Guns Don't Kill People...My Uncle Does (A Varied Collection of Short-stories Geared For A Man)

by Carla René

  Guns Don't Kill People...My Uncle Does (A Varied Collection of Short-stories Geared For A Man)

  Carla René

  Published: 2010

  Tag(s): horror humour humor short-stories fiction military

  Guns Don't Kill People… My Uncle Does

  Carla René

  Published by Carla René, ePub Edition

  Copyright (c) 2010 Carla René

  License Notes

  This eBook edition is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold, or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. Thank-you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Table of Contents

  Pocketful of Bullets

  Road Rage

  Stone Witch

  Blood Alley

  Bitch

  The Needles Drip Blots of Blue

  Sometimes You Gotta Go Down To Go Up

  Pocketful of Bullets

  "I said give them to me!"

  Chet Yancy shoved the bullets into his pocket, and shouted, "Get out of my face, Miller.”

  John backed down and considered his next move. He’d never seen his best friend like this. He searched for his K-9 partner, who was christening a new holly bush covered in fresh snow along the fence. He and Yancy had cracked heads before, but this was different. Yancy wasn’t himself. He was too unstable.

  But, Miller didn’t have time to think about it. He gave a high-pitched whistle; the dog, Lugnut, came running, and stood on John's left at attention.

  "Let's move out," said Yancy. He patted his pocket in his fatigues.

  #

  The convoy, loaded with supplies, dogs in carriers and soldiers, rolled down the hill from the facility, and onto the highway. They would arrive at the CDC Children's Facility by 4 AM.

  They’d been given the order to arrive in darkness. "No possibility for containment," had been the last of the message, sealing the deal.

  One-quarter mile from the bottom of the hill where the facility was nestled, the convoy killed their engines and rolled in quiet. Miller, Lugnut and the rest of his team were in place. They fell silent.

  Miller’d been dreading this all day. The last time he spoke with his daughter had been yesterday morning, and she’d cried so hard for her daddy to take her home, that she’d become hysterical. He heard a nurse finally take the receiver, and assured him that his daughter would be sedated and made comfortable. This had upset him more than her crying. And now, sitting there in the darkness, awaiting word from command that the time had come to finally destroy the facility, he felt that familiar knot in his stomach again. Angela would’ve been so disappointed in him. He felt a flash of anger at her for dying, leaving him to deal with all of this.

  #

  Yancy, in the rig just behind Miller, sat in the passenger's seat, silent. He pulled a photo from his wallet—it was of Janine and the kids on their trip to Myrtle Beach last year. They were smiling at the camera, unaware of the fate they would suffer shortly after the photo was snapped. Yancy felt his heart clinch. He shifted in his seat. He could just hear Janine, trying to talk him into doing the right thing. They’d talked many times about what they would do if the disease had ever spread beyond the point of containment. He could never seem to convince her that protecting the population from contamination took priority over trying to save her, or their children.

  “But that’s what antidotes are for!” she screamed one afternoon.

  He’d swallowed hard. “We can’t take unfair advantage over the public. It just doesn’t work like that.”

  She’d dissolved into a pile of screaming tears at his feet, making him feel even more helpless because he couldn’t fix it.

  It wasn’t a week after that, they were dead.

  Yancy had been best friends with John Miller since they were kids. When they landed in the same unit after basic training, they’d been excited. Neither had been away from home before enlisting. Then years afterwards, Yancy had been the best man at John and Angela’s wedding. Their wives had been pregnant at the same time, and their kids had played together.

  Now they were sitting in a dark ravine, waiting for him to give an order that would exterminate the lives of 500 children—one of whom belonged to Miller. He had to admit to himself, that this didn’t sit well. He’d held that little girl on his lap at Christmas and watched with joy as she squealed and giggled as she’d opened her special present. Then his heart melted like goo when she gave him a soft, little kiss of thanks on his rugged cheek.

  “Yancy? This is command, do you read? Over.”

  Reluctantly, Yancy picked up the mic. “Loud and clear, over.”

  “You’re go for Operation Yearling. Do you read? Over.”

  This time, Yancy sat staring at the radio.

  “I repeat, go for Operation Yearling. Do you read? Over.”

  Again, he refused to key the mic.

  “Yancy, do you rea… ” He clicked the radio off, and jumped out of the truck.

  "Aw, fuck!" He began to pace.

  Miller leaned out the window and whisper-shouted, "Yance? What the fuck are you doing? Get back in the truck. You an idiot?

  Yancy only stared into the night and continued to pace.

  "Yancy!" shouted Miller again. "You wanna jeopardise this whole damn mission?"

  Without turning, Yancy said, "I won’t do this anymore!"

  Miller, now facing his friend, stood cold.

  "Miller, who we kidding? None of the things we disagree on are going to amount to more than a poker chip and a chair in the light of morning. You agree?"

  But he didn't give Miller time to answer before he was off on his own sortie again.

  "I'm sick of watching a General get oiled as a diesel train, bonk his flavour of the week, then expect us to have to be Michael fucking Crichton when we're asked to explain the logistics of how we got him from point A to point B, without any pants, mind you, and if the White House kitchen really does have a tunnel."

  “What the hell you smokin, Yance? Get back in the damned truck before you blow it.”

  The troops now stood outside their trucks, and those who had witnessed this one-eighty felt the chill of mutiny and the heat of patriotism. For in the cry of a tired, desperate man, a change of purpose was born.

  "Miller, are you with me?"

  John stared at Yancy, studying his face—his poker tell. This time it wasn't there. “You saying what I think you’re saying? You sure you’re ready to throw away a career for a wild hair that got up my own ass?"

  Yancy pulled a handful of bullets from his pocket—the very ones intended for Miller's gun. "Janine and the kids would've certainly approved."

  Miller wasn’t convinced. “They told us there was nothing we could do.”

  Yancy didn’t even blink. “Would you rather she die in some cold room without you, or at home in her own bed, in your arms?” He put a hand on his friend’s shoulder, and softened. “Miller, we can’t catch it. You know this. And while you can’t make her better, you can at least spend time with her, instead of talking to her on the phone.”

  Miller sighed. God, how he’d wanted to hold his little girl again, just once. The longer he thought about it, the more excited he became. He looked at Yancy, studying his face. “Tell me what I need to do.”

  Yancy yelled back to the troops who were ready to proceed. "On my mark. And don't fuck it up. This one's for Miller's kid."
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  Road Rage

  “Get the hell off the phone and drive like you had some sense! It’s a Yugo for god’s sake!”

  Words that become my mantra each and every time I set wheel to the pavement on our interstate system. Wait, just a sec.

  “It’s called a blinker! Use it before I tear the rear-end off your Pacer with my Gremlin.”

  Where were we? Oh yes. Mantras. Ya know, I don’t think of myself as a particularly special person. I’m just a normal house-wife with three beautiful, god-given children. I vote, go to church, cut my husband’s toe nails on the weekend … I live a pretty normal, run of the mill Mid-western life that most people would kill for.

  But you get me behind the wheel of a car, and suddenly, that driver’s seat is a place of honor, my cheeks are the chosen ones, and I believe that only the pure of heart for traffic laws may inhabit it. I am an advocate for stopping road rage. And the ironical thing is that it took me seven whole tries before I got my driver’s license. Pssst. But that’s just between you and me. Road Rage is an unnecessary evil that must be abolished on the highways and bi-ways of America and I am the one to do it. It just boils my onions, “HEY! STOP RIDING IN THE PASSING LANE!” when people don’t observe the law. You know, those rules are posted for everyone’s protection.

  Oh I’m sorry, are you all right there? Yeah, just buckle up next time and you won’t hit your face with the dashboard. That idiot just stepped on his brake for no reason. When I pull up next to him, shoot him the bird and then I’ll speed up so he can’t pull a gun on us. Well why not? Well, I say if these people are going to act like idiots on the road, then it is our civic duty to give it back to them, full force.

  Oh for cheeze sake, did you just see that? He stopped for a Yield sign! It might as well have said “Beer”. What? Oh yes, I’m sorry. Back to the interview.

  How common a problem is road rage? I’d say very common now that you can buy firearms over the counter. But let that not be a deterrent I say. So you end up with a tiny bullet hole in your windshield. It’s fixable, get over it. And at least when you see yourself looking down the barrel of that gun, you can take pride in knowing that when you slammed on your brakes suddenly, it was to teach that guy behind you not to tailgate like a bitch in heat. “HEY! ARE YOU RETARDED? IT SAYS NO PASSING!” It is that commitment to abolishing road rage that will make this country great.

  Excuse me, got a live one. No, it’ll be fine, just let me handle this. Can you see him? He’s riding my ass. I’ll just let him pass. Here he comes. Yes, yes, the interview. Just a minute, I’m working here. Look at that, he’s talking on his cell phone with the windows rolled down. Heh heh; I’ll just blow the horn so he can’t hear anything. Oooh, did you see that? He’s not happy. I’m so glad you’re here to witness this moron’s driving for yourself. Wha? Well, now you can see me in action. Oh boy, he’s pissed. He just swerved into my lane! Can you believe the gall of some people? Hold on, I’m going to swerve back at him. Hah! Take that you piss-ant Would you mind staying on your own side of the car please? You’re breaking my concentration. And if you want to hang your head out the window, please roll it down first. Oh hey, look at that, he’s getting off at the next exit. I’ll just slow down to make sure. Wait. What’s this? Can you believe it? It looks like the assbag stopped on the exit ramp, and now he’s flipping a finger at me; just shot it straight up into the air! Well now that was just rude and uncalled for. I think it might behoove the department of Motor Vehicles to make everyone take a class in common manners each and every time they renew their license. You can quote me on that if you like. It’s all my own idea ya know. Oh my gosh, did you see that? It looks like the lady behind him didn’t see him in time and just rammed him in the rear end!! WOO HOOOO! Drivers everywhere are now avenged. I wish I could be a fly on his phone when the cops ask him how he got himself into that predicament …

  All right now, where were we? What? You don’t want to finish the interview? But what about your piece on me for the six o’clock news? Oh, you’ve changed your scheduling. Well, yes, I suppose I understand. That’s show business I guess. What about another wee… Yes, I understand, busy; lots of news to cover. I’ll just drop you back off at your car, and well, thanks so much for your time. Pardon me? Do I have Tourette's Syndrome? No, I don’t think so? Why do you ask?

  Stone Witch

  (An account of the true story of the Bell Witch ghost of Tennessee in 1820)

  by

  Carla René

  "Run!" Katherine Stone screamed at her four children from the porch of their Hermitage farmhouse.

  The children screeched and shot toward Katherine.

  From the porch, Katherine could see a large black dog following the children from the edge of their cornfield.

  "What the… " she said, while squinting to see.

  The dog ran after the children, gaining ground with each stride. When he saw Katherine, however, he stopped and sat stone-still, as she watched. The children grabbed her skirts, screaming, "Mommy, it had red eyes and a rabbit's head!"

  That's what Katherine thought. The dog heard the word rabbit, and took off for the thick corn rows, disappearing into the hazy Tennessee afternoon.

  Katherine led the children inside, bolting the latch behind her.

  Jack, her husband, just returned from the tractor shed and heard the children's screams, but couldn't reach them in time.

  "What's going on?" He said, while slipping off his rubbers.

  Katherine stood with her mouth agape, unable to speak, for it was too ridiculous. Fortunately, Victoria, her eldest child and only daughter, chimed in with the story first. The children had been playing in the cornfield, just at the edge of the rows, when they heard a rustling. Thinking it was one of their siblings, they all congregated toward the sound, and when the dog caught them unawares just feet away, they screamed, turned toward the house and ran.

  "Jack, it's almost like it saw me studying its head and stopped so I wouldn't see it."

  "You sure you weren't seeing things? I mean, the head of a rabbit on a dog's body? It's humid today, perhaps the image was distorted."

  "Well, dearest, I suppose it could have happened that way."

  Victoria spoke. "No mommy! We saw it, too, and close up."

  The tiny crowd hushed inside the kitchen while the horrible truth sank in.

  #

  "Dearest, it's a bit nippy. Could you throw another log on?"

  Jack leaned over from his armchair, put his paper aside, and tossed a hefty log onto the fire. He leaned back, winked at his wife and resumed reading. The children and Ruckus, the family pooch, were on the rug in front of the fire, playing jacks. The autumnal air had chilled not long after the sun sank behind the rolling hills of the March community and the family tucked themselves in for the night.

  Just then they heard a light scratching.

  "Is that a dog?" Katherine said.

  Jack walked to the door, and stared into the black night. "Hunh. Might've been the wind." He closed the door and returned to reading.

  Ten minutes passed, and the scratching returned, louder. Katherine ordered the children not to move, and walked to the door with Jack. Both checked the porch to no avail, closed the door, and bolted the latch.

  Katherine whispered, "What's doing this, Jack? I'm starting to get spooked, what with seeing that thing this afternoon."

  Jack frowned. "Not sure what to make of it, love. Could be a kid slinking away when they hear me make for the door. I don't know. Maybe I'll take a candle out and look."

  "No! I don't want to be alone. That thing chased our children today."

  Jack could see the glistening on her cheeks, and put an arm around her shoulders. "Don't worry, it's probably a possum."

  "That's right! They scare of noises and see well in the dark. We're probably just scaring him each time we open the door." She sighed.

  Jack agreed. "Indeed. Why don't we get the kids to bed?"

  Katherine kissed him. "Good idea."
<
br />   After settling the final of their three boys, Katherine and Jack saw Victoria was already snuggled in. "You going to be okay?"

  Victoria nodded. "I'll be fine, Mommy. I'm twelve now. It was just a weird dog. I've got Ruckus to keep me company."

  "Sleep well," said Katherine, as she snuffed the bedside candle.

  It wasn't ten minutes after Katherine and Jack had retired to their room that they heard Victoria screaming.

  When they reached her room, they stood in horror as they watched Victoria pawing at her eyes, blood oozing from the deep gashes on her cheeks, and bruises developing on her forearms.

  "Do something, Jack!" Katherine screamed.

  Jack stood frozen.

  Katherine ran to Victoria's side, and wrangled Victoria's hands away from her face. Just as she grabbed Victoria's wrists, the scratching and bruising subsided, leaving Victoria to cry and bleed.

  "Honey, why did you do this to yourself?" Katherine asked.

  Victoria screamed, "I didn't, Mommy, something awful did this to me!"

  By now the boys were standing at Victoria's door just behind their father, crying at the sight of their sister.

  "Jack, take the boys."

  Jack herded the boys back to their room.

  "Victoria, are you sure you didn't do this in your sleep? Were you dreaming?"

  "Mommy, I didn't. Please believe me."

  Jack returned and sat on the edge of her bed, examining the scratches which continued to bleed down the front of her dressing gown.

  "I'll get some water and antiseptic," said Katherine.

  "Daddy, you believe me, don't you?" said Victoria, sobbing.

  "Sure honey," said Jack, as he smoothed her hair and made soothing noises. "I need you to calm down, though. Can you do that for me?"

  She nodded.

  While Katherine washed her wounds, she asked, "Can you tell me what you remember?"

  Victoria nodded. "I was almost asleep, when I heard this scratching at the foot of my bed. Ruckus even heard it, but when I lit the candle and we leaned over the bed, nothing was there. I thought it was a mouse. I snuffed my candle, lay back down and a minute later heard it again. This time I looked all over, and Ruckus sniffed everything, but nothing. I lay down one more time, and heard a hissing sound near my head, then felt hands on my face that tore at my skin. Mommy, I'm scared!" She worked herself up again.