Anywhere

By the time Remy reached the outskirts of her camp, her lips were cracked and bloody. Blisters from the desert sun dotted her nose and forehead, and her dark hair was matted more than usual. She had walked for three days along old “Hwy 8” with only two canteens of water and the remains of a crudely bound book clutched to her chest.

While the sun was setting, dragon’s breath wafted up from the cracked asphalt. The soles of Remy’s shoes were sticky from the heat and marked her path as she dragged her feet along the road, toward her grandmother’s tent.

The camp’s generators kicked sand up as she passed the massive cluster of roaring machinery. The stench of gasoline burned her nose and settled into the fibers of her clothing. As she rubbed her eyes with her free hand, she smeared dirt and blood across her face. Coughing, she ducked into the shadows and waited until she caught her breath before moving on.

Remy pushed through the heavy canvas doors and collapsed onto the area rug in the front room. She closed her eyes, let out a sigh of relief, and kicked off her shoes. Relinquishing the book, she slid it under her head and began to move her legs and arms across the floor. When she finally peeled herself from the rug and headed toward the bath to wash up, the dusty outline of her carpet angel remained.

“Is that you, child?” The familiar voice of her grandmother questioned from the other room.

“Yes, Ma’m. I’m sorry I’m late, Nan,” Remy shouted.

“Take your time. I will fix you a bite to eat.” She laughed.

The voice of her grandmother and the smell of breakfast made the process of scraping the dirt from her blistered flesh much easier. The water in the basin felt cooler than normal.

Ham and eggs were waiting for Remy at one end of the small kitchen table as she came out of the washroom. She quickly sat and began to eat. Slowly she let the flavors explode on her tongue as the weight of the last few days sank into her bones, and she hunched forward.

“Sit up properly, girl,” Nan said as she sat down in front of her at the table.

“Yes, Ma’m.” She sat up.

“What is this?” Nan asked as she slid the book onto the table. Remy dropped her fork, but her grandmother began to turn the slick pages instead of waiting for a response. “Where did you get this?”

Panic rose in Remy’s chest. She wanted to jump over the table and pull her book away. She wanted to shout keep your hands off that book, but she could barely breathe. She tried to push the knot back down her throat and closed her eyes, gripping the edge of the table.

A few moments passed and she opened her eyes. Nan was still turning the pages of the book, and tears were streaming down her delicate face. “Grandmother,” Remy whispered, but she did not look up. Remy cleared her throat, “Grandmother.”

“Your father used to collect comic books like these. Look how well these pages are preserved. Someone really loved these books.”

“I know.”

“Where did you get this?”

“I found it when we were out last… scavenging.” Remy did not explain that the book was split up between her and the other two girls, how she had lost most of her pages in an unfair card game, and how she had stolen her pages (and then some) back from Angel while she slept.

“How did you get away from those raiders?” her grandmother asked.

“What?” Remy tilted her head and screwed up her swollen face.

“Angel told the council that you were attacked by raiders…”

“Raiders?”

“She said that the three of you were attacked. They killed Tara… she said she couldn’t find you before she escaped in the camper,” Nan said as she raised her head and looked at Remy. “They thought you were dead.”

“Raiders? Raiders killed Tara? Are you sure?”

“Angel was able to bring back her body. Her throat was slit.”

Remy dropped her head into her hands. She followed the same road that the camper had traveled, and she hadn’t seen anyone for three days. “Grandmother, there were no raiders.” Remy shook her head. “Angel must have done it...”

“That’s a strong accusation, Thief. I wondered when you would make it back.” Angel stood in the doorway. The corner of her mouth twitched around a stubby cigar. Her freshly shaved head sported bruises and cuts but somehow managed to glimmer in the tent lighting.

“A lady shouldn’t smoke,” Nan stated.

“I never said I was a lady,” Angel spat. “What’s this?” she walked toward the table and grabbed a handful of pages from the book, but Nan had a good grip and pulled them away, sliding the laminated pages through the meat of Angel’s hand.

Instantly Angel was on Nan smearing her bloody hand on her face and gripping the front of her nightgown. Remy pushed the table back. “Hey!” Remy shouted, “Keep your hands off my Grandmother!” Angel smiled and tightened her grip on Nan.

Remy jumped up and over the table, plunged her fork deep into Angel’s shoulder, and pushed her off Nan. Angel fell backward, hit her head on the corner of the table, and crumpled to the floor.

They stood and stared at her for several minutes, shaking. “Grandmother?” Remy whispered.

“Yes, Child?”

“Are you alright?”

“I… I think so.”

“We should probably go,” Remy said.

“Where, girl?”

“Anywhere,” she said. “Anywhere, but here.”

Remnants of War

Scattered rays of light reflected off the corpses of machinery. The twinkling metal lit a path from the depths of the destruction away from the setting sun. While the smoke gave the illusion of cloud cover, the desert was as relentless as ever.

Lucas Warrington emerged from the smoky darkness; his head held high and his pace steady. He pushed on, a true soldier, leaving the graveyard behind him.

A tall stranger fell in step with Lucas and asked, “May I walk with you?”

“Absolutely.”

“What was that back there?”

“That… was a truce”

“A truce? Does that mean the war is over?”

“For now.”

“Do you think there are survivors?”

“Sure, I do. There were millions of people living on Earth. I have a few theories.”

“Theories?”

“I mean, the scientists, they are the smartest, right? They are practically modern-day fortunetellers; they had to know this was coming. I see them planning… carefully planning this for years; maybe in caves or underground somewhere.

“Then there are those political types... probably hidden in some old nuclear fallout shelters from the 1960s… feasting on spam and pork-n-beans, reading charts on when it will be safe to surface again.” Lucas glanced at the stranger out of the corner of his eye, trying to see if he was still following.

“I can even see people being totally oblivious to what is going on… on some island; some native just fishing off the coast like he always does… clueless.” Lucas smiled at that thought.

“You’re just being optimistic…”

“Well,” Lucas said, “there weren’t too many large scale nuclear drop sites.”

“Still there’s radiation in the atmosphere…”

“There’s always been radiation in the atmosphere.”

“You’ve got blisters all over your face and arms”

“I’ve been walking in the desert for THREE fucking days!”

Several moments of weary footsteps passed before the tall man spoke, “So this truce?”

“We were the last pilots left on our sides. We decided we should stop fighting before we destroy everything… ”

“So what happened?”

“He went one way, and I went the other.”

“Why not stay together, if you’re the last?”

“I have been training to fight this guy since I was eleven. His family killed my family… his friends killed my friends. He better hope I never see him again,” Lucas said through gritted teeth.

“So where are you headed now?”

They stopped and Lucas surveyed the land ahead; he breathed in a deep breath and answered “Not sure. I guess I will just keep walking until I find survivors.”

“If there ARE any survivors” The tall man reached his dark hand toward a tree and melted into its shadow. “Good luck with that,” he whispered as he vanished.

“Thanks… ”

The first few stars began to twinkle on the horizon, but Lucas walked on.

Forbidden Fruit

Uniformed children lined the halls of the upper level Genetics Ward. It was field day, a nice break away from regular class, but the kids in the hall wore looks of great unease.

“As you are aware, the matching ceremony will take place next week in the grand auditorium on level nine. This is a very important colony tradition, and I expect you all to be on your best behavior.”

“Yes, Counselor Reed,” the class replied.

“I know this is a very difficult time for you all, with the matching and starting your professions. I promise you, we will do everything in our power to make the transition as smooth as possible. The Eden Corporation has had you matched since birth, but this information is not released until you are of age. While the Matching Ceremony is next week, you can have several month of engagement before you schedule your marriage. I do recommend you schedule as soon as possible, because the dates do fill rather quickly. See HR if you have questions.”

Instead of heading to the elevators and down to living quarters like the rest of the class, Jared pushed open the heavy wooden doors of Eden. He smiled shyly at the receptionist, walked thru a door on the other side of the waiting area, and made his way down a long corridor to his grandmother’s office.

“Nan,” Jared said as he rounded the corner into Dr. Betty Dalton’s office.

“Hello there,” her face lit up, “Finish the tour?”

“Yes… thankfully.” Jared replied as he flopped himself into a chair in front of Nan’s desk. She laughed, while her auburn curls bounced. “You look awful. Have you been sick?”

Jared didn’t have to say anything, and Nan let it go. She asked him if he would like to accompany her on duty to which he quickly agreed.

“How many are there?” Jared asked.

“There are one hundred and eight different surrogates.” She stated. Jared liked that his grandmother referred to them as surrogates instead of clones. Her old bedtime stories were of “clone wars” in far away places, and he didn’t like to think of these “surrogates” as vicious killers.

Jared had spent a lot of time with his grandmother on duty. He was mesmerized by the surrogates. They were all so young and flawless, wrapped in soft fabrics, and marked only by small numbers on their earlobes. They slept while classical music played softly in their chambers.

“Nan, how old are they?” Jared asked walking thru the maze of beds.

“Well, these girls do not age like you and me. Comparatively, they are between the ages of 15 and 35. Each incubates one or two children a year until their expiration date.” Nan said.

“Expiration date?”

“At the age of 36 they are retired.”

“Then what happens?”

“They are replaced by their younger clone,” Nan said.

“Are all of these surrogates incubating?” Jared asked.

“Yes. There is another room for recovering surrogates, and the new implants are on another floor being monitored closely.”

They continued to walk around the beds as Nan checked the numbers on flashing machines and wires attached to their delicate bodies. Jared stared into each of their faces and wondered what they had been like when they were “real.”

“Nan,” Jared asked, “Which one is my surrogate?”

“Your surrogate has expired since your birth…”

“I mean which number?” Jared had a gut feeling before the number even left Nan’s lips. He had been drawn to 23 since he first entered the chamber a few weeks ago. He always knew exactly where she was located in the ocean of surrogates.

“Dr. Dalton,” a voice boomed over the intercom, ”You are needed in reception.”

“Be right there,” Nan replied. “I will be right back; wait here,” She said as she hurried out the door.

Jared stole a look at 23 out the corner of his eye and casually headed her way. She was a couple of rows over, so he weaved around numbers 42 and 36 until he was standing beside her bed; staring at her.

She couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old. Her long dark lashes fluttered slightly as he touched the top of her hand. Without thinking, Jared leaned over and softly brushed her lips with his own. Time seemed to stand still as he lingered and breathed in the air she discarded.

Eyes closed, he hovered inches above her face. One little kiss, and he would go and wait for his grandmother. One kiss, and he would go back to his living quarters and ready himself for next week’s ceremony. One more kiss, and he would put all this daydreaming behind him.

Jared sighed heavily, opened his eyes, and met a pair of ice blue’s staring back at him. He stumbled backwards as 23 began to scream.

Immediately, a number of white coats entered the room and surrounded the screaming girl. They began looking over charts while Jared stood there shocked.

Nan came running through the doors and gave the order. Jared watched as 23 took her last breath. His eyes followed her out of the room and down the hall before he was able to meet his grandmother’s stare.

“Why?” he muttered.

“Protocol,” she whispered and cleared her throat, “You should head home. I will be late.” Nan
turned and walked back out the doors.

A tall man in a white coat led Jared out the double doors of the Eden Corporation. He slowly made his way to the elevator and down to their living quarters.

Jared prepared dinner and tidied their tiny space, so Nan wouldn’t have to when she got home late. His memory of the day was already clouded, but he made an effort to pick out a nice suit to wear to the Matching Ceremony next week. He wanted to get Nan’s opinion before making the decision final.

Past, Present, Future

“A lady shouldn’t smoke,” Remy muttered as the camper bumped along down the rough road. She stared out the window and watched the sun setting, painting the desert orange and pink.

“What was that?” Angel spat as she turned her head to glance in the back. Between her teeth she pinched the nastiest of cigars; the sickly sweet smoke filled the camper with a thick fog. Her feet were propped on the dash as she shuffled a worn deck of playing cards. Her face was dirty, her finger nails dirtier, and her scowl made her look more than her seventeen years.

“Nothing,” Remy cleared her throat, “are we stopping before we get back to camp?”

“No stops,” The driver announced.

Both Remy and Angel huffed and shuffled in their seats. “Come on, Tara,” Angel whined, “I want to look through that haul before we take it in. There might be something I ‘need’.”

“I want to get this box open before we get back. I want to see what’s inside it.” Remy said quietly, as she pried at the lock on the front of the old rusty box. “Maybe it’s important.”

Tara laughed, “Important?” she tested, “ It’s probably someone’s birth certificate or marriage license, old tax forms, social security cards…”

“Social what?” Remy interrupted.

“It’s nothing. It’s ALL nothing”

They drove in silence. Remy continued to dig at the lock until a loud snap finally broke the silence, and the boxed opened. “Oh, wow!” she exclaimed.

Tara quickly stopped the vehicle, climbed into the back, and huddled next to Remy; Angel followed.

Remy pulled a crudely bound book from the box; the thickly laminated pages were held together by three metal rings. The pages were grouped into three sections: “past”, “present”, “future”.

“Comic books,” Tara gasped and she lovingly took the book from Remy, “My brother use to have so many of these… before the evacuation. I used to sneak them out of his room.” She was staring at the pages with tears in her eyes.

“I’ve heard of those,” Remy whispered, “My grandmother said my dad used to collect them when he was little, but I’ve never seen one.”

“This isn’t just one,” Tara continued, ”it’s many.” She began flipping through the pages excitedly. “Look, this is the Silver Surfer… and this is Super Man… and this…”

“Who’s that?” Angel smacked her hand on a page of a girl with blue hair, eye patch, and a cigar hanging from her lips “… is that a kangaroo?”

“No idea,” Tara said, “this is amazing; we should keep it.”

“We?” Remy quickly snatched the book from Tara and clutched it to her chest, “I found it. It’s mine.” She had found this book, she had dug it out of the rubble, and she had insisted on opening the box.

“Hey, we are to turn in all findings. You know the rules,” Tara snapped.

Remy was shaking, “You wanted to keep it a second ago!”

“I think we should ALL keep it,” Angel broke in, “it’s not a real book, we can divide it up… share it.”

Remy shook her head, “I found it!”

“We split it up,” came the steady Tara, “or we turn it in.”

It was final. Tara took the book and opened the rings that bound the slick pages together. She removed each section, keeping “past” for herself, handing “present” to Remy, and leaving “future” for Angel.

“I want ‘future’!” Remy whined.

Mischief played on Angel’s face, “Play me for it,” she smiled as she pulled the dirty cards from her pocket.

Hours passed as the girls sat at the make shift table fashioned from old wooden crates. Hand after hand was played, Angel’s pile growing larger than the other two as they played into the night.

Tara stood up from the table and stretched, “We need to call it a night…”

“No,” Remy screeched, “I only have a few pages left. I need a chance to win back my pages.”

“Not tonight, Rem. We’ve lost a lot of time, so we need to get up in a few hours and head on back. They are already expecting us.”

Remy grabbed her small pile of pages and stomped to the front and climbed into her cubby over the cab. The last thing she heard was Angel gloating over her winnings.

Morning came too soon, and the usual groaning erupted from Angel. After a few minutes, groaning gave way to swearing and then anger, as she pushed through the camper looking for something.

“What’s your problem?” Tara asked returning from checking the load preparing to leave.

Angel’s face was contorted and her eyes wild, “Where is she?”

Tara looked around, “what did she do?”

Angel roared as she burst out of the cabin, “Remy!”

Remy was nowhere to be seen. Angel spent several minutes screaming her name and kicking up the desert around their camper before climbing into the passenger side of their vehicle.

“We can’t go after her,” Tara stated.

“Good... because if I find her, I will KILL her.”

“She’s only fifteen,” Tara was disgusted and stared out the window.

“A thief is a thief… she better hope I don’t see her again.”

Tara started the camper and pulled out onto the dusty road. Quietly, she slipped her left hand into the slit in the door to make sure her pages were still there. With a sigh of relief, and a burden lifted, she slowly accelerated down the road.

Remy watched them pull away from her hiding place; an alcove carved into the side of a large rock. She didn’t care. She stared at the pages spread around her; memorizing each one, and began to plan how she would make her collection whole again.

The Cave

Footsteps echoed in the entrance of the cave, Fema clutched the thick page to her chest as she ran deeper into the cold cavern. “Deyody!” she shouted, “I’ve got it!” her small, bare feet slapped the cold rock as she ran after her brother.

Deyody had already reached their secret room and had lit the lanterns before he heard Fema’s call. “You better have that picture! Or you can’t stay. No girls! Remember?”

No girls. This truly hurt Fema’s feeling, and she tried her best to hold back tears while the rock below her tested her feet. She knew if she cried they would not let her into their club, and she had risked more than a beating for the prize she had clutched in her small hands. This prize would win her acceptance into her brother’s group.

Coming to a halt before the lit room, Fema straighten herself up, tucked her prize neatly under her arm, and walked into the room with the dignity of a notable. She entered the room to find her brother alone. “I’ve got it!” Fema sang and smiled wide at her brother.

“Let me see it,” he grabbed the page from Fema’s grip and slid it so fast it sliced into the meat of her palm. Silent tears began to fall then, and Fema looked away. Blood trickled down her fingers, and fat droplets fell onto the dirty floor. Deyody hadn’t even noticed; he was intensely studying the page.

“Fema, did Notable…” he had glanced at his sister then and noticed she was hurt. Shame settled in the pit of his stomach, and he reached out to comfort her, using his shirt to wipe the tears from her face. “I am sorry, Fema,“ he said grabbing her tiny hand, “please don’t cry. “ He blotted the blood from her hand and pulled her into a hug.

“I can’t believe you were able to get this out of Notable Warrington’s hut,” he grinned at her, wide eyed, “you are so clever… and brave.”

She was smiling now, though dried tear tracks marked her dirty face. “Does this mean I can be in your club?” Fema whispered.

Deyody looked surprised, and straightened up, “I will have to talk to the others, and see if… see if they can make an… exception.” He wasn’t too sure of himself, but the answer was good enough for Fema. She danced over to the corner and sat down.

It wasn’t long before the chattering of voices could be heard over shuffling feet. Moments later three boys entered the room. Fema recognized two of the boys, Aphis and Nato. They always dressed the same but in different colors. While they were not related, they both had the same dark brown hair, unlike hers and Deyody’s, which was so white it seemed to glow in the dark. They noticed Fema at once, and Aphis sneered, “What’s she doing here Deyo?”

Deyody shot a fierce look at his friend, “She’s my guest; does it really matter… who’s that?” he pointed to a boy in red who stood a little behind the other two.

The boy took a few steps forward and extended his hand, “Hi, I’m Bob.”

Deyody stared at the outstretched hand with a look of disgust and turned his eyes toward his friends, “I found this cave. You’re suppose to ask me before bringing anyone here.” His voice echoed loudly and traveled out of the room.

“His family is new to our tribe,” Nato mustered, “They came from the desert, and they are staying with me until their hut is prepared.”

The desert peaked Deyody’s interest, and he lightened. “What did you say your name was?” he asked the boy in red.

“Bob,” he said. Deyody bent over; laughter ricocheted through the rooms of the cave. Red flashed across Bob’s face, “What’s wrong with my name?”

“Nothing,” Deyody replied, “I have never heard that before… it’s a funny name.”

Bob didn’t think so, and was quick to get in Deyody’s face, “It is my father’s name, and his father’s name, and his father before that… and if you don’t stop laughing, you will be VERY sorry.”

The laughter stopped, it was agreed that Bob was a fine name, and they all sat down on the cold floor.

Fema wasted no time showing the others what she had taken from Notable Warrington. The page was passed from one to the other and similar sounds of astonishment leaked from each of the boys. Books were rare, and no book, that any of the boys had ever seen, had pictures like this. The colors were vivid and the page was glossy. It was a little worn and had begun to peel at the top right corner.

There were several frames, and in each there was a man who looked to be made of metal. His body was sleek, muscled, but shiny. In all of the frames he was pictured with an oblong disc made of the same metal as his body. In one frame he would be carrying it, in the others; he was gliding through the air, between enormous buildings made of glass and light.

Questions flew, imaginations soared, and spirits lifted. The page filled them with hope, They didn’t want to return it, but they knew they must.

Bob interrupted their thoughtful silence, “I am good with paint. I might be able to copy this.” Deyody smiled and ran to the corner of the room and rummaged for his paints.

Using his hands alone, Bob retraced the shape of the metal man. Defining the lines that made his body look human; he even recreated the man’s intense stare. The others sat and watched, amazed, as Bob’s pictures came to life on the cold walls of the cave.

No words were spoken when Bob had finished his masterpiece. The boys stood back and stared as Fema rushed off to replace what she had stolen.

The Weekend Wars: The Beginning

I told you a while back I wanted to work on a collaborated series of stories I called The Weekend Wars. While originally I wanted it to be a collection of short stories, the first one has started to grow rather lengthy. I guess we'll see where it goes. Here's a little sneak peak of the first one:

The Beginning

I hate the phrase “the end of days”. It makes no sense really, because something’s end triggers the beginning of something else. While the Great War was inevitable, it didn't entirely wipe every living thing off the planet. There will always be life born from something's end, but there will also be life that continues on. Not life as usual… but on.

We have all been told that when all life is obliterated in a nuclear war there will still be cockroaches roaming the earth. Enter my main character, Philip Gent.

I could easily compare Philip Gent to a cockroach. He lived mostly in his parent’s basement; a thirty year old, fat, balding boy who never even took out the garbage or loaded the dishwasher for his aging mother. Matter of fact, he hardly moved from the basement. He only surfaced occasionally to sign for packages of spare parts and action figures he had won on internet auction sites.

In this story, Philip finds himself alone in his abandoned town; cut off from the rest of the world. Quickly losing the luxuries of modern life, Philip is thrust into the foreign role of taking care of himself.

Self preservation strangely melds into an obsession, when Philip begins piecing together unique interpretations of his past, the present, and the future using his comic books as a guide... to create a great Manifesto; a collage of pulp fiction, super heroes, and monsters, to leave behind for the future inhabitants of Earth. But there's one problem: Where does he leave it?

---

This story left me thinking: If I were to write my autobiography using only comic book clippings, what titles would I use?

I immediately started trying to find something that described me now, something rather "mom," and couldn't think of single one. I guess what I would use is all the comic books I loved as a kid, trying to find the best parts of each one and just making them relevant now.

As a kid, I loved: Tales From the Crypt, Vault of Horror, Haunt of Fear, The Punisher, Wolverine, Thor, Conan the Barbarian... (as I got older) Tank Girl, The Maxx, Hellraiser, Nightbreed, & TONS more

What comics did you read and could you use them to write your autobiography?