Before The Aftermath

  *Explosions of sound followed by distorted laughter. Wind. Explosions- presumably more thunder. More laughter.

  Ok. This is what is happening now: The allies have enveloped our vehicle in a protective cocoon of white light. It is really quite pleasant. The sounds are muffled and the wind can’t reach us. Meanwhile, the storm is still uprooting every house along the highway.

  “You like this Seth?”

  “This is unreal! This can't be real! The cows!”

  “You're comfortable right?”

  “I don't like heights!”

  “Really. You want to feel what it's like to fly?”

  “Oh god, RRRage. No!” He's pleading for his life...

  Send him for a ride! Aaah! Ha ha ha! They got him flying around among an airborne trailer park, leaving lightening and fire in a shimmering flickering wake! This is why life is worth living! Alright, get him back in here!

  “You need a shower Seth. You smell like shit. We'll set a course for home. You can get clean. And don't worry; it's my own fault I've got to smell you. Oh, damn! You're covered in blood!”

  “Why are you doing this to me?” He cries.

  “We're going to be friends, Seth. You and me.”

 

  $The Cache Pact$

  My father's death has affected very little. There's a certain automatica of response between me and the environment’s heeding to my wishes. In the world at large his plans are clearly going to be carried out. It’s not over for anyone. Not yet. Not for a long time.

  We've rounded most USA citizens into the worst places of their specific regions. We sent them out to sea or drove them into swamps. We burnt them in the deserts or abandoned them on mountain summits.

  Some cities will be chosen to remain. I haven't decided which. Most cities will be kept vacant as sanctuaries for the animals they initially drove out of their habitats. A trade off to some degree.

  Well... The truth is a little uglier. There was a prediction I chose to ignore about specific hazards to the ecosystem. Consequences that- now coming back into thought- I'll actually reconsider. Belittling mankind for its wrongs isn't worth killing Bambi and all his friends. I'll stop the torture when it gets out of hand. You should see the migrations though. I watch them from satellites. The allies show up like distortions in the screens. By the end of that walk, those organic people will be Daggers; dispersing across the countryside. Seattle down to Mexico. We'll keep Mexico pure. They've suffered long enough. These are the new realities of my Father's absence. So on and so forth.

  Upon arriving back home that day of my father’s death I found the Dagger's congregated on a hill in the distance on the grounds of the first co-property. I could see them from the parking lot. That was what I first noticed. I was no longer obligated to be near them. They will always depend on me, and I will always respect them, but I have better things to do than personally create more High Daggers; regardless that they want them. I especially have better things to do than to socialize with the Daggers.

  That's not all true. A Dagger from my own hands is a profoundly significant event. When the allies kill someone, I have no physical connection to that corpse; the ally doing the killing does. Death at my own hands is entirely different. Blood on my hands is a literal gateway from the dark matter of outer space, through the iron crystal at the center of the earth, through all the iron in this world, through my blood, and into the blood of the dead. The allies inject themselves into that process by hitching on the dark matter. A Dagger kills a man, injects an ally and reactive dark matter into the corpse, and another Dagger is made.

  Currently, they're branching out according to the distribution of High Daggers. Especially my father's old High Daggers. They came to me by direct transportation and are staying out at Corpus Christi. They'll be controlling my armada. They’re multitalented, to say the least.

  Seth is still kicking around this life. He and I leisurely escaped the energy storm from my last entry, thanks to a vehicle powered by inorganic life forms and protected by an energetic force field.

  Grandmother Earth has been somewhat more animated since you introduced dark matter into her heart. I never hear the end of it from her. Turbulence and more turbulence. I can't even fly in planes. Things for me are backward up in the sky- the radiation from the sun is too powerful for allies to be present- and someone could clip me in an instant. So, that's my weakness. But, as to whether or not history will ever see me abducted by organics and thrown into the sky to be done away with airborne style; my currency is on that not happening.

  Seth, um, lost his hand. That time I had the allies throw him out into the energy storm; he sustained an injury. A piece of flying shrapnel clipped him and left a disaster at the end of his left wrist. I figured the allies would have protected him better, but his hand was injured badly. They had to remove it. The allies knew I wouldn't care much. They were just having a little fun.

  While Seth was getting the wound taken care of out in the zookeeper's quarters, I roamed the west wings for the first time in my life. The high white stone walls were immaculately clean. The marble floors shined. The long hallways smelled of varnished wood. The lighting was atrociously bright. I could see every speck of dust around me. Not that there was much dust. But I had to break out a light-bulb with a bullet just to get a shadow and call for an ally to send a Dagger to get the hall lights turned red. I mean. I didn't need the shadow, but that’s the best way to be sure they're listening.

  The biggest news is the cache pact, of course. Yes, I was given self-sustaining armories. And I was given armadas. The finest ships in the world belong to me. Yes, I have access to military vehicles and all the trained man power I could ever need…. still…. Yes, I have a set of strata-born pulse devastators. And nuclear bombs! None of that matters.

  Within the vault, in the deepest hidden reaches of this house, I found everything Henry would have ever had to tell me. There were instructions for contacting the Zeta Riticuli. Those aliens are aware of my life and they are in support. People don't realize- or give me credit for- the service I’m providing. There is a karmic reaction to an event such as myself. They bitch now, but will be worshiping me when I'm gone.

  I also found a folder containing the name and whereabouts of my mother. Apparently the woman has been existing off the radar, until now. I also discovered Seth is my twin brother. That may seem like an outrageous coincidence to you, but you should remember that supernatural forces are constantly at work behind the scenes. So this is the reason Seth had foster parents. This woman, in human life, was our real mother. Her name is Holly Killingworth. I shit you not. Now they just call her Killingworth.

  Seth didn't take the news very well. He's kind of a closed off little fucker, but that will change. He's just confused. He thought his parents were his real parents…. He doesn't know whether to be envious or afraid or what. Even if he could be like me he would have to leave behind most of himself; much like dying. And nobody in their right mind wants to be a Dagger. From an organic human stand point, living alongside me is somewhat of a betrayal to his kind. He doesn't understand those things. Children are very stupid at his age. He does however find it strange that he be allowed to live while so many others die. It’s made him somewhat melancholic. He’ll come out of his shell soon.

  Sometimes he even comes out from under his rock. That's a zodiac reference. We were born with the sun in Scorpio. Down in that hole on the Day of the Dead. Leo Rising. The implication, I will explain, is that twins swap the sun and rising traits between each other and the Leo is much in effect with me. As you might be able to tell. The implications are staggering…. If only I’d been a Virgo. Maybe things would be different. Maybe not. Probably not. I can respect his sentiments. But I didn't expect keeping him alive to be such a drag.

  He'll come out of it. I bring him up beers when I can. He's staying in the main guest suite. The allies bring us beautiful Dagger strippers from the most ethnic points of several exotic locations. Hawaiians, Swedes
, Asian school girls just a few years older than us, Mexicans, and the most beautiful American ‘girls next door.’ We haven't even gone through puberty yet. The anticipation of reaching sexual maturity is what moves me from one day to the next. When I start getting erections you won't see me for months at a time. I'm going to be banging inorganic strippers all day, every day. I reckon I'll be all over them organic girls, too. I am interested to learn what love is. I have not yet begun to love….

  I have aided Seth in attaching a small and effective chainsaw to his wrist. The weapon runs off of an electric cell and is very efficient. He’s no threat to me. Allies wouldn’t let anything happen. My father died because he wanted to. They couldn’t protect him.

  My plan is to go to our Mother's compound at the Florida Keys to meet her. We’ll see what's what. I'm done with Texas for a while. They can die now. This state will be 100% Daggers by the time we get where we’re going.

  $Snow On The Bayou$

  We helped a blind man across the street and after that we shot him in the legs. Seth was like, “Ha! Ha! Now you're blind and you'll never walk again.” He’s become a lot like me. I guess I broke him.

  We wander out into the refugee towns and pretend we're any typical kids; killing silently when we decide to. As in, we kill within a certain region; the survivors smartly stay somewhat beyond reach. Then we wander back out into the swamps.

  We cut in on a steel canoe guided and propelled by the allies; my father's Daggers within distant earshot on orders to be silent. We're here to enjoy this and enjoy ourselves; quieting the wildernesses again. I've always wanted to see this place. Experience the natural sounds of the owls and the insects cutting through the trees.

  Deep in the swamp we’re consumed by this hard wood growth; the canoe wake sloshing among the tree trunks. Alligators peak at us every here or there. We're about the right size food for some of those reptiles to devour. A solitary small brown owl has been following us around this afternoon. He flits about; curious and attracted to something in the woods. Us?

  The peace of the swamp is remarkable. The sky through the treetops is darkly overcast. Moist air wafts like billows into your face; warmly. We drank up mimosas and I played pirate games with Seth, who is a child, remember. We claim the floating corpses in either of our names as though they are real estate. Later, if we please, there will be two new armies of Daggers ‘round these parts. It will be his acquisitions against mine in a battle to the death to determine whether or not he is more observant than I. You’ll see what I mean. If you've ever watched your children survey their surroundings for points of interest, then you will know Seth is quite good at spotting dead bodies. Whereas I play the game passively. His swamp army can defeat my swamp army. Why would I care? I do like the game. The Allies will make it happen for us.

  In the next town we rob the store keeper for his fresh donuts. Then we display fits of anger and mock rage that there aren't any frosted ones or any powdered ones and shoot up the store with what’s under our trench coats. We riddled the glass, register, and the shelves with bullets. As if donuts could ever matter so much.

  Seth hops onto the counter right close to the back of the man's head with the chainsaw whirling and the survivor turns to run but goes into a wall only to live no longer when he mistakenly throws his own brain-stem back into the saw blade.

  “Convenience store donut hick creep,” I said standing among the quick store ruins. Seth's chain saw winding down.

  “His name was Lincoln,” Seth says; staring at the body.

  “That's patriotism. Bet they ain't sorry ‘bout being americans, eve' to this day. If we asked the donut creep if he's got some love for the USA, he'd kill himself the same way that girl did about Jesus in the Columbine story. Pride comes before the fall. Fuck the united states. They think I’m bad but never once looked at them warmongering selves in a mirror.”

  “What do I know about a Columbine story? Public school, 'member?”

  “Yeah. That’s right. Still. He ain't helpin' nobody by dyin'! He coulda fed a lost kid or somethin!”

  “Hey!” Seth said. “Do you feel these mosquito's?”

  “No.” I say this jokingly, “I feel the brushes of them squashing in a silent pulsation of ether and hear the 'tink' as them bugs hit the ground. We took a boat up 50 miles of canals and we're in a swamp town, Seth. In a swamp! Bugs. Wait. You want allies to take care of your bugs, too?”

  He looks at me like I've whispered a favor from God. And if I were him I would think that, also. So, the allies set to keeping bugs off of him, too; with little pulses and poofs of electricity like tiny fireworks.

  There's still places like this town, though. Plenty of them. And grocery stores, too, like that quick stop. They sell whatever they can. There's a lot of starvation obviously. And I'm fine with that. Dagger's got operations to fix most dead bodies. They catch most cases of starvation before permanent damage occurs anyhow- if they're so inclined. Maybe not out in this place, though. The point is, ‘the more Daggers, the better.’

  We left the store.

  When you go to these places, the people know there is no such a thing as good gunfire anymore. The other reason we are even here is because we know there is a heavy organic concentration out here in the swamps, eating up the wildlife. I hate that so much. People should be vegetarians. There are way too many human animals for them to be eating non-human animals. Or there were way too many. The connotations attached to each death of a human food animal constantly makes me feel as though I haven't done something right. They won’t take a hint.

  As for survivors? Those people will flee into each other and keep moving North.

  No one left around here. One more corpse lying out by the gas pump. I have to do a thing first.