Pitchforks and Dynamite

By G.J. Torok

Count-down the last few seconds of life in DEFCON, or will the Messiah be able to save the world? Does our survival depend on Compassion and Restraint? Can you really Buy Canada? Find out what inhabits outer space with Outrider or Vampire, or just take a ride in The Time Machine. What was Blue Eagle's secret? Was it Blackmail, or just Briscoll's Last Heist? Find out in these and other compelling short stories by a master of the craft of Science Fiction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 17, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483648576

G.J. Torok

Gabe Torok was born in Hungary, immigrating to Canada during the Hungarian revolution. His plans were altered from becoming an English teacher, ending up in electrical engineering. He wrote his first novel at age 16, and has been writing ever since. Having lived in a number of countries and travelling to dozens more, his background was further complicated as a professional photographer, associate editor of a magazine, VP of marketing for two separate corporations, and running his own computer wholesale business. His interest in science fiction was kindled in 1966, when he saw an unidentified flying object slowly move across the sky, just below the tops of the North Shore Mountains in Vancouver.

Book preview

Copyright © 2013 by G.J. Torok.

Library of Congress Control Number:      2013910032

ISBN:      Hardcover   978-1-4836-4856-9

               Softcover     978-1-4836-4855-2

               Ebook         978-1-4836-4857-6

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 06/03/2013

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Contents

Mining Unit 333

Anna

Arby McDowell’s Diary

Blackmail

Briscoll’s Last Heist

Buy Canada

Catch of the Day

Compassion And Restraint

DEFCON

The Execution

Ghost

Harvey

Jessica

Just Like in the Movies

Lucifer

Messiah

The N’Istata Legacy

Nuna Mosa

Outrider

The Siege

The Time Machine

Tirok

Vampire

Blue Eagle

For Every Problem…

Lucy’s Bar & Grille

Need Repairs

No Good Deed Shall Go Unpunished!

The Big Win

The Envelope Murders

For The Love of Dynamite

The Queen Of Tau

Aleph Zero

The Colon

The Sutton House

Mining Unit 333

Major Charles Hutton-Wise sat in a comfortable leather chair in his study from where he conducted his lucrative but sometimes shady business dealings. Leaning back, he stuffed his pipe and lit it, allowing the aromatic smoke to fill his nostrils.

Four years prior, he retired as the Commander of a Special Commando Unit, realizing a small pension, not entirely sufficient for a comfortable private life in England. What with the rising costs, it was more of a step backwards to remain in the country. His doctor had advised him that a warm, dry climate may indeed extend his life through the extension of the working life of his lungs. At the same time, of course, he was advised to give up both alcohol and tobacco. The alcohol in deference to his ever-growing liver.

But where to go? There was the obvious. Gibraltar was British, after all, and a fine climate. Again that elusive cost of living stepped between him and the move. After much consideration he realized that anywhere was good, as someone speaks English in every country. The cost of living was the main factor. Having done his homework, he finally decided on Algeria. Before long, he had discovered that the best place to conduct trade would be in a small town where the traders first arrive from the desert, so he moved to Ourgla. Here, with the low cost of labor, he had a fine house built, and settled in to learn Arabic and to become a businessman.

After four years, his Arabic was about as good as his Greek, meaning to say, useless.

Instead, the traders learned more English in those years, and he happily let it go at that. He had become well known for his fairness in business, his sharpness in barter, and his admirable hospitality. It was with these contented thoughts that he was sitting back smoking his pipe that afternoon, having looked at his latest sales and orders for most of the morning, seeing a handsome profit indicated for the next few months. The legal goods were now almost as profitable as the contraband. He smiled to himself and re-lit the pipe.

There was a gentle knock at his door. Come in Miss Hartley, he called out and closed the account books on the table. Miss Hartley entered and made a half-hearted curtsey. She was of the old school of servants Hutton-Wise imported from London two years earlier.

A, uh, gentleman to see you, Sir. The word ‘gentleman’ came out of her mouth with considerable distaste. She never learned to like the Arabs, the Bedouin, or anyone not British, for that matter, so he was aware his guest must be other than the Queen of England.

Thank you, my dear, please show him in. Pushing the chair back, he stood up and watched a man in flowing, dusty garb enter the room.

Salaam Allah kum, he greeted with a bow and the hand motioning mind, truth and heart.

Returning the bow, Hutton-Wise responded, Allah kum Salaam. Welcome my friend. Please have a seat. In a louder tone he called out, Miss Hartley, a pot of our finest tea and some sweet biscuits, if you will, please.

Right away Sir, she replied as she closed the door.

Hossein, my friend. What have you brought me this time?

Charles, you will not believe the good fortune Allah has placed before me. I would like to share this good fortune with you as you have been a most honored and trusted friend.

Why, thank you Hossein. I feel the same way about you.

For the next few minutes, they discussed Hossein’s family, the weather, and everything but the business at hand. Finally, Miss Hartley knocked, brought in the tray with the tea in a silver teapot and a plate of sweet biscuits with a selection of four jams in small bowls. Setting it on the table she hurried out, but not before Hutton-Wise called after her saying, We are not to be disturbed. Please see to it.

Yes Sir, she said and left.

Now my friend, tell me of Allah’s great gift to you. Or rather, to us. He served the tea and handed the cup and saucer to Hossein who accepted it with a bow.

We picked up our cargo in Sidi Ifni, where we required to hire eight more camels and two handlers in order to bring everything at once. Sipping his tea, he added, Most of the trip was uneventful, until half day past Beni Abbes. Here, the sand of the desert disappeared.

Disappeared? Like you could not see it anymore? Was it a storm?

No Charles, not a storm. The sand that was once there, was there no longer. Instead, we walked on hard rock, and the terrain changed from reasonably flat to small mountains and valleys. It was hard on the camel’s feet so we tied burlap on them so they would not be injured.

You are telling me that the sand just up and went somewhere else?

Exactly.

If anyone else but you told me this, I would sit back and wait for the punch line.

What is a punch line?

Sorry. You speak such good English, I expect you to know everything. When someone tells a joke, the final line that makes you laugh is the punch line.

Ahh, understood. May I continue?

My apologies, of course.

That very evening we set up camp and after we ate, my assistant, Shamir and I rode ahead to see how far the sand was missing. We rode for an hour or so, and the temperature was dropping rapidly, when we saw in the distance a very large machine. Lights everywhere. There were large boxes coming and going from the top of it.

Boxes? Where were they coming from and going to?

Up. To the sky and back. We rode towards this machine until it was so dark, we could no longer see our way. The machine kept working all night, while we stopped to rest. The following morning, we again rode towards the machine which was a fair distance away by this time, and caught up with it by mid-day. It was enormous. Gigantic. Those boxes were at least 100 times the size of your honoured home. I have not seen anything like this. The strange thing was, there was no sound from any of the boxes, or the machine. Yet the boxes flew, faster than airplanes, silently. Shamir became so scared he turned and rode back the way we had come.

How is this a gift from Allah?

I’m getting to that, Charles. To be honest, I was a little nervous myself, but Allah gave me strength, and I rode up and along the side of the machine where there was still sand, until I could see a door. It was almost at the front of the machine, but I managed to reach it and I climbed unto the metal steps and knocked. I had to knock several times, as apparently no-one inside heard me. Then, the machine comes to a stop. This is where I started to ask Allah for a little more strength. The door opened, and this oddly dressed man, an odd looking man, stood looking at me. He motioned for me to enter, and I did follow him. He led me into a very large room with many panels of lights, and what looked like controls of some kind. There was no steering wheel for the machine. I greeted him when he turned to face me. He spoke, but I did not understand, yet the walls spoke Arabic and told me he greeted me as well and asked what I would like. I asked him what he is doing with our desert.

He said, You have the purest, finest silica on any planet that we have ever encountered. We have been watching for a long time, and as you do not mine it, or use it for anything constructive, we decided to take it. We will leave something of value to you in return.

He then showed me pictures of metals, then pictures of jewels. When he saw my interest in the jewels, he brought out a diamond, I swear, as big as my head and handed it to me. We also have the red, blue and green ones, he said.

He was going to give you diamonds, rubies and precious stones for the desert? This is incredible. I’m glad you are telling me this and not someone else. They’d lock you up and throw away the key.

Charles, my friend, believe me. He reached into his pouch and dropped a handful of jewels on the desk, none of them smaller than a golf ball.

Are they real? Hutton-Wise took the one that resembled a perfect blue diamond and walked to the window. Pressing it moderately hard to the glass, he drew a circle, then tapped the glass. The encircled glass fell to the ground outside. He whistled, and said, Looks real enough. How much did he offer for the desert?

He wants all the deserts on this planet. I have no idea how many there are, but he said he will pay one of those flying boxes full.

And where is he now?

They are waiting for me in the desert where they stopped. What should I do?

I will go with you. We sell immediately, before they change their mind.

But they will take all the sand from my desert!

So? You will be so rich, you will never have to cross the desert again.

That is good for me, yes? But what of all the others that make their life with the desert? What will it do to the Sahara if all the sand was taken away? It has been my home all my life.

So then, why did you say this was a good fortune from Allah? Sounds more like a disaster.

Because they are willing to put it all back, and I get to keep a few sacks of these jewels, if I can convince them of the need for us to keep the sand. I need your help to convince them. I am but a simple man of the desert. You, and the way you use words, are that good fortune from Allah. And, he promised to give us some jewels for our trouble. Will you come and convince them to return the desert?

Of course I will come with you, and I will do my best to convince them, but I’m not so sure it’s the wisest thing to do. However, for the sake of our friendship, I will do my best.

They set out at daybreak and pushed their camels to their capacity, reaching the machine early evening. It sat there silently, lights all around it, and the flying boxes, dozens of them, at rest, scattered all around the machine. The door was ajar, and Hossein called in a greeting before crossing the threshold.

Please come in, came the response from the control room where he had been before.

The walls of the machine, they both noted, were seamless, and looked metallic but had a non-metallic feel. The lights in the corridor came from behind the wall. There were no fixtures of any kind. What they both noticed at the same time was that although it looked like they were walking on a metal floor, there was no sound to their footsteps.

They reached the control room and the same odd man Hossein spoke with, was waiting for them. They again exchanged greetings.

You have brought someone to speak for your planet? Very good. I am Rohtah’ku of Mining Unit 333.

Charles Hutton-Wise straightened himself and introduced himself as Major Hutton-Wise. The odd man recoiled when he offered to shake his hand. He saluted instead.

We understand you are taking the sand without prior authorization.

You were not using it. Like we discussed with your associate, we will leave something of equal value to you in exchange.

What do you need our sand for?

It is a basic component of everything we make. Our world has run out, and yours is the riches silica mine in the universe. You are not using it and we need it desperately. This ship would not have been made had it not been for vast amounts of silica as a basic part of the alloying process, just as an example.

You do realize that in the process of removing our silica, as you call it, you are killing thousands of this planets’ inhabitants? Are you allowed such murder?

The odd looking man was shocked. We? Kill? That is completely against our Deity and therefore all that we do.

But you have been murdering countless of those inhabitants as you take the sand. They live in the sand.

We have looked closely. There were none of you in our way. We have killed no-one.

Set your gizmos to look for ALL life forms. You have killed countless thousands already.

He turned to one of his consoles and switched it on, played with the dials, then watched a small screen in the middle of the console. It showed movement in the desert. Life? he asked incredulously.

Life. responded Hutton-Wise gravely. Some come out when it’s cool at night, others come out when it’s hot during the day. There are quite a large variety of life in our deserts. No telling how much of that life you destroyed so far. Much of that life, even if left alive, would not survive anywhere else except in the sand, so you are condemning the few survivors to death. You are killers.

Good, but don’t push it, Charles, Hossein whispered. He may want to see these life forms and then we’re screwed.

They are not like you. The odd looking man said finally.

Neither are you, Hutton-Wise snapped back instantly, almost regretting his words.

There was silence that seemed to last forever. Then he spoke finally, Your silica will be put back. You will be compensated for the lives we have taken and please distribute it amongst their living relatives. We apologise for assuming you had no need for your silica and that we could take it. Should you ever change your mind, and manage to relocate those living here, we will be happy to just take this one desert. You may contact me by pushing on the triangle. He handed Hutton-Wise an oval piece of metal about half inch thick. He took it, looked at it, and pressed the triangle. A small antenna emerged, and he said Testing and his words reverberated throughout the control room.

How do I turn it off?

Press the triangle again. Now, we have work to do. Your compensation will be left outside when we leave. Now, please stand back, far back, for your safety.

They rode about half mile into the desert and were amazed as the giant machine lifted silently, lights running in circles around its massive perimeter. The boxes rose to about one hundred feet and suddenly, there was a sand storm as they spewed the sand in their hold back upon the scraped ground. As they became empty, they rose out of sight, and another came to take its place. They watched the spectacle until total darkness and distance took them from view.

You did well, my friend. You are truly Allah’s great gift. You have saved my precious desert, and possibly made us rich at the same time. They rode back expectantly, and found four metal boxes in the sand.

When they opened each, one after the other, they were amazed at the sparkle of the jewels in the faint new moon’s light. We are rich, Hossein said, and loaded two boxes on his camel. Hutton-Wise did the same, and they rode back, without sleep, the happiest of men.

A week later, they stood in front of the owner of the largest jewelry store in Algiers, with a sampling of ten pieces of the jewels to sell. Their thoughts were filled with the celebration they will have when the first of their wealth is in their pockets. The jeweller looked at each of the stones in turn, but said nothing until he finished looking at the last one.

They are excellent, flawless and frankly, I have to admit, I have never seen such exquisite man made crystals in my life. They would fool anyone but an expert. I will give you 150,000 Dinars for the lot, and you will not do better anywhere else, I guarantee it.

How much is that in Pound Sterling?

British Pound? About 800 Pounds.

We’ll take it, thank you. Turning to his friend who was still in shock, Well Hossein, I guess Allah did not want to allow us to be corrupted. Perhaps it’s for the best.

Insha Allah. Perhaps that little communication device he gave you would be worth more?

Anna

The morning dew made each blade of grass sparkle as she ran, ignoring branches as they smashed into her. Sweat poured off her, salt burned her eyes. The bandanna wrapped around her forehead was soaked, and her muscles ached. They allowed her to wear a skin tight lycra body suit, and she choose the black from the three colors offered. She’d have a better chance in black, she thought.

Her thoughts, mixed with fear and anger, were her only companions, on this, the day that could be her last.

‘Anna Morgan, you have been found guilty of murder in the first degree,’ the judge had said. Sentence was death by injection, or dismemberment, her choice. Neither option appealed to her. She was innocent and beautifully framed for this crime. It seemed that the entire department was in on it, from the Chief of Detective’s right down to her partner. It made her think they’re all on the take, but that couldn’t be. The payoff would be horrendous and insupportable.

Anna’s long blond hair was tied back in a ponytail, and every now and again, snagged a branch as she pushed herself to her absolute limits through the woods. Lungs burning, she felt a lightness in her head. She felt she must stop and rest a minute.

Leaning against the trunk of a large cedar and bent forward to ease the tightness and pain in her stomach, she tried to regulate her rapid breathing. After a moment of watching drops of her perspiration soak into the ground at her feet, she reached up and pulled the elastic away, freeing her thick blond locks. Bright green eyes searched the forest around her as she listened for her pursuers. The forest gave up its natural sounds only to her searching ears and she relaxed momentarily. Straightening up, she stretched her 5’7 138 pound frame, twisting. She had a Playboy Playmate figure tattooed just under her belly button that made most men she came in contact with, drool. Many men had asked her why she decided on a profession as violent as that of a police officer, what with her looks she’d be a shoo-in for a rich husband and a life of ease. She gave them all the same answer, I’m not your idea of a dumb blond." And she proved that at the Academy, coming in at the top of her class. During training, she gained 23 pounds of muscle, which she managed to maintain with daily workouts at the Station Gymnasium.

Between the sounds of birds chirping and squirrels chattering, she heard the faint, faraway sound of a dog’s bark. Shit! she swore. Twisting away from the tree, she forced herself into a fast run. The woods were closing in a little as the slope took a sharp turn uphill. Bastards, they promised me no dogs! she hissed between breaths.

The deal in fact, was that she has a choice. Make it to River Falls Resort and she’s free. Until then, she will be hunted by six armed men, using crossbows only. They were not allowed to have mechanical transportation such as helicopters or mountain bikes, dirt bikes or such, nor were they to use trackers. She had assumed that included dogs.

The reason why they offered her this ‘out’ was obvious. They didn’t think she’d survive the thirty mile hike without being killed. They got her out of the city, where she may have had an opportunity to stir up trouble before her sentence was carried out, and this way they had the opportunity to claim shot while attempting to escape. Neat package all around. She was determined to survive, and find out who is responsible for the murder of Joey Luka, whom she had never even met.

Luka was the son of the mob top dog, Philippe (Stoney) Luka, the local hero and godfather, who stayed out of prison by donating hospital wings, schools, and second incomes to law enforcement officers. They did, she had to admit, offered her a tidy sum for occasionally turning the other way. She laughed at the offer and thought nothing more about it, until her arrest.

The sound of the dogs came much closer as she reached the summit. The sun’s heat added to her discomfort, but she pushed on, down the slope on the other side. It the valley below her, there was a small clearing before the mountain took a sharp upward incline once again. Closing the distance in record time she headed for the rock face on the far side. The dogs would not be able to climb after her, which may give her a slight advantage. By this time her body suit had soaked through and the wet fabric rubbed uncomfortably against her nipples and in her crotch.

The climb was arduous, her hands were cut in several places by sharp rocks, but she reached a level area about 100 feet above the valley floor. The sun hung at about 10 o’clock as she squinted against the light to try and pick out her pursuers.

It took a few moments before she picked out the moving form of two dogs at full run towards her direction. Try as hard as she might, she could not see any signs of the men. It was with some relief she resumed her climb with about 50 feet to go to reach what appeared to be the top.

Her heart pounded in her ears as she reached up over the final ledge to pull herself up. As she rose over the ledge, she froze as she faced two snarling Dobermans. A quick look down to confirm her footing was all the dogs needed. They lunged at her, sharp teeth bared and snapping, their foul breath choking her nostrils.

Anna was quick, sliding back down, pulling herself into as small a target as she could. Both dogs leapt towards her but fortunately their leap was too high. She felt the closest one brush her hair with its paw as it flew past her, down the cliff. A matching set of flying dogs, she thought as she followed their descent with her eyes. She heard a distant yelp, then silence. Heart pounding with the added adrenaline, she quickly pulled herself up and, lying on her belly, looked over the edge and down. The carcasses of the two dogs lay still, blood covering the rocks around their point of impact.

Suddenly she caught movement at the far side of the narrow valley and as she focused her eyes, six men on horseback galloped into view.

Great, she whispered, no mechanical means of transportation, all right. Bastards!

Rolling away from the edge, she backed away until she was sure not to be seen before she again broke into a full run. She knew that with the horses they could go around the rock face and get ahead of her. She stopped. Think, bitch! she said angrily to herself. You’re doing what they want. She slipped to the ground, the cool grass soothing on her buttocks through the damp material.

She rested for two minutes, then carefully, silently, slipped back to the edge. Below her, a man, his crossbow hanging on his back, was climbing the rocks. His horse was tied up to a tree in the shade just off to the left, below. There was no sign of the others.

She crept back into the trees. She needed a weapon, something. Anything! She noticed a thick, five foot long broken branch that lay at the base of a tall fir. She wasted no time as she pulled the small branches away and satisfied, took the two inch diameter branch to the edge. A quick look down and she knew where the man would make his final ascent. She positioned herself with the thick branch only inches from the ledge, her hand wrapped around its trunk, her muscles a coiled spring ready to release her club at the unsuspecting man.

It seemed like hours, yet it took only ten minutes for the man’s hand to signal his arrival as it searched for something to grip on the top of the ledge. Anna pulled her branch back gently and tensed for the lunge. Finally, he pulled himself over the edge and as his head appeared, Anna shoved the massive branch into the man’s surprised face. There was a grunt mixed with a choked scream as the man fell backwards, his hands flailing in the air for something to grab. Within seconds he had joined the two dogs at the bottom, adding his blood to the increasing pool below.

No time to waste, she whispered to herself as she slipped over the edge and hurriedly climbed down. Not knowing where the other five rode to, she was careful to scan the area below her as she descended. Finally, as she reached the bottom, Anna ran to the corpse and took his crossbow. Checking it, she confirmed that it was still in working order, then pulled the bloodstained quiver of bolts off his belt. Still in a crouch, she looked around carefully, then, when she felt it was safe, made a dash for the horse.

The chestnut mare snorted nervously as she neared. Making her movements slower, she patted the horse on the neck as she pulled the reins free, and on her third try, managed to mount, landing hard and painfully on the saddle horn. The impact shot through her crotch distorting her face with the pain. Anna had no time to say the words she was thinking as a bolt, obviously fired from above, tore into the bark of the tree next to her. Kicking the horse into a fast gallop across the narrow valley, a second bolt whistled by her.

As she rode back in the direction from which she came, her mind raced. She was falsely accused of murder and sentenced to death. Now that she actually killed a man, she is no longer innocent. So, why is she going back? Pulling the reins in tightly, the horse came to a screeching halt, snorting furiously.

Anna looked back. She could not see the men in pursuit, but felt that they were coming. She had only a short lead on them. The time for decisions was here. Take her chances and fight, or run? Five to one, she was no match for them, but maybe she could reduce the odds.

A repeating pain shot a sharp blow between her legs as she swung it over the horse’s head and slipped out of the saddle. The game trail she had been following was the most likely route her pursuers would take to follow her. Anna took the rope off the saddle, and walked about twenty feet down the trail where the bushes closed in. Tying the rope to a tree at about two feet off the ground, she pulled it tight across the trail and tied it at the same height on another tree. When she had finished, she tested the tightness of the rope, then, satisfied, stood back to consider how visible it was. Pleased that you had to be almost on top of it to see it, she painfully returned to the saddle and walked her horse across the rope. Anna was very pleased. Even at the slow pace she walked her horse, it did not notice the rope until its leg hit it. She went off the path a ways, tied the horse to a tree, and loading the crossbow, returned to the trail to lie in wait.

The heat was now suffocating and the pollen mixed with dust tickled her nostrils. The forest had its sounds that made the afternoon more peaceful than it should’ve felt. Had she been on a camping holiday, no-one hunting her, she would have considered this paradise. She flicked at a fly buzzing around her head, and with the same motion smoothed her hair back behind her ears. Anna wondered how fast she could reload, and whether she could often enough to prevent any of the men getting to her.

The symphony of the forest quieted as the sound of galloping horses neared. She lay prone, the cross bow loaded and aimed at the trail ahead. Raising her head a little, she could make out a foot long section of the rope stretched across the trail. The shrubbery hid the rest. The riders neared, still at a fair gallop. Her heart throbbed in her ear drowning out the horses’ hoofs, and her palms were sweaty. Anna’s finger tightened on the trigger.

Suddenly the horses stopped. There was a total utter silence the like of which she had never felt. Fear rose in her throat like a tsunami, her eyes burned from the effort of trying to see through the bushes up ahead.

The voice behind her said, Guilty, and she rolled quickly unto her back. For an instant, she saw a man sitting on his horse, his black leather jacket glistening like the horses’ sweaty skin, holding a crossbow aimed down at her. Guilty, he repeated and pulled the trigger. Anna felt a dull impact in her chest, saw the man smile, and wondered where the fog was rolling in from.

Arby McDowell’s Diary

October 20,

Haven’t had a chance to write anything in the last two days, not that anything major happened. Spent most of the daylight hours reinforcing the seals in the greenhouse, and added more caulking to the seals where it joins the house. The plates seem to be welded tight around the openings where the fans were, and as a reward, I allowed myself a fresh carrot. It was still too small but it was the sweetest carrot I had ever tasted.

Yesterday, I saw that gray and white cat again. Maybe the plague doesn’t affect them? I watched it hunt a bird and catch it. What I would give for some fresh meat.

October 21,

After weeding the garden, I went up to the loft and looked down into the valley. Garble’s cattle were still dead in the fields, but there was more activity around the carcasses than just the birds I had seen previously. Even with the binoculars, I could not make out the small creatures that were feasting on the remains, but I fear they may have been rats. Oh, God, tell me that the rats didn’t survive.

To take stock, we now have birds, one cat and possibly a hoard of rats, or some such, surviving this disease that killed most everything. And me, of course.

Hell, I don’t even know why I keep this diary. The last radio broadcast ended abruptly six weeks ago, and there has been no physical sign of a human being in nine weeks. I guess we’re creatures of hope and habit and I have habitually kept account of myself and my activities. Anyway, with no one to talk to, it makes me feel better in some ways. I don’t like crowds, or large groups of people, anyway. That’s why I moved out here in the first place. But it was reassuring to talk to Fred once a month down at the General Store. Wonder if he survived?

The cat was back tonight and scratched at the door. I hope it doesn’t damage the seals.

October 23,

I was too tired last night and had nothing worthy for the diary. I guess I could honestly say I was really lonely last night. I found one of the old Playboy magazines in the loft day before yesterday, and as I looked at the pictures of those exquisite, young, nubile bodies, realized that that part of my humanity has ended. I prayed that she would come alive off that three-page centerfold, but she just stared back at me immodestly, wearing nothing but a smile. Shamefully I relieved myself before I fell asleep.

Today trying to forget that picture. I spent nearly the whole day weeding that enormous greenhouse. My back is killing me tonight. I promised myself a treat for Saturday to ease the pain.

The cat hung around the house most of the day, and I often heard scratching at the door. I am glad it survived. Maybe someday I could let it in?

October 24,

It took to noon today before I realized this was Saturday. With the house sealed up so tight, there is little need to dust, but I dusted the furniture anyway and prepared a casserole. I still have a lot of canned tuna left, and I used a handful of pasta from the declining supply. Soon I may have to learn how to use the flour in the larder to make it from scratch.

The empty tuna can went directly to the greenhouse and I filled it with soil. The only thing not growing right now are hot peppers, so I placed two seeds in the can to germinate. Capsaicin in capsicum, the hot ingredient in the pepper, I think, is supposed to be good for you.

Anyway, my reward tonight will be a movie. The generator is outside and still works fine, but needs to be run every now and again. It will fill the cistern inside from the well while I watch the show and light up the house like a Christmas tree. Generators aren’t supposed to last unless loaded to their capacity, if I remember right.

The gas still comes through the pipe, and I often wonder how long before that luxury ends. And what will I do when it does? Winter’s coming and without gas to heat, not only will the plants die, but I will surely freeze to death.

I will now select the movie, although I crave nothing in particular except to see another person, preferably female and scantily dressed. Anything but the Andromeda Strain, I guess.

The oxy tank was empty so I hooked up another and opened the valve to a trickle. This is my second last tank, so I’m hoping by the time I’m out of oxygen, the outside air will be safe to breathe.

October 25,

Seems I am becoming somewhat religious these days. For a man who hasn’t been to a church in forty years, lighting those candles and praying seemed like a renewed necessity.

There’s been no sign of rain for over a week and the sunlight in the greenhouse really makes the vegetables grow. The tomatoes are starting to flower so I must prepare for the task of pollinating the flowers as they are ready. I found a small paintbrush for the task, as opposed to using my indelicate fingers.

Yes, the movie. I watched the Hunt for Red October with Sean Connery. What a terrific actor. I didn’t know he could speak Russian so well, though. A wonderful movie. I especially liked the submarine sequence as they maneuvered in the trench, near the beginning, and I love the music. Russians always had such great music. I miss the radio.

Two of Garble’s cattle are but racks of bone now. Whatever has been eating at them sure cleaned them up fast. Still can’t see what they are.

Talk about creatures, I thought I heard the cat late last night, but haven’t seen him all day. Hope he’s all right.

October 26,

Saw the cat on the front lawn today. It was not a pretty sight. Something had killed it, and all there was left were some bones and a few bits of fur in a pool of dried blood. Whatever these creatures are, they must be real close. If they break the seal, I will surely die. If they get in, I will die. I have to prepare.

This evening, after I came in from the greenhouse, I heard noises near the back door. I have now loaded my .22 and I have an air pistol, gas cartridge in and loaded with pellets. If I must die, I will at least take as many of these creatures with me, as I can.

October 27,

Couldn’t sleep last night. There were noises, chewing, gnawing noises coming from nearly everywhere, all around the perimeter of the house, and even on the roof. The seals muffled much of the sound, but in this silence, you could hear a pin drop five hundred feet away.

It’s still early morning and the rats, or whatever they are have gone silent. I’m going to try to sleep for a while.

October 29,

They got in somewhere. I got at least two dozen with the air pistol. I seem to be okay, which means that the plague may have passed. In the loft, there is a definite breeze but I can’t find the source. Its early afternoon and the sun is shining, so I’m about to remove the seals from the front door and go outside. No time like the present to be sure, and if it’s really gone, the plague, I mean, then I could make a dash for the Jeep and get away from the rats. They are really big! I haven’t seen rats this size before.

I have been out and the air is fine. I have no symptoms of the disease, and by now I would have felt something. The rats managed to chew up the leather seats in the Jeep, and the battery was dead. I put the charger on it and now the whole house is lit up with the generator running. I guess I could watch a movie, but I need to hear the rats when they get in. I suppose I’ve seen all the movies often enough by now not to need the sound.

I got a few fresh carrots from the greenhouse. The rats got in there too. There were very few carrots left.

They’re pretty smart. They’re getting to know that when I raise the gun, they have to duck and hide, and it’s becoming more difficult to hit the little buggers. Luckily, they can’t count. I have to reload after six shots, and the pellets are so small, I have some difficulty placing them the right way into the cylinder.

October 30,

The generator died in the middle of the night and I stayed awake by candlelight. I heard the rats all over the house, but they stayed out of the kitchen and the larder, where I waited on guard, for morning. I hope the battery took a sufficient charge to turn over the engine.

Guess not. Or, at least it would’ve had the alligator clips stayed in place. Looked like they were pulled off the battery terminals. I killed another four rats when I got back to the house, in the kitchen. I think they found the larder, and they totally ignored me when I entered as they chewed at the larder door. Several got away, so tonight may be a major showdown.

Still no ill effects from the plague. I guess I’m safe from that now. I took a swivel chair into the kitchen as well as my .22 and all the ammunition I had. I am waiting for them to come. Tomorrow, I think I’ll walk over to Garble’s farm and see if any of his vehicles will start.

I hear the rats, they’re coming closer. There must be a lot of them to make so much noise. I’m ready for the little bastards.

Blackmail

Frank? Her voice was shaking, Come over here now! It was not a request.

I told you never to call me at home, Jesus, what are you trying to do to me?

Under the circumstances, I think you’d better get your ass over here now, while you still have one to get.

What are you talking about?

She yelled into the phone, Just get your ass over here NOW! She hung up.

Frank looked at his watch as he replaced the receiver. His wife Sheila was in the kitchen, putting the final touches on their dinner. It was six in the evening. Looking as reluctant to go anywhere as he could, he walked into the kitchen and kissed his wife’s cheek as he approached from behind.

Can you keep my dinner warm? he asked lovingly.

Why? Who was that on the phone?

Mark. He needs my help to get a proposal out in the morning and asked if I could come and help him.

You said no, right?

Not really. It’s an important job. I really need to go and help.

Sure, she said turning back to the breaded veal cutlets, I always understand. I’ll keep yours warm.

Frank did not pay attention to the unique, knowing look on her face as he rushed out of the kitchen in what seemed like too much of a hurry. After all, he was supposed to go to the office, not late for an appointment of catastrophic proportions.

There was a parking spot in front of the apartment building, where Julie Ingress lived. Frank pulled into it a little too fast, bumping the car in front gently. Not bothering to back off the other car’s bumper, he shut the motor down and at a run, aimed his middle aged form towards the front door. Buzzing up to apartment 1401, he fidgeted while waiting for the sweet voice of his mistress with whom he shared intimacies for the past five months.

Instead of her voice on the intercom, the door just buzzed open. He went in and took the elevator up. Her door was wide ajar and he stepped into the tastefully appointed one bedroom apartment.

Julie was a tall, leggy short haired brunette with deep brown eyes that always reminded him of the soulful eyes of a Jersey cow. Her breasts were smaller than those of his wife, but her sex drive and open willingness to do unorthodox acts made up for the deficiency. However, Frank loved his wife’s large breasts, although she had rarely allowed him to touch their firm curves. She claimed it tickled.

Julie sat cross legged on the couch, both legs exposed through her kimono all the way to the top of her thighs. A large white envelope and a tall glass of what appeared to be pure bourbon were the only items on the table in front of her.

Isn’t that a lot? Frank asked as he entered the living room, pointing at the full glass.

That’s for you. I’ve already had two just like that. Her voice was considerably calmer that on the phone earlier. Drink it! she commanded as he sat down beside her.

Frank picked up the glass and took a sip, confirming that it was bourbon, and it was straight up. After setting the glass back on the table, he turned to her and said, Okay, so what’s the panic?

Silently, she pointed at the white envelope, a look of utter disgust and repulsion on her face. Take a look, she hissed.

Taking the envelope, he spilled its contents on the table. There were several sheets of color pictures, two to a page, and a letter with what looked like the cut out letters stuck to the paper used in ransom notes on television, except that these also were a photocopy. The note read, ‘$10,000 in three days or the originals go to Frank Hastings’ wife. No cops.’

Frank stared at the sheet and slowly re-read each word. He then took the pages that appeared to be color photocopies of the original photographs and stared at them. They depicted Julie and himself in various positions of sexual ecstasy, both on her bed and on her couch. After carefully scrutinizing the pictures, he said, You look terrific in these pictures. He then reached for the full glass of bourbon and downed three quarters of the liquid.

When he finished drinking, Julie swung around and caught him on the chin with her elbow, knocking Frank over. Asshole! Don’t you realize what this means? He spilled the remains in the glass on the carpet.

Sure, he said sitting back up, brushing his pants off to make sure no bourbon spotted the material. I no longer have to make the decision to leave my wife and marry you. Someone else has made the decision for me.

Sheila is my best friend and I would not take you away from her. Just because I don’t want to get involved full time with a man, what makes you think this would change anything and that I would suddenly consent to marry you? Especially you, a proven adulterer?

He looked shocked, but managed to mumble, So, what are you expecting me to do?

"I expect you to pay the money, keep your mouth shut, and we continue the way it has been as