Ashtrays to Jawbreakers

Ashtrays to Jawbreakers

A Compilation

All rights reserved: Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. No part of this publication may be reproduced distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means or stored in a database or retrieval system; without prior written permission of the author. This is a work of fiction.

Names characters places and incidents are a product of the authors imagination are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual events locals or persons living or dead are purely coincidental.

Copyrighted June 2014

All said property is owned by individual authors.

Mista Brownstone Ink holds no claim to any individual rights or royalties

Photos courtesy of Google Chrome

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book, please

return to your favorite ebook retailer to discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support

Table of contents

Foreword

Tic-Toc by Viv Drewa

Running after Midnight" By: Schandee Decker

Excerpts from Wasted Youth Jason Brierly

Resus by Neil McGowan

After the Fall by Aaron R Roberts

Red Moon by J.R. Cochran

Riffs by R. Reed Rosson

The Isolation Horror by Kevin S. Hall

Painting by Dave Scott

Sneaky Creep by Chloe Hammond

Character by Tommy J Lohman

Afterword

Foreword

In a perfect world, all the writers would get a fair break; judged on talent and not how big their wallet is. This is an attempt to give a few authors their just reward for being stubborn and not giving up. A hobby is not a hobby if it has the potential to be rewarding far more than personal enjoyment.

No writer ever hits it big just writing for money. It would be like saying I like breathing just to hear the wind blow. A writer puts all they have into what they create; should always attempt to do that is.

Every writer puts part of their being into what they write. Their work is as much a part of them as their heart and comes from within it .

Writing is something a writer needs to do. It's not optional, it's like breathing. If we don't write every day, even if it's just a few words, we don't sleep due to the characters in our head demanding that their stories are told. And when you get it right (or should that be write?) then the feeling is the greatest high on the planet.

Tic-Toc

By

Viv Drewa

Where the fuck you taking us? Paul said as he looked out the jeep's window. We're going' really far out.

Just relax. You'll love it, Dale said. He shook his head and kept driving. Paul was a downer and he never understood why anyone would want to bring him along. It was Rip's idea, even though Rip was the one who picked on him."

Maybe he just needs to see how to have fun, Rip had said. Being a prodigy probably kept him from being a kid. He's not even 20 and he graduated with us. Think about it.

Whatever, Dale said.

Stop your bitching, Paul. We're supposed to relax for the week, Rip said already regretting bringing Paul along. Paul had a way of bringing down everyone. Bitchy little nerd!

Dale drove a little farther on the paved road then turned left on a dirt road. They passed an abandoned house that looked like it had seen better days, maybe 100 years ago. Then trees filled the area on both sides of the road.

Fuckin' dirt road, Paul said which made the other three shake their heads and wonder if Paul was ever going to learn to stop complaining.

It's only a few more miles and we'll be able to set up camp, Dale said. And the road's not that bad.

Yeah, Paul, Rip was really getting angry. This isn't even your vehicle so why the hell are you complaining? Just sit there and shut your damn mouth!

Paul looked at Rip and knew he was being scolded. Being the youngest in this group of electromechanical engineers had its problems. He was 18 when he got his master’s degree and thought this was why they kept picking on him. He didn't realize he was still acting like a teenager. Rip's reprimanding sometimes confused him.

Here we are, Dale said, and pulled off the road. We can get set up here. The opening in the forest was large enough to have a fire pit and for the four of them to put their sleeping bags around it. Rip and George took the coolers and put them under a nearby tree.

Where do we go if we need more ice? Paul asked trying not to sound like he was whining.

There's a gas station four miles from here where we can get more ice and food and whatever we need, Dale said.

So you've been here before? Paul asked.

Yeah, my dad, brother and I used to spend a lot of time here. It's a great place to relax, Dale told him. Just sit and bull shit all we want. Drink beer. There's a stream a short walk from here where we can catch dinner.

That's why Dale brought his fishing gear, Rip said. And he has a couple extra rods for us if we want to fish.

What about having a fishing license? Paul asked.

That won't be a problem. DNR doesn't come around here, Dale said.

Paul nodded his head and decided not to say anything else. He hated fishing. His father was constantly trying to get him to go, but he couldn't stand the thought of touching worms or the fish. And forget about cleaning them!

They get themselves situated and George, an adventuresome fellow, wanted to go for a short walk.

I'll just stay here, Paul said. I don't feel like walkin' around just yet. Anyway, I'll get the first started.

The others started out for the woods.

A little further and we'll be at the fishing hole, Dale said.

The woods had a variety of trees which had a full canopy. They see small animal tracks and come upon a dead skunk.

Better not tell Paul about that, George said as he looked around for something to dig a hole and bury it. He finds a strong branch and starts digging.

He'll lose it for sure, Rip said. Dead things really seem to get to him.

Looks like some kind of scavenger got to it. And not a very big one from the size of the bites, George said as he began to push it into the hole and cover it.

Could just be flies, or some other insect, Rip said. George finished pushing the dirt to cover it. Anyone want to say anything? Rip, always a joker, asked.

Asshole, George looked at him and shook his head.

I can hear the stream so we're pretty close, Dale said and headed in the direction of the sound. Rip and George follow.

The three stop at a two-foot drop off near the stream. It's gentle current has a calming effect.

How far does it go? George asked as he slid down the embankment.

Don't really know, Dale said and followed him down. My dad never ventured down, just stayed right here.

George didn't follow them and continued on parallel to the stream. He saw a large building in the distance, but he couldn't tell exactly how far away it was. Maybe half a mile or more. The trees made it hard for him to estimate it.

Dale and George stepped back up and walked over to where George was and wondered what he was looking at.

There's some kind of building over there. I can't make out what it is, and I saw a few people there. Do you know what it is, Dale?

I know there was an old medical center around here. It's been closed for years. Maybe they're restoring it.

Why? There aren't any homes around here, George asked.

Maybe they're planning on building here soon. They might want to get this set up to help any builders or whatever if they get hurt on the job, Rip said.

Let's get back before Paul starts griping, Dale said. The three turn around and head back to their site.

Paul had built a nice fire and was sitting near it reading. He was always reading. He looked up when he saw the three of them approach.

Thought you got lost, Paul said closing his book. You've been gone quite a long while.

Sorry, mom, we won't wander any more today, Rip said sarcastically.

It's just now starting to get dark. We weren't going to stay out that long, Dale said and sat on his sleeping bag. I was starting to get hungry, anyway.

George stood and headed for the coolers. You guys want dogs or patties?

Dogs sound good, Rip said and looked at everyone else. They all nodded their heads.

Someone get the buns and stuff out and I'll start cooking, George said. How many you guys want?

Two for me, Rip said as he went to put the buns and condiments on their table.

You guys?

Just make two for everyone, Dale said. "They'll get eaten.

Dale checked his blood sugar and took the insulin he needed. He didn't want to have any problems on this trip. It took him long enough to get his insulin levels regulated and wasn't about to screw them up.

George got the dogs and Rip went to get the rest of the condiments. They had a small camping table for the buns, catchup, mustard and onions. Then Rip went back to get the beer, gave one to George, and handed one to the other two.

This was the only time Paul felt like part of the group. Drinking beer with them. Even though he still wasn't 21 they didn't bitch at him about drinking. They didn't bitch at him about anything.

When they finished they all had another beer and it finally got dark. Paul stoked the fire and added more wood.

Why are you doing that? Rip asked him.

To keep predators away at night. I don't know what's out there. Do you?

Nothing that will hurt us, Dale said. All the years I've been here we never had anything bother us. Dad never kept a fire burning while we slept.

I'm not taking any chances, Paul said.

Dale shook his head. I'm going to sleep. I want to go to that building tomorrow and see what's going on.

What buildin'? Paul asked.

George saw a building about a half mile away from the stream today. We kinda want to check it out, Dale said. I'm going to sleep, he repeated. Good night, he said and crawled into his sleeping bag. He fell asleep instantly.

Yeah, think I'll do the same, George said and crawled into his. Night.

Rip and Paul stayed up a little longer. Not talking just watching the fire.

Dale woke to the sound of the crackling of the fire. Would Paul have really kept it going all night? Maybe they're just getting ready for breakfast. He has to pee so he unzips his sleeping bag and stands up. He noticed the fire was out and he could still hear the crackling.

Dale stretched and rubbed his eyes then looked at the three other sleeping bags. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes again. He looked for his glasses but couldn't find them. He squinted to see better but that didn't help. He walked over to Paul's sleeping bag, then the others.

Where the hell were the tops of the bags and what the hell is moving on top of the guys? The guys! All he saw were remains! These things were eating his friends! What the fuck, he thought.

He walked around to all the sleeping bags and each was as bad the other. The top layers of their skin were being eaten by these things.

Dale started to shake and his legs felt like rubber. He was having trouble thinking. He forgot he had to pee. What to do? Why didn't they attack me? He strained to look into the woods and thought he saw millions of them. He didn't have any on him or in his sleeping bag. Then he began to sweat and shake harder. The stress must have thrown his sugar off and he headed over to his sleeping bag to get his kit. He took it to his jeep and locked the doors behind him.

His sugar was 346. Shit, it's up. Must be from the stress he was feeling. It always went up whenever he got upset, not to mention the two beers he drank last night. He drew up what insulin he needed in a syringe and gave him his shot in his stomach. Dale sat and waited to start feeling better, plus he felt safe from the large ticks. They were the size of a nickle! He knew it was silly to lock the doors. Must've been a reflex.

He remembered the building George saw the day before and decided to go there. If it was a medical facility again they might be able to help. But help how? His friends were all dead. There was no way they could be helped. He needs to get some of these things, tics he thinks, and get them to a lab.

Dale dumps out his diabetic test strips and gets out of the jeep to get some of the ticks. Damn, they were big! He starts shaking again. Did his sugar fall now? Fuck! Dale managed to get several into the container and snapped the lid shut.

He hears the ticks crackle under his feet and he starts feeling nauseous. Fucking diabetes! Dale got in his jeep and felt like he would be able to make the drive to that building. He starts sweating profusely, a sign he knows well from being diabetic: his sugar was getting very low. He doesn't understand why it dropped because he took the right dose not too long ago. In his jacket pocket he always kept glucose tablets, but his jacket was by his sleeping bag, and