was
something humans built and it made her feel a bit more secure.
She stepped on and instantly welcomed the quiet surface,
where it wasn’t covered in plants and debris. Clio easily traversed the
decaying obstacles and wondered who owned the car just ahead; I wonder what happened to them… what were
they like?
Chapter
9 - The Old Man
North Carolina:
Russ was in his late sixties and a grump. Crusty, he was a
grizzled cockroach, a survivor. He was perceived as a mean old bastard, even
before the war; even before losing his entire family.
“I thought you were the biggest asshole I’d ever met, till I
got to know you,” was a phrase Russ heard often. Most people never came to
enjoy his brand of personality though; he didn’t give a shit either.
People without filters, like Russ, tended to do that to others,
especially after their feathers got ruffled and buttons got pushed within the
first few seconds of meeting him. Without even trying, fast and first, Rusty
Tucker would call you out.
“You don’t know your ass from a hole in the ground do you?”
he’d ask of more than a few people while running construction jobs for Fortune
& Brassfield, where he was a foreman for over thirty years. His
subordinates mocked him for many of his famous quotes. If they didn’t fear him,
they respected him.
“You better get your shit together son, or find yourself
another place to work,” was another phrase he was famous for. If they saw him
coming, people hid from the old man. Mostly because they knew they couldn’t get
away with their bullshit.
Rusty Tucker carried that attitude from his time in the Army
right into his first construction site. Like most hard-nose, no-nonsense,
take-charge people, he was born that way. He never called in sick either,
believing that a limb better be falling off to do such a wimpy thing. He
despised sandbagging.
He lived in a rural farmhouse in North Carolina, complete
with all manner of livestock, relatively unharmed from the war, so far. The Ker
hadn’t made it to many of the less populated areas; not yet, but they would… one day soon , he figured.
The demon creatures were another story. Originally created
in Dr. Pavlov’s basement laboratory off the coast of Jekyll Island, Georgia,
they were slowly spreading throughout the South East. Mating and multiplying,
they decimated the indigenous. Although part human, the flesh-eaters weren’t
social. They didn’t hunt in packs and the only time they came together was to
mate, killing each other sometimes in the process.
Always keeping his dog close, Lady was a Husky that kept him
company and let him know when any of those bastards were near. She’d bark so
loud you could feel it in your chest, going berserk when she caught their
scent.
“Fucking things,” Russ would say before going on his daily
patrol, refusing to be trapped in his own home.
A bit of a gun nut, Russ maintained a decent armory he’d
collected over the years. He preferred weapons that fired bullets to the modern
photon blasters and plasma rifles. Modern weapons got the job done but they
didn’t feel right to him. Like a fly-by-wire control system on a car, they were
too flawless, disconnected; he didn’t like that he couldn’t feel the machine
working. Energized weapons were too perfect; he wanted to feel the bolt
slamming home and smell the gunpowder hanging in the air, the same way he liked
feeling the road through a vehicle’s steering wheel and hearing a truck’s motor
rumble through the exhaust.
Russ would strap on his worn boots and look at a picture of
his wife and daughter, the only one he kept out. He’d pass the photo carrying
his assault rifle and say “goddamn things,” walking out the door with Lady at
his side. Hatred for the creatures kept him going. For what they did to his
family, Russ was motivated to kill as many as he could.
***
It came one night while he was off helping his neighbor a
few miles away. “I’ll be back hun…” were the
something humans built and it made her feel a bit more secure.
She stepped on and instantly welcomed the quiet surface,
where it wasn’t covered in plants and debris. Clio easily traversed the
decaying obstacles and wondered who owned the car just ahead; I wonder what happened to them… what were
they like?
Chapter
9 - The Old Man
North Carolina:
Russ was in his late sixties and a grump. Crusty, he was a
grizzled cockroach, a survivor. He was perceived as a mean old bastard, even
before the war; even before losing his entire family.
“I thought you were the biggest asshole I’d ever met, till I
got to know you,” was a phrase Russ heard often. Most people never came to
enjoy his brand of personality though; he didn’t give a shit either.
People without filters, like Russ, tended to do that to others,
especially after their feathers got ruffled and buttons got pushed within the
first few seconds of meeting him. Without even trying, fast and first, Rusty
Tucker would call you out.
“You don’t know your ass from a hole in the ground do you?”
he’d ask of more than a few people while running construction jobs for Fortune
& Brassfield, where he was a foreman for over thirty years. His
subordinates mocked him for many of his famous quotes. If they didn’t fear him,
they respected him.
“You better get your shit together son, or find yourself
another place to work,” was another phrase he was famous for. If they saw him
coming, people hid from the old man. Mostly because they knew they couldn’t get
away with their bullshit.
Rusty Tucker carried that attitude from his time in the Army
right into his first construction site. Like most hard-nose, no-nonsense,
take-charge people, he was born that way. He never called in sick either,
believing that a limb better be falling off to do such a wimpy thing. He
despised sandbagging.
He lived in a rural farmhouse in North Carolina, complete
with all manner of livestock, relatively unharmed from the war, so far. The Ker
hadn’t made it to many of the less populated areas; not yet, but they would… one day soon , he figured.
The demon creatures were another story. Originally created
in Dr. Pavlov’s basement laboratory off the coast of Jekyll Island, Georgia,
they were slowly spreading throughout the South East. Mating and multiplying,
they decimated the indigenous. Although part human, the flesh-eaters weren’t
social. They didn’t hunt in packs and the only time they came together was to
mate, killing each other sometimes in the process.
Always keeping his dog close, Lady was a Husky that kept him
company and let him know when any of those bastards were near. She’d bark so
loud you could feel it in your chest, going berserk when she caught their
scent.
“Fucking things,” Russ would say before going on his daily
patrol, refusing to be trapped in his own home.
A bit of a gun nut, Russ maintained a decent armory he’d
collected over the years. He preferred weapons that fired bullets to the modern
photon blasters and plasma rifles. Modern weapons got the job done but they
didn’t feel right to him. Like a fly-by-wire control system on a car, they were
too flawless, disconnected; he didn’t like that he couldn’t feel the machine
working. Energized weapons were too perfect; he wanted to feel the bolt
slamming home and smell the gunpowder hanging in the air, the same way he liked
feeling the road through a vehicle’s steering wheel and hearing a truck’s motor
rumble through the exhaust.
Russ would strap on his worn boots and look at a picture of
his wife and daughter, the only one he kept out. He’d pass the photo carrying
his assault rifle and say “goddamn things,” walking out the door with Lady at
his side. Hatred for the creatures kept him going. For what they did to his
family, Russ was motivated to kill as many as he could.
***
It came one night while he was off helping his neighbor a
few miles away. “I’ll be back hun…” were the
Similar Books
