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PostPosted: Sat Dec 31, 2011 4:12 pm 
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Good update! And thanks, man.

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PostPosted: Mon Jan 02, 2012 3:52 am 
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Chapter 8 - Last Call

Waking up the girls was tough work, for Cherry especially-she was dead.

Standing over her with a test tube full of uncut yayo in one hand and a shotgun in the other was obscene, and not just because of the awkward stiff pose of her shit streaked legs. Phebe had said she had dehydrated, and from the volume of watery feces I believed it...but what was really obscene is that none of us knew her real name. When I asked Cristal she just shook her head, and most of the other girls didn't say much of anything.

I don't think I'd ever fucked her. It didn't make it better.

They accepted the coke though. They weren't that far gone. I saw a few of them double dip, but you know, in their situation I can let the drug code slide a little. I watched Cesare like a hawk though. Between the coke and some clean water, they were looking more alert than when they were laying in a spray tanned, shit reeking heap on the main stage, but that wasn't much. My hands were numb and my gut was six fluid ounces of pure bile, but I could still see and hear. Gunshots were ringing off the steel door like the world's worst bell orchestra, and it was time to go.

Phebe, bless her heart, had a toot of the cola as well. I don't think she wanted to, but I could tell she was running on empty. As we covered up Cherry's corpse with a black shower curtain-better than a donut cart cover I guess-she and I looked at each other for a long moment, her eyes blazing with the sudden, arresting intensity of a goshawk on the wing. Even over the corpse of the stripper I wanted to kiss her again. What the fuck is wrong with me?

"I can see the appeal," she said, nostrils flared, face flushed and warm.

"A powder virgin?" I teased. The joke fell flat, as most jokes over corpses too, and both of us looked away uncomfortably. Cesare was wrangling our gaggle of gals into the warmest clothes we could find, but it would be Dr. Mackey who kept them from feeling the cold-there isn't much in the way of warm clothing at a strip club. I saw him moving his arms up and down in a vague, cartoonish way as he gesticulated to them how to get up the ladder and out the roof.

"Well," said Phebe after a minute, "I mean I've smoked weed before once or twice. Took some X at a party in high school and spent the night crying in a tree. But coke? No. Heh. Heh. Heheheheh..." I shook her hard before the coke giggles could take over; we didn't have the time. "Sorry Jon. Wow, okay, okay, okay...let's go Jon." Adorable.

The two of us made our way to the ladder. For the life of me I couldn't picture what was behind the strip club, so first I sidled up to Cristal. "You okay?"

She frowned. "About as well as can be expected." The steel door shuddered behind us; it sounded like they were hitting it with something large. Masonry shook from the roof in a dusty grey rain. Shit.

"We're going to be pursued. Where can we go?" I said, without preamble.

To my surprise and her credit, Cristal answered promptly and intelligently. "There's a creek that runs drainage in the woodlot past the rear parking area." As she said it, I could picture it-a little pisswater creek for water runoff that ran through a copse of scrub sycamores between the strip club and the auto body shop on the other side.

"Tough crossing after all this rain," I said, mulling it over. Behind me, Jade vomitted noisily and then sobbed once.

"There's a footbridge," said Cristal. "Three or four hundred yards down."

The coke was fuming in my brain and I think I lost a little control of my talking hole. "Damn, girl," I blurted, "when did you become a fucking ranger?" She just grinned, flashing me her white teeth. I shook my head, lit a cigarette in the dark, and passed it to her.

"I've been watching it through my rifle sights for three days," she said wryly. "I think it's kids-you know? Just logs stretched across the creek." I did know, having built many of these deathtraps myself over the years. Still, it was something approaching a plan. I was curious about the rifle-an AK47. I wanted to ask where she got it but frankly I was just glad it was there.

Phebe didn't share my discretion; she walked right up and looked at Cristal curiously, coke babble running freely still. Virgins man. You can't save 'em. "Hey, hey, hey blondie-where did you get the WASR? Is that a tapco stock? My dad bitches about his tapco SKS stock every time he calls. I like the bulgy waffle mag though, those things are sweeeeeeet..."

"Wasser?" I said, but knew better than to go 'It's an AK 47 dumbass' to Phebe.

"Oh, it's my boyfriends. Or ex boyfriends. It was in his trunk when everything happened." Cristal shouldered the weapon on a sling and I remember being distinctly uncomfortable that they were talking to one another.

Phebe squinted closer, flashed her flashlight. "Your front sight is canted." Neither Cristal or I really got it.

Cesare spared us the awkwardness of further conversation by showing up with the whole group of six remaining strippers behind him like perfumed ducks in a row. He had the bat over his shoulder and looked smug; I think that fat titted son of a bitch thought he was going to get lucky. God damnit. "Jon," he said, "Hey Jonny. Most of these girls are real sick, man. I don't know if they'll make it."

"They'll make it," I said. "Or at least I mean they better, or we're fucked."

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PostPosted: Mon Jan 02, 2012 11:50 am 
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Nice to see that this is going again. 8-)


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PostPosted: Tue Jan 03, 2012 3:42 pm 
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I had completely forgotten this story was here. Shame, SHAME on you for taking so long to update!!

I'm going to go back and reread the whole thing to refresh my memory. Great story, though, I do remember that much. Glad you're back posting!

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PostPosted: Wed Jan 04, 2012 6:22 pm 
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moar


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PostPosted: Mon Jan 09, 2012 2:39 am 
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Cristal, Phebe, Cesare and I had a quick pow wow with the rest of the group, laying out the plan. It wasn't complicated; plans fueld by coke and desperation rarely were. Open the roof hatch, with, for some idiot reason, Jon Mackey in the lead. Jump off the building and run for the bare, scrubby treeline. Cross the creek on the impromptu, "boy's life" footbridge that consisted of a rotten log. Shove the log off and let stupid assholes drown in the drainage ditch while we hauled ass across the city back to the relative safety of Jon Mackey's apartment. Try to get Phebe alone and comfort her (okay, that last bit of the plan I didn't advertise.)

Simple. Right?

I reviewed my armament while the door shuddered; they were ramming another vehicle into it. Masonry was crumbling from the walls and roof; it made swirling Lovecraftian designs in the tight LED beam of Phebe's flashlight. She had her glock riding in the shoulder holster and that pump action shotty; I had my .45 and the sawed off and was in the process of plugging fat FMJs into a spare magazine. There were about twenty shells left in the ol' gonzo bag, fat red cylinders of buckshot stuffed in the top flap where I could access them quickly. It rode on my stomach like a kangaroo pouch, and my pistol sat low and heavy Mexican style in the back of my pants. Cesare was packing the bat and Cristal still held onto that AK, though she didn't have any spare magazines for it.

"Should we arm the others?" said Phebe, looking around. Surely there were bats and kitchen knives around.

The door trembled; a little bit of predawn light was showing around the frame where it was coming out. "Not a bad idea," I said, "but no time."

She leaned in quickly to kiss me, setting all my nerves to sizzling again and my boner to pounding against my silk boxers. "Then its on you, Jon. I'll cover the rear." Man, perky tits just make it so easy to do stupid macho shit, don't they? I started climbing the maintenance access ladder without a second thought, my finger around the trigger guard of the shotgun. With a grunt of effort, I lifted the cool steel roof hatch and peeked outside. The light was improving into a cheerless Indiana pre-dawn, rendering everything in soggy greyscale as far as I could see. Swivelling my head in both directions I saw no one on the roof, and scrambled out onto my stomach.

In a reverse of my earlier belly crawl, this one was fast and incautious. I regretted it immediately; it felt like someone was taking sandpaper to my crotch when I low crawled on that boner. I made it to the end of the roof, had time to see a flashlight beam blazing up at me suddenly, heard a rusty voice shout "Hey!" and then flung myself with an undigified squawk down on the source of the light. There was a crash and a tangle of limbs and something hard bit me in the temple, making my vision blur into a grey mist. With coke pounding through my heart, hands, brains and dick, my response was frenzied, instinctive. In a liquid rush of pure venom, I swung the short barrels of the shotgun at the grey blur in front of me and missed entirely with my first shot.

Fuck. Not what I intended. Both barrels kicked up a fuss, filling the air with that bittersweet gundpowder burn, oddly sharp and clean in the heavy rain. My world went a dull white-grey; the fucking muzzle flash had damn near blinded me, and I found myself scrambling backwards on the damp pavement.

The shooting whine had faded from my ears enough for me to hear "..stupid fuck I'll kill you I'll kill you I'll fucking kill you you bastard..." and as my vision unblurred I got a picture of the flashlight wielder. He was fat and pallid, with a flashlight in one hand and a hammer in the other, which he was lifting over his head. I'll always remember his shirt-he wore a shirt that said '24 hours in a day, 24 beers in a case-Coincidence? I think not' and I remember thinking that it was a very stupid saying for being the last thing I ever read before Phebe put two in his head from above and he dropped like a stone. His chin was practically in my lap before his brains hit dirt a few feet away. Phebe jumped down beside me, the barrel of her glock smoking in the rain, action girl style.

"Come on, Jon," she said. "They're probing around the edges and they definitely heard that." The girls were jumping down from the roof in an unorganized gaggle; almost all of them fell, hopped up on coke and suffering from dysentery as they were. Cristal was last, and she was the only one to really stick the landing. By that time flashlight beams were flickering at both corners of the building. I swallowed hard, conciously aware only of how thirsty and terrified and horny I was all at the same time, and plugged two more shells into my shotgun.

Cesare landed right beside me with the bat. "They're coming around!" he shouted, and shoved one of the girls-Ivory, I think-in motion. "Last call, people!" I remember thinking that was entirely too witty for him. Maybe I misheard; I never asked him about it. But I was on my feet soon enough as well, trying futiley to shake off about two thousand pounds of water. We settled into a loose order, strippers in the middle, Cesare in the back, Phebe and Mackey at the front, god help us. Then we ran, feet sloshing on the slick pavement.

Immediately flashlights intersected on us and gunshots went off. I truly have no idea what was making these people so goddamn crazy. Maybe it was just starvation. Maybe a dismal fear of dying without ever getting laid again. Or maybe we are all just total bastards when we think we can get away with it. Rounds zipped over our heads with a distinctive crack and we all crouch ducked ineffectually and continued running. The coke and the benzos were surging through my limbs and I no longer felt tired; I was riding a china wave of bristling electricity and I charged those dime store flashlights without even a token flinched. And that was despite the terror that turned on a slow spit between my tongue and my asshole, roasting my stomach like a suckling pig.

I screamed at them. My voice ripped loose before I could control it. No words-not even 'Get Back Fuckholes' which is what I would have said if I could have. Just a scream, as the lights converged on us and muzzle flashes lit up behind them. Phebe was shooting too and lights were veering off fast, but I didn't shoot. I just screamed and ran. The bridge was maybe three hundred yards of wet, open ground, and I'm pretty sure our whole group covered it in an eyeblink, bowling through the straggling knot of mob scouts and bolting for that log across the brown churning ditch. And god help us if it was rotten, or not long enough, or if one of us fell in...shit. Coke making me paranoid.

I found out later I'd been hit again, just some birdshot in the same goddamn thigh I'd been hit in earlier. What moron loads birdshot to kill somebody with? WIth the coke and adrenaline I didn't even notice until long afterwards.

I heard cursing behind me and spared a second to look; one of the girls had been grabbed by the hair by a shadowy shape. Cesare attended to it with his bat, a resounding chock! echoing off the back of the strip club. The shadow lost interest pretty quickly; he fell to the pavement with his legs jerking, and the girl-Kylie?-struggled to her feet again and rejoined the pack. The other mob, the one at the other corner of the strip club, was coming up fast, at least as far as I could tell from the flashlight beams.

Cristal surprised me then; she stopped and turned with the rifle smoothly in her shoulder and busted off several rounds. I'm not sure if any of them were hit but it slowed pursuit long enough for us to get to the log. Phebe and I rolled up first, staring at the sodden, not quite foot wide log that represented our only possible hope of salvation. I'll admit, gentle reader, that it had looked a lot wider from the roof. Shit.

Displaying at long last the chivalry and manly contempt for danger that Mackeys are known for, I looked to Phebe and said "You first, babe."

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Last Call, Last Stand - The Crystal Menage - SF in Babylon - REMC Guide


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PostPosted: Mon Jan 09, 2012 10:21 pm 
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This story has kept me hooked better then any drug ever has. i also enjoy how the girl is the firearms expert. And the way you convey the feeling of the drugs is very convincing.


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PostPosted: Fri Jan 13, 2012 5:52 am 
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I must admit, first i was not really interested in the anti-hero. But I did like the fantastic way you have defined the scenarios. But reading as Jon evolves with his new character made me very interested in this story. You have a great voice. I am enjoying the narration of Jon.

Thank you for your writing submissions. Hope we will have more from you! Good Luck!

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PostPosted: Sun Jan 15, 2012 3:05 am 
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The rain was picking up again and in the glimmery steel grey predawn I found myself watching Phebe toddle across that narrow ass log with my heart pulsing in my throat. It wasn't that much of a fall; the banks were about ten feet deep at most if memory served and the water was running just a foot or two below the edges...but it was moving fast-I couldn't even believe how fast that muddy brown water was gushing through that narrow creek. All that backed up drainage I guess-but it meant that anyone that fell in there was a lost cause.

I could see her sneakers stark white against the dark log; she twinkle toed across in a blur of coke celerity. It seemed like it took no time at all, but I could hear the shouts of the mob behind us and a shot rang out as if to remind me that we were under pursuit. Instinctively I crouched but there was no need. I could see maybe two or three dozen flashlight beams intersecting the parking lot, catching the dreary raindrops as they swarmed in an amoeba like mass. We had hit them hard and scattered them but I could see the whole damn thing clumping together again.

Over the course of the night the mob had become a monolithic entity to me, a sort of hundred footed snaggle toothed mash up of all the worst in humanity. You know, like zombies. Maybe it was just a bit of cheap chicanery I was using to suppress the knowledge that I had probably killed eight or ten motherfuckers tonight. Anyway, that meant that the next few shots surprised me-they weren't directed at us. Even as I watched there were angry shouts, shoving, and then shots fired. I saw one short, long haired figure crumple in the flashlight beams, and then the squirming amoeba began devouring itself.

Cesare cursed behind me and I turned around in a whirl, finger tightening on the grip of the shotty. One of the girls-Adrianna I think-was hanging horizontally across the log, blocking traffic. Two of them were across along with phebe, leaving Cristal, Cesare and four other girls with me on this side. I smacked the back of his wet jacket and said "Keep going! Step over her!" and started looking around for a stick. Her eyes in the near darkness were stark white and terrified, and she was kicking her feet in the torrent of ditchwater that threatened to drag her off the leg. Even as I watched her fingers slipped a couple of inches, fingers spreading out further like pale spiders with manicured feet.

"Shit," I said to myself. More shots were going off behind me and there was no way this stroke of Providence was going to last. One of the girls gingerly stepped over Adrianna and scurried across, holding the hand of another. I found a long stick and looked at it stupidly for a moment, wondering why I had even looked for it. Looking over the creek where Phebe was covering our six with her shotgun, I shouted "Got any rope!"

She immediately nodded, god bless that blue eyed wonder woman. She started taking off her bracelet, which I hadn't noticed before, and unwound it into a narrow cord. She didn't toss it to me, just started inching closer to try and get a line around Adrianna's wrist. That left me free to turn and watch the mob again.

More gunfire was going off and I saw a few more bodies on the ground. What the hell had happened? Most of them were fleeing in the opposite direction now, spreading apart, breaking up, but there was still a bitter nucleus of swirling violence. I would never know what caused that little outburst-maybe something as simple as arguing over loot. I want to say an act of God, but seriously, God-you couln't have that happen like twenty minutes sooner? I finger banged my shotgun's trigger guard a bit, remained crouching, and observed while I listened to Cesare hustle the last girl across the log. It bore watching but there was no longer as much of a rush to get across the....

Then another shot rang out, and Chaos Theory made his opinion known. There was something wet on my chest, and I drew a deep breath that for some reason hurt like stabbing screwdrivers in my lungs, even through the coke buzz. For some reason I was dizzy; I think I must have sat down with a strange warmth next to my skin. Fresh cold water ran into the tops of my shoes. Phebe was shouting but I couldn't hear it over that damned bell that was tolling somewhere very nearby and sounded oddly like a heartbeat.

Aw, shit.

Last Call, indeed.

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Last Call, Last Stand - The Crystal Menage - SF in Babylon - REMC Guide


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PostPosted: Sun Jan 15, 2012 10:51 am 
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WHAT?! He better not be dead! I am truly enjoying this story!

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PostPosted: Mon Jan 16, 2012 1:22 am 
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Panic flooded into my system hard and fast on a firey Benzodiazepine wave that countered the growing cold shocks that were spreading from where I'd been hit. It was right in the fuckin' chest man, I could look down and see the epicenter of the wound by watching the spread of darkness on the front of my hoodie. Aw, Jesus, more gunshots were going off too. I took a breath, flinched hard, and lifted my shotgun for no apparent reason while vague shapes swirled around in front of me. Each breath raked my guts with agony; I started expanding my stomach instead of my chest and that felt a little better.

"...him on his fucking feet!" came a frantic female voice near me. Something was under my arms and more knifing pain split through my conciousness. I think I heard some little pussy bitch screaming in pain when that happened but it was quite far away.

My vision sharpened a little bit and I could see the mob. Apparently they had finished their little cannibal feast or whatever the fuck they were doing; they were moving and shooting towards us. I could hear return fire coming from across the creek, both the high crack of rifle rounds and the dull roar of a shotgun blast. I thought about shooting too but I couldn't really figure out what to shoot at. The coke high was wearing thin although the bennies were still a-hoppin' and a jumpin' and I really wanted someone to get a fuckin' atavan in me but I couldn't get the words out. Someone was dragging me backwards with their hands under my arms; looking down at the hands clasped around my gut (hairy and with a gaudy platinum wedding ring) it was clearly Cesare. Great. I always said I'd like to die with my head nestled between a pair of tits, but Mexican dude's bitch tits were not what I had in mine. Mackey Sr. always used to say that God pisses down the back of your neck every day, but only drowns you once. I can think of many better places to drown.

We were on the log now; I could tell by the way Cesare was swaying. The flashlights were scattered across the parking lot, victims of concentrated fire and internal conflict lying in heaps around the parking lot. What the fuck is wrong with these people? They could be at home waiting for FEMA and here they are on a mission to rape strippers with more dedication than any of them ever showed their fucking jobs. Then again, why was I casting stones? Oh, wait, because one of them had just shot me. Fuckers.

I shrugged off Cesare and found myself standing on the log, with brown water surging below me. The light was much better now; I could see how fast the water was going and realized that if I fell in I was one dead Mackey. Immediately I was sagging, maybe with fear or exhaustion, and every breath was still spiking right into my chest like a heart attack. Very carefully, I turned around, and saw the whole gaggle of them standing on the other side. I was just a couple of steps away but it looked a lot longer than that at the time; I had to show caution.

Then I heard a round hit the log behind me and revised my opinion; I just jumped. And tumbled into the mass of my companions, coughed once into the mud, and passed out. My last coherent thought for awhile was of my old man's laughter. God damnit.

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Last Call, Last Stand - The Crystal Menage - SF in Babylon - REMC Guide


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PostPosted: Sat Jan 28, 2012 3:53 am 
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Chapter 9 - Glazed and Confused

I was just your friendly neighborhood pill guy when I met Rachel. I was living in the Meadows in a piss poor housing project, working part time slinging donuts and networking with jaded high school kids over the counter. A high school kid with a sick grandma is the go-to for a pill guy; anyone with a dime bag and a driver's license is like a god to these little bastards, and a teenager will steel his grandma's pills in a heartbeat for a sliver of acceptance from a cool donut shop rebel.

The script plays out just like telemarketing. First thing to do is use a slang term for weed that you just made up. Follow it up with the pinched thumb and forefinger at the lips with the sucking noise so they actually get it. Offer to burn a bowl with them and watch their little rebel eyes get all wide and amazed. Smoke some ditch weed in their car and watch them cough and splutter and try to pretend like they are old stoner veteranos, they just haven't smoked in awhile because of their stupid mom watching their underwear drawer. Accept their lies with a smile and a nod and another toke, maybe some free donuts, and send them on their way. Instantly you are the coolest older person they have ever met. Within a couple weeks, they'll steal their grandma's Atavan right out of her medicine cabinet, the godless little scum.

They aren't addicted to the reefer, Mr and Mrs. Parent of the Year-but they'd suck a dick for some acceptance.

Don't laugh; I still make it work for me, albeit with some variations. I never stopped hating the way kids these days smoke weed, though.

Anyway, Rachel was a junior with a smoking body and dark, haunted, sinful eyes. She had a labret piercing and a sob story and an apple shaped ass that stopped just short of a full on badonkadonk-just a badonk, as it were. I got her high in the back of my Geo Storm and had both her sob story and her Hello Kitty panties in my pocket before the morning shift guy came to relieve me. She was a middle class white girl out of place at Rat Fuck Ghetto high school and hating it, and perhaps more importantly her mom found it easier to diagnose her with ADD than actually treat her hysteria and so she was always rolling around with a full script of 30mg addies. It was love at first cumshot. I still remember standing outside that goddamn donut shop with her, bumming her cigarette after cigarette and listening to her sob and giggle by turns, her soulful dark eyes shot through with red veins after we smoked out the car.

"Jon, do you believe in destiny?" she asked me, that first night.

"Sure do, Mallory," I said, imitating Woody Harrelson's Micky Knox.

"Um..yeah, I'm Rachel," she replied, not getting it. God damnit. She wasn't even pissed; by then she was well used to guys that had just shot their DNA inside her not knowing her name. "I mean, is it astrology? Stars, you know? Or just a thing? Just a thing written in a book?" The flat hard streetlights baptized her in their soulless glow, pressed against the smeared window of the donut shop in a short skirt and my heavy jacket.

I dragged off my own cigarette, listening to the baker rattling the dishes in the back. The sounds of the city-that faint, deep hum that never shuts off...I wasn't used to it by then. Living in the sticks, you get used to your own circadian pulses as the backdrop to your life, because so often you are surrounded by near silence. In the city it was different-it imposed it's own rhythmn on you, it made you beat to the pulse of the streets without mercy. You danced to the fiddler's tune, or you looked awkward and out of place-I know that now. But then I was still rather lost and missing the silence.

Finally I told her "I believe in a lot of cliches. Why do you ask?"

Ashes from her cigarette whipped around her feet in the winter wind; her smooth white knees were knocking together when the winds reached up her short skirts. "I don't know, I just feel like...a deep connection...to you, to everything."

Sidling closer to her, enveloping her fragile warmth with my own, I looked down at the bright eyed little teen and smiled. "I feel the same thing," I lied. "I mean, I get a lot of teenagers high in my car...but you're the first I've ever talked to like this."

Something inside me jerked with a jolt, something hard and wet and cold. My interior film reel was being yanked back, peeled away. Something was wrong with this scene.

On the screen, Rachel said "You're amazing, Jon. Like seriously, the most amazing person I'd ever met. You just...get me."

The glow from the streetlights was taking on an unreal, ghastly quality. They made her look even skinnier, almost skeletal. They were too bright and harsh for me to look at; they blocked the dizzying starscape of the city lights around us. I found myself wanting to look away, but I couldn't-all of this had already happened. There was a faint scraping sound that was oddly out of place, but I talked on like I didn't notice it. "Let's go inside, Rachel," I said, and saw myself in the glass when I turned around.

I saw her too. Smoke was whisping from the holes in the front of her skull, and someone was shaking my shoulder hard. "Oh, Jon," she said, snuggling into me while my own nylon jacket hissed around her bony shoulders. "Jon. Jon. Jon. Jon." That wasn't right either. The light changed; I could hear the loose end of the film reel flapping like a soggy flag. Something else wet and cold surged inside me, and I had a moment of self hatred that tasted strangely like self awareness.

With some effort I managed to turn my head. I was laying on a grimy yellow tarp and being dragged across a damp floor. Something was stuck over my chest, something sticky that fluttered when I breathed. There was a distant but growing pain right next to my heart, especially when the tarp crawled over a bump in the concrete. And the worst part was the growing knowledge that I deserved far worse.

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PostPosted: Sat Jan 28, 2012 1:30 pm 
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NICE addition, BTT, great writing.

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Looks like the developing seed of a concience...which, for a guy like Mackey, is going to be a stone bitch to get used to.

I look forward to LCLS updates about as much as those of MJOTZY. Keep 'em coming!

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My hands were moving on my own, even as I started coming to-if you'd care to call it that. I felt around in my pocket with my right hand, found my lighter by touch, got my cigarette pack out of my left pocket and lit the whole thing in the dark. God, what a lame superpower this was-and the first draw hurt, hurt bad enough that I started coughing. Instantly a (warm, lovely, manicured) feminine hand clapped down over my mouth in the dark, and I hissed saliva and smoke around it while my cigarette cherry reflected nothing in the vast void.

There was something taped to my chest and the end was fluttering every time I breathed; that was more or less the epicenter of my pain. Breathing was getting harder; I felt like, I dunno, heavily congested or something and each time I drew a breath, a turgid spike of hot pain dug deeper into my chest. The cig tumbled from my fingers and hissed out against the floor. Belatedly I realized I was lying in an inch of cold water; my back and ass were numb but I could feel splashes as feet shuffled around me. The hand was gone from my mouth now and someone else was moving around nearby.

In the near darkness I could only make out a vauge shadow over my head, one with long hair up in a ponytail that bobbed like a snake's tongue. There was an indistinct rustle of voices overhead somewhere very far away. The benzos were still amping me up to level 9 even though I couldn't move; paranoid terrors flashed by like a 70's grindhouse trailer in my head. Meat hooks don't let it be meat hooks oh god and not castration either is it too late to change my preference from castration to meat hooks oh and not the face i thought, and let the cigarette hiss out in the water around me.

"What is he babbling about?" Cristal. Her voice was coming directly behind me. I could smell rainwater, blood, and , oddly enough, a familiar dull doughy smell that hung heavy and low and was, despite its familiarity, tinged with strange rotten overtone.

"I think he's afraid we're going to cut his dick off," said Phebe, from right next to me. Shit, was I speaking aloud? "Jon, honey, chill out, okay? Take shallow breaths." Her voice was low and cautious.

She was my muse, my north star, my rock in a troubled sea...not to mention my only hope of salvation. I listened to her and breathed carefully, listening to the little dog ear flap of duct tape fluttering on my chest with each breath. With some effort, I scrunched up to look around, accomplishing nothing but another jab of sharp pain in my chest. "Don't move," she said, putting a (warm manicured lovely trembling hand on my forehead. "You took one on in the lungs, Jon. It might be pretty bad."

"Do you..." I started, then lowered my voice. The entire building, wherever it was, had a seplucheral atmosphere. "Do you have a flashlight?"

"Maybe, but do you really want to see it?" she said, and I caught a flash of her white teeth and blue eyes as a flashlight beam intersected the window and spilled a bit of quivering gelid light inside. God, did I still have a boner? I was numb from the waist down and any reserve blood was surely concentrated in my torso by now. Still, I had no real way to check short of cupping my groin. I wonder...

"They're back," came a new voice, low and hard. I assumed it was one of the strippers at the time.

"Persistent," said Phebe grimly. "Everybody down." There was a rustle of clothing and a few splashes, maybe a feminine curse. More flashlight beams pressed hard against the dirty windows, creating an ethereal, Fantasia like effect. For the first time I saw where we were.

Not Circle City donuts, thank god. That would have been all the way across town. But another donut shop-it had to be. Only a donut shop has the kind of long, low glass counters, deathtrap red barstool and god awful 1983 style plastic veneer booths that I was seeing in the haze of flashlight beams. A shot went off otuside, and I flinched-painfully. Phebe was down beside me; I could feel her warmth seeping through the shock and hypothermia down to the bloody, resin blackened core of my being.

I really wanted a cigarette. And I had to pee.

Another shot went off outside and the beams all flickered away from the windows. After a few tense moments, there was that by now distinctive mob shuffle as the zombies (I guess I shouldn't think of them as zombies, that isn't fair, I have never heard of zombie gang rape) wandered away from the donut shop facade. Our little pack sheepishly regrouped around my position on the floor; I could see a scattering of pale moons clustered in a circle above me.

"Where are we?" I rasped, too loud, and felt myself flinch. That hurt too.

"Friar's Bakehouse, on the other side of the square," said Cristal. I was astonished at how confident she sounded. I could tell it was her; her trailer park contralto voice was distinctive and I could see the vague shadow of her rifle's front sight poking over her shoulder. Its a lot harder to disregard a skinny little meth head stripper when she's packing an AK-47, I must say. More faces shuffled around me.

"We need to get him to the hospital," said Phebe. Her sneakers were right by my face.

"Fuck him," came another voice, one that made my guts twist into a pretzel and try to escape via my pecker. Aw, no, fuck not now... "I say we leave his ass to rot." I could hear everyone turning then, turning towards a seat at the far end of the room where a skinny but delightfully stacked shadow was standing.

"Rach-" and then I was coughing too hard to say anything for a few moments. I blacked out maybe a little during that time, because by the time I looked again the crushing light of god was blazing full fury in my face. As the pain died down to a dull riot in my chest and the cough-whine faded from my ears, I heard a flashlight click off.

"It is you, isn't it, Jon? Of course you fucking made it." I could hear the voice, THAT voice, the one she uses when her mouth is all popeye twisted in disgust. Generally seen right after John Mackey fucks up.

Y'know. Like now.

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PostPosted: Mon Feb 13, 2012 2:19 am 
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This is an awesome gritty, true to life kind of story. At first it disgusts you but like a car wreck you cant look away. So you keep reading and get wrapped up in this characters moral compass and how he is changing because of the change around him. I love it!


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I knew that voice well, had learned it well over the years together.

Build your house upon the sand and all that...what does the Bible have to say about building a relationship off of a hot, stoned fuck in the back of a Geo Storm outside a donut shop? I don't know how she got me to stick around. She had very few qualities I really liked, a common problem when your list of desirable characteristics includes the term "Daddy Issues." But somehow she kept showing up and fucking me, even when I didn't get her high or front her a few pills, and before I knew it the bitch was living in my apartment and screaming at me if I fingered one of her volleyball team mates and I had to slap the shit out of her before I got a noise complaint.

Sometimes I think a curse was laid on the Mackey's of old; a Mackey always knows exactly where he is but never how he got there or where the fuck he is going.

Still, now that I was face to face with the object of my idiotic little grail quest, I had no idea what to say to her. "Hey, sorry I got you hooked on coke and slapped you around a lot and talked down to you every day of our lives together, hey, meet my new love interest, she's a fuckin' peach." Oh, shit. Phebe....

Yeah, they were talking. Flashlight beams were clicking on in the building, probably not the wisest idea, and the girls were shuffling around inspecting the exits, and I could see Phebe and Rachel talking with their heads bent together. I found it unlikely that they were discussing what a great guy I was. And there was still something stuck on my chest and fluttering over the wound when I breathed. Cristal was sitting next to me with that AK over her knees, smoking one of my cigarettes.

With some difficulty, I sat up out of the water. My chest hole made a weird little wheezing farting noise as I grunted with exertion. New ripples of pain rocked the still waters of my mostly coke-and-cold numbed torso, like tiny thumps outside a soundproof window very far away. With a new surge of strength I struggled to my feet and got a hand on my pistol. Cristal looked up at me, surprised, and flashed her teeth in a smile. "He lives!" Too glibly, and her smile too wide-she was terrified still. Not that I blamed her.

I glanced over to Phebe and Rachel again, both squeezed into a corner booth, and sighed weakly through both my mouth and chest holes. "Not for long," I muttered.

I hadn't been talking to her, not really, but Cristal answered me anyway. "What? Ooooh..oh. Drama." She was making a face when I turned to look at her again, and shifted her rifle with a faint metallic rattle. "Jon, honey, forgive me if I seem unsympathetic..."

"No, I can't...I can't really blame you for that," I rasped, too harshly-my voice was turning into some scrabbly terrifying batman shit. I took a sip from one of the water bottles left in my bag. I only had three 12oz bottles remaining, not that I expected to live long enough to drink it.

"That isn't what I meant, Jon," Cristal piped up. "Do you like this girl? Like really like her, or just want a cheap place to pop your nut?"

"I...don't know if I can talk about this with you, Cristal," I said quickly, and looked away. "Hey, do we have any more flashlights?"

Cristal was having none of it. "I understand that I'm just a cheap nut, Jon-just like you're a free pill hookup with a pussy shaped keyhole." That made us both laugh, and that in turn made everyone look at us. She continued in a lower voice, for my ears only. "Rachel's bitter about you, Jon. The guy who promsied to take her in neglected to mention his wife. You put her out on the goddamn street for all intents and purposes-they were talking about it in the dressing room tonight."

"So the longer we talk, the more fucked I am," I said, a morose tone creeping into my voice. "I mean, more fucked than having a hole in my chest and an angry mob out there hunting me." I was astonished at how numb I felt.

"You do care about this girl," breathed Cristal, in a tone of pure wonder.

I have to say, man, it hit me pretty hard that she sounded that surprised. "Jeezus, Cristal, do you have to sound so incredulous?" She chuckled at that, and somehow I was chuckling as well, followed by a deep, calming breath. "I'm sorry; really I deserved that, didn't I?"

"Oh, Jon, honey," she said, and put a warm hand on my shoulder that I couldn't really feel. I was rummaging through my bag for my bennies-four left. "I mean, I'm not saying we had a pool going or anything...but listen. You don't want a still bitter Rachel dominating the dialogue. Go over there and say something."

I thought about it for a moment, listening to my chest compress wheeze. "Damn, Cristal, when the fuck did you get so smart?" I wanted another cigarette really bad, but was afraid of what it would do to my lungs.

"Coke instead of crystal. Keeps my brain clear." She flashed her teeth again. "Thanks, by the way."

"I...actually that makes a lot of sense," I replied. I held out my open bag towards her. "You want a benzo?"

"I already got one from your bag. Get going, Romeo-I can't wait to see this."

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thanks for the new chapter


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The light had to be better but I wasn't seeing so well. As I walked, I could feel shit moving around in my chest; each breath was a rasping half-choked curse. Phebe was sitting at a corner booth with Rachel, a pair of bloody latex gloves curled up like drying slugs on the floor next to Phebe's boot. Their heads were down, slumped low in the booth to avoid the window. There were no telltale flashlights now to alert us to the presence of the mob; the light outside was good and bright. I walked over to the table and immediately Phebe grabbed my wrist and I thought Oh shit here it comes.

"Get down, Jon! You're printing against the window!" she half snarled. Her eyes were almost grey in this light; it reduced their arresting power some and I felt less like a fat quail locking eyes with a snake when she looked at me. I dropped to my knees anyway and then coughed up a fat black chunk of something. "God damnit, Jon, you shouldn't be moving."

And Rachel just stared at me. She just stared at me like she was seeing something entirely new, something she was enjoying. There is an emotion we all recognize but have not named; the joyous anticipation of knowing your revenge is near, that you have power over something you hate. Watching it play over her face, twisting her lips into a ghoulish rictus of a grin, hurt more than the fucking hole in my chest. With some effort, I stopped coughing and sucked air desperately. The bandage under my shirt fluttered harder and I felt something warm run down my chest along with another bright, hot shred of pain that rippled through my soggy carcass.

Fuck my life. Are you still allowed to say that if you deserve it?

"Shallow breaths," Phebe was saying, with a shivering arm around me. A shot went off in the distance and everyone startled like a hutch rabbit, instinctively freezing in place for a moment. In a lower voice, she said "You have to breathe shallowly. I got the slug out of your lungs-" she held up a dark object between her fingers that I couldn't really see- "-but you still have a pretty good little hole. No exit wound thank god." She snorted. "380." I had no idea what she meant. "You'll be fine if we get you to a hospital pretty soon."

I started to reply, didn't know what to say, and just rasped at her for a minute, enjoying the close contact. One of the girls peeked out the window and said "They're leaving. Dispersing. I don't think any of them are coming this way." She stayed up looking out the windows and shivering, both arms hugging a faux bearskin rug around her skinny frame.

"Then we should go," said Rachel, suddenly and with an unusual determination. Her eyes found mine for a moment, deep, haunted little girl eyes with a hard, maybe crazy film over them. "Come on, Phebe," she said, grabbing the blue eyed girl by the shoulder. "I'll help you with Jon." I looked up into her nutra sweet grin and struggled to hold on to my colon.

You know what its like when you are with a girl for awhile, right? You get that sort of half assed telepathy that only works when you are sharing a secret or happen to be really pissed off at each other? It might have been the bennies or the coke or all these years of acid and shrooms and shit, but I could hear her clear as day right then. She was looking me in the eye and saying "I'm going to enjoy fucking this up for you, Mackey. And the hell of it was, I could tell she wasn't lying.

Five minutes later our soggy little troupe headed out into the dawn while our breath fogged in the frigid air. The flooded city was draped in a burial shroud of ice now. Indiana, man. You don't like the weather, wait a day. My friends from California all think that is some kind of anecdote about the stoicism of the Hoosier mind, but no, it can go from 60 to 20 in 24 hours. The girls were walking very carefully; even the most experienced ice trekker probably can't go to fast after a long period of dysentery and adrenaline. Phebe and Rachel didn't go too fast either; they had me propped up between them and let me tell you, there was precious little hope for a threeway for our dashing hero...though I did still have some X in my pocket.

I really wanted to make a joke about Dr Zhigavo. I wasn't sure anyone would get it.

Cesare was ranging farther ahead, baseball bat in hand, and looking down the streets we were passing. For a place that had been the center of riot activity a few hours ago, it was fucking deserted now. A helicopter droned overhead, blazing a white-hot spotlight on us for a moment that made everyone hold up their hands and squint against the glare, but it fluttered on quickly after seeing us, becoming a vague spec in the cold ash colored skyline.

Let me tell you, walking the city now was fucking apocalyptic. The pain was coming through the pills hotter and stronger than ever and I was already numb with cold again everywhere but the red hot furrow up my centerline. The seweres were overloaded; there were big, twisted ice sculptures now where the gushing water had finally frozen, and the traffic lights swung dark in the snarling wind. Once in awhile you'd catch a furtive movement in one of the buildings or hear a shot or a scream in the distance. The sun was fully up but that ice didn't sparkle; it was a joyless, soul sucking thing that had the city in a frigid tentacle.

Rachel was just struggling along. I think she wanted to say something but it was killing her, carrying my carcass to do it. I could tell that the exertion was making it tough for her to say what she wanted to, but I kept leaning on her anyway, even leaning more on her side both because it was my uninjured side and, let's be perfectly frank here, I didn't want her talking. I wasn't even sure where we were going, the hospital or back to my place; I had somehow missed that part of the plan. Somehow, we just trudged on anyway, taking direction from Cesare but listening to Phebe when it counted. But the thing that united us, the thing that we could all agree on despite any existing tension, is that we really didn't want to die out here.

Here's hoping that counts for something.

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Or maybe it counts for nothing, but I wasn't going down without a fight and another shot of cola. Despite the frigid air my mouth and throat were dry and full of hot gravel and the two girls dragging me along both chuffed their exhaustion like steam engines through their gritted teeth. Once Cristal stumbled ahead, nearly dropping her rifle. We wound through the city streets, a sorry pack of last call losers trying to find our way in a city that had lost it's goddamn mind.

Suddenly I heard Rachel's silk voice in my ear, the one she uses when she wants something. "Afraid yet Mackey?" Both Phebe and I looked at her, and I fancied I could hear my stomach dragging behind us where it had obviously dropped out somewhere a few steps ago.

My lips moved; my mouth actually opened to say "What are you talking about, bitch? or maybe to look at Phebe and go "Bitch is crazy, don't listen to her, we never should have come here." But somehow the easy lies kept getting harder, somehow the smooth path seemed less safe. Maybe it was the coke or the bennies or the impending death talking, but what I did say surprised me.

"Yeah," I said instead, and stopped to do a double take at my own dialogue. "Yeah, Rachel, I'm pretty fuckin' terrified."

"Well you b...uh..I mean..." God bless the girl, but sometimes I think the Daffy Duck School of Arguing would work on her if I tried hard enough. Her balance was thrown and it wasn't helping that she was on the ragged edge of exhaustion.

I tried the tried and true Mackey diplomacy-I offered her a benzo, one of my last. It took some fumbling in my bag with numb fingers, but once she palmed that little pink pill her mood improved a little and she seemed content to drag my carcass along. Not that I wanted her spewing stimulant babble, but damn it, I had come all this way to save her; to deny her drugs now seemed like the harshest of cruelties.

"Where are we going?" she finally said, her eyes flickering towards mine. Ahead, the group had stopped to rest in the shadow of a rail overpass. Cesare, with a strange, distant look in his eyes, was keeping watch down the street, which was some kind of secondary access deal to a little cluster of franchise dry cleaners. Phebe looked up at the graffiti, chipped away some ice with the butt of her glock, and frowned at it in the .

"Away from here," she answered Rachel grimly. "Somehow we've wandered into gang territory." She rounded on Cesare; indeed, everyone did. He frowned hard and looked at the five pointed crown, then his face hardened.

"LK's," he said. "Tres-Seventeen set. Shit. Yeah we're going the wrong way." He looked up at the sky like some goddamn Baden-Powell ranger and I resisted the urge to slap him. The hole in my chest was leaking again; I felt warm threads against my damp and chilly flesh, though I was nicely buffered by feminine warmth on one side.

One of the girls was throwing in the culvert, a sour briny smell rising up where the contents of her stomach steamed on the ice. I made a face, turned away, and winced at a sharp stab of pain. Cesare and Phebe were both hunched over her little road map with her headlamp glimmering red against it; I could see their silhouettes moving behind the map while they argued. Apparently we were way lost; the Tres-Seventeens set of the Latin Kings didn't knock around where I thought we were. Then again, i hadn't really been paying attention.

Instead I just leaned against Rachel and waited for the bomb to drop. I didn't have much choice; every breath was a painful wheeze. "If we're knocking around 89th street," i mused aloud, "we aren't too far from Top Glaze."

I could feel the knives of her gaze rake across my neck; in her head she was slitting my throat. But what she said was "Yeah, how romantic, the place where you got me high and fucked me in the back of your shitty little Geo Storm." That was a cheap shot; I loved that car. Gramma Mackey had bought it for me with her last social security check.

The twinge in my side was either guilt or my lung collapsing. "Look, Rachel, is a cheap apology going to make this go easier? Or should I put on a sackcloth and smear myself with ashes?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" She didn't get the reference of course. "You fucking ditched me, you cocksucker." Typical-she wasn't even pissed about the coke and the slapping, no, she just couldn't handle the rejection.

"Yeah, because we were so great together that you had to ditch me for the first..." I stopped, took a deep breath, and coughed up some regret in the form of a small, tarry mass. Christ I've gotta quit smoknig. "Look, Rachel, what I did...how we were...it was wrong and I get why you're pissed..."

"Oh, is it time for some more rough homespun Mackey wisdom?" she hissed at me, her hot breath on my neck like dripping venom. "Fuck you. You don't have a fucking clue why I'm pissed."

Her voice was getting louder and now everyone was looking at us. "Rachel, keep it to a dull roar, please. We aren't exactly safe here." As it to reinforce my point, another helicopter buzzed low overhead. Over the PA we heard a crackling whine telling us to return to our homes and curfew would be lifted at 10am repeating over and over.

"Safe? FUCKING SAFE?" she screamed, and shoved me away. I ended up on my butt in the ice with a fresh spike of agony blitzing through my chest. "You don't know shit about safe, Mackey. I know that for a fact. I'm fucking pregnant!"

"Rachel, this is fucking enemy territory and we're trying to keep a low..." The fragile balance of my psyche slipped a notch. "Wait, what?"

"I'm pregnant, Jon. About two months along." She was sobbing now and she turned away quickly, her small shoulders shaking under her soggy jacket. The fog was rolling back a bit, and I could see shadows in the distance behind her, humanoid shadows that were moving carefully along the concrete wall of the overpass.

Phebe, more astute than me and with a glock in hand, surprised everyone by screaming "CONTACT" and my universe finished going to shit. In the stuttering roar of small arms that suddenly ensued, all I could think was 'I am not even a little bit ready for fatherhood.' Someone was dragging me across the ice-Cristal. I could tell by the sound of her AK firing over my head, the crack of the round slowly bringing me to something resembling reality. My shotgun was in my hands but I wasn't sure who to shoot at. Rachel covered her ears, her mouth open in some kind of scream or curse, probably cursing the very name of Mackey. Not that I blamed her.

While muzzle flashes decorated the misty morning, we executed what was rapidly becoming plan A-run like hell under fire. My bandage fluttered under my chest while I pumped my legs, sure I was going to die and trying to decide if I preferred it to fatherhood or not. Phebe dropped a mag to the pavement and slammed in another one, pounding out .45 slugs towards the shadows that were emerging from the mist. I didn't bother looking back, just followed Cesare down a side street and running with a gaggle of coked out strippers towards...well, I didn't know what the fuck we were running towards. But I knew what we were running away from.

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PostPosted: Tue Feb 21, 2012 10:31 am 
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Another good one! Pregnant and still taking drugs? What's next, will she tell Mack she's HIV positive also?

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Somehow it jiggered that Rachel was right beside me. Running was a constant stream of sharp shrieking pains, but given the alternative-an evening with the Latin Kings-I ran anyway. The pills kept the pain dulled enough that I could do it, but I was acutely aware that I wouldn't be able to keep it up for long. My eyes flitted back and forth across the mostly empty street ahead, looking for a place to hide.

Rounds were zipping overhead and Rachel still found the time to reproach me with her eyes. She was running next to me and she looked as tired as I felt. I followed Cesare, ducked around the edge of an overpass, but I balked when he started chuffing up a narrow footpath to the top of an overpass. There was no way I was going to make that climb, and I wasn't sure where I was. I stopped, sat down hard in the mud, and looked at the girls.

Phebe caught up, shivering and shoving another mag in her glock. "Everybody make it?" The rest of the girls, Rachel included, started filing up the hill.

"As far as I can tell," I panted, leaning against the cold concrete to die.

"They're coming around the corner-get up, Jon."

"I'm not going to be able to climb this hill," I rasped. It was oddly calming to have her eyes in front of me. They were still greyish in this light, reflecting the endless cloudscape I was about to die under. "Too steep-too slippery. Can't breathe very good." I held up the shotgun, watched the twin bead sights tremble in the light. "Go on. Get them out of here. Rachel especially. I...she...she's pregnant."

Even here, even now, Phebe did a comic double take. "Pregnant?" The full import of her words sunk in. "Oh, Jesus, Jon." She reached down for me, grabbed me under the arm. I wailed in protest but she didn't listen.

With an audible grunt she lifted me to my feet. My ears were still ringing a bit from the gunfire but I could see long shadows, maybe four, maybe a dozen, emerging from under the overpass. She was hissing in my ear as she started dragging me up the stairs. "Oh no. You don't get to run out on us now, you bastard. You've got a KID, Jon," she explained, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Of course I did. Then again, so did Mackey Sr and that didn't stop him from running out to die in a trailer fire. But my feet moved anyway, churning in the slick mud. There were more shots as we reached the top, close enough that I got mud splattered on my pants where the rounds were impacting in the dirt behind us. We got to the top and Phebe turned quickly at the top of the hill to fire back. I instinctively flinched from the hot brass as I met with the panting group at the top, most of whom were crouching on the tracks. My ears were ringing too bad for me to hear what Cesare was saying and Cristal was frowning at what looked like an empty AK clip...err, magazine.

Phebe joined me in a moment, her warm hand on my shoulder numbing me to all other sensations like agony and pants shitting dread. "I drove them back but they're returning," she said in a tight voice. I looked over at her; there were streaks on her cheeks. "God, I'm so sick of this," she said, looking at her own firearm with a deep and passionate loathing that shocked me.

I wanted to comfort her but couldn't lift my arm. Cesare spoke up again. "They're coming back." One of the other dancers sobbed, or maybe that was me. There was no way I could run again. I thumbed the hammer back on my shotgun and prepared for Valhalla. So long, Mackey, it was a hell of a good run, and at least you never have to change a diaper.

Ironically, we were saved then by the last thing Jon Mackey would have expected-timely and useful government intervention. The helicopter buzzed by again, baptising our attackers in the halo of a white spotlight. It was the first time I'd really seen them as more than shapes in the fog. I was surprised at how small and terrified they were in that light, brown shadows with terrified white eyes and smouldering automatics. I can't say I felt any pity, but it was weird how inhuman we can make people we don't see very well, is it?

Of course Phebe was the first to come up with a plan. As the helicopter droned on down the street after the fleeing Kings, she lifted her chin, holstered her pistol, and said "Come on. Mercy hospital should be pretty close." She held out a hand-but to Rachel instead of me this time, helping the exhausted pregnant bitch from hell to her feet in a surprisingly tender gesture. The two of them whispered something to one another that I would give my left nut to have heard, and then carefully got me on my feet again too. My knees wobbled, but I could walk.

The threat was dispersed but not nullified; our coke was laced with fear now. I distributed the last of it, using a bit as a local to numb my wounds. The wound on my chest was the one that was still bleeding but the leg wound was hot to the touch; I wasn't wild about that, let me tell you. Anyone who does needles is someone who knows about infections; I'm not, but I know those that do. I did a good business in keflex and penicillin for needlers. The hot, raw flesh where a round had grooved my leg earlier was not a good sign, and if I focused through the coke I could still feel a bit of a throb there. I was walking behind Phebe and in front of Rachel, shotgun in hand, coke bright eyes alert, hardon finally gone for good, and I reflected then that maybe life is easier when our demons don't have human faces.

Frankly, dear reader, I would have preferred a nice clean zombie apocalypse.

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From The Codex Kalachnikova: "He who would have you surrender your arms does so because he wishes to do something you could prevent by their usage."
Last Call, Last Stand - The Crystal Menage - SF in Babylon - REMC Guide


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PostPosted: Fri Feb 24, 2012 5:20 am 
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Keep it coming!


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PostPosted: Fri Feb 24, 2012 5:24 am 
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Hi folks! Thanks for sticking around this long.

We are coming to the end of our little morality play here, after, y'know, several years.

The final chapter, chapter 10, plus an epilogue, will be posted as fast as I can possibly drum it together in the next couple weeks so I can clear my schedule for a couple of other writing projects.

As I am a good forum citizen, I'm going to keep my self promotional whoring to this thread alone, but remember you can always check out previews for Codex Kalachnikova, as well as my delusional musing on a variety of other subjects, on my blog. http://scumfuckinbabylon.blogspot.com is the blog itself and the preview is here if you wanna check it out.

I have two projects that I am mulling over posting on ZS after this, one an actual zombie story and the other a sort of detective story. Once I finish LCLS I will probably put a short preview of both and a poll to determine which one should go here.

Thanks again for reading, guys.

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From The Codex Kalachnikova: "He who would have you surrender your arms does so because he wishes to do something you could prevent by their usage."
Last Call, Last Stand - The Crystal Menage - SF in Babylon - REMC Guide


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