David Downey's Blog

The cover of The Alpha And The Omega

What my friend’s cat thinks of NeoSparta:

What my friend’s cat thinks of NeoSparta:

Terran Union predicted (the possibility of) life on Saturn’s moon, Enceladus.  Just sayin’…

Introducing a new feature on this website: Stories!  So far, this page includes Sinon and Prisoners of Time.  In the future, the list of stories will grow to include more online published works.

The first e-book of the Terran Union series is available now!

FREE on Google Play, iTunes, Kobo,and Nook.  ($1 on Kindle.  Hopefully it’ll also be free soon.)

It used to be a stupid hypothetical question: Where would you retreat to during a Zombie Apocalypse?  Vic and I had agreed we would fall back to Max’s.  With no windows and only a single door, the bar was easily defendable.  It was chock full of makeshift weapons: broken bottles, pool balls and sticks (and probably a gun near the register).  And most importantly, we’d toast, there must be at least a year’s supply of booze there.

But Max’s was now probably just as overrun with Synners as Pepper’s.

So I found myself driving down the highway back to the town of Mason.  I had lived in Mason for most of my life.  I grew up with the same group of friends through elementary, middle, and the beginning of high school.  But after my junior year, we moved from Mason to a smaller home in an older neighborhood.  Dad claimed we no longer needed such a large house with David, and eventually me, moving out.  But I knew the real reason: my parents needed the money for David’s tuition.  I was uprooted before my senior year at Mason High (and thus, denied graduating with my lifelong friends) so that David could go to USC.

During my final years at Mason, my friends and I would regularly go to The Pipe to drink and smoke pot.  (Actually, my friends smoked.  I stuck with drinking; weed made me paranoid.)   The Pipe was an actual cement pipe, as big around as a car tire, partially sunk into the earth, which served conveniently as a bench.  It was located in a clearing deep in the woods next to Mason.  How it got there had been the center of much drunk and stoned debate.

And so I was retreating to The Pipe during the Zombie Apocalypse.

Actually, Synners were not zombies, I had to admit.  Synners weren’t violent.  Quite the opposite, they were excruciatingly docile.  Driving down the traffic-free highway, I had noticed several cars randomly parked on the side of the road, the passengers serenely sitting on the gravel shoulder.  And now driving through the Mason suburb, I saw several families lying haphazard on their front lawns.

I parked at the end of a cul-de-sac, grateful that the woods hugging it were still there, that the area hadn’t been developed into more tract homes.  The Pipe lay roughly a mile beyond.

Opening the trunk of the station wagon, I slipped on the bulky camping backpack.  This is going to be a bitch, I thought as I grabbed hold of the heavy baskets laden with 18 cans of food and two gallons of water and whisky.  The forested trail to The Pipe involved following a winding creek to find a shallow spot to cross, as well as cutting the corner of a bordering tilled field.  (Though I never encountered it myself, I heard tales of the farmer sometimes shooting at trespassers.  But walking along the field’s parameter nearly doubled the distance to The Pipe.)

I put the baskets back down, broke open the jug of Old Timey, and took a long swig.

That’ll fractionally lighten the load, I thought.

To be continued…

(Or read the story in its entirety in Goddess.)

A gallon of water.  A plastic 1.75 mL jug of Old Timey whisky.  (I couldn’t afford Thomas Jackson.)  Six days times three meals equals 18 cans of spaghetti and soup, I thought as I tallied the items in my shopping baskets.  And I’ll grab a hot dog and a burrito at the counter for today’s meal.

I hefted the baskets up onto the checkout counter.

Noticing the pepper spray display next to the cash register, I swiped one up and dumped it in a basket.  Then for good measure, I grabbed another.

The 24-7 clerk mechanically stood up from her stool and greeted me with a grin.  “Do you need anything else?” she asked, gesturing to a saucer dotted with tabs of Syn, sitting next to the penny cup.

“Er, no thank you.”

“It’s free.”

“No thanks.  Just bag my items and ring me up, please.”

“Vic, Natalie, Paul, and David have tried it.  Why won’t you try it?”

“What?”

“You best friend, your parents, and your brother—”

I slapped $40 on the counter and grabbed my baskets.  “I hope that covers everything.  I promise to return the baskets,” I said before fleeing the convenience store.

To be continued…

(Or read the story in its entirety in Goddess.)

I left Vic in that stinky Syn den to get drunk at Max’s.  But there were even some damned Synners hanging out there too, sitting on the filthy floor around the pool table.

Too wary to drink from an open container (fearful that the bartender would lace my booze with Syn), I stuck with canned and bottled beers.  But frustratingly, I couldn’t get drunk.  (“I drink beer to sober up!” had been one of my favorite boasts.)  By the time I came up with the idea of buying a pint of whisky from the 24-7 convenience store down the street, it was already 4:47pm.  Time to meet my perfect brother, I dejectedly thought, as I slid off the bar stool.

Arriving home, I grimaced as I walked past David’s beat up Chevy Dash (sporting more dents than I remembered) in the driveway.  Opening the front door, I consoled myself that I had at least a steak dinner to look forward to.

But there was no sound of sizzling steaks inside.  No excited conversations about David taking the bar exam.  No TV blaring sports highlights (and no Dad sitting in his living room recliner).  I was met with utter quiet.

Mom, Dad, and my brother were sitting serenely at the kitchen table.  In unison, they all turned to me and smiled.

“Oh fuck,” I heard myself groan.

“Oh Durant, you’re home,” spoke my mom, as though she was concentrating on every word.  She unsteadily tried to stand, then thinking better of it, sat back down.  “Your brother is here.”  She deliberately gestured to David.

“Mom, you told me not to take Syn!” I accused, my voice cracking.

“Well, David said all of his professors assured him that Syn was safe.  Who are we to argue with the experts?”

I was angry and hurt.  Angry because, by taking Syn, I felt my family had betrayed me.  And hurt, because I knew Mom and Dad would never have taken Syn if I asked them.  But since their favored son asked them…

“You should join us and take it, son.”

I couldn’t remember the last time my dad lovingly called me “son”.

“Uh, maybe later.  Listen, I need to check on something in my bedroom.”

I could feel their stares follow me as I ducked into the hallway.

I knew my sleeping bag was on the top shelf in my closet.  But I struggled to remember where the rest of the camping gear was.

In my parent’s bedroom, I delicately shut the door behind me.  From the dresser, I swiped the keys to their station wagon.  I then lifted and moved my mother’s jewelry box, revealing the wad of cash hiding underneath.  Shucking off a few bills, I silently promised my mom that this would be the last time I’d ever do this.

To be continued…

(Or read the story in its entirety in Goddess.)