help himself, he turned the binoculars over to the home serving as their clinic and smiled to see his wife welcoming some of the elderly residents in for a checkup. She really was beautiful, inside and out. He considered himself a lucky man.
Satisfied his wife was safe, John turned the binoculars back where they should be looking—outside of their walls—and was surprised to see a thick, pea green cloud headed their direction. He scrambled for the fog horn at his belt, sounding the horn twice before scrambling to unbuckle himself from the stand.
The speed cost him dearly, causing him to lose his balance and slip. The ground rushed to meet him, and John thought he was going to die. Then the line that had tangled itself around his thigh snapped tight, flinging him violently headfirst into the tree.
John had been in a few fights growing up, and he knew he could take a punch, but the old oak punched harder than any of those men, and he saw stars.
When he finally recovered his wits enough to assess his situation, John found himself dangling upside down stuck in the nylon straps. The strap cut tightly into the upper thigh of his left leg, and lightning-sharp pain radiated up his hip and lower back when he tried to move. He breathed deeply, calming himself and reassessing his situation. He was still a good eight to ten feet off of the ground, but he thought he could take the fall. He knew he could probably cut the cord and tuck his shoulder enough to spare his head and neck the majority of the impact.
The force of slamming into the ground sent his mind reeling. Pain like nothing he’d felt before jarred him, and his body begged for the gift of unconsciousness. His vision began to grow dim, the darkness creeping from the outer edges of his sight inward until all that was left was a tunnel the size of a pinpoint.
John focused on the tunnel with all of his might, willing it to grow larger, but another jolt of pain pushed him over the limits. The last thing John saw before the darkness took him were tendrils of noxious gas creeping over the tops of his privacy fence, cascading down into his yard, heading right toward him.
…
Linus tucked the bottle of whiskey into the zip-up hoodie jacket his rescuers had given him. Then he exited the little makeshift clinic the neighborhood had created. The nurse, Talia, and her husband hadn’t bothered to try and hide where they’d stored it. They’d even left the key to the cabinet right where anyone could find it. They were unusually trusting people. He’d have to remember that for future use.
For now, Linus was going to go hide somewhere no one would find him and get blind drunk. Now that the rain from the night before had cleared, it was turning out to be a beautiful day. The air was beginning to warm up and actually feel like spring. His burns hurt like the hells that spawned them, and alcohol was the only pain reliever handy.
Bleary eyes surveyed their surroundings and settled on an empty-looking treehouse in a nearby backyard.
Climbing the ladder was a bit hard with his burnt hand, but he managed, and the effort paid off. The interior of the treehouse was impressive; bench seating, a large platform and bucket system to hoist things up into the little fort, and even a little telescope on a tripod near one of the windows. Peeking through, he noted it was pointed at the Willis’ house. One of their windows, specifically. Naughty kid.
He collapsed onto the bench, screwing the top off of the plastic jug of cheap hooch and took a long series of gulps. Putting bubbles in the bottle , he had once heard someone call it.
“Oh man, this stuff’s vile,” he said, screwing the top back on.
There was a crash, and a moment later some loud yelling, like children crying. His curiosity drew Linus to the window, and he was shocked by what he saw.
Goats. Two tiny goats were tied to a stake in the yard, and a noxious cloud of something horrible was heading their way. He heard the
Satisfied his wife was safe, John turned the binoculars back where they should be looking—outside of their walls—and was surprised to see a thick, pea green cloud headed their direction. He scrambled for the fog horn at his belt, sounding the horn twice before scrambling to unbuckle himself from the stand.
The speed cost him dearly, causing him to lose his balance and slip. The ground rushed to meet him, and John thought he was going to die. Then the line that had tangled itself around his thigh snapped tight, flinging him violently headfirst into the tree.
John had been in a few fights growing up, and he knew he could take a punch, but the old oak punched harder than any of those men, and he saw stars.
When he finally recovered his wits enough to assess his situation, John found himself dangling upside down stuck in the nylon straps. The strap cut tightly into the upper thigh of his left leg, and lightning-sharp pain radiated up his hip and lower back when he tried to move. He breathed deeply, calming himself and reassessing his situation. He was still a good eight to ten feet off of the ground, but he thought he could take the fall. He knew he could probably cut the cord and tuck his shoulder enough to spare his head and neck the majority of the impact.
The force of slamming into the ground sent his mind reeling. Pain like nothing he’d felt before jarred him, and his body begged for the gift of unconsciousness. His vision began to grow dim, the darkness creeping from the outer edges of his sight inward until all that was left was a tunnel the size of a pinpoint.
John focused on the tunnel with all of his might, willing it to grow larger, but another jolt of pain pushed him over the limits. The last thing John saw before the darkness took him were tendrils of noxious gas creeping over the tops of his privacy fence, cascading down into his yard, heading right toward him.
…
Linus tucked the bottle of whiskey into the zip-up hoodie jacket his rescuers had given him. Then he exited the little makeshift clinic the neighborhood had created. The nurse, Talia, and her husband hadn’t bothered to try and hide where they’d stored it. They’d even left the key to the cabinet right where anyone could find it. They were unusually trusting people. He’d have to remember that for future use.
For now, Linus was going to go hide somewhere no one would find him and get blind drunk. Now that the rain from the night before had cleared, it was turning out to be a beautiful day. The air was beginning to warm up and actually feel like spring. His burns hurt like the hells that spawned them, and alcohol was the only pain reliever handy.
Bleary eyes surveyed their surroundings and settled on an empty-looking treehouse in a nearby backyard.
Climbing the ladder was a bit hard with his burnt hand, but he managed, and the effort paid off. The interior of the treehouse was impressive; bench seating, a large platform and bucket system to hoist things up into the little fort, and even a little telescope on a tripod near one of the windows. Peeking through, he noted it was pointed at the Willis’ house. One of their windows, specifically. Naughty kid.
He collapsed onto the bench, screwing the top off of the plastic jug of cheap hooch and took a long series of gulps. Putting bubbles in the bottle , he had once heard someone call it.
“Oh man, this stuff’s vile,” he said, screwing the top back on.
There was a crash, and a moment later some loud yelling, like children crying. His curiosity drew Linus to the window, and he was shocked by what he saw.
Goats. Two tiny goats were tied to a stake in the yard, and a noxious cloud of something horrible was heading their way. He heard the
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