Bits of Dread: Bits of Dread, #1

By David Kain

David Kain is an author who refuses his short stories be limited by one certain writing style.

Instead, he comes up with different constraints to hinder his writing, making each story of his read differently from the others.

Because the stories are written in vastly different writing styles, this collection reads much like an anthology without actually being one in the traditional sense.

Up until the final few lines, he doesn't know how or when the story ends, and neither does the reader.

His stories, therefore, keeps the reader on his or her tippy toes until the very last sentence.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Kain
• Release date: Aug 13, 2018
• ISBN: 9781540191137

Book preview

LIVING OFF THE GRID

I put some extra logs on the fire and sat back in my rocking chair. I extended my arms to grab ahold of my son and wife and started praying. I first prayed out of gratitude. Then for strength and wisdom. I prayed for the incoming blizzard to pass. I prayed for us to survive. This was the first time in 18 years I've questioned our decision to live out there.

We have forever loved the outdoors, my wife and I. But working regular jobs only leaves you with so much time. We spent all our free time in nature. Hiking, mountain climbing, cycling, you name it. We took any chance we could to escape. We couldn't stand the masses, the peer pressure, the idea of consumerism and the ever-present brainwashing.

That is why one day, out of thin air, we decided to build a house about 300 miles north of Norilsk. We packed our belongings without even filing in our resignation letters and set off north.

We knew these places well as we frequented them often. We dreamed of living there for a long time and it was finally to come true. We took a breath of the warm summer air and without hesitation set off to find the perfect spot to settle.

It took us 24 round trips to bring all the equipment and materials there, and two summers’ time to complete. Being a carpenter definitely helped.

We quickly adapted to the new lifestyle and not for a second did we think of our old lives or regretted our decision.

Three years later we were blessed with a son. A new set of hands for work in the future, but firstly a new mouth to feed. We struggled at first to find enough food for the three of us, but we always found a way to make ends meet.

Life wasn't easy in the wilderness–especially in Siberia–but it was the life of our dreams.

I got up to look through the window again. The winds have picked up speed and I could hardly see anything through the snow curtain. One thing was clear, however. The blizzard was coming straight at us.

We have had multiple snowstorms hit us over the years, but the winds at their strongest were merely a breeze compared to that. I shuddered at the thought of what more was to come.

Worst of all, there was nothing we could do but wait. No way to reinforce the structure, no way to go anywhere safer, no way to pass the time faster. Seconds turned to hours as we listened to the wind howling and the wood squeaking.

I called my son and wife to the kitchen and we squeezed ourselves under the kitchen table in hopes to be safe from the flying debris if the house went down. There was nothing else to do at that point but hold our hands and pray. Packed tight under the table, I could feel them shivering with fear. I could hear them sob. I prayed louder and louder in hopes to override the deafening noise of nature's wrath.

Next thing I remember is being surrounded by wooden remains, still wrapping my arms around my family. In place of the loud howling of the wind–dead silence. The storm had passed.

I could feel both of them still shuddering. They were alive. We were alive.

I thanked whoever kept us safe up there and went on to calm down my loved ones. We worked our way out of the debris and were blessed with the last of the sun's rays. Tears of joy came pouring down our cheeks as we just stood on top of the ruins of our former home in the middle of nowhere, hugging each other tighter than ever.

But the adrenaline soon wore off and the cold kicked in. It was turning dark, and we had no place to sleep. We had no food. We had no means to start a fire. And we were definitely lacking warm clothing.

We realized the worst wasn’t over yet–it was yet to come.

I proceeded to dig through what was once our home, throwing snapped wood planks in all directions. My son and wife followed suit in hopes to find anything useful before it got pitch-black.

Suddenly I felt something.

A tube. A narrow metal tube. I knew immediately what it was.

My hunting rifle.

I put five rounds in it that morning and have used three as target practice. It took no mathematician to know there were only two rounds left inside.

I knew exactly what that meant. I knew exactly what I had to do.

My eyes watered as I took aim. It was hard to decide who was first, but I could never have my son watch his mother die.

I pulled the trigger.

I pulled on the bolt as fast as I could as she started screaming.

I fired again.

It was the least painful way to go. We were never going to make it through the night.

I fell to my hands and knees. I could feel the teardrops freezing on my cheeks. I could feel my feet going numb.

With the last of my powers I took off my winter hat and undid my coat. I looked up one final time and only wished it was fast.

MILITARY TESTING GROUNDS

I grew up on a small farm in eastern Texas far away from any village, let alone a city. We did all the work by hand because we couldn't afford a tractor and overall lived a very simple life.

I was very interested in physics growing up. I read everything I could find in the school's library as long as it was related to physics. Partly because it let me stay at school and not do physical work at home, and partly because I was truly drawn to it. But the local schools didn't provide enough and I was forced to leave my hometown.

I later graduated from Yale and got myself a well-paid job at the Edward W. Clark nuclear power plant in Las Vegas.

I loved my job, I truly did. But I couldn't get used to living in the city, so when I had reached my radiation limit and was granted the rest of the year off, I left to live off the grid in complete solitude. I've been told time and time again how dangerous it was, but it has forever been what I loved most. Besides, my job wasn't child's play either.

So far I've been to the Amazon rainforest, Russian Siberia, and Australia. I figured why not try and survive in the desert next. I did excessive research on desert animals, plants, ways to get water, and other necessary know-how. I made sure I knew as much as humanly possible before endeavoring on my journey. I searched the internet for the most remote desert areas and decided for the Sahara desert in Africa with the intention to start my journey in Egypt and make my way to Mali.

I reached my yearly radiation limit on August 19th, and a single phone call later my plane ticket for 23rd of August was reserved.

I picked up the list of essentials one final time to make sure I didn't forget to pack anything. Headlamp, check, water bottle, check, frying pan, check, first aid, check, duct tape, check, sleeping bag, check, ... I was nodding and muttering to myself whilst reading the list.

I closed the zipper on my backpack and stepped to the window. I gazed at the endless roads filled with skyscrapers and cars of all shapes and sizes.

Las Vegas, as much as I dislike you, I will miss the sight of you.

I made sure I turned everything off one last time, then put on my heavy backpack, locked the doors and left for the cab that was already waiting for me outside.

I arrived at the Dakhla Oasis airport at 1:35 pm and with roughly 7 hours of daylight left, I decided to stray from the urban area and head west the same day. The local merchants trying to make a quick buck only further increased my desire for solitude.

I spent the first night about 15 miles away from the airport and judging by the absence of artificial lights, I was far away from any nearby cities, too. I made myself a cup of improvised tea from some local plants I had found along the way and fried two scorpions. Enjoying a meal, however small, away from any noise was the definition of happiness for me.

I put out the fire and set out my sleeping bag. I was happy to have anticipated the cold temperatures once the sunset.

Over the