SHORT STORY: DRIFTWOOD

Small waves lapped at the floating piece of driftwood and the rhythmic motion almost rocked the sleeping man off of it. As it was, he awoke just in time to catch himself and resettled his body back into place. The sun glared down on his face, skin raw and peeling from exposure and his lips looked like nothing more than thin sheets of tissue paper clinging to his face. His eyes, milky white, stared up to the sun without blinking.

The last few days had not gone according to plan, he decided, and he turned over onto his side. The driftwood was wide and accommodated a lot more movement than he had originally thought possible when he came across it. But even then, with all the swimming he had to do to get to the piece of driftwood he didn't feel like moving much once he'd climbed aboard.

He stared, unseeing, as the waves lapped at the wood, the blue-green water splashing his face and stinging in his wounds. He could still remember what it was suppose to look like and in his minds eye he pictured the ocean spreading out before him.

So beautiful, he thought, I should let myself down into it, the cool water would feel good.

He began to move but stopped short. He couldn't do it. He knew if he went into the water he'd lose the driftwood. He'd drown.

Would that be so bad?

He sat up and dipped his feet in the water, relishing the cool relief. The burns on his body were only in part from the sun. The rest were from the fire.

The fire.

Things were going so well until the fire. By all rights it shouldn't have started. Everything was designed so that there would be no fire. Of course, the Titanic had been designed to not sink and everyone knew how well that worked out for everyone.

I deserve to drown, he thought and inched closer to the edge. No one was supposed to get hurt, no one was supposed to die Now he was the only one alive and it was all his fault. It was, after all, his design, his plan.

Even if he was found and rescued they would probably execute him. Well, they would if they found out the truth and there was no way of knowing what kind of evidence there would be after the fire.

The fire.

That was all he could see now, that glorious, blossoming plum of flame rising up into the night. The flash had blinded him but not before etching itself forever into his memory. The blast that followed threw him from the deck of the doomed ship and into the water. After that he just swam and swam and swam until his hands hit the piece of driftwood that he now floated on.

Everything was going so well, he mused with regret. Another couple of hours and they would have been within sight of land. Who knew where he was now. He was no navigator, no man of the sea, and knew nothing about currents. Logically, he knew that if he stayed on the log long enough it would either strike land or become waterlogged and sink. Though either option probably required more time than he could survive without food or fresh water.

The fire could have been put out if he hadn't drugged the crew. One of them would have seen it when it was still small and put it out. Or at least the alarm would have been raised and they could have gotten onto the life boats. But then again, if he hadn't drugged the crew he wouldn't have unknowingly started the fire.

He'd argued all these points the night before while he swam and later floated on the driftwood. There was no way he could have known that the stove was broken and wouldn't turn off and he'd needed to turn the stove on to get the water boiling for the tea that he later used to drug the crew. The passengers would never have thought to check the crew quarters for the source of the smoke, and even if they did there wouldn't have been anything that they could have done. By the time the smoke reached the passengers the fire had already reached the engine room.

He edged himself a little closer to the water. So many beautiful people, so many wonderful lives, all snuffed out because of one little mistake. None of them were supposed to have been hurt. They weren't even going to know that anything had happened until they'd reached the shore. The crew wouldn't remember what had happened and just assume they'd nodded off for a few minutes, and in fact, they would have woken up in a few minutes time had it not been for the fire.

The fire.

The drugged tea kept them all asleep while the room filled with smoke. If a window had been open or a door left ajar, perhaps they would have awoken on time. Perhaps they would have seen the fire in time. He had wondered why he hadn't seen the crew filtering back out among the passengers but assumed they were just getting chewed out by the captain for all falling asleep on the job.

Even then he knew he should have checked in on them but didn't want to risk being caught. There was nowhere to hide that many strongboxes except for under his long coat where he'd fitted special pockets to help him with the heist but even with his precautions, he didn't want to risk associating himself with the theft any more than he had to.

He moved to slide the rest of the way off the driftwood.

“Ahoy!” A voice shouted out to him.

He turned to look but of course could see nothing. “I'm blind!” He shouted back.

He could hear the engines now, the splash of the water as the approaching boat cut its way toward him.

He was saved.

IMMOLATION: Chapter 30

Tea Leaves fidgeted with his napkin beneath the table while Green Tea opened their meeting but he couldn't seem to get himself to concentrate on what was being said. Their meeting this time was held in a private room at the back of a high end restaurant that Early Bird had set up. The only problem, and this was what made Tea Leaves so uncomfortable, was that Early Bird wasn't there. And though the others in the group might not know it, Early Bird was a part of their group for more than just his connections in Africa.

“I'm sorry,” Tea Leaves interrupted Green Tea, “But shouldn't we wait for Early Bird?”

The others at the table stared at him, puzzled expressions on their faces. At last, Feather Weight spoke.

“Weren't you listening?” He asked, “Green Tea just said he was sick.”

“Really?” Tea Leaves said before he could stop himself, “I mean, of course, sorry, just a bit distracted.”

“So we have noticed,” Green Tea said, emphasizing the word 'we' and doing nothing to calm Tea Leaves nerves.

“It's just with the third package set to go tomorrow and all, I'm just a bit frazzled, excited.”

Bird Feather nodded solemnly, “Yes,” she said in her gruff voice, “The last two have not had much effect but tomorrow's, hitting such a large population,” She trailed off.

The others around the table were silent as they all recalled how Leaves Early had convinced them to target two particular nuclear plants in heavily populated areas. Even if they changed their minds now it was too late to stop it.

“Yes,” Green Tea said to bring everyone's attention back to him, “It is regrettable that the last two disasters have not had the effect that we hoped, and even more regrettable that we must go to these extremes, but thankfully Leaves Early had the foresight to plan for this before she left us.”

Tea Leaves fumbled with his napkin and made a failed grab to catch it before it fell to the floor, knocking his silverware off the table in the process.

“We all miss her,” Green Tea said and held Tea Leaves gaze a few seconds longer than Tea Leaves was comfortable with.

“I, I'm afraid that I'm not feeling all that well myself,” Tea Leaves stammered, “Must be catching.”

Green Tea didn't make any response to this and instead turned his attention back to Bird Feather and Feather Weight. “Here are your passports and tickets,” He said, pulling two envelopes from his suit jacket and handing them across the table. “Your flight leaves tomorrow a couple hours before the third package become active.”

“I should hope so,” Feather Weight stated when he looked at his itinerary. “That airport isn't too far from the nuclear plant.”

“A calculated risk,” Green Tea stated. “If your flight is delayed for more than an hour, leave and we will reschedule your flight.”

Feather Weight and Bird Feather nodded, the seriousness of their situation played clearly on their faces.

“It's a pity Leaves Early won't be here to enjoy our success with us,” Feather Weight said.

Tea Leaves could feel the sweat running down his face. “I'm sorry,” He said, rising from the table, “But I'm feeling quite ill, I shouldn't have come. Good luck with your work ahead of you.” He nodded to Feather Weight and Bird Feather , shook Green Tea's hand and then made his way to the exit as fast as he could. Every minute in the meeting, away from his apartment, was another minute Early Bird had to search it.

The restaurant wasn't very difficult to navigate and within a few minutes he was in his car driving as fast as he dared. He knew his hasty exit would only confirm Green Tea's suspicions, if he did indeed suspect Tea Leaves. He had to admit that it could all just be his guilty conscience. Still, his apartment was over an hour away and Early Bird could have already had a good hour and a half to search it. If he'd found the right door, looked in the right places, he'd be a dead man.

“Perhaps he hasn't found it,” He murmured to himself.

Before long, a pair of flashing red and blue lights caught his attention.

“Oh no,” He said to himself, “Not now, not this time.”

But there was no denying the pursuing police car reflected in his rear view mirror. He pulled over, determined to get this over with as quick as possible. The police car pulled up behind him moments later and the officer got out and sauntered up to his window.

Tea Leaves rolled down his window and spoke before the officer could say anything. “Yes I was speeding, no I haven't been drinking, I'm feeling quite ill and I'm trying to get home before I lose my regrettably large lunch.”

The officer stood motionless for a moment, taking in Tea Leaves pale complexion, sweat and trembling hands.

“Get going,” He said at last, waving his hand, “But not so quickly this time, okay?”

Tea Leaves nodded, unable to believe how well that worked, and pulled back onto the road. As soon as the police car was out of sight he sped back up to his previous speed.

POETRY: MORE AUGUST LIMERICKS

August Limericks 2/4

My dream from last night was quite odd

You see, it involved a white Cod

Who got up to dance

Wearing frilled underpants

And when finished, swam through the sod

*

There once was a man from Nantucket

Who rode down the stream in a bucket

He sang as he bobbed

Of the people he'd robbed

Who in turn tied him up in the bucket

*

Last night I met Billy the Troll

While out on an evening stroll

I warned him full thrice

That he'd better think twice

And he did while he chewed on my skull

LAST NIGHT'S NIGHTMARE

*Names have been changed.

The sounds of fire, of breaking glass, and screaming broke through my veil of sleep and my eyes shot open. My wife, Grace, beside me in the bed was already awake, sitting up in bed and looking horrified. Through our bedroom window we could make out the outlines of numerous figures shambling around across the lake, attacking and eating other people.

Zombies.

I couldn't believe it but there before my very eyes was proof. I watched as a person got bitten, and then broke free of their attacker only to turn and attack someone else moments later.

“Grab Will,” I told my wife, indicating our two year old son in his crib, as I got dressed.

The zombie hoard was still on the other side of the lake from us but it wouldn't take long for them to reach us. I crammed our 72 hour kit into my backpack and then checked my bike over.

“What are you doing?” Grace asked when she'd finished packing Will's diaper bag and joined me by the front door. “We won't need the bike.”

“The car's out of gas,” I reminded her, “And besides, the streets are going to be flooded with cars. We'll be sitting ducks if we get caught in a traffic jam.”

Grace nodded but still looked reticent to use a bicycle for our escape.

The bike checked out and together, the tree of us climbed on. Grace sat on the seat holding Will while I stood to peddle our way through the mayhem. The zombies reached our side of the lake as we left and our neighbors' screams were just beginning. As I'd imagined, the roads were a parking lot.

I pulled out my cell phone and made a quick phone call, having my wife hold the phone to my face while I continued to pedal and steer the bike.

“Hello?” A tired voice answered on the other line.

“Paul!” I exclaimed in relief at hearing my brothers voice, “You're not going to believe me, but the zombie apocalypse is happening right now.”

There was silence on the other line for a few moments.

“Paul?”

“I'm here,” He said wearily, “But it's the middle of the night and I'm not in the mood for jokes.”

A woman reached out of the car we were passing and screamed for help. I had just enough time to turn and see that her lower half had already been chewed off and that a half dozen zombies were working on her torso. I swerved to avoid her grasp.

“I'm not making it up,” I assured him, “We're on our way to your place now and with any luck we'll be able to make it in about an hour.”

A zombie lurched out from behind the cars ahead of us. Grace screamed and I searched frantically for a way to dodge the zombie but we were boxed in by cars on both sides. It would take too much long to stop and move the bike by hand and it began to look like the only way was through.

“You there?” Paul asked but before I could respond, Grace threw the cell phone at the zombie, smacking it in the head and distracting it for just long enough that we were able to zip by.

“That was close,” Grace breathed and she held me tightly, Will sandwiched protectively between us.

Most of the screaming was behind us now, but there were still shambling figures moving between cars and along the sides of the road. The screaming was finished here, I figured, because there wasn't anyone left to do the screaming.

Grace's grip tightened even further when a pair of zombies in front of us turned on each other and began fighting, biting huge chunks of flesh from one another. It seemed that they didn't care what they ate so long as it was human.

“At least we're not the only one's on the menu,” I said.

Next thing I knew, I was on the ground, skidding to a stop and Grace's screams pierced the night. I scrambled to my feet, shaking my head clear and stumbling back towards the bike as fast as I could. A zombie had stumbled out into our path and knocked us over, but from the looks of confusion on its face I could only assume that it had done so by accident. I took advantage of its momentary confusion and kicked it in the face, knocking it over and giving me a clear path to the bike and my family.

Grace was in hysterics but I managed to right the bicycle and get her and Will back onto it before the Zombie could get back up. I started to peddle and the zombie made a few swipes at us but we got through without it being able to stop us. We rode on without incident for a few minutes. And then Grace began to scream.

“What?” I asked, shocked at her sudden outburst and I looked around for the source of her panic. “What's wrong?”

I wanted to stop but shadowed figures were lurching out of cars and buildings all around us, following the sound of Grace's screams.

“What's wro—” I began but then I heard it; the snarl, the inhuman growling, and I recognized the voice: Will.

I managed to look back at them and saw my son straining to bite my wife. Grace held him tightly, but I could see blood on her arms from where he'd already bitten her.

“He's infected,” Grace said when she saw my terrified face, “I'm infected.”

I had to look away, not only because I was steering the bike but also because I thought I might be sick if I continued to watch as my son fought, my wife's blood and flesh dribbling down his chin.

“You'll be okay,” I assured Grace, “We'll get to Paul's house and—”

“I can already feel it,” Grace said.

“Just hang on,” I told her, still unwilling to accept it, “Just hang on!”

* * *

An hour later I pulled to a stop in front of my brother's house. He was out on the front porch, sword and baseball bat in either hand. He gave me a matching set when I reached him.

“Where's Grace and Will?” He asked.

“They won't be joining us,” I said.

Paul nodded gestured to the roof. “I figure up there's the safest place for us to wait for rescue.”

“Stephany?” I asked in reference to his own wife.

Paul didn't meet my eyes. “She won't be joining us either.”

I didn't press the matter, but I couldn't deny my confusion. The zombies hadn't reached this far yet, I'd passed the last of them a half hour before.

Paul stared out towards the distant downtown, an orange glow illuminating his face. A few of the buildings were already burning when I had passed through them on my way to Paul's house but now that they'd had some time to grow and spread, the downtown area looked like so many burning towers. Some had already collapsed.

“Stephany didn't believe it at first,” Paul began without any preamble. “Even after we saw the reports online, she couldn't believe it. Then downtown caught fire and...she's always had a phobia of zombies.”

I knew that, even the barest mention of zombies caused a visible reaction in her.

“She locked herself in the bathroom,” Paul went on, the orange glow making his face difficult to read, “And then...well...we should probably get up onto the roof. I think I can see some movement down the street.”

Together we climbed up onto the roof and took it in turns keeping watch. Before long, the shambling hoard reached us and all we could do was try and stay hidden while we waited and prayed for rescue.

IMMOLATION: Chapter 29

The room was dark until a small flickering flame lit and cast long, wavering shadows like so many dancing figures. There would have been nothing extraordinary about the flame were it not for the fact that it hung in the air, in the middle of the room, alone. Slowly, the flame began to bob through the room, towards the hall and eventually into the bedroom at the end.

“Wha-?” Melanie said as she stirred in her sleep. She was always a light sleeper.

The fire began to grow, though it stopped once it reached the size of a melon, and hovered above Melanie's bed. Her eyes shot open and she jumped back from the fire. It went out.

Someone knocked on her door.

Melanie jumped out of bed and threw on a robe before going to the door. The air in her apartment was unnaturally warm from the fire and Melanie waved her hand about in front of her to clear the air.

“Joan,” Melanie began the moment she opened the door but didn't get to finish.

Joan burst into the apartment, sobbing, her clothing scorched in places, and she collapsed onto the couch.

“I've killed him!” Joan managed to say between sobs. Everything else came out as intelligible.

“What?” Melanie dropped down onto the couch beside Joan, “Who?”

Joan continued to convulse with her crying.

“T-T-Tom!” Joan stammered and fell face first back into the couch were she proceeded to scream.

“You burned him?” Melanie asked and regretted the accusation in her voice, not to mention the fear she felt at being so close to Joan.

Joan screamed again, beating the couch with her fists and leaving scorch marks on the upholstery. It wasn't until then that Melanie noticed that the burns in Joan's clothing were fresh, and spreading.

“Joan, you're still burning,” Melanie said as she backed away.

Joan turned to face her, tears sizzling as they streamed down her face before evaporating into steam. The effect was terrifying and Melanie continued backing away.

“Help me,” Joan plead, holding out her hands toward Melanie.

Melanie fought back her fears for the moment and reached for Joan's hands but stopped short. The air above Joan's hands wavered from the heat pouring out of them.

“I...” Melanie hesitated, Joan's pleading eyes boring into her.

Melanie slowly took hold of Joan's hands.

“It'll be okay,” Melanie managed to say before the heat from Joan's hands overwhelmed her. “Ow!” She cried and pulled her hands back.

“Please!” Joan shrieked, still in shock and not thinking clearly as she reached for Melanie.

“No,” Melanie pulled back even further until she fell off the couch, “Joan, you're going to burn me!”

At hearing this, Joan regained some control over herself and the heat radiating off of her cooled.

“Is Tom really dead?” Melanie asked after a few moments, still sitting on the floor rather than rejoining Joan on the couch.

“I don't know,” Joan whimpered and she began wiping off the ash from the couch were she'd burned it. “I burned him so badly and I...I ran away.”

Melanie jumped to her feet, “You mean he's still out there?”

“No,” Joan said at once, “No, help came, they loaded him into an ambulance, but,” Joan wiped her face and eyes, “But I couldn't stay. They...that if they...”

Joan collapsed back into her sobbing and Melanie inched away a little more as the air around Joan heated back up.

“I'm sorry,” Joan said, “I'm doing the best I can to control it.”

“It's okay,” Melanie said for lack of anything better, “Just tell me what happened.”

“They're going to take me away!” Joan shouted.

Melanie jumped backward and ran a few steps before she could stop herself. “Calm down,” Melanie said in as commanding a tone as she could manage.

Joan was slipping back into her state of shock. “I'm holding back the flame,” She said, hands shaking and eyes darting around the room. “But they're going to come for me. Please, you have to help me.”

Joan was advancing on Melanie and backing her into the narrow kitchen. Bits of fire were sparking around Joan and burning her clothes even more.

“Please,” Joan plead again, holding her arms out as though she thought hugging Melanie would make it all better. “Please, help me.”

Joan was almost to Melanie, the heat was almost unbearable and Melanie shrieked, “No!” and grabbed at the only thing she could think of, the faucet. The nozzle of the faucet could detach and a length of hose extended a couple of feet from it and Melanie pointed it at Joan and sprayed her in the face.

The cold water had little effect on the fire but it seemed to awaken Joan to the reality of what she was about to do.

“I'm sorry,” She muttered and slumped down to the floor. “I'm—

There was a knock at the door.

Both of them froze and Melanie motioned for Joan to stay down in the kitchen behind the counter while she answered the door.

“And if you need it,” Melanie held out the faucet nozzle, “Use it.”

Joan took the nozzle and Melanie made her way to the door.

“Who is it?” She called through it.

“It's me, Mike.”

Melanie let out a sigh of relief and opened the door. Mike immediately pushed his way passed her and began looking around the room.

“She's not here yet?” He asked when his initial search revealed nothing.

“Who?” Melanie asked.

“Joan,” Mike said, “She's gone crazy, burned Tom to a crisp, though amazingly he's still alive. Though, they're not sure how long he'll survive with how thoroughly she's fried him.”

A short burst of water sounded from the kitchen.

“It's nothing,” Melanie said at once, grabbing Mike by the arm before he could go and investigate. “It's been doing that all day, now tell me why you think Joan's gone crazy.”

Mike stared at her hard. “That's just what everyone from the restaurant is saying,” He said, sitting himself down on the couch.

Melanie left the front door ajar and then joined Mike on the couch, sitting so that Mike had to put his back to the door to face her. “But you've seen her, worked with her,” Melanie said, “You know that she just goes off sometimes. She can't help it.”

“Maybe so,” Mike said, though he didn't look convinced, “But still, I'm not going to let her endanger you any more.”

“My hero,” Melanie stated dryly, “But Joan is my friend and I'm not going to abandon her. Especially right now.”

“That's noble of you,” Mike said, “But it's only a matter of time before she loses control again and next time it could be you that the paramedics are having to scrape off the ground.”

Melanie put her hand on Mike's knee. “I know you're doing this to keep me safe, and I am so sorry about Tom, but I am not abandoning Joan and there's nothing you can do about it.”

“I was afraid you'd say that,” Mike said. “But it doesn't matter. They'll find her and lock her away where she won't be able to hurt anyone else.”

“No!” Joan shouted, jumping up from behind the counter and spraying herself in the face with the hose to keep her fire distracted.

“I knew it,” Mike shouted and leaped from the couch. As he landed, he pulled a taser out from where he'd tucked it into the back of his pants and took aim at Joan. “Don't make me do this, Joan,” Mike said. “The police are on their way and I wanted to make sure they wouldn't have to shoot you.”

“What do you mean?” Melanie demanded as she tried to pull Mike away from Joan.

“I figured she'd come to you and so I told the police,” Mike kept his eyes on Joan and, despite Melanie's attempts, he also kept his aim. “They said they'd give me five minutes so I would imagine they'll be joining us shortly.”

“They're already here?” Joan asked.

Mike nodded. “Just outside there, waiting. If you go peacefully then no one else will have to be hurt.”

Melanie could see the panic rising in Joan's face as the water on her body began to steam. Melanie made her choice and punched Mike as hard as she could right across the jaw. Mike spun partway around, a stunned look on his face before he collapsed to the ground.

“Ow ow ow,” Melanie said as she cradled her fist.

“Mel,” Joan said, shocked, “You just—

“Go!” Melanie hissed, “Out the back window, quick!”

Joan hesitated for just a moment before she took off. Melanie continued to rub her hand while she waited for either Mike to wake up or for the police to come in, whichever happened first. As it turned out, the police arrived first.

“Are you alright?” The first officer to take in the situation asked.

“Just fine, officer.” Melanie answered and braced herself for all the awkward questions she knew were about to begin.

Delay on IMMOLATION

Hey all, sorry for the delay on IMMOLATION. I promise to have this week's chapter up by noon tomorrow. Stuff happened, life is busy and today's chapter just wasn't ready for posting. I'll see about posting two chapters this week to make up for being late.

Keep reading, and enjoy.

POETRY: AUGUST LIMERICKS

So for the month of August I'll be focusing on limericks, in part because they're so much fun and in part because I would like to get better at them.

Dear Ken was a boy with spare chub
Who spent most of his days in the tub
And one day they found
That dear Ken, he had drowned
With naught for last words but glub glub

I fell down a hole over yonder
And on landing I could not but wonder
At how I had found
So expertly the ground
When most times I miss and I flounder