Little John and the Ashes. A Horror, Drama, Love story. (standard:adventure, 2936 words)
Author: Oscar A Rat	Added: Jul 19 2020	Views/Reads: 1442/1005	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A lonely man plodded slowly down route #2, across the plains of Iowa. His name was John, and he was thin and short, only four-foot-eight in height. John was one of the most dangerous men in the United States.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

task hundreds of times, he often overfilled the larger container.  More 
trash was falling over the edges than inside.  John, at first, glanced 
back and shivered at being talked to.  He ignored Alfred, going around 
to the other side, to pick up spilled trash to put into the smaller 
basket.  Then repeating the action, he dumped the small container into 
the full larger one, spilling it out on the other side.  He'd keep 
repeating it until the job was done.  Once John started something he 
would never quit until finished. 

"John. John. Look at me. I'm talking to you." 

"I gotta.  I gotta get this done.  I gotta." 

"You can take a minute to talk.  Come on, John.  Let's go to the
lunchroom.  I'll buy you a sandwich.  What's your favorite sandwich?" 

"A hamburger." 

"Here.  I'll help.  Then I'll buy you a hamburger ... and potato chips. 
You like potato chips?" 

"Uh, huh." 

They became friends.  John didn't know it, but Alfred had plans for him.
 Before long, Alfred asked for permission to use John as his own 
assistant in his work with a secret government project. 

The laboratory administration was glad to grant the request.  The
janitor was thrilled.  He'd had enough of redoing half of John's work 
-- tired of  babysitting an adult. 

John also befriended one of the lab rats, an older one he named "Oscar"
after a famous cartoon character by Charlie, hvysmker.  John begged his 
scientist friend to protect that rat, to make certain Oscar was never, 
ever, injected with any of the poisons he was handling in his work, 
such as a particularly virulent strain of anthrax.  Alfred concurred. 
The time John spent playing with and talking to the rat was time Alfred 
didn't have to bother with the idiot. 

The kooky scientist had also been mistreated as a child and neglected by
his parents.  Which was why he developed a particular affinity with 
John.  He took the lad out of the general population of the lab, away 
from detractors and jokers.  For the first time in his life, John had a 
bit of dignity, although not trusted with any complex tasks. 

Although he couldn't be trusted to drive a car, John could be sent on
errands around the building and within walking distance of the 
laboratory complex.  Such as to a grocery store down the block.  Not at 
all bright, by any standards, he could be given notes to buy lunch meat 
and would bring back the change. 

Then Alfred, whose strange antics gave him no friends at the lab, found
he was to be laid off.  It seems that, economic conditions being bad, 
they had to let some of their scientists go, including   Alfred.  
Besides, his work on anthrax was nearly completed. 

The rumor was that he'd be given another month or until finished, then
let go.  Alfred didn't like that and wanted revenge.  He was also a 
coward, which sort of limited available actions.  Disgusted, 
disillusioned and disassociated, the scientist took a long curve in 
going completely around the bend. He took to giggling over his 
worktable. 

One night, Alfred sneaked into a rival lab room and made a mess, peeing
in a reactive fluid tank and crapping on his rival's desk chair before 
shoving it back under the desk.  The next morning, the other scientist 
didn't look before sitting down and raised hell.  His experiments that 
used the fluid from that tank gave strange results. 

For a month, Alfred, knowing he was soon to be out of work, had fun. 
But that wasn't enough for him.  He desired a big bang, like if a whole 
lot of anthrax were released.  However, being a sneaky coward, not 
released anywhere near himself. 

Which is where Little John comes in.  One night, Alfred injected poison
into poor Oscar, the rat. 

When John came in to work, he found Oscar dead in his cage. 

"Awwww," Alfred said. "Poor Oscar." 

"We gotta bury him,"  John said, wiping tears.  "Where we gonna do it? 
Maybe under the big tree by the entrance, you think?" 

"No, John.  Oscar told me he wanted to have his ashes thrown into San
Francisco Reservoir.  He was born near there, you know?  Didn't he ever 
tell you?" 

"Uh, uh.  Never." 

"What we'll do, John.  What we'll do is I'll cremate him right here, in
our oven.  You can even help. Then I'll give you money and you take the 
ashes to California and sprinkle him in the water.  Is that okay with 
you?" 

"That's a long way.  I don't think I can do it." 

"Sure you can.  I'll buy you a train ticket there and back." 

"It's a long way alone.  I'm scared." 

"Don't you want to help your friend, Oscar Rat?  He depended on you to
feed him and clean his cage. He'd want you to help him in his final 
wishes." 

"Trains are scary." 

"Well, if you don't want to help, we can throw him in the trash." 

"NO!  No trash. I ... I'll do it." 

So John dressed in his best clothes, which were none too good.  Alfred
gave him a box of what he thought were ashes – actually anthrax powder 
–, a one-way ticket to the coast, and sent him on his way.  The gate 
guards were used to John going on his errands and didn't think to 
search him on the way out. 

However, the Detroit train station was a huge affair, crowds of people
and huge engines roaring and running back and forth.  Little John was 
frightened.  He stood it as long as he could, then gave up and ran back 
outside.  He was going to finish his job for his pal Alfred and, 
especially, Oscar the rat.  But not on one of those things.  He would, 
he decided, walk. 

John used some of his expense money to buy a backpack and a little food.
He then asked a policeman which way to California and started out. 

A few days later, Alfred's bosses decided to audit him, prior to laying
him off.  Such audits were done on a random basis.  Since Alfred had 
gone through one only a week before, it caught him by surprise.  When a 
great deal, pounds, of anthrax was discovered to be missing and he had 
no explanation, Alfred was arrested. 

"Now, Dr. Corning, we know you did somethin' with at stuff.  You din't
throw it in'a trash or flush it by mistake.  We ain't gonna stop till 
ya tells us,"  the detective said, Alfred sitting at a small table, a 
bright light on his sweating face.  "Come on, 'fess up." 

Another detective stood on Alfred's right side, slapping a nightstick
onto his palm in a repetitive motion. It wasn't long before the 
cowardly scientist gave in, telling about the dead rat and Little John 
-- and the missing anthrax. 

*** 

Police between Detroit and San Francisco were scrambled to look for
John.  They boarded each train and checked it several times without 
finding him or the box.  Having heard of his mental condition, they 
figured he must have gotten off somewhere by mistake, somewhere along 
the track.  A six-state manhunt was organized.  By that time he could 
be anywhere, along with enough poison to kill millions. 

*** 

Meanwhile, Little John was hitch-hiking through Iowa, far from the
searchers.  The train wasn't scheduled to go anywhere near that route. 

"You ain't gonna get much of a ride around here, mister."  John heard a
voice over to his right.  Three young kids were sitting under a tree, 
smoking cigarettes. 

"Sit down a minute. Have a smoke and tell us where you're a going,"  a
girl of about fifteen said.  "We probably know them.  We know everyone 
round these parts." 

"I gotta get to California." 

"Not today, you don't.  That's a long way from here," a boy said,
handing John a smoke and then offering a light.  "We done snuck these 
out'a my Pa's pack," he explained. 

"Our parents don't want us to smoke, so we come all'a way out here," a
second boy offered, "so's we see if any a them are a'coming." 

"Thanks.  I never tried one before."  John sat down under the tree. 
"How far is it?" 

"How far is what?" the second boy asked, sitting back on his heels. 

"California." 

"I dunno, but a awful long ways.  It'll take you a month'a Sundays to
get there," the girl said. 

"Oh! That long.  Maybe I should'a took the train?" 

"Proly," a boy replied, trying to look serious with a cigarette hanging
off his lips.  "Proly." 

The others, including John, laughed at the sight. 

"Nobody laughed at Humphrey Bogart," the boy said, angrily jerking the
cigarette away from where the filter stuck to his lip, burning his 
finger on the tip and dropping it.  The others laughed again, the girl 
rolling around on the ground in mirth. 

"You hungry?" she asked, rolling over onto her stomach.  "We gotta go
back ta eat supper.  Ma can fix you a sandwich or something.  If you 
want, that is?  You ain't  a gonna make it ta California today, no 
how." 

"Yes.  I can pay." 

"Com'on then.  See you guys later, uh?  She stood and brushed herself
off, then started walking through the bushes.  "Come on." 

John followed her to a log and frame house sitting back in the woods. 
It looked, he thought, old enough to have been Daniel Boone's. 

"You wait here.  I'll ask Mama," she instructed John, leaving him on a
rickety front porch.  "Me an my Ma an big sister, we live here." 

A few minutes later, John saw movement in a window then a middle-aged
woman looking out at him.  She retreated and the girl came back out. 

"Ma says to come right in, mister.  Oh, and what's your name?  Mine's
Amy." 

"John."  He followed her inside to where a chicken dinner was laid out
on the table, smashed potatoes, freshly shucked peas, and an apple pie 
on the side. 

"Hello, ma'am," he said to the mother, heart beating wildly among so
many strangers.  He had no wish and little experience in eating at a 
table with others.  He'd always avoided it at work, where his 
table-mates would make fun of him. 

"Well, John, you're welcome.  Have a seat, over there.  I'm Ethel and
this is my daughter Millie.  You already know Amy.” 

Millie sat at one end of the table.  She was sitting quietly with eyes
turned down, but looked up shyly.  Seeing John watching her, she 
snapped them down again.  The girl looked about John's age, in her 
early twenties.  Amy sat across from him, a big grin on her face. 

She leaned across the table, little boobs almost dipping into the gravy
dish.  "Millie's a little slow, you know?" she whispered. 

"Uh, uh.  I ain't neither," Millie answered in an angry voice.  "You
shut up bout that, you hear?" 

"S'okay, Millie.  They say the same thing about me," he admitted. 

"You from around here, John?" Ethel asked, bringing a knife over to
carve the chicken.  "Maybe you should take off that backpack? It must 
be uncomfortable.  She put the knife down.  "Here.  Shrug it off.  I'll 
put it in the corner here." 

"Careful, ma'am.  It's got Oscar in it." 

"We don't wanna hurt Oscar.  I'll be careful." 

"You ain't gonna hurt him none.  He's dead." 

"Where you from, if I may ask, John?" 

"Detroit.  That's in Michigan, I think." 

"Yes.  In Michigan.  I been there once or twice." 

"Daddy was from there,"  Millie said slowly, eyes still downcast. 

"And the bastard can stay there, far as I'm concerned," from Amy. 

"Don't worry, Amy.  He ain't never coming back here.  If he does, the
sheriff's gonna make short shift of him.  You can depend on that." 

John could see tears dripping from Millie's eyes onto a empty plate. 
None of his business, he thought.  He had to get to California. 

Ethel cut the chicken and passed it out.  Amy said a short prayer,
confusing John.  He'd never had much truck with religion.  The 
scientists hadn't  been very much into it.  At least not at work. 

After the meal, Ethel called John aside. 

"Look John.  Tell you what.  California's a long way from here.  If you
stay here and work until winter, I'll take you to town and buy you a 
bus ticket there?  It beats walking, and walking would take you almost 
that long, anyway. 

“Ya see, I chased my husband out last year.  Found he was molesting the
girls and couldn't have it.  Ever since, men's work has been a'piling 
up.  What you say?  I could really use you." 

"I dunno, Ms. Ethel.  I gotta dump poor Oscar in the water.  I promised,
and I always keep my promises." 

"Oscar's dead, John.  He won't mind waiting a while.  Please?" 

John looked over at Millie sitting watching and drooling onto her plate.
 If he wasn't careful, he sometimes did that himself, which is why he 
didn't like to eat with other people at work.  He looked back and 
nodded. 

"Okay, Ms. Ethel.  I mess up a lot, though.  You gotta teach me a lot'ta
stuff." 

"If you got a strong back, that's all I need.  Thanks, John.  I'll have
Amy show you to the horse shed out back.  We used to have a hired hand, 
and it's fixed up nice." 

John stayed, and is still there.  He married Millie and they have
several kids, all normal.  Someday, though, he intends to make it to 
California to dump Oscar's ashes.  After all, he promised. And John 
always keeps his promises. 

The End.


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