Benutzer:Wörterschmied/Antischwerkraftraum: Unterschied zwischen den Versionen
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*Mann 3 verfehlt harold 3 mal, Harold und Glen fallen mit Yamaha um | *Mann 3 verfehlt harold 3 mal, Harold und Glen fallen mit Yamaha um | ||
;20 Sekunde | ;20 Sekunde | ||
| + | *1 Frau kämpft mit 1 Frau um Waffe von Mann 1 | ||
| + | *Stu erschießt Mann 3 | ||
| + | *3 Frauen kämpfen um Gewehr 1 | ||
| + | *3. Frau zerquetscht Weichteile von Mann 1 | ||
| + | *Harold schießt auf Mann 1, verfehlt 3 mal | ||
| + | *Mann 2 schüttelt Blond ab, tritt sie | ||
| + | *Mann 2 schießt wild, tötet 1 Frau | ||
| + | *Mann 2 erscheißt 1 Frau | ||
| + | *Frau schießt auf Mann 1, Munition leer; schlägt ihm den Schädel ein => Susan (Kent State Universisty) -> Ronnie | ||
| + | *Mann 2 schießt auf Frau, verfehlt, dann leer | ||
| + | *Harold zerschießt Ellbogen von Mann 2 | ||
| + | *Stu schießt Mann 2 in den Bauch | ||
| + | *Harold schießt mehrmals erfolgreich auf Mann 2 bis tot | ||
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The blond girl was Dayna Jurgens, from Xenia, Ohio. The girl in the Kent State | The blond girl was Dayna Jurgens, from Xenia, Ohio. The girl in the Kent State | ||
Version vom 3. März 2011, 20:50 Uhr
| Einzelprojekte | Gemeinschaftsprojekte | Verbesserungsvorschläge | Überarbeitungsliste | Löschanträge | |||||||||||||||
| Nützliches |
|---|
| • Croaton |
| • Realbaby |
| • Mr. Dodd |
| • Merkliste |
| • QM |
| Labore E |
|---|
| • Charaktere |
| • Kleines |
| • Großes |
| • Arena: Opfer |
| • Leer |
| • Leer |
Inhaltsverzeichnis
Portal:Hilfe
Harem
Mitglieder
Opfer
Text (Kap 47)
- around quarter of ten on July 30
- Stu, Glen, Harold, Fran; Peri / Mark tot
- large pink housetrailer overturned m the middle of the road, blocking it from one end to the other. more-three cars, all station wagons, and a big auto-wrecker
- 4 Männer (Doc, Virge, Ronnie, Garvey)
- 8 Frauen (Susan, Dayna, Patty, Shirly
- Doc: Absteigen
- Doc Pistole, Rest Gewehre
- Stu zieht Gewehr, als Harold Pistolen zieht; Frannie zieht Gewehr
- Mädel (>25J, aschblond): Jetzt! + 3 andere reagieren
- Doc schießt ins Nichts (Ablenkung), Stu erschießt ihn
- 7 Sekunden
- Mann 1: Remington (auf blonde Frau), verliert Gewehr wegen Rückstoß
- Mann 1 erschießt 1 Frau (Gesicht Matsch; ohne Namen, nicht reagiert)
- Blond und Mann 2 kämpfen um sein Gewehr
- 1 Frau sucht Gewehr von Mann 1
- Mann 3 (Italian) schießt auf Fran, verfehlt
- Harold schießt auf Mann 3, verfehlt, lässt Waffen fallen und ergibt sich
- Mann 3 verfehlt harold 3 mal, Harold und Glen fallen mit Yamaha um
- 20 Sekunde
- 1 Frau kämpft mit 1 Frau um Waffe von Mann 1
- Stu erschießt Mann 3
- 3 Frauen kämpfen um Gewehr 1
- 3. Frau zerquetscht Weichteile von Mann 1
- Harold schießt auf Mann 1, verfehlt 3 mal
- Mann 2 schüttelt Blond ab, tritt sie
- Mann 2 schießt wild, tötet 1 Frau
- Mann 2 erscheißt 1 Frau
- Frau schießt auf Mann 1, Munition leer; schlägt ihm den Schädel ein => Susan (Kent State Universisty) -> Ronnie
- Mann 2 schießt auf Frau, verfehlt, dann leer
- Harold zerschießt Ellbogen von Mann 2
- Stu schießt Mann 2 in den Bauch
- Harold schießt mehrmals erfolgreich auf Mann 2 bis tot
Text 2
The blond girl was Dayna Jurgens, from Xenia, Ohio. The girl in the Kent State
sweatshirt was Susan Stern. A third woman, the one who had squeezed Shotgun's crotch, was Patty Kroger. The other two were quite a bit older. The eldest, Dayna said, was Shirley Hammet. They didn't know the name of the other woman, who looked to be in her mid-thirties; she had been in shock, wandering, when Al, Garvey, Virge, and Ronnie had picked her up in the town of Archbold, two days before.
The nine of them got off the highway and camped in a farmhouse somewhere just
west of Columbia, now over the Indiana state line. They were all in shock, and Fran thought in later days that their walk across the field from the overturned pink trailer on the turnpike to the farmhouse would have looked to an observer like a fieldtrip sponsored by the local lunatic asylum. The grass, thigh-high and still wet from the previous night's rain, had soon soaked their pants. White butterflies, sluggish in the air because their wings were still heavy with moisture, swooped toward them and then away in drugged circles and figure- eights. The sun was struggling to break through but hadn't made it yet; it was a bright smear feebly illuminating a uniform white cloud cover that stretched from horizon to horizon. But cloud cover or no cloud cover, the day was hot already, wringing with humidity, and the air was filled with whirling flocks of crows and their raucous, ugly cries. There are more crows than people now, Fran thought dazedly. If we don't watch out, they'll peck us right off the face of the earth. Revenge of the blackbirds. Were crows meat-eaters? She very much feared that they were.
Below this steady trickle of nonsense, barely visible, like the sun behind the
melting cloud cover (but full of power, as the sun was on this awful, humid morning, the thirtieth of July, 1990), the gunbattle played over and over in her mind. The woman's face disintegrating under the shotgun blast. ,Stu falling over. The instant of stark terror when she had been sure he was dead. One man crying out Yaaah, you bitches! and then sounding like Roger Rabbit when Harold plugged him. The steel-punching-through-cardboard sound of the bearded man's pistol. Susan Stern's primitive cry of victory as she stood astride the body of her enemy while his brains, still warm, leaked out of his cloven skull.
Glen walked beside her, his thin, rather sardonic face now distraught, his
gray hair flying wispily around his head as if in imitation of the butterflies. He held her hand, and he kept patting it compulsively.
"You mustn't let it affect you," he said. "Such horrors . . . bound to occur.
Best protection is in numbers. Society, you know. Society is the keystone of the arch we call civilization, and it is the only real antidote to outlawry. You must take . . . things . . . things like this . . . as a matter of course. This was an isolated occurrence. Think of them as trolls. Yes! Trolls or yogs or affrits. Monsters of a generic sort. I accept that. I hold that truth to be self-evident, a socioconstitutional ethic, one might say. Ha! Ha!"
His laugh was half moan. She punctuated each of his elliptical sentences with
"Yes, Glen," but he seemed not to hear. Glen smelled a trifle vomitous. The butterflies banged against them and then banged off again on their butterfly errands. They were almost to the farmhouse. The battle had lasted less than a minute. Less than a minute, but she suspected it was going to be held over by popular demand inside her head. Glen patted her hand. She wanted to tell him to please stop doing that, but she was afraid that he might cry if she did. She could stand the patting. She wasn't sure she could stand to see Glen Bateman weeping.
Stu was walking with Harold on one side and the blond girl, Dayna Jurgens, on
the other. Susan Stern and Patty Kroger flanked the unnamed catatonic woman who had been picked up in Archbold. Shirley Hammet, the woman who had been missed at pointblank range by the man who had imitated Roger Rabbit before he died, walked a little way off to the left, muttering and making the occasional grab at the passing butterflies. The party was walking slowly, but Shirley Hammet was slower. Her gray hair hung untidily about her face, and her dazed eyes peered out at the world like frightened mice peering out of a temporary bolthole.
Harold looked at Stu uneasily. "We wiped them out, didn't we, Stu.? We blew
them up. Scragged their asses."
"I guess so, Harold." "Man, but we had to," Harold said earnestly, as if Stu had suggested things
might have been otherwise. "It was them or us!"
"They would have blown your heads off," Dayna Jurgens said quietly. "I was
with two guys when they hit us. They shot Rich and Damon from ambush. After it was over, they put a round in each of their heads, just to make sure. You had to, all right. By rights you should be dead now."
"By rights we should be dead now!" Harold exclaimed to Stu. "It's all right," Stu said. "Take her easy, Harold." "Sure! Negative perspiration!" Harold said heartily. He fumbled jerkily in his
pack, got a chocolate Payday, and almost dropped it while stripping off the wrapper. He cursed it bitterly and then began to gobble it, holding it in both hands like a lollypop.
They had reached the farmhouse. Harold had to keep touching himself furtively
as he ate his candybar-had to keep making sure he wasn't hurt. He felt very sick. He was afraid to look down at his crotch. He was pretty sure he had wet himself shortly after the festivities back at the pink trailer got into high gear.
- - -
Dayna and Susan did most of the talking over a distraught brunch which some
picked at but none really ate. Patty Kroger, who was seventeen and absolutely beautiful, occasionally added something. The woman with no name scrunched herself into the farthest corner of the dusty farmhouse kitchen. Shirley Hammet sat at a table, ate stale Nabisco Honey Grahams, and muttered.
Dayna had left Xenia in the company of Richard Darliss and Damon Bracknell.
How many others had been alive in Xenia after the flu? Only three that she had seen, a very old man, a woman, and a little girl. Dayna and her friends asked the trio to join them, but the old man waved them off, saying something about "having business in the desert."
By the eighth of July, Dayna, Richard, and Damon had begun to suffer bad
dreams about a sort of boogeyman. Very scary dreams. Rich had actually gotten the idea that the boogeyman was real, Dayna said, and living in California. He had an idea that this man, if he really was a man, was the business the other three people they'd met had in the desert. She and Damon had begun to fear for Rich's sanity. He called the dreamman "the hardcase" and said he was getting an army of hardcases together. He said this army would soon sweep out of the west and enslave everyone left alive, first in America, then in the rest of-the world. Dayna and Damon had begun to privately discuss the possibility of slipping away from Rich some night, and had begun to believe that their own dreams were the result of Rich Darliss's powerful delusion.
In Williamstown, they had come around a curve in the highway to discover a
large dump-truck lying on its side in the middle of the road. There was a station wagon and a wrecker parked nearby.
"We assumed it was just another smashup," Dayna.said, crumbling a graham
cracker nervously between her fingers, "which was, of course, exactly what we were supposed to think."
They got off their cycles in order to trundle them around the dumptruck, and
that was when the four hardcases-to use Rich's word-opened up from the ditch. They had murdered Rich and Damon and had taken Dayna prisoner. She was the fourth addition to what they sometimes called "the zoo" and sometimes "the harem." One of the others had been the muttering Shirley Hammet, who at that time had still been almost normal, although she had been repeatedly raped, sodomized, and forced to perform fellatio on all four. "And once," Dayna said, "when she couldn't hold on until it was time for one of them to take her into the bushes, Ronnie wiped her ass with a handful of barbed wire. She bled from her rectum for three days."
"Jesus Christ," Stu said. "Which one was he?" "The man with the shotgun," Susan Stern said. "The one I brained. I wish he
was right here, lying on the floor, so I could do it again."
The man with the sandy beard and sunglasses they had known only as Doc. He and
Virge had been part of an army detachment which had been sent to Akron when the flu broke out. Their job had been "media relations," which was an army euphemism for "media suppression." When that job was pretty well in hand, they had gone on to "crowd control," which was an army euphemism for shooting looters who ran and hanging looters who didn't. By the twentyseventh of June, Doc had told them, the chain of command had a lot more holes than it did links. A good many of their own men were too ill to patrol, but by then it didn't matter anyway, as the citizens of Akron were too weak to read or write the news, let alone loot banks and jewelry stores.
By June 30, the unit was gone-its members dead, dying, or scattered. Doc and
Virge were the only two scatterees, as a matter of fact, and that was when they had begun their new lives as zoo-keepers. Garvey had come along on the first of July, and Ronnie on the third. At that point they had closed their peculiar little club to further memberships.
"But after a while you must have outnumbered them," Glen said. Unexpectedly, it was Shirley Hammet who spoke to this. "Pills," she said, her trapped-mice eyes staring out at them from behind the
fringe of her graying bangs. "Pills every morning to get up, pills every night to go down. Ups and downs." Her voice had been sinking, and this last was barely audible. She paused, then began to mutter again.
Susan Stern took up the thread of the story. She and one of the dead women,
Rachel Carmody, had been picked up on July 17, outside Columbus. By then the party was traveling in a caravan which consisted of two station wagons and the wrecker. The men used the wrecker to move crashed vehicles out of their way or to roadblock the highway, depending on what opportunities offered. Doc kept the pharmacy tied to his belt in an outsized poke. Heavy downers for bedtime; tranks for travel; reds for recess.
"I'd get up in the morning, be raped two or three times, and then wait for Doc
to hand out the pills," Susan said matter-of-factly. "The daytime pills, I mean. By the third day I had abrasions on my . . . well, you know, my vagina, and any sort of normal intercourse was very painful. I used to hope for Ronnie, because all Ronnie ever wanted was a blowjob. But after the pills, you got very calm. Not sleepy, just calm. Things didn't seem to matter after you got yourself wrapped around a few of those blue pills. All you wanted to do was sit with your hands in your lap and watch the scenery go by or sit with your hands in your lap and watch them use the wrecker to move something out of the way. One day Garvey got mad because this one girl, she couldn't have been any more than twelve, she wouldn't do. . . well, I'm not going to tell you. It was that bad. So Garvey blew her head off. I didn't even care. I was just . . . calm. After a while, you almost stopped thinking about escape. What you wanted more than getting away was those blue pills."
Dayna and Patty Kroger were nodding. But they seemed to recognize eight women as their effective limit, Patty said.
When they took her on July 22 after murdering the fiftyish man she had been traveling with, they had killed a very old woman who had been a part of "the zoo" for about a week. When the unnamed girl sitting in the corner had been picked up near Archbold, a sixteen-year-old girl with strabismus had been shot and left in a ditch. "Doc used to joke about it," Patty said. "He'd say, `I don't walk under ladders, I don't cross black cats' paths, and I'm not going to have thirteen people traveling with me.' "
On the twenty-ninth, they had caught sight of Stu and the others for the first
time. The zoo had been camped in a picnic area just off the interstate when the four of them passed by.
"Garvey was very taken with you," Susan said, nodding toward Frannie. Frannie
shuddered.
Dayna leaned closer to them and spoke softly. "And they'd made it pretty clear
whose place you were going to take." She nodded her head almost imperceptibly at Shirley Hammet, who was still muttering and eating graham crackers.
"That poor woman," Frannie said. "It was Dayna who decided you guys might be our best chance," Patty said. "Or
maybe our last chance. There were three men in your party-both she and Helen Roget had seen that. Three armed men. And Doc had gotten just the teeniest bit overconfident about the trailer-overturned-in-the-road bit. Doc would just act like somebody official, and the men in the parties they met-when there were men- just caved in. And got shot. It had been working like a charm."
"Dayna asked us to try and palm our pills this morning," Susan went on.
"They'd gotten sort of careless about making sure we really took them, too, and we knew that this morning they'd be busy pulling that big trailer out into the road and tipping it over. We didn't tell everyone. The only ones in on it were Dayna and Patty and Helen Roget . . . one of the girls Ronnie shot back there. And me, of course. Helen said, `If they catch us trying to spit the pills into our hands, they're going to kill us.' And Dayna said they would kill us anyway, sooner or later, and only sooner if we were lucky, and of course we knew that was tine. So we did it."
"I had to hold mine in my mouth for quite a while," Patty said. "It was
starting to dissolve by the time I got a chance to spit it out." She looked at Dayna. "I think Helen actually had to swallow hers. I think that's why she was so slow."
Dayna nodded. She was looking at Stu with a clear warmth that made Frannie
uneasy. "It still would have worked if you hadn't gotten wise, big fella."
"I didn't get wise near soon enough, looks like," Stu said. "Next time I
will." He stood up, went to the window, and looked out. "You. know, that's half of what scares me," he said. "How wise we're all getting."
Fran cared even less for the sympathetic way Dayna looked after him. She had
no right to look sympathetic after all she'd been through. And she's much prettier than I am, in spite of everything, Fran thought. Also, I doubt if she's pregnant.
"It's a get-wise world, big fella," Dayna said. "Get wise or die." Stu turned to look at her, really seeing her for the first time, and Fran felt
a stab of pure jealous agony. I waited too long, she thought. Oh my God, I went and did it, I went and waited too long.
She happened to glance at Harold and saw that Harold was smiling in a guarded
way, one hand up to his mouth to conceal it. It looked like a smile of relief. She suddenly felt that she would like to stand up, walk casually over to Harold, and hook his eyes out of his head with her fingernails.
Never, Harold! she would scream as she did it. Never! Never?
