Read Online After the End: Survival by Dave Stebbins - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Dave Stebbins
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swung the pole underhand from the ceiling to Jason's crotch. Jason's knees buckled, but before he hit the floor Pete struck him again, using both hands to swing the rod like a golf club. Jason screamed and then crumpled to the floor, rolling into the fetal position, rocking slowly and making soft mewing sounds.
Watching for a moment, Pete returned the IV pole to its hook on the ceiling. Using a funnel and a small water bottle, he quickly made a mouthwash solution. Then he knelt down beside the prostrate patient.
"Jason, try gargling with this a few times a day, it may help. I have to go out back for while, so when you leave, make sure the screen door is shut all the way, we don't want any flies coming in."
Pete went out the back door to his ‘sunny’ garden, where he grew herbs and vegetables that thrived in full sunlight. Knocking on one of five connected water drums, he ascertained the barrels were still about one third full. Been a dry summer, he thought. He watered close to the roots of the plants, his hands rock steady.
When he went back inside ten minutes later, Jason was gone.
The screen door was closed all the way.
CHAPTER 9
He lay in the bed on his back, hands clasped behind his head. It had been a pleasant morning. This was one of his favorite houses, with its wood frame and large front porch. He'd been up early, as was his habit, and walked silently through the grove of trees on both sides of a seasonal creek that passed nearby. It was dry now, but when it rained, torrents of water, tainted red with dirt, would flow southward to Palo Duro Canyon.
He loved the quiet here.
"Sure beats working in a shoe factory and sleeping in a damn cage," he said aloud. His horse, hobbled in the front yard, lifted its head at the voice, resumed its casual grazing.
Just three years had passed but it seemed like a lifetime. The Clements Prison Unit of the Texas Department of Criminal Justice was northeast of Amarillo, three miles north of Loop 335. Many of the inmates of the 3,150 bed maximum security facility spent their days making brogans, the high top prison boot that was de rigueur for all the inmates in the Texas prison system. It wasn't difficult, but it was tedious work, cutting the stiff cowhide from patterns day after day. At the time, he figured he could expect at least twelve more years making boots, even with good behavior and an early release to help relieve the over-crowded prison.
He frowned, reliving some of the anger he had at being incarcerated. There was no reason for me to even be there. Just because I liked to diddle the girls. That’s no crime. Hell, most of them liked it, and wouldn't hardly fight back at all. So many sweet memories. His face relaxed as he reminisced.
The first one, let's see, her name Katy, no Connie. Little girl who lived a couple houses from him in the city of Big Spring. She must have been six or seven, he was nine. He took her into an old wooden garage. Closed his eyes now, remembering. They were both barefoot, and the fine white caliche dirt was soft and cool. First they caught ants and dropped them into the funnel-like depressions in the dust made by ant lions. He enjoyed watching the little insects struggle, first as they tried to climb out of the dirt traps and then again as they were pulled beneath the soil by the jaws of the predator just under the dirt's surface. Seeing the helpless bugs fight against their inevitable death made his thighs feel kind of warm. He looked at the little girl next to him, and got an idea.
"Hey, Connie, see that storeroom over there? I saw an old doll in there. Wanna look?"
Together they went into the attached lean-to storage area. He turned around, facing her, and then struck the side of her face with his open hand as hard as he could.
"Aoww!" she wailed, surprised and dazed.
He struck her again.
"You better not make any more damn noise. You and me are gonna play ant lion."
Even then, I was careful, he thought. I didn't rip her clothes
Watching for a moment, Pete returned the IV pole to its hook on the ceiling. Using a funnel and a small water bottle, he quickly made a mouthwash solution. Then he knelt down beside the prostrate patient.
"Jason, try gargling with this a few times a day, it may help. I have to go out back for while, so when you leave, make sure the screen door is shut all the way, we don't want any flies coming in."
Pete went out the back door to his ‘sunny’ garden, where he grew herbs and vegetables that thrived in full sunlight. Knocking on one of five connected water drums, he ascertained the barrels were still about one third full. Been a dry summer, he thought. He watered close to the roots of the plants, his hands rock steady.
When he went back inside ten minutes later, Jason was gone.
The screen door was closed all the way.
CHAPTER 9
He lay in the bed on his back, hands clasped behind his head. It had been a pleasant morning. This was one of his favorite houses, with its wood frame and large front porch. He'd been up early, as was his habit, and walked silently through the grove of trees on both sides of a seasonal creek that passed nearby. It was dry now, but when it rained, torrents of water, tainted red with dirt, would flow southward to Palo Duro Canyon.
He loved the quiet here.
"Sure beats working in a shoe factory and sleeping in a damn cage," he said aloud. His horse, hobbled in the front yard, lifted its head at the voice, resumed its casual grazing.
Just three years had passed but it seemed like a lifetime. The Clements Prison Unit of the Texas Department of Criminal Justice was northeast of Amarillo, three miles north of Loop 335. Many of the inmates of the 3,150 bed maximum security facility spent their days making brogans, the high top prison boot that was de rigueur for all the inmates in the Texas prison system. It wasn't difficult, but it was tedious work, cutting the stiff cowhide from patterns day after day. At the time, he figured he could expect at least twelve more years making boots, even with good behavior and an early release to help relieve the over-crowded prison.
He frowned, reliving some of the anger he had at being incarcerated. There was no reason for me to even be there. Just because I liked to diddle the girls. That’s no crime. Hell, most of them liked it, and wouldn't hardly fight back at all. So many sweet memories. His face relaxed as he reminisced.
The first one, let's see, her name Katy, no Connie. Little girl who lived a couple houses from him in the city of Big Spring. She must have been six or seven, he was nine. He took her into an old wooden garage. Closed his eyes now, remembering. They were both barefoot, and the fine white caliche dirt was soft and cool. First they caught ants and dropped them into the funnel-like depressions in the dust made by ant lions. He enjoyed watching the little insects struggle, first as they tried to climb out of the dirt traps and then again as they were pulled beneath the soil by the jaws of the predator just under the dirt's surface. Seeing the helpless bugs fight against their inevitable death made his thighs feel kind of warm. He looked at the little girl next to him, and got an idea.
"Hey, Connie, see that storeroom over there? I saw an old doll in there. Wanna look?"
Together they went into the attached lean-to storage area. He turned around, facing her, and then struck the side of her face with his open hand as hard as he could.
"Aoww!" she wailed, surprised and dazed.
He struck her again.
"You better not make any more damn noise. You and me are gonna play ant lion."
Even then, I was careful, he thought. I didn't rip her clothes
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