Halloweeny story

It was supposed to have been clear and dry. It was also supposed to have been a night of fun, candy, silly costumes and general hi-jinks.

"This sucks." Randy grouched as he poked the smoldering lumps of what had been a fairly nice house with a pike pole. We were both going over the remains of the house, poking and prodding the various lumps and clumps of unknown and now unknowable objects trying to be sure they didn't have enough spark left in them to cause what is called a "re-kindle".

"Agreed." I grumped back. All that candy. Sitting there on my kitchen table. I glanced up at the clouds scudding past the crescent moon and began to feel the pounds adding themselves to my butt and thighs. I knew that if I didn't give that candy away somehow I would eat it myself. I've been poor to often to be able to force myself to throw anything labeled 'food' away. Even something that held that label as loosely as the high fat, high sugar goodies waiting inside the old plastic pumpkin.

"Have you heard anything about the family? The ones that lived here?" Randy rattled on. I wished he'd just shut the hell up. I was cold, I was wet, I was tired. All I wanted to do was go home, wash off the house fire stink and crawl into my nice warm bed. Something, I grimaced at the thought, that this family would be doing in a strange motel on the Red Cross's dime tonight. I mentioned as much to Randy.

He didn't answer.

I looked up from where I was carefully placing my fire boots to get ready to pull open the freezer of the fire blackened fridge where it lay on it's side. There was likely nothing in it but thawed out formally frozen meats and veggies and other assorted goodies. Possibly some melted chocolates that were to have been handed out tonight. "Randy?"

Randy was standing no more than five feet from me. He had left off his helmet and pulled his nomex hood down around his neck. His bunker jacket was laying over on the hood of the booster truck under his helmet so I could see how pale his face suddenly was in the harsh light of the lamps that'd been set up to light our way. "D-Did you see that?"

"See what?" I sighed standing up from where I had bent down by the toppled fridge.

"Over there, by what's left of the chimney! A-a mist of some kind."

"Rannndyyy." I sighed. "Cut out the Halloween crap, okay. I'd rather be at home handing out candy or telling ghost stories now too, but..."

I paused in my ill humored rant to look where he pointed.

Now, I know that many of you have never been involved in what firefighters refer to as 'overhaul'. It's where we go over the area that's burnt, whatever it is, and try to make double sure that the fire is totally, completely and permanently out. Plus we will rarely find a family treasure of some kind that will give some kind of comfort to folks who've lost a lot. Might be a photo album that something else fell on top of protecting it from the fire or one of those 'fire proof safes' that actually worked. Frankly that was one reason I was checking the fridge. Some folks stash their really important stuff in the freezer figuring that it being so cold and generally air tight it should survive a house fire. Anyway, there is almost always still some smoke and steam left at such a site for hours after all the flashing lights and firefighters have left.

Randy was staring, gap jawed, at something that I would have liked to think was just one more whiff of damp smoke and steam. It looked like just that. Except... except it was shaped like a man. A man who was moving purposely and steadily. As Randy and I watched the figure pantomimed starting a fire in the fireplace and then transferring something from it first to where a nearby window had been decorated with curtains and then to an area above the contorted springs and still smoldering wood of a couch before going on to where a second window had been.

I'm fairly sure we were both slack jawed as we watched the wispy form move toward what had been the kitchen...meaning that it had to pass between us on it's way to where the back porch still stood.

We both turned to watch the form go through the motions of opening and closing a door that was no longer there before walking down the steps and apparently getting into an invisible car before it just faded away.

"Y-yuh-" Randy gulped, "You saw that to?" he whispered.

"Don't wanna say so," I said after swallowing several times, " But, yeah, I did." We looked at each other for a few seconds more until Randy gulped again. Then he said, "I don't think this is gonna flare up again."

"Yeah," I shivered as I answered, "This is out, for sure. The storm that came through just before the fire wet everything down good so it definitely won't go anywhere even if it dose flare back up."

"Yeah, lets get out of here. Maybe we'll be in time to help the others finish cleaning the hoses from the engine, or at least help put them back on the truck. Huh."

"Yeah." I agreed as I frowned at the place where the specter had dissipated. "I'll just open this freezer and make sure there's nothing important in it, first. You go start taking down the lights."

In the freezer amongst the melted ice cream, still nearly raw meat and limp veggies was a gallon size plastic freezer bag with a thick brown legal size envelope in it. "Ah Hah!" I thought to myself.

Randy was strapping down the portable generator and I was stacking the last of the portable lights beside it when the tones came over the trucks radio.

"Report of a one car rollover on FM 2652 near county road 321," the radio told us.

"Well, hell," I groused. "That sounds like it's between here and the station."

"Yeah, There's a tight turn there. I came out with the tanker and we hadda slow down a lot before we could take it."

As we climbed into the booster we heard our med truck, engine and tanker call in route over the radio. We did the same as we pulled out. The ghostie that had chased us away from the burnt house was forgotten as we headed towards our fellows and the one car roll over.

Just as I suspect we both feared Randy and I got there first. We both slid out and headed for the car that was off the road with it's headlights pointed toward a tangle of trees across the ditch.
"Are you alright, Sir?" I asked the man leaning against the front fender of the small sports car.

"I'm fine." The pale man gritted. "I'm in a hell of a lot better shape than the guy in there!" he waved toward where his headlights pointed. "I just went off the road a little cause I was going to damn fast for the wet road. That poor sum-bitch," he shook, his head. "God Almighty, I swear he breathed his last as I walked up on him."

"Here, why don't you just sit down in your car, Sir. Our med unit is on the way as well as an ambulance." I said opening his car door and gently trying to get him to sit. "We want you to move as little as possible now, just in case there have been injuries you don't realize you have yet."

Randy had left me with the first victim and gone on into the tangle of trees, to check out the vehicle we could see now only because of the headlights of the car.

When he came out he was pale and I knew it would be a bad one. He went directly to the truck and called in what we had found over the radio. Soon the members of our Volunteer Department who were far more medically inclined than I would ever be arrived and relieved me of holding c-spine on the first victim. A couple of them had gone into the short tunnel another vehicle had burrowed into the dense tree line and come out shaking their heads.

I was headed out to the highway to help with traffic control - there's never any traffic until you need a clear road- when Randy came up beside me. He was still pale and I began to wonder if maybe he'd gotten a little dehydrated while we were overhauling the fire scene. "Katy," his voice was a husky whisper, "Come with me. It's gruesome as all git out but I have to have you see this."

"Look, Randy," I told him, "There's a reason I avoid the medical stuff. The only time I can handle the gore and stuff is when it's on the T. V. and I know it's SPFX."

"Katy." His voice became a plea, "I just want you to look at his face. You have got to see his face!"

Something about Randy's grim demeanor pulled me along with him. We climbed over broken and shattered tree limbs. The scent of their fresh sap only slightly dimmed by the rain that had pelted them either just after or even, perhaps as, they had been shattered. I quickly noted another, metallic scent that overlay the earthy oders of torn trees and turned soil.

"Look." Randy urged, and fearing what I would see I did.

I was very glad that this had occurred either before or during the heavy rain storm, whose lightening we had blamed the house fire on. The smell remained but the blood was mostly gone. There would have been blood. Lots of it. Some how this victim had managed to go air born out of his convertible. He'd likely decided he didn't need a seat belt. His car had pushed up a wall of broken and splintered tree limbs and now it's driver hung above the carcass of his vehicle impaled on several of those broken limbs.

"Look at his face, Katy! Look at his face!" Randy urged and I managed to tear my horrified vision away from the pieces of wood that protruded from places they should never be to look at the surprised, bloodless face that was a twin to the grinning continence of the ethereal image that had frightened Randy and I from the fire scene.

"Katy," Randy asked, "Dose it look like him? Dose it look like the spook we saw at the house?"

When I was finely able to convince my self to breath the wind had changed slightly and flowed over the corps and toward us. We both caught the scent at the same time. A scent any fire fighter, paid or volunteer knows intimately. We volunteers ofter wear it home to wash it off in our own showers. It sometimes takes two soakings to get it out of your hair if you have a lot as I do. And forget your cloths. Even protected by bunker gear they get permeated with it. They have to be washed in hot soapy water before the stink of a house fire can be gotten out.

The man hanging dead against those busted up trees smelled like he'd been in a house fire.

"I asked, Eric." Randy mentioned our chief medic. "He said this guy couldn't have died instantly as none of those limbs look like they go through anything vital. He probably bled out and it likely took a couple of hours."

"That house was down in an hour and a half." I stated grimly. "A half hour after that we were overhauling it."

"Yeah, and the guy who found this fella. He said he thought he died just as he found him and that was maybe fifteen minutes or so before he was able to find his cell phone and call 911."

"You want me to admit that what we saw was this guy's spirit reliving setting fire to that house?"

"I don't know. Maybe, just maybe, the fella wanted to confess somehow, y'know. And this was the only way he could. We need to say something to the coroner, the chief or somebody so there will be an investigation."

"Yeah," I nodded slowly. "But what."

We finely figured a way. We told the chief we'd gone in to find a way to get the body out after the coroner got done and that we'd smelled house fire smoke on the guy. The chief told the coroner and included info about a house fire not more than a mile down the road.

Two weeks later it was all over the local newspapers about how some hot shot developer had been trying to buy out the folks who owned the house that had burned. The stories went on to point out that when the developer couldn't get the county officials to go along with his plan to pull 'eminate domain' out of a hat to snatch the property he'd hired an arsonist from a nearby big city. Hired him to make it look 'natural'.
Randy and I were congratulated briefly by the county fire marshal for noticing the fire reek on the body. And that was the end of that.

Except neither Randy or I volunteer to stay behind by ourselves to over haul a burned out house after dark anymore.

digital farming

Now what did I say in my last blog? Face book is dangerouse! Oh, you betcha. Here it is after 4 pm and I'm just now getting to checking my blog. And guess what! I haven't posted a thing in, in...I don't know how long.
And I've been on the computer for at least 4 hours almost every day!!!.
I'd give up the farms in Farm Town and Farmville except....They are SO much easier to take care of than my real one!!
I mean a couple of clicks on the mouse and I've cleared and plowed a section of land. Another couple of clicks, a quick choise and another click and bingo! the plowed section is planted. Crops ready to harvest? Click on the sythe, click on the field or tree that's ready, and there ya go! Of course it's slightly different from one farm to the other but, hey, I've got well over two thousand 'coins' in each. Heck, on one I've got over 20,000 coins!
Sure as heck ain't got that on my real farm. Sigh. Do have lots of mud though. Lots of mud.
Mud and some hungry critters I hear calling me to come feed.
Latter.

The dangers of Face Book

Boy, oh, boy, am I in for it now. I'm on face book.
I'm on face book and I've found it to be both addictive and fattening.

It's addictive because I find I keep wanting to check on what's been posted on my wall and my friends walls. I also need to go check on my farm on Farm ville and the one one Farm Town. Once on those sites I naturally want to go over to neighbors farms and help them out by either watering flowers, raking, weeding or even chasing gofers or crows.

Sigh. Those farms are much more fun than my real one. After all, I can rake a whole farm with just a couple of clicks of the mouse at most! No sweat involved. No blisters either.

Unfortunately, I don't have DSL, only dial up, so the down loads of the individual farms take forever, especially for the farms of those friends who already have a lot of stuff on their farms.

Then, there's face book. With all it's temptations to visit other walls to read what's been written there and to make comments or add my view to the discussion...as you may have guessed, this thing is fattening for exactly the same reasons. I'm setting there at the computer with only my hands and eye's moving.

This face book thing is especially dangerous for me as I have never been much of a talker but rather a writer. I'm much more comfortable with a key board than a live conversation. After all in a live conversation if I get stuck for a word the conversations flow just goes on past me while I fumble for a word I know that I know but which has temporarily slipped away. Typing, like this, I can pause, even hunt for the little bugger until I catch it, so that I can use it.

I can even pause to consider not only what's been written already but what I really want to write back. This is often not an option when actually speaking.

Now days no one likes for there to be any quite time between what is said, even when there are only two people talking. There have been times when folks have asked me something over the phone and I've had my thoughts interrupted, when they almost instantly ask... "Are you still there?"

True, that last may be as much a result of the cell phones habit of dropping calls as the requirement for incessant conversation, but I've had it happen to me on land lines as well.

It begins to make me wonder. This constant need for stimulation. This need to either be speaking or listening. This requirement for distraction that seems to pervade society now. What is up with that? What's wrong with just being quiet. With just sitting and thinking your very own thoughts or even just sitting and watching those thoughts flow past you like a river...Uh. huh.

I think I just answered my own question. Not everyone has heard of, much less gotten a little into meditation like me.

Some times I think the whole world just needs to take a nice big cleansing breath, set down, and focus on their breath going in and going out, for about five or ten minutes. But that is just my opinion.

If you wonder how far into the Zen thing I got you can check out my store at www.cafepress.com/bettyszenstuff . Have fun looking.

An odd little story

This is a story I came up with while eating my lunch at a desk in the quality control lab when it was just too far for me to hobble to the break room. I was setting there muching my sandwich and watching the screensaver set up knot after knot of pipes on the screen....


PIPES

I was in down town Dallas when that city’s destruction started, looking up into a lovely azure blue, cloud flecked spring sky. At least what I could see of it between those damned skyscrapers while wishing like hell I was home in Log Bottom. Anywhere but that freaking big city.

Unfortunately my potential publisher wanted to meet there. A greasy spoon or a fast food joint at the edge of that pile of steel and stone would have been fine with me but she apparently wanted to impress and had opted for a ritzy outdoor cafe` down in the West End. She was late.
She may well be obituary late by now. Too bad. She had wanted to publish my stories.

At any rate I was at this outdoor table looking up into that beautiful sky and wishing like hell I was at home doing the chores I usually avoid or anything but breathing what those city folk thought was air. If I had been chugging the beer or wine the waiter had been instructed to offer instead of the iced tea I preferred I’d have been far less likely to believe what suddenly appeared in mid-air about three stories above the middle of the busy street. It was a bright red pipe that began as if it had always been there and then stretched itself down the length of the street for a block or two while I sat blinking at it. I’d just decided that it was about six feet in diameter, going by the size of the architecture behind it, when it took a ninety degree turn away from my side of the road and blasted into the window and part of a wall a block past where I sat.

That got several people’s attention.

It’s weird when an overused cliché works but women really did scream and men
really did curse. With the odd exception of course. That would be me, Betsy McCongle, the unofficial Pipe Historian.

I remember that I did not scream, but I did curse, ”What the hell?” As the hair on the back of my neck not only stood on end but threatened to take flight. You see I had recognized that pipe. I had stared at it often enough as the screen saver took over while I tried to figure a way out of the mess my stories characters had gotten themselves into. I knew it was fast and that it could build itself into a logical but insane knot of pipe in no time.

“A screen saver is attacking us?” I continued to myself. Why I just sat there and stared at the hole it had made in the building across the way I don’t know. But when it burst out of a sixth story wall a block further back than it had started, I sat down my tea. When it turned an almost immediate ninety degrees down to blast into a sidewalk, possibly taking an oblivious man, brief case, cell phone and all, with it, I got up. Maybe the guy was smashed into Soylent Green, or just knocked aside, I don’t know. Nor do I know about the people on the city bus it skewered when it again took off toward the sky. I saw that only because the crash and rumble made me look backward as I ran with the rest of the stampede. I stopped where I’d left my reliable old F-150.

Needless to say I was extremely glad that I had worn the jeans and boots I prefer rather than the skirt and heels some of my friends had suggested.

My keys were in my hand as I grabbed the door handle and jammed them into the keyhole. I noticed that my hands weren’t shaking and wondered why. The kid who was supposed to be “attending” the vehicles was still staring slack jawed at the all too real
screen saver when I burned rubber out onto the street and turned toward home.

I expected to be pulled over for busting every existing traffic law, but I saw not one cop. I’m surprised that an irate driver didn’t shoot me. I’m sure I left plenty of those behind me. I don’t usually drive like that but you see I was scared. More scared than I’ve ever been before. I’d say ‘or since’ except.... Well, that’s another post-apocalyptic tale.

I didn’t calm down enough to start thinking until I neared the high ground of Rock Wall. As I did I felt my forehead. It felt as hot and sweaty as you’d expect a damn fool’s forehead to be who’d been driving with their windows up on a spring day in Texas.

When I flipped down my sun visor and peeked into the vanity mirror I looked ghostly pale beneath my sun bleached brown hair.

“Heat stroke?” I asked myself as my now shaking hand reached for the A/C controls and switched it on to its coldest setting. I felt the truck’s engine slow as the A/C kicked in and cold air began to trickle into the cab. I even noticed there weren’t many other drivers around me.

“Claustrophobia?” I countered, as I couldn’t remember visual phantoms being mentioned as a symptom of the former. I shook my head. I didn’t believe what I had seen. It was a screen saver for cryin’ out loud. I like to think I wouldn’t have run from fire or a natural disaster. I began to think that my mind had let the relative crush of humanity in the big bad ol’ city get to me and my fantasy soaked brain had come up with a reason to get the hell out. I pulled into a shopping center parking lot soon after I topped the hill just east of the lake. I parked and thirstily eyed a nearby fast food joint as I pulled out my cell phone.

I made up excuses as I listened to my possible publishers phone ring. Her secretary picked up. She was breathing fast and heavy as if she’d just made a short dash.

“Arkay Publishing, may I help you?” She gasped.

“Yeah, uh, this is Betsy McCongle. I had an appointment with Allison Kildare?”

“Oh! Ms. Kildare asked me to call you just a minute or so ago. She’s running terribly late today. I’d have called right then, Ms. McCongle, but I was distracted by these beautifully colored pipe-like balloons that have been popping up over the West End. Ms. Kildare said to tell you to enjoy the parade or what ever they were having over there and have another beer or glass of wine on her.”

I was silent a beat or two after she stopped speaking.

“Ms. McCongle?”

“It started near the restaurant where she was to meet me.” I gulped. “Call her and tell her I’m not there, that I ran like hell. That is not a parade! It’s a disaster. It’s blasting holes in buildings and the street and likely killing people too.”

“What is?” Gulped the very young sounding girl.
“That damn screen saver.” I answered. “The one that looks like a pipe.”

“This is a joke, right.” She sensibly replied.

“No joke, lady. I’ve seen that thing blast through buildings, busses and sidewalks, and I wasn’t drinking beer or wine on your boss’s tab. I was drinking plain ice tea. Run. Now. Call Ms Kildare on your cell phone. Tell everyone else in the office to run...”

“Don’t be silly, Ms. McCongle....”She began only to end in a slight gasp as she was interrupted by a scream. “It’s coming this way!” “It’s not a balloon! Didja see it blast
through that...”

“Hold on a sec. Ms. McCongle something’s happening...”

“No!” I screamed into the phone, “don’t go look! Run! Get out of town fast as you can...”
I was answered by another scream “it’s coming right at us!” Followed by the crash of glass breaking and then the silence of a dead line.

I burned nearly a minute of my cell time just sitting and staring at the thing in my hand before I could bring myself to hit ‘end’ and then ‘dismiss‘. I turned to my truck radio then suddenly wishing I still had my old citizens band. I keep the radio set on a golden oldies station in Dallas that does a lot of talking during the morning and afternoon rush hours. That, I realized, was probably why I’d had such little trouble getting out of Dallas. This time of day every one else in North East Texas was trying to get in.

“We’re getting all kinds of wild reports from down near the West End.” The DJ was saying as I turned on my ignition and punched the radio on. His voice was jovial but I heard the same edge to it that I’d heard back on 9/11. “We’ve tried calling up some of the folks down there who advertise with us but their phones are all busy. Busy, I hope, because they advertise with us! But hey, anyone out there with any idea of what’s going on, give us a call at...” He ended by rattling off a series of numbers I actually managed to remember long enough to punch into my cell after I turned off the radio. I let it ring ten times, hit ‘end’ and then ‘redial‘. Four rings later I was recording for posterity.

“I’m not nuts.” I began, “I just happened to be looking up when it started....” I went on from there telling what I’d seen and where I was when I saw it, finishing up with
what I’d heard over my cell while sitting in a Rock Wall strip mall parking lot. While I talked I got out and walked toward the highway telling the recorder what I saw and heard as I went.

“I-Thirty East is practically empty now.” I stated. “Across the median Thirty West is at a stand still but they are all mostly quite. Looking toward the distant skyline of Dallas I can see what looks like little lines among the sky scrappers. There are some that look a bit thicker like maybe they are closer. There’s some smoke rising but not as much as I expected to see by now. I see a big rig. I’m going to go find out what he hears on his C. B.”

I climbed up on the steps of the rumbling big rig and knocked on the window. The poor guy jumped a mile before he rolled it down. He was apparently used to the idea that truckers know everything about what’s happening ahead on the road. “Lady, if you’re head’n west forget it! From the sound of things further on, all hells broke loose in Dallas. If I could do it I’d turn this rig around right here and take the long way round before whatever the hell it is heads this way!”

I looked west again from the higher vantage of the big rig’s steps. The distance and the smog still turned all the brilliant colors grayish.

“Say,” the trucker went on, “ did you come from that mall across the way? Have you heard anything about what’s going on?”

“I only know what I’ve seen.” I answered. “And what I’ve seen isn’t pretty,” I paused, “Or believable.”

“What?”

“It’s pipes;” I shrugged, "Like those in that screen saver.”

“A screen saver?” His face telegraphed his disbelief.

“Yeah,” I grimaced at his disbelieving face. “That’s what I thought to, Man. That I hadda be nuts. But I saw the thing bust some things up before I got unfrozen enough to run like hell.”

“Who’s that on the phone?” He asked as though to keep the crazy lady busy while he tried to remember where he had hidden his gun.

“Recording at the radio station I listen to.”

“Which is?” He prompted.

I rattled off the station call letters and he reached to turn off his C.B. and then for the select buttons on his regular radio. A hissing silence greeted our ears.

“That’s odd.” He grunted before reaching again as if to twist the dial. A swift blur of colorful motion caught at the edge of my peripheral vision and I reached in and gave his beefy shoulder a hard shove before jumping backward away from the cab. Even as I jumped a six-foot wide blue green pipe rammed through the top of his cab sending splinters of glass and the screech of rent metal and rubber dragging on pavement ricocheting across the unnaturally quiet highway.

I landed on my butt but at least it and the glass arrived at about the same time. I only got a little sliver in my hand as I got up and was relieved to hear the trucker cussing.

The other cars were no longer silent. Everyone was doing what they could to get the hell out. I did the same. I don’t remember running but the next thing I knew I was back by my truck. My cell phone was still in my hand. I hit ‘end’ and ‘dismiss’ before using my free hand to unbend the one still clutching the phone. I was surprised there were no indentions in the plastic.

As calmly as I could I got in my truck, left the parking lot and headed for the nearest gas station slash fast food joint. I filled both my tanks, topping off the one I tried to keep full, then rummaged in the bed for my five-gallon gas can. It’d gone empty the last time I mowed my yard. I filled it up too.

I didn’t even flinch at the bite the pump took out of my debit card and wasn‘t even surprised it still worked.

Then I parked, went in to the fast food place and ordered the ‘hungry man truckers delight’ to go with an interstate size jug of tea. I sweetened that monster with real sugar and nervously eyed the now two lines of blue green floating serenely above the highway. I also watched the cars careening through the underpass and flying up to I-Thirty East. As I was about to pay a frantic driver pulled up to one of the gas pumps and began filling up his land rover. He started bawling as I watched.

By now the other customers and wait staff were beginning to notice something was going on.

“What the hell’s going on out there?” The teen behind the counter asked as she handed me my order and I passed her my plastic.

As she slid my card through the reader I said. “Oh nothing much. Screen saver’s eating Dallas.
Looks like Rock Walls next.” I ended jestureing toward the highway with the extra large drink.

“Ohhh kay.” She stated giving me that careful ‘ she’s obviously nuts but dose she have a gun?’ look. “What ever. Sign here.” I signed and left. I didn’t burn rubber this time. I figured tires just might become hard to come by.

I avoided Thirty, the crazed drivers and, I hoped the even more insane pipe. Some how down deep it had registered that the only places I’d seen the damn thing was in highly populated areas. I stuck to the back roads all the way home. It took a little longer but I still made record time.

The lunch sack was empty by the time I hit Log Bottom. I was still sipping on the tea as I rolled past my place on the way into the biggest city I ever care to live near. I slowed and carefully eyed my barns, as my singlewide is invisible from the road. The two mutts that I call guard dogs for tax purposes were sprawled across the driveway. They sat up and wagged their tails in greeting. I sighed in relief. If there were anything going on they’d be out barking at it. I rolled down my passenger side window and called for them to stay lest they decide to jump into my truck bed and tag along.

A minute or so later I was parking beside the big, red metal barn at the end of a strip of old brick buildings we call downtown. I headed for the open, roll up doors in the side of the place instead of the smaller people door on the narrow end close to the street. I walked between the big red tanker and the little white truck; both emblazoned with the sign “Log Bottom Volunteer Fire Department” bent around the fire fighters Maltese cross.

Ahead I could see several people setting in the relative cool of the radio room. That comforted me. It was familiar. How many times had I been setting in there after a fire or car wreak had been successfully ended talking about other calls that hadn’t or were just down right odd or even funny in a macabre way.

Some one further in than I could see might have pointed because the guy with his
back to the big window turned, saw me and looked surprised. The door popped open as I approached it. “Bets! Didn’t you have some kind of appointment in downtown Dallas early this morning?” Asked Adam Sands our fire chief.

“Yeah,” I replied. “In the West End no less. Have y’all heard about it on the radio?”

“Enough,” Kim our chief Medic grunted over a cup of coffee almost as black as his face, “Enough to wonder if we’d ever be seein’ you or any of the others that work in Dallas.”

“Have they said anything about the West End?” I asked, “About what’s happening?”

“First,” the Chief held up his hand and ordered, “Tell us what you know, Bet’s. I’d trust what you say over the crazy things we’ve been hearing over the radio. We've been told to stay here and stand ready.”

I gulped. What he’d just said meant a lot to me and I feared I was about to lose that trust but I couldn’t lie.

“Adam, I don’t think you or the others will believe it but,” I paused and grabbed a chair as I suddenly realized my knees were getting weak. “It was that damn screen saver.” I said as I sat down and rubbed my forehead. “I ran, Adam. I’m sorry but I ran. I didn’t see any thing I could do to stop it. People were already running but that thing’s so unpredictable about where it’s gonna go... I guess I just lucked out and went where it didn’t.” I paused a while longer before I got up the nerve for the next statement. “Besides,” I gulped, “I was scared. Sorry.”

“Did you say screen saver?” He asked.

“I said you wouldn’t believe me.” I sighed.

“Tell us the whole thing.” He ordered in that Drill Sergeant voice he sometimes drops into. Being ex- army I naturally obeyed.

As I finished Jill, his wife, said “I still don’t understand what you mean by ‘screen saver‘.”

“Come on, “ I sighed and got up to lead them all over to the office across the hall. I plopped down in front of the computer we have so we can send our monthly reports in to the county and to Austin, and woke it up. I clicked away with the mouse for a bit until I had the screen up that lets you select screen savers. I clicked on one and then on “preview”. After a short wait pipes started filling the smaller screen within a screen. I shivered as I watched it.

“ It looks exactly like that, except the pipe is about six foot in diameter and in three-D. Oh yeah, and it’s real enough to bust through solid stuff. It’s just as fast and unpredictable, too.”

“But, how does it just hang there in the air?” The ever practical Jill asked. “Where did it come from? Why?”

“If this was a story I was writing,” I grimaced; “I’d be hard put to come up with an answer for my protagonist to find.”

“But that’s what you saw,” Adam asked. “You’re sure.”

“Hell yes, I’m sure. The damn thing even followed me to Rock Wall!” I retorted. Then leaned back to rub my eyes before clicking off the innocuous screen saver that had become so terrifying to me.

“Take it easy Bet’s. I believe you. The morning news people managed to get
some fuzzy shots of it before their reporter was knocked down by it. But you saw it start...” he paused. “Were you looking right at it?”

“Not really, I was looking at the clouds and wishing I was home and suddenly there was this blood red pipe between the sky and me. It wasn’t,” I raised my left hand, open and empty.

"Then it was,” I raised my right hand, index finger marking a line in the air as if following the pipe I’d seen.

“That settles it then,” Adam said. “The worlds gone nuts again. With any luck we’ll find out who, what, where else and how eventually.” He sighed heavily and I could almost see the weight of responsibility settle on his broad shoulders. He straightened under the burden and began to snap orders. Soon the gas tanks on the fire trucks were all topped off and a couple of new five-gallon tanks were sitting near our portable generator. Push come to shove we’d still have our bass radio as well as the ones in the trucks. George, one of our night shifters, came in lugging a television and enough cable to reach outside. Being our local tech he soon had a TV antenna on the flag pole out front. Our reception wasn’t all that great, but we did manage to pull in the one station still broadcasting from Dallas.

That’s how we found out that multicolored pipe was no longer ravaging Dallas, but had moved on to Chicago, L.A. and, one by one, just about every other big city in North America. It was chewing on D.C. when it stopped.

It just stopped.

Only two days passed before what was left of the Government finely let the rest of us know what they had found out. Until then everyone in the world was on tenterhooks,
waiting for it to show up somewhere else.

According to the government report, some hacker in Washington State had hacked into some high powered mathematicians computer. Then the hacker had tried to use the ‘pipe’ screen saver as a model for a computer worm of some kind. He got careless. The worm started combining with the high powered dimensional math that he had stolen while the hacker wasn’t paying attention. He was on hold on the phone to the power company about his late bill when the mutated worm caused the pipes in the screen saver to come out of his computer, go through him and fill up his office before canceling out on that ‘screen’ and going on to another. Seattle, to be exact.

The officials also claimed that the only reason the thing stopped was because the power company sent out a guy to see why someone with a past due bill was pulling so many giga-watts. No one answered the door so the power company guy became a world wide hero by cutting the power, and thus the program that was intent on eating up the world.

The pipes, however, stayed.

Everyone half expected everything to fall apart but so far everyone’s just keeping on keeping on. There’s some big inconveniences for some folks. Like on 9/11 there were lots of heroes and even more tragedies. Dallas is building back around the pipes. I have no doubt but that the damned things will be used to anchor buildings in years to come.

Oh, and of course, you can’t find hardly any computer anywhere now with those pipes as a screen saver. But there is a computer game out where you have to cut the renegade computer’s power before it’s screen saver eats the world.

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Needs work. Noticed I started telling instead of showing part way through. I think I was gettng bored with it. Might be what I call a 'seed' for something else later though.