The End
Spencer Jensen
1
Friday, Jan 18, 2013, 17:12
Bruce curled up in his box, trying to keep the heat in and the water out. The box was brown, bigger than his last one, and about twice as thick. He felt a drip on his head. Ouch.
Acid rain kind of hurt.
As he sat in the box, he heard some loud footsteps. He poked a hole in the side of the soggy box with his finger, and peered out.
Bruce knew never go outside at night without knowing what's out there.
He watched as a large rat the size of a park bench waddled past, munching on something and squealing.
I hope it’s not anyone I know. He thought.
Bruce moved his head into a less dangerous position and closed his eyes, trying to rest. As he closed his eyes, an image flashed in his mind. The same image that had haunted him ever since he’d escaped, almost two weeks ago.
Sara.
She had blonde hair that she wore in two pigtails. She always carried a small stuffed turtle, which she called Shelly. Two teeth were missing from her grin. She had lost both teeth on the same night. They had been at the fair, and purchased some caramel apples. When Sara she bit into one, both of her front teeth came out with it.
His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp pain to his left. A Voice yelled, “GET OUT OF MY BOX!” and his side was jabbed again. He slid his head out, and was met with an ugly sight.
The man had scars running up and down each of his arms, with jaggedly cut features, bushy eyebrows, and a black scruffy beard. His clothes looked very much like a hobo’s, red plaid shirt, a dark green beanie, ripped jeans and worn shoes. His black hair was long and unkempt, and he was cradling his heavily banged hand. As he opened his mouth to scream at Bruce, he saw rows of yellow teeth, laden with food. He started to yell again, but Bruce cut him off.
“Stop screaming. Do you want to get found?”
“It’s my box. Get out.”
“You weren’t here when I found it, were you?”
“JUST GET OUT!”
“Ok, ok...” Bruce said, slid out of the box and stood. As the hobo slid into it, he sighed.
“I guess you can come and sit. The rain’s not letting up anytime soon. It’s always good to hear another loner’s story. Helps prevent accidents,” he said, gesturing to his hand.
Bruce sat down in the box, and rubbed his hands together, trying to keep warm.
“What got your hand?” He asked, nodding to the injured appendage.
The man looked down, and grimaced. “Chunks. You know that Wal-Mart on Parrish lane? Don’t go there. I was getting some supplies for the week, and when I turned around, there they were. Few dozen chunks really take it out of you.”
“Chunks . . . Refresh me; I can’t keep track of all the changelings.”
“Chunks?” The man grimaced a second time. “Nasty little suckers. They’re fairly small, as changelings go, about the size of a basketball. They’re covered in mouths, dozens of them, all filled with barbed teeth. Stickier than duct tape, and can roll up walls and even on the ceilings. Then they can drop onto poor, unsuspecting loners.” He sighed. “They’re very annoying, and very painful.”
“I never caught your name. Mine’s Bruce”
“Gary.” He muttered “No middle name, no last. Blood type AB. Shoe size, 14. Allergic to corn. E-Type H1”
“Wait what you only have one name? And you’re an E-type?”
“Yeah, No last name. Want the story?”
“Well, it’s always good to hear another loner’s story.” Bruce said, winking at the man.
“Well, let’s see. My mom was only 18 when she had me, and couldn’t afford me. So she abandoned me, leaving me in an old shoe box. She was heart-broken. So she left me in a shoe box in the middle of the side walk, so somebody would see me, and take me in.
“I learned this all from my cousin, who was nine at the time. We met on the street, two years ago. He could tell it was me because of this.” He pointed his left eye.
Bruce hadn’t noticed it before, but his eye was very strange. It was green and blue, with a brown stripe dividing either color.
“This is the family eye. Everyone on my mother’s side has it. Anyway, after my mother left me on the street, an old woman found me, and took me in. I did my part by doing odd jobs around town. She died when I was twelve.” The man paused, and continued. “After that, I fended for myself. That was fourteen years ago.”
“Wow. And you’re an E-type?!?”
“Yeah. H1. ‘Concentrative healing.’ Very common.”
“That must be nice.”
“Yeah... Now get out of here. I’m trying to concentrate,” he said, and began humming and staring at his hand.
“Thanks for the tip Gary.” Bruce said as he walked out of the alley, and into the rain.
By the time He reached the street, he was soaked and sizzling.
2
Sunday, Dec, 23, 2012, 14:28
Bruce was having the time of his life.
It was two days before Christmas, and Bruce’s family was making gingerbread men and listening to carols on their handheld radio. He thought that baking cookies was kids’ stuff, but when Sara asked him to do something, with those big, round eyes, you just couldn’t say no.
His Mom was just taking the second batch of scrumptious smelling treats oven, and the first was long gone. Sara and Bruce had decorated and consumed half a dozen gingerbread men, and Sara had frosting all over her face.
Thalia was sitting on a chair, munching on a cookie and listening to music through her earbuds.
Thalia was Bruce’s other sister. She was sixteen, only a year older than Bruce and acted her age.
Sara was trying to lick frosting off her nose, when the radio fuzzed out, right in the middle of jingle bell rock.
“Huh.” Mom said looking at the radio antenna. “The antenna’s not broken. I wonder...”
“Mommy, why’d the radio stop?” Asked Sara, gnawing on a ginger head.
“I don’t know honey. Have another cookie.”
Then the radio buzzed to life, and a man’s voice came over the radio.
“This is not a drill. This is a real emergency.” the man’s voice sounded frantic. “The Yellowstone caldera has exploded. At 11:37 am, residents of Livingston, Montana heard a bang, crack, and deafening boom. This was the calderas weakest point being fractured. The bang was thought by authorities to be an atom bomb set off by terrorists, the crack, the hard rock shell being fractured, and the boom the Yellowstone eruption.” The man stopped to catch his breath.
“This explosion released huge quantities of unknown material, named Apepinite, after the Egyptian god of chaos. This material is extremely radioactive, and is causing radio wave surges. This may be the last time we are able contact the world. The radiation is a new form, neither gamma, alpha nor beta. Scientists have named it xi radiation. It is extremely dangerous and has fatal reactions to 90 percent of the population. 4 percent suffer no effects, and 6 percent have stranger reactions. The other six percent---FZZZ---Extremely dangerous---BZZZ---Do not leave your home. ----KZZzz”
And the power went out.
None of us moved for a second, and then Sara whimpered.
“Mommy, I don’t feel good.”
“It’s okay honey. We’re all going to be fine.”
Thalia went to the cupboard and distributed flashlights.
“Okay,” Mom said. “Thalia, grab a couple candles from the closet.”
“Which closet?”
“In the front room,” Mom answered, and turned to Bruce and his sister.
“Bruce, let me see your phone. Sara, grab a few blankets from my bedroom.”
I handed mom my phone and she dialed a number, waited a few seconds, and closed the phone.
“The radiation must be messing with the phones too.”
“Mommy, what’s that sound?” Sara cried from the bedroom.
And the door splintered open
3
Friday, Jan 18, 2013, 17:21
Bruce continued down Main Street, peering into the windows of the shops. Many were burned down, or destroyed, and Bruce had walked down this street countless times, but still found himself taking a peek inside.
Bruce paused in front of an old abandoned store; Black-Bird Soda Fountain & Candy Shoppe. The old brick walls were cracked, and the roof was leaky, and the black and yellow awning was ripped and weather-beaten, but Bruce loved the place.
This was home.
The soda fountain had been open for around 50 years, and the building itself had never been remodeled. The sign, as well, had never been replaced, and it filled Bruce with happiness every time he saw it. It showed a goofy, cartoon-ish blackbird with a large gut, sitting at a bar, looking very drunk. When Bruce was little, he had laughed every time he saw the sign, and had driven his parents crazy asking if they could go.
They never had.
Right of the doorknob, in the wall, there was a loose brick that Bruce had found a few weeks ago. By reaching through, Bruce could just reach the deadbolt. He had filled the keyholes with cement so that anyone with keys couldn’t get in.
“The owners are probably dead, but in times like these,” Bruce had thought, “safe is always better than sorry.”
Bruce reached in through the hole and unlocked the shop. As he walked in, dust swirled at his feet. He had kept the front of the shop looking old, dusty, and abandoned so that passersby looking through the large windows wouldn’t know anyone lived there.
The rear of the store, on the other hand, was very well kept. Bruce lived in the back of the store, and had managed to salvage some furniture. A wooden dresser, a mauve polyester armchair, an old moth-eaten bed, and a rusty metal wardrobe with a massive padlock made for a very interesting headquarters.
Bruce walked to the wardrobe, and pulled the key out of his pocket. Unlocking the wardrobe, he paused to appreciate the variety of items within. Over the few months, Bruce had managed to collect a variety of ‘weapons’, although most of them were more like assorted junk Bruce had taped together. One object stood out.
A large well-used sniper rifle, modified to his own taste, it was Bruce's pride and joy. It had four large scopes, two different laser-sighters, and a fold-out bipod. Bruce used it only in times of dire need, and when he had to keep his feelings in check.
So that nobody would get hurt.
Bruce thought for a moment, and selected an old broom handle with many nails pounded into one end. It wasn’t exactly a grenade launcher, but it would get the job done. Bruce locked the wardrobe, and grabbed an old poptart and a large sack from his dresser drawer. It was stale, but it was food. Bruce made sure the shop was locked, and started down the street. He was beginning to run low on food, and had just discovered that there was food at the McDonalds down the street. Most food had been eaten by rats within a few days, but even the rats wouldn’t touch the stuff from the fast food restaurant.
The restaurant wasn’t far. Bruce reached it within minutes, and wiped poptart crumbs off his face as he hopped the counter. Then he walked over to the large metal refrigerator and began rummaging through. Not much was spoiled, which wasn’t surprising, as with all the preservatives and such. The food tasted like burnt plastic, but it was food. He pulled a large sack from his pack and began shoveling food into it. A cool breeze brushed across his back, and he stopped. He had closed the doors. No windows were Broken.
“What...”
Bruces thought was interupted by a smack in the head. he whirled around, and what he saw filled his heart with dread.
4
Sunday, Dec. 23, 2012, 14:38
Thalia screamed from the front room, jolting bruce out of his shock. he grabbed a large carving knife out of the block and started to the front room, gripping it in both hands. \
“stay here.” he whispered to his mother and sister, who were huddled together in the corner.
A cool breeze tickled his back, coming from the broken door.
bruce as met with a terrible sight. his sister was lying on the ground, surounded by a thick puddle of red. but more grusome were the things surrounding her.
four pale beasts, which stood just above his waist. they had large bulging arms, tipped with foot long claws covered in dried blood. they balanced on one leg, thick with wiry muscle and tipped with a massive hooked hoove. But the strangest thing was their head. the things had no body, their apendages connecting directly to their cantalope sized head.
One of the beasts leaned over thalia’s corpse and did something that made bruces stomach lurch as he whatched from the shadows.
a long slimy black tounge thick as bruces wrist slithered out of the thigs mouth and dipped into the red liquid
on the floor. on the end of the tounge was tipped with a large bloodshot eye the size of an orange. It was followed by a dozen more, these only the width of a finger, with eyes the size of grapes.
Bruce felt his jaw twitch. his sister was dead. But he had no time to mourn.
As the creatures continued their strange ritual, bruce walked back to the kitchen. he grabbed a second large carving knife and tucked it into his belt. He grabbed three more small knives, and walked back into the front room.
Bruce threw one of the small knifes into the large eye of the first beast, and smirked as the thing dropped. He quickly tossed the next knives, one missing by a few inches, and the other sticking into the forearm of the fallen beast. Bruce pulled the other knife out of his belt as the creatures turned. Bruce screamed, and ran into action.
the next fifteen minutes were a whirl of knives and tongues. bruce found that the tongues were fairly acidic, and that if you destroyed their large eye, they would shut down. The beasts were very quick, and had tons of razor sharp teeth.
Bruce stopped, did a quick count of the corpses, and paused.
“one, two, three...?” Bruce froze.
And Saras scream echoed through the home.
5
Friday, Jan 18, 2013, 17:22
Bruce Whirled around, his eyes glinting with pain. Behind him stood three of the creatures-He had learned they were called leglings- and a couple chunks,. as he looked at the ground beside him, he saw another chunk. drooling beside him. He growled in anger. The legling had thrown a chunk at him!He knew that the leglings could do that, but nevefr beleived they could.. leglings were creatures from bruces nightmares. Every time he saw one, his thoughts flashed too thalia, lying on the floor blood on the flooor. To Her mothers crumpled figure, being swarmed by the beasts.
And Sara’s face, after the legling crushed her skull.
Bruce’s puls raced in his mind as he ran toward the leglings, pole already on track to hit a chunk. His aim was off by centimeters, and the pole crashed into the ground. He quickly whipped the pole up, impaling the chunk from below. The closest legling opened its mouth to let forth a volley of lashing, poisonus tounges. Bruce flipped the chunk of his stick and into the leglings mouth, filling it and effectivley disabling the creatures. he felt another heavy object smack his back of the neck, but this time it didnt fall off.
The Chunk had attatched itself.
Bruce began thrashing, trying to throw the thing off of his neck, but it already had to much of its sticky flesh attatched to his hair and neck. Bruce flinched in pain as the first of many mouths took a bite out of him. He had to get thting off, or it would burrow too his esophogus and kill him.
the leglings were closing in, their long toungs already begining to cautiusly probehis feet. If he could only get the chunk off, he could stomp the largest eye-or master eyeas he had discoverd- and kill the leglings. The chunks were easy prey, as long as they didnt suprise you. He could feel the acidic flesh of the chunk begining to press close to his neck and head, searing the skin.
Bruce snapped.
Visions of Thalia. His mother.
Sara.
To anyone watching, Bruce was a blur of movement. The chunk flew of his neck and slammed into the wall. A master eye was crushed beneath his heavy boot. He picked up ptwo chunks ant smashed them together. His staff ended up embedded through the legling and chunk pair, pinning both corpses to the wall. Hhe grabbed a chunk and ripped it in half.
The last legling lay squirming on the floor, pinned beneath a shattered table. Bruce picked it up, and threw him through the window, shattering it. The legling skidded across the street and thudded against the opposite shop’s door.
Bruce leaned against the wall, shivering. His fist clenched and unclenched. He shuddered, trying to control himself. He Bit his lip, and tasted blood.
I need to escape.
Bruce dashed against out the door, leaving his weapon and the sack of food.
His footsteps thudded into the night.
6
Sunday, Dec. 23 , 2013, 17:40
Bruce dashehd back into the kitchen, fear gripping his heart.
For the second time this hour, he was met with a terrible sight.
His mother lay in the corner, the last legling swaring over her, probing her wounds with his tounge.
Sara lay in the middle of the floor, her breathing staggered. Her head was the wrong shape, as if a long snaking tounge had reached around her head and…
felt himself tense. His Pulse raced in his ears.
My family. Dead.
Bruce calmly walked over to the beast. He sunk his fingers into the thing’s flesh. He picked it up, and Smashed it against the wall.
Again and again..
---
Friday, Jan 18, 2013, 18:07
Bruce put down the beast.
It had gone limp twenty minutes ago, but bruce wouldn’t stop.
It needed to be punished.
Bruce stood up and walked to his mother. She was covered in burns and gashes. Her face was a twisted form of pain.
She wasn’t breathing.
He walked over to the crumpled figure of Sara. Her head was misshapen, and it seemed her skull was crushed.
She had no pulse.
Bruce huddled in the corner.
And cried.
7
Friday, Jan 18, 2013, 17:58
Bruce kicked the door off it’s hinges. He had no time for locks. He had to calm down, or bad things would happen.
He dashed to his room, flinging open the door and running across the room. He grabbed his mattress and flung it against the wall.
Underneath was a large sniper rifle, well used, equipped with two laser scopes, one green, one red, a few sscopes for different distances, and a bipod.
Bruce used to teach arifle class, at Camp Loll, and loved sniper rifles. His uncle Pete, a Swat sniper, knew that bruce loved them, and when pete was killed in action, Bruce attended his funeral. Bruce was surprised when a lawyer aproache him. Pete as a fairly rich man, but had six children. However, Pete had known bruces love of sniper rifles, and had bequeathed his sniper rifle to Bruce.
It was Bruce’s pride and joy.
Bruce grabbed the rifle and a handful of rounds, sticking them in his pocket. He had searched many a gunstore looking fo the rightrounds, and hadn’t found any for a while. His grand father owned a sporting store a couple milels north. Maybe in a few days, he could make the trip.
But not now. Bruce dashed out the front door, not even bothering to close it. He ran down the street as the wind whipped against his skin, sending goose bums through his body.
But he didn’t care. He had to settle down, or someone was going to die.
He ran to a vending macine sitting in front of a store. His eye twitched as he kicked the lock. The door spilled open, cans falling everywhere. He kicked the cans around, spreading them around. Some of the cans exploded into fizzy blobs, but most remained intact.
Bruce started running down the street. Over 4 minutes later, he reached a ware house. He jumped on a ladder and began climbing. If he didn’t calm down fast, bad things would happen.
Bruce reached the roof, and pulled his rifle off his back, and dropped to the ground.
As soon as Bruce got into position, he immediately felt more control. Bruce loaded the weapon, and chose a scope. He was probably about a mile away from the vending machine, pretty close for a sniper rifle such as his, and chose his short distance scope. It was just getting dark, and Bruce needed to get back soon. But he could wait.
It wasn’t dark enogh for a laser sighter, and bruce didn’t have the patience. He loaded the gun from hi pocket, and Took careful aim.
Bang.
Bruce felt the kcik of the gun against his shoulder, the satisfaction of a green bubble of foam that wasn’t there before, and the control he had grown to love. Bruce reloaded.
Bang.
He reloaded again.
Bang.
Again.
Bang.
Again.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
The sound echoed into the night.
8
Sunday, Dec. 24 , 2013, 08:24The House creaked, eerie in it’s silence. No cars moved on the highway, no birds tweeted, nothing moved. Bruce awoke to this silence. It was all he would here for the next week.
Bruce sat up. He had fallen over,, and was still lying on the kitchen floor. His sister and mother were lying on the floor, exactly the same as they were hours before.
Bruce rose, trying not to look at the bodies. He was extremely thirsty, as he had cried for hours. Bruce opened the fridge and grabbed a water bottle, squirting liquid down his throat.
As water gushed down his throat, he remembered the sight of thalia, lying on the floor in a nightmarish state. The water caught in his throat, and he vomited. He rushed to the sink, and vomited again.
---------------------
Sunday, Dec. 24 2013, 08:40Bruce stopped vomiting, and gasped for breath. He shuddered, and his stomach was completely empty, but he couldn’t eat for fear of more visions.
Bruce knew he had to calm down.
He had been diagnosed with anger issues a few years ago, and it made him lose control when he was angry. Luckily, he was a very laid back person, and didn’t get angry much. However, when he did, he knew exactly how to handle it.
Target practice.
Bruce walked to his room and grabbed his rifle from his closet, and was about to head out, when he heard something that stopped his heart.
A footstep crunching on splinters of the front door.
9
Jan 17, 18:20
...Bang.
...Bang.
...
Bruce sighed. He was out of ammunition, and was slightly annoyed. He was calm now, but the perfection of sniping just didn’t compare to the fractured world he was living in. Bruce looked up and was surprised at how dark it was. He checked his solar powered watch, and was startled at the time. He had to get back before the Ies came out. They usually appeared about fifteen minutes after dark, but it was hard to tell when it was dark, due to the horrible dust in the sky. Bruce slung his gun over his shoulder and began to began to run. the trip he had made in four minutes while in a rage, took him much longer calm.
His anger unlocked his strength, but didn’t keep his body from slowing. Bruce reached the shop, and realization dawned. He had kicked the door off, and night was dawning. Bruce cursed. He could fix it, but it would take time, and time was a commodity he didn’t have.
Bruce sighed. Before he had put a dead bolt on the door, he had had a similar problem. however, the living quarters upstairs had a deadbolt, but it also had a big picture window without curtains. That would have been fine under normal circumstances, but strange and terrifying things happened during the dark hours of the day.
Bruce would have a hard time sleeping that night.
Jan. 18, 00:34
Bruce, after counting 2,930 sheep, finally cleared his mind of dark things, and drifted off to sleep.
10
Dec. 24, 10:47
Bruce stood, frozen with shock. Could others have survived the cold and creatures? Bruce slowly moved into the closet and closed the door partway. He heard more boot steps hurridley crunching through the shards of wood.
They would probably just take the valuables and leave, bruce thought. Or some food.
Bruce didn’t dare move. He heard the sounds of hushed commanding voices and the clink of cans hitting each other as they were thrown into a sack. Bruce heard a man grunt, and the sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor.Bruce shivered. Were they moving furniture now? Bruce heard more dragging, and all was still. Bruce waited a few minutes, to make sure they were gone, and headed to the kitchen.
The first thing bruce saw was three letters slashed into the wall.
SLM
The second thing he saw was emptiness.
The bodies were gone.
Bruce blacked out.
11
Jan. 18, 07:49
Bruce’s eyes flashed open, and saras image was erased from his mind. He stopped and listened. He wondered what had awoken him. Then he realized. He was so used to either complete silence, the gurgling of changelings, or his own voice. What had startled him out of sleep was a sound for sore ears.
A new voice.
Bruce bolted up, throwing the covers off his body. he ran to the picture window and dropped to the floor.
Excitement never outweighed caution.
Across the street, were a group of boys. They all appeared to be crowding around a smaller boy, maybe twelve years old, who was cowering against the wall. He was the new voice. The others were silent, except for the thudding of iron pipes against their palms. Bruce’s heart froze as he realized what they were about to do.
Bruce rand down the stairs, his mind racing. Where had they come from? Who were they? Which was on his side? The boy, or the rest? These thoughts and more ran through bruce’s mind as he raced into his room, and threw open the weapons cabinet. Bruce quickly looked around the case, and cursed. He had left his spear at the McDonalds. Bruce loked around the closet, and wondered what would be best. He grabbed a large rubber mallet in one hand, and a hatchet in his other. Bruce ran over the door and out into the street.
“HEY!” Bruce shouted.
The boy looked up, and hope flooded his face. The rest of the boys turned, anger flashing in their eyes. Bruce wondered if this was a good idea.
“What do you want?” A kid a few inches shorter then bruce stepped forward. He had blond hair, and a mean look in his eyes.
“I want to know what your planning on doing to this kid.”
The kid sneered. “What’s it mean too you?”
“Nothin, just curious.”
“Well,” The kid got right up in bruces face. “we were planning on killing him. Got a problem with that?”
Bruce watched the kid closely. “Not really,” Bruce lied. “why are you taking him out?”
The kid sneered again, and his voice took on a tone bruce didn’t like. “Look, you better get out of our business, before you get burned. Get what i’m say-”
Bruce’s mallet connected with his head before he could get the words out.
The kid slumped to the ground, and his comrades moved into action. One grabbed the doomed boy, and the other two came at me. They were both large and heavily muscled. One had close cut blonde hair and a lead pipe in his hand. The other had a pair of brass knuckles and a short mohawk.
Bruce dodged a clumsy swing from the brass, and took a swing at the brutes forearm. however,b efore it connected, the pipe flew threw the air and knocked the hatchet out of my hand, and across the street, the pipe flying aside as well. Bruce jumped back as a large fist crashed into the pavement. Bruce brought the hammer down on the fist, and the brute squealed in pain, and Started too retreat. Bruce dodged a few more blows, and, finding an opening, drove the mallet into his shoulder. Bruce heard a defined snap, and the boy backed off, cradling his broken shoulder.
