Coma Wagon

By Patricia Foster

Jeanette is not living anymore. Shes surviving, running, hiding. All that she knew vanished and what remains doesnt make much sense anymore. Freedom and trust are as difficult to find as warmth and shelter in this desolated landscape. Through her strange encounters, she tries to piece together a frightening puzzle. Pushed to the brink, some emerge as heroes, others plunge into madness. Jeanette is skating on that thin line between both. Fear, doubt, more running With her trusty companion Rufus by her side, she refuses to give up. She sees things, impossible things. Things that should not exist, yet that are slowly taking over. She has to tell someone, anyone, everyone. She will find hope in the face of despair, and light in the darkest hour of mankind. But mankind might not have that much longer.

All Jeanette has are the dreams of her former life, and even those are starting to fade.

Welcome to Coma Wagon: The realm of nightmares on a never ending trail toward the truth

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 3, 2013
• ISBN: 9781481756839

Patricia Foster

Patricia Foster is a true believer in the tenets of minimalism. She was once living in a world where she had to have more than she needed to feel as if she was achieving some goal or was using her earnings to show how much she had. She had the gaudiest house and the fanciest car she could afford. One day she simply came to the realization that she really was stressing herself out more than anything else when she opted to put herself in debt to get all of these things. This is what led Patricia to change and this is what led her to share her journey with others and show them that nothing is wrong with minimalism.

Book preview

© 2013 by Patricia Foster. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 05/30/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4817-5685-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-5684-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-5683-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013909665

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them. 

Contents

PART ONE       Goodnight Sweet Prince

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

PART TWO       Peanut Butter and the New World

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

PART THREE       Little Boy Blue

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

PART FOUR       Now You See It, Now You Don’t

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-two

Chapter Thirty-three

Chapter Thirty-four

Chapter Thirty-five

Chapter Thirty-six

Chapter Thirty-seven

PART FIVE       Am I My Cousins Keeper?

Chapter Thirty-seven (cont.)

Chapter Thirty-eight

Chapter Thirty-nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-one

Chapter Forty-two

Chapter Forty-three

Chapter Forty-four

Chapter Forty-five

Chapter Forty-six

Chapter Forty-seven

PART SIX       Pixie Dust Memories

Chapter Forty-eight

Chapter Forty-nine

Chapter Fifty

PART SEVEN       The Times… they Aren’t A Changin’

Chapter Fifty-one

Chapter Fifty-two

Chapter Fifty-three

Chapter Fifty-four

Epilogue

With Love:

FOR

Jean-Pierre Monette, who believed in this story from the first paragraph.

FOR

Roger Burton III, who translated my thoughts with a paintbrush and his vision.

FOR

Wolfy, who set my feet on this path.

PART ONE

Goodnight Sweet Prince

Chapter One

She crawled underneath the old Datsun pickup. The rough asphalt scraped the skin of her stomach beneath the worn t-shirt. Closely she scrutinized the building across the street for signs of movement. A difficult task as the moon was only a quarter full tonight. Easily they could be lurking in the shadows undetected. No tell-tale aura that outlined them in the light of day.

Her stomach rumbled. She knew there was food in that place. There had to be. Maybe a good variety of can goods, chips, bottled drinks and jerky. How long had it been since she tasted meat?

A small town combination Diner and General Store. The big cities had been wiped clean of such human establishments. The great monoliths with their towering spires now commonplace. New York, Dallas, Boston, Miami and who knew how many others had become their cities now.

But here, in the more rural areas. And she wasn’t even sure exactly where she was anymore. One of the Dakota’s maybe? Wyoming? It was getting cold here. Wherever here might be.

She had become the scurrying rat, traveling this way and that, scavenging for any small morsel and comfort.

It was most likely a trap. Had she not seen it before? Some wandering, starving innocent lured in to never wander back out again. She was smarter than that. She knew how they operated.

Her stomach growled again.

An image of Randy flashed through her thoughts. A memory of them lying in bed as the sun came up. He was smiling and teasing her about her less than fashionable, rounded figure. Her broad hips and rounded ass. She had smacked him smartly with a pillow. His laughter had filled the room as he swatted it aside, gathering her up in his arms, kissing her. How gently he had made love to her, assuring her over and over she was beautiful and perfect.

What would he think about her now? Long gone was the voluptuous body and in its place was a tiny scarecrow of a thing with ratted hair and skin covered in a layer of dirt.

She wiped the tears from her cheeks. It was best not to think about Randy now.

Gathering her courage she quickly made her way across the street.

The door swung open easily with a slight twist of the knob. Peering around in the darkness she slowly made her way inside. Surely there were candles or even a flashlight about somewhere. She dare not light them though. If she truly had gotten lucky and was alone in here, a beacon like that would bring them quick. Stumbling through the long forgotten tables and chairs, she felt her way to what she hoped was the general store side. The darkness in here was thick and heavy. She could not even see the fingers she waved in front of her face. It could take hours for her eyes to adjust. Did she have hours? What a luxury that would be.

There was a loud series of thumps to her right and she slapped her hand over her mouth to hold back a scream while she nervously back peddled and fell over a chair.

They were here! They had come! She tried to quell her rising panic. She was surely too insubstantial now to keep, slowly and ignorantly being drained of life. No. She would be snapped up. A quick and tasty snack.

Well, maybe it was time. She’d made it five years longer than anyone she had known. The guilt overrode her fear.

"

Randy was sleeping so soundly. His hair tousled and his breathing so deep. He had not gotten up for work. Playing sick or hooky, she wasn’t sure. She had tried to wake him. Nudged him a little, brushed back his hair kissing his forehead and softly calling his name. He slept on. Perhaps he wasn’t feeling well, she mused. She hadn’t tried to hard to get him up really. He looked so peaceful. She had just left him there assuming he would rise in his own time.

If only she had known. She would have slapped his face, pounded his chest, screamed in his ear. But she hadn’t known. Who could know that this day was different from any other? That the world she knew was about to be over? And so she’d left him there. She had gone off to the bathroom to pee, brushed her teeth and hair, washed her face and applied a light lipstick. She pulled on some old jeans and a t-shirt, popped in a toaster pastry, poured a glass of apple juice, glanced at the newspaper headline about some epidemic or something in New York, snatched up the grocery list and was out the door.

There had barely been any traffic and the store had only a few customers making their way up and down the aisles. She had considered this a blessing at the time. It made quick work of what could normally take hours. If only she hadn’t been so self-absorbed and actually paid attention. In truth, had she had taken the time to look outside of herself and her own little world and into the larger one around her, things could be so different now.

Randy was gone by the time she returned home. She went inside to get him to help carry in the bags from the car. Both bed and house were empty. She had been irritated at the time. He hadn’t left a note or even bothered to call her cell phone and say he was going out and how long he’d be.

"

She felt horrible now at the memory of the way she had