Wednesday, May 19, 2010

American Apocalypse IV - Heartland Chapter 6b

He watched me approach. He was old. At least 50. Maybe older. I knew that because he had Old Guy ears and nose. I never saw it much before the crash but nowadays all the Old Guys had it. Some of them had so much fur growing out their ears that they reminded me of elves. Others had hair growing out of the tips of their noses. Sometimes it was long enough to look like nose antennas. He had both. I didn't find it endearing.For4 being so old he looked like he was in good shape. He had some broad shoulders under that shirt. When I got closer I was going to see if he was wearing pads under there. The only weapon I could see was a short handled sledge hammer standing head down next to his rocking chair. It looked well used an as old as he was.

The dogs moved reluctantly out of my way. I didn't see any reason why they had howled briefly before. They sure were quiet now. I climbed up the stairs and said "Hey." I was tired now. The blind desire to kill had retreated into where ever it spent most of its time. Probably hanging out in front of my minds equivalent of a 7-11.

He replied "Hey. Them your dogs?"


He nodded his head, thought about it for a couple beats, and said "They gonna eat me too?"

"I doubt it. They're pretty full and you don't look like you got a lot of meat on your bones."

He laughed. "Yep. This is true." He leaned forward a bit, stopping the rocking motion, and said "Well I think you kilt about everyone and you got a good start on burning the town down. Whatcha going to do next?"

I wanted to say "Go to Disneyland." Instead I looked around, some of the houses weren't burning like they should. Others were roaring. There wasn't much of a breeze other than what the fire was creating on its own.

I told him "You know if that truck runs?"

"Yep." He hesitated, then said "I should. It's my truck."



  1. woodeneye laments,
    sun turnings; sky is rent, sea spoilt. Beware! Beware! Be aware, milk spilt time runs down maidens leg, cur-lapped. Colt breaks free, runs unadorned 'till mare's breath. Fabric's torn, weaver's rue. Smith's forge clinker clogged. Time now to THINK, that rune-bespoke words LIVE. Cast words as stones. WE

  2. More soundtrack:
    Alice Cooper "Caught in a dream"

  3. Correction: it was your truck.

    Judgment day has come. Good luck old man.

  4. Nova,
    I can't read your mind, but if you're going where I think you're going, this old guy could turn out to be quite a friendly but contrary old character. Even some comic relief. It coulda been HIS home before the scum took over. He ought to be glad to see them gone.

    Old enough to teach some wisdom, maybe? Yet young enough for some long range sniping if he was called to perform?

    Maybe his calm under all of this fury is just
    a result of his lifetime of training as a VERY
    nasty guy who doesn't sweat the small stuff?
    Retired, but not worried about a handful of dogs and a young pistolero? Confidence from
    the old knowledge of combat but his wariness of Gardener in seeing his eyes? Seeing something of himself in those eyes, the spirit of the warrior? A past that is awakened again?

    Hmmm... Maybe he is pointing a 1911 at Gardener right now from under a blanket?

    OK, go write what ya want, I am rambling about
    stuff I should not meddle in, this is YOUR book, my friend. Not mine.

  5. he also could be another god. Freya isn't the only game in town....

  6. Great comments.

    I almost went back and rewrote it so he was wearing a patch over one eye and had a short handled sledge hammer next to him.

    I just don't know if I can write multiple gods and lose the storyline completely...

    It's tempting though

  7. nova

    that is the great thing about the way you are writing this. It can happen *months* from now or not at all. part of the fun is waiting to see where you take it