Short Story – OUTCAST
While messing around with something on my website, I noticed this story I have posted on there and figured I might as well give it a bit of a polish and drag it out into the light again. Hope you like it.
OUTCAST
They should have known. It was as simple as that.
Nobody realized how drastic it would be until far too late. Beginning with a few isolated deaths chalked up to unknown causes, it swiftly grew into a major global pandemic. Deaths were no longer counted in the thousands, or the hundreds of thousands, or even in the millions – but in the billions.
Andrew rubbed at his tired eyes and looked for the hundredth time at the figures before him. There had to be a link somewhere, it simply couldn’t be random. The virus had hit all races simultaneously, with no warning of the ferocity which would ensue, nor the deaths to come. Through months of study and testing they had isolated the genome contained within the virus back to global pollution.
They had created it. Mankind had developed the Earth-Killer without even knowing. Human selfishness combined with laziness and ignorance to create smog clouds around the globe; a breeding ground for the most devastating air-borne virus ever to exist.
The virus had been designated as C.A.S.T. – standing for Cryogenic Amino Secular Transference – and it initially destroyed the body’s immune system before massively reducing the victim’s core temperature to the point where they literally froze to death within their own skin. All attempts to raise the temperature of the victims failed – it was almost as though a chemical reaction was taking place within their bloodstream which transformed the blood into a chemical similar to liquid-nitrogen.
Andrew sighed and sat back in his chair, defeated. He had been working on this for months now and still had no answers; the virus seemed to completely dissipate from the victims once they died, leaving no trace, like a killer in the night vanishing into the shadows. Without a fresh source of the virus to study, Andrew had to make do with the partial facts which they were able to divulge from living hosts, and had managed to find out one important feature: the virus could not survive the carbon dioxide in the air. Somehow, once a person died, the carbon dioxide in the atmosphere permeated their bodies more effectively and destroyed the virus like napalm in a Vietnamese war camp. This was strange considering the atmosphere where the virus originated was crammed with CO2, but he pushed this aside for the time being.
At least those who died didn’t suffer for long; the longest reported case of C.A.S.T. had only lasted seventy two hours. Most sufferers were dead before they even knew they were sick.
From a population of almost 6.7 billion people, only around one billion still survived after six months – that’s how devastating this thing was. The worst part was the loss of the children. Whether it was from weaker immune systems or some other factor, no child under the age of ten still survived anywhere on the face of the Earth. Communication worldwide had collapsed in the face of the pandemic and governments had been torn apart in the panic.
Andrew worked with ten other researchers in this small community in the outskirts of what had previously been Sydney, Australia. The world was not over yet, but it was well on its way to a swift demise. Animals and even fish seemed no better off than humans and food shortages were massive. At least they still had farms, but unfortunately there were no people to work those farms anymore – they were simply too terrified of C.A.S.T. to venture outside.
The virus wasn’t the only killer, though. Fear and panic led to anger and violence. Scared people became aggressive people incredibly easily – they just needed an excuse. With the breakdown of governments to the point where only skeleton crews of police and law enforcement were able to perform their duties, society norms went out the window and large scale riots and looting became commonplace. Horrendous crimes were committed by people who felt they had nothing more to lose. Criminals escaped in droves from prisons which were no longer guarded.
In a way, Andrew was glad there were no children left to see the horrors which were now commonplace. Just the other day he had seen an elderly woman bashed and raped by a group of men with lust and insanity gleaming in their eyes. Andrew’s fear had been so great he had turned his back and run away. Even now he could hear her screams echoing through his conscience.
He justified his cowardice by telling himself that the work he was doing was more important and he couldn’t risk his safety simply to help one person. It didn’t work. Her screams would turn to accusations and he awoke every night in an empty bed drenched with sweat.
Rising from his desk, Andrew strode from the office to where he had left his bag. Rummaging through the assorted contents he finally found his cigarettes and moved outside to have a smoke. He grimaced at the stupidity of it all. For so long he had gotten used to being a social outcast with this disgusting habit, now the habits he had formed during that time remained with him and he still felt impelled to go outside every time he wanted a smoke – even though the dangers in the air were far worse than anything coming out of his cigarette.
Drawing back sharply, Andrew inhaled the smoke deep into his lungs before exhaling it with a huff. There had to be something he could do about this damn virus. Re-examining the facts, he checked and re-checked everything in his mind. It made no sense that the virus couldn’t stand carbon dioxide since it had been created through massive amounts of pollution combined within the earth’s atmosphere. Carbon dioxide was rampant within pollution, so it would make sense if the virus thrived when combined with CO2, but it didn’t. The result was opposite and the virus died almost instantly.
The other strange thing was that some people seemed to be immune to the disease. The majority of the deaths had occurred in the first few months, but since then they had tapered off dramatically. It couldn’t just be survival of the fittest. Andrew glanced down at his own paunch and patted it with his hand.
Suddenly he froze. Staring at his hand he wondered at how he hadn’t thought of it before.
A cigarette.
As a smoker, Andrew knew about being unfit. As a scientist he understood why he was unfit. The blood in a fit person was quite often enriched with oxygen which in turn provided the individual with an increased source of energy when exercising or conducting physical activity. A smoker was generally less fit than a non-smoker for many reasons. Lung capacity was affected through long-term smoking, with tar building up on the walls of the lungs and obstructing the absorption of oxygen. This in turn increased the blood’s concentration of another element:
Carbon dioxide.
The same element which destroyed the virus in the human body. When the virus made contact with the host it combined with oxygen molecules in the blood to flow rapidly through the system and destroy the immune system. After this it swiftly reconfigured the oxygen molecules into nitrogen – he had no idea how – and effectively froze the victim’s blood.
A smoker, however, had much higher levels of carbon dioxide in their blood and as such it would destroy the virus before it had a chance to combine with the oxygen.
Andrew stared down at the cigarette and marveled at the incredulity of it all. For years people had been telling him that his habit would eventually kill him, when it had in fact saved him. Being an outcast for so long had saved his life – and as such might save the rest of humanity.
His hacking cough drowned the shout of triumph which echoed through the still air.
Copyright(C) 2009 Luke Romyn
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Short Story – BLOOD
I’ve noticed my blog getting a little bit too sensitive and flowery for my taste. There’s nothing wrong with that, but I don’t want to suddenly look down and realize I’ve grown a vagina and I’m crying at daffodil commercials. And so I wrote something to remind us all what I truly am. Enjoy.
BLOOD
There was so much of it, covering him, consuming him. He could not escape its cloying effect upon his skin; its bitter, coppery taste as it gagged him.
And he loved it.
Or at least a part of him did.
Part of him rebelled at the things he had done to people he did not know, but the greater part, the stronger part, quashed what little rebellion remained within his mind to such a point he could barely remember his own name anymore. All he knew was the exultation he felt every time he cut open an artery and the hot, crimson liquid of life flowed out and over him.
They would eventually catch him, of that he had no doubt. The lack of control he had shown had resulted in crime scenes thick with evidence – almost as thick as they were with blood – but he didn’t care. The addiction was too strong, the need to cut and tear, maim and chew… he had no control anymore.
In the start he’d had control, or at least thought he had. He could stop himself back then, in fact he had done so on more than one occasion when the morality he still held within had rebelled at his actions.
But no more.
He could no more control these urges than a fisherman could control the tide, and though he might try to stop himself, each time he knew it was futile. Eventually they would catch him, and he would go peacefully, hoping they put him with other prisoners, but if they didn’t… oh well.
For now, however, he had other things on his mind. He stared at the young man who had tried to terrify him in the bar with bravado, mocking him in front of the young man’s friends and prancing like a peacock. He was no peacock anymore, had no cock at all, in fact. The young man had first been angry, then disbelieving, as they all were, then afraid, and now he was terrified.
The crying had finally stopped, but not before he had threatened to slice the man’s eyelids off completely in order to get to the ducts hidden beneath; this was the only way to stop the crying without blinding or killing the victim, and it wasn’t time for killing… yet. He was enjoying this far too much to end it so soon.
For all his bravado, the fight the young man had put up was pathetic in its incompetence. Versed in various forms of martial arts himself, the fact the young man had been so easy to incapacitate and handcuff had been a true disappointment. He had made up for that by slowly severing the man’s feet and sealing the wounds with duct-tape. It really could fix anything.
Such an action was ultimately messy, but he didn’t mind. The blood contained the life, the soul, of the young man, and to be touched by it was like a special kind of sacrament. In a way, what he was doing to the young man was the greatest compliment; he was worshiping his life in a way no other ever would, but the young man didn’t appreciate that, he merely kept trying to scream around the duct-tape sealing his mouth.
The man kept flopping around on the floor like a fish whenever he made a cut, making things difficult. Several times he had come close to nicking an artery, especially when he was working up near the man’s groin, but that was the price he had to pay for working under these conditions. He brandished the scalpel once more and moved forward, deciding this time to take the legs off at the –
SLAM!!!
The door to his storage shed banged open and before he knew it a dozen bodies were converging on him, smashing him into the ground, cuffing his hands behind him. The young man cried out like a bitch as they tore the duct-tape from his lipless mouth.
Stupid cops.
But they’d been smart enough to catch him, and before he knew it he was sitting in a padded cell, restrained in a nice canvas jacket with leather buckles going all the way up his back as well as one which went between his legs. It was very secure.
He was done.
There was no arguing it; he was going to rot in this cell or one exactly like it for the rest of his life. He might not know much, but he remembered the state he was in didn’t support the death penalty, so this was it forever.
No more blood, no more life, no more joy.
Glancing up at the camera, he turned away from it, sitting with his face pointed towards the corner, his legs pulled up towards his chest. This would be difficult to do without getting caught, but those many sessions of yoga would finally pay off, as would his meticulous dental care.
It took a while of nuzzling and digging, but he finally found it and clamped down hard with his incisors, sawing back and forth at the thick leathery texture. On the cameras it would probably look like he was trying to satisfy himself sexually, but by the time they realized what he was actually doing he would be free.
As he felt it start to sever between his teeth, he heard the door open behind him, but they were too late. Once he was free they wouldn’t be able to stop him, not this time. The rushing of feet sounded and he gave a last, final wrench –
And was loose.
The blood from the severed femoral artery in his thigh sprayed hard against the white padding, and he pushed his face into it, savouring the last time, drinking deeply just before hands grabbed him and pushed his face into the ground. But they were too late; the scene was already fading before him.
The last thing he saw was his own blood congealing on his eyeballs, and he licked his lips, savouring the taste for the final time….
Copyright © Luke Romyn 2011
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Second Excerpt from THE DARK PATH
Vain gazed through the crowd. He knew the little drunk hid in Mason’s somewhere and he needed the information he could provide. He also knew the man wouldn’t want to be found and that would be why he loitered in such a public place. He would expect Vain to avoid Mason’s because of the amount of people gathered here; he knew the Dark Man’s abhorrence of crowds.
What he did not know was that the Dark Man would go to any lengths to get what he needed, and right now he needed to find the man known on the street as Squirrel.
Vain found Squirrel in a darkened corner booth nuzzling up to a toothless prostitute who looked like she’d recently devoured an entire buffalo. Either he nuzzled up to her or she was simply so enormously fat that he had to squash his face into her ample bosom to avoid being dumped onto the floor. Vain approached them, smoothly gliding through the crowd. Squirrel looked up and very nearly swallowed his tongue at the shock of seeing the assassin standing before him.
“Leave us,” commanded the Dark Man without even looking at the hooker.
“Why should I, cutie? The three of us could have a great party together.”
“If you don’t leave now, you fat slut,” whispered Vain venomously, “I’ll cut off those lumps of lard you call tits and feed them to you raw.”
Her look of enticement turned swiftly to one of terror, glimpsing the fury within the Dark Man’s eyes. She almost tore the diminutive figure of Squirrel apart in her haste to escape. Vain calmly took the seat she had so agreeably vacated and sat in silence, pinning the fretting young drunkard with a withering glare.
“Well, um, ah, sir. What brings you to this part of the neighborhood?” Squirrel asked nervously.
“You do,” said Vain simply. This increased the sweat popping from the rapidly sobering Squirrel’s temple.
“Ah, me, um, ah. What can I do for you today?” Squirrel was clearly uncomfortable in the Dark Man’s presence, but the scrawny little man would never find the balls to refuse him, Vain thought contemptuously. Something about the Vain made normally brave men think of mortality. Men who weren’t so brave, like Squirrel, turned to water at the mere sight of him.
“Why are you trying to hide from me, little man?”
“Hide? Me? From you? No, um, no sir. I’m simply laying low after your most recent exploits–I mean your last job,” he corrected hastily.
“You call this laying low? And why would you need to lay low after a job of mine?” inquired Vain quietly, casually scanning the room for anyone who might be watching them. No eyes met his.
“Well, sir, some people might think I knew something and come after me for information,” said Squirrel.
“You know nothing of my actions, or me, so don’t try to bullshit me with those stories. Save them for your drunken friends. Why did you try to hide from me? Or should we dispose of the Squirrel’s nuts?” Vain pressed a short bladed knife against the squirming man’s testicles, pricking the skin through the cloth of his pants.
“No! God no!” squealed the little man. “Dante has been contracted for you! He’s been paid to collect your head, and has sworn to kill anyone associated with you. That’s why I’m hiding. I swear it,” he finished huskily.
Vain drew back the knife, and considered Squirrel’s words. Dante’s exploits were well known as both effective and painful, almost as notorious as his own. Unlike the Dark Man, however, he reveled in his kills and enjoyed the notoriety his position entailed. Everyone from the lowest drug dealer to the Mayor of New York knew who he was, but no one had ever been able to touch him. The man had an almost sixth sense for traps and danger of any kind. Thus, even though elite task forces and assassins had been deployed to entrap him, he always escaped, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake.
“Dante is hunting me?” Squirrel nervously nodded and the Dark Man chuckled hollowly. “How unfortunate for him. Has he come to see you yet?”
Again Squirrel nodded, “But I told him nothing, I swear.”
“Of course not. Like I said, you know nothing about me anyway. However, you must have given him something for you to have enough money to entertain Big Bertha there. What did you tell him?” asked Vain.
“Nothing, I promise you sir,” Squirrel began, but at a dark look from Vain he flushed. “I might have said you were looking into the Marcello contract, but that’s all, I swear on my pecker.”
“You must know more than even I give you credit for Squirrel. Only a select few have even heard of the Marcello contract, let alone know who’s been contacted for it.” Vain offered no hint of emotion. “However, for your own sake, I’d try to keep that sort of thing to yourself from now on. Don’t you think?” He punctuated the last comment with a sharp jab from the knife still in his hand. Not enough to wound the man, just enough to make his point. Squirrel swallowed heavily.
Without another word, Vain rose from the booth and started towards the exit.
“Wait sir, one more thing before you go.”
Not turning, the Dark Man grunted, “What is it?”
“It’s said that Dante is staying at the Royal Hotel. Possibly on the sixth or seventh floor, in case you were wondering.”
“I might just pay him a visit,” whispered Vain maliciously, striding out into the night.
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