Percentage Ten

By Nancy Wimmer von Platt

December 21, 20012, a viral pandemic infected the entire population. It changed the DNA of the male population, ten percent, causing them to develop into psychopaths and sociopaths. Women have to take charge. The religion of Wicca grows in popularity. Certain events take place in the authors hometown of Shelbyville, Indiana.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 27, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499070194

Nancy Wimmer von Platt

Nancy Wimmer von Platt resides in central Indiana. A mother and grandmother, professional watercolor artist and illustrator, she started writing this novel at age sixty-four. It is her first.

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Copyright © 2014 by Nancy Wimmer von Platt.

ISBN:          Softcover          978-1-4990-7020-0

                    eBook                 978-1-4990-7019-4

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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.

Rev. date: 09/12/2014

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Contents

1   No Choice Means Trapped

2   Abhorrent Aberration Version 2.0

3   Fact or Lie…..Is Forever Writ

4   Creation of Women’s Militia, BYOG

5   The Ten Percent Rule of Thumb

6   Misandry (mis’an’dre) n.: Hatred of Men

7   Males refuse to evolve. Females don’t insist.

8   Location! Location! Location!

9   Reporter’s Diary

10 Red Ponders the Beginning

11 Proud Mary and Beginner’s Luck

12 It’s Your Fault! Not Mine!

13 Red’s Botany Bay

14 Next Door Neighbors to Pollyann, Laura and Jo

15 In Space, Screaming is Illogical

16 Grace Rules

17 December 21, 2012 Midnight plus One Minute

18 Everybody Needed Aid So There Was No Aid for Anyone

19 People Always End Up ‘round the Kitchen Table.

20 Suspicious Chivalry

21 What if Jane had discovered the Bonobo Monkeys first? How Would We See Ourselves?

22 Incense and Peppermints

23 Wish List

24 Trip to New Hollyton

25 Next Door

26 Safe in the Village of Hollyton

27 Way of Life; A Herstory

28 You Know You Need Someone.

29 Dinner and Festivities in Hollyton

30 In Death Celebrate Life

31 All Grown Up and Twisted

32 The Source of Foul

33 Hide in Plain Sight

34 The Precious

35 Cleansing Ritual

36 Evolutionary Response

37 The Need to Off a Partner

38 Malleus Maleficarum and The Sisters Three

39 Graveyard

40 Malleus Maleficarum and The Inquisitors Three

41 Abhorrent Aberration 2.0 Apprehension

42 Malleus Maleficarum and The Inquisitors Three

43 Failed Rescue

44 Choices

CHARACTERS

ORGANIZATIONS

Chapter 1

Year 2019

Mayor Morning Glory

No Choice Means Trapped

A woman in a skin-tight rose dress lay on the wide bottom step at the courthouse entrance, a vivid display in the delicate blush of dawn, a panorama when seen from a block away. Walked nearer. Her feet rested bare; hands folded together in an attitude of prayer, dulled eyes stared straight into nowhere from an imprecise face. Nearer. The female contour presented in sections of pink muscle, lines of whitish fat, tendons and ligaments for the lady happened to be absent her skin. Loose skin remained on her face, hands and feet. Another lost woman found.

Women and children vanished these days. Into thin air. Lost in the woods. Disappeared, no trace. Milk jug collages of the missing returned to stores. Women reported missing, up 700%. That figure didn’t include illegals, prostitutes and homeless. Mayor Glory paced, circling her desk making trail through a dense gold shag rug. Local officials received the FBI crime stats that particular day. Felony crimes against females rose 600% since 2013. Glory passed being furious. Being pissed and nervous caused a mentally and physically unpleasant divisive combination. Mayor M. Glory called the Lieutenant Governor at the capitol building in Indianapolis. Marge greeted her in Wiccan fashion.

Merry meet, Glory, news? asked Marge.

Merry meet…..Yes, but first, a body materialized today, mostly skinned, displayed on the steps of my courthouse. An entrée to the newest statistics from the FBI, data about the rise in felonies against women. Do you know anything more? Glory entreated.

Marge, somberly replied, I did hear something but I just got……The folders are……. ……., let me get back to you. Silent air.

Glory stayed put, ordered lunch from Rendezvous, a local caterer. Anxiety always made her hungry, adding to her plumpness. She waited; busy having kittens, gazing through her office window’s view of things. Hours later Marge touched base.

I got it, I don’t like it. I will tell you but I need to triple check. stated Marge, sadly.

Okay, I understand, you’ll verify. I’m braced, give it, please.

Well, said Marge, not only are the criminal stats for Shelby County accurate but the percentages are the same for Indiana and, hear this, the country! Some thing? happened in the year 2012-2013 that relates. I’ve a briefing tonight with the Governor. Go home, hug the cat. I’ll call you tomorrow.

Okay. mumbled Glory, impatient for answers.

Blessed be, Glory. The phone clutched in Glory’s hand had to be pried loose by the other and put back in the cradle to wait. Glory decided to go to Indianapolis the next morning. She detested phone tag and never carried a cell; fear of brain tumors supplemented her phobias. Phone land lines phased out in some areas of the country made her nervous. No choice meant trapped.

Home, Glory used three different keys for three distinct dead bolt locks. One key in a stash-bindle, worn low on her hip, the current fashion and two deep in pockets on her person. The locks disengaged; she turned, looked at the porch, yard, street and sidewalk, backed through the front door locking all three deadbolts, bottom to top. Everything seemed ok.

Mew? queried Ghost, who felt Glory-person soaked in heebie-jeebies. Ghost encircled mistress’ ankles in a figure-eight twist. Later, after hot tomato soup, a warm bubble bath and dressed in jammies, Glory attempted meditation but no forty or any number of winks. She played a disc of a live aquarium on the monitor, distracted by giggles watching Ghost crouched flat on the bed, motionless, ambush-ready for prey. The tip of kitty-cat tail waved back and forth, in the company of the occasional butt wiggle raring to pounce if one of those damn fish would just hold still. Glory couldn’t help but smile so she stopped the disc, continued the active toss and turn keeping one hand on her cat’s tummy. Ghost snuggled close but Glory wrestled in distress and wouldn’t’ be comforted.

At four a.m., the Mayor decided, What the hell! got up, dressed in jeans, a t-shirt and sneaks. She bundled dress-up clothes and the crime stats dossier into a pack. She climbed into, started a charged-up Electron, her light yellow sports car finally, Indianapolis bound. She parked at the office, ran inside for census data and take-along-coffee. Heading to the break-room at full stride, she pulled up short. The door to the Mayor’s office waited unlatched. She forgot to lock it? Unfuclievable. Peeking through the door crack, she saw Marge inside, prone on the couch, in deep slumber snoring daintily. Sturdy brown shoes, a sapphire blue stash-bindle containing keys, whatnots, gear and a file organizer rested strewn on the floor. She watched Marge sleeping in rumpled, emerald green embroidered silk dress-up clothes that synchronized along with Glory’s aura. Rumpled.

Heading to the time-out-room down the hall, Glory felt shivers of alarm. Marge actually made the trip to Shelbyville. Ominous. The coffee machine plinked to the last drop. Whatever complimented java and muffins landed on the sizeable serving platter. The laden tray, so heavy, became barely manageable. Returning swiftly down the corridor, Glory pushed the office door open using a hip bump. The Lieutenant Governor sat up, swiveled bare feet to the floor, rubbing the nape of her neck.

The aspirin is in top left drawer. said Glory, setting a clattering tray on the coffee table. The office’s dark walnut paneling enclosed hidden rooms for the Mayor of Shelbyville. A safe secreted in a safe room, doubling as a leave me the Hell alone room built next to a hidden mini-kitchen. She stuffed the tiny-micro, nuked the pastries to hot. You made the trip! Verbalize before I swoon! throwing arms in the air.

Marge cooperated a bit, You have no inkling. After I tell you the gist, we get to bounce some ideas around.

Glory placed steaming goodies on the tray, poured coffee in both mugs. She waited, aware her friend procrastinated. Marge possessed a flare for the dramatic, a talented, irritating gift. Sitting back, Glory mimicked Mayoral composure in a swivel desk chair. Marge sat in an easy chair across the desk. Only after downing half-a-mug of steaming hot coffee, did Marge begin. The Mayan flu went through the country in 2012-2013.

How could I forget? Major hospital turned into tent city, so many sick. The authorities anticipated burning hundreds of bodies solely in Shelby County! But that didn’t happen. Glory recalled.

That virus mutated like flu viruses do every year, yes? added Marge. And ninety percent of the U.S. citizens caught the flu despite the viral change, not caught in time to include in regular influenza shots. But the mutations facilitated in 2012 included a gender specific DNA mutation, affecting only males, ten-percent of males. A transmutation recently confirmed.

Okaaay? The changes? demanded Glory.

Bluntly put, ten-percent of the male population possesses identical DNA genetic markers, share CAT and MRI brain scan responses matching serial killers like Bundy, Ramirez and Ridgeway, etc. They have the same psycho-sexual needs, urges, demented fantasies; and can’t avoid acting on those compulsions. The majority of males don’t even realize they’ve become different! Male-brain wiring became twirled; tweaked and twisted………… ages ranged from infants through grandpas. And mutated boys mature, elder males live longer these days.

The only saving grace? If raised from childhood in a loving environment, altered male children might live a productive life having fewer torturous thoughts. But, how many non-dysfunctional, non-abusive families do you know? How many families love their kids unconditionally? And, in my opinion, most families having a boy, SK-mutated, would be repulsed. What then?

Marge continued, The super-smart and creative have been working and still labor for an answer. Availability to run tests for SK genetic markers, been there for some time. Every male in the country should have had those tests before now but half the government cries expense. Also, its politics and a privacy issue.

I know. said Glory sadly.

I personally think it’s worth the price tag to find these guys. Congress doesn’t figure women are worth the cost? What’s wrong with this picture? Concern for the public health and safety of females finally became official thanks to the President. A Federal law analogous to the, Patriot Act travels through Congress on a very fast track. The Freedom Act should pass today after the President’s scheduled announcement.

Glory wasn’t totally shocked, The how remains astonishing but the what isn’t so surprising. I’ve grown increasingly annoyed at the way women make excuses for the infantile, aggressive, angry, loud-mouthed behavior of males and the male mentality, in general, but this SK thing. How are we to find a way to end this DNA mutation threat? How do we keep women safe? How do we find that number of violent guys and put them away?

That, my friend, will be discussed over an enormous lunch.

The President of the United States would speak at noon that day and the Indiana Governor, two hours later.

The State of the Union’s state of affairs, statedly in dire straights.

Chapter 2

If reading this chapter is too disturbing,

move on to Chapter 3

Year 2019

Abhorrent Aberration Version 2.0

She was dead. He was bored. The first one lasted for four hours. A much loved memory. He’d gotten better. Progress comprised a steep learning curve in skill level, artistry and patience. The current gyny remained an amusement for six days making him Divinity. So he rested. Waiting till the dark of the moon before another snatch delayed gratification making the implementation of his needs all the sweeter. Preparation and strategy, restraints designed by more originality. Now, he rested, took a break, sat beside it peacefully daydreaming the alpha and the omega about this gyny. In his Stygian skull, slow-motion visualization ensued; well-executed capture, inventive procedures in the storeroom, prolonged delight to the outer limits. A hard-on bloomed at these thoughts. On the floor, next to him, its lips and eyes widely rounded, tongue swollen, sticking out, waited. Its mouth stayed inert, stretched open and taut in the midst of a last scream. Gazing adoringly at the vision, using gentle lips, brushed its sticky-red blonde hair aside. He put one hand on the floor tilting his torso over the corpse.

After ejaculation, getting rid of the carcass being next, the gyny remained tepid to touch. It kept warm after the ghost passed via electric blankets. Swiveling his body back down to again rest beside it, he decided, not yet. The fantasy again started a picture show trailer of highlights in his pale-haired head. Lots of time left with this gyny. The Holy catacombs in the basement would wait.

Having added to the burial chambers in the cellar over the years, his hands persisted as calloused and rough from shoveling muddy earth. The objects of affection never objected whatsoever. Never more than once.

Soon after following through on his cravings, he realized an acquired taste for the items being void of life and harmoniously silent, no tedious whines, screams or demands. Twixt demise and rigor, the object maintained pliability as to posing and arranging in novel positions using ropes, rubber bands, wire, duct tape and pillows. Positions into which no gyny could be shaped while still alive. Pulleys attached to the ceiling, walls and floors suspended the object in time and space. Once, being so delighted in the visual array, he stood quietly, hands clasped behind his back as if viewing the piece in the Museum of Art.

The basement area encompassed many graves, not nearly close to being filled, yet, by the underground accumulation. He knew of a dump spot close by, if necessary, found it on the Internet. He loathed the very thought of sending his objects away. The bits and pieces of clothes, shoes, purses, glasses, licenses, jewelry, dentures, prostheses, etc. cast into an industrial sized traveler’s trunk and forgotten. Disciplined, one gyny per lunar cycle he allowed. Choices diverse. Whatever happened to be available. Not being picky, old or young, fat or thin, it didn’t matter. More than one a month demonstrated greed, self-indulgence, lack of restraint and an invitation to increased radar on the part of the authorities.

In the beginning, each cavity dug in the basement held three bodies but instantly reassessed, the subsequent cavities dug a depth for five bodies deep, the sides and ends fortified by way of hardwood flooring from a bedroom. Eventually, enough of the floor had been used to reveal a vista from upstairs. He bought or stole small bags of lime from farmers across the state to use in a garden by theft or purchase. When absolutely, definitely, completely done, then and only then would he let the ground down below swallow the leftover carcass in whole or in part. Casting the last rites comprised of sprinkling each gyny amid sprinkles of lime and tears. No further diversion could be had from the thing…………..Finality sucked.

Chapter 3

Year 2019

High Noon at the White House

Fact or Lie…..Is Forever Writ

The First Gentleman, off his rocker again, tried to pose nude on the balcony. The caretakers detained and confined him to the First Family living quarters. Diagnosed, suffering full-blown dementia, he remained clever and broke free at inconvenient moments. No Secret Service Agent or nurse discovered what cranny he squeezed through to escape.

The President viewed a list of projects concerning Federal Government funding thru loans or grants, such as arts, music and performance arts. Even grants for highway improvement, infrastructure