Paranoia (standard:science fiction, 1159 words)
Author: Saxon Violence	Added: Dec 03 2012	Views/Reads: 4895/2009	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Stanley's Mouth gets him into trouble.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

alcohol—then someone set the Everclear on fire. Waves of heat rolled up 
my body. I broke into a sweat. 

I locked my self down—hardly batted an eye. A few moments later, the
Phone—his old lady, distracted him. 

I went into the back. I chugged a 12 0z ice cold Pepsi. I largely washed
out my mouth, gargled, and spit the second Pepsi into the waste can. 
Then I bought a third drink, and wandered up front sipping it. 

But after a few minutes, I got to asking myself—could that pepper have
possibly have been as hot as I recalled? I started hectoring Sidney for 
another pepper. He had a huge two-gallon jarful, but he kept saying 
that he still had some friends he wanted to turn on. 

He had plenty peppers, he was just pissed that I'd proven too tough for
him to burn up. 

"I got two Pistols that I carry all the time, " Sidney boasts. 

He shows me a matched set of Nickeled, Stag Handled Smith and Wesson
Model 39s—8+1 9mms. 

"Pretty, but not terribly powerful," I opined. 

He gestured to an Alice pack on the floor. 

"Carryin' 1000 Rounds 9mm 125 grain +P+'s in here." 

"Surprised that you can lift it," I deadpanned. 

"Yup, I can." He demonstrated. 

"Know what else I got?" He Asked. 

"I shudder to think." 

He pulled a 9mm Mac 10 out of the pack. 

"Got one of those 10 inch Barrels (issue Mac Barrels are 5 inches), Cut
it back to eight. It's also Mag-Na-Ported. Got four spare Mag-Na-Ported 
eight inchers, and a couple fives. Got eight extra Magazines." 

He started showing me his treasure. 

"Got these--1500 White Crosses, got Phentermine, got Morphine, got
Codeine." 

"I can hump this pack through the brush, for days on end, without rest
or sleep. Anyone that I come across, I ain't gonna negotiate. I'm gonna 
shoot them right between the eyes...take their Guns, take their Ammo, 
eat their flesh, if I'm hungry. 

"No one gets an even break--No one. Lookin' out for number one, first,
last and always." 

Just then, there was a very bright flash to the South. The Gunstore
windows were half-inch thick Lexan—but I don't think we were close 
enough to have blown windows in any case. 

The Civil Defense Siren was howling like a lost soul, into the
darkness—and the radio that Sidney had going in the background said 
something about "Missiles Incoming". 

And as Sidney and I got to our feet, I hated to do it—but it was Sidney
himself who said he was going to kill everyone he met, on sight, as a 
fixed matter of policy—after TEOTWAWKI. 

I put a single 200 Grain .45ACP caliber hollow point, traveling a bit
over 1100 FPS into Sidneys's brain-pan. 

I took Stanley's pistols and Mac. He also had a couple of neat Hideouts
on his person. 

I quickly cleaned out a half-dozen .357s, all the .357 and 9mm ammo the
Gunstore had and a few other things, and left. I figured that I might 
as well have it as the looters who'd hit every Gunstore around within 
hours. 

I managed to find both my shell, and my bullet—lodged in the knotty pine
paneling. I'd picked up a handful of mixed brass, and cast it around 
dutifully. 

This is the first time that I've talked about this to anyone in 40
years—but you are my Grandson. I want you to have these 9mms and .38s, 
and the .25s Sidney left behind, and I wanted you to know their 
providence. 

When you've mastered these, I'll get you a real Gun or two—like .45's
and .30-06. 

And be careful son—It's always too easy to dig your own grave with your
mouth... 

{TEOTWAWKI=The End Of The World As We Know It} 


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