Monday, July 6, 2015
Popeye Meets Ali Baba and the 40 Thieves...full color cartoon feast.
Sunday, July 5, 2015
Captured by the Eastern Faction allied with the Nazis, Jet and Harry are in great danger! Doctor Zombie. A Rocketman Story By John Pirillo.
Doctor Zombie
A Rocketman Story
By John Pirillo
Doctor Zombie
A Rocketman Story
By John Pirillo
Harry struggled against the maglocks that kept him chained to the wall. Jet watched him from across the cell, straining against his own as well. Finally, they both stopped.
"Well if that doesn't take the cake." Jet finally said in a blast of exhaustion and frustration.
Both men had been strung up to the wall now for two days without food or water. Their pants were soiled and stinking and their arms hurt like hell as well. Their wrists and hands were going number. Their legs were about to buckle, which meant they would probably collapse, causing their wrists to dislocate and the loss of both hands.
"Yeah. War stinks." Harry cursed. "And so do we?"
"Well, the way I see it, pal, is that if the Nazis don't turn us into Zombies to kill our friends, then these Eastern Faction crazies going to rip our skin off to see what makes us tick."
"Or both." Harry added.
"You had to say that, didn't you? Didn't you!." Jet shot back.
"Hey! Someone's gotta keep up our spirits!"
"War is still hell."
"And it stinks!" Harry said sniffing the air in a comical manner.
"Now, now Harry. Just look at it as a little manly fragrance to pass the time away with."
"This is serious." Harry insisted.
"And it's never not been?"
"Noted."
Harry sighed, and then looked to the solid wall that opened up to allow their captors inside. "What do you think they want from us?"
"Maybe a chocolate malted and fries."
Harry laughed despite himself. "Jet!"
"Yeah man. Thinking. Thinking." Shakes his head. "Nope. No thoughts. You?"
Before Harry could reply the door in the wall slid open, revealing a very beautiful oriental woman clad in a doctor's smock. Her hands were covered in gloves.
"This don't look good, Harry." Jet said, eyeing the gloves.
"Losing your touch with the ladies, Jet?"
"In this case I'll make an exception." Jet quipped, again his eyes not leaving those gloved hands. Finally, he looked up. "I hope those gloves have got useful purposes...like letting us out of our prison, feeding us, arming us."
The oriental woman neither smiled, nor responded. She came into the room, plucked a thermometer from her smock, stuck it in Harry's mouth, then went to the other side of the room and did the same with Jet.
Jet smiled at her. "My favorite flavor. None."
Her eyes flickered for a moment, but she still said nothing. She left the room.
Harry looked over at Jet. "I think your charm is making headway."
"Yeah. Like an airplane crash."
They both laughed.
Several minutes later the door opened again and the same oriental woman entered the room, plucked the thermometers out, made a note of their temperatures, and then exited again.
"What the hell?" Jet asked no one in particular.
"You have to admit, it does help pass the time between getting nowhere fast and possibly being tortured next."
Jet perked up. "You think?"
Harry didn't respond. He didn't want to think about it. He knew what kind of tortures the Orientals on his own timeline had used during World War Two; he could only imagine what the ones in this crazy cocked up would do.
The door opened again a large man, also in a doctor's smock entered. He was glancing at a notepad in his hands. He was escorted by what appeared to be Samurai, except that instead of swords they carried these wicked looking rods with barbed tips that emitted sparks every now and then.
Jet swallowed. The torture was about to begin.
The large man gestured to Jet.
The guards headed for him.
"Harry!"
"Don't worry, pal. I'll be there with you when the time comes."
Jet looked back at Harry as he was removed from the maglocks. "You're kidding? Right? Right?"
As the guards walked past Harry, he suddenly jerked his entire body upwards, straining against the maglocks with his hands to hold on, and kicked the nearest Samurai Guard. It swung around and shoved its rod at Harry, who managed to dodge the blow to his chest. The rod glanced across his shoulder and struck the maglocks over Harry's head, emitting a shower of sparks.
Harry slumped against the wall.
"Damn! Harry! Harry!" Jet cried out as the Samurai Guard gave Harry a second blast from his rod in his back, then grunted happily and followed the first guard and the large man out. The doors closed.
Harry's body hung on the maglocks for what seemed like forever, but then a strange thing occurred. A smile slid across his lips.
====================================================
Jet was hauled into a large warehouse with an open door at the opposite end, where Japanese Soldiers were marching. Rows of odd looking tanks lined opposite walls. The tanks cannon all appeared similar to the rods the guards carried. He was marched to a large table where his and Harry's jump suits lay stretched out. A scientist with a Nazi band on his right upper arm, with its red deadhead on it, looked up from his examination of the suits.
"Ah, I see you have accepted our invitation to join us." The scientist said. He nodded to the large man and he walked off. The two guards fell back from Jet, who began rubbing his wrists to bring life into them again. He hadn't had a chance in the grip of the guards.
"I wasn't invited." Jet said, his voice growling and low.
"Come now. Surely you can appreciate a bit of humor in light of what we could alternatively choose to do?"
"You mean like hanging me on a wall and torturing me?"
"Oh no, that would be too uncivilized."
The scientist gestured to the right and then Jet saw the silent men and women in uniform that stood at perfect attention. Their faces rigid and immobile, fists clenched against their hips. They wore Nazi armbands.
"Zombies!" Jet uttered, the horror of what he was seeing gripping his heart and soul.
"Ah. I see you have fond memories of the good old days."
"How could you know...?"
The scientist came closer to Jet and looked into his eyes. "Do you not recognize the one who made you?"
Jet's horror grew even more. "Doctor Zombie"
Doctor Zombie smiled at Jet. "Oh, I'm so much more than that!"
Jet actually managed to shake off both his guards for a moment as he rushed the Doctor, but their reactions were faster than his and they snapped him back against them again, locking their hand tightly about his arms.
The Doctor smiled. Their grips relaxed.
Jet tensed, ready to spring again for the Doctor, but decided to see if a better moment should arise.
"Yes. A curious name your fellow zombies named me and one I've grown affectionate of. And I have never forgotten you, Jet. You always were the one that got away. Both figuratively and literally in the end. I look forward to inspecting your brain to see how that happened." He clapped his hands.
The guards gripped Jet by his arms again. He tried to shake them off, but was too weak to do so. Their strength was immense.
"I see you have noticed the superior strength of my new generation." The scientist said.
"You're mad." Jet swore. "No good will ever come of this!"
"Oh, but it already has. I expect you to talk excitedly about these..." He pointed to the jump suits. "And very loudly."
One of the guards quite unexpectedly broke Jet's left pinkie.
Jet screamed in pain.
"Am I making myself quite clear, Jet?"
"But how, how did he know to..." Jet uttered despite his growing pain.
The scientist tapped his head. "Here. I have found a way to connect myself to all my creations."
And upon those words every single zombie in the lineups turned and saluted the scientists with a Nazi goosestep to boot.
"Damn!" Jet muttered, a smile coming to his lips. "Busby Berkeley could sure use these guys!"
Jet screamed even louder when his left pinkie was broken.
"What the hell you do that for, man?" Jet hollered.
The scientist tapped his head. "Because I can. Now, shall we talk as peace loving men, or shall we continue our little game of sticks and stones."
The scientist started to smile and then grimaced and made a very, very ugly face as his forehead sprouted a blossom of red. He tumbled to the concrete floor and lay there unmoving.
Jet broke away from the guards, expecting them to stop him, but they were frozen in place. Alarms began to ring.
Harry came running from behind a tank, tossing a Japanese rifle to the ground as he dashed Jet's way. "Suit up!" He screamed.
Jet didn't wait for another invitation. He hurriedly buttoned up as Harry scrambled to do his own. Both men finished as the troops arrived. A barrage of bullets zinged about them. They didn't wait for further encouragement.
"Rockets away!" Harry hollered.
"You got it!" Jet cried out.
Both men ran towards the exit, where the massive doors were beginning to close with a loud groaning sound. They leaped into the air and their rockets cut in and propelled them faster and faster towards the diminishing exit opening.
Soldiers outside were running to cover the exit, firing at them as they came closer.
"Ever had a close shave before, Jet."
"Yeah...every day with you!" Jet cursed.
Then both men in perfect sync turned as one sideways and shot out the closing door exit, making it just in the nick of time. The soldiers outside spun around and aimed their weapons at the fleeing men, firing round after round.
"Ow!" Jet cried out as they shot over the encampment and the vast warehouse they had been held captive in.
"Where you shot, Jet?"
"My damn pinkies, they're both broken and I forgot that and tried to use them."
"Next time, use your middle finger." Harry joked.
Jet did. But not on his controls.
The two rocket men shot upwards and safely into the high clouds overhead.
Saturday, July 4, 2015
Superman and Batman have a face off. Who will win? Who lose?Batman Versus Superman: Dawn of Justice - Official Teaser Trailer
Don't you get those goosebumps when you watch this?
The Comic Book Commando jumps into the life of a teenager who is granted super comic book powers and must learn how to use them to survive.
A young girl screams for help!
A young teen named Johnnie hears her cry of terror and fear.
He's no hero, but he can't just let her die.
He rushes into blazing hot high rise fire to rescue the young girl who is trapped between broken floors.
In a daring attempt to save not only her life, but his own as well, Johnnie risks a leap that no normal human could possibly do.
He succeeds.
When he reaches the outside of the building, with the young girl in his hands, he discovers she has mysteriously vanished.
This is the beginning of a number of strange events that leads to him discover he has been tested by the Princess of another world. Another universe. A place where all living creatures, human, plants, animals and monsters are comic book characters drawn by someone at some time either in our world or another.
Her name is Cartoon.
She tells him he has been granted the ability to draw on the powers of all cartoons!
Thus begins a series of fantastic adventures that expose Johnnie to danger and evil of a kind he never thought could exist in the real world.
Nothing will ever be the same for him.
He's no longer just a teenage kid going to college and holding down a part time job.
He has become...THE COMIC BOOK COMMANDO!
Don't miss out on this epic new adventure that goes places no one has ever gone before. Purchase it now at Amazon, Smashwords or here in my bookstore for only $2.99.
Enjoy hours of reading pleasure.
Become a comic book hero.
Rescue a Princess.
Bound over buildings.
Battle zombies.
Pass your exams!
Be a Comic Book Commando!
Available now for only $2.99 at Amazon, Smashwords and here in my bookstore.
Case of the Missing Death "A Sherlock Holmes Story" By John Pirillo. Even the smallest of things can have the most profound of effects.
Case of the Missing Death
"A Sherlock Holmes Story"
By John Pirillo
James examined the piece of rock he held in his rather large hand, as Sherlock and Watson watched from the side. Watson was radiating a kind of warmth towards James, while Sherlock had a restrained feeling to him, as if measuring the man in some way. James totally ignored both of them as he examined the rock.
"First, it is obviously not from the coal mine whatsoever. I can see from the mica striations and the lack of carbonized particles that it had been placed there, and not found there. There are no known striations of mica to be found in good British coal mines."
"Or bad." Joked Watson, who laughed at his own humor.
Sherlock gave his partner a patient look, then examined James again, his face inscrutable.
"And second, Moriarity?" Sherlock inquired his face still unblemished by emotion.
"Second, had it been the instrument of the miner's death, there should be some indication of fresh breakage."
"Indeed." Holmes said.
"And call me James. Please."
Sherlock's face lost its rigidness. "So sorry, James. I keep seeing the other Moriarity when I look at you and not yourself. It's hard sometimes to forget the difference."
James had entered this current world through an interdimensional portal where Moriarity had turned out completely different from the evil and vile one Sherlock had faced on his world and Watson in this one. Both men had to make tremendous adjustments in their thinking to accept this eager young man, who's every thought, word and action spoke of an immensely kind heart as well as a great intellect.
"Understandable and I forgive you." James Moriarity replied, a broad smile on his face, which he turned to beam on Watson as well.
"But James." Watson demanded. "You haven't finished yet. What is third? You never stop without at least three conjectures or explanations."
"You've been reading too many stories about me." James laughed.
Watson laughed even harder, because he was the one who wrote them about his friend and one time regular companion in sleuthing. "So right you are and writing them as well."
Sherlock cleared his throat.
"Right." James said. "Third, see this."
He held the rock closer for the two men to see a spot near his right thumb. Look closely near my right thumb. You will see a cavity there, will you not?"
"Yes. I do." Watson exclaimed. "See here, James, that wasn't there before!"
"Exactly." James said, his smile reappearing as Sherlock gave him a demanding look. "For it was not there when you first brought it to my attention. Nor shortly thereafter. It has only appeared within the last day."
"I say, isn't that rather...uh...ummm...impossible?" Watson asked, his face showing his mind struggling to deal with something impossible in front of his eyes.
Sherlock took the stone and examined the hole a moment, took out his spyglass and examined it even closer. His right eyebrow arched at what he saw. He said nothing, but handed the stone back to James, who gave Sherlock a searching glance.
"What did you see, Holmes?"
"I'd rather not speculate."
"Then I shall." James went on, happy for the chance to reveal some of his skills to Sherlock, whom he was getting to know better and better since they had begun teaming up on various assignments for the good Queen Mary. Sherlock had been reluctant at first, but upon learning of how James had saved her life more than once, and Watsons, he had reluctantly let go of any resistance he had initially felt towards the man who resembled his worst nightmare, and made it his purpose and yes, his duty to assist Watson in learning how to cope with loving two different men at the same time.
He knew it had to be hard for both of them, as he had been out of Watson's life for quite a long time, and even if he wasn't the original Sherlock, it didn't matter, the feelings were just as strong for him as for Watson, the Watson he loved now quite deeply and the one he had lost what seemed to him at moments of melancholy not that long ago. Some day he might relive that horrible moment of his life, but for now he was content to let the past remain in the past.
"Go on." Sherlock encouraged James with a wave of his hand.
"I believe we are dealing with an atmospheric device."
"I beg your pardon." Watson blurted out. "An atmospheric what?"
"I believe he's intimating that this stone he holds is some kind of vessel, Watson."
"Vessel! As in something to drink out of?"
"No, my dear Watson, something to live in."
Watson gasped and sputtered a moment, striving to grasp what had just been said. Finally, he picked up his black bag, which he always carried with him, no matter where he went and headed for the entrance of the mine, ignoring the piercing glances that both James and Sherlock gave him as he departed.
James carefully placed the stone in a cloth bag, which he put on his vest pocket, then turned to Sherlock. "You concur?"
"I do."
"What would you suggest our next step be?"
"Discover what killed the miner."
James eyebrows scrunched together in thought. "You believe the two are related, do you not?"
"Excellent deduction, James."
"I say, we appear to be on agreement once again."
Sherlock gave James the hint of a smile. "So it would seem."
And without further word he followed after Watson.
James remained behind and turned to examine the mine floor once more, to see if he had missed something. He was about to give up, when the Tesla lamp in his free hand caught something sparkly a bit further down the shaft. He went that way, stopped and held the light closer to the source of the glow. It was quite small, but gave off a very, very intense glow. He touched it, and then recoiled in pain.
"Drat it all, James, it's hotter than a furnace fire."
He examined his finger and it was quickly reddening and puffing up into a boil. "It burned me!"
Undaunted, he looked about until he found a miner's lantern, unlit and hanging on a nearby wall. He hurried over, unscrewed the glass from the base, set the glass down, emptied the base of all fluids, carefully wiped it, and then drew several handfuls of dirt into the opening. Satisfied, he took the glass, and then used it to scoop up the glowing sliver that had burned him. He held the glowing object before his eyes and smiled. "What do we have here, hey?"
====================================================
Inspector Bloodstone arrived a bit late at 221B, but didn't hesitate to knock anyway. Constable Evans was to his right, a comfortable look on his face. He punched him on his right arm. "Look sharp, lad, you might be my son, but you're still a Constable and I won't have you looking like one of those clowns from Piccadilly."
"Yes, father..." On the Inspector's glare. "Uh...Inspector."
The door opened and Mrs. Hudson stood there, beaming at the two of them. "Oh, it's so good to see the two of you again."
"And you, dear Mrs. Hudson." Constable Evans returned, ignoring his father's glare afterwards.
Inspector Bloodstone coughed.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Inspector. Go right on up, they're waiting for you."
She stopped Constable Evans before he could follow. "I have need of a strong hand."
"At your service, Madam." Constable Evans said, checking with his father who had stopped several steps above them. He nodded and Constable Evans followed Mrs. Hudson inside. She shut the door and went into the small kitchen that was her domain. Neither Sherlock nor Watson was allowed to be in there without her escort. She pointed to four large trays. One was filled to overflowing with tiny sandwiches of meat and lettuce, while the next was filled with scones, the third with a coffee pot and a tea pot and the last with silverware and napkins.
======================================================
"So it is your belief." Inspector Bloodstone commented, after sipping from his tea cup the delicious coffee that Mrs. Hudson had brewed. "It is your belief that this case is solved and need press no further then?"
Both James and Sherlock nodded their heads.
The Inspector broke into laughter, which caused Constable Evans, who had never heard him laugh during business, to choke on his sandwich. Watson pounded his back and offered him a drink to help him out.
"Better?"
"Yes. Thank you, Doctor." Constable Evans said finally, after a worried look from his father and a concerned look from Mrs. Hudson, who feared she had done something wrong with the preparation of her food.
Constable Evans smiled at her. "It wasn't the food, Mrs. Hudson, I assure you. It is of the finest quality I could ever eat."
On his father's glare. "My mother's fare being no exclusion from that..."
On further glare from his father. "Oh, drat it all. Inspector, I'm going downstairs to check on our wagon to make sure everything's ready for when we leave."
The Inspector nodded and Constable Evans left the sitting room, with both James and Sherlock exchanging very subtle smiles.
Watson went to the various tesla lamps about the room and began turning them off.
"I say, is there something wrong, Watson?" The Inspector asked in alarm, rising as if a battle were about to commence.
"Not at all, Inspector." James finally said, reaching for a metal box that had been seated in a silver bowl of water up to that point on the fireplace mantle. He pulled it down and set it on the table as Watson turned off the last light.
He opened the lid.
The Inspector and Mrs. Hudson gasped in surprise.
Seated atop the stone retrieved from the mine was a very hotly glowing piece of substance. The very one that James had found and burned his finger upon.
"What in God's name is that thing?" The Inspector demanded, utterly confused by what he was seeing.
Watson snorted. "Inspector, it's elementary really."
James and Sherlock both gave Watson a surprised look.
He smiled and took a seat near the object. He took a cigar from his vest and touched its tip to the object. The tip caught on fire immediately. "It's a very advanced form of heat." Watson declared happily, satisfied with his deduction.
He took a puff on his cigar, and then smiled even wider. "And it is also a weapon."
James smiled and nodded.
Sherlock gave his friend an appreciative glance.
The Inspector, still wheeling in circles inside his mind as to how this could have anything to do with the case, suddenly woke up to a thought of urgent nature. "The dead miner. He had no obvious wound to cause his death."
"But one." James said. He looked to Sherlock, who retrieved a sketch he had made of the dead miner's head.
James poked the center of the miner's forehead. "This was where the forensic pathologist discovered the entry. After dissection of his skull, it was noted that his entire brain had been cooked."
Sherlock nodded. "Also that there had been an opposite exit from the skull with a similar marking on the back of his head."
The Inspector got it. "So the weapon that was used penetrated his forehead and exited the rear of his skull. But what kind of weapon could possibly do that?" Then his eyes caught the glow of Watson's cigar and that of the object lying upon the dirt inside the box in the silver container of water. "My God! Do you know what you're saying?"
"Yes. We do." James spoke up. "That our miner, curious as to the nature of this..." He very carefully raised the stone so that it was level before the Inspector's eyes. "And as you and I are now, raised the stone to this level to look at it more closely, especially once he'd noted the appearance of gold on the stone."
"Which it was not." The Inspector pointed out.
"Just so." Sherlock agreed.
Watson butted in again. "The beings living in the stone..."
The Inspector began making choking sounds of his own. Mrs. Hudson hurriedly refilled his tea cup and he downed it in a gulp and cleared his throat. He stared at Watson as if he'd gone mad. "Beings living..."
"Inside that stone." Watson reiterated.
The Inspector looked to James, who nodded and to Sherlock who blinked his eyes.
"This is..."
"Insane." Doctor Watson agreed heartily, a smile warming his generous face. "And why I had to leave at first when I realized the import of what had truly happened."
James eyed Watson. "But why did you leave it to me to discover the true reason?"
"James, you and I both know I'm not good when it comes to such details, but I have had more than enough proper preparation of my powers of deduction from this good fellow seated next to me."
"Why thank you, Watson."
"I was referring to the Inspector."
Everyone roared with laughter, except the Inspector, who was the butt of the joke, but finally he relaxed and spread his hands in his lap. Accepting the truth of his eyes and the explanations.
"But what of the beings who fired this..." He pointed at the glowing object.
"Gone." James said.
"The hole in the stone had to have been their escape hatch." Watson pointed out.
"We returned the next morning and examined every possible path from where the stone had lain and discovered nothing more. They had left." Sherlock added.
"Left you say." The Inspector gasped in horror. "You mean they're still loose on our world."
"Yes." James agreed. "And I imagine feeling quite lost in a world that is so, so much larger than our own."
"What if they use that dread weapon again?" The Inspector asked. "How shall we stop them?"
No one answered him. No one at all.
Friday, July 3, 2015
The unthinkable happened. Earthquake. There was no help. Millions died. "New York Down "A Journey to the Center of the Earth Story By John Pirillo
New York Down
"A Journey to the Center of the Earth Story"
By John Pirillo
Their apartment overlooked the park. The sun was shining, warming the beautiful oasis stuck in the middle of a concrete jungle of towering gods of iron, steel and concrete, Plexiglas and streaming ribbons of iron and plastic beasts that honked, cursed and swore their way through the catacombs of the massive city. "Funny, how one can get used to almost anything."
Her father, a spry old man of fifty-five laughed. He swept the graying hair from his face, and then turned back to the salad he was making. What kind of dressing, Claire?"
"Balsamic's fine."
He looked up at her, the laugh lines around his eyes deepening for a moment, foreshadowing the onset of old age. "Come on, you never use Balsamic!"
"I do now."
She came over. Clapped a hand to the Sylvania stuck between the oven and the dishwasher and opened its first and larger door. She surveyed the shelves on the right inside of the door, scouring past the pickles, the mayo and the various jams and jellies. Her father's breakfast love. And then spotted the unopened bottle of Balsamic. She rescued it from its loneliness, shut the door behind her with a bump of her hip, and then heaved at the screwed top of the vinegar.
It made a slight groaning sound, then surrendered to her grip and came loose with a loud complaint and a rush of air.
"Tah-dah!" Her father yelled. He came over and raised her right hand, the one not holding the vinegar. "And the winner is..."
She giggled like a small child for a moment. He always brought her back to such fond memories of her child hood. Even though he was a rugged school teacher, who could holler with the best of them at the rowdy kids who made up the classes these days, he was a comedic and very funny father who would stoop to anything to get a laugh.
"Don't let him kid you like that, Claire, or I'll never get a moment's peace when you're off on the plane back to the sunny realms of California."
Claire spun around and gave her Mom a hug, one hand around her shoulder, the other still holding her captured Balsamic vinegar.
They hugged a long time and then let go. Her mom's cherubic face beamed at her with pride and motherly love. She ached inside, knowing she was leaving within a few minutes. She was already missing them and she hadn't even exited the front door yet.
"Bark!" Came a beloved voice from nearby.
Claire stooped down to catch up Sparkie, the cute little Chi with floppy ears that she had given her mom for Christmas. Chi had been a puppy she'd rescued from the pound. She knew she had to save it when she saw it barking happily and chasing its tail when the other dogs around were sitting forlorn, as if awaiting death or just barking, as if angry at their fate.
She had felt for all of them, but there was no way to save them all. So she had saved the one that had called out to her heart.
"Hey Sparkie!" She chided.
Sparkie licked all over her face, driving her into a frenzy of happy laughter.
Her mom finally rescued her from an aching stomach and lifted Sparkie into the air, where it kicked its legs and tried to lick her face. She cradled it in her arms, and then eyed Claire as she took the salad bowl from her father, set it down on the kitchen table, which was laden with a beautiful yellow cloth and sparkling white polka dots.
"Thanks, Pops!"
He came over and kissed the top of her head. "Gotta keep your strength up."
Her mom had scalded him. "Then where's her bacon and eggs?"
He gave her a sad look. "She's a vegetarian now. She can't eat such things."
"Dad!" It's not like I died or anything."
He laughed, and then pulled up a chair opposite her to watch as she ate. Her mother fretted at the coffee maker which had begun making choking sounds, retrieved three cups as best she could with Sparkie in her arms, and then set them on the table. She put Sparkie down, got another cup and filled it with milk for the dog. He began lapping it up, making glugging and gurgling sounds as he did.
Claire watched him a moment, then returned to her salad. "Where'd you get the olives, Daddy? There weren't any in the frig last night."
He gave her a shrug. "Must have wandered in from our neighbor's fridge."
"Dad!"Claire scalded him.
"He got up early, disturbing my beauty sleep and went down to Ernie's."
Claire nodded. She remembered the tiny Italian store with the huge Bronx man, who always had a smile to spare and an extra plug of bubble gum for her when she went there. "How's he doing?"
"Ten pounds more and a lot meaner." Her father replied, sipping at his coffee, which her mom had just topped off.
Her mom topped her cup off, then her own, and replaced the coffee pot into the coffee maker. She sat down with Claire and took her hands in hers. "Don't leave."
"Damnit!" Her father said, cutting himself with a knife as he was slicing tomatoes in his own dish of salad.
Her mom gave him a nasty look. "You did that on purpose."
He didn't say anything, but got up to leave. Supposedly to get a band aid, but Claire had seen the tears in his eyes. He had cursed her mom not because she was wrong to ask, but because he didn't have the heart to ask himself. She read it in his face and his posture as he vanished into the small bathroom.
Her mom looked at Claire again, squeezing her hands. "He doesn't have much longer, you know."
"I'll be back soon. I promise..." She froze midsentence, her voice choked up, and then she finished. "In plenty of..." She mumbled a curse, then broke free from her mom's grip and rose. "I'll be back, I promise. Next time. Next time I'll stay longer. I swear it. They owe me a huge chunk of time off."
Claire's mom nodded, but she didn't believe her for a moment.
"Hank, get your hairy butt in here!" Her mother hollered.
He popped out of the bathroom with an oversized bandage on the damaged finger. He looked at it pitifully, like a small child who had just lost their most favorite toy. He ran over and hugged Claire to him as her mother lifted the handle of the rolling luggage case she had used for the trip to New York.
"I love you, Pops!" She said in the midst of the crushing hug he was giving her. He couldn't hide the tears anymore or the choking sounds. He just nodded, and backed off to let her mom take over. Which she did in full measure.
Finally, Claire looked to Sparkie, who ran over and leaped into her arms. "Love you too, you little rascal."
The dog licked her good-bye, and then still wriggling like a hopeless storm cloud, she handed him over to her Mom, took the handle of her luggage as her father opened the door and rolled it out. She looked back at them. "I love you."
They couldn't speak. Their eyes were as wet as hers. Sparkie answered for them, barking over and over.
She went to the elevator, pressed its button and looked back. They still stood there watching her. But Sparkie was silent. He had that look on his face all animals get when faced with the inevitable, stoic and unmoving. The elevator clanged as it opened behind her. She waved one more time and then entered; shutting off the view of the only people she had loved so much in this life.
As the doors closed she felt this kind of rattling and Sparkie had leapt from her mother's arms. As the doors were closing she saw the dog running towards her. The doors closed and she swatted the tears from her eyes. It was messing her eyeliner up and she would look like the Wicked Witch of the East once she reached the street if she wasn't careful.
The ride down was long and felt as if it would never end.
The taxi she had phoned for, miraculously, stood idling in front of the apartment building. She gave one last look at the building, imagining her family still standing there watching the elevator, hoping against hope she would change her mind. She didn't.
"Kennedy." She told the driver.
He nodded, raised the flag on his fare, and then zoomed into traffic, nearly clobbering another rushing cab. As the cab accelerated into traffic she reviewed her life. She had become a celebrity announcer and reporter. She was known around the world, but she had no one special in her life. She didn't have time for it. She had a career to build. But her parents. She had asked them to move out to California and live with her. Not just once. But every time she phoned or visited. She had plenty of room in her Beverly Hills home...
"You gotta be kidding, doll!" Her father had exclaimed in his best James Cagney impression. "What? And leave Broadway and the Statue of Liberty? Your mom would never forgive me. And I would never forgive me. Not even my shadow would forgive me."
She'd laughed and waited until next time they met or she phoned and repeated her offer. Never accepted or even considered. She felt the weight of a loneliness rise in her chest, and then was startled when the cab seemed to hit a hard bump.
She had been more lost in her thoughts than the time had seemed. They were pulling off the road into the stretch that led into Kennedy's main passenger terminal. But they never made it that far. The road was getting more and more bumpy. The cabbie was swearing up a storm, cursing his car and shaking a fist at it, when the road ahead and the nearing traffic suddenly shot upwards, shaking off cars like a dog shakes off water.
Their car was struck by a rolling SUV and knocked into the parking lot on the right. They slid to a stop. The engine was spewing smoke. She stumbled out of the car. The cabbie didn't move. The ground was shaking like a giant was moving it back and forth and up and down. She could barely move, but she managed to struggle to the cabbie's window. She banged on it once, and then froze. His head was at an odd angle and blood was pouring from his slack mouth.
"Oh God!" She cried out.
Then she saw the main terminal building begin to heave upwards and crack as it did so. A jet rushing along the runway suddenly veered to its left as the runway opened up, revealing a deep chasm. The jet crashed into another jet parked along the runway. They exploded.
The main terminal building spilled a swarm of ants, all seeking to escape the doomed building. Hundreds of people squeezing out, screaming, hollering, roaring to be safe. None of them made it. But she didn't see that, she was knocked to the ground. The taxi startled rolling towards her. Other cars came bouncing up and down towards her, as if the ground were folding up on both sides. She scrambled to her feet and ran. She had gotten maybe ten yards, despite the shaking, when the pavement snapped shut on the cars and screaming occupant, then dropped from view.
Some of the passengers from the cars clung to pieces of pavement that were still shaking violently. She looked on in horror as dozens fell into the opened chasm before her eyes.
Then she came to her senses. It was as if a light had been turned on. She turned back to look towards New York City. The Empire State Building was rocking back and forth. She was frozen in place, not believing her eyes when it broke apart and fell in pieces from view. Skyscraper after skyscraper broke and tumbled.
But her thoughts were not about the massive edifices of concrete and steel.
"Father. Mother!" She croaked. The dust from the debris about her was choking.
And those were the last two things she remembered before she was flung hard against an overturned bus and lost consciousness. When consciousness returned, she lay in a pool of her own blood. She felt her head and it was moist. She hurriedly tore off some of her blouse and wrapped it like a tourniquet about her forehead, staunching the flow of blood.
She stumbled awkwardly to her feet.
Everything was deathly silent. Maybe for about ten seconds, and then as people woke up from their stupor, or fear, or unconsciousness, the air became filled with the sounds of horror, wailing and anguish.
She stumbled around the bus, feeling like a helpless child. Her mother and father. They had to have survived. They just had to. But as she looked at the smoking ruins of New York City, she knew they probably hadn't.
A New York Blue, who had been patrolling the airport when the quake struck, looked up from an older man he was trying to save. "Do you know anything about strokes, lady? They ain't ever taught us about that."
She dropped beside the older man. His face was turning blue. "I don't think it's a stroke. She gently lifted his body with the Blue's help. They both looked at the piece of carbonite steel that was stuck in his back. Right into his lungs.
"Damn!" The Blue had sworn, then crossed himself and muttered a small prayer when the older man had died, not once ever having opened his eyes.
They both stood up and surveyed the dead and dying all around them.
Then they heard another sound. A far worse one.
In the New York harbor, the boats that had been tossed about violently, some of them crashing onto the docks, or overturning were suddenly finding themselves running out of water beneath them.
"Tsunami!" Claire hollered over the rushing, roaring sound that was gathering. They both turned and saw the huge black and blue waters boiling and surging several miles offshore and rising higher and higher.
"Oh shit!" Blue swore, and then crossed himself again.
Claire didn't know why, but as she looked around, she spotted an overturned diesel truck. The driver had fled, leaving its door open. "Inside. Quickly."She had urged, already rushing for the open door.
The Blue gave her a look of utter disapproval. "You kidding, lady, you'll be like a cork in a turbulent bathtub of water, only dead!"
"And what will you do, swim for it?" She cried over her shoulders.
She reached the truck, but the door was too high to reach. She felt rough hands gently raise her to the door. "Need a lift, lady?"
She caught the edge and drew herself inside. She turned back; saw the waters of the bay rushing in at hundreds of miles an hour. A huge shadow fell over the crushed airport that had once been the pride of New York. "Hurry, hurry!" She urged.
She reached a hand down. He caught it and she strained to pull him up.
He looked back over his shoulder; saw how close the waters were. He smiled up at her. "Aw, I just remembered I forget to get my cat."
He let go and landed on his feet. He smiled up at her. "Good luck. You're going to need it. All of it." He said as he turned to face the huge mountain of water about to drop on them.
She wiped at further tears in her eyes, managed to shut the huge truck door and lock it. She rolled the window all the way up, then knowing there was a rear compartment, scrambled into it, praying it had a door she could close. It did. The last thing she remembered before all hell broke loose, was sliding the door shut, and locking it and burying her under the mattress she found there.
"Mom, where's the salad?" She asked, as her father smiled at her from the living room, reading his favorite comic book. Spiderman.
"She's in the bathroom. Had a wee to do." Her father laughed.
Claire shook her head and got up to grab the salad for herself. At nine she was just getting tall enough to reach the middle part of the counter. Though it was a stretch, even for her tall figure.
"Hey look at this, will ya?" Her father hollered.
Claire forgot about the salad and ran to stand beside her father as he looked out the window. A very bright sun was rising over the park, and it seemed so big and bright that it was unreal.
"Honey. Isn't it beautiful?" Her mom had said from her side. She looked over and took her mom's hand. Her mom squeezed tight. "Love you."
"Love you too, Mom."
Her father ruffled her hair playfully. She laughed, and then he looked into her eyes and smiled. "We'll never be far away."
She wondered about why he was saying that, when the apartment began to shake and crumble apart. The whole time her parents stood beside her, holding her close, comforting her, as the world around her went more and more crazy.
"She's going to make it."
Claire felt a hand on her forehead. "Tough cookie."
"Hey, I know this doll!"
"Yeah. The announcer."
She felt herself being lifted gently and a moving motion. She was finally able to open her eyes. Nearby was a Marine Chopper, with a Red Cross symbol on it. Some people were already inside it, their faces filled with shock and anguish. A child was crying horribly. No one held it or heard it. They were lost in their own horrors and terror. When she was lifted into the chopper hold, she managed to hold up an arm. It was painful. The child rushed to her and she crushed the tiny girl to her, holding her tight as much for herself as the child.
"It's all right, sweetie. Everything's going to be all right."
The Chopper lifted with a huge growling sound and arced to the left, heading inland. As it turned she could see the devastation of the harbor and city. It was all in ruins, and little lakes now filled portions of it. She wept silently, the child no longer crying, sound asleep against her, lost in its own world of sorrow.
She wept. Not for herself, but for the loss of all those below. And for her parents. No. She smiled. Not for them. She turned her face away from the tragedy below and in her mind's eyes she saw her parents smiling at her again, their bodies surrounded by white light.
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