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The Nation Chronicles Fan Fiction: Zero

The Nation Chronicles Fan Fiction: Zero


GEO DELL’S THE NATION CHRONICLES FAN FICTION: ZERO

By Geo Dell

Copyright © Geo Dell 2017, all rights reserved.

 

This book excerpt is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book 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 recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places or incidents depicted are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual living person’s places, situations or events is purely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means, electronic, print, scanner or any other means and, or distributed without the author’s permission. All rights foreign and domestic are retained by the Author and or his assignees.

Permission is granted to use short sections of text in reviews or critiques in standard or electronic print.

Cover art Copyright 2017 Geo Dell


This material is used in this blog with permission from the publisher

This excerpt is not edited for content


Carlos and Gabe

The man moved more fully into the shadows. “You Gabe?” he asked in a near whisper.

The darker shadow nodded. “You…?” He started.

“Now who in fuck else would I be?” He asked.

The darker shadow said nothing. The other man passed him a small paper bag. “Count it,” he told him.

Gabe Kohlson moved out of the shadow, more fully into the light. “It’s a lot; I can’t stand here, out here counting it.”

The man laughed. “You asked for this place. It’s the middle of nowhere. I Googled it, it comes up marked as the middle of nowhere. Who in fuck will see you?” He laughed and then choked it off with a harsh cough. “Count it. No mistakes… You got the shit?”

Kohlson’s head popped up fast from counting. “Of course I don’t… That wasn’t the deal.”

“Easy… Easy… Keep your panties on… I’m saying you got the shit... You got access to the shit?”

“That I got… I can get it out this Thursday at shift end…” He held up the paper bag. “A lot of this goes to greasing the skids… You know, to get it out,” Gabe told him. “This stuff.”

“Whoa right there,” the man told him. “Don’t say shit about it. I don’t know what it is and I don’t want to know, see? I do a job. Take this thing there, that thing here. That’s all I know. Keeps my head on my shoulders when all about are losing theirs.”

“Uh… Lost me,” Gabe Kohlson told him.

“Just shut up about the shit, man. I don’t want to know anything past what I know, okay?”

“Okay,” Kohlson agreed.

“I do know you got to get it out and I will be here to get it… Hey,” he waited until the kid looked up. “You know who I work for, right? You fuck this up you’ll wind up out at the county landfill… Gulls pecking out your fucking eyes let me tell you. I will meet you here next Thursday night… Seven… Don’t be late… Don’t fuck this up… Don’t make me come looking for you…” He faded back into the shadows more fully, turned and walked down the shadowed front of the building. A few minutes later he found his car in the darkness: He waited.

He heard the kid’s shit-box beater when it started. A few moments later he watched as it swept past him, heading out of the small park area toward the river road. He levered the handle on his own car, slipped inside, started it and drove slowly away.

Three months before:

Manhattan

“It makes no sense to me, Carlos” Jefferson said. “How can you say there is no one when I know there is someone? When she talks about her lover to her friends? This man, or boy, or whatever he is, is so bold as to meet her right in my very own home… Not always, but she brags to her friends about it. I know I listen, but she never says his name: How can that be…  It’s like she is torturing me with this lover.” He looked to Carlos Sanchez.

“Carlos, you are like my son. I give you everything. Power, money, whatever you need. Whatever you ask, I give, Carlos, you know that…”

Carlos nodded. “I know, Mr. Prescott, I know,” Carlos said.

“So if you are as a son to me, I am like a father to you. How could you let someone do this to your father? It is as though I were naked; would you leave me naked and laugh about it as Hamm did with Noah? Or would you cover up my nakedness, as Shem and Japheth did?” His eyes locked on Carlos’ own.

“I would cover you,” Carlos said.

“This man has left me naked, Carlos: Exposed. So has she, and I will deal with that transgression too, but you must find this man: You, my son. You.” He nodded firmly at Carlos and Carlos nodded back.

A few weeks later:

Esmeraldas, Ecuador

Tommy Murphy and Jefferson Prescott

Jefferson Prescott stood quietly and sipped at his coffee. The house in Esmeraldas was his private escape. He could sit and watch the ocean, or travel into the mountains in just a few hours time, and Ecuador was such an easy country to live in: The people so happy with so little.

He owned a building in Manhattan, he owned a house in the hills outside of L.A., but this was his favorite place. This was where he did his real business, entertained and spent time with the women in his life, besides his wife and daughters back in Manhattan. This was the place where he bought his associates. Those that another man might call friends: In Jefferson’s world there was no place for friends. The luxury the concept didn’t exist.

Tommy Murphy stood at the rail a few feet away and smoked a cigar, looking out over the ocean. He was probably the closest person he had to a friend. The two of them had a lucrative relationship. Jefferson’s drugs and drug connections, Tommy’s organized crime connections. Between the two of them, they controlled almost everything that moved on the East Coast. They had tentacles that stretched all the way to the west coast, and inroads into the south that we’re starting to look like highways.

They both dealt in millions daily. Privately, they were probably two of the richest men in the world, but they were on no one’s list of who’s who, except a few specialized task forces within the world’s governments: Even they couldn’t touch them. They owned too many of their officials, too many of their agents were on their payrolls. They didn’t fight the task forces or special government branches the way the old syndicates had, they simply bought them. Every man really did have his price. And if that was too high you simply bought the man beside him, or above him, it was just as effective.

With all the deals they had made, and the millions they had amassed, nothing came close to what they had on the burner right now. Tommy had fallen into a deal on a tip, a way to collect on a sizable gambling debt, and the two of them had decided to take the risk.

Tommy sipped at his drink and then raised his eyes to Prescott. “Concerned?” Tommy asked.

“Unconcerned… It’s only money,” Jefferson assured him.

“Good,” Tommy said quietly. He reached into his pocket and retrieved a slim silver cylinder. A small red button, with a protective cap in the same cheap looking, red plastic covered the button.

Jefferson pulled a deep breath, audible in the sudden silence. From somewhere deep in the jungle of a forest that surrounded them a big cat screamed.

“Looks like nothing,” Jefferson said.

“I told the kid it reminded me of these little refill cylinders I used to have for my BB gun when I was a kid,” Tommy said.

“Jefferson laughed. “I can’t imagine that you played with anything that didn’t have a silencer and at least a ten round clip.”

Tommy laughed and then fell silent. “This is it, Jeff. Strip off the protective cap, push the button… The kid said it doesn’t matter after that… How close, how far, it will protect us.”

Infect us,” Jefferson corrected. “There is a difference.”

“Infect us,” Tommy agreed. “I figure, why not… We paid the big bucks for the rest of it, but this will start us down that path… Why not do it.”

“Why not,” Prescott agreed. “A sample? Just enough for two?”

Tommy shrugged. “He didn’t say… I depended upon the reports he smuggled out more than the first hand knowledge he has. He knows what he has seen, but he has not witnessed anyone come back… The reports detail exactly that.”

Jefferson laughed and shook his head. “Immortality.”

“Immortality,” Tommy agreed. He paused, stripped the small red cover from the slim, silver tube and pressed the button before he could change his mind. Nothing: He turned the silver tube back and forth.

“Maybe there should be no sound,” Jefferson said. He had braced for what he expected: A small cloud of vapor, a hiss, something to impart that magic the tube was supposed to contain.

Tommy raised the tube to his nose, but there was no detectable odor. “But did it do its job,” Tommy said so low it might almost have been to himself if he had not raised his eyes and asked of Prescott.

“The million dollar question,” Prescott said quietly.

Multimillion dollar question,” Tommy corrected. He stared at the container a few seconds longer and then slipped it into his pocket. “In for a penny,” he said.

“In for a pound,” Prescott agreed.

“You know Ben Neo?” Tommy asked after a few moments of silence, changing the subject to private business.

“Your best,” Jefferson said.

Tommy nodded and turned back to the rail. “When you find out who it is tell me. I’ll have him take care of it for you. He’s good. Discreet. Fast.” He turned and looked at Jefferson. “Yeah?” he asked.

Jefferson nodded. “Yeah, I appreciate it. I’ve got Carlos on it. I’ll know soon. When I know, you will know. From my lips to yours,” he said.

Tommy nodded. He sipped at his drink again.

“I have that young woman you like so much coming over in just a little while,” Jefferson said.

Tommy turned away from the rail and smiled. “I could use the diversion,” he said.

Jefferson shrugged. “It’s what we do for each other,” he said as he got to his feet. “Enjoy yourself, Tommy. I am about to head back… Take care of a few things. I will see you at your place up in the Catskills next week?” he asked.

“Absolutely, Jeff, absolutely,” Tommy said. The two men embraced and Jefferson left the warm night air of the deck and followed his driver who was waiting to take him to the helicopter pad. Tommy watched him go and then turned back to the rail, watching the waves out in the sea, rolling under the moonlight.

“Sir?” a voice said from the doorway.

Tommy turned from the rail to look at Andrea Ivanna Zurita, the beautiful young woman who stood in the doorway smiling.

The Lita Situation

Manhattan

“Lita… Lita, stop, Lita: What are you doing?”

“I want you… I want you… I know what I’m doing,” Lita said.  Her lips fell on his, her body pressed up against his own. He had been okay until he felt the softness of her breasts pressing against him: The firmness of her thighs as they moved against his own thigh. Whatever he had held back: Whatever resolve he had, had, he lost. He felt it fall away as he pulled her to him: Tasting her; feeling her hands on his body.

“Lita?” he tried again, but without much resolve. He breathed it against her cheek as she kissed his neck, ran her hands over his chest, squatted and came level with his belt line. Her fingernails pressed against the fabric of his shirt, ticking downward, and she ran her hands across to stomach and found the catch to his pants, and then worked the zipper down.

“Lita… Think, Lita,” he said.

She took him in her mouth and everything flew away. Everything he had fought to say. Everything he had been afraid of. All of it gone. There was only the warm night, the girl, and the darkness.

She stood and lifted her dress, she was bare beneath: He picked her up and her thighs parted, coming around his hips and locking together as he slid into her. Her lips fell on his neck once more; his hands pulled her closer, drove deeper into her. He stumbled forward until the wall was at her back. She thrust her hips harder, and the last vestige of doubt, the last small piece of resolve, melted away: She came alive under his hands.

Watertown

Project Bluechip

Complex C: Patient Ward

Test Subject: Clayton Hunter

Compound SS-V2765

Gabe Kohlson moved away from the monitors. “Heart rate is dropping, don’t you think…” He stopped as the monitor began to chime softly: Before he could get fully turned around the chiming turned into a strident alarm that rose and fell. “Dammit,” Kohlson said as he finished his turn.

“What is it,” David Johns wheeled his chair across the short space of the control room. His outstretched hands caught him at the counter top and slowed him at Kohlson’s monitor.

“Flat lined,” Kohlson said as he pushed a button on the wall to confirm what the doctor’s one level up already knew. Clayton Hunter was dead.

“I see it,” Doctor Ed Adams replied over the ceiling speakers. The staff called him Doctor Christmas for his long white beard and oversize belly. “Berty and I are on the way.”

“Lot of good that will do,” Johns muttered.

Kohlson turned to him. “Go on in… Do CPR if you want… They don’t pay me enough to do it. I don’t know what that shit is. Look at the way the Doc suits up. Clayton Hunter will be in rigor before anyone gets in there at all.”

“No argument,” Johns said. He wheeled back to his own monitor, called up an incident sheet and began to type.

“Me too,” Kohlson agreed. “Preserve the video, med and monitor data.” He punched a few buttons on his console and an interface for the medical equipment came up. He saved the last 48 hours of data, and then began to fill out his own incident report. These reports might never be seen by more than one person, maybe two if you counted the person that wrote it, Kohlson thought, but it would always be there. Classified: Top secret for the next hundred years or so, and he wondered about that too. Would it even be released after a long period? He doubted it. The shit they were doing here was bad. Shit you didn’t ever want the American public to know about. He had made his delivery a few weeks before. Whatever this shit was, bad people had not only come to know about it, but had come to have a need for what it did. It didn’t matter to him, not really. There were rumors, a few things he had seen while monitoring test subjects. Nothing he considered concrete. Maybe it extended life that was the strongest rumor. From what he had seen though, as far as test subjects, it did its fair share of ending life pretty effectively too. And here was another one to add to the growing number of failures… If that’s what they were.

This incident report, along with the one Johns was doing, would probably get buried deep under some program listing that no one would ever suspect to look into. Or maybe it would get burned right along with Clayton Hunter’s body. He glanced up at the clock and then went back to typing.

“Uh… Call it 4:32 PM?” He asked.

“Works for me,” Johns agreed. “I got 94 for the body,” Johns said.

“Yeah… Yeah, me too: That’s a fast drop, but we both got the same thing. 94 it is… No heart, no respiratory, dead as dog shit.”

“Dog shit,” Johns agreed. They both fell silent as they typed. A few moments later the doors to the observation room chimed, the air purifiers kicked on with a high pitched whine, and they could both feel the air as it dragged past them and into the air ducts. The entire volume would be replaced and the room depressurized and then re-pressurized before the doors would open. And that would only happen after the air was tested and retested. A good twenty minutes away before anyone would step foot into the room with Clayton Hunter.

Complex C, Autopsy Room

Ed Adams and Roberta Summers had dissected Clayton Hunter’s body methodically. The autopsy had been painstaking. It had to be, it was recorded in detail and some General somewhere, hell maybe even the president, would be looking that video over in the next few days. Maybe even watching live now, Ed Adams thought. They had that capability. There was nothing to see. He had suffered a major heart attack. The heart had a defect. No history: Just one of those things that just came along and fucked up your two billion dollar research project all at once.

“Coronary Thrombosis,” He spoke in a measured voice. “Appears to be after the fact. The artery looks to be mildly occluded… The myocardial infarction appears to be caused from a congenital defect… Specifically an Atrial Septal Defect… Berty?”

“I concur; easily overlooked. The lack of sustenance put a higher demand on the subject’s heart; the defect became a major player at that point… Bad luck for us.”

“Uh, bad luck for Clayton Hunter,” Ed Adams added.

“Of course, bad luck for the subject, Clayton Hunter. I simply meant bad luck for a research volunteer to be defective in such a way that in effect it would compromise a project of this magnitude so badly.” She turned her eyes up to one of the cameras she knew to be there. “This in no way paints a true picture of V2765. We should proceed, unsatisfying as these circumstances might be, we should proceed with subjects 1120F and 1119X… Same compound.” She turned back to the corpse on the table. “You want me to do the brain biopsy,” She asked Ed.

Ed frowned as he made eye contact with her. They had decided, at least he had thought they had decided, not to mention brain biopsies. Three times now he had discussed the importance of not focusing on the changes that V2765 made to the brain. Anything that altered the brain could alter financing, funding, lab time. Even the government didn’t like changes to brain matter.

“Are you thinking there could have been an embolism?” He asked.

“Well I,” she sputtered away for a second before Ed rescued her.

“I think all we would see is evidence of the embolism that occurred near the heart. We could search out areas of the body and most likely find more than one occurrence of embolism. Well thought, Berty, but I believe we will take a look at the brain later in the week. Right now I want to focus on the enzymes, proteins, blood work and readying the other two for a conclusion of this trial.”

“Yes. I agree entirely, Doctor Adams.”

“You have your samples?”

“Yes of course, Doctor… Rex?”

Ed frowned hard and shrugged his shoulders in the direction of the thick glass. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “None in here… That was stupid, Berty.”

“What was that,” Kohlson asked Johns in the control room.

“What?” Johns asked.

“That… Whisper, I guess,” Kohlson said.

“Oh… That. You know those two got it bad for each other. Probably making little remarks you don’t want to hear. Besides which, you make a report on that and we all have to deal with it: Them, sure, but us too because the bosses will be pissed off about it. Best to let that shit slide: If the boss wants to know, he will. He looks at all of this shit in depth.”

Kohlson looked about to say more when Doctor Christmas began talking once more in the autopsy room.

“Let’s close him up,” Ed Adams said. He stepped on a switch set into the floor, paused, and then spoke again. “Lower the air temperature in here. We intend to keep him a few hours while we attend to other parts of the autopsy… No one in here for any reason.”

Out in the control room Johns keyed his mic button. “Will do… How low, Doc.?”

“I guess about 34 Fahrenheit will do… Just to slow it all down for a while.”

“Done,” Johns agreed. He adjusted a temperature graphic on a nearby monitor via his mouse.

Kohlson leaned over across the short distance. “So we got to look at that shit for a while? Great.”

“They’re gonna sew him up, so it won’t be so bad.”

“Yeah… That’s like; I got a mild case of flu. It’s still gonna suck, because every time I look anywhere I’m gonna feel compelled to look at it.”

“Yeah. Me too. It’s there. Draws you to it. Like the Bunny on the Playboy Cover. You look at the rest of the magazine, but you know you’re gonna end up looking at her. She’s the reason you bought the magazine after all.”

Kohlson nodded and smiled. “And I’d rather look at Miss January than a dead guy with big stitches across his belly and over his chest, sewing him back up again. That is some ugly shit.”

Johns laughed. “But you look anyway… Human nature. Why do you think people slow down and look at accidents?”

“Because we’re morbid mother-fuckers,” Kohlson agreed.

“Well, that too, but it is that fascination with death we have. Look,” He pointed at the monitor. Do you think Clayton Hunter knew he’d be laying on a steel slab this afternoon, dick hanging out, with Doctor Christmas shoving his guts back in and stitching him up with his nursey assisting?” They both laughed and turned away.

“She ain’t half…”

A scream cut off the conversation and both men turned quickly back to the monitor.

Clayton Hunter was sitting up on the steel table: Arms drooping at his side; mouth yawning. Doctor Christmas had backed away until he had met the wall behind him. Nurse Berty was nowhere to be seen.

“What the fuck… What the fuck. Get a camera on the floor… Maybe she fainted,” Kohlson said.

“Got it,” Johns agreed. He stabbed at the keys on his keyboard and a view of the table at an angle appeared. Nurse Bertie’s leg could be seen, angled away from the table, skirt hiked high. The camera paused briefly and then the view began to shift as Johns manipulated the camera angle. Her face came into view: Mouth open, blood seeping from one corner.

“Doctor,” Kohlson called over the speaker system. Outside the airlocks had clicked on and the air was cycling. Good, he thought, in twenty minutes the Calvary would be here. “Doctor Adams?”

The doctor finally took his eyes off Clayton Hunter and turned toward one of the cameras. On the table Clayton Hunter leaned forward and tumbled off the edge of the table. At the same instant the air purifier quit cycling and three armed men in gas masks stepped into the airlock.

“Jesus,” Johns sputtered into his headset microphone, “You guys can’t do that shit. That air has to be worked!” Three more men stepped through the lock and the door to the autopsy room opened as well as the door to the control room. A split second later the rifles in their hands began to roar. The sound was louder than Kohlson expected in the enclosed space. He clasped his hands over his ears, but it did little good. The soldiers, he saw, were wearing ear protection of some sort: Noise canceling headgear. The remaining three soldiers had stepped into the control room he saw as he looked back up from the floor: They had their rifles leveled at them; the others were still firing within the confines of the small autopsy room. A small gray cloud was creeping along the floor and rolling slowly into the control room. The stench of gunpowder was strong in the enclosed space. The air purifiers were off. Kohlson knew there was another control room outside this one that controlled this space, and possibly another outside of that space that controlled that space: Built in redundant protection; it was clear that they were in a very bad place.

Kohlson saw Clayton Hunter lurch to his feet and stumble into the soldiers who were firing at point blank range in the tight confines. A series of bullets finally tore across his chest and then into his head and he fell from view. A second later the firing dropped off and then stopped completely.

Johns was listening to the sound of his own heart hammering for a space of seconds before he figured out it was his own. The smell of gunpowder was nauseating, and he suddenly lunged forward and vomited on his shoes. As he was lifting his head he saw that the soldiers were retreating back through the airlocks and into the outer spaces of the compound.

“Jesus,” Kohlson managed before he also bent forward and vomited. They heard the air filtering kick back on as both of them rolled away from the puddles of vomit and quickly disappearing low, gray vapor from the gunfire. The doors into the autopsy room suddenly banged shut and then their own door whispered closed as well: Once again they were isolated in their small space.

They both sat silent for a moment and then Kohlson left and returned from the small bathroom with a mop and bucket from the utility closet there. He left again and returned with a bottle of disinfectant and sprayed down the vomit and the balance of the small room.

“That won’t do shit,” Johns said solemnly. “We’re infected. Whatever they infected that guy Hunter with, we got it now.

Kohlson ignored him, waited the ten minutes for the disinfectant to work and then cleaned up the mess. Neither spoke while he returned the equipment to the small closet and then came back and sat down.

“You heard me, right?”

“I heard you,” Kohlson admitted. “I just don’t give a fuck… It’s too fresh… I can’t believe it right now.” He looked up at the clock. “Mother fucker… I was off duty in twenty minutes… Twenty goddamn minutes!” He spun and looked at Johns, but Johns was looking up at the monitors that were still on in the autopsy room. The smoke was being drawn out by the air exchange, and the horror of the room was slowly coming into focus.

Doctor Adams lay sprawled in one corner, a line of bullet holes stitched across his back. The back portion of his skull was missing, jagged bone and gray-black hair clumped wildly around the fractured bone. Johns gagged and looked away.

“Jesus… They killed everybody,” Kohlson said as he continued to watch. Nurse Bertie lay where she had fallen. Only her legs visible in the shot they could see. Clayton Hunter lay against the end of the stainless slab, his head a shapeless mass. The stitches across his chest and stomach bulging. Kohlson finally turned away too.

“They’re coming back for us.” Johns said.

Kohlson spun to the door.

“Not now, stupid ass, but you can’t think we get to live after that. They contaminated our air. We’re dead. No way are we not dead.”

Kohlson said nothing.

~

It was six hours before the soldiers came. They had finally taken a better look at the room, Johns moving the camera around as Kohlson watched.

“Dave… Tell me I’m wrong, but that fucker came back to life, right?” He was unsure even as he said it.

Johns shrugged. “I think what happened is they missed something… We missed something. Maybe a lead came off, you know… And the lead came off and so he seemed dead and he wasn’t dead at all, not really, he was still alive… Just that lead was off.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I mean… I mean the alternative is that he came back to life… You don’t think that do you? I mean, do you? Cause that’s fucking crazy, Gabe, crazy.”

“No. No, I can see what you mean. I can see where that could be… But I’ve heard rumors…”

“Same as we all have,” Johns agreed. “But come on, that’s…”

The air lock cycled on and six soldiers stepped into the hall like space that was actually just an airlock between the control room, the autopsy room, the former patient ward and the outside world. Johns tensed, waiting for the door to their space to cycle on, but it didn’t.

The soldiers were dressed head to toe in army drab-green plastic coveralls. Respirators, big units, sat on their backs and a full face shield and breathing apparatus covered their faces, somehow joined into the coveralls. Tape was wound around the elastic cuffs of the legs and the plastic boot covers that joined there. Flexible olive-green gloves covered their hands, also taped where they slipped under the plastic coveralls. They never looked their way at all, just waited for the air lock to cycle and then stepped into the autopsy room. A second later the monitors went dead in the control room.

“Fuck,” David Johns said. “That is not good at all.”

Kohlson got up and left the room. A minute later he was back with two diet colas. He handed one to David Johns and then sat back down. Johns glanced down at the cola. The top was open already. He looked at Kohlson and Kohlson stared back unblinking. They kept the supply of the virus compounds they were testing in there, but the med supplies cabinet was also in that closet. They had talked it over once. They had decided that… He pushed it away and focused on the low whisper of the air exchange

“You think they will outright kill us,” Kohlson asked after a few long minutes of silence.

“Gabe… I think they will, Gabe.” Johns said after a hesitation. He tried to stop himself, but he glanced down at the cola in his hand. It was half full. White powder floated on the surface. Clumped and drifting like tiny icebergs across a cola sea. “Probably… No. They’re listening in right now, I’m sure. Listening to see where our minds are at: As soon as those flunkies in there are finished with that job they’ll be in here to finish up the clean up.” He swallowed hard.

“Yeah, I guess that’s how I see it too,” Kohlson agreed. He raised his can and tapped the side. “Been good knowing you, Dave.”

Johns stared him down for a few moments and then sighed. “Yeah, same here.” He raised the can in a salute and then downed it. Kohlson followed suit. Silence descended on the control room…


Available from Amazon only: Kindle Version | Paperback | Author Geo Dell



 

The Original Survivors: From Ashes. The original tale of the survivors

The Original Survivors: From Ashes. The original tale of the survivors book one. The apocalypse begins and the survivors face the apocalypse head on…



THE ORIGINAL SURVIVORS

FROM ASHES

The Original Survivors: From Ashes is copyright © 2017 Dell Sweet. All rights foreign and domestic reserved in their entirety.

Cover Art © Copyright 2017 Wendell Sweet

Some text copyright 2010, 2014, 2015 Wendell Sweet

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book 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 recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your bookseller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.


LEGAL

This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places or incidents depicted are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual living persons places, situations or events is purely coincidental.

This novel is Copyright © 2017 Wendell Sweet and his assignees. Dell Sweet and Geo Dell are publishing constructs owned by Wendell Sweet. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means, electronic, print, scanner or any other means and, or distributed without the author’s permission.

Permission is granted to use short sections of text in reviews or critiques in standard or electronic print.


This excerpt is licensed for this blog and used with permission. This material has NOT been edited for content and is therefore rated 18+


Destruction

“This was all me,” Mike said as they stood just inside the shattered front windows of the supermarket. The large piles of debris he had pulled out of his way as he searched through the rubble seemed to frame the dark opening that led into the interior of the store, piled high on either side of the twisted steel frames. They formed a dark, forbidding tunnel.

“Maybe it’s a little worse for wear and tear from the rain and the last earthquake.” He looked around and shook his head. “Maybe not though. It doesn’t look any worse at all. Doesn’t look like the rain got in.”

The smell was strong though. It made Mike wish he had removed the bodies the last time he had been there. Patty, Candace and Ronnie all had faces on, wrinkled noses, squinting eyes, partially turned away from the darkened tunnel and the aisles that were barely visible in the gloom.

“It’s pretty bad,” Ronnie said.

Mike simply nodded.

“I shopped here a few times,” Candace said. “I know the basic layout.” She looked to the left then to the right. “Mostly canned vegetables, canned soups, stews, that sort of thing?” She pointed to an area Mike had cleared out.

“Yeah,” Mike agreed, impressed. “I was trying to remember which way to go.” All three of the others were nodding in understanding.

“Patty, did you and Ronnie come here? I think we want to go to the left. I think the next aisle is paper goods, utensils stuff like that.” Candace said.

“A few times,” Ronnie elaborated.

“All the time,” Patty added. “He doesn’t like to shop if I remember correctly.”

Ronnie laughed. “Pizza delivery for Two C,” he said and laughed. Then, “yeah, it was easier to get something on the way home, have a pizza delivered. I think my refrigerator had two or three boxes with leftover pizza, and a couple of six packs… maybe an old jar of Mayo.” He looked apologetic.

“Stuff’ll kill you,” Mike said.

“Yeah. Yeah, but it tastes good,” Ronnie laughed.

Patty rolled her eyes. “Yeah… Paper stuff… Toilet tissue. Some medications, gadgets, you know, like little can openers, oven timers.”

They all looked at each other.

“Good a place as any to start,” Ronnie said. They all nodded and started to work clearing the debris from the front of the aisle, piling it outside the shattered front windows.

Everyone wore heavy gloves to protect themselves from all the broken glass and brick, so the work went quickly. They had pulled the trucks as close to the front of the building as they could, so once they reached the aisle it was easy to retrieve and load what they chose to keep right into the trucks.

Moving the debris that blocked the aisles went much faster with three extra pairs of hands. In no time at all they had progressed down the aisles and were nearing the back wall of the supermarket.

“The end,” Patty said, thinking out loud, “Breads, Cakes, fresh produce…”

“I think so,” Candace agreed.

The closer they got to the back of the store the stronger the odor of corruption became.

“Bad,” Patty said.

“Yeah… I think that’s lunch meat… Produce…”

“The butcher shop is back there also,” Ronnie said.

“Storage?” Candace asked.

“Probably where Lilly got the corn. She probably used the back door though,” Mike said.

They had already come across two bodies as they had dug their way through the aisles. Rather than leave them there as Mike had done, they had dragged them out of the market and covered them with a tarp at the front of the store. Despite that, the store didn’t smell any better than it had. Rats, mice, and bugs had infested the market.

“Both the Suburbans are packed. The pickup nearly is,” Ronnie said.

“Yeah,” Mike said. “I’m thinking, what else is there here that we could need?”

“Duh,” Patty said and smacked her forehead with an open palm. “Hang on. Follow me,” she turned and walked down to the destroyed front window area and stepped out into the bright sunlight. The others followed, stopping to blink their eyes rapidly in the overly bright sunlight. Slowly adjusting after so long inside the dark interior.

Patty made her way along the front of the store, in the same direction they had been walking inside. Just about twenty feet from the end of the store a single steel door rested.

“The back door,” Patty said. “It used to be a drug store, but when it was closed the supermarket snapped up the lease on that space. They took out the front windows and bricked it all up, put in this steel door unit. We can get into the back storage area from here. That’s what they used it for, more storage. I remember reading about it in the paper. One of those days when I was so bored I read every story in the paper.” She laughed. “You know, in a small town, everything’s a big story.”

Ronnie looked over the handle with its inset lock. “This can’t be the way Lilly got in,” he said.

“No,” Candace agreed. “There’s a whole different warehouse area at the absolute back of the store. Different area.”

Ronnie nodded. “I don’t know if it wouldn’t still be easier to go through from the inside though.” He looked over the door. “That’s a steel jamb. And that,” He pointed down at the inset lock, “Is probably a deadbolt. It’s going to be tough to get opened easily.”

Mike left, walked to the Suburban and came back a few seconds later with a massive sledge hammer and a long heavy crow bar. He set the end of the crowbar into the steel jamb at the place were the lock-set was. He tapped it lightly a few times to wedge it into the door. After the easy taps he swung hard twice, driving the heavy bar into the door. The door easily dented inward, the lock-set pieces flying out onto the concrete of the sidewalk as he drove the end of the heavy crowbar home.

The door itself bent out of the frame with a soft squeal of metal.

Mike started forward into the small circle of light when the odor from inside the space suddenly leapt out to assault him. At the same time, a distinct sound reached his ears, the sound of dozens of buzzing flies. Mike moved back quicker than he had thought to and nearly tripped over the others as he did.

Ronnie stepped forward, snagged what was left of the door and pushed it shut. The broken lock mechanism jammed in the steel door unit and held it closed.

Ronnie’s face was gray. Sweat popped out along his brow. He had seen dozens of bodies inside, just within the small perimeter of light that had come through the open doorway, and what looked to be dozens more just beyond in the shadows.

“Jesus,” he managed as he quickly made his way past the others, around the side of the building, away from the odor. He almost kept his breakfast down, but as the picture of the devastation inside replayed in his head, he lost the brief struggle. He came back after a few minutes.

Everyone had walked further down what was left of the sidewalk, away from the door. His face was still pale, but he felt marginally better.

“All right,” Patty asked as she rested the back of her wrist against his forehead. Her eyes were worried.

“Better,” Ronnie said. “I just wasn’t prepared for that. I’ve never seen anything like that.”

“Looked like they were stuck in there,” Candace said.

“Except they could’ve just knocked the lock off like we did.” Mike’s eyes met Ronnie’s. They had both been close to the door as it opened and they had both seen the same things. Weapons scattered everywhere. There had been some sort of battle in there.

“What?” Candace asked. She looked at Ronnie.

“Looked like a lot of weapons just lying around by the bodies…like maybe a gunfight took place and then the ceiling caved in. But they were dead before that… shot for some reason. Shot each other?” He looked over at Mike.

“Maybe,” Mike allowed. “Or shot and then whoever did it just shut and locked the door and walked away.” He shrugged helplessly.

“Well, they must have killed each other,” Patty said.

“Maybe,” Ronnie said. “But like Mike said…” He shrugged too. “Some weapons looked like they might have been thrown in on top of them… It doesn’t fit.”

Mike nodded.

Candace looked from Mike to Ronnie, a look of disbelief on her face. She glanced back down at the door, back at Mike once more, then spun and walked back down to the door.

“Candace,” Mike called. He started after her, but she reached the door and tugged it open before he reached her. “You don’t,” he started.

She drew in a short breath; her hands came up and cupped her nose and mouth. Her legs were planted firmly, her posture rigid. “It’s true,” she mumbled through her hands. Mike leaned past her shoulder and took a closer look at the room.

There were many more bodies than his first quick look had shown him. The weapons were lying on top of the bodies, as though they had been shot and then someone had tossed the weapons into the room, shut the door and walked away. Just as it had seemed to both he and Ronnie in their first short view.

What hadn’t appeared in their first short view were the other things that were, at first, not readily seen.

They had, every one, been shot in the head. But that was not the only thing. It was the way some people’s hands weren’t showing. That in itself didn’t actually register for a few seconds until he realized no one’s hands were showing. Then his eyes took in the bodies in more detail than his eyes had wanted to provide, and he realized the reason their hands were not showing was because they were behind their backs.

He saw two people that answered the why of that. Bright glimpses of metal showed between the bloated skin of their wrists. Handcuffed… His mind had supplied tied, but it was not tied, it was handcuffed. And handcuffed was not a mistake. Handcuffed could not shoot back at all. They had been herded in here, for whatever reason, handcuffed and shot… Murdered, his mind supplied.

“Come on,” he said quietly to Candace. “We don’t need to see any more of this do we?”

She shook her head, turned back towards him, and then suddenly found herself running around the side of the building the same way that Ronnie had. A few minutes later, she came back out and joined the others. Everyone was silent. The morning had moved on and the afternoon was bright sunshine and warmth on the cracked sidewalk, but none of that warmth seemed able to touch her.

“Probably never know why,” Ronnie said after a long silence. He spun the cap off a bottle of water, took a deep drink, rinsed his mouth, spat and then drank again. They were all gathered around the trucks.

Mike stared off down what was left of State Street. The street itself was more dirt and sand than pavement. The buildings that were left tilted crazily. Some looked almost untouched until you got close to them. From here they looked fine, just like from the sidewalk the steel door hadn’t seemed to be hiding anything special, his mind jabbered.

“There’s another drug store up the street,” he said, just to be talking. “I didn’t check it. I wasn’t thinking about it. It’s an actual drug store… So I was thinking what could there be there that I would need. But drugstores sell all sorts of things. We could go see.”

“Let’s go see,” Patty said.

They all piled into the trucks like they had only been looking for an excuse to go. As they drove away, Mike knew he would never come back to the supermarket for anything. Silence held as they maneuvered their way over the shattered pavement and made their way down the street…


I hope you enjoyed the free reading. You can get the entire book at the links below. The book is an Amazon exclusive…

Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/152195402X

Amazon paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B074B7T4MC

Geo Dell’s The Nation Chronicles Fan Fiction


Geo Dell’s The Nation Chronicles Fan Fiction: Death Kindle Edition

Eternal Rest Lawns
Tommy Murphy
The room was dark. He had dozed off… Dozed off and… No good. He couldn’t bring it back. He had dozed off, that much was true. He had felt bad, ill… The virus was taking a toll on him, or the medication and so he had dozed off and slept for a while: Apparently a long while, and apparently deeply. Lita must have turned down the lights and pulled the heavy drapes, but he could not recall her doing that. He could not even recall her leaving him. It was something she rarely did and it shocked him now to find that she might have.
The living room where she had set up the hospital bed was entirely dark. Not a sign of light anywhere. He moved his hand; the thought was to bring it to his face to see if it could be seen. This seemed to be the darkest room he had ever experienced in his life. In his life, he found himself repeating as his hand banged into something substantial and stopped suddenly. Too suddenly: Had he rolled closer to the inside edge of the bed? The rail? Something like that? Pinned his arm? He rolled to the right to correct it, sure that was the problem, but he met with no success at all. The same hard structure stopped him, or seemed to.
He blinked, squinted and tried to see better. No good, pitch black, and although he was a man who had little natural fear he had begun to panic right then.
He had found that fear had become a near constant visitor with him over the last few months. And he had come to find that fear was not the thing that most people thought it was, fear was something else entirely. Fear was everything in the rational world that you did not understand.
He tried to sit up: His body was weak, but he managed to get it to start to rise when his head had slammed into the same immovable surface. Hard, iron hard, unmoving. In a near full blown panic he raised his hands as slowly as he could from his side and felt at his surroundings. The shape was not familiar, but in another way, on a subconscious level, it seemed completely familiar to him: The shape, the volume, the texture of slippery satin against his fingers, the hard surface beneath the satin. A recessed seam running across, side to side, another longer seam traversing the sides that he could not bend his hands into any sort of shape to follow. He continued along, feeling, probing, when he suddenly realized that he had forgotten to breathe. He had been so caught up in discovering this mystery that he had completely forgotten. He had never heard of anything like this happening to anyone, but he had no doubt that it had just happened to him. He was not breathing. He had not taken a breath in… He had no idea, a long while… Too long.
He tried to open his mouth and then the real panic set in. He could not open his mouth. His lips seemed joined together, unable to part. He put a little extra effort into it and felt them part with a hard, low ripping sound. Flesh stripped from flesh, like when your lips had dried out and then stuck together only worse than that…
Okay… Okay, don’t panic, it’s all fixable. He had probably just pulled a great deal of skin from his lips, but it would be fine. It would be… His fingers felt at his lips: It was not going to be fine. There were chunks and pieces of his lips attached to both lips. Thread woven from one to the other had held them together. Some ones idea of a joke: The thought had flashed across his mind, but even as it did he knew it to be untrue. No one would play that trick, not on him. Lita would never allow anyone to get that close to play that trick even if they had thought to.
The truth of the situation hit him just that fast and he began to claw and tear at the satin lining. He tried to scream, but he could pull no air into his lungs. He felt his nails digging at the slippery satin, catching on the wood just below the surface and breaking, snapping off as the panic took over completely and he tried even harder to fight his way out of the casket…


Get a free preview or get the book right now: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B074632SGC


Geo Dell’s The Nation Chronicles Fan Fiction: Zero Kindle Edition

“Let’s close him up,” Ed Adams said. He stepped on a switch set into the floor, paused and then spoke again. “Lower the air temperature in here. We intend to keep him a few hours while we attend to other parts of the autopsy… No one in here for any reason.”
Out in the control room Johns keyed his mic button. “Will do… How low, Doc.?”
“I guess about 34 Fahrenheit will do… Just to slow it all down for a while.”
“Done,” Johns agreed. He adjusted a temperature graphic on a nearby monitor.
Kohlson leaned over across the short distance. “So we got to look at that for a while? Great.”
“They’re gonna sew him up, it won’t be so bad.”
“Yeah… That’s like; I got a mild case of flu. It’s still gonna suck because every time I look anywhere I’m gonna feel compelled to look at it.”
“Yeah. Me too. It’s there. Draws you to it. Like the Bunny on the Playboy Cover. You look at the rest of the magazine, but you know you’re gonna end up looking at her. She’s the reason you bought the magazine after all.”
Kohlson nodded and smiled. “And I’d rather look at Miss January than a dead guy with big stitches across his belly and over his chest, sewing him back up again. That is some ugly stuff.”
Johns laughed. He pointed at the monitor.
“Do you think Clayton Hunter knew he’d be laying on a steel slab this afternoon, with Doctor Adams shoving his guts back in and stitching him up with his nursey assisting?” They both laughed and turned away.
“She ain’t half…”
A scream cut off the conversation and both men turned quickly back to the monitor.
Clayton Hunter was sitting up on the steel table: Arms drooping at his side; mouth yawning. Doctor Adams had backed away until he had met the wall behind him. Nurse Berty was nowhere to be seen.
“Get a camera on the floor… Maybe she fainted,” Kohlson yelled.
“Got it,” Johns agreed. He stabbed at the keys on his keyboard and a view of the table at an angle appeared. Nurse Bertie’s leg could be seen, angled away from the table, skirt hiked high. The camera paused briefly and then the view began to shift as Johns manipulated the camera angle. Her face came into view: Mouth open, blood seeping from one corner.
“Doctor,” Kohlson called over the speaker system. Outside the airlocks had clicked on and the air was cycling. Good, he thought, in twenty minutes the Calvary would be here. “Doctor Adams?”
The doctor finally took his eyes off Clayton Hunter and turned toward one of the cameras. On the table Clayton Hunter leaned forward and tumbled off the edge of the table. At the same instant the air purifier quit cycling and three armed men in gas masks stepped into the airlock.
“Jesus,” Johns sputtered into his headset microphone, “You guys can’t do that! That air has to be worked!” Three more men stepped through the lock and the door to the autopsy room opened as well as the door to the control room. A split second later the rifles in their hands began to roar. The sound was louder than Kohlson expected in the enclosed space. He clasped his hands over his ears, but it did little good. The soldiers were wearing noise canceling headgear. The remaining three soldiers had stepped into the control room: They had their rifles leveled at them; the others were still firing within the confines of the small autopsy room. A small gray cloud was creeping along the floor and rolling slowly into the control room. The stench of gunpowder was strong in the enclosed space. The air purifiers were off. Kohlson knew there was another control room outside this one that controlled this space, and possibly another outside of that space that controlled that space: Built in redundant protection; Still, these guys had just breeched the protection..
Kohlson saw Clayton Hunter lurch to his feet and stumble into the soldiers who were firing in the tight confines. A series of bullets finally tore across his chest and into his head and he fell from view. A second later the firing stopped…


Get a free preview or get the book right now: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0745LRWPR

Geo Dell with Tech Support and a Zombie Plagues link

Posted by Geo 07-20-2017

Do you have anyone in your life that means a great deal to you? Stupid question, right? We all do. But, no, we all don’t. There are people who close the door on relationships and slap some padlocks on it and say, “That’s it! No one else gets in!”. So it isn’t really a stupid question when you get down to the real level where things do matter. I did not have anyone in my life that mattered on that level. Yes, some family, but family can live without you, often does. No serious relationships. No reaching out for anything either. The doors were locked. I don’t usually wax heavy here and I wont, I would just say that yes, the world can be a bad place sometimes, but if you keep the doors shut you’ll never know how good it could have been. Just food for thought, not really trying to go anywhere with this line of thought. Okay, I’ll move on.

Let me relate this story to you. This actually occurred. I’m not taking a swipe at anyone at all here and I suppose I could have seen this a different way, not humorous, but I tend to try to find humor in things…


Tech support:

So I’m at the dollar store with Mom a few months back at she spies these pink cell phones and decides to buy one to support Breast Cancer and it’s a good cause and it says it’ll be so easy to move your number, set it up. A snap, plus it comes with a Cadillac full of minutes and a camera, and, well, it’s pink. So she buys it. I was for it because I am a cheap kind of guy and I would end up with her old phone which is perfectly fine, it’s just old. It’s been perfect for four years. No problems. Just ate minutes and pooped data, or phone calls. Bad analogy there but you get the idea. So, great phone, just old and a new one beckoned. I would bet there are people reading this who have almost gotten into relationship problems using that same reasoning. Funny the double standards we have, eh?

So, she buys the phone, we go home and I go to work on the computer because other than working and chasing Horny Tom Cat’s away from my cat that’s about all I do. So I typed away for a few minutes, but I kept hearing these sighs and mutterings, so finally I said… “Uh, Mom… Everything okay?”

Let’s set the record straight I knew everything was not okay, but I was hoping for an answer like “I’m taking this $#@%^ phone back it is junk!” Yes. I was actually hoping for that answer. Instead, I got … “I can’t figure it out. I’m doing exactly what it says…”

Okay,” I soothed. I am a man. I know how to fix these things and most of the time I don’t even have to read the manual. I didn’t say that. I have learned not to say it because it just turns out to be that one time when I can’t do it and I look stupid. So I took the phone and spent the next hour doing all the same things Mom had and getting nowhere.

$#@**%# Phone,” I said.

I told you,” Mom agreed. “There’s a number to call.” She held up a piece of paper and I couldn’t help wondering why she hadn’t given me the piece of paper earlier when I could have possibly used it, but then I reminded myself that I never would have used it anyway.

Hmmm.” I frowned and looked over the number. “So. You have a phone that doesn’t work and they give you a tech number to call.”

Well, you have the other one.”

Yes, but what if I didn’t?”

Mom shrugged and I realized the stupidity of my own question, still, didn’t it sort of make sense? Isn’t it sort of like offering a drunk a drink while he waits for the AA meeting? I don’t know. Reluctantly I punched the number into the other cell phone, pretty much jammed the end of the cell phone halfway into my brain and waited.

The phone stopped burring and a Voice came on the line. Computer voice. Push one for billing issues, two if you’ve had an affair with a politician, three for technical support. I pushed three but I didn’t push it fast enough because the whole thing played again. I ended up having to call back and immediately press three.

Now, let me say this delicately, why would you get a job in tech support for American consumers if English is not your first language? And, why would a major company hire you? After thirty seconds of trying to understand the woman I gave the phone to Mom hoping the kindred spirit thing would kick in but no, she couldn’t understand her either. She gave me back the phone. Apparently womaneez doesn’t cross the language barriers easily.

It must have been about two hours later and the third string of numbers the woman had given me before the phone finally began to work.

You are being happy with your experiences?” The tech asked me.

Are you serious,” I asked?

Yes. Of Course. Serious is what I am being.”

Oh God,” I said aloud. “Have you ever heard this?”

Yes? I am Listening.” She obviously thought we had bonded.

I hung up. Mean, I know.

Two days later there was a recall on Mom’s Coffee Maker. I called tech support.

Yes? I am being happy to be taking your call.”

Never mind I’ll buy a new one.” I said.

A week later my new laptop croaked. I called customer service.

Yes? I can be helping you?”

What? Do you work for the Coffee maker place?”

No. That is my sister, Sari.”

Tech support…..

Okay. That’s it for this week. Check out my book series. I’ll be back next week…

Check out the Zombie Plagues below…

The Zombie Plagues: Get book one: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/357698

Misspent youth, or How I got beat up the first few times, and Old School Mothers

Posted by Geo 4:50 AM 07/17/2017

What I am up to…

I am working on the second Dreamers book and the second Rebecca Monet novel with Dell. I also published the sixth Zombie Plagues book recently and I am working on two new Guitar Works books, six and seven. That is my time laid out for me.

Misspent youth: How I got beat up the first few times – And Old School Mothers…

When I was a kid there was no Internet, phones were barely more than curiosities that not everyone could afford, and Jesus was only in the second grade. Uh, before God zaps me let me explain that, that would be Jesus Santos whose parents had moved to Galveston where I went to school at Island Elementary, not the savior that died on the cross.

But, that brings up a point, why name the kid that? Wouldn’t you be a little concerned that some smart Alec like me would come along and say. “Hey, are you that Jesus?” and “So, where are your disciples?”

Anyway, after Jesus punched me I realized that people with funny names can fight. And right after that I realized if you point that out to the person in casual conversation Jesus just might punch you again. I was not a smart child, a little brainy, but lacking common sense. What would have been great is if I could have taken Jesus through life with me to help me see those things. But no, not too long after that we moved to New York and I realized that people with funny accents tend to want to smack you when you point that out to them. And, not only that, they’ll turn it around on you and claim you have the accent because you came from Texas… I think I fought every day for the first few weeks.

But I fought. I didn’t call their cell phone and leave a nasty message. I didn’t leave a nasty note on their Facebook account, or hack it. That’s all I read about lately. That’s how it’s done. No face to face stuff. Of course, as I said we didn’t have Internet and phones were not for causal calls. I could see me picking up the phone and calling Jesus’s house…

“Oh… is this little George? How is your mother?”

And that would have been the end of it right there. Small town. Maybe we had a half dozen phones, and everyone knew everyone. His mother would have recognized my voice, asked about my mother, and then what could I say? “Oh, she’s fine, and, by the way, Mrs. Santos, do you know if Jesus found his disciples yet?”

Even if I had done it I would have no more hung up the phone than Jesus’s Mom would have been on the phone to my mom. My mom would have hung up the phone and, as we used to say back then, my ass would have been grass. The shit would have hit the fan. Never mind ‘Wait until your Father gets home’ Moms were prepared to deal with you back then. They may have looked like lightweights… No tattoos or piercings, gym bodies or anything else. They were just tough no nonsense moms hanging out in the kitchen in their June Cleaver shifts baking pot roasts and meatloaf, but they were tough. Truthfully, if you asked a group of old school mothers where Jimmy Hoffa is they could probably tell you. They were that tough.

“Do you know who that was?” She would ask me…

“Mother Mary?” See, once you start down the road of smartassery it’s hard to stop.

Have you ever eaten soap? I have, and a conversation that made smart remarks about both Jesus and his mother would have been a soap eating offense.

But we didn’t do those things, mainly because we didn’t have the technology and secondary to that any kids mother could put a foot in your butt back then. It was a federal law. I’m pretty sure. So whatever you did it was coming back at you, so kids took care of things themselves.

The whole thing with Jesus taught me about emotion and how boys handle it. Taught me to duck a punch too. You would think it would teach me to shut up, but no. I decided that since I seemed to have a big mouth, and that teeth were made to last a lifetime, I had better learn how to fight. Somehow I decided in my head that learning how to fight would be easy. And then? Well, if I wanted to make smart remarks about Jesus and his little disciples I could. Of course the part of the equation I had missed was learning. I had to learn to fight, and learning to fight meant getting punched in the face. So, not only was I still getting punched in the face, I was volunteering to do it and I couldn’t even punch them back!

I think it was around my third time in an actual boxing match that I began to think it might be smarter to, one: Read about it first. Two: Try really hard to fall down with my face off to one side. Big noses break easy. Three: Find some other way to spend my Saturday instead of getting beat up.

After I woke up from my last fight I decided that Karate was probably smarter. I mean Kato was really cool. It looked so easy. That was great until I realized that not only would people be punching me in the face they would also be kicking me … In the faceReally hard... And anywhere else their feet could reach… Kids have bad aim. But the good thing I learned was, it is really hard to break your eye… Either one of them. And a point of fact, people with funny names can also kick box like crazy too. And a punch from a gloved hand or foot can still ring your bell. So if, let’s say the guys name was Frances, and he hated the name Frances, it might not be too smart to say things like ‘Frances Is A Sissy’ (Francis of Assisi) damn Catholic school knowledge. Or do you know what Nun means? None for you and None for me! Ha, ha, ha, ouch! My mouth is broken.

After a while I learned to fight. Either that or all the kids with funny names or in Catholic school would have just continued to beat me up all through school and I couldn’t have that. And I learned to fight when I realized I had a funny name too. Huh. You know I think kids can turn any name into a funny name. Gladys becomes Glad Ass, obviously if your last name is Kuntz you’re in for it. A kid in my class had that name. And a kid named Beeman… “Hey! Where’s your Bees Man?” Oh… We were so clever.

So, I grew up and got a job as a writer. Now when I don’t like someone I just kill them off in a plot and then throw a disclaimer in the front of the book saying it wasn’t them. Piece of cake. And if I want to pick on someones name I let the characters do it for me. And I never allow any of the characters to pick on my name. After all, they’re my characters.

Okay. I have to go. That whole Jimmy Hoffa thing has me curious. I have to go ask Mom about it!

Hey, get the Zombie Plagues free. First two books, at Smashwords, Nook, I-Tunes, Diesel, etc… Here’s the Smashwords link: https://www.smashwords.com/books/byseries/5280

And check out the newest collection, the Zombie Plagues box set: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/734680

Have a great week! Geo…

Random thoughts and a new Zombie Plagues compilation from Geo Dell

Posted by Geo 07-12-2017

These are random thoughts I wrote out and then left: As a writer there are somewhere around three million thoughts streaming into your brain at the speed of light all the time unless you are sleeping…

Lasting Legacy:

What if you knew that the last image of you in death, like Elvis sitting on the toilet seat, would be seen by everyone? Would it make you live your life differently if you knew at the very last breath that everyone would know who you are, what you were in life, see a clear picture, see a picture of you, dead, reduced to an inanimate corpse. No magic. You can’t fly. You didn’t miss the bullet. You are no longer a star, bigger than life, you died just like everyone else. And all the things you covered up during that lifetime, all the times when you could have bent, changed, helped, are gone. And everybody knows what you did and didn’t do. Would it change you? Would it mean anything to you to know that, or would you continue to be the person you are right now? (I went searching for a picture of Elvis. I found a picture of Elvis dead, sitting on the toilet. I was sort of shocked. I felt as though it made who he was kind of small. In the end there he was, dead, sitting on his toilet.)…

Coffee:

Did you know there are places in this world where people start their day without coffee? Like a refugee. A refugee doesn’t get the chance to have coffee in the morning. If I was a refugee I’d be like, “Hold your ass! I’m having my coffee here! You rebels are starting to piss me off!” (One of those mornings, any morning really, when I have to do things before I have had my coffee.)…

The Litter box zone:

If you have a cat you have a litter box, unless you’re one of those aliens that teach their cats to use the toilet (They’re probably alien cats. I tried to teach mine and it nearly drowned… Twice). We scoop cat crap, get embarrassed when our friends come over and the cat suddenly decides that fancy fish dinner has settled enough and blows up the house, but if your friend Bob came over, walked into the corner of one of your rooms and took a crap, and then threw some sand over it, would that be okay?

“Whew,” says Bob as you are trying to decide what in hell just happened. “That fancy fish dinner had to go.”

Of course it wouldn’t be okay, so why do we allow cats to do the very same thing and then calmly take a scoop and cover it or remove it? And what about litter that absorbs odor? Doesn’t work. You could blindfold me, walk me around my house and I guarantee I could tell you when I hit the liter box zone. “Yep… Right here. Smells like wet sand/clay and cat sh*t,” I would say. (Do you have a cat? Enough said then.)…

Bad ideas:

Cat Trials: To determine whether cats truly do have nine lives.

Closed after one test… No, Cats do not have nine lives.

Excuses for why the cat is gone.

It was past it’s expiration date so I had to chuck it.

There was a terrible showdown between the cat and three mice. I think the mice were carrying knives. It was bad. Yes, they may have been blind mice, but they were friggin’ mean blind mice.

I traded that cat for Volkswagen

What cat? We had a cat?

Other Cat Stuff…

Used cats: You never see ads for used cats, you know, “Gently used cat. Very low miles. Will trade for good dog, beaver or camping tent.”

One of the things I have against cats: They have fur all over them, and since I am in denial about having evolved from some sort of monkey or other animal, it bothers me to know they may rise and take over the world some day. Funny? I’ll bet that’s what the other monkeys thought about 25,000 years ago when Bob the different monkey shocked them all by fixing a hamburger and fries for dinner instead of insects and grass.

Whistling: If you whistle to a dog they’re coming. He or she will be right there. Whistle to a cat and they may flip you off, but they’re not coming.

Things you never hear… “Brother, can you spare a cat?”

Famous Quotes:

“Give a man a potato he can eat for a day. Teach a man how to grow a potato and a cat will probably come along, dig up his garden and crap in it.”

Things I have not seen:

Three legged cats. Cats with their suitcases packed (Do they have suitcases?). Cats with a drivers license. Talking cats. Unpretentious cats.

Okay, enough foolishness…

On other fronts….

I don’t know why I should be surprised when Wednesday shows up and I am no further ahead to catching up on things than I was the week before. Yet every mid week here I am, surprised again. And that would be funny except it’s true, which sort of makes it even funnier.

There was progress last week of course, just not as much as I would like to see. I always want mega progress, the whole board wiped clean and of course that is not going to happen because as the board empties on one end it fills on the other. That is life for most of us I would bet.

What else happened this week: An Amazon page for me.

http://www.amazon.com/George-Dell/e/B00T94K198

That leaves Hurricane that was slated to be released last fall and will move to next summer. I like the story and I would like to get it out there but there are dozens of things in between myself and that happening.

This blog is where you will find information from me every Monday. Dell will also do informational blogs.

That’s it for this Wednesday. I hope your week so far was a good one, I’ll be back next week, Geo Dell…


My newest release is The Zombie Plagues Box Set: iTunes | NOOK | KOBO | Smashwords | Paperback

Writers and how we think

Writers and how we think

Writing Posted by Geo

Writers… We often sit around and think things like this…

It was a warm winter that year…”

No, no, no… Hmm…

It was the winter of our…” No, already used… Damn…

Winter came quickly to the north country as it was wont to do. My brother and I had just come around to our turn to wear the fall coats, there were only the two coats for the fifteen of us children. With them, we were able to play outside while our siblings were stuck inside. It would have been better if we had also had the shoes, but it wasn’t our turn yet…”

No, no, no. Too melodramatic…

It was a long, cold winter. The cat had a litter sometime in there. A few kittens, maybe four. I often wonder what happened to those kittens. I only know we had meat for Christmas that didn’t in the slightest resemble Turkey…”

No, no, no… It was the dog…

The dog had a litter that winter… They were fast growing puppies and by December they were half grown, as fat and sassy as could be. I remember petting the one I had named Dingo on the head just before bed a few nights before Christmas. I remember that clearly, yes I do, and it was the last time I ever saw Dingo…. I think so anyway. It’s tough to tell. All I know is that we had meat for Christmas dinner. A small ham, Mom said., but it didn’t resemble any ham I’d ever seen…”

Geo!”

Yes, mom?”

PETA called, knock it off.”

Yes, mom.”

It was a long cold winter that year. The rats in the basement had eaten the corn crop and left us starving… Daddy said we wouldn’t have to resort to eating rats, but as he headed toward the basement with a claw hammer I wondered…”

By Geo Dell.


Hey! Check out the Zombie Plague on NOOK! By me!


The Zombie Plagues Book One (A FREE Nook eBook!)

What if the world ended tomorrow? What would you do? Would you be able to survive?

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-zombie-plagues-book-one-geo-dell/1116974111?ean=9781492798668


The Zombie Plagues Book Two

The Zombie Plagues books follow a small group of men and women as they struggle to survive on a vastly changed earth

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-zombie-plagues-book-two-geo-dell/1116974114?ean=9781492798743


The Zombie Plagues Book Three

Life is good for those who are lucky, but out in the real world it’s a different story…

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-zombie-plagues-book-three-geo-dell/1117027340?ean=9781492798798


The Zombie Plagues Book Four: The Outrunners

I saw the Zombie on Madison take a mouthful of her back, just below the curve of her neck…

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-zombie-plagues-book-four-geo-dell/1117475716?ean=2940045439084


The Zombie Plagues: Book Five

The Fifth Book picks up the Story of Billy and Beth and their flight out of the ruins of L. A.

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-zombie-plagues-geo-dell/1121785682?ean=2940151878876


The Zombie Plagues Dead Road: The Collected books.

Contains books 1 thru 6. Books One through five were published, book six was not…

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-zombie-plagues-dead-road-geo-dell/1124233945?ean=2940153142777

The Legend of Sparrow, Wendell G Sweet Geo Dell

The Legend of Sparrow

Wendell G Sweet Geo Dell


This is copyrighted material


“Benjamin told me the legends first…….”
“In the beginning the Creator made a way to the peoples that will always be open. First Woman, The Clan Totems, the Star People, were all able to communicate, and they are still able now, up to this day and beyond, until your days cease you will have a pathway to that knowledge. A way to reach all that is possible. You hold the keys to all that is within yourself. We all do…”
“This is how the Creator came to make that way open for us, Benjamin told me.”
Laura nodded, curled her feet under herself and settled in to listen.
“We were in a sweat lodge at the time. One Benjamin had built with the help of my Uncles and Cousins. So many used it though that we had to check first to see if it could be used.”
“The Owl Woman’s Society uses it,” he told me. “That meant nothing to me. At least nothing concrete. I had known my mother belonged to the Owl Woman’s Society. I didn’t know what they did: Where they met. What they decided. How important they were to each other, to us, to the well being of our people.”
“We settled into the sweat lodge and Benjamin began to tell me the legend of the Dreamer’s Way… What came to be known as the legend of the Sparrow…”


Get a free preview!

Paperback only: https://www.amazon.com/LEGEND-SPARROW-Wendell-G-Sweet/dp/1520889968

The extinction theory and links for a FREE eBook

A LITTLE OF EVERYTHING AND HUMOR FROM DELL SWEET

Good morning to you all. It is Friday, you did make it through the work week and so you should be rewarded and congratulated for that. Unfortunately I’ll have to leave most of that up to your boss, wife, husband, friend, bartender, dealer, massage parlor worker, person who cleans your windshield and or changes your oil. But I can give you a free story this morning to help ease you into the weekend and free is always good 🙂

I have come to look at the extinction of the dinosaurs in a whole new light.

Over the last few years with Global Warming, or the natural earth cycle, whatever it is, the weather patterns have been crazy. Snow when there shouldn’t be snow. Rain where there never has been rain. No rain where there always has been. Golf ball size hail is common and baseball size is not unheard of in pretty much any weather disturbance.

Let me share this conversation I had with my neighbor, a few days back; … … …

No… It wasn’t raining, it had finished raining, it was in between the end of raining and drying up. There were hardly any of those little plop things in the puddles.”

“Plop things,” I asked?

“Yeah, you know where the rain drop falls in and makes the little circle things that go out and… well they are sort of like little tiny waves, rolling across the surface of a tiny little ocean….” He got a faraway look in his eyes and fell silent.

“Uh, Bob?” his name is Bob.

“Yeah?”

“You kind of zoned out there,” I told him. “But I understand the thing about the plop… I think…” he started to speak. “No, I do. I do understand it completely.”

Bob nodded. “Good… It’s kind of hard to explain… Did you ever wonder if there’s tiny little life down there… you know and the mud puddle to them really is an ocean… and.” He looked up, smiled and cleared his throat. “Well, you know.”

“Uh… sure… Once or twice I think… So, uh, you were saying about the hail?”

In between us a raccoon that lived in the woods behind us lay dead… Presumably dead. I had not checked for a pulse or attempted mouth to mouth, but it had been hit in the head with a chunk of hail roughly the size of a hardball while crossing from Bob’s property to mine. Bob had seen the whole thing, come over and got me away from my typing long enough to come out and look at the raccoon and the chunks of ice that had fallen from the sky. I looked up now. Not entirely sure more wouldn’t fall. I was not a raccoon, but I was still sure a chunk of ice that big could probably kill me too.

“Yeah… Got me spooked too,” Bob said and looked up at the sky.

“So…” I asked looking back down.

“Yeah, well… So I was coming out of the shed, getting the pots for my spring plantings, sun has to shine eventually, and here comes Martha (Martha was his pet name for the Raccoon) probably thinking I had a treat for her. So I’m fixing to get the peanuts out of my pocket, I keep them for her… You know, they was on sale two years ago at the A&P so I bought three cases of them.” He seemed to lose himself for a moment.

“Yeah… The A&P does have some good deals,” I allowed. I was glad it was not me eating three year old peanuts.

“Oh yeah. Last week they had Captain Crunch… She likes that too… I didn’t have any Captain crunch in my…”

Martha farted and Bob jumped back three feet.

“God!” Bob declared. Nothing else happened for a few moments and Bob looked up at me. “You suppose?”

“Just a natural thing,” I said. It had made me jump too though. Not pleasant to think that after you pass you’ll still be passing. The thought almost made me laugh which Bob would have taken the wrong way so I bit it back and listened as he resumed talking.

He had bent down and picked up a large hardball sized chunk of ice. There were several close by her, but he fixed on the one. “So she’s coming and the rain’s letting up, and, well, did you know she don’t like the rain? I think most raccoons are like that. They don’t like the rain. So… Where was I?”

“The rain,” I said reluctantly. It had been my chance to speed it up by telling him he was telling me about the hail hitting her in the head and I had blown it.

“Right, the rain… Hmm… Oh,” he snapped his fingers, “That’s how I know it was done raining. She wouldn’t have come out other wise.”

Martha farted again.

Bob looked offended, but neither of us jumped this time. “You think she’s just gonna keep doing that,” Bob asked?

I shrugged… “Maybe,” I allowed.

“Whoooeee,” Bob said fanning his face.

I was down wind.

Bob shuffled a little sideways. “Must have been the Captain Crunch.” We both stood silent for a few moments, staring down at the dead, farting raccoon.

“So,” I said at last.

Bob looked puzzled.

“Uh, the hail…. The accident… Poor Mable,” I gestured at the dead raccoon.

“Oh… Oh…” Bob said. “Martha… It’s Martha,” Bob said.

“Sorry, Bob. Martha,” I repeated.

Bob Nodded. “Well, anyways, dropped right out of the sky and conked her right in the frigging’ head.” He nodded.

I nodded for him to continue.

“Oh… That’s it. Conked her in the head. Fell right down… Never said nothing after that. Not even a … a … Well, what ever a raccoon would say after getting hit with a chunk of ice.”

I nodded. Mister sympathy. Martha farted again. Bob made a face and shifted a little sideways.

“I suppose she would have said something like. Well, if racoons could talk. I know they can’t, I’m just saying, she might have said something like … ‘Son of a bitch that hurt!’ or ‘My God that was a big chunk of ice!’ but she never said a word at all. Just bang in the head and she dropped in her tracks… Just like you see her.” Martha farted once more as if to punctuate Bob’s words. “Had to be the Captain Crunch.,” Bob said quietly. “Well, anyhow,” Bob continued un-prompted, “Hail? Hail the size of a baseball? In Spring? Up here?” Bob was tossing the question marks around like he had a pocket full of them instead of peanuts.

I nodded. “I’ve never seen it,” I agreed. And I hadn’t in my fifty plus years of living in upstate New York.

“I been here all my eighty two years,” Bob said. “Never seen nothing’ like it… Hail the size of baseballs…”

Martha twitched, farted again and then raised her head slowly from the ground.

“Son of a bitch,” Bob said.

I muttered something a little more colorful.

Martha looked over at Bob, then swung her head around at me, managed to get her feet under her and wobbled a few steps.

“Son of a bitch,” Bob repeated. I must confess I repeated a few of those colorful words too.

Martha wobbled a few more times, let loose of one more long high-pitched fart, and then waddled over to Bob. Bob just stared down at her stupidly for a moment and then reached into his pocket and came out with a handful of lint covered peanuts. I stood and watched for a few moments as Bob fed her, but I hate to see old men cry so I kind of faded into the background. Besides, I’m pretty sure Bob forgot I was there.

My point is, global warming, or whatever it is, is ruining the world. Making it a tough place to live in. I envision the whole dinosaur extinction as going something like this. … … …

Fred the dinosaur is standing in his yard staring down at a tiny, dead little human. His buddy Ralph happens by.

Ralph: “So, what’s up there, Fred? Got your self a little meal there?”

Fred looks up and frowns. “No. It was my little friend,” He turns and points towards the cliffs a short way away. “Lives over there… Comes out every day or so… Likes those little furry things with horns?” He looks at Ralph and Ralph nods.

“I think they call them ‘Furry things with four feet,’” Ralph supplied.

It was Fred’s turn to nod. “Yeah, so, anyway, I keep one around, you know, they’re easy to catch. And I leave some for him…”

“And, “ Ralph prompted?

“And, the ice just fell out of the sky and bashed him in the head…”

“Well, you could eat him,” Ralph said. “Seems a waste to…”

The human rolled over, farted and looked up at Fred.

“Son of a bitch,” Fred said. “And you wanted to eat him.”

“Well… You could still eat him,” Ralph said.

“You make me sick sometimes,” Fred said. He shuffled over to the human, carefully helped him to his feet and steered him towards the pile of meat he had left for him.

“You know, just blue skying it here, Fred. But let’s suppose this whole weather thing is a … a … A harbinger of things to come? More bad weather? You know… What, Fred, If it’s the end for us? As a species!”

Fred strode across the short distance, flicked his tail and knocked Ralph off his feet. “You are over reacting, Ralph. Where do you get theses crazy ideas from?”

Ralph picked himself up, glancing over at the human who seemed to be amused by the whole situation. “Just repeating what they say. They say maybe our time is through and soon the world will be left to the humans. Imagine… Us extinct,” Ralph finished.

Fred laughed, a loud roar that caused the human to shrink back. “Nonsense! Humans take over the world? Where do you hear these things?”

And… That was probably it right there. The beginning, same as it is for us. Maybe two million years from now there will be a couple of cockroaches standing out in their adjoining yards. … …

“So, Darren, did you see that chunk of ice that dropped out of the sky?”

…………………………………………………………………..

Hey, have a good weekend!

A Free eBook For you…

A meteorite that was supposed to miss the earth completely, hits and becomes the cap to a series of events that destroy the world as we know it. Police, fire, politicians, military, governments: All gone. Hopes, dreams, tomorrows: All buried in a desperate struggle to survive. Earth’s Survivors Apocalypse:

iTUNES: Earth’s Survivors Apocalypse