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  TETHERED

  Vaughn Ashby

  Copyright © 2020 Vaughn Ashby

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction.

  Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Book Version 1.0

  To My Amazing Trophy Wife

  Thanks for being so amazingly supportive. You’ll always be my first reader. I Love You more than anything.

  To Moe

  Thanks for the amazing nugget of a story idea, and for the email that encouraged me to continue writing.

  To All Those People Who Can’t Spell Good

  I’m one of you, look I wrote a book!

  Before You Start

  TETHERED

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  While TETHERED is a stand alone novel.

  There are other Aurora Wasteland books that follow it.

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  Part One

  Part 1 - The Moe

  CHAPTER ONE

  1982 Moe: Days You Remember

  Life shouldn’t be marked by the number of days that have passed since your birth, it should be counted by the number of days you can remember. Those days don’t come by often enough for most, myself included. Most of the time we have no control over when they come or what they bring. In 1982 I had one of those days, I remember everything about it. Some days are like that, some days are with you forever.

  It was summer and I had the kids working at the shop with me. Back then we didn’t have a lot of money, so every summer the older kids would come with me to work. Most of the time I’d give them small simple tasks. My eldest son Vince was old enough now that I could start giving him real responsibility. It was nice, it was like having an extra employee around, except he was ten and I didn’t have to pay him, perk of being the boss I guess.

  I’d opened Moe’s Trailers two years previous and I hadn’t taken a day off yet. Not because I was a workaholic or anything like that. You see it was because nothing ever got done when I wasn’t there. People would be stealing, not money but time. They just wouldn’t be doing what they should have been doing. So I had to be there.

  The day that changed everything was Aug 26, 1982. It was a busy one, people coming to rent trailers or buying hitches, trying to get things done before the end of the summer. I had Vince hooking up hitches in the lot. He must have done at least ten already that day. For a small town with a population less than 2000 that was a lot, granted there are a lot of farmers in the area, but still, it was a lot for us and he was getting good at it.

  Because of the population size, most people in Barrhead either knew each other or knew of each other. So, when I saw Smith for the first time I should have known something was up because well, I didn’t know him. He pulled up in his dull silver-colored Ford Taurus. A model I came to learn later wasn’t in production for another couple years. I didn’t see him walk up to the store but I remember seeing the car pull up, then I became distracted by another customer. The Taurus must have parked there for a good ten minutes before he came in.

  I had my second oldest in the shop with me, she was six and loved playing with the money. She’d take the cash from people and then hand it over to me. I liked having her there, people were less likely to want to rip off a six-year-old girl.

  When Smith finally came in he didn’t look around at all, he came right to the desk and asked for one of our trailer hitches. I’d like to say he made an impression on me then, but he didn’t, I remember he was pale, that’s all. If someone had asked me to describe him I’d simply tell you he was average and pale. He could have driven away and I’d never had thought about him again. But he didn’t - wait I’m getting ahead of myself.

  He paid for the hitch in cash, which Nicole took and I sent Vince out to hook it up for him.

  Like I said it was a busy day and the second he left the shop I was busy helping another customer. Vince knew what he was doing, and I didn’t have time to check on him. I thought nothing of it and moved on. Every so often I’d steal a glance out the front window to make sure Vince and the other guys were still working. They always were, but it was a habit. So when I looked up and saw the man push Vince back against his car and raise his hand as if to strike him, I thought I was seeing things. But then it happened. A stranger brought his fist down on my ten-year-old boy.

  I calmly reached down under the desk and pulled out my baseball bat. It was my insurance. Occasionally people didn’t want to pay or felt they had been cheated. This was my way of making them pay. Only once before this had I ever had to use it, and it was to stop a robbery attempt. Most people see it, decide it isn’t worth it so simply pay and leave. Today the insurance was coming out for round two. Looking back, I’m surprised at how little I was thinking. Everything seemed to be slow but fast, no time to think just time to act.

  With the bat in my hand I hopped the counter and burst through the door, leaving Nicole in the shop. I only remember taking two steps across the parking lot, I felt like I was flying. The bat was cocked back over my shoulder and before the man noticed me, before he could even turn around, the bat was connecting with his head which caved in as if he were made of soft clay. He dropped to his knees then to his chest. Blackness pouring out of where his head used to be. I expected red, I expected blood, that’s not what I got.

  I grabbed Vince by the arm and pulled him up, I checked his face, it was red but he looked fine. Must not have been hit very hard. He was a tough kid. I remember telling him to get inside the shop and to lock the door behind him, which he did.

  I looked at the bat and noticed that it had black on it. Black from inside the man. My eyes went from the bat to the man and back again. What exactly was I looking at? Slowly the man’s insides flowed out of the hole I’d created in his head and ran across the parking lot to the sewer drain. The black tar moved slow and my heart beat quick. The amount of blackness running out of him as extraordinary.

  What the fuck was I looking at?

  CHAPTER TWO

  2014 Shane: The Walrus

  The lady in Shane’s ear informed him that he had just crossed the 5k mark. Her voice broke him out of his trance. He shook his head and realized he’d been jogging on autopilot. He looked around and was well off his normal path and pace.

  He slowed and watched as the woman in front of him continued off along the path. Her red hair bounced with every step. He remembered noticing her backside and how much it looked like Kristen’s, his wife. Then he remembered nothing, until now. Lost time was normally associated with alien abductions not redheads. Shit, this was embarrassing, had he been staring at her this whole time? He felt like some kind of old perv. Could one be an Old Perv if he was only mid-thirties? He’d have to consult the internet when he got home.

  The red-haired woman jogged further along, as he stopped to catch his breath. Even if he wasn’t getting any action at home, he couldn’t let things like this happen. His jogs were for thinking, clearing his mind and focusing, not watching perfectly shaped butts of red-haired, yoga pants wearing women who look like his wife. Shit, he’d really cleared the fuck out of his mind.

  Thank God she had never turned around. Wait, she hadn’t right? Besides, there is no good line to get him out of the ogle he was putting on her. 'Sorry, I was just admiring your tush' or 'sorry, I was thinking about someone else' or 'careful there is some kind of slimy sixteen-legged spider sneaking its way across your butt I've been trying to
catch you for miles but you run so fast, girl'. Ok, maybe that last one would work, maybe. The truth was more of the second excuse. He was thinking of someone else. He'd do anything to sleep with his own damn wife more the once a quarter or year for that matter. He'd always thought she was the sexiest woman alive. Somehow their sex life had become nearly nonexistent and what was there involved missionary, faking it and mild boredom. The problem was they never talked about anything, let alone sex. When they were young it was easy, ten years later and no effort put in, it was now a mountain and neither of them knew a Sherpa. So he was here, jogging and zoning out.

  The music faded in his earpiece and he expected the woman to come back on to comment about his speed or distance again, but she didn’t and he heard his ringtone. He shook his head as if to wake himself from his old perv jogging dream. It was the theme song to Ghostbusters, so he knew it was one of the guys, and knew it was actually a message and not a phone call. He pulled his phone from his jogging armband. He checked for the woman he’d hippno-followed, she was long gone. His finger unlocked the phone and opened the message. It was from Jason.

  Jason's message: Hey Cockknocker, where are you? I need your help.

  Shane texted back: I’m jogging, what’s up.

  Jason replied almost instantly : Aren't you suppose to call me a derogatory name back, isn't that how this works? It's kind of the basis of our relationship.

  Shane: Don't call it a relationship. What’s up??

  Jason: You don't?

  Shane: Come on man, what’s up already???

  Jason: Yeah, I've got something I need you to look at.

  Shane: No shit, what is it?

  Jason: Long story, I’m sending you the address. Get here ASAP, shit sipper.

  Jason came across the most interesting stuff at work. The world at large was way more fucked up then people gave it credit for. Jason’s next message gave him the address and he entered it into his phone’s map app. Shane was shocked to find he was only two blocks away. He slid the phone back into his armband and continued his jog.

  The next section of Shane’s jog was much slower, even with a distance of only two blocks. The 5k zone out run before had worn him out. Before he was even around the street corner, he knew he was in the right place. The street was lined with police and fire trucks. There were a lot of people in uniforms moving around. Some actually busy, some just pretending to be busy.

  There was no police tape up or anything, just a cop car parked sideways at the end of the road to block traffic. No one was manning the car or enforcing the sidewalk, so he just jogged right in. He slowed his so-called jog to a walk and looked around, he didn’t see Jason anywhere. He pulled his earbuds from his ears and looked around for someone in charge.

  Unlike what calendars will have you believe most firefighters and policemen aren’t sporting rock hard six pack abs. Most are drinking six packs nightly and have guts, more weight to break down doors he figured. Damn those calendars for lying to us all these years. He looked around for the largest mustache. Basically, all emergency services run on some sort of seniority system. So you find the biggest mustache and you find the chief.

  Bingo, next to the ladder truck there was a walrus of a man, had to be the chief. Shane jogged over to the Walrus. The closer you get to the person in charge the more people pretend to actually be doing work.

  The Walrus was talking with two other men, one fire and one police. Neither had a bigger stash, so they were surely lower on the totem then the Walrus. Shane didn’t wait for them to stop talking or for them to even notice him. He jumped right in. “Excuse gentlemen, I am looking for Detective Jason…”

  The walrus interrupted him, “He’s in the house,” he pointed to grey stucco house right in front of them. “He’s the only one in the house. Are you the guy we’re waiting for? Can you tell me why all my men are out here while…”

  This time Shane interrupted him, “Cool, thanks and coo coo ca choo.” He took off towards the house. The Walrus and the other guys still asking him questions as he walked away.

  The house was a shit hole, most in the area were, but this one was a special kind of shit hole. Stucco never looked good, especially the rock stucco with the little bits of glass in it but this house man, it looked like God himself pooped this house into existence. 'And on the 7th day, he did poopith the most shitty of shitty fecal houses and it was good'.

  Shane went up the cracked and chipped cement steps to the front door, he pulled open the screen door and went in. What he found inside blew his fucking mind. The inside of the house was beautiful. Newly polished floors, amazing crown molding, and my God the colors on the walls worked perfectly with the couches… ok, to much Home and Garden channel. Then the smell hit him and he puked all over the polished floors.

  CHAPTER THREE

  2014 Jason: Playing With Bear Spray

  “That better be Shane and not one of the dick faces I told to wait outside,” Jason yelled.

  “Yeah, it’s me, where are you?” Shane said still admiring the decor.

  “I’m in the basement. Oh and pull your shirt or something over your nose and mouth, it’s terrible down here.”

  Jason closed his eyes, he’d give anything for a mountain of severed body parts or a room filled with old men who have recently exercised, the room fucking stunk. Jason could hear every step Shane took above him. The floors, while new, squeaked like a duck in heat. Finally, he reached the step.

  Each step down the stairs made Shane’s eyes water even more. It felt like the air was getting denser and more texturized. By the time he hit the last step he felt like he’d just finished watching The Notebook.

  “Jay,” Shane called out into the dark basement.

  “Yeah, I’m back here, follow the red glow, Princess.”

  What red glow? What the hell was he, then Shane saw it. Along the cement floor, there was a faint red glow. It was coming from a room just a few feet from him. It was hard to see, until you saw it. He stepped towards the room, the door was closed. He grabbed the handle and really hoped this wasn’t some big prank by Jason, he really really didn’t want to see Jason’s ass when he opened the door. He turned the knob and pulled the door open.

  Red light flooded out of the room. At first, Shane wasn’t sure what he was looking at, when his eyes adjusted it became all too familiar. Jason was sitting on what looked like a milk crate, gun out just staring at the wall. Across from him, it looked like someone had painted something on the wall, only it was glowing in sort of a dead light kind of way. The paint job looked rushed, no nice even sides, large roller strokes made up most of it. Someone had painted something on the wall, and it had opened this up. While it didn’t have fancy glowing and spinning edges, it was definitely some kind of portal or gateway. It looked like there was a hole in the side of the basement wall that aligned perfectly with the brush strokes. It was a good couple feet wide in both directions.

  Shane joined Jason staring into it. The other side was, well somewhere else. The red light seemed to come from the air escaping the hole.

  “Fuck again, another amateur portal to hell,” Shane sounded more annoyed than anything, neither man moved. “Anything come out or even move in there?”

  “No, I’ve been sitting here since we first got here. Nothing,” Jason said as he got up from his crate and put his gun away.

  Shane walked up to the portal and ran his fingers along the edge, it zigzagged around in more of a brush stroke pattern than any of the others he’d seen before. He let out a grunt of frustration, “They used bear spray again and they’re getting sloppier.”

  “Yeah, we got a call from the husband saying he smelled something funny in the house. 911 got him to get himself and the kids out. Once we got here we found the wife down here doing this.” Shane brushed at his nose which was under his shirt. “It smells like burned Pop Tarts.”

  Jason laughed, which made him breathe in more of the stink, which made him want to puke. He noticed a table next to the portal a
nd started examining the contents on the top. The can of bear spray was there, along with a couple other sprays and paints. “Do you have the wife?” Shane asked as he examined the labels and adjusted his shirt over his mouth and nose.

  “We did, but from what I hear we don’t anymore. She apparently started making out with one of the firemen and somehow her cuff came off, got on him, his pants were off and she got away.”

  “Embarrassing,” Shane said as he picked a can up, he started shaking it. “What about the husband and kids?”

  “Yeah we got them, he still can’t believe his wife was playing with bear spray down here and that she basically sex-attacked a fire newb to get away.”

  “So he didn’t know about this?” Shane said making a grand reveal gesture to the portal.

  “Nope, it doesn’t seem like it, he thought she was just working on her art. Actually other then the chief no one else knows, and he likes to pretend he doesn’t.” Shane thought of the Walrus and smiled.

  “Crazy, I guess you can never really know someone,” Shane held the can up to the portal and paused. “You didn’t go in, right?”

  Jason scratched his permanently stubbled face from over his shirt, the sound was comically loud in the small room. “I just…”

  “Because we don’t really know where this fucker leads.” He dropped his arm and turned to Jason. “We joke that its hell, but we have no idea where this thing goes. It could be Mars, or maybe it is hell, or maybe its up Satan’s ass in hell on Mars.” He took a step forward and put his hand on Jason’s shoulder. “I care about you man.”

  Jason knocked Shane’s hand off, “I told myself I’d never cry in front of the portal to Satan’s ass.” He fanned his eyes jokingly.