These Strange Worlds by Daniel Powell

Author:Daniel Powell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: horror, fantasy, zombies, apocalypse, science fiction, mythology, folklore, stephen king, oregon, daniel powell
Publisher: Daniel Powell

DUST COUNTRY

James Diamond kept it pegged at a steady seventy miles an hour. The dusty Charger devoured the shimmering asphalt, and Diamond, a cigarette cradled in the nook between his index and middle finger, stared at the road with the dreamy complacency that is the hallmark of rural driving. One thought played over and over in his mind, and surprisingly it wasn’t that of freedom, although it can be said that freedom does occasion this particular notion. The concept was so palpable it seemed to stand on the horizon, like that great white sign in Hollywood or one of those Megabucks billboards. The notion was simple: possibility.

He’d stopped to gas up and grab a sandwich and a Yoo-hoo at a rickety service station and convenience store in New Princeton. There had been mirrors in the corners of the grocery, the kind that discouraged kids from filling their pockets with Laffy Taffy and Rolos. He’d caught a glimpse of himself as he made his way to the refrigerated cold case along the back wall of the grocery. He stopped and considered his reflection, and yes, he thought, something most certainly had changed. Here now stood a man with possibility. He was aged by labor and the rigors of an eight-year bid, but also muscled and still fundamentally youthful. His dark, shoulder-length hair had been trimmed upon release, and he’d maintained his square jaw line. The same dark eyes that had earned him respect in Salem and the adoration of women like Sandy shone back at him in the dusty mirrors. He studied himself, trying first one side and then the next in profile, until the codger behind the desk began to eyeball him, and then he grabbed a tuna sandwich and a drink and paid for his purchases. He paid cash, and not cigarettes or skin magazines, and exited the grocery into the scalding brilliance of an August afternoon in Southeastern Oregon.

James Diamond had been released early for good behavior. While he hadn’t necessarily turned to God as a means of salvation, he had found the urge to be a better man. He’d learned to control the vices that had contributed to his incarceration, but he’d also, and more importantly, learned to take responsibility for his actions. In his glory days, he’d drunk too much far too many times. The last time he had wrapped his bike around an alder tree and killed his fiancé Sandy. He was sentenced to eight years in the Oregon State Prison. His mother had passed while he was in prison and his brother was overseas in the service, “killing rag-heads,” as he liked to mention in the letter he sent every year around the holidays. He’d never known his old man, and he refused to use his father’s absence as a crutch.

He had stitched blue jeans forty hours a week in the prison shop, and early on he’d had his mother sell his motorcycle and what she could of his tools. He mingled the proceeds with his earnings and paid a paltry sum of restitution to Sandy’s folks.

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