The Memoirs of a Maniac

By Lyle Marks

As I slid on my knees, I could feel the smooth marble floor under my fingertips. My gauntlets long since lost, my helmet dented and cast to the side. My slide came to a stop and I turned on my left knee and raised my sword, Hunnin, in a guard position. I could see the blood drip from its tip. Hunnin had found its mark and had bit deep. I looked past Hunnin to the enemy I had been fighting for more than an hour. He was on his knees with his back to me and I knew from the blood pouring from the wound in his side, I knew he had only seconds before he bleeds out. I walked around to his front. I looked up to the only window in the room and the man that I had been hunting. I thought to see a look of fear or anger on his face at the loss of his champion but it held only a smile. My heart sank as I knelt in front of my foe and removed her helmet. My wife smiled at me and said, "He told me you were dead. Thank you for freeing me, my love." With her last breath she slumped forward into my arms. The maniac slammed back to full control of my mind. This time. I let him have full control. I can still feel the blood that followed and hear the screams of those that followed my wife to the grave. With Freya at my side, and both Hunnin and Munnin in hand, I became the maniac again and would not stop till the world was mine.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Feb 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9781646283514

Book preview

December 31, 2024–January 1, 2025

The time was 11:50 p.m. The place was a small prison in the Florida panhandle, fifty miles northeast of Panama City. It was December 25, 2024. That was the night the world changed forever. That was the last night for a happy new year. That was the night the stars fell from the sky and the world was lost to a war of chaos and death. I was sitting on my bunk in that prison. I was a convict then. I was looking out of the windows. Listening to my fellow convicts count down till midnight. The time was dragging by for me. I was due to go home to my wife and kids in just two months. It had been almost five years. I missed them so much and wanted nothing more than to be in my wife’s arms again.

I thought of nothing else and could nearly taste her lips on mine. I wanted to fish in our family’s pond with my son. Have Easter egg hunts with all my nieces and kids and nephews. To sit in our gazebo and watch the sunset. With my wife till we grow old. I was mostly an honest man and always a good father and husband. I had committed my crime and was at the end of that time. Now that my time to go home was close at hand. I was getting edgy. So I kept to myself and talked to few others. The first among us criminals was Johnathan Streets AKA Sweeper. He had used a street sweeper shotgun to kill the drug dealers that sold his son the heroin that killed him.

It was Sweeper’s voice that broke into my train of thought.

Lyle? Come on, man, it’s only a minute till the ball drops. Get off your ass and come watch.

I liked the way he tried to keep me from falling into the blackness that hid inside me. I, however, wasn’t in the mood so I just said, I’ll be along in a minute.

Sweeper was a good man. As far as you found in prison anyway. I knew he had the best in mind. He thought of me as a friend. Friends were even harder to come by. You had to trust someone to call them friend. I guess he trusted me for some reason. Only God knew why. He had military background and could read people, and could tell I would still be in the same spot after the ball dropped. He ducked back in the TV room and I looked back out the window. When I did. My thoughts didn’t go back to my wife and kids. It went to the streaks of lights I could see coming out of the sky.

Dozens of them streaking across the sky. It looked as if a meteorite shower was raining down, but I knew nothing like that was supposed to happen tonight. I could hear the others counting down till midnight. 10…9…8…7… Wait, the stars would hit on the drop of midnight. Was I going crazy? Was I seeing this? It couldn’t be right! 3…2…1… Happy new year! The lights fell below the tree lines at the start of the new year. Nothing, we were still here. Sweeper stepped into the doorway from the TV room to the sleeping room. I could see the smile on his face and… My head snapped around and my eyes locked on to the sky. The too bright sky. I shouldn’t have been able to see Sweeper’s face. The main lights were out and only the soft night-lights were on.

The sky had lit up from a powerful glow from behind me and the back of the building. I could see glowing from over the tree line in my line of sight. The shock wave hit before the sound did. The building shook, and had I not been on my bunk, I would have been on the ground, as I’m sure Sweeper was. The sound started as a far-off and low wail. It quickly grew to what I could only describe as the inside of what a F5 hurricane would sound like. I could start to hear objects hitting the back of the building I was in. I slid off my bunk and under it. The bunks were all made of tube steel; if the roof came down, it would be the safest place.

The roof did indeed come down, or most of it any way. The hours that followed were pure chaos. The first shockwave that hit us was the strongest of them. That did nothing to take away from those that followed. I lost count around 5 and just started to pray. I prayed for my family and for myself, Please, God, let me and my wife and kids survive this night, and whatever is to come.

The hours ticked away in my dark little world. I only thought of my wife and kids and how I failed them. I hoped they were all right. I could only guess at what the hell happened. The ground shook again and woke me from a fitful dream of my wife. She was slipping from my grip. It was dark and I was confused at first. Why couldn’t I see the prison night-lights that I had gotten so used to, and why was I so cramped? Then it hit me. I was under my bunk and there was rubble blocking me in. I pushed and shoved my way out from under my new prison. To stand on the remains of my old one.

The dorm house. The fences. The guard towers. The entire compound looked as if it had been hit by a F5 hurricane. Most of the roof and two of the walls, my dorm too, were gone or in piles. I could see dead bodies in the rubble, guards and inmates a like. I stood on top of my pile and looked to see if anyone else was alive.

What the hell happened?

It was the voice of Sweeper. I turned my head to see him standing on the remains of the front door. I was glad to see he was alive and at least able to walk. I looked around and, based on what I saw the night before, said, I’m not sure but I think we were attacked.

After a short pause I added, I’m going for the gun in tower 2. You go after the one in 3!

Both guard towers that I could see were down and I didn’t want the guns in the hands of some of the inmates in the prison. Just ’cause me and others were just trying to do our time and go home. That didn’t mean that there wasn’t some evil-ass fuckers in prison. Sweeper didn’t even seem to think twice. He just said, Sir!

Then he hopped off his pile and headed to try and recover the weapon in tower 3. I didn’t pay it any mind at the time, but that wouldn’t be the last time, for sure. I managed to stumble my way to the mangled mess that was tower 2. I looked inside and had to look away and throw up. I was glad I had nothing in my stomach from the night before. The guard had been cut into almost four pieces. It was not a pretty sight to say the least. I forced myself to go back to what I was doing and look for the tower 2 weapon. I was able to reach the gun case pretty easily. After I used the officer’s torso for a plank any way. The case had been smashed in the fall of the tower. I could see an assault rifle and some boxes. I wasn’t good at telling what kind of gun I was looking at. I did know that I wouldn’t let it fall into the wrong hands.

I managed to get the AR-15 out of the box, and three boxes of ammo for it. I was climbing my way out of the gagged mess around me. That was probably why I didn’t see Trucker. He was waiting as I ducked the last beam when I came up. His giant fist came down, and I went down. I looked up through fuzzy vision and saw a nightmare on legs. Trucker Borws was a crazy murderer. He was said to have raped and murdered his way across eight states before they caught him. His victims were both females and males as well. He was a 6-foot-8-inch, 250-pound psychopath. He had killed an inmate. He was said to have tried to rape a guard. Now he was standing over me with a gun and a crazed look. My vision cleared and I wished it hadn’t. My hand wrapped around the first thing it came across. From the look on this prick’s face, my death would be bad. I just prayed my wife and kids would be safe. As Trucker opened his mouth to speak, his voice was replaced by a loud clap of thunder. Then I was being rained on.

I was confused as to what had happened. Then the gun he had picked up dropped to the ground; his body shook a little bit and then dropped to its knees. It sat up for a second, then slumped to the side. I could see the blood coming from the missing bottom jaw of Trucker. I wiped my face and saw the rain. It had been a spray of blood and bone. I threw up for the second time that morning. I quickly wiped my face and got to my feet. I saw Sweeper walking toward me with a raised AR-15. He must have shot Trucker and saved my life. I knew he had been in the Army but now I could really appreciate that and be glad he was on my side.

I raised a shaking hand in thanks. I looked at the hole in the back of Trucker’s head. Yes, I was glad to have Sweeper on my team. I turned back to the ruin of the dorm I called home. I knew we had to look for other survivors, but there was a voice in me and it said, Leave them. You have the gun. You can do it yourself.

I shook the voice away. Sweeper had already saved my life and that was enough for me, for now. How crazy it is to sit here now and think about how much things have changed. I needed his help at the time, so I spent the next hour helping him. We found a total of four guards that were able to walk and talk and they were pissed, three of them were at least. Sergeant Bexton was the most vocal of the guards. He hated every inmate that ever crossed his path. He believed we all were the scum of the earth. He was a short inbred little fucker, and as the voice always told me, I should have killed them all. I was, however, still in my somewhat right mind, and I just didn’t want to kill anyone. I just wanted to go home to my wife and kids. I just wanted to be there to keep them safe. I just wanted to hold my wife and say it was OK.

You scumbag inmates need to hand over those guns, and maybe you, scum, might not get more charges.

It was the same comments that he had started yelling the second us crazed inmates pulled his redneck, hillbilly ass out of the rubble. Sweeper simply leveled the barrel at him and he backed off a step. We found ten inmates alive in the rubble, and besides, me, and Sweeper, we found four other convicts. I said convicts over inmates because those of us locked up knew there was a difference. Convicts had a moral code and lived by it. Inmates had no codes and saw everyone as targets. Us cons were outnumbered, but we had the guns, so that evened it up. After Sweeper blew the head off the first inmates, that said something about Ms. Spade. That settled the inmates and the cons down. That made no difference to Bexton though. He felt he was safe and acted as if he couldn’t be killed. The truth is at that moment, he was right.

Neither me nor Sweeper were going to kill him at that time. The voice in my head, however. It just kept chanting. You should have killed them all. I had to wonder if I was going crazy, and not for the last time, either.

Just let us have that slut Spade and kill the others!

That was from a little weasel of an inmate named Franks. He was a stupid little shit. He never could keep his mouth shut. He should have stopped there but he didn’t. He kept on.

That bitch ain’t nothing anyway. Just let us have are fun with the big-ass slut.

I could see that Sweeper was getting mad at the way Franks was talking about Ms. Spade. I was sure that he had feelings for her. The fact that his grip on the AR-15 tightened and he kept the barrel trained on Franks went a long way to reinforcing that thought. The next thing those two did showed that to be an understatement. Franks made a grab for Ms. Spade and yelled, "Bitch!"

There was a loud clap of thunder and the back of Franks’s head exploded in a spray of blood and brain and bones. The rest of the inmates stopped all arguments and started to ease out of the circle and fade out of my life. I wish Bexton would have took that road. Not to my surprise but to my sadness he didn’t. He chose to walk a different road and, in doing so, changed my life forever. Bexton started to speak more confidently as the inmates that wanted him dead left.

There is no way me and my men are going to let you inmates just walk out of here.

He stepped up to within five feet of Sweeper and held out his hand and said, Now hand over that weapon and we will go easy on you.

The only response he got, however, was the slap of a gun butt to the face. No one liked Bexton. He was an asshole to everyone. Even his own men. They didn’t even move as he fell to the ground with a hand over his busted and bleeding mouth. When he looked up at Sweeper I cloud see, then, he would never let us go. He would try to have us put back in prison and would try to kill Sweeper. Two of his men helped him to his feet. Before he could start in on Sweeper I stepped up between them.

That’s enough. We will go our way and you go yours.

I knew as the words came out of my mouth that they would be ignored. I had to try though. I just wanted to go home to my wife and kids. I just wanted to keep them safe and happy. I just wanted to my life. I had to try though so I continued.

Look, we don’t have any way to tell what the hell has happened to the world. We need to get to our families, and keep them safe. So you go your way and we will go ours.

Bexton’s men started to back away and head back to whatever homes they may still have. Ms. Spade, however, hesitated for a second. Bexton saw the hesitation and said, What the hell you doing? Bring your big ass on or are you an inmate lover?

Ms. Spade had always been a fair and honest guard and never been mean to anyone. She just did her job and went home. The fact that she didn’t seem to want to go with Bexton and his men told me she had some kind of sense. She turned to me and asked a simple question. To this day I still don’t know why it was me she asked, but then again I still don’t know why any of what followed happened. I just wanted to go home to my wife and kids.

Will I be safe if I go with you?

So simple and so pointed. I thought of how the world could become in the days that followed. That made me pause. I knew I had to get to my wife and kids ASAP. Could I take responsibility for her safety? Could I keep her safe from whatever would come our way? I knew that I couldn’t, so I said, You will be safe from us.

I could tell she understood what it was I was saying. The men that traveled with me would not bring her harm. The rest of the world, however, was beyond my control. She seemed to like those odds better than she liked the ones with the nasty Bexton. It wasn’t a surprise to me when she said, My family is in Jacksonville. I will travel with you.

That brought a string of curses from Bexton, but when his eyes met those of Sweeper’s he stopped short and backed off. His men were mostly through the rubble toward the main gate, so he hurried to catch up to them. I looked around me to the men still by my side. There were only eight of us left. First was Johnathan Sweeper Streets. I trusted him the most at that time. He was in prison for killing the drug dealers that had sold his son the heroin that killed him. He was in his thirties and had military training. I was glad to have him at my side. Then there was Reggie Big Phillz Lorenzo. While in Florida on vacation he caught his twelve-year-old daughter with a twenty-year-old man. He beat the man to death and got twenty years in prison. I respected him for that but didn’t really trust him. He had a way about him that seemed a little bit off.

I looked past him and saw Tyrone T-Banks Banks. A middle-aged white man serving a thirty-year sentence for the possession of illegal weapons. He said they were military but we all doubted that. Of course thirty years was a long time for small arms or rifles. I would find out soon enough how much of that was true. Beside him as always was Alajondro "Mad