Revenge
of the Autumn People is
a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of
the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual
events, locales, or people living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
REVENGE OF THE
AUTUMN PEOPLE
James R. Nevitt
Chapter
1 – Recovery Really Bites
It took an
entire month before I felt like myself again. Granted, thirty days ago Cletus
Tylor had taken a massive bite out of my deltoid. Cletus had been turned into
what Dorthy Biggs, resident necromancer, called an Abomination.
Some
readers might require more background on my personal history. Let me shift my
weight on the couch and scratch Annie’s ears while I clear my head. It seems
like Dorthy’s concoction to heal my shoulder is working but with some odd side
effects…I’m drowsy during the daytime and my vision is periodically blurry.
Okay then,
last month the zombie virus, generally dormant in the bacteria that live inside of
cicada, had infected the local hogs in the rural community of Dusk Thorne. The
hogs (not generally picky eaters) consumed the insects, releasing the virus
into the swine host. People that consumed uncooked tainted pork became part of
a growing undead (think zombie) problem when I first moved to town. Last month
Dusk Thorne had hundreds of zombies aimlessly walking the streets.
Unlike
their Hollywood counterparts, these undead weren’t aggressive unless they
became hungry. Generally, the zombies would only consume garbage and vermin.
However, they decomposed fast and were horrific to look at. Often one would
come across pieces of the undead laying in alleyways or on the street…sometimes
still in a state of animation (personally, I thought hands were the creepiest).
But Cletus
was an Abomination. A Super-Zombie. A demented local, named Calvin Pryde, had
supplied Cletus with a drug his dealers and local teens called Honky Kong. This
modified version of methamphetamine interacted with the zombie virus to produce
a being that had enhanced strength, aggression and healing powers.
After two
weeks, I suggested to Dorthy that perhaps this drug could speed up my own
healing process. She looked at me sternly, scowled and simply said “Bad idea
werewolf!”
Did I
mention that I’m a werewolf? My name is Kyle Franklin. I came to beautiful Dusk
Thorne, Colorado in the summer of 1982. I’m a retired Professor of Literature
and a fair hand with motorcycle repairs. Speaking of motorcycles, my housemates
(former students), Joe and Alice haven’t let me close to Patsy (my knick-name
for my customized Harley Davidson, currently locked in my garage) or even let
me out of the house for more than thirty minutes at a time. Long enough to walk
Annie, my beloved pet golden retriever.
Annie
hasn’t left my side since I returned from the hospital last month. She is such
a sweet girl. The hospital didn’t know what to do with my injuries. First,
there was a self-reported shoulder wound that had already started to heal due
to my werewolf constitution. It was puzzling to the dotors.
“What bit
you?” said the orderly as a nurse looked on aghast.
“I was on
a farm. I guess it was a farm-related injury…so, um.” I stalled for time.
“This bite
radius is huge!” The doctor exclaimed.
“It was a
cow!” Alice blurted out.
“He was
bit by a cow?” The nurse laughed.
“I mean
sheep.” Alice corrected as I just rolled my eyes. The staff, all three of them,
looked at Alice suspiciously. “Hey, a sheep could have done that. Sheep are
mean. They’re downright evil.” Alice argued.
“She’s a
city girl.” I explained.
I couldn’t
tell them that a nearly unstoppable rage machine, an Abomination, bit me when I
was fighting for my life in werewolf form. If it hadn’t been for Big Mary
Zimbardo (another werewolf and motorcycle club member) Cletus might have eaten
my bicep as well.
After a
night of x-ray, MRI testing and rehydration I was allowed to go home. But then
my shoulder started to deteriorate despite my werewolf powers of regeneration.
The Widow Dorthy Biggs came by and examined my wound.
Zombies
can’t transmit the virus to human beings via bite wounds. A person would have
to consume uncooked pork to become undead.
But their bites are nasty otherwise. Apparently, Cletus had infected me
with some mutant type of flesh-eating bacteria.
Dorthy had the know-how (after centuries of studying death and decay) to
treat me.
“Am I
gonna’ lose my shoulder?” I asked Dorthy. She was strangely quiet. “Am I going to lose my WHOLE ARM?” I said
beginning to panic.
“Will you
calm down werewolf?” She chided me. “I’ve treated this condition before. She
gave me some ointment that smelled even worse than my shoulder wound was
beginning to smell and then made eye contact with me in a very uncomfortable
way.
“You’re a
Lycan. Your genetics bought you time. A human being would have become septic
and died with this type of wound. Without this medicine you would have lived but
you would have lost that arm.”
She
straightened up to her full four-foot ten height. “Three applications a day. Be
sure Alice feeds you a lot of protein. You will need it to regain muscle mass.
While you are couch bound, I will stop by, and we can explore strategies to
help you regain control of ‘The Change’. I understand you started to become
human again after you were injured.”
So it came
to pass that I healed, albeit slowly, with Dorthy’s assistance. As I
sat on the couch and looked at the can of ointment, my other house pet Chester
quietly strolled over to me. He looked at the can with a discerning feline eye
and then approached to sniff the greasy preparation. His eyes crossed and he
backed away.
As I
rubbed the smelly concoction into my shoulder I thought “It’s never taken me
more than two weeks to recover from any injury. This really bites!”
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