The Antisocial Response

Then they finally came into view.

One of his buddies was with him, riding a low-cal dirtbike behind his ATV, kicking up dust with the indifference of someone who believes that he owns that which he beholds. They stopped, the older one's tagalong, not taking the hint, abruptly braked and squealed past me, managing to avoid an awkward collision. I turned my back on him - he wasn't particularly concerning, and fourwheels obviously had some mischief in mind.

"Hey kid." Fair enough, I probably didn't look that much older than him.

"Yeah."

"You got any gum?" Gum? What? Obviously not the brightest cherry on this branch of Rednecksville, U.S.A.

"No."

"Well me and my buddy here think it might be best for you if you did." At this point he took off his helmet and I got a good look at his face. Not hard to tell that he was new at this - his blotchy cheek was smooth like fresh laundry. At this point I knew his friend was probably getting ready to bean me with a crowbar or something, so I threw him a bone I knew he couldn't resist.

"What, you can't take me by yourself?" His face got even more blotchy.

"Sure 'nuff I can."

"Lets see it."

"Don't be dumb, I ain't no fool." He took a step back. "Y'all got a switchblade or something and I'm not gonna' step up to no ghetto kid with no switchblade."

"So you're scared?" His fists clenched.

"Look, you asking for a fight?" This was it, this was his loophole.

"No man, I don't wanna' fight you." He managed to look relieved and dissatisfied at the same time.

"Good," he said, spitting. "I wouldn't want to fight me neither!"

And then the fun began.

"Bet you couldn't." The total confusion that wiggled its way through his features filled me with malevolent glee.

"Couldn't what?"

"Fight yourself."

"What the hell are you talkin' about? You sure is dumb, t'aint nobody can fight themselves."

"You're just saying that because you can't. You're weak."

"Excuse me?" A cool wind started blowing, and I wished I'd worn a sweater. Oh well, the fires of hell are pretty warm, and it's pretty certain that that's where I'll be headed after today.

"You heard me. You're weak: you can't hack it. Back where I come from a boy's gotta' beat himself before he becomes a man." His eyes widened just a little, but he kept his cool.

"I'm more man 'n you, that's for sure."

"Well then, prove it."

"Alright then I will!" He looked down at his fist, hesitantly, as if unsure of what exactly he was supposed to do. I let him figure it out.

After the third hit he was on the ground, scrabbling with himself, clawing and shaking like a possessed animal. It didn't take quite three leaps and I was seated in the saddle of his still-running ATV, stamping on the gas. I think I might have broken a couple of his ribs when I ran over him, I but I couldn't be sure. By this time his cohort was jumping on his bike, starting it, preparing to give chase.

It wouldn't be hard to track me on these dusty roads, so I did what little I could to shake him before I stopped completely and bailed. Unfortunately for him my prediction was correct: his reflexes failed him and he glided through the air awkwardly, like a stork. Yes, a strange breed of stork that crumples into an unmoving ball where it lands. I considered consoling him; reminding him that the dust would clot the blood quickly, and he might not die; but the wind was picking up, and I didn't wear a sweater.

Ego

The whole nation celebrated when the news hit. And did they ever celebrate. News anchors drank on live television while the streets overflowed with dancing, laughing, overjoyed Americans. For the next day or so the roadways were so crowded it was impossible to drive anywhere. Not that anyone cared. There was much cause for jubilation, and the president agreed, officially marking that day, January 26th, as a national holiday. Soon the street fiestas abated, and life went on. Or perhaps it began anew, new in the hearts and minds of the people, new in the way cautious smiles were reciprocated by total strangers.

Elsewhere there was a similar initial reaction. When Studebaker and his colleagues had taken the stand and announced themselves cancer free the whole world had taken a collective intake of breath. Surprisingly calm, Studebaker himself had followed up the announcement with his proclamation that administration of the drug would start immediately, as soon as the pharmaceutical megacorporations could be shipped the ingredients necessary to begin manufacturing.

It took four full days to create enough of the tonic to begin application, and another week went by before anyone realized the truth. And it didn't take long before people started reacting. Not the Americans of course, they had all the medication they needed. No, it was the Japanese who struck first. First it was a hospital in South Carolina, then one in Texas. Russia followed this with a daring attack on the Grand Central Hospital of New York. Nation after nation began to invade in a concerted effort to acquire this miracle drug, the cure for man's most dogged, seemingly insatiable disease.

We never even put up a fight.

Five hundred thousand died over the space of a week, unbelievable numbers I know. I cannot even go outside anymore, the carnage is too great. Our once great country has been ripped to shreds by greed. Not their greed, no, they were just doing what they needed to in order to survive. No, it was our greed, our insatiable hunger to be on top, to be the best. Well it seems we pushed them a little too far. Our capitalistic attitude wasn't even the worst; it was when we restricted access that things changed. I wish there was someone else to hold responsible, someone else to blame: but I know, deep down, there's no one.

So as I, James T. Ross, huddle closer to the monitor of my laptop and pray that the power holds out just a little bit longer, I needs must confess: I knew why we were so easily defeated. I knew then, and I know now that all over the world, millions - no, billions of people are experiencing the very same thing. This miracle drug, this cure-all, is a poison to the mind. It eats away, not at the physical body, but at the soul of a human being. It makes us passive . . . weak.

I can feel the ground shaking now, at precisely seven-second intervals. It's probably the Germans; they've been bombing the area for weeks now. As it stands those few pilots buzzing overhead and myself are probably the only ones on earth who are still capable. Coherent.

Alive.

Blind Fate

"Here they come . . ."

"Someone brace the doors!"

"For Pete's sake Hilda, move!"

"I don't . . . no . . ."

"My gods it's a succubus!"

"Can't . . . feel my legs!"

"What's that sound?"

"Sounds like paper being torn . . ."

"Get back you idiots, the barricade is falling!"

"Damnit, I'm out of shells!"

"We have to fall back, we can bust down the staircase once we're all safe!"

"What about Hilda?!"

"It's too late fo-"



. . .



And then there was only the sound of rending flesh.

Black Dress

Hello my name is Maryann. I am seven years old but my mom says I act old for my age. :-) Today my father died.

We went to the funral and I had to wear the itchy black dress that I hate. Mom says that I should be glad I have a black dress to wear that some girls dont have black dresses at all. This makes me sad becuse I know that I was being selfish and I wore the dress anyway. There was an old man at the place and he looked like he had done a lot of funrals. I wished someone had come with less experense so I could sneak a look in the casket but the old man gave me a stern face when I started tiptoing closer so I stayed back next to mom.

There really isnt anyone here that I know except for Paul the grocer man. He used to come over and talk to mom for a long time when she thought I was asleep. I like Paul except he always looks tired even today. I think people are staring becuse I keep writing while old man talks about dad like he knew him. He didnt.

Ow! People in the back are shoving!!! I lookd behimd me and thers men comming thru the crowd! They are wearing black but I dont think they are here to be sad abot dad!

I ran away. I dont think they can find me here but they took mom! They said she was taking dads plasce! I dont want mom to go but I cant find anyone now and it is getting dark! Im scared.

I dont kno what time it is but I heared noises so I got up and I still hear them getting closer.

Island

He is very afraid of drowning.

I know this, and so I do my best not to make him go near water. Makes sense right? Of course, my uncle knows all about this. As a matter of fact that's probably why he invited us to the lake house. I couldn't refuse, Brian loves my uncle: the two of them are great friends. Sort of.

I love Brian, but sometimes I forget how easily he believes in people. My uncle . . . well . . . let's just say that he can be a bit deceptive sometimes. That's why I was so reluctant to go. Nevertheless, despite my hesitation, Brian plowed ahead. That's why we're here. I'm lying on the cold leather couch, sinking into the cushions, trying to read a book. Cardinal Sin. Brian always makes fun of me for reading these "trashy romance novels," but there really isn't much else to do out here in the middle of nowhere. Brian's reading too, in the chair next to the fire. Secretly I wish he were on on the couch with me, but Brian's about as literate in women as I am in rocket science.

SLAM!

That'll be my uncle. He'd said that he'd gone to check on the motorboat, making sure that it was full of gas or whatever. He'd been unusually cordial this week, and all the tension that had built up over the week had slowly evaporated in the face of his easy hospitality. That and the distinct lack of any unusual behavior.

"Hey Brian, how's it going?" Brian was immediately drawn out of the magazine article by my uncle's voice, standing up quickly and stretching to compensate for his awkward stance. His stretching may have been for my uncle's benefit, but that doesn't mean I didn't enjoy it at least a little. The country air had been good to him. What little time we'd been up here Brian had spent hiking and hunting. I was never one for either, but I had gone on a short walk with him last night. The moon had been almost full, and its pale light had given everything, even Brian, a sort of angelic glow. Just thinking about the tender words he'd had for me made me blush, as I too stood up.

"What's the matter hon, is it too warm in here?" I shook my head and gave him a cautious smile.

"No, it's fine."

"So, I was thinking." My uncle rubbed his hands together and gave a friendly grin. "There's one place around here that has the best hunting on my entire property. Normally I wouldn't take visitors down there, but I have to say Brian, you're a much better hunter than your wife gives you credit for." Here he interjected a friendly wink, and Brian smiled broadly. "Now, we may be out for a bit longer than usual, so be sure you've got enough food and shells for, say, eight hours?" Brian nodded and smiled again, this time with genuine excitement.

I could see the nervous enthusiasm in his movements as he bustled around the house preparing for the trip. I glanced out the window and noted that the hot noon sun would be at it's peak in a couple of hours. Walking behind Brian I tentatively put my arm around his shoulders.

"Be careful babe."

"Don't worry Jess, I will." Bruskly he finished replacing his equipment in his backpack and hoisted it over his other shoulder. One short peck on the cheek later and he was gone. My uncle's feet tap-tap-tapped down the hardwood stairs, and I noticed that he had two rifles with him. At least, I think the other one was a rifle, it was much longer, with a larger barrel.

"Stay fresh J, we'll be back before you know it!" He waved his chapped hands at me, and then he too was gone. Sighing because I knew my spot on the couch had probably cooled at this point, I re-seated myself in Brian's chair by the fire, picking up the magazine he'd been reading. Cryptozoology For Amateurs. Weird, but my uncle had always been interested in this stuff. That was when I heard the motor. For a split second I thought it was the truck, but it didn't take long for me to hear splashing as well. My uncle was taking him on a boat!

I burst through the front door just in time to see them pull away from the dock, my uncle chatting amiably with the obviously vexed Brian. I tried to call out to them, but they were too far away. Brian couldn't do this, he couldn't be near water! For a moment I considered calling the police. This seemed to activate a switch in my head, and for the moment my hysteria eased. What a silly thing to be worried about. People go out in boats all the time and never even get wet, let alone fall out. Besides, my uncle was with him, he'd make sure nothing happened . . . wouldn't he? I was so anxious that I hardly even realized that I was still standing, shock still, on the shore of the lake. A stiff breeze cut through my thin jeans and I shivered briefly before wondering why it was so cold.

The thermometer said 42 degrees, but it was getting hard to read in the darkness. The sun that I had predicted, it seemed like an eternity ago, had been obscured by clouds, and the temperature had steadily dropped all day. Anxiously I slathered more mayonnaise than I would have liked over the fresh venison I had retrieved from the 'fridge. Again and again I found myself peering out into the darkness, hoping to see the vague shape of a motorboat. It was only after I had finished my sandwich that I realized I would probably hear the boat long before I would see it. Feeling slightly foolish, I decided that I needed to relax. This had been a good week, and my uncle had said that Brian and him would be gone for a while. Now would be a perfect time to finish my book . . .

* * *

"No James, I can't!"

"Why not Julia, you know how much I love you! Is it that fool Damien? Has he stolen you from me?"

"He didn't steal me, you let him have me! You could have-"

That was when I heard it.

I kept my thumb in my book as I sat, still as stone, listening for it again. Yes, there was definitely something unusual. Still holding my book and praying it was my imagination, I slunk towards the door. I've never been a very brave person, and the incessant splashing was beginning to phase my courage when I happened to glance out the window over the sink. There was . . . someone . . .

I squinted my eyes, and realized I wouldn't be able to see anything while I was still inside with the lights interfering with my vision. My fingers turned the knob with an agonizing slowness, and my heart could be clearly heard over the now-louder splashing. I realized I wouldn't be able to go through with this if I didn't move soon, so, in a moment of courage, I shouldered the heavy wooden door open and closed it behind me, allowing my eyes to adjust to the darkness.

There it was, a small, dark figure splashing out on the lake. If staring could turn someone to ice, the whole lake would have frozen over from my questioning eyes; and, although my eyes had mostly adjusted to the deep blackness, I could see no more than when the person had been farther out. Farther? I noticed then that the figure was significantly closer than it had been before. It seemed that it was heading towards the shore with great vigor, and the closer it got the harder it worked. Another chill wind cut into me, and my teeth rattled and felt as though they were coated in ice. Whatever was out there, it didn't stand a chance of surviving this cold while wet.

Then the heavens opened, and the moon shone forth in all its glory.

It was Brian.

* * *

Gasping like a fish, he'd managed to say one word. "Island." I couldn't understand at the time, and no amount of time I've devoted to trying to solve this riddle has ever presented a solution. I had dried him off, and called an ambulance immediately. They treated him for shock, but when I asked if he was OK I was perturbed by their answers.

Answers . . . I haven't been given any for thirty . . . maybe thirty-five years. Brian still goes for hikes, long ones. Sometimes he doesn't come back until the morning, sometimes for days. I used to get calls from his boss, asking where he was. I don't anymore. I don't know how he hasn't gotten fired, and I honestly don't know if I ever will. It's just another mystery . . . another mystery about Brian.