The Nation Chronicles: Death free preview!
GEO DELL’S THE NATION CHRONICLES FAN FICTION: DEATH
By Geo Dell
Copyright © Geo Dell 2017, all rights reserved.
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This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places or incidents depicted are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual living person’s places, situations or events is purely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means, electronic, print, scanner or any other means and, or distributed without the author’s permission. All rights foreign and domestic are retained by the Author and or his assignees.
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This material has NOT been edited for content and is rated 18+
Poza Rica, Mexico
Billy sat on the deck and looked out over the gulf. There were no other houses for a few miles except Doug and Mayte’s place. Poza Rica was the closest town and that was not really close. He liked it that way.
A small fire burned nearby to take the chill out of the gulf air. He opened his wallet and took out two creased strips of photos and looked at them. Time spun away and he sighed as he began to shove the photos back down into his worn wallet, but his hand froze as his eyes caught the fire. A second later he was watching the edges of the strips of photos began to curl as the flames caught and took them.
Most days he didn’t think of his old life and what had brought him here at all, but when he did it wasn’t with regrets. The hardest thing of all had been shooting Nikki. When she had said she had killed April, he had remembered that a body had been found the day before. He just hadn’t connected the two things. And it would’ve made no connection in his head anyway. He hadn’t known April Evans. Nikki Moore had become April Evans to him. He would never have known the difference.
What he had known was that she had not been entirely honest with him. He had caught her more than once doing things that were stupid, outright dangerous when they had been on the run. And she would play stupid when he would catch her. You can’t be stupid one minute and smart the next. The skill as a makeup artist had thrown him, but he just hadn’t been able to believe she only learned it in school from a onetime class: And there was always that thing about her that made her appear older or maybe more mature to him than a girl that age would be. He had even mentioned it to her and she had laughed it off.
He had stopped trusting her the second she had insisted on trying to make the deal even though their faces had been on TV, and the next morning when he had seen the paper and compared the faces he wondered. She looked so different. Again she laughed it off: Said it was an old junior high school picture.
She had left the car to use the ladies room and he had checked the guns. He knew then that something was wrong. She had them parked in an enclosed area: There would be no place to run if something went wrong, and one of the guns had an empty clip. They were the same model, one chrome one blued-steel. The clips mounted exactly the same. So he’d switched the clips. It made the gun with the full clip heavier, but he doubted that she would notice. She knew which gun she had put the empty clip into.
She had already been talking about calling the cop, and he couldn’t reason it. He didn’t feel like giving up, and he didn’t care what the radio said about him he wouldn’t give up, and he didn’t believe she would either. He had been hoping she’d simply screwed up with the guns, but when she had looked at them both before she handed him the one that had been empty, he had known then she either meant to kill him or have him killed.
He didn’t feel guilty about it at the time, only sad: Now he didn’t even feel sad, only grateful that her plans had fallen through.
Doug had a small fishing boat. They went out most days and fished, selling their catch in Poza Rica. Life couldn’t be better or more laid back: The house on the beach. The way time seemed to stand still, even so he was going.
The word had come to him late last night that La Policía were looking for him, and not the local Policía, these guys were rumored to be dressed in military garb and carrying automatic weapons. The Federales, Dougie had said: All kinds of bad; especially for an American in the country illegally.
He had been expecting it, just hoping it would hold off a while longer. He had briefly wondered what had led them to him, but in the end it hadn’t mattered. He had purchased an old truck in town. Rolled a thirty gallon drum into the bed and chained it down. He had filled it with gasoline and once the sun set he would be on his way through the desert. California… Texas if that didn’t work out: Or maybe he’d work his way up the west coast and head for Alaska. There were a million places there to disappear.
“Second thoughts?” Dougie asked. He wore a funny little half smile on his face.
“No, I was just thinking about how lucky I’ve been… Hope it holds out.” He took a deep drink from his beer, draining it. Dougie handed him another, but he refused it. The sun was right on the edge of setting and he wanted to be a far way into the great nothing before the moon came up.
He left the deck and walked across the sand to the old truck. It would be a wonder if it didn’t leave him stranded somewhere in the desert, but he couldn’t chance taking the Suburban. He climbed in, shut the door with a rusty screech and raised one hand to Dougie and Mayte as he started the truck. They waved back, and a few seconds later he dropped the old truck and gear and lumbered off into the desert.
Eternal Rest Lawns
New Paltz, New York.
The room was dark. He had dozed off… Dozed off and… No good. He couldn’t bring it back. He had dozed off, that much was true. He had felt bad, ill… The virus was taking a toll on him, or the medication, both, so he had dozed off and slept for a while: Apparently a long while, and apparently deeply. Lita must have turned down the lights and pulled the heavy drapes, but he could not recall her doing that. He could not even recall her leaving him. It was something she rarely did, and it shocked him now to find that she might have.
The living room where she had set up the hospital bed was entirely dark. Not a sign of light anywhere. He moved his hand; the thought was to bring it to his face to see if it could be seen. This seemed to be the darkest room he had ever experienced in his life.
In his life, he found himself repeating as his hand banged into something substantial and stopped suddenly. Too suddenly: Had he rolled closer to the inside edge of the bed? The rail? Something like that? Pinned his arm? He rolled to the right to correct it, sure that was the problem, but he met with no success at all. The same hard structure stopped him, or seemed to.
He blinked, squinted and tried to see better. No good, pitch black, and although he was a man who had little natural fear he had begun to panic right then.
He had found that fear had become a near constant visitor with him over the last few months. And he had come to find that fear was not the thing that most people thought it was, fear was something else entirely. Fear was everything in the rational world that you did not understand. Every battle you had refused, run away from: And fear was the great unknown. The things that you could only know with any degree of certainty after you were dead: And then only if there could even be such a thing as knowledge after you had passed from life. He doubted there was. He had not always doubted there was, but he did now.
He tried to sit up: His body was weak, but he managed to get it to start to rise when his head had slammed into the same immovable surface. Hard, iron hard, unmoving. In a near full blown panic, he raised his hands as slowly as he could from his side and felt at his surroundings. The shape was not familiar, but in another way, on a subconscious level, it seemed completely familiar to him: The shape, the volume, the texture of slippery satin against his fingers, the hard surface beneath the satin. A recessed seam running across, side to side, another, longer seam traversing the sides that he could not bend his hands into any sort of shape to follow. He continued along, feeling, probing, when he suddenly realized that he had forgotten to breathe. He had been so caught up in discovering this mystery that he had completely forgotten. He had never heard of anything like this happening to anyone, but he had no doubt that it had just happened to him. He was not breathing. He had not taken a breath in… He had no idea, a while.
He tried to open his mouth and then the real panic set in. He could not open his mouth. His lips seemed joined together, unable to part. He put a little extra effort into it and felt them part with a hard, low ripping sound. Flesh stripped from flesh, like when your lips had dried out and then stuck together…
Okay… Okay, don’t panic, it’s all fixable. He had probably just pulled a great deal of skin from his lips, but it would be fine. It would be…
His fingers felt at his lips: It was not going to be fine. There were chunks and pieces of his lips attached to both lips. Thread woven from one to the other had held them together. Some ones idea of a joke: The thought had flashed across his mind, but even as it did he knew it to be untrue. No one would play that trick, not on him. Lita would never allow anyone to get that close to play that trick even if they had thought to.
The truth of the situation hit him just that fast and he began to claw and tear at the satin lining. He tried to scream, but he could pull no air into his lungs. He felt his nails digging at the slippery satin, catching on the wood just below the surface and breaking, snapping off as the panic took over completely and he tried even harder to fight his way out of the casket.
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