John Peterson

“My god you’re tall,” said a Blackwater guard as he looked up at the tall man.

“We don’t see your type around here,” he added.

“What you don’t see tall black men around here,” John replied, his accent dipped in Creole. “I don’t see men standing over me with your pedigree. You are dark as night, my man. You stand half the height of the city wall behind you.”

“Dark, tall and not happy to be here.” John hissed. “I am a veteran. I fought for the country.”

“You fought as a liar. Vampire trash,” the guard replied.

“Correction, vampire fought in the Battle of Miami and kicked ass.” John growled. His teeth stained. A pair of canines hanging from his top lip.”

“I don’t care what you did. Stand against the wall,” shouted the guard and shoved John backward. John fell hard against the stone wall. Pain shot upward at impact. John lunged at the guard. His arms stretched backward. His wings buried under a heavy black coat. John’s wrist bound by chains.

The guard struck John with a nightstick. The impact of the night stick enraged the vampire. His large, thin jaw dropped and revealed additional weapons in the shape of knife-like teeth. He tried again to unfurl his wings. The guard swung again knocking John unconscious.

John woke up lying upon a wooden trailer moving forward slowly. The side of his head throbbed.

“He’s awake,” said someone above him. “Check to see if he is ok. If it’s really him we can use him to get through this.”

“Are you the Haitian Manhunter?” Asked a younger man. “The Florida Superman?”

John sat up. The large city gate stood behind him. The steel sheet metal walls spread to the left and right and disappeared from sight. On top of the walls sat 50 caliber gun nests, every 20 feet, manned with Blackwater guards.

“I’m not a super hero.” John snapped. He felt the side of his head then took in a long breath. He closed his eyes and repeated the breath. The wagon leapt jostling the passengers. John opened his eyes and looked around again.

“I will help where I can,” John said. He noticed a child near 11 years old. Near the child was, he assumed her mother. The father was unidentifiable or dead, which wasn’t unusual. A complete family unit was unusual these days.

Along the left side of the wagon was a young white man and pair of black men. On the right was the child and her mother, an older man and a man bound with rope.

John stood, walked to the front of the wagon. He shoved the wooden wall blocking the passengers from the driver. The wall wobbled prompting a surprise and an angry protest from the driver.

“Sit down!” Shouted the Blackwater guard. John peered over and looked at the guard. The guard was young and likely inexperienced. A pistol on his side and a shotgun strapped to the tractor. He turned and noticed the crowd marching behind the tractor.

“Zombie…”

I have to be Honest

I’ll be completely honest.

I don’t want to tell you this. I don’t want to admit I’m a terrible human being but it all happened so suddenly.

It started with a knock on the door

Cooler

So the writing has cooled and the art has taken over but my poor blog is still neglected. I’m sitting here in bed thinking I would love to do some of these things I enjoy. Drop the job and work on writing or art.

Speaking of jobs, I never finished the writing job. I’ve got nearly 3/4 more to complete on the novel. It’s still relevant. The ideas still there but I got stuck in an impossible position.

I shot one of my characters.. shot him. I busted the outline completely and the novel paid the price. You would think, just start over…

That’s so easy to say. I have started over so many times. Really, I just want to finish it but do I?

Do I really want to finish?

Chatter

The chatter began immediately. Several people stepped into the abandoned store from the rear. Erik put the weapon down and waited to see what was coming up next. His world had dissolved. The other men in front of him were out of sight. He focused on the door beside the old meat counter. The only door from the back room. A loud crash followed by screams of horror. Further commotion rocked the world behind the thin gray door. A man sobbed, the outside door closed and the chatter stopped. The quiet only lasted a moment but it was enough. The old dusty shelves returned. Sean and Andrew stood near him. Weapons were all put away. Jean Claude stood, clutching his shoulder. The Haitian man didn’t need say a thing. He didn’t have too. His face was drenched in anger toward Erik.

Erik looked for only a moment then he returned to the back door. The gray slab of metal and wood swung forward revealing a small girl covered in blood. Following the girl was her young mother and father. The twenty year old father held his wife in his arms. She was hurt blood flowing from a wound in her arm and leg.

“Sara,” Erik whispered as flashes of his daughter floated through his head. The terror in this child’s eyes prodded Erik and he dropped the weapon. Erik ran toward the family grabbing a handful of dusty towels on the way.

“Let’s get you fixed up,” he said as he handed the small girl a towel and did a quick check for wounds.

“Thank God your ok, Sara.”

“My names not Sara,” said the girl.

Erik focused on the mother. “This is not good. She has a major bite wound. You have 24 hours before she passes but we can stop the bleeding for now.”

The father stands silent. His gaze fixed on the gore and dried blood in Erik’s two year old beard.

“Are you going to help me?” Erik asked.

“Sure,” said the father his voice barely audible. “Thank you.”

Erik lead the three to one of the store aisles and instructed him to lay his wife on one of the conveyor belts. Jean Claude, Sean and Andrew joined.

“I can help with this, I was a combat medic in the first War of the States,” Andrew offered.

Erik stepped away and let him work. He watched the man make a make-shift bandage for the leg wound and a compress for the shoulder.

He then found a working flashlight and headed for the back room.

“I will help you,” Jean Claude said from behind him.

Apology

“I hope your not looking for an apology,” Erik said as he entered but the tall, dark man had disappeared into the darkness.

Erik searched, the light from his flashlight traced prone figures upon the ground.

“Who’s in here!” Will shouted.

Jean Claude stepped forward with a wounded man in his arms. The wounded man had large bite marks in his shoulder.

“He’s infected,” Erik snapped.

Jean Claude turned and bared his long hollow teeth.

“Oh my god, your a vampire,” Erik began. “I knew you weren’t up here for any good reason. I knew there was something wrong with you!”

“What are you going to do now kill us all?”

A breath of air chilled Erik. Paralyzing him as he stood.

“I’m not killing anyone, even a troubled soul like you. A man so reduced to nothing he can barely stand. I may just save you life one day.”

You shot me?

The .45 went off. The sound stuck to the walls and shook the building. Jean Claude spun, fell and disappeared.

“You have gone to far,” Sean shouted and attempted to advance.

“Don’t move!”

“What? Are you going to shoot me too?”

“I don’t know, did you hit me. Did you do this!” Erik pointed at his head wound with the weapon.

“Shoot yourself.”

Erik stepped from the counter and toward the two remaining men. The .45 pointed in their direction.

“You’re going to listen to me. Pack your crap and leave.”

“Ok, fine!” Andrew and Sean said in unison.

“Move!” Erik shouted when both men stood motionless.

Both men began to collect what they could, taking time to pick up as many items as they could.

Andrew stood first pointing a pistol then Sean.

“What now!” Sean shouted.

“I can still fire,” Erik replied then stepped forward.

“Back away you suicidal bastard,” Andrew countered and stepped foward.

“Do you know how many we’ve killed? I can put you down easily.”

“And why am I still walking!” Erik took another step.

“I don’t want to kill your dumb ass. Stop moving.”

“Shoot me! Do it!” Erik shouted then repeated it.

Erik positioned the weapon forward. He growled as he began to measure the likelyhood of hitting one of the men.

“The other would likely kill me moments later,” he thought. “I can make this happen.”

He stepped forward and tuned out the shouting. He dropped any hope of life after this encounter. He placed his finger on the trigger when the door in the back of the store exploded open.

Handy work

Erik sat in a lawn chair he found in the tiny camping section. He could not help but stare at the pale remains of partially severed hands and arms tacked to the plywood windows.

“Imagine, if they were human arms and not the infected. It would be cruel and unusual punishment,” he said.

“They are not human,” Jean Claude replied as he sat beside him in a simular looking chair.

“It was supposed to be a cure for Cancer. It was a mutating cell inhibitor. It was not supposed to create new cells. A new nervous system. It moved so fast. It was spectacular until it took my wife…”

A painful thump and Erik’s world went dark.

Minutes later he woke bloody and leaning against the remains of a shelf full of dusty baseball cards.

Jean Claude and the Baker brothers argued near the end of the checkout lane. Erik stood. Took a breath and then walked left toward a dirty counter that used to be the Service Center. Blood fell from the wound on the right side of Erik’s face.

Erik stepped behind the counter. He searched for the .45 he knew was behind the counter. The dusty handgun sat near a stack of boxes. Erik reached for the weapon as his head throbbed.

“This thing is huge,” he thought as he slid the weapon from the shelf.

“Where did Erik, the Horrible go?”

Andrew said.

“I’m not Erik, the Horrible or Erik, the Terrible… I am not an animal,” Erik stood and squeezed the trigger.

Push

“Push the damn boards,” shouted Andrew as all three men fought to secure the broken window. Jean Claude was in the center, Sean on the left and Andrew on the right. Erik stood behind them waiting to hammer the nails back into the store window.

The hands reached into the cracks and grasp at everything. Five meaty fingers grabbed Sean at the elbow and pulled.

“Help me!” He shouted. Erik stepped to Sean’s right and swung the hammer. The small circular hammer sank into the rotten hand severing tendons. The creature grabbed at Sean’s arm the best it could. Its strength sapped but its hunger overwhelming. The fingers of the creature flicked and curled. The first two fingertips poked at Sean’s hand but the last three held onto a meaty section of Sean’s arm. Erik struck the creature again. Thick blackish blood splattered and the hand withdrew. The hand was replaced and it grabbed at the air. Erik took a long nail and slammed it into the palm. He took a second then a third. He grabbed another hand and did the same thing.

Sean stared for a moment then assisted. After 15 minutes they had secured an odd looking wall.

“Good job,” Erik replied and slapped a hand.

“How are we supposed to sleep now with this sick piece of work?” Andrew complained.

“Ha… how’s do you like my ‘hand’y work,” Erik smiled.