Read Online Threnody (Book 1) by Kirk Withrow - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kirk Withrow
Tags: Zombies
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successful manned flight in 1903.
As his plane neared the approach end of the runway, John was surprised to see what appeared to be Mr. Hasker lying supine on the tarmac next to the idling twin. Had he suffered a heart attack? Why was no one helping him? Where the hell was everyone? These were a few of the thoughts racing through John’s mind as he brought the Cessna in for an uneventful landing. He quickly taxied off the runway, turning immediately toward the run-up area and Mr. Hasker. Once near, John powered his engine down and dashed toward the fallen man. The light reflecting off the wet runway created colorful swirling avgas rainbows in the puddles as he approached. When he was about twenty feet away from Hasker, John caught sight of movement by the base of the tower about 250 yards away. He turned his head to investigate and saw a large man running full speed toward him, his arms flailing wildly. John thought he recognized the man as an airport employee but was unsure of his name. John saw no threat and nothing out of place aside from the downed form of Mr. Hasker so he was confused by the man’s frantic actions. The clamorous noise of the idling twin made it impossible to make out the man’s urgent cries. It’s about time! Directing his attention back to Hasker, John noticed he no longer saw the swirling rainbows around the downed man who appeared to be lying in a dark puddle of oil. As he grew nearer to Hasker he was relieved when the old man began struggling to his feet. “Hasker! Are you okay? What happened?” bellowed John uselessly against the deafening din of the dual 285 horsepower engines.
Having finally gotten to his feet, old man Hasker slowly began to turn with all the incoordination of a drunk failing a sobriety test. When the old man raised his head and stared directly at him, John caught the first glimpse of the eyes that would become a fixture in his nightmares. The blank, frosted orbs – for he could hardly call them ‘eyes’ – were adorned with thin black reticular lines emanating away from large, vacant pupils, giving them the appearance of having just been dragged through a spider’s web. The frosted appearance of the eyes made it appear as though the old man suffered from large cataracts, though he never recalled his eyes looking as such. At that moment, John got the unsettling feeling that what he just flew into was something far worse than a radio failure and a heart attack.
“I don’t think that’s oil on the ground,” John muttered to himself as the old man’s mangled right arm came into view. Mr. Hasker continued without a trace of recognition as he half-staggered, half-fell toward John with his one good arm outstretched.
John stood transfixed at the grotesque sight of what he knew in his heart was old man Hasker. His mind, however, screamed with the intensity of a man being dipped into scalding hot water, that what he saw before him could not possibly be Mr. Hasker. The ruined countenance, opaque lifeless eyes, and reaching half-arm did not seem compatible with a living human. Only a portion of his right upper arm remained and, given the relatively clean break of the humerus, John surmised it was likely a propeller injury. Immediately John’s medical training urged his muscles to spring into action. Simultaneously, an innate, primal, and more powerful instinct blared paralyzing warning alarms in his head. This latter instinct, concerned only with self-preservation, was not learned like his instinct to help the sick and injured. It did not ‘urge’ him to do anything, but simply commandeered his muscle groups without consultation of his powers of higher reasoning. He was backpedaling away from the grisly form before he even realized it.
As John stumbled away from the monster before him, he tripped and nearly fell over something strewn across the runway. For a brief moment he wondered why Hasker left his engines
As his plane neared the approach end of the runway, John was surprised to see what appeared to be Mr. Hasker lying supine on the tarmac next to the idling twin. Had he suffered a heart attack? Why was no one helping him? Where the hell was everyone? These were a few of the thoughts racing through John’s mind as he brought the Cessna in for an uneventful landing. He quickly taxied off the runway, turning immediately toward the run-up area and Mr. Hasker. Once near, John powered his engine down and dashed toward the fallen man. The light reflecting off the wet runway created colorful swirling avgas rainbows in the puddles as he approached. When he was about twenty feet away from Hasker, John caught sight of movement by the base of the tower about 250 yards away. He turned his head to investigate and saw a large man running full speed toward him, his arms flailing wildly. John thought he recognized the man as an airport employee but was unsure of his name. John saw no threat and nothing out of place aside from the downed form of Mr. Hasker so he was confused by the man’s frantic actions. The clamorous noise of the idling twin made it impossible to make out the man’s urgent cries. It’s about time! Directing his attention back to Hasker, John noticed he no longer saw the swirling rainbows around the downed man who appeared to be lying in a dark puddle of oil. As he grew nearer to Hasker he was relieved when the old man began struggling to his feet. “Hasker! Are you okay? What happened?” bellowed John uselessly against the deafening din of the dual 285 horsepower engines.
Having finally gotten to his feet, old man Hasker slowly began to turn with all the incoordination of a drunk failing a sobriety test. When the old man raised his head and stared directly at him, John caught the first glimpse of the eyes that would become a fixture in his nightmares. The blank, frosted orbs – for he could hardly call them ‘eyes’ – were adorned with thin black reticular lines emanating away from large, vacant pupils, giving them the appearance of having just been dragged through a spider’s web. The frosted appearance of the eyes made it appear as though the old man suffered from large cataracts, though he never recalled his eyes looking as such. At that moment, John got the unsettling feeling that what he just flew into was something far worse than a radio failure and a heart attack.
“I don’t think that’s oil on the ground,” John muttered to himself as the old man’s mangled right arm came into view. Mr. Hasker continued without a trace of recognition as he half-staggered, half-fell toward John with his one good arm outstretched.
John stood transfixed at the grotesque sight of what he knew in his heart was old man Hasker. His mind, however, screamed with the intensity of a man being dipped into scalding hot water, that what he saw before him could not possibly be Mr. Hasker. The ruined countenance, opaque lifeless eyes, and reaching half-arm did not seem compatible with a living human. Only a portion of his right upper arm remained and, given the relatively clean break of the humerus, John surmised it was likely a propeller injury. Immediately John’s medical training urged his muscles to spring into action. Simultaneously, an innate, primal, and more powerful instinct blared paralyzing warning alarms in his head. This latter instinct, concerned only with self-preservation, was not learned like his instinct to help the sick and injured. It did not ‘urge’ him to do anything, but simply commandeered his muscle groups without consultation of his powers of higher reasoning. He was backpedaling away from the grisly form before he even realized it.
As John stumbled away from the monster before him, he tripped and nearly fell over something strewn across the runway. For a brief moment he wondered why Hasker left his engines
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