After The Pandemic - Smith: The End of the World (3) (1310 hits)
Category: NoneLabels: After_the_Pandemic Smith
Rating: 2 on 29 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Jack McCallum (View user info) at 2005-06-29 18:41:26 EDT
Related Tales...
ATP - Intro http://www.ubersite.com/m/61238
ATP - Background
-Corrigan http://www.ubersite.com/m/61296
-Variant C http://www.ubersite.com/m/61350
ATP - Smith tales
-Archangels 1 http://www.ubersite.com/m/61513
-Archangels 2 http://www.ubersite.com/m/61755
-Archangels 3 http://www.ubersite.com/m/61985
-Archangels 4 http://www.ubersite.com/m/62289
-Archangels 5 http://www.ubersite.com/m/62570
-Smith in D.C. http://www.ubersite.com/m/64167
-Smith at Sea http://www.ubersite.com/m/64857
-Smith: The End of the World (1) http://www.ubersite.com/m/66658
-Smith: The End of the World (2) http://www.ubersite.com/m/68176
=(3)=
An hour before Smith felt massive canines pierce his flesh and grate against bone (an entirely unpleasant sensation, a distant part of him thought at the time), he had been preparing to enter a dark tunnel in the earth and kill some mutant badgers.
Smith, Keef, Hungee and Snatchbinder had set out on the road accompanied by two dark-haired slabs of muscle Snatchbinder said were 'in-laws,' and two others, a boy of about ten years named Colin and a tough-looking guy about Smith's age named Case.
Gordon told Smith that Case had joined the Tyne River Gypsies a few months ago and had proven himself quite useful.
The boy was fascinated by the orange tabby that kept pace with Smith.
They had walked northwest for hours without incident, entering a tree line where Edmund Snatchbinder swept a patch of earth free of old leaves and drew a map with the tip of a knife.
"We're eere," he said, a series of interlocking circles representing the trees. "Tha woll's jus a few hoors away, but there're idden leech watchposts long about the way." These were not illustrated. "There's a path oor eere," a line in the dirt, "and a burn," a squiggly line indicating a stream, "and o'er tha burn a hump in the airth like a barrow. That's the sett, the brock burrows an tunnels. Tha entry to tha sett faces tha burn. You go in, do the brocks, and then I take you to tha woll."
"It's daytime," Gordon Keef said. "The brocks are noxious, so they're sleepin noo."
Smith considered correcting Keef, nocturnal, not noxious... but then he realized the small man may have been speaking literally and not misspeaking.
Noxious. Rabid.
Damn, Smith thought.
Please...
A whisper, brushing his ear like a breath.
"Ye won't be wairkin alone after all," Snatchbinder said. "Airther and Glain will go with. They lost a sister to tha brocks an want 'em daid."
"Arthur," Smith said, nodding to the two dark-haired men. "Glen."
"I'll be accompanying you," Case said.
Smith was startled by the man's accent. Cleaner. Easier to understand.
"I've never killed a brock before. Sounds like a bit of fun."
When Case smiled Smith knew that the handsome son of a bitch had probably never had any difficulty parting a woman's legs.
"Tha fookin mad Ainglish bastart," Snatchbinder muttered, shaking his head.
"If we wait another oor," Gordon said, "the day will be at its hottest. The brocks will all be fast asleep, like."
"You know that for sure?"
Gordon forced a grin. "I think." It came out 'I fink.'
Smith's bowels roiled. "I'm gonna go fertilize the forest," he said.
Colin dug through a pack that was almost all stitches and patches and handed Smith a sheaf of yellowed pages bound in twine.
Smith nodded his thanks and headed off, hearing Gordon say with affection, "There's a thoughtful boy." Colin had to be Gordon Keef's son.
The forest was sun-dappled and serene. Birds twittered and insects droned. Smith found a tree with a smooth trunk, dropped his pack (the tabby leaped up into the tree), gouged a little depression between two roots with the toe of his boot, and dropped his pants, settling back against the tree in a comfortable squat.
He leafed through the loosely bound pages, most of it half-sheets of old newspaper. Smith always tried to read before he wiped, because you never knew what you could learn from the old papers.
There was story about internet regulation. The date on that page was August 21, 2005. Smith had no idea what the internet was and he was bored after the first sentence. Since it made references to the surf he figured it had something to do with fishing at sea, having once read a story about the over-fishing of the oceans.
A headline from Monday, September 3, 2012 screamed 'Sabotage!' On the previous Saturday night the United Warrior Resistance, descendants of American and Canadian indigenous peoples, had taken down a leech cargo plane over Idaho with a surface to air missile and were currently being hunted down for their crimes against... Smith looked at the top of the page. The Glasgow New Age Standard. A leech paper. Good for wiping.
Another page (this one from The New Sun, most leech papers having New or New Age or New World somewhere in their name) was less text and more pictures. November 2021. There was a photo of a surging crowd filling a street, a cluster of ornate buildings belching smoke and flames, and a bonfire built around a wooden pole. A burning lump was chained to the pole, blurry with movement. Smith read a few lines before deciding this was wiping material as well. 'Anti-Hemophagist Rebellion Leads to Looting and Destruction of Vatican: Pope Innocent IX Burned at the Stake.'
Enemas were on sale, little plastic bottles of salt-water that you used to flush out your pipe. That was a head-scratcher.
Smith passed a solid loaf and waited to see if there was anything else coming down the chute.
Now here was something interesting.
A faded headline proclaimed 'The New Land.'
------------------
January 2, 2007
Berkeley, CA (AP) - A new land has been born in the Pacific Ocean, nearly 300 miles southeast of the Galapagos Islands, says geologist Mark Dennihen of the University of California at Berkeley, and he hopes to lead a team to the region as soon as possible.
"We've been monitoring activity between the Pacific and Nazca tectonic plates for some time now through remote sensors placed there a few years before, and six months ago the Pacific plate moved east, forcing a sizable land mass approximately the size of Manhattan above sea level."
Dennihen is a Professor of geology at Berkeley and a member of the National Academy of Sciences.
"This is terribly exciting for us," Dennihen continued. "We think a new tectonic microplate has formed, and this could very well be a repeat of the events that led to the formation of the Galapagos Islands."
Berkeley's geology department has a team standing by, ready to fly as soon as they are given clearance to leave the country and enter both Peruvian and Ecuadorian waters, as both nations are laying claim to the new island.
Dennihen's frustration became clear as he explained the difficulties he and his team as facing. "Due to the current political crisis, restricted air traffic, and international travel restrictions, no one has been able to investigate the location in person. The last satellite photos we have been able to obtain are two months old, and while they show us the expected exposed ridgeline we knew was hidden by the sea we are surprised by the small degree of volcanic activity, indicating this new land mass could evolve from barren rock to a seabird habitat much faster than Surtsey Island, for example, due to its more temperate climate and its accessibility by birds, insects, and water-and-airborne seeds."
Surtsey, a volcanic island near Iceland in the North Atlantic, was born of volcanic activity on the 14th of November, 1963. An undersea volcanic eruption eventually left an island that rose to a height of 550 feet above sea level. Eruptions continued on the island for three and a half years, and now what was once barren rock is covered in grasses and some flowering plants, and is home to a number of bird and insect species.
"This is the process of life," Dennihen said, "And we are being denied witness thanks to a Republican government spinning yet more lies and creating more confusion with tales out of Z grade horror movies to cover up what was likely an outbreak of some bioweapons virus which is spreading beyond their control due to their own mismanagement of the healthcare system."
Professor Dennihen is a member of Truth Not Folklore, a Californian group of concerned citizens who believe that reports of vampires and zombies are just a government fabrication used to mislead the public into believing (continued on page A22)
------------------
There was no page A22 in Smith's bundle. He tucked the story in a shirt pocket and finished his business.
He kicked a layer of dirt over his scat and buttoned his pants.
The tabby had come down out of the tree and was sniffing at the small mound of fresh turned earth. It turned and began scraping at the ground with one paw, tossing even more dirt on the pile.
"Nobody like a critic," Smith said.
When he returned to the others, Arthur and Glen were looking at him with impatience. Case was sitting on a flat stone, smoking a cigarette. A filter cigarette.
Smith had smoked a few of those in his youth, long ago.
"Hey," Smith said. Case nodded. "Where'd you find the retro butt?"
Case tossed him a red and white package. "Marlboros, my fine American friend. A vacuum packed gift from a Day Squad Training Team long gone, sent over the pond in the early days of the crisis. There was a great war in this part of the world over a hundred years ago. The Yanks came over and helped this little island then. They did they same after the pandemic spread, when things began falling apart."
Smith shook a smoke out of the pack. It was packed so firm, unlike the flimsies he made for himself. He took a drag and... nothing. He tore off the filter and tossed it away. Another hit. He handed the smoke to Case.
"You might as well finish it. Too weak for my blood."
"Time, gentlemen," Snatchbinder said. He had started a small fire, and he unwrapped a burlap bundle to reveal a half dozen torches.
Five torches were ignited.
Smith, Case, Arthur and Glen each took a torch, the two dark-haired men starting down the path without a word.
Smith wondered who the fifth torch was for, when Colin stepped forward.
"What the hell is this? He's just a kid."
Snatchbinder looked at Smith, saying nothing. Smith turned to Gordon, and saw that the man's eyes were red.
"Keef, you can't let your boy go down there."
"I've no choice, Mr. Smith," Gordon said. "I owe a debt."
Smith took a step and stood eye to eye with Snatchbinder. "Let the boy stay."
Gordon touched Smith on the arm. "Please. Colin has to go. My boy was trapped on t'other side o' the woll. Snatchbinder brought him back to me. If I don't repay a debt, my word will'na be worth dirt. This is a barter society, Mr. Smith. A man's word is his most important commodity."
Smith hunkered down and faced the kid. "You stay by me. No wandering. No noise. If I tell you to freeze, you freeze. If I tell you to run, you run. Understand?"
The boy nodded. His eyes were wide with fear.
Smith scooped the orange tabby up and put her in Hungee's massive hands.
"Hold her tight until I get back."
The big man gave a single nod.
Smith set his pack against a tree, tucking old sword and broken cane into his gun belt. His revolvers were set in their sling holsters. "Okay. Let's go."
In a moment Smith and the boy reached the end of the path and splashed across the stream.
Case was standing before a natural earthen mound. There were at least a dozen tunnels disappearing into the mound, each of them about four feet high.
"Arthur and Glen want to play hero," Case said. "They just dashed down this hole."
The floor of the tunnel was damp. Smith kneeled and sniffed at a drying slurry of vomit and liquid shit. The hole reeked of sickness.
Smith reached out with his torch, trying to illuminate the tunnel. He considered telling the boy to wait outside, but when he looked back Keef and Snatchbinder were standing ion the far side of the stream, watching them.
"Follow close, boy," he said, bending low and entering the sett.
The smell of rot and death was an almost tangible thing, so strong Smith felt as if he were wading through it.
They walked for a few minutes. The tunnel was low, but it was wide enough for three men. They passed tunnels branching away from the one they were following. They heard shuffling, and fast panting, and once, a wet sneeze.
"Careful with that torch, lad," Case whispered. "I shouldn't think Mr. Smith will react favorably to a cauterized backside."
They all froze when a scream reached them, the sound starting low, more an expression of surprise than anything else, and growing in volume and pitch until Colin dropped his torch and covered his ears.
Case raised his eyebrows. "Ever heard the likes of that?"
"Once," Smith said grimly. He shook his head, remembering a raging bonfire outside a little town in Kentucky, a group of men in pointy hoods and white robes cheering as they pierced a lovely female leech with a six foot long stake, her screaming growing in pitch and volume as the sharpened pine shaft entered her, impaling her from sex to skull.
"Where'd it come from?"
Smith glanced at the Englishman, wondering the same thing. The scream had seemed to be all around them.
They heard a footfall and suddenly Glen was behind them, his face twisted with horror. His torch was gone and left arm was hanging down, flopping and twisting with too much ease.
"RUN!" Glen's shriek was high and breathless, a teakettle talking. "They got Arthur! They're coming!"
He slammed by Case and Colin and Smith, his left shoulder missing a tremendous amount of muscle and bone, his arm dangling from a swatch of his shirt and a strip of skin. Glen got thirty feet down the tunnel when something just beyond the range of the torchlight came out of a side tunnel and knocked him down.
Smith drew his guns, but all he could see was a jerking dark mass. There was a soft crunch and the gushing of liquid, and Glen was dragged out of sight.
Another brock took its place, bounding down the tunnel towards them. Smith put two bullets in its brain.
"Behind us!" Case said, giving Colin a rough shove.
"Hey," Smith said, but Case had already pushed by them and the dead brock, running full tilt down the tunnel.
Smith grabbed the boy's free hand and followed the Englishman as fast as he could, hearing heavy feet and the snuffling rasp of breath right behind him.
They emerged into a space with a high ceiling, a natural dome of rock ten feet overhead. Behind them was a wall of raw earth, and many tunnel openings. Before them was a wall of pale, dry stone. The ground underfoot was uneven, fragmented rock.
Case was climbing the wall, looking for a way out.
Smith set his back against the stone, raised his revolver, and put a shot through the eye of the first brock to emerge from a tunnel.
The creature collapsed with a grunt. Smith stepped forward and studied its claws and fangs a moment, and then briefly stuck his torch into its gaping mouth. No reaction. It was most definitely dead.
Two more brocks entered the chamber simultaneously, from different tunnels. One tumbled across the floor, limping and biting at the air, saliva flying from its jaws in glistening whips. Smith shot it twice and it rolled onto its back, its pink tongue dangling like a piece of meat. The other brock appeared to be healthy, and much more aware. It crept just out of reach of Smith's torch.
Colin seemed to stumble, and Smith helped him stand straight.
"The floor," the boy said. "Look."
Smith glanced down. Whatever was happening to the floor, he could feel in his feet. He looked up. The brock was crouching, preparing to strike. A pebble hit Smith in the shoulder and he looked overhead.
Case had worked loose a massive stone, and as the great badger leaped forward Case pushed the stone downward.
"No!" Smith grabbed the wall with one hand, and the boy with the other.
He had felt bits and pieces of the floor giving way beneath his feet, like thin, fracturing ice.
The ground dropped out from underfoot, the rock wall vibrating madly in Smith's grip.
The badger roared and dropped out of sight and most of the stone floor underfoot gave way, collapsing into another deeper chamber.
Case cried out and fell past them, and then the entire wall of rock began to disintegrate, taking Smith and the boy down into the darkness with it.
Smith landed hard on his side. Two of three torches were still lit, flickering somewhere in the distance.
The air was thick with dust diffused by an orange glow. Piles of rubble lay all around like cairns.
A shaggy head loomed over him and Smith rammed the broken end of his cane into its throat, jerking left and right before it was pulled out of his grasp, the brock running away.
The boy was sobbing somewhere. Smith got to his feet, realizing he had lost a revolver.
Claws slashed at his back and he spun on another brock, swinging the sword. He chopped off the last few inches of its snout and the beast went mad with pain, charging past him as it bled out and vanishing from sight.
He found a torch and held it up.
They had fallen twenty feet or so, somehow staying atop the rubble. The boy was curled in a ball not far away, eyes closed, hands over ears, shutting out the world. Smith ran to him, a distant part of his mind registering that the ground was solid - soft - solid - soft. He pulled the boy upright and looked behind him.
Shaggy pelts were twitching, shaking off coats of dust, rising up. The dust was settling now, falling into pools of shit and vomit and bug-encrusted rotting joints stripped almost clean of meat. Stones underfoot were spattered with saliva and snot.
It's a sick house, Smith thought. This is where they have come to die.
Brocks shuffled and crawled and staggered towards him, mad eyes rolling in the torchlight. They had been sleeping, stunned, lethargic with sickness. Now they were alert, hungry.
There had to be twenty, maybe more.
Smith grabbed the boy and ran, spotting a fissure in one rock wall with a damp earth tunnel beyond it. There was flickering light inside the tunnel. Case?
Something solid hit Smith just above the stomach and suddenly he couldn't breath. He fell to his knees and saw Case holding a dried out tree root shaped like an arm with a fist on one end.
Colin was lying nearby, unconscious, a bloody cut over one eye.
He couldn't speak. He shook his head. Why?
"My apologies, lad," Case said. "But I need to be the hero here today."
A boot slammed against his head and Smith reeled, falling forward.
"I've been assigned to find out who is smuggling people across the wall," Case said with a smile. "It's taken me a while to get in good with this group of gypsies, and even with them vouching for me Snatchbinder told me he will take only you beyond a certain point."
A spy, Smith thought, blood running down his face. A fucking leech spy. Case hadn't been pushing the rock down on the attacking brock up there. He'd been dropping it on me.
"Once I tell them that the remaining brocks will eventually succumb to their illness and bravely rescue the boy," Case explained, "I'll really be part of the group. I'll ask to be taken over the wall, and once I find their crossing point, I'll report it."
That also explained the very weak cigarettes. A survivor who didn't smoke stood out like a penis in a can of beans. Leeches still had adverse reactions to tobacco, to nicotine. Smoking weak cigarettes allowed Case to walk in both worlds without much notice.
Case bent and threw the boy over one shoulder, holding his torch high. "I'm sure I can take my time finding my way out of here, since these beasties will be busy with you."
"Go suck yourself," Smith said, hearing Case walk away.
He caught his breath and got to his feet. He had just set foot inside the tunnel when massive paws struck his back and lifted him off his feet. His torch and his sword were knocked out of his hands. He hit the ground and rolled onto his back.
He heard a wet snarl and watched a shaggy head split by a ragged mouth loom over him, his hands searching the ground for a weapon. The eyes were horribly bloodshot, insane with rage and leaking tears.
The mouth opened wide and dropped, and Smith raised the tree root Case had dropped, wedging it into the brock's mouth.
A stone bit into the small of his back like a tooth.
The beast bore down with its full weight and Smith felt the breath being forced out of him. A rope of foamy saliva struck Smith in the eye, and he cried out when the brock's claws raked his chest and began digging into his ribs.
He was forcing back the bloody claws with one hand and the brock's head with the other when the tree root snapped in the creature's jaws and the shaggy head dipped down.
Smith felt everything, the teeth piercing his shoulder, one long canine scraping against bone, two claws puncturing his torso like dull knives. He could feel his blood mixing with the beast's saliva as it sucked at his wound and drooled profusely.
It's over, Smith thought.
A whisper.
Not yet. Not yet.
Smith heard an almost comical hiss, and then the brock was rearing back and bellowing in pain, the orange tabby clinging to the massive head, one quick paw slashing at an eye that was a collapsing ruin even as the brock shook the cat free. Smith rolled to one side, drew his other revolver, and as the brock roared and prepared to strike again, Smith put a bullet down its throat and through its spine.
Smith found his sword and torch. He found his other revolver.
The tabby leaped up, climbing Smith like a mountain and sitting on his shoulder.
"Good girl," he said. Then he went back the way he had come, to finish off every brock he could find.
*
An hour later he stumbled out of the sett and fell into the stream. The tabby leaped to the other side and watched him with concern. When he staggered to his feet and onto the other bank the cat wound around his boots, rubbing against his legs.
Case was regaling Keef, Hungee, and Snatchbinder with an account of his heroism when Smith came down the path.
Colin was lying against a stump. He looked drained and comfused, but otherwise okay.
"Oy!" Keef was grinning at Smith from ear to ear. "He said you were dead!"
Case looked uneasy.
Smith brushed past him. He was out of bullets.
"You took a real crack to the head," Case said. "When you went down I thought you were done."
"He's a leech spy," Smith said.
Case laughed aloud. "Really, Mr. Smith, I think that blow to the head has left you deranged."
Smith opened his bag. There the clocking sound of wood on wood as Smith withdrew what he needed.
"I have a message for your masters," Smith said.
Case dramatically rolled his eyes for the benefit of the others and asked, "What would that be?"
Smith turned and threw himself at Case, slamming the man against a tree.
"You are the message," Smith said, raising a wooden stake and driving it into Case's chest.
Case grunted and coughed up blood. Keef and Snatchbinder and Hungee watched in alarm when they realized Smith had a mallet in his other hand.
"You are the message," Smith said again, hammering the stake home and pinning Case to the tree. Case watched the process as long as he could, then his eyes closed and he went limp.
"I've killed your vermin," Smith said to the others. "Now take me to your fucking wall."
User Reviews
Submitted by Fey (user info) at 2008-06-29 15:53:19 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by zakalwe (user info) at 2005-10-05 14:02:03 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
good old smith
Submitted by Falconer (user info) at 2005-07-28 18:46:15 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Supreme_Overlord (user info) at 2005-07-21 22:39:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
shite
Submitted by notyou (user info) at 2005-07-13 17:20:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Benny (user info) at 2005-07-08 19:49:13 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Absolutely brilliant. You are the message mother fucker!
Submitted by thecaes (user info) at 2005-06-30 22:06:51 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-06-30 09:03:52 (#)
Ranking: 0
These are fun, but also a pain in the ass. I find myself wandering off on in bizarre directions while doing research reading, and they end up taking a long damn time to write.
Glad everyone is enjoying them though.
***********************
I fucking second that.
Thanks for keeping it up.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-06-30 16:37:35 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by MyNameIsTim (user info) at 2005-06-30 16:04:41 (#)
Ranking: 2
when i said 'go all dan brown,' i meant selling 293 million copies world wide, not being a huge faggot and wearing turtle necks everywhere.
--
I laughed out loud at that.
Submitted by munkeypants (user info) at 2005-06-30 16:14:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by MyNameIsTim (user info) at 2005-06-30 16:04:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
when i said 'go all dan brown,' i meant selling 293 million copies world wide, not being a huge faggot and wearing turtle necks everywhere.
Submitted by Professional_Peon (user info) at 2005-06-30 13:15:16 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Woooo!
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-06-30 12:27:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I just noticed a name error in the previous chapter. Why am I mentioning it here? Because sooner or later someone will accuse me of fucking up a name, and I can say I caught it first.
Crap.
Submitted by supadupapupa (user info) at 2005-06-30 12:03:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I love these
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-06-30 11:58:02 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Thanks for the compliments Tim, but Dan Brown?
Yeesh. Can't stand the guy. My heroes will NEVER wear turtlenecks.
Submitted by MyNameIsTim (user info) at 2005-06-30 10:11:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
so when you go all Dan Brown on us, can i get the credit for forcing you to write more smith stories? this is just awesomely awesome. i can't get enough.
i am incapable of gushing enough to convey how incredible i thought this story was.
i'm going to print out all of your ATP stories, staple them, and then read them.
keep it up.
Submitted by MyNameIsTim (user info) at 2005-06-30 09:40:56 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
thrilled that this is up.
gonna start reading after i finish this huge project i'm doing at work
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-06-30 09:03:52 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
These are fun, but also a pain in the ass. I find myself wandering off on in bizarre directions while doing research reading, and they end up taking a long damn time to write.
Glad everyone is enjoying them though.
Submitted by Mop (user info) at 2005-06-30 08:46:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
What they said.
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2005-06-30 02:23:13 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Yeaah maaan...+2LIVE
Submitted by Revolutionman (user info) at 2005-06-30 00:47:15 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
hawt men secks
Submitted by horse87 (user info) at 2005-06-30 00:30:00 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Jesus, man...
You gotta try publishing this stuff....
Submitted by thecaes (user info) at 2005-06-29 23:33:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Jaaaaaaaack! This is probably the best installment yet. Holy crap it was good. Your writing of the accents shames the way I do the accents in my series. So good!
Submitted by LadyPlural (user info) at 2005-06-29 20:50:55 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Abso-fuckin-lutely. It's like it's my birthday or something- almost all of my favorite series have had a new chapter put up today.
Submitted by yermom (user info) at 2005-06-29 19:38:24 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I'm starting to like this pandemic series almost as much as the one TheCaes is writing.
Submitted by Phinch (user info) at 2005-06-29 19:22:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
bingo bango!
Submitted by dodahdave (user info) at 2005-06-29 19:09:10 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Fuck, this series is so awesome! It's entertaining, it's interesting, it's fun to read, it pushes all the right buttons.
Fuckin A, Jack.
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2005-06-29 19:04:38 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
excellent
Submitted by Yes (user info) at 2005-06-29 19:02:18 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
OH HELL YEAH!
Submitted by wardy (user info) at 2005-06-29 18:42:11 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
bunjee the damn cooler to the roof, and let's get the hell out of here.