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HOLD

Page 9

by Duane P. Craig


  And af­ter all of our strug­gling, I don’t see a sing­le scratch on eit­her of us. Our clot­hes ca­ught a few fla­mes he­re and the­re, but not­hing se­ri­o­us. We we­re mo­ving too fast for any of the fla­mes to catch well eno­ugh. So­on we re­ac­hed the win­ding ro­ad and wal­ked it for ho­urs. We’re sa­fe now - even bet­ter off than at the sta­ti­on. We ha­ve elect­ri­city - no cent­ral he­at, but we fo­und so­me spa­ce he­aters whe­re the bre­aker ro­om is. Most im­por­tantly, we ha­ve two fully stoc­ked snack mac­hi­nes, three drink mac­hi­nes, ni­ce rest­ro­oms with run­ning wa­ter and I fo­und the keys to everyt­hing.

  DAY - 50

  The­re are two sets of thick, glass do­ub­le do­ors with a small fo­yer-li­ke spa­ce bet­we­en them that ma­ke up the only ent­ran­ce to the bu­il­ding. On­ce in­si­de it’s mostly a lobby with a co­up­le of chest high in­for­ma­ti­on desks and qu­ite a few racks with post­cards and so­uve­nirs. To the right of the lobby are the ent­ran­ces in­to the big rest­ro­oms. To the far left of the lobby are the snack and drink mac­hi­nes. Be­hind the lobby are just a few small clo­sets and the bre­aker ro­om. It’s not much, but it’s so clo­se to he­aven right now that I can’t help but exp­la­in it.

  One day so­me­one is go­ing to find this jo­ur­nal - I know it - and by re­ading from the be­gin­ning they’ll know that this is the best we’ve had it in a go­od long whi­le.

  As so­on as the sun ro­se, the light ca­me shi­ning in thro­ugh the glass do­ors. The ent­ran­ce is ap­pa­rently fa­cing east. I hop­ped up. Beth and Sid just stir­red abo­ut on the flo­or a lit­tle ma­king not much ef­fort to want to get up. I was too ex­ci­ted abo­ut the plat­form and wo­ke them up any­way. Su­rely if I had snuck off wit­ho­ut Beth she wo­uld get all pis­sed off aga­in, so I ma­de su­re she was go­ing with me. Mo­ments la­ter and we we­re out­si­de the bu­il­ding ma­king our way up the three flights of sta­irs to the lo­oko­ut plat­form. On­ce at the top, we we­re awest­ruck at the be­a­uty of the mo­un­ta­ins that span­ned the ho­ri­zon to the west. It was a sight that told me the Earth was still okay for the most part. We we­re lo­oking at a land that has ba­si­cal­ly go­ne unc­han­ged sin­ce the dawn of ti­me, and even in our des­pe­ra­ti­on to sur­vi­ve, I still didn’t want it to chan­ge. The harsh­ness of the­se mo­un­ta­ins has ne­ver be­en kind to man’s con­qu­est or sur­vi­val, and tho­ugh I’ve sa­id it many ti­mes be­fo­re, that is de­fi­ni­tely why I’m he­re. I wo­uld much rat­her die trying to sur­vi­ve in a harsh cli­ma­te than to die trying to sur­vi­ve in a town full of tho­se fuc­king gho­uls.

  We to­ok se­ve­ral trips up and down the plat­form, but for the most part we had be­en on the plat­form the who­le day. I chec­ked the en­ti­re map to what I co­uld now cle­arly see - dam­ned go­od map. Beth li­ked the tho­ught of the cle­ared path down the west si­de of the mo­un­ta­in. It was the area whe­re se­ve­ral elect­ri­cal po­les we­re pla­ced - the wi­res le­ad from way down in the val­ley all the way up to the ba­se of the plat­form and then be­ne­ath the bu­il­ding. I did sha­re her ap­pre­ci­ati­on of the cle­ared path, tho­ugh. Co­me a ti­me to le­ave he­re in a hurry, we de­fi­ni­tely ha­ve a de­fi­ned and not-so-tre­ac­he­ro­us path to fol­low. The flip­si­de of that is qu­ite shitty, tho­ugh. It’s a cle­ar path for wha­te­ver gets hungry and re­ali­zes we’re up he­re. I’d li­ke to bo­oby-trap it if I co­uld. I’m su­re I’ll think of so­met­hing.

  Night ca­me fast, and I loc­ked us up in the bu­il­ding. We re­al­ly do ha­ve a go­od thing go­ing he­re. We ha­ve plenty of fo­od for a whi­le if we ra­ti­on it right. Plum­bing and to­ilet pa­per is al­ways a plus. Beth even fo­und a bag of hygi­ene pro­ducts and li­ke-new ra­zors in one of the small back ro­oms.

  Beth has had one ra­zor all this ti­me, but she exp­la­ined that she wo­uld be sha­ving her legs pro­perly for the first ti­me in we­eks.

  No of­fen­se to her, but I gre­atly ap­pro­ve. I think I’ve be­en qu­ite smo­oth by just let­ting it go. They’ve felt li­ke ne­ed­les at ti­mes.

  DAY - 51

  This mor­ning was ple­asantly per­fect. We truly had no tro­ub­les to wa­ke up to, nor did we fe­el rus­hed in­to so­me sce­na­rio that wo­uld en­su­re our sa­fety. Of co­ur­se, Beth and I still don’t go anyw­he­re wit­ho­ut we­apons. That’s not li­kely to chan­ge.

  It was af­ter­no­on that our day fi­nal­ly be­ca­me a bit hec­tic. We we­re all upon the lo­oko­ut plat­form, and Sid spot­ted so­met­hing co­ming up the west si­de of the mo­un­ta­in. It wasn’t mo­ving too qu­ickly in any one mo­ti­on, but it was ma­king its way up to us. I strug­gled with my own tho­ughts for a whi­le on what to do. Part of me wan­ted to ma­ke my way to the dam­ned thing and ta­ke it out. The prob­lem was that I co­uldn’t jud­ge the si­ze of the thing be­ne­ath the tre­es it ten­ded to stay aro­und.

  It co­uld ha­ve be­en anot­her be­ar. It co­uld ha­ve be­en a hand­ful of gho­uls fol­lo­wing clo­sely with each ot­her. Wor­se yet, it co­uld ha­ve be­en so­met­hing el­se we hadn’t se­en yet.

  Beth be­ca­me too an­xi­o­us, and I had to con­vin­ce her not to was­te am­mo by fi­ring in­to the tre­es, ho­ping to hit it. Had we a lot mo­re am­mo, I wo­uld ha­ve al­re­ady do­ne so and pro­bably wo­uld ha­ve had her right be­si­de me. She’s a hell of a shot, so that wasn’t part of the prob­lem eit­her. The­re’s just no way we’re fin­ding a spor­ting go­ods sto­re any­ti­me so­on. I exp­la­ined that we we­re go­ing to ha­ve to wa­it for the thing or things to ma­ke it up to the bu­il­ding. I wan­ted to use eit­her one shot or the sword to put it down.

  Ho­urs pas­sed, and I was be­gin­ning to get ner­vo­us. Wha­te­ver the hell was ma­king its way to us was very ne­ar. I told Beth to stay on the first set of sta­irs on the plat­form and ga­ve her the keys to the bu­il­ding. I knelt down out in the cle­ar area in front of the bu­il­ding - my shot­gun on the gro­und to my right - my sword al­re­ady in my left hand. I had po­si­ti­oned myself to ma­ke a qu­ick cho­ice in dis­po­sing of the on­co­ming thre­at.

  Fi­nal­ly, what we had pre­pa­red our­sel­ves for ap­pe­ared from the tre­es and trot­ted slowly in­to the cle­ar area just in front of me.

  It was a hor­se. A dam­ned hor­se, and I was still al­most abo­ut to kill it. I gu­ess so­met­hing just told me to study it for wha­te­ver re­ason. The­re we­re no cuts on the hor­se - no bi­tes - in fact, the only grisly prob­lem the hor­se had was we­aring a sad­dle that had one comp­le­te length of a leg drag­ging be­si­de it. A hu­man leg torn away from so­me­one at mid thigh - the bo­oted fo­ot of the leg was still stuck in the right stir­rup of the sad­dle. The­re we­re even spurs on the bo­ot, and the cloth co­ve­ring the leg lo­oked li­ke de­nim - blue je­ans, al­so li­ke a cow­boy wo­uld we­ar. Beth and Sid ca­me down from the plat­form. Sid to­ok to snif­fing and ha­ras­sing the hor­se. The hor­se didn’t se­em too an­no­yed with Sid, but it did try to trot away from him at cer­ta­in ti­mes. Beth and I even­tu­al­ly re­mo­ved the torn, hu­man leg, which to­ok qu­ite a whi­le. The hor­se se­ems mo­re ap­pre­hen­si­ve of pe­op­le. That and the fact that the hor­se ca­me from the west si­de of the mo­un­ta­in ha­ve me wor­ri­ed. I no­ti­ced the hor­se sne­ezed a few ti­mes. Still, no­ne of us ot­hers ha­ve. I al­most want to kiss the hor­se in ho­pes I’d get a cold.

  DAY - 52

  I fi­nal­ly bro­ke the news to Beth this mor­ning. I had be­en up a go­od whi­le be­fo­re her or Sid and just sat the­re watc­hing them in the­ir sle­ep. I was stud­ying them in­tently. I wan­ted to see if they ever ex­hi­bi­ted any flaws that wo­uld gi­ve me an easi­er fe­eling abo­ut us la­tely. Not­hing - they ne­ver bre­at­hed ir­re­gu­lar, ne­ver sno­red, ne­ver sne­ezed, no grin­ding of te­eth or smac­king from a fe­eling of c
ot­ton­mo­uth - not­hing. I don’t even re­call ha­ving a prob­lem with bad bre­ath eit­her, tho­ugh we do ha­ve hygi­ene pro­ducts now, and they we do fe­el bet­ter for ha­ving them. Still, I am not qu­ite su­re we’d ne­ed them for the­ir pre­ven­ta­ti­ve qu­ali­ti­es. So what do I think? I think we’re all af­fec­ted - so­me­how. May­be things went air­bor­ne - may­be so­me­how they got in the ra­in and snow. They ob­vi­o­usly af­fec­ted the ve­ge­ta­ti­on way the hell out he­re on a mo­un­ta­in.

  Ne­ed­less to say, the na­no­tech are in­si­de us, but they aren’t tur­ning us in­to gho­uls. They are ma­king us bet­ter. At le­ast that is the ini­ti­al out­lo­ok. I ha­ve to ad­mit that this is dri­ving me crazy. Not kno­wing why is the worst part of it. I’ve be­en put­ting to­get­her everyt­hing I know abo­ut the dam­ned na­no­tech and how they we­re ma­de - how they ope­ra­te. They are mac­hi­nes, yet they are mic­ros­co­pic and ope­ra­te li­ke a vi­rus. I think that may­be they are star­ting to de­ve­lop dif­fe­rent stra­ins li­ke a vi­rus as well - mu­ta­ti­ons. They ha­ve to be chan­ging. The only ot­her op­ti­on wo­uld be that the­re we­re two ver­si­ons of na­no­tech in the first pla­ce. Eit­her way, ha­ving mul­tip­le stra­ins with al­most op­po­si­te si­de ef­fects me­ans the­re is a ma­j­or pre­ce­den­ce so­on to ta­ke pla­ce. If we’re lucky, the two stra­ins will even­tu­al­ly col­li­de and can­cel each ot­her out by re­du­cing them­sel­ves in strength, num­bers and simply the fact that they will be na­tu­ral ene­mi­es. They will ha­ve met the­ir match in each ot­her, and thro­ugh the ba­sic of ins­tincts, they will try to dest­roy the ot­her to be at the top of the­ir cha­in. Un­for­tu­na­tely, what of­ten oc­curs ins­te­ad is a mer­ging of the two whe­re only one of the two stra­in’s ca­pa­bi­li­ti­es is left and is usu­al­ly a stron­ger for­ce to be rec­ko­ned with. That wo­uld me­an we co­uld eit­her lo­ok for­ward to a world of truly he­althy li­ving cre­atu­res, pos­sibly free of di­se­ase for ge­ne­ra­ti­ons to co­me, or we may be on the ver­ge of a lot mo­re run­ning from things a lot mo­re fe­ro­ci­o­us. Af­ter exp­la­ining all of this to Beth, she on­ce aga­in wro­te me a simp­le mes­sa­ge: I HA­TE HOW SMART YOU ARE. NOW WHAT? I fully un­ders­tand her, too.

  The re­ma­in­der of our day con­sis­ted of watc­hing Sid and our new­fo­und hor­se, Char­lie. Ye­ah, Char­lie Hor­se - we felt it fit­ting sin­ce we we­re ten­se be­ca­use of him for ho­urs. The two ani­mals ac­tu­al­ly se­em to get along so far. Char­lie still do­esn’t li­ke Beth or I that much, tho­ugh. I wo­uld li­ke to le­ad him up to the first le­vel of the plat­form at night, but he just won’t fol­low us or let us aro­und him for long. I fe­ar we may wa­ke up to his corp­se one mor­ning so­on. So far, tho­ugh, we are in the sa­fest pla­ce the­re co­uld be.

  DAY - 53

  To­day ans­we­red our qu­es­ti­ons abo­ut Char­lie. It was right un­der our no­ses the who­le ti­me. It was just as Beth and I we­re clim­bing the plat­form to ha­ve our mor­ning vi­ew - our new ri­tu­al - I was lo­oking down on top of the bu­il­ding and no­ti­ced that ac­cor­ding to its la­yo­ut, the­re was a go­od bit of ro­om that we hadn’t se­en yet. I im­me­di­ately to­ok back in­si­de the bu­il­ding. Beth de­ci­ded to go and do the sco­uting abo­ve the plat­form. Sid just kept fuc­king aro­und with Char­lie. I just had to find out if I was right, so on­ce in­si­de the bu­il­ding, I be­gan tho­ro­ughly ins­pec­ting the back ro­oms. It didn’t se­em to add up any­mo­re af­ter ha­ving a ge­ne­ral fe­el for how big the bu­il­ding sho­uld be. The­re sho­uld ha­ve be­en anot­her ro­om in back - one in the cor­ner. Ro­me­ro’s Dawn of the De­ad ca­me to mind aga­in af­ter such a long whi­le. I re­mem­ber the pe­op­le bu­ilt a fal­se wall to hi­de the­ir pre­sen­ce, and they used the ce­ilings to mo­ve from pla­ce to pla­ce. I co­uldn’t find a fal­se wall, tho­ugh. I kept se­arc­hing un­til I no­ti­ced how much ro­om a hu­ge shelf in the bre­aker ro­om to­ok up. It was a mas­si­ve, me­tal shelf with lots of fu­ses, ext­ra post­cards etc. all over it.

  The dam­ned thing was pla­ced in the mid­dle of the wall, abo­ut 5 fe­et wi­de and went from the flo­or up to only a fo­ot or so from the ce­iling. I al­most de­ci­ded on re­mo­ving everyt­hing from the shel­ves and mo­ving it al­to­get­her, but I cho­se ins­te­ad to climb the shel­ves up to the ce­iling ti­les - the kinds in most of­fi­ce bu­il­dings. I fo­und that the­re was in­de­ed abo­ut 4 fe­et of spa­ce abo­ve the ce­iling ti­les and that the­re was a ni­ce 10-fo­ot by 10 fo­ot spa­ce of ce­iling ti­les be­hind that wall. The bu­il­ding spa­ce se­emed right then. I was ca­re­ful in pla­cing my we­ight on top of the wall, but it didn’t mat­ter. I still fuc­king fell thro­ugh the ce­iling ti­les in­to the hid­den ro­om. I had my sword in my belt lo­op the who­le ti­me and ins­tantly was happy that I didn’t land on that si­de. Then, in the dark­ness of the ro­om, I he­ard what sca­red me shit­less.

  So­met­hing was mo­aning very fa­int, and it stunk li­ke musty old clot­hes. I jum­ped up as fast as I co­uld and pul­led my sword. I he­ard crunc­hing no­ises as I step­ped in the dark­ness. I just star­ted swin­ging the sword in every di­rec­ti­on out of she­er ter­ror. I fi­nal­ly bac­ked myself aga­inst a wall and felt a light switch hit my back. I flip­ped the switch fas­ter than I ha­ve ever do­ne anyt­hing. The light ca­me on re­ve­aling three gho­uls that we­re damn ne­ar pic­ked cle­an of flesh. They we­re just tor­sos - li­ga­ments and bo­nes and hadn’t much left for fa­ces or necks. They we­re on each ot­her in a nasty orgy of sorts trying to te­ar at them­sel­ves. The bo­nes I had step­ped on we­re the­ir lo­wer ext­re­mi­ti­es. I pro­bably pa­used in shock for a go­od whi­le, but I did dis­po­se of them with ease.

  The sword cut the­ir he­ads off just as well as it al­ways has. I saw the bac­kend of the shelf in a do­or­way thres­hold and ran in­to it a few ti­mes un­til the shelf fell over. I ins­tantly ran out­si­de. Beth and Sid ca­me run­ning to see me as I ca­me out of the bu­il­ding co­ug­hing and pu­king. I lo­oked at myself. I was co­ve­red in dust from the ce­iling ti­les and had blo­od on my sword. Beth ac­com­pa­ni­ed me back to the hid­den ro­om to see for her­self. We ins­pec­ted things a lit­tle furt­her. The clot­hing of the gho­uls matc­hed up a bit with the leg we fo­und stuck in the stir­rup of Char­lie’s sad­dle. It was wes­tern we­ar - bo­ots and spurs, de­nim je­ans, cow­boy hats and thick, cot­ton but­ton-up shirts. I’m bet­ting that Char­lie knew the­se pe­op­le.

  DAY - 54

  Obvi­o­usly, the pe­op­le he­re be­fo­re us had a ter­rib­le en­co­un­ter.

  No­ne of the gho­uls we­re mis­sing a leg, and the­ir bo­ots don’t qu­ite match the bo­ot on the leg fo­und in Char­lie’s stir­rup.

  Eit­her way, the­se pe­op­le we­re put in this ro­om with two ot­hers and pur­po­sely left the­re. I’m thin­king one of the pe­op­le, may­be the only one left, had set out on Char­lie to go back to whe­re­ver they ca­me he­re from. Then so­met­hing hap­pe­ned - an at­tack by an ani­mal - may­be the per­son ri­ding Char­lie tur­ned gho­ul and be­fo­re they co­uld at­tack or harm Char­lie, he pro­bably buc­ked them off and li­te­ral­ly to­re away from them.

  The­re are many pos­si­bi­li­ti­es, but my re­al fo­cus is that no one in a wild­li­fe re­ser­ve re­al­ly dres­ses li­ke cow­boys of old. The­se pe­op­le had clot­hes on that al­most se­emed too cos­tu­me-li­ke.

  Imme­di­ately, Beth and I to­ok to lo­oking thro­ug­ho­ut the lobby of the bu­il­ding. I told her to lo­ok thro­ugh every broc­hu­re and post­card - everyt­hing the­re is. It wasn’t long be­fo­re Beth fo­und exactly what I had be­en lo­oking for. The­re is a ghost town only abo­ut 27 mi­les dri­ving dis­tan­ce from this re­ser­ve.

  I gu­aran­tee that it’s only 10 mi­les or less di­rectly
over the ne­igh­bo­ring mo­un­ta­in. It lo­oks well set in a val­ley, and from all of my vi­ews upon the plat­form, I ha­ve a pretty go­od idea of whe­re it wo­uld be. The who­le pla­ce is a throw­back to 1800’s wes­tern ci­vi­li­za­ti­on with cow­boy shows, hor­se­back to­urs, sta­ged bank rob­be­ri­es and sho­oto­uts, an exp­lo­rab­le mi­ning ca­vern and even a few ho­tels. Everyt­hing the­re lo­oks just li­ke an old west mo­vie with John Way­ne or Clint East­wo­od - God, wha­te­ver ci­vi­li­za­ti­on is to co­me may very well ne­ver even know who tho­se men we­re. I’m af­ra­id that a go­od bit of pe­op­le may ha­ve be­en the­re when everyt­hing went down. It was in early No­vem­ber when everyt­hing first star­ted, and the broc­hu­re on this pla­ce says it clo­ses down for Win­ter af­ter No­vem­ber 15 th .

  La­te af­ter­no­on, Char­lie be­gan to trek back down the wes­tern si­de of the mo­un­ta­in. Sid wan­ted to fol­low him, but Beth and I put him away in­si­de. So, Beth and I en­ded up on top of the plat­form watc­hing Char­lie as well as we co­uld for as long as we co­uld. This me­ans that the next ti­me we spot him or what may re­semb­le him co­ming back, if he co­mes back, then I will be pla­ced in the sa­me po­si­ti­on of pos­sibly ha­ving to sho­ot at him. I ha­ve a re­al­ly bad fe­eling abo­ut this, too - that Char­lie’s eit­her go­ing to co­me back to us be­ing ra­ve­no­us or pos­sibly just le­ading ot­hers our way. The snow has be­en mel­ting, and the we­at­her has be­en qu­ite war­mer the past few days, too.

  We­re it not dark, I wo­uld be very temp­ted to fol­low Char­lie with a gun and the sword. I’m thin­king that from the ice and snow, it pro­bably only acts as a hi­ber­na­ti­on for tho­se fuc­king gho­uls. I’ll bet that if they warm up eno­ugh, they’ll get to mo­ving a lot bet­ter. I ne­ed to swe­ep that pla­ce and wi­pe them all out.

 

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