The Bomb and the Cage: Doree Anne

The End of Tomorrow

By

Eugene W. Cusie

Kindle Edition

* * * * *

PUBLISHED BY:

Eugene W. Cusie

On Kindle

The End of Tomorrow

Copyright © 2011 by Eugene W. Cusie

Other books by Eugene W. Cusie

Finding the Flower Girl

Apartment 23A

Kindle Edition License Notes

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 person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

The following are a few people that I would like to thank for the inspiration they have given me with the creation of The End of Tomorrow.
Thank you Ella, you are the love of my life. Without you, none of this would be possible.
Thank you, CW Beier and Brains Magazine for inspiring me to write this story.
**Ten percent of all proceeds are donated to Zombies of Montana. Zombies of Montana is a 501(c) 3 nonprofit organization that plans events which are zombie/horror-related and benefit charities
http://www.zombiesofmontana.org/
http://zombieseatpeople.net/BRAINS/
http://horrorzeditslastwrites.wordpress.com/

The Bomb and the Cage

Chapter 1

09/18/2004 0731 Hours

Eric Kelly

I pulled into the parking lot of
Clearwater Correctional Institution
. It was like every first and third Saturday of the month before for the past year. Since my older brother Allen Kelly was given the number,
274821
and sentenced to life for an armed robbery that resulted in murder - a murder that wasn’t even his fault. Allen was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Had he just been a few minutes later, he wouldn’t have been there when the cops arrived. He was practically holding a sign saying
Arrest Me
.

Prison ages you. The poor food and housing took a slow beating on your body; at least that's what Allen told me. He wouldn't say much about prison life during our visits, but when he called me on the Saturdays I didn't come to see him, he’d tell me about the violence and games that went on beyond the visitation room. 

Allen had gotten in trouble his first week in the prison system and was put in
The Box
for sixty days for beating another inmate nearly to death. Allen said he was housed in a cell with the guy and they were
cool
. One day, the guy offered him some of his commissary. At first Allen refused, but later he gave in and took some. It was the first time Allen went to bed with a full stomach since he had been locked up.

The next night the guy told him to suck his dick, because he owed him. When my brother refused, the guy pulled a homemade knife on him and told him that if he didn’t do it he was going to die. When my brother continued to refuse, the guy attacked. My brother was able to get the knife out of his hand and called for help. When help took too long, Allen decided to pound the inmate until he was unconscious. When the officers found them later, they put Allen in handcuffs, took him to
The Box
, and took the other inmate to medical. By the time Allen had the chance to tell his side of the story, they already found the homemade knife the other inmate said was Allen's. Allen got the sixty days and the other guy got off scott-free. Was it fair? No, of course not, but it was how prison life worked. How it would always work.

I got to the prison an hour before visitation started. I saw the usual visitors, the ones there every week and always the first in line. If you weren’t within the first ten or so people, it could take an hour or more to get in. The process was slow because you needed to be searched and clear a metal detector prior to entrance. This was full contact visitation. To make things worse, the economy had been very hard on prisons. Every year their budgets would be cut more and it showed. Staffing at visitation a year ago was about five, now it was three. I wondered how much more they could cut before it got dangerous. Maybe we were already at that point. Maybe we were past that point when it was five officers in visitation.

I got out of my van and joined the line waiting to go inside. Ahead of me was Tiffany King who was a short chubby blonde with a very bubbly personality. Today she brought her daughter Samantha. I had never seen her daughter before in person but she had shown me pictures. Samantha looked to be around the age of eight and I was sure Robert King would be very happy to see her.

I couldn't imagine bringing a child into a prison. Prison was made up of everything a parent is supposed to shield your child from. The murderers, robbers, and child molesters of Florida were put behind these bars for a reason. Bringing your child here didn’t make much sense to me. Maybe if Allen had a child I might understand it better, but he didn't and I was fine with believing I would never bring a child here.

“Hello Eric! How have you been doing?” Tiffany said. Her daughter looked up at me smiling. I returned the smile.

“I have been
pretty
good.”

“I bet you’re wondering who this is with me?” Tiffany gave me a large smile. “It’s Samantha my daughter.” She looked over to my van. “Where is Zoey?”

Zoey is my wife. At least she
was
my wife. Last week, I came home to an empty house and I noticed all of her things were gone. On the kitchen table, there was a note saying that after staying with her mom for the past few weeks she has decided that she could no longer live with me. That she no longer loved me. With the note, were divorce papers that needed my signature.

We had been having problems for a while. I lost my job after Allen’s arrest. Allen didn’t have anything to do with me losing my job. It was just a bad coincident. I might have missed a lot of work, maybe the two days I took off after Allen was arrested was a little extreme. I just couldn’t focus. The company I worked for was downsizing anyway, but try to explain that to Zoey and see how far it goes.

I was unable to find another job that paid near what I was making. Money was tight and I was having problems controlling my drinking. When I was drinking, I had one hell of a temper and Zoey always seemed to magnify my mood whether it was good or bad. I came home from the bar late, a week or so ago. I had driven home. I should never have driven, I should have called and I would have called had it not been for our last conversation. She was mad that I was spending what little pocket money we had left. I met a friend at the local bar named Tim. Tim was a professional at getting drunk and fighting, and always brought out the worst in me.  That night I got in my car, an old Toyota, and drove home. I had a hard time seeing the road. I was well beyond the legal limit. I hit a mailbox at the beginning of our street. I must have taken the corner to short.

I stood at the front door for what seemed like an hour trying to put the key in everything but the keyhole. Zoey hadn't left the light on. By the time I got that door opened, I was so angry.
She knew that I was going out, that I would be home late, yet she didn’t leave the light on? Why?
When I got inside, she was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. She gave me that
look
, and then took a sip of coffee. It was the same
look
she always gave me when she was angry and that
look
infuriated me.

“Where have you been Eric Nathanael Kelly?” She asked.

Why was she asking me? She knew where I was and why was she calling me by my full name? Was she my mother now?

“The bar, where else would I be? Why didn’t you open the door, or at least leave the light on?” I felt myself losing balance, shifted my weight, and leaned against the front door. I heard the door close.

“Well I know you weren't at work! Since you can't get up off your ass to do anything but drink away what little money we have left!”

Why was she being like this? She knew I didn't buy but a few beers. She knew that Tim always paid for drinks if I paid for pool.

“Well maybe if someone was hiring besides those fast food places, I'd have a job right now!”

I stepped towards her. When I got closer, my eyes focused. She was dressed and there was a suitcase next to her. She was leaving me.

“Where are you going, Zoey?”

“I'm going to my mother’s! I can't stay around any longer and watch you self-destruct.” She stood up and grabbed her suitcase and keys. She walked towards me, to the front door. Even the way she walked infuriated me. She had this
stuck up walk
, this
I'm better than you walk
, this
I’m not an alcoholic walk
, this
I’m not a failure walk
. Before I knew it, I grabbed her arm. I was squeezing it hard. I shook her and she lost her grip on the suitcase. It hit floor just in front of the door and busted open and the clothes inside fell out.

“Let go Eric!”

“Get in the bedroom!” Her eyes widened.

“I'm leaving you!”

I turned her around and pressed her back against the door. I may have been drunk but I was twice her size. She kneed me in my crotch. The sharp pain caused me to bend over and almost hurl. I slowly stood back up. I could feel my blood boiling. It was like looking into a mirror, watching her hatred and anger reminded me of mine. I hated it, and I hated her for reflecting my true self. I made a fist and for a moment felt time stop. I felt my rage pulse through my arm. I released it and punched her in the face. I wanted to break her. I wanted the pain and anger to end. She fell to the floor and began to cry.

“Look what you made me do!” I shouted. I hadn't laid a hand on her during our entire relationship. Yes, I lost my temper many times. I had punched holes in walls, threw dishes, and broke things before, but I never hit her. But, who hasn’t? This was the line that until now had never been crossed. This was the point of no return. No matter what I will ever do in life, I will never be able to make her forget this exact moment. From then on whenever she sees me, she will remember the way it felt when I crossed the line. The memory might fade over time, but it will still be a memory, nonetheless.

I went to help her up and she pushed me away. I told her I was sorry. I blamed it on being drunk. I told her I didn't mean to hit her. They were all lies. This was the exact moment I realized that our marriage was over.  I walked into the bedroom, slammed the door and I got in the bed. I didn’t know how much time passed, but eventually I heard the front door slam and her car start, and the sound of her driving away, the sound of her leaving me. That was the last fight we would ever have.

I looked at Tiffany and her daughter. They were still waiting for a response.
Had I zoned off again?

“She had to work today and couldn't make it. Maybe next time though.” It was a lie and I was sure they knew it too. Zoey never liked Allen and I was certain she wouldn't want to continue seeing him after leaving me. I looked back and saw there were about ten people behind me. This was going to be a very busy visitation, busy indeed.

Chapter 2

09/18/2004 0400 Hours

Officer Ted Bryant

I woke to my alarm at four. The buzzing sound it made annoyed me. It was moments like this, as I fumbled against the plastic device, which I wished I was one of those people that didn’t need an alarm but I’d never be one. With the constant change from nights to days, my internal clock was broken. While everyone else slept in their beds waiting for seven to get here, I was up. Four gave me plenty of time to go through my routine.