#278
Standing Ready
BREAKING NEWS: Poll shows Klu Klux Klan more popular than
Martin Luther King in some states in the U.S…
BREAKING NEWS: In a sign of its continued ability to govern
with intelligence Florida passes more mandates without funding…
BREAKING NEWS: U.S. Senator says Judges who rule in the
favor of whistleblowers should be seen as supporters of spies and tried as
accomplices…
The dominant collect power like comic book fans in the late
80’s and early 90’s collected chrome covers.
They could be sitting in their chairs with every desire,
every want, even the twisted ones at their fingertips, at the ready if they say
go, but the power they don’t have or the chance that others might gain any
standing or power themselves finds them considering it a threat on their place
in the world.
That’s the people that collect power, not the 80’s/90’s
comic book fans, we were just pretty stupid back then.
The powerful people, the ones with their boots on the necks
of those below them also want the best footwear for the task. They want an
economic system that shields them from stupid business practices. They want
laws that put a clear barrier between old and new power.
The people who have all the control are obsessed with keeping
control at any cost.
They look at the word NEW like friends of mine look at the
word CUNT.
They see technology as a risky tool, risky because it can be
used by the masses.
Science, literature, critical thinking of any kind is a
threat to them keeping the control in order.
These groups also create false knowledge; throw away
possessions, so we will use up all our power to one- possesses things that will
fill up our lives but give us no power and two- to give up our own searches for
true power such as individual happiness and a thirst for truth.
The powerful are usually collectors and not just in money
and gold bars. I mean from Alexander The Great to the Nazis to the largest of
the organized religions and the little TV freak ones, the powerful are hoarders
of items that add to their power either in status, control, or force.
Yes I did draw a related line from Alexander to Hitler to
the Pope and then to Pat Robertson.
These powerful forces, whether they are a government, a
religion, or company, they gather together powerful objects for their store
houses and vaults, many never to see the light of day again.
Underneath homes, underneath cities, and underneath the
surface of the world are the tombs of influence, store houses of the dominant.
One of the largest of these secret depositories is under
Vatican City.
The top three are the Vatican City Vaults, the United States
Safe, and the Mormon Church Caves on an FYI.
Among the Vatican City Vaults, you can find so many things
interesting, boring, and powerful such as the Armor Of Beowulf, the Sword
Mimung, the Sword Hrunting, Hades Pitchfork, and Cupids Bow.
Hades Pitchfork would cause so much destruction in the wrong
hands; so in some cases no matter if the church is a hate mongering ass show it
is also trying to protect people. That’s why Hades left it behind when he left
with the other old Gods. He wanted it to screw up the world.
You might ask yourself, or might have thought along the
lines in the past, what keeps other countries from just wiping out Vatican City?
Most of the world’s governments and dark groups aren’t too keen to attack a
place with all of those ancient weapons of mass destructions. And there are so
many more that I didn’t mention, because this isn’t a fucking auction catalog.
And it’s not just weapons in the normal kind that those
vaults hold that’s very dangerous. You would be a really short sighted person
in the brain box if the only thing you considered a weapon was spank material
found in Guns & Ammo.
The books in the Vatican vaults alone are dangerous enough
to scare the people who have full knowledge of their existence. One sentence
read from Scigabain would send the person who read from it and everyone they
know to another reality.
The scrolls are also pretty fucking bleak. Some of them list
the locations of Heaven in the sky. The burial places of saints and demons
alike. The very nature of the making of a scroll is supernatural in origin
because it’s said that the first words spoken in this reality was from a scroll
from another reality, thus scrolls were the first form of knowledge gathered to
exist.
A couple parchments bring on Death with just a glance, like
The Sunflower Parchments. Knowing the difference between a parchment and a
scroll is a search on Google and as easy as that.
But the holy relics, the objects of power, the weapons of
might, that’s what secretly makes Vatican City one of the biggest military
powers in the world. Even if that’s not a fact known to the general population
of the planet.
And unlike some other influential nations, Vatican City
doesn’t send its agents and representatives out with powerful objects in their
pockets to be taken from them or found by the extremely wrong hands. The
extremely wrong hands being someone who has no clue what they are or what they
could do.
But there are a couple exceptions to this general rule when
it comes to Vatican objects being allowed outside the vaults.
You know the Popes attire? The fancy pansy gold and jewel
laden elaborate looks like something out of a sci-fi movie stuff? Nothing of it
is special and hold no power outside if you hocked it at a pawn shop.
But that’s just me taking a cheap shot at the Pope’s dress
style.
The exception to the general rule comes in the form of The
Indigenous. They are a seven man secret group that has existed as part of the
church from the beginning, ordained as Gods hands to reach out into the world
to retrieve powerful objects for the churches vaults.
Before you ask I don’t really think there is any kind of
great meaning behind their name. Probably just a word that sounded mysterious
enough for them to start using. In the beginning they went by several
unofficial titles such as The Seven Hands and The Seven Ones Of Knowing.
One of the Indigenous seven is called Donor as with all of
these secret society types they have to have stupid nonsensical names. The only
other of the seven he has even met is Japan’s Rushten. They met when Rushten
came to the U.S. to recruit Donor and took him back to the Vatican to supervise
his training.
The Indigenous are spread out at different locations all
over the world. The other five members of the Indigenous also have funny names
and are young white European guys.
Donor is a former choirboy from Chicago who now handles
Indigenous operations in North America.
Yeah, North America, we get him.
Actually he’s not that bad for a churchy sort.
The thing is you would expect most agents of the Vatican to
be all devote but that’s just not the case. A number of atheist and some of
devotion to other religions. The thing is the church to get things done knows
it has to work with all kinds of people. Too bad its overall views and
practices aren’t as open.
The past few years, in that he has only been a full member
of Indigenous for a few years, Donor has found himself in Florida so much he
bought a house in Merritt Island to enforce cover and make it the base of his
operations…at least for the time being.
Most of the deep cover variety in Florida tend to go the
snowbird route but that ends up full of holes so he made a better choice.
Since setting up in Merritt Island his investigations
haven’t turned up any artifacts, yet, and mainly uncovered only information the
church already knew but 80 percent of most investigations turn up dead ends.
Trails aren’t as clean as in the movies.
If he had wanted to be obvious he would have bought a house
in St. Augustine. Anyways there are too many standing points in that city that
might hinder and get in the way of some of his investigations so Merritt Island
seemed in the whole of Florida’s shadows and weird to be a sort of calm spot to
sit down within.
Right now he’s just getting back to his Marriot Island deep
cover home after yet another of the many trips to America’s oldest city he has
undertaken.
Going to St. Augustine even for work though, because it’s so
cool, will quite down most of any complaints anyone could have about visiting.
His snowbird home is located along a stretch of very well
off residences across the road for water because, you know, Merritt Island is,
you know, an island.
Many of these homes are owned by lawyers, politicians,
actors, and company CEO’s. They are new and old and with the way storms hit
Florida the old is not really old and along the lines of new.
His cover identity is that of a young Jasper Mcguire. The
cover story goes that he married into old European money and divorce settled
out of it into a life of leisure. There were even a few stories planted in
tabloids and the internet to help push this identity forward.
The house Donor bought as Jasper previously belonged to a
gambling boat high roller who fell off one of the local gambling boats drunk
one night after some bad luck had hit him.
It was really bad luck, he lost almost everything, and bad
luck brought on by Donor slipping a cursed shard of The Cross Of Saint Peter
into his pocket while buying him a drink in one of the lounges.
The shards are just one of the things members of The
Indigenous have access to. Each one also is allowed to pick out a personal
weapon for protection.
As long as it’s nothing as showy as Hades Pitchfork.
Donor chose as his personal weapon, Carnwennan, said to be
the dagger King Arthur used to kill a number of Black Night Witches one night
when they invaded Camelot.
The dagger can cut through just about anything, doesn’t
dull, and causes wounds that are hard to heal.
Carnwennan also grants its welder the ability to sometimes
see supernatural things most humans cannot see and a form of invisibility in
the shadows and at night.
Donor keeps the dagger on his person at all times, strapped
to the middle of his chest in an upside down holster.
The Carnwennan dagger like a lot of magical blades can
change its weight and appearance to suit its owner. It’s one of the things that
separate a weapon artifact from a supernatural weapon.
It can appear as it was crafted to look or it can be changed
to look like anything from a butter knife to a bowie knife, or even a full
length sword.
Its magic after all, isn’t it, so no use playing magic and
do it boring.
Having hit a dead end that led to nothing on his most recent
trip to St. Augustine, Donor was ready to relax with a good book and a couple
days of nothing but fish & chips.
Florida has plenty of fish and also plenty of places that
claim to be pubs with British flags in the windows and fish & chips on the
menu.
But he won’t get the chance for a good book or the good book
or fish & chips as a text just came across his phone with coordinates for
his next investigation.
The Indigenous are pointed towards supernatural anomalies.
By whom or what within the Vatican they don’t know but almost always they are
going in virtually blind to what they will be looking for.
This time the coordinates pointed Donor to State Road A1A to
the beach entrance of Bonsteel Park, which is part of the Archie Carr Wildlife
Refuge, a good place for surf fishing, surfing (though surfing around big
fishing poles is kind of risky), unguarded swimming, and one or two crabs that
will sneak up on you and pinch you on the toes.
The drive to Bonsteel Park from Merritt Island was long,
more so than normal because of traffic as families tried to get in another day
of beach fun before school started back, and the drive time had Donor thinking
about the one word that also came with the coordinates in the text message,
Gennaro.
He started his thinking that Gennaro must refer to Saint
Januarius. Saint Januarius being a Bishop of Naples, a martyr of the church. Not
many historical facts are widely known about his life, even from the knowledge
contained within the vaults.
Januarius is the patron saint of Naples in fact. Even to
this day the people of Naples gather three times a year at Naples Cathedral to
witness the liquefaction of his blood; which is kept in a special large
ampoule.
The blood was saved by what legend calls a “warrior wife”
who was called Eusebia.
The Vatican Vaults already contain the blood of John The
Baptist, taken from the monastery of San Greporio Armeno and the blood of Saint
Pantaleon from Ravello.
All taken and brought back to the vaults by members of The
Ingenious. All known as acts of simple thievery by the general public.
The church sees these blood relics as the last remaining
rudiments of the Christian Blood Cults and must be taken from history and be
only in their position.
The Vatican has decided in secret that all Saintly blood
must be brought within their walls for safe keeping because of the powers they
can grant in the wrong hands or even in the right hands. The church has an
attitude that only they should have this power in their grasp because if it
wasn’t about power in the end then why don’t they destroy the blood and why
don’t they destroy a great number of things in the vaults.
But when the blood of Saint Januarius was stolen in 2000 the
church had nothing to do with it and has been searching for it ever since
worried greatly about the possibilities of who could have stolen it and what
they might have an idea for its use.
The major shrine to Saint Januarius, the Church Of The Most
Precious Blood is said to be the secret hiding location of the bone fragments
that had been previously kept with the blood in Naples Cathedral.
The Church Of The Most Precious Blood is now off limits to
anyone but its core council. It has grown inward and cut itself off from the
outside world. It’s now a closed off monastery in an attempt to protect the
last relics of Saint Januarius.
Donor couldn’t help but wonder if he had been put on the
trail of The Blood Of San Gennaro and if he had the boring last few months was
going to look so very good when all of this begins to unfold.
To a member of The Ingenious anything involving saintly
blood just whispers in your ear, the shits about to hit the fan.
Donor pulled into the parking lot of The Barrier Island
Center and found a parking spot for his white 2013 Porsche Cayenne Turbo S
beside a blue minivan covered in Kill The Poor stickers and a brown Hummer with
one lonely save the turtles bumper decal.
The only other car in the parking lot was a beat up old Mini
that looked like it was on its last legs. It had no bunker sticker philosophy
but did have a lot of outlines of where bumper stickers once where.
He went inside the center building first before heading to
the beach thinking he might as well start there first. This is actually his
second time here, having visited once before looking into reports of white
turtles being born.
Plus, he does like to check out the gift shop because who
doesn’t like a gift shop.
The center was a nicely designed building, including a gift
shop, a ton of displays, and a good size film viewing room.
Even though there weren’t any other building near it the
building had a shape like something wedged into a space.
The operations of the building were environmentally friendly
in it being powered by solar panels with bathrooms that used recycled water.
The whole place is a nice learning facility for
conservation, seat turtle preservation, and a great place to eat your lunch
after a relaxing early day at the beach.
He skipped the normal exhibits and after buying a center
t-shirt he went out onto the centers patio area which wrapped around one side
of the building and overlooked the beach.
The patio area was large and contained four picnic tables
and two big whale skulls. The wood they built the thing out of seemed more like
a sponge plastic than wood. Probably something with environmental tendencies.
Oh, you wanted to know more about the whale skulls?
Sorry, have no clue, they’re just there.
Donor sat down at one of the picnic tables to take in the
feelings being given off by his surroundings. He was trained in how to get to
know his locations beyond what a normal person can.
The Florida sun was beaming and the air smelled of the sea.
There was a hint of suntan lotion that probably had become a permanent part of
the smells of this place from all the people passing through. He could taste of
what we sometimes forget being a non-tainted by mankind world.
Donor has found out, through experience, that sometimes the
best thing to do first in these investigations is to watch, pay attention, and
let things come to him.
His teachers at first didn’t think having an American among
their number was a good idea. They believed Americans lacked the focus for the
tasks and circumstances that a member of The Ingenious had to face.
Over time during his training and on missions he was
shadowed on he proved he could do everything everyone else could do. Plus, him
being an American has proven good because Americans are really good at
stumbling into cluster fucked situations.
But this time, nothing and nothing; so after a quick walk on
the beach where he spotted a few fishermen, a couple drunks, one of the Potentials
To The Mantle Of The Pledge, and a retired warlock, he went back to the parking
lot.
He tossed his beach shoes and towel in his ride and put his
backpack in the backseat but when he went to shut the door he found it wouldn’t
shut shut.
He tried it a few times but the latch wasn’t catching. He
sighed because he had just bought the thing a year ago and it’s basically brand
new. He reopened the trunk because he kept things that answer questions in his
trunk. He pulled out a buggy board and opened a hidden compartment that usually
contained tire repair equipment but now contained what looked to be a child
sized robot knight in armor.
He gently as if it was a real child took the knight out from
the trunk and shut it with his foot.
Coming in through the other back door he put the knight in
the seat by the door that wouldn’t shut. He then put several gold coins into
the things head and the sound of working gears could be heard.
‘Hold the door shut,’ Donor ordered.
The knight reached out its small hands and grasped the door
and pulled it shut.
‘Keep that closed until I tell you otherwise.’
The Knights Templar had a craftsman among its ranks, a
Muslim they met during The Crusades. I’m not saying “a Muslim” without a name
to marginalize him but the truth is the Templars may have been progressive in
many ways but how they viewed other religions was still very much in line with
their times and he was a slave to them.
Among many things the Muslim craftsman created for the
Templars, he once created an automaton as a playmate and body guard to the last
Pledge during his early training.
It had the brain of an eternity of numbers and our appetite
for knowledge.
The knight was taken from the grave of a Templar in Paris by
one of The Indigenous.
It came into Donor’s possession when he was investigating
child demons at an orphanage in Montreal.
Donor’s car was still under warranty so he took it back to
the dealer. This is the excellent side of this sort of work actually, when
being truthful, these type of moments are among the few things that make
someone like him feel normal, a vacation if you will from all the other things
that take up almost every minute of every day.
On the way to the dealer he didn’t even glance back once to
see if the knight was still holding the door shut. He knew it wouldn’t fail
him, it never has in the past. Plus, that thing is as strong as twelve good
size normal adult males.
So without any worries about the door flying open and
hitting some shit walking on the causeway he listened to the radio for the hour
and half drive to where he purchased his car.
He had been there several times actually since buying the
car. Twice for simple malfunctions, once for a tire steam that was busted, and
another time for a recall involving the engine. Each time they gave him the
spill about new cars having their own personalities but had no answers when he
asked if this cars personality was broken.
Right before pulling into the dealership the child sized
knight, which is named Putt by the way, was back into the trunk through one of
the collapsible backseats. Back resting in its spot waiting to be called into
service once again.
He arrived at the place about 30 minutes before it was
supposed to close so most of the garage workers had already left for the day.
Luckily one of them was just walking out to his motorcycle and was called back
to take a look at Donor’s car to see if he had any idea about what could be
wrong.
The biker guy looked like a biker guy and he looked over
Donor like he was a spoiled rich guy, which is good because that meant his
cover as Jasper was working.
‘I don’t know the exact reason but they should be able to
fix it if we have the parts.’
Biker guy walked away but not before giving Donor another
side eyed I hate rich boys look.
The manager of the garage, ‘We’ll take it in and see what we
can do today for you. Hopefully we can get it going without much of a delay.’
‘Cool,’ Donor
‘There’s coffee in the waiting area and water also. We’ll
let you know once we find out what the issue is and what we can do.’
‘Thanks,’ Donor walked away from the garage attendants
hearing them wondering how he drove all the way from the beach by himself and
kept the door shut the whole time.
If you are worried the garage hands might discover some of
Donor’s hidden compartments. They are all shut up by a thumb print system and
in itself is also hidden. It’s actually the same system drug smugglers and
people trying to protect their main stereo system use so it wouldn’t look unusual
even if they discovered it.
Any waiting area, be it in a garage or hospital, has to
include a few things because of universal law. No up to date magazines, used
gum on the floors, cold coffee in pots, a soda machine that doesn’t work, and a
TV tuned to something no one ever watching except when in a waiting room or
when high.
But in Florida all you care about is if it has air
conditioning.
This air conditioned waiting area had a TV that was stuck on
a Food Network show about failing restaurants with a guy who looks more like a
pro-wrestling star than chef.
No one else was in the waiting area so Donor found a seat
with the back of the chair against a corner of the room, sat his backpack by
his feet, and pulled out a book to read while waiting to see how much this was
going to cost him and if they were going to stick him with a crappy temp car if
they can’t do it today.
About an hour passed and he was near the point in his book
were the heroine is raped to make the male hero stronger in his quest for revenge
when the dealership waiting room started to be overtaken by the smell of burnt
flesh.
The smell of burnt flesh is just a smell of meat cooking. To
any the smell of the flesh of its kind burning twists things down and primal
inside. Things that say to you something bad is happening and it might also
happen to you soon so stomach up.
Donor put his book away in his backpack, zipped it up, and
put it behind the chair he was sitting in, in case he needs to come back for it
later. The backpack doesn’t contain any sensitive materials but its fireproof and
has self-destruct threads lining all through it. All to protect his books and
stuffs.
Into the waiting room walked a short stocky man dressed like
a trucker stereotype with a graying goatee and 70’s cop sunglasses that
reflected every light in the room to hide his eyes to give the impression you
were looking into a mirror.
A Gartanlength is a result of a human ingesting the blood of
a saint. Unlike something like a Golem, the Gartanlength has no purpose of
defense or justice and are created only to swarm the world with chaos until
stopped.
Donor sat back down in his chair and crossed his legs to
give a relaxed appearance.
The easiest way to spot a Gartanlength are its yellow and
black eyes and the overwhelming smell of burning flesh when it’s nearby.
You might be or might not be surprised at this but the Venn
Diagram of powerful supernatural creatures and powerful supernatural creatures
that stink to high heaven is a circle.
If you run into a Gartanlength in your travels, try to stay
alive.
That’s lesson one and the primary lesson.
The creation of the first Gartanlength was a last ditch
effort during the Crusades to take back the Holy Land and taught a lesson that
some things shouldn’t be used, even in war, even for “Gods people” to get their
way.
They are the primary reason the church has been trying to
gather up all saintly blood but since they have tried to cover up their use of
Gartanlengths that bit of information is buried deep in the vaults.
Donor knew all this from his studies as he was doing a bit
of exploring digging through every inch of the vaults that he was allowed to
explore.
This was most
definitely a Gartanlength but who created it? It takes two to create one, one
person to ingest the blood and another to perform the ritual. It’s a really
twisted sort of ritual also involving days old fish, flies, and old fingers and
toes.
But any questions will have to come after, first he had to
get out of this alive and a Gartanlength is near impossible to kill, they are
really strong but usually nothing beyond the strongest normal human, and they
can cause things, and people among the things, to burst into flames at a touch.
Donor stood from his chair, reached under his shirt, and
pulled out Carnwennan. He brandished his blade with a smile as he liked to do.
The dagger changed from its original state to that of a Roman short sword.
The Gartanlength walked over to the door to the waiting area
and placed his palm on the metal door and within a few minutes the door had
fused into the metal doorway also causing the room to be filled with a form of
semi toxic metal burning mist.
At this Carnwennan changed from a Roman short sword to a
fill in the blank larger kind of sword.
‘You can’t talk, can you?’ Donor asked seeing if he could
get any information before this got started.
The Gartanlength grunted in response to him or maybe at
nothing at all.
‘So says you.’
The Gartanlength responded this time with a primal scream
that was most assuredly directed at Donor.
‘Oh, just come at me you abomination,’ Donor said with a
confident tone…that may have been real….and not an act.
Said abomination charged across the waiting room. It moved a
lot faster than Donor was expecting so it tackled him into a group of coffee
pots before he could swing his blade. He barely even had time to get his hands
up so he could fight the creature off.
As he struggled with it he thought coffee must have trickled
on him but those burnt areas of flesh were where the creature was touching him.
Instantly his skin was as if scolded by a very hot liquid.
It hurt. Some people who can take a lot of pain and still
feel pain and that hurt.
Without warning Donor was tossed across the room with ease
and crashed against a group of chairs. His back and sides hit the wooden arms
on the chairs and he was lucky he didn’t crack a few ribs or worse.
He was hoping this didn’t mean his cover had been blown but
that had to be the case. Why else was this thing attacking him here, now? But
to be honest coherent thinking wasn’t the dish at the moment in his brain.
A puzzle of why would be there if he survived this.
Right now he was trying to calculate his next move.
During the thrown across the room travel Donor lost hold of
Carnwennan which slide under a chair as a dagger once again.
If he had Holy Water it wouldn’t have done anything against
the Gartanlength.
If he had had garlic from the hills of Transylvania it
wouldn’t have done anything against the Gartanlength.
If he had a Song Singer it would have been good, but he
didn’t have one.
What he did have was a glass wall at his back behind the
chairs he had crashed into. As he grabbed a chair the Gartanlength knelt down
and touched the floor with its palms combusting the room’s old cheap carpet
into flames.
By this time Donor had tossed the chair through the window
and dived after it.
He stood on the other side of the broken window and called
for Carnwennan and it flew to his hand.
‘I love that bit,’ Donor
He watched the Gartanlength start to be engulfed by flames
in the waiting room before running towards the garages because he could swear
the thing was enjoying it and that’s pretty messed up.
His car had other weapons he could us. He had others things
besides a coin operated knight in his trunk and in many other hidden places
throughout that car. It had been tricked out smuggler and spy style by some of
the best.
He was stopped during his run toward the garage area by the
creature jumping through another window in the waiting room.
Now that it was blocking his path he turned and ran towards
the dealerships showroom because these types of situations are about knowing
when is the best time to stand and fight, and when it’s best to run and try to
make the situation turn more to your favor.
Fire alarms were ringing out and sprinkler systems had
already gone off in the location and fire trucks were on their way so everyone
was evacuated as Donor found himself in the showroom alone.
He was hiding behind an overpriced sports car when his nose
noticed a scent of burnt flesh and burnt hair approaching.
The Gartanlength grabbed one of the showrooms smaller
vehicles and flipped it end over end out through the glass front of the
building taking out a large chunk of the roof also as it made its exit.
The car spun in the air before coming down and crushing a
couple salesman who had been gathered outside with everyone else but they had
gathered in their own little suit group away from the grease monkeys and office
workers so it only got them.
Donor ran for the outside, a thrown desk narrowly missed his
head. He had never read anything about these things being this strong and that
worried him. What other information did he have wrong about them?
He stopped his dash when he spotted his mechanic in the
gathered crowd still stunned at what had just had happen to some of their co-workers.
He put away his dagger and calmly asked, ‘Any estimate when my car will be
ready?’
Before the mechanic could say anything car after car started
flying out of the showroom, thrown like toys, but landing like really large
masses of metal tossed by a supernatural creature in the direction of soft
fleshy human beings.
People were scattering, people were getting crushed, and
people were pissing themselves as the Gartanlength stepped out into the parking
lot to give those who could see it no question as to what was causing all of
this destruction.
The Gartanlength had gone from the appearance of a normal
human to a walking, smoking, humanoid of bbq meat thingee.
‘It’s a Beyond Human!’ screamed someone hiding under a
nearby semi-truck in a way that seemed very unnatural but was in fact a bad
writing attempt of world building.
A pickup truck was driving by the car lot. Donor darted out
to stop it, pulled out the pimply faced driver in his hipster sandals with tube
socks, jumped in the driver’s seat, and drove off. He did all of it in such a
quick secession of moves you wouldn’t know he was winging it.
He got about ten yards before the Gartanlength had jumped
into the back of the pickup but he just floored the truck heading down Wickham
Road cranking up the radio all the way so he didn’t have to hear the guttural
roars the thing was letting now.
Via the review mirror Donor was able to see the creature was
pulling back its fist with an attention to punch through the truck bed window
so he swerved and turned suddenly down John Roads Boulevard sending the thing
crashing down onto its burnt ass in the back of the truck.
Before the creature could regain its footing again he turned
again heading down a dirt road that led to the local flea market.
This was a non-open day for the market so he rammed through
the main gates. He had never done that before and it actually made him smile.
Must be a guy thing.
The front windshield of the truck was busted out as he
pushed it all the way down to the floor and he drove it through the outside
fruit stands, one after the other.
The truck didn’t slow down in the least as it destroyed Top
Sock City, On TV Junk, Racist Airbrushing, Stink Another Way Incense, The Tuck,
and Comic Books And Cigarettes.
But then everything including the truck was stopped suddenly
by the Mini Doughnut Attic.
The unexpected impact of the truck hitting M.D.A., a local
favorite of many in the area, sent the Gartanlength flying down about twelve
stalls in measure bouncing and not bouncing like the huge mass of burnt meat
that it was.
Donor fell out of the driver’s side of the truck
unceremoniously thinking things usually go better than this for him. He has his
suspicions this thing was also emitting chaos energy, screwing with luck and
destiny lines, but it still was suck upon suck.
He was on his knees when he got a crazy idea. He could see
the creature was getting back up so he crawled over and stabbed the trucks gas
tank with Carnwennan.
The Gartanlength was slowly making its way back to the truck
crash site.
Donor stood up, brushed off his clothes, put his dagger
away, and looked around before running across from the truck and diving through
the window of a store called Edge Of The Flame, a lighter store, which also
sold key chains, key chains of sports teams.
Once inside and finding what he was looking for he walked up
to the broken store window, the site of his entrance, waited for his enemy to
get close to the truck, flicked a Generation Of A God lighter and tossed it
under the pickup.
He forgot to duck.
?
How in these situations does someone forget to duck and
cover?
How does someone who has been trained like he has been
trained forget to duck and cover?
The explosion sent him flying back out of the back window of
the lighter store and into the pool area usually used for Gator Kissing.
That and mud wrestling on the 4th Of July.
The rest of the flea market slowly exploded booth by booth,
store by store, as almost every one of them had their own propane tank. This
would be on the news for days and the social scene in Melbourne had just been
dealt a major blow.
Check out all other
Tin Universe releases at the below places:
SMASHWORDS:
Also can be found in Barnes&Noble Nook Store, iTunes,
and many more places to buy ebooks.
The sale of this book without its cover….well, is, sort of,
impossible since it really doesn’t have a cover but let us go through the legal
spray out anyways. If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be
aware that it was reported to the publisher as “unsold and destroyed.” Hands up
to you who have books like this in your collection? Now that I put my hand down
we can continue with the credits and copyright and legal and stuff that people
just don’t ever pay attention to unless it is pumping their own horn.
An Original Publication of System* Publishing,
a Tin Universe book published by System*Publishing, a
division of System*Productions, Melbourne, Florida. This book is a
work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events
or locales or persons, living or dead or living dead, is entirely and very much
so in the coincidental.
Smashwords Edition Copyright © 2015, Brian
C. Williams, System*Productions. Tin Universe Daily, and
all related titles, characters, and elements are trademarks of System*Productions.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions
thereof in any form whatsoever. While unauthorized reproduction is sometimes
needed, please remember us writers types are for the most part a poor lot just
in search of a ways to tell our stories and enough money to add to our Doctor
Who collections….well, at least that fits me. For more information on Tin Universe Daily, the artists who
contributed to this book, and Tin Universe contact System*Productions at
hangofwednesday@gmail.com
Written by Brian C. Williams
Edited by Brian C. Williams
No comments:
Post a Comment