A collection of Short Stories Read online

A Collection of Short Stories

  By Jamie Heppner

  Copyright 2011 by Jamie Heppner

  Thank you for your read and I hope you enjoy this collection of short stories I have written.

  Included here you will find everything from a touch of comedy, to an old 1920's detective tale, to a hard Sci-Fi story.

  I hope at least one of them is to your liking, and if so, perhaps you might enjoy some of my more detailed work available now in e-format as well as paperbacks.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to kindle.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Build to Survive

  By Jamie Heppner

  Getting down the ruined face of the mountain was foremost on Rob’s mind. Even now, he was standing on the edge of a cliff face that violent quakes had forced up. The effects of them had torn the entire surface of the world.

  All around him, trees lay scattered like children’s toys and multi-angled boulders lay like building blocks of the Gods. The lines inside the rocks showed the past like the circles inside a tree. The ground shook again forcing the jagged rocks, mixed with round boulders of all sizes sliding down the edge of the mountainside to roll onto and around Rob’s feet. The sun high overhead created a multitude of shadows that hid even more holes and pitfalls in their dark recesses. Hints of frost, from the cold night, hid in those shadows fading only reluctantly as the sun’s heat touched them.

  The blowing winds did little to help his progress as they whipped around him, threatening to tear his clothes off his frame. Rob pulled the old, patched rags even tighter around himself thankful he at least had some clothes. It was incredibly hard getting around now that the mountains did not sit still. Their constantly changing surfaces made all of the old maps obsolete. A shiver ran up his back as he remembered the real pain he felt the first time a rock had hit him. It was a new experience to him, feeling that searing pain in his foot, and hearing the crack against his shoe. He remembered when his biggest problem during the day had been how to keep boredom from making him fall asleep in his cubical. That little grey enclosure had been home to his painful job for over ten years but it was nothing compared to what he had to go through for survival today. The worst pains he felt back then were in his lower back created from sitting too long and the occasional paper cut on his hand from the stack of work on his desk.

  Another rumble shook his feet free from the rolling ground forcing Rob to drop down to his hands and knees for support. Luckily, very few rocks broke free from the cliff’s surface.

  His arms had no protection from the stones, and it was extremely painful when a boulder struck them. Waiting a moment to be sure that the earthquake had stopped Rob carefully pulled himself back to a standing position and brushed the debris from his hands. He felt a sharp pain and inspected himself finding a small cut on his palm under his left thumb. He must have scraped his hand on a sharp rock in the last quake. Rob applied a little pressure to stop the bleeding and stared at his hands while waiting.

  His hands were something else that had changed from his prior life. The skin looked much like an old leather saddle he had once seen hanging from a rusty nail in his father’s barn. The leather on the surface had become cracked and flaky with the passing of time, but his dad did not want to throw it away. He just looked at it with a glaze in his eye while running his hand down the side. "You don’t just throw things away because they are old."

  The lines on the back of Rob’s hand looked exactly like those cracks in the worn saddle. The ridges and patterns ran deep into his skin. The pattern formed by time and use. The color seemed the same too; a deep brown that only long exposure to sun could create. His hands were no longer those of an office clerk. Now they were the hands of a survivor. They were his trademark, his future, his means to a decent meal and a good night’s sleep.

  A low rumble caught Rob’s attention, and his gaze flew to the mountaintop. He scanned back and forth to see if any more rocks were heading his way but nothing seemed to move. Confusion filled his mind, as another rumble broke free from his stomach. Rob’s hand pressed against the belly that had once rolled out in front of him. Now his pants where held up with an old rope he had managed to scavenge in the first few weeks. Those weeks were the worst when the quakes had almost never stopped. People thought they might be over when quiet settled in, but within a day, they started again.

  He had found the rope tied in a tree, its end frayed, and hanging loose around neck height. He didn't want to know who had left it there, and didn’t much care to think about what purpose it had served.

  A ragged lump lay close by cradled by a pile of rocks pushed up from underground. Rob chose not to inspect it too closely. It didn’t matter in the end, the ropes purpose now was to hold up his pants, and it did that very well.

  A faint red smear crossed his shirt where he had rubbed his hand, but it hadn’t ruined his shirt. That had been taken care of months ago when a dam broke and a river had literally sprung up in front of him forcing him to swim to the other side before it got too high.

  The filth from his shirt had pressed into the cut and Rob pressed his mouth up against it to suck some of it away. He did not need to get an infection since there weren’t any hospitals left standing. Spitting the mud, blood, and mess aside, he looked again at the cut that was bleeding fresh. Bright red drops were running down the valley in his hand to fall silently through the air. With a faint taping noise they landed, painting perhaps the very rock that had cut him. A third rumble came from his stomach and Rob used his good hand to press hard against the skin that hung loose over the rumbling sound.

  He had been well over two hundred pounds in the days of his office job. There were very few scales left in the destruction of the world today. Perhaps that was for the best since no one wanted to know how little they weighed. Rob knew he had dropped the weight quickly at first, he could feel himself get lighter as his stomach quickly shrank. His body had been a thing often fueled by chips and chocolates instead of anything that resembled health. Now he considered it a very special treat to find any of those old sweets. What little food he did manage to scrounge up was more along the plant variety than the meat group. Rob could feel the ripple of muscles under his ruined shirt where his round belly used to be, his hunger left him no other choice. He could have gone the way of the unfortunate soul that had found one last use for an old rope or get off his feet and survive. Now he worked with his hands to earn his meals whenever possible.

  The mountain seemed to have settled down enough to continue his trek along a path only a goat would choose. Twists and turns seem placed at random and a few times the path seemed to disappear altogether when it had been clear only moments before. It took patience to lower his body down the rock faces where only his chipped and ragged nails seemed able to find any purchase. The path still seemed the best way down, the alternative was to run, jump, and roll until he hit the bottom. I don't think that would be in my best interests.

  Looking down at the bottom of the meandering trail, a small village seemed tucked beside what appeared to be the former peak of the mountain. The houses were small and spread apart almost at random.

  Each house was made of fallen trees piled together like the old frontiers men used to build. Rob could see the rough ends of the wood sticking out, the jagged edges snapped apart like toothpicks. On the rooftops, the occupants pulled together all kinds of bra
nches, twigs and any other materials that might be suitable to cover their heads at night.

  Every single shack had one outstanding feature that showed these villagers were smarter here than others. They knew that a house built against a giant boulder was much harder to push over then one in the open. Rob gave them some credit for learning that the quakes weren’t going to end any time soon. Once again sparing a moment to look at his worn, leathery palms he hoped his future was going to be in the sparse village below. In his old life, he had built bridges, with computers. Now he knew how to build things better and stronger.

  Boys will be Boys

  By Jamie Heppner

  Mary had worked another long day. Working sales on the floor was killing her feet. She took a moment to rub them while sitting in the staff lounge. It felt so good to have some of the pressure off, even for a moment, so she just sat there a while enjoying the relief. A bright smile lit up her face as she forced her shoes back on her swollen feet. The remnants of her birthday cake sat on the table in the middle of the lounge. Her co-workers had jokingly tried to stuff all thirty of the candles on top and struggled to light them. One of the men had even brought in a small torch that shot out fire. Her boss put a quick end to that idea with a shake of his head. They were a good crew and obliged with a grin. They settled on just reshaping the candles into a simple three and zero. After a rather off-key rendition of happy birthday, they all tore into the cake before being quickly ushered back out the door by the boss. Everyone left the break room with a smile on their face as Mary thanked them for helping to make her day special.

  She put the remnants of her birthday cake into the small fridge. Being careful not to damage the cake, Mary placed a hand written sign, "Please help yourself."

  The last thing she wanted was for it to go to waste. She knew the night shift often raided the fridge, and in the morning, there would be only crumbs left.

  A loud click sounded around her followed by a drastic reduction in the normal hum and she knew they had cut the majority of the lights for the night. The cleaning crew still needed light to see by but not nearly as much as the daytime shoppers did. Mary smiled again to herself as she worked her way through the pharmacy towards the front door.

  Earlier that day she had helped one elderly woman find a certain intimate product. She laughed again to herself at the discomfort she had felt when the woman asked her where to find the KY Jelly. Mary took pride in doing her best for every customer passing through the front doors, no matter what they were looking for. Hooking her arm under the woman’s, she helped her over to the correct isle and proceeded to explain to her the difference between brands, the extra benefits of some, and the cost savings of others. When finished she had to hide in the back room a moment until her face had stopped blushing so badly. The woman had been very happy for the help, even going so far as to tell her Shift Manager how helpful she had been. Mary knew once word got out her co-workers would make a few jokes about it over the next few weeks.

  The night guard saw her coming and dug out his overly large and noisy key chain. How he could remember what key opened what door was simply amazing. Every single key looked the same to her. With a smile and a nod, he unlocked the front door and pushed it open for her. Mary smiled her thanks back and fumbled for his name as the door slowly closed.

  "Thanks Frank!" she shouted as the door clicked shut again behind her. Why couldn’t she remember his name?

  Mary pulled the purse off her shoulder and dug around inside it for her own keys.

  "I hope I didn’t leave them in the lunch room again." She hated having to bang on the doors until Frank came back with that knowing smile on his face. He never harassed her, just grinned while giving his own key ring an extra good shake. Her fingers brushed the cool metal of her own, much smaller, key ring and she let out a sigh of relief that she had remembered to take them with her. She spared herself the embarrassment for today at least. With a deep breath of the fresher outside air, Mary walked along the side of the building. The staff parking was always in the back, farthest away from the front doors. Often some of the less happy staff would complain about it but she never did. It wasn’t a big deal to her to have to walk the few extra steps, and the shade made her car much cooler in the evening. The air conditioning always made her eyes dry out so bad when she had to run it in her car. She felt foolish pushing the AC to max while keeping the windows down just to relieve her aching eyes.

  Mary rounded the last corner to the parking lot with her mind wandering as she saw the sun setting far off in the distance. It had been a good day for her birthday, even if she had to work. As her car came into sight, she saw something she did not expect at all. Both Harry and Ralph stood at the back end of her slightly rusted out, white, Ford Tempo. She couldn’t hear exactly what they were saying. The words were coming so fast and they were yelling over top of each other. It didn’t take a genius to see they were on the brink of world war three. Both of them stood leaning towards each other with a looks of anger on their faces and swearing like old sailors. Mary was surprised that it hadn’t come to blows already by the anger in Harry’s voice. As she moved closer to put a stop to whatever this fight was about Mary noticed each of them had a small box wrapped with a bow in their hands. Ralph was holding his as if protecting it. Harry looked like he was about to crush his box and not even notice. Mary’s heart jumped when she realized they had both remembered her birthday. Those boxes must be gifts for her! Mary snapped back to reality as the two men started shouting even louder. With a practiced skill, she let out a shrill whistle that stopped the arguing.