[Earl] Unpleasant Neighbors
Who: Earl Haskell (NPC)
Where: The Smith Farm, outside Haven, IL
When: June 15, mid-morning
Invited: Michelle, Ami
Status: Complete [Closed]
Three years, five months, fourteen days ago::
Earl stepped into his cell, a seven by twelve foot concrete room. The only furniture consisted of a raised concrete platform for a bed with an iron ring embedded on each corner for restraints, an immovable chair and a desk also formed of concrete, a toilet and sink. Two windows high in the wall were aimed upward, providing light but no view. A small black and white television in a metal cage hung in one corner. Earl ignored it. It provided educational or religious programming and nothing else.
The barred door closed behind him and locked. "Step back and place your hands through the slot." Earl did as he was told; the guards would be happy to leave manacles in place if he didn't obey. They came off. "Step forward." Earl did, ignoring the pain in his shoulders, elbows and wrists from hours in the restraints, refusing to massage his wrists. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction.
The guards--two of them--stepped back. "Welcome to the Control Unit, asshole," one guard said. A second, solid steel door slammed shut, blocking out all light and sound from the corridor.
Two months, one week ago:
Earl had never believed in miracles until the day he woke from a nap to find his cell filled with blinding light. Then he was falling--into a field of tall grass under a blinding sun. Earl jumped to his feet and looked around. He was in a field near a housing development. Rows of houses marched off in neat lines to east and west. His heart thudded heavily in his chest and his breath came fast. He was out! Out! He had no idea how, he had no idea where--but he knew one thing. He was never going back.
First thing Earl did was duck back into the tall grass and start making his way toward the nearest house. Nobody was home, which suited Earl just fine. He tossed the place, turning up clothes to replace his prison jumper, a small amount of cash, and some porn hidden in a drawer. The kitchen provided cold fried chicken, potato salad, bread and beer.
The sound of a car door closing brought him to his feet in a hurry. Earl hid behind the door, a butcher knife in hand. Taking the woman who entered was old hat. Show her the knife, threaten her, and she was ready to do anything he wanted. Once Earl was sure she wasn't expecting anyone else until evening, he felt safe in celebrating his freedom with a little rape. She was older than he liked, but pussy was pussy and it had been years since he last got some. He really hadn't planned to kill her, but after she tried to hit him with a baseball bat she kept under the bed, he had to. Earl left the butcher knife in her chest and cleaned himself up in her shower before he dressed, took her keys and her car and left town.
If he'd thought about it, Earl hadn't expected to live long. He was dead set on not going back to prison and he didn't think he'd evade the cops for long. He hadn't reckoned with the Deluge. The world was in chaos and a single escaped prisoner--even Earl--was small potatoes. Earl robbed, raped and murdered with near impunity...until people started dying of the plague.
Terrified of the plague, Earl had driven into the countryside and picked an isolated house at random. He found a family of four--well, three, after Earl murdered Dad. Mom and her three kids were easy to control after that. Threats against any one of them kept the others in line. Earl amused himself for several days by raping Mom and her teenage daughter whenever the spirit moved him, keeping baby brother close by as hostage for their behavior.
When the family began showing signs of the plague, Earl was scared out of his mind. He considered killing them in the hope that he hadn't caught the plague yet. But that would leave him to fend for himself and they were still useful. And as they sickened Earl stayed healthy. Eventually, when they were too weak and sick to feed him, too wretched and unattractive to interest him, he locked them all in one room and continued living in the house.
The television and radio proved increasingly useless. People were dropping like flies Out There. A parade of pale, sweaty faces appeared on the newscasts--which became fewer and farther between. Not that they had anything of value to say--Earl knew empty promises of help when he heard them. Those stupid fucks in Washington either didn't have a cure or were keeping it for themselves.
When he hadn't heard his prisoners begging for food or water or access to the bathroom in too long, Earl opened the door long enough to recognize the stench of decaying bodies. He slammed the door shut and decided it was time to leave. It wasn't like the cops were out there looking for him. If any were still alive, they had better things to do. Besides, he'd eaten all the food to be found in this house. Time to move on.
Yesterday
He'd found the farm yesterday and noticed immediately that the pigs and chickens were still alive. Penned up but alive. Somebody was feeding them. Someone was alive around here and taking steps to feed himself. Standing in the driveway in front of the house, Earl had had a bad few moments wondering if maybe Farmer Smith was watching him from inside the house, maybe over the sights of a shotgun. But no warning had come, and no shots.
Earl had cautiously approached the farm house, then entered it--gun in hand. A careful search of the house had proved he had it to himself. Earl checked the kitchen and was pleased to find beer in the--working!--refrigerator. He sat down with a brew and thought about his situation. He was getting pretty fucking tired of packaged food. Riding his motorcycle from place to place, eating what he could scrounge from grocery and convenience stores was getting old. That stuff wasn't going to last forever anyhow. But damned if he wanted to be a dirt farmer!
This looked like the answer to his problems. Whoever was taking care of the farm wasn't living on it. They had to be coming around every day. It might just be one person, but it might be several. Earl would have to wait and watch and see. If he--or they--looked too tough, he'd move on. If not...Earl had little doubt he could terrorize the locals into submission.
Today:
Earl Haskell woke to the sound of a vehicle approaching the farm house. He could hear the crunch and pop of its tires over the gravel drive out front. Whoever it was should have no idea Earl was here; he'd moved his Harley around behind the house last night. Earl sat up and grabbed for the rifle propped in the corner. Once armed, he approached the window cautiously, keeping out of sight and leaning over to peer outside.
A red Mustang convertible with the top up was easing to a stop in a cloud of gravel dust. The engine shut off. As the dust settled, the doors opened and Earl got his first look at the new arrivals. A satisfied grin spread across his face. (Things are looking up,) Earl thought.
Two women had arrived to feed the animals. Two young and attractive women. One white and one black. (Variety is good,) Earl thought. His grin faltered a little as they walked toward the chicken pen. The white gal was wearing a sidearm--a Glock by the look of it. That could be a problem, if she knew how to use it.
But not a deal breaker. Earl had the advantage. They had no idea he was here. If he ambushed them, he could disarm the bitch. Or if worse came to worse, kill her. That would get her girlfriend's attention. She shouldn't be any trouble at all after that. Maybe he ought to just kill her immediately?
(No,) Earl thought. Why waste her when he could think of so many better uses for her?
He took another look at them, then drew back from the window and started thinking about how best to sneak up on them.
Where: The Smith Farm, outside Haven, IL
When: June 15, mid-morning
Invited: Michelle, Ami
Status: Complete [Closed]
Three years, five months, fourteen days ago::
Earl stepped into his cell, a seven by twelve foot concrete room. The only furniture consisted of a raised concrete platform for a bed with an iron ring embedded on each corner for restraints, an immovable chair and a desk also formed of concrete, a toilet and sink. Two windows high in the wall were aimed upward, providing light but no view. A small black and white television in a metal cage hung in one corner. Earl ignored it. It provided educational or religious programming and nothing else.
The barred door closed behind him and locked. "Step back and place your hands through the slot." Earl did as he was told; the guards would be happy to leave manacles in place if he didn't obey. They came off. "Step forward." Earl did, ignoring the pain in his shoulders, elbows and wrists from hours in the restraints, refusing to massage his wrists. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction.
The guards--two of them--stepped back. "Welcome to the Control Unit, asshole," one guard said. A second, solid steel door slammed shut, blocking out all light and sound from the corridor.
Two months, one week ago:
Earl had never believed in miracles until the day he woke from a nap to find his cell filled with blinding light. Then he was falling--into a field of tall grass under a blinding sun. Earl jumped to his feet and looked around. He was in a field near a housing development. Rows of houses marched off in neat lines to east and west. His heart thudded heavily in his chest and his breath came fast. He was out! Out! He had no idea how, he had no idea where--but he knew one thing. He was never going back.
First thing Earl did was duck back into the tall grass and start making his way toward the nearest house. Nobody was home, which suited Earl just fine. He tossed the place, turning up clothes to replace his prison jumper, a small amount of cash, and some porn hidden in a drawer. The kitchen provided cold fried chicken, potato salad, bread and beer.
The sound of a car door closing brought him to his feet in a hurry. Earl hid behind the door, a butcher knife in hand. Taking the woman who entered was old hat. Show her the knife, threaten her, and she was ready to do anything he wanted. Once Earl was sure she wasn't expecting anyone else until evening, he felt safe in celebrating his freedom with a little rape. She was older than he liked, but pussy was pussy and it had been years since he last got some. He really hadn't planned to kill her, but after she tried to hit him with a baseball bat she kept under the bed, he had to. Earl left the butcher knife in her chest and cleaned himself up in her shower before he dressed, took her keys and her car and left town.
If he'd thought about it, Earl hadn't expected to live long. He was dead set on not going back to prison and he didn't think he'd evade the cops for long. He hadn't reckoned with the Deluge. The world was in chaos and a single escaped prisoner--even Earl--was small potatoes. Earl robbed, raped and murdered with near impunity...until people started dying of the plague.
Terrified of the plague, Earl had driven into the countryside and picked an isolated house at random. He found a family of four--well, three, after Earl murdered Dad. Mom and her three kids were easy to control after that. Threats against any one of them kept the others in line. Earl amused himself for several days by raping Mom and her teenage daughter whenever the spirit moved him, keeping baby brother close by as hostage for their behavior.
When the family began showing signs of the plague, Earl was scared out of his mind. He considered killing them in the hope that he hadn't caught the plague yet. But that would leave him to fend for himself and they were still useful. And as they sickened Earl stayed healthy. Eventually, when they were too weak and sick to feed him, too wretched and unattractive to interest him, he locked them all in one room and continued living in the house.
The television and radio proved increasingly useless. People were dropping like flies Out There. A parade of pale, sweaty faces appeared on the newscasts--which became fewer and farther between. Not that they had anything of value to say--Earl knew empty promises of help when he heard them. Those stupid fucks in Washington either didn't have a cure or were keeping it for themselves.
When he hadn't heard his prisoners begging for food or water or access to the bathroom in too long, Earl opened the door long enough to recognize the stench of decaying bodies. He slammed the door shut and decided it was time to leave. It wasn't like the cops were out there looking for him. If any were still alive, they had better things to do. Besides, he'd eaten all the food to be found in this house. Time to move on.
Yesterday
He'd found the farm yesterday and noticed immediately that the pigs and chickens were still alive. Penned up but alive. Somebody was feeding them. Someone was alive around here and taking steps to feed himself. Standing in the driveway in front of the house, Earl had had a bad few moments wondering if maybe Farmer Smith was watching him from inside the house, maybe over the sights of a shotgun. But no warning had come, and no shots.
Earl had cautiously approached the farm house, then entered it--gun in hand. A careful search of the house had proved he had it to himself. Earl checked the kitchen and was pleased to find beer in the--working!--refrigerator. He sat down with a brew and thought about his situation. He was getting pretty fucking tired of packaged food. Riding his motorcycle from place to place, eating what he could scrounge from grocery and convenience stores was getting old. That stuff wasn't going to last forever anyhow. But damned if he wanted to be a dirt farmer!
This looked like the answer to his problems. Whoever was taking care of the farm wasn't living on it. They had to be coming around every day. It might just be one person, but it might be several. Earl would have to wait and watch and see. If he--or they--looked too tough, he'd move on. If not...Earl had little doubt he could terrorize the locals into submission.
Today:
Earl Haskell woke to the sound of a vehicle approaching the farm house. He could hear the crunch and pop of its tires over the gravel drive out front. Whoever it was should have no idea Earl was here; he'd moved his Harley around behind the house last night. Earl sat up and grabbed for the rifle propped in the corner. Once armed, he approached the window cautiously, keeping out of sight and leaning over to peer outside.
A red Mustang convertible with the top up was easing to a stop in a cloud of gravel dust. The engine shut off. As the dust settled, the doors opened and Earl got his first look at the new arrivals. A satisfied grin spread across his face. (Things are looking up,) Earl thought.
Two women had arrived to feed the animals. Two young and attractive women. One white and one black. (Variety is good,) Earl thought. His grin faltered a little as they walked toward the chicken pen. The white gal was wearing a sidearm--a Glock by the look of it. That could be a problem, if she knew how to use it.
But not a deal breaker. Earl had the advantage. They had no idea he was here. If he ambushed them, he could disarm the bitch. Or if worse came to worse, kill her. That would get her girlfriend's attention. She shouldn't be any trouble at all after that. Maybe he ought to just kill her immediately?
(No,) Earl thought. Why waste her when he could think of so many better uses for her?
He took another look at them, then drew back from the window and started thinking about how best to sneak up on them.