Random Writing Pieces

Untitled Story…

The Cold War ended, and billions across the planet are dead.  Russia took out cities on the coast of the United States, and we finished the job ourselves by rushing nuclear ordance to the production table.  In the end, the disaster was our own fault.  Detroit refit their automotive companies for nuclear weapons production, and something went awry.  One small disaster too close to the Fermi nuclear reactor just outside Monroe, and southeast Michigan ceased to exist.  The military thought Russia finally got their weapons platforms up to par and sent a little present to Detroit.  We retaliated, and thus started the road to inevitable destruction.  No food, no water, no place to live. Those that were left had to learn to fend for themselves.  Radiation poisoning was rampant, and no doctors to help the sick and dying.  In the end, it was the fallout that killed the majority, with crime quickly consuming the rest.

Jimmy, now twelve was roaming the barren streets of Cleveland, Ohio.  thirty years ago, Cleveland was a bustling industrialized city.  Now it was a barren wasteland reminiscent of the old war movies of Japan after we nuked Nagasaki.  Parents dead of radiation poisoning six years earlier, his sister Jamie was at home scraping up something that resembled dinner.  Truth be told, dinner would be another half lump of Ramen noodles that miraculously survived the fallout in some old box someplace.  Stuff was like Twinkees his parents told him about before they died.  Ramen could out last the human population, especially on the current path they’re on.  Jimmy saw an old arcade just off what was once Main street, or so the street sign said.  Jimmy couldn’t tell anyway, he couldn’t read.  What good was reading if it couldn’t help you survive the raids of his neighbors?  He wandered in.  In the back between two Grand Theft Auto machines sat two druggies busily needing their arms with rusty spikes in an effort to drown their sorrows in whatever they could inject.  In the end, it was probably just radioactive water obtained from the street vendor down four blocks.  Stupid drug heads, it’d be easier to find some old shotgun and gnaw on the business end of it.  Jimmy ignored them and walked back to the darkest corner where he found some old comic book from around 1980.  He liked looking at the futuristic depiction of the super heroes contained within its water stained wrinkled pages.  The funny shaped curves and crosses were a nuisance and simply in the way of the real entertainment, the drawings.  He glanced outside and saw the sun was setting.  “CRAP!” he thought to himself.  His sister Jamie would chew on his ass again if he was caught outside after dark.  Running as fast as his knobby knees would carry him, he careened into me as I was walking by.  Nearly taking us both to the ground I cried out, “Easy lad, what’s your hurry?”  Panting, he looked up at me wide eyed and obviously fearful, he tried to dart off.  I caught his arm.  “Hey, your knee is all scraped up at least let me take care of that.”  I dug out some bandages I found at some old family doctors office earlier and cleaned the wound with my water flask.  “There.  Doesn’t that feel better now.”  He looked at me and slowly nodded his head.  I began to wonder if this red haired stump of a youth even spoke.  I quickly got my answer when he stood up and motioned me to follow him.  Curiously, I followed him across half a dozen intersections into what used to be the nice part of town.

Chapter One – The Package

The road to hell was nothing as he originally believed. With a short reach to the radio, the volume went down suddenly, and left only the loud roar of the tires wasting away against the road.
“Damned radio, I will never understand it. It’s all useless noise.” he thought aloud.
He pushed the gas pedal harder and harder as he rounded the wide corner of the freeway. The speedometer wiggled closer and closer to nearly one hundred-ten miles an hour. The car was shuddering like a leaf. He was wondering how much farther he could push the engine without blowing it. The wind noise was picking up, and he heard less and less of the road noise. He approached the end of the wide corner, the pedal getting ever closer to the floorboard. A quick thought passed through his head of the package lying on the passenger floorboard. He glanced in the general direction of the package and quickly reflected on events of the previous day that caused him to be in such a position.
“Bloody businessmen, think they can push me around like some slave labor!” he roared.
Suddenly the accelerator made contact with the floorboard. The engine roared, the tachometer leapt to 8,000 RPM. The engine knocked suddenly with the overflow of gasoline in the combustion chambers of each cylinder. The temperature rose quickly, leaving only a quarter of the temperature gauge left on the dashboard.
“Fucking car, I knew I should’ve NEVER purchased you!” he screamed at the car.
Once again, the car leapt forward and the speedometer rose slowly to one-twenty. The temperature gauge slowly went up even more. Steam exploded from underneath the hood as the water hoses burst from unseen pressures and age.
“Damn…” he whispered under his breath.
The accelerator had no room left between it and the floorboard, and it flexed from the stress of the lead foot stomping on top of it. He pressed on. The needle started topping almost one-thirty. The engine screaming in agony, it all but got out and requested the driver to stop this insane driving. It was after all, an old Ford car. He glanced down at the tachometer. Nearly topping nine-thousand RPM, the engine gave up from the stress. Between overheating and the intense pressure that a normal engine would never have gone through, it exploded in shrapnel of metal, fire, and intense heat. Just then, the driver looked up to see a jack-knifed semi truck.
“OH SHI—!” He was cut off before he could finish. The package, still lying on the floorboard, rushed forward at an incredible pace, making a thud almost impossible to hear against the fierce screeching of ripping metal, shattering of windshield glass, and the horrible screams of the car’s driver, as well as the remains of the engine. He slumped against the steering wheel, leaving a trail of blood to flow across the dashboard as the car came to a halt on the other side of the semi trailer. His heart slowed to an almost impossible pace, and slowly, the driver slipped away from his world.

Chapter Two – The Package

The room was dark, lit by a small lamp residing on a desk in the corner of the room. There was an aisle to walk up to the desk. The rest of the room was filled with unmarked cardboard boxes. Who knows what was held inside of those unmarked boxes. Hundreds of them lined the walls. Joe walked quickly up to the desk and waited for the man behind the desk to speak.
“Uhh… sir… the package was lost in transit…” Joe said. He faltered before finishing. “…it appears there was an incident.”
“What the hell do you mean the package was lost?! How does it get lost when it’s being personally driven from one location to the other?!” he said. A dark figure sat behind a desk, most of his features ware obstructed by a creepy shadow covering his face.
He was one not to be toyed with.
“Uh… uhh… he… uhh,” Joe stammered uncontrollably, he knew what would happen after he revealed the story, “he’s dead, sir.”
“What the FUCK do you mean he’s DEAD?!” he screamed.
“He… uh… he… uh… was driving recklessly on the freeway, and drove into a semi-truck trailer at nearly 130 miles an hour.” Joe replied. He wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to live. The man behind the ducked into the shadows for a moment, and returned with a gun and laid it quietly on the desk.
“Now… you go find that fucking package, or you will end up with bullets in the head. Do you understand me?” he roared from behind the desk. Joe nodded quickly, and left the room.
“Hmmm… if that package doesn’t turn up, someone will pay.” he muttered to himself. He returned the gun to the bottom left drawer of the desk. The drawer slid in softly, and a soft click was heard as he locked the drawer. Silently, he moved to his computer, and pressed the space bar. Obediently, the computer responded with a screen full of text and a soft electronic beep. For a few moments he stared at the screen in deep thought. His fingers flew across the keys and a new window appeared on the elegant LCD monitor.
“Hmm… so it seems Joe is more trustworthy than I first thought. He will be good help later.” he said quietly to himself. With a simple keystroke, the screen went blank and he left the room. The door slide closed quietly, and was locked from the outside. A few moments later, the screen came back to life with a single word at the upper left hand corner of the screen.
“. . . Detroit. . .”

Chapter Three – The Package

Sirens screamed down the highway at blistering speeds to reach the wreck. Police cars, fire trucks and ambulances all arrived at the scene within minutes of the accident. Paramedics worked quickly to help the driver of the semi. However, they didn’t work as quickly when it came to the driver of the mangled car. There was nothing to be done for him. He was all but ice cold when they arrived. They didn’t even check for a beating heart, as his brain was plastered on the windshield.
“Time of death,” she glanced at her watch before finishing, “approximately 10 p.m.” The paramedics carried the maimed body to one of the closer ambulances. A white sheet was laid over the body with little care.
“It’s a shame that people drive at such speeds and reckless ways. Yet another death that could have been avoided if people drove with the common sense that God gave them.” she said. Quickly, she left to go help the driver of the semi. After cleaning him up, he gave a brief report to the State Police. After the report, the paramedics took him to the nearest hospital for the usual amount of tests, x-rays, and poking and prodding. The driver of the car ended up at the nearest morgue. This is where he will spend several weeks before they could identify his body. With no wallet, no ID, they were unable to identify him.