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Discussion Starter · #1 · (Edited)
He had been on the road maintenance since he left high school. It wasn't a flash job, but it kept him in beer and food. His folks had died and left him the old house on West Street, but it was a run down old place and not worth too much. He was too lazy to fix it up apart from keeping it standing. It was a place to live and sleep and that was all it meant to him now.

Things had been quiet down here in the south for a long time, but when the new government got elected, everything started to change. They were Greenies, and encouraged everyone to use the public transport and to ride bikes ... bikes ! Damn bicycles.

He spat. No way you would catch him on one of those crazy-assed things, no way, he thought.

Every day was the same for him. He would get the rig started up and then motor out along the highway to inspect the road, just to make sure that his section was clear and that no tourist was broken down out there in the boonies. His patrol was around a 100 mile stretch taking in two small towns.

Things were changing though. The new government had put in a cycleway beside the highway for those crazy damn bike riders to pedal to work and school on. It was part of his job to keep an eye on that too.

The cycleway was divided into two strips each a yard wide. One was paved for the skinny tired road bike riders, the other was hard pack dirt for the knobby tired hooligans. He usually had no problem with the roadies, they zipped along all streamlined and real fast on their carbon bikes and never looked at nothing or said a word to no one. Stuck up baskets, he thought.

The other lot though ... well, he hated them. They was always jumping and leaping around and making fools of themselves. They would rip up the divider on the cycleway so that they could get a fast run at the hucks and bumps and fly through the air whoopin' and hollerin' like loonies.

He had to fix the damage they did. Every day he would find sections where thay had torn down the six inch high divider and he had to replace it. It was work and he didn't like work.

Just up ahead he spotted a few of them tearing along the dirt in their baggy shorts and T-shirts with their skinny legs pumping away on the pedals. He slowed down and made sure that they saw him. They wouldn't do any damage if they thought that he was close by.

A few miles further down the road he spotted a break in the divider. He pulled the maintenance truck over onto the shoulder and got out. About three yards of the divider had been smashed down near a series of dirt jumps.

With a disgusted grunt, he got the formwork out of the back of the truck and set it up on the cyclepath. He dropped a length or plastic reo into the form and then started the pump on the truck to pump some quikset plaster into the molds.

Soon it was full, and he bit off a chunk of baccy to chew on while he waited for it to set.

Twenty minutes and it was firm enough to take the wooden formwork off. He threw the jig into the back of the truck and got in. The truck was hard to start. This new-fangled gas was a b!tch-of-a-thing he thought. Not like the old gasoline, this new stuff was refined from plants or some such garbage.

He finally got the truck to start. Damn crappy gas, he thought.

He stopped for lunch at the local garage reststop. The waitress there knew him and gave him a double helping of chips and an extra scoop of gravy. She was as ugly as the rear end of a horse, but he played up to her to keep the good food coming. He finished off his lunch with several bottles of beer, then got back into the truck to make his way home.

The day had been very hot. The weather had gone crazy over the last few years. He had heard that it was caused by a hole in the eezone layer or something, whatever that was.

He trundled along the highway, not in any real hurry. He usually arranged it about right to arrive back at his house just in time to knock off for the day. He smiled, thinking how good it would be to sit out on the porch in the cooling evening and drink a few more cold beers and spit baccy juice at the gecko's while he watched the TV...

Suddenly, his eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the section of divider he had repaired this morning. It had been torn out again by those damn hooligans on their dirt bikes. He brought the truck to a dusty screeching halt opposite the break and got out.

The new section was completely gone as if he hadn't ever repaired it at all. He stood in the hot sun staring at it and the rage built inside him like a huge forest fire. Something snapped inside his head....

Her home was warm and dark. She had been living here all her life, it was all she knew.
Her husband was gone. He had come into her life and stayed for a short time with her, then he left. She didn't know why. She had two young ones growing up. She looked after them carefully, afraid that they would die before they even had a chance to experience life.
Sometimes her home would shake and move about. She didn't know why it did or understand what caused the tremors. All that she knew was that she had to try and protect her young ones.
There was enough food here, enough for her to have become big and strong. She needed to be strong, because her world was a dangerous place.
When danger threatened her and her children, she would retreat back into the darkest part of her home and hide.
Every second or third evening she would venture further out of her home in search of food. Mostly she would find something to eat. Her life was hard, but she was content enough. All she really wanted was for her young ones to be safe.

Then, one hot afternoon, her home and her world were torn apart.

All she could think about was protecting her young. She ran quickly up the rough fabric to the exposed skin and struck hard with her poison fangs, injecting her deadly venom deep into the pulsing skin of the man. Then, something big and heavy struck her down, and her life ended.......................

With a snarl, he reached inside the cabin of the truck and felt under the dusty cobwebby seat for the old sawn-off shotgun. He stood staring at the damage with the old pump action in his dirty hand, and all he could think about was death. Through the blood-red rage in his head he felt a painful stinging on his vein-swollen neck. He slapped hard and looked at his hand. A squashed black widow spider twitched in his palm. He flicked it to the ground and stamped hard on the remains with his heavy steel capped workboot, grinding the spider into the dusty soil. Damn spiders. He spat a stream of brown juice at the spot, then looked up to see a lone rider coming towards him on their bike.

The red rage inside him boiled up higher.

Esmeralda Mears had had a bad day at school, but now she felt much better. The classroom had been hot and the kids very restless. It had been hard to get them to do their work.

Cycling along the dirt track beside the highway on her old bike, things were fine. She smiled as she thought of the cool bottle of home-made lemonade waiting for her in the fridge.

Just up ahead, she could see the truck of the maintenance man parked beside the cycleway. The guy who drove the truck was standing looking down at the ground. As she drew close, he looked up at her. In his hand was something that looked like a gun!

He stared at her hard as she pedaled slowly past him. His look made her shiver...........

Then a group of noisy riders passed her going in the other direction, riding on their knobby big wheeled dirt bikes. They were laughing and balancing on their back wheels as they pedaled past her towards the truck parked on the shoulder beside the cycleway.............................

He felt like his head was going to explode. His vision swam and he had a sudden dizzyness. He swayed slightly, like a tree in an invisible breeze. He gripped the gun tightly in his hand, his eyes on the riders coming towards him.

As they drew level he felt the gun bucking and kicking in his hands. His head was filled with the sound of the 12 guage. He watched chunks of flesh fly off the riders as the charges of double 0 buckshot smashed them off their bikes into the dirt.
A thin line of brown tobacco juice dribbled from his lips and ran off his stubbled chin into the dust at his feet. His hands worked the pump in and out, his finger jerked spasmodically on the trigger. Even after the magazine was empty, his hands continued to work the gun.
Then, he sank slowly to his knees in the dust, the hot gun falling from his nerveless hands to the ground.

A bright red haze was filling his head. Suddenly, his stomach heaved and he vomited his lunch up into the dust. As he knelt on his hands and knees in amongst the spent shells, he could smell the stink of the sour beer that he had drank...

The riders lay in the dust, their bikes close by. Then slowly, they stood up.........

Bright metal glinted from beneath the shredded flesh where the buckshot had ripped it away, exposing the armoured titanium skeleton beneath. They would need to go to the shop to get themselves repaired before any of the other humans saw them.

One of the machines walked over to the human who knelt in the dust, his eyes staring crazily at the tattered undead riders. A long needle emerged from one of the android's fingers and entered the man's flesh. He dropped into the dust, unconscious.

This human would have to be re-processed.

The riders gathered up the evidence and carried the man's limp body to the truck. One of them drove it away. The rest mounted their big knobby tired bikes and pedaled along the cycleway towards the nearest repair shop, just as the sun was setting.

On the way to the re-processing facility, the maintenance man died from a massive heart seizure....

Esmeralda Mears heard a soft knocking on her front door. She placed her cold glass of homemade lemonade down on the table and went to answer it. When she opened the door, a young man stood there. He looked at her with expressionless grey eyes and she suddenly felt the hairs on her head stand on end. He reached out suddenly and touched her arm. She felt a sharp sting, then everything turned black...

The android looked down at the human female lying in the doorway. This one would have to be re-processed too, he thought. The last humans had to be protected at all costs.........


1,201 Posts
What happens next?!? Eagerly awaiting the next installment.

Premium Member
10,683 Posts
Rainman, you tease.........Come on out with the next installment..........Thats like foreplay....LOL

Samsonite Tester
3,993 Posts
Hopped up gun toting hillbilly's full of hate, man this is good stuff.
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