by P. R. Sharp
***
Rinko closed the Pukka Pad and reopened it at the first page. She read the first few lines again, picturing her hung over friend, lying on the sofa she now sat on with his border collie bitch called Moya; then flicked back through the pages to the point where she had left off. She felt an incredible undulation of sadness swell through her as she continued reading.
***
My shoulder was so painful, it felt like the entire left hand side of my body had been injected with snake venom, and I slumped onto the kitchen steps. My eye is burning. We catch our breath.
As I sat on the step staring at the sky, I rolled my shoulder forward. There was a fierce stabbing pain and we both heard a crack. Rinko rushed over and sat next to me, her arm carefully hooked around my waist. She said that she was sorry; that it was all her fault. I tried to tell her that she was blameless. That what had happened to me was my own stupid error. I had been careless and paid the price. I should have kept my goggles on.
I should have...
She put her hand to my face and kissed my cheek. I turned my head and kissed her lips. She reciprocated. I couldn’t move as she cradled my face and started to cry.
It's not your fault Rinko.
It's not your fault.
In a dreamlike state, I watched as more helicopters flew overhead; definitely military and in a hurry. They all seemed to be heading east, probably looking for a suitable landing zone, somewhere open; I guessed. The Septix turned and watched as if they were witnessing a mass migration of birds, then one by one, they followed the aircraft and left the car park. We built a signal bonfire of bodies and watched them burn. Done in, I lay back as an excruciating surge shot through my neck and drilled into my brain. I tried to stand but the discomfort was crippling and I slumped back down on the hard kitchen steps. Eventually with Rinko's help, we got back inside and Rinko inspected my collar bone; she thought it might be broken and I was inclined to agree with her. As I write this now, it still hurts like a bastard. She raided the first aid kits we had swiped from the cars and I took a cocktail of Aspirin, Paracetamol and Ibruprophen, washed down with some of the single malt, then I fell into a feverish slumber for about two hours. When I awoke, Rinko had strapped my arm up pretty good across my chest with bandages, gaffer tape and used Moya‘s chain lead as a sling; now she was busy making a joint from all of the dog ends in the ash tray. I told her that she should go. She should take the BMW and find the army; they would be able to protect her, they would
have guns. She said that we should both go, but I knew that she would be able to travel much quicker without me slowing her down.
We smoked the joint. It was not half bad, considering it was made from ash tray scraps. It went straight to my head and I sank into a deep sleep. I drifted in and out of consciousness, catching foggy images of Rinko as she leaned over me. Her delicate voice spoke to me, but I couldn't tell you what she was saying; not complete sentences anyway. I heard her say that she would get help. I heard her say that she would take the car; and when I woke up, she was gone.
That was yesterday.
I think...
I wish I had told her that I was grateful; that I was glad that we had met. I wish we were a couple; that the age difference was not a problem. I wish we had a family. But there's none of that now; no chance of any come back tour. No chance of getting the band back together. I have no kids. No wife. No parents. No family. No dog. My friends are scattered and no doubt in as much shit as I am. No one will mourn me, or stand by my grave when I'm gone. All that will be left of me will be this chronicle of what happened; as I saw it.
So much for making it to the coast. I wonder if Jonny B managed to get there? The fat fuck...
For some reason I can't get this line of dialogue from Poltergeist out of my head...You moved the cemetery but... you... didn't... move... the... bodies!!! Funny how your mind latches onto something and won't let it go. Here's one for you and you're going to love it.
Ready?
Did you get that?
Discuss.
***
As I stood at the lounge window, hoping and wishing and willing Rinko to appear, I saw a big helicopter fly over the supermarket and drop something; then, a short time later, another Apache turned up. I could hear the distant peal of heavy gun fire; the Army has definitely landed. Couldn't very well authorise a full scale military invasion on home turf without there being a bloody good reason… I suppose. I feel very dehydrated. Is this it? Is this the meltdown? Or am I just thirsty? Oh shit! There's more gun fire. I can't see any movement from my window. There's some smoke. More gun fire. They'll shoot me when they find me.
I'm scared. Really scared. Fuck that… I'm terrified….
I'm getting out of here. No. Bad idea.
***
I want to look in the mirror because I’ve forgotten what I look like! But I don’t want to go into the bathroom because I will see Jonny B trying to rape Rinko. I will see ex-lovers taking a bath. I will see me taking a bath with ex-lovers. I will see me taking a bath with Rinko. My eye is burning hot. I can feel the virus inside me. I can feel the exudation of mucinous discharge within my meibomian gland, and the veins surrounding my vitreous cavity bulging and contracting. My brain is dying and my reticular formation is being messed with. So I will not look at the face in the bathroom mirror because I know that the reflection will not be my own. I made ourselves... Me and the virus, that is… a little den in case those bastards broke through our defences and got into the house. It's cosy. Moya would have liked it. All cushions, sleeping bags and the kind of stuff you would take camping. I'm drinking a lot of water and writing this by candle light. Pretty soon everything is going to be redecorated with shit coloured puke, and I’m afraid I won't be able to make our luncheon appointment. A viral alien computer program is going to rewire my hard drive and I will be reborn as a fucking zombie...
What would Jonny B have said? 'Very moody.'
So Rinko... I think this is it baby. I'm going to leave my little cave just long enough to plant this note book where you will find it, if you ever return. I wish I was younger. I wish you were older. I wish I could turn the clock back four weeks... But then we would never have met. When I've finished writing this line, that's it… I'm done… Whatever you do...
Rinko slapped the pages of the Pukka Pad closed in a clapping motion and looked up, holding her breath, just as Yates called out "Hey, what's in here?" She could hear him attempting to open the boiler cupboard door, and she wanted to call back, but no words would come. She jumped off the sofa and instinctively reached for her sword but found nothing; a mental image of it leaning against the cooker downstairs in the kitchen, entered her mind. She pulled the SIG-Sauer from its holster and stepped back, further into the room. Yates let out a single gasp of shock before someone, or something, exited the boiler cupboard with incredible speed and struck him with such force, he slammed into the banister and cart wheeled over the wooden rail, falling head first onto the hard stairs; his neck snapped and he rolled down the carpeted steps, landing in a crumpled ball on the kitchen floor. A series of shuffled foot falls were heard followed by a choking, ripping noise as Xander was attacked in his sleep. She tried to shake the depiction that was forming in her head, as the sound of flesh being flayed from muscle, and muscle being wrenched from bone, played across the landing. Rinko leapt across the room and stealthily closed the door. Panting, her heart racing, she backed herself into the opposite corner and shakily aimed the sights of the 9mm pistol at the door handle. She quickly glanced over her shoulder; beyond the net curtains, down into the compound and across to the car park. Infected numbers were escalating and the palisade fencing was beginning to sway under their combined weight. Her head turned to look back at the door, her eyes passing quickly over the stockpile of weapons that the two soldiers had left on the sitting room carpet. She took in a deep gulp of air and applied more pressure to the pistols hand grip, letting her finger lightly caress the trigger.
She caught her breath.
And she waited.
Thank you for reading
‘Ace of Spades Chronicles: Book One’. Essentially, it’s an origin story, and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. As the title suggests, there is a ‘Book Two’ in the works; here you will find out what happened to Jonny B, & maybe get introduced to Phase Three… Amongst other revelations!
If you read this on Kindle, thank you; please feel free to lend or recommend ‘Ace’ to your family & friends, and if you read the paperback version from ‘Amazon’ or ‘Createspace’, thank you. Join my mailing list to receive ‘Ace’ updates, merchandise & social networking links. (See next page for my email address.)
This is a self published book, so please talk about it. Click the share & like buttons for Facebook, Twitter & Pininterest on either ‘Amazon’ or ‘Createspace’. (Just type ‘Ace of Spades Chronicles’ into their search box.) Favourable and positive reviews are always welcome too. If you would like to see ‘Ace of Spades Chronicles’ as either a Graphic Novel or even a Movie… Spread the Virus!
I value your continued support and hope that come the infection, you can survive for more than a day, with or without sturdy gardening paraphernalia.
My sincere gratitude & best wishes
P.R.Sharp April 2015; hiding in a cupboard.
CALLING ENTRANTS
I’M LOOKING FOR AN ARTIST WITH THE VISION AND CREATIVE SKILLS TO ILLUSTRATE THE GRAPHIC NOVEL VERSION OF
ACE OF SPADES CHRONICLES BOOK I
I may use more than one artist for the PROJECT; it really depends on the quality of the submissions and the volume of entries.
: HOW IT WORKS :
SELECT A PARTICULAR SCENE, CHARACTER OR LOCATION FROM ACE OF SPADES CHRONICLES.
PRODUCE AN ILLUSTRATION NOT BIGGER THAN A4, ALL STYLES & PALETTES CONSIDERED.
SEND TO THE EMAIL ADDRESS BELOW.
: HERE’S THE DEAL :
YOU RETAIN ALL IMAGE RIGHTS TO YOUR WORK. YOU MUST REGISTER via email BEFORE SUBMITTING YOUR WORK. ENTRIES WILL BE SHORTLISTED AND THE WINNING ARTIST/S WILL BE OFFERED A COLABORATION DEAL,
(T & C’s to be discussed with the winning Artist/s.) feel free to submit a COVER, story board panel, a single concept of a moment, a character portrait; SUBMIT one or AS MANY AS YOU LIKE. ENTRY & PARTICIPATION IS FREE SO go crazy.
I’m more than happy to discuss individual concepts & terms so if you have any questions DO drop me a line.
Registration : Join Mailing List : Contact P.R.Sharp
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