well, after over a month, i’ve finally returned to writing the story. remember that comments are welcome, and are in fact expected. so please leave your feedback. I’ll try to write more often. Why not? I’ve got nothing else to do with my time.
x, austin
After walking for roughly 30 minutes, the group had stopped at an overpass while some of the tribesmen traveled down to the river below to fill canteens of water. Jillan Bays sat on the front of a blue 2025 Ford Mustang, scratching his flushed-red, poison-irritated arms. He had taken off his shirt to wrap it around the cut on his arm, from when he fell through the roof of a car. He had never been so miserable. He sneezed three times, and his vision blackened for a moment as his head swam. Snot dribbled from his nose, and he shivered from the revulsion of it. He wiped it away with the blood-soaked shirt on his arm. A tribesman was standing next to him, presumably his guard. The tribesman stared at him.
“What?” asked Bays, annoyed.
The tribesman waved a finger over his lips. “Bloody mustache.”
“So what,” Bays replied.
“You know, in time, your body gets used to the pollen–to the air,” said the tribesman.
“I’m not getting used to anything out here. I’m getting back to the city as soon as i can,” Bays said. He thought of his impending deadline to return to work, and the hopes of making it back in time were becoming more and more distant. He would have to call the emergency services dept. back as soon as he had a chance to himself.
“You’ll die if you plan on walkin’ back,” said the Tribesman.
Bays knew that this was probably true. He said: “Not this kid, I’m not afraid of this overgrown wasteland.”
“Your body might adapt to the pollen and the sun and the bugs, as ours have,” said the Tribesman. “We are the strong ones, who learned how to rebuild society when we were banished from yours. We learned how to fend off the creatures of the jungle and build cities of our own. But now that the mutant beast stalks us, we must constantly move. And that means less of us survive. When we get sick, and fall behind, the monster closes in and makes its kill. It can smell blood, your blood.”
“Then get me to a safe place and I can call for help, I’ll be out of your hair,” said Bays.
“It is a shame we couldn’t get your surgery supplies. You see, the King’s daughter is ill. Makes the beast attacks us all just to get to her, relentlessly. We were all relying on that package to heal her.”
Bays thought about this. “And her life is more important than anyone else in the tribe just because she’s a princess? That doesn’t sound much like ‘only the fittest survive’ to me. In fact, it sounds a lot like the way we live inside the city. I guess some things never change.”
“We’ve become accustomed to the idea of sacrifice. Your city has forgotten the true impact of that word’s meaning.”
“I can call for help from here, even…” said Bays, holding up his wrist communicator. Suddenly, Bays was blind-sided by a club to his fore-arm. His communicator splintered and shards of it went spinning away. He gripped his arm, and what was left of his communicator dangling from his wrist. Bays looked at the tribesman who had sneaked up on him. “Well what’d you do that for? I tried to deliver the package!” The two tribesman grabbed him and held him by his arms.
“Do you know why the Great City States started hunting us Jungle Dwellers as soon as they took power in New Savannah?” said one of them. They had begun to drag Jillan to the edge of the bridge.
“I would love to find out,” said Bays, struggling and kicking. “Why don’t you sit me back down and tell me the story.”
“The mutants have become numerous and threatened their other colonies. The Great City States want to eliminate the food source for the mutants, and control their population so that they do not become a threat here. Soon they won’t expel people from within the cities anymore; they will kill the citizens who get out of line,” said the tribesman. ”I wouldn’t expect that they would be much of a help do you either, at this point.” They held him against the metal beam of the bridge’s edge. “We know they can track you with this device.” Bays looked at his communicator. The keypad and face-plate were smashed, but it was still flashing red from inside. “You see, Chuck here used to be a manufacturer of these comms bracelets. That is, before they caught him with drugs and rejected him from the city. He knows how these bracelets work.”
Chuck smiled and waved, and walked up to strip the braclet from Bay’s arm. “It has an automatic tracing signal. And if its active–as you can tell by this little flashing red light you can only see after the faceplate is broken off–they are tracking your signal from a mobile unit.” Chuck tossed it off the side of the bridge, and it landed in the branches of a tree.
Bays felt someone taking off his shoes, and struggled to get free from the group of Dwellers. “I risked my neck when I worked for you! And now you’re just going to leave me to die?”
“You will help to expose two of our enemies today. You are doing us a great favor.”
The group lifted him up, and tossed him over the side.
6-30-08
and when the moon is orange and full of blood
you can see the cliffs and caves
from my bathroom window
and just below the window, look in a small round mirror
because we’re poor and thats all we have to look in
and see, tonight, that i’ve let my uni-brow grow
and i pretend that i’m a cave-man
my cat becomes a saber-toothed-tiger
and we run about the place with the windows wide open
a silent play for the city skyline
i, in my loincloth (really just my underwear)
wielding the bicycle pump like a drift-wood truncheon
the ice age draws nearer
until finally its bedtime
untitled.
the fisherman’s gut rolls over his scratched leather belt
fishoil & blood, yellow armpit stains, and the crusted salt of brine decorate
his striped blue shirt
he wipes his hands on it.
tattoos cover the hammer-head’s crecent scar on his forearm
his wooden peg’s begun to splinter
pieces of wood he uses to clean scales from his fingernails and teeth
his wooden peg’s begun to splinter
and standing on it is like nails
so he numbs the friction with jellyfish poison
while he tosses out nets under the sparkling night sky
and they sink into the rippling black glass
twisting the cork into his beard
the city lights on the horizon fade
as he waits for the winter’s catch
i had to re-write most of the last entry in order to continue on. i was very unhappy with the way it turned out at first, and didn’t know how to continue the story. i’m sorry if you were hoping for some new material tonight, but now that i’ve solved some of the story telling, the new stuff will be appearing soon. i think this scene works much better now that i’ve taken Ralph out of it, and have less of a “crowd around” feeling to it, and put more thought into the dialogue.. i hope you agree, and enjoy it.
-austo
Thump! Thump! Thump! “He’s in here!” shouted a Dweller.
Bays poked his head out of the broken window of the rusted wreck of a car, pushing aside the shrubbery with one hand. His other hand he hid in the shadows of the car. Blood dribbled down his arm, past his elbow, and onto the gun. There were only 3 shots left in the rifle. Not even enough to cover his escape. And where would he escape to? Into hiding in the jungle? These Dwellers would be practiced at hunting things in the jungle, just like the wild animals. Still, he did not drop his gun yet. He gripped it nervously, in a slippery palm covered in blood mixed with sweat. The Dwellers were looking in his direction, some cautiously peeking over the rooftops of other cars, while some had retreated to the underbrush of the forest, blending into the shadows of leaves thanks to their camouflage body paint. Bays said nothing. For a long time, the Dwellers remained silent too, scattered all around him and watching. Even the Dweller who had discovered his hiding spot, who stood next to the hood of the car he was hiding in, said nothing. He just stood here with his hands on his hips, watching Bays. This one was wearing next to nothing: an animal pelt wrapped around his waste like a skirt, some sandals made of leaves, a machete hooked into a leather belt hung loosely around his hips, and a crown made of exotic bird feathers upon his head. Bays could not tell if the spattered mud on this Dweller’s body was a tribal decoration or not.
Twenty yards down the road, a tractor trailer was parked. It was hooked up to a duel-platform bed. Bays recognized it as an older version of a car carrier. Now it sat rusted and forgotten, with moss hanging in drapes from the web-work of metal. A very fat Dweller came walking along the metal track, pushing the hanging moss out of his way as he came. He wore a grass-skirt and a muddied suit-coat top over his broad and bare chest. His face-paint was all red, and he wore a wrinkled crown that looked like it was made out of tin-foil. Two Dwellers followed behind, possibly bodyguards or servants to Mr. Important. The group stopped at the end of the metal track.
“Where’s Ralph?” said Bays. “I want to talk to that jerk!”
“Come out of that car,” commanded Mr. Important.
“Maybe you can talk to your tribe like that,” said Bays. “But after that stunt you pulled, you’re going to haveto treat me with a little respect if you want me to work for you ever again.” Bays had no intention of running errands for this tribe ever again, but he thought the best way to get out of this alive was to make them believe he would still work for them and their monstrous friend who had broken his bike.
“We won’t be needing your services again,” said Mr. Important. Bays was now holding the rifle with both hands, low in the car so they wouldn’t see it, and preparing himself to hear Mr. Important send a death warrent to his cronies. “All we need from you is the package, and then you can go home.”
“The package?” said Bays. “The package! You took that when you had your muscle wreck my bike! Weren’t you there for that? How the hell did you expect me to get home without my bike?” Mr. Important looked questioningly to his wingmen. “Where the hell is Ralph?” said Bays.
“The package was taken?”
“You weren’t there for that? You weren’t there for that,” Bays felt dread sinking in. “What the hell was that thing?”
“The Black Demon,” said Mr. Important, pushing away his guards and stepping down from the bed of the trailer. He waddled quickly over to the side of the car. Afraid of triggering violence, Bays dropped the gun into the belly of the car, where it rested on a bed of wet yellow leaves. Mr. Important crouched next to the car. “The Black Demon took the package? You saw it?”
“Yes.”
“I’m so sorry,” said Mr. Important.
“For…”
“We should be leaving soon. The beast is relentless. We’ve been pursued by it for days now. We thought we had lost it last night, but it is smarter than we thought. Looks like we’re in this together now, boy.”
“You knew that thing was out here, and you brought me out here right into its path?”
“We did not come to meet you. We thought the Black Demon would follow us to the river, far away from the highway. Our hope was that you would drop the package and leave in safety, so that we could retreieve it later. But it must have known you were there somehow.” Bays remembered getting a restless nap under his idling hover-bike. The bike exuded warmth; also a pale blue glow and constant hum. Had that been enough to draw the attention of that beast? “If you saw it, then it will be close behind you. We gotta go.”
Bays thought about the rescue craft. He wanted to stay inside the car and wait for it to arrive; not let these strange tribal people interfere with his plans to escape the jungle. But, he could be eaten by a giant “Black Demon” while waiting for it to arrive. He would take his chances with the Dwellers.
The rescue craft would be equipped with mini-vulcan guns, able to do terrific damage to the beast, and most likely also to the Dwellers. The Dwellers and the Great City States were natural enemies. On one delivery (a delivery that had gone much smoother than this one) Ralph had told Bays of a neighboring tribe that had been attacked and gunned down by an Enforcer-Craft patrolling the jungle late one night. The Dwellers would not be happy to see another craft come bumbling towards them. He would need their trust, the kind of fragile and temporary trust that could be easy shattered by bringing a gun to the table. When Mr. Important held out his hand to Bays, Bays took it in his own blood covered hand and crawled out of the car, leaving the rifle inside.
“What were you doing sitting in all that poison?” asked Mr. Important.
“Poison?” Bays looked down at his itchy arm, noticing a few itchy freckles had appeared. No matter. As soon as the Dwellers weren’t watching him, he would call once again for help on his wrist communicator, play victim, and be air-lifted back into civilization, and back into safety.
5-19-08 xwestx TO BE CONTINUED
part 5 was a little rushed. i think when the story is done, i’m going to go through the whole story and give it a fine polishing. that is, my story isn’t Polish enough. so i’m going to add some stuff about Poland. Polishing! so if you notice any parts you think could be better or specific errors, please let me know.
kthnxiluhyoubye!
“We’re going to need you to stay on the line, so that the rescue craft can trace this comm-signal.”
He had taken off his boot, to free his rapidly swelling ankle from restraint. Mosquitoes were attracted by the blood from the cut on his arm. An insatiable itching followed each new bug bite. He scratched his skin and swatted at the bugs furiously, then lifted the armband communicator to talk into it. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said. He wiped tears out of his eyes. An allergic reaction to the insufferable jungle air, nothing more. The operator asked for the details of the kidnapping. “I was going for a bike ride late last night. They jumped me at a red light-”
“Well then there should be security feed. What were the cross streets? I’ll look it up in the-”
“Red light? No, no, actually it happened out in Old District, at an on-ramp. Yeah I was slowing down to merge, and they leaped out and knocked me off of my bike.”
“Which on-ramp was this? Where were they hiding?” A noise outside the car, like a rock hitting metal. He leaned up and peered through the branches of a bush that was growing in the car. Shadows were moving in the jungle, some of them darting out and looking into the cars. The dwellers. “How did you escape them?”
“I have to hang up, will the craft still find me?” he whispered.
“You need to stay on the line so that they can trace the signal!” He fumbled at the communicator’s control buttons to lower the volume. “It’s already, let me see here, almost half way to your position. If you cut out now they won’t be able to lock on to your exact location. So while I have you on the line, tell me more about the incident so we can prevent future-” Bays hung up. The Dwellers were walking out of the forest, and Bays lost count at 20. They wore ash make-up, and carried wooden spears decorated in feathers. Bays sunk back into the mould and grass covered seat. He could feel it soak through his pants in a most uncomfortable way. They had already taken the delivery from him, what more could they want? Were they cannibals? If the beast was with them, maybe they would feed him to it. He didn’t care what they wanted from him. He wanted this job to be done. He wanted to be back in his apartment, back in civilization. He would never work for these wild animals ever again. Just as soon as they passed him over…
Thump! Thump! Thump! “He’s in here!” Bays turned to see a smiling fat man standing with his hand resting on the car’s trunk, his chest smeared in black paint.
“Thank god!” Bays said. “I’ve been looking all over for you guys!”
“What are you doing in there?” said the fat man.
“What am i doing in here?” said Bays. “Just nappin’. Just catching some Z’s. Taking a nap, yeah this is lovely weather.”
“You’re in a poison bush,” said the fat man.
“No,” said Bays. “No its definitely not poison, I’m still alive.”
Ralph pushed to the front of a crowd of Dwellers that had gathered. He was wearing a grass skirt with a muddy suit-coat top. “This is no time for jokes Jillan,” said Ralph. “Now get out of that poison. We need that delivery and fast.”
“I gave you the delivery! I gave it to your friend the big…” Bays stepped out from the vehicle, wondering what kind of poison he had been sitting in. “Poison? Am I going to die?”
“You ‘gave it’? Gave it to who?” said Ralph. “What happened to your arm? And you’re missing a shoe! Did you encounter the Beast Rider?”
“Of course he didn’t!” joined the fat Dweller. “All who met the Rider have been killed.”
“Yes the rider!” said Bays. “Where is he?”
“It’s been following us for days,” said Fat Dweller.
“That’s why we didn’t meet you last night,” said Ralph. “There aren’t that many of us left. It’s been pursuing us relentlessly. When one falls behind,” Ralph trailed off, and the crowd looked somber. To Bays, it seemed like a large crowd. He wondered how many there had been to start.
“Derek, our great warrior, was wounded in a tiger fight. We need the package to help heal him. He’s the best chance we have against that thing,” said Fat Dweller. “Where is the package?”
Bays imagined for a moment the beast rider throwing the package into a fire, or off a cliff, or tearing it apart with his teeth. “It’s hidden!” said Bays. The Dwellers moaned. “Well yeah! I had to hide it. I saw the beast and its rider coming and I couldn’t let him take it!”
“You saw the beast!?” said Ralph. “I knew it!”
“Of course he didn’t see it. He must have heard it coming,” said Fat Dweller. “Where did you hide it?”
The Dwellers all looked to Bays. Bays took a big breath, still unsure of what he was going to say, when he was interrupted by a holler from the side of the road. The man was on a stretcher made of branches and leaves. The stretcher was resting on the grass. He was extremely muscular, and covered in leaves and vines, dripping blood. This must be the warrior wounded by a tiger and awaiting the delivery of medical supplies. Derek pointed with his meaty, dark arm to the horizon. He yelled again.
They all looked to the horizon, where the blocky shape of a Rescue Craft was bumbling slowly towards them. Ralph shouted: “Everyone hide! Load the rocket launchers!”
5-09-08 xwestx TO BE CONTINUED
