GrUeberfest 2005: PROMPTITUDE (1330 hits)
Category: NoneLabels: Grueberfest Compound_Tales
Rating: 1.96 on 41 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Jack McCallum (View user info) at 2005-10-21 15:33:18 EDT
GRUEBERFEST 2005: PROMPTITUDE
"Are you Mistah Johnson?"
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Mistah Al Johnson?"
"That's right."
"Mistah Sheriff Al Johnson?"
Al kept his cool. He had been told the old lady he'd be speaking to could be exasperating. Al realized she wasn't so much exasperating as old-school polite. Very old-school.
"That is correct, Miss Julia."
The old woman pursed her lips.
"Ah got's sumpin' to tell you, Mistah Sheriff. Ah seen sumpin mighty strange, um-hmm!"
Al eased back into the wicker chair in which she had insisted he sit. He tried to concentrate on what the old woman was telling him, tried to ignore the creaks and snaps and pops that might be a warning the chair was about to disintegrate under his two-hundred and thirty pounds.
"Ah was at mah window, over theyah, waterin' mah plants."
Al looked over his shoulder. The window was open. There was a small window box bolted to the sill, and beyond he could see the grounds of Golden Mornings, the only privately owned retirement home in the small town of Sunday Morning. He turned back to Miss Julia Thalls.
"Ah got's a kitty, don'cha know. Ah call him Zoot, 'cause his stripes look like he a dapper young man about town in a zoot suit, lookin to woo the ladies."
The old woman laughed with her mouth closed. Hmm-hmm-hmm.
Julia Thalls had to be in her late nineties. Her skin was worn, creased, a richer brown than one usually saw in African Americans, a dark brown that was almost black.
She had offered Al a lemon cookie when he arrived at her room. The edges were burned but she had served it on a small china plate with a paper doily.
This aged gentlewoman reminded Al of his own great grandmother. He had been raised by a quartet of old black women, who had filled the home of his boyhood. Great Grandma, Grandma, Aunt Isobel, Aunt Tula. His mother and father had died when Al was a baby, but he got more than enough love, caring, and common sense from his other mommas.
The love and encouragement and sense of self-worth he received as a kid helped him through a lot of shit in his life. Vietnam, as a scared-ass kid. A stretch with the LAPD in the 80's. And a lot of strange happenings out here in the Mojave Desert, after Al joined the San Bernardino County Sheriff's Department as a way to ease into retirement.
The town of Sunday Morning had a contract for police services with the country Sheriff. Al thought his duties here would be easygoing. Sometimes they were anything but.
"Don'cha jus love that Californiah sunshine, Mistah Sheriff? Warms the bones sumpin' special. Course, there are times one wishes foah the dark of night."
Miss Julia may have been old, but she wasn't the doddering old fool the manager of Golden Mornings had made her out to be, so Al listened to her story carefully. She was the only one who had told the retirement home management she had seen anything out of the ordinary.
Miss Julia turned her head from the cleanup happening outside her window. There was a six-foot high chain-link fence to one side of the broad courtyard of the crescent-shaped home. The fence kept animals out of the small garden plots tended by the more mobile residents.
Just outside the fence was a spray of grue that spread across the green lawn and the stone footpath.
When Al had passed the mess and the puzzled coroner on his way into the building he thought it looked as if someone had been shoved into a big blender and pureed, the soupy remains then tossed across the lawn.
The only thing that made the spill recognizable as human was an eye, two fingers and some shattered denture fragments. The rest was a pulpy red and white splash drawing flies under the noonday sun.
Little pieces of meat and flesh were stuck in the fence.
Al had already gotten more than one taste of the weird in his life. He could handle this. He gave the old lady a nod, encouraging her to tell him what she had seen.
"It was veruh early this mornin' when ah saw it. You get old you sleep less and less, get up bright and early. Course a young man like yoahself wouldn't have any conception of what ah'm talkin' bout.
Al chuckled. "I'm getting there, Miss Julia. Faster than I'd like."
The old lady looked him up and down.
"Handsome young man like yoahself gots yeahs ahead of you. You remind me of that entertainah, Mr. Belafonte. Course you done tucked away many a good meal an' make old Harry look like a stick in comparison. Shame ah don't see no ring on yoah fingah. You gots no wife, Mistah Sheriff? No chih'dren?"
"No wife," Al replied. "But I do have a boy. An adopted son."
Miss Julia pointed a twig-like finger at Al. "You the colored man who adopted that white boy now, hmmm? Ah heard about you. Lot's o' time for gossip in a place like this, you understand."
Al smiled, thinking of Mikey, and the fight he had gone through to adopt the kid. "That's right. Now, back to what you saw."
Miss Julia smoothed her dress over her thin knees. "Ah do 'pologize, Mistah Sheriff. The body may not be allowed to wandah, but you can't keep the mind at home now, can you?"
The old woman took a breath, and told her tale.
"As ah said, I was up early. Ah opened the window and put Zoot in the window box. He likes to do his daily rounds but always stops in that box before headin' out. Ah grow catnip in theah, you see. Mornin' coffee foah kitties. A little get up and go. And Zoot wasn't the only one with get up and go this mornin'."
Miss Julia's hands came together, worn old skin kneaded as a deep frown line appeared between her gray brows.
"Ah saw some of mah fellow res'dents, as ah watered the catnip, out for some morning air. Only, they was more spry than usual. Full of vim. In fact, they was displaying an unusual amount o' promptitude."
Al looked out the window. There were a few residents watching the clean-up. Not one of them stood or walked without some kind of assistance. A cane, a walker, a wheelchair. He couldn't imagine any of them moving fast.
"Ah saw old Mrs. Koto first. She was pushing her walkah out to the edge o' the walk were it leads to the trees. She likes to feed the squirrels a bit o' her shredded wheat what she saves, even though the management don't approve of that behaviah, not at all. Mrs. Koto got 'bout halfway down the walk when she stopped an got the jitters. Her whole body was shakin' some'pin fierce an' ah was gonna push my 'mergency call button when I saw her settle back down. Then all of a sudden she raced to the trees so double-quick she scared away the squirrels!"
Al felt his eyebrows rising. He couldn't help it. He cleared his throat and let her continue her tale.
"Anyways, Mrs. Koto looked round like she was lost for a moment, and then she hobble-stepped back to the front doah like nothin' happened. It was right after that that Mistah Albert Gerusch... made an appearance."
Al pulled a pad and pen out of his shirt pocket and made a note. "Mr. G-E-R..."
"U-S-C-H. Geh-roosh." Miss Julia shook her head and then pointed out the window. She indicated the semi-liquid human remains being removed from the lawn with a wet/dry vacuum the coroner would be taking with him.
Miss Julia faltered for a moment, her face full of despair. Then she regained her composure, drawing on the curious strength of women who have lived long and endured much.
"Mistah Gerusch was tendin' to his tomatahs. He was a grump, mos' of the time, but he grew wondahful tomatahs and peppahs."
The door to Miss Julia's room opened and a twenty-something Latino orderly came in with lunch on a tray. Vegetables is a steamed, pale green mass, a small cut of meat already chopped into small bits and covered in gravy (looking not unlike the remains of Mr. Gerusch, Al thought), a glass of milk and a bowl of green gelatin.
The orderly gave Miss Julia a smile. "Thank you kindly, Tino," she said, patting him on the arm.
Al watched the kid leave. The old lady seemed to like him. She seemed quite content here. Aside from investigating what had to be a homicide considering the state of the decedent's body, Al was also keeping an eye out for any mistreatment of the old folks. It was and wasn't part of his job. Officially he couldn't stick his nose in to how the home was being managed... but this was his town. The retired gents and ladies here were his people, and if he saw anything out of the ordinary he'd set it right.
Besides, he thought. Mikey's gonna be sticking me in here before too long.
Miss Julia looked at the meal on her tray and then turned to face Al, rolling her eyes. "They think jus' cause we old we can't chew out food. This place is good to me but sometimes the people in charge are such fools. An' I do hate the lime jelly."
"I prefer orange," Al whispered.
Miss Julia laughed, and then grew somber.
"Ah best tell it quick now, get it out and put it behind me. It was a terrible sight and ah don't want it hangin' over me. Mr. Gerusch was in his garden, as ah said. He was hummin' a happy tune and checkin' his tomatahs for bugs. When he seemed satisfied he turned toward the gate in the garden fence. That's when he got the jitters, just like Mrs. Koto. He took one step, and then moved so fast he blurred an' all but disappeahed. I heard the fence ring like somethin' hit it and then saw jus' a torrent o' blood fallin' on the grass. Awful sight. That poah man."
Miss Julia crossed herself and turned away from the window.
Let's say this is the real deal, Al thought. Let's say Mrs. Koto moved fast as hell. Over open ground. Let's say Mr. Gerusch did the same. Only Mr. Gerusch had a chain-link fence in his path. If you threw a ripe tomato at a fence it would explode. Would a man do the same thing?
Only if a man could move that fast, Al thought, without being aware of it.
Al thanked Miss Julia for her time and left the old woman to her lunch.
"Do call again," she said, reaching for her bowl of gelatin as Al stepped out into the hall. "Ah do enjoy a visitah now and again. Now if you'll excuse me I'm just going to flush this. "
Al stopped to have a few words with the coroner, who could only suggest that Al start searching for a wood chipper. Al watched the man load up his truck and drive off. Yellow crime scene tape rippled in a gust of wind. There was still a hell of a mess in the grass. He saw the young intern named Tino passing by and asked to kid to find someone to hose down the lawn.
He walked around the long, low building. He found two storage sheds full of tools, but didn't see anything that could reduce a man to mulch. He went back inside through a rear door. More storage rooms, some of them locked. He went into the kitchen. The staff was cleaning up after lunch. Al gave a big Hobart mixer a long look, but didn't see anything suspicious. The freezer was full of trays holding frozen meats. There were shelves holding tins and boxes, including a few boxes of lime gelatin powdered mix.
Al picked one up, expecting Jell-O.
The label read Yummy-Jelly. Al turned the box over.
Made in The U.S.A.
445 Pacific Road
Sunday Morning, CA 92311
"No shit," Al said. He'd been in Sunday Morning for quite a few years now and he'd never heard of these guys. Then again, there was nothing but warehouses on that stretch of Pacific Road, so who knew?
"No orange," he said, wondering who had the lime fixation.
He poked his head into a few rooms as he made his way to the front of the building and the manager's office, thinking he was heading for a dead end.
There wasn't a shred of evidence of foul play. Except for the shredded body, of course.
He asked the manager, a man named Hergenrader, a few questions. He hadn't liked the man when he first rolled up fifteens minutes after receiving the call out. He didn't like the man now.
Hergenrader seemed more concerned with a disruption in his daily routine than the fact that a resident had been liquefied.
Al realized that for all his brusqueness the man could be right. Some of the old folks around here probably couldn't handle too many shocks to the system.
There were no unusual goings-on at Golden Mornings. No suspicious types, no new faces, no new orderlies. No changes in medications, and Hergenrader insisted he had looked into that, not that he could imagine the FDA approving a drug that made people explode.
"No, wait," the man said, fiddling with his tie. "We do have a new... never mind."
Al leaned forward. "Mr. Hergenrader?"
"It's silly," the man said.
Al tapped the gold star on his chest. "Let me be the judge of that."
"Well... we started getting free Jell-O, sorry, Yummy-Jelly. The company that makes it is hoping to go statewide and then national, and they wanted to do a trial run here, since they can't do that kind of thing in the schools these days."
Al made a note in his pad and then thanked the man before heading out to his squad car. He thought he'd swing by the Yummy-Jelly plant before heading in to the station to file a report. If he was lucky he could be home when Mikey got home from school and they could grill some burgers together.
The Yummy-Jelly plant wasn't a manufactory as Al had expected, but a simple warehouse. He had pulled over across the street and entered one of the open loading dock doors. There were crates stacked on palates, all of them stamped with the rounded lettering of the Yummy-Jelly logo.
Al entered a corridor that ran the length of the building. He passed a lunch room and saw a group of guys playing cards, and then found an office. He went inside and looked around. Nothing but a few battered filing cabinets, and a desk piled with invoices and shipping manifests. It looked like the stuff was being shipped from back east. A small trademark on one invoice caught his eye. It was a rectangle. Inside the rectangle were a wheel, and a lowercase white c on a field of black.
A door opened and Al saw a man step out of a small restroom, zipping up his fly. He saw Al and trotted to the office.
Al got the usual 'you can't be here without a warrant' bullshit he had heard a thousand times from people who had something to hide.
He was soon back on the road, watching clouds roll in and obscure the sun. He was heading for the highway when dispatch in Victorville called out to him.
*
When Al returned to Golden Mornings, things seemed placid on the outside. A few raindrops pattered against the grass. Dispatch had told him they received a 911 call about an 'accident.' They needed help and the caller had said "It happened again."
There were two long corridors behind the reception desk. Al followed the murmur of voices down the east wing. There were a number of residents standing outside one of the rooms. Al went in.
Hergenrader and a pair of orderlies were inside, all of then pale, sickened.
The manager numbly raised an arm, indicating the small bathroom.
"The lady next door said she heard a whump," one of the orderlies said to no one in particular. "A whump. Das what she said. Whump."
The bathroom door was half closed. The outside of the door had a number of long cracks in it, the paint flaked and fractured. Al used his baton to push the door open all the way.
Grue covered every surface of the bathroom. The sink held a pool of blood, half of a nose acting as a drain plug. Spatters and gobbets of flesh were stuck to the walls. There was a jagged crack in the mirror over the sink. On the floor below it Al found a synthetic hip joint. Most of an intact scalp dangled from the light fixture overhead. The hair was limp, gray, and quite long. One foot was lying on its side near the toilet.
After a moment of contemplating the floor, Al found two small bare spots on the linoleum and stepped into the bathroom, easing the door shut with the stick. The heaviest concentration of gore was on the back of the door. An unidentifiable crescent of flesh and bone hung from a brass hook that would normally hold a bathrobe.
It was as if someone had hit the door at a thousand miles an hour, Al thought. He said, "God damn," under his breath, and then opened the door with his stick and stepped outside.
Hergenrader was talking with a blond man in a dark suit. Tino was standing beside the man. Tino was wearing a suit as well.
The manager of Golden Mornings looked like he was receiving a death sentence. The man saw Al and sent Hergenrader and the orderlies on their way.
Hergenrader ran into the hall shouting at the orderlies.
"Deputy. I'm Lawrence Lortus, and this is Eduardo Lopez," the suit said, flashing a badge. "This investigation is now under Federal jurisdiction. We appreciate your assistance, but I'm afraid I have to ask you to—"
"Let's see that ID again," Al said.
Lortus looked Al up and down. The guy wasn't quite as big as Al, but he was all wiry muscle, and the salon cut and styled blonde hair did little to detract from the face of an unforgiving hardass. He flipped open a slim leather case and let Al look at the badge.
Aside from the Justice Department seal, there was another identifier on the ID. A lowercase white c on a field of black.
"The Compound," Al said. Son of a bitch.
Lortus ran a hand through his hair and smiled. There weren't many people who could say 'fuck you' with a smile, but this guy had it down cold.
Al had gone through the wringer with the Compound a few years ago. They were a Federal investigative agency, like the CIA or the FBI. Their area of concern was science, and few Americans had ever heard of them.
He knew the Compound had been involved in a lot of strange shit, but people-exploding gelatin was so out of left field Al didn't know what to say.
Lortus leaned in close, breathing in Al's face. "We'll take it from here, big boy."
Al couldn't help but smile. He had almost forgotten about the damn-near comic racist streak running through most of the white-bread psychos working for the Compound.
They probably only hired Lopez to act as undercover orderlies and janitors.
"We've been watching this establishment for a few weeks now," Lopez said. "We have everything under control."
Al thought about old Miss Julia. No way in hell was he going to leave her in the lily-white hands of this pretentious shit.
"Until you show me your justification for taking over this investigation," Al said, standing straight and looking down on Lortus, "I'm going to stick around. This is my town, son, and I am one protective son of a bitch when it comes to my people."
Before Lortus could say a word a scream came from the hallway.
Al stepped outside and saw and old man in a wheelchair shaking like he was in the center of an earthquake.
The old guy stood up fast, took two fleeting steps across the floor and then blurred as he shot down the hall like a bullet. He hit the reception desk. Walnut inlay fragmented and pens took to the air. The old man's body hit the desk so hard it was cut in half at the waist, the muscle and bone of his legs bursting through his trousers. The upper half of his body soared through the air, arms flailing as fast as fan blades. He hit the reinforced safety glass of the big front doors and blew apart like a water balloon as the doors shattered. Blood-soaked shards of glass glinted like rubies in the sullen light of the coming storm.
Lortus pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, hit two numbers, and said, "Clearance." The Compound agents started walking down the hall.
"Hold on!" Al was ignored, and he hurried after them.
Al caught up with Lortus and Lopez in the kitchen.
Orderlies were tearing open packages of lime Yummy-Jelly and washing the powder down the sink. When they saw Lortus their eyes widened with fear and they picked up the pace.
Al grabbed one of the packages from the shelf. Lortus and Lopez exchanged looks, hands going into the coats of their suits for their guns.
The Compound agents blinked in surprise, looking down the bore of the Deputy's big Smith & Wesson Model 29. Lortus broke into an amused, lazy grin when he saw the old .44 revolver. Lopez couldn't believe a man that big could move that fast.
Al set down the package. "Hardware on the shelf, right here, right now."
Lortus shook his head, still grinning. "Do you have any idea who you are fucking with?"
Al waited for the agents to set their shiny new Kahr P45's on the shelf. "As a matter of fact, I do," he said, regretting that he left his mobile radio in the car, an old habit. He rarely ever needed the damn thing. With a wave of his revolver he made Lortus and Lopez back off a few paces.
"I'm sure you'll make this fuckup disappear. I've seen it before."
The agents watched the big black man's strong and nimble fingers disassemble their weapons.
"It would be a bit of bad PR if the public found out about this little experiment," Lortus said, "But we have the backing of the Federal Government. You are teetering on the edge of a very deep shit pit, my friend."
Al slipped the firing pins into his pocket. "So what's the deal here? You came up with some drug that triggers incredible speed in people? I suppose you did animal testing, heading for what, a military application?"
Lopez' dark eyes flicked to Lortus and back to Al.
Lortus saw Lopez' tell. "You dumb brown fuck. Why not just hand him the goddamned dossier on Quick?"
"Quick?" Al reached for the box of Yummy-Jelly powder he had set down.
"Yes," Lortus said, as if talking to an ignoramus. "Project Quick. We can't do trials on prisoners or the homeless or any other kind of human refuse the way we used to thanks to public advocates like the ACLU watching out for them. People notice it even when street trash disappears these days."
Al knocked the small box over. His eyes went to it just for a moment, and Lopez was on him, grabbing his handgun. Al grabbed the box and hung onto it, well aware that it was his only evidence. The orderlies were washing the last of the powder down the sink.
Lortus stepped forward and grabbed one corner of the box, startled by Al's raw strength. "Nobody really gives a shit about the old, though, do they? That's why we had our trial here. Most of the residents of this death house have no relatives in town. Many of them have families out of state."
Lortus pulled in one direction. The Deputy pulled back. "This place is small-town cheap and looks good in the brochures. Great place to send dad when he starts pissing himself. So an old timer dies. Big deal. We took a chance."
The three men were almost dancing. Al had raised his arms, his huge hands clamped down on the box and his revolver. The agents were struggling to pry open his fingers.
The orderlies finished their work and ran for the back door at the far end of the kitchen.
Thunder rumbled through the open door and the rain started coming down hard.
Al felt sweat running down his face. "You expected results like this?"
Lortus grunted. "No. We thought they'd have heart attacks or strokes at worst. We didn't think they'd be stupid enough to run into walls when the speed came on."
"And how where they supposed to know what was inside of them?" Al braced himself for a mighty shove. "They couldn't help doing what they did."
Al pushed, hard. Lopez reeled back. Al's gun slipped out of their hands and slid across the floor, disappearing under a heavy steel table. Lortus lost his balance. Al felt something give in the small box.
White-green powder burst forth in a dense cloud, coating the faces of the Compound agents, a moment of horrific slapstick.
The powder was inhaled and swallowed.
Al looked himself over quickly. He was clean.
"What do we do now?" Lopez asked. "Do we wash it off? It won't do anything to us, will it?"
Lortus turned to Lopez. His head jerked and his hands began to twitch. "Normally takes a few d-d-days for a dose to act-ti-vate. But the doses were sm-small ones."
Lopez convulsed violently.
Al backed away, looking for a weapon. The agents were between him and all the stainless steel hardware in the kitchen. Behind Al were more shelves holding an assortment of paper products, cup and plates and napkins, and beyond the shelves was the open door.
"When the sp-sp-speed hits," Lortus said, as his teeth began to chatter, "G-go f-f-for the c-cop!"
Lopez became a blur. He raced toward one wall, stopped himself, and turned, raising one shimmering hand before his shimmering face and studying it curiously before setting his sights on Al. Unlike the residents who had died, Lopez knew what he was dealing with and could avoid slamming into any obstacles.
Al ran across the kitchen, knowing that even his revolver couldn't help him now. Lopez could just dodge the bullets. He saw something familiar on a shelf he was approaching as he headed for the door. He wondered if Lopez would bother to dodge something he didn't think was a threat.
Lopez was a ghostly figure coming at Al. The big Deputy grabbed a stack of paper doilies like the one Miss Julia had used to serve him a lemon cookie earlier in the day.
He threw a stack of the doilies behind him.
There were at least fifty of the thin paper circles, fluttering and spinning and flying high and low. They were so light they hovered in the air a moment before beginning to fall to the floor.
Lopez didn't think the doilies were as dangerous as a solid wall and he increased his speed, closing in on Al too fast to be seen.
Lopez was wrong. He was moving so fast the doilies sliced into his body like saw blades.
Al looked over his shoulder and saw sprays and spurts of blood appear from nowhere, followed by a confusion of red slabs that slapped down onto the floor like steaks trimmed in Verona wool. Al kept running, out into the rain.
Behind him, Lortus screamed with rage, the scream a high-pitch buzz that made Al's eyes water.
I'm done, Al thought. He's gonna come for me and I'm done.
He was running across a lawn that was board and empty. There wasn't a single thing he could use as a weapon.
"Fuck it," Al said. He stopped, and turned to face Lortus.
The only indicator that the agent was coming for Al was the doilies that had settled to the floor, suddenly stirring in his wake.
The agent saw the big Deputy standing out in the rain, defenseless. Lortus felt his heart racing, his blood roaring through his veins. His pulse throbbed in every limb and joint, and he had never felt so alive.
He came out of the building too fast to be seen, grunted as something struck him hard, and screamed when he realized he horrible error in judgment.
Lortus hit the rain fast.
A man falling from a high bridge and striking still waters suffers the same injuries as a man falling on concrete.
Lortus was moving so fast he struck the rain like a man running into a hail of bullets. They tore through him, blasting away living parts of him, severing fingers, bursting his skull, boring gaping holes in flesh and bone.
Al was knocked aside by a mangled, bloody thing in a ragged suit. The agent's collapsing body slid to a stop on the wet grass.
"Jee-zuss," Al said.
By the time Al returned to the kitchen, a white-faced Hergenrader was mopping up the last of the powder.
"I had no idea," he stammered. "I honestly had no idea."
*
The coroner was called back to remove more unsightly human remains. The residents who died had no families, retirement funds covering their expenses. Golden Mornings kept their deaths a secret. The Deputy checked in on Miss Julia before he left, relieved to learn she was resting and had no idea what had gone on.
Al wasn't surprised when he returned to the Yummy-Jelly warehouse on Pacific road and found an empty building. Lortus' call for 'clearance' had been to a clean-up crew, and they had been very thorough.
What was left of the agents from the Compound was never claimed and eventually disposed of.
Al filed a report full of the usual mundane bullshit. Why make even the slightest reference to the Compound when their existence would be denied by anyone asking about them?
When Al finally got home it was early evening. Mikey was doing his homework, the remains of a take-out pizza nearby.
"You're running late, old man," Mikey said.
"Watch it, boy," Al said, "Thirteen isn't nearly big enough to take me on."
Mikey laughed. "Seriously, dad. You have a need for speed."
Al shook his head as he sat beside the boy and took a look at what Mikey was working on.
"Believe me, son," he said, reaching for a slice of pizza, "I've had enough promptitude to last a lifetime.
Note - Al Johnson is a character I have used before, and when I started working on this story yesterday I thought it would be fun to work this into his world. I plan to do more stories about Al and his kid and his town of Sunday Morning, so that's why I left in a lot of background on Al in this tale. I hope it wasn't too distracting or confusing for any readers. I also hope this damn thing isn't full of typos, but you know how it goes.
User Reviews
Submitted by Crystle (user info) at 2007-05-17 12:52:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
fine.
darn gore.
I hate it that you write so well that I can't avoid your uberrifficly vermilion phrases (although.. as a codacile, I don't mind the gore so much as the dwelling on suffering that tends to go with it... the description of the "stone disease" was as difficult for me to read as the blender/fence descriptions here)
Submitted by St_Jimmy (user info) at 2007-01-15 20:50:13 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Impressive. I think it'd be tough to work out people traveling supersonically. At those speeds, pressures and temperatures would rip a person apart and incinerate the bits and pieces. Plus, I don't think the average person could survive the acceleration from 0 to Mach 2 almost instantly. You'd need some kind of special suit or something. This'd probably work http://www.ubersite.com/m/97684
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2006-08-28 19:11:38 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I never read this I forgot
Submitted by Anansie (user info) at 2005-10-30 22:02:33 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Looks like thecaes covered the whole physics thing and you already commented on the typos. Those are the only things that threw me, and regardless, I have willing suspension of disbelief, so this kicked my ass all over the place. Very Creative, +2.
Submitted by Berty (user info) at 2005-10-24 09:19:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Ace.
Submitted by AshK (user info) at 2005-10-24 08:43:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-10-21 16:54:25 (#)
Ranking: 0
AshK, all of the dialogue 'typos' were intentional, like the old lady's speech.
I thought I caught the other ones though.
--------------
It was just little things that threw me off for just a beat, but the dialogue wasn't something that I think anyone would consider a typo. The dialogue "typos" are the only way to impart dialect, I get it. The nice thing about reading something you have written (in general) is that your writing draws me in and makes me "see" the story. I could hear the voices of the characters, which is such a refreshing change from "'Bang!' said Bob as he pulled the imaginary trigger. 'Oh my!' gasped Sally as she fell to the floor."
Anyhoo, in the end, it was a different concept that kept me interested. In many stories I sense the plot twist coming, or the plot twist isn't so very twisty. In your stories, my brain absorbs the story and doesn't seem to wander around thinking it knows what is coming next.
Submitted by badassmofo (user info) at 2005-10-22 11:48:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-10-22 11:03:20 (#)
Ranking: 0
Gotta go with a +1 on this.
+++++++
Ranking malfunction?
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-10-22 06:16:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2005-10-22 01:34:23 (#)
Ranking: 2
Jack, you never cease to amaze me.
The "Compound" probably exists in one
form or another. It did in "Firestarter". . .
--
Actually, that was The Shop.
Which is mentioned briefly in the other big tale I've featured Al in.
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2005-10-22 01:34:23 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Jack, you never cease to amaze me.
The "Compound" probably exists in one
form or another. It did in "Firestarter". . .
Submitted by kaos-king (user info) at 2005-10-22 00:51:06 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Only you could have taken such a title and came up with this...
Submitted by Orgasmatron (user info) at 2005-10-22 00:41:49 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
+1 for spinning gold out of a shit title. I actually grinned when I saw 'promptitude' come up. Good work taking lemons and turning them into Aston Martins.
+2 for working grue into the story. This IS Grueberfest, after all.
I can't say enough about how much I enjoyed the story. The Project Quick storyline was entertaining, but I'd have been content just watching the characters interact with each other.
I'd say more but it's too late - I find myself a-tired.
It's time I get me to a bed and properly retire.
Submitted by badassmofo (user info) at 2005-10-22 00:15:19 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Well fuck me runnin.
I really do like reading your stuff Jack.
Submitted by Bigmike (user info) at 2005-10-21 23:34:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
This is good Jack, except for the doilies. That was just too much for me. Otherwise, top notch.
Submitted by Circe (user info) at 2005-10-21 23:23:17 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
That was pretty damned good.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-10-21 23:01:03 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by forthewin (user info) at 2005-10-21 21:29:34 (#)
Ranking: 2
This was an insanely good post. I didn't notive how long it was, and I just kept reading... and then when I got half way through I was like, "WTF I don't want to read all this." But I couldn't help it, cause I wanted to know what happened. Which means it was so good I didn't even say "+2 I'm not reading all that."
But if it was my story, I would've made it so the thing that was causing trouble was drug runners JUST LIKE IN GRAND THEFT AUTO, AND THE SPEED STUFF WOULD'VE BEEN DRUGS AND EVERYONE WOULD FIRE BAZOOKAS AT EACH OTHER AND YOU'D HAVE 5 POLICE ICONS INDICATING YOU WERE GOING TO HAVE TANKS COMING AFTER YOU AND YOU'D BE ABLE TO SNIPE THE MEN OUT OF THE TANK AND GO ON A RAMPAGE.
--
I guess I should have posted the first draft. It was just like that.
Submitted by forthewin (user info) at 2005-10-21 21:29:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
This was an insanely good post. I didn't notive how long it was, and I just kept reading... and then when I got half way through I was like, "WTF I don't want to read all this." But I couldn't help it, cause I wanted to know what happened. Which means it was so good I didn't even say "+2 I'm not reading all that."
But if it was my story, I would've made it so the thing that was causing trouble was drug runners JUST LIKE IN GRAND THEFT AUTO, AND THE SPEED STUFF WOULD'VE BEEN DRUGS AND EVERYONE WOULD FIRE BAZOOKAS AT EACH OTHER AND YOU'D HAVE 5 POLICE ICONS INDICATING YOU WERE GOING TO HAVE TANKS COMING AFTER YOU AND YOU'D BE ABLE TO SNIPE THE MEN OUT OF THE TANK AND GO ON A RAMPAGE.
Submitted by thecaes (user info) at 2005-10-21 21:01:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-10-21 20:43:21 (#)
Ranking: 0
It always bugs me when people move at high speed and the laws of physics don't harm them or others. Example, a show like Smallville. Clark moves at superspeed and pulls someone out of the way of a car... without snapping their neck. WTF?
******************
EXACTLY. Also, it's hard to work with a super-speed character and think of ways that he wouldn't be invincible. When I see a comic book with the Flash getting beaten to the punch or anything I get pissed off. The dude can hit you a bajillion times in the time it takes your heart to pump once. There's no getting around that.
You're welcome for the comments.
Oh, I forgot to mention, I like the way you manage to write long stories, but still have your sentences and paragraphs very economical, so they're fairly short but delvier a lot of information.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-10-21 20:44:54 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Caes, thanks for the comments, btw. I like it when people see the small touches.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-10-21 20:43:21 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by thecaes (user info) at 2005-10-21 20:16:35 (#)
Ranking: 2
Great work with a horrendous title. This was more sci-fi/adventure than it was horror, but given what you had to work with, that's easily forgiven.
I have some questions regarding your physics when it comes to super-speed impacts. Particularly the unblemished fence, bullet-rain, and killer-doilies. Especially the doilies. I suspect they really are too light to do any damage...wouldn't the oncoming wall of air pressure push them aside anyway? Mind you, I've never run into paper at super sonic speeds, so what do I know.
--
I actually have a box of Yummy-Jelly mix on my desk. I'll let you know in a bit.
Actually, I considered the air pressure thing. Also, these people would burst into flames or their bodies would rip asunder at that speed, no?
Just gotta let some things go. Especially when you have a title like Promptitude.
It always bugs me when people move at high speed and the laws of physics don't harm them or others. Example, a show like Smallville. Clark moves at superspeed and pulls someone out of the way of a car... without snapping their neck. WTF?
Now I'm going to go watch tv and get an incredibly inappropriate erection. I taped a news special last night about twin sisters, 13 year old cuties like the Olsen twins, who sing NAZI PROPOGANDA HATE SPEECH songs.
America: Always something interesting going on.
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2005-10-21 20:19:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
technically very good as usual.
Submitted by The_Yellow_Dart (user info) at 2005-10-21 20:19:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by thecaes (user info) at 2005-10-21 20:16:35 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Great work with a horrendous title. This was more sci-fi/adventure than it was horror, but given what you had to work with, that's easily forgiven.
I have some questions regarding your physics when it comes to super-speed impacts. Particularly the unblemished fence, bullet-rain, and killer-doilies. Especially the doilies. I suspect they really are too light to do any damage...wouldn't the oncoming wall of air pressure push them aside anyway? Mind you, I've never run into paper at super sonic speeds, so what do I know.
Here's what makes me jealous about your writing, Jack.
Your dialogue, and presentation thereof, is amazing. Each person talks differently from every other person, and is presented in a different way as well.
You somehow can start a train of thought/dialogue/description, then break abruptly to introduce something else, then go back to your original train without making anything seem disjointed.
'Little touches' are EVERYWHERE in your work. Tiny details that make everything seem more real and more memorable.
Submitted by Professional_Peon (user info) at 2005-10-21 19:17:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
cool!
Submitted by Inmate867428 (user info) at 2005-10-21 18:56:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
It was good, but I got tired and distracted around the mid section. Besides everybody can't +2 everything or this contest won't work.
Submitted by MandaPanda (user info) at 2005-10-21 18:34:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Creative.
Submitted by MyTeeOne (user info) at 2005-10-21 18:33:51 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I got so into the story I didn't notice any typos. Even if I did, I forgive typos unless they're really fucking bad.
Great story. I had no idea what was coming.
Submitted by MadJesterVince (user info) at 2005-10-21 17:55:11 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Great story, it would be strange to have that kind of speed wouldn't it, especially if you didn't know before it happened. Really liked this.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-10-21 16:54:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
AshK, all of the dialogue 'typos' were intentional, like the old lady's speech.
I thought I caught the other ones though.
Submitted by nrduncan (user info) at 2005-10-21 16:47:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2005-10-21 16:34:56 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
nicely done
Submitted by pen_name (user info) at 2005-10-21 16:22:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
supersonic
Submitted by AshK (user info) at 2005-10-21 16:17:17 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Damn, can we have a couple more typos?
On the up side, I loved the story.
Submitted by Yes (user info) at 2005-10-21 16:11:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Someday... I am gonna make sweet, sweet love to your brain.
Submitted by FartSmeller (user info) at 2005-10-21 16:11:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
FUCK this is good. For a minute, during the part in the Yummy Jelly factory, the flow is a little weird and hurried (no pun intended), making following the sequence of events a little confusing. But, dude, I could never write something half as good...
Submitted by stardamage (user info) at 2005-10-21 16:01:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I could have done without the description of human soupy bits, THANKS A LOT JACK.
This was so so so so so good. You and Caes will be at each other's throats in the last stage of this thing.
Submitted by punkerrjess (user info) at 2005-10-21 15:58:56 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I wish I could give this a +3 billion
Submitted by EatMeCompletely (user info) at 2005-10-21 15:53:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Awesome
Submitted by Jeanneee (user info) at 2005-10-21 15:41:52 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
excellent story
Submitted by CookieLass (user info) at 2005-10-21 15:36:42 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Had enough promptitude to last a lifetime indeed. IN-DEEEED!!
Excellent work for a really crap title. Apollo screwed you good.
Submitted by Spam (user info) at 2005-10-21 15:36:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
promtitude?
FUCKING PROMITUDE???
IT 647 PAGES LONG?!!
My irony detecter walked across my desk and kicked me in the balls when it saw that.
(Disregard the rating as I am yet to read this all)
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-10-21 15:36:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
So much for my wish about typos. Nuts.