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Level 8 - Vociferous
Join Date: Feb 2003
Location: here
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"Cake"
CAKE
Carl Blickenderfer stared at the lights. The sky was on tonight.
It had been quite tasty; he was still full. Rebecca cooks like no one. The food and the stars destroyed the car screeching in front of him. There was a timeless period where he realized the Cadillac was in the process of hitting him. Nerves were busy receiving information, too busy to send it at the moment. Soon enough, the floodgates would open.
In the dirty street, Carl was ejected from the bumper. Cloudy gray sucked at him, his head rocking back and then (pavement contact) forward at lightning momentum. Dully knowing he was seriously injured, he didn't try to move. People were coming. Carl couldn't tell if he felt the vibration of their footfalls, or heard the sound of running, or both. He'd rather not know that he was paralyzed.
He never passed out. The pain clutching him was distant, so perhaps he was in a semi-coma. Whatever the case, he suddenly found himself in a small smelly room. Lying on a cold bed. One other person was in the cramped room with him, sitting on a chair and looking away. Carl could barely see them out of the corner of his eye. He yet still refrained from moving; even if he could, it might be to his detriment. So he thought.
Mr. Noggle waved back. He didn't get up from his comfort spot, but that was Mr. Noggle. Everyone's different.
"So how's the wife?"
Noggle shrugged.
"She's doin' better, ya know. It hasn't been lately, like it had been doin' 'fore."
Carl sat down to the left of the door. With Mr. Noggle on the right, they were sentinels guarding the king. Or queen.
"How's that lady you've been seein'? Last I heard, you had a serious face on."
Carl chuckled a bit at that. Noggle had his own way of putting things just so.
"I don't know, you know? It's hard to really look at it without sentimentality getting in the way...I don't know..."
"You got a good one on your shoulders," Noggle said with some conviction. "You'll know, if you're s'pposed to know."
Boris had been in Blickenderfer's peripheral vision for a few seconds. He hadn't really walked into it (as far as Blickenderfer knew); he just wasn't, then was. Checking out the constellations. He was an astronomy nut, with two telescopes and all those books.
Mr. Noggle referenced him before Carl got a chance.
"Hey, Bore. What's the stars say tonight?"
Boris might've accidentally laughed. It seemed to Carl that he didn't mean to.
"Oh, they are lookin' mighty fine."
That grin.
Mr. Noggle gave it right back.
"And you doin' fine, Carl?"
"Yeah, I'm still alive."
All two laughed, Carl smiled.
Boris took a tentative step towards escape.
"Well, gotta get home. You know, the nights are getting longer and longer."
"So," Noggle cleared his throat, "Boris...how's the garden? I mean, it doesn't seem like the time a year for plantin'."
"Oh, it is. It sure nuff is."
"We'll let you get on to that, then," Noggle said. "See ya."
After Boris had gone, Noggle looked at the sky. Almost like you would look at something you knew by heart. You looked at it out of habit.
"Actually, I gotta be getting on over to Becca's place. Roast beef tonight."
"Sounds good enough to eat! Save me some...and don't forget, Emma made some delicious chocolate cake. Stop by later for a slice."
Carl smiled, and waved goodbye as he walked down Elm Street. The six o'clock hour was gathering darkly. Carl loved walking around Portage at night, alone and surrounded by quiet buildings. It was almost creepy.
Supper had been good. Carl was planning on staying, but Rebecca had to take care of something for her job. She assured him she would call later that night.
It was about eight. He was walking home, home being a small apartment sitting on a "For Rent" ground-floor. The shortcut had looked so inviting. The moon was in all her splendor, so lack of artificial light was no problem. Turning onto a street that was slightly unfamiliar was no biggie, Carl could keep a sense of direction. This road probably ended right at his apartment, street intersection.
You can't blame streets, you can't blame cars. Carl blamed, rightfully, the driver.
A war, yes, a war. There was a war, a nuclear war. It lasted approximately five seconds, and it was to Carl's right. There was a window, but Carl didn't see it. All he saw was a flash of light flickering angrily through the room, coming from the sky and ending immediately outside the window. It was loud and bright, an atomic explosion. Well, an approximation. Carl was wondering what the hell was going. The person sitting beside the bed didn't even flinch.
"Hey...." Carl spoke dryly to the other in the room. "Hello?"
Carl decided that movement was becoming necessary. The only thing restraining him from calling for someone in another part pf the house was fear. Everything took on an ominous tint.
Hmm...left arm, fine. Not too much pain, definitely sore though. Right arm...now that hurt!! His right hand felt crunchy. There was no other word for it, just "crunchy". He tried sitting up, with moderate success. He felt every movement in a way not possible before. It was being born again, in hell.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, shadows falling on them. There was movement outside the window, more than one person. Sound was muffled. Still, the person in the chair was still.
Carl stood up, his right leg collapsing. He grabbed the bed, looking for a temporary crutch. Someone outside laughed. Fever, hot, swallowed Carl's mind. He was trapped, he MUST get out of the house. And before those people got back in.
Carl saw a strange-looking umbrella laying on the floor, next to the door. He crawled forward, and grabbing it, shakily stood up. Get out! He exited the room, in a dark hallway. There was a dim glow at the end, showing parts of the wood tunnel. But first...
He turned his head around, seeing half shadow and half motionless humanoid. How can he sleep through that crash? Carl took a small step back, wanting without reason to grasp the sleeper's hand or shoulder. To lift the chin, because a person's whole being is reflected in the face. But what is there to find in this person's face?
He stared for a moment, knowing as soon as he looked away, the person would stand up. He looked away.
Hurry! They are probably back in the house!!
Running was out of the question. A slow jog, accompanied by the umbrella's thump, was the fastest possibility. Carl moved forward, passing two closed doorways. The dim was becoming dimly bright. If light could get bigger instead of brighter. There was one more doorway, on his right. It appeared to be open. It appeared.
Someone had a flashlight, outside, and was waving it around. The beam randomly crossed the threshold of the window, and right when Carl turned to take a glance, it slammed through the glass. The room was bare, not even really a storage room. There was a carpet balled up at the side of the wall, and close to the center of the room there was a metal ring. Just laying there. Carl walked past, to the end of the hallway, into what appeared to be a kitchen. It was the origin of the light. At the table, a man sat. He looked at Carl, almost doing a double-take.
"Hey! Wha..."
Carl didn't wait. He threw the umbrella at the rising figure and ignored the pain. Pain or torturous death.
He ran through a doorway, which led into a living room. There was a couch, old and musty. Two chairs. Nothing else. Carl made for the front door and jumped into the free air.
Around the side of the house came three people carrying something as big as a dog, but round-ish. They dropped it as soon as Carl had reached the dead street. He fell, heavily.
Resistance is pointless. Hands pulled at him. No talking, just action.
He found himself lying next to the metal ring. It was for the trap door. They had put that big thing in a deep hole, and covered it up. And all around it, out of the dirt, were growing dozens of....
A person, a man, entered the room and knelt next to Carl. He held a plate in his hand and a twinkle in his blue eyes.
"Would you like some cake? It's fresh."
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