Deadtown - Part lV

What follows is Part lV of my Deadtown serial. For those who might be interested and want to be brought up to speed on this ever changing tale, the next three links are the first three parts. Deadtown - Part l - Hick gets caught Deadtown - Part ll - We meet Gravo Deadtown - Part lll - Hick & Gravo together Part lV - Moss Boss Moss Boss became physically aware again. These mandatory resets were becoming a problem. In the beginning when he first set foot on this planet, he could replenish when and where he pleased. But once a sentient race had been nursed into existence, he had to be more careful. The reset was messy. It left him vulnerable for a time. 

If caught by thinking beings, his actions would be cause for alarm. And maybe even spoil the mission he had been tasked with so very long ago. In the 1.5 million orbits he had been here, he had only revealed his true self to one other. It had been a simple matter to deal with. He merely placed that species on a dead end track. The mistake reinforced his need to be cautious. 

Once every hundred cycles or so, he had to lay down and replenish. It was his one and only biological imperative. He had to do it completely alone. 

 He wished he could communicate with the one other member of his race who also existed here. But rules were rules. Rules that had become necessary for the very survival of those waiting two billion light years away. 

A replacement race could not just be created. It had to be cajoled and caressed into the final form. A replacement race could only be had by careful manipulations that became ever more intricate the closer they evolved to replacement status. This took cooperation by opposing efforts. Stressing the DNA combinations and their interactions was every bit as important as creating them. His counterpart worked the other side. This particular mission was but one of millions his home world had going. Some had already failed for one reason or another. Some languished as the worlds they played out on went through physical changes his kind could not tweak or change. His race were masters of biology not geology. For this reason, so many missions had been launched. Through the idea of a massive pool of designs, one would likely emerge that would meet the home world's needs. It would be a simple matter to terminate the rest once a suitable race had been completed. The replacement race need not look or act like the ones they were replacing. They only needed to have the right combination of neural activities that would accommodate the overwhelming intellect that would one day take over. Their physicality was but a petri dish. Moss Boss had not foreseen this latest world wide upheaval. He assumed it had been something his comrade had created. He also figured it was part of the plan. One of the regular purges to make sure this planet would last long enough to get this race into space. His task was clear. His goal always to make sure there were survivors. And that these survivors were stronger and smarter than the ones who came before. It did bother him some that he had no inkling of this recent kill off. Usually his compadre would send some small signal so he could prepare. Not this time. This bothered him some. As he had more important things to consider, he filed his unease for thoughtful consideration at a later time. He had to make an appearance soon or his absence would be questioned. He slipped back into his corporeal form. Readjusted his facial features and walked back to his office the back way. __________________________________________________________ "Where's Moss Boss?" Gravo was impatient. He had important news and needed some guidance. "Don't know Gravo. MB mentioned he would be out of touch a couple of days ago. Something about checking on the progress up near the GW Bridge. What's up?" Gravo had never liked Spinner. The man was the quintessential suck up. The master back stabber. But he was M B'S lackey and he had his ear. "Found something near the old Lincoln Tunnel. Something big. I need to see him ASAP." "Well what was it? I'll be sure to pass it along." "Uhm, never mind, I would rather talk with him. Just tell I need to see him." Just then the ragged old theater curtains separating Moss Boss's private place from his public place parted. "What's up boys? Ah Gravo, what brings you up here?" Gravo had turned to leave. He stopped and turned around. He always wanted to chuckle when he saw Moss Boss. The rotund five foot body and the bald head just did not fit the man. Why this man commanded so much respect he could not understand. He had stopped worrying about it years ago though. He had never met someone who could figure angles like Moss Boss. He always seemed to make the right decision. Before Gravo could speak, Spinner blurted out, " I just debriefed Gravo and he has some interesting information on something he found down near the Lincoln Tunnel." Gravo did not try to hide his disdain for this useless suck up. He shot a hard look at Spinner and then began his report. He explained the loss and safe recovery of his best hunter. He went over the skirmish with the Creeps. When he mentioned how much bigger and obviously more intelligent the one Creep was, Moss Boss interrupted. "You say this Creep was bigger? How much bigger? Did you bring him back? I would like to see him." Gravo felt some irritation at being interrupted before he could relay what he considered the real news. "No, we left him. I felt it more important to get back here with the news of what we found in the warehouse." "What?" Moss Boss seemed distant. His attention was on something else now. "You say he was big. As big as you?" "Yeah at least. Maybe bigger. But Big Boss what we found in the warehouse. Boxes, pallets, all stacked up neat. Everything unused and new. Must be a hundred bikes in boxes..... "Big huh? I have to think about this, I'll be back in a moment." Spinner and Gravo just looked at each other and then at the back of Moss Boss as he disappeared behind his curtains. "What the Hell is up with M B?" Spinner mused. Gravo shrugged and sat down on some leather ottoman salvaged from one of the old hotels uptown. Moss Boss had been gone maybe ten minutes. Spinner had tried to create some small talk but soon realized Gravo was not interested. So he found a chair and waited silently. Moss Boss came back through the curtains. "Gravo, I want you to send out some men and find that Creep body and bring it back here." "But M B, what about the new goods?" "Yes, of course. They can be of some use. Form a scavenging party also and bring the salvage back to the lake building. George will know what to do with it. If you need more men, hit the Subs. They are always eager to get out of there. Take some horses and carts if you need them. But bring me that Creep." Then muttering something about Creeps should not be big, M B again left them. _______________________________________________________________ Once he was alone, Moss Boss chewed on this new development. When his race was involved, manipulation of biological beings was a very precise science. All mutations were planned well in advance and never were they put in play too quickly. This always raised suspicions. The bigger Creep bothered him. Once he had had a chance to take one apart in the early stages of this recent purge, he saw his counterpart's handiwork. Sensible and clean with logical biological points to change in the future. It was not like him to initiate so noticeable a change as an increase in size this soon after a major pogrom. His unease was understandable. It had been just such a minor thing that had set in motion the failure of their first attempt on this planet. A setback that meant starting over almost from scratch. A setback that necessitated some kind of geological and biological history that would explain to the new replacements that this had been a natural event. He already felt this mission had lasted long enough. He did not want to have to start over one more time. He tried to relax. He attempted to find some calm by reveiewing his plans for the next stage. But he could not focus. The possibility of a new biological factor had to be addressed. He got up and rushed out to his outer office. "Where's Gravo?" Spinner looked up from a tattered and worn "National Geographic", "Uh I guess he headed down to the subway to get some men." "Find him. Tell him to wait until I show up. I am going with him." Spinner sat there looking over the top of the National Geographic at Moss Boss. He did not move. "Now Spinner! Do it Now!" Spinner jumped as if shot in the ass. As he beat feet he puzzled at this uncharacteristic show of temper from the big guy. Something was up he thought. He could feel it, sense it. Moss Boss was onto to something. He had better pay attention. (1432 / 12,585)

Dead Town, Part Three

Hick & Gravo

I worked myself out from under the Creep who had sprawled dead on top of me. Oddly, the infamous Creep stink did not make itself known. Then I looked at myself. I was a mess. I stunk to high heaven. That room I was held in must have been every bit as nasty as I imagined it. Having that room dark as a pocket may have been a lucky break after all.

I tried to locate where the cross bows had been fired from. No luck. I knew it was Gravo and probably Diddler or maybe that crazed Metal Head. Maybe all three. Gravo was fussy who went out with him. I knew how fussy. It took two months of solo hunting before Gravo even showed any interest in me. One day he just joined me for my regular tour. And even though he didn’t say much, I know taking out that Creep with my sling shot from 35 yards had to make an impression. The next day I found a tired but solid thirty aught six with a scope leaning into my locker. Gravo’s thirty Aught six. You could cut the envy with a knife when I showed up for muster the next morning with that rifle slung over my shoulder. I made sure I rubbed it in. Flaunted that rifle for a couple of weeks. Yeah, I’m the new guy. I’m better than you.

Out in the open with my hands still bound was not good. No matter where Gravo and friends were. Damn the dusky dark. I quickly scrambled up the alley and found a pile of rubble near the open street to take a peak. Looking around for anything to break my bonds, I came up empty. Okay, I would wait. Sit here and let Gravo and the boys find me.

Some ten minutes past. Starting to feel exposed with not much more than a few cinder blocks and some broken slabs of asphalt to blend in with, I turned back to the alley. Just then Metal Head came dropping out of the sky from the fire escape near the alley opening. He ran over to me.

“Did you see that last shot? Two of those suckers are mine. You didn’t take any ears yet did you? ”

I held up my bound hands and just looked at him. At my side an empty knife sheath hung. I was covered in slimy shit and must have looked as bad as I felt.

Metal Head drew up short and looked at me hard. “Uh I guess not”, was all he said.

He pulled out a tired old Leather Man multi tool from somewhere and motioned me to raise my hands. Seemed like forever before my hands were freed, but eventually the tired old tool won out over the ingenious Creep bindings made of what looked like old brake cables. It struck me that this binding was more than would be expected from minds supposedly toasted at birth. Odd.

A commotion up the street caught our attention and we both ducked down. Cautiously, I popped up to take a look. Coming at us full bore was Gravo. Gravo was no runner. His body was more suited to plodding than jogging. I was impressed with his speed though.

I turned to Metal Head, but he was already headed back up the alley. Either he was finding cover or the lure of 3 unclaimed ears was just too much to resist. Hiding here was no longer useful so I jumped up and ran to meet Gravo. He tossed me his handgun and we continued up the ruined street and into the alley after Metal head. Neither of us spoke. We were too busy using air to keep our legs moving as fast as possible. Gravo stopped, looked to the left and yanked me into an open doorway. Gravo said, “The creeps won’t follow right away. They’ll think about it first. You stay here for some cover and I’ll fetch that fool Metal Head.” He jumped out and I could hear his steps fade as he scurried across the cobblestones and debris in the alley.

I considered Gravo’s order and immediately disobeyed it. We were stronger as three than split up like this. I followed Gravo back up the alley and caught him just as he reached the three dead Creeps. Metal Head was just finishing up his trophy collecting and turned to show them off. There was glee and satisfaction in that grin of blackened teeth and split lips. He tried to hand Gravo one ear. “You keep it Head Man. I don’t get bounties anymore.”

“Gravo, there’s something inside here you need to see.” I tugged on his sleeve.

“What the Hell? I told you to cover us.”

“Gravo! Dammit, you need to come with me.” I headed back to the big forklift door and slid it open. I disappeared inside figuring Gravo would have to follow. I was right.

Dawn had given way to full sunlight and the broken skylights thirty feet up threw even more light on the cache of boxes, crates and shrink wrapped bundles. Gravo came in huffy, pissed that I was not following his lead. Twenty hurried steps in turned to more of a shuffling pirouette as he began to understand what he was seeing. He stopped.

“What’s this Hick?”

“Don’t know, but over there near that door are skids of what I think are bike boxes. Never been opened bike boxes.“

“This should not be here. The Creeps don’t do this. Where…….Jeez, “

Gravo sat on a shrink wrapped skid of some mysterious things and tried to get his mind around the treasure trove he was in the middle of. Metal Head hung antsy at the big door. He was not interested in boxes or skids. Such things made no dent in his one track mind. He wanted to head back. Head back now. Hanging here this deep into Creep land was keeping him from catching his daily buzz and the wonderful sleep that always followed.

Gravo stood up. “Let’s head. Big Boss is gonna want to know about this. And Hick, by the way, where are your weapons and your bike?”

“Gravo, I dunno. Everything went black hours ago. All I know is they pulled me out of that door there and dragged me out into the alley. You know the rest.”

Gravo just looked at me. He headed toward the door to the alley and turned back to take one more look. Metal Head slid the door closed behind us and we headed back towards the Barricades.

The hike back went quietly and without any run ins with Creeps. We did alter our course so we could backtrack to where I had been jumped. No weapons but we found my bike. In the middle of the street still intact except for that damn flat that started all this in motion. I grabbed the bike and we headed home.

Deadtown – Part Two

Hick
Time stopped meaning much. I don’t know how many laps I made around that black room. Enough circuits to know the room was roughly square and it took 79 or 80 steps to complete the loop. No windows and only one door. I found a corner that was not too slimy to park my ass in and began working on breaking loose of the bonds on my hands. At some point frustration and exhaustion set in and I gave up. I must have slept. The sliding sound of metal on metal startled me awake and a bright flickering light shown in my eyes.

The light blocked my vision of what or who had come in. Rough hands grabbed at me as I scrambled to my feet to resist. A second and then a third set of hands found some part of me to hold onto. They dragged me out and up a dank hallway. Light filtered through broken skylights some twenty feet up. Through another door and into what looked like a warehouse.

Through the fog of my recent beating and many hours of being held in the dark, I saw that this was not another empty storehouse pillaged long ago. The huge room was full of boxes on pallets, machinery shrink wrapped and dusty. Odd shapes and piles set in neat rows. Neither the pain nor my panic could keep me from noticing this King’s Ransom.

Most of the boxes were long, about two to two and a half feet high by nine inches wide. Bike Boxes. They had to be. I had seen some when I was kid helping Uncle Jarvis empty out a bike shop basement up near Rome where I grew up. He gave me one of the beaters we found and use of any parts I could rustle up to fix it with. He loaded the new bike boxes, all the new tires, tubes, and drive train parts on his wagon and left Rome. We never saw him again.

I knew if I got free and could find my way back to this place, my future would be secure. There had to be hundreds of bike boxes. Anything new was gold, but pound for pound, there was nothing worth more than a new bicycle. And new rubber was worth even more. As the old world survived and ran smoothly because of the wheel, so was the new civilization emerging out of the ashes.

The three Creeps said nothing as they dragged me through the warehouse and out into the alley. It was well past sunset, or just into Dawn. But what sunset? Which dawn? Today’s? Yesterday’s? Or was it tomorrow already? I could not get my bearings on this place. Where had they taken me? Was I still near Eighth Avenue where I had been bushwhacked? I just didn’t………Wait. Was that the street that leads to the old Lincoln Tunnel? Yeah, Must be. Garment District or close by. Had to be.<

The Creeps began to talk among themselves. Argue would be more like it. It was hard to follow. Creep speak was not a language I had much experience with. The gist was they were not sure what to do with me. The biggest one seemed to win out when he grabbed the bonds on my hands and began dragging me back towards the warehouse. A tug of war ensued. The big Creep yanking hard on my hands and the two smaller Creeps pulling hard on my feet. All the while yammering away at 80 miles an hour in that pig din lingo of theirs.

Suddenly one of the small Creeps straightened and collapsed on top of me. The loss of force in that direction caused the bigger Creep to fall on his ass and me on top of him. Sticking out of the Creep’s back, an arrow with one yellow and two black vanes. Only one man I knew used crossbow bolts set up like that. Gravo!

Confusion erupted. More arrows came in and the Big Creep yowled as a bolt appeared silently in his shoulder. Another whizzed by my ear and cut the yowl to a gurgle as it buried itself in his throat. My hands free, I began kicking the smaller Creep as hard as I could. He let go and stood up. Our eyes met. I was the last thing he ever saw.

______________________________________________________

Gravo

Gravo stepped out of what Moss Boss called The Bunker. Every time he did, he smiled. A hastily contrived structure on Cherry Hill, the Bunker had been constructed by hands more suited to pushing pens and filling out forms. It was solid, but no where near plumb nor water tight. Up here, the old Central Park was easy to keep tabs on. Harvested for fuel and lumber, the park’s trees and meadows were long gone. Replaced by furrowed rows and industrious tilling of what little arable land there was in this dead city. This was his kingdom. His job. His unforeseen and unpredicted fate. He was now tasked with keeping the Creeps out and the Authentics in line. Gravo- Security Boss.

In his previous life Grave had pushed a wheel barrow. His life tending masons by day always ended with him doing his best to drink the pain and weariness away by night. He sometimes wondered why he was picked from that horde of ragged survivors. What about him had given the Bosses the idea he could control anyone, never mind this unruly bunch? Yes he was good sized, but not large. Yes he had a good feel for Manhattan. He had worked construction jobs there his whole life. His face was neither fearsome nor engaging. Men seemed to follow him willingly. He never understood why. Now he did not bother trying to understand why. They trusted him so he used that trust to do his job. He did not miss the World he watched destroy itself. That life was lonely and miserable. And though he hated the mandated ear quotas, this new and raw world suited him. Life had equalized. And he was very good at his job.

The three hunters joined him. It was closing in on dark. Without a word, Gravo and Metal Head began a steady jog down the hill towards Broadway. The other two left in the same direction then split off to head towards downtown east side. No words were exchanged as they went their separate ways, just a mutual nod and they were gone. Melting into the rubble and destruction that was once a beautiful city.

The plan called for the two man teams to find and follow any group of Creeps larger than three heading to or staying in the sector Hick was last known to be. Follow and find. A Creep leaving the twenty square block area Gravo had pointed out was to be left and the search would begin again. Gravo was clear. Do not get sucked out of the search area.

Metal Head was a good hunter most days. Reliable and steady. Met his quota and did not complain more than the usual belly aching. His only weakness, a tendency to go on benders. His last one found him shacked up with a huge Sub Dub. He woke up and saw this 250 pound beast sleeping next to him smelling of sewers,subway platforms, Almo Weed, and alcohol. His only concern, “I thought you was a she and you is really a He.” Metal Head had not taken to drink since. It had been almost a year now. All he would say about it was from then on he would pay for his ass, not try to pick it up.

“Metal Head, where near the Tunnel did you spot that crew of Creeps?”

“Over a few blocks I think Gravo.”

They altered their course. Moving into the Garment District, Gravo always wondered why this area had not been torn up as badly as other parts of town. Yeah, the small shops and bodegas had been ransacked and torched, but for the most part the massive warehouse buildings that made up the fashion world of New York had come through in very good shape. Maybe it was because the Creeps had decided early during the Creep Wars this was to be their space. You don’t shit in your own nest so to speak.

Metal Head had been running point. He threw up his hand and hunkered down. On auto pilot, Gravo hunkered also as he crawled up to where Metal Head had stopped. Up the street, a small group of Creeps were just entering an alley. Gravo and Metal Head moved as one as soon as the Creeps disappeared. Running silent with long strides, they came to the alley entrance just as the last Creep went through a massive forklift door in one building.

Gravo hissed, “Let’s sit on them for awhile. You set up on the fire escape over there and I will find a spot up high near this side. When they come out, follow my lead. If I take one out, you follow from your side. Use the short bow. Keep it quiet. This is their nook you know.”

Metal head took up his position on the fire escape and settled in for what he knew would be a long sit. He knew what “for awhile” meant. This could take all night. Gravo was a patient man. That’s why he could out hunt all of them. Well maybe this new guy, Hick was better, but Gravo could sit like no one he had ever hunted with.

Some time later a flash caught Metal Head’s eye. It came from the roof across the alley. Good, Gravo had found his position.

They sat for hours. Gravo was content though. This was what he loved. The hunt. Being more patient than those you were hunting. Killing was fine, but it was the hunt that made his day. The Stalk and out thinking his prey. Metal Head on the other hand was asleep. He knew nothing would happen until dawn at the earliest. He hunted because it paid well and kept him out of the subways and out of the fields. The Creeps were not nocturnal if they had a choice. And it was apparent they were comfortable here. Nothing stirred.

Cramps woke Metal Head up. Just as he was working out the kinks and his eyes came into focus, he heard a door being slid open. In the early morning light, he saw 3 Creeps dragging someone or something out into the alley. Just as he brought up his short bow, one of the Creeps collapsed. Damn, he would pay Hell if he did not bring one down right away. He quickly drew a bead on one of the smaller Creeps and let his bolt go. Excellent. Knocked him down. He quickly cranked his bow and nocked another bolt. Just then another shot from Gravo finished the Big Creep off. The figure they were dragging began to fight. Metal Head drew a bead on the Creep still standing and let his bolt loose. “Alright, two ears for me. Suck on that Gravo.”

______________________________________________________
The Voice in the Background that explains it all
Society destroyed, people fell in with or fell prey to the thousands of gangs that had formed to take or hold onto what was left. The Creeps created their own survival mode feeding on those unlucky enough to cross into their territories.

New boundaries were created. Physical might and mob rule took over as the bones of a dead culture were picked clean. Authentics fought with each other. Creeps came after picking their bones. Earth was settling into unsettled times. A whole new generation was brought into this New World and raised on making it to the next day intact and still breathing.

Now a planet of vultures, the Earth fell quiet but for the squabbling among the scavengers over the decaying meat of a dead civilization. Small enclaves began to spread and swallow weaker groups or annihilate them. Ten thousand new societies began to emerge. Each one competing with the one next door for the treasures that were left. Order and stability came in fits and starts. The cities had been abandoned. But not forgotten. The smart guys knew there were riches there. They soon began to move back in. And the Creep Wars began.

Deadtown

In my pursuit to satisfy my urge to write, I often have attempted to write pretty much anything. Poetry. Fiction. Op/Ed stuff. Some diarist madness. I have experimented with lots of things. The only goal to this point has been to write as well as I can. I have no illusions about my writing. Well, maybe a few. But I will keep them to myself. That is where they belong. Suffice it to say I know I won't be on any best seller list in the near or far future. I have no discipline. I struggle too much getting my points just the way I want them. I am sure there are other issues lurking that I either fail to recognize or do not even know exist.

Anyway, what follows is a piece of fiction I began over 20 years ago. It is of interest only because I rediscovered it and decided to expand it. I have no idea if it is of any worth or interest to anyone but myself. Stop here if you do not want to read the beginning of another pulp post-Armageddon piece. But any input that is real and not patronizing would be most welcome. Does it have possibility? Should I shit-can it? With each word fought for, I have an ever increasing respect for the writers who do this for a living.

*********************************************

Hick
He should not have zig-zagged like that. Too predictable. He made it easy to take him out. One shot on a slight lead out to the left and down he went with his head well ventilated. As I ejected the smoking shell from the chamber, I could still hear the echo of the shot as it traveled the desolate concrete canyons downtown. I decided that Creeps were entirely too easy to hunt. Screw this shit. I am taking my old job back stalking live game for the lumber company. Sure the pay was not as good, but Jeez, shouldn't I enjoy what I do for a living.? Besides, stomping around the woods sure beat the stinking city prowl it took to do this job.

I picked up the spent shell, slung my rifle on my shoulder and left the tenement. Pleased that I nailed the Creep so close, I ran over and quickly claimed an ear. Sucking a few hits of Almo weed, I celled into headquarters to verify another kill and hope I was done for the day. Good, this kill filled the crew's daily. I pulled the beat up Jamis from under the stinking carpet in the alley. I retched as the fumes of old urine and dust enveloped me when I dropped the carpet to the ground. Rolling out onto the broken and heaved pavement and I noticed I had a flat tire. This was not good. A flat here right now could spell trouble. Friends of the recently departed would soon be bold enough to check out that gunshot.

I decided to ride the flat tire the 8 blocks it would take to get out of this sector of Deadtown. I took it easy. Bringing back the Jamis with a ruined tire and a toasted rim would mean a half week's pay. Riding up Eighth Avenue slower than was healthy, I kept my eyes on scan mode. I was not fast enough to catch the movements and peeks from the mass of demolition around me. But I knew they were there. Watching me. Sizing me up. I only had to make it to the barricades just south of Broadway, then I could stop and patch the tube.

Sweat trickled down my face and saturated my beard. Damn. I was not happy. This pace was leaving me wide open. So what if the Creeps were barely human and couldn't count to 10 to save their ass, they might just get lucky. I wanted to hammer, catch a higher gear. But the thought of buying a new tire kept me from opening her up. "Only four more blocks. Get a grip." And then it all went black.

"Oiler, Oiler, he wakee, wakee." Something was trying to separate me from my hair. I thrashed and struck blindly. A lucky hit made someone grunt. And then it all went black again. <

It was the smell of shit and rotted roadkill that brought me to life. Hazy but coherent I laid still. A mental inventory was all I had. The dark was as oppressive as the smell. I slowly moved my hands. Bound tight. What about my legs? Good, not tight, just hobbled. I struggled to stand. At some point as I sought some purchase with my hands, they found something soft and disgusting. No light may be a good thing right now I thought. After floundering a few minutes, I finally struggled vertical. The exertion, the pain in my head and the smell crescendoed. I puked. Huge dry heaves crippled my stomach and the pain in my head screamed.

I wiped my face on my sleeve and suffered the last spasms from dry heaving. I stood silent long enough to check the only breaths I heard were mine. Still queasy and dazed, I slowly extended my legs to find the limits of my black cell. Again, something soft and slimy let me know I was not on solid ground. I stayed upright and tried to regain some control.

Figuring I was now a guest of the Creeps, I also knew it would not be long before they did what they did to unwanted Authentics. The thought of becoming the main attraction in a sandwich or the go to bits in a stew created some urgency on my part to figure out some alternatives and do it quick.

I was trussed up like a turkey but able to move. The dumasses had tied my hands in front. I couldn't see my hand in front of my face. I had been beat down some but everything seemed to work. And it stunk like the inside of a skunks ass. Other than that I was good to go.

I needed to find the wall. Sitting down in whatever was on the floor was not an option. Slowly with as much of a stride as the hobbles would allow, I picked a direction and went for it, one slow slide at a time. Wet softness slid over my Chuck Taylors. Wet warm softness.

My foot hit something solid. I extended my bound hands. Ah, good. A wall. I turned around and leaned into it. Finding the scavenged electrical wire that bound my legs, I worked an eternity to break free. Legs unbound, I followed the wall with my hands looking for a doorway. Locating a uniform crack, I traced it's line and then pushed. No, wouldn't budge.
________________________________________

Gravo

"It's been eight hours Gravo since the Hick celled in."

A large man with one good eye turned toward the voice. "I know. Anyone still out?"

"No Gravo, everyone hit the shed a couple of hours ago. Only six kills between them."

The big man looked unhappy. His frown meant someone would catch Hell. He hated the idea of xenocide, but knew it was necessary for his own to survive on what little was left. He hated this tour of duty. He hated it even more when his boys did not meet the minimum dailies to keep the Creeps from overrunning their position and taking this part of Deadtown. There was still too much to reclaim here to give it up yet. Too much of the past just laying around for someone to pick up and use.

"Get a crew together. We have to make an attempt to find him. He is the best hunter we have. What is he, up to sixty kills now just this month?"

" Sixty-three Gravo, and yeah he is worth more than the rest of them hangin in the shed sucking up Almo weed. A good man who always brings back his casings and ears to go with them. Never seems to take more than one shot to bring down a Creep. Yeah, he's a keeper."

"But Gravo, the boys are not gonna want to head out so close to dark. Maybe we should....."

"NO Goddammit! You scare up three men and get them here right now. Make sure they have blades and sidearms. No rifles. Anyone gives you shit, tell em their contract says I can send them wherever they are needed. The subs are always lookin for more bodies to hump track and strip wire."

The smaller man hustled out and Gravo turned back to the map he seemed to spend everyday over. Locating the sector Hick's last call came from, he tried to envision just what escape route Hick would have used. His last communication indicated he was only a few blocks into the Creep territory Downtown. He would probably head straight up Eighth Avenue as fast as possible. Straight shot to the barricades near Broadway. He knew that is what he would do.

Three men showed up. Their body language indicated it was not because of eagerness but reluctant obedience. Gravo looked them over. "Toss the rifle Diddler. We are not hunting. This is a rescue mission. No kills unless we have to." <

"Boss, the Hick is probably in a Creep stew right now. Why bother? He was a pain in the ass anyway. Never wanted to go out in pairs like we are supposed to. He got what he deserved."

Gravo fixed his good eye on the man. The man fell silent and seemed to get smaller.

"Okay, here's what we are going to do. Step on over and take a look."

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The voice in the Background explaining it all

The World was not prepared for what came to them in the years following the Oil Wars. Desperate nations full of technology but short of munitions developed what they could to ensure their piece of an ever shrinking pie. No one knows who actually set loose the pathogen. Not one country would step up and take the blame. Per usual, the blame was always another country's fault, not their own. And while everyone focused on fixing blame for the pandemic, the pandemic surged, mutated and swept across the land, the seas, the continents.

The unstable pathogen, nicknamed "Dullard" by some talking head on the TV before the TV died a couple of years later, was supposed to incapacitate and not kill. Having been hurried through trials and not tested fully, it was set loose on the World. It did it's job well. Those directly hit became useless shells and would soon die. Either by their own hand or by those invading their turf.

Some of the afflicted attempted to to flee. Some made it. By that time the pathogen had proven to be contagious as it mingled with the various chemicals and DNA strands it came into contact with. The person to person conagion had changed. It could now only be passed from one generation to the next. With each new generation, more distance between what humans were and what they would become began to make an impact.

Quarantines, mass killings, and forced blood tests before fornication were installed as measures to deal with this new species evolving. The unaffected became known as Authentics and the new humans became "Creeps". In the meantime, cities emptied, governments fell apart, and anarchy took over.