Zigzagging a motorcycle through the devastated city proved to be quite difficult. The streets were not just gridlocked, they were jam packed, and even though he took the freeway, Dave found it tough going. The death surrounding him was so over-powering he couldn't process it. He had to get away, get upwind, grieving could come later, feeling could come later.
About 5 miles into his journey, the devastation seemed to lessen, and not all the cars were on fire. Topping a rise, he saw what he'd been dreading. Movement. In the back seat of a station-wagon there was a person still alive. Swinging his legs over the saddle once again, Dave went to see what he could do. It was a woman, about 30 years old. She was blackened to a crisp, clearly dead, but somehow moving. He pushed the woman gently with his finger and she fell away. Dave saw what had been causing the female corpse to move. What was underneath was a sight too dreadful to behold, even for a cynic like Dave, who had seen many things in his long life, and who had had his natural compassion dulled by horror. A baby seat. With a small, burnt form in it. The sex was indiscernable. Blind, choking and writhing in agony, the baby was still trying to breathe, trying to LIVE. But it was failing.
It's mother must have seen the blast wave coming, and thrown herself over her infant to protect it. If she had not, the baby would have died a relatively quick death. As it was her form was just enough to protect the baby from the worst of the bomb's immediate effects, but in a twisted, awful caricature of the maternal instinct, she had condemned her child to suffer in hell for the last awful hours of it's existence. There was no way this horribly burned creature was going to survive, even if it could get to a hospital, and anyway the nearest one was part of a 10 million Kelvin atomized cloud of gas, pluming 100 000 ft into the sky.
Dave stared at the scene, unable to find words appropriate to explain the horror. "The problem is so big. What can I do?" The dry voice inside him warned him not to intervene. "There will be thousands of children in as much pain as this little wretch. You can't fix them all. What can you do indeed? You're just one man. You need to find the Others. You can do more with them than you can on your own. You need to get away. " Yeah, he was just one man. But he could do something on his own. Afterwards he would link up with Kissinger junior and fight to save the American race. But first he would do this; he would make things right, right here, right now. The future was uncertain, and he didn't have any spare ammo clips. But in this, he could help. He could reach out and save one child. Maybe not quite what the World Vision folks had in mind, but this earth was imperfect. Dave cupped the baby's stricken head in his hand one last time, reached to grab his gun, and fired it into the innocent's temple. The report echoed across the otherwise silent freeway, marking him for all time as a child murderer. The spasming stopped. This killing had been an act of compassion, and he would have to live with it for the rest of his life.
Dave turned away from the car, and vomited. He was tired, so very tired. He felt old, older than the Earth. He needed sleep. Bitumen on a gridlocked freeway felt suddenly soft and inviting. More than anything in the world he wanted to sleep now...
But he couldn't. He had a duty. He needed to regroup, needed to find Kissinger. He needed to fight the good fight. There was plenty of time to rest when he was dead, which might not be that long if he stayed within 10 klicks of a fucking H-bomb blast for more than a few hours. There were people in this world that needed killing, the end of their life stories had Dave standing over them, a Magnum 45mm lodged in their brains. And more than anything in the world, David Barry needed to find the Vaginal Orgasm, and keep her safe. It was only the craven part of Dave that wanted to sleep. Yeah, the Vaginal Orgasm might have perished in that 4-th dimensional Manchurian Tesseract. But right now, he had to operate on the assumption she was alive, and needed his help. With a superhuman effort, Dave shrugged off his weariness and got back on the bike.
From here on, traffic was thinner. this must be the point where people started not being instantly fried by the radiation. Dave thought, "Things can only get better from here. I'm gonna make it, we're ALL gonna make it. We're gonna be ok."
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Continued
The stairwell was a little cooler and more strongly built, but it was still a scene of death. By chance a cop had been visiting the surgery, he was now lying face down on the floor, holstered gun by his side. Dave pocketed the weapon, you just never know when such a thing might come in useful. Running down the stairs, he got to the parking level. All the lights were out, and his Zippo didn't cast much gleam, but he managed to find his Harley. For Dave, the second half of the twentieth century had been a time of technological regress. He had always shunned electric starter motors, and now was his vindication. EMP would have taken out all the other vehicles. He kicked the stick, and his pride and joy roared to life. Old faithful, just like the geyser. His headlights glared , and revealed a probable homosexual slumped in a dead Prius just opposite. "Would it kill you to buy American?" Dave muttered under his breath.
Time was short, but Christian charity is a wonderful thing, and even now our hero was moved to render whatever assistance he could. He dismounted, and moved cautiously to the traitor's pathetic excuse for a car. Through the window, Dave could see "The New York Times" in the likely sodomite's lap. The headline proclaimed "Health-Care passed through House-Senate reconciliation: 53 senators can't be wrong!" A fitting epitaph for the noble American experiment. That must be why the federal government dropped the nuke! Dave realized in a flash.
The near-certain fairy stirred. He was half-conscious, and badly burnt but babbling. "Change, change we can believe in. I voted for change!" "Yeah, and how's that working out for you friend?" Dave asked quietly? The fancy-boy opened his black, soulless eyes, and saw the conservative. He started to laugh. "Well I'm done for", he rasped, "but at least you'll die too, even if you can get out of here. Cancer from this bomb's radiation will finish you off, Obamacare 'll make sure of that." His face seemed to be overwhelmed by pain from his burns for a minute, but he whispered, "The America you knew is already over. We've won!"
At this Dave had to laugh too. There was really nothing else to do. He laughed big, hearty gaffaws. The dry, analytical part of his mind, warned him there was a tinge of hysteria in his voice, but he couldn't help it. "Cancer," he shrieked, "Cancer from the bomb! Well just tell that radiation to get in line!" Dave took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, and lit up. The dull, familiar pain in his chest was beginning to burn again. "I'm already dying of lung cancer! Friend, when it comes time to reap the soul from my body, only horseman that's gonna do it's gonna be the Marlborough man!"
The now-confirmed sapphic had lapsed again into unconsciousness, and clearly he wasn't going to make it. Dave swung his legs over the saddle and roared off into the smoke.
Time was short, but Christian charity is a wonderful thing, and even now our hero was moved to render whatever assistance he could. He dismounted, and moved cautiously to the traitor's pathetic excuse for a car. Through the window, Dave could see "The New York Times" in the likely sodomite's lap. The headline proclaimed "Health-Care passed through House-Senate reconciliation: 53 senators can't be wrong!" A fitting epitaph for the noble American experiment. That must be why the federal government dropped the nuke! Dave realized in a flash.
The near-certain fairy stirred. He was half-conscious, and badly burnt but babbling. "Change, change we can believe in. I voted for change!" "Yeah, and how's that working out for you friend?" Dave asked quietly? The fancy-boy opened his black, soulless eyes, and saw the conservative. He started to laugh. "Well I'm done for", he rasped, "but at least you'll die too, even if you can get out of here. Cancer from this bomb's radiation will finish you off, Obamacare 'll make sure of that." His face seemed to be overwhelmed by pain from his burns for a minute, but he whispered, "The America you knew is already over. We've won!"
At this Dave had to laugh too. There was really nothing else to do. He laughed big, hearty gaffaws. The dry, analytical part of his mind, warned him there was a tinge of hysteria in his voice, but he couldn't help it. "Cancer," he shrieked, "Cancer from the bomb! Well just tell that radiation to get in line!" Dave took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, and lit up. The dull, familiar pain in his chest was beginning to burn again. "I'm already dying of lung cancer! Friend, when it comes time to reap the soul from my body, only horseman that's gonna do it's gonna be the Marlborough man!"
The now-confirmed sapphic had lapsed again into unconsciousness, and clearly he wasn't going to make it. Dave swung his legs over the saddle and roared off into the smoke.
Dave and Henry Kissinger
Ok guys first of all, big shout-out to my brothers and sisters working tirelessly in every city you can name in the contiguous 48 plus Alaska. From Seattle to Washington .D.C., Miami to El Paso, they never give up hope, their energies never flag. Whether it's town hall meetings in Olympia, rallies in Chicago, or just organizing internet campaigns out of small-town USA, these patriots fight, struggle, and yes sometimes die, all the way across this vast, eternal, God-given Tea-party Nation. And if by chance we should give up the fight and say it's all too hard, or if the enemies of the light should triumph? Well let's just see what life would be like under ObamaCare.
The strange hum of the CAT scan machine shut off abruptly, and Dave was plunged into darkness. Startled out of his reverie, he sat up, just before realizing where he was, and bumped his head on the low, curved ceiling. The curse words were barely out of his mouth when the red emergency lights sputtered to life. Somehow the hellish, dusky gloom accentuated the CAT machine's coffin-like appearance, and Dave fought back a rising tide of claustrophobia. Firmly, and contemptuously, he suppressed the moment of irrational weakness, but resolved to get out anyway, clearly the scan was over.
Dave had no sooner completed the thought when two things happened at the same time. The whole lead-lined concrete room shook from a sound like a thunderclap, and the emergency lights winked out. "What the hell is going on?" wondered Dave. Groping toward his jacket, he felt for his Zippo lighter, nestled snugly in a pocket. He was getting out out of here, something was very wrong. The room was heating up now, and Dave scrambled for the only door, but found the electronic access panel dead. Snarling, he reached for a steel chair and began using it as a club to break the lock. It was strong, but made in China - and to keep people out rather than in, ultimately no match for an old cagefighter. With a snap, the
lock broke. Dave pushed the door open - and stared at the vision of hell which confronted him.
What had been a peaceful doctor's surgery waiting room just minutes ago was now a burning wreck, ghastly corpses strewn everywhere. Everything was on fire, and of the cadavers not completely burned to a crisp, Dave could see by the contortions on their face that death had not been pleasant. The building was utterly destroyed. Through gaping holes in the walls, he could see buildings aflame half a mile away, burning so fiercely they shone through the atomic cloud. Judging from the scene of devastation before him, and the long lag between the initial EMP burst and his "thunderclap," this had to be a big one, a hydrogen bomb. He had to get out of here, the radiation would kill him. Automatic fire suppression sprinklers had kicked in, cooling the air somewhat, but the toxic fumes were choking. Wrapping a cloth over his mouth, Dave crawled toward the fire escape.
The strange hum of the CAT scan machine shut off abruptly, and Dave was plunged into darkness. Startled out of his reverie, he sat up, just before realizing where he was, and bumped his head on the low, curved ceiling. The curse words were barely out of his mouth when the red emergency lights sputtered to life. Somehow the hellish, dusky gloom accentuated the CAT machine's coffin-like appearance, and Dave fought back a rising tide of claustrophobia. Firmly, and contemptuously, he suppressed the moment of irrational weakness, but resolved to get out anyway, clearly the scan was over.
Dave had no sooner completed the thought when two things happened at the same time. The whole lead-lined concrete room shook from a sound like a thunderclap, and the emergency lights winked out. "What the hell is going on?" wondered Dave. Groping toward his jacket, he felt for his Zippo lighter, nestled snugly in a pocket. He was getting out out of here, something was very wrong. The room was heating up now, and Dave scrambled for the only door, but found the electronic access panel dead. Snarling, he reached for a steel chair and began using it as a club to break the lock. It was strong, but made in China - and to keep people out rather than in, ultimately no match for an old cagefighter. With a snap, the
lock broke. Dave pushed the door open - and stared at the vision of hell which confronted him.
What had been a peaceful doctor's surgery waiting room just minutes ago was now a burning wreck, ghastly corpses strewn everywhere. Everything was on fire, and of the cadavers not completely burned to a crisp, Dave could see by the contortions on their face that death had not been pleasant. The building was utterly destroyed. Through gaping holes in the walls, he could see buildings aflame half a mile away, burning so fiercely they shone through the atomic cloud. Judging from the scene of devastation before him, and the long lag between the initial EMP burst and his "thunderclap," this had to be a big one, a hydrogen bomb. He had to get out of here, the radiation would kill him. Automatic fire suppression sprinklers had kicked in, cooling the air somewhat, but the toxic fumes were choking. Wrapping a cloth over his mouth, Dave crawled toward the fire escape.
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