Prepper

Chapter Four

That night I dream of being lung shot. It doesn't hurt, but I cough and choke and spray a sanguine froth from my mouth and nose. So much blood. It spatters and makes Rorshachs on the pavement. They all look like butterflies that have been trod upon. There is no pain, just blood. It flows freely from my mouth, I collapse on the verge of syncope. I'm on all fours, I cannot stand, all I see is condensed into a narrow tunnel, the edges dimmed. A pool of blood gathers below me, I'm too weak to cough, I can't breathe, I can't move. I cannot save anyone now, I cannot save myself. I give in to the inevitable and gurgle my death rattle alone on the pavement.

I wake and for a few long moments I'm caught in that ethereal place between sleep and wakefulness where reality lacks certainty. My arm tingles painfully, it's like a dead limb. I cannot tell dream from memory, I am chill and soaked with my own sweat. I stumble out of bed just now realizing I am in Heath's room.

It's too bright out, I've overslept. I can hear Heath giggling down the hall, I hear the cartoon he watches. I can tell by the voices coming from the television that it's past eight in the morning. Being able to identify animated series by voice-talent is a skill of limited utility. I head for the shower.

Looking in the bathroom mirror I notice two things. One; I look like hell and two; my t-shirt is covered in blood - Ranger's blood. Now I know that wasn't a dream. I might have to throw my shirt in the garbage. God knows Kate isn't going to want anything do with it. Or me for that matter.

I blast myself with hot water, I keep turning it up until it's nearly unbearable. I have a knot in my back and my head is pounding. I'm sore in odd places, my muscles rebel from the previous evenings activities. Pine needles flush from my hair and swirl around the shower floor.

My productivity today will be entirely dependent on a steady flow of caffeine. Who am I kidding, I haven't had any real work to do for weeks. Mostly I just edit old copy out of sheer boredom.

I dress and head straight to work, pausing only long enough to kiss Heath on the head. His eyes remain glued to the television. He kind of says "Bye Daddy." But I'm not sure he even knows I am there or that I am leaving. He sounds like a little automaton.

I rush out the door, Kate is nowhere to be seen, she's still mad about last night I'm certain. I nearly run over three toys in the driveway backing out. The forth one I crush purposefully, out of spite. A fitting end for a PowerRanger, I reckon.

There is a beat up compact car ahead of me at the drive-thru - the car is worth five-hundred bucks, tops. The stereo sounds like it might cost ten times that. The pounding, thumping, vibrating dubstep emanating from the car is auditory perdition. I'm pretty sure Jake would just drive over that car, his truck could likely do it. I'm not Jake.

Work is even quieter today, arriving late I count the cars in the parking lot, it's a small number. The upside is, I can get a parking spot close to the entrance. Score one for economic disaster.

Pausing in the cafeteria, I sip my scalding hot coffee and catch a bit of the morning news. There is a lady in there as well... Mary? Marilyn? Maribeth? Christ, she's been here as long as I have and I have no idea what her name is. She's got her button nose buried in a celebrity tabloid magazine. I turn my attention back to the TV.

There is a man with a Ph.d. talking about oceanic dead-zones, the graphic illustrates a handful of possible causes which says to me, they have no idea what the problem is. The dead-zone issue has been making news for a few months now- they keep finding more. The environmental folks are going on about a toxic plume from Fukushima, every group has a theory. Whatever it is, it's devastating the sea food industry.

The ticker running across the bottom of the screen is an unrelenting soliloquy of bad economic news. All the markets are down again. The Russians have amassed troops along the Polish border, continuing their policy of expansionism. Everyone is in a panic. On Wallstreet the bears have eaten all the bulls and they're looking for dessert. Turns out bears don't shit in the woods at all, just on Wallstreet.