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The Covid Killer

Frank Pestigrowe deserved a better death. He lived a fair life, as a more then fair man. His son Miles watched him in the hospital every night until the time came when he would breathe his final breath. Devastation leeched through Miles’ veins. It coursed deep. So deep it was all he felt.

His left hand rested against a glass window as he watched his father on his deathbed. It wasn’t fair, he would have rather been in the same room, holding his hand until Franks last breath. Frank was highly contagious now, and the hospital needed to take certain protocols. Miles didn’t care about the virus that coursed through his father. He would have been in suffrage as well, but things didn’t always happen the way we wanted. Especially with Frank being a carrier of the Corona virus, or better known as Covid-19. Miles tapped his right hand slowly against the glass window. His hand nothing but a hook, from a freak accident at a construction job, many years ago. It made the nurses very nervous when he did this, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about much anymore. All he wanted was time to reverse. All he wanted was to stop the pain. Witnessing his father attached to a respirator and staring back at him with that dead-like gaze made him wrench.

“Excuse me Mr. Pestigrowe,” spoke a startled voice behind him. ‘Visiting hours will be over soon.

He turned back to deep blue eyes filled with worry. The young nurse named Dana must have still been shaken up from last nights incident. She seemed like a kind enough woman, but she never should have made Miles leave. Just like she shouldn’t be doing so tonight. Frank didn’t have much more time left now, and Miles didn’t want his dad to die without him behind the solid glass now separating them. Not like he meant to cause harm, but of course the hospital staff didn’t see things that way. Miles sometimes had a temper. His temper sometimes made him a flailer. Not the best thing for a man with a prosthetic hook attached to his right arm to be doing. Poor Dana got in the way, and a tiny gash in her shoulder was the outcome.

Miles took in a deep breath. He knew if he let his emotions take over, he may not be welcome back at the hospital.

“Have you ever lost someone so close to you before. Has death ever threatened someone you love.” Mile kept his composure this time, his voice remaining calm.

Dana looked back at him, at a loss for words. Miles looked back as if to say “well…”

Her eyes didn’t leave his as a hard gulp bopped down her throat.

“My cat, Mr. Muffins died of old age. I grew up with him. He slept beside me every night…”

“Well my father is a bit more important than your bloody god-forsaken stupid cat,” Miles spat back. “He’s a human being. I can’t just go to the pet store and buy myself a new daddy.” He could feel the rage bubbling up once again. He could see the fear in Dana’s eyes as they grew wider.

He noticed the scratch against her shoulder, barely a scratch if you could call it that. Her precious Mr. Muffins could have probably done worst damage from his own litter infested claws.

“We… we already warned you last night about this sir,” she said with another long gulp. “If you continue to be difficult with a temper, we can no longer let you be a visitor at this hospital. I understand this is hard on you, but its hard on a lot of people right now. We cant just give you a free pass when everyone else is getting the same rules here. You can come back tomorrow. Your father will be left in good hands.

Miles gave her a nod, but it was filled with disbelief. Tonight could be his dads last night, and he wanted to be the last thing his father saw before he became nothing but worm food. He knew no one in this hospital cared as much as he did. Frank Pestigrowe was nothing, but another patient. One whom they all knew would soon be dead, and no longer taking up space and filling up another hospital bed. Miles hated that, but he had to try and remain calm. Nurse Dana was right about one thing, and that was if tonight wasn’t his fathers last, he couldn’t see him the next day when his life still mildly thrived. Miles had to keep his rage at bay, and listen. He had to follow orders, no matter how stubborn he wanted to be.

“Very well then…” He said with a long sigh.

The ride home felt longer then usual. Dark clouds rolled along the sky above, as rain pittered its way down his windshield. Miles had no one to come home to. No wife, no children, not even a pet. He pulled up into his driveway, and entered his quiet, dark home. Many times his father would come over for some cold beers, and a game of cards. Miles knew that was now to be a memory, it now felt so obsolete. He stared back at the kitchen table, a deck of cards siting in its own isolation. His eyes were tired, but his mind remained wide awake. Still, as he made his way to his room a drowsy haze took over and he crashed down onto his mattress. His eyes slowly shut, as they peeled open once more. He stared up at the roof, desperately trying to hold back a rush of tears. The sleep found him, as a tear made its way down his cheek.

Miles woke, to the chimes of his cellphone ringing. His heart shuddered, and skipped a beat. He should have not let no be an answer last night. He ran down the stairs into the kitchen were his phone was charging.

“Hello,” his voice grew shaky

“Hello, Miles Pestigrowe. This is Doctor Haynes calling. We have some unfortunate news about your father. He died last night. The nurses say they found him at about four AM. His body is currently in the morgue, and we are waiting for your word on what to do with his remains. We would…”

Miles hung up. He didn’t want to hear anymore. His phone slid out of his left hand and smashed against the hardwood floor. His arms started to flail back and forth as his prosthetic hook smashed against the wall, leaving a hole in the drywall. He kicked his now broken phone towards the Island that stood in the middle of his kitchen. The battery flew out and slid the other way. He kicked the battery once more, as a loud scream echoed out from his chest and throughout the room.

He looked at his reflection from the stainless steel surface of his toaster. He became unrecognizable, even to himself as he stared back at the glossy reflection. His face looked darker. His eyes appeared empty, soulless. His teeth barred, and looked more pointed then usual. He smacked the toaster, and knocked it off the counter with his hook. He knew what had to be done now, as he rushed towards the front door. Miles made his way to his old grey Chevy, and slid his keys into the keyhole.

The drive to the old farm calmed him down ever so slightly. He could see the old building just up the bend as he turned his truck to the left. This farm has been his home since he was born, until he was old enough to live on his own. Even then he would come back. When Frank was alive and healthy they would come here, father and son. They would hunt on the lands for moose and deer, and fish in the lakes for hours on end. The farm became a sanctuary after his mother Gertie died. Frank was all Miles had left in this world, and now even he was gone.

The Chevy ambled down the gravel pathway leading up to the farmhouse. Miles watched as his childhood home came closer into view. The old farmhouse had grown dilapidated over the years, but to Miles it was still the perfect place to escape. The perfect place to call home.

Miles parked his Chevy, and took in the view surrounding him. On one side of the house there was a large field where his mom used to grow many kinds of produce. The field now dry and dead from years of neglect. On the other side was a thicket of woods. Which was once a small path, was now covered in foliage. That didn’t become a bother to Miles though. He still knew that path well. He could still easily find the hunting cabin and post. He could still find him and his dad’s favourite fishing hole. The trees could have overgrown into a vast jungle, and Miles would still know the way.

He made his way towards the pathway, or what used to be a pathway and kept walking. Some of the trees caused as an inconvenience and a small barrier, but on he went. He kept moving forward pushing branches away with his arms, using his hook for help. On and on he went through the woods, until he finally reached his destination.

In all its glory stood the small hunting shack which was actually in better shape then the farm house itself. About half a mile south of the cabin was the tall tower with which they hunted on, which he could now see standing taller then the tree tops surrounding it.

He turned around and made his way to the cabin door. The handle stuck slightly, as it was covered in rust, but with some force the door opened.

The inside was full of dust, cobwebs, and antique furniture. An old wood burning stove stood solitary in the corner. Miles could smell mothballs and mildew as he walked across the creaky wooden floor. He went into a room, and found an arsenal of hunting supplies. Handguns, bow-guns, ammo. Flash bangs, and his fathers prized Ruger, a long ranged rifle. The rifle was still in pristine condition. Miles held it in his left hand, and felt the weight of it. He looked through the scope, and besides some heavy dust it still had a great line a vision. He strapped the Ruger around his shoulder and grabbed himself some ammo then made his way back out the door. His next destination was now the hunting post.

Miles walked on through the forest keeping the post in his line of sight. He almost tripped over a log, but caught himself and was glad that the safety on the Ruger was also still on. He didn’t need an accidental death right now, not when he had a plan.

Eventually, Miles made his way to the post. He looked up and his eyes followed the length of it as he did so. The tall ladder on the right side of the post still looked sturdy. Frank made sure it would stay sturdy. It took him and his father many years to build the post. He wanted to make sure that it always stood tall, even in the worse weather conditions. Years went by, and the post still stood sturdy. (1916 Wordcount. Remaining word count after this will go towards nano)

Up, up an away. Miles scaled the ladder with ease. He reached the top. The farmhouse could be easily spotted in the distance. His eyes scaled the woods surrounding him. He had confidence in his shot, but felt a practice shoot would be helpful. It has been a while. He spotted a doe, off in the distance. Her red-brown coat looked lustrous. The doe walked aimlessly without in a care in the world. She had no idea what her fate would now be. Miles looked through the scope to get a better view. The doe stopped and began to chew on some blades of grass. Miles took one shot. The Ruger rested in his hand, as his hook found the trigger. The bullet sliced through the air, unnoticed by the deer. The rifle had a silencer on it to muffle any sounds. Right through the chest of the doe flew the bullet. Blood splattered around its body as it tumbled. The deers legs gave one final twitch, before it became alive no more.

A twinkle got caught in his eye, as his grin grew smuggly. Yup, he still had a great shot. This was going to be easy. It was now up to him to save the world he thought. One by one he would exterminate this virus.

Miles made his way back to the farm house. He still needed a few items. He entered his old bedroom. Dust particles danced in the air, the light from his window hitting them and making them more visible. He opened his closet door, and found an old Halloween costume. Years ago, when he was a young teenager he hand crafted himself a plague doctor costume. He found it fitting, as there was a great virus spreading like wildfire. He was the cure, the doctor. The mask fit rather snuggly, so he would need to do some re-stitching. The long black overcoat had also grown small. Miles was a late bloomer, but when puberty did hit, he grew exponentially. He found a pair of leather gloves, his fathers favorite. He wiped some isopropanol on the gloves, and put the bottle in the pocket of the trench coat. He put a glove on his fleshy hand, the perfect fit. He tapped his hook against the mirror as he tried to fit the mask on once more. Yup, just needed a few adjustments.

He woke that morning, more awake then ever. He turned on the news. The attractive news anchor Baily Dimes talked about the latest covid news. A shortage on toilet paper. A new protocol to stay home. Miles cocked the rifle.

“I will make sure people stay home,” he grinned a sinful grin. He shot a hole into the wall. “And those who don’t will be a lesson for all. The blasphemous virus spreaders will no longer be a problem. I am doing the world a favor.

He turned the T.V off, and put on his mask. The world needed him now, more then ever.

————————————————————————————

Harvey Blanche revved up his engine. She purred, and vibrated. He could smell the fuel, leak from the exhaust pipe. He gave the gas one more push, and pulled out of his driveway. In the passengers seat sat a bouquet of pink roses. Helen’s favorite.

“It is strongly advised to stay home, stay safe,” said the voice on the radio. “Only leave your house when it is absolutely necessary.”

He turned the radio off, he has heard enough. For the past month its all everyone has talked about. Corona virus this, Corona virus that. Who gave a shit. Getting his rocks off was necessary. Damn virus was making it impossible. He dialed Helen’s number and she answered right aways.

“Hello, oh hey hun.”

“Hey sexy,” said Harvey. “I’m on my way.”

“I have that pink babydoll on. The one you love. The one you can’t help but rip off me,” said Helen in a sultry voice.

His penis grew hard, just the simple thought of Helen in her lingerie made him weak.

“Can’t wait, I shouldn’t be much longer.”

Harvey continued to drive down Hillside crescent, passing by a multitude of extravagant homes. He turned left down sunset, and took another left towards hitherwood. Just a few more miles to go. He reached her street, Addison. He parked his Camero, three houses down from #335 Addison St. he gave himself a moment, then grabbed the roses. He looked at himself in his mirror and fixed his hair.

A few block away, sat Miles. He was waiting up in old lady Fosters treehouse. Her grandchildren had grown up, and moved on with their lives, so they didn’t need it right now. He saw Harvey pull up, and grabbed his rifle. He has lived on this street for many years and did not recognize the vehicle or the man coming out of it. He noticed the man had a bouquet of roses in his right hand. Pink ones. He cocked the rifle and followed the man with his scope. Hot date, not on my watch

Miles released the trigger with his hooked hand. The bullet met the man mans head, making a lovely collision. Blood and brains splattered against the pavement. The mans knees unlocked and he collapsed to the ground. The roses flew up, and the pedals swayed through the air. Silently Miles hopped off the treehouse. The world was now without one less piece of covid ridden scum. The man could have infected his date, spreading the virus even more. Stupid, idiot. He should have stayed home. He should have thought with his big head, that now was nothing but mush. His little head had no purpose now, as its owner lied dead on the hard pavement below. If only this man listened. He would have lived another day, fucked another day when things started to normalize. Miles had no remorse. He had no room for it. He has grown too angry, and that was the domineering emotion. One down, who knows how many more to go.

TO BE CONTINUED

Total wordcount -2934 . Wordcount for Nano 1018

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