Read Online Life on the Preservation, US Edition by Jack Skillingstead - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jack Skillingstead
Tags: Science-Fiction
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whenever he called her his ‘little co-pilot’ that former term of endearment meant he owned her.
And now he was about to be dead with a bullet in his head.
It was too dark in the house. Kylie decided to re-start the generator, even if it was a waste of fuel. Billy stored the spare gas in five-gallon cans next to the side of the house. Using both hands, Kylie picked one up and lugged it to the porch. She poured a gallon of gas into the generator, spilling quite a bit in the process. Then she thumbed the START button and the generator kicked on immediately. It was lucky for her and Billy that Father Jim had convinced everybody that God wanted them to live without machines or booze, otherwise the town would have run out of both a long time ago.
She returned to the kitchen and closed the door behind her. In the dark she waited a minute, listening.
Something was different.
Kylie stepped out of the kitchen. The lamp was on, and Father Jim wasn’t dead. He was standing in front of the fireplace, looking at himself in the mirror above the mantel, carefully combing his stringy iron-gray hair with his fingers. He turned when Kylie came in. His nose was bent and his upper lip was crusted with blood. He must have broken the nose when he ran into the door frame. But worse than that, there was a black hole in his forehead about the diameter of a pencil, an inch or so above his left eye. A crooked line of blood ran from the hole to Jim’s eyebrow. The eye below the brow was so bloodshot it had no visible pupil. Either the bullet or the door frame had knocked him cold. “Have you seen my hat?” he said.
Kylie stared at him.
“Have you seen my hat ?”
She noticed it on the floor under the roll top desk but didn’t say anything. She raised the baby automatic and pointed it at Jim.
“I thought I dropped my hat around here.”
“You better go away now,” Kylie said.
“I will if it’s not raining.”
“It’s not,” Kylie said.
He looked confused, his jaw hanging loose. Kylie said, “The door’s over there, behind you.”
Father Jim turned and shuffled to the door. Leaving the door open he walked out onto the dead lawn and halted, staring at the sky, at the dull glitter that was not stars. Father Jim called this phenomenon the Apocalypse Sky. Billy just said it was ‘some alien shit’.
“Go on!” Kylie said, but Father Jim didn’t move. She retrieved his hat and sailed it out to him like a saucer. It hit the back of his leg. He picked it up and placed it carefully on his head, covering the bullet hole.
“You’re not right yet,” he said.
Kylie slammed the door.
CHAPTER SIX
SEATTLE, OCTOBER 5, 2012
I AN STOOD BARE -chested in the kitchen, pouring hot water through a Melitta filter. He leaned over the rising steam and inhaled deeply. The aroma was wonderful. But that didn’t mean it was worth getting up at seven o’clock in the morning. He lifted the filter away and set it in the sink, added a splash of heavy cream to the cup.
He stepped into the living room – and stopped.
His stash of pill bottles stood arrayed on the bedside table, caps off. Sudden fear drew at him like a black tide.
Ian put his cup down, gathered the bottles in trembling hands, replaced the caps and put the bottles back in the bathroom medicine chest.
In the living room, he racked up the window blinds and gazed down at the Chief. If only he didn’t have to ride the damn thing to Pullman. It probably wouldn’t make it the whole distance, anyway.
So he should skip it.
Sarah would almost certainly be asleep at this hour. He composed a bullshit text message about his bike crapping out on him again, hit SEND. Totally plausible. It wasn’t even really a lie, just a truth that hadn’t happened today but could have. Okay, cowardly. Cowardly but foolproof .
The phone rang and he answered it before he could stop himself.
“Hello? Ian?”
Sarah. Fuck .
“Yeah,” he said. “Good morning.”
“Is
And now he was about to be dead with a bullet in his head.
It was too dark in the house. Kylie decided to re-start the generator, even if it was a waste of fuel. Billy stored the spare gas in five-gallon cans next to the side of the house. Using both hands, Kylie picked one up and lugged it to the porch. She poured a gallon of gas into the generator, spilling quite a bit in the process. Then she thumbed the START button and the generator kicked on immediately. It was lucky for her and Billy that Father Jim had convinced everybody that God wanted them to live without machines or booze, otherwise the town would have run out of both a long time ago.
She returned to the kitchen and closed the door behind her. In the dark she waited a minute, listening.
Something was different.
Kylie stepped out of the kitchen. The lamp was on, and Father Jim wasn’t dead. He was standing in front of the fireplace, looking at himself in the mirror above the mantel, carefully combing his stringy iron-gray hair with his fingers. He turned when Kylie came in. His nose was bent and his upper lip was crusted with blood. He must have broken the nose when he ran into the door frame. But worse than that, there was a black hole in his forehead about the diameter of a pencil, an inch or so above his left eye. A crooked line of blood ran from the hole to Jim’s eyebrow. The eye below the brow was so bloodshot it had no visible pupil. Either the bullet or the door frame had knocked him cold. “Have you seen my hat?” he said.
Kylie stared at him.
“Have you seen my hat ?”
She noticed it on the floor under the roll top desk but didn’t say anything. She raised the baby automatic and pointed it at Jim.
“I thought I dropped my hat around here.”
“You better go away now,” Kylie said.
“I will if it’s not raining.”
“It’s not,” Kylie said.
He looked confused, his jaw hanging loose. Kylie said, “The door’s over there, behind you.”
Father Jim turned and shuffled to the door. Leaving the door open he walked out onto the dead lawn and halted, staring at the sky, at the dull glitter that was not stars. Father Jim called this phenomenon the Apocalypse Sky. Billy just said it was ‘some alien shit’.
“Go on!” Kylie said, but Father Jim didn’t move. She retrieved his hat and sailed it out to him like a saucer. It hit the back of his leg. He picked it up and placed it carefully on his head, covering the bullet hole.
“You’re not right yet,” he said.
Kylie slammed the door.
CHAPTER SIX
SEATTLE, OCTOBER 5, 2012
I AN STOOD BARE -chested in the kitchen, pouring hot water through a Melitta filter. He leaned over the rising steam and inhaled deeply. The aroma was wonderful. But that didn’t mean it was worth getting up at seven o’clock in the morning. He lifted the filter away and set it in the sink, added a splash of heavy cream to the cup.
He stepped into the living room – and stopped.
His stash of pill bottles stood arrayed on the bedside table, caps off. Sudden fear drew at him like a black tide.
Ian put his cup down, gathered the bottles in trembling hands, replaced the caps and put the bottles back in the bathroom medicine chest.
In the living room, he racked up the window blinds and gazed down at the Chief. If only he didn’t have to ride the damn thing to Pullman. It probably wouldn’t make it the whole distance, anyway.
So he should skip it.
Sarah would almost certainly be asleep at this hour. He composed a bullshit text message about his bike crapping out on him again, hit SEND. Totally plausible. It wasn’t even really a lie, just a truth that hadn’t happened today but could have. Okay, cowardly. Cowardly but foolproof .
The phone rang and he answered it before he could stop himself.
“Hello? Ian?”
Sarah. Fuck .
“Yeah,” he said. “Good morning.”
“Is
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