my long beam of light stabbing into the abyss. It felt as though a million eyes were on me, studying me, hunting me from the surrounding brush, and I bitterly recalled how much I’d loved the old Survivor Man TV series as a kid.
Not so fun being out in the woods at night. Especially alone.
A twig snapped somewhere behind me, and I whirled on the spot, one trembling hand resting on the hilt of my K-Bar.
Nothing. Nothing but trees, bushes, and rain dripping down in the darkness.
“This is stupid.” I whispered to myself to keep my nerves in check as I slowly spun on the spot. “I should have went eastward anyway. God knows how long I’m going to have to—”
Creak.
A groan of metal-on-metal echoed from somewhere to my right, and I spun to face it, yanking the knife on my belt free from its scabbard. It felt so small and useless in my hand, and I choked down a wave of nauseas fear.
Ka-whump. Creak. K-whump. Creak.
Underbrush cracked and crunched, a few smaller saplings thrashed, and from deep within the gloom, two yellow orbs flared to life. They poked through the mist in the trees, forming into slender fingers of golden light that swept back and forth in the dark.
The soldiers . . . they must be looking for me.
I swallowed hard and turned to slink away.
Ice jammed through my blood, and I froze on the spot, biting my tongue to stop the scream.
It stood not yards away, a huge form that towered a good twelve feet tall in the swirling shadows. Unpolished chrome blended with flash-rusted spots in the faded red paint, and grime-smeared glass shone with dull hues in the flashes of lightning. Where the wheels should have been, the rounded steel axels curved like some enormous hand had bent them, and the tires lay face-down on the muddy ground like big round feet, their hubcaps buried in the dirt. Dents, scrapes, and chips covered the battered thing, and its crooked little radio antenna pointed straight up from the old metal fender like a mast. I could barely make out the mud-coated VW on the rounded hood, and my mind reeled in shock.
Is . . . is that a car?
Both yellow headlights bathed me in a circle of bright, blinding light, and neither I nor the strange vehicle moved.
Seconds ticked by, the screech-thumping in the background only growing closer. I realized that I couldn’t hear any engine noises and had yet to see any soldiers or guns pointed my way. This car looked old, really old, like one of those classic Volkswagen Beetles that collectors fought over at auctions. Try as I might, I couldn’t see a driver inside the murky, mold-smeared windows.
Because there wasn’t one.
Lightning arched across the sky overhead, and the car standing in front of me blinked.
Its headlights slid shut, as if little metal shades had crawled over the bulbs for a moment and flicked open again. Something about that movement was so primal, so real, so lifelike, that every ounce of self-control I had melted in an instant.
Cursing under my breath, I lunged into the shrubs, and the world erupted around me.
Under my shoes, the ground shook, and the car surged after me in a cacophony of ka-thumps that made my already racing heart skip several beats. A weather-beaten brown tow truck from the 50’s charged through the thorns to my left, it’s headlights ablaze, and a dilapidated yellow school bus rose from its hiding place in the weeds to stand tall on four down-turned axel-legs. They all flicked their headlights on like giants waking from their slumber, and as I dodged past them, they each blared their horn into the night in alarm.
My breaths came short and tight, my knee burned, and I crashed through thorns and briars without thought to how badly I was getting cut up.
The cheap poncho tore, and I ripped it away as it caught on a tree branch.
A purple 70’s Mustang shook off its blanket of creeping vines and bounded from a stand of trees just ahead, forcing me to swerve to avoid being run over, my adrenaline at all-time highs.
This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, this can’t be happening.
Slipping and sliding, I pushed through a stand of multiflora rose, and stumbled out into a flat, dark expanse.
I almost skidded to a stop.
What had once been a rather large field stood no taller than my shoestrings, the grass charred, and burnt. The storm above illuminated huge pieces of wreckage that lay scattered over the nearly 40-acre plot, and I could just make out the fire-blackened hulk of a fuselage resting a hundred yards away. The plane had been brought down a while ago it seemed, as there weren’t any flames left burning, and I threw myself toward it in frenzied desperation.
Burned grass and greasy brown topsoil slushed underfoot, and I could hear the squelching of the cars pursing me. Rain soaked me to the bone, and my lungs ached from sucking down the damp night air. A painful stich crept into my side, and I cursed myself for not putting in more time for cardio at the gym.
Something caught my left shoelace, and I hurtled to the ground, tasting mud and blood in between my teeth.
They’ve got me now.
I clawed at the mud, rolled, and watched a tire slam down mere inches from where my head had been. The Mustang loomed over me and jostled for position with the red Volkswagen and brown tow truck, the school bus still a few yards behind them. They couldn’t seem to decide who would get the pleasure of stomping me to death, and like a herd of stampeding wildebeest, they locked bumpers in an epic shoving match.
On all fours, I scampered out from under the sparring brutes, and dashed for the crumpled airplane, a white-painted DC-3 that looked like it had been cut in half by a gargantuan knife blade. I passed a snapped wing section, the oily remains of a turbo-prop engine, and a mutilated wheel from the landing gear. Climbing over a heap of mud, I squeezed into the back of the ruined flight cabin and dropped down into the dark cargo hold.
Wham.
No sooner had my sneakers hit the cold metal floor, and the entire plane rocked from the impact of something heavy ramming it just outside. I tumbled to my knees, screaming in pain as, once again, I managed to bash the sore one off a bracket in the wall.
My hand smeared in something gooey, and I scrabbled for my flashlight.
It clicked on, a wavering ball of white light in the pitch darkness, and I fought the urge to gag. “Oh man . . .”
Three people, or what was left of them, lay strewn over the narrow cargo area. Claret red blood coated the walls, caked on the floor, and clotted under my mud-spattered shoes. Bits of flesh and viscera were stuck to everything, and tatters of cloth hung from exposed sections of broken bone. An eerie set of bloody handprints adorned the walls, and the only reason I could tell it had been three people were the shoes; all of them bore anklebones sticking out above blood-soaked socks. It smelled sickly sweet, a strange, nauseas odor that crept into my nose and settled on the back of my tongue like an alien parasite.
Something glinted in the beam of my flashlight, and my pulse quickened as I pried the object loose from the severed arm that still clung to it.
“Hail Mary full of Grace.” I would have grinned if it weren’t for the fact that the plane continued to buck and roll under the assault from the cars outside.
The pistol looked old, but well-maintained, aside from the light coating of dark blood that stained its round wooden handle. It felt heavy, but good in my hand, and I turned it over to read the words, Waffenfabrik Mauser stenciled into the frame, with a large red 9 carved into the grip. For some reason, it vaguely reminded me of the blasters from Star Wars.
I fumbled with a little switch that looked like a safety on the back of the gun and stumbled toward a gap in the plane’s dented fuselage to aim out at the surrounding headlights.
Bang.
The old gun bucked reliably in my hand, its long barrel spitting a little jet of flame into the night. I had no idea if I hit anything, but the attacking cars recoiled, their horns blaring in confusion.
They turned, and scuttled for the tree line as fast as their mechanical legs could go, the entire ordeal over as fast as it had begun.
Did I do that?
Perplexed, I stared down at the pistol in my hand.
Whoosh.
A large, inky black shadow glided down from the clouds, and the yellow school bus moved too slow to react in time.
With a crash, the kicking nightmarish vehicle was thrown onto its side, spraying glass and chrome trim across the muddy field. Its electro-synth horn blared with wails of mechanical agony, as two huge talon-like feet clamped down on it, and the enormous head of the flying creature lowered to rip open its engine compartment.
The horn cut out, and the enormous flying entity jerked its head back to gulp down a mass of what looked like sticky black vines from the interior of the shattered bus.
At this range, I could see now that the flying creature bore two legs and had its wings half-tucked like a vulture that had descended to feed on roadkill. Its head turned slightly, and in the glow of another lightning bolt, my jaw went slack at the realization of what it was.
A tree trunk. It’s a rotted tree trunk.
I couldn’t tell where the reptilian beast began, and where the organic tree components ended, the upper part of the head shaped like a log, while the lower jaw resembled something out of a dinosaur movie. Its skin looked identical to the outside of a shagbark hickory but flexed with a supple featheriness that denoted something closer to skin. Sharp branch-like spines ranged down its back, and out to the end of its tail, which bore a massive round club shaped like a diseased tree-knot. Crouched on both hind legs, it braced the hooked ends of its folded wings against the ground like a bat, towering higher than a semi-truck. Under the folds of its armored head, a bulging pair of chameleon-like eyes constantly spun in their sockets, probing the dark for threats while it ate.
One black pupil locked onto the window I peered through, and my heart stopped.
The beast regarded me for a moment, making a curious, sideways sniff.
With a proud, contemptful head-toss, the shadow from the sky parted rows of razor-sharp teeth to let out a roar that shook the earth beneath my feet. It was the triumphant war cry of a creature that sat at the very top of the food chain, one that felt no threat from the fragile two-legged beings that walked the earth all around it. It hunted whenever it wanted, ate whatever it wanted, and flew wherever it wanted. It didn’t need to rip the plane apart to devour me.
Like my hunter-gatherer ancestors from thousands of years ago, I wasn’t even worth the energy it would take to pounce.
I’m hiding in the remains of the cockpit now, which is half-buried under the mud of the field, enough to shield the light from my screen so that thing doesn’t see it. My service only now came back, and it’s been over an hour since the winged beast started in on the dead bus. I don’t know when, or how I’m going to get out of here. I don’t know when anyone will even see this post, or if it will upload at all. My phone battery is almost dead, and at this point, I’m probably going to have to sleep among the corpses until daylight comes.
A dead man sleeping amongst friends.
If you live in the Noble County area in southeastern Ohio, be careful where you drive, fly, and boat. I don’t know if it’s possible to stumble into this strange place by ground, but if so, then these things are definitely headed your way.
If that happens . . . pray that they don’t find you.
submitted by RandomAppalachian468 to nosleep [link] [comments]
From 5,000 feet, the ground flew by in a carpet of dark forests and kelly-green fields. The sun hung low on the horizon in a picturesque array of dazzling orange and gold, and I could make out the narrow strip of the Ohio River to my left, glistening in the fading daylight. This time of year, the trees would be full of the sweet aroma of fresh blossoms, and the frequent rains kept small pockets of fluffy white mist hanging in the treetops. It was a beautiful view, one that reminded me of why being a helicopter pilot trumped flying in a jumbo jet far above the clouds every day of the week.
Fourteen more days, and I’m debt free.
That made me grin even more. I’d been working as a charter pilot ever since I obtained my license at age 19, and after years of keeping my nose to the grindstone, I was closing on the final payment for real-estate in western Pennsylvania. With no debt, a fixer-upper house on 30 rural acres all to myself, and a respectable wage for a 26-year-old pilot, I looked forward to the financial freedom I could now enjoy. Maybe I’d take a vacation, somewhere exotic like Venice Italy, or the Dominican Republic. Or perhaps I’d sock the money back for the day I started a family.
“Remember kleineun, a real man looks after his own.”
My elderly ouma’s voice came back from the depths of my memories, her proud, sun-tanned face rising from the darkness. She and my Rhodesian grandfather had emigrated to the US when they were newlyweds, as the violence against white Boer descendants in South Africa spiraled out of control. My mother and father both died in a car crash when I was six, and it had been my grandparents who raised me. Due to this, I’d grown up with a slight accent that many of my classmates found amusing, and I could speak both English, and Afrikaans, the Boer tongue of our former home.
I shifted in my seat, stretched my back muscles, and glanced at the picture taped to my console. Both my parents flanked a grinning, gap-toothed six-year-old me, at the last Christmas we’d spent together. My mother beamed, her dark hair and Italian features a sharp contrast to my father’s sandy blonde hair and blue eyes. Sometimes, I liked to imagine they were smiling at me with pride at how well I flew the old silver-colored bird my company had assigned to me, and that made the long, lonely flights easier to bear.
A flicker caught my eye, and I broke my gaze away from the photograph.
Perched in its small cradle above the controls, my little black Garmin fuzzed over for a few seconds, its screen shifting from brightly colored maps to a barrage of grey static.
Did the power chord come loose?
I checked, ensuring the power-cable for the unit’s battery was plugged into the port on the control panel. It was a brand-new GPS unit, and I’d used it a few times already, so I knew it wasn’t defective. Granted, I could fly and navigate without it, but the Garmin made my time as a pilot so much easier that the thought of going blind was dreadful.
My fuel gauge danced, clicked to empty, then to full, in a bizarre jolt.
More of the gauges began to stutter, the entire panel seeming to develop terrets all at once, and my pulse began to race. Something was wrong, very wrong, and the sludge inside my bowels churned with sour fear.
“Come on, come on.” I flicked switches, turned dials, punched buttons, but nothing seemed to fix the spasming electronics. Every gauge failed, and without warning, I found myself plunged into inky darkness.
Outside, the sun surrendered to the pull of night, the sky darker than usual. A distant rumble of thunder reverberated above the roar of my helicopter’s engine, and I thought I glimpsed a streak of yellowish lightning on the far horizon to my left.
Calm down Chris. We’re still flying, so it must just be a blown fuse. Stay in control and find a place to set her down.
My sweaty palm slid on the cyclic stick, and both feet weighed heavy on the yaw pedals. The collective stuck to my other hand with a nervous vibration, and I squinted against the abyss outside.
Beep.
I jumped despite myself, as the little Garmin on my panel flared back to life, the static pulling aside to reveal a twitching display. Each time the screen glitched, it showed the colorful map detailing my flight path over the ground below, but I noticed that some of the lines changed, the names shifting, as if the device couldn’t decide between two different versions of the world.
One name jutted out at me, slate gray like most of the major county names, appearing with ghostly flickers from between two neighboring ones.
Barron County.
I stared, confused. I’d flown over this section of southeastern Ohio plenty of times, and I knew the counties by heart. At this point, I should have been over the southern end of Noble County, and maybe dipping lower into Washington. There was no Barron County in Ohio. I was sure of it.
And yet it shown back at me from the digital landscape, a strange, almost cigar-shaped chunk of terrain carved from the surrounding counties like a tumor, sometimes there, sometimes not, as my little Garmin struggled to find the correct map. Rain began to patter against my cockpit window, and the entire aircraft rattled from a strong gust of wind. Thick clouds closed over my field of vision like a sea of gray cotton.
The blood in my veins turned to ice, and I sucked in a nervous breath.
Land. I had to land. There was nothing else to do, my flight controls weren’t responding, and only my Garmin had managed to come back to life. Perhaps I’d been hit by lightning, and the electronics had been fried? Either way, it was too dark to tell, but a storm seemed to be brewing, and if I didn’t get my feet on the ground soon, I could be in real trouble.
“Better safe than sorry.” I pushed down on the collective to start my slow descent and clicked the talking button for my headset. “Any station, this is Douglass Three-One-Four-Foxtrot, over.”
Nothing.
“Any station, this is Douglass Three-One-Four-Foxtrot, requesting emergency assistance, over.”
Still nothing.
If the radio’s dead, I’m really up a creek.
With my hand shaking, I clicked on the mic one more time. “Any station, this is—”
Like a curtain pulling back, the fog cleared from around my window, and the words stuck in my throat.
Without my gauges, I couldn’t tell just how far I’d descended, but I was definitely very low. Thick trees poked up from the ground, and the hills rolled into high ridges with flat valley floors, fields and pastures pockmarking them. Rain fell all around in cold, silvery sheets, a normal feature for the mid spring in this part of Ohio.
What wasn’t normal, were the fires.
At first, I thought they were forest fires for the amount of smoke and flames that bellowed from each spot, but as I swooped lower, my eyes widened in horror.
They were houses.
Farms, cottages, little clusters that barely constituted villages, all of them belched orange flames and black pillars of sooty smoke. I couldn’t hear above the helicopter blades, but I could see the flashes on the ground, along the road, in between the trees, and even coming from the burning buildings, little jets of golden light that spat into the darkness with anger.
Gunfire. That’s rifle fire, a whole lot of it.
Tiny black figures darted through the shadows, barely discernable from where I sat, several hundred feet up. I couldn’t see much, but some were definitely running away, the streaks of yellow gunfire chasing them. A few dark gray vehicles rumbled down one of the gravel roads, and sprayed fire into the houses as it went. They were fighting, I realized, the people in the trucks and the locals. It was horrific, like something out of war-torn Afghanistan, but worse.
Then, I caught a glimpse of the others.
They didn’t move like the rest, who either fled from the dark vehicles, or fired back from behind cover. These skinny figures loped along with haphazard gaits, many running on all fours like animals, swarming from the trees by the dozens. They threw themselves into the gales of bullets without flinching, attacking anyone within range, and something about the way they moved, so fluid, so fearless, made my heart skip a beat.
What is that?
“Echo Four Actual to unknown caller, please respond, over.”
Choking back a cry of shock, I fumbled at the control panel with clumsy fingers, the man’s voice sharp and stern. I hadn’t realized that I’d let go of the talking button and clicked it down again. “Hello? Hello, this is Douglass Three-One-Four-Foxtrot out of Pittsburgh, over.”
An excruciating moment passed, and I continued to zoom over the trees, the fires falling away behind me as more silent forest took over.
“Roger that Douglass Three-One-Four-Foxtrot, we read you loud and clear. Please identify yourself and any passengers or cargo you might be carrying, over.”
Swallowing hard, I eyed the treetops, which looked much closer than they should have been. How far had I descended? “Echo Four Actual, my name is Christopher Dekker, and I am alone. I’m a charter flight from PA, carrying medical equipment for OSU in Columbus. My controls have been damaged, and I am unable to safely carry on due to the storm. Requesting permission to land, over.”
I watched the landscape slide by underneath me, once catching sight of what looked like a little white church surrounded by smaller huts, dozens of figures in the yard staring up at me as I flew over a nearby ridgeline.
“Solid copy on that Douglass Three-One-Four-Foxtrot. Be advised, your transponder shows you to be inside a restricted zone. Please cease all radio traffic, reduce your speed, climb to 3,000 feet and proceed north. We’ll talk you in from there. How copy, over?”
My heart jumped, and I let out a sigh of relief. “Roger that Echo Four Actual, my altimeter is down, but I’ll do my best to eyeball the altitude, over.”
With that, I pulled the collective upward, and tried my best to gauge how far I was by eyesight in the gathering night, rain still coming down all around me. This had to be some kind of disaster or riot, I decided. After all, the voice over the radio sounded like military, and those vehicles seemed to have heavy weapons. Maybe there was some kind of unrest going on here that I hadn’t heard about yet?
Kind of weird for it to happen in rural areas though. Spoiled college kids I get, but never saw farmers get so worked up before. They usually love the military.
Something moved in the corner of my eye, and I turned out of reflex.
My mouth fell open, and I froze, unable to scream.
In the sky beside me, a huge shadow glided along, and its leathery wings effortlessly carved through the gloom, flapping only on occasion to keep it aloft. It was too dark for me to see what color it was, but from the way it moved, I knew it wasn’t another helicopter. No, this thing was alive, easily the size of a small plane, and more than twice the length of my little McDonald Douglass. A long tail trailed behind it, and bore a distinct arrow-shaped snout, with twig-like spines fanned out around the back of its head. Whatever legs it had were drawn up under it like a bird, yet its skin appeared rough and knobby, almost resembling tree bark. Without pause, the gigantic bat-winged entity flew along beside me, as if my presence was on par with an annoying fly buzzing about its head.
Gripping the microphone switch so tight, I thought I’d crack the plastic, I whispered into my headset, forgetting all radio protocol. “T-There’s something up here.”
Static crackled.
“Douglas Three-One-Four-Foxtrot, say again your last, you’re coming in weak and unreadable, over.”
“There’s something up here.” I snarled into the headset, still glued to the controls of the helicopter, afraid to deviate even an inch from my course in case the monstrosity decided to turn on me. “A freaking huge thing, right beside me. I swear, it looks like a bat or . . . I don’t know.”
“Calm down.” The man on the other end of the radio broke his rigorous discipline as well, his voice deep, but level. “It won’t attack if you don’t move too fast. Slowly ease away from it and follow that course until you’re out of sight.”
I didn’t have time to think about how wrong that sounded, how the man’s strict tone had changed to one of knowledge, how he hadn’t been the least surprised by what I’d said. Instead, I slowly turned the helicopter away from the huge menace and edged the speed higher in tiny increments.
As soon as I was roughly two football fields away, I let myself relax, and clicked the mic switch. “It’s not following.”
“You’re sure?”
Eyeing the huge flapping wings, I nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see me. “Yeah, I’m well clear.”
“Good. Thank you, Mr. Dekker.”
Then, the radio went dead.
Something in my chest dropped, a weight that made my stomach roil. This wasn’t right, none of it. Who was that man? Why did he know about the thing I’d just seen? What was I supposed to—
A flash of light exploded from the trees to my right and shot into the air with a long finger of smoke.
What the . . .
On instinct, I jerked the cyclic stick to one side, and the helicopter swung to avoid the rocket.
Boom.
My world shook, metal screeched, and a dozen alarms began to go off inside the cockpit in a cacophony of beeps and sirens. Orange and red flames lit up the night sky just behind me, and the horizon started to spin wildly outside. Heat gushed from the cockpit door, and I smelled the greasy stench of burning oil. The safety belts dug into my shoulders, and with a final slip, the radio headset ripped free from my scalp.
I’m hit.
Desperate, I yanked on the controls, fought the bird even as she spun toward the ground in a wreath of flames, the inky black trees hurtling up to meet me. The helicopter went into full auto-rotation, the sky blurring past outside, and the alarms blared in a screech of doom. Panic slammed through my temples, I screamed at the top of my lungs, and for one brief second, my eyes locked on the little black Garmin still perched atop my control panel.
Its screen stopped twitching and settled on a map of the mysterious Barron County, with a little red arrow at the center of the screen, a few words popping up underneath it.
You are here.
Trees stabbed up into the sky, the belts crushed at my torso, glass shattered all around me, and the world went dark.
Copper, thick, warm, and tangy.
It filled my mouth, stank metallic in my nose, clogged my throat, choking me. In the murkiness, I fought for a surface, for a way out, blind and numb in the dark.
This way, kleineun.
My ouma’s voice echoed from somewhere in the shadows.
This way.
Both eyes flew open, and I gagged, spitting out a stream of red.
Pain throbbed in my ribs, and a heavy pressure sent a tingling numbness through my shoulders. Blood roared inside my temples, and stars danced before my eyes with a dizzying array. Humid night air kissed my skin, and something sticky coated my face, neck, and arms that hung straight up toward the ceiling.
Wait. Not up. Down.
I blinked at the wrinkled, torn ceiling of the cockpit, the glass all gone, the gray aluminum shredded like tissue paper. Just outside the broken windows, thick Appalachian bluegrass and stemmy underbrush swished in a feeble breeze, backlit by flashes of lightning from the thunderstorm overhead. Green and brown leaves covered everything in a wet carpet of triangles, and somewhere nearby, a cricket chirped.
Turning my head from side to side, I realized that I hung upside down inside the ruined helicopter, the top half burrowed into the mud. I could hear the hissing and crackling of flames, the pattering of rain falling on the hot aluminum, and the smaller brush fires around the downed aircraft sizzling out in the damp long grass. Charred steel and burning oil tainted the air, almost as strong as the metallic, coppery stench in my aching nose.
They shot me down. That military dude shot me out of the sky.
It didn’t make sense. I’d followed their orders, done everything they’d said, and yet the instant I veered safely away from whatever that thing in the sky had been, they’d fired, not at it, but at me.
Looking down (or rather, up) at my chest, I sucked in a gasp, which was harder to do that before.
The navy-blue shirt stuck to my torso with several big splotches of dark, rusty red. Most were clean slashes, but two held bits of glass sticking out of them, one alarmingly bigger than the other. They dripped cherry red blood onto my upturned face, and a wave of nausea hit me.
I gotta get down.
I flexed my arms to try and work some feeling back into them, praying nothing was broken. Half-numb from hanging so long, I palmed along my aching body until I felt the buckled for the seat belts.
“Okay.” I hissed between gritted teeth, in an effort to stave off my panic. “You can do this. Just hold on tight. Nice and tight. Here we go . . .”
Click.
Everything seemed to lurch, and I slid off the seat to plummet towards the muck-filled hole in the cockpit ceiling. My fingers were slick with blood and slipped over the smooth faux-leather pilot’s seat with ease. The shoulder belt snagged on the bits of glass that lay just under the left lowest rib, and a flare of white-hot pain ripped through me.
Wham.
I screamed, my right knee caught the edge of the aluminum ceiling, and both hands dove into a mound of leaf-covered glass shards on the opposite side of the hole. My head swam, being right-side-up again enough to make shadows gnaw at the corner of my eyes.
Forcing myself to breath slowly, I fought the urge to faint and slid back to sit on the smooth ceiling. I turned my hands over to see half a dozen bits of clear glass burrowed into my skin like greedy parasites, red blood weeping around the new cuts.
“Screw you.” I spat at the rubbish with angry tears in my eyes. “Screw you, screw you, screw you.”
The shards came out easy enough, and the cuts weren’t that deep, but that wasn’t what worried me. On my chest, the single piece of cockpit glass that remined was almost as big as my palm, and it really hurt. Just touching it felt like self-inflicted torture, but I knew it had to come out sooner or later.
Please don’t nick a vein.
Wiping my hands dry on my jeans, I gripped the shard with both hands, and jerked.
Fire roared over my ribs, and hot blood tickled my already grimy pale skin. I clapped a hand over the wound, pressing down hard, and grunted out a string of hateful expletives that my ouma would have slapped me for.
Lying on my back, I stared around me at the messy cargo compartment of the MD-902. Most of the medical supplies had been in cardboard boxes strapped down with heavy nylon tow-straps, but several cases had ruptured with the force of the impact, spraying bandages, syringes, and pill bottles all over the cluttered interior. Orange flames chewed at the crate furthest to the rear, the tail section long gone, but the foremost part of the hold was intact. Easily a million-dollar mess, it would have made me faint on any other trip, but today it was a godsend.
Half-blind in the darkness, I crawled along with only the firelight and lightning bolts to guide me, my right knee aching. Like a crippled raccoon, I collected things as I went, conscious of the two pallets of intact supplies weighing right over my head. I’d taken several different first-aid courses with some hunting buddies of mine, and the mental reflexes kicked in to help soothe my frazzled mind.
Check for bleeds, stop the worst, then move on.
Aside from my battered chest and stomach, the rest of me remained mostly unharmed. I had nasty bruises from the seatbelts, my right knee swelled, my nose slightly crooked and crusted in blood, but otherwise I was intact. Dowsing every scratch and cut with a bottle of isopropyl alcohol I found, I used butterfly closures on the smaller lacerations that peppered my skin. I wrapped soft white gauze over my abused palms and probed at the big cut where the last shard had been, only stopping when I was sure there were no pieces of glass wedged inside my flesh.
“Not too bad.” I grunted to myself, trying to sound impassive like a doctor might. “Rib must have stopped it. Gonna need stitches though. That’ll be fun.”
Pawing through the broken cases, I couldn’t find any suture chord, but just as I was about to give up, I noticed a small box that read ‘medical skin stapler’.
Bingo.
I tore the small white plastic stapler free from its packaging and eyeballed the device. I’d never done this before, only seen it in movies, and even though the cut in my skin hurt, I wondered if this wouldn’t be worse.
You’ve gotta do it. That bleeding needs to stop. Besides, no one’s coming to rescue you, not with those rocket-launching psychos out there.
Taking a deep breath, I pinched the skin around the gash together, and pressed the mouth of the stapler to it.
Click.
A sharp sting, like that of a needle bit at the skin, but it didn’t hurt nearly as bad as the cut itself. I worked my way across the two-inch laceration and gave out a sigh of relief when it was done.
“Not going to bleed to death today.” I daubed ointment around the staples before winding more bandages over the wound.
Popping a few low-grade painkillers that tumbled from the cargo, I crawled wriggled through the nearest shattered window into the wet grass.
Raindrops kissed my face, clean and cool on my sweaty skin. Despite the thick cloud cover, there was enough constant lightning strikes within the storm to let me get glimpses of the world around me. My helicopter lay on its back, the blades snapped like pencils, with bits and pieces of it burning in chunks all around the small break in the trees. Chest-high scrub brush grew all around the low-lying ground, with pockets of standing water in places. My ears still rang from the impact of the crash, but I could start to pick up more crickets, frogs, and even some nocturnal birds singing into the darkness, like they didn’t notice the huge the hulk of flaming metal that had fallen from the sky. Overhead, the thunder rumbled onward, the feeble wind whistling, and there were other flashes on the horizon, orange and red ones, with crackles that didn’t sound quite like lightning.
The guns. They’re still fighting.
Instinctively, I pulled out my cellphone, and tapped the screen.
It fluttered to life, but no matter how I tried, I couldn’t get through to anyone, not even with the emergency function designed to work around having no service. The complicated wonder of our modern world was little better than a glorified paperweight.
Stunned, I sat down with my back to the helicopter and rested my head against the aluminum skin of the craft. How I’d gone from a regular medical supply run to being marooned in this hellish parody of rural America, I didn’t know, but one thig was certain; I needed a plan. Whoever fired the missile could have already contacted my charter company and made up some excuse to keep them from coming to look for me. No one else knew I was here, and even though I now had six staples holding the worst of my injuries shut, I knew I needed proper medical attention. If I wanted to live, I’d have to rescue myself.
My bag. I need to get my go-bag, grab some gear and then . . . head somewhere else.
It took me a while to gather my green canvas paratrooper bag from its place behind the pilot’s seat and fill it with whatever supplies I could scrounge. My knee didn’t seem to be broken, but man did it hurt, and I dreaded the thought of walking on it for miles on end. I focused instead on inventorying my gear and trying to come up with a halfway intelligent plan of action.
I had a stainless-steel canteen with one of those detachable cups on the bottom, a little fishing kit, some duct tape, a lighter, a black LED flashlight with three spare batteries, a few tattered road maps with a compass, a spare pair of socks, medical supplies from the cargo, and a simple forest green plastic rain poncho. I also managed to unearth a functioning digital camcorder my ouma had gotten me for Christmas a few years back, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to do any filming in such a miserable state. Lastly, since it was a private supply run from a warehouse area near Pittsburgh to a direct hospital pad in Ohio, I’d been able to bring my K-Bar, a sturdy, and brutally simple knife designed for the Marine Corps that I used every time I went camping. It was pitiful in comparison to the rifle I wished I had with me, but that didn’t matter now. I had what I had, and I doubted my trusty Armalite would have alleviated my sore knee anyway.
Clicking on my flashlight, I huddled with the poncho around my shoulders inside the wreck of the chopper and peered at the dusty roadmaps. A small part of me hoped that a solution would jump out from the faded paper, but none came. These were all maps of western PA and eastern Ohio. None of them had a Barron County on them anywhere.
The man on the radio said to head north, right before they shot me down. That means they must be camped out to the north of here. South had that convoy and those burning houses, so that’s a no-go. Maybe I can backtrack eastward the way I came.
As if on cue, a soft pop echoed from over the eastern horizon, and I craned to look out the helicopter window, spotting more man-made flashes over the tree tops.
“Great.” I hissed between clenched teeth, aware of how the temperature dipped to a chilly 60 degrees, and how despite the conditions, my stomach had begun to growl. “Not going that way, are we? Westward it is.”
Walking away from my poor 902 proved to be harder than I’d anticipated. Despite the glass, the fizzling fires, and the darkness, it still held a familiar, human essence to it. Sitting inside it made me feel secure, safe, even calm about the situation. In any other circumstance, I would have just stayed with the downed aircraft to wait for help, but I knew the men who shot me down would likely find my crash site, and I didn’t want to be around when they did.
Unlike much of central and western Ohio, southeastern Ohio is hilly, brushy, and clogged with thick forests. Thorns snagged at my thin poncho and sliced at my pant legs. My knee throbbed, every step a form of self-inflicted torture. The rain never stopped, a steady drizzle from above just cold enough to be problematic as time went on, making me shiver. Mud slid under my tennis shoes, and every tree looked ten times bigger in the flickering beam of my cheap flashlight. Icy fear prickled at the back of my neck at some of the sounds that greeted me through the gloom. I’d been camping loads of times, both in Pennsylvania and elsewhere, but these noises were something otherworldly to me.
Strange howls, screeches, and calls permeated the rain-soaked sky, some almost roars, while others bordered on human in their intonation. The more I walked, the softer the distant gunfire became, and the more prevalent the odd sounds, until the shadows seemed to fill with them. I didn’t dare turn off my flashlight, or I’d been completely blind in the dark, but a little voice in the back of my head screamed that I was too visible, crunching through the gloomy forest with my long beam of light stabbing into the abyss. It felt as though a million eyes were on me, studying me, hunting me from the surrounding brush, and I bitterly recalled how much I’d loved the old Survivor Man TV series as a kid.
Not so fun being out in the woods at night. Especially alone.
A twig snapped somewhere behind me, and I whirled on the spot, one trembling hand resting on the hilt of my K-Bar.
Nothing. Nothing but trees, bushes, and rain dripping down in the darkness.
“This is stupid.” I whispered to myself to keep my nerves in check as I slowly spun on the spot. “I should have went eastward anyway. God knows how long I’m going to have to—”
Creak.
A groan of metal-on-metal echoed from somewhere to my right, and I spun to face it, yanking the knife on my belt free from its scabbard. It felt so small and useless in my hand, and I choked down a wave of nauseas fear.
Ka-whump. Creak. K-whump. Creak.
Underbrush cracked and crunched, a few smaller saplings thrashed, and from deep within the gloom, two yellow orbs flared to life. They poked through the mist in the trees, forming into slender fingers of golden light that swept back and forth in the dark.
The soldiers . . . they must be looking for me.
I swallowed hard and turned to slink away.
Ice jammed through my blood, and I froze on the spot, biting my tongue to stop the scream.
It stood not yards away, a huge form that towered a good twelve feet tall in the swirling shadows. Unpolished chrome blended with flash-rusted spots in the faded red paint, and grime-smeared glass shone with dull hues in the flashes of lightning. Where the wheels should have been, the rounded steel axels curved like some enormous hand had bent them, and the tires lay face-down on the muddy ground like big round feet, their hubcaps buried in the dirt. Dents, scrapes, and chips covered the battered thing, and its crooked little radio antenna pointed straight up from the old metal fender like a mast. I could barely make out the mud-coated VW on the rounded hood, and my mind reeled in shock.
Is . . . is that a car?
Both yellow headlights bathed me in a circle of bright, blinding light, and neither I nor the strange vehicle moved.
Seconds ticked by, the screech-thumping in the background only growing closer. I realized that I couldn’t hear any engine noises and had yet to see any soldiers or guns pointed my way. This car looked old, really old, like one of those classic Volkswagen Beetles that collectors fought over at auctions. Try as I might, I couldn’t see a driver inside the murky, mold-smeared windows.
Because there wasn’t one.
Lightning arched across the sky overhead, and the car standing in front of me blinked.
Its headlights slid shut, as if little metal shades had crawled over the bulbs for a moment and flicked open again. Something about that movement was so primal, so real, so lifelike, that every ounce of self-control I had melted in an instant.
Cursing under my breath, I lunged into the shrubs, and the world erupted around me.
Under my shoes, the ground shook, and the car surged after me in a cacophony of ka-thumps that made my already racing heart skip several beats. A weather-beaten brown tow truck from the 50’s charged through the thorns to my left, it’s headlights ablaze, and a dilapidated yellow school bus rose from its hiding place in the weeds to stand tall on four down-turned axel-legs. They all flicked their headlights on like giants waking from their slumber, and as I dodged past them, they each blared their horn into the night in alarm.
My breaths came short and tight, my knee burned, and I crashed through thorns and briars without thought to how badly I was getting cut up.
The cheap poncho tore, and I ripped it away as it caught on a tree branch.
A purple 70’s Mustang shook off its blanket of creeping vines and bounded from a stand of trees just ahead, forcing me to swerve to avoid being run over, my adrenaline at all-time highs.
This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, this can’t be happening.
Slipping and sliding, I pushed through a stand of multiflora rose, and stumbled out into a flat, dark expanse.
I almost skidded to a stop.
What had once been a rather large field stood no taller than my shoestrings, the grass charred, and burnt. The storm above illuminated huge pieces of wreckage that lay scattered over the nearly 40-acre plot, and I could just make out the fire-blackened hulk of a fuselage resting a hundred yards away. The plane had been brought down a while ago it seemed, as there weren’t any flames left burning, and I threw myself toward it in frenzied desperation.
Burned grass and greasy brown topsoil slushed underfoot, and I could hear the squelching of the cars pursing me. Rain soaked me to the bone, and my lungs ached from sucking down the damp night air. A painful stich crept into my side, and I cursed myself for not putting in more time for cardio at the gym.
Something caught my left shoelace, and I hurtled to the ground, tasting mud and blood in between my teeth.
They’ve got me now.
I clawed at the mud, rolled, and watched a tire slam down mere inches from where my head had been. The Mustang loomed over me and jostled for position with the red Volkswagen and brown tow truck, the school bus still a few yards behind them. They couldn’t seem to decide who would get the pleasure of stomping me to death, and like a herd of stampeding wildebeest, they locked bumpers in an epic shoving match.
On all fours, I scampered out from under the sparring brutes, and dashed for the crumpled airplane, a white-painted DC-3 that looked like it had been cut in half by a gargantuan knife blade. I passed a snapped wing section, the oily remains of a turbo-prop engine, and a mutilated wheel from the landing gear. Climbing over a heap of mud, I squeezed into the back of the ruined flight cabin and dropped down into the dark cargo hold.
Wham.
No sooner had my sneakers hit the cold metal floor, and the entire plane rocked from the impact of something heavy ramming it just outside. I tumbled to my knees, screaming in pain as, once again, I managed to bash the sore one off a bracket in the wall.
My hand smeared in something gooey, and I scrabbled for my flashlight.
It clicked on, a wavering ball of white light in the pitch darkness, and I fought the urge to gag. “Oh man . . .”
Three people, or what was left of them, lay strewn over the narrow cargo area. Claret red blood coated the walls, caked on the floor, and clotted under my mud-spattered shoes. Bits of flesh and viscera were stuck to everything, and tatters of cloth hung from exposed sections of broken bone. An eerie set of bloody handprints adorned the walls, and the only reason I could tell it had been three people were the shoes; all of them bore anklebones sticking out above blood-soaked socks. It smelled sickly sweet, a strange, nauseas odor that crept into my nose and settled on the back of my tongue like an alien parasite.
Something glinted in the beam of my flashlight, and my pulse quickened as I pried the object loose from the severed arm that still clung to it.
“Hail Mary full of Grace.” I would have grinned if it weren’t for the fact that the plane continued to buck and roll under the assault from the cars outside.
The pistol looked old, but well-maintained, aside from the light coating of dark blood that stained its round wooden handle. It felt heavy, but good in my hand, and I turned it over to read the words, Waffenfabrik Mauser stenciled into the frame, with a large red 9 carved into the grip. For some reason, it vaguely reminded me of the blasters from Star Wars.
I fumbled with a little switch that looked like a safety on the back of the gun and stumbled toward a gap in the plane’s dented fuselage to aim out at the surrounding headlights.
Bang.
The old gun bucked reliably in my hand, its long barrel spitting a little jet of flame into the night. I had no idea if I hit anything, but the attacking cars recoiled, their horns blaring in confusion.
They turned, and scuttled for the tree line as fast as their mechanical legs could go, the entire ordeal over as fast as it had begun.
Did I do that?
Perplexed, I stared down at the pistol in my hand.
Whoosh.
A large, inky black shadow glided down from the clouds, and the yellow school bus moved too slow to react in time.
With a crash, the kicking nightmarish vehicle was thrown onto its side, spraying glass and chrome trim across the muddy field. Its electro-synth horn blared with wails of mechanical agony, as two huge talon-like feet clamped down on it, and the enormous head of the flying creature lowered to rip open its engine compartment.
The horn cut out, and the enormous flying entity jerked its head back to gulp down a mass of what looked like sticky black vines from the interior of the shattered bus.
At this range, I could see now that the flying creature bore two legs and had its wings half-tucked like a vulture that had descended to feed on roadkill. Its head turned slightly, and in the glow of another lightning bolt, my jaw went slack at the realization of what it was.
A tree trunk. It’s a rotted tree trunk.
I couldn’t tell where the reptilian beast began, and where the organic tree components ended, the upper part of the head shaped like a log, while the lower jaw resembled something out of a dinosaur movie. Its skin looked identical to the outside of a shagbark hickory but flexed with a supple featheriness that denoted something closer to skin. Sharp branch-like spines ranged down its back, and out to the end of its tail, which bore a massive round club shaped like a diseased tree-knot. Crouched on both hind legs, it braced the hooked ends of its folded wings against the ground like a bat, towering higher than a semi-truck. Under the folds of its armored head, a bulging pair of chameleon-like eyes constantly spun in their sockets, probing the dark for threats while it ate.
One black pupil locked onto the window I peered through, and my heart stopped.
The beast regarded me for a moment, making a curious, sideways sniff.
With a proud, contemptful head-toss, the shadow from the sky parted rows of razor-sharp teeth to let out a roar that shook the earth beneath my feet. It was the triumphant war cry of a creature that sat at the very top of the food chain, one that felt no threat from the fragile two-legged beings that walked the earth all around it. It hunted whenever it wanted, ate whatever it wanted, and flew wherever it wanted. It didn’t need to rip the plane apart to devour me.
Like my hunter-gatherer ancestors from thousands of years ago, I wasn’t even worth the energy it would take to pounce.
I’m hiding in the remains of the cockpit now, which is half-buried under the mud of the field, enough to shield the light from my screen so that thing doesn’t see it. My service only now came back, and it’s been over an hour since the winged beast started in on the dead bus. I don’t know when, or how I’m going to get out of here. I don’t know when anyone will even see this post, or if it will upload at all. My phone battery is almost dead, and at this point, I’m probably going to have to sleep among the corpses until daylight comes.
A dead man sleeping amongst friends.
If you live in the Noble County area in southeastern Ohio, be careful where you drive, fly, and boat. I don’t know if it’s possible to stumble into this strange place by ground, but if so, then these things are definitely headed your way.
If that happens . . . pray that they don’t find you.
2023.05.29 00:35 iowanaquarist I have to share with someone....
Driving home today, I found a relatively new 40G Breeder (and *NOT* one of the Top Fin junk) sitting at the curb. The inspection slip stuck to the bottom was Nov 2022, no signs of cracks, no signs of water stains on the outside of the tank, no green spots on the glass or in the silicone, no silicone pulling up.
The only things that I could find for why it was tossed out: the water stains inside made it look like it was possibly used for turtles or something else that didn't need a full tank of water, the glass is simply *COVERED* in hard water scale (on the inside), and the largish river rocks in the bottom stank like *DEATH*, and still had sludgy water in it.
It was also sitting next to an extremely flimsy coffee table that was about an inch larger in each dimension. The legs were wobbly, and looked like they were crushing from the vertical pressure.
The coffee table is still on the curb, the tank is now in my garage. Once it finishes drying out, I will use a razor blade to scrape the hard water off -- nothing I have not dealt with before, our regional tap water is insanely hard (180-240).
My wife was in the truck with me, and rolled her eyes when I pulled over, and reminded me we are trying to downsize our belongings. I pointed out that even if I didn't want to keep it I could likely sell it for ~$100 after 30 minutes cleaning it up.
submitted by iowanaquarist to Aquariums [link] [comments]
The only things that I could find for why it was tossed out: the water stains inside made it look like it was possibly used for turtles or something else that didn't need a full tank of water, the glass is simply *COVERED* in hard water scale (on the inside), and the largish river rocks in the bottom stank like *DEATH*, and still had sludgy water in it.
It was also sitting next to an extremely flimsy coffee table that was about an inch larger in each dimension. The legs were wobbly, and looked like they were crushing from the vertical pressure.
The coffee table is still on the curb, the tank is now in my garage. Once it finishes drying out, I will use a razor blade to scrape the hard water off -- nothing I have not dealt with before, our regional tap water is insanely hard (180-240).
My wife was in the truck with me, and rolled her eyes when I pulled over, and reminded me we are trying to downsize our belongings. I pointed out that even if I didn't want to keep it I could likely sell it for ~$100 after 30 minutes cleaning it up.
2023.05.29 00:34 hold3n2019 2012 SE hitch?
Anyone had luck with a trailer hitch for a 2012-14 SE? Ground clearance issues, fitment, etc? So far I'm only seeing one from Curt and one from Drawtite. Anyone have experience with these? Not trying to tow anything, I'll leave that to the truck. Just want to be able to throw on a bike rack or a cargo carrier for road trips.
submitted by hold3n2019 to Camry [link] [comments]
2023.05.28 23:52 Sea-Sympathy5350 I made a mistake, a huge mistake
I made a mistake, a huge mistake, and I’m about to pay for it. I found out 3 months ago my wife had been in an emotional affair with a co-worker of hers, I found her texts and there was no doubt this was happening right there under my nose. I confronted her immediately and she sobbed her way back into my heart with all the; I’m sorry’s and nothing happened, we were just fantasizing about what it could be, but was never anything more. Then she would say all the things cheaters say; I’ll cut him out of my life, I’ll quit my job, nothing ever happened, it was just talk, oh I’m so mad at myself for letting it go this far, please forgive me and bla-bla-bla. My mistake was I didn’t make her quit her job, she just moved to another shift, she used to work nights from 4pm till 11, now she works from 8am till 5. Our lives seemed to be getting back to normal, I did see a difference in her. She had become more attentive and shared everything with me, but I still had trust issues, there was just no way for me to believe that she changed that much so quickly.
I hired a PI to investigate, I needed to see if this affair had gotten more involved than she told me, because my trust was so low, all I could see was she was up to something, I had to make sure she was being honest with me. I waited one night for her to fall asleep, and then I took her phone, yes I checked her phone. Were married and I don’t believe in private spaces, when you say, I do, to me this covers more than just being married, but the phones, mail, e-mails, chats, these are all fair games in my eyes. I found her texts to that guy, and yes they stopped immediately after I confronted her. I took screen shots and sent them to my phone as evidence. Her phone showed nothing else and yes, I searched for hours, going through all her texts with everyone, because she could have just used another name as a disguise. But there was nothing, it was clean, I even checked her calculator because I heard that it could be just a fake social app hidden. I checked her car for another phone and again I found nothing, I did a thorough search even under floor mats and the trunk and came up empty. I was starting to think I have lost my freaking mind, but I just couldn’t stop. I snuck her phone back onto her nightstand, climbed back into bed for the remainder of the night. The next day after she went to work, I searched though all her drawers, her closet, and then moved to the PC, since I was the one that set up her e-mail, I had her password and still I found nothing. I had to relent that she was telling the truth and I doubted that the PI would find anything, but I just let him do his job.
We had started moving on with our lives because I didn’t find any signs the affair had gotten physical and stayed emotional, I was starting to feel better that my wife had seen her error and she was desperately trying to fix our relationship, I was slowly letting my guard down. The PI got in touch 2 weeks later and said he found no indications that the affair went physical, and I told him, thank you and cancelled the contract. Life went on and seemed to be normal for the next month, she was loving and the perfect wife, there was no hiding of her phone, no new passwords, and no extensive texting, and she would just go to work and home. I have begun to trust her and feeling that we had just avoided a major pitfall in our wedding bliss.
This is where my life took a turn for the worst, I’m an armed armored car driver and have a concealed carry permit, I always have a gun on me. I had gotten a stain on my shirt from the hotdogs I was eating at lunch and decided to make a quick stop at my house to change shirts, it was on the way to our second series of pickups, and we had no money in the truck, so that wasn’t an issue. I ran into the house and my wife was at work so I ran in, then I heard some noises coming from my bedroom and there was banging as if things were being knocked over, I pulled out my gun and slowly opened the door but it was dark due to the blackout blinds I installed years ago, then there was a flash, I started shooting blindly in the direction of the flash thinking I was being fired upon. I heard screams and moans, I quickly turned on the lights and seen a half-dressed man lying on the ground holding his shoulder, my wife lying in bed covered in blood. I ran to her and applied pressure to her wound. This is when I guess my partner called the police when he heard the gunshots from my house, he came in with his gun drawn and walked into the bedroom. I was holding the sheets to my wife’s chest where the bullet entered. I yelled for him to call 911 and he made another call for an EMT because two people had been shot. Police arrived and I was taken out of the room as the paramedics were helping the two victims. This was nothing more than a tragic mistake.
My wife’s car was in the garage, she never parks in the garage, but I guess she was hiding the affair partner from neighbors by sneaking him out from her car into the home. The flash I seen was the AP lighting a cigarette, they were both were transported to the hospital, but my wife was critical and needed emergency surgery to save her life, her AP was stitched up and released the next day. My wife recovered after 3 weeks in the hospital and went to recover with her parents.
I was taken to the police station to give my account of the incident and after about 7 hours of questioning, I was released, I went home to a message that I was fired from my job for making a unscheduled stop while on shift. I just sat there and started drinking. I wasn’t allowed to see my wife which was okay with me because I felt bad for shooting her, but she was a cheater, our marriage was over. She tried calling, but I wanted no contact with her. I contacted a lawyer just in case any charges were filed, he stopped by and told me not to say another word unless he was present. A week later there was a knock on my door and when I answered there were 2 police officers standing there and I was placed under arrest. I called my lawyer, he met me at the station, they were charging me with the willful attempt of trying to kill my wife and AP.
They said they found out I was aware of my wife’s infidelity, and I tried to kill them. They had found the screenshots on my phone, they also knew I hired a PI, and said I used him to find where and when the AP and my wife were meeting, I had premeditatively set this up. I was shocked and my lawyer told me that this was just a fishing expedition and not to worry. That was up until 4 days ago when I was standing in front of a judge for a preliminary hearing so the DA could lay out his evidence. That’s when my lawyer stepped up and called the PI to the stand and he backed my story that he found nothing about the affair and relayed that information to me, not what the DA was accusing me of doing. My lawyer also called in my partner from the armored car, he said that it was just bad timing, and I had shown no signs of anything other than getting a clean shirt. The judge sat and listened to all the evidence and witnesses and then said, the DA did not prove the was any crime here and then he dismissed all charges.
I went home to try and put my life back together. After losing my wife, and my job, I decided that I needed a fresh start and moved to a nearby city and got a job with a local car service, now I drive Limos and town cars for a living. My wife and I spoke briefly, I apologized for shooting her and she apologized for her affair, we went through with the divorce. We sold the home and never spoke again. I later heard the when the AP was in the hospital his wife rushed in and was greeted by the police and after she was told where he was when he was shot, she walked in and told him to find a new home and to look for a lawyer soon, because that was her next stop.
This was several years ago, and I have restarted my life, I’m getting into a better mind space, but still taking it one day at a time. I go 3 times a week for counseling for the shooting, and the betrayal of my wife. It’s getting easier, but only time will tell.
submitted by Sea-Sympathy5350 to FictionWriting [link] [comments]
I hired a PI to investigate, I needed to see if this affair had gotten more involved than she told me, because my trust was so low, all I could see was she was up to something, I had to make sure she was being honest with me. I waited one night for her to fall asleep, and then I took her phone, yes I checked her phone. Were married and I don’t believe in private spaces, when you say, I do, to me this covers more than just being married, but the phones, mail, e-mails, chats, these are all fair games in my eyes. I found her texts to that guy, and yes they stopped immediately after I confronted her. I took screen shots and sent them to my phone as evidence. Her phone showed nothing else and yes, I searched for hours, going through all her texts with everyone, because she could have just used another name as a disguise. But there was nothing, it was clean, I even checked her calculator because I heard that it could be just a fake social app hidden. I checked her car for another phone and again I found nothing, I did a thorough search even under floor mats and the trunk and came up empty. I was starting to think I have lost my freaking mind, but I just couldn’t stop. I snuck her phone back onto her nightstand, climbed back into bed for the remainder of the night. The next day after she went to work, I searched though all her drawers, her closet, and then moved to the PC, since I was the one that set up her e-mail, I had her password and still I found nothing. I had to relent that she was telling the truth and I doubted that the PI would find anything, but I just let him do his job.
We had started moving on with our lives because I didn’t find any signs the affair had gotten physical and stayed emotional, I was starting to feel better that my wife had seen her error and she was desperately trying to fix our relationship, I was slowly letting my guard down. The PI got in touch 2 weeks later and said he found no indications that the affair went physical, and I told him, thank you and cancelled the contract. Life went on and seemed to be normal for the next month, she was loving and the perfect wife, there was no hiding of her phone, no new passwords, and no extensive texting, and she would just go to work and home. I have begun to trust her and feeling that we had just avoided a major pitfall in our wedding bliss.
This is where my life took a turn for the worst, I’m an armed armored car driver and have a concealed carry permit, I always have a gun on me. I had gotten a stain on my shirt from the hotdogs I was eating at lunch and decided to make a quick stop at my house to change shirts, it was on the way to our second series of pickups, and we had no money in the truck, so that wasn’t an issue. I ran into the house and my wife was at work so I ran in, then I heard some noises coming from my bedroom and there was banging as if things were being knocked over, I pulled out my gun and slowly opened the door but it was dark due to the blackout blinds I installed years ago, then there was a flash, I started shooting blindly in the direction of the flash thinking I was being fired upon. I heard screams and moans, I quickly turned on the lights and seen a half-dressed man lying on the ground holding his shoulder, my wife lying in bed covered in blood. I ran to her and applied pressure to her wound. This is when I guess my partner called the police when he heard the gunshots from my house, he came in with his gun drawn and walked into the bedroom. I was holding the sheets to my wife’s chest where the bullet entered. I yelled for him to call 911 and he made another call for an EMT because two people had been shot. Police arrived and I was taken out of the room as the paramedics were helping the two victims. This was nothing more than a tragic mistake.
My wife’s car was in the garage, she never parks in the garage, but I guess she was hiding the affair partner from neighbors by sneaking him out from her car into the home. The flash I seen was the AP lighting a cigarette, they were both were transported to the hospital, but my wife was critical and needed emergency surgery to save her life, her AP was stitched up and released the next day. My wife recovered after 3 weeks in the hospital and went to recover with her parents.
I was taken to the police station to give my account of the incident and after about 7 hours of questioning, I was released, I went home to a message that I was fired from my job for making a unscheduled stop while on shift. I just sat there and started drinking. I wasn’t allowed to see my wife which was okay with me because I felt bad for shooting her, but she was a cheater, our marriage was over. She tried calling, but I wanted no contact with her. I contacted a lawyer just in case any charges were filed, he stopped by and told me not to say another word unless he was present. A week later there was a knock on my door and when I answered there were 2 police officers standing there and I was placed under arrest. I called my lawyer, he met me at the station, they were charging me with the willful attempt of trying to kill my wife and AP.
They said they found out I was aware of my wife’s infidelity, and I tried to kill them. They had found the screenshots on my phone, they also knew I hired a PI, and said I used him to find where and when the AP and my wife were meeting, I had premeditatively set this up. I was shocked and my lawyer told me that this was just a fishing expedition and not to worry. That was up until 4 days ago when I was standing in front of a judge for a preliminary hearing so the DA could lay out his evidence. That’s when my lawyer stepped up and called the PI to the stand and he backed my story that he found nothing about the affair and relayed that information to me, not what the DA was accusing me of doing. My lawyer also called in my partner from the armored car, he said that it was just bad timing, and I had shown no signs of anything other than getting a clean shirt. The judge sat and listened to all the evidence and witnesses and then said, the DA did not prove the was any crime here and then he dismissed all charges.
I went home to try and put my life back together. After losing my wife, and my job, I decided that I needed a fresh start and moved to a nearby city and got a job with a local car service, now I drive Limos and town cars for a living. My wife and I spoke briefly, I apologized for shooting her and she apologized for her affair, we went through with the divorce. We sold the home and never spoke again. I later heard the when the AP was in the hospital his wife rushed in and was greeted by the police and after she was told where he was when he was shot, she walked in and told him to find a new home and to look for a lawyer soon, because that was her next stop.
This was several years ago, and I have restarted my life, I’m getting into a better mind space, but still taking it one day at a time. I go 3 times a week for counseling for the shooting, and the betrayal of my wife. It’s getting easier, but only time will tell.
2023.05.28 22:47 uktabi Foxholes [ch. 8] - NOP fanfic
credit to u/SpacePaladin15 for the world of NOP
this one was really fun to write =)
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Memory transcription subject: “Teach,” UN Expeditionary Forces
Date [standardized human time]: September 29, 2136 (two days after the invasion of the Gojid Cradle)
The notion had sprang unbidden to my mind. And far be it from me to deprive my new companions of it.
“Now that you mention it… we had actually had an idea for that, but it wasn’t really feasible at the time.”
Rich and Kazeth both cocked their heads in unison. I almost laughed at that.
“UN dropships are equipped to support extended campaigns. So, they have supplies on them. You know, guns, ammo, other equipment. Rations. And we,” I said theatrically. “Know where one is.”
Rich’s brow furrowed in confusion, before shooting back up in understanding. “Oh!” He said, turning in his seat to look out towards the downed ship out in the fields. What was at one point going to get off this fucked-up planet. “Hmm. You sure any of the supplies survived that? It seems kind of…” He trailed off.
“Well, that was half of the problem. I have no idea how much of the supplies in there survived, if any at all.”
“Mmm.”
“What was the other half of the problem?” Kazeth asked, staring out towards the still-smoking black spot out in the distance of the field.
“It’s far. It’s… hold on.” I snapped up my marksman’s rifle from the floor, and tucked into a kneeling position, pointing the scope out towards the wreckage. I held my breath to help steady the thing, waiting for the rangefinder readout on the scope’s hud to stabilize. “It’s about… three kilometers out.” I hefted the rifle back into a carrying position and stood back up. “Doesn’t sound that bad. But the problem is, or was, that it was just us two. We can’t leave the gojid undefended for that long, walking all the way out there. The raids start fast,” I said, snapping my fingers for emphasis as my other hand set the rifle back down in its resting place. “Only takes a couple minutes’ lapse and they’re gone. Plus, the time spent poking through it, loading up a cart… We decided we wouldn’t risk it until we absolutely had to. But now with you two here…”
“Why not just take a car out there? There’s gotta be cars around here.”
“You’d think, huh? Nah, they don’t really have cars like we do. You notice the streets here aren’t really driveable? And, kind of hard to tell now, since the place is pretty fucked up, but a lot of these roofs are flat, and reinforced, so that the automated shuttles can land on them. And look,” I pointed out in the other direction, tracing my finger slowly across the terrain. “High-speed rail line. That’s where most of their supplies were coming in. Obviously that’s not working now, given, you know, the invasion.” I turned back to the other two and gave a short shrug. “No cars here. Only car around is uhh… the one you guys showed up in. That I killed.”
Rich shook his head slightly, as if clearing it. “Huh.”
“What’d you think of that grouping though? Pretty good right?”
“Yeah, ya really killed the shit out of our truck, man. Well, wait, then how come there’s a road leading in?”
I shrugged again. “Guess it’s more for outsiders coming in, and not for the people here. It’s just different here, I guess, no one told us anything about it, we’re figuring it out ourselves.” A second thought sprang to mind, as I was thinking about how different the Cradle was from Earth. “Hey… how come you know so much about earth, Kazeth?”
The alien’s tail twitched a bit. “You think me the only arxur to bear a fascination with humanity? No, we have all been watching very closely. Especially the higher up the command structure you go. Humanity wandering onto the galactic stage is the most interesting thing to happen to all of us, Betterment and Federation both, in two-hundred years. The future is balanced in your hands.”
“What do you mean?”
“The logistics of galactic warfare have enforced a status quo. The Federation’s fleets are larger than ours, but they cannot risk direct attack. To do so would be to leave their core systems vulnerable. Instead, their fleets are relegated to a rotating defense. They move as a herd, protecting one sector at a time, relegating us to never more than small raids against their undefended sectors. And the Dominion cannot launch a full-scale attack, or we would risk utter annihilation. It is a careful balance, in which neither side ever has the upper hand… and humanity is poised to upset it.”
It was all clicking together in my head. “That’s why they’re so scared of us! They think we might pick the other side!”
“Precisely. The panic is evident right here, on this very ground. The Gojid think you a threat. That is why you invaded preemptively, yes?”
“Yeah, but, ya still haven’t explained exactly how you know all of this, though.” Rich piped up.
“Yeahhh…” I said accusingly. “You’ve been spying on us, haven’t ya, mate?”
The Arxur rolled her shoulders dismissively. “Yes. On you and the Federation both. Our FTL communication technology far surpasses the Federation’s, as it must. It is our lifeblood. It is how we know which sectors are unguarded. And is it not unreasonable to expect that we would turn our ears towards Earth as well? The Dominion still has not decided whether to treat humanity as a threat or a potential ally.”
“You sneaky bastards,” I said, half-jokingly.
“You would do the same.”
I would have been perturbed, had I not been too occupied with curiosity. Spying? That’s for the UN to care about. I had more pressing curiosities. “So, what do the Arxur think of what they’ve learned about us?”
“As a whole? It is difficult to say. I think that we are… divided. The Arxur know that Earth is thriving and free, in a way that they aren’t. But they also see that you ally with the prey races, and that you find us loathsome. It is hard not to perceive this as a rejection, a statement of enmity. But those higher up the chain possess a clearer picture; truth trickles down, after all. They see that you are eager to share Earth’s bounty, and that the Federation rejects it. Because of course they would. The natural order is an abomination in their eyes, and they would sooner see Earth ‘cleansed’ than they would share it.” She paused, her head tilted slightly to the side. She looked at me, though her eyes flicked around evasively. “I know for a fact that some of the senior leadership in Betterment still hope that humanity would share it with us instead, and that they are willing to gamble our future on that… hope.”
“But you haven’t even tried to contact us. At least, not as far as I’m aware.”
“It is only a matter of time, now. But no, At the moment, such an attempt would be in defiance of Betterment. Officially, we are still taking the position that we are superior, and that you are closer to prey than to allies.”
“Sounds like the ‘official position’ isn’t all that universal then, huh? And among the higher-ups, no less.”
Kazeth flashed her fangs. “Indeed. I have been around for a long time, under Betterment. I’ve silenced my fair share of dissent, and yet… I have never seen the cracks show like this. It is… different. This time, it is coming from the top, instead of the bottom. You’ve proven a rather different picture of reality, turned everything on its head. It’s all changed, since you’ve walked on stage.”
Rich scratched at his chin, looking deep in thought. “Hm,” he stated, finally.
“Hm,” I agreed.
“What?” Kazeth asked, shifting her head quizzically.
“Nothing,” Rich responded. “It’s just… interesting. It’s, well, It suddenly hits me, that we are learning as much about you now, as you might have learned about us with your whole time spying. Our first picture of the Arxur was, umm, simple. Not much nuance.”
Kazeth hummed in acceptance, and I couldn’t help but agree. I opened my mouth to empathize, but instead, another curious thought hijacked it. “Y’know, that’s the second time you’ve used a theater analogy, now. Is that translating correctly?”
“It is.”
“So you have theater? And other arts?”
She slowly turned her head to fix me with a stare, which I felt myself withering under. Of course they have art. They are a sapient, intelligent species, I admonished myself over the stupid question. You are a teacher -- you should know better.
Kazeth, once she had finished letting me drown myself in the awkwardness of my own making, answered patiently, “Yes. We do. Although, they are mostly propaganda. I remember as a hatchling, when our educators would show films in our classes, and we would be --”
Rich stood up abruptly, face screwed up in concentration. Then I heard it too.
He looked over to me, consternation etched into his features. “I hear ships.”
Realization dawned, and horror settled. “Raid! Shit-fuck!” I scrambled for the radio. “Priya! It’s another raid!”
“Copy!” Her voice came through the radio. “Get set up. And send Rich down!”
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The arxur raid came swiftly, as they always did. Rich had barely scooped up his rifle and started the dash down the stairs, as the dropships came screaming to a halt above the edges of the town. There were three of them. Three teams. They quickly descended their ropes down to the ground, four to five in each party. I watched them through my scope, tracking them. They grouped together, stalking through the streets with their heads low and shoulders hunched, sniffing at the doors and windows. Kazeth stayed beside me, similarly hunched. The scales on her crest and shoulders puffing up as her eyes bore towards the hunters, and her nostrils twitched. She might not have been able to see them clearly at this distance, but…
“I have their scent; they will have ours as well. They will move towards us.”
“I know.” I tried to rein in the hammering of my heart. Focus. Concentrate. Steady. Breathe. I pulled the rifle tighter under my prone body. The shooter is calm and collected. The hunters were still too far away, and unknowingly ducking my angle between the buildings. Not yet. I thumbed the radio. “Westernmost street. I count somewhere between twelve and fifteen.”
“Copy.”
“Copy.” Rich had been linked in to our comms.
I had to force myself to keep breathing, to keep thinking. To keep the panic at bay. I didn’t know how many more raids I -- No! Stay here.
I kept my scope on the hunters, but watched the two lonely forms of Priya and Rich hustle down the western street to meet them. They picked out a defensible spot. Through the scope, I watched the hunters turn their snouts in their direction, one by one. They dropped low, prowling towards them. Hunting.
“They smell you. Incoming.”
“Conserve your ammo, Rich.” Priya’s voice came across the channel, the staticky garble failing to conceal her icy urgency. “We don’t have enough for a firefight. We can’t fight them man-to-man. Force them to come to us, leave their cover -- let Teach take care of ‘em as much as you can.”
“Understood.”
The hunters rushed down the street, driven by their noses. The first walked fully into my sights. I waited for more to enter my view, to capitalize on their vulnerability. I exhaled a long, shaky breath as each one drew closer to my companions. I resisted until I could wait no longer.
I fired. The recoil slammed into my shoulder. The lead arxur went down.
I fired again. The second went down. Disarray as the rest ducked and scrambled.
Again. A third went down. Some went for cover, but a few others rushed forward; they fell under Rich and Priya’s crossfire.
The less impulsive ones who sought cover were better off -- but they hadn’t yet figured out where exactly to take it. I spied a reptilian head just out of cover.
Another down. Now they’d figured me out. They shifted their positions, taking care to block my line of sight. Their guns fired, a dull, repetitive thumping from my vantage point. Both sides were pinned down now.
The hunters had brought tactics of their own; I watched as two split off to take a flanking route down an alley. “Rich, watch the alley on your three. Two incoming.”
Rich adjusted his position to turn the attempted flank into an ambush. The flanking arxur crept along the alley, unaware that their presence was known. The reptiles could smell him, but he could hear them. They were no match, and fell under the ambush. The attack foiled, Rich returned to his previous cover, reloading as he went. I knew they had only a few magazines each. They were running low. And the bulk of the arxur forces remained, pressuring their positions through superior numbers and ammo count.
Except for… “Four just broke off for another flank!” I called out. “They’re wide… very wide!” Too wide. My blood chilled as I pieced it together. “They’re making for the eastern street, heading towards the gojid!”
I could only cover one attack. Priya knew it instantly. “Get on them!”
“I can’t! I won’t be able to cover you!”
“I don’t care!” She shrieked over the mic. “They’re going for the gojid, get on them!”
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t abandon--
“TEACH! GET THE FUCK ON THEM, NOW!”
I couldn’t do it. Not to her. Not after… everything.
“TEACH, Y--” Her words were cut off as a pair of arxur rushed them. The first of the pair fell to my shot, but the other was too fast for me to line up a second shot. It rounded the corner, exchanging fire with Priya. It went down, leaving her the victor, still standing. She clutched the top of her shoulder, near her neck, and sank back against the wall. Not lethal, but… it very nearly was. If I hadn’t shot the first… My breathing grew ragged, panicky. I said nothing.
I couldn’t… I couldn’t…
“Teach. Please. Please don’t do this to me…”
“Fuck,” I whispered to myself. I still couldn’t do it. There wasn’t a force in the world that could shift my aim elsewhere. The scope blurred as tears tugged at the edges of my vision. The weight of what I was leaving the gojid to. It was an impossible choice. The panic engulfed me completely, now. I despaired of it ever letting go again.
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Memory transcription subject: Kazeth, Arxur defector
Date [standardized human time]: September 29, 2136 (two days after the invasion of the Gojid Cradle)
I could sense the mounting distress incapacitating the human. I had suspected he was no true soldier, but still… I found myself… uncomfortable, in a way that I didn’t truly understand.
“Send me,” I said, once again surprising myself. Some bizarre urgency compelled me.
Teach startled, snapping his head towards me. I think he had forgotten my presence. He quickly shifted back to the scope. I thought him still too distressed to respond.
“Send me. I will handle them.”
“You-- your leg is broken.”
“Arxur heal faster than humans,” I lied.
He paused, gulping a few short breaths. “Okay.” His panic seemed to abate, his breathing slowing, his focus seeming more purposeful. “Okay,” he said again, voice more normal.
I nodded, and turned to head down the stairs.
“Wait!”
I turned back. He let loose a few rapid shots, buying himself enough time to produce his sidearm. He quickly manipulated its mechanisms with practiced swiftness before holding it aloft. I hobbled over to take it.
“It’s all set. Just point, and pull the trigger. Eighteen shots. Small caliber, so, only effective at short ranges, and won’t do much to armor. But it’s better than nothing.”
I took the gun, holding it for a moment almost reverently. I thought back to Rich’s refusal to let me take a weapon for myself, days ago. It seemed so long ago, now.
“And… and take the radio too.” He gestured towards Rich’s pack without taking his eyes off his scope. I remembered Rich collecting a spare radio from his fallen comrades, after he had stopped me from taking one of their weapons. I dug through the pack for the radio, and clipped it onto my harness.
I hurtled down the stairs with haste, filled with some kind of growing momentum that I did not understand. I did not even know why I offered to go. I was confident I could handle them, but, it was still four against one, and I was still injured -- a fact that made itself all the more apparent with each step out of the building. I limped painfully on two-and-a-half limbs, the gun clutched awkwardly in my grip. Why did I want to do this? Was it a sense of debt? Loyalty? Attachment? Was it to the humans? The gojid?
There was little time to ponder. My path was set. I had the hunters’ scent, as well as the gojids’. It was their deaths or mine.
There would be little utility in attempting an ambush through hiding. They would smell me as much as I would smell them. No, my ambush must be one of guile. I limped up the center of the street, keeping Teach’s sidearm tucked behind the shadow of my forelimb. It would be awkward to use. Arxur preferred heavy weapons that could be held against the chest or lower torso, with recoil that directed downwards -- it was more favorable for our physiology to counter recoil by pulling upwards. The tiny size presented an issue as well. The grip was simply too small, and the trigger guard barely admitted my claw. But… for all its awkwardness, it had one major benefit: it was concealable. And Arxur rarely used sidearms. I would carry the advantage of surprise.
The hunters rushed into my street, having clearly sensed me already. They stalked towards me, weapons drawn, nares opening and closing as they calculated their surroundings. Their target was just behind me, around the corner. A room full of helpless gojid, some I could tell already bleeding. It would be a tantalizing prize to the hunters.
The four of them drew to a stop wordlessly. A leader presented himself from among them, stepping forward and addressing me. “You stink of human.”
“I was their prisoner. Your distraction has allowed me to free myself.”
He stepped further forward, turning his head to face me directly. A bold challenge. “You let them capture you? Let them tend your wounds? And now you stand between me and my prize?” His eyes widened in barely contained bloodlust.
A plan began to coalesce in my head. “Your prize, junior hunter?”
He hunched over forwards onto four limbs, his scales rising. His gun scraped along the ground, nearly forgotten in his crazed aggression. Exactly what I wanted. I flexed my scales to match. He circled me, slavering jaws splitting open with a hiss. I matched his rotation, careful to keep the gun still hidden.
The others let their weapons lower as well, their focus torn between me and their gojid prey.
The leader was gaunt and thin and wiry. Were I not wounded, I would scarcely have considered him a threat. I finalized my grip on my weapon in anticipation. I waited for him to lunge, but he didn’t. The others seemed to drift towards the gojid, as we circled around each other. I was rapidly losing control of the situation. My opponent seemed more than content to draw this out. His tail twitched, eyes flicking back and forth to my wounded leg, almost hungrily -- he was savoring this.
“Back down, runt,” I hissed, attempting to goad him.
The deranged smile widened. “You do look well fed,” he countered easily, reveling in his sudden dominance. “Humans treat you well? Or the other way around?”
I growled hatefully.
That was all the confirmation he needed. He crowed exultingly, addressing his comrades. “Surilz, Arshag, get to work. Leave this traitor to us.”
The two turned and loped away towards the gojid. The time to act was now.
I lunged towards my opponent. His focus snapped back to me, and he launched into his own lunge to meet me. We clashed, my arm keeping his gnashing teeth at bay, my foot stomping his gun down to the ground before he could lift it. He was surprisingly stronger than he looked, the weight of his lunge pushing me back onto my wounded leg. Searing pain lanced up the broken limb. I staggered backwards, and my arm buckled. His jaw seized the opportunity and closed the gap, clamping down on my shoulder. I roared in rage and pain.
But this would work too. I brought the gun up to his lower torso, pushing it into his scales just below the armor. I pulled the trigger as rapidly as I could, until he went limp. I pushed him off of me, his face etched with a last look of surprise as he crumpled into the dirt.
His companion hissed in surprise, and raised his own weapon -- but too slowly; I was already firing, again and again, until the gun clicked uselessly. I did not possess nearly the accuracy that the humans did, but it didn’t matter. Enough had found their mark, and he had crumpled as well.
I turned to pursue the other two, tossing the now-useless gun to the ground so I could move faster. They’d disappeared behind the corner. My shoulder burned in agony, dripping red, and my leg was now lamed even worse than it was before. But rage and fury bore me forwards, hobbling desperately through the pain.
I had to stop them. I did not understand why… but onwards was I driven.
I would be their hunter. I would be their death. I was needed.
I rounded the corner to see the two arxur just entering the building. A cry went up from the gojid inside. Some force compelled me even faster, bidding me ignore the pain.
I reached the now-open doorway. One was deep inside, stalking forward and menacing the gojid, savoring the hunt’s end. The other, nearer to me, turned. He tried to raise his weapon, but I was already upon him. We grappled, each vying for control of his weapon. But some strength I didn’t know surged through me. The other hunter, hearing our commotion, turned and aimed. She delayed, with no clear shot on me -- and that was enough time.
I roared, and with all my strength, turned my opponent's own weapon on his companion, and forced the trigger down. The stream of bullets slashed through the arxur, and into the floor as control of the weapon was eventually wrested back. The burning fury grew, as the thought that there could be collateral damage dawned.
I ripped the weapon from his grasp. It clattered across the floor.
“Traitor…” the hunter gasped out, flailing desperately against my iron grip.
A bloody haze filled my vision. My grip tightened.
One of his claws found some purchase against my scales. He ripped towards himself, tearing scales from their sockets and rending flesh. It did not hurt. I was beyond that, now.
I slammed him into a nearby wall. He grunted, but only dug his claws in deeper.
I slammed him into the wall again.
And again.
And again.
Until finally his claw was shaken loose. Dazed, he feebly grasped at my arms. I drew up to my full height, the pain in my leg be damned, and hurled him bodily out into the street.
He collapsed into the dust. I gave him no respite, and pursued him. I fell atop him, raining an onslaught of vicious slashes upon him. The fury did not abate. The haze did not lift. Not until he was dead.
I stood up, hunched and staggering, taking great ragged breaths. I turned around. Inside the building, the herd of gojid huddled together, staring out at me, the terror written across all their faces. They flinched as I turned. I stumbled to the door, my wounds now making themselves excruciatingly known. The gojid shrank back and flinched with every lumbering step I took towards them.
I reached the doorway, and stopped, staring out over them. The last dying gasp of my rage birthed one final thought: I could slaughter them all now -- blame the hunters and rid us all of this liability, this distraction.
But, as quick as the thought came, so too did the other side of me. No, that was not what I wanted. No, I think… I think that I had wanted the opposite. To protect them. To have a use, to be wanted, to fight for a purpose of pride instead of one of guilt. Was that what had driven me forward, against these hunters? Something must have.
The rest of the fury burned out, replaced with ash. I felt my grasp of myself slipping away, perhaps some culmination of my time spent among the humans. Something was different. I was different.
…though, of course, the gojid shared none of this revelation with me. They stared helplessly in total fear, their spines raised and bloodied against one another. This, I found, hurt more than the pains of the flesh that wracked my body.
I sighed, and pulled shut the door. There was little else I could do for them.
I grabbed the radio from my harness. “This is Kazeth. The gojid are safe, but… they saw me.”
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submitted by uktabi to NatureofPredators [link] [comments]
this one was really fun to write =)
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Memory transcription subject: “Teach,” UN Expeditionary Forces
Date [standardized human time]: September 29, 2136 (two days after the invasion of the Gojid Cradle)
The notion had sprang unbidden to my mind. And far be it from me to deprive my new companions of it.
“Now that you mention it… we had actually had an idea for that, but it wasn’t really feasible at the time.”
Rich and Kazeth both cocked their heads in unison. I almost laughed at that.
“UN dropships are equipped to support extended campaigns. So, they have supplies on them. You know, guns, ammo, other equipment. Rations. And we,” I said theatrically. “Know where one is.”
Rich’s brow furrowed in confusion, before shooting back up in understanding. “Oh!” He said, turning in his seat to look out towards the downed ship out in the fields. What was at one point going to get off this fucked-up planet. “Hmm. You sure any of the supplies survived that? It seems kind of…” He trailed off.
“Well, that was half of the problem. I have no idea how much of the supplies in there survived, if any at all.”
“Mmm.”
“What was the other half of the problem?” Kazeth asked, staring out towards the still-smoking black spot out in the distance of the field.
“It’s far. It’s… hold on.” I snapped up my marksman’s rifle from the floor, and tucked into a kneeling position, pointing the scope out towards the wreckage. I held my breath to help steady the thing, waiting for the rangefinder readout on the scope’s hud to stabilize. “It’s about… three kilometers out.” I hefted the rifle back into a carrying position and stood back up. “Doesn’t sound that bad. But the problem is, or was, that it was just us two. We can’t leave the gojid undefended for that long, walking all the way out there. The raids start fast,” I said, snapping my fingers for emphasis as my other hand set the rifle back down in its resting place. “Only takes a couple minutes’ lapse and they’re gone. Plus, the time spent poking through it, loading up a cart… We decided we wouldn’t risk it until we absolutely had to. But now with you two here…”
“Why not just take a car out there? There’s gotta be cars around here.”
“You’d think, huh? Nah, they don’t really have cars like we do. You notice the streets here aren’t really driveable? And, kind of hard to tell now, since the place is pretty fucked up, but a lot of these roofs are flat, and reinforced, so that the automated shuttles can land on them. And look,” I pointed out in the other direction, tracing my finger slowly across the terrain. “High-speed rail line. That’s where most of their supplies were coming in. Obviously that’s not working now, given, you know, the invasion.” I turned back to the other two and gave a short shrug. “No cars here. Only car around is uhh… the one you guys showed up in. That I killed.”
Rich shook his head slightly, as if clearing it. “Huh.”
“What’d you think of that grouping though? Pretty good right?”
“Yeah, ya really killed the shit out of our truck, man. Well, wait, then how come there’s a road leading in?”
I shrugged again. “Guess it’s more for outsiders coming in, and not for the people here. It’s just different here, I guess, no one told us anything about it, we’re figuring it out ourselves.” A second thought sprang to mind, as I was thinking about how different the Cradle was from Earth. “Hey… how come you know so much about earth, Kazeth?”
The alien’s tail twitched a bit. “You think me the only arxur to bear a fascination with humanity? No, we have all been watching very closely. Especially the higher up the command structure you go. Humanity wandering onto the galactic stage is the most interesting thing to happen to all of us, Betterment and Federation both, in two-hundred years. The future is balanced in your hands.”
“What do you mean?”
“The logistics of galactic warfare have enforced a status quo. The Federation’s fleets are larger than ours, but they cannot risk direct attack. To do so would be to leave their core systems vulnerable. Instead, their fleets are relegated to a rotating defense. They move as a herd, protecting one sector at a time, relegating us to never more than small raids against their undefended sectors. And the Dominion cannot launch a full-scale attack, or we would risk utter annihilation. It is a careful balance, in which neither side ever has the upper hand… and humanity is poised to upset it.”
It was all clicking together in my head. “That’s why they’re so scared of us! They think we might pick the other side!”
“Precisely. The panic is evident right here, on this very ground. The Gojid think you a threat. That is why you invaded preemptively, yes?”
“Yeah, but, ya still haven’t explained exactly how you know all of this, though.” Rich piped up.
“Yeahhh…” I said accusingly. “You’ve been spying on us, haven’t ya, mate?”
The Arxur rolled her shoulders dismissively. “Yes. On you and the Federation both. Our FTL communication technology far surpasses the Federation’s, as it must. It is our lifeblood. It is how we know which sectors are unguarded. And is it not unreasonable to expect that we would turn our ears towards Earth as well? The Dominion still has not decided whether to treat humanity as a threat or a potential ally.”
“You sneaky bastards,” I said, half-jokingly.
“You would do the same.”
I would have been perturbed, had I not been too occupied with curiosity. Spying? That’s for the UN to care about. I had more pressing curiosities. “So, what do the Arxur think of what they’ve learned about us?”
“As a whole? It is difficult to say. I think that we are… divided. The Arxur know that Earth is thriving and free, in a way that they aren’t. But they also see that you ally with the prey races, and that you find us loathsome. It is hard not to perceive this as a rejection, a statement of enmity. But those higher up the chain possess a clearer picture; truth trickles down, after all. They see that you are eager to share Earth’s bounty, and that the Federation rejects it. Because of course they would. The natural order is an abomination in their eyes, and they would sooner see Earth ‘cleansed’ than they would share it.” She paused, her head tilted slightly to the side. She looked at me, though her eyes flicked around evasively. “I know for a fact that some of the senior leadership in Betterment still hope that humanity would share it with us instead, and that they are willing to gamble our future on that… hope.”
“But you haven’t even tried to contact us. At least, not as far as I’m aware.”
“It is only a matter of time, now. But no, At the moment, such an attempt would be in defiance of Betterment. Officially, we are still taking the position that we are superior, and that you are closer to prey than to allies.”
“Sounds like the ‘official position’ isn’t all that universal then, huh? And among the higher-ups, no less.”
Kazeth flashed her fangs. “Indeed. I have been around for a long time, under Betterment. I’ve silenced my fair share of dissent, and yet… I have never seen the cracks show like this. It is… different. This time, it is coming from the top, instead of the bottom. You’ve proven a rather different picture of reality, turned everything on its head. It’s all changed, since you’ve walked on stage.”
Rich scratched at his chin, looking deep in thought. “Hm,” he stated, finally.
“Hm,” I agreed.
“What?” Kazeth asked, shifting her head quizzically.
“Nothing,” Rich responded. “It’s just… interesting. It’s, well, It suddenly hits me, that we are learning as much about you now, as you might have learned about us with your whole time spying. Our first picture of the Arxur was, umm, simple. Not much nuance.”
Kazeth hummed in acceptance, and I couldn’t help but agree. I opened my mouth to empathize, but instead, another curious thought hijacked it. “Y’know, that’s the second time you’ve used a theater analogy, now. Is that translating correctly?”
“It is.”
“So you have theater? And other arts?”
She slowly turned her head to fix me with a stare, which I felt myself withering under. Of course they have art. They are a sapient, intelligent species, I admonished myself over the stupid question. You are a teacher -- you should know better.
Kazeth, once she had finished letting me drown myself in the awkwardness of my own making, answered patiently, “Yes. We do. Although, they are mostly propaganda. I remember as a hatchling, when our educators would show films in our classes, and we would be --”
Rich stood up abruptly, face screwed up in concentration. Then I heard it too.
He looked over to me, consternation etched into his features. “I hear ships.”
Realization dawned, and horror settled. “Raid! Shit-fuck!” I scrambled for the radio. “Priya! It’s another raid!”
“Copy!” Her voice came through the radio. “Get set up. And send Rich down!”
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The arxur raid came swiftly, as they always did. Rich had barely scooped up his rifle and started the dash down the stairs, as the dropships came screaming to a halt above the edges of the town. There were three of them. Three teams. They quickly descended their ropes down to the ground, four to five in each party. I watched them through my scope, tracking them. They grouped together, stalking through the streets with their heads low and shoulders hunched, sniffing at the doors and windows. Kazeth stayed beside me, similarly hunched. The scales on her crest and shoulders puffing up as her eyes bore towards the hunters, and her nostrils twitched. She might not have been able to see them clearly at this distance, but…
“I have their scent; they will have ours as well. They will move towards us.”
“I know.” I tried to rein in the hammering of my heart. Focus. Concentrate. Steady. Breathe. I pulled the rifle tighter under my prone body. The shooter is calm and collected. The hunters were still too far away, and unknowingly ducking my angle between the buildings. Not yet. I thumbed the radio. “Westernmost street. I count somewhere between twelve and fifteen.”
“Copy.”
“Copy.” Rich had been linked in to our comms.
I had to force myself to keep breathing, to keep thinking. To keep the panic at bay. I didn’t know how many more raids I -- No! Stay here.
I kept my scope on the hunters, but watched the two lonely forms of Priya and Rich hustle down the western street to meet them. They picked out a defensible spot. Through the scope, I watched the hunters turn their snouts in their direction, one by one. They dropped low, prowling towards them. Hunting.
“They smell you. Incoming.”
“Conserve your ammo, Rich.” Priya’s voice came across the channel, the staticky garble failing to conceal her icy urgency. “We don’t have enough for a firefight. We can’t fight them man-to-man. Force them to come to us, leave their cover -- let Teach take care of ‘em as much as you can.”
“Understood.”
The hunters rushed down the street, driven by their noses. The first walked fully into my sights. I waited for more to enter my view, to capitalize on their vulnerability. I exhaled a long, shaky breath as each one drew closer to my companions. I resisted until I could wait no longer.
I fired. The recoil slammed into my shoulder. The lead arxur went down.
I fired again. The second went down. Disarray as the rest ducked and scrambled.
Again. A third went down. Some went for cover, but a few others rushed forward; they fell under Rich and Priya’s crossfire.
The less impulsive ones who sought cover were better off -- but they hadn’t yet figured out where exactly to take it. I spied a reptilian head just out of cover.
Another down. Now they’d figured me out. They shifted their positions, taking care to block my line of sight. Their guns fired, a dull, repetitive thumping from my vantage point. Both sides were pinned down now.
The hunters had brought tactics of their own; I watched as two split off to take a flanking route down an alley. “Rich, watch the alley on your three. Two incoming.”
Rich adjusted his position to turn the attempted flank into an ambush. The flanking arxur crept along the alley, unaware that their presence was known. The reptiles could smell him, but he could hear them. They were no match, and fell under the ambush. The attack foiled, Rich returned to his previous cover, reloading as he went. I knew they had only a few magazines each. They were running low. And the bulk of the arxur forces remained, pressuring their positions through superior numbers and ammo count.
Except for… “Four just broke off for another flank!” I called out. “They’re wide… very wide!” Too wide. My blood chilled as I pieced it together. “They’re making for the eastern street, heading towards the gojid!”
I could only cover one attack. Priya knew it instantly. “Get on them!”
“I can’t! I won’t be able to cover you!”
“I don’t care!” She shrieked over the mic. “They’re going for the gojid, get on them!”
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t abandon--
“TEACH! GET THE FUCK ON THEM, NOW!”
I couldn’t do it. Not to her. Not after… everything.
“TEACH, Y--” Her words were cut off as a pair of arxur rushed them. The first of the pair fell to my shot, but the other was too fast for me to line up a second shot. It rounded the corner, exchanging fire with Priya. It went down, leaving her the victor, still standing. She clutched the top of her shoulder, near her neck, and sank back against the wall. Not lethal, but… it very nearly was. If I hadn’t shot the first… My breathing grew ragged, panicky. I said nothing.
I couldn’t… I couldn’t…
“Teach. Please. Please don’t do this to me…”
“Fuck,” I whispered to myself. I still couldn’t do it. There wasn’t a force in the world that could shift my aim elsewhere. The scope blurred as tears tugged at the edges of my vision. The weight of what I was leaving the gojid to. It was an impossible choice. The panic engulfed me completely, now. I despaired of it ever letting go again.
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Memory transcription subject: Kazeth, Arxur defector
Date [standardized human time]: September 29, 2136 (two days after the invasion of the Gojid Cradle)
I could sense the mounting distress incapacitating the human. I had suspected he was no true soldier, but still… I found myself… uncomfortable, in a way that I didn’t truly understand.
“Send me,” I said, once again surprising myself. Some bizarre urgency compelled me.
Teach startled, snapping his head towards me. I think he had forgotten my presence. He quickly shifted back to the scope. I thought him still too distressed to respond.
“Send me. I will handle them.”
“You-- your leg is broken.”
“Arxur heal faster than humans,” I lied.
He paused, gulping a few short breaths. “Okay.” His panic seemed to abate, his breathing slowing, his focus seeming more purposeful. “Okay,” he said again, voice more normal.
I nodded, and turned to head down the stairs.
“Wait!”
I turned back. He let loose a few rapid shots, buying himself enough time to produce his sidearm. He quickly manipulated its mechanisms with practiced swiftness before holding it aloft. I hobbled over to take it.
“It’s all set. Just point, and pull the trigger. Eighteen shots. Small caliber, so, only effective at short ranges, and won’t do much to armor. But it’s better than nothing.”
I took the gun, holding it for a moment almost reverently. I thought back to Rich’s refusal to let me take a weapon for myself, days ago. It seemed so long ago, now.
“And… and take the radio too.” He gestured towards Rich’s pack without taking his eyes off his scope. I remembered Rich collecting a spare radio from his fallen comrades, after he had stopped me from taking one of their weapons. I dug through the pack for the radio, and clipped it onto my harness.
I hurtled down the stairs with haste, filled with some kind of growing momentum that I did not understand. I did not even know why I offered to go. I was confident I could handle them, but, it was still four against one, and I was still injured -- a fact that made itself all the more apparent with each step out of the building. I limped painfully on two-and-a-half limbs, the gun clutched awkwardly in my grip. Why did I want to do this? Was it a sense of debt? Loyalty? Attachment? Was it to the humans? The gojid?
There was little time to ponder. My path was set. I had the hunters’ scent, as well as the gojids’. It was their deaths or mine.
There would be little utility in attempting an ambush through hiding. They would smell me as much as I would smell them. No, my ambush must be one of guile. I limped up the center of the street, keeping Teach’s sidearm tucked behind the shadow of my forelimb. It would be awkward to use. Arxur preferred heavy weapons that could be held against the chest or lower torso, with recoil that directed downwards -- it was more favorable for our physiology to counter recoil by pulling upwards. The tiny size presented an issue as well. The grip was simply too small, and the trigger guard barely admitted my claw. But… for all its awkwardness, it had one major benefit: it was concealable. And Arxur rarely used sidearms. I would carry the advantage of surprise.
The hunters rushed into my street, having clearly sensed me already. They stalked towards me, weapons drawn, nares opening and closing as they calculated their surroundings. Their target was just behind me, around the corner. A room full of helpless gojid, some I could tell already bleeding. It would be a tantalizing prize to the hunters.
The four of them drew to a stop wordlessly. A leader presented himself from among them, stepping forward and addressing me. “You stink of human.”
“I was their prisoner. Your distraction has allowed me to free myself.”
He stepped further forward, turning his head to face me directly. A bold challenge. “You let them capture you? Let them tend your wounds? And now you stand between me and my prize?” His eyes widened in barely contained bloodlust.
A plan began to coalesce in my head. “Your prize, junior hunter?”
He hunched over forwards onto four limbs, his scales rising. His gun scraped along the ground, nearly forgotten in his crazed aggression. Exactly what I wanted. I flexed my scales to match. He circled me, slavering jaws splitting open with a hiss. I matched his rotation, careful to keep the gun still hidden.
The others let their weapons lower as well, their focus torn between me and their gojid prey.
The leader was gaunt and thin and wiry. Were I not wounded, I would scarcely have considered him a threat. I finalized my grip on my weapon in anticipation. I waited for him to lunge, but he didn’t. The others seemed to drift towards the gojid, as we circled around each other. I was rapidly losing control of the situation. My opponent seemed more than content to draw this out. His tail twitched, eyes flicking back and forth to my wounded leg, almost hungrily -- he was savoring this.
“Back down, runt,” I hissed, attempting to goad him.
The deranged smile widened. “You do look well fed,” he countered easily, reveling in his sudden dominance. “Humans treat you well? Or the other way around?”
I growled hatefully.
That was all the confirmation he needed. He crowed exultingly, addressing his comrades. “Surilz, Arshag, get to work. Leave this traitor to us.”
The two turned and loped away towards the gojid. The time to act was now.
I lunged towards my opponent. His focus snapped back to me, and he launched into his own lunge to meet me. We clashed, my arm keeping his gnashing teeth at bay, my foot stomping his gun down to the ground before he could lift it. He was surprisingly stronger than he looked, the weight of his lunge pushing me back onto my wounded leg. Searing pain lanced up the broken limb. I staggered backwards, and my arm buckled. His jaw seized the opportunity and closed the gap, clamping down on my shoulder. I roared in rage and pain.
But this would work too. I brought the gun up to his lower torso, pushing it into his scales just below the armor. I pulled the trigger as rapidly as I could, until he went limp. I pushed him off of me, his face etched with a last look of surprise as he crumpled into the dirt.
His companion hissed in surprise, and raised his own weapon -- but too slowly; I was already firing, again and again, until the gun clicked uselessly. I did not possess nearly the accuracy that the humans did, but it didn’t matter. Enough had found their mark, and he had crumpled as well.
I turned to pursue the other two, tossing the now-useless gun to the ground so I could move faster. They’d disappeared behind the corner. My shoulder burned in agony, dripping red, and my leg was now lamed even worse than it was before. But rage and fury bore me forwards, hobbling desperately through the pain.
I had to stop them. I did not understand why… but onwards was I driven.
I would be their hunter. I would be their death. I was needed.
I rounded the corner to see the two arxur just entering the building. A cry went up from the gojid inside. Some force compelled me even faster, bidding me ignore the pain.
I reached the now-open doorway. One was deep inside, stalking forward and menacing the gojid, savoring the hunt’s end. The other, nearer to me, turned. He tried to raise his weapon, but I was already upon him. We grappled, each vying for control of his weapon. But some strength I didn’t know surged through me. The other hunter, hearing our commotion, turned and aimed. She delayed, with no clear shot on me -- and that was enough time.
I roared, and with all my strength, turned my opponent's own weapon on his companion, and forced the trigger down. The stream of bullets slashed through the arxur, and into the floor as control of the weapon was eventually wrested back. The burning fury grew, as the thought that there could be collateral damage dawned.
I ripped the weapon from his grasp. It clattered across the floor.
“Traitor…” the hunter gasped out, flailing desperately against my iron grip.
A bloody haze filled my vision. My grip tightened.
One of his claws found some purchase against my scales. He ripped towards himself, tearing scales from their sockets and rending flesh. It did not hurt. I was beyond that, now.
I slammed him into a nearby wall. He grunted, but only dug his claws in deeper.
I slammed him into the wall again.
And again.
And again.
Until finally his claw was shaken loose. Dazed, he feebly grasped at my arms. I drew up to my full height, the pain in my leg be damned, and hurled him bodily out into the street.
He collapsed into the dust. I gave him no respite, and pursued him. I fell atop him, raining an onslaught of vicious slashes upon him. The fury did not abate. The haze did not lift. Not until he was dead.
I stood up, hunched and staggering, taking great ragged breaths. I turned around. Inside the building, the herd of gojid huddled together, staring out at me, the terror written across all their faces. They flinched as I turned. I stumbled to the door, my wounds now making themselves excruciatingly known. The gojid shrank back and flinched with every lumbering step I took towards them.
I reached the doorway, and stopped, staring out over them. The last dying gasp of my rage birthed one final thought: I could slaughter them all now -- blame the hunters and rid us all of this liability, this distraction.
But, as quick as the thought came, so too did the other side of me. No, that was not what I wanted. No, I think… I think that I had wanted the opposite. To protect them. To have a use, to be wanted, to fight for a purpose of pride instead of one of guilt. Was that what had driven me forward, against these hunters? Something must have.
The rest of the fury burned out, replaced with ash. I felt my grasp of myself slipping away, perhaps some culmination of my time spent among the humans. Something was different. I was different.
…though, of course, the gojid shared none of this revelation with me. They stared helplessly in total fear, their spines raised and bloodied against one another. This, I found, hurt more than the pains of the flesh that wracked my body.
I sighed, and pulled shut the door. There was little else I could do for them.
I grabbed the radio from my harness. “This is Kazeth. The gojid are safe, but… they saw me.”
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