$13.99
Description
WAR
“Get the fuck up!” yells Pete’s lieutenant as the snap, crackle, and pop of battle rings out all around them. “Fuck you!” Pete yells back at the officer, who responds by sucker punching him in the mouth “Do you think you’re the only one who's scared!?” they shout pausing to fire down at the enemy before turning back to Pete and shouting, “Fire your weapon private!” He stops to shoot a figure. Who in the thin light of the moon and searchlights looks like they’re throwing a baseball at them. Not noticing the shadow figure’s gift Pete’s lieutenant looks down into the foxhole, and sees Pete digging even deeper. Standing in horror the officer sees Pete’s fingernails cracking and peeling off as they scrape them against the earth, “Oh my god! Get the FUCK up! Get up right no-” halfway through their last words the officer’s head bursts.
Iron, Salt, and something like a salty custard. The flavor coats the inside of Pete’s mouth as their lieutenant falls on top of them pressing both their bodies into the earth. More custard spills onto Pete’s face as he desperately pushes it away. While at the same time trying to force the sandbag remains off him, but sensing the danger approaching he settles on just having his legs weighed down by what’s left of his lieutenant.
Slowly Pete inches his head up out of the fox hole and to catch a glimpse of what’s left of his company. Expecting to see the hard fighting men and women of his attachment fighting on he instead sees a world of cowards and surrender. Two days ago this was a beautiful young forest. Now it bears a closer resemblance to a daguerreotype of northern France than anything that’s supposed to be on this side of the universe.
A few young men and women make themselves into warrior ants hiding in their foxholes. The few brave left among them fire widely in the night. Taking down the creatures bathed in shadow, and lit only by the flash of a rifle and the streaks of fire coming from their armored steeds. Across the landscape of death and heroism every second that goes by would have been turned into a blockbuster film in the old world. Back when cameras were still a thing most people owned, but instead all of it will be forgotten by morning.
Still trapped in his foxhole Pete watches in horror as more and more of his comrades are swallowed up by these creatures of the night. His comrades call out to him, or however is closest to “Help me you fucking cowards!” or that, “Shit! Shit! SHIT! Ammo, I need ammo!” and “MEDIC!” Even a few poultry “No please! I surrender! Please don’t hurt m–” break through Pete’s mental fences as he sits in the puddle of his commander’s custard, and slowly shifts every inch of his pink flesh on the purple rot of the corpse that has now become his shield.
Eventually the noise of battle starts to die, and the noises of revenge replaces it. As its harbingers march ever closer to Pete’s foxhole. Which now feels more and more like a grave than somewhere safe. Seeing these monsters come closer and closer Pete shifts lower into his pit of despair taking off his helmet and covering the top of his head with his former officers custardy remains and placing their body back onto his chest and waiting.
It wasn’t long before the creatures entered “Hey this is the bastard that got Morgan!” yells out one of the creatures “Is he dead!” replies one of the others “looks like it!” replies the creature closest “Well leave them be! A disposal squad is gonna come through here in the morning!” responded one of its comrades “But divisions ordered us to shoot anything that we didn’t kill ourselves sir!” poses the shadow “Fuck division! You put a bullet in each of them and that’s two bullets you won’t get to use when you actually need them!” Pete hears the ground shift above his head and a hand reach down. “If you catch something from that body I’m going to make sure you die from it Corporal!” and with that remark Pete hears the sound of shifting feet as the monster finally decides to leave well enough alone.
“What the hell should I do now?” Pete thinks to themselves the stench of a recently dead body laid on top of him. Not knowing what to do Pete decides just to wait. The next time he opens his eyes the sun has come up. “Shit” Pete thinks to himself “It must be morning now.” So Pete shifts the body of his lieutenant off of him and stands up. Now walking away from the now nameless bodies Pete sees a stretch of woods still standing, and decides to go for it.
Walking through this new forest aimlessly. “Gotta get my bearings. Gotta get my bearings.” he repeats to himself over and over. He continues walking around the woods for several more minutes until he realizes that many of the trees look awfully like the same ones he passed about ten minutes before, and ten minutes before that. “FUCK” Pete yells to the sky “Why’d I have to break my stupid fucking leg! I could have just gone home but noooo! I had to find that fucking disc! Not enough to have everything else I want, I need to have all the other bullshit in the world too!”
“Who the fuck is that!” Pete hears one of the creatures shout out from a distance. Instinctually Pete drops down into the forestry around him, ditching his rifle and smearing his face and hands in wet dirt, before slowly poking his head out to look down the hill.
At the bottom of the slop he sees one of the shadow monsters looking towards where Pete was standing a few moments before. The monsters look funny in the daylight, although this monster shares the same voice Pete heard saying so many awful things during the night, now the monster looks like a sad little man with a handlebar mustache, and wearing a tattered old uniform.
“What are you looking at corporal?” shouts out a commanding voice out of Pete’s sight. The corporal turns around looking off towards someone important, “I thought I saw someone moving through the trees sir!” shouts out the corporal “Shit time to get out of here.” Pete mutters to themselves, turning around to pick up their rifle only to see that it’s somehow disappeared. “What the fu–” Pete’s sentence is cut off by a sharp whistling sound, and as he turns his head to see what's up he just manages to catch a glimpse of the rifle butt before it smashes into his head.
CAPTURED
“Oooowwwww” Pete thinks to themselves “My fucking head. Nothing can’t hurt more than that” his brain continues on. That’s when the smell hits, rich with iron and dirt, and just when it can’t get any worse Pete realizes that he must have gone blind, “Yeah that makes sense I’ve gone blind and I must be in a mass grave of sorts. Like that movie with, brad something.” Satisfied with that answer Pete moves to lay his head down and feels a hard something pressing against it.
It feels like metal, “Oh fuck I got fucking captured!” Pete tries to speak but realizes there’s a gag stuck in his mouth. “Hey look at you!” yells out one of the monsters “God Ellie really got you back there! Look at the lump on the side of your forehead!” Pete blinks rapidly trying to adjust his eyes to the daylight “God he looks like one of those faggots that used to hang outside the cocksucker!” shouts out one of them. This disgusting remark seems to have earned a chorus of laughter. Pete looks around to see what’s going on, and with his stomach tying itself into a knot he realizes he was right. He’s sitting in the back of a old army truck on the way to some torture camp or some enemy prison. “Well I’ve had my fun," says the biggest and toughest looking man among them. As he shifts forward Pete tries to yell something angry but the gag muffles it so much that at it that no one knows if he's saying something or moaning something.
THE PRISON
Dragging his feet as hard as he can Pete fights furiously against his captors. Biting, pissing, and screaming all over them as he thrashes against their grip like a cornered Dingo. “Put your hand on his groin!” shouts out one of his captors “Fuck no” yells another “last time I did that he fucking jizzed on me!” This remark seems to earn a bout of laughter from the monsters “that wasn’t coming, that was piss!” says an authoritative voice, who sounds rather fed up with his underlings' antics. “Fuck you Lou Tentant!” Yells out one of the monsters standing in the doorway. “You should have approved your Sargeants request to put this fucker under. Now I have to waste my time fixing your mess!” yells out the voice of an older man “Put the fucker to sleep right now! Or I’m sending you to the Island front!” and with that the restraints holding Pete down turned into vines as the iv drip in his arm pushed lava into his veins
TORTURE
“Tell! Me what you know!” yells out the man, his body adorned with shitty tattoos and piercings adoring his sick and twisted face, and burn scars cover the palms of his hands. Pete cries out in anguish as this punishment continues “I already told you I don’t know anything!” he yells out in between screams “Bullshit!” the man yells pressing a redhot trail spike against Pete’s chest “Everyone of you socialists know something!” Pete whimpers and begs the man to stop which only earns him another brand and more yelling “I swear I don’t know anything! I just wanted a college degree when I was 17, and then the world ended! I’m not a socialist I never even got to vote!”
This response seems to have earned some pause from his captor who places his makeshift brander into a small bucket of bloodied water and draws a chair towards Pete. “Let me tell you something” the man says as he sits down and stares directly at Pete’s broken body. “Ten years ago I was a cop in Seattle. I had a gun and a badge and I thought that made me powerful!” he pauses to chuckle at the thought “but that didn’t mean anything. I mean sure it meant I could rough up a few darkies everynow and again.” he pauses as if he’s in deep thought and not acting like a psychopath “but eventually I fucked up or someone else fucked up and the world ended.” he pauses and then asked “what did you do when it all went to shit?”
Pete spends a moment pondering why the hell this psycho is asking telling him this, and worse asking what he thinks before deciding that if he’s dead either way he’s gonna make this a bad death for both of them, “I held up in my apartment building for two months and then I crossed the sound into Bellingham.” Pete mutters through a mouth of blood. The pig chuckles again his mouth bending and morphing into the shape of a nightmare and his laughter ringing out like the liberty bell, “Well I did something pretty similar, I held up in my house that my bitch wife wanted me to buy for the kids I couldn’t stand but when the food started to run out and I suggested that we considered using the yippie family dog to feed the baby, and she lost her shit!” he finishes with a laugh. “So I killed that bitch, and the dogs, and the fucking kids and I haven’t seen that house in 10 years.” He pauses to eye up Pete like a dog looking at a treat. “That house could be some random dude’s childhood home, or a collapsed dump. I don't care about it anymore!” He raises his voice in a horrific crescendo of passion “So if you want to make it out of this alive you have to tell me!” He begins to beat Pete again “What!” POW “You!” SLAM “Know!” KABLOSH “Because right now I’m Golaith and you’re just fucking Davi–” His sentace is cut off by the sound of a distance explosion shaking the foundation of the building. “What the fuck?” the monster moves towards the door, yanking it open only to meet with a buckshot to the face.
RESCUE
Salt, dirt, fish, and– is that wind? Pete tries to open his eyes, but they must be crusted over because no matter how hard he tries to force them open he simply can’t seem to let any light in. Pete moves to place his feet on the ground fighting against the restraints holding him to the bed. “Snap! Crackle!” The restraints cry out as Pete pushes against them with all of his might before “Pop!” the restraints wheeze out as the final knot gives in and his hands are free.
Shifting his hands underneath his butt, but as he prepares to jump forward he hears a voice ring out, “Hey!” Pete’s nervous system ignites and his arms launch him into the air before his brain can understand and Pete, not understanding what to do launches a bombardment of abuse towards his supposed captors, “FUCK YOU GAURDSMAN!” He yells at the peak of his arch before hitting the ground face first.
THE CAMP
The sound of laughter erupts around Pete as his face hits the ground. Apparently swearing isn’t as impressive as he thought when it results in you doing something stupid. “Looks like our princess is taking a little dirt nap.” rings out a woman’s voice.
“Come on dude” Pete begs the unknown guard “Just please. Stop beating me, I’ll do whatever you want. Please …Bright ass light.” Pete thinks to himself as his eyes adjust to the light. Looking forward he sees a buckle placed right below a belly button and a rock hits the back of his head.
THE REMAINS!
Waking up again Pete is the most angry he’s ever been, “What the fuck dude!” He shouts out to the darkness. Sitting quietly in the darkness he begins to move his arms back and forth. Sensing the
Following the crowd of soldiers and refugees Pete hangs out near the back walking painfully towards the sea. Looking around Pete sees the trail they’re following must have once been a city road. The rusted wrecks of moss covered cars line each side of the street and trees stab through old ruins of houses, gas stations, and corner stores, and a few flower gardens lined with sun bleached bones dot the streets.
Listening into the conversation in front of him Pete hears the same stories that everyone tells when someone dies. Some of them are funny, some of them are inspiring, and some of them are just weird. The ones laughing the most have the look of old soldiers. With bruised shoulders, yellow teeth and fingernails, amd the wrinkles of those many times their senior. At the front of the pack is a tall woman with a one legged child wrapped onto her back. She dosen’t seem to care much for the conversation and is walking much faster. This little group of mourners ane enjoyers continues down the road for a mile or two before turning into the yard of one of the destroyed houses with the soldiers walking around and the families of the dead walking into the main yard. Unsure what to do Max walks into the house with the refugees.
Inside the house Pete sees that the roof has partially caved in. Allowing light to pour in through holes drilled through the roof tiles by years of neglect. Walking through what must have been the living room Pete sees a shockingly well preserved calendar hanging on the wall. Although its pages are yellowed and turned up at the edges the scribbles placed on it are still mostly legible. Staring at the calendar Pete sees that most of the writing had to have been done after the end. With sentences like “We’re going for the coast!” and “I’m sorry.” littering what should have been a cute cat with almost a decades worth of messages from the damned, but amongst the riff raft of the apocalypse one date still seems to ring true. On the 28th of march 2026 “Pick up Margo from soccer practice. Looking back to the center of the living room Pete sees the refugees cutting off a small patch of each of their clothes and leaving them on the table in the centre. “That’s an odd way to mourn” Pete thinks to himself looking at the table. “I am sure it must have been an impressive table back in its day but now it’s just ugly.” The table is overflowing with scraps of fabric.
“Why don’t I just stay here?” Pete thinks to himself. Looking around the house. “I mean sure most of it is disgusting but I’m sure there’s a room I can stay in for a day or two.” He continues to tell himself. Walking around the living room Pete feels the floor squish and bend around his weight as he moves towards the staircase, “I wouldn’t try that! Yells out a female voice. Pete wipes his head around and locks eyes with– them? Standing in the middle of the living room is a tall figure with long dark hair and half melted skin draped over a thin feminine frame, and with a small . “This whole house is rigged to blow.” That ‘squishy’ bit you stood on earlier is actually a hidden pressure plate that would have turned you a fine paste.” the woman continues. Peter stands motionless for a second, “Then why didn’t it blow up?” He asks thinking his next actions over carefully, “because I have the deadman’s switch.” They respond, staring into Pete’s eyes the same way he is into theirs.
“Then why all the bullshit,” Pete says biting his tongue “why waste time and money burying people in the ocean. When you could just burn the bodies.” He finishes his statement.
“Because it makes people happy.” Mads says, exhausted. The two of them stand together in the half rotted house. Appearing to be in an intellectual stand off before Pete decides to break the silence by announcing, “I mean I’d just want my tombstone to read ‘I told you so”” he says trying to force Madison away. She responds by letting him.
FRIENDS
Blood and guts. Guts and blood. A devastatingly small shirt with a faded out graphic of a tv show character drenched in viscera, an arm tangled in a torn off sleeve. “You did what you could. You did what you could. This isn’t your fault. This isn’t your fault.” Pete repeats this over as former parents and motherless children’s eyes prick him at him. But it doesn't affect him at least not anymore. “Does anybody who remembers before, and is still around to tell the tale still feel?” Pete wonders to himself as he lifts up his canvas bag, a verifiable lost and found of body parts.
There are so many stories about what the dead feel about being dead. How their skin loses their heat, the color fades away, how the eyes look hollow and how all of this is supposed to mean something grand and theatrical. But no amount of war movies with their high-fructose gore compares to this. Craters lay blown open among the campsite each with at least one refugee’s body trapped in the halfway land between life and death. Bodies with missing limbs, burnt bodies, ones that end at the neck. A small fire rages on in the background, one that probably came from the leftovers of a family breakfast. Burning out several tents and their former inhabitants making the air stink of overcooked barbecue.
Remnants of a peaceful early morning still scatter the ground even though the sounds of playing children have been replaced with the gentle moans of the wounded and the frantic screaming of the grieving. Hands clutching onto guts that are as cold as the dirt, faces pulled taught in pain still trying to eke out their last breath, daughters beg their fathers to stay with them as their children cry behind them. In all of this chaos stands Pete the man ‘responsible’ for this tragedy. Although no one dares to say it they all know their families would still be alive if he had died in that prison.
“The guy who wrote the line about the dead only knowing it's better to be living definitely had his shit together.” Pete mutters to themselves. Walking through this brand new graveyard like an old world convict picking litter off the side of the highway Pete spots even more grieving families as he grabs the torsos and limbs of their loved ones that have separated from their owners. The mangled bodies of the damned weighing him down more and more with each step, “It’s not your fault. You did your best to help. You didn’t ask to be rescued.” Pete mutters to himself, trying to keep his mind on anything else. “Do you remember that night when we took Sydney out and she got put on the wall?” an old memory calls out. “Yeah that was so much fun.” Pete replies absent mindedly, thinking about the good parts not the vents and the beeping. Not what it feels like to leave so much behind but then come back and see it all gone.
With his mind trapped in a better place for now Pete continues plugging away at his ghoulish work. Continuing to bring bodies that are either too small or too whatever too large a pile of the dead stacked high. Looking over at the pile Pete notices the colors of it are off. Unlike the mass graves Pete has grown accustomed to, this one is too colorful. A rainbow vomit of different colored pants, shirts, shoes, socks, and hats instead of the usual coloring of green and brown, this corpse pile has too many reds, blues, purples, and yellows with only a handful of camo patterned clothes sneaking their way through. Next to the crowd is the woman from before. Madison. They’re standing on a yellowed milk crate flanked by two soldiers arguing with a crowd of refugees.
“What do you mean we’re burying them!?” yells a short bearded man “These are our people they need to be returned!” “We simply don’t have the time! The Guardsmen know we’re here! We need to evacuate this camp fast and unless you’re gonna haul the dead to the next camp we’re leaving them here!” Madison yells at the small crowd of adult orphans. “Well make your soldiers carry them! Or put them on the fucking trucks!” Shouts an older woman with half her face wrapped in gauze “We need those spaces to carry the wounded! And how are my soldiers supposed to protect you all if we are stuck carrying what’s left of your families?!” Hearing this one of the crowd attempts to charge at Madison but is stopped just as his hand reaches their shoulder as Madison shifts to the right throwing him to the ground and then smashing his nose in with their rifle. “Does Anyone! Have a Problem with The Plan Still!?” Madison yells to the crowd scaring several away in the process the few remaining stare definitely at her till the soldiers standing by move in and herd them back to their tents. “Well that’s no fun” mutters Pete, now shifting back into the center of the carnage to harvest more limbs, fingers, and brains.
Later, when the bodies of the loved are placed beneath the ground and those of the hated really start to stink Pete sits down beneath a tree to rest their eyes for a few minutes, and all is going according to plan until a gentle kicking wakes him up. “Come on Pete we’re in the command caravan we’re leaving now. “Huh?” says Pete “How long has it been since I woke up?” thinks Pete“Damn I miss clocks.” Pete shifts their head to look up to the sky and realizes the sun has set below the treeline. “Must be 7ish” Pete thinks to himself. “Dude. Get up, we're leaving the camp.” In these moments between action and inaction Pete has started to realize the toll this day has taken from him. His shoulder is throbbing from the recoil of his rifle which is now digging into back and shoulder, his feet ache, and he’s hungry and thirsty all at the same time. “Fuck off.” says Pete “Excuse me?” replies Madison. “Leave me the fuck alone” Pete says trying to bite but his voice catching at the end makes the bark too obvious to ignore.
“Listen, we are leaving this area now, I will not burn any gas waiting for you to stop having a tantrum, and we also lost too many people today to just let you die so either you get up and into the camper van or I will drag you into it.” Madison orders, seeing that the gig is up, Pete replies “fine.” Lifting himself up his body screams in a cacophony of agony as Pete drags his feet up and forward into the arms of a rusted camper van.
Time is a funny thing. To some a moment can feel as long as infinity, while to others an entire lifetime ends in the blink of an eye. In the old days this drive from one camp to another would have taken less than an hour but now with caved in roads, fallen trees, and collapsed bridges a 30 minute drive becomes an eight hour endeavor. All of this was unknown to Pete as he was awoken by the sound and warmth of a camp fire. Pete groggily pulls themselves out of bed and sees that their clothes have been changed. He’s no longer wearing a pair of stained camo shirts but instead an oversized hoodie and a small pair of shorts. Looking out the window he sees Madison sitting at a small camp fire with a strangely familiar man.
Pete steps out into the doorway of the camper watching the fire burning high as its flames lick the night sky sputtering out smoke and slowly cooking a few cuts of salmon perched on top of a cooking rack that appears to be made out of a Californian license plate. Sitting next to the fire is Madison and a man Pete has never met before but is still incredibly familiar.
The man noticing Pete pauses talking to Madison to ask Pete a question “What’s your Paco name Pete?” asks a tallish man wearing a faded pair of jeans and a hoodie that looks like it was taken out of a scrap bucket. Pete turns his head towards the man, his eyes locking onto this stranger's face. Olive and green, “Huh?” Pete replies “Your Paco name you know? You’re post apocalypse name?” repeats the man kindly. “What like a trail name?” Pete replies still very confused. “Exactly! That! that is what he Means!” shouts out Madison “Wait, what's a trail name?” asks the man with the stunning green eyes. “You don’t know what a trail name is!” shouts Madison “Obviously not girl!” Pete, sensing there's a moment for him to respond says “I’m ‘road.’” Madison bursts out laughing while the rest of the man’s sentence is cut off by the sound of laughter coming from Pete and Madison.
“No way.” says the man “Looking up with tears in their eyes Madison looks at Pete and then back at the man. “What's up Tim.” asks Madison “Girl, Road is famous, he's the guy who lives in that cabin out in the San Juans and blows up everyone who comes near him.” Madison looks back sharply at Pete “Really? You do that.” Pete looks at Tim annoyed now “I blew up like three people the rest just got themselves killed before I even met them.” Pete replies “Wait so why are you called Road?” asks Madison “I used to just walk and camp wherever, but then I found this cabin on Lopez and I realized it's a lot better to live out of a cabin than a backpack.” states Pete “So why did you blow three people up?” asks Madison giggling “I don’t know when you become well known enough a bunch of idiots want to try you or be you, and I prefer to be left alone so I made my home safe for me and dangerous for anyone who's just visiting.” Pete says in a rehearsed tone. Madison, not understanding Pete continues “I’m still confused who did you blow up?” “Some assholes who didn’t leave well enough alone. You’d think if you put enough signs up saying that you’re going to die if you don’t stop and turn around people would stop and turn around but that’s just not true anymore.” Pete says Tim replies “Idk dude you should have tried living in the SPR we have cops.” “Yeah who I gotta pay for somehow. Worlds still small enough that I can just live on the islands where they know to leave me alone.” retorts Pete “listen I’m not saying you need to b-” Tim’s sentence ends abruptly as the sound of cracking branches draws the group's attention in an instant. “What was that?” whispers Tim “No fucking idea.” replies Madison stifflying a laugh. Pete turns to his pack slowly shifting himself over as quietly as possible “It's probably just a deer.” Pete says to the group “Then why are you grabbing your rifle?” asks Tim, “Hey freshmeat.” Pete replies snidely.
The three sit in silence, well something close to silence Madison was really struggling to contain her giggles, but after long enough a small baby deer pokes its head and neck through the brambles. It’s fur a milk chocolate brown with spots as bright as fresh snow and a face that would have landed it a BANG.
The shot rings out as Madison and Tim jerk their necks back to look at Pete cycling the bolt of their rifle as the back of the doe’s head paints the trees behind it.
“Why the fuck did you do that!?” yells Tim staring Pete down “What?” Pete replies “That!” yells tim again “What shoot the goddamn deer you stupid cunt!” shouts out Tim “What we need food?” Pete replies confused “It’s a fucking baby! Jesus Christ what is wrong with you?” Tim expels “No it’s food there’s what 30 soldiers that need to be fed and even more civilians we need food.” Pete counters. Hearing this Tim appears to be simply dumbfounded. Seeing this pause in the argument Madison steps in “Pete is right Tim we need all the food we can get.” She pauses to stare at Pete “But we can at least try to avoid killing more babies alright?” she looks back and forth between the two. Tim gets up and walks away saying “I’m not dealing with this shit” and a moment later Pete gets up and drags the doe next to the fire and begins dressing the kill.
“You know that was a pretty asshole move to do that right?” asks Madison, Pete pulls a knife from his belt and slits the doe’s throat before lifting it up by the hind legs and letting the doe’s blood drain all over his shoes. “I don’t think so. We need food and even though this food looks cute it’s still food.” Pete says quietly “We’ve got plenty of salmon, rice, and black berries we aren’t starving” Madison replies kindly “Yeah we aren’t starving yet.” Pete shifts his body to drain the last of the blood from the doe “but what happens when one of those drones blows up our food storage? Do you really think any of these fugues have more than a couple of snacks on them?” Pete lays the doe down and slit the stomach open and starts pulling out the organs. “Pete I know you’re right about our food situation, but we’re doing our best with what we have and I don’t think you're doing the same. Replies Madison “What’s that supposed to mean” retorts Pete. Madison shifts to her side and starts digging around in their pack, “it means that you just aren’t trying to make friends and here’s the thing you need to make friends if you want to survive this war.” Pete carefully separates the usable organs from the trash before looking up at Madison seeing them light a joint that's perched between her lips “I don’t need to be with this group or with any group for that matter. I survived for 5 years before I ended up in this army. One mistake in five years. I'd take that over this any day.” Madison breathes a deep THC filled breath before aiming her mouth towards Pete and blowing smoke directly into his face.
“Pete. The world is not the same as it was a few years ago. There are cities and governments again.” Madison says “So what?” Pete replies grabbing the blunt from Madison’s outstretched hand “Girl if you try to run inland some serfdom in the hills is gonna kidnap you and turn you into a slave. Go north you’re walking into the biggest graveyard in the region and all those lovely religious sects that inhabit it, and if you try to sail out the second you make it past the islands you’ll get press gained by the ‘great white water riders’ trust me dude this is the safest your gonna get till the war ends.
“Worlds gotten big again.” says Pete polishing off the joint. “Dude!” yells Madison. “Huh?” replies Pete “Do you know how hard it is to find good weed these days?” asks Madison “Hard?” Pete replies giggling while Madison pulls out a second joint from their bag “Extremely Hard.” replies Madison trying to be serious “That’s what she said!” Pete forces out while laughing hard enough to trigger a coughing fit. Madison breaks character and starts laughing hysterically while trying to keep their ember from going out.
ATTACK!
Pete woke up next to a campfire, his neck singing out in pain to remind him that he is still a little too old to be acting as if he’s still a teenager. Shifting his body up and stretching, Pete begins to look around to find Mads but instead finds a family of refugees staring at him from the other side of the fire. “Right” Pete thinks to themselves “Still at a refugee camp.” Ignoring the stares from the family, Pete rolls off the ground as he stands up slowly. Still feeling that his body is in a much better state than the last time he was this aware of it, “God that was a long time ago.” he thinks to himself.
Looking over to the family they seem to have calmed down and relaxed even with Pete staring at all of them. So Pete decides to ask “Do you know where Madison’s tent is?” “Her camper is in the center of the camp.” replies one of them.
So Pete starts walking towards the center of the new camp. A small group of tents wrap around a half wring of campers with an old brown and white truck in the middle. On the far end of the half circle is a thick tree line placed on top of rough and rocky terrain. Pete continues into the center of the camp.
Inside the center Pete sees the big truck, rusted and brown it looks like an old world ice cream sandwich. Getting closer Pete sees that the front sweet appears to be mostly unchanged aside from some stains that would have been very questionable ten years ago.
“Thoatborne?” Pete chuckles. The rest of the group does not appear amused “You know like the 101st? Born to scream and destroy?” one of them says confused “No I know what it’s supposed to sound like." Pete’s sentence is cut off by his ever increasing laughter “but it actually sounds like you were born to give throat!” Most of the group falls over laughing except for a few most of which just chuckle heartily, and one person who sits red in the face trying to look brave but actually looks like a dog caught eating garbage, “that’s not what it means.” mutters out to the officers. As their face turned redder than the small blocks on Mads’s sand box.
PARTY!
ASSAULT!
Two months ago this used to be a forest that stood since time was a thing that was counted rather than flowed. Trees as tall as skyscrapers feed upon the mass grave of civilization. Streams that run blood red but have thousands of insects feeding on everything that is too stupid to listen when its body and family tell it to think instead of jump.
But none of that matters now because it’s just another battlefield. “Anyone who thinks a battlefield is beautiful is a fool” thinks Pete sitting the burnt out remains of a family suv, tarp laid above his head and bug net draping his body. “Every battlefield looks the same after a while.” he mutters to himself as he fiddles with the guitar trying to get a decent cord out. The guitar is old even by old world standards. Every piece of it seems to be cannibalized from another guitar, but it can still make a sound. Next his guitar case is a few half eaten rat kebabs wrapped in paper. The new recruits don’t trust the cook, “Too used to the taste of pork, apples, and lettuce instead of roadkill, berries, and leaves.” Pete thinks to himself chuckling.
Pete continues fiddling with the guitar, failing to produce a satisfying tune until one of his soldiers comes up to him.
“Sir, The major’s squad has made contact with the enemy” says the white faced lieutenant. “Did he mean to get into shit or has he fallen into it.” Pete states dryly. “Sir?” says the lieutenant “How long have you been with us?” Pete asks, the lieutenant looks even more confused “two weeks sir.” they reply looking scared “Well you’re replacing a woman who was my second since I joined this unit and when you were shitting yourself in your mommy's bunker when the world was falling apart she fought her way through the siberian wilderness and made it all the way down to Bellingham on nothing but her own feet.” Pete pauses looking down at the lieutenant who looks even more scared. “So if you want to stay as my second you need to get better at speaking our own language or step aside and let the person who wants to replace Fern take your role.” The lieutenant stands for a moment before apparently making up their mind, “Major Tim’s squad was spotted at the edge of an enemy outpost. Our last report states they successfully cut the enemy's communication and the major sent a runner requesting urgent reinforcements to destroy the enemy op.”
The crackle of a 50 cal opens up on Pete’s squad as they move up towards the main line. The two replacements in the squad are instantly hit. One of them in the stomach, the other in the left arm. They both go down screaming and begging for help. Pete keeps pushing forward keeping his new lieutenant directly in his sight. As they move forward another replacement goes down and Pete and the lieutenant both dive into a fox hole as grenades begin to roll down the slope of the enemy op towards them. “We’re losing to many people!” the lieutenant yells at Pete “No we’re losing replacements! You stay here and give me some cover! I'm heading up!” Pete orders the lieutenant who looks at him as if he’s just ordered him to goatse jesus “What?!” the lieutenant asks Pete, "provide me with some goddamm covering fire or I’ll shoot you myself and use what’s left of you as a shield!” The young lieutenant turns even whiter than it was before, but he manages to spit out “Yes sir!” and Pete runs out of the shell crater and charges for the first trenches.
Jumping into the fray Pete shoots the guardsman meaning the machine gun in the stomach first, before laying a couple of rounds into the monsters surrounding him, the cries of dying men filing the air as he turns around to see a terrified young boy furiously cycling the bolt of his rifle trying to clear a jam. Moving forward silently and swiftly Max runs at him and lunges at him with his bayonet as the boy tries to turn and run. “Jesus Christ!" Max turns around to see the young lieutenant jumping down into the trench before looking up and staring directly into Pete’s eyes. “Do you have a problem Lieutenant?” says Pete kicking over the body of the boy and squatting down to dig through his pockets “Sir.” the lieutenant says before pausing. “That’s a war crime.” Pete begins to move down the trench line shouldering his rifle and drawing his pistol. Finding his balls for the first time the young lieutenant mimics Pete’s actions and perhaps in his bravest action of the whole day decides to say “I don’t know how the propaganda officer in this unit is, but they should be shot.” which earns a hearty chuckle from Max as they reach a junction in the trench system.
PRYHICC!
The lieutenant's body lies bent and broken like a doll. His blood spilling out into the grass feeding the fleas that have stuck onto the body as his skin loses its rosey undertones in exchange for a shade more natural on a pulverised blueberry than on a human. “Shit! Shit shit shit!” Pete yells into the void silencing into it as it tries to swallow the left overs of the lieutenant
Pete runs carrying the body of the lieutenant as rounds fire all around him the cries of both friendlies and enemies “Stop firing!” “Christ, he must be a medic!” but Pete doesn't care about anything else anymore. Except for just one person.
“TIM! Where are you!” Pete calls out into the night searching for his last beacon of light PETE FINDS TIM. Hearing this Pete feels every part of himself click into place, the small child afraid of speaking wrong, the girl terrified of telling the wrong boy no, and the man who would rather kill a person than tell his family they’re wrong. So instead of calculating everything out he decides to just kiss him
LAST RIDE!
That’s when Tim’s head exploded. Hot, Iron, Wet. “Why does it taste like iron?” Pete wonders to himself “It kinda tastes like that stew mum used to make. Kidney beans and discount sausages, all mixed together in a pot that had been in the family for too many years. It feels like home too. I think someone is yelling at me.” “GET THE FUCK DOWN YOU MORON!” shouts Madison as reality breaks through Pete’s conscience.
Bullets race over Pete’s exposed head as Madison fires her lmg into the flashes across the night sky. “PETE YOU STUPID FUCK GET THE FUCK DOWN NOW!” screams madison over the gunfire. Hearing this Pete ducks behind the concrete pillar in front of him and checks his rifle. Out of the corner of his eye he sees what's left of Tim. Head like a crushed in watermelon his body contorted like a dead bug as life sprays out onto the concrete and bleeds outward staining the earth with one last reminder of his beauty.
“Madison! What the fuck are we doing?!” Pete yells to them as they duck behind a burnt out car to reload their LMG “I don’t fucking know!” they yell back “just try to survive!” Hearing this Pete unholsters his pistol and pulls the pin out of a grenade shouting out “For SPRB!” as he leans out from cover. Looking out he sees a squad of Guardsmen moving towards him immediately Pete lines up their officer in the sights of the pistol and puts two rounds in their chest dropping them like a paperweight before losing the grenade into the rest of the squad and ducking back into cover as the soldiers behind them open fire on him. At the same time Madison finishes reloading their LMG and begins laying down suppressing fire as Pete moves up from the pillar pistol in one hand a second grenade in the other.
Running forward into the remnants of the enemy squad Pete sees that one or two of them are unfortunately still alive. Moving closer it becomes clear that they are severely wounded so as he runs up Pete holsters his pistol and draws his knife putting down the two soldiers as they beg for mercy. “RELOADING!” Madison yells as she ducks down below into cover “COVERING FIRE” screams Pete as he begins to mag dump into whatever in front of him moves.
Taking this moment of perceived weakness another squad of guardsmen try to force Pete out of cover. Moving up slowly and methodically their rifle fire forces Pete down, however they seemed to have forgotten the grenades that start raining down on them, “COME TRY ME YOU CHILD KILLING FUCKS!” yells Pete taunting the squad as more and more of them go down, their squad leader in an act of desperation fixes his bayonet and charges wildly at Pete firing from the hip. Seeing this Pete reaches for his pistol aiming it up at the bastard’s chest only for the subtle click of an empty mag to ring out. Now this would have been an impressive banzi, had it Madison not finished reloading. A wave of gunfire spraying out and towards the squad leader he goes down just feet away from Pete. Seeing their leader cut down the surviving members of the second Guardsmen squad fubar and run away as fast as they can from Pete and Madison as they lay down rifle fire into their backs.
“Pete, we need to go now!” yells Madison over the cacophony of dying men as they run up to Pete. “Shit you’re hit!” they say as the reach Pete who looks down at their right leg seeing a blood rose blossom on their right thigh. “I’m fine, I don't even feel it!” Pete yells, Madison ignoring this crouches down and cuts away Pete’s pant leg and slaps a dressing on. “We need to leave now!” Madison shouts as they begin to pull Pete away. Unfortunately Pete decides they dont want to leave “NO!” he yells out. “We need to make them pay for what they’ve done!” “Listen to me very carefully!” says Madison staring down at Pete “If we stay here we’re going to die. So if your manic ass needs to die in a blaze of fake glory go ahead a–” Madison's sentence is cut short by Pete reloading his piston and walking away towards a dead guardsman pulling their AR from their body and checking to see if its loading, and then walking towards the sound of gunfire. “Goodbye Pete.” Madison says to the night before turning around and running away.
Pete continues forward skulking from cover to cover until he happens upon a small group of soldiers “It’s a fucking massacre up there Donald and Nixon’s squads are completely wiped out” Pete overhears one of the soldiers whispering to its comrades “fuck.” replies one of the soldiers. Pete stands in the darkness just feet away from the soldiers, their haunted bodies illuminated by the fire from a burning truck. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Gavin, Joe you take up positions over lookin–” the officers sentence is cut off by Pete sneaking behind him, wrapping his arm around their mouth, and slitting his throat with a hunting knife. “What the fuck!” shouts out one of the soldiers, his hands fumbling for his rifle, but before he can aim it Pete has already out-drawn him and punched two speed holes into his chest. The remaining soldiers seem to have frozen so Pete manages to drop another two before those left come to their senses and the rest run away screaming “What’s going on!” and “This isn’t worth dying for!” which gives Pete a great sense of pride for some messed up reason.
LOST/DROWNING
Pete awoke hungover and alone in a dark and damp room. Head pounding he groped around in the dark for his canteen spending several minutes touching things that were far too squishy and wet to be touched outside of daylight. After taking several quick drinks of water and blinking.”Is that daylight?” Pete could have sworn that when they closed their eyes last it was twilight, and now it’s noon. Lifting his legs he sees that his right calf still looks like it's dying. The area around the bullet has begun to turn into a nasty green shade and a sore has begun oozing a disgusting smelling pus. “Fuck” Pete mutters to himself “It’s fucking gangrene.” Pete leans to the right and feels pain shoot up his entire leg. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck.” Pete whispers to themselves. “This is really fucking bad.” He continues “Fuck!” He yells to the empty room before shifting back down on the ground to count his supplies. Two pieces of hard tack, a dark piece of rye bread and a handful of half smushed and slightly molded berries and the old reliable canteen. “Shit shit shit” Pete whispers to himself as he drags himself up on his feet and hauls himself out of the basement. Rot, that's what the house smells like, same with every other house left standing “Goddamn “I can’t stay here any longer. Why did I listen to you?” yells Pete up to AJ standing at the top of the staircase looking down at his sad state. He’s wearing his prom suit, the one he died in, “I don’t know dude. I didn’t tell you to live here for two months, I just thought it would be a good place to crash for the night.” Pete does his best to ignore AJ as he slowly stumbles up the staircase as he begins to mutter to himself, “Cabinets, always check the cabinets.”
Stumbling onto the main floor Pete tries to push the wardrobe barricading the door to the basement. “Who put this shit here?” he grunts as he struggles against the concrete cabinet. SPEND A FEW PAGES ON THE CABINET. “There better be some good shit in this fucker!” Pete yells pushing even harder, but the more Pete pushed the harder the wardrobe pushed back. Its squeaks and moans taunting him with every failed shove, “You can’t do it loser!” it yelled at him “You’re gonna die in the basement because you’re too stupid to know when you're beat!” “Shut up! Shut up!” Pete screams at the cabinet unholstering his axe from his backpack “Let me through! OR I’m gonna CARVE YOU up like a FUCKING PUMPKIN! YOU STUPID FUCKING CUNT BITCH! Pete yells as he lifts the axe above his head preparing to strike. In response the wardrobe reveals itself and answers with a sickly soft voice, “Oh baby what's wrong?” it says the curves of the wood stain morphing into a smile.
Pete stares up at AJ for a moment and then, “You Fucking Liar!” He leans forward and crawls up the staircase as fast as he can but AJ just side steps out of the door frame and by the time Pete reaches the top he’s gone. “This is what I tried to tell you before Petrie!" yells AJ through one of the house's windows now standing on the shoreline and red spattered swimming shirt with a pair of blue swimmers on the bottom “You need to think things through!” Pete ignores this remark and charges out of the house like a wild animal.
“YOU DON’T KNOW ME ANYMORE ASSHOLE! YOU THINK MY SKIN ISN’T THE RIGHT SHADE! WELL FUCK YOU! YOU THINK I’M TOO MUCH OF A GIRL?” Pete strips down to his bare skin, “WELL WHAT ABOUT NOW! MY BODY IS EXACTLY WHAT I WANT IT TO BE!” Still the night sky continues to haunt him as a chill air begins to waft around Pete's body licking his open wounds and making them bleed as if they were overrun rivers dumping a day’s run “Really god!” Pete yells to the empty twilight “REALLY GOD! I AM STILL NOT A GOOD BOY!”
Running forward Pete moves to the rotted shack on the coast line breaking down the door with his good leg. Inside the shack is a collection of old world swimming instruments. Several rotted pool noodles and swim shorts dot the floor. On the walls are the remains of a few foam paddle boards, but at the top is the piece de resistance. A fully intact paddle board lays on top of a rusted shelf. Seeing it Pete immediately grabs it and runs to the water
“Fuck you god!” Pete yells as he runs into the sea paddling out as far as his weakened arms would take him, fighting demons and angels along the entire way. “GOD!” Pete yells out into the blinking night sky “I’VE COME TO YOUR HOUSE! I’VE FUCKED YOUR WIFE AND PISSED IN YOUR SOUP! WHAT MORE MUST I DO IN ORDER TO SEE YOU!” Seeing this tempt of fate, whoever is responsible for making the universe run decides to test Pete’s honesty. In front of Pete the wild haze clears and he sees the blinking lights of a city doting the horizon. But in between them and him and the wild mountains of the rockies standing out in the Pudget like landmines.
Seeing this the only thing Pete can think of to do is to simply chuckle, “This is all you have left to challenge me!” Pete shouts out, but as if fate was listening to a pod of orcas surface in front of Pete on his kayak. Dotted with red and black spots they stare dog eyed at Pete for several heartbeats before starting to speak to him. “Pete!” one of the farthest ones calls out “Pete you need to listen to us please!” yells the closest and biggest orca to him. “Pete please, you're going get yourself killed and destroy the sound too!” yells out an orca from behind him.
Listening to none of this Pete charges forward off his paddle board sinking into the depths of the sound. “FUCK YOU ALL!” Pete shouts out feeling an angry school of lead colored fish diving down and all around him. Mixing jets of water into lava before it cools down and the lead pipes force Pete down deeper in the ocean. Pete keeps diving deeper and deeper, feeling the bones in his right leg fight him harder, as if the agony they suffer is worth more than the agony of their comrades. As Pete continues deeper and deeper into the lake he feels cords of kelp warping around his body.
It digs into every inch of flesh it gets its hands on ripping away pete’s flesh as it yanks him back up to the surface. Rising upwards out of the serf comes a haze of light and siren song. “Get back here!” shouts out a voice “ You moron you’re going to die!” Deciding that death would be better than whatever life is better Pete says his final words, “FUCK YOU BELLINGHAM, FUCK YOU SEATTLE, FUCK YOU AMERICA, AND FUCK YOU GOD!” before shoving his head into the serf.
VICTORY
Bird song, “I love bird song” Pete thinks to themselves, before reaching around Pete hears the birds quicken their music. So he lays flat instead of moving, “Soft grass bird music. What more could a guy ask for?” Pete says to himself. Then as if tempting fate he decides to add one last statement, “Unless this isn’t real.” he whispers to himself.
In response the earth starts to shake and toss him back and forth, so he tries to get up and leave the small hollow. That he must have just been sleeping in only for the walls to rise up, and plants bound in shackles wrap around his arms. As the sun rises up to cook his flesh. “Burning oh what a horrible sensation it is to burn.” Pete thinks to himself quickly. As his flesh rises up to fight only to be cut down even harsher by the flames.
As Pete looks down he sees a burning tree trunk fall down and slice his right leg off. “What the fuck is going on!” yells Pete thrashing against the vines holding him down which have now begun to smolder and smoke. And seem about ready to catch fire. “Pete!” calls out a voice from beyond this world, “Pete breath it's okay.” the voice gently calls out “Fuck you god!” Pete yells out, thrashing out even more. Now the vines have transformed into magma chains as they leech hot fire into Pete’s viens “Fuck you god! You take everything from me now you want me to listen!” After Pete finishes that statement he hears Tim's voice calling out to him, “It’s okay Pete just let go. Relax and everything will be okay” “NO! You’re not him!” Pete yells out to the plants and flowers bearing their fangs “You can’t trick me everyone I love is dead! Just let me go with them!” Pete screams out his final words. The plants tighten their grip and the sun begins to burn off his flesh. Pete feels is very body begin to disintegrate before one of the magma veins wraps over his mouth and everything goes black.
The next time Pete woke he wasn’t in a grove at all. It was a bright room with lots of machines, smelling of anti-septic. A hospital. “Fuucckkkkk” Pete mutters to themselves as they blink rapidly trying to get a sense of what is happening. After a few moments he decides to get up so he begins to shift up quietly. Moving his hands to his arms he feels a few tubes poking out and begins to pull them out just as a young nurse enters the room.
BAM! The sound of her dropping the tray sends a fire through Pete’s nervous system “He’s awake again!” She shouts, stepping back her hand moving towards a big red button on the side of the doorway “Wait!” Pete shouts out trying to get her attention “Where am I!” he calls out to her. This seems to have given the nurse some pause as she lowers her hand, her eyes locked on him, “Pete?” she pauses and swallows “Where are you?” “Some type of hospital” Pete replies confused. At the same time the nurse lowers her hand from the emergency button and moves her mother in front of her “What year is it?” she asks “Who keeps track of years anymore?” replies Pete “Whose the president” asks the nurse with a sense of finality “What day is it?” “IDK? I think it’s winter?” This appears to have settled the nurse down enough to reply, “Pete you’re in a hospital in Bham it’s 10 years PA, and it’s Augusta.”
Life after Death
Meetings, Generals, Medals, Parties, Houses, and Homes. Uniforms, Punishment, Parties, and Homes. Weeds, Drugs, Cocaine, and Ecstasy. Crashing, Driving, Falling, Home. Home, House, Land, Farm, Water, Swim. Peace.