Chapter 1.... Yes, it's long, no it doesn't have a title. And it doesn't really have anything to do with the military... alright, well it kind of has something to do with the military, but not really. Yeah. (353 hits)
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Submitted by AlahAckbar (View user info) at 2007-07-13 16:07:32 EDT
He downshifted, and the wranglers engine whined as it sped up, preparing to take on the massive hill. A light snow had started to fall, covering the road with a fine white layer, broken occasionally by a melted spot. It was only the beginning of what was to come: some were calling it the storm of the year, others were a bit more pessimistic, calling it the storm of the century. Lake effect snow brought on from the massive great lakes just to the north, with a strong northwestern wind, meant deep, deep snow for the small town of Rockwell, NY.
He had started working at Rockwell Community Hospital shortly after leaving... well, when he finished his contract. It had been two years, and he was still an enigma to many of the staff there. He wasn't greeted with smiles or cheerful faces when he walked into the small, outdated building, even though he spent more time there then anyplace else. The personnel he worked with forgot his name after being introduced, something he embraced. Most just simply referred to him by his title, Respiratory, or more simply: RT. He was certain most of the staff thought that his name was actually, RT. He liked it that way.
He wasn't always this cold, distant to those around him. At one time, he was a compassionate person, who is why after the... incident, they decided to put him into Respiratory Care. He finished his contract, then left, and ended up here. There were a few people that actually showed an interest in him, perhaps sensing a deep hurt somewhere within him, but in time, they eventually faded away into the many different people who were listed underneath the heading of "Coworker". His coworkers, who thought his name was RT.
It wasn't, of course. His name was John Corbin.
He crested the top of the hill, the shocks of his wrangler unloading. He got a lot of looks because of this vehicle. Jet black, with a matching jet black hardtop for the winters and a soft top for the summers. The rims were also jet black, not due to some purposeful designing process on his mind, but more out of habit: keep things dull, not shiny. Shiny reflects light. Dull doesn't. The jeep had a lift package, huge mud tires, again, not out of an interest in looking good, but function. Good clearance made driving through deep snow easier, and he often encountered deep snow coming from the mountains and into the valley. He lived in a small cabin in the woods, overlooking a small lake. His only roommate was his dog Wondermutt, a pure bred German Sheppard, trained by him.
Wondermutt was currently curled up where the passenger seat of his jeep should have been, removed specifically to let the dog sit comfortable with the hardtop on. Wondermutt came with him to work everyday, not something that was exactly acceptable by rules or regulations for any type of healthcare facility. He snuck him in, using the old dumbwaiter system that he discovered in the basement, which, after being secretly rebuilt by him, worked safely and silently, giving him an easy way to take things into the respiratory office that he didn't want others to know about.
Besides his Dog, the list of items also included a 6 inch combat folder, a small pry bar, a small flashlight, 60 feet of 300 pound cord, a roll of 100 mile an hour tape, and a spare set of scrubs, as well as a separate set of boots. He didn't know why he still carried these items with him wherever he went. Habit, perhaps. If one of his superiors found these items, chances are (with the exception of the dog and the knife) he would get a funny look. If they found the dog or the knife, he would most likely be arrested. He didn't care, they made him feel.... Not safe, safety was a feeling he hadn't experienced for at least 4 years, ever since that patrol.
They made him comfortable. He didn't trust many people, any people within at least 500 miles at least, so having something to defend himself against whatever might come, a few items to help him survive in any situation he might come across, made him feel comfortable.
His tires skidded on the new fallen snow as he took a turn too fast. He again down shifted, throwing torque into his tires, and accelerated. The tires caught traction, and he sped down the road, heading to the one of the few places that kept him a part of civilized society.
If it were up to him, he would live the rest of his life in seclusion, away from everything, just him and Wondermutt. Before Wondermutt died, he would buy a new German Sheppard, train him, and his name would also be Wondermutt. When Wondermutt died, he would still have another companion. Something to occupy his time while he was at home, something to keep his bed warm, something to help protect the house from bears or wolves, or stupid kids who are too curious for their own good.
He glanced at the dog, which picked its head up and looked at his master, its long tongue hanging out.
--------------------------------------------
"Jaime, this is the only way."
"I know, but saying it and doing it are too different things! I mean, are we really going to do
this?"
Cory shook his head, tired of explaining things, but willing to do it one more time. It was the only way. They both wanted to have a child, but Jaime was unable. The courts wouldn't grant them a license to adopt, stating an unfit living environment and that they didn't make enough money.
What did they expect! With the shrivs running the record companies now-a-days, how was a young, inexperienced man supposed to break into the business without money? But in order to have money, he had to make money, and playing his guitar at the local dive bars just wasn't cutting it. Jaime worked hard at the local Kraft food plant making lunchables, and that helped pay most of the bills, but at 29 years old she wasn't getting younger, and the job was just barely above minimum wage. He pulled in enough from gigs to keep them from starving, most of the time, but there were plenty of nights spent eating ra-man noodles.
Just last week, he told her he had gotten some food at the local bar where he normally played, splurging because the owner agreed to give him an additional 50 dollars a gig. That had caused a helluva fight, but what was he supposed to do? There were only two things of ra-men left, and the coffers were growing low. So he lied, knowing it would start the typical "we don't have the money...." fight. He did it when necessary, always willing to hold the fight just long enough for her to get angry, to kick him out of the small apartment they barely kept together, so that he could go rummage in a dumpster or garbage can to find food. He wanted her to eat for sure, a meal for him wasn't a necessity. When they married, he had vowed to always take care of her, and he would keep that promise. Someday, they would be rich, and he would tell her, and she would apologize. But there was no reason to apologize for yelling at him for those things: he did them knowing that there would be a fight.
"Jaime, honey, you want a baby, right?"
"Of course! I always have!"
"This is the ONLY way. We both want to be parents before we are 30, and here we are, two months from my 30th. What else are we supposed to do?"
"I DON'T KNOW! This just seems so wrong!"
He knew it was wrong, what they were doing. But they both wanted a baby so badly. He couldn't look at her and tell her that it wasn't wrong, that they deserved this, and that what they were going to do tonight was right and wholesome and pure. So he took her in his arms, holding her close, kissing her beautiful blonde hair, and said the only thing he could.
"It's gonna be ok..... It's gonna be ok...."
A glint of light from the table behind her caught his eye, and he stared at the cold, grey metal of the gun for a long time, before burying his head into her shoulder.
---------------------------------
"Authorities have finally caught up with the man known only as "Rupert" in Central New York, 500 miles away from where his killing spree took place. The 6 day manhunt of the man who killed 15 people in cold blood over the span of two weeks in Scranton ended today in a hail of bullets, with police firing approximately 87 rounds towards the criminal, with no less then 15 scoring hits. Even with wounds to his legs and arms, and yes, even his face and chest, He continued to run, and it wasn't until 6 officers tackled him and brought him to the ground that he was finally captured. One of the officers received serious wounds in the scuffle, and was in critical condition when transferred to Strong Memorial Hospital.
Surprisingly, "Rupert" was not seriously injured, although many of the bullets struck him in vital areas. He was treated at Binghamton General Hospital, and then released into police custody, who will transport him via ambulance back to Scranton, where he will be tried for the crimes he has committed.
This is Susan Cowley, News Channel 8, reporting."
He watched with interest while waiting for his second round of treatments to be done. If he was being transported from Binghamton to Scranton, the convoy would most definitely use route 17, running right along New York's southern border. They would pass by here, most likely in 3-4 hours. He knew that if the roads got too bad, this would be the place they would stop, as it was the only hospital with the facilities to house someone like that Giant.... 15 people killed with his bare hands, three of them police officers. Rumor had it he had been shot twice in the process of that scruff, once in the knee, once in the stomach. It made sense, as the larger a human grows, the more tough he becomes... Sadly, the idea of "the bigger they are, the harder they fall" was 100% true.
And this man, this Rupert, was supposedly as large as they make them. He had only heard snippets of information, whispered between coworkers or as he was passing a patients room. "7 foot tall, but not skinny like you would think!" "Muscles as big as my thigh, his arms covered by long snakes, twisting about his wrists until finally opening with the spread of his hand, the lower jaws being his thumbs! Tattoos... on his THUMBS!"
From what he understood, these tattoos had earned him the early nickname 'The Constrictor', but it didn't stick, as he was more likely to tear his victim apart then to strangle them.... At least, as rumor had it.
But John didn't pay attention to rumors.
The snow had started to fall more heavily, while at the same time, the wind had almost stopped. The plows had been running constantly, but were beginning to loose the fight against the unyeilding snow, and it began piling up more and more, until some of the exits of the hospital were blocked. It was by people who made much more money them him to keep only the main entrance and the emergency room doors open, as they were covered.
A snowplow ran through the parking lot below him, pushing the snow on top of the cars, onto the sidewalk, towards the door. It was piling up now, maybe 6, 7 feet tall where the plow pushed it. It would be another 15 minutes before the plow returned, and the snow would again pile up on the road, maybe 4,5 inches thick.
Snowing 10 inches an hour isn't unheard of, but it was supposed to do this for the next 48 hours. He would get snowed in at work, and have to work until the roads opened up again, maybe in 3 or 4 days.
It wasn't so bad: Wondermutt was stashed away in the respiratory office, hidden behind lock and key, most likely chewing on a bone that John had brought along. At the end of his shift, he would go up to the sleep lab and open it up, bringing Wondermutt in there, then shut and lock the door. The emergency lights from the plows and ambulances would paint the falling snow in a cascade of blues, reds, whites, and yellows, forming a pristine, almost surreal picture... winter in the hospital.
It would be quiet in the Sleep Lab though, the room was sound proof, and he wouldn't be woken up by anything except if his pager went off, summoning him to duty. Otherwise, he would get up in the morning, and do it all over again.
User Reviews
Submitted by AlahAckbar (user info) at 2007-07-16 15:31:40 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No, you rightless.
Remember? we made that bet, that if I beat you at golf i could cut your hand off darth vader style?
I am your father, bitch!
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2007-07-16 12:39:40 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No, write less.
Submitted by kylie (user info) at 2007-07-16 12:24:51 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I liked it
Write more
Submitted by AlahAckbar (user info) at 2007-07-16 11:52:09 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Honestly?
Just trying to ruffle feathers. That's all. :D
Submitted by Caulaincourt (user info) at 2007-07-16 10:19:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
wtf are u talking about?
Submitted by Snark (user info) at 2007-07-14 00:14:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I liked it.
Welcome back.
Submitted by AlahAckbar (user info) at 2007-07-13 21:57:56 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Wow, caul... after three years, you still have nothing better to do then put down people to make yourself feel better?
And me no less? Damn. I'm an american. You must have hella low self esteem.
Love to my Canadian Neighbors! :D
Submitted by TheUniter (user info) at 2007-07-13 18:25:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Submitted by Caulaincourt (user info) at 2007-07-13 17:17:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
didn't you get the memo?
people don't read here anymore...much less 50,000 words blog entries.
Submitted by SgtHartman (user info) at 2007-07-13 16:35:06 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
yeah, continue, alah requires it....
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2007-07-13 16:25:49 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
keep going? it's a good start but this is almost all character development so far, or so it seems to me.
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2007-07-13 16:11:52 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
not bad, keep going
Submitted by AlahAckbar (user info) at 2007-07-13 16:08:26 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
First thing written for fun in a long time. Kinda kicking this idea about for a while, still a work in progress. What do you all think?