Inflictions

by John McIlveen

  Now Lenny gits all mad like a hornet just bit his pecker, an’ he yells, “Ain’t no way Butch knows about that!” An’ I figger that’s true enough ’cuz I knew nothin’ ’bout it, either.

  So Lenny slows his truck down to get his shit in line an’ cool his conniption, then he says to me, “We best leave that one be.”

  So I says, “Yup.”

  Now Lenny, his farmhouse is right smack-dab behind that bank, ’cept about four miles up Henneman’s Path, as you rightly know. So we drives up there all silent, ’cuz Lenny’s all bucked-up, bullshit, an’ bothered ’bout bein’ a motherfucker, an’ it ain’t just his momma that knows it now.

  So, when we get to his house the sun’s full out an’ must already be eight-a-five d’grees out, an’ this ain’t helpin’ none ’cuz Lenny’s already set to boilin’.

  Thinkin’ to cool him down, we set for the back of Lenny’s truck to get the case a Black Label out, an’ that’s when we see what’s on the tailgate.

  You know on a Ford pickup, where it says Ford? Well, it no longer says Ford, but now it says U KILT ME, ’cept it’s all bumped out like Henry Ford hisself done it.

  Stamped? No, I din’t do no stampin’, but Lenny looked set to start jackhammerin’. Now Lenny, he jus’ stannin’ there, eyes buggin’ like he jus’ got a fence pole drove up his ass, so I says to him, I says, “Lenny, you got sumpin’ you ain’t tellin’?”

  An’ Lenny, he says, “Carl, I got sumpin’ I gotta tell you.”

  An’ that’s ’bout when his girl Elaine showed up ’cuz she must a saw us drive up. So you can ask her, too. Yeah, I know Elaine can’t talk, but she knows Lenny’s story.

  Yeah, so I grabbed two Black Labels from the case an’ gave one to Lenny. Elaine, she don’t drink none. Beer was warm as pig piss, but ain’t the first warm beer we ever drinked, an’ it did rub the dust off our gums.

  Now, you know Lenny, he don’t ever wear much more than his overalls, but it was hotter than the devil’s dick out there, n’ he was all fidgitin’ an’ sweatin’, so we moved over to the shady side-a the barn an’ set down against it.

  Now, you listen up here, ’cuz what I tell you now is pretty in line with what Lenny telled Elaine n’ me.

  He said, he reckoned we both prolly guessed that before Elaine come along he was thinkin’ ’bout endin’ it all. That’s right, he was gonna kill hisself. Now, Lenny’s not one to usually be thinkin’ as such, so he felt it needed some ’splainin’ so we unnerstan’ why he done what he done.

  He done kilt his wife. I near shit myself when he tell us that, but Elaine, she just set there. Her not bein’ able to talk makes me itchy sometimes.

  So, Lenny says he come to thinkin’ that we both might be smellin’ her by now, with all the heat of late, an’ that he ain’t seen to buryin’ her proper. Been a couple weeks since he set her in the root cella’, an’ if he din’t see to movin’ Suzy soon, she’d raise all kinds a stink on the vegetables.

  He didn’t wanna do his Suzy in, but he done come home early from a delivery an’ when he got to lookin’ at what ol’ Red n’ her was up to in his bedroom, it got him all funny in the head. They was so lost an’ pantin’, huffin’ n’ carryin’ on that they didn’t even take to noticin’ him stannin’ there. So, he went an’ got his rifle an’ shot ’em right where they was.

  Got ol’ Red right in back of the head, he did. An’ Suzy … well you can ’magine where ol’ Red’s head was, lappin’ away like Suzy were some big ol’ salt lick. Kinda like what Lenny an’ Elaine have commenced to doin’, I reckon. S’pose that also ’splains why ol’ Red’s breath was so foul of late.

  An’ while Lenny was tellin’ us this, God’s truth, Elaine layed on the ground an’ done put her head on his lap, right on his bid’ness! I mean, anyone puts their head on my bid’nes, they best be plannin’ on a mouthful-a …

  Right. Shut the fuck up an’ git back to the story. Okay, I hear ya.

  Well, Lenny said the first shot done took ol’ Red outta the picture real quick, an’ done quite a hurtin’ on Suzy. Said she looked to him real sad like, but he weren’t in no forgivin’ mood right then.

  After contemplatin’ the situation a moment, he figgered Suzy was too far gone for savin’, anyhow.

  Took him three shots to put Suzy away. Reckon he could-a done better, but he ain’t never shot a real person before.

  Wouldn’ta been so bad, but he runned outa bullets. Had-ta pack more buckshot. Lenny said it din’t matter none, Suzy weren’t goin’ nowhere since the first shot blowed her kneecaps clear over her shoulders. An’ he was right, he even fixed himself a couple a san’wiches an’ jawed with me on the phone before he packed them bullets. Was near on an hour afore he got back to Suzy an’ she din’t hardly move an inch, he said.

  Her whinin’ an’ such had Lenny feelin’ real bad, but seein’ ol’ Red layin’ the way he was got him all shakin’ mad, which weren’t no good neither—couldn’t even hold his aim. The second shot done hit Suzy smack in her armpit.

  Always a shame waistin’ good bullets, so he done got up real close so’s not to miss. Seein’ her lookin’ so sad got him feelin’ off, so he done what had to be done. Y’know, nuttin’ changes the look on someone’s face like a twelve gauge.

  I know it ain’t like ol’ Lenny, gettin’ all worked up n’ jealous over his woman. Fact is, he was good for sharin’ Suzy out to his friends an’ all, as long as she comed home to make his dinner.

  An’ she were pleased as peaches to oblige, ’specially with Pastor Fred. Suzy was always jawin’ that ol’ Pastor Fred’s meat stick hanged nearly as low as Smoke’s.

  Smoke? That there’s Suzy’s horse, an’ Lenny din’t mind none when she got the hankerin’ to favor Smoke ever once ’n a while, but ol’ Red, he were Lenny’s dog! Lenny said shouldn’t nothin’ come between a man an’ his dog, Ol’ Red should a knowed that. Red oughta been ministratin’ only for Lenny!

  Well, Lenny done thought everthin’ over real good an’ he figgered he got no reason to live no more. Weren’t nuttin’ left for him, an’ he was bad hurtin’ for what he done to ol’ Red, too. Best servicin’ dog he ever had. Ain’t no easy road trainin’ a knack for pleasin’ into a dog. Done took Lenny a life-a years to teach ol’ Red, an’ he were betta stock than your average dog, pure bred Irish Setter he was, with some Spaniel an’ Shepherd, too!

  We’re all gonna miss Suzy a whole bunch. She was one fine woman, an’ pretty as first prize. She were real good at servicin’ too. Most taken gal in Farmin’ton, ’specially since Smoke done kicked her last tooth out. That tooth could sure put a hurtin’ on a fella, ‘specially when Suzy started heatin’ up. Smoke sure made for a buncha fellas celebratin’ that day. An’ ol’ Smoke never gave to kickin’ Suzy again, once she shared a bit of her know-how with him. Fool horse got big as a fence rail ever time Suzy done walked by him.

  Why you lookin’ at me like that? Looks like you just tasted yer first shit san’wich. Yeah, I’ll get back to the story, but yer the one lookin’ sick, not me.

  Well, Lenny knowed he was gettin’ on in years, an’ findin’ another lady like his Suzy jus’ weren’t likely gonna happen. ’Sides, they never got to havin’ no young’uns since Smoke done messed up her insides, so there’s none of them needin’ lookin’ after. Addin’ up all that, Lenny figgered there ain’t no reason to livin’. An’ that’s when Elaine done saved his life.

  Lenny said bein’ a husbin’ an’ a workin’ man took up all his time, but he ’membered when Elaine was a young’un, her mama so proud an’ showin’ her off to ever’one. She was a cute ’un. But after that he done forgot about her, she was just a kid. Then he done saw her the other day, comin’ out ol’ Filban’s house.

  Lenny said the way Elaine was lookin’ at him, got him a whole new way of thinkin’. He never knowed she growed so much to look so nice. Got him to thinkin’ that maybe there were sumpin’ to be livin’ for.

  He figgered, hell, once he buried Suzy nice an’ deep, he could jus’
say she runned off with some truck drivin’ fella, like ol’ Spellman’s lady done. You remember ol’ Spellman? He was so happy with her gone he commenced to buildin’ hisself a new g’rage the next day, cement floor an’ all.

  Lenny told us he got Elaine now, which throwed all thoughts a suicide right out the window. And there I am, feelin’ happy for him an’ Elaine, not thinkin’ ’t’all ’bout what he done, ’til we got a gander at that last couple a signs. That’s when the shit done hit the chipper.

  Huh? Yessah, the chipper. Ever dump a pail a shit in a chipper? Ain’t nothin’ pretty ’bout it. Done it on accident a while back. Painted damn near everthin’ for …

  Well, yessir, I do know what an imbecile is, my mom and pa raised nine of ’em.

  Okay … okay. So Lenny, he gets off the ground an’ says he done made Elaine a present an’ was right proud of hisself ‘cuz he even put her name on it. He said it’s in the barn an’ we need a have a look-see.

  It was a might darker inside Lenny’s barn, but we all saw it soon as we got in there. Lenny took three small wooden crates an’ done nailed ’em to each other an’ made a biggun, ’bout two feet wide, four feet long, an’ some-odd inches tall. Lenny painted Elaine on the lid in big white letters, E-L-A-N, pretty as pie. Lenny said it was a standin’ box an’ that it’d do his back a spell a wonder when him n’ Elaine was servicin’, with her bein’ so short an’ all. He was prouder than a stud Morgan ’bout it all, but then he seen his truck.

  Y’know how it says Smitty’s Farm on the side of Lenny’s pickup? Smitty’s Lenny’s last name—was his daddy’s, too. He gived Lenny the farm when he keeled over. It don’t say Smitty’s Farm no more, no sir. It says LENNY SMITH IS A THIMBLE DICK COCKSUCKIN MOTHERFUCKIN MURDERIN ASSHOLE.

  Now them’s angry words, an’ it ain’t Butch yankin’ Lenny’s chain. We all know it’s Suzy, there ain’t no doubtin’ it now, so Lenny gits all scairt now, an’ me, too. Ain’t sure ’bout Elaine ’cuz she don’t ever say nuttin’.

  I says to Lenny, “Lenny, you’re needin’ to make peace with your Suzy,” but Lenny was just starrin’ at his standin’ box, an’ he’s shakin’ an’ his face is redder ’n road rash. So I looks at his standin’ box an’ it don’t say ELAN no more, but it says CARL FUCKS SHEEP.

  Well, I ain’t never fucked no sheep no matter how pretty they might be, but Lenny ain’t hearin’ none of it.

  Lenny says, “You got your sights on my Elaine?”

  I tells him, “No way, Lenny. I ain’t never took no fondness to fuckin’ sheep. You know I git wool rash.” But then Elaine comes up and bites me right on the pecker! It weren’t a bad bite; fact is it felt kinda good, but Lenny, he’s madder ’n a snipped bull, an’ he goes full-throttle, eye-buggin’, arm-swingin’, leg-kickin’ bat shit on me.

  If I planned on seein’ a next day I had to fend him off …

  … and that there, sir, is why you found Lenny with a pitchfork in his head and stuck into the center post.

  How’s that?

  No sir, I ain’t full-a shit, had me a hefty crap jus’ afore I got here.

  Oh, you don’t believe me. Well, I ain’t never had a reason for killin’ Lenny, he was my friend since we was kids. But, I reckin’ I do unnerstan’ no one will believe it. I’m havin’ a tough time believin’ it myself, but maybe that’ll change yer ’pinion.

  No, looky there, on yer patch … right there.

  Yep, I know you see it. It’s written all over yer face.

  And if I ain’t mistaken, that there patch is s’posed to say Farmin’ton Police Department, not CARL, YOU DONE GOOD.

  Simon Says

  The airlock door opens quickly and a figure dashes in. I haven’t an inkling who it is since everybody in the microbiology lab wears the same uniform—Gortex from head to toe. It is a light material, but don’t be misled, these “bunny suits” have no mercy. They don’t breathe at all, so everything is retained within, be it sweat, body odor, or—God forbid—a fart. You’re safe until you unzip that baby, but then, beware. Nothing is worse than a stagnant five-hour-old butt-blast.

  Regardless, behind the Gortex suits and poly masks that hide our faces well, we are an anonymous crew … except for the extras—the extra tall, the extra heavy, and the extra busty.

  This person is non-distinct in any of those attributes, but I can tell by the way the person weaves through the sterile city of stainless steel and glass that he or she is excited. Because of the glare of lights on his mask, Simon Kearns’s face is not identifiable until he’s a foot away.

  I can see his huge smile, but everyone is smiling today. We’ve had a major breakthrough; we’ve designed a high-speed, super-mutating organism we dubbed the Sonic Cell. Its ability to hold and carry DNA has everyone hopeful for great things, like replicating DNA structures that could eventually cure cancer, for instance.

  “Doctor Michelson?” he says. He is a brilliant student, but usually glum. His open glee and ear-to-ear grin is not just unusual, but unseen before today.

  “Yes, Simon?”

  “You know the Sonic Cell we just created?”

  “Absolutely,” I say with a healthy dash of pride. “We’re going to change the world with this, Simon.”

  “Yes,” he says, “but, a hypothetical question. If it were to be blended with another living agent and then released on the populace, what would ensue?”

  “Well, Simon, that matters on the agent.”

  “Well, let’s say, Yersinia Pestis?” he suggests with that silly ass grin still plastered to his face.

  “Simon, that’s bubonic fever. At this acceleration rate it would be global devastation.”

  Still wearing that damned grin, Simon says, “You’re right, Doctor, we’re going to change the world.”

  Desolation

  Alex and Cullen Prague were lucky … or maybe not.

  They were enjoying the third of a nine-day vacation when it happened. More than a week in the White Mountains dedicated solely to hiking, fresh air, and tranquility, removed from the haste and anxiety of the incessant nine-to-five. They were deep in the throat of a cave, sitting upon black granite benches of nature’s design, drinking beer and gnawing beef jerky as they reminisced about their adolescence, discussed politics, and debated the authenticity of the most prominent breasts in Hollywood.

  When the earth shook beneath them, at first subtly and then with increased insistence, fear of a collapse sent them scrambling recklessly from the cavern mouth. Earthquake was the first thought on their minds; military attack was about the last.

  High on the mountainside it would be hard to miss the giant fireball to the southeast, or the other two in the distant south. Both men gaped in wonder at the terrifying, yet strangely beautiful orange bouquet blossoming before them. The savagery in front of them had yet to sink in.

  When paralysis broke, they retreated into the cave in a numbed, detached haze. They had no idea the magnitude of destruction. Was it confined to the Boston area … the East Coast … nationwide? Was it world wide? The thought and implications were staggering … devastating.

  They estimated that the nearest of the three explosions was set off over Portsmouth, New Hampshire, presumably targeted at the naval shipyard. The other two explosions appeared to have detonated over Boston, and either Worcester or Providence. There were more; of this—even without visual evidence—they were sure.

  What they could not figure was who was responsible? As far as they knew, America was at peace with all the superpowers. What diminutive or Third World nation had the capacity to inflict such devastation? Surely they would have been aware of any dissonance between the United States and another country.

  Alex glanced at his watch as he scribed another line on the granite wall. Twenty-three days entrapped in the dark boundaries of the cave, except for quick glimpses from the cave’s mouth. Even that light was depressed by the churning clouds. They were not clouds, he knew. The swelling particle accumulations that littered the sky would ultimately prompt a
nuclear winter.

  They had lingered in the cave for this long nurturing the optimism of helicopters, search teams, and worried faces. No helicopters, passenger planes, or even war planes of any kind traveled the skies; not that they could see.

  The truth is often simple, Cullen thought, but we always take the most circuitous path to get there. Twenty-three days to prove what we feared on day one … total devastation.

  The few creatures that had wandered into their haven left little doubt to the cause of their condition. So far, the half-dead animals—all scabrous with sickness—that had entered the cave seeking either shelter or smelling them as food, were of little threat and scared easily.

  “We’ll have to move on soon,” Alex said. Time could prove fatal. There had to be larger creatures that would come seeking food as their hunger increased, just as Alex’s and Cullen’s hunger were.

  Cullen’s thoughts were staccato images of his family. Were they alive? All he had was his mother, Alex, and his thirteen-year-old daughter Kelly. Cullen and Alex both lived in Seabrook, New Hampshire, as did their mother, a lifelong resident of the seacoast town. Kelly lived in Exeter, New Hampshire, with her mother Anne LaFleche—something Cullen couldn’t do after ten years of trying. Images of Kelly in pain, burning, or dead, flickered before him like a distressing movie that his tears failed to hide. He tried to push the horrors away and dislodge the stone-like lump wedged in his throat, but these negative thoughts were like magnets; even when he forcibly tried to turn his back on them, they’d inevitably pull him back to face the pain again.