Matthew R. Stitt // The Writer’s Archive

Tag: writing

  • Creating a new beginning from pieces

    An intern, dressed in a light blue hospital uniform, pushed open the door to the executive break room.
    “Dr. Stein!” he shouted, “something has gone terribly wrong.”

    Dr. David Stein, sitting in a overstuffed chair, tossed a cup of stale coffee into the sink of the break room. The intern waited then turned and ran out of the room.

    Dr. Stein followed the intern at a slow, bearable pace.  The intern passed the administration offices quickly . He then turned left into another hall.  Dr. Stein, out of breath, stumbled into the other hall and gasp as he noticed a tall man lying within the doorway of a patient’s room.  The man was wearing nothing and blood covered his chest and hands.  The room door stood partially open preventing Dr. Stein from identifying the man.  The intern stood in front of the man kicking at the injured man’s feet.  It almost seemed like the intern was playing with his feet.
    “What happened,” Dr. Stein asked, his heart rate increasing painfully.
    “I don’t know, the patient was acting fine but then began to get sick. He fell to the floor between the doors then began to seize.”

    Dr. Stein noticed that a trail of blood led from the room door and disappeared into the hallway.
    “Were you putting him in the room?” Asked Dr. Stein suspiciously.

    The intern began to smile then sat a large hand on the hallway wall. His hand was larger then normal. His fingernails were yellowish and long.
    Dr. Stein felt everything about this intern was wrong. His large hands, wide smile and overly muscular features spoke of a soldier not a medical intern. There were rumors of a Defense Department project downstairs.
    The intern stood quietly thinking, his smile quickly fading. He seemed to be searching for an answer. A shiver of fear wiggled up Dr. Stein’s spine as he became more confident that the intern was a patient from downstairs. The experimental ward was locked down. How could’ve this man escaped.
    “Thank you for letting me know about this. I’ll take care of the rest,” Dr. Stein said quickly trying to diffuse a situation that hadn’t quite started yet.

    “Why don’t you go lay down? You look unwell,” Dr. Stein added then realized that what he said was a mistake.
    “Why do you want me to lay down?” Said the intern.

    A snarl appeared and grew upward like a thick red infection. Dr. Stein then noticed the intern’s large teeth under the thick lips.
    “I just figured you were in shock and could use a rest.”
    “No,” the intern shot back, “you just want me to fall asleep so you can experiment on me.”
    The snarl fell from his face. The intern held his lips together tightly and his face began to redden. Dr. Stein noticed the interns large hands began to clench. They looked like large meaty hammers under his wrists.
    “I don’t,” said the intern.

    “You’re not going to try anything on me,” the young intern hit his chest firmly with his hammer-sized right fist.
    “Are you a patient?” Dr. Stein asked, his voice shaking slightly.
    “No, I am a doctor,” the young intern began to approach Dr. Stein.

    Dr. Stein took a boxers stance. He was a champion boxer at Kingsboro High School a few miles away. Of course, this was nearly 30 years ago. The intern stepped forward but Dr. Stein stepped back, not wanting to fight.
    “What are you doing?” The intern said pointing at the man within the door, “Aren’t you going to help this patient?”
    “I need to know how you escaped from Ward 26,” Ruiz asked as he backed away a few more steps.

    He was hoping to lead the intern into the main hallway, which was busier then this one.  The hope would be that soemone would help him.

    “I didn’t escape,” shouted the intern.

    His face continued to redden and his large red lips practically disappeared. Large yellow rotten teeth bared like a dog about to attack.

    “You are going to hurt yourself,” Dr. Stein warned. Attempting to dissuade the intern from attacking.

    “I am going to hurt myself?” The intern exploded. He stopped approaching and stood angrily shouting.

    “You experiment on us.”
    “You hurt us.”
    “I’m going to worry about hurting myself.” The intern rushed Dr. Stein, leaving little time for Dr. Stein to land a punch.

    Dr. Stein fell into a gurney sitting against the hallway wall. With his left leg and arm twisted within the legs of the gurney he was helpless to defend himself. The intern approached with a murderous look that could frighten even the heartless. Dr. Stein tried desperately to free himself as the intern bent over him and raised a meaty fist to bring down upon him. From somewhere near, Dr. Stein could hear footsteps sprinting toward him then a grunt and a crash.

    A large attendant had tackled the intern and they were wrestling upon the floor. Dr. Stein freed himself and quickly stood. He wanted to help the attendant who was having a terrible time restraining the intern.

    “Get out of here!” shouted the attendant after he landed a crushing blow to the interns face.

    “I can help you,” shouted Dr. Stein.

    “No, get out of the hospital. Go…” the attendant said as he finally seemed to have the upper hand. He had managed to work the intern into his belly and held the young mans arms under his own. The attendant stepped upon the interns back like a mountaineer at the peak of a mountain.

    “Go, damnit,” the attendant demanded.

    Dr. Stein turned and began toward a hallway. An awful crack and groan made his stomach wretch and he wanted to turn back but didn’t.

    The hallways were numerous and hard to maneuver. He walked quickly and began toward the Directors office. The office sat on the far southern corner of the large compound. As he walked farther away from the incident near the operating rooms he began to slow his pace. The halls were quiet and orderly. The thick room doors closed and locked. There looked to be no epidemic problem or a reason for him to hurry.Doctor Adams rounded a corner and then made a right down the administrative hallway. The Directors office sat on the right side. He passed the Research and Development Offices on the left. He glanced inside the rooms as he passed. Norman Oswald sat behind his desk and looked up as Doctor Adams passed. He waved and Doctor Adams returned a wave. Within the next room a couple doctors sat on small chairs facing away from him. A large desk sat in front of them. They seemed to be waiting for Doctor Rebekah San Marino who was not sitting at her desk. The last Research and Development office was empty except for a few chairs tossed in the middle of the room. The next set of offices was Finance. The Finance department had four rooms. In the first room on the right of the hallway sat Kerry Peterson, behind his desk and talking on the phone. He seemed strangely animated arguing into the receiver. The remaining rooms up to the director’s office were empty. Doctor Adams approached the director’s door. The director was a balding fifty-year old man, small in stature by appearance only. Doctor Adams knocked on the glass pane of the office door. He watched as the director waved him in with a flick of his small wrist. Doctor Adams opened the door and immediately caught the potent scent of cigars, many cigars. He approached the large desk that sat in the center of the room and sat down. ”No, no no…” said the director as he spoke to someone on the floor. “Everything is under control. You don’t need to send any help.”He listened for a few minutes smiling as he did. ”Please sir, you know I’ll let you know if I need help.” He listened again as he nervously wiggled a yellow wooden pencil on his desk. ”I’m sorry sir but I have a visitor and have to let you go,” he said.He listened, continued to smile, and then hung up the phone. ”Hold on,” the director states as he stands and walks to the large window in the back of the room. Below the window is a bookshelf crammed with binders dated in black ink. The director scans the book and finds a binder with the date May 5, 2008. He pulls the binder from the shelf and walks back to his desk. ”What can I do for you Mister Adams?” He said as he sat carefully down into his chair. ”Uhm…” Doctor Adams began struggling to organize his thoughts. ”There was an incident down the hall near the examination room,” Doctor Adams began. ”So I’ve heard,” said the director to Doctor Adams surprise. The directors smile fell and was replaced by concern. ”I was almost killed,” Doctor Adams, continued, “a patient pretending to be an intern approached me with an emergency and then tried to kill me. He said he we were hurting him.” The director stood from his chair and paced back and forth behind his desk. The concern in his face seemed to weigh him down greatly. ”I did tell you there was a risk with this job, didn’t I,” the director said as he continued to pace. ”You did tell me,” Doctor Adams acknowledged, “but I want to know if there is a bigger problem.” ”A bigger problem?” The Director asked as he stopped pacing and looked at Doctor Adams. ”The guard that saved my life told me to leave the hospital,” Doctor Adams said.
    “He did? Well you probably misunderstood him,” the director said quickly.
    “No I understood him quite clearly. I also understood the noise of bones breaking as I began down the hall.”
    “What!” The director shouted as he placed his hands on his desk.
    “Damnit.” The director immediately picked up the phone and began to dial a number. “You can do what you want Doctor Adams. Leave, stay, run away, I don’t care. Just get out of my office I have important phone calls to make,” the director stopped dialing and waited for Doctor Adams to stand.
    Doctor Adams then turned and walked out of the office.
    Zombie Epic Part 2
    Doctor Adams stepped from the director’s office. The director waited until the office door was shut securely before he began speaking into the phone. Actually, from the looks of it, the director was screaming into the phone. As Doctor Adams stood outside the door he watched the director shouting into the phone. Doctor Adams began to feel helplessness, or was it fear? Did he fear what he had been doing the past few months? Was it torture?”
    “No,” he replied to himself.
    “This is important research. How else are were going to survive in this world without the gene implantation research he was trying to do?” Doctor Adams turned from the director’s door and began down the administration hallway. He passed Kerry Peterson’s room again and instinctively looked inside. The large man stood just inside his door staring at the opposite wall. Doctor Adams opened the office door.
    “Is there something wrong Kerry,” Doctor Adams asked. Kerry Peterson had become a family friend several years ago. Kerry was actually the man that helped get him this job.
    “Derrick,” Kerry began pleasantly using Doctor Adams first name, “I saw you heading to the directors office. What’s going on?”
    “I was assaulted by a patient about an hour ago. A guard told me to run from the building. I was trying to figure out what was going on.” Kerry’s face went pale.
    “A patient attacked you?” Kerry asked.
    “Yea, it was pretty frightful. I thought he was going to kill me till the guard took him out. Then get this the guard broke the patients back.”
    “My god,” Kerry said as he walked toward his desk. Doctor Adams followed.
    “Do you have any idea what is going on around here?” Doctor Adams asked. Kerry said nothing and sat down behind his desk.
    “I have an idea but nothing concrete. I can only pull bits and pieces of information from the financial coming and goings,” he finally said slowly.
    “So what’s up?” Doctor Adams asked.
    “The companies losing money hand over foot. We have spent over half a billion dollars in bad investments over a two year period,” said Kerry.
    “What is this have to do with patients pretending to be doctors?”
    “The company is getting lax because they are cutting cost.”“That’s a good reason but I don’t believe that’s everything,” Doctor Adams said.“What are you going to do?” Said Kerry.“Well I’m not an investigator or Nancy Drew or anything but if this involves my lively hood I have to do something.”“It may be that I will have to find another job.”“Uhm…” Kerry paused then continued, “you can’t leave the company.”“What are you talking about,” asked Doctor Adams.“You are contractually obligated to this company until you are released by the company,” Kerry said carefully. He looked a little apprehensive.“Contractually obligated!” Doctor Adams spat as his stood from he chair and began to walk around the room.“Is this a joke,” he asked not really expecting an answer.“No, its common practice for the company.”“Really, where is this paragraph in the contract?”“Under the signature, small type, of course.”“Yea, of course,” Doctor Adams said while he continued to pace.“How could you of gotten me into this crap?” Doctor Adams shouted, his temper pushed over the edge.“I’m sorry,” Kerry said just before he stood quickly and stumbled backward toward the window in the back of his office.A several loud crashes erupted from outside the office door and Doctor Adams looked. Metal gurneys began to pile up just outside the door. They came from the left side of the office and were tossed or pushed into the pile. After five or six gurneys sat in the hallway a large male nurse named Hoyt leapt over the pile followed by several others. There were six people total; Doctor Ruiz and Doctor Stein made their way over the pile dressed in the standard white coat. Three nurses followed them; Nurses Smith, Alexander and an Asian woman Doctor Adams did not know. They pointed toward the left of the hallway, some of them crying. The large nurse Hoyt seemed to take charge and shouted orders. ”We need to make this higher,” he said as he pushed to pile upward.
    Doctor Adams walked to the office door and attempted to open it but Hoyt stopped him. He held up one of his large hands then made crude hand turning motions attempting to convince Doctor Adams to lock the office door. Doctor Adams locked the door and stepped back. The women screamed as something began to approach. The scream shot through the office like the glass door was not even there. They walked backward till they disappeared from sight. Doctor Stein began to follow them when Hoyt stopped him. The then stood behind the pile of gurneys and waited for whatever was coming to hit them. Doctor Adams watched from inside the room as the men braced themselves.Suddenly, a large naked man burst from the left side of the doorway and smashed into the gurneys. It reminded Doctor Adams of an attempted 1-yard dive at a football game. The doctors shoved the gurneys up and into the naked man stopping his dive mid-air. The naked man fell backward onto the gurneys. His back broke over a gurney that lay on its side. Hoyt rushed forward over the gurneys and shoved a thin glass rod through the bottom of the man’s jaw and into his brain. It was disgusting but apparently necessary.Blood splattered over the glass office door. The naked man lies in front of it. Doctor Adams turned to look at Kerry and found him crumpled and upon his knees in a corner.“What the hell was that,” Doctor Adams said loudly but Kerry was not listening.Doctor Adams pounded on the office doors till Hoyt shoved the body out of the doorway. Doctor Adams quickly unlocked the door and opened it.“What the hell is going on?” Said a booming voice from down the hall. The director stood, all four-foot nine of him, outside his office with his hands on his hips.
    Zombie Epic Part 3
    “Director,” said Hoyt, his large frame towering over the small director. “I think you owe us an explanation.”“About what,” said the director looking up at the male nurse confidently.“About your experiments.”“I don’t know what your talking about. I have no experiments. Everything that’s going on is known by all of these staff members.” The director pointed to everyone that stood behind Hoyt. “I’m sorry if you are out of the loop.”Hoyt laughed. A hearty chuckle that he bottled up quickly so as to make a pointed statement.
    “I am so in the loop Director. I know everything. I know you have commissioned a select few to do behavior research and gene therapy. I know you have a grant from the Defense Department to do this.”“Is this true, Director?” Doctor Adams asked.“No,” he said defiantly.“Is it true that the company has been running in the red for the past two years due to bad investments?” Doctor Adams asked and the others gasp.“No,” the director said again.“Why don’t you stop lying to us,” said Kerry from within his office door. “I’ve seen the documents. I’ve got the proof.”The group, all eight staff persons, glared at the director but he said nothing, turned, and disappeared back into his office.“Can you believe that man?” Said Nurse Smith, a petite woman in her mid forties.“He has been nothing but bad news since he got here,” said Doctor Stein as he ran his thin hands threw the small bit of hair he had left on his head.“Kerry, are you alright,” Doctor Adams asked as he approached.“I’m fine, just a little shaken,” Kerry said his hands trembling.“Did you know anything about these experiments?” Doctor Adams asked. Hoyt, Doctor Stein and Nurse Smith approached.Kerry fumbled for words as he scanned the area around him. Blood covered the floor and the glass wall around the door. The body of the naked man laid awkward, face first on the floor.“I knew something was going on,” he admitted.“The defense contract came through my office several months ago. The director searched my office a couple days later when I had left for work. He found the paperwork and took it.”“How’d you find out he took it,” said Nurse Smith.“Rebekah told me,” Kerry said looking toward her office.“Speaking of Rebekah and the Research and Development office,” Doctor Adams began, “why haven’t they come out of their rooms?”“We should go find out,” said Hoyt and he began down the hall. Doctor Adams, Doctor Stein and Nurse Smith followed. Doctor Ruiz, Nurse Alexander and the Asian woman stayed behind talking amongst themselves. Kerry Anderson stood within the doorway of his office. He could not force upon himself the courage to step outside of it.They approached the first door, Doctor Rebekah San Marino, and stopped. They looked inside to see two doctors sitting in chairs in from of Doctor San Marino’s desk. Doctor Adams then noticed, which he failed to notice before, that the two were slouched forward slightly, their heads down.“I think their dead,” he said as he quickly opened the door. “Go check the other offices,” Doctor Adams shouted.
    The others began to search the other Research and Development offices and Doctor Adams began to approach the two doctors in Doctor San Marino’s office. He immediately noticed the smell of gunpowder. Good-sized dark red stains ran down the back of the doctors white coats. Doctor Adams searched the office for a visible reason for the murders. The books were in order on the shelves. Perfectly kept and dusted. None of the many drawers that Doctor San Marino had set into the walls of her office were closed. There was no sign anyone was looking for something. Doctor Adams passed the men and walked around the large desk in the office. He noticed that Doctor San Marino’s chair had fallen over and several documents were scattered over the floor. The bottom left drawer of her desk was open and emptied. Something fluttered in the corner of the room. Doctor Adams walked slowly to the far corner of the room and bent down. Printed on company letterhead was an e-mail.
    The e-mail stated that the sender was Col. Eric Price from the Department of Defense and that the ‘Changing World’ program would start May 5, 2008, which was three months from today. It stated several directives:
    “This project is to be held under the utmost secrecy. No one is to know anything,” the directive began. “If you are suspected of knowing something deny it. If you suspect someone knows something…I won’t tell you what to do but this is of the utmost importance.”
    “This research,” began the second directive, “will be perform thoroughly and will be reported to me on a weekly basis.”
    The third and last directive was typed and red, the letter size was large and the type was bold.
    “Under no circumstance is any patient involved in this research to be released, ever!”
    It returned to 12-sized text, with black and un-bold text. “The patients will become permanent residents of this facility.”
    “Who is Col. Eric Prince?” Doctor Adams asked himself.
    “Who are these doctors that are performing these procedures and why haven’t I had a clue this was happening?”
    “What is happening?” Doctor Adams asked as movement from behind made him jump. He turned around quickly and one of the men sitting in the office chairs was falling backward. With a loud thump he landed on the floor, a freakish sigh escaped from his open mouth.
    “Alright, I’m outta here,” he thought quickly as he began toward the door. As he passed the fallen man he instinctively looked down. The man was definitely dead. His was skin pale or more of a chalk white. His chin was bruised where the blood had pooled from the downward position of his face. His arms were stiff. Still in positioned as if he was still sitting in the chair.
    He suddenly thought, “How long have these men been here?” That was a curious question because just yesterday everything at The Company seemed to be going fine. Doctor Adams recalled walking through the administration hall once or twice to speak to Kerry Anderson.“Did he look into this room?” He thought hard.

    ————————————

    11/1

    It was early evening, the sun had not yet set.  Erik Sears sat drinking a can of beer.  He sat in the driver’s seat of his late-father’s red 1969 Ford Mustang.  The door was dented and the bumper hung to the frame with home-made piece of steel and bolts but it was still Erik’s.  His intention was to bust into the gate at the south entrance and do some real damage to the zombies inside the city before they tore him to pieces.  At least, he good do some good before he died.

  • Pilot School

    FLIGHT SCHOOL?

    Napoleon had a small airport. Inside a small group of Kimerian giraffes practice to fly ancient planes.

    Log 05-16: Napoleon, Large Northeast territory.

    I let myself into the airport hanger. I closed the metal door. Inside, the room expanded. The ceiling towering over me. Thin beams tracing lines that married seams of sheet aluminum together.

    To my right a pair of ancient propellered war planes and to my surprise a wooden plane inspired by the Wright brothers.

    I walked forward and toward the center of the hanger. I passed the first plane, a bi-tiered, beautifully restored gem. As I walked past I chuckled as I found a large metal pipe in the pilot seat. A scarf tied around its metallic neck.

    They still fly.
    Prints from this Field Journal entry — and others — available at: matthewrstitt.com

    I passed the bi-plane and walked to the wood-framed, aluminum-clad office space. The door was open so I walked in. Inside was a small hallway and three rooms.

    The Kimerian, I was meeting, sat in the room to the right at the end of the hall. The tall creature met me at the door. His hand outstretched, his long, thin neck towering over my six-foot stature.

    “My people call me Kelune,” he said his voice deep and loud. “I am a Greybeard and an elder.”

    Kelune lead me to a chair, built for a human as he sat upon a tall stool. He asked me to sit but I was unsure if I would be comfortable talking from farther below him.

    The difference in height didn’t seem to bother him as he looked down upon me.

    “I’ll stand,” I said and noticed a smile creep up the elongated nose.

    “I apologize for the height difference,” he said with a chuckle. It’s something I tend to forget. I apologize if the offer to sit felt rude.”

    “It’s fine,” I said and I took a step back so I didn’t have to look up so far.

    “You work for The Network,” he asked.

    “A field reporter.”

    “Wonderful, anything to soften the rough reputation of the Kimerians.”

    He lowered his long neck. Met my eyes with a slight head tilt.

    “So you pilot old planes,” I said abruptly. “Is it a way to escape the world?”

    “Oh yes,” said Kelune. He grinned.

    “We don’t have these on Kimeria… they are magnificent machines…but….”

    “Flying is not about escape,” he said softly. “It is about remembering that the world was always larger than we could walk.”

    He followed me out to the hanger. He shook my hand and walked toward the Wright plane, without another look.

    Napoleon’s airport still breathes. Its ghosts still fly.


    They still fly.
    Prints from this Field Journal entry — and others — available at: matthewrstitt.com
    They still fly.
    Prints from this Field Journal entry — and others — available at: matthewrstitt.com
    They still fly.
    Prints from this Field Journal entry — and others — available at: matthewrstitt.com

  • Are Kimerians more human than we think?

    What I discovered in Elmyra might change everything…

    Log 05-10: Elmyra, Territory of the Reds

    Elmira, where the boundaries between human and Kimerian blur, survival isn’t just about adapting — it’s about integrating. That’s the inspiration behind the Working the Line collection. Each shirt, mug, and print captures a snapshot of life along the Unknown Highway, where the ordinary and the uncanny converge.

    Found an office in the center of town. A weird spine hanging above the door. Some fear but I was determined to record the goings on inside.

    Snuck into the door and found a place to observe.

    A queue of Kimerian waited oblivious of my presence.

    The practitioner, non-human, with a fishlike head stepped into view. She wore a large Top hat and a purple dress with white frills

    Fish-person

    Her patient, a long necked bi-pedal giraffe lay down upon the drop table. The fish-woman then proceeded to apply a treatment.

    I couldn’t differentiate a human from the Kimerian, if they were side-by-side-skill wise.

    Log 05-12: Elmira, Territory of the Reds

    I drove through Elmira. Parked and slid into the chiropractic office. Behind a pair of drop tables were tall, bird-like Kimerians

    One, closest to me was tall, feathers white. The other grey.

    The patient at the first table was a large bull moose. Its bone rack large and spread out from the bulbous nose. The head sat awkwardly on human shoulders.

    Ostrich and Moose

    The other patient on table two was white with black striped zebra lying on her side.

    Ostrich and Zebra

    Despite the prevailing assumption that Kimerians are wholly alien, the observed chiropractic practice reveals a surprising alignment in technique and care, blurring the perceived gap between human and Kimerian. While their forms may differ dramatically, the methods and mannerisms displayed suggest that the divide may be more superficial than substantial. Are the distinctions between us and them only skin deep?

  • Chapter 2 – Rebecca (archive)

    “You’re angry because I belong to the Network?” Rebecca shot back. He sat near the outside wall of the Burger Shack or Station 5, as the Network called it.

    Outside the 4 x 8 foot wooden planks covering the shattered windows, shadows moved. The thrall paced outside, their forms appeared and vanished through narrow gaps in the boards. Rebecca’s gaze drifted past him. Erik followed it— and flinched.

     A cancerous eye peered through a sliver of broken wood, unblinking and wet. From another gap, fingers twitched, gripping the edge of the plank as if testing its strength.

    He swallowed hard. “I don’t know much about the thrall,” Erik admitted. “But they seem… different here. More focused. Like they know something we don’t.”

    “At least you’ve been outside,” Rebecca muttered. “I’ve been stuck in Black Lake my whole life—even before they built this prison around us.”

    Rebecca held her breath for a moment.

    “They do that sometimes,” she said. “I’m sure one of us is a target of Dr. Cross.”

    Erik sat up, eyes narrowing as he studied her. “Loran Elias Cross is the shepherd of these things?” He exhaled sharply. “I heard rumors outside of M.A.R.S., but I didn’t believe them.”

    Erik rubbed his free hand over his bruises, wincing. His other hand, wrapped in stiff bandages, throbbed with every heartbeat.

    “Sorry,” he said. “I assumed you were a prisoner, not a local. The Network is what, exactly? And what the hell were you doing in that van? Why would you be out there with those maniacs?”

    A partial smile flickered across Rebecca’s face. Erik caught it immediately—along with something else.

    An elongated tooth.

    The realization settled in, slow and unwelcome. Vampire.

    They had come over the Bridge from Kymara—human-like immortals, lurking for years, maybe even decades. Bloodthirsty, power-hungry, meta-humans with too many secrets. Their status didn’t stop them from being arrested and sent to M.A.R.S., so Erik wasn’t exactly shocked she was a vampire—just disappointed.

    That would explain—

    “I know what you’re thinking,” Rebecca interrupted.

    Rebecca explained that she worked for the Network as a Guide—a designated escort responsible for safely transporting people through the streets.

    “You were a real Guide yesterday when twenty people, including me, almost died right at the gate,” Erik’s voice cut through the cacophony of pounding outside.

    Rebecca didn’t flinch. “We’re not allowed to help outside the street out there called the Avenue,” she said flatly. “Anything near the gate is guarded by auto-guns, and entry is always chaos. We’d be insane to show up. So we wait. One day…”

    She let the sentence hang. Erik grumbled, processing her words, her lack of sympathy—and the growing certainty that she was a vampire.

    “I’m going to stay quiet,” he muttered after a pause. His eyes flicked toward the rattling walls. “Are they ever going to stop pounding? I hate these goddamn thrall.”

    Erik grasp the fingers of the thrall and broke them. The noise echoed through the small building. The thrall, incensed, reacted immediately.

    The pounding intensified. The pattern changed. No longer just mindless hammering—now there was rhythm, urgency. The thrall weren’t just slamming the walls. They were coordinating.

    A guttural wail from the Collectors rose, echoing through the gaps in the wooden planks.

    Then came the heavy thuds. Bigger. Smarter. Stronger.

    Across the room, a large man, the size of a former linebacker, slammed his cards down, the slap of plastic on wood sharp and final. He stood abruptly, his shadow stretching across the dim interior.

    “The hell’s wrong with you?” His voice was low, controlled—but his glare was razor-sharp.

    Erik didn’t answer. He could feel the vibration in his bones from the last impact outside.

    The man took a step closer, eyes locked onto Erik like he was the real threat. “You trying to get us all killed? I should kick you ass and throw you back outside.”

    Erik looked at the towering man. Without a thought he spat, “You can’t threaten an old, angry drunk waiting

    It was pity.

    He crouched slightly, close enough that only Erik could hear. “I’m sorry you don’t value your life. But my brother and I value ours. So check yourself.”

    The man stared. Whatever anger had been simmering behind his eyes flickered—then faded. What replaced it wasn’t fear or rage.

    Then, without waiting for a response, he turned.

    The tall man stood in front of the others in Station 5.

    “Listen up,” he called out, his voice sharp enough to cut through the pounding outside. “This is different. They’re not just hammering at the walls. This man drew the abominations, called the Collectors here, so we are all going to die. 

    Erik exhaled, running a hand over his face. “They were not after me!” He shouted. They didn’t even know I was there half the time.”

    Sean’s head snapped toward him. “What?”

    Erik hesitated. He looked at Rebecca and she shook her head. “If they were after me, they would have killed me. I think they wanted her.”

    Rebecca frowned. 

    “There is something strange with this girl. She is not normal…” He continued but Rebecca stepped close to him and jammed her heel into the side of his foot. 

    “They were hunting. Yes,” she admitted stepping in front of the group. “…but it’s not me. I don’t know why the Collectors want us but we only have a few moments.”

    Another impact rocked the structure as the Collectors focused on the same section of the outside wall. The plywood inside groaned. The metal nails struggled to paste the wood to the building frame. 

    The thought sent a cold weight settling in Erik’s gut.

    Sean rubbed a hand over his jaw. “We don’t have time for bullshit. Board up anything loose, check the weapons, and someone keep an eye on that back exit.”

    His gaze flicked back to Erik. “And you—try not to make things worse.”

    Pages: 1 2

  • Chapter 1 -Get There

    Erik wiped sweat from his brow as the summer heat loomed over him. His hands trembled as he set the duffel down, though he didn’t need anything it. He released the pry-bar and let it fall the short distance to the ground. He shook off the anxiety, wishing he had a shot to medicate it away. His knees throbbed and he knelt.

    “We shouldn’t stop here long,” voice low but urgent. Rebecca, who stood nearby, nodded silently. Her eyes darting from one sleeping thrall.

    In front of them a large patch of towering grasses mixed with stalks of corn and pigweed.

    “Let’s go,” he said to Rebecca. “Be careful, anything could be in here. Follow behind me, please.”

    “You may want to be extra careful…” Rebecca tried to add the Erik had already disappeared. She swore and followed.

    Erik parted the grasses and stepped carefully. Took a second step, then a third. Every step rustling. The noise felt louder then it should of been. Every step felt like a signal to the monsters outside.

    The inability to see what’s mere steps away. The corn, towering over him, swiped at his bare arms. The waist high grass brushed against his legs. The pig weed scratched at his vulnerable skin. Erik was on edge. Rebecca was somewhere behind him. He could hear the steps but another problem is he couldn’t be certain it was her and not a thrall stumbling through to snatch him up.

    He began to recall the day his life changed. The moment the monsters destroyed his wife and stole his daughter.

    “Five years, it’s been five years Erik.” He said to himself.

    “They came into my home,” he replied. “They were targeting me, I know it.”

    “For what, Erik? You have this fantasy that you’re important. You were a janitor. It was a coincidence.”

    “A coincidence my ass. Why did the Collectors target the house. Answer that question. Why did they swipe Diana? I never found her body.”

    Erik fumed. The world had disappeared. The stalks fell over by themself and he walked forward automatically. That was until he tripped and tumbled forward. He crashed into a pile of thorns. Something tighten around his ankle. It pulled him forward thorns digging into his back and head. He wanted to scream to just end it… till she showed up. Her brown hair fell over her little face. Her brown eyes looked down upon him. Horror reflected in the afternoon sun. Erik remembered and it hurt.

    “Give up Erik?” He said to himself as he looked up at her.

    “In front of her?” He said silently, as he started to struggle. He tried to clear the bramble thorns from his head. The points digging in. The tentacle pulled. Erik lifted his knee and tried to back up.

    “She’s not Diana,” his thought continued.

    “I’m aware she is not Diana. She looks like her. What would she say?”

    “She wasn’t the same age. She was younger but I would like to think she would want you to live.”

    Erik watched as Rebecca flashed her knife. She pointed it down. She stabbed through the fleshy appendage.

    Something screamed. A pained scream but it also sounded like a warning or a lead for a trap.

    Rebecca stabbed the tentacle again. A second tentacle struck out and punch Rebecca in the side. Erik watched her fall backward and into the stalks.

    Erik sat up in seconds, his doubts vanished. He tore the remains of the thorns from his head. He kicked the remains of the tentacle from his ankle. He leapt. His ankle was sore but functional.

    Rebecca began to sit up. Erik held out his hand to slow her down.

    “Let me help you.”

    Rebecca looked up. Blood tracing paths down the crevices of her dirty face.

    “I’m sorry,” he apologized. Bent down and grabbed her arm. Rebecca stood. She held her left arm. Her face was red and would likely bruise.

    She suddenly snapped at him, “I’m not some helpless damsel! I know things. I’ve been here 5 years!”

    Erik said nothing.

    “I could have stopped you from running into that… we call it a Groundling. It’s a mass of flesh, teeth and tentacles. You, seriously, just run headfirst without thinking.”

    Erik smiled, a bit, “Ya.. I tend to do that. You call that octopus thing a Groundling.”

    “Yes, and a siren because it calls the thrall and they are headed to us now.” Rebecca said.

    “So we need a new plan,” said Erik. “The thrall still can’t see but can hear. I think we can whip them into a frenzy by messing with that puddle thing.”

    “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

    “Got a better one?” Erik asked.

    Rebecca was silent.

  • Chapter 1 -Stranger

    AI generated image

    “Where the hell am I going to go,” Erik said to himself.

    Erik and a young girl, named Rebecca, walked alone within a sea of brainless thrall, stalled cars and tall grass. Erik carried a duffle bag, Rebecca a backpack.

    Ahead of them a few neglected buildings, behind those a forgotten city. High-rise buildings rotting and falling apart.

    “I don’t want to go into the city. I want to avoid it if possible.” Erik said after confirming there was no thrall within listening distance.

    He looked back to see Rebecca holding a knife near his side. Upon her face, fear.

    “Stab me if you want,” Erik said. “I will scream the entire time. You will not make it 100 feet.”

    Rebecca stared at Erik.

    “I just… almost lost my life for you.” He snapped.

    “That’s a great sign. I’m starting to think this was a stupid idea,” Erik thought.

    “I need a drink,” he said, ignoring the threat.

    Erik and Rebecca stood within a column of closely parked cars. Thrall stood 50 to 100 feet away. The monsters, when not triggered by noise, would sleep. They would sway like large monstrous blades of grass.

    Erik set his duffle on the ground, opened the bag. The whiskey bottle inside was busted. The pungent smell of whiskey wafted up and out.

    “Are you a drinker?” Rebecca asked. “My father was a drinker.”

    The suddenness of the comment/question caused him to pause. He hadn’t had a conversation with a real person in a long time.

    “Where is your father now?”

    “Dead and in the van back there,” she said emotionless.

    “I see,” was the only reply he could muster. He pulled out the contents of the bag and dumped out the wet garbage.

    “All this crap is destroyed and I forgot my bat,” . “How am I going to defend myself… you,” he added as he stared at the nearest thrall 100ft away.

    “What else is in this bag,” he continued. “I guess it would be good to have a bag but I have a couple knives and a tire iron. I need to fill it back up.

    “So killer,” Erik said. “You’re rescued, you’re free to go in any direction. I don’t know where I’m going,” he admitted.

    He turned to face Rebecca. Her face solemn but strong reminding Erik of his daughter he lost but with glaring exceptions. Anne was never tough as nail, like this young woman. Dirt on Anne’s face.. oh no.

    She wouldn’t have stood for that. Rebecca looked as though she has been through 3 lifetimes. Hard lines and scar-traced tears upon her face. Rebecca’s dark hair was the same color as Annie’s but Rebecca’s was unwashed… and Rebecca didn’t seem to mind.

    Something Rebecca did mind was a middle-aged stranger staring her down as he dreamt about a lifetime that no longer existed.

    Her knife struck out at Erik. It was a warning and not an attempt on his life but it was enough for him to fall backward and string together an obnoxious combination of swear words.

    When Erik regained his senses he recognized the consequences of his action when thrall began the stir.

    “F – you lady,” Erik snarled. “I don’t care if you’re a kid. That was uncalled for. Can I go pass? Are you going to try to cut me?”

    Erik had an adrenaline, filled fury. She had the advantage and could easily get a few swipes in. She would definitely hold both of them up long enough to face the thrall. Erik didn’t want to die under the thrall. That was not an honorable way to die.

    “Honorable… ha,” he thought. “Of all the words in the English dictionary. You’re a bum, Erik.”

    “I was honorable once,” he accidentally said out-loud as he slid past Rebecca.

    Erik watched as Rebecca glared at him. Erik slid clear of her and passed the bluish bumper of an older coupe. He looked out into the sun-drenched, grass-covered wasteland. He saw a sea of heads bobbing back and forth. Thrall marched toward them. He was mapping out, in his head, an escape route but it just wasn’t appearing. He walked past the bumper and sat down beside the car.

    “I don’t know what to do next,” he thought as he let his shoulders fall.

    “I don’t know where to go. Maybe this is the end. It was a great plan.”

    “Are you serious?” He replied in thought. “You complement me and my plan. My impulsive rescue plan that…”

    He stopped because Rebecca sat beside him and apologized. She explained her situation. She explained that she had to kill her parents in the van. She was a resident of MARS and had a plan.

    Erik sat for a moment. He watched as the closest thrall came within a 50 foot radius of them followed by 3 or 4 additional rows of brainless, humanoid monsters.

  • Chapter 1 -Destruction

    AI generated image

    Erik stood near a pale blue minivan. Its windows blacked out with dirt. He tried the driver’s side sliding door, but it was locked.

    A pair of tall, blond, thrall twins mill nearby. They blindly search for the source of the noise. The tinyist ‘chunk’, ‘chink’ or ‘ding’ sets them in — It’s a weird sight, for sure, but they would be listening for any noise. The twins slapped the sides of the van. They tried the door handles but they were locked, Erik assumed.

    He stood motionless. He watched as the blond twins search for a way inside. The nearest crept closer, but Erik kept quiet. If they couldn’t hear him, they had no idea where he was.

    Erik swore silently when the woman screamed again. He grasped the bat tightly. The twins immediately escalated their abuse of the van. The scream also attracted other thrall, which hobbled, with purpose, toward the noise.

    “The situation is escalating. Soon a rescue will be impossible.” He thought as a human-like… but fur-covered creature brushed his shoulder.

    Erik held in a yelp but then gasp as a brown torso brushed past him. He tracked the creature with his eyes. The torso was covered in blood and patches of short fur. Above the torso was a human form, infected, blind and a thrall.

    “A Bridger? This is a whole new low for the world…” Erik thought, his posture stiffened. We can address the obvious escalations by the Vampire later… What are you going to do about the woman?”

    Erik’s thought turns into an argument as many of them did.

    “You stepped out of that goddamn car to help this woman but now you’re just standing here.”

    “I’m trying to save my own life here,” he replied.

    “Moments ago you woke from a whiskey coma with thoughts of suicide… did you even remember the pistol?”

    “Damn it no,” Erik silently retorted. “I left it in the car.”

    “Great… good job. What are you going to do with that bat?”

    Erik held the bat in his left hand. The Bridger creature, often called a satyr within ancient stories, approached the blue minivan. It felt around the sides of the van till it reached the windows. It began to dig its human fingers into the creases of the minivan windows and began to pull.

    Erik moved automatically and struck the satyr legs with the bat. It’s thin legs broken. The satyr screamed and collapsed. The other thrall turned, distracted from there original mission and began to beat upon the disabled creature. They viciously tore the satyr apart only feet from him.

    Erik, finding an opportunity within the gory scene turned and walked to the drivers side door handle and jerked it. It was locked. Moved to the side door and said.

    “Lady, I am human. Open the door. I mean to rescue you. Not hurt you. We have a small window of time. I need you to trust me… please.”

    He banged on the sliding door gently, so to not make too much noise.

    “Please,” he repeated.

    Erik searched the area. A large, overweight thrall stumbled toward him. It passed a small coupe. Erik looked at the sliding door then stepped toward the monster. Erik struck him with the bat. The bat blasted the upper thigh. The thrall stutter-stepped. Paused then walked forward like Erik hadn’t hit him. Erik threw the bat back for another swing when the van door opened. Erik turned. He expected a woman but saw a young girl. Behind her a pair of human bodies, motionless. He struggled with memories of his own daughter. This young girl was the same age.

    After a few seconds Erik shook himself free of the memory and turned to face the thrall. The overweight creature grabbed Erik’s shoulder. Erik twisted his body but lost his balance. He tumbled forward and fell onto the grass-covered concrete.

    The thrall grabbed his ankle. Erik twisted and lay on his back.

    The thrall stood over him. Its eyes pale and dead. Scars upon its fat face. It tried to collect Erik’s other foot but Erik kicked out of it. The thrall served their vampire master but they were not really good at anything. They were violent but loyal. Within MARS, the thrall had a number advantage.

    The twins, attracted by the noise, appeared. The young girl within the van closed the sliding side door. The noise attracted the attention of the twins and they grasp the door. The girl screamed. The twins pulled harder.

    Erik watched, from the ground. His captor, the thrall, had him and would not let go of his ankle. Erik’s ankle twisted and he growled. The pain shooting up through his body.

    He then suddenly screamed, struggled and began to search and grab anything that could make noise.

    He found a few aluminum cans, rocks and finally a good sized piece of metal. He thrust the jagged piece into the soft part of the large monster’s throat.

    The twins, drawn from the van, hovered above Erik’s head. The large thrall released his grip from the ankle. Erik freed himself. Blood fell upon a dirty, white shirt. The thrall grasp its throat and fell forward. Erik rolled away and got as close to the car, nearby, as he could.

    The twins, mistaking the larger one for Erik, began to beat on the injured thrall. The thrall squawked, blew air through blood. Erik crawled, as silently as he could forward and pass the commotion. He stood, scanned the area and found several dozen additional thrall heading toward him. The minivan door was open and a five-foot-one young girl stood beside the vehicle. A backpack in her hand and behind her, in the van, a pair of dead human bodies.

    Erik motioned for her to follow him…

  • Green’s Grocery

    Greens Grocery sat on the outskirts of a cluster of small villages in Waterloo township. An essential business supplying the township with canned goods, perishables and liquor. At least, that’s what Frank Green always assumed. Frank had, for forty years, thought of himself as an essential worker. If Frank ain’t working the township ain’t running.

    Six months to the day, the township stopped working. People stopped coming into the store. Frank knew why, he saw it on the news when the drugs stopped working.
    For years, the country had been abusing a drug called Inferno, an antipsychotic but tweaked on the streets to become the last, greatest craze. Antipsychotic became psychotic and people that used it began dying. To counter Inferno, the pharmaceuticals created a new drug. This drug resuscitated the users but eventually drove them further into a psychological rabbit hole. Several corrections later and we have an epidemic world wide.
    “A god-damn zombie apocalypse,” quoted some medical expert on the morning news.

    Frank donned a red shirt, tie and slacks. He walked down the steps from the apartment above to the store for another uneventful day. He entered the warehouse in the rear of the store and spent the next hour and a half preparing what he had left to be displayed in the aisles.
    Paper goods were still plentiful. Frank’s stacked a couple boxes of toilet paper, paper towels and napkins in a shopping cart and pushed it to the door. He unlocked the door handle, chain lock and rolled a large red tool box that blocked the door.
    Frank pushed the shopping cart to the West end of the store, near the coolers. The coolers had been off for months, along with the lights. frozen foods, milk and meat expired months ago. Frank’s priority was to prepare for the enviable return of civility.

    He turned down the last aisle and moved through, past the coolers on the left, then stopped in front of a trio of empty shelves. He placed the paper products on the shelves. When he was done the shelves displayed three packages of toilet paper, towels and napkins and a lot of empty shelf space. 
    Frank pushed the cart to the front customer service desk and entered. He dusted the large counter and the shelves beneath it. The cash register drawer was half open and empty of cash. Frank pushed the drawer closed but it reopened. He pushed it closed a second time then cleaned the shelves beneath. He stopped at a poorly built wooden box. He slid it toward the edge of the shelf and opened it. Inside was a revolver and an open box of ammunition. There were no remaining bullets in the ammunition box but Frank knew there were bullets within the revolver. He grabbed the revolver with his left hand, His hand began to shake. Frank opened the cylinder to verify. He found four rounds ready to use. He closed the cylinder and placed the revolver back in the box. He pushed the box toward the back of the shelf and finished dusting.

    Frank searched and found a clean rag, a bottle of window cleaner and a step ladder. He walked to the front of the store. The front window was plate glass, fairly thick. Two eight-foot by six-foot tall panes separated by a small strip. Frank placed the ladder on the left-most end and began cleaning from the top down. 

    The dirt and grime came free from the inside of the window revealing a parking lot of abandoned cars parked in front of the store. Like an old photograph, a tranquil scene within the center of town. Except, in reality, there was no tranquility. People of the village milled through the street. No one drove any of the vehicles. They milled with no destination. Something to do as they waited to attack anything not sick and brave enough to make an appearance. 
    “Living with such rage,” Frank’s thoughts began to surface. “What was it like trapped in a body or were they just insane? Did they have any conscious thought? 
    Frank caught himself staring out the window at a gentlemen in a three piece suit walking slowly past the broken window of Town Bar. The gentleman dressed to kill, clearly a visitor to Waterloo at some point. Maybe a groomsman at a wedding within the township hall. The gentleman passed the broken window of Town Bar, staring forward. A woman approached from the right. Staring forward and oblivious. The man in the three piece suit walking from the left. Eventually they met in the center of Frank’s view. The expected human behavior being to politely move but these two smashed into each other and became a mangled mess. Both managed to stay on their feet, by some miracle, freed them selves, then moved on. No apology, no angry glances. Just acceptance of anything that was… oh well.

    “No piss’n and moan’n all the time. Oh I didn’t get my donut with my coffee,” Frank says in a mocking tone. 
    The window was half clean when a metallic crash, somewhere in the rear of the store, startled Frank. Frank fell into the window with a thud but the thick glass held.

    The act of falling into the window and the noise it created frightened Frank more then the thought of what could possibly be in the back. He settled the ladder and stood near the top. His left hand still on the plate glass. The crowd outside began to become more animated, as if someone had shouted “Help!” and they all wanted to help. They began to search for the source of the noise. Their interest peaked Frank knew he had to be extra cautious to not confirm his location with another noise.
    “ I haven’t been hear this long and safe to lose it now,” he mumbled.

    Frank heard some of the boxed stock being tossed within the warehouse. He cursed in a whisper. 
    “If it’s Gary,” he said. “I’m going to lose it. I told him to stay in that room.” 

    “He never listens…”

    Another crash, followed by several additional crashes, prompted Frank to stumble from the ladder. The ladder stuck the front window. 
    Frank watched as a hairline fracture spread out from the impact. Outside the window, the infected took notice and began to inspect the front of the grocery.

    Blind, the infected, listened for additional evidence. They milled around the front of the store occasionally slapping the glass to prompt a response from any unfortunate frightened creature.

    Frank wasn’t frightened, he was pissed. His perfectly manicured situation was in danger.
    He was going to rectify this and take it out of Gary’s ass.

  • The split/the rift

    The street was wet and the air smelled like rain. It was the middle of the night and the residents of this small suburb were asleep.

    A small white orb floated in chaotic circles till settling above the suburban street. The orb sat motionless for several moments. Stretched downward in a vertical line, illuminating the street and homes on either side of it. A man stepped from the light and onto the street. He sniffed the air, determined the rain would not be a bother, and tossed his large coat back into the light.

    The man stood and took in the scene. The monochromatic homes lined up on both sides of the street but one stood out. The man smiled and stepped toward the home. The man stepped under a street lamp within a disc of light spilled across the ground. His face was scarred and burned. His eyes red from lack of sleep. He pulled a glowing sword from a leather sheath on his left side. The sword hung from his hand, pointed downward. He followed a blue aura pulsating from the bedroom. He stopped, for a moment, at the outside wall then floated through.

    Appearing within the bedroom he searched for the origin of the blue aura. Two humans lay in a queen-sized bed but the aura floated up from behind the bed. He stepped around the bed and found a small dog sleeping. The aura floating from its body.

    The man grumbled, his scarred face dripped with disappointment.

    “Barely enough to heal a broken fingernail,” he growled. “Two perfectly delicious human subject, not damn ready.”

    He grasp the sword, approached the dying creature and cut him from neck to rear. He reached into the body and yanked a glowing blue seed from beside the heart. Staring at the two humans, sleeping and unaware, the man swallowed the seed. The redness left his eyes. The light from his hands increased in intensity. The man grunted as the soul of the animal meshed with the many already within.

    The human man woke and shook the sleep from his eyes, followed by the woman. The human man sat up and browsed the room but it was dark.

    “What’s going on,” said the woman.

    “I don’t know, a light woke me. Maybe lightning… not sure.”

    “That’s weird,” said the woman.

    “It is,” the man agreed, swung his feet over the edge of the bed and set them down. He recoiled as moisture soaked his naked toes. He flipped the light on and gasp at the sight of his tortured dog.

    The man reappeared outside, beside the tear of light over the drive, and stepped inside. He bent over, recovered his coat and disappeared, taking the light with him.

  • So many things going on. Such anger, so completely obvious and in your face. It’s too much. I miss the days when we were limited to the 6:00 news and maybe a rumor that the neighbors lost their dog and we had to help find him. I grew up afraid of a few logical things. Strangers, drunk drivers and dogs. Now we all talk and spread fear through social media. We spread all our anxiety and nutty ideas. Others agree and spread it. Soon it’s posted in 24 hour news cycle and posted 50 times a day as true.

    I need to escape into my world of storytelling but what story do I tell? Relevant to the world around me or making something up. I am building a world of taur creatures in my art world at www.brokenstick.com. Can connect these worlds?

    There is an artist connected to a great show called Tales from the Loop. Where Swedish artist Simon Stålenhag brings his artwork to life. It’s amazing to see his work on the screen. Simon attaches a story to his work. I would love to do the same but all the work I have up to now lives in semi-separate worlds.

    It’s certainly on my mind and as I move through this new (minus City of Zombie) world it will effect it.