Sterilized Shadows
Grayson had led the way to the hospital with almost no trouble at all. Again, he’d taken point, Saunders and Johansson coming behind him in a delta formation while they were going down streets, and crossing one at a time when they came to intersections, taking turns on who went first and last. They made it in just under a half hour. The hospital stood like a ghost in the dying moonlight, a few scattered clouds drifted over the stars, and as the ambient light dropped their vision through the NV goggles dimmed just enough to send a shiver down their spines. A melancholic breeze crawled through the city and blew squat clouds of dust about the ground; making eddies in the nooks and crannies of the hospital building. Its façade had been facing away from the blast, and a series of squat concrete buildings had blocked most of the major damage to the building, so it had suffered only shattered windows and a few holes blown in the back of the building. The air conditioning units and generators had been thrown from the roof and landed in the parking lot near the front entrance crushing cars and spreading fire through the area, covering the parking lot in the burned out hulks of cars thrown haphazardly around by gas tank explosions.
Grayson held his hand up in a fist and dropped to a crouch as they approached the outskirts of the parking lot, the rest followed suit. They made a miniature huddle in the husks of cars that had been thrown together into a semi-circle of cover as Saunders laid out the plan. “Ok, here’s what we’re going to do. There’s three of us to five floors of run down hospital. Now, we’ve got throat mic’s, so I think we can safely split up, just keep your eyes and ears open and don’t rush into any situations you don’t need to. If you see anything at all that isn’t one of us three, shoot first and ask questions later. If whatever it is can be dropped quietly, do so, if there’s more than one and they don’t see you, radio quietly for some back up. No hero’s today. All a hero is is someone who lasts just long enough to do something stupid and get everyone dead. Keep in touch, report in every five minutes or so, anyone doesn’t report in in ten minutes, priority one for the other two is to link up and then find the third. We’ve got six breaching charges, don’t use ‘em unless the door is locked and you can’t kick it in, and especially not if you can’t read the sign. If we can’t find the stuff by 0400, we bust back to the encampment and lug Hernandez back to the base. Ready?” “Yes sir.” “Hoorah” “Alright, let’s get a move on then.” They rose as a group and moved towards the hospital, splitting up as they reached the entrance area. Saunders covered the first two floors, Grayson made his way to the stairway escorting Johansson, then got the fourth and fifth floors, Johansson covered the third floor. The theory was that Saunders and Grayson would do two floors each, and would have Johansson on support after he finished his one floor.
The hallways smelled dank, the stench of rotting flesh stinging the nostrils. The patients had been abandoned by most of the scared doctors and nurses, a few brave souls staying behind in a vain attempt to save the lives of those they could. There were gurneys spilled over in the hallways with rotting corpses still wrapped in formerly pristine sheets. Saunders was taking it slow, sweeping every nook and cranny as he worked his way in a circular path around the first floor. He didn’t think he was going to have much luck though, it was looking like this was mostly small doctor offices, reception rooms, a few scattered meeting rooms, and a multi-section cafeteria. He continued sweeping till he got to a stairwell disconnected from the main stairs. The plaque by the door was barely legible under an all too ominous smeared bloody handprint, bold face letters proclaimed it to be the basement. Saunders backed up till he came to a doctor’s office and after rummaging through the doors placed a piece of tape across the stairway down to the basement then proceeded on in his sweep of the first floor, radioing in as he re-entered the receptionists room where he’d started the sweep.
Grayson pointed Johansson to the third floor, then made his way up to the fifth, starting his search in a far corner and working his way through the corridors and patients rooms methodically. The top floor looked to be set up for private practices, a few scattered offices, an ample amount of pediatricians’ waiting rooms, and various other physicians’ rooms populated the area. Grayson took off the NV goggles, the moon and stars were shining through the mostly devastated roof and top edge of the walls on the side of the hospital he was on, and the green visual from the goggles had gotten to bright for his eyes, giving him a headache. He cautiously walked through the glassless frame of a doorway, a few remaining pieces of glass crunching softly under his feet. The room he entered had obviously been a waiting room geared towards children, singed wallpaper decorated with inappropriately happy cartoon characters was still visible in a few of the remote corners. The ceiling was collapsed for a few feet past the juncture with the outside wall, insulation and wiring hanging limply from the gapping hole and broken ceiling tiles lay against the far wall. The outside wall was jagged and broken, with pieces of broken masonry laying scattered across the floor nearby and signs of a brief fire played around a destroyed play house in the far corner of the room. Grayson walked to the window sill and looked out over the ruined city. The moon gave him enough light to see fairly well, and its position in the top of the sky eliminated most of the shadows from the extinct buildings. He scanned the area of the city around him. Most of it had been flattened or devastated enough to make it virtually impassable, but a few buildings still stood behind the hospital, the same buildings had taken much of the force from the blast. The rooftops were lower, the overall buildings being about three stories tall; they were swept clean by the blast, leaving flat spaces. As Grayson watched, his eyes started to pick out a form that looked like it was sprinting across the rooftops. The figure ran with startling quickness, slowing for a moment, it looked as if it was looking behind itself, then sped up again and took a flying leap from the edge of the roof it was on. A large cloud blocked the moon and Grayson lost sight of everything. He scrambled to get his goggles back on, and turned them on in time to see the same figure running across the next roof over, having apparently made the landing. With the aid of the NV goggles, he could make out not only the figure running out in front, but three or four crouched figures moving almost as fast if not fast behind it. Grayson flinched slightly as he realized that the lead figure was running for its life. As they passed a outcropping on the roof, he saw the figure rip something off the wall and glance back again at the pursuing figures. The runner reached a ladder for a fire escape and took another jump off the building, catching the edge of the ladder with an outstretched hand and viciously swinging itself down and kicking off the wall to drop onto the fire escape stairway. Grayson radioed in to Saunders, relating the story as he watched a first figure start closing the gap between it and the runner who lept cleanly over the railing at one end of the stairway, landing with a roll on the top of a dumpster, dropping from that and out of sight of Grayson. The close figure followed him off the stairway, the rest holding back watching. As the chaser landed on the dumpster, it was enveloped in flames. The top of the dumpster had burst into flames. Grayson watched on as the figure that had been being chased rose from the edge of the flames at the base of the dumpster, turned, and fired three shots from a pistol. Two of the figures on the stairway dropped instantly from what looked like headshots, and the third was blown backwards, the fire light revealing a dark spray of blood. A savage howl split the air and the hair on the back of Grayson’s neck stood up. He radioed Saunders “Sir, something’s going down outside, doesn’t look like anything good either. We’ve got an unknown person killing what looks likes more of those cultists, looks like he stirred up a hell of a hornets’ nest somewhere and he’s heading our direction.” The figure that had been the runner started to pick his way through scattered debris to the back area of the hospital. Grayson could tell he was taking it slow, possibly injured, and completely unaware that the wounded cultist was trailing him about thirty feet back and sticking to the shadows.
Johansson finished his search of the third floor, checked in via radio, and started taking over Grayson’s search of the fourth floor. He hadn’t seen much, the area had been easily evacuated. The third floor had been the ER and the x-ray and other imaging equipment, so the amount of people was minimal. He did grab three unopened sterile surgery kits with scalpels, needles, and all the other works. He radioed to Saunders his findings and they agreed to meet back in the first floor lobby with Grayson. He packed up the surgical kits and lopped back to the stairway, meeting Grayson on his way down.
Saunders was waiting on them in the lobby, the grim look on his face made eerie through the night vision. Johansson and Grayson stopped short and Saunders made the rest of the distance to them. “Ok, we’ve got the scalpel and some more syringes thanks to Johansson. I found a doctor’s note in his office that makes me think the medicine and the like are held in a basement office, only problem is I think there are more of those cultists down there, or at least nearby.” Grayson looked up “Sir?” “Well, the few instances I’ve seen of these bastards camping out somewhere have had bloody hand prints somewhere near the edge of the doors. I don’t know why they do it, but two out of two times it’s held true so I’m thinking the third time won’t change anything. Now, we all heard Grayson’s report on the attack he saw outside. Didn’t end to well for the cultists, if that’s what the things chasing that guy were, so I’m thinking now’s a good time to bust them in the chops downstairs, while they’re still reeling from the run and gun outside.” “Don’t forget sir, last I saw of that guy he was running this way. Could be he knows something we don’t, or worse yet, could be he’s leading them here for whatever reason.” “Right, so we’re going to do this pretty damn quick and get the hell out of dodge. Sound good?” “Sounds like a plan, sir.” “I’m up for it.” “Good, good. Johansson, take your SPAS and run point, Grayson behind him with the UMP45, and I’ll take up the rear with my M4. Make sure you can get to your knives and side arms in case it gets dirty. Let’s move out, no need to play it quiet, so we’re going noisy.”
Monday, December 24, 2007
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Eighth instalment
Night Raid
“Ok, Hernandez is stabilized with three cracked ribs, a head contusion, and a stab to the shoulder joint. We need some medical syringes, a bottle of morphine, and judging by the knife, some tetanus treatments. We’ve got the morphine and a syringe, but no tetanus shots or surgical kits; any suggestions?” Saunders was seated in the corner at Hernandez’s feet; the others were assembled near him. They sat in a circle around a fire that Anara had collected the fuel for while Saunders and Hernandez were on their ill fated recon mission. “Two of us could make a run back to the base and get the supplies or hell, we could all go back, taking him with us, then get back here tomorrow or the day after.” Saunders looked at Anara and nodded, then Johansson spoke up “We can’t just go back to base tonight carrying Hernandez, it’s impractical, we don’t know how many others like that… thing there are out there, or anything. We’ve got a flashlight a piece, if even, and five pools of light are nowhere near enough to keep good on watching a three hundred and sixty degree range. I say we wait till light and either reassess our options, or bust our asses back to the base then.” “Look, I hate to say it, but if we don’t get something to deaden his pain, he might go into a coma. Concussions are nasty shit, if he gets into enough pain to pass out again, and my guess is he will, then he might not come to for days. We’ve got what; two, three doses of morphine? If we stay the night, we’re going to need more before we make it to the base. That’s not to mention the fact that at some point we’re going to need to treat him for tetanus. That means a tetanus shot, some hydroxide, and at least a sterilized scalpel to cut out any infected tissue in the wound. There’s a hospital not six blocks from here, it’s dark outside, but the stars should give us enough light to get there easily, and if we’re worried about not being able to see once we get in there, I know where we can get some night-vision goggles, give ourselves an edge without making us stand out as much.” Johansson asked the question hanging in all three of the other’s heads, “Wouldn’t the electromagnetic pulse from the nukes have fried them?” “I doubt it, they’re in the SWAT supply room, which is a few floors underground under the police station. It’s keypad locked, but that part works on vacuum tubes, which withstand EMP’s, and that door and the entire room is protected from EMP’s and radiation by about three inches of lead, so they should be in working order. Even if they’re not, it’s worth a shot, they’ve got flashbangs and other equipment in there we can use in a pinch.” Saunders thought for a few minutes then made a decision. “Ok, here’s what we’re going to do. Grayson, you and Johansson are going to get into the SWAT storage and check the situation with the gear. Johansson, while you’re down there grab another gun that’s better for close quarters. We need at least three night vision kits, preferably four, then get back here ASAP and we can get set up to get to the hospital.
Saunders and Anara kept watch on the door and checking on Hernandez in shifts, switching positions when either got tired as Johansson and Grayson made their way through the night without lights, trying to keep quiet. The streets were dead quiet and the burned out hulks of cars haunted the streets as their footsteps echoed softly through the corridors of the decrepit buildings. They made good time on the way to the police station; Grayson was on point with his MK23 out and M21 across his back on a strap, Johansson was keeping close behind him on his left with his M60 in his hands. They were moving in a crouched run across the final street to the front of the police station within minutes, and as they walked over the flattened door, Grayson switched on a maglite and but it under a corner of his shirt to cut down on the shine. The dim light helped them find the stairway, and they were down three flights and at the door to the SWAT storage room in a few more minutes. The keypad was still online, and the door mechanism worked. Whether it was the outdated vacuum tubing wires or the mass amounts of concrete between it and the nuke, it had survived intact. Grayson pushed the door open and uncovered the light, illuminating the whole room. It was about fifteen feet long and ten feet wide with racks on the walls and in the center space of the room filled with collections of well organized guns, ammo, riot gear, explosive devices, and other tactical equipment. Grayson and Johansson both started filling two packs with extra equipment, Grayson carefully grabbing four sets of night vision goggles, along with a few flashbang grenades. Johansson grabbed a SPAS-12 shotgun from the wall and held a UMP45 with a rail system out to Grayson. “Sniper rifle won’t be much use while it’s still dark out, and you’ll want something besides that pistol if we get in a bind.” Grayson reached out a hand and took the submachine gun from him “Yeah, you’re probably right, and its light enough I can carry it and the M21 tomorrow, don’t want to be leaving behind any firepower for our crazy cultist buddies.” He moved to a rack along the back wall and picked through the equipment there, coming up with a red dot sight, fore grip, and a IR laser sight for the rail system and a few extra clips which he promptly loaded. Johansson had picked up a similar red dot sight for his SPAZ and a folding stock that attached to a spot just above the pistol grip. After checking one of the sets of goggles, they set off for the campsite again, each wearing a night vision rig. They made the trip back even faster with the night vision. The green lighting gave the scenery an even eerier appearance, the shadows fleeing from the skeletal cars giving them a haunting look. They made it to the encampment a few minutes later, whispering “Friendlies coming in.” from beside the doorway, and waiting for a whistled acknowledgement from within before stepping through the doorway.
They set their bags down by the still burning fire and started running down the list of goodies they’d grabbed from the storage room, laying them out on a desk in the corner of the room away from the door. Extra ammo for all the guns, suppressors for the P90, UMP45, and the M4, IR laser sights for all, a few red dot sights, a dozen flashbangs, a half dozen stun grenades, a pair of binoculars that could switch from regular, to thermal, to night vision, and a half dozen sets of radio transmitters with throat mic’s and ear pieces came from Grayson’s bag; from Johansson’s came a half dozen breaching charges for doorways, some flexi cuffs, and ammo for most of the guns, and an assortment of shot and slug shells two and three quarter inch shells for the SPAZ. Saunders looked over the haul with the slightest hint of a smile playing across his face. “Shit guys, we’re not starting world war four here. All these electronics work Grayson?” “Well sir, the night vision’s work, so I’m assuming the rest of the stuff was equally shielded from the EMP. I especially love these little doohickeys.” Saunders looked up to see Grayson holding up one of the IR units. “Not trying to be nitpicky here Grayson, but it’s been my experience that laser sights work just as well for your enemy as they do for you.” “Yes, and I would have to agree, but these babies… well, just watch.” Grayson handed Saunders a set of night vision goggles and waited for Saunders to slip them over his head and power them up. Saunders nodded his head slightly to indicate he was ready, and Grayson pulsed the IR beam across Saunders’ line of sight. No one else in the room saw it, but to Saunders it was a bright white line shooting across his field of vision. He pulled the NV goggles off and looked to Grayson to see a wicked grin on his face. “They won’t see a damn thing but the back end of the bullet that just went through their head, sir.” “I got to say Grayson; I do like these things, nifty little bastards.” Johansson came back from his pack “One more thing sir, or, I guess two more.” “Yeah?” “Claymores sir, two of ‘em, took the liberty of liberating them from the armory at the base, tested one of their friends on the outskirts of the base and the sensors still work. I figure one or two in the hallways ought to give whoever’s back behind with Hernandez a heads up if anyone’s sneaking up on them.” “Johansson, I like the way you think.” Saunders sat down for a minute, looking over the equipment and after grabbing an IR laser for himself, a silencer for the M4, a set of NV goggles, and a radio transceiver set up, he turned back to the rest. “OK guys, here’s the plan. If you’ve got any suggestions, speak up once I’m through so I can get it all out first. Anara here has some limited medical training from a survival course she opted to take with the marines, so I think she should stay behind and watch over Hernandez. That leaves the three of us to get to the hospital and find the supplies we need. We’ve got the throat mic’s now, and that gives us a distinct advantage and lets us take care of this ten times quicker since we can split up now, or get back here quick if Sgt. Tobin need’s us. It’s currently 2000, Grayson we’ll follow you to the hospital, then split up to search the grounds there. If anyone gets into any trouble, don’t hesitate to raise hell. From what we know of these bastards, they like to take it stealthy, so if you’re in a bind, blast away, might make a few of them a little more shy. Any suggestions?” He took a moment to survey the faces of his three compatriots, their eyes were on him and no one was raising any questions, he threw them a cocky smile “Hoorah?” “Hoorah!”
“Ok, Hernandez is stabilized with three cracked ribs, a head contusion, and a stab to the shoulder joint. We need some medical syringes, a bottle of morphine, and judging by the knife, some tetanus treatments. We’ve got the morphine and a syringe, but no tetanus shots or surgical kits; any suggestions?” Saunders was seated in the corner at Hernandez’s feet; the others were assembled near him. They sat in a circle around a fire that Anara had collected the fuel for while Saunders and Hernandez were on their ill fated recon mission. “Two of us could make a run back to the base and get the supplies or hell, we could all go back, taking him with us, then get back here tomorrow or the day after.” Saunders looked at Anara and nodded, then Johansson spoke up “We can’t just go back to base tonight carrying Hernandez, it’s impractical, we don’t know how many others like that… thing there are out there, or anything. We’ve got a flashlight a piece, if even, and five pools of light are nowhere near enough to keep good on watching a three hundred and sixty degree range. I say we wait till light and either reassess our options, or bust our asses back to the base then.” “Look, I hate to say it, but if we don’t get something to deaden his pain, he might go into a coma. Concussions are nasty shit, if he gets into enough pain to pass out again, and my guess is he will, then he might not come to for days. We’ve got what; two, three doses of morphine? If we stay the night, we’re going to need more before we make it to the base. That’s not to mention the fact that at some point we’re going to need to treat him for tetanus. That means a tetanus shot, some hydroxide, and at least a sterilized scalpel to cut out any infected tissue in the wound. There’s a hospital not six blocks from here, it’s dark outside, but the stars should give us enough light to get there easily, and if we’re worried about not being able to see once we get in there, I know where we can get some night-vision goggles, give ourselves an edge without making us stand out as much.” Johansson asked the question hanging in all three of the other’s heads, “Wouldn’t the electromagnetic pulse from the nukes have fried them?” “I doubt it, they’re in the SWAT supply room, which is a few floors underground under the police station. It’s keypad locked, but that part works on vacuum tubes, which withstand EMP’s, and that door and the entire room is protected from EMP’s and radiation by about three inches of lead, so they should be in working order. Even if they’re not, it’s worth a shot, they’ve got flashbangs and other equipment in there we can use in a pinch.” Saunders thought for a few minutes then made a decision. “Ok, here’s what we’re going to do. Grayson, you and Johansson are going to get into the SWAT storage and check the situation with the gear. Johansson, while you’re down there grab another gun that’s better for close quarters. We need at least three night vision kits, preferably four, then get back here ASAP and we can get set up to get to the hospital.
Saunders and Anara kept watch on the door and checking on Hernandez in shifts, switching positions when either got tired as Johansson and Grayson made their way through the night without lights, trying to keep quiet. The streets were dead quiet and the burned out hulks of cars haunted the streets as their footsteps echoed softly through the corridors of the decrepit buildings. They made good time on the way to the police station; Grayson was on point with his MK23 out and M21 across his back on a strap, Johansson was keeping close behind him on his left with his M60 in his hands. They were moving in a crouched run across the final street to the front of the police station within minutes, and as they walked over the flattened door, Grayson switched on a maglite and but it under a corner of his shirt to cut down on the shine. The dim light helped them find the stairway, and they were down three flights and at the door to the SWAT storage room in a few more minutes. The keypad was still online, and the door mechanism worked. Whether it was the outdated vacuum tubing wires or the mass amounts of concrete between it and the nuke, it had survived intact. Grayson pushed the door open and uncovered the light, illuminating the whole room. It was about fifteen feet long and ten feet wide with racks on the walls and in the center space of the room filled with collections of well organized guns, ammo, riot gear, explosive devices, and other tactical equipment. Grayson and Johansson both started filling two packs with extra equipment, Grayson carefully grabbing four sets of night vision goggles, along with a few flashbang grenades. Johansson grabbed a SPAS-12 shotgun from the wall and held a UMP45 with a rail system out to Grayson. “Sniper rifle won’t be much use while it’s still dark out, and you’ll want something besides that pistol if we get in a bind.” Grayson reached out a hand and took the submachine gun from him “Yeah, you’re probably right, and its light enough I can carry it and the M21 tomorrow, don’t want to be leaving behind any firepower for our crazy cultist buddies.” He moved to a rack along the back wall and picked through the equipment there, coming up with a red dot sight, fore grip, and a IR laser sight for the rail system and a few extra clips which he promptly loaded. Johansson had picked up a similar red dot sight for his SPAZ and a folding stock that attached to a spot just above the pistol grip. After checking one of the sets of goggles, they set off for the campsite again, each wearing a night vision rig. They made the trip back even faster with the night vision. The green lighting gave the scenery an even eerier appearance, the shadows fleeing from the skeletal cars giving them a haunting look. They made it to the encampment a few minutes later, whispering “Friendlies coming in.” from beside the doorway, and waiting for a whistled acknowledgement from within before stepping through the doorway.
They set their bags down by the still burning fire and started running down the list of goodies they’d grabbed from the storage room, laying them out on a desk in the corner of the room away from the door. Extra ammo for all the guns, suppressors for the P90, UMP45, and the M4, IR laser sights for all, a few red dot sights, a dozen flashbangs, a half dozen stun grenades, a pair of binoculars that could switch from regular, to thermal, to night vision, and a half dozen sets of radio transmitters with throat mic’s and ear pieces came from Grayson’s bag; from Johansson’s came a half dozen breaching charges for doorways, some flexi cuffs, and ammo for most of the guns, and an assortment of shot and slug shells two and three quarter inch shells for the SPAZ. Saunders looked over the haul with the slightest hint of a smile playing across his face. “Shit guys, we’re not starting world war four here. All these electronics work Grayson?” “Well sir, the night vision’s work, so I’m assuming the rest of the stuff was equally shielded from the EMP. I especially love these little doohickeys.” Saunders looked up to see Grayson holding up one of the IR units. “Not trying to be nitpicky here Grayson, but it’s been my experience that laser sights work just as well for your enemy as they do for you.” “Yes, and I would have to agree, but these babies… well, just watch.” Grayson handed Saunders a set of night vision goggles and waited for Saunders to slip them over his head and power them up. Saunders nodded his head slightly to indicate he was ready, and Grayson pulsed the IR beam across Saunders’ line of sight. No one else in the room saw it, but to Saunders it was a bright white line shooting across his field of vision. He pulled the NV goggles off and looked to Grayson to see a wicked grin on his face. “They won’t see a damn thing but the back end of the bullet that just went through their head, sir.” “I got to say Grayson; I do like these things, nifty little bastards.” Johansson came back from his pack “One more thing sir, or, I guess two more.” “Yeah?” “Claymores sir, two of ‘em, took the liberty of liberating them from the armory at the base, tested one of their friends on the outskirts of the base and the sensors still work. I figure one or two in the hallways ought to give whoever’s back behind with Hernandez a heads up if anyone’s sneaking up on them.” “Johansson, I like the way you think.” Saunders sat down for a minute, looking over the equipment and after grabbing an IR laser for himself, a silencer for the M4, a set of NV goggles, and a radio transceiver set up, he turned back to the rest. “OK guys, here’s the plan. If you’ve got any suggestions, speak up once I’m through so I can get it all out first. Anara here has some limited medical training from a survival course she opted to take with the marines, so I think she should stay behind and watch over Hernandez. That leaves the three of us to get to the hospital and find the supplies we need. We’ve got the throat mic’s now, and that gives us a distinct advantage and lets us take care of this ten times quicker since we can split up now, or get back here quick if Sgt. Tobin need’s us. It’s currently 2000, Grayson we’ll follow you to the hospital, then split up to search the grounds there. If anyone gets into any trouble, don’t hesitate to raise hell. From what we know of these bastards, they like to take it stealthy, so if you’re in a bind, blast away, might make a few of them a little more shy. Any suggestions?” He took a moment to survey the faces of his three compatriots, their eyes were on him and no one was raising any questions, he threw them a cocky smile “Hoorah?” “Hoorah!”
Monday, December 10, 2007
Seventh instalment
Eagle eye
Grayson had spent the last three days stuck up on a roof. The Chief had released the night shift as soon as the threat had been affirmed; letting those who could get back to their families, and those who couldn’t, get the hell out of dodge. Everyone else hid under desks, or ran to the basement, he went deeper, the staircase on the center of the city block, six levels of car parking below the surface. After the shaking stopped he tried like hell to fall asleep, pass the time quicker. He ended up staring at the blank concrete wall as dust floated down from above in lazy loops. An emergency generator somewhere went undamaged, and red light flooded the staircase, giving him dim light to see by. Four days he waited, cramped up in the stairway. The fifth day he slowly climbed his way up debris piles to the surface and walked over the door of the police station. He didn’t find anything but bodies in the offices, so he made his way to the basement, hoping someone there would be alive. Not a soul was to be found. There were a few bodies pinned under what had been flying or falling debris, but if there had been anyone else there, they were long gone. The only evidence he found of any survivors was a large pool of dried blood, with a half dozen three inch nails in the center of it. He found the Chief pinned under a hardwood desk that had been thrown against the wall on the main floor, rummaging through his pockets he got the key to the armory. If what he thought had happened with those nails was right, he was going to need some guns. He got to the armory and the storage lockers and got some body armor, nothing big just a Kevlar vest, an MK23 pistol with a thigh holster, and an M21 sniper rifle with an adjustable 6-12X scope.
After that it got a little hazy, the days ran together, one ruined building after another and no signs of survivors except for the odd gunshot echoing across the waste. Until three days ago, somebody stupid had tried to sneak up on him while he was napping in a fourth story window. He winged the sucker pretty good, but didn’t think he’d quite finished him off and would have given chase if it weren’t for a three inch nail protruding from his shoulder. He made his way cautiously into a hospital a little West of downtown and rummaged for medical supplies; after bandaging himself up, he made his way to a five story building that looked in moderately good condition on the outskirts of downtown. He made sure he could get up to the roof easily, and after doing so looted the remains of a nearby gas station for food and bottled water and set up camp on the roof. That night someone had made another attempt at killing him; six nails shot through the wood door and thunked into an air conditioner unit that had been ripped from its mounting and thrown halfway across the roof. He fired a few rounds through the doorway with his MK23 and after a few seconds of nothing, he cracked the door open to see a blood splatter on the far wall with the sounds of running echoing up through the stairwell.
After that he had piled as much debris in front of the doorway as he could, and spent the daylight hours trying to spot anyone he could through his M21’s scope. Three days of that and mild amounts of sleep had left him fatigued and annoyed. He had seen so many objects that looked human to the naked eye that it was hard to believe that not a single one hadn’t been. Yesterday he had heard too much gunfire for his mind to rationalize it as someone giving in to the disparity of post-apocalyptic life. So today he woke up and scanned the city thoroughly for any signs of life, and a few hours past noon he saw a series of small dots on the horizon. A quick glance through the scope revealed it was four figures in camo making their way over piles of debris and heading for the downtown area. Another hour and they were barely a mile away. Grayson looked through the scope again to get a better look at them.
The guy in the lead was about six two and was carrying an assault rifle. He was wearing a camo combat vest over a black t-shirt, camo pants, and black combat boots. His face was shaded by a camo boonie hat, but as he looked sideways the shadow moved from his face and he saw steady brown eyes set above a nose that had been broken at least once and about five days worth of beard growth. He had moderately long brown hair that was swept backwards from his head and hung down to the base of his neck under the boonie. He looked to be about two hundred pounds or so, but by the way he was moving Grayson could tell that he was in damn good shape and moved with almost complete confidence. Behind him was a woman; she had a similar camo combat vest that covered her torso completely and similar pants and boots, she carried an odd shaped submachine gun that Grayson knew to be a P90 and her long light brown hair was swept behind her head and held in place by a knot tied at the nape of her neck. Her eyes were a light green and her face bore a look of determination and alertness. Behind her was a Hispanic man with another assault rifle. He had brown eyes and heavy eyebrows that sat under a camo dew rag. He was smaller than the point man, but not by much, and he carried himself with the same ease and confidence. Bringing up the rear was a behemoth of a man, at least six foot seven with close cropped blond hair and hard, ice blue eyes. He easily weighed in at two fifty and his arms cradled a large M60 heavy machine gun as if it were a small baby. Grayson watched their approach into the downtown area with reserved anticipation, noting that they set up camp in the second floor of a building. He started removing the debris blocking the door and set out to reach their camp a half hour later.
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Incoming
The hike to their current campsite had been uneventful and long. They picked a large sized room on the second floor of a bombed out office building to make their base of operations in. Before they rested, Saunders had Hernandez and Johansson move some furniture around the doorway, making a covered position ten feet from the entrance of the doorway that gave them a line of fire that covered the entrance. Using other debris, they added shoulder high barriers on either side of the door, forcing someone entering to walk straight at the desk for a good five feet. Meanwhile, Saunders and Anara checked the two windows in the room for ease of access from the ground floor. Once they decided the area was safe, Saunders and Hernandez went to go a quick scout of the area before the sun set, leaving Anara and Johansson to watch the base. They went around the block their building was situated on then expanded into the surrounding area, checking for buildings that survived the blast in decent shape. There were very few, but more buildings here than in the area immediately outside the city center, where the buildings were less reinforced concrete and more wood or brick. A few minutes from sunset, Saunders spotted a bloody hand print on the side of a doorway that had somehow remained in place. He tapped Hernandez, and they both stopped and looked at the door for a minute. Saunders brought up his M4 and crept towards the doorway and listen beside the door for a minute to see if he heard anything, then moved his left hand up to turn the knob. He swept the room behind the door twice with his eyes; it was empty, but there were signs of inhabitants who had stayed there after the strike; inhabitants with a sick sense of decorating. There was an area in the corner that was covered in dried and congealed blood, and unlit torches encircled it. On the walls were human hearts; sun dried and nailed to the wall, more than two dozen of them ‘decorated’ the area. Saunders checked the back room for any other signs of life, but only found an eerie mural of a raven, painted in blood. He’d seen enough and made his way to the door. He opened the door again just in time to see Hernandez tackled by blackened figure with a knife, Saunders brought his gun up as the figure pulled the knife from Hernandez’s shoulder and prepared to plunge it into his chest, he could tell Hernandez had been knocked out by the fall, a pool of crimson blood seeped from the back of his head, almost meeting the pool from his shoulder. Saunders raised his M4 to shoot and shouted at the figure to try and buy a split second more to aim. The figure spun its upper body toward Saunders and let out a hideous screech. Its teeth were blackened and its eyes were bloodshot, but if you’d asked him to describe it right there and then, that’s all he’d have been able to say, because that’s all there was to this figure, bloodshot eyes and black stained teeth. The knife slowly began to plunge towards Hernandez’s chest, and Saunders had the figures head in his sights and squeezed the trigger. The figure’s head disappeared in a cloud of crimson blood spray as Saunders’ bullets struck the concrete behind where the figure had been. Saunders fell to a crouch, taking cover behind an upturned dumpster and snapped his head around, looking for the other shooter in the dying light and saw a person running towards him. He was about five foot ten and was wearing a black Kevlar vest. He had an M21 sniper rifle and a pistol in a thigh holster. His hair was short cropped and black, with a matching thick and short goatee. The man sprinted towards him, vaulting over a car hood, landed, and ran up to Hernandez. He pulled the figure off and rolled it to the side, then checked Hernandez for cuts other than his head and shoulder. Saunders walked up and knelt down beside the man. “That was a pretty nice shot. You a civilian?” without looking up, the man replied “No sir, well, kind of sir, I’m Sgt. Thomas Grayson, from the local SWAT. Your buddy got dinged up pretty bad from what I can tell, stab wound to the shoulder, probably a concussion too, and I think he’s got a few cracked ribs from the bastard landing on top of him.” Grayson helped Saunders carry the limp body of Hernandez back to the second floor base camp, where they set him down on a flat surface and introductions were made as they bandaged him up.
Grayson had spent the last three days stuck up on a roof. The Chief had released the night shift as soon as the threat had been affirmed; letting those who could get back to their families, and those who couldn’t, get the hell out of dodge. Everyone else hid under desks, or ran to the basement, he went deeper, the staircase on the center of the city block, six levels of car parking below the surface. After the shaking stopped he tried like hell to fall asleep, pass the time quicker. He ended up staring at the blank concrete wall as dust floated down from above in lazy loops. An emergency generator somewhere went undamaged, and red light flooded the staircase, giving him dim light to see by. Four days he waited, cramped up in the stairway. The fifth day he slowly climbed his way up debris piles to the surface and walked over the door of the police station. He didn’t find anything but bodies in the offices, so he made his way to the basement, hoping someone there would be alive. Not a soul was to be found. There were a few bodies pinned under what had been flying or falling debris, but if there had been anyone else there, they were long gone. The only evidence he found of any survivors was a large pool of dried blood, with a half dozen three inch nails in the center of it. He found the Chief pinned under a hardwood desk that had been thrown against the wall on the main floor, rummaging through his pockets he got the key to the armory. If what he thought had happened with those nails was right, he was going to need some guns. He got to the armory and the storage lockers and got some body armor, nothing big just a Kevlar vest, an MK23 pistol with a thigh holster, and an M21 sniper rifle with an adjustable 6-12X scope.
After that it got a little hazy, the days ran together, one ruined building after another and no signs of survivors except for the odd gunshot echoing across the waste. Until three days ago, somebody stupid had tried to sneak up on him while he was napping in a fourth story window. He winged the sucker pretty good, but didn’t think he’d quite finished him off and would have given chase if it weren’t for a three inch nail protruding from his shoulder. He made his way cautiously into a hospital a little West of downtown and rummaged for medical supplies; after bandaging himself up, he made his way to a five story building that looked in moderately good condition on the outskirts of downtown. He made sure he could get up to the roof easily, and after doing so looted the remains of a nearby gas station for food and bottled water and set up camp on the roof. That night someone had made another attempt at killing him; six nails shot through the wood door and thunked into an air conditioner unit that had been ripped from its mounting and thrown halfway across the roof. He fired a few rounds through the doorway with his MK23 and after a few seconds of nothing, he cracked the door open to see a blood splatter on the far wall with the sounds of running echoing up through the stairwell.
After that he had piled as much debris in front of the doorway as he could, and spent the daylight hours trying to spot anyone he could through his M21’s scope. Three days of that and mild amounts of sleep had left him fatigued and annoyed. He had seen so many objects that looked human to the naked eye that it was hard to believe that not a single one hadn’t been. Yesterday he had heard too much gunfire for his mind to rationalize it as someone giving in to the disparity of post-apocalyptic life. So today he woke up and scanned the city thoroughly for any signs of life, and a few hours past noon he saw a series of small dots on the horizon. A quick glance through the scope revealed it was four figures in camo making their way over piles of debris and heading for the downtown area. Another hour and they were barely a mile away. Grayson looked through the scope again to get a better look at them.
The guy in the lead was about six two and was carrying an assault rifle. He was wearing a camo combat vest over a black t-shirt, camo pants, and black combat boots. His face was shaded by a camo boonie hat, but as he looked sideways the shadow moved from his face and he saw steady brown eyes set above a nose that had been broken at least once and about five days worth of beard growth. He had moderately long brown hair that was swept backwards from his head and hung down to the base of his neck under the boonie. He looked to be about two hundred pounds or so, but by the way he was moving Grayson could tell that he was in damn good shape and moved with almost complete confidence. Behind him was a woman; she had a similar camo combat vest that covered her torso completely and similar pants and boots, she carried an odd shaped submachine gun that Grayson knew to be a P90 and her long light brown hair was swept behind her head and held in place by a knot tied at the nape of her neck. Her eyes were a light green and her face bore a look of determination and alertness. Behind her was a Hispanic man with another assault rifle. He had brown eyes and heavy eyebrows that sat under a camo dew rag. He was smaller than the point man, but not by much, and he carried himself with the same ease and confidence. Bringing up the rear was a behemoth of a man, at least six foot seven with close cropped blond hair and hard, ice blue eyes. He easily weighed in at two fifty and his arms cradled a large M60 heavy machine gun as if it were a small baby. Grayson watched their approach into the downtown area with reserved anticipation, noting that they set up camp in the second floor of a building. He started removing the debris blocking the door and set out to reach their camp a half hour later.
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Incoming
The hike to their current campsite had been uneventful and long. They picked a large sized room on the second floor of a bombed out office building to make their base of operations in. Before they rested, Saunders had Hernandez and Johansson move some furniture around the doorway, making a covered position ten feet from the entrance of the doorway that gave them a line of fire that covered the entrance. Using other debris, they added shoulder high barriers on either side of the door, forcing someone entering to walk straight at the desk for a good five feet. Meanwhile, Saunders and Anara checked the two windows in the room for ease of access from the ground floor. Once they decided the area was safe, Saunders and Hernandez went to go a quick scout of the area before the sun set, leaving Anara and Johansson to watch the base. They went around the block their building was situated on then expanded into the surrounding area, checking for buildings that survived the blast in decent shape. There were very few, but more buildings here than in the area immediately outside the city center, where the buildings were less reinforced concrete and more wood or brick. A few minutes from sunset, Saunders spotted a bloody hand print on the side of a doorway that had somehow remained in place. He tapped Hernandez, and they both stopped and looked at the door for a minute. Saunders brought up his M4 and crept towards the doorway and listen beside the door for a minute to see if he heard anything, then moved his left hand up to turn the knob. He swept the room behind the door twice with his eyes; it was empty, but there were signs of inhabitants who had stayed there after the strike; inhabitants with a sick sense of decorating. There was an area in the corner that was covered in dried and congealed blood, and unlit torches encircled it. On the walls were human hearts; sun dried and nailed to the wall, more than two dozen of them ‘decorated’ the area. Saunders checked the back room for any other signs of life, but only found an eerie mural of a raven, painted in blood. He’d seen enough and made his way to the door. He opened the door again just in time to see Hernandez tackled by blackened figure with a knife, Saunders brought his gun up as the figure pulled the knife from Hernandez’s shoulder and prepared to plunge it into his chest, he could tell Hernandez had been knocked out by the fall, a pool of crimson blood seeped from the back of his head, almost meeting the pool from his shoulder. Saunders raised his M4 to shoot and shouted at the figure to try and buy a split second more to aim. The figure spun its upper body toward Saunders and let out a hideous screech. Its teeth were blackened and its eyes were bloodshot, but if you’d asked him to describe it right there and then, that’s all he’d have been able to say, because that’s all there was to this figure, bloodshot eyes and black stained teeth. The knife slowly began to plunge towards Hernandez’s chest, and Saunders had the figures head in his sights and squeezed the trigger. The figure’s head disappeared in a cloud of crimson blood spray as Saunders’ bullets struck the concrete behind where the figure had been. Saunders fell to a crouch, taking cover behind an upturned dumpster and snapped his head around, looking for the other shooter in the dying light and saw a person running towards him. He was about five foot ten and was wearing a black Kevlar vest. He had an M21 sniper rifle and a pistol in a thigh holster. His hair was short cropped and black, with a matching thick and short goatee. The man sprinted towards him, vaulting over a car hood, landed, and ran up to Hernandez. He pulled the figure off and rolled it to the side, then checked Hernandez for cuts other than his head and shoulder. Saunders walked up and knelt down beside the man. “That was a pretty nice shot. You a civilian?” without looking up, the man replied “No sir, well, kind of sir, I’m Sgt. Thomas Grayson, from the local SWAT. Your buddy got dinged up pretty bad from what I can tell, stab wound to the shoulder, probably a concussion too, and I think he’s got a few cracked ribs from the bastard landing on top of him.” Grayson helped Saunders carry the limp body of Hernandez back to the second floor base camp, where they set him down on a flat surface and introductions were made as they bandaged him up.
Sixth instalment
Gratitude
Saunders made his way over to the area of the camp that Hernandez had pointed him in. It was woefully small to be the survivors’ area; it consisted of about a half dozen tents arranged haphazardly in a semi-circular set up. He spotted the woman sitting at a makeshift table made of various pieces of debris from the base. She looked up at him as he approached, and he stopped a little short of the table. ‘Ma’am, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?” She gazed at him for a second, and then murmured the first words he’d heard her speak, “You’re the one who pulled us out, aren’t you?” Her voice was smooth, he could hear sadness in it, but barely, she kept it in check and didn’t let it show. “Yes ma’am, I am, name’s Saunders. May I ask what yours is?” “Anara. We heard shots on our way back to base. I wanted to turn around, but Hernandez made us speed up and get back to base, what happened?” “Nothing you need to worry about, and Hernandez did exactly as I had told him. No reason to risk four lives when one person risks theirs. Now, how did you get to be in that hole with that boy?” “Well, I was staying with one of my parents friends from college while I was having a job interview in downtown, they had to leave on vacation for a bit and asked if I wouldn’t mind staying a few extra days to watch their kid. I, of course, agreed to return the favor, cute kid, but a handful before bedtime. I heard the sirens, but not being from here thought nothing of them, Chris though, the little boy, came running in scared, so I asked him what he was supposed to do, and he just ran over, rolled over the carpet, and pointed to the hatch. So I opened it and tried to get him to get in, but he wouldn’t, so I went down first and he followed. It was dome shaped maybe six or seven feet across and about four feet high at the center. I was about to get out myself and see if I could find out what had happened on the news, but I heard a series of horrible explosions and the house started shaking, then something blew the hatch shut. I reached up and spun it closed tight and we sat there for what seemed like eternity. We found a few glow sticks in a shelf that was in the side of the shelter, we popped one at a time, and would sit in the dark till we absolutely had to see or we’d go made. The second one we popped we noticed a small container in the floor of the shelter and in there was a few cans of beans and some water. All around not the best supplies ever, but I guess they saved our lives. I had been in ROTC when I was in high school and did a stint in the marines till I got discharged for refusing a few orders that I found to be morally reprehensible, so I was tapping out s-o-s in Morse code on the bomb shelter wall any time I heard a noise from above.” “You were in the marines? Reserves or what?” “I went in with the surge to Iraq in 2007, got discharged in late 2010. Since then I’ve been moving around a bit trying to find a niche that I can fit in comfortably.” “What rank were you when you were discharged?” “Sergeant.” “Would you be willing to help out with this situation? It’s a cluster fuck, Bates won’t admit it, but we need all the hands we can get.” “Saunders, I would be more than willing to help, but I’ve been under men like Bates before. He’s the type that got me discharged after the incident in Ramadi.” “You were involved in the My Lai of the middle east?” “Not quite, I got discharged for making it very clear I didn’t want to be involved.” “Well, if that’s what you’re edgy about, I can make sure you’re in my command, and believe me, if Bates wants anything distasteful done, he knows better than to come to me for it.” “Ok, I’m in then, so long as Chris gets looked after here while I’m out.” “Of course. I’ll be back around 0900 tomorrow morning and we can get you over to Bates and geared up.” “Yes sir.”
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You can always go…
Saunders stopped by Anara’s tent to make sure she was still ready to go to see Bates. She was already up and waiting on him outside her tent, and they went to see Bates. He was inspecting the medical set up they had at the base. There were a lot more military personnel then Saunders had seen the first day he’d been at the base after the strike. It looked like the majority of them had made it to the bomb shelter and survived the missile strike. Saunders walked up to Bates “Sir, reporting for duty.” Anara stood off to his right slightly behind him. “Good Lieutenant.” His eyes went to Anara, “who is this?” Saunders was about to introduce her when she spoke up “Sgt. Anara Tobin, USMC, sir, just wondering if I can help out Lt. Saunders here.” “Good to have you here, Sergeant. Saunders, I’m sending you to the downtown area, I need a good recon of what’s left and who’s left. You did well yesterday, even if you did get back late. Take the Sergeant here and get her suited up, then find Cpl. Hernandez and head out. I’m sending a Private Johansson with you as well, he’ll be waiting by the main gate of the base, just pick him up as you leave.” “Yes sir.”
By 1000 hours they were ready to move out. Anara had taken a P90 submachine gun from the armory and had gotten herself a pack and supplies along with some BDU pants and combat boots, opting for a grey tank-top under her combat vest instead of the BDU top, complaining that it was to restricting. Hernandez had joined them with his M16, and the picked up Johansson with his M60 at the gate on the way downtown.
The route to downtown from the base was close to twenty miles, and they were planning on spending a few nights on this excursion so their packs were moderately heavy. By 1600 they were only a few miles away. The landscape had become almost completely flattened as they neared the city center and the route was getting to be less and less walking down city streets with scattered debris and more climbing of burnt out cars and piles of rubble from buildings that had been completely flattened by the strikes. They weren’t even to their destination yet, and Saunders was already expecting four days of nothing while searching for more survivors.
Saunders made his way over to the area of the camp that Hernandez had pointed him in. It was woefully small to be the survivors’ area; it consisted of about a half dozen tents arranged haphazardly in a semi-circular set up. He spotted the woman sitting at a makeshift table made of various pieces of debris from the base. She looked up at him as he approached, and he stopped a little short of the table. ‘Ma’am, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?” She gazed at him for a second, and then murmured the first words he’d heard her speak, “You’re the one who pulled us out, aren’t you?” Her voice was smooth, he could hear sadness in it, but barely, she kept it in check and didn’t let it show. “Yes ma’am, I am, name’s Saunders. May I ask what yours is?” “Anara. We heard shots on our way back to base. I wanted to turn around, but Hernandez made us speed up and get back to base, what happened?” “Nothing you need to worry about, and Hernandez did exactly as I had told him. No reason to risk four lives when one person risks theirs. Now, how did you get to be in that hole with that boy?” “Well, I was staying with one of my parents friends from college while I was having a job interview in downtown, they had to leave on vacation for a bit and asked if I wouldn’t mind staying a few extra days to watch their kid. I, of course, agreed to return the favor, cute kid, but a handful before bedtime. I heard the sirens, but not being from here thought nothing of them, Chris though, the little boy, came running in scared, so I asked him what he was supposed to do, and he just ran over, rolled over the carpet, and pointed to the hatch. So I opened it and tried to get him to get in, but he wouldn’t, so I went down first and he followed. It was dome shaped maybe six or seven feet across and about four feet high at the center. I was about to get out myself and see if I could find out what had happened on the news, but I heard a series of horrible explosions and the house started shaking, then something blew the hatch shut. I reached up and spun it closed tight and we sat there for what seemed like eternity. We found a few glow sticks in a shelf that was in the side of the shelter, we popped one at a time, and would sit in the dark till we absolutely had to see or we’d go made. The second one we popped we noticed a small container in the floor of the shelter and in there was a few cans of beans and some water. All around not the best supplies ever, but I guess they saved our lives. I had been in ROTC when I was in high school and did a stint in the marines till I got discharged for refusing a few orders that I found to be morally reprehensible, so I was tapping out s-o-s in Morse code on the bomb shelter wall any time I heard a noise from above.” “You were in the marines? Reserves or what?” “I went in with the surge to Iraq in 2007, got discharged in late 2010. Since then I’ve been moving around a bit trying to find a niche that I can fit in comfortably.” “What rank were you when you were discharged?” “Sergeant.” “Would you be willing to help out with this situation? It’s a cluster fuck, Bates won’t admit it, but we need all the hands we can get.” “Saunders, I would be more than willing to help, but I’ve been under men like Bates before. He’s the type that got me discharged after the incident in Ramadi.” “You were involved in the My Lai of the middle east?” “Not quite, I got discharged for making it very clear I didn’t want to be involved.” “Well, if that’s what you’re edgy about, I can make sure you’re in my command, and believe me, if Bates wants anything distasteful done, he knows better than to come to me for it.” “Ok, I’m in then, so long as Chris gets looked after here while I’m out.” “Of course. I’ll be back around 0900 tomorrow morning and we can get you over to Bates and geared up.” “Yes sir.”
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You can always go…
Saunders stopped by Anara’s tent to make sure she was still ready to go to see Bates. She was already up and waiting on him outside her tent, and they went to see Bates. He was inspecting the medical set up they had at the base. There were a lot more military personnel then Saunders had seen the first day he’d been at the base after the strike. It looked like the majority of them had made it to the bomb shelter and survived the missile strike. Saunders walked up to Bates “Sir, reporting for duty.” Anara stood off to his right slightly behind him. “Good Lieutenant.” His eyes went to Anara, “who is this?” Saunders was about to introduce her when she spoke up “Sgt. Anara Tobin, USMC, sir, just wondering if I can help out Lt. Saunders here.” “Good to have you here, Sergeant. Saunders, I’m sending you to the downtown area, I need a good recon of what’s left and who’s left. You did well yesterday, even if you did get back late. Take the Sergeant here and get her suited up, then find Cpl. Hernandez and head out. I’m sending a Private Johansson with you as well, he’ll be waiting by the main gate of the base, just pick him up as you leave.” “Yes sir.”
By 1000 hours they were ready to move out. Anara had taken a P90 submachine gun from the armory and had gotten herself a pack and supplies along with some BDU pants and combat boots, opting for a grey tank-top under her combat vest instead of the BDU top, complaining that it was to restricting. Hernandez had joined them with his M16, and the picked up Johansson with his M60 at the gate on the way downtown.
The route to downtown from the base was close to twenty miles, and they were planning on spending a few nights on this excursion so their packs were moderately heavy. By 1600 they were only a few miles away. The landscape had become almost completely flattened as they neared the city center and the route was getting to be less and less walking down city streets with scattered debris and more climbing of burnt out cars and piles of rubble from buildings that had been completely flattened by the strikes. They weren’t even to their destination yet, and Saunders was already expecting four days of nothing while searching for more survivors.
Sunday, December 9, 2007
Fifth instalment
Debrief
Saunders arrived at a tent that had been set up in the middle of the leveled base and waited next to the flap for Bates to come out. He waited ten minutes or so, and then coughed loudly to make his presence known. Seconds later, Bates’ head poked out of the tent and after seeing Saunders, he walked out of the flap, stood there for a second as Saunders waited for him to say something. “Lieutenant, you are aware that you salute a commanding officer, right?” “Yes sir.” “And you are aware that I am a commanding officer?” “Yes sir.” “Then why did you not great me with a salute?” “Oh, I did sir, but you were too busy rooting around in your tent for ten minutes while I stood here waiting to notice.” “You know Lieutenant, your tone sounds very insubordinate, and I’m getting sick of it.” “Oh, well we can’t have that can we Lieutenant Colonel, can we?” “I’m going to ignore it in the hopes that someone will knock some sense into you and save me the trouble. What did you find Lieutenant?” “Well sir, may I assume that Hernandez gave you the account of last night?” “You may. Last I heard you were off on some grand investigation. May I ask what it was?” “Well, if you’d listened to Hernandez’s story, as I’m sure you did with rapt attention, you’d know that some poor bastard tried to put a few six inch nails through the back of my skull last night. Now, he could use a few lessons in stealth, as instead he nailed a concrete slab and caught a round from my Colt in the gut. Seems that spooked him a tad, and he went and jumped out of a second story window, dragged himself to a cliff edge, and fell about twenty meters. Now, somewhere along the way down he broke a leg and got knocked unconscious. When I went to look after the sun came up and I’d sent Hernandez and the two survivors back here, he wasn’t there, damndest thing I’d ever seen. Poor bastard falls all that way and not only cheats death from its winnings, but sees fit to get up and leave before I can get down there and find out why exactly he tried to drive nails through my skull.” “Is this going somewhere Lieutenant, or can I just assume this ninja assailant can take a gunshot, survive a fall, and limp away leaving you stumped as to where the hell he went?” “No sir, you can’t assume that, you see, here’s the kicker, he didn’t walk away, the blood trail stops, but there was a bloody hand print on a doorway across the street. The poor bastard was carried away from the scene sometime between dawn and when I got there.” “Is there a reason you didn’t say that before?” “Yeah, I wanted you to look like an idiot. But more importantly, I followed the bloody hand print through the door, crawled through a small opening blown in the wall by a flying safe, and witnessed what I can only compare to some weird druidic ritual with the poor bastard I’d shot playing the role of the human sacrifice.” “Saunders, do you mean to tell me that on top of having to deal with residual levels of radiation, a population that’s scared shitless if they aren’t already dead and a complete lack of support from the chain of command higher than me, that I have to start worrying about some druidic human sacrifice-oriented doomsday cult?” “Yes sir, that’s exactly what I mean to tell you.” What followed was fifteen minutes more explanation of what Saunders had seen in the hotel lobby and his flight from the cultists.
Saunders was free of Bates by 1800 and grabbing grub in a large tent that was set up nearby when he spotted Hernandez sitting on a portion of what used to be the antenna tower next to the bases helipad. He grabbed his food and sat down a few feet away. “Hernandez, you guys make it back here without incident?” “Yes sir, let me tell ya, that woman is iron tough; we had gone about five miles without me hearing a peep from either of them, I turn around and she’s carrying the kid and still keeping up, malnourished as all hell and still keeping pace. I heard a few gunshots around 1100 from your direction, you run into any trouble?” “Just a few cultists bent on human sacrifice, but other than that it was a walk in the park.” “Shit man, that doesn’t sound to good, how’d that come about?” Saunders told the tale again. It took five minutes or so and afterwards he and Hernandez finished dinner off with a few jokes, then Saunders asked Hernandez to point the way to wherever their survivors had been set up for the night.
Saunders arrived at a tent that had been set up in the middle of the leveled base and waited next to the flap for Bates to come out. He waited ten minutes or so, and then coughed loudly to make his presence known. Seconds later, Bates’ head poked out of the tent and after seeing Saunders, he walked out of the flap, stood there for a second as Saunders waited for him to say something. “Lieutenant, you are aware that you salute a commanding officer, right?” “Yes sir.” “And you are aware that I am a commanding officer?” “Yes sir.” “Then why did you not great me with a salute?” “Oh, I did sir, but you were too busy rooting around in your tent for ten minutes while I stood here waiting to notice.” “You know Lieutenant, your tone sounds very insubordinate, and I’m getting sick of it.” “Oh, well we can’t have that can we Lieutenant Colonel, can we?” “I’m going to ignore it in the hopes that someone will knock some sense into you and save me the trouble. What did you find Lieutenant?” “Well sir, may I assume that Hernandez gave you the account of last night?” “You may. Last I heard you were off on some grand investigation. May I ask what it was?” “Well, if you’d listened to Hernandez’s story, as I’m sure you did with rapt attention, you’d know that some poor bastard tried to put a few six inch nails through the back of my skull last night. Now, he could use a few lessons in stealth, as instead he nailed a concrete slab and caught a round from my Colt in the gut. Seems that spooked him a tad, and he went and jumped out of a second story window, dragged himself to a cliff edge, and fell about twenty meters. Now, somewhere along the way down he broke a leg and got knocked unconscious. When I went to look after the sun came up and I’d sent Hernandez and the two survivors back here, he wasn’t there, damndest thing I’d ever seen. Poor bastard falls all that way and not only cheats death from its winnings, but sees fit to get up and leave before I can get down there and find out why exactly he tried to drive nails through my skull.” “Is this going somewhere Lieutenant, or can I just assume this ninja assailant can take a gunshot, survive a fall, and limp away leaving you stumped as to where the hell he went?” “No sir, you can’t assume that, you see, here’s the kicker, he didn’t walk away, the blood trail stops, but there was a bloody hand print on a doorway across the street. The poor bastard was carried away from the scene sometime between dawn and when I got there.” “Is there a reason you didn’t say that before?” “Yeah, I wanted you to look like an idiot. But more importantly, I followed the bloody hand print through the door, crawled through a small opening blown in the wall by a flying safe, and witnessed what I can only compare to some weird druidic ritual with the poor bastard I’d shot playing the role of the human sacrifice.” “Saunders, do you mean to tell me that on top of having to deal with residual levels of radiation, a population that’s scared shitless if they aren’t already dead and a complete lack of support from the chain of command higher than me, that I have to start worrying about some druidic human sacrifice-oriented doomsday cult?” “Yes sir, that’s exactly what I mean to tell you.” What followed was fifteen minutes more explanation of what Saunders had seen in the hotel lobby and his flight from the cultists.
Saunders was free of Bates by 1800 and grabbing grub in a large tent that was set up nearby when he spotted Hernandez sitting on a portion of what used to be the antenna tower next to the bases helipad. He grabbed his food and sat down a few feet away. “Hernandez, you guys make it back here without incident?” “Yes sir, let me tell ya, that woman is iron tough; we had gone about five miles without me hearing a peep from either of them, I turn around and she’s carrying the kid and still keeping up, malnourished as all hell and still keeping pace. I heard a few gunshots around 1100 from your direction, you run into any trouble?” “Just a few cultists bent on human sacrifice, but other than that it was a walk in the park.” “Shit man, that doesn’t sound to good, how’d that come about?” Saunders told the tale again. It took five minutes or so and afterwards he and Hernandez finished dinner off with a few jokes, then Saunders asked Hernandez to point the way to wherever their survivors had been set up for the night.
Fourth Instalment
Evac
Saunders was up before the crack of dawn for his second watch. Hernandez had taken over after the nail gun attack, and now he was bedding down for a short nap before the sun came up and they were moving out. Saunders set up diagonally down from where he had been previously, with his back in a corner, watching both his old spot and the campsite. The light diminished slightly before dawn at a gap between the rising sun and the setting stars, the moon having gone down long ago. Saunders watched a solitary hawk scoured the ground for prey, it must have been stationed outside the city when the missiles hit and flown in to fill the power vacuum caused by the loss of its brethren.
As the pre-dawn light seeped into the Northern Hills community, Saunders picked up his equipment he had laid around him and scouted out more of the buildings. Most of them were empty and devastated to the same extent as everything else that was in this blasted out city. His only good find was a small wooden box. It was made of redwood; hand carved, and would have been beautiful if it hadn’t been thrown into a brick wall by a nuclear shockwave. Inside the broken pieces of the box were a few Cuban cigars. Never being one for smoking, Saunders hadn’t smoked one before, but for some reason he was drawn to the idea of smoking a cigar and surveying a broken city landscape. It seemed too fitting to the word “apocalypse” to pass up.
Dawn broke and Saunders was at a wall near the south end of the compound, looking out over a broken wall at the smoldering remains of the city. He could make out at least three craters from where he stood, one at the base, one near the exact center of the city, and one on the Southwest side. He knew from Hernandez that there was a fourth nearby, blocked from his view by the hill he was on and a series of low foothills that emanated from a spur of the mountains that wrapped around the northern end of the city. He crushed the remains of the cigar under his heel and had just finished popping one of the damned orange pills into his mouth when Hernandez came up behind him. “Sir, I’m packed and ready, and the survivors are just getting up. When are we going to start back to the base?” “You are going to escort the survivors back to the base, make sure they’re looked after and tell Bates I’m conducting a bit of an investigation. If I finish before you get back to base, I’ll catch up. If not, tell him to expect me somewhere around 1300 hours.” “Yes sir.” “And take it easy on our survivors; they may not be up to the hike back, take it slow, make sure they’re ok. The kid might complain, but something tells me that woman is harder then she looks.” “Yes sir.” At that, Hernandez departed and went to get the survivors suited up, and Saunders went to retrieve his bedroll and make sure the fire was extinguished. The child looked almost as if he’d just returned from an entertaining camping trip, beat up a bit and dirty, but otherwise none the worse for wear. The woman was a different story. She was still malnourished, that wasn’t going to be fixed overnight, but her eyes where what told the story. They were almost empty; she stared blankly at objects in the house. The tattered remains of a rug, the couch that had been thrown against the far wall and the television that had partially melted in a small fire that burned out long before it could cause any real damage beyond what the shockwave did. The daylight revealed that she wasn’t pale from injury or shock, she was just naturally light skinned, and despite the hollow look in her eyes she carried herself with a sort of hard determination that Saunders had seen in very few people. After Saunders had packed up the remainder of his gear, he looked at Hernandez first, and then the survivors. “Ok people, Cpl. Hernandez here is going to lead you two back to the base where you should get some medical attention and food. Don’t drink water along the way unless Hernandez gives it to you, and ask him if you need anything at all. Hernandez, don’t take any back-roads or shortcuts. If I hear anything that sounds like gunshots I’ll come running, so I need you to stick to the main roads, it’ll be easier going anyway. If either of the two of you need a break, don’t hesitate to ask; and lady, don’t suck it up if you’re hurt. Tell Hernandez and he’ll know what to do. I’m going to go see if I can find that sucker who attacked me last night. I’ll catch up with you or see you at the base. Good luck.” With that, he left out the hole in the wall and walked behind the house he had been in to pick up the trail.
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Indian Tracker
Saunders followed a few dried drops of blood away from the pool below the window. The trail led to a small hole in the wall of the compound, a few dozen bricks had been knocked out and made a V shaped hole that ended about a foot off the ground. The bricks on the left side of the V had blood smeared on them at just above chest height. Saunders guessed he had hit his would be killer in the abdomen somewhere, and checked on the other side of the wall expecting to find a body. What he saw bothered him more than if he’d just been told he was on a reality show. The wall bordered on a sheer cliff face that fell for about sixty feet, anyone easing their way over the side would have surely missed the small six inch edge that would have allowed them to regret their decision before losing balance and falling to their death. Saunders grimaced as he gazed downward off the cliff, trying to spot a body. The brush at the base of the cliff was broken where something large had obviously fallen. He left the compound through the front gate after placing a bright red throw pillow from one of the houses on the top of the wall near the V so he could find it easily from below.
Twenty minutes later he had worked his way to the base of the cliff and picked up the trail from where the brush had been broken through. The blood trail started to die out as it crossed the road, but a bloody handprint beside the door to a squat building told him that the wounded person had at least tried to gain entrance to it. Saunders edge up next to the door and brought his M4 up in his right hand as his left quickly grabbed the doorknob and, in a twisting motion, threw the door open and brought his M4 to bear on the empty room that met his eyes. The room had escaped most of the devastation, the front wall didn’t face the shockwave and the back wall was attached to a larger building directly behind it that had taken the blunt of the force. The only indication besides the lack of electricity was a hole blown in the back wall where a small safe had been thrown against the wall. A blood trail led through the gap caused by the safe. Saunders crouched quietly and brought up his M4, his left finger by the switch for the light on the rail system.
The sight that met his was haunting. The room was a hotel lobby, large and formerly ornate. The wall facing the street had a bus blown through it at an angle, creating a small hole of light. The ceiling was uncomfortably low, but cracks in it revealed it was hanging down and was lower than it should be. Dust hung in the air, diffusing the light in the room, and dripping water from broken pipes echoed like screams in an empty parking lot. The haunting part about it was surrounded by twelve makeshift torches. The torches were arranged in a circle around a large slab of uprooted concrete from the floor near the bus that had been dragged a good twenty feet into a dark corner opposite the hole in the wall from the safe. Seven shaded figures stood within the circle of torches, one holding a thirteenth torch. On the slab of concrete was the body of a teenage boy, bleeding from the abdomen from what looked like a gunshot wound and his leg was broken, the shin bone poking through his skin. Saunders froze for a second and inched his finger away from the flashlight switch, hoping he could back his way out the same hole he had come through without taking his eyes off the spectacle at hand. Words filtered through the echoing water drops “… and you are aware of the penalty for failure, for being discovered after committing to a kill. The god’s demand blood, and if you fail to provide it with the blood of others, you provide it with your own.” The teenager’s head rolled to the side, and Saunders could see that he was conscious. As the teenager seemed to spot Saunders, a dagger was jammed into his throat, just above his chest bone. The teenager let out a horrible scream that seemed to echo through the entire hotel for hours. Saunders had seen enough and slowly worked his way backwards out the exit, but as he was about out the hole, his foot caught a rock, and it skittered down a pile of debris, making a gut-wrenching series of scuffling and chipping noises that echoed throughout the lobby. The heads of the seven shaded figures around the makeshift altar snapped in his direction and one crouched and started to run in his direction. All bets were off and Saunders rose to a crouch and brought his M4 up, spattering a three shot burst in their direction. The figure running at him dropped and fell with a shot through the leg, the other six dropped to the ground, but Saunders knew they weren’t done yet, and he didn’t know how many more there were in the shadows or elsewhere in the hotel. He used the diversion of his shots and the ensuing confusion and disorganization to sprint through the hole in the wall. As he came into the room with the safe through the wall, a figure obscured the doorway. He brought the gun up again, shot a burst at the figure, which didn’t seem to budge, then shot two rounds through a window about chest height off the ground. It shattered and he took a running dive through it, rolling as he hit the ground, he came quickly to his feet and spun around to see the figure at the doorway lurch sideways and fall to the ground, blood smearing on the sides of the doorway. He didn’t wait to see what else came out the door, he fell into a flat out run, making for the corner two streets down where he turned left, ran another two blocks and turned right, kicked in a door, and climbed to a third story window using debris as a ladder. He perched on a small platform of concrete that was still connected to two walls in a corner by a window and watched in the direction of the hotel till noon passed. He checked his watch to see that it was 1300. Time to move out; he had been in position watching his path for almost three hours, if they were going to track him, they’d have done so already.
He came down from his perch and started in the direction of the military base, he estimated it was a good fifteen miles away by now, but he disliked the idea of spending another night in the city after what he had just witnessed. He made good time and was within sight of the base by 1500 hours, he jogged the remaining mile back to the base, assembling his report in his mind as he ran through the wrecked city streets.
Saunders was up before the crack of dawn for his second watch. Hernandez had taken over after the nail gun attack, and now he was bedding down for a short nap before the sun came up and they were moving out. Saunders set up diagonally down from where he had been previously, with his back in a corner, watching both his old spot and the campsite. The light diminished slightly before dawn at a gap between the rising sun and the setting stars, the moon having gone down long ago. Saunders watched a solitary hawk scoured the ground for prey, it must have been stationed outside the city when the missiles hit and flown in to fill the power vacuum caused by the loss of its brethren.
As the pre-dawn light seeped into the Northern Hills community, Saunders picked up his equipment he had laid around him and scouted out more of the buildings. Most of them were empty and devastated to the same extent as everything else that was in this blasted out city. His only good find was a small wooden box. It was made of redwood; hand carved, and would have been beautiful if it hadn’t been thrown into a brick wall by a nuclear shockwave. Inside the broken pieces of the box were a few Cuban cigars. Never being one for smoking, Saunders hadn’t smoked one before, but for some reason he was drawn to the idea of smoking a cigar and surveying a broken city landscape. It seemed too fitting to the word “apocalypse” to pass up.
Dawn broke and Saunders was at a wall near the south end of the compound, looking out over a broken wall at the smoldering remains of the city. He could make out at least three craters from where he stood, one at the base, one near the exact center of the city, and one on the Southwest side. He knew from Hernandez that there was a fourth nearby, blocked from his view by the hill he was on and a series of low foothills that emanated from a spur of the mountains that wrapped around the northern end of the city. He crushed the remains of the cigar under his heel and had just finished popping one of the damned orange pills into his mouth when Hernandez came up behind him. “Sir, I’m packed and ready, and the survivors are just getting up. When are we going to start back to the base?” “You are going to escort the survivors back to the base, make sure they’re looked after and tell Bates I’m conducting a bit of an investigation. If I finish before you get back to base, I’ll catch up. If not, tell him to expect me somewhere around 1300 hours.” “Yes sir.” “And take it easy on our survivors; they may not be up to the hike back, take it slow, make sure they’re ok. The kid might complain, but something tells me that woman is harder then she looks.” “Yes sir.” At that, Hernandez departed and went to get the survivors suited up, and Saunders went to retrieve his bedroll and make sure the fire was extinguished. The child looked almost as if he’d just returned from an entertaining camping trip, beat up a bit and dirty, but otherwise none the worse for wear. The woman was a different story. She was still malnourished, that wasn’t going to be fixed overnight, but her eyes where what told the story. They were almost empty; she stared blankly at objects in the house. The tattered remains of a rug, the couch that had been thrown against the far wall and the television that had partially melted in a small fire that burned out long before it could cause any real damage beyond what the shockwave did. The daylight revealed that she wasn’t pale from injury or shock, she was just naturally light skinned, and despite the hollow look in her eyes she carried herself with a sort of hard determination that Saunders had seen in very few people. After Saunders had packed up the remainder of his gear, he looked at Hernandez first, and then the survivors. “Ok people, Cpl. Hernandez here is going to lead you two back to the base where you should get some medical attention and food. Don’t drink water along the way unless Hernandez gives it to you, and ask him if you need anything at all. Hernandez, don’t take any back-roads or shortcuts. If I hear anything that sounds like gunshots I’ll come running, so I need you to stick to the main roads, it’ll be easier going anyway. If either of the two of you need a break, don’t hesitate to ask; and lady, don’t suck it up if you’re hurt. Tell Hernandez and he’ll know what to do. I’m going to go see if I can find that sucker who attacked me last night. I’ll catch up with you or see you at the base. Good luck.” With that, he left out the hole in the wall and walked behind the house he had been in to pick up the trail.
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Indian Tracker
Saunders followed a few dried drops of blood away from the pool below the window. The trail led to a small hole in the wall of the compound, a few dozen bricks had been knocked out and made a V shaped hole that ended about a foot off the ground. The bricks on the left side of the V had blood smeared on them at just above chest height. Saunders guessed he had hit his would be killer in the abdomen somewhere, and checked on the other side of the wall expecting to find a body. What he saw bothered him more than if he’d just been told he was on a reality show. The wall bordered on a sheer cliff face that fell for about sixty feet, anyone easing their way over the side would have surely missed the small six inch edge that would have allowed them to regret their decision before losing balance and falling to their death. Saunders grimaced as he gazed downward off the cliff, trying to spot a body. The brush at the base of the cliff was broken where something large had obviously fallen. He left the compound through the front gate after placing a bright red throw pillow from one of the houses on the top of the wall near the V so he could find it easily from below.
Twenty minutes later he had worked his way to the base of the cliff and picked up the trail from where the brush had been broken through. The blood trail started to die out as it crossed the road, but a bloody handprint beside the door to a squat building told him that the wounded person had at least tried to gain entrance to it. Saunders edge up next to the door and brought his M4 up in his right hand as his left quickly grabbed the doorknob and, in a twisting motion, threw the door open and brought his M4 to bear on the empty room that met his eyes. The room had escaped most of the devastation, the front wall didn’t face the shockwave and the back wall was attached to a larger building directly behind it that had taken the blunt of the force. The only indication besides the lack of electricity was a hole blown in the back wall where a small safe had been thrown against the wall. A blood trail led through the gap caused by the safe. Saunders crouched quietly and brought up his M4, his left finger by the switch for the light on the rail system.
The sight that met his was haunting. The room was a hotel lobby, large and formerly ornate. The wall facing the street had a bus blown through it at an angle, creating a small hole of light. The ceiling was uncomfortably low, but cracks in it revealed it was hanging down and was lower than it should be. Dust hung in the air, diffusing the light in the room, and dripping water from broken pipes echoed like screams in an empty parking lot. The haunting part about it was surrounded by twelve makeshift torches. The torches were arranged in a circle around a large slab of uprooted concrete from the floor near the bus that had been dragged a good twenty feet into a dark corner opposite the hole in the wall from the safe. Seven shaded figures stood within the circle of torches, one holding a thirteenth torch. On the slab of concrete was the body of a teenage boy, bleeding from the abdomen from what looked like a gunshot wound and his leg was broken, the shin bone poking through his skin. Saunders froze for a second and inched his finger away from the flashlight switch, hoping he could back his way out the same hole he had come through without taking his eyes off the spectacle at hand. Words filtered through the echoing water drops “… and you are aware of the penalty for failure, for being discovered after committing to a kill. The god’s demand blood, and if you fail to provide it with the blood of others, you provide it with your own.” The teenager’s head rolled to the side, and Saunders could see that he was conscious. As the teenager seemed to spot Saunders, a dagger was jammed into his throat, just above his chest bone. The teenager let out a horrible scream that seemed to echo through the entire hotel for hours. Saunders had seen enough and slowly worked his way backwards out the exit, but as he was about out the hole, his foot caught a rock, and it skittered down a pile of debris, making a gut-wrenching series of scuffling and chipping noises that echoed throughout the lobby. The heads of the seven shaded figures around the makeshift altar snapped in his direction and one crouched and started to run in his direction. All bets were off and Saunders rose to a crouch and brought his M4 up, spattering a three shot burst in their direction. The figure running at him dropped and fell with a shot through the leg, the other six dropped to the ground, but Saunders knew they weren’t done yet, and he didn’t know how many more there were in the shadows or elsewhere in the hotel. He used the diversion of his shots and the ensuing confusion and disorganization to sprint through the hole in the wall. As he came into the room with the safe through the wall, a figure obscured the doorway. He brought the gun up again, shot a burst at the figure, which didn’t seem to budge, then shot two rounds through a window about chest height off the ground. It shattered and he took a running dive through it, rolling as he hit the ground, he came quickly to his feet and spun around to see the figure at the doorway lurch sideways and fall to the ground, blood smearing on the sides of the doorway. He didn’t wait to see what else came out the door, he fell into a flat out run, making for the corner two streets down where he turned left, ran another two blocks and turned right, kicked in a door, and climbed to a third story window using debris as a ladder. He perched on a small platform of concrete that was still connected to two walls in a corner by a window and watched in the direction of the hotel till noon passed. He checked his watch to see that it was 1300. Time to move out; he had been in position watching his path for almost three hours, if they were going to track him, they’d have done so already.
He came down from his perch and started in the direction of the military base, he estimated it was a good fifteen miles away by now, but he disliked the idea of spending another night in the city after what he had just witnessed. He made good time and was within sight of the base by 1500 hours, he jogged the remaining mile back to the base, assembling his report in his mind as he ran through the wrecked city streets.
Saturday, December 8, 2007
third instalment
Blackout
The first watch went over easy. Saunders spent most of the time on a broken, slopped roof across the way from the camp watching for any movement. He’d left the fire smoldering, the coals giving a supernatural red glow to the room that Hernandez and the survivors were sleeping in. The woman and child had fallen easily asleep after eating the MREs. Hernandez had stayed up tending the fire, making it burn to coals quickly, after it had fallen to embers and coals Saunders grabbed his M4 and moved to his previously set up concealed spot across the street that offered him a good view of the street and other houses. It was a clear night, and the lack of light pollution from the dead city made the stars stand out the most Saunders had ever seen them, they were only blocked in small columns near the horizon where black smoke still rose. He didn’t want to think about what was providing the fires with that much fuel. The night air was cool and dry, and a brisk wind swept through the street, blowing ash and bits of debris towards the gate house. It carried with it the acrid smell of death and things that weren’t supposed to burn. An hour or two passed and as 2200 approached, Saunders had the distinct feeling he was being watched. He wasn’t sure what it was exactly, but the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. As his adrenaline rush made his heart beat faster, he became more aware of his surroundings. He hadn’t moved for a good hour, and that was just to reach his canteen that he had jammed in a nearby crevice, so if something was watching him now, it had either been there an hour or knew the now decimated area so well that his concealed form stood out like a red crayon on a white tile floor. If he moved now, he’d basically be telling whatever was watching him that he was on to something not being right, and if it wasn’t friendly, he’d have to fight it on ground it knew and would have already lost the element of surprise. If he waited for it to make a move, he could spring quickly and counter-act its move, surprising it and taking away its own element of surprise. He left his right hand on his M4 and slowly shifted his left hand to his Colt .45, waiting intently for the first sound of motion. It came a half hour later, just as Saunders was thinking that he had just been spooked by nothing. A small cocking noise from about 6 feet behind him, he waited a split second then exploded into motion, throwing himself left with a massive push from his right elbow, he rolled onto his back as he brought his Colt up with his left arm as a half dozen six inch nails thudded into the ground where his head had been. Saunders shot three rounds in the direction the noise and the nails had come from, he was rewarded with what sounded like a sharp intake of breath and a low clattering noise. He lunged for his M4 and flicked on the flashlight, the beam of light cut through the blackness and illuminated the empty house behind him. Two of his three bullets had missed their mark; the third was surrounded by a spray of crimson blood, and on the ground was a pneumatic nail gun covered with a smattering of blood. Hernandez hurried over with his M16 out and up as Saunders came down from the area the nails had come from with the nail gun. The room immediately off of where he had been had no working doors, and the only opening that could still be used was a second story window on the back of the house that opened up onto a 20 foot drop. At the bottom, there was a small patch of blood, but nothing else. No indication of where whoever it was had gone, or how they had survived a .45 round and a twenty foot fall well enough to sprint away from the area without leaving much of a trail.
The first watch went over easy. Saunders spent most of the time on a broken, slopped roof across the way from the camp watching for any movement. He’d left the fire smoldering, the coals giving a supernatural red glow to the room that Hernandez and the survivors were sleeping in. The woman and child had fallen easily asleep after eating the MREs. Hernandez had stayed up tending the fire, making it burn to coals quickly, after it had fallen to embers and coals Saunders grabbed his M4 and moved to his previously set up concealed spot across the street that offered him a good view of the street and other houses. It was a clear night, and the lack of light pollution from the dead city made the stars stand out the most Saunders had ever seen them, they were only blocked in small columns near the horizon where black smoke still rose. He didn’t want to think about what was providing the fires with that much fuel. The night air was cool and dry, and a brisk wind swept through the street, blowing ash and bits of debris towards the gate house. It carried with it the acrid smell of death and things that weren’t supposed to burn. An hour or two passed and as 2200 approached, Saunders had the distinct feeling he was being watched. He wasn’t sure what it was exactly, but the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. As his adrenaline rush made his heart beat faster, he became more aware of his surroundings. He hadn’t moved for a good hour, and that was just to reach his canteen that he had jammed in a nearby crevice, so if something was watching him now, it had either been there an hour or knew the now decimated area so well that his concealed form stood out like a red crayon on a white tile floor. If he moved now, he’d basically be telling whatever was watching him that he was on to something not being right, and if it wasn’t friendly, he’d have to fight it on ground it knew and would have already lost the element of surprise. If he waited for it to make a move, he could spring quickly and counter-act its move, surprising it and taking away its own element of surprise. He left his right hand on his M4 and slowly shifted his left hand to his Colt .45, waiting intently for the first sound of motion. It came a half hour later, just as Saunders was thinking that he had just been spooked by nothing. A small cocking noise from about 6 feet behind him, he waited a split second then exploded into motion, throwing himself left with a massive push from his right elbow, he rolled onto his back as he brought his Colt up with his left arm as a half dozen six inch nails thudded into the ground where his head had been. Saunders shot three rounds in the direction the noise and the nails had come from, he was rewarded with what sounded like a sharp intake of breath and a low clattering noise. He lunged for his M4 and flicked on the flashlight, the beam of light cut through the blackness and illuminated the empty house behind him. Two of his three bullets had missed their mark; the third was surrounded by a spray of crimson blood, and on the ground was a pneumatic nail gun covered with a smattering of blood. Hernandez hurried over with his M16 out and up as Saunders came down from the area the nails had come from with the nail gun. The room immediately off of where he had been had no working doors, and the only opening that could still be used was a second story window on the back of the house that opened up onto a 20 foot drop. At the bottom, there was a small patch of blood, but nothing else. No indication of where whoever it was had gone, or how they had survived a .45 round and a twenty foot fall well enough to sprint away from the area without leaving much of a trail.
second instalment
Powder Keg
Saunders and Cpl. Hernandez sifted through the wreckage of what had been a high school gymnasium after a short ten mile hike through ruined city. “So the Iranians nuked us good?” “That’s what they’re saying sir, but supposedly we nuked them back just as hard. Some top brass general saw fit to remember mutually assured destruction from the McCarthy era.” “Great, just what the world needs, two more parking lots and a few million more refugees.” “Yeah, I know, right? Anyway, you didn’t miss too much hiding down in your shelter; people were called in a few hours after, but told not to come out of any safe area they were in till at least a few days had passed. Then LTC. Bates got the ball rolling on casualty reports and the like, and inventorying the hospital and food stores. Good man, Bates.” “I don’t know Corporal; he doesn’t give me a good feeling, not sure he’s still all there.” “Sir?” “Well, the first thing you want to do in a situation like this is get everyone rounded up, get them all together so they know other people are alive, find out who isn’t, and get food, water, and medical help to those in need. We don’t get them rounded up, they’re going to drink the irradiated water, or eat something toxic, and if it’s ingested, even those fancy little orange pills can’t help. Once radiation poisoning sets in, all hell will break loose; people will see their friends and loved ones dying slowly after fighting like hell to survive the bombing itself.” Saunders picked up a slightly singed doll from the shattered gym floor and continued “of course, that all requires there to be much of a civilian population left. Far as I know there were very few personal bomb shelters, and if they followed the idea of an air raid, thinking that’s what the siren was for, then they’d have all ended up in large public facilities where they could be kept calm and quiet. Like this gym here.”
Every now and then while sifting through the destroyed gym, they’d come across a charred bone, or a tooth. Not much was left, the people had probably been knocked out by the concussive force of the blast, some killed outright by falling debris, and the rest had been burned alive while they were unconscious by the conflagration that had consumed most of the building. “Ok, Corporal, I don’t think we’re going to find much in the way of survivors here. How about you check out the lower communities, and I’ll make a jog up the hill to search the gated one and try and gain a visual of the area, see if any big public buildings are still standing, then we can find a building in decent enough condition to pass the night in. Meet me in the front office of the Northern Hills community at 1900.”
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Aftershocks
Saunders picked his way up the hill slowly. The street was broken asphalt and burned out cars, explosions showed where some had exploded, and others were lodged in the walls and roofs of houses. At the houses that looked to be in the best condition he’d stop and check for survivors. Usually he’d just find corpses or charred remains. The most disturbing thing he found was a doorway, blocked by a bullet ridden table. It wasn’t disturbing because of the dead body behind it and the blood smeared around the doorway, but because it was a herald of the fact that there was a violent side to survivors, and he couldn’t be sure that whoever he found wasn’t going to shot first. After such a catastrophe looting was inevitable, and all the more reason, in Saunders’ mind, that the survivors should be herded into the relative safety of military protection.
The sun began to set at around six, and almost instantly Saunders regretted not bringing the BDU shirt he’d left behind in the bases bomb shelter, taking only a tactical combat vest, a pair of worn in combat boots, a pair of BDU pants, and a boonie hat. A chill wind began to blow from the West as he reached the top of the hill and started into the Northern Hills complex. The front gate was blown outward, not giving him much hope for the structures that should have been blocking the force of the shockwave, but the area beyond luckily diverged from standard box street gated community construction, and had a cross intersection at its center, meaning the shockwave that blasted the gate and guard booth had been taking the path of least resistance. Most of the houses were brick, the few nearest the hillside had been effectively destroyed, but their empty shells and strong walls had lessened the blow against the rest of the houses, making most of them take only minor damage to the roof. The fact that it had been on the Northern outskirts of town, as the name implied, also helped it take less damage, being about twenty something miles from the epicenter of the blast. Saunders made his way to one of the more intact buildings and dropped his pack in what had been the corner of a living room and set out to check the surrounding houses in the thirty minutes before Henderson was due to arrive at the front gate.
Halfway through his search for survivors, Saunders came upon a small hatch in the floor of one of the houses, and he could faintly hear voices from down below. He rapped lightly on the hatch, a metallic pinging noise filling the room, and listened intently for a reply. A feeble scratching was all he heard from within. Quickly kneeling next to the hatch, he gripped the small wheel set in a depression and twisted it counter clockwise. It popped open with a little prying; making a decompressing hiss as air escaped and a small child was thrust into his arms. The arms passing the child up were pale and shaking. Saunders put hastily put the child in the ripped up remains of a cushion, turning back to the still extended arms he gripped them and pulled the owner from the small confines of a miniature bomb shelter. A pale and shaking female figure in tattered clothes crumpled to the ground next to the child. They were both mal-nourished to some extent, the woman more so then the child, who she had obviously given whatever food they had crammed into the shelter. The child was a small boy, no older than 6 and tiny for his age, even if he hadn’t been in a glorified hole for a week, he had blonde hair and green eyes. The woman was about five foot eight with a tangled mess of light brown hair that was obviously supposed to be about shoulder length, but now hung down from her head, obscuring her face from Saunders’ gaze. She was no older than twenty five, but her shaking frame made her look as if she’d seen too many lives already. Saunders knelt down beside her and lightly touched her arm, her head snapped around at him and a grey eye with shots of gold in it peered out at him. At first, it was harsh and glaring, but a few moments into the warning look, they became soft and sad and tears began to form at the corners of her eyes. She collapsed sobbing to the ground and Saunders slowly pulled her to him, attempting to give her what comfort he could offer, as he looked to see if the child was ok. The child had collapsed from weariness in the tatters of the cushion where Saunders had laid him, as the woman’s crying started to turn into a quiet tear filled melancholy, Saunders slowly shrugged her off, and after, promising to be right back, he went and quickly retrieved his pack from the room he had started in and removed a small blanket, which he covered the child with. He then pulled out an MRE, slit it open, and poured in a half cup of water from one of the canteens in his pack, after propping it up on a rock he handed the remains of the canteen to the woman. Her shaking hand grasped for it and she looked cautiously at the child. “Don’t worry, he’s just asleep. I’ll wake him up when there’s food to eat. If you feel like you can talk, go ahead and do so, otherwise it’d be best if you just relaxed, I think you’re in a mild state of shock, but there’s not a whole lot to do about that.” The woman stared at him for a second, then seemed to nod and poured the canteen into her mouth.
Saunders had started a fire and had already given his MRE to the two survivors by the time Hernandez arrived at the gatehouse. Saunders was there to meet him, and quickly guided him back to the camp that he’d set up in the room with the survivors. The woman was feeding the food from the MRE to the child, and from the looks of it, hadn’t taken any herself. Saunders took a seat next to her “You know, those babies pack a little over twelve hundred calories, give a little to yourself too, or we’re going to have him bouncing off the walls soon.” She seemed not to hear him and finished feeding the MRE to the child, dropped the package, and stared blankly at the fire. Saunders turned to Hernandez “Corporal, break out your MRE, this lady needs a decent meal.” Hernandez nodded soberly and the survivor looked at Saunders with grateful eyes, as if, with the knowledge of more food, she would have fed herself some of the first MRE. Once Hernandez had given up his MRE, Saunders called him outside. “Lieutenant, Bates is surely expecting us back tonight, we can’t just pass the night here, we need to get our scouting information back to him so he can take some action.” “Hernandez, how many corpses did you see today?” “Sir, I don’t see how that’s important to this situation.” “Son, you’re green, so I’ll let this pass. I saw more corpses today then I’ve seen in my seven years in the army, and more than I ever care to see again. If we go back tonight, we’re be going back to tell Bates that this city is dead. That there is nothing left. If we stay here tonight, and bring these two survivors back with us, at least we’ve pulled someone back from the brink of oblivion.” “I wasn’t saying we shouldn’t look after these two, sir, I was just pointing out what Bates expected from us.” “Noted, now, what did you find on your side of the expedition?” “Well, most the major buildings I came across were destroyed, no surprise there, I came across a second crater from a missile around the edge of the hill that’s fronted by the cliff, blocked most of this area from its blast, but the space between that crater and the main strike in the city center looks completely decimated, I didn’t get to scout out that way though because I had to bust if back to the rendezvous point.” “Ok, did you run across anything of note? Evidence of survivors? Activity after the strike?” “No sir, nothing really. I did see a few scattered bullet holes that I didn’t expect. I don’t know if it’s the fact that this is such a ghost town, or something else, sir, but I did get the feeling that I was being followed while I was making my way here.” “For how long?” “I’m not sure when it started, but I ended up climbing on top of a gas station and waiting for a good half hour to see if anything passed by or moved, after that I didn’t feel it anymore.” “Probably just nerves then, regardless, we’re going to set a watch for tonight, I’ll take first shift, then I’ll wake you up at about 0100 for you to take over, and you wake me up again at 0500 and grab a few more hours of shut eye before we head out. Sound good?” “Yes sir.” “Good, go back and set up the bed rolls, mines in my pack, I’m going to scout out the perimeter a little and see if I can find anything for our guests to sleep on.”
Saunders and Cpl. Hernandez sifted through the wreckage of what had been a high school gymnasium after a short ten mile hike through ruined city. “So the Iranians nuked us good?” “That’s what they’re saying sir, but supposedly we nuked them back just as hard. Some top brass general saw fit to remember mutually assured destruction from the McCarthy era.” “Great, just what the world needs, two more parking lots and a few million more refugees.” “Yeah, I know, right? Anyway, you didn’t miss too much hiding down in your shelter; people were called in a few hours after, but told not to come out of any safe area they were in till at least a few days had passed. Then LTC. Bates got the ball rolling on casualty reports and the like, and inventorying the hospital and food stores. Good man, Bates.” “I don’t know Corporal; he doesn’t give me a good feeling, not sure he’s still all there.” “Sir?” “Well, the first thing you want to do in a situation like this is get everyone rounded up, get them all together so they know other people are alive, find out who isn’t, and get food, water, and medical help to those in need. We don’t get them rounded up, they’re going to drink the irradiated water, or eat something toxic, and if it’s ingested, even those fancy little orange pills can’t help. Once radiation poisoning sets in, all hell will break loose; people will see their friends and loved ones dying slowly after fighting like hell to survive the bombing itself.” Saunders picked up a slightly singed doll from the shattered gym floor and continued “of course, that all requires there to be much of a civilian population left. Far as I know there were very few personal bomb shelters, and if they followed the idea of an air raid, thinking that’s what the siren was for, then they’d have all ended up in large public facilities where they could be kept calm and quiet. Like this gym here.”
Every now and then while sifting through the destroyed gym, they’d come across a charred bone, or a tooth. Not much was left, the people had probably been knocked out by the concussive force of the blast, some killed outright by falling debris, and the rest had been burned alive while they were unconscious by the conflagration that had consumed most of the building. “Ok, Corporal, I don’t think we’re going to find much in the way of survivors here. How about you check out the lower communities, and I’ll make a jog up the hill to search the gated one and try and gain a visual of the area, see if any big public buildings are still standing, then we can find a building in decent enough condition to pass the night in. Meet me in the front office of the Northern Hills community at 1900.”
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Aftershocks
Saunders picked his way up the hill slowly. The street was broken asphalt and burned out cars, explosions showed where some had exploded, and others were lodged in the walls and roofs of houses. At the houses that looked to be in the best condition he’d stop and check for survivors. Usually he’d just find corpses or charred remains. The most disturbing thing he found was a doorway, blocked by a bullet ridden table. It wasn’t disturbing because of the dead body behind it and the blood smeared around the doorway, but because it was a herald of the fact that there was a violent side to survivors, and he couldn’t be sure that whoever he found wasn’t going to shot first. After such a catastrophe looting was inevitable, and all the more reason, in Saunders’ mind, that the survivors should be herded into the relative safety of military protection.
The sun began to set at around six, and almost instantly Saunders regretted not bringing the BDU shirt he’d left behind in the bases bomb shelter, taking only a tactical combat vest, a pair of worn in combat boots, a pair of BDU pants, and a boonie hat. A chill wind began to blow from the West as he reached the top of the hill and started into the Northern Hills complex. The front gate was blown outward, not giving him much hope for the structures that should have been blocking the force of the shockwave, but the area beyond luckily diverged from standard box street gated community construction, and had a cross intersection at its center, meaning the shockwave that blasted the gate and guard booth had been taking the path of least resistance. Most of the houses were brick, the few nearest the hillside had been effectively destroyed, but their empty shells and strong walls had lessened the blow against the rest of the houses, making most of them take only minor damage to the roof. The fact that it had been on the Northern outskirts of town, as the name implied, also helped it take less damage, being about twenty something miles from the epicenter of the blast. Saunders made his way to one of the more intact buildings and dropped his pack in what had been the corner of a living room and set out to check the surrounding houses in the thirty minutes before Henderson was due to arrive at the front gate.
Halfway through his search for survivors, Saunders came upon a small hatch in the floor of one of the houses, and he could faintly hear voices from down below. He rapped lightly on the hatch, a metallic pinging noise filling the room, and listened intently for a reply. A feeble scratching was all he heard from within. Quickly kneeling next to the hatch, he gripped the small wheel set in a depression and twisted it counter clockwise. It popped open with a little prying; making a decompressing hiss as air escaped and a small child was thrust into his arms. The arms passing the child up were pale and shaking. Saunders put hastily put the child in the ripped up remains of a cushion, turning back to the still extended arms he gripped them and pulled the owner from the small confines of a miniature bomb shelter. A pale and shaking female figure in tattered clothes crumpled to the ground next to the child. They were both mal-nourished to some extent, the woman more so then the child, who she had obviously given whatever food they had crammed into the shelter. The child was a small boy, no older than 6 and tiny for his age, even if he hadn’t been in a glorified hole for a week, he had blonde hair and green eyes. The woman was about five foot eight with a tangled mess of light brown hair that was obviously supposed to be about shoulder length, but now hung down from her head, obscuring her face from Saunders’ gaze. She was no older than twenty five, but her shaking frame made her look as if she’d seen too many lives already. Saunders knelt down beside her and lightly touched her arm, her head snapped around at him and a grey eye with shots of gold in it peered out at him. At first, it was harsh and glaring, but a few moments into the warning look, they became soft and sad and tears began to form at the corners of her eyes. She collapsed sobbing to the ground and Saunders slowly pulled her to him, attempting to give her what comfort he could offer, as he looked to see if the child was ok. The child had collapsed from weariness in the tatters of the cushion where Saunders had laid him, as the woman’s crying started to turn into a quiet tear filled melancholy, Saunders slowly shrugged her off, and after, promising to be right back, he went and quickly retrieved his pack from the room he had started in and removed a small blanket, which he covered the child with. He then pulled out an MRE, slit it open, and poured in a half cup of water from one of the canteens in his pack, after propping it up on a rock he handed the remains of the canteen to the woman. Her shaking hand grasped for it and she looked cautiously at the child. “Don’t worry, he’s just asleep. I’ll wake him up when there’s food to eat. If you feel like you can talk, go ahead and do so, otherwise it’d be best if you just relaxed, I think you’re in a mild state of shock, but there’s not a whole lot to do about that.” The woman stared at him for a second, then seemed to nod and poured the canteen into her mouth.
Saunders had started a fire and had already given his MRE to the two survivors by the time Hernandez arrived at the gatehouse. Saunders was there to meet him, and quickly guided him back to the camp that he’d set up in the room with the survivors. The woman was feeding the food from the MRE to the child, and from the looks of it, hadn’t taken any herself. Saunders took a seat next to her “You know, those babies pack a little over twelve hundred calories, give a little to yourself too, or we’re going to have him bouncing off the walls soon.” She seemed not to hear him and finished feeding the MRE to the child, dropped the package, and stared blankly at the fire. Saunders turned to Hernandez “Corporal, break out your MRE, this lady needs a decent meal.” Hernandez nodded soberly and the survivor looked at Saunders with grateful eyes, as if, with the knowledge of more food, she would have fed herself some of the first MRE. Once Hernandez had given up his MRE, Saunders called him outside. “Lieutenant, Bates is surely expecting us back tonight, we can’t just pass the night here, we need to get our scouting information back to him so he can take some action.” “Hernandez, how many corpses did you see today?” “Sir, I don’t see how that’s important to this situation.” “Son, you’re green, so I’ll let this pass. I saw more corpses today then I’ve seen in my seven years in the army, and more than I ever care to see again. If we go back tonight, we’re be going back to tell Bates that this city is dead. That there is nothing left. If we stay here tonight, and bring these two survivors back with us, at least we’ve pulled someone back from the brink of oblivion.” “I wasn’t saying we shouldn’t look after these two, sir, I was just pointing out what Bates expected from us.” “Noted, now, what did you find on your side of the expedition?” “Well, most the major buildings I came across were destroyed, no surprise there, I came across a second crater from a missile around the edge of the hill that’s fronted by the cliff, blocked most of this area from its blast, but the space between that crater and the main strike in the city center looks completely decimated, I didn’t get to scout out that way though because I had to bust if back to the rendezvous point.” “Ok, did you run across anything of note? Evidence of survivors? Activity after the strike?” “No sir, nothing really. I did see a few scattered bullet holes that I didn’t expect. I don’t know if it’s the fact that this is such a ghost town, or something else, sir, but I did get the feeling that I was being followed while I was making my way here.” “For how long?” “I’m not sure when it started, but I ended up climbing on top of a gas station and waiting for a good half hour to see if anything passed by or moved, after that I didn’t feel it anymore.” “Probably just nerves then, regardless, we’re going to set a watch for tonight, I’ll take first shift, then I’ll wake you up at about 0100 for you to take over, and you wake me up again at 0500 and grab a few more hours of shut eye before we head out. Sound good?” “Yes sir.” “Good, go back and set up the bed rolls, mines in my pack, I’m going to scout out the perimeter a little and see if I can find anything for our guests to sleep on.”
Friday, December 7, 2007
apologies
my apologies for the text blocking in the previous text, copy and paste seems to have a nasty knack for fucking up formatting. and i'm to lazy to fix it.
Story. first instalment.
Ok, so i got bored and started writting this story about two hours ago. The dashes are chapter breaks, takes place in the not-so distant future, tell me what you think.
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Overdose
The crimson sun crept slowly up from its bed in the east, causing a slow line of pale light to illuminate the grotesque, desecrated corpse of a once great city. The city had been a primary target, its government offices identified as a possible location of a proxy government that could retaliate on some miniscule level. The base just on the city limits hadn’t been much of a help to the populous escaping its fate as a big red X in a map room halfway across the world. The faint yellow glow began to illuminate the area more as a few scattered fires still burned and thick black smoke rose lazily into the sky. Of the millions of people who had once lived in the small metropolis, less than a thousand were still alive. They began to shuffle about lethargically as the picked up the shattered pieces of their lives for the third week in a row, greedily stuffing what they could of their former lives into whatever they could find and carting it back to their homes that were now a ramshackle of insulation, fiber glass, and shattered masonry. Not a building in a thousand had more than three walls left, and those that did you didn’t want to sleep in, at the risk of waking up the next morning filled with the false hopes that all the events of the past few months were just a simple dream of an overstressed mind.
Lt. Saunders plucked the stub of a cigar from the corner of his jaw and smashed it under the right heel of his gritty combat boots. He idly dug his canteen out of his small backpack he had leaned against the brick wall backing a gated community on the outskirts of town and separating the supposed elite from the night shift that lived just at the base of the steep hill. It was a small canteen, maybe a liter and a half, wrapped in a quarter inch shield of lead for shielding. His left hand pulled a small pill bottle from another pocket on the backpack and he popped a solitary orange pill into his mouth, swallowing with clear displeasure. Not at the pill itself, but at what it represented. It was meant to keep the human body from suffering from a continuous, low dosage of ground radiation, and every time he took one he felt that he was accepting what had happened more and more, and somehow if he didn’t take it, it would all go away. His steady brown eyes gazed out from under his camo boonie hat as he reflected on the recent events.
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Flying Apocalypse
Saunders had just woken up to a blaring alarm at five o’clock in the morning; he slammed down on the alarm clock and threw it at the far wall in disgust. To his dismay at the time, it didn’t turn off; his groggy arm had failed to throw it with enough force to rip the plug from the wall. His mind slowly realized what was blaring from the radio on the clock as he groped under the bed for it. Through a slight flurry of static, he made out the words “… nuclear launch…” “… advised to take cover…” and “… thirty minutes…” The station then went back to static for a second, followed by cutting back to a pre-programmed classical music broadcast. He was about to let it off as a delusion of a half-awake mind when he heard faintly in the distance the city’s air-raid siren. Three years ago, the city council had heard a petition to take them down; the yearly testing was apparently too much on local fauna and the young children, to innocent to recall why they were needed in the first place. Had the yearly test not taken place the week before, Saunders would have shrugged it off, but given the circumstances, he methodically moved to get ready. The first casualties of a missile strike happened during the initial panic when the target realized what was happening, like a deer breaking its leg on a rock in a mad scramble to dodge an arrow. The military had at least taught him that, the worst thing you can ever do is panic. After the outbreak of the war in Europe that summer, he had personally converted his basement into a bomb shelter, enlarging it out behind his house in the country by burying two large shipping containers next to the basement wall and covering them with a good foot of concrete after cutting an entrance hole through his basement wall. He’d stocked it with food and water for a few weeks, and a good stash of the newest medical miracle, that he’d now come to know as “that damned orange pill”. All that he needed to grab was his home defense kit, which he kept in his bedroom when he was home. It contained an M1911 Colt .45 pistol with ACP, and an M4 with a rail system decked out with a flashlight and a fore grip and an ACOG scope. He then made his way cautiously down to the basement, where he got all of his stuff into the shelter and locked the thick steal framed, lead filled door behind him to await the apocalypse.
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The Four Horsemen
Saunders waited almost a week before he ventured outside, cautious despite the damn orange pills. He came to of the basement to a wrecked house; through a hole the size of a large fridge blown through the wall in his living room he caught his first glimpse of the new skyline of the city. He lived about twenty five miles out of the city limits on a small plot of land with a stream as his back property line where he’d fish on the few days of leave he had a month from the local military base. He thanked his luck that he had been off the night of the strike, from what he could see, the largest plume of smoke was drifting into the skies from the direction of the base. He checked his small barn to see if his horse as alive, but all he got for his trouble was a flash burned corpse crawling with maggots. The horse had been his trump card in case of this situation, no good to be driving around high profile like in a loud car when you don’t know the new lay of the land, especially with blocked roads. Now he’d have to hoof it to the base on foot. After grabbing his backpack, some water, and his two guns, he began the long walk to the base wearing the only clothes left to him on his back, a pair of blue jeans, some old hiking boots, and a black t-shirt.
The base was decimated, a hollow shell of what it had been, a large crater near the center of the base showed it had taken a direct hit. It’s said that close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, but in nuclear warheads, a direct hit eradicates all evidence that it was, in fact, a direct hit. Some scattered bricks were still standing, but that was about it. A few other people were milling around near a basement cellar type entrance that was the door to the bases bomb shelter, Saunders picked his way through the debris and spoke to the only person in a military uniform, his shoulders bearing the single chevron of a private. “Private, what’s the situation here?” “Sir, I am not at liberty to discuss that information with the general public.” “Private, look at my gun and backpack. They bear a striking resemblance to yours don’t they? Would a member of the general public be as well equipped as yourself?” “No sir, but I can’t know that you aren’t a well equipped member of the general public.” “Fine. Don’t tell me anything, but at least point me in the general direction of your commanding officer.”
After another fifteen minutes of painfully barking his way up the chain of command in an attempt to report for duty, he found his way to one LTC Bates. Bates was staring vacantly into space in the general direction of nothing important as Saunders approached. “Sir, Lt. James Saunders reporting for duty.” “You’re late Lieutenant, all active duty personnel were called in a few hours after the strike.” “Sir, I was saving my ass in a bomb shelter, sir.” “Saunders, regardless of why you were late, you’re still late. Now, I’d put you in the brig for going AWAL, but we need every man we’ve got to clean up this cluster fuck the Iranians have shoved in our face.” “I’m sorry I was too busy staying alive to report for duty sir. Where can I get a new pair of BDU’s, my prior pair had a knack for getting incinerated along with most of my house.” “I don’t much like your tone Lieutenant, check it or I’ll reconsider that brig option. I need you to take Corporal Hernandez here and scout out the communities around the Northern Hills gated community. I need a damage report and an estimate on the casualties.” “Anything I should tell the survivors and the wounded, should I find any, sir?” “Tell them we’re moving as quick as we can. You’ll find some BDU’s below in the bomb shelter storage room, change and get a move on, Lieutenant.”
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Overdose
The crimson sun crept slowly up from its bed in the east, causing a slow line of pale light to illuminate the grotesque, desecrated corpse of a once great city. The city had been a primary target, its government offices identified as a possible location of a proxy government that could retaliate on some miniscule level. The base just on the city limits hadn’t been much of a help to the populous escaping its fate as a big red X in a map room halfway across the world. The faint yellow glow began to illuminate the area more as a few scattered fires still burned and thick black smoke rose lazily into the sky. Of the millions of people who had once lived in the small metropolis, less than a thousand were still alive. They began to shuffle about lethargically as the picked up the shattered pieces of their lives for the third week in a row, greedily stuffing what they could of their former lives into whatever they could find and carting it back to their homes that were now a ramshackle of insulation, fiber glass, and shattered masonry. Not a building in a thousand had more than three walls left, and those that did you didn’t want to sleep in, at the risk of waking up the next morning filled with the false hopes that all the events of the past few months were just a simple dream of an overstressed mind.
Lt. Saunders plucked the stub of a cigar from the corner of his jaw and smashed it under the right heel of his gritty combat boots. He idly dug his canteen out of his small backpack he had leaned against the brick wall backing a gated community on the outskirts of town and separating the supposed elite from the night shift that lived just at the base of the steep hill. It was a small canteen, maybe a liter and a half, wrapped in a quarter inch shield of lead for shielding. His left hand pulled a small pill bottle from another pocket on the backpack and he popped a solitary orange pill into his mouth, swallowing with clear displeasure. Not at the pill itself, but at what it represented. It was meant to keep the human body from suffering from a continuous, low dosage of ground radiation, and every time he took one he felt that he was accepting what had happened more and more, and somehow if he didn’t take it, it would all go away. His steady brown eyes gazed out from under his camo boonie hat as he reflected on the recent events.
----------------------------------------------------------------
Flying Apocalypse
Saunders had just woken up to a blaring alarm at five o’clock in the morning; he slammed down on the alarm clock and threw it at the far wall in disgust. To his dismay at the time, it didn’t turn off; his groggy arm had failed to throw it with enough force to rip the plug from the wall. His mind slowly realized what was blaring from the radio on the clock as he groped under the bed for it. Through a slight flurry of static, he made out the words “… nuclear launch…” “… advised to take cover…” and “… thirty minutes…” The station then went back to static for a second, followed by cutting back to a pre-programmed classical music broadcast. He was about to let it off as a delusion of a half-awake mind when he heard faintly in the distance the city’s air-raid siren. Three years ago, the city council had heard a petition to take them down; the yearly testing was apparently too much on local fauna and the young children, to innocent to recall why they were needed in the first place. Had the yearly test not taken place the week before, Saunders would have shrugged it off, but given the circumstances, he methodically moved to get ready. The first casualties of a missile strike happened during the initial panic when the target realized what was happening, like a deer breaking its leg on a rock in a mad scramble to dodge an arrow. The military had at least taught him that, the worst thing you can ever do is panic. After the outbreak of the war in Europe that summer, he had personally converted his basement into a bomb shelter, enlarging it out behind his house in the country by burying two large shipping containers next to the basement wall and covering them with a good foot of concrete after cutting an entrance hole through his basement wall. He’d stocked it with food and water for a few weeks, and a good stash of the newest medical miracle, that he’d now come to know as “that damned orange pill”. All that he needed to grab was his home defense kit, which he kept in his bedroom when he was home. It contained an M1911 Colt .45 pistol with ACP, and an M4 with a rail system decked out with a flashlight and a fore grip and an ACOG scope. He then made his way cautiously down to the basement, where he got all of his stuff into the shelter and locked the thick steal framed, lead filled door behind him to await the apocalypse.
-------------------------------------------------------------
The Four Horsemen
Saunders waited almost a week before he ventured outside, cautious despite the damn orange pills. He came to of the basement to a wrecked house; through a hole the size of a large fridge blown through the wall in his living room he caught his first glimpse of the new skyline of the city. He lived about twenty five miles out of the city limits on a small plot of land with a stream as his back property line where he’d fish on the few days of leave he had a month from the local military base. He thanked his luck that he had been off the night of the strike, from what he could see, the largest plume of smoke was drifting into the skies from the direction of the base. He checked his small barn to see if his horse as alive, but all he got for his trouble was a flash burned corpse crawling with maggots. The horse had been his trump card in case of this situation, no good to be driving around high profile like in a loud car when you don’t know the new lay of the land, especially with blocked roads. Now he’d have to hoof it to the base on foot. After grabbing his backpack, some water, and his two guns, he began the long walk to the base wearing the only clothes left to him on his back, a pair of blue jeans, some old hiking boots, and a black t-shirt.
The base was decimated, a hollow shell of what it had been, a large crater near the center of the base showed it had taken a direct hit. It’s said that close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, but in nuclear warheads, a direct hit eradicates all evidence that it was, in fact, a direct hit. Some scattered bricks were still standing, but that was about it. A few other people were milling around near a basement cellar type entrance that was the door to the bases bomb shelter, Saunders picked his way through the debris and spoke to the only person in a military uniform, his shoulders bearing the single chevron of a private. “Private, what’s the situation here?” “Sir, I am not at liberty to discuss that information with the general public.” “Private, look at my gun and backpack. They bear a striking resemblance to yours don’t they? Would a member of the general public be as well equipped as yourself?” “No sir, but I can’t know that you aren’t a well equipped member of the general public.” “Fine. Don’t tell me anything, but at least point me in the general direction of your commanding officer.”
After another fifteen minutes of painfully barking his way up the chain of command in an attempt to report for duty, he found his way to one LTC Bates. Bates was staring vacantly into space in the general direction of nothing important as Saunders approached. “Sir, Lt. James Saunders reporting for duty.” “You’re late Lieutenant, all active duty personnel were called in a few hours after the strike.” “Sir, I was saving my ass in a bomb shelter, sir.” “Saunders, regardless of why you were late, you’re still late. Now, I’d put you in the brig for going AWAL, but we need every man we’ve got to clean up this cluster fuck the Iranians have shoved in our face.” “I’m sorry I was too busy staying alive to report for duty sir. Where can I get a new pair of BDU’s, my prior pair had a knack for getting incinerated along with most of my house.” “I don’t much like your tone Lieutenant, check it or I’ll reconsider that brig option. I need you to take Corporal Hernandez here and scout out the communities around the Northern Hills gated community. I need a damage report and an estimate on the casualties.” “Anything I should tell the survivors and the wounded, should I find any, sir?” “Tell them we’re moving as quick as we can. You’ll find some BDU’s below in the bomb shelter storage room, change and get a move on, Lieutenant.”
Thursday, December 6, 2007
Dodo
I wonder
if the last two dodo birds
ran into eachother in the forest
one very ugly, and one very cute
by dodo bird standards of course
if the cute one decided
"fuck the species, i'm not doing something that looks like that."
if the last two dodo birds
ran into eachother in the forest
one very ugly, and one very cute
by dodo bird standards of course
if the cute one decided
"fuck the species, i'm not doing something that looks like that."
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
and it goes on
in an effort to exterminate the remainder of my meal plan in as glorious a way as possible, i have purchased a further:
12 boxes of premium crackers (12 pounds)
36 Hershey bars (3.48 pounds)
36 crunch bars (3.48 pounds)
and
36 bags of skittles (4 pounds)
making the amount of shit i don't need
a rough
238.5 pounds
fucking aramark....
12 boxes of premium crackers (12 pounds)
36 Hershey bars (3.48 pounds)
36 crunch bars (3.48 pounds)
and
36 bags of skittles (4 pounds)
making the amount of shit i don't need
a rough
238.5 pounds
fucking aramark....
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Presidential
I'm sick of people saying they support Hilary, and then the first thing they say to support that statment is something along the lines of "It's about time we had a woman president."
If the first reason you can think of for why you support a candidate is based on her gender, that's just as bad, in my mind, like voting based on race or religion, or party.
You shouldn't vote based on any of those.
Hell, George Washington himself warned about a party system in politics.
I'm reminded of a fake vote run at my high school. Bush won handidly, but attached to the ballet was a list of issues to vote on, and upon examination of the issues and how people voted on those, it was revealed that had people actually paid attention to the issues instead of the candidate or party, Kerry would have won by just as wide a margin as Bush had.
But that's for another post, voting on gender does nothing but blind one to the issues.
With these problems in mind, I have begun asking such Hilary supporters a simple question, aimed at clearing this issue up. Note that i have no problem with Hilary supporters, so long as they actually support her view on issues. The question, put simply, is as follows. Read it, and ask yourself this if you support Hilary.
If Hilary had a penis, would you still be voting for her?
If the first reason you can think of for why you support a candidate is based on her gender, that's just as bad, in my mind, like voting based on race or religion, or party.
You shouldn't vote based on any of those.
Hell, George Washington himself warned about a party system in politics.
I'm reminded of a fake vote run at my high school. Bush won handidly, but attached to the ballet was a list of issues to vote on, and upon examination of the issues and how people voted on those, it was revealed that had people actually paid attention to the issues instead of the candidate or party, Kerry would have won by just as wide a margin as Bush had.
But that's for another post, voting on gender does nothing but blind one to the issues.
With these problems in mind, I have begun asking such Hilary supporters a simple question, aimed at clearing this issue up. Note that i have no problem with Hilary supporters, so long as they actually support her view on issues. The question, put simply, is as follows. Read it, and ask yourself this if you support Hilary.
If Hilary had a penis, would you still be voting for her?
Monday, December 3, 2007
for those of you at home...
for those of you at home
the list in the previous post
adds up to about
3448.75 oz. of SHIT I DON'T NEED
that's 215.5 POUNDS
i outweigh the shit i had to buy because i didn't eat enough by a mere 30 pounds.
and i'm still gonna need to buy more.
wtf?
the list in the previous post
adds up to about
3448.75 oz. of SHIT I DON'T NEED
that's 215.5 POUNDS
i outweigh the shit i had to buy because i didn't eat enough by a mere 30 pounds.
and i'm still gonna need to buy more.
wtf?
Meal plan?!? THIS IS COLLEGE!!!
we don't plan here...
or
atleast, we shouldn't
due to the so called meal "plan"
i have had to purchase the following:
24 bottles of 20 oz. Dr. Pepper
24 bottles of 20 oz. Coke-a-Cola
24 bottles of 32 oz. Glacier Freeze Gatorade
12 bottles of 32 oz. Grape Gatorade
12 bottles of 32 oz. Lemon-Lime Gatorade
72 Reese's Peanut Butter Cups
150 oz. of Oreos
30 oz. os Cheese Nips
48 bottles 8 oz. Lemon-Lime Gatorade
2 lbs. Chex mix
24 bottles 9.5 oz. Godiva French Vanilla Latte
and
480 Club Crackers
i really wish the zombie infestation would start, i've got all the food i need...
and all thanks to Aramark trying to make me spend $900 a semester on food.
or
atleast, we shouldn't
due to the so called meal "plan"
i have had to purchase the following:
24 bottles of 20 oz. Dr. Pepper
24 bottles of 20 oz. Coke-a-Cola
24 bottles of 32 oz. Glacier Freeze Gatorade
12 bottles of 32 oz. Grape Gatorade
12 bottles of 32 oz. Lemon-Lime Gatorade
72 Reese's Peanut Butter Cups
150 oz. of Oreos
30 oz. os Cheese Nips
48 bottles 8 oz. Lemon-Lime Gatorade
2 lbs. Chex mix
24 bottles 9.5 oz. Godiva French Vanilla Latte
and
480 Club Crackers
i really wish the zombie infestation would start, i've got all the food i need...
and all thanks to Aramark trying to make me spend $900 a semester on food.
Sunday, December 2, 2007
an entertaining college story
there are a few reasons i don't get drunk, one being that my dad is an alcoholic and it's fucked up a good portion of my life, the other being i get horny as hell and a lack of inhibitions isn't always a good thing.
but, despite these facts, i found myself yesterday drinking a half dozen rum and cokes and basking in the irony of the fact that only the day before i had seen my father off to his third or fourth stint of rehab. It was just me and my suitemates drinking in our room, and the only reason we were doing it is because, honestly, we were pissed that our school is such a nerd school and on a saturday night there was jack shit going on, despite the fact that finals are a full week and a half away. The conversation went something like this:
q: "wow... it's saturday night and our entire suite is still here at midnight..."
v: "why the fuck is v**** still here?!? Fucking nerd school, there's nothing going on."
*he then puts a beer in the freezer*
q: "you know, that won't make it colder any faster, because of newton's cooling constant."
v: "no! no nerd today!"
c: "i played WoW for five minutes a half hour ago, then stopped in disgust when i realized i was playing at 11 on a saturday night..."
v: "fuck it! lets get wasted"
ultimately, this led to hanging around talking about shit that none of us can remember untill around 3 when Q pulled out a fun little device and we decided to try out a perfectly legal hallucinagin called 'salvia'.
overall it was an entertaining experiance, i ended up on the futton next to C who was texting someone, having opted not to smoke any with the intention of making sure none of us were stupid. Q told me to spy on him, and in a random jumble of events, C moved to the door, and Q followed him like a spy, i followed suite but only got halfway to the door before i doubled over in laughted for a good ten minutes.
the reasoning being that, before any of the three of us moved, i though C and Q were in fact boats on a small lake, and if you havn't ever seen a technicolor boat somehow morph into a sean connery-esqu spy, then my friend, you havn't seen anything.
but, despite these facts, i found myself yesterday drinking a half dozen rum and cokes and basking in the irony of the fact that only the day before i had seen my father off to his third or fourth stint of rehab. It was just me and my suitemates drinking in our room, and the only reason we were doing it is because, honestly, we were pissed that our school is such a nerd school and on a saturday night there was jack shit going on, despite the fact that finals are a full week and a half away. The conversation went something like this:
q: "wow... it's saturday night and our entire suite is still here at midnight..."
v: "why the fuck is v**** still here?!? Fucking nerd school, there's nothing going on."
*he then puts a beer in the freezer*
q: "you know, that won't make it colder any faster, because of newton's cooling constant."
v: "no! no nerd today!"
c: "i played WoW for five minutes a half hour ago, then stopped in disgust when i realized i was playing at 11 on a saturday night..."
v: "fuck it! lets get wasted"
ultimately, this led to hanging around talking about shit that none of us can remember untill around 3 when Q pulled out a fun little device and we decided to try out a perfectly legal hallucinagin called 'salvia'.
overall it was an entertaining experiance, i ended up on the futton next to C who was texting someone, having opted not to smoke any with the intention of making sure none of us were stupid. Q told me to spy on him, and in a random jumble of events, C moved to the door, and Q followed him like a spy, i followed suite but only got halfway to the door before i doubled over in laughted for a good ten minutes.
the reasoning being that, before any of the three of us moved, i though C and Q were in fact boats on a small lake, and if you havn't ever seen a technicolor boat somehow morph into a sean connery-esqu spy, then my friend, you havn't seen anything.
Saturday, December 1, 2007
seriously now, you petty, petty bastards
"Petition to remove the "fuck the troops" group from MySpaceWhat I'm wanting is your help in Creating a Petition to send to Tom to get this group removed. Anyone who is willing to help please repost this bulletin and I will send a message to Tom from Iraq when I get there tomorrow.Thanks.ScottKeep it Going!"
So i ran across this petition in a post from a friend. Alrighty, sure, a group for "fuck the troops" is a little agravating, fine, i'll agree with that, but comeon its a group, on an internet site. No matter how much you ban them, it won't make them change their minds. Live with it. There is no reason to ban them for any other purpose then to force your views down their throats, and that'll just make them hate you and the troops more. Seriously, what the fuck? If anything, its freedom of speech and beliefe at its finest, no one should be able to or allowed to stop them from being able to express their views.
Hell, even the KKK can hold rallies in a city's main square, all these guys want is a fucking group on myspace, let 'em have it i say, why the hell not? After all, why are we in Iraq? It sure as hell ain't for weapons of mass distruction, and all we're doing now is setting up a new government. mmm... lets think on that for a second... we're there to spred democracy... and... that entails free speech and the right to vote and what not. Isn't it odd that soldiers going into Iraq are pissed that we on the "home front" are practising a central tenint of democracy? Sure, they may not be expressing the same views as you, but thats their choice, not yours, live with it and move on.
So i ran across this petition in a post from a friend. Alrighty, sure, a group for "fuck the troops" is a little agravating, fine, i'll agree with that, but comeon its a group, on an internet site. No matter how much you ban them, it won't make them change their minds. Live with it. There is no reason to ban them for any other purpose then to force your views down their throats, and that'll just make them hate you and the troops more. Seriously, what the fuck? If anything, its freedom of speech and beliefe at its finest, no one should be able to or allowed to stop them from being able to express their views.
Hell, even the KKK can hold rallies in a city's main square, all these guys want is a fucking group on myspace, let 'em have it i say, why the hell not? After all, why are we in Iraq? It sure as hell ain't for weapons of mass distruction, and all we're doing now is setting up a new government. mmm... lets think on that for a second... we're there to spred democracy... and... that entails free speech and the right to vote and what not. Isn't it odd that soldiers going into Iraq are pissed that we on the "home front" are practising a central tenint of democracy? Sure, they may not be expressing the same views as you, but thats their choice, not yours, live with it and move on.
transfering....
So, since i just got this blog 'cause a few of my friends have one now
and i really wanted to kill time and avoid writting a god dman art history paper
on which i have already declared shenanigans, but more on that later.
i'm transfering over blogs from my myspace
because honestly, that website has gone down the crapper
not that it ever had that much further to go from its beggining.
so, that's what the previous post and a few more posts today are.
cheers.
and i really wanted to kill time and avoid writting a god dman art history paper
on which i have already declared shenanigans, but more on that later.
i'm transfering over blogs from my myspace
because honestly, that website has gone down the crapper
not that it ever had that much further to go from its beggining.
so, that's what the previous post and a few more posts today are.
cheers.
My religion
Being tired of most organized religion and their exahsted yelling of what essentially amounts to "i'm right, you're wrong, now go die in a whole and decend to the bowels of hell or accept my religion." i would like to propose my own alternative veiwpoint on the matter. My religion is as follows, in the form of thirteen suggestions:
1) Worship however you want, whenever you want. There are no set meetings or any set beliefs beyond the acceptance of others.
2) There is some form of higher power, see it however you want, and don’t force your views on anybody. This is not to say don’t have lively discussions and debates, that’s how religions and ideas grow, just don’t be so rabid as to assault strangers and/or ride from door to door like those damned Jehovah’s Witnesses.
3) Any idea is open to review and change. Since nothing in this is beliefs only ideas, it can all be changed easily.
4) There shall be no dooms day preaching or shouting matches about fire and brimstone coming to kill us all for our “evil ways.” Most of the time said ways are only evil to some people, and therefore can’t be truly evil.
5) In contradiction to the above stated idea, there is but one rule that cannot be broken. NO MURDER. Murder, that is, as defined as the conscious non-consensual taking of another conscious humans life. Basically, abortion isn’t murder, nor is assisted suicide, nor removing feeding tubes.
6) Follow your own moral guidelines. Murders already defined as wrong, anything else is up to you. That’s not to say that you can go out and rape and plunder small villages and we’ll back you up, keep it reasonable. Do it if you want, but we won’t have shit to do with you while you’re in prison/dead.
7) If you want meetings, it’s your job to get people to show up, do it whenever you want, we don’t care, if anybody wants to come, they’ll come. Don’t flip a bitch if no one shows up, that just means we either don’t like you, or you suck at planning.
8) Anybody can make a sermon if they want, on anything. You want to do a sermon on what you believe and how it’s helped you, knock yourself out; a sermon on a book you read a while back and how you think it affected the 1911 World Series, kudos. We don’t have to listen or show up to either. You might just be speaking to a wall.
9) Anytime you think you hear the ‘voice of god’ calling you to do something, clean your ears out or stop being crazy. If god wants to speak with you, she’ll show up and say it straight out.
10) God has no definite shape or form. You need one to focus on, make one up, it’ll inherently be right. Hell, your god could be a 6’3” blonde with huge tits who never wears clothes, why’s she need to anyway, she’s perfect ain’t she? Or, your god could be a rock you threw out your window once, no one cares.
11) You want holidays? Make ‘em up, but make them believable, we can’t be discredited all the time, and don’t make so many of them that your boss/school start to question why you’re out once a week for “the feast of Turkslami day.” For some reason I don’t think they’ll buy that that was the day of the week your god created the turkey and salami on rye sandwich.
12) Not creative enough to make up your own shit? Steal it from another religion, it makes things funny as hell and confusing for people who don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, and, best yet, current religions aren’t copyrighted like the songs on Napster. There’s no legal recourse!
13) To expand on #6, since there’s no set belief or idea on god and religion in this ‘religion’ feel free to make up your own moral guidelines, as stated before, but don’t push them on other people. In other words, you can believe cussing is bad, but try not to get twitchy when other people do it.
1) Worship however you want, whenever you want. There are no set meetings or any set beliefs beyond the acceptance of others.
2) There is some form of higher power, see it however you want, and don’t force your views on anybody. This is not to say don’t have lively discussions and debates, that’s how religions and ideas grow, just don’t be so rabid as to assault strangers and/or ride from door to door like those damned Jehovah’s Witnesses.
3) Any idea is open to review and change. Since nothing in this is beliefs only ideas, it can all be changed easily.
4) There shall be no dooms day preaching or shouting matches about fire and brimstone coming to kill us all for our “evil ways.” Most of the time said ways are only evil to some people, and therefore can’t be truly evil.
5) In contradiction to the above stated idea, there is but one rule that cannot be broken. NO MURDER. Murder, that is, as defined as the conscious non-consensual taking of another conscious humans life. Basically, abortion isn’t murder, nor is assisted suicide, nor removing feeding tubes.
6) Follow your own moral guidelines. Murders already defined as wrong, anything else is up to you. That’s not to say that you can go out and rape and plunder small villages and we’ll back you up, keep it reasonable. Do it if you want, but we won’t have shit to do with you while you’re in prison/dead.
7) If you want meetings, it’s your job to get people to show up, do it whenever you want, we don’t care, if anybody wants to come, they’ll come. Don’t flip a bitch if no one shows up, that just means we either don’t like you, or you suck at planning.
8) Anybody can make a sermon if they want, on anything. You want to do a sermon on what you believe and how it’s helped you, knock yourself out; a sermon on a book you read a while back and how you think it affected the 1911 World Series, kudos. We don’t have to listen or show up to either. You might just be speaking to a wall.
9) Anytime you think you hear the ‘voice of god’ calling you to do something, clean your ears out or stop being crazy. If god wants to speak with you, she’ll show up and say it straight out.
10) God has no definite shape or form. You need one to focus on, make one up, it’ll inherently be right. Hell, your god could be a 6’3” blonde with huge tits who never wears clothes, why’s she need to anyway, she’s perfect ain’t she? Or, your god could be a rock you threw out your window once, no one cares.
11) You want holidays? Make ‘em up, but make them believable, we can’t be discredited all the time, and don’t make so many of them that your boss/school start to question why you’re out once a week for “the feast of Turkslami day.” For some reason I don’t think they’ll buy that that was the day of the week your god created the turkey and salami on rye sandwich.
12) Not creative enough to make up your own shit? Steal it from another religion, it makes things funny as hell and confusing for people who don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, and, best yet, current religions aren’t copyrighted like the songs on Napster. There’s no legal recourse!
13) To expand on #6, since there’s no set belief or idea on god and religion in this ‘religion’ feel free to make up your own moral guidelines, as stated before, but don’t push them on other people. In other words, you can believe cussing is bad, but try not to get twitchy when other people do it.
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