Austin High School - Castilleja Yearbook (Austin, NV)

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PATIENT ZERO Alert! All personnel—alert! Patient Zero missing from quarters ! Patient Zero still missing—all personnel— continue searching. This is heard at one of the mental hospitals in California. Abraham! No........No! Orderlies! This way ! Quick! Abraham is trying to kill my father! Finally Abraham was brought under control. The voice came from the loudspeakers, Patient Zero under control. Dr. Kane was taken to a bed where he would sleep beside his daughter. Soon Dr. Kane came to asking about Abraham. Finally a young man named Walter said, We must expect occasional setbacks sir, mustn't we? Dr. Kane replied, Yes, yes.. . of course Walter. Well spoken! I'm glad you were named my assistant when I took over this institution. Dr. Kane, Walter, and Miss Kane were walking outside by the gates when lights came up the road. Dr. Kane asked what was going on. The man in the car said, My radiator's boiled over. Can I come in and get some water? Dr. Kane told him yes. The man was pouring water in his radiator saying he must go soon but Dr. Kane told him he could stay in his private cottage. The man gratefully accepted. He soon settled down to rest wondering what was going on around this place. He was interrupted in the middle of his sleep by a noise. When he looked out his window he was shocked by what he saw. The orderly was knocked out cold and someone was trying to steal his car. He woke up Miss Kane saying, Better wake up your father. One of the inmates is trying to escape. The man ran out thinking, He's really off his rocker. How does he expect to get past the locked gate? He was startled at what he soon saw in the car. Dr. Kane ! Dr. Kane said, Hurry ! Get in. I saw the escapee climbing over the wall. The reply was, Move over... I can handle this car a lot better than you! Alert! Ail personnel! Patient Zero attempting escape. The word's out. What do they mean Patient Zero? Dr. Kane said, We have code names for each inmate. Hurry man. . .hurry! The ear screeched to a halt in front of the guards and the gate. Dr. Kane said, Go to the rear exit! Quick! With that he yanked the wheel and managed to step on the gas. The car hit the wall very hard. A hand grabbed Dr. Kane telling him everything was okay. He kept saying, No! I saw him go over the fence. He's still loose! I must go after him. Please let me go. I can find him and bring him back. I'm afraid it's finally happened Miss Kane, said Walter. I'm sorry. His mind's completely gone now. I doubt if he even knows his own name. The man said, I'm still confused Miss Kane. You're all acting like you expected this. Miss Kane replied, My father was a famous psychiatrist until his mind started to go. While he still was partly sane the authorities gave me permission to stay with him here and treat him as if he'd been assigned as director. All the personnel were instructed to play the game. We knew it was only a matter of time. Walter is the real director of this institution. He always was. In other words, started the man, Patient Zero----he was really... ? Yes, responded Miss Kane, exactly. Patient Zero was, and still is—my father. —Warren Woods 8th Grade Spring, 1971

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The long, black sedan cut through the moonlight whiteness of the warm summer air in Viola, New Mexico. Inside, relaxed on the plush, black leather seat sat a broad shouldered, tall, muscular man of about 30. This man was com- pletely confident as he gazed upon the rich, rolling grass. But then why shouldn't he be; he was rich enough to buy Hughes out any day of the week and he payed less tax than the average millionaire. Now he was heading for his huge rolling estate and seven million dollar mansion. When he was seventeen, T. A. Baley had left the New York slums with three dollars, a bottle of cheap wine, a nickel plated revolver, and a brand new pickup, all of which he had stolen. Before his long journey to wealth was over, Tim had been wanted in 24 states for 14 murders and an untold number of larcenies. Only two items had survived this long: himself and the .38 caliber, nickel plated pistol which he wore in a heavily oiled shoulder holster. Tim looked up and saw the monstrous white sillhouette of his mansion. The sedan pulled through the double 24 feet hurricane gates and glided down the asphalt driveway. As the sedan pulled to a stop the twelve feet walnut double doors swung open and Carl, his favorite butler, stood there at attention. 'Were there any calls, Carl? he asked in a quiet southern drawl. He was quite proud of his drawl; it had taken him seven years to get rid of his loud, harsh eastern nasel twang with a small bit of Scotch mixed in. No sir, it was relatively quiet, the butler barked. What do you mean relatively? Tim asked impatiently. Nothing sir, the butler quivered. How many times must I tell you, be exact. The guests appreciate it much more. He liked Carl very much and wanted only the best for him. Yes, he trusted Carl. In fact he was the only one that knew Timothy's background. Carl knew Tim's original name had been Rap Langhorne Winsom. He settled down in his king size bed for a brief six hours of sleep. First thing tomorrow morning he and Carl would go riding because he wanted to show Carl the new horse he had bought him to show that his services were well worth it. Carlton Ellis by law, he had been called Carl since grade school. His grandfather and father had been butlers for a fairly wealthy man. But he had topped them both. He was butler for the richest man in the United States. There was only one obstacle—he hated Timothy so intensely that he shook with rage when he was corrected. Carl had worked for Tim five years and not only had Tim tried to teach him how to be perfect, he had also taught him the art of homicide which he would soon put to use. He could blackmail Timothy but why bother. He knew where the billions were hidden. Tim had his favorite black mare saddled. The thoroughbred he had bought Carl was exquisite with long muscular legs. It was a light sorrel with an equal amount of white. Carl strode up to the stables where Tim waited. He is the most magnificent horse I have ever seen. There is only one way to thank you. With a savage burst of refined muscles he knocked Tim to the floor and before he could react reached down and pulled the nickel plated pistol from underneath Tim's riding jacket. He emptied it into the man's heart and leaped upon the sorrel. Riding at a full sprint he was to the wine cellar in less than a minute. He opened the door and bounded down into the cool darkness. He reached the bottom of the flight and found a lantern. Sprinting into the second room and kicking away the table, he lifted the old wooden door. Carl felt into the deep dark- ness. He felt nothing. It was gone. For God's sake the money was gone. —Dwight Bennett 8th Grade Spring, 1971

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UNTITLED The small white pill case gleamed from the rat-eaten card table. The tall blond-haired boy walked over and opened it. Yes, this was his favorite selection of pills; they would last three full days. Two green footballs, four bennys, six yellow-jackets, one big gray bomb, and the best, gleaming sinisterly—the small red capsule of acid. Tomorrow he was planning for the best, wildest trip he had ever had. Two-bits sauntered over to the old dusty mirror hanging over his drughole. He saw his image, shoulder length blond- hair, a broken jutting nose, and ice blue eyes. Two-bits turned the mirror face to the wall. He believed in the philoso- phy of never looking into a mirror while on acid. Lying down on the old mattress, Two-bits thought about his past. In his graduating class there had been 1,275 students. He had graduated second and had been a starting center for the basketball team. They had been undefeated 16-0. After graduation his father, a retired army captain, had said he wanted John to go to college and then into the military. He had told his father to go-to-hell and had never been back again. Somehow his mother had found his address and sent him a letter. He had burned it without reading it and changed pads. Two-bits was depressed and decided to drop the acid now. First, to keep from going to sleep, he popped the two bennys and walked to the door. He wanted to be outside when it took effect. Standing by the door he dropped the acid. Two-bits stepped out into the old corridor. A gigantic packrat scurried to his hole. He walked down the hall. By one door he thought he caught the scent of congoipy, his favorite incense. He came to the staircase below. At the top of the second set of stairs sat a pregnant girl smoking a joint. He was getting light-headed now so he must hurry on down the stairs. Two-bits got to the top of the second staircase. He was going to go down but suddenly the girl turned toward him. Huge fangs creased her mouth; her fingernails were three inches long and a horrible fungus green. He grabbed her and started choking her. She was dead now so he dropped her and began running down the stairs. He reached the bottom and ran out the door. Cobwebs encased him. Two-bits could no longer run; he fought with a maddened rage. He was furious. Why didn't these damn cobwebs leave him alone. Out of the darkness came a blue spider. It held a gun in the right front leg. With uncontrollable rage he winched the gun from the black hairy paw. Three more spiders came at him. He shot them all. Then his face exploded. John Two-bits Etchenson was dead taking with him three policemen on night patrol in Haight-Ashbury district. —Dwight Bennett 8th Grade Spring, 1971 30