by C S Allen
Aunt Kelly was sitting on the couch. When she saw me, she jumped up and started yelling at me. “Will? Will? What’s going on?”
A couple of times I tried to say I couldn’t breathe, and, luckily, my aunt had an idea of what was wrong and had me lie down on the couch. “Will, lie down here; you’re having a panic attack! Take deep breaths and count back from one hundred out loud! Get air into your lungs, okay? I’m going to get a paper bag in the kitchen. Catch your breath and count back from one hundred!”
My aunt was yelling, but I could barely hear her. She disappeared into the kitchen as I lay there on the couch, counting and trying to take deep breaths. All of a sudden, I started crying hysterically and had to sit up as my aunt came back in the living room. She sat down beside me and put her arm around my shoulder and let me cry everything out.
“You need to let it all go, Will, get it out,” my aunt said.
After about five or so minutes of crying hard, I could feel my throat was swollen from trying to hold it all back a few times. My aunt got up to get me a glass of water and a cold damp paper towel for my forehead. When she came back, she told me to place the towel on my cheeks first and then wave it around to let the air cool it again. It felt so good against my burning cheeks and then on my forehead; it helped to calm me down. I took a few deep breaths and felt like my body was heavy. I was slouching, like my shoulders had collapsed, so my aunt told me to lie down and stretch out on the couch. I wasn’t hyperventilating anymore, just emotionally drained.
“Will, I think you should lie here and talk to me for a little while. We need to get things off of your mind so you don’t have a stroke keeping it all in. You would be the youngest stroke victim in the family,” my aunt said with a smile.
Confused, I looked at my aunt and said, “Who’s the oldest?” I didn’t know anyone in my family had had a stroke.
“Your grandmother had a stroke when I told her I had eloped,” my aunt replied, laughing.
We talked for a couple of hours about almost everything on my aunt’s side and my side for the past three years. The horror of me getting bitten by a spider and then going into a coma for all of those years. The death of my parents and how my aunt had found out about that. I told my aunt that they were killed, according to the man named Tom. So much came out, and of course, I cried a few more times like a baby.
“I want you to take it easy tonight, Will, and just try to relax because you’re safe here. Maybe tomorrow you can catch up on your journal or just go with what tomorrow brings,” Aunt Kelly stated, as she patted me on the shoulder and gave me the TV remote. “How about a tall glass of sweet tea with lots of ice in it?” she asked, as she stood up to go into the kitchen.
“That sounds really good,” I replied.
My aunt smiled and then went into the kitchen. I turned on the TV and flipped through the channels looking for something to watch. I stopped at the animated comedy show called King of the Hill because it was always funny to see. My aunt came back and sat down beside me with a bowl of caramel popcorn and my ice tea.
“Here you go, I put extra sugar in it to make it really sweet,” my aunt said.
I took a sip of the tea, and she wasn’t kidding about it being sweet because I almost puckered up. We sat and watched the TV for a little while and shared the popcorn, talking in between commercials.
The next day, I woke up later than usual and felt a lot better than the night before. I somehow thought, during my sleep, that I should see a psychiatrist about what had happened to me since I was starting to freak out and have panic attacks. As I lay there in bed, I could smell the journal again, like it was a bad dream. I looked over at it and thought that maybe I should just throw it away and move on. On second thought, I guess I better keep the journal since the FBI agent is coming by and will probably want a copy of it.
I got up, grabbed the journal, and went out into the kitchen for breakfast. Aunt Kelly was sitting at the table and greeted me like she normally did. I asked her if she had a copy machine so I could make copies for her and the agent coming in the afternoon. Unfortunately, she didn’t have one, so we made a plan to go to a store that specialized in making copies for people like me. After breakfast and a quick shower, my aunt and I found a store that could copy my journal. The employee at the store said the copies would just take twenty minutes to finish, so we walked around the store until the employee was done. I was pleasantly surprised that everything came out nicely and was told that I could have the copies put in a binder for a professional look, so I agreed.
After everything was done, my aunt and I went back to her home and had some early lunch. I told my aunt that my journal wasn’t quite finished because things were still going on.
“Will, you just keep writing and catch up to wherever you want to and then quit when you think you’re ready to. God knows that your story belongs in a movie theater, and it would be a thriller” Aunt Kelly stated, while handing me a plate with tuna fish sandwiches on it.
The FBI agent came to the house right on time, and I was nervous as hell. My aunt welcomed him in, and he introduced himself as Agent Blye from the Portland office. After the polite, getting-to-know-one-another, we got down to business. Agent Blye did a lot of head nodding and asked questions like I thought he would. After about forty minutes, when I was not quite finished telling everything, Agent Blye asked what I wanted the FBI to do.
“I need to be protected from the government, especially from that Tom guy, who likes to show up and who works for the government. How can I go into some kind of witness protection program?” I asked.
“Will, you don’t qualify for witness protection. Witness protection is for witnesses in cases that are coming up or have already passed. For example, Tony Bologna witnessed a mob boss getting shot, and the man who shot the mob boss is now trying to kill Tony. Tony doesn’t want to get involved and tell what happened in court because he’s afraid he’ll be killed. The FBI will place Tony in witness protection to make sure he’s safe before and after the trial is over. The problem I see you have is that you don’t know who this Tom guy is. You don’t know what branch of the government is operating the facility up north. You don’t have proof of any spiders, but you say the CDC took one from your house. You burned down your own house to protect yourself from the spider and Tom. Now, that’s a lot of things that need to be investigated by your local authorities. Make them investigate everything, and if the FBI is needed, they will know what to do, okay?” Agent Blye stated.
“So, what you’re saying is that the FBI won’t investigate my concerns of a government-owned facility that is producing weaponized creatures? And I can’t be helped because I don’t have all of the facts on a platter to hand over to anyone at the FBI? Doesn’t the letter ‘I’ in FBI supposed to mean investigation? Can’t someone protect me against my own government, which is trying to kill me, for Christ sake?” I asked angrily.
Agent Blye could see that I wasn’t going to take no for an answer, so he stood up from the chair he was sitting in and apologized. “I’m sorry, but I will look into that facility and get back to you. For now, get your city police involved and see what the next step is, okay? Agent Blye said.
My aunt stood up, shook Agent Blye’s hand, and thanked him, then she walked him over to the front door. I didn’t bother to stand or even shake Agent Blye’s hand. I wanted to say a few choice words, but I restrained myself. Aunt Kelly was given a business card and an apology once again as the asshole left the house. I couldn’t believe what I had heard. Here I was, a twenty-one-year-old man who had witnessed his friends get killed off, his parents had been murdered, was put in a coma because of a spider bite, and then was chased down three years later to be killed. To hell with all of them all, I was going to get my revenge one way or another.
“Well, that was kind of a bummer, Will,” my aunt said, closing the door.
“Aunt Kelly, I’m not going to sit here quietly anymore. I’m tired of being the victim here, and I’m going to do some
thing about it. I’m going to make more copies of my journal and send them to the media like I thought of doing before, to the national news and our local news outlets. I’m going to let them all know that the CDC has the spider, and I have photos of the dead one at Mom and Dad’s house. Let them all interview me so I can tell them the truth. The government isn’t going to get away with killing my family, my friends, or me without a fight. They are going to face me and my anger starting today!” I stated, standing up.
My aunt agreed and was happy that I was no longer going to be the victim. We went back to the copy store and made five more copies of the journal. Lucky for us there was a mail carrier inside the store, and I purchased some large envelopes and then sent off the journals to the media. Then we went to get some lunch at a fast-food diner and planned to buy a few more guns for our protection. I felt like the end of the world was coming, and believe it or not, I was excited about it.
After an hour of making plans at the diner, we headed over to the nearby gun shop. We purchased a double-barrel shotgun, two semi-automatic pistols, holsters, and ten ammunition magazines with twenty boxes of ammo. The owner of the store asked if we were getting ready for WWIII, and my aunt and I looked at each other and laughed.
“Yeah, you can say that,” my aunt replied with a grin. When we left the gun store, my aunt wanted us to load the guns with ammo in the trunk of her car. “We need to be ready from here on out, Will. You will have a gun on you all of the time and so will I. Anywhere we go, we need to be protected from Tom or whoever comes after us. Now then, let’s go and have some fun at a firing range and break in these guns,” my aunt stated and then closed the trunk lid.
I was actually now enjoying life again. I had a plan to make it known that I was no longer a coward or couldn’t stand up for myself. Blasting away at the targets and learning how to hit a moving target at the range made my day. And Aunt Kelly surprised the hell out of me with her target scores. She could hit center of the target at ten yards like it was nothing to her. The thirty-yard targets were harder to get, but I at least hit them somewhere. The moving targets were a pain in the ass with the way they moved. They moved right for about ten feet and then switched directions, going back left at any moment.
The operator of the targets gave Aunt Kelly and me a quick lesson on shooting at moving targets. According to the operator, we had to shoot just in front of where the target was going so that the bullet and target met together. I did what the operator said, but I must have been shooting too much in front. When Aunt Kelly and I were finished practicing, the operator asked if we would like classes on defensive shooting. The firing range had indoor and outdoor classes on firing at moving targets, and it was an eight-hour class. I didn’t wait for my aunt to say anything as I quickly responded by saying, “Sign me up.” Aunt Kelly agreed to take the classes with me plus to take a concealed carry permit class at the same range.
After paying a down payment for the upcoming classes, we headed back to the car. Then my aunt asked me a very serious question. “How do you feel about killing someone, Will?”
I was stunned and wasn’t ready for a question like that. I stood at the back of my aunt’s car for a moment thinking, and I couldn’t answer. “I don’t know. I know just thinking about it makes me feel uncomfortable,” I replied.
“Will, that’s a good answer. I was thinking that maybe with all of your anger, you might start wanting trouble to happen. You’re a smart young man, Will, and I’m so proud of the way you handle yourself. If your mom and dad were still here, they would say the same thing. You have become so responsible and levelheaded. I am proud that you’re my nephew,” my aunt said and gave me a hug. “You know, we haven’t taken the film to get developed. Let’s go back home and get it and then give the film to one of those one-hour photo places. We can end the day on a great note by seeing that ugly thing that attacked you in the house and have proof of it,” Aunt Kelly stated.
“Oh God, yeah, let’s go get it!” I replied.
On the way back to my aunt’s house, it started to snow, and my aunt made me grin by singing, “It’s starting to look a lot like Christmas, everywhere we go. I thought it was going to be spring, and then ring-a-ding-ding, here . . . comes . . . the snow.” My aunt laughed, and then so did I.
As we got to the house, the snow was really coming down hard. “Did you know it was going to snow, Aunt Kelly?” I asked.
“No, I should be watching the weather on TV, but lately I haven’t cared to watch. I just know the weather changes all the time, and I just deal with it when it comes.”
We pulled into the driveway and noticed that there was tire tracks in the snow. “Someone’s been here; look at the marks in the snow. Were you expecting someone?” I asked my aunt.
“No, and it looks like they left a note on my door,” my aunt replied. “Let’s get our stuff out of the trunk first, Will, and keep an eye out for anything,” Aunt Kelly said.
We got out of the car and looked around, while walking toward the trunk. “You see anything?” I asked.
“No, maybe it was just the mail guy delivering something, and I had to sign for it,” my aunt replied.
We quickly got our handguns, ammo, and shotgun out of the trunk and then walked over to the front door. Aunt Kelly opened the door and took the note inside while I followed behind her. As we got inside, I put down the boxes of ammo and shotgun and Aunt Kelly put down the guns.
“What does it say?” I asked.
“Oh, it’s just a post office reminder that I have an item I have to pick up. We got all worked up over nothing, didn’t we?” Aunt Kelly said.
“Hell, better be ready than sorry,” I replied.
“Isn’t it supposed to go, ‘better be safe than sorry’?” my aunt asked.
“Nope, I like it my way since I said it first, ha!” I replied sarcastically.
The night was uneventful. We listened to the wind outside and watched the weather report on TV. Aunt Kelly told me where the shotgun was going to be located and the two other guns. They were loaded and ready to fire at any time. All we had to do was pull the trigger and whoever was near the barrel was going to get hit. I told my aunt that I was going to keep my gun on me everywhere I went, including the bathroom.
“I don’t want to be caught off guard; I want to be able to blast them when they come after me,” I said.
“That’s a good idea. I’ll keep mine on my hip. I guess this house isn’t a safe zone anymore,” my aunt stated.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Kelly,” I replied.
“No, no, it’s okay. What I meant was, those people will come after you whether you’re in your house or in mine. There’s no such thing as a safe area when you’re at war.”
The next morning when I woke up, I felt a bit chilly. I looked over at the curtains and could see partially out from my bed. Frost and a little bit of snow had built up outside on the window ledge. I got up and was curious as to how much snow we had that morning. “Aww crap,” I said. We’d gotten about ten inches of snow and that meant I was going to have to shovel. I left my bedroom to see if my aunt was up yet, and as usual, she was.
“Morning, sunshine,” my aunt said from the kitchen.
“I don’t feel like sunshine. I feel like ten inches of heavy snow,” I said with a grin.
“Hey, when you’re done taking a shower and eating breakfast, why don’t I show you my new self-propelled snowblower,” Aunt Kelly said.
“It would be awesome to see a woman using heavy equipment; I’ve never seen that before,” I replied with a laugh. After learning how to operate the snowblower, I was the one who got to clear the driveway and the sidewalk up to my aunt’s house. I thought it was a bit fun to have the snowblower drive itself and not have to push or pull it like the neighbor across the street. That poor guy was leaning into his snowblower to get the snow off of his driveway. Then when he was at the end of his driveway, he had to manhandle the snowblower back around and then lean into it again. When I was finished with cle
aring off the snow, I put the snowblower back inside my aunt’s garage. I didn’t realize that I was about half deaf once I turned off the snowblower’s engine.
My aunt came out to the garage, and she had to raise her voice to get my attention. “Hey, keep your stuff on. We’re going to go to the post office to pick up whatever was sent to me. Do you have your gun on you?” my aunt asked.
When she asked me that question, I felt like an idiot. “No, I’ll go get it,” I replied. Here I was, clearing the driveway and not even paying attention to my surroundings. No gun, nothing to defend myself, and acting like everything was fine; what an idiot.
I got the lecture that I knew was coming from my aunt on the way to the post office, “After everything we did yesterday, you walked outside without your gun. Where is your head at, Will?” my aunt asked.
She went on for about ten very long minutes, and I felt disappointed in myself. My aunt decided to come up with a game called ‘where’s your gun.’ She thought it would help us keep sharp on having our guns on our bodies. We could ask each other day or night that question, but we could only do it five times a day or less.
BAM! Our heads jerked back against our headrests and then my aunt swerved a bit on the road. “What did we hit?” I asked.
“Oh my God! A truck behind us.” BAM! We got hit again, this time on the back quarter-panel, causing us to spin out of control on the slushy, wet road. BAM! This time I could see the black SUV hit us, forcing our vehicle down an embankment. My head hit the passenger window, as we spun around, and the seatbelt grabbed hold of my waist. I couldn’t get control of myself and see where we were headed because of the out-of-control movement. I couldn’t even look over at my aunt because the force was so great and then . . . BOOM!
