Crack Attack: A Collection of One-Shots and Other Disturbing Shit

Radar: Two Universes Over

When you still can't drag yourself out of your worst nightmare after four days. An alternate version of what might have happened two universes over from "Radar". All omitted details from the previous version remain the same.

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July 6th at 9:47 PM, Fort Worth, TX: Preston

"Come on, we hafta get away from the glass."

"Yeah..." The wind's whistling in through the broken windows and I can hear the rest of the glass getting broke outta my Prius. I'm definitely getting a new car after this. No way I'm payin' to fix all that. The storm sounds weird from in here and Rob's standing over by the front shelves where the check-out counter used to be before they stripped everything out, and he's got the camera light pointed at something outside and leaning against the wall and wiping blood off his face. "Holy shit... that hurts."

"You're lucky it didn't knock you out." I go over and grab the camera from him and loop it around my wrist so I can see where we're going. "Come on, dude, get away from the glass. We hafta go." I grab his bloody hand and start leading him towards the back of the store and he almost loses his balance again. He better not pass out from gettin' clocked by that hail.

"Where? There's nothing left in here." It's true. All that's left's empty wall shelves and empty drink coolers they turned off months ago and a couple tool belts sitting in the middle of the floor. I start running towards the back of the store and he follows me.

"We're gonna go chill in the bathroom. Best thing we've got."

"Great. That sounds fucking fantastic." The hail sounds really loud towards the back of the store and I look up and there's a hole in the roof and there's a hailboulder way over in the corner. There's a loud noise coming from somewhere and it sounds like a vacuum. It's making my ears pop like crazy and it hurts. It feels like elevation sickness. Probably just a wind tunnel through a hole in one of the bathrooms. It's all wet in here and it smells like something died.

"Get down on the floor by the toilet and put your bag o' crap over your head and hang on."

"Hang onto what?"

"The toilet." I grab his hand and pull him towards the bathrooms and he stumbles and falls and pulls me back and I almost land on top of him and the vacuum's getting louder somehow. It... it sounds like a freight train. I pull him back up and we run for our lives. "No! Run!" Pieces of the ceiling're coming down around us and there's glass flying everywhere and I hope my headrest helmet's good enough. The camera light in my hand bounces around and there's white wind and dirt and leaves and hail and shingles flying all around us. We're almost there! "Rob, don't let go!" The roaring sucking noise's like right over our heads now and everything around us is moving and shaking and snapping and it feels like he's gonna break my hand, he's squeezing so hard.

"I wasn't planning on it! Did you think we were playing Titanic?!"

"We're gonna be playin' Battleship if you don't-"

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July 6th at at 9:48 PM, Fort Worth, TX: Rob

"PRESTON!" His hand goes slack. We rush unnaturally fast toward the floor and I cover my head with my backpack, hoping the roof doesn't cave in on us. No matter how hard I squeeze his fingers, he doesn't respond. My eyes sting when I open them to look over at him again, and I see one eye blinking blankly back at me. He's alive, barely holding onto consciousness, a crossbeam speared through the side of his face and twisting his features beyond recognition, like a Halloween mask. He's losing a lot of blood and I can taste it in my mouth. The wind is spraying it all over me, reminding me who won the game of hide and seek. The ground shakes beneath us and I can see his other eye swinging limply around in the merciless wind and I hold onto him for dear life, one hand holding onto him and the other clinging desperately to the rotted wood his face is wrapped around, trying to shield him from the debris and keep him from being ripped loose.