Dead Comet Comin': Volume II: Extra-Terror-Estrials

INFORMATION

Copyright © 2016 by Julian Massaglia

Contact: [email protected]

Published by Julian Massaglia and Order Of The Corvus Publishing, April 2016.

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof shall not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

For more information about Dead Comet Comin’, see the In Close section of the book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Artwork:

Arranged, edited, and conceptualized by Julian Massaglia drawing extensively off of legally obtained files:

Cover Art:

Wildwest Gunslinger

Cameron Whitman/Shutterstock/Licensed

Vespa Mandarinia

Contrail/Shutterstock/Licensed

Sunset, Texas, Desert, Landscape

Archbob/Pixabay/Public Domain

Asteroid, Meteorite, Comet

WikiImages/Pixabay/Public Domain

Medieval Daggers

Gammaflightleader/Creative Commons S.A. 3.0

~Background altered

The Norse God Odin Enthroned

1865 ~ Die Nordischen Gottersagen/ Public Domain

Custom Font:

Rio Oro

Neale Davidson/Pixel Sagas/Licensed

**In no way are the aforementioned sources associated with the author or publisher, or supportive of the expressed content within this work.**

Page Breaks:

Vespid Noble Face

By Julian Massaglia

Author Photo:

By Julian Massaglia

Publishing Co. Logo

By Julian Massaglia

Pronunciation Station:

Seax: Sah-cks

Netanez: Net-on-ez

Sleipnir: Slyp-near

Faldun: Fal-doon

Saldun: Sal-doon

Zagadun: Zog-ah-doon

Dead Comet Comin’: a novel / by Julian Massaglia – 1st ed.

1. Western – Fiction. 2. Science Fiction – Fiction. 3. Action/Adventure – Fiction. 4. Fantasy – Fiction. 5. Alien Contact – Fiction. 6. Epic – Fiction.

ISBN: 978-0-9960647-6-7

Patch Version 3.0 – 2.6.18

Smashwords Version

J.M.’s DEAD SERIES

Based in an age where star ships are equalizers and admirals are cowboys.

A Vespid Noble

TITLE

By

TABLE OF CONTENTS

INFORMATION

J.M.’s DEAD SERIES

TITLE

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PART I EX TERRA

CHAPTER I Celestial Demons

CHAPTER II Day Of Wrath

CHAPTER III Austin Is A Hard Road To Travel

CHAPTER IV Return Of The King

CHAPTER V Schisms Collide

CHAPTER VI Anthroktonos

PART II AD SIDEREM SVPRA

CHAPTER VII The Desert Of Eden

CHAPTER VIII Man Walks Among Us

CHAPTER IX Devil Drama

CHAPTER X Secrets In The Temple Of Draizor

CHAPTER XI The Lay Of Faldun

CHAPTER XII Ride Cowboy Ride

PART III CVM GLADIO

CHAPTER XIII The Lay Of Netanez And Arrier

CHAPTER XIV Mission Ares

CHAPTER XV Ragnarok

CHAPTER XVI When He Tried To Match The Ranger

IN CLOSE

PART I

EX TERRA

CHAPTER I

CELESTIAL DEMONS

Streaks of black n’ white madness thunder on by as my hair is clenched and my head dips violently below into a bed of glass shards on the console again. The impact rattles my cranium and slashes my face as it meets the glass. A full-fledged calamity grips the room around me. Smoke hisses and balloons from the walls like a hookah den in the Starshine District at peak hours. Fires dance along the deck and sirens wail like distraught birds cawing over a forest fire. Under me, I feel the dying bellows of the ten ton juggernaut of steel we are aboard rumbling the floor.

He pulls my head up from the console as chipped pieces of glass shower down from my face and clatter against the ground. Blood oozes out onto my face and drips down on the floorboards below. Before me, the spiraling stars, the blaze of the universe streaming by on the screen in front of the bridge.

Shame that your botfly strategy can’t save ya’ this time, Mr. Spurangler, said the vicious man behind me, who was grappling my hair like a stubborn weed in the grass. He slammed my head down into the jagged topography of the shattered console again. My memory was a little more reluctant to leave me like a prostitute in the middle of the night this time, but one could only take so many beatings to the cabeza, and I was feeling a little disoriented—courtesy of my new amigo. It wasn’t Skull Boy this time, oh no, nobody could forget that vintage robotic voice full of idiotic one-liners. And although Skull Boy with his steel toe kicks was a pompous asshole—the man—no the thing behind me was definitely malevolent. Just by being in his proxy, he made my skin crawl, my nerves quiver, and my hairs shoot up, as if he had some sort of magnetic dynamo pulsing within him. I knew who he was but I couldn’t pin the tail on the donkey in my current state of mind, as all my internals were rigorously trying to rush to my brain in order to save it from his beatings and I was feelin’ a little drained.

He pulls my head up from the console again; glass waterfalls down and blood trickles onto the flickering console below. I glance at the streaming stars blasting past us and look around at the ravaged walls of fire, flickering consoles, and flaring red lights. I know we are on my ship, the C.N.E. Sleipnir, but everything else—how this blaze began, who attacked us, how they got aboard—it’s all cloudy. The Audacity…! the vicious voice suddenly yells. The Gaaaaaaaaaaal that you possess, Mr. Spurangler! he said, in a roaring voice. … to side with… APES!

All right, all right, fair points indeed, now if you’ll give me a minute to ascertain them—. And then my head careens into the violently flickering, churned up circuitry in the console again. If you’re trying to make a point, can you go for something other than my fucking head!? These of course are thoughts I would love to vocalize, but my thoughts are so scattered at this point, faculties so compromised, that only the Jim Bob type rednecks leaving the saloon at two a.m. would grasp their meaning. So, I do what I do best in these wonderful scenarios—play ragdoll until my tormentors get bored…, or I die.

At my side, a severed conduit blowing like the wind bag of Aiolos given to Odysseus suddenly ceased its hissing. And now I’m hearing some ghastly screams emanate from behind me. They are the agonizing cries of my crew along with the buzzing and vocalizations of what I can only surmise are demonic beasts. They are large and I can feel the vibrations of their footsteps tapping on the deck, and the thundering of their savage vocal tracts creak across the walls. Their bestial voices are more painful than the beating from the fool behind me, slithering into my eardrums and pounding on them with barbs and spikes from tones unknown to man. I try to glance back but everything is a blur; only hideous, grisly shadows from the fire are cast against the walls showing the hapless fates of my crew in a terrible shadow play. And I cannot see the thing behind me, but under my shoulder I see two legs and I can see it is a man, a man in Alligator boots, and my God are they atrocious. But, you’re in no position to comment, you redneck la fashionista. You got some hideous boots there of your own… Still, Alligator?

My idiotic thoughts along with the screams slowly die out and he careens my face into the console again. Several panels blast off of the walls and fire belches out from underneath them. The vessel begins to moan, and I look up from the console onto the screen. The stars begin to slow and trail vertically, the weight shifts down into my gut, and it feels like the entire ship is riding on my back.

The artificial gravity was dead.

Well, not exactly dead, haywire, because we were in some far reaches of outer space and we weren’t floatin’. Wouldn’t be long now… The idiot behind me reaches with his free hand to the console aside me, throttles up on the Nova engines, and locks the vessel in its downward trajectory. Then he smashes his fist into the console and the interface flickers like lightning in a storm. He pulls my head up from the glass and says sadistically, There’s no way out this time, Mr. Spurangler. Your vessel’s wings are more fucked up than Icarus’s, your engines are on overdrive, and your steering wheel is no más.

At least you’re an honest mechanic; we could use a few of tho—.

Shut up! Your insolence is boundless! he interjected, angrily. He gripped my face and pried open my eyes with his cold fingers, forcing me to stare into the black and white cosmos unraveling before us. You’ll hurtle through space on a violent ride with an eternity to contemplate the sagacity, or lack thereof for the choices you’ve made. Any more jokes to crack now, you buffoon? I should’ve realized your insolence would cloud your judgement and make you side with the apes. The apes that wage war amongst themselves as we speak! Haha, how embarrassing… You sided with a distracted, pathetic race that’s so busy killing itself it’ll be a miracle if we get the chance to finish it off. All this, while you could’ve been a God, and now you’ll rot as God intended. If you’re fortunate, you’ll crash and die.

His grip loosened, and he stepped back. I mustered up whatever strength I had left and back-kicked him in the gut. The sole of my boot collided into his abdomen and battered his abs. But before I could retract he clasped his hands around my leg and flipped me over. I landed violently on my back and could see his silhouette hovering above me in the backdrop of orange-hued fire. He then merged his fists together and hammered down on my face. Then all was black, fully…

…When I came to, minutes, hours, maybe days later, my amigo and his macabre posse are long gone, and now I am alone on a ravaged ship dropping through the heavens like a heavy anvil from the sky in the Old-Timer cartoons of yore. The clarity of things has returned and I can see that the bridge was engulfed in a sizable inferno. Sparks spewed from the walls, columns were toppled, conduits hissed, sirens wailed, and strewn about the deck were maimed bodies and rivers of blood streaming down the floorboards to the back of the ship per the force of the blasting Nova engines.

I crawled out from under the console and had a look at the magnificently damaged interface. There was no hope of steering out of here. I checked communications, all damaged and lost. But… something was off…, usually the giant visual screen at the front of the bridge is quite black, but I noticed an unusual yellow glow cast against the consoles. OH SHIT. I looked up at the screen and confirmed my millisecond suspicions: a planet, a vast yellow planet full of mountains and canyons was coming into view and I was heading right toward it at full speed. Houston we have a problem…, and our lord and savior will not be in the form of duct tape this time. Oh no, doesn’t matter how much redneck I have flowing in me. I sat there marveling at the vast scape, dumbfounded, and this was probably the last thing I should be doing but what else could I do? The déjà vu was overwhelming at this point—only a month ago I had been in the same tricky situation after downing the Condor in the War of PACAO Aggression, and now I was in the same scenario sans the crew, steering wheel, and undamaged wings. Now…, oh Woden now, now I was plummeting to this planet at full speed without even an escape pod at my disposal.

The floor began to rumble violently as the Sleipnir plunged into the atmosphere. Infernos whisked across the screen and the bridge glowed a vibrant red. I couldn’t even move thanks to the artificial gravity loss. I looked around desperately and found a Nova rifle lying next to me, rattling against the trembling deck. A deranged thought crossed my mind—no—not the suicidal species, but it was the only thought, and I didn’t have time to think of any more. I lunged for the rifle and grasped it, pulled the lasso from my belt, aimed with the rope up at the door in the back of the bridge, which was now my ceiling, and tossed the lasso. The rope snagged on the threshold of the door and locked into place.

I clambered sixty feet up the rope across the ravaged bridge, my battered face feeling like it was going to explode from the rush of blood flooding into it with every successive tug. An explosion burst from the side of the wall and seared my long sleeve shirt. The ship jolted erratically, and the rope swung toward the edge of the bridge. My boots hit the flickering consoles on the wall and I used the shift in gravity to use the wall of digital panels as a floor to ascend to the door. When I reached the door, the gravity shifted again, and the screen was behind me. I looked down at the screen and saw the rugged features of the planet becoming more prominent.

Wouldn’t be long now.

I unbound the rope from the door and hoisted myself through it on to the other side. I stood on the surface of the door and flung my lasso to the railing in the corridor. I then clambered up the rope about a hundred feet, through hissing wall panels, bursts of fire, falling debris, and bolts of electricity, until I reached the shuttle bay. Inside, I found the shuttle had fared no better than the Sleipnir during the attack. The ghastly invaders had torn apart its engines, and it was tilted lopsided on the claw crane that held it in place. Still, the hull was well intact, and that was what I was counting on.

I scaled through the door and dropped about sixty feet to the bow side wall which was now the floor. I thudded against the surface of the wall and dashed to the crane controls at the center. The room trembling violently, I activated the crane and maneuvered the shuttle over to the wall where I was located.

Warning, two minutes until impact! blared the computer.

Although it was being quite cynical, at least something was working properly on this ship. The shuttle struck the wall, and I let go of the crane controls. I then dashed across the wall over to a large, metallic gate and unlocked the massive door. The door flung open.

Aloha, señorita Spurangler! screamed Dan, my raven companion, as he sprang from the rafters in the stable and flew out into the shuttle room. Aloha? Where the fuck did he learn Hawaiian? Even amidst the chaos that buzzard never ceases to fascinate me. Then, Sentinel, my horse, performed the best parkour of his lifetime and dashed vertically up the wall over a series of hay bales. I lunged inside the stable and grabbed him, guiding him up to the floor. Distraught, he neighed in terror over the calamity and I guided him to the shuttle. I unlocked the shuttle door and ushered Sentinel inside, strapping him down with the lasso to the wall. Dan needed no coaxing: he saw what I was up to and flew right into the shuttle, perching on the front seat and cawing, as if to say, Let’s get the fuck outa’ here.

Never in my life have I understood an animal more than at that moment. Time for phase two of my deranged, but surprisingly viable plan.

One minute until impact, blurted the computer, and I felt it. The ship had made contact with some vicious winds above the planet, causing it to tremble and shake violently. I propped the Nova rifle over the rooftop of the shuttle and blasted away with its high laser power at the bulkhead gate, quickly chiseling it away until vicious gusts from outside stormed into the shuttle bay and ravaged it with their hurricane force. I then aimed up at the joints on the crane claw and blasted away, successfully dislodging the shuttle from the crane. Sparks trickled down all over my face as the metal melted and came unhinged. Finally, I just need the ship to list so gravity will do the rest of the work.

Ten…

I planted a boot inside the shuttle and swerved the barrel of the rifle over toward a towering stockpile of Korgathal barrels at the port side of the room.

Nine…

I took aim at the locks securing the barrels and blasted away with the Nova rifle. Instantly the locks ripped apart, and the barrels came tumbling down, rolling toward the starboard section of the ship like an avalanche of steel. The weight of the drums caused the ship to list sideways, and the shuttle began to grind against the wall, quickly sliding toward the bulkhead gate I had cut open.

Eight…

As I dove into the shuttle and slammed the door shut, the river of tumbling Korgathal drums smashed into the bulkhead and tore it off the ship. The ship listed toward its starboard bow and the shuttle was now in a complete freefall out of the shuttle bay. I dashed toward the front and secured myself on the front seat. Dan was squawking frantically, totally terrified by the spectacle unfolding before us. I looked out the starboard side window of the shuttle and saw the Korgathal barrels tumbling out of the ship as we surfed along the wall in the shuttle. A terrible grinding sound resounded from underneath the shuttle and I didn’t know at that moment if the hull would rip entirely apart. Then, the grinding ceased as we cleared the threshold of the bulkhead gate and fell gracefully from the ship. The shuttle, completely without engine power listed up toward the nose and I saw the burning Sleipnir blast through the sky like a fireball as my stomach climbed up to my throat from the force of the freefall. Then, the vast desert and canyons started vertically inching their way into the bottom of the windows at our side.

Only seconds now before impact. As a last ditch effort to save us from certain doom, I quickly activated the shields and artificial gravity of the shuttle, and diverted all power from every other system into them, hoping that the overdrive would save our lives or leave us with a few cuts and bruises to walk away with. I glanced back at Sentinel and saw that he was secure in the ropes. I then lunged for Dan and grasped him, much to his surprise and cawing consternation, and I placed him underneath my arms and held him tight so the fall wouldn’t kill him. Then, the shuttle tilted from the force of the fall and the nose listed toward the ground, giving us a bird’s-eye view of the vast stretch of red land we were about to get very intimate with.

A massive explosion lit up the starboard side of the shuttle as the Sleipnir plowed into the ground like an asteroid from the sky. Then several puffs of dust shot up into the air like geysers as the Korgathal barrels impacted against the plateau. I took a deep breath, hunkered down in the chair, and gripped the arm boards. The moment of reckoning was at hand… WODEN!!! I screamed. THIS IS NOT HOW WE DIIIIEEEE!!!!

But of course, even though a devout Neo-Nord, I was just wishin’, and wishin’ no matter how gratifying is the first thing that gets a man in my predicament killed.

We’re back in the saddle again, and if we achieve the minute chance of survival—it’s time to load the pistols, drink the dirt, and eat anything that comes our way—it’s time for do or die.

All I remember was seeing the red, the vast stretch of red as we plunged; then, smack, jolt, eruption, and a vast stretch of total darkness…

Audio Illustration

Go to Youtube.com/Go to Julian Massaglia Channel/Go to Dead Comet Comin’ Soundtrack: CNE-Viking Cowboy Mix

2 Weeks Earlier

O beautiful for spacious skies,

For amber waves of grain,

For purple mountain majesties,

Above the fruited plain!

America! America!

God shed his grace on thee,

And crown thy good with brotherhood,

From sea to shining sea!

O beautiful for patriot dream,

That sees beyond the years,

Thine alabaster cities gleam,

Undimmed by human tears!

America! America!

God shed his grace on—

My boot smashed down into the time-ravaged ground, accidentally crushing the tablet below that had somehow defied all odds and lasted millennia. Woden almighty, the Old-Timers sure were an optimistic bunch. I leaned down and picked up the solar-powered tablet that had been blaring out the jovial Old-Timey tune about the greatness of this old land. Looks like my clumsy ass had just killed the audio. On the severely weathered screen of the tablet, a school choir sang out the hymn on a millennia-long loop. Emblazoned over the video was the startling caption, Recorded July 25th, 2036… Just a few months away from a catastrophe that would leave every single one of these pupils dead from a terrible disease: the Urchin Spine Fever—courtesy of our interstellar sneeze-on-you type neighbors. Yes indeedy, had this song been written in my time it definitely would have a different ring to it, similar to the menacing score of a horror film.

I chuckled and dropped the tablet into the dust. Just another ghost in the massive graveyard of the Old-Timers hauntin’ this abandoned city that now began to unravel before us as we exited the vast swath of West Texas wilderness behind us. It was slowly coming into view, a ten-mile-wide patch of rubble and steel stranded in the middle of the desert. And there were no gleamin’ alabaster cities, no fruitful plains; just a millennium of eardrum-busting silence, and now, blizzards and climate change. And not that kinda’ climate change that the Blueheads tout in their endless endeavors to deprive us of Nova technology. Oh no, this is a climate change that came from far away, that could only be foretold by lookin’ into the night sky. But of course we didn’t, we focused on us, and now the hurricane has come—vintage humanity strikes again, board up for the storm as soon as the gales hit, set aside petty squabbles only in the face of annihilation on the very brink of annihilation, and hope for the best… And after millennia we were still using the same ol’ trusty strategy.

I trudged through the ankle-deep snow to the edge of what appeared to be a ghost town called Fort Stockton, courtesy of the dilapidated sign hanging outside the town on scenically messed up Highway 67. Coming down from the vast, snow-covered deserts of the north, I led Sentinel into town by the reins—Dan, our raven amigo scouting ahead of us for any signs of danger. Visibility was quite limited today: driving snow pounding away at the derelict buildings and blasting away at us under our ky-oat furs. A few weeks ago, this was a desert, but now, it looks like a page of Ragnarok ripped from an Old Norse script. I glared above into the blue-grey sky and searched for the interloping planet above. But I could see nothing today, just the thick nebula of snow stinging us on all sides.

Dan returned, squawking up a great fuss as he landed on my extended arm. He had found suitable shelter. At first he and I had our disagreements in the Guadalupe forest, but we were seeing eye-to-eye a lot easier these days. Whereas before he stuck around for food, now he was holding on for dear life. Sentinel was too; I had gained more value than their own kind over the last week since the planet’s arrival, because they were desert animals, and we were now living in an arctic climate. And I was the only one that knew—well let me rephrase—I was the only one capable of making a fire. I had no doubt Dan could; he just couldn’t do it with those peg legs and obviously flammable feathers.

I paused at a mangled chain link fence at the edge of the town and guided Dan through a breach into a snow-covered field sprouting with intermittent creosote bushes that had interloped in the absence of man. As we walked through the dense snow of the field, all the telltale signs of an ancient football field began to emerge. Flanking us were two mounds of rust from withered bleachers, fallen lampposts that looked like snapped tooth picks, and an oxidized scoreboard with a weathered panther emblazoned on it. Had I any concern for football like the rest of the maniacs in my nation, I may have taken off my cowboy hat and shed a tear—certainly a football field unused in over a millennium was a crime somewhere in this state, but I wouldn’t be reporting it to the authorities today.

Although still a desert freshman by only a little over a month, spending time out here had made me somewhat of an expert archeologist on the Old-Timer ruins, and I knew that we were passing through a football field that belonged to a school that would be adjacent nearby, hiding in the blinding snow. We kept trudging through the ankle-deep powder, and although snowfall was no stranger to these parts, Christmas had come early this year, for this was supposed to be sweltering September, the time where the gas dials were set to inferno on the oven of the West Texas desert we were in. But this was certainly no Christmas, still, I couldn’t help but think how good these cacti sprouting out of the field would look with lights strung around them and ornaments hung on their spines. Is that an actual thought in your head? Fuck, must’ve caught the cacto-centric worldview bug when I went down to Estado De Saguaro. I wonder how old treacherous Noche is faring these days, hopefully eating his just desserts for aiding the supporters of PACAO, losing all of Aztlan as was promised to him. My, I am sure aggressive right now. I guess football fields get the blood of all true Texans flowin’, regardless of their complete disinterest.

Slowly, the outcrop of the school became visible on the horizon, emerging from the thick cloud of blue-grey fog that stretched across the world. Overgrown, feral trees from the Old-Timers’ landscaping forested it, mangled fences were strewn about the ground, rusted cars and trailers lay toppled over and gutted in its parking lots, wires and telephone poles were smashed into its side, and the array of buildings themselves were smoldered—blasted from the sands, and torn open, spewing heaps of severed rebar and stone. Although heavily damaged on the exterior, this was a large, sprawled out building that would likely have an intact core. I mounted Sentinel and jerked the reins, and we dashed to the northern edge of the campus.

We found a door, unhinged and eerily banging against the building from the force of the howling wind. Inside it was completely dark, without any light from the caked windows pouring in. I dismounted Sentinel and guided him through the door into the building. Dan flew in before us and perched up on a rafter. I opened up the saddlebag aside Sentinel and withdrew a wooden shaft wrapped in gasoline-doused shirts. I then pulled a lighter outa’ my pocket and set the torch ablaze. A flash of light stretched across the battered room, illuminating the dank walls weeping with water stains, and exposing the floor marred with overturned tables, chunks of fallen stone, and of course…, scores of skeletons ravaged with spines from the Urchin Spine Fever Epidemic.

This was some sort of cafeteria or assembly room, probably used by the Old-Timers as shelter when the virus hit and the world fell. Doesn’t look like they fared too well. For however haunting strolling through the streets of derelict El Paso had been, this was much more menacing, perhaps because this place was far more weathered, stripped to the bone by the prevailing winds and storms of a millennium alone in the middle of the desert. And the door behind us was still creaking, smacking against the wall as the wind howled on all sides of this desolate place. Sentinel neighed uncomfortably, and Dan let out a concerned caw, followed by a zap and click, probably to make himself feel better. This place certainly did give me the creeps, perhaps because I knew there was nothing here, nothing setting my all too active crow-brain off. I sensed nothing at all, just the complete absence of life. In the Chihuahuan Desert I had shared it with the ky-oats, Guadalupe with Dan, and El Paso with the Indians—here—well here there was nothing, just a deafening, cold silence.

Probably wasn’t necessary, but I drew Big Bad John, my forty-five for good measure, and guided the nerve-wracked horse and raven into the depths of the darkness.

Using the dim light of the torch, we navigated down a corridor to the center of the school. The rest of the campus was just as ghastly as what we had witnessed in the cafeteria room. The walls wept with melted snow sludge, water trickled everywhere, light fixtures dangled from the ceiling by their cords, various sage bushes burst up through cracks in the floor, Urchin Spine-ravaged skeletons decked the halls, and various books and supplies were strewn about the floors. We passed an array of torn open, rusty lockers through a lake of sludge and sage, until we came upon a room that looked well preserved. I opened the door and pushed it open. A heavy creak erupted through the hallway like a dissonant cello strummed with rebar.

The orange glow of the torch illuminated the room which was vibrant with décor. All around the blue and white banners of Fort Stockton High School, with the image of the panther stamped on every one of them, hung from the walls. In the corner, the hollow eye sockets and grinning teeth of three Urchin Spine skeletons glared at us in the faint glow of the fire. Further around the room, various programs offered by the school were pinned to the wall, a library of well-preserved history books were shelved in the corner, and strange graphics of carved-open pumpkins with illuminated faces, red leaves, little green women in black riding brooms, bandaged monsters, skulls, and black cats were festooned around the room. I believe the pumpkins were a strange form of Old-Timer sorcery known as Jack-o’-lanterns. Seeing the manner in which they were placed, it seemed as if they were harbingers of an Old-Timer festival that didn’t survive the collapse of the last world and carry over into ours. More disconcerting, were the gangly green women riding brooms and menagerie of misshap’ creatures. Before deciding to make camp in the room, I said a prayer to Woden and cautiously inspected the suspicious graphics, looking for signs of witchcraft in the form of curses stamped on their backsides. I found nothing. I then inspected the notebooks scattered across the desks, some of them heavily mounded with dried up water from past leaks.

Jessica Decker

October 20th, 2036

Period 5, World History

Mr. Jones

Tecumseh’s War and the War of 1812 Notes

• Various native tribes under the leadership of Tecumseh, a Shawnee, banded together in 1805 with intents to create a Pan Native Confederacy strong enough to counter European American advances into the west and ultimately oust them from the continent, taking back what they believed was rightfully theirs.

Seeing that there were no spells written down on the pages, I moseyed over to another desk and whisked up another notebook that was swollen and browned with water damage from the dripping ceiling above.

James Kint

October 20, 2036

Period 5, World History

Mr. Jones

19th Century Native Affairs Notes

• though effective, Tecumseh’s Confederacy came too late

• disbanded after the death of Tecumseh

* test notes: good solution, but it was too late, should’ve banded together on

European arrival. Bows reloaded quicker than musket.

• don’t forget to walk the—

I skimmed through a few more pages and saw no signs of spellcraft. This was just an ordinary history class, and these strange decorations were simply that and nothin’ more. Seeing that the light of the torch was growing dimmer, I withdrew my Seax and cut through the water-ravaged drywall, revealing the wood framing within. I hacked some of the wood framing off with a hatchet stashed in Sentinel’s saddlebag and used the wood as burnstuffs for the fire. I cleared the desks and tucked the abandoned notebooks under the pieces of wood, then kindled their tips with a lighter. As the notebooks lit up, I said stoically the words of Woden, He hath need of fire, who now is come, numbed with cold to the knee; food and clothing the wanderer craves who has fared o'er the rimy fell.

Within moments the fire erupted, and the room was illuminated in a bright orange hue. It was a well preserved room, aside from the damaged ceiling tiles, dripping pipes, and graffitied walls. My worries about the menacing fruit and ambiguous creatures subsided as the night went on and nothing happened. Our cafeteria visit had paid off in the form of canned foodstuffs that produced hearty meals for us all. After having their soup, Dan and Sentinel hunkered down by the fire and fell asleep like babies. They had been out in the abusive cold for weeks, and their unaccustomed bodies had gone under a significant amount of stress that was finally quelled by the shelter and fire of this room. I myself preferred cold climates and desert scenery, so it was a red letter day for me considering I had never figured out how to properly merge the two.

I picked up a book on World War I from the library in the corner of the room and began reading it by the fire. The subject was fascinating to me, and I had always desired more material on the matter than Father Sam’s crypt could provide. After hours of reading I began to drift off with only the voice of the wind howling against the roof and crackle of the fire smoldering in the room. I threw my cowboy hat over my face as I thought of my estranged wife Isabelle and daughter Jennifer, and I thought of poor Travis, hoping that the two were well off and that my son was in the company of Woden in his Great Hall above.

But then, just as sleep was about to take me, I heard an unusual buzzin’ sound, as if an angry bee had suddenly flown into the room through the holes in the ceiling. I was going to do nothin’ about it, but suddenly I felt a sharp prick and jolt of pain shoot up my arm. I rose up on my back instantly and found a lone, rogue wasp jabbing at my hand with her stinger and biting my flesh with her jaws.

Amazed at the audacity of such an unprovoked attack, I swatted the little fucker on my arm and her guts bled all over. I wiped the back of my arm against the ky-oat fur at my side and examined the damage. Shit, I was bleeding too, she had done some damage and was definitely on a mission to do me harm. Exhausted and lazy, I chalked it up as an unusual occurrence and ignored the typical paranoid droning of my crow brain, and I guess that was my mistake, because wasps don’t just attack outa’ the blue unless you cross paths with them and do them wrong, and I hadn’t seen a single wasp, bee, or insect in weeks…

Suddenly, a pang ran throughout my body and I rose up from the floor violently. Not the stingin’ kinda’ pang either, the kind that pounds your eardrums and jolts you up from your sleep as if a gong were bashed over your head. The room was pitch-black, with only the faint orange glow of the embers in the dead fire providing me with enough light to fetch my revolvers outa’ my gun belt. Outside, far down the corridor I heard the muffled thrashing of the front entry door to the school. The wind was smashin’ it against the side of the entryway. I had gone down the hallway toward the front doors earlier and discovered that they were locked and secured by a heavy duty chain that was well rusted but in no condition to break off suddenly. That led to one conclusion—we had visitors, and of course we did—after all I had somehow managed to fall asleep and the universe was going to do everything in its power to counter that. Yes, there would be blizzards in summer, mobile planets, insects attackin’ me outa’ the blue, an entire world turned upside down, but one thing would never change and always remain constant, the fact that I was born disabled with a complete inability to spring outa’ bed and seize the day like most of the assholes I’ve encountered in my life. This could’ve happened at any hour between nine a.m. and twelve midnight, but of course, it never does. Yet I can’t complain, do or die is the best form of mornin’ joe and the fuckers that decided to raid my den at this God forsaken hour would pay, most likely in blood.

Carpe diem, asshole, I muttered, as I spun the chambers on Big Bad John and Bismarck. I then buttoned up my shirt, threw on my pants, and pushed my mangy brown hair back so I could see. The commotion stirred Dan and Sentinel, who were sleeping at each other’s side by the fire—Dan perched atop standing Sentinel’s back. They both gave me a look of ire as if it was mea culpa that they were up at this time. Dan then stretched his wings and Sentinel shook his groggy head. Had this been a few weeks ago, they both would’ve been making some sound effects, and they would’ve tried to high tail outa’ here, but they were practically comatose from the brutal climate change. Dan buried his beak back into his feathers, completely indifferent to the thrashing door and precarious situation we were in, and Sentinel yawned in protest and ventured off back to sleep. I hadn’t realized that the weather had taken that much outa’ them and I kinda’ felt like an asshole, despite this being no fault of my own, asshole because I go for the jugular of any sleep offender and they had given me that all too familiar look I was so used to givin’. Alright, time to teach our guest some manners, though I wish you both would share my optimism.

I gently opened the door, attempting with all my damn might not to produce a concert of squealing metal from the rusted hinges. It opened silently and when there was enough room for me to pass, I squeezed through and entered into the hallway. The sound of the thrashin’ door and the heavy wind pelting the ceiling above grew louder. The corridor was pitch-black, with only the faint, mystical blue light of the moon and blizzard at the entryway producing a light for me to follow. I held my breath and treaded cautiously down the corridor, headin’ toward the front entryway, careful not to make sudden movements, noises, or smells—and believe me the latter would be the hardest to achieve after being out in the desert for over a month without a shower, livin’ on canned foods, cacti, and game meat.

I had to be extra cautious because we had celestial visitors that I had not had the chance to get acquainted with, and I knew nothing about their capabilities, only that they had a predilection for killin’ things that was mastered to a science. And then I felt it surge throughout my body like a few shots of whiskey to the gut, the familiar twitchin’ of my crowmygdala, the fight-or-flight region of ol’ Gabriel’s brain that was a particularly bad case, or well in-tuned, depending on how you look at it. If you’ve ever seen a paranoid crow lookin’ for food, you’ll know why I named it that. There was a powerful, overwhelming presence in the dank stretches of the corridor before me. I didn’t know if it could see me or sense me, but I felt it. The hairs on my arm shot up, the hackles on my back roused, and bursts of adrenalin ejected into my veins. It felt like I was treading through a magnetic field at full capacity. Bein’ alone, the only human being within a three hundred mile wide radius works wonders on your sense of detection. Being in crowded cities, you always sense the people around you, feel their vibes so much that it numbs your senses to them, but out here it’s a different story; your sense of presence is heightened, and you can almost see what you’re dealin’ with before you even catch it in your peripherals. And this was a presence unlike anything I had ever felt; it almost blatantly made itself known… It was unsettled, malicious.