The Red-Orange Glow

Siblings

2012-02-11T10:51:00.001-08:00

Once I woke up in the middle of the night to find that someone had taken down all of my posters while I slept. My door was open so I assumed it had been my brother or sister, both of which liked to play tricks on me.

In the morning I confronted them at breakfast, but they both said they’d had nothing to do with it. My mom took my side immediately, knowing how often they fooled me with their games. They both looked very tired, as they always did, but for some reason they looked more tired than usual, which is how I knew they were lying.

They always looked tired after one of their pranks.

When I was five, my brother once put on a ghoulish mask with empty eyes and twisted features and chased me around the house, eventually forcing me into a closet where my sister waited to grab me from behind while screaming.

My brother was older than me by ten years and my sister was older than me by six. They must have felt that because I was the youngest it was their duty to scare me.

After the mask stunt my mother punished them by withholding dessert for a week, but it didn’t seem to deter them. Eventually I stopped telling on them whenever they’d push my door open at night, loud enough for me to hear the creaking. Or when one of them (I never knew who) would whisper at the edge of my bed. It happened so often I sort of got used to it.

But my posters were something special. I was twelve at the time and had started to become very interested in science fiction. And all of the posters were of my favorite shows and movies. One of the posters was even signed by the writers of The Next Generation, something I was extremely proud of. To see my posters vanish was the last straw.

After my mother overheard about the posters she told them to back off, this time for real. My brother and sister seemed mad about this and glared at me afterwards. But my brother went off to work and my sister went off to college, and when they got back afterwards they were friendly enough. I went up to my room after school and even found that all the posters were back up on the walls. I thanked them at dinner and they raised their eyebrows at each other, but said nothing.

I showered, finished my homework, and went to sleep. Around midnight I heard my closet door slam, waking me up. I sighed and went back to sleep. In the morning I saw that the door was still closed. I was frightened. It was in the middle of the winter so I awoke when it was still dark out, and thus the closet door was just as frightening as ever.

My hands trembling I grasped the handle and pulled it open. Something lunged out at me and I screamed, falling backwards. But it was only a baseball bat and I felt stupid when my mom came into my room asking what happened.

I told her that it was nothing but she immediately went to my brother’s room and started yelling for my sister to come and speak with her. I stood by my doorway while she berated them, telling my brother that she was tired of him living at home and tormenting me, that he needed to move out.

To my surprise he started yelling back this time, saying that he would move out, that he was tired of being yelled at for things he wasn’t doing. My sister leapt to his defense and said that she was going to move out too. And they did, just a day later. After my brother moved out his last box, he stopped in the hallway and said sorry. But I just thought it was his last prank, his final attempt to confuse and bewilder me.

And for a month, things were wonderful. There were no more mysterious sounds, my closet door never slammed shut, my bedroom door stayed closed, and my posters stayed right where they were.

My friends at school made fun of me for being so scared of my siblings, but I was ok with it. These pranks had happened my entire life. It was about time they stopped.

One night my mom was out on another business trip so I was by myself, watching movies on the television in the living room. I had a bowl of popcorn and a glassful of coca cola, and was very much enjoying life.

It was during an episode of Stargate that I heard the crash in my room.

I bolted up from the couch, knocking the bowl of popcorn over onto the floor, and stared down the hallway towards my room. I heard glass break and then nothing. I turned on the hallway light and walked slowly to my room.

I slipped my hand around my doorframe and turned on my bedroom light. I walked in.

All the posters were knocked off the walls; the glass frames were broken, and I could see writing on the backs of the posters in black, dripping ink.

ALL ALONE

Songbird's School of Deliverance [Entry Log Six]

2012-01-31T16:47:00.000-08:00

PREVIOUS ENTRY

AA HomeTree: Songbird's School of Deliverance(SSD): Fundamental Progression Log:.

//:loginID::[Alice J. Songbird];

HomeTree Corp..::....:\\:loginID::ACCEPTED
..:\\:October 6, 2033:. 11:22pm
..:\\:employment status:: SSD Warden

//: Entry Log:[6, Strong Will];

//:[Today when I went to go teach the child of room 26A, I must confess that at first I was quite terrified. I would put him at the age of 11 or 12... however, his appearance makes him look as if he were in his young adult years(18 to 20). His muscle tone is far greater than that of the other male children. And I dare say that he has had nothing but a hard life since birth.]::.

//:[Later, when I went around to visit the other children I realized that 26A has more scars on his face than all of the other children have on their entire bodies combined. This and his shear mass make me wonder whether or not he was to replace his Hive's Alpha before we effectively exterminated the parasite. 26A is now my personal top priority, the sooner he learns English, the sooner I can hear his story... assuming he'll be able to learn, and assuming he still remembers...]::.

//:[I regret to say this, but I am quickly losing my patience with time... Unfortunately, I have no choice but to leave all my questions with it.]::.

//:[Anyways, despite the appearance of 26A, he seemed very docile possibly even comfortable with my presence... The whole time I was there he sat on his bedding with his back against the wall, relaxed... RELAXED! NONE of the other children appeared relaxed on my first visitation, even the ones who appeared to be fearful of my presence were tense and stiff... Perhaps his size has made him fear nothing and assume that his appearance is enough to cause no one to mess with him.]::.

//:[Whatever the case may be, I don't know how I could have possibly missed recording how tame 26A was on my first visitation. There are only two explanations; one, that we are getting through to him and he has become comfortable with our company, or two, I had become impatient with my task of visiting 33 ravenous children.]::.

//:[Of course, at first I couldn't see how I would possibly make such a mistake or miss such a dramatic attitude difference between the children. So he had obviously changed... But after I made my second visit to each of the children today, it would appear that each of their attitudes match my description exactly for them exactly... They hadn't changed. What are the odds, that only one child would suddenly become comfortable with my presence.]::.

//:[I am also not sure how I could forget a child who shows such promise... Oh well, dwelling on this won't get me anywhere. All I need to focus on now is attempting to teach 26A until his teacher calls back in... IF she calls back in...]::.
\\:Entry Log::Closed

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HomeTree Corp..::....::\\:loginID::VERIFIED

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..:\\:October 7, 2033:. 12:48am

Songbird's School of Deliverance [Entry Log Five]

2012-01-31T15:18:00.000-08:00

PREVIOUS ENTRY

AA HomeTree: Songbird's School of Deliverance(SSD): Fundamental Progression Log:.

//:loginID::[Alice J. Songbird];

HomeTree Corp..::....:\\:loginID::ACCEPTED
..:\\:October 5, 2033:. 6:34pm
..:\\:employment status:: SSD Warden

//: Entry Log:[5, Delay];

//:[Unfortunately, I have yet to have the opportunity to visit the children since my last entry. HomeTree called me away from the school the next day to report on how the first 5 days of classes went. They also proceeded to ask if anything had gone wrong... I made them aware of the loss of Mr. Jonikin and one of the children. And the fact that there were some minor injuries on the first day... I presumed, at the time, that they just didn't know. But now... I'm not too sure. Perhaps they were testing me?]::.

//:[While I was gone, the teachers continued their classes. And upon my return I was thrilled to hear that nothing too eventful occurred. The most worrisome news was that one of my teachers has called out sick "until further notice"... That is the way she put it, and when I spoke with her she sounded perfectly healthy, so I fear she has quit.]::.

//:[So until I receive further word, her child is now mine to teach. Normally I might be upset about this circumstance... However I am rather pleased. Now I can try a more hands-on approach to attempt to reach this child using my methods. Hopefully I shall also learn more about them in this fashion.]::.

//:[Also as to my original plan I shall visit each of the children once again and try verbal interactions. At this time, all of my visitations are merely for study and observation... I'm sure that once I learn more about these children and their kind, I will be able to better teach them... Hopefully my filling in for the "sick" teacher will also help me better understand them.]::.

//:[I hope this child isn't one of the horribly ill tempered children... I realize that I didn't write much about this particular child on my first visit... So, tomorrow at midday I will start teaching my first child in room 26A.]::.

//:[Wishing myself luck...]::.
\\:Entry Log::Closed

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..:\\:October 5, 2033:. 7:03pm

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Songbird's School of Deliverance [Entry Log Four]

2012-01-26T19:09:00.000-08:00

Previous Entry

AA HomeTree: Songbird's School of Deliverance(SSD):
Fundamental Progression Log:.

//:loginID::[Alice J. Songbird];

HomeTree Corp..::....:\\:loginID::ACCEPTED
..:\\:October 2, 2033:. 11:48pm
..:\\:employment status:: SSD Warden

//: Entry Log:[4, Promise];

//:[So I as I said, I went and visited each of the children. I even tried to visit the 20 kids that HomeTree is using as a "control group", but their head honcho, John Smith, wouldn't let me anywhere near the HomeTree Base!... Ugh, what a horribly dreadful name... John Smith... So plain and boring.]::.

//:[Visiting all of the children was a long and tiring process. Which is mainly the reason why I am only just now getting around to the Log... Thankfully I found some promising results! Now of course, these are merely preliminary observations but to me they show outstanding promise... The first 15 children I visited, were all incredibly violent the moment the guards opened the door. All bearing their sharp, jagged teeth and growling voraciously at me. They all seemed enraged with my presence. And the fact that we keep them in dim lighting due to their... malformed pupils... made visiting them nightmarish.]::.

//:[One of the children snapped his jaws at me and pulled viciously at the restraints around his hands and feet... It almost made me wish we would shorten the chains that bind them to the wall... In all honesty, I have serious respect for the teachers assigned to those children. Their urge to help these kids must be far stronger than mine.]::.

//:[Most of the children after this seemed more patient with my presence, although a majority of them still had a soft growl that emanated from within their chests... However, a handful of the female, and a few of the male, let loose what sounded almost like a whimper. However they did not cower at the sight of me, they stood (or sat, whatever the case was) up, straight and strong. They looked as if they were ready for anything to happen.]::.{PageBreak}

//:[I found this very interesting. I believe that maybe their families taught them this at birth. "Always stand your ground"... or something along these lines. I am still unsure as to how their kind communicate... Autopsies on the species from HomeTree show that they have vocal cords and the ability to potentially speak. But can they retain what we teach them?]::.

//:[I guess pondering over this question is going to get me nowhere. Once again, something that I will have to leave with time itself...]::.

//:[I think that I've learned more from the children than we've been able to teach them in the last few days. But nonetheless I still believe there is hope. As a small selection of the children I visited seemed calm and almost relaxed with my presence. Some of them looked as if they were just trying to ignore the fact that I was in the room with them, while others sat there watching me curiously.]::.

//:[But it was pure curiosity... There was no trace of anger or rage in their faces, only the innocent and quizzical look of a Human or Ayran child. As I sat there, the only sound they made was their calm and steady breathing. Whenever I made any slight movement they seemed to mimic the motions. I almost didn't want to leave these children's sides, because I felt as if I were making progress with them.]::.

//:[Tomorrow I hope to visit the children again, only this time to observe their response to verbal interaction. Hopefully some of them will show a positive response and maybe even understand what I say... Until then, it is terribly late. If I wish to have the energy needed for tomorrow, I should head off to bed. With any luck, I shall have something interesting to report.]::.
\\:Entry Log::Closed

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..:\\:October 3, 2033:. 1:02am

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Songbird's School of Deliverance [Entry Log Three]

2012-01-26T11:12:00.000-08:00

Songbird's School of Deliverance [Entry Log Two]

2012-01-24T16:25:00.000-08:00

Previous Entry

AA HomeTree: Songbird's School of Deliverance(SSD): Fundamental Progression Log:.

//:loginID::[Alice J. Songbird];

HomeTree Corp..::....:\\:loginID::ACCEPTED
..:\\:September 30, 2033:. 7:53pm
..:\\:employment status:: SSD Warden

//: Entry Log:[2, Incident Report];

//:[To whomever may read this, I apologize for not writing an entry about yesterday on our first day of classes... Finding the words to say this is proving incredibly difficult for me right now so I shall make this as formal as I possibly can.]::.

//:[It fills me with great sorrow to announce that SSD lost a teacher and a child yesterday. I was informed of a situation happening in one of the children's rooms and as I arrived, I was met with a gruesome sight. The female child lay slump against the back wall filled with bullet holes, and its blood smeared across the wall. The teacher lay squirming on the floor and two guards struggled to stop the blood that gushed from his throat.]::.

//:[I regret to inform you that the teacher, Paul Atlas Jonikin, did not survive the ordeal.]::.

//:[Of course, I was required to question the guards about the situation. They were both shaken up and I found that HomeTree's guards may not be as qualified as I had hoped. But from what I gather, Mr. Jonikin had become increasingly agitated with the negative feedback from the child. Mr. Jonikin eventually became enraged with her and stepped within the child's restraint limit, where she bit a large chunk out of his throat. Wherein the guards immediately unloaded on the child.]::.

//:[This upsets me. One, HomeTree's guards are apparently prone to panic and a happy trigger-finger. Two, we could have still helped that child. She was still in her restraints and killing the poor thing was unnecessary!]::.

//:[Sorry. This was to be formal... It just I only have so many children to work with and I can't be penalized for the mistakes of the teachers. Yes, it is sad that Mr. Jonikin did not survive but I only have so many shots to make this work.]::.

//:[After the incident, HomeTree informed me that we were to exclude 20 of the children from the teaching process as a "control" group. HomeTree also sent one of their top men to oversee this. I found out that they took 20 of the children and are holding them on a remote base just outside of my school.]::.

//:[Unfortunately, I have no say in the matter and I fear what they may do to the poor children. Tomorrow I shall inform the teachers that they must be patient and wary of the children's restraints. They are wearing them for a reason.]::.

//:[Despite the incident, I am more anxious than ever to reeducate these kids. If we can teach them manners, morals, and English they may yet be able to re-civilize their kind. I just hope the other teachers hold the same beliefs. We owe it to their future. They used to be Human after all.]::.
\\:Entry Log::Closed

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..:\\:September 30, 2033:. 9:27pm

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Songbird's School of Deliverance [Entry Log One]

2012-01-24T15:07:00.000-08:00

AA HomeTree: Songbird's School of Deliverance(SSD): Fundamental Progression Log:.

//:loginID::[Alice J. Songbird];

HomeTree Corp..::....:\\:loginID::ACCEPTED
..:\\:September 28, 2033:. 9:05pm
..:\\:employment status:: SSD Warden

//: Entry Log:[1, School's In];

//:[We received the children HomeTree informed us about... But when they got here there were only 64 of the 80 promised. What happened to the remaining 16 is beyond me. Personally I just want to believe that HomeTree could not find enough children for my school. So for all intensive purposes, that is what happened.]::.

//:[I'm just happy that I am finally getting my chance to reeducate these children. As I watched them being unloaded by HomeTree Guards from the trucks in groups of five, I could not believe how adorable they all looked. Now of course they were all a tad bit misbehaved and violent, but that is the whole reason I created this school. Teach and Discipline... At least, this is my hope.]::.

//:[I am also very happy with today's results. There were only two incidents amongst the children, both in which a few of the children attacked each other. Luckily the HomeTree Guards were there to break it up and escort them to their rooms safely. Only two of the Guards received any injuries, and the worst of the two was a poor man name Henry who lost two of his fingers and may now be blind in his left eye from a scratch across his face. I am pleased to hear that he will be perfectly fine... Well at least he'll live.]::.

//:[Tomorrow I will assign the volunteer teachers to a child. We were luckily able to find more than enough volunteers for the SSD so that we can have a safer environment for the teachers. I will be able to assign a teacher to a single child until I feel it is safe enough to have a larger class in a single room with a few teachers. HomeTree is also giving me the power over 150 of their guards who have been transferred to my school...]::.

//:[So for now I think it will be safer if each of the teachers have two guards for their protection and the children remain restrained. If the teachers try to befriend these children first it may be our best shot at reaching them.]::.

//:[Until then, the children have all been safely secured in their own rooms and are settled in. I'll inform the teachers of their assignments tomorrow and begin classes promptly at midday... Oh and HomeTree is strongly encouraging me to update this Progression Log periodically. I'm not a big fan of sitting down and writing, but this is probably a good idea. We'll see how classes go first... until then...]::.

//:[Cheerio...?...]::.
\\:Entry Log::Closed

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HomeTree Corp..::....::\\:loginID::VERIFIED

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..:\\:September 28, 2033:. 10:01pm

Next Entry

Talosman

2012-01-23T17:29:00.003-08:00

Daedalus saw past the opening and stepped in.

Fluorescent blue lights flickered in rapid patterns along the wall, never leaving the room in absolute darkness. The trail led along the center of the hallway in a line that grew thicker and thinner in shorter and shorter intervals. It matched John Lafferty as he crawled forward, stopping occasionally to regain his strength.

Daedalus scraped at the red line of blood with the tip of his boot. He knew he had to be catching up.

Walking forward, he saw Sunwarden glyphs etched above the frames of the lights. He put his finger into the crevices formed by the words and felt the cold concrete within. The glyphs been made by machines; they were perfectly hewn and at least two inches deep. The corners of the indentations were sharp enough to cut flesh.

The door there was unlocked. After the first door code he’d had to break this one seemed carelessly unprotected, but he realized that most anyone who’d been able to break through the first chamber would have to have been a member. Or otherwise had enough skill that a second lock would have presented little to no problems.

Daedalus opened the door with his left hand; his right hand slid into his coat and grabbed the handle of his San’izer.

The fluorescent lights spilled out into the room as Daedalus entered, illuminating Lafferty’s prone form in the center of the chamber. He was holding a gun of his own, but he looked weak, and he failed to consistently train it on Daedalus’ chest.

“Just some talosman?” John Lafferty asked. “I was expectin’ someone else.” His accent was from the United States; familiar. It reminded Daedalus of his days growing up in Texas.

“Who were you expecting?” Daedalus asked. He didn’t expect an answer. “Who told you to kill her?”

Lafferty’s breath was going slow. It was the poison, seeping into his liver and bloodstream. It reminded Daedalus of the chimera that still lurked outside.

When Lafferty did not answer, Daedalus barked, “What did you expect to find here?” Daedalus was surprised at the static that crept into his voice. He forgot that Madeline had told him not to shout. Daedalus did not realize how confused he really was.

The room was empty, as far as Daedalus could tell. There was a glyph on the far wall that appeared to have been carved out by whatever machine had created the glyphs in the tunnel. It was the only one that Daedalus knew; it was a sun with the left side shaded. John Lafferty coughed and said, “They said I… could save us.”

“Who did?” Daedalus asked. He walked across the room and knelt down before Lafferty, “Save us from what?” Daedalus could smell the necrotizing flesh wafting up from Lafferty’s crippled body.

“What do you care?” Lafferty asked. “I failed. I… I’ll die in a few hours from the poison. Why should I tell you anything?”

Daedalus grabbed him by the shirt collar and lifted him up. He pressed the barrel of the San’izer into the skin of Lafferty’s neck, “I’ll kill you now, if you tell me who told you to kill her. Spare you some suffering.”

Lafferty looked confused for a moment. He looked at Daedalus with eyes that were almost frightened, and then slowly became confident. “Smith. Was supposed to accept her bracelet. I think you scared him off.”

“He told you to kill her?” Daedalus asked. “Smith who?”

“Smith Brightwater,” John Lafferty said. “I don’t know if he has a middle name.”

“Unfortunate,” Daedalus said, pulling the trigger.

2012-01-18T16:33:00.001-08:00

With the wind thrashing he reached for the rusty axe.

2012-01-17T17:07:00.001-08:00

A heavy knock on the pine and all silence falls.

2012-01-15T17:17:00.000-08:00

the phone light

b-l-i-n-k-s r-e-d

in the dark of my room.

I roll over

to flip the phone

face

down

I catch a glimpse of the thing in the corner

crouched
breathing slow

a mad glimmer in its wet teeth

and ----

I close my eyes

2012-01-15T17:11:00.000-08:00

Ever get the feeling like you're a dying man?

There's an ache in your chest and your vision blurs. The world spins for a moment and you think, this is it, I'm going to die. You humorlessly lament the clothes you're wearing. I don't want to be caught dead in this shirt.

Your hands and feet grow numb, and lights flash all around. When they all go out, you're as surprised as you were when you were born.

And then you wake up.

2012-01-09T17:37:00.001-08:00

A whistle outside the cabin door. They are not alone.

Gust of Wind

2012-01-04T15:13:00.000-08:00

A gust of wind slammed the door and we were alone.

“You have any soda?”

I nodded towards the kitchen.

“Could I have some?” His face was strange. The features were an aggregate of everyone I’d ever known. Incredibly normal. The only strange feature was his earring which danced even when his head seemed to be still.

“S-S-Sure.”

“It would be ever so lovely.”

As I passed the leather sofa I heard the creaking as he stood and boots hammering across the floor towards me.

I heard the sound of steel sliding across leather as I drew my father’s revolver.

Books Are Stupid

2011-12-26T16:38:00.000-08:00

I remember when you told me "books are stupid" with confidence and a smile. I started thinking about how dim and uninteresting you must be.

I thought about how you’ll never know about the bliss that comes only from reading a very good book. And then I realized I'd misjudged you entirely.

I wonder if you were surprised when you saw the pity in my eyes.

Carl Steinbeck

2011-12-21T14:04:00.001-08:00

October 17, 2019 ... 11:30 AM ...
From: Base Camp XK “Whiskey Bottle” NINE
To: Seattle, Washington

Carl here, just installed the AMR-04, it’s humming nice and even like an Ion Gen.

Haven’t gotten a chance to run anything through it. The instruction manual is daunting and I daresay, esoteric. I’m not quite sure what is meant by the “Scepter”? Is that some kind of jargon I haven’t been kept up to date on?

Anyway, thanks.

October 17, 2019 … 4:53 PM …
From: Base Camp XK “Whiskey Bottle” NINE
To: Seattle, Washington

I know my education is top notch. Thanks a bunch for telling me about my doctorates, I sure appreciate being reminded. Please try to be less condencending next time.

I also appreciate the fact you haven’t told me what the Scepter is supposed to be. Is it supposed to look like one? I don’t see anything even remotely Scepter-like on the damn thing. I swear you guys must be messing with me.

I’ve spent four hours trying to get the AMR going and have had no luck. I’d very much appreciate some more instructions.

Carl out.

October 17, 2019 … 7:22 PM …
From: Base Camp “Whiskey Bottle”
To: Lucy Steinbeck

Hey sis. Sorry to bring this up, but today was the day he died, isn’t it? I saw a bird in the woods that reminded me of him.

How have you been? I know I haven’t been the best brother, I’ve just been so busy. I’m really sorry I haven’t spoken to you for awhile. I just got really sad, today, thinking about Jason. Like, sobbing uncontrollably. I thought about how devastated I’d be if anything happened to you, like happened to him.

I’m going to ask for time off, and come back home sometime next week or next month.

Love,

Carl

October 18, 2019 … 8:23 PM ...
From: Whiskey Bottle
To: Seattle, Washington

Anyone there? Hello?

October 18, 2019 … 8:29 PM …
From Whiskey Bottle
To: Dallas, Texas

I can’t contact Seattle, so I’m trying to see if I can make a connection anywhere Earthward.

Please let me know if you get this message.

Thanks,

Carl Steinbeck

October 18, 2019 … 8: 47 PM...
From: Whiskey Bottle
To: Clark Everfrost, Bluecreek

I’ve been having problems contacting Earth. Do you have any better luck?

Thanks,

Carl

October 19, 2019 … 10:31 AM …
From: Whiskey Bottle
To: Clark

Thanks for the swift reply. That is worrying. I do agree with you, though. Best of luck!

October 19, 2019 … 11:59 PM …
From: Whiskey Bottle
To: Clark

Good god, did you hear that? What was it? I think the noise came from your direction, I hope it wasn’t related to any attempts you made. I’m wondering if the terraformer is still around. Did anyone ever find it? Were we supposed to?

October 19, 2019 … 1:32 AM …
From: Whiskey Bottle
To: Seattle, Washington

I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume something is stopping your messages from reaching me. I get the sent confirmation so there can’t be anything wrong with the Window, at least going out.

I’ll keep you guys up to date.

Still no idea about the Scepter. With all the warning labels even remotely associated with the AMR I’m pretty afraid of trying to get it started without knowing exactly what I’m doing. Been thinking of wheeling it out into the woods and trying it there. Might be a bad idea.

I heard the most curious thing just now, which is why I’ve contacted you. I almost forgot about it, thinking about the AMR and the Scepter and the comm blackout. It sounded suspiciously like a helicopter.

Also sounded like, and please don’t section eight me for this, my dead brother saying my name over and over again. From my seventeenth birthday. Ok. Had to say it. Got that off my chest.

It was coming from the west, and I went out to look for it. Huge swaths of the forest were leveled, there were flames everywhere and a green glow on the western horizon. I’m wondering if the terraformer never shut down. Would it make noises like that? I’m afraid the terraformer is still... terraforming.

Shouldn’t I be?

October 20, 2019 … 9:28 PM
From: Whiskey Bottle
To: Seattle, Washington

I finally found (figured?) out what happened. I suppose it makes this message futile.

Clark Everfrost is a friend of mine living in Bluecreek. He told me that he was having trouble communicating with you as well; he could send messages but received nothing in return.

He told me he planned on opening his side of the Window to try to walk through and get to the other side. It must have backfired, didn’t it? I know now why I thought it was the terraformer. The terraformer ran on nuclear power.

I shudder to consider the effects of a nuclear weapon on a Window, but it must have been what occurred. Three hundred thousand, dead. Maybe billions, on Earth? I assume it was a total and complete nuclear war?

This will be my last message. I’m going to try to contact Radiopoint, see if they would accept me. I think I have supplies here for a few more weeks but I’m not sure. They have farms though.

Jesus, I’m actually thinking about this. Did we ever make plans for this? I can’t find any plans. I can’t believe we were that confident the Windows would be safe. Although I suppose it isn’t the Windows to blame. God damn it.

October 20, 2019 … 10:42 PM
From: Whiskey Bottle
To: Radio Point, Comm Station

Carl Steinbeck here. You’ve probably figured it out already, but Earth’s toast, at least the U.S. for sure. Seeing as you’ve got farms and water, you’re my best shot at surviving this. I have food for several more weeks, and I’ve stopped running all nonessential systems so the solar power will keep me going indefinitely.

I know you’re a hundred miles out, but I can send a map of the distance between here and there. There are a few stretches of open land that a jeep can cross with no problem, and I’m sure you’ll be able to find openings here and there where it isn’t as open.

I would drive myself if I had a vehicle.

I hope you can understand my plight here. I hope you’re doing alright, too. Please don’t try to open a Window back to Earth. Just know that none of your messages will be answered. We are alone now.

Bluecreek is gone as well. I can explain if need be.

Sincerely,

Carl Steinbeck.

October 20, 2019 … 7:05 PM
From: Carl Steinbeck
To: Radio Point

Thanks for the swift reply. It’s good to hear another voice. Read it, I mean. (Ha ha, an attempt at humor in these dark times. Surely not a sign of insanity.)

And thank you for considering it. I understand it’s a dangerous journey, and you won’t even be sure of being able to make it. You can at least home in on my signal from a jeep, which should help you immensely. The satellite was unaffected by the explosion, so your GPS should work fine too.

I’m going to try out a piece of equipment I received from Earth. It’s got a fancy name but basically all it does is test objects you place into it. It’s supposedly got theological implications, or something. I don’t really know. It’s the least I can do.

October 29, 2019 … 7:11 PM
From: Carl Steinbeck
To: Earth

I figure you’re all dead. I figure this message is worthless. I’m about to test the Antimatter Resonator. I'm going to use some charred brush from the decimated woods.

Oh, and I found out what the Scepter is. My brother showed me.

Thanks for everything.

Carl Steinbeck.

10 words - As the dog died.

2011-12-07T09:13:00.000-08:00

"Son of a bitch," I muttered as the dog died.

Directions to my house.

2011-12-05T19:20:00.001-08:00

I’ve been asked repeatedly upon how to get to my house, and frankly, I am getting sick of repeating myself. So here’s a set of directions you can follow, unless you live in Wyoming, because fuck Wyoming that’s why.

DIRECTIONS:

When the Star of Ullulullu’ta (this is going to be one of those sets of directions, just bear with me here) falls within the Circlius Prima, you’ll notice a faint shimmering above your cellar door. Pry open the second seal (you’ll know what I mean by “second seal” when this happens, it’s pretty hard to miss) and twist the knob clockwise (if you’re in Australia remember to adjust for continental drift) until you hear a ringing that should kill any dogs in a three mile radius.

Next, you’ll need to pull on the knob, hard, and then step to the side while the dead souls beneath your house go out. If you’re reading this before following the directions, be sure to provide a plate of cookies, warm (preferably warm but dead souls aren’t picky) and with milk. Dead souls are worse than regular souls in that they have incredible sweet tooths (I am pretty sure that’s a word).

If the dead souls don’t rip your tulpa out with them, you’re safe to enter. If they do take your tulpa with them, I suggest contacting Madame Westermorn (she can be reached at 1̧̬̰͉̘̹͙̠͖͙̪̮̤̟̪̭͔͙͓͔͌̇͒ͦ͆ͦ̉ͧ̓͂5̸̷̼̪̦̼̠̺͓͈̠͙͓ͤͯ̌̔ͫ͗̾̆̓͘̕1̧̼̖̥̪͍̅̽ͮͨ̊ͬͣ̒̏̏̃ͦ̃͗ͫ͢5̷̭̟̮̖̲̠̥͔ͦ̈́̓̚̕ͅ1̱̣̟̮̩̯̖̦͔̤͈̥̌̒͗̄̈́́͘͟͝5̛̱͍̗̖̥͒̔̓͐̀̿͐́͢1̢̛̟͖̫̯̰̯͓͎͈̘͋ͧ͐͌͐͋̊̎ͯͤ̔ͯ͢͝5̧̜̣̦̞̠̣͔̦̭͔͎̬͚̝͔̩ͦ̓̓͗̐ͫ̔̀̀̎̈̕͡1ͭͮͣͯͮ̓̍͆͘͏͈̟͓͓̯̱̟͔͔͠5̽̅̄̉̓͏̵͢͢͏͉̰̠͖̳̗̳̳̺̲̘̜̤̦͔)

Down in the Alleyway of Shattered Diction beneath your home (it’s fine, most people don’t know it’s there either), you’ll find it is warmly lit. There are little windows on either side of the cobblestone path. They’re basically drive-throughs except for the recently deceased. Seeing as you’re not dead, it’s pretty obvious you shouldn’t place an order in any of them. I do know this guy, Charles, he stopped by one and he’s mostly alright nowadays but you can never quite know with him. He’s got this funny eye, by which I mean he doesn’t have a left eye anymore.

Take a left on Ash Tree Lane and take care not to head into any darkened hallways. It’s easy to take a lost turn while you’re in there, in fact, you will. Sebastian will help you out if he’s not in a particularly bad mood. You can tell when he’s in a bad mood because he growls when he’s in a bad mood. He’s in a bad mood most of the time, by the way.

From there it’s a pretty easy walk past the Hill of Vaunted Hierophants, and then a climb up the AETERNAL STAIRCASE. I’m like, three stairs up, or five hundred and seventeen if your last name starts (and/or ends) in a C, D, S, or G.

My house is the one with the red knocker out front. If you wind up at a house with a blue knocker, I’d get real religious real fast if I were you.

Trip time: Seven lonely headstones on a dust-battered hill
W/ traffic: Two rotten trees

A Quarter Past One

2011-11-20T20:27:00.000-08:00

It's a quarter past one in the morning and you can hear the furnace murmuring downstairs. You've finished the movie and you're tired and need to get ready for bed. You head for the kitchen.

You can only see your reflection in the windows as you pass by them, it’s much too dark and you have most of the lights on inside.

The window by the kitchen sink is warped by age and your reflection is twisted and malformed; it's the only window in the house to create the funhouse effect, but it's always disturbed you. You jump as you always do when you see your reflection, your mind registering that the thing in the window is you a second afterwards. You sigh, reassuring yourself that it is not a monster cast in a pale light from the fluorescents.

You wash the dishes from dinner; the glass with the thin fog of milk crusted on the bottom and the sauce drenched plate. You put the ribs of a pig (age five at time of death) in the trash when you are done. You stare into your warped reflection before turning.

You brush your teeth and take a final look outside the living room window. Except you can only see the dancing shape in the glass before you, cast in a harsh yellow light from the living room lamp.

By the time you’ve realized your reflection shouldn’t be malformed it’s much too late to call for help.

Friends Who Do Dangerous Stuff Together

2011-10-27T14:36:00.001-07:00

I figured this would be early in their relationship. I just sort of thought about it and had to write it down. Hopefully it sparks ideas or can be thrown in somewhere.

“So, Adrian,” Felix started, finishing another bite of his meal, “why aren’t you pretty?”

She looked up at him immediately. The question had taken her by surprise. “Excuse me?”

“Well, I mean, you could be pretty. Dress up, right? Or you are pretty but you haven’t…” he trailed off and made a puzzled look before turning back to her, “You know.” Feeling satisfied he took in another mouthful of food. Adrian continued to stare at him, unsure whether to be insulted or not. Felix noticed her confusion and began again, “Take your tabard for instance, it’s so old and faded, why not try more civil clothes of the city?”

“You mean like you,” she stated blankly.

“Exactly,” he smiled and started cutting another piece of steak. “Personally I like to dress up for every occasion; such is the slacks, shirt, and vest. The overcoat is what keeps it casual and allows me to wear it anywhere,” he paused and thought, “Plus, it makes me look cool.”

“And helps you hide your weapons.”

It was the first time Aurelius had spoke during the entire meal. Adrian had long finished eating and had saved what she could in her bag. Aurelius had been quietly eating throughout the whole conversation.

Felix looked at him, “Well that too.” Adrian shook away the subject and looked out the front of the restaurant.

“Oh! I almost forgot!” Felix had thrown down his utensils and regrettably gotten Adrian and Aurelius’ attention, again. “Guess what I got,” they stared at him, Adrian sighed. “I got an actual piece of armor!” With this announcement he pulled from his pack a dark bullet proof vest. It was used.

Adrian was instantly confused seeing it as just a fabric chest plate. What good would that do?

Aurelius thought it looked bulky.

“And?”

“Well, it’s a bullet proof vest,” Aurelius started to eat again, “from Endlong. One of the merchants was selling it. The thing’s pretty high-tech for being this far out in the country. I figured I should give myself some more defense as not to be completely useless. At least until I can reload these things faster,” he gestured to his derringers, “Since I’m at a distance when fighting anyway, something like this is all I need.”

Aurelius chimed, “What happened to dressing up nice?

Felix looked at his purchase, “Well it’s a little beat up sure, but I think it still looks distinguished for a piece of armor. Just how Adrian won’t give up her family crest for some clean clothes, I’ll always have something for my image, even if it is just a fancy adjective.”

“So, while Adrian boasts her family name, you boast you’re ‘distinguished’?” Aurelius was getting impatient having to stop eating each time he spoke. He would have to try Felix’s mouthful method.

“Yep. And your adjective is ‘coy’.” Felix looked at Aurelius’ hood and tried to remember where each of Aurelius’ hidden blades was. He knew he was missing one.

“Um,” Adrian started, “What’s a bullet proof vest?”

Felix quickly remembered where Adrian had come from and apologized for not explaining. “Well, it’s a vest made out some special material and basically, it stops bullets.”

100 words - I shivered

2011-09-30T08:45:00.000-07:00

Tree trunks lined the road, a mist rolling between them. Each footstep was hard and terrible.

The echoing of the siren songs rang behind me and I quickened my pace. From ahead, it sounded like a car accident; the terrible clash and tinkling of steel as the pieces fell to the ground afterward, except repeated.

I lifted my flashlight, pointing it at the trees on my right. Through the fog I could see the faint shapes of the ghosts shambling slowly in the evening air. One turned towards me and I pulled my illumination back ahead of me.

I shivered.

100 Words - Groggy

2011-09-24T23:19:00.001-07:00

I had looked up from my bed. You hadn’t left, but just lay next to me still sleeping. I sighed, a combination of relief and joy. I tried to adjust myself without waking you up and failed. You groggily looked up at me and we smiled. Breakfast could have been better, but then again I’ve always sucked at eggs. You made the pancakes and they were great. They were always great. But those days had ended; you made pancakes for someone else now. I keep trying to make better eggs, but they’re never as good as they were that day.

100 Words - God Dangit

2011-09-24T23:01:00.000-07:00

“What the buck?!” he shouted.

“What the heck is going on?” I responded.

“I thought you knew the answer to that!” he retorted angrily.

“Screw you!” I spat at him before adding, “But seriously, what the heck is going on?”

“But seriously. I don’t know!”

He had lost it. I had lost it! And neither of us knew what the junk was going on.

“I seriously don’t know what the junk is going on man.” He grimly stated.

“Me neither dude, me neither.” I really felt like no one had learned anything by the end of all this.

“God dangit!”

100 Words - The Staircase of the Bar

2011-09-24T22:51:00.001-07:00

I stepped down from my resting place on the stairs and looked at all the men cheering and hollering at the bar. When I walked up behind them they hushed instantly. One made the mistake of smiling, a single glare and it was wiped clean. A last step and I was at the bar. They all knew when I got up from my seat another would be taken. I saw a young man at the end of the bar. No fear, no knowledge of my existence. He was new, on his first glass. Ignorance is bliss, and I am addiction.

a man

2011-09-22T10:29:00.001-07:00

he has gotten hopelessly lost

he has driven north

but he hopes

to be found

he has gone into the woods

to be lost

Altered Alliance: Urban Survival; A Heavy Loss (Chapter 3)

2011-09-20T21:31:00.000-07:00

Allen turned to the wall and punched it in aggravation, "You've got to be kidding me!"

Max quickly looked around the room for a way out of their predicament. But there didn't seem to be anything of use in the room with them. So he peered out the window at the heavy down pour.

What amazing weather to die in, nice and gloomy, just perfect. Max laughed to himself, trying to make himself feel better and turned back to face his doom. But then he looked out the window again. He thought that he might be able to see a dumpster directly below them, but he couldn't be sure because he didn't have the right line of sight.

Backing away from the window, Max raised his rifle to the window.

"Max what are you..."

Before Allen could finish his statement Max fired three rounds into the window, starting at the bottom left corner and ending in the top right. The Plexiglas window stayed in place but it had cracked so much that it was nearly impossible to see through it.

Max quickly grabbed the desk chair and used it to bash the shattered glass out. Raking it along the edges of the window to remove the shards of glass that had been left behind.

He then turned to Allen, "Watch the Cretin!"

When Allen turned to face the Cretin, Max set the chair down and leaned out the window to find a way down from the second story. When he looked down he saw that straight below was an opened dumpster still filled with trash. As he leaned out into the rain, water poured off the brim of his helmet and down to the ground below.

"Allen, I found our way out!" Max yelled.

Before he had time to turn around and call Allen over, there was the sound of glass shattering and the shrill shrieks of the Cretin. Max whipped around and watched as the huge mass of Cretin attempted to crawl through the window at the same time. Allen opened fire on the wall of creatures. The living Cretin grabbed the dead ones and threw them to the side carelessly as their corpses fell limply over the broken window.

Max could hear all of his men on the roof yelling into the comm. all at the same time, wanting to know what was happening.

They were out of time, "Allen we're jumping!"

"What!?"Allen protested.

Without saying another word, Max climbed over the ledge of the opened window and looked below him.

"This is going to hurt," Max thought aloud, and before he had a chance to second guess himself, he let go.

As he fell, it felt as if his stomach was trying to climb up his throat and escape to freedom, but the moment he hit the heaps of trash it was thrown right back into place.

The landing didn't hurt as much as Max thought it might, but he didn't want to know how old the garbage was that he was now lying in. But ignoring his contemplation Max quickly climbed out of the dumpster and called up through the window.

"Allen you have to jump!"

Max saw Allen's head peer out the window for a second and then disappear as the flash and crack of more gun fire erupted from the room.

The gun fire ceased abruptly, and Max's gut ached. What if they had gotten him?

Suddenly, to Max's relief, Allen vaulted over the window ledge and fell into the dumpster with a grunt.

"Allen are you alright?" Max called.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

Max looked back up to the window just in time to see one of the Cretin hurling itself towards the dumpster.

Raising his rifle, Max fired three rounds into its chest, and the lifeless body fell limp. As it's gut hit the edge of the dumpster, Max heard the loud crack of its ribs and spine snapping when it hit which made him flinch.

"Allen get out of there!" He yelled firing up into the window, wounding and killing a few more Cretin.

Allen jumped out of the dumpster but when his feet hit the ground his ankle gave out and he fell on his side in pain.

"Crap! I think I broke my ankle jumping into the dumpster!" Allen yelled in agony, "Great plan by the way!"

Ignoring Allen's remark, Max ran over to the side of the Dumpster and started pushing it away from the broken window. It moved at an extremely slow pace and was really heavy but Max had to move it.

As the dumpster scrapped along the ground he heard the trash rustle and Max yelled, "Allen!"

He rolled over, and upon seeing the Cretin in the dumpster replied quickly, "I've got it!"

After a couple seconds, Allen fired off a few rounds and Max heard a body slump out of the dumpster and onto the soaked asphalt .

The dumpster was nearly far enough away from the window when something heavy landed on Max's back and threw him to the ground. Instinctively, he rolled over on top of his assaulter and pinned them to the ground, holding his elbow against the creatures throat.

The Cretin flailed around helplessly trying to get at Max. Max swiftly unsheathed his knife from his boot and jammed it into the writhing creature's chest multiple times until it ceased moving.

Removing his knife from the motionless Cretin's chest, Max wiped the bloody blade on the knee of his pants and re-sheathed it.

He turned around in time to see more Cretin leaping from the window attempting to get the two soldiers, but when they hit the ground both of their legs would snap. Watching made Max feel sick, and he had trouble keeping his stomach from turning inside out when the crippled Cretin dragged themselves towards Max and Allen ignoring their own bodily pain.

Max put a few of the Cretin out of their misery, then shouldered his weapon and ran over to Allen. He helped him to his feet and aided him as they ran slowly towards the closest building.

"Brooks!" Max yelled into the comm.

"First Sergeant! I saw that move you did... very... smooth, Top," Brooks joked.

"Brooks, shut up! Load onto the chopper and tell them to take off! Me and Tilsen are headed for the next building... Tell the pilots to meet with us on the roof."

"Roger that Top. I can see you two now."

Max and Allen walked hastily across an abandoned street towards another office building, a bit smaller than the Bank they were just in. The street they walked across was riddled with decade old broken down cars and vehicles.

Adams then came in over the comm., "First Sergeant you've got trouble headed your way! looks like they've given up on us... they're pouring out of the front door and breaking off towards you!"

"Crap!" Max muttered, "Come on Tilsen, work with me, we have to move!"

Allen glared at Max as the limped along up to the building, "Sorry I can't walk myself!"

As they reached the door, a deep but very loud shriek erupted from inside the Cretin Hive seeming to shake the ground. But the thing that scared Max the most about the cry, was the fact that it drown out even the sound of the Black Hawk on the roof.

A couple seconds after they entered the building, Max heard glass shattering and metal scraping against metal.

"Oh God!" Adams yelled into the comm., "Top! You better hurry it up! An Alpha just exited the Hive and he's plowing his way through the murder... he looks pissed!"

"WHAT!?" Max screamed as he stole a look back through the windowed door.

Max had been trained not to panic in situations like this but he found it hard not to and what he saw was jaw-dropping.

The wall of Cretin sprinting at them was one thing, but the giant Alpha charging at them was a completely different story. It was literally plowing through the other Cretin, throwing them a few feet into the air if they got in its way. The Alpha stood a good two or three feet taller than the other Cretin and was at least five times as big. Its body was covered in nothing but rippling muscle and it looked as if its skin would tear if it were to flex.

Max had never seen one in person before but he had heard about them. The first Alpha didn't appear until two years after the Cretin had, but when the US Military encountered it, it took twenty soldiers and five cops a good eight minutes to take it down, all of whom were armed with assault rifles.

This was not something Max wanted to try his luck with if he didn't have to, so quickly locking the door he and Allen hastily ran for the stairwell. They reached the second floor landing and continued on up the stairs as fast as they could. Max then heard a loud crash as the Alpha and Cretin broke through the door down stairs.

Without looking behind them, Max and Allen continued past the third floor but to their dismay the stairwell had been blocked by desks and filing cabinets, all piled up on top of one another.

Some survivors of the first wave of Cretin had probably holed themselves up on the floors above years ago, and Max assumed they were long gone. Unfortunately for the two soldiers, they had no time in which they could move the blockage. And Allen's injury was too severe to climb it.

A loud roar came from below and Max assumed that the Cretin had finished looking for them on the first floor and were now headed up.

"Top, we're in the air now! Where are you?" Brooks yelled into the comm.

Thinking quickly Max lead Allen back down and through the door to the third floor, shutting it behind them.

"We're on the third floor!" Max panted, "I don't think we're going to make it to the roof!"

Suddenly Max heard a loud whirring sound and then a quick series of bursts. His squad had set up the mounted chain gun on the Black Hawk and were unloading on the murder outside.

Max set Allen down and grabbed a desk that was nearby and slid it in front of the door. "Brooks hold your fire!"

"But Top..."

"Get level with the third floor and train your weapon on us!"

"WHAT!?"

Max slid another desk in front of the door, "Just do it!" Don't fire until we're clear!"

The only answer he received was a grunt, but he saw the noisy Black Hawk lower into view outside of the windows and turn its broadside to the building. Max saw Brooks on the gun, and gave him the thumbs up.

The sound of angry Cretin echoed outside of the door Max had blocked, and the creatures began banging and scratching on the door trying to open it. Max picked Allen back up and turned towards the stairwell on the opposite side of the room, hoping that the survivors hadn't blocked it off as well.

As they began limping around the cubicles that were set up in this building, Max could hear more shrieks coming from the Cretin. But these cries were different, they sounded as if they were in agony. Then Max heard the deep cry of the Alpha. It obviously didn't care anything about the other Cretin, it had its mind set only on killing Max and Allen.

"Brooks for the love of GOD, please focus your fire on the Alpha!" Max yelled as they reached the next stairwell.

"Roger That!"

As they ascended the stair, the Alpha broke through the door and Max heard Brooks unleash a rain of lead. Max hoped that he could kill the Alpha before it got to them.

After they passed the fourth floor landing Max cursed under his breath.

The survivors were relentless. They had blocked this stairwell as well, making it so that anything trying to get to the roof had to walk across each and every floor.

With no time to grope about the situation, Max and Allen walked through the door to the fourth floor. This floor was a large open room and except for the old papers and trash scattered everywhere was completely empty.

The two soldiers ran through the bare room and sprinted again into the opposite stairwell, running up towards the roof. But they were stopped again when they found this way was blocked off as well.

max cursed aloud and led Allen back into the empty room.

"Max? What are you doing?" Allen asked with heavy breaths.

"Well it would seem we're trapped... and I would rather be in an open space than cramped with nowhere to move."

Allen stopped walking, leaning on Max's shoulder unable to put weight on his ankle, "What are you talking about?"

"There's no other way Allen, we're going to have to face the Cretin."

He was trembling with fear and sweat was pouring into his eyes, his helmet felt so hot. Max let Allen sit against the wall across from where the Cretin would have to enter and said, "You shoot them, and I'll draw their attention."

"You've got to be kidding..."

Allen was interrupted when Brooks yelled over the comm., "Top, the Alpha's still kickin'! He's headed up the stairs!"

"Crap!" Max yelled.

Just as he was about to turn to Allen, he heard the Alpha rumble up the stairs and it burst through the doorway across from them.

As it entered the room it seemed to recognize the fact that Max and Allen we're not going to flee and slowed to a halt in front of them, breathing heavily. There were huge gashes and bullet holes all over its body where thick blood oozed from the gaping wounds.

Behind the massive Alpha the other Cretin came to a halt, not daring to entering the room. It was as if they knew there were consequences for interfering with the Alpha's prey.

Max wasn't sure what to do at this point, "Brooks? Forget the Murder... assist us..."

The Alpha let out a loud roar and charged as he finished, and Max only had time to let a few rounds fly before the Alpha back handed him sending Max crashing into the wall.

Pain shot through his body as he fell to the ground. But something wasn't right, the Alpha hadn't crushed him yet, he should either be dead or getting pounded into a pulp. However the Alpha had run past Max and headed for the wounded soldier first.

Allen let out a yell, unleashing bursts of fire into the beast. The Alpha ignored the new wounds and simply knocked the weapon aside uselessly.

"Allen! No!" Max began, trying to scramble to his feet.

Max stood only to fall back over, he was still dazed from getting sent across the room. The Alpha didn't wait for Max and began pummeling Allen into the wall. Loud snaps could be heard from Allen's bones as he cried out in pain after each swing of the Alpha's fists.

Max was about to shoot at the beast to distract it from Allen but then saw one of the Cretin try to sneak over and attack Max while the Alpha was busy.

Quickly dropping it with a three round burst, Max unloaded a few more rounds into the crowded doorway till his Mag was spent and then let his rifle hang on the sling at his side. He then grabbed a block of C4 plastic explosive out of his pack. Max knew that whenever he went on missions the General wanted them to go in stealthily without any explosives but Max was a true boy scout, and he liked being prepared for anything and he felt this was as good a time as any.

He began priming the explosive and glanced out the window at the Black Hawk, "HELP ALLEN!"

"Working on it!" He heard Adams mutter.

His voice seemed incredibly calm for this kind of situation, however that's what the sniper had been trained for.

As Max finished priming the C4, the extremely loud crack of Adams M-200 bolt action sniper rifle echoed through the air. Adams had left it on the Chopper when they had gone inside of the first building, swapping it out for an assault rifle. The General had urged him to leave it, but when Max turned around he was glad that Adams hadn't listened.

The Alpha was sprawled out on the floor and blood lined the wall across from it. But when Max looked to Allen, he saw the soldier was laying in a crumpled heap.

Max looked back to the doorway. The Cretin seemed to hesitate at first but once they saw that the Alpha wasn't getting back up, they charged at Max, seeming more angry than ever.

"Brooks...?"

Max was answered by the sound of the chain gun unleashing its wrath on the Cretin at the doorway. But Brooks was unable to shoot too close to Max for fear of friendly fire, so three Cretin got through.

Thinking quickly, Max grabbed his M9 from the holster on his chest and killed the first two with two shots to the chest and one to the head, but the third Cretin reached him before he was able to aim. It tackled him and they rolled across the floor, knocking the gun and C4 from Max's hand.

When they came to a stop, the Cretin lay on top of him. It's jaws snapped viciously at the air as Max held it away from his neck by crossing his forearms against the creatures throat. It then began tearing at Max's body armor with it fingers, attempting to gut Max. He was beginning to struggle to keep the Cretin's mouth away from his throat, but suddenly there was another loud crack.

Max watched as the Cretin's head snapped sideways and its brain matter showered Max and the floor next to him.

Throwing the limp body off to the side Max yelled, "Adams?! Are you CRAZY!?"

Max heard Adams laugh as he scrambled to his M9 and the C4, "You could have killed me!"

"You're welcome..."

Checking the C4 to ensure it would work, Max pressed a few buttons and set it for eight seconds.

"Tell the pilots I'm throwing C4!"

But Max threw it before anyone could answer and it soared over the Cretin's heads into the doorway. The Chopper veer away from the building as Max sprinted over to Allen's body and covered it with his own.

The moment he had, there was a deafening roar as the C4 detonated, sending burning debris and shrapnel flying past his and Allen's head. Max winced as some of that shrapnel buried itself into his shoulder sending sharp pains coursing through his body.

He ignored the pain and turned to see that the doorway was now a gaping hole and the stairwell had collapsed on top of itself due to the force of the explosion.

Max walked cautiously over towards the writhing and moaning bodies of the Cretin who had made it into the room. Holstering his weapon, Max unsheathed his knife and slit each of their throats, putting an end to their revolting life.

When he had put each of them out of their misery, Max swiped the bloody blade across the shoulder of his left sleeve. Once it was clean Max re-sheathed it and walked back over to see if Allen was still alive. The faint cries of injured Cretin carried up through the destroyed stairwell and to Max. Hopefully they would give up on him soon.

Max carefully rolled Allen onto his back and saw he was still breathing. Max looked down at Allen's legs which lay twisted and mangled. There were bone fragments protruding from various places of Allen's body and it made Max almost feel sick. Allen's left arm was in the same condition, but when Max went to check his other one he heard Allen gargle and cough.

"Max..."

Relieved to know Allen was still conscious, Max leaned over him and looked into his eyes. They seemed glazed over as if Allen were blind and it made Max falter.

Allen coughed again, "Max, tell Hannah... I'm sorry..."

"What?! No! Allen, we're going back together!" Max yelled.

He felt as if he should be crying but no tears came to his eyes, and deep down he knew Allen didn't stand a chance at surviving, he would bleed out well before they got home even if they made it to the Chopper on time, but Max didn't want to believe it.

"Max..." Allen started again but paused for a fit of gargled coughs.

Max watched in agony as blood dripped out the side of Allen's mouth.

Once the coughs subsided Allen tried again, "Max, We both know it's over for me... You are the best brother anyone could ask for..."

All Max could do was watch as Allen choked and coughed up more blood, "Max... Max...Tell Hannah..."

Max interrupted him, "No! You tell her!"

He grabbed Allen by the shoulder straps of his body armor, and dragged him into the other stairwell. Leaving him on the landing, Max walked up to blockage. He could hear Brooks, and the others rambling over the comm. wanting to make sure everything was alright, but Max ignored them as he tore into the desks and tables in front of him trying to make a way up the stairs.

When one of the desks slid down and pinned his hand against another desk, Max cursed aloud. And as he pried his throbbing hand from underneath the heavy object Max turned to check on Allen.

Allen was still lying there, but what really worried Max was the fact that he couldn't see Allen breathing.

"No, no, no!" He cried, running down to Allen's motionless body, "ALLEN!"

Max knelt by Allen and grabbed his face and smacking his cheeks, "Allen! Come on you can't die on me!... Allen!... Allen!"

Despite Max's pleas Allen remained still, not breathing.

Max stared at Allen's bloodied face for a second letting the fact that he was gone sink in. He then let out an angered yell and stood up punching the cement wall of the stairwell with his still throbbing hand.

He welcomed the pain coming through his now broken hand, this was all his fault... At least it should be.

Max knew he couldn't let his anger and the loss of Allen get to him. Not yet anyways, he still need to get out of here.

He then heard an unfamiliar voice come in over the radio, "Top Sergeant... We're running short on fuel. We need you on the Chopper now if we're going to make it back."

He determined that the voice belong to the pilot but the words still stung. How could he possibly go home without Allen alive and well? What about his promise to Hannah?

Max looked at the blockage in the stairwell again. It would probably take him an hour or more to move it all. The survivors had piled up a good thirty desks which piled up to the bottom of the steps above.

He sighed and sat on the steps exhausted, rubbing the bridge of his nose he asked calmly, "Pilot... is there any way you could land on the roof and shut of the Chopper to conserve fuel?"

"Negative, Top Sergeant... There isn't enough room on the roof. Even if there was, there's no telling the structures stability to promise it could hold the Chopper if we were to shut her off."

Max listened to the roar of the remaining Cretin echoed up from the floors below, realistically they wouldn't leave for hours.

He let out another sigh, "Any sign that we provoked a Murder from another Cretin Clan?"

Instead of the pilot answering Max heard Brooks, "Not a thing Top... The rest of the Cretin from this Hive are still inside the building though."

"I know..."

"What are you saying?" Brooks asked hesitantly.

"Go!" Max commanded.

He heard his whole squad all shout at once, "WHAT?!"

"GO! I'm stuck here. it'll take me hours to get to the roof and you won't make it home if you don't leave now!"

"Roger that," the Pilot replied, "We'll drop a beacon on the roof."

There was a pause and Max assumed that he was explaining to his squad what to do and after a few seconds he came back on, "I recommend that you activate it as soon as you reach the roof... Once we get the signal, we'll send a rescue squad."

Max paused, this was the worst predicament he had ever found himself in, but after a moments thought he replied, "Understood..."

But Brooks intervened, "Wait! Top, I won't leave you two alone out here!"

"No, Brooks get out of here. I won't risk losing another soldier!"

"What?! But Allen's..."

"DEAD!" Max yelled into the comm., "Now leave! And Brooks..."

There was no reply.

"Tell Taylor and Hannah, I'm sorry..."

Riley came in over the comm., "We've got you Top. Stay alive, we'll get you home in no time!"

"Pilot get yourself home! don't let them change your mind!" Max said reluctantly.

"Roger."

Max could hear Brooks and his squad try to protest with the pilot but he heard the hum of the Chopper slowly die off as it flew away without him. He listened to the voices of his squad squabbling until there was nothing but static.

He looked down at Allen's dead body and just stared... This was not how his day was supposed to have gone.

A Start

2011-09-16T10:03:00.000-07:00

The lights were brighter than he imagined when he walked down the white hallway. There was the slightest hum coming from the machines evenly spaced down the way. The hum would almost breach its comfortable din when he walked past them, but would settle down until he walked by the next. They all appeared to be in use.

The machines, or hubs, as he’d been told at the entrance, were as white as the walls, but had a gloss finish. The lights’ reflections slid across the hubs in pace with his steps. His steps, and the steps of the one before him, were the only sounds that broke the hum of the hall’s machines.

The hall seemed to be endless, but the boy’s guide stopped between two hubs before the boy could be lost in the hall of white. The boy might as well have been lost when the guide walked toward an empty wall. But when the guide placed his hand on the wall a digital number and word appeared. It seemed they’d stopped at room 425B and under the blue numbers was the word ‘CLEAR’. When the guide tapped the wall again it seemed to gasp and collapse backward in the shape of a doorway. The guide gestured him inside.

When he entered he was surprised to find the sustained hum of the machines had subsided and all he could hear was the doorway closing back behind him. What surprised him even more was that the room he just entered was no more than the size of his own bedroom and had a much dimmer and greyer tone than that of the hall he had entered from.

There was one hub in this room, right in the center. It had more of a metallic finish, but reflected the light all the same. The guide again placed his hand down, but this time he placed on the hub. It gasped just as the door had and split around its middle. The top half rose up and slid back to reveal a comfortable looking seat. The guide gestured again before activating something on a blank wall causing a digital keyboard to appear like the room number outside.

While the guide continued to type, the boy found his way into the seat, finding it much more comfortable than he first thought. Before entering the hub he made sure to investigate the machine. It was rounded, mostly towards the top and became wider at its base. Four cylindrical columns seemed to be grafted to the corners of the base. One very large and wide cord came out from the front of the hub and curved directly into the ground. There was one similar on the back of the device. It was exactly like the ones in the white hallway, the metallic finish being the only noticeable difference.

As he got more comfortable in his seat the boy noticed that the room was much warmer than the hallway was. The dim light and warmth of the room made the boy drowsy, sinking deeper into the chair. He had never felt so comfortable.

The guide had finished typing and walked to the edge of the hub to see if the boy was situated. Once confirmed the guide placed their hand again on the hub causing it to gasp like before —softer this time— and it began to close around the boy. Lights came on inside the hub as it closed and the soft thump it made didn’t bother the boy at all. Everything seemed to be in place to keep him as comfortable as possible. A screen appeared inside the machine that showed the guide standing by the keyboard.

As the boy’s reality began to shift he heard the guide say the same as he did when the boy walked in, “Welcome to the museum.”

Adventure Friends: The Port of Kanel, Brennan, and the Fight in the Restauraunt

2011-09-07T18:22:00.000-07:00

“So who exactly is this Brennan,” Aurelius asked as they passed briskly through the intersection, the flashing red hand ahead urging them forward. The canvas bag he had over his shoulder bumped against his hip in an irregular fashion, provoking an occasional wince as one of the sharper objects poked out through the fabric. The sharper objects hidden on the insides of his sweatshirt sleeves caused him no discomfort at all, however.

“An exiled king,” Felix said. “He’s a cool guy. I know him. Knew him. Haven’t spoken to him in a while. We had a bit of a fight over something. I mean he’s kind of cool.” The thick tweed overcoat he’d chosen was proving to be a bit too warm for the mid-March afternoon, but he’d wanted something to conceal the red-white long barreled twin derringers he kept holstered on his sides. As well, the inner jacket pockets could contain plenty of ammunition, and they were tight enough that the casings wouldn’t make a lot of rattling around.

“What does he want mercenaries for?” Adrian asked. While Aurelius and Felix preferred to keep their weapons hidden, Adrian had her longsword sheathed at her side, in plain view, and her white-painted wooden shield on her back. The tabard she wore displayed proudly the falcon of the Falkenheim family, although she wouldn’t have dared wear it in any country that wasn’t Kanel. She stepped by a woman pushing a baby carriage, and received a stare. Adrian looked down at a child in the crib, and the baby immediately started squalling.

While Adrian wondered if her scars really were that awful, Felix answered her previous question, “I’m guessing he doesn’t want to be an exiled king. He told me that hiring mercenaries was his plan. It’s kinda the disagreement we had. I gotta convince him not to do it.”

“Seems reasonable,” Aurelius said. “I mean, wanting to not be exiled. I’d hate to be exiled from my homelands.” He looked crestfallen for a moment, and then added “Luckily, I’m right here.”

“Right,” Adrian said. “I don’t blame this Brennan, but if his situation is anything like mine, I’ll be happy to help you convince him otherwise, Felix.”

“His situation actually is a little different,” Felix said. “All he has to do is kill the joti who deposed him. But there’s a lot in between him and her. And anyway, I think Brennan has better things to do than mope over a lost kingdom. There’s plenty to do here, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Adrian said, thinking back upon the last mission she’d undertaken, clearing out an overgrown centipede from a farmer’s grain silo outside of town. “Plenty.”

They passed into the port side of the city, and so the cars and busses fell away and were replaced by foot traffic, horses, bicycles, and the occasional wagon. It was a setting that Adrian felt more comfortable in, and one that Felix had been in quite often during his travels. The road was cobblestone, just as the roads in the Barony were, and the buildings were more often of brick and timber than steel and concrete like the inner city.

“Brennan still has his old apartments, I’m guessing,” Felix said, “If we’re fast we can catch him before any of the other ‘mercs show up,” He paused to give direction, “this way past the fish market,” and resumed the conversation, “and make him actually commit to his folly.”

The fish market was just as smelly as a fish market should be, and so as they exited, walking alongside the dock that was currently clogged completely with arriving ships, the sights were a welcome distraction.

Aurelius had a limited understanding of foreign flags, but he didn’t fail to see some of the sigils of the Barony; bears, lions, crossed axes, a flaming arrow. Those sigils were mostly on the galleys and corsairs. Adrian saw the bears and crossed axes too and looked down at the sigil on her tabard with sudden fear that there might be a trader who recognized the falcon. But she reassured herself that since fighting in the streets was forbidden in Kanel and, she would be safe. Felix recognized the black and blue striped flags of the Endlong Alliance flying on the iron cargo vessel docked out at one of the larger concrete docks further up the strand.

Felix himself would have liked to climb on board and see what they were offering. He didn’t consider himself an exile, unlike Adrian and Brennan, merely an adventurer who longed to hear news of his homeland. He knew he would have been as safe in Endlong as in Kanel, and feared nothing.

Aurelius, of course, would tell Felix that you can’t climb aboard the vessel to browse for wares; the only ships that did those were the Arlandrians or the jotunn. Barony and Endlong ships offloaded to vendors who bought the merchandise and sold them at stores further inland.

Aurelius had spent time among the docks, an equal amount of time as a courier, a thief, and a merchant, and thus knew these things.

But they reached Brennan’s apartments before they reached the metal and steel docking platforms, and so Felix’s inquiries were left unanswered.

Brennan’s home was located above a rustic looking restaurant, one which, when you entered, was revealed to be more influenced by Kanel design than Barony decor (as the outside bricks and wooden pylons implied) with a clean carpet and whitish grey wallpaper. Television screens displayed mostly the news with captions that always seemed a second too slow to catch up with the news broadcasters themselves.

There weren’t many patrons in the restaurant; here and there a single sailor from the Barony, or a whole table of business suited Endlong executives, a tall and muscular man with his polearm and massive shield resting in a seat as though they were eating with him, and a few jotunn seated at the far end of the room, at tables whose proportions much better suited their massive stature.

The stairway to the apartments lay past the table with the jotunn so Felix, Adrian, and Aurelius had to pass. The jotunn gave Aurelius a curious but hostile look, and ignored the other two. Felix noticed the glare more than Adrian did, who merely wondered whether they were jotu or joti.

The stairs they took up to the apartments were creaky and perhaps betrayed the true age of the structure, although at this point Adrian had ceased to care whether the building was fake or authentic. She had a certain anxiety growing to meet this exiled jotunn prince-king. Felix was framing arguments in his mind to help him know what exactly he would say to Brennan in hopes of convincing him not to go.

Aurelius reached the door first; there was a posted note which declared Prospective Mercenaries Apply within to Help Brennnan Fyrn Reclaim the Throne of the Jotunn Nation and so Aurelius did not have to ask which apartment was Brennan’s. He rapped against the door with his knuckle and entered first when he heard an affirmative grunt from within. Felix entered next and finally Adrian who took one last glance down the hallway towards the restaurant’s dining hall before stepping through the doorway and shutting it behind.

Brennan turned out to be a jotu of fairly human height; slightly taller than Aurelius who was by far the tallest of the three. Unlike most jotu that Adrian had seen, including the ones down in the restaurant, this one wore his hair short, still ink black and wavy, but not in the pony-tail that was more popular among jotu. There was a massive sword in the room propped against the chair Brennan sat in. His right hand rested on the blade. “Felix Williams,” he said in a softer voice than Adrian and Aurelius had been expecting. “You can leave now.” There was a bed and a desk in the room as well, but that was it. Sparse arrangements for a king, exiled or not.

“Hear him out,” Adrian said before Felix had chosen a reply, “I think you will find his argument worthwhile.”

“Don’t go,” Felix said.

“Yes, very worthwhile,” Brennan said.

“I wasn’t done,” Felix said impatiently. “Don’t go… yet.”

There was a collective gasp among Brennan and Aurelius, although not one between Adrian and Felix. Adrian didn’t gasp because this was secretly her plan as well, and Felix didn’t gasp because the thought never even occurred to gasp (it would have been silly anyway). Brennan leaned in closer in his chair, “What’s this argument, then?”

“If you spend enough time getting ready to go, you can actually be prepared for everything that happens. You know. And you’ll get more money to actually pay mercenaries with, if you do little jobs here and there.”

In Brennan’s mind he recognized it as a logical argument. It did make sense. Except for one thing… “All the time I spend waiting for the right time to strike, Viin is getting stronger and marshaling her armies. If I’m not fast enough, she’ll send mercenaries after me instead. I have to end this as soon as possible.”

“Listen,” Felix said, “I brought with me two of the greatest… thieves and warriors…” To this Aurelius beamed, but Adrian merely listened with a straight face, almost as if she hadn’t even noticed the compliment. “I’ve ever met. This is Adrian. She killed five men in single combat armed with the same blade and shield she wields right now.”

“Tis true,” Adrian said, with a slight nod and smile.

“Humble,” Brennan said. “Where did you get all of those scars. Not in just that one fight, I hope?”

“I got this,” Adrian said, indicating with two fingers a long scar that ran across her forehead, “When a knight on horseback took a swing at my head with his tallaxe. This,” she indicated a pale pink misshapen star shape on her right cheek, “Is where an arrow pierced my skin and broke a tooth. I pulled it out and continued fighting.” She removed the leather gloves she wore, tucked them into her belt, and held up her palms. Each had long scars going horizontally across, “I once grabbed a sword from an enemy and then stuck it halfway into his stomach.” As she pulled her gloves back on, she said, “I have never seen a surgeon, and live to tell all these tales. I have no talent, unlike Felix and Aurelius, other than perhaps persistence, although I do not think the Wern Magnifier would recognize it.”

“You do seem to have a skill for getting injured,” Brennan said. “I have been in hundreds of battles but I retain no scars, because my enemies have never gotten past my blade. Scars are mistakes, signs of weakness.” He nodded his head, “If you’ll beg my pardon.”

Adrian inclined her head and that was that. There was an unspoken threat passed between them, a certain obligation from one to the other, and only the mercenary at the door would have known what it was. But he was not there to witness it, only to listen to the voices beyond the door. He’d only just arrived, and had propped up his polearm against the wall, resting his hands on his shield, waiting politely for their conversation to end so that he could enter.

“What are you saying?” Asked Brennan to Felix.

“Simply that we, together, could protect you against any hired blades sent after you,” Felix said. “Aurel, I know you brought a bag full of some of the most priceless artifacts you’ve ever thieved, and I know that your intent was to sell them here at the docks,” Aurelius made a startled face but he’d known why Felix hadn’t asked him to leave the canvas bag behind when they’d set out, “but before you do, could you perhaps show a few of these items? A demonstration of your larcenous gifts.”

“See,” Aurelius said, “My Wernified talent is one of extreme agility. Rooftops are a second road to me, ladders are little more than vertical walkways for all the trouble they give me; I can outmaneuver any museum guards as I wish to outmaneuver, and it is with these most daring feats, that I acquired some of the most priceless artifacts known to man, jotunn, or Ayra.”

He flipped the canvas bag around so that it rested against his stomach and pulled out the first object he could find; a jewel encrusted goblet, with a dark purple liquid suspended perfectly inside of it so that while it dripped it was clear to any observer that the goblet would never run dry.

“Behold the Eternal Cup.” He set it down on the desk next to Brennan who immediately grabbed it for a closer inspection. By the time Brennan had nodded his approval, Aurelius had already produced another object, a pyramidal shape with dark obsidian sides and a series of parallel runes written in gold on its edges.

“The Eventide Mark,” Brennan said, “It is not just the Kanel Museum of History that misses this, it is the Eventide Cult, too. A dangerous item to steal, it will be more dangerous to find a fencer brave enough to buy it from you.”

“You haven’t seen the best one yet,” Aurelius said, clasping it within the bag and feeling the rough edges. “Sought after by a great politician of the northern lands, an object of such supposed power that it can bring worlds to the knee of whoever wields it. Forged in the fires of Circe’s funeral pyre, it is,” he presented it with a flourish, “The Staff of Circe!”

“Oh yeah,” Brennan asked. “Never heard of it.” He leaned sideways in the chair, resting his head against one fist, the elbow propped against the armrest. It was a posture he hoped regal, and the attempt was not lost on Adrian.

The mercenary waiting outside had to stifle his chuckle, he’d been sure for an instant that it was the object he’d been hired to retrieve, from another, years ago. The thief’s voice continued inside, although the mercenary could not witness whatever it was that the fourth item turned out to be, “I have this too. I found it in some archives, but it seemed pretty heavily guarded. Thought it was valuable.”

“And that’s it?” Brennan asked. “One item of actual worth, one too dangerous to sell, and two worthless staffs? Felix, I am not impressed by your clumsy swordswoman and your misguided thief. Unless you have something more worthy for me, I suggest you leave.”

The mercenary heard some rustling from the other side, booted shoes scraping against the hardwood floor. He stepped away down the stairs, taking his polearm and shield with him; he did not like the tone of this jotunn very much, and felt sure that it was all bark and no gold. He stopped by his table and sat down again, ordering a drink.

As Felix, Aurelius, and Adrian came down the stairs, the tall mercenary with the polearm and shield was drinking from a flask the size of a small child. Aurelius was busy pushing his items back into his canvas bag, and while he’d managed three of them (the goblet was the hardest; it must be upright or else it would leak everywhere), he was having difficulty with the fourth. The mercenary’s eyes fixed on this one, circuits flickered on in the deep reaches of his declarative thought.

“I think I remembered the name of this one,” Aurelius said. “The Banner of—”

“Day,” the mercenary finished, standing. “One thousand kanners for the Banner of Day.” The mercenary recognized it from the one photograph that had ever been taken from it; four feet long folded, silver white, and black, with a lever that, once thrown, would double its length.

“What?” Aurelius asked. It was still in his hand. “One thousand?”

“Two thousand,” the mercenary said. He knew that he would not be able to raise his price much higher; the coinpurse he kept with him only had three thousand, two hundred, and seventy nine.

“Five thousand,” Aurelius said.

“Damn you,” the mercenary said. “Do you know who I am?” He rose from his table, grabbing his shield and his polearm. He stepped to block their most immediate path to the door.

“No,” Felix said. He threw open the sides of his jacket and reached his hands into their opposite holsters, grabbing the twin derringers he’d brought. He drew them out and held them before him, not quite aiming, but sure that if he needed to, he could snap all four of their barrels towards the mercenary’s eyes. Beside Felix, Adrian had already drawn her sword and brought her shield from her back onto her left arm.

“Roland of Endlong, and before then, of the Bloodlands. Falkenheim should understand the meaning of those words.”

“The bloodlanders are fools,” Adrian said. “Any who bowed so easily to the Baron do not deserve respect.”

Roland’s eyes widened and his cheeks flushed, but he stood his ground and refused to give into the taunt. Aurelius hadn’t moved. “Five thousand or I walk out.” At this point the other restaurant patrons had already done so. Only a barmaid in an evening dress remained behind the counter, watching with eyes that were neither fearful nor brave; merely curious.

“You can give it to me,” Roland said, “Or you can die.”

None of them replied.

He took three long strides towards them and closed the distance. Aurelius reacted in time, but severely underestimated how long the polearm was. So when he leapbackwards, the polearm’s blade cut through the strap of his canvas bag and let its contents tumble to the floor, the goblet pouring itself all over the carpet, and subsequently refilling itself to do it again a second later. Aurelius flipped under the second swing, this time losing nothing else.

Felix fired all four barrels, mistaking Roland’s backswing for an opening, but instead, all four superheated shells bounced off of the six foot tall steel shield, bouncing carefully to the ground, smoking where they stopped.

Adrian edged to the side, avoiding the mercenary’s gaze.

Meanwhile, Brennan had come to the foot of the stairs, partly motivated to watch, and partly motivated to end it. He had his sword with him, should the second motivation overpower the first.

Aurelius managed to dodge each of the thrusts and swings that Roland forced his way and had even drawn two shortblades from his sleeves, holding them upside down in his hands, waiting for an opening. But Roland had fought many different opponents from many different lands, and one of the people he had killed favored a similar lightning quick short ranged technique. All Roland had to do was take advantage of the range his polearm offered him, and to make the thief painfully aware of his lack of armor.

Felix reloaded, holding one derringer in his mouth by the handle, one tucked into his belt, as he pulled four rounds out from his pocket. He tossed the shells into the air two by two, pulled his derringers out, and let the shells fall into the empty chambers. He leveled the barrels again, hoping for an opening, but he could see Roland’s eyes dart toward him, and soon Roland’s shield was up again, his footing readjusted to protect against another salvo.

At the moment wherein Felix and Aurelius both wondered where Adrian was, Brennan had noticed that she had circled around to Roland’s flank. She darted forward on Roland while he was in mid-swing against Aurelius. While he was able to bring his shield about to block her, he was unable to bring the polearm in against her before she was too close for it to be effective. She bashed the dull steel away with her shield and cut deep into Roland’s shield.

Her blade lodged itself just above his wrist, and as he moved his arm to try to shake her off, she instead leapt up onto the handle of the sword, releasing her right hand, and then twisted on her blade’s hand guard to deliver a closed fist square between Roland’s eyes. While he was disoriented, he stumbled, and she pulled her sword out from his shield with her legs.

As the sword came loose, and his shield burst open, ruined, she attempted to spring backwards to flip once in the air and land on her feet. But Roland shifted the shield upwards, throwing off her balance, and she careened backwards, awkwardly crashing against a table on her upper back, knocking the wind from her lungs.

At this point Felix was aiming right towards Roland’s back, but just as he fired, Roland stepped forward, and two of the bullets went off through the open doorway into the street. Aurelius was too far away to be of any help, having not expected Adrian’s aid when it came. So when Roland swung his polearm through the air, dropping the ruins of his shield as he did so, there was nothing Adrian could do to defend herself except swing her shield to block it.

The polearm’s blunted blade came crashing through the thin wooden plating, and split through the skin on her arm. When Roland wrenched the polearm free of her arm (with her shield still attached), a bright red mist exploded into the air where her shield had been. She rolled aside when Roland swung down again, and rolled off the table, sprinting out the door into the street. Roland followed, and then Aurelius, who’d now closed the gap. Aurelius managed to jump onto Roland’s back, catching him by surprise, but before Aurelius could swing his blades down, Roland turned, shifting his shoulders, throwing Aurelius to the cobblestone street.

The daggers went tumbling from Aurelius’ hands. From the doorway Felix fired the other two bullets from his other derringer, and scored hits in Roland’s back, but Roland merely turned after Adrian.

Adrian had adopted a defensive stance, no longer running. Roland swung into her right, but she stepped back, avoiding its range. Blood flew each time she jerked aside, dodging Roland’s swinging. As Felix reloaded, he wondered if Roland would get to her before the blood loss did.

When Aurelius had finally grabbed his daggers again, and Felix leveled all four barrels once more, Roland turned as if to face all three of them at once. Adrian saw this opening and went for it immediately, rolling forward and then, when Roland took another swing, she parried the polearm with her sword and kicked through the air into Roland’s abdomen. He lost his footing and fell, and Adrian scrambled forward, and as he grabbed the length of the polearm he felt cold steel against his throat.

“Yield,” Adrian said.

“This is the police!”

All four looked up in surprise to see blue uniforms all around, all having drawn pistols, pointing at Adrian and Roland down on the ground.

“Fighting is forbidden on Kanel streets. You are under arrest for disturbing the peace and endangering your lives, as well as the lives of others!”

Altered Alliance: Urban Survival; In and Out (Chapter 2)

2011-09-06T00:10:00.000-07:00

Max descended the stairs slowly, taking each step one at a time. He aimed his flashlight at the landing below, checking every inch of the walls and the floor. But there was nothing dangerous in sight, only trash. Things such as cans, bottles and old faded news papers.

As Max set foot on the landing he saw a door to the level they were on. Signaling to his squad to stack up, Max reached for the door lever and opened it slowly, peering around and into the hall on the other side.

The hallway was lit much better than the stairwell, but the light that was cast through the windows were dull and gloomy. Max could see dust particles floating up through the rays of light. It made him a little uncomfortable not knowing if there was anyone or anything in the building with him, however the dirt and dust helped reassure him into thinking that the building was truly abandoned.

Max carefully stepped over the mess on the floor and glanced up and down the hallway making sure it was clear as his squad piled into the hall behind him.

"Tilsen, you're with me... Brooks. You, Adams and Riley check and clear all rooms on that end of the hallway," Max ordered, pointing with his hand down towards one end of the hall. Then tapping his ear piece said, "Keep the comm. open."

Brooks nodded and signaled Adams and Riley to follow him as he headed off down the hall away from Max.

Patting Allen on the shoulder, Max turned and headed in the opposite direction. When they came to the first door along the hall Max and Allen stacked up on either side of the door. Allen looked to Max as if to ask for permission and Max nodded.

Cautiously opening the door, Allen stepped through and Max followed, weapons at the ready for anything that may lay on the other side.

Shining their lights around the room, the two soldiers revealed nothing but a desk and a few filing cabinets. Atop the desk was an assortment of papers, all yellowed with age, and an old computer monitor lying face first at an awkward angle.

Max and Allen began sorting through the filing cabinets, but there was nothing but useless files and paperwork in any of them. Max then changed his sights to the desk, where he again found nothing useful to the Safehouse.

However, when he opened the last drawer of the desk, he saw a container of paperclips, some pens, pencils and a small box of golf balls. Max guessed that whoever owned this office space seven years ago must have played a lot of golf after work, possibly with some co-workers.

Grabbing as many of the paperclips as he could that were still seemingly intact, Max stuffed them in one of his pant leg pockets. Next he grabbed the pens and pencils and tested them on the sheets of paper on top of the desk. Almost all of the pencils had broken tips and nearly every pen's ink had dried up and blocked the balled-point.

But after tossing the broken pens and pencils back into the drawer, Max scooped up the few working ones and put them in his pocket with the paperclips.

Max was about to close the drawer but stopped and reached back in. He opened the small box of golf balls and grabbed four, putting them in a different pocket.

"What are those for?" Allen laughed.

"Don't worry about it Tilsen." Max smiled, "You never know when something might come in handy."

Placing the box on top of the desk, Max and Allen exited the room and continued on to the next door.

As they neared it, Max looked out the row of windows and saw the downpour of rain that was going on outside. The rain was coming down so hard that some rain drops hit each other on the way down and created their own small splashes in mid-air.

Max turned his attention back to his immediate surroundings as they reached the door. He and Allen again stacked up on either side and Allen entered first again. But once again there was nothing useful in the room, only a desk and a few filing cabinets.

They did the same with the next few rooms, switching off who entered first on every other door. You know, to mix things up a little... but still, they couldn't find any supplies.

Max didn't get too discouraged though cause most military bases kept their supplies on the lower levels where they were more accessible.

"Brooks, find anything?" Max asked through the comm. system.

"Not a thing, First Sergeant." Brooks sighed, "Should we regroup and head downstairs?"

Max stopped and thought for a little bit and then replied, "Yes, we have a limited time and I'd like to find at least something useful. Brooks, head back to the stairs. Allen and I will meet you there."

"Roger that, Top."

Max looked at Allen, "Alright lets go."

Nodding, Allen followed him back down the hall to the stairwell where they met up with Brooks and everyone else. Max then led his team back down the stairs.

The next three floors produced nothing either and Max was beginning to get discouraged. But as they exited the stairwell to the second floor his hopes were raised.

In front of them was an open room, where at some point there would have been cubicles but had been replace by tables and desks. This room was less lit than all the other ones due to the fact that the only windows were in the office spaces that skirted the edges of the room. Max guessed that at some point in this bases life, this would have been the nerve center, where all the strategic coordinating and communications would have taken place.

There were maps and various ammunition cases laid out on the tables nearer the center of the room. Rifles, radios and other military equipment were also scattered atop the other tables.

Max pointed to some of the rifles and ammo cases, "Adams, Riley, check the rifles condition and grab five good rifles each and a couple box's of ammo. Then carry them up to the roof so they're easier to EVAC."

"Roger."

The two soldiers stepped towards the tables, but Max grabbed Adams by the arm delaying him, "When you get them up there come back down and grab as much ammo as you can. Understand?"

"Yes First Sergeant!"

Max released him and then turned to Allen and Brooks, "Alright, spread out. Grab as many supplies as you can carry and whatever you think could be useful to the Safehouse."

When they had all started searching the room Max then laughed when he saw something he liked, "And feel free to take a souvenir or two."

Reaching forward Max picked up the silenced USP compact .45 caliber pistol that was lying on a desk inside of a drop leg holster. It appeared to still be in excellent condition.

Removing it from the holster, Max unloaded it and took off the slide and examined all the parts on the inside of the weapon. Everything was in relatively good condition and would not require too much cleaning. Max smiled, this would be perfect.

The USP compact .45 was smaller than his standard issue Beretta M9. But even with the silencer attached, it was nearly the same size. It also weighed less and used a larger caliber bullet than the M9 which allowed for better mobility and stronger stopping power.

This was probably going to be the best souvenir Max had ever picked up from a mission. But just to make sure it worked smoothly, Max pulled back the hammer without actually charging the gun and then pulled the trigger. The hammer clicked back into its original position in a quick and clean motion.

Satisfied, Max reloaded the weapon and then hooked the drop leg holster onto his leg and slid the pistol into the holster to test it out. It was different from the holster on his chest where the M9 rest, but he liked it.

Max checked the drawers in the desk his new weapon had been on and found eight, ten round USP magazines and a couple box's of .45 caliber ACP rounds. Setting his rifle on top of the desk Max took off his pack and lay it next to the gun. Max took a couple of his M9 Mags out of the Mag pouches on his body armor and put them into his pack. He then grabbed the eight USP Mags out of the desk and took the time to load each Mag with the .45 ACP rounds.

After he finished loading them he slid his new Mags into the Mag pouches he had just emptied. And then took one of the box's of .45 rounds and stuffed them in his pack so he would have more rounds if he ever needed them.

Max closed up his pack and put it back onto his shoulders. He then took the four remaining box's of .45 rounds and set them on the desk where Adams and Riley would see once they came back down for an ammo run.

Grabbing his rifle off the desk, Max walked over to the tables in the center of the room where there seemed to be the most maps. He looked at the Maps and decided that they could be useful to the Safehouse because they had the positions of other military bases marked within a fifty mile radius of where they were.

Max looked around the table and found a plastic map tube, he then picked out the maps that appeared to have the most information written on them and rolled them up and slid them into the tube. Max took off his pack again and hooked the map tube to it so that it wouldn't be too much of a hassle.

Once he shouldered his pack again Max took another look around the room. There really wasn't all that many useful supplies here.

"So, who planned this mission anyways? Max asked over the comm.

"The General said it was anonymous..." Riley began.

"Actually I heard that Joe may have planned the whole thing, Max." Tilsen interrupted.

"Joe Hunt?" Max asked worriedly.

"The one and only."

Max let out a sigh, "Crap. He knew I couldn't resist. Alright gentlemen... Keep your eyes peeled."

"Why what's wrong Top?" Brooks asked.

"Nothing... It's a long story. Just stay on your toes."

"You don't think he's still upset do you?" Tilsen asked.

"Allen, the man needs help! And it's all my fault."

Riley came in over the comm. with a worried tone, "Whoa, hold up! What are you talking about?"

"Don't worry about it Riley. It's a story for the ride home... Hopefully... In the mean time stay alert. I have a bad feeling about this..."

Riley reluctantly let the matter go and the squad remained silent. Max then decided that they should have a look around on the ground floor and hopefully find something a little more fruitful.

Max wanted to leave now but when he checked his watch they still had about ten or fifteen minutes till the EVAC chopper arrived, so he figured he shouldn't waste the time they had.

"Allen, we're headed down a floor, so follow me. Brooks keep looking. Riley and Adams... don't forget the ammo run."

Max's squad acknowledged him with simultaneous, "Roger that."

Tilsen exited one of the small offices in the room and met up with Max. Together they headed across the room and to a set of stairs, separate from the ones they had traversed earlier. This set however, were only capable of going down.

Max lead the trek down the dark stairwell and out into the building's main floor. It was another, large room that was relatively empty apart from the lonely desk that sat facing the building's entrance. The desk had formerly been a welcome desk but was all but useless in the abandoned office building.

Across from where they stood was a door less opening to another set of stairs, which probably linked up to the one they had been on earlier. But next to the stairwell was the opening to a relatively large public bathroom entrance, which Max instantly deemed unnecessary to explore.

Max turned and examined the wall where they had just entered the room and saw a few other empty office rooms. However, then he saw along the back wall, opposite to the front entrance, was a large black and silver vault door which peaked his interest. Max guessed that this building must have been a bank at some point in time.

Motioning towards the vault, Max began walking towards it. When he and Allen neared it they noticed that the vault door was askew, which automatically indicated that there was a possibility that some supplies could be inside. But Max still remained cautious remembering what he had said earlier to his squad and decided to take this room the same as they had with all the others.

Max and Allen stacked up on the wall adjacent to the vaults opening and prepared to enter. The vault was darker than all the other rooms that they had cleared and it made Max uneasy, but nevertheless he peered in and shone the flashlight around. But this was something that Max instantly regretted.

Within the few seconds that Max kept his flashlight on, he had time to make out the pale and naked forms of sleeping Cretin. And in the center of the vault there was a deep hole that the Cretin had somehow dug into the ground and turned the vault into a Hive.

A sharp chill went through Max's body as he hoped that he hadn't woken any of the beast.

And when Allen noticed Max trying to back away from the vault he asked in a moderately loud voice, "What? Max what is it?"

Before Max was able to make him shut his mouth the crying of infantile Cretin rung through the air. The screams were ear piercing and made Max and Allen have to cover their ears.

The crying baby Cretin woke up the rest of the Hive and a deeper but more menacing scream came from the deep. Max and Allen looked at each other with panicked faces and began a headlong sprint for the stairs they had come down.

At the same time they turned, Max heard an identical screech come from inside the bathroom of which he had deemed unimportant. This made him curse under his breath.

He had taken no more than five steps, when he heard the vault door squeal open as an onslaught of Cretin slammed their bodies through the opening for a mad dash towards the invaders.

"Everyone! Roof! Now!" Max yelled into his microphone.

As he and Allen reached the base of the stairs more Cretin started pouring out of the bathroom. Most of whom headed towards Max, but a few headed towards the other stairwell... Max hated how smart they were.

When they were halfway up the stairs to the second floor Brooks asked, "What happened?"

"Cretin!" Max panted, "There's a murder on our tail!"

Max heard Brooks and the others curse but then remain silent.

When Max and Allen reached the second floor they sprinted for the stairwell across the room. but before they where even halfway to it, Cretin busted through, knocking the door off its hinges. They were trapped.

Max thought quickly and dragged Allen to one of the office rooms on the side, choosing one that had the fewest windows. They closed the door behind them and quickly barricaded it, using a desk, filing cabinets and whatever else they could find.

The mass of Cretin slammed into the door trying to get in. But after a good minute of running into the door, the banging subsided, and through the single window facing the inside room, Max could see a hoard of pale Cretin staring at the two soldiers intently. Their greenish-white faces were scrunched and wrinkled with anger. But the enraged creatures just stood there and stared at them.

Max then decided to see how the rest of his team was doing, "Brooks, report!"

"First Sergeant, the Chopper is landing now!" Brooks panted seeming to be very short on breath, "The door to the roof is holding for now. What's your situation?"

Max let out a deep and exasperated sigh, "We're trapped..."

As soon as Max said this, he watched as all the Cretin outside the office back away a few steps. Each one grabbed a various heavy object and began heaving them at the Plexiglas, which quickly started cracking and giving way.

Max looked to Allen, "We're screwed."

100 words - There was once this girl.

2011-09-05T18:47:00.000-07:00

There once was this girl.

All the worst stories start and end this way and this one is no different. I mean. It starts with that line. I’m not saying it’s going to be one of the worst. Well I hope it isn’t. That’s up to you, and whether or not you like this story.

So, there was once this girl.

Well there’re usually girls, not just this once. Girls have existed for a while. Like me. Well, maybe. I’m a narrator. I’m not sure I have a gender.

As I was saying…

Uh…

I can’t remember the story now.

Altered Alliance: Urban Survival; The Promise (Chapter 1)

2011-09-05T00:37:00.000-07:00

Max Urban held onto his girlfriend for as long as he could. She didn’t want to let him go and, quite frankly, he didn’t want to let her go either. But the safe house UAV and surveillance team had found a military base that may be full of supplies to scavenge... or at least that's what the General said when he had put together a squad to check it out.

When Max’s brother Allen Tilsen had come home all excited about the mission Max couldn't resist and had to volunteer. The General of course made the First Sergeant the leader of the mission because Max was the highest rank in the squad which Max was truly okay with seeing as he loved both, being a leader and danger alike.

Allen was not related to Max in blood, but as far as Max was concerned they were as good as brothers, for they had grown up together in the same household doing every activity together since he was six-years old. Max's parents had adopted Allen when Max was eight years old and the two had become best friends almost instantly. However Max didn't like to think about it too often because anything dealing with his parents was a sore subject.

Max could see Allen now from over his girlfriend's shoulder. Allen was hugging his beautiful wife Hannah as she saw him off. She had the same air about her as Taylor did and Max could clearly tell that Hannah was not happy about Allen going on this mission either.

Another thing that made Max and Allen one in the same was their constant desire for danger. Even since they were kids they had loved anything that got their adrenaline pumping. And now with the world in ruins and Earth's dominant species now being the once human, cannibalistic psychopaths, the two brothers had been turned into nothing more than adrenaline junkie soldiers. Fortunately, although they had learned it the hard way, the two soldiers found that adrenaline is not the only thing to live for.

“Do you have to go Max?” Taylor asked holding on to him tight, “You went on two missions last week. Can’t someone fill in for you?”

Max smiled and kissed her gently on the forehead, “Tay, don’t worry I’ll be back before dark… I promise.”

Taylor Dorrian was an amazingly beautiful girl. Max had run into her seven years ago, a year after the first Cretin appeared. She gave him the same look every time he gave her a promise. It was like she was studying his eyes to ensure that he was telling the truth. He could remember the first time she gave him the look.

They had both been raised in Newton, New Jersey where they had gone to the same school and lived in the same neighborhood for ages but they never really noticed each other. Taylor was from a more privileged family, and Max… well, Max wasn’t.

Taylor, Max and Allen were the only teens amongst the few survivors in his neighborhood. Their entire family had turned into Cretin. However, while this was a sad subject, Max never showed his emotions on the matter. He felt that by doing so people would think he was a wimp, even though he seemed to ignore the fact that nearly all of the other survivors were distraught with tears, even a few of the soldiers. But this is how he came to really meet Taylor for the first time.

Max knew who Taylor’s parents were, for they were a big part of his neighborhood. However he didn’t see Taylor’s parents on the Transport and Max expected the worst. Taylor was sitting alone with tears pouring from her eyes and when Max went over to comfort her, she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder.

Even though she barely knew him, she made Max promise that everything was going to be fine. So Max promised, and he meant it. Max had always tried to keep his promises ever since his mother made him promise to take care of Allen and himself.

After they arrived at the Morristown National Historical Park Safehouse Taylor and Max became great friends, even with Max joining the Safehouse’s Army.

Max joined the US Army when he had turned eighteen after the Ayra had shown themselves to be hostile. However, he had never gotten the chance to go into battle before the Cretin started showing up.

Allen joined the Safehouse Army with Max and they were put through training by some Army Ranger and USMC Veterans. Both Max and Allen volunteered for mission after mission and became highly decorated soldiers amongst the Safehouse. Max volunteered to lead missions from time to time, it somehow helped him to cope with the loss of his family.

He began dating Taylor two years after settling down into the safe house. And six years after that, was ready to ask Taylor to marry him. But he was still thinking of how to pop the question and worried about how Taylor might react.

Max looked over Taylor’s shoulder again to see Allen wearing his ACUs and in full gear giving Hannah a last kiss goodbye. Although Allen was younger he had managed to get married before Max had which often made Max jealous.

Allen’s wife, Hannah, was also a very beautiful young woman and was nearly 9 months pregnant and was expecting in the next few weeks. Max thought that Allen probably shouldn't go for that reason but he didn't want to argue with him. He hated arguing with Allen.

Taylor finally released her grasp on Max and proceeded to unhook her necklace, "Bring this back to me Max."

"I know," Max laughed, "Taylor, we do this every time."

He smiled as she stared him in the eyes. Once she was sure that he understood, she nodded and reached around him to hook the necklace around his neck. Max looked down at the silver chain and the small crossed that hung delicately from the end.

This cross had an intricate design across it which reminded him of his childhood, when read the Bible everyday and went to church almost twice a week. Ever since to Ayra had shown up he had become a lot more lenient in his faith, which he often regretted, but even more often ignored.

As Max stared at the cross he could hear the UH-80 Black Hawk starting up behind him. The military hadn't had time to advance much of their technology since the Cretin had begun appearing around the world. Looking up Max saw Allen and Hannah walking over towards him.

"Time to go Max," Allen said, half-heartedly trying to hide his enthusiasm for the mission.

Max nodded and looked at Hannah, who stared back at him with a serious look, "Max, promise me that you will take care of Allen and yourself and come back safe and sound."

Max froze when he heard her say this. It sounded just like his mother had all those years ago. It made him ache inside but he quickly shook himself out of it.

"Don't you worry Hannah. I'll have us home before dinner."

She crossed her arms and smiled, "Good, you'd better."

He laughed and then leaned over and kissed Taylor, "I'll be back."

She smiled reluctantly and gave him one last hug. Max then turned and began walking towards the helicopter, he hated doing this to Taylor, but the part of him that longed to stay was overcome by his need for adrenaline.

Max looked at his squad who were all huddled at the edge of the helipad. Including Allen and himself there were five squad members, all of different build and personality, but they had been doing missions together for years and all got along just fine.

"Alright boys! Today should be plenty of fun, but I don't plan on having any more excitement than necessary. So let's load up gentlemen!" Max yelled over the sound of the roaring chopper.

All the guys replied will a loud and distinct Hooah and began loading into the chopper.

Max was always the last to load onto any transport vehicle ever since the accident on his first mission as a leader years ago. But as he was about to climb in, the soldier in front of him turned around.

"First Sergeant, I am ready to kick some Cretin butt!" The soldier was short and stocky and had a rugged, scarred face.

"Shut up Riley and get in the Heli!" Max laughed grabbing him by the strap on his pack and pushing him into the chopper.

Max pulled his assault rifle off his shoulder and sat on the bench inside of the Black Hawk. Where he propped his rifle up against his leg and watched as two Safehouse soldiers slid the Black Hawk doors shut from the outside. Max then removed his Kevlar helmet, placing it in his lap where he then slid a headset over his ears and could hear the banter of the two pilots in the cockpit.

The whine of the engine grew louder as chopper rose off the ground. Max stared out the hatch window and at the blue and white painted concrete walls of the Safehouse. When the Safehouse's were constructed into underground facilities to house and sustain families long periods of time they weren't meant to be permanent living quarters, but that's what they had turned into.

The Black Hawk rose up through the horizontal bay door in the ceiling of the cavern and Max watched as people wearing bright orange and yellow vests scrambled around below. On the surface above the bay doors there were canvas tents erected in various places and a makeshift log wall spanning around the entire surface perimeter, which covered a couple acres or so in each direction.

The surface was where the crops were grown and where the Safehouse Army did much of their training. Max spent a lot of his time on the surface running and taking walks with Taylor all of which he probably enjoyed more than anything... well anything other than going on missions.

Looking up at the sky, Max saw that they were headed for some rain and thought out loud, "Ah, good Ol' New York."

"I hear that, First Sergeant!" One of the pilots piped in on the headset.

Max laughed, "So pilot, what's the ETA?"

Max could see the pilot in the right seat of the cockpit turn his head in Max's general direction to show who was talking, but didn't actually look at Max directly, "Name's Norlin Sir... And I'd say about thirty, forty minutes."

"Nice to meet you Norlin. And good."

He was happy with the fact that Norlin hadn't used military time. Max hated that! he just liked to be told things the good old fashioned way, you know the way that everyone is used to.

The tall and skinny soldier sitting across from Max leaned forward, "So, Top... When are you going to propose to that beautiful Miss Taylor?"

The voices of the whole squad could be heard over the headset all 'cooing' at the soldiers question.

Max smirked at the soldier and held up a hand to quiet everyone, "I'm working on it Adams don't worry about it."

"Aw com'mon Top," Riley jumped in, "how long have you two been together?"

"About ten years I think," The largest man in the chopper laughed.

"Shut up Brooks! No its only been six," Max defended himself.

"SIX YEARS?!"

"Ha, Jesus Top!" Adams gaped.

Riley put a hand on Max's shoulder, "Sir, do the girl a favor and ask the question now... She's suffered long enough."

Max could hear Allen chuckling, "Tilsen you have something to say?"

"No offence Max, but they're right," Allen laughed, "Come on I was there with you when you picked out the ring... When are you going to ask her?"

The room got quiet then Brooks asked, "You got the ring?!"

"If you've got the ring... First sergeant, what are you waiting for?" Adams questioned with a mock irritated tone.

Max looked down at his helmet on his lap, "I don't know... The right moment I guess."

"Max, listen you must have some sort of plan?" Tilsen pried.

The squad nodded in agreement and waited for Max to inform them on his plan.

Max looked up at them and shrugged, "I guess. I don't know if it's a good one though..."

There was an uproar as the soldiers bugged Max to tell them, which made Max uncomfortable. But he finally gave in, "Alright fine!... So I was thinking that Taylor's birthday is coming up in a few days and well..."

Tilsen urged him to continue, "Come on Max. And... what?"

"And I was thinking maybe I'd take her out on a picnic on the surface and propose to her then... I don't know."

Everyone then chimed in, "Do it!"

"That's perfect Top!... Better than my idea," Riley mused.

"You think? Well I already knew any of my ideas are better than yours Riley but thanks," Max laughed, "Alright then. I guess it's settled, I'll ask her on her birthday."

The entire Helicopter began 'wooing' and cheering obnoxiously. Max thoughts he could even hear Norlin and the other pilot joining in on the ruckus, which made Max more uncomfortable at first, but soon he was laughing with everyone else.

As soon as everyone had calmed down and started talking about other things than Max's personal life, Max looked out the window and watched as the New Jersey landscape flew by far below. He loved flying in helicopters, it somehow cleared his mind and helped him to think.

Max clutched the cross that Taylor had put around his neck. She had come up with this dumb thing where whenever he went on any mission she would give him the necklace and claim that she wouldn't be whole until he brought it back to her. It was very important to her and it actually did motivate Max to ensure he wouldn't let her down.

Max smiled as he thought about the countless times they had done it. Even though he thought it was dumb, he loved when she did it. He couldn't explain why, even if he tried. It was just that it made him happy and feel like she was there with him when he was away...

Max was broken from his trance though, when Norlin's voice came in over the headset, "Alrighty gentlemen. Ready up, drop zone in less than 5."

After that Max's squad quieted down and the air of the cabin became more serious as the soldiers ready their weapons and gear.

Max peered back out the window and could see a bunch of large buildings below and tall skyscrapers further inside the city. The helicopter had slowed down somewhat as they neared their destination, and the clouds that Max had seen earlier were even darker here above New York City, and it was going to storm for sure. Max could see Cretin far below, scrambling through the streets towards their hives. It was as if they sensed the inclement weather and were scared of a little rain.

"First Sergeant, we're here!" Norlin informed Max, "We'll land you on the roof and then go. They're sending another Chopper in twenty minutes! So that'll give you and your squad about an hour to scavenge. Good luck, Top and stay out of trouble!"

"Thanks Norlin!" Max replied, "Fly safe!"

The frame of the Black Hawk rocked informing the squad they had landed. Max pulled off the headset, replacing them with his helmet and sliding his combat headset onto his ear. He then wrenched the side door open and jumped out onto the roof of the building weapon raised towards his surroundings. When he saw it clear he stood by the door, waving his team out.

Once everyone was clear of the Black Hawk, Max gave the pilots a thumbs up and a little wave, and he watched as the vehicle lifted itself of the roof and headed back towards the Safehouse. Then walking to the side of the roof, Max took a quick look over the side of the building.

They were about five or six stories up and the parking lot around the building was fenced off and had broken run down tanks and humvees scatted around the base of the building. This had definitely been a makeshift Military base at some point and Max wondered if it would even bear them any fruit.

Putting this thought to the side, Max readied his weapon and signaled his squad towards the door to the stairs. They all piled up against the wall on either side of the door ready to go, and Max reached for the knob and tested it. Locked.

Pointing to Adams, Max signaled him to pick the lock and as Adams kneeled down to pick it, the first drops of rain began to fall.

Looking up at the sky Max scowled. He loved the rain... but sometimes, it had uncanny timing.

"We're in." Adams stated, backing away from the door.

Max gave a quick Hooah, and switched on the flashlight at the end of his gun barrel. Reaching for the knob again, he turned it and opened the door cautiously. Continuing forward Max opened the door the rest of the way and lead his squad down the stairs, and through the darkness.

The Top of Her Head

2011-09-02T20:04:00.000-07:00

A long time ago, when I was little, I remember seeing this tall woman. I knew she was tall, because I could see the top of her head outside of my bedroom window. I always saw her in the mornings before school, so I never had a chance to walk over and get a better look. There was something strange about her, too. She always sort of spooked me.

I could never see her eyes; just the hair on the top of her head.

Once, though, I was sick. Usually when it was a weekend or when I was sick she’d be gone, as if she knew I might look. But this time I threw up right before I was going to leave… to get on the bus. I can recall nausea as I went back into my room, and saw the top of her head just outside the window frame.

I crept over, and looked.

I only bring this up because a week ago I saw her again outside of the kitchen window. And while I looked away before I could really make out any of her features, I knew that she had risen high enough so that she could stare back at me.

And that’s why I’m not going to be staying in your apartment anymore, Madeline.

House of [Cats

2011-09-01T19:03:00.000-07:00

A few weeks after my [wife left, an awful yellow [cat began to come up to my back door in the mornings before I left for work. The door was glass, so I could see it pretty clearly. I never fed it, so I’m not sure why it kept coming back.

I only mention the [cat because on the morning they found my grandfather dead at his house, or rather, when I got the call, the [cat was covered head to feet in a dark red blood. There were patches of visible fur, particularly along its back, which made me wonder if it’s been in a fight.

I’ve always been particularly afraid of things like rabies, or other infectious pathogens that wild animals can gift with a bite, so I didn’t open the door to check on it. It stared at me through the glass that morning. Usually it ignores me, but I’m pretty sure it was watching me. It left around noon. I left around two, feeling pretty spooked. I intended to come back before dark, but I forgot, and so once I realized the sun had set, I booked a room here.

That’s when I found the body, and called you.

I get the impression you think the [cat was involved?

Not really. I don’t know. It’s just weird, isn’t it?

Have you been back home since then?

No. I’m afraid, sir.

Done

2011-08-29T18:20:00.000-07:00

A Tepid Crossing is finished.

I'm going to do a run-through of grammatical and spelling errors, fix a few glaring plot issues, and then ask for people to do some read throughs of the first draft.

It's 69,412 words long, 160 pages at 12 pt times new roman, and it has a beginning, middle, and end.

I gotta say I'm prouder of this than I've been of anything I've ever done. And it's not even finished.

Hopefully I can get ya'll a copy by the time November starts.

Thanks for being patient!

100 words - We were all so happy for you.

2011-08-27T14:16:00.000-07:00

We were all so happy for you.

When they took you from our green dew frosted lawn, we smiled and wished you good luck as they took you off into the world.

When you stopped the war, we cheered your name, told our friends how proud we were that you accomplished so much. That you were so much.

When years passed, and you destroyed our enemies, we posted your face on street corners, in our homes.

When you found the traitors, still, we celebrated your brilliance.

And when you took us to the camps, we never stopped praising your name.

100 words - Away From His Light

2011-08-26T13:25:00.000-07:00

It was a late night and the air was cold and bitter. There was a man who stood about a full foot higher than most men, wider than most men, tossing and turning a bit of wood over in an open flame with a metal poker.

A footfall behind him and he turned, reaching to his belt to pull out his stolen steel revolver. When he turned he could see her eyes glimmering in the dark.

He stood and walked away from his light, the world dimming.

“I know you’re here for me,” he said.

Sweat beaded on his brow.

100 words - Amicus Tallheart

2011-08-17T17:18:00.001-07:00

Amicus adjusted his gloves before stepping out to address the invaders in the tower atrium.

“Good evening,” he said.

Their warrior began to charge, without provocation, her legs pounding across the concrete floor. She was young. She wore chainmail, and carried a sword and shield.

Amicus held up his right hand, and the girl stopped. Amicus hadn’t actually done anything yet; he felt that gestures were more likely to elicit reaction, though. When the soldier became confused, Amicus shifted the world.

The swordswoman watched her iron rust, and her shield rot.

“Let’s discuss this,” Amicus said, grinning beneath his mask.

100 words - The Wrong Kind of Party

2011-08-15T17:51:00.000-07:00

The first thing I noticed was that there were no lights on the walls or ceiling. People had long thin strands around their clothing and necks, and these were the sole sources of illumination.

You’ll understand if this seems dark.

Addy led me past a table where three young girls were drinking shot glasses full of a thick red liquid.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“They’re doing shots,” she said. She took me by the hand and tugged, smiling.

Next I saw a skull tattooed man. One of the bright strands was worming its way into a cut on his arm.

Eventide Manor

2011-08-14T13:31:00.000-07:00

I'm starting a text based adventure called Eventide Manor, primarily so I can have an easy way to practice writing, but also because I've always wanted to do a text based adventure.

Here's the link: http://eventidemanor.tumblr.com/

I'd very much appreciate you to read and respond. You don't need a tumblr account to leave submissions. A note for the first question: the character can be a guy or a girl, doesn't matter.

Thanks!

200 words ~ The Listener

2011-08-04T22:46:00.001-07:00

Everyone is born with voices in their heads, thousands of them wriggling through the mind. There are voices that tell us to do this and the voices that tell us to do that. These are often given the title of our conscience speaking to us, but there are those people who would define these voices as our crazy side speaking to us. No matter the case, these titles are irrelevant for as far anyone is concerned most people subconsciously block these voices before they really know what they are exactly . And these people have no idea the thousands of possibilities they have shut out. And while there are those sort of people there are also those who are quite the opposite. These people are unable to control the voices and end up the people in the asylums or more harshly known as the loony bins. However there are the very few who learn to control it. Able to focus on a single voice out of the thousands at anytime they please. These are people I like to call Listeners, people who learn from the voices. But anyone can learn to listen and once learned, the Listener has unlimited possibilities.

200 words ~ Utmost Importance

2011-08-03T19:35:00.000-07:00

Jake was a boy who loved to read. It kept his mind occupied and entertained, which was where he always found his safe place. Within the mind. But Jake was also terribly afraid of almost anything that involved any kind of fear or danger. However, because its ominous and intangible form took shape anywhere. Shadows, color... night. The thing he feared the most, was the dark. It wasn't so much the dark itself as it was the very things he could not see or even possibly know to be there. Jake noticed that his brother and friends were quickly becoming less and less afraid of things. Animals, heights... the dark. He also noticed they all hated reading and perhaps this was the reason. He was tired of waiting for the monster that was never there at night when he slept, so he followed his friends and quit reading. A year later he found himself being less and less careful. Less afraid. Unfortunately his carelessness would cost him. For late that night while he was sleeping peacefully, the unknown in the dark would strike. He should have chosen his imagination over fearlessness... because at least paranoia can keep one prepared for their own death.

200 Words--Dust and the Devil's Mouth

2011-08-02T13:55:00.001-07:00

I was left in the cold dim air between existence and nothing.

“Hera?” I called.

But I already knew she was gone forever, and so I crawled across the cosmos until I found a home, a hundred years later. I suppose I should consider myself lucky. It’s a nebula that towers light years across and millennia can pass from one side to the other along its circumference.

We’re all still there, on a planet I formed from the dust and gas.

It was on one such planet that life formed; a trick Hera never taught me, so I had to wait for it to happen on its own.

You call the place I landed Devil’s Mouth, and I suppose it’s a proper name, for I am a devil, and things do tend to burn once they fall into it.

But do not mistake me for a god. Amber flows through my veins, not blood. I am a being of time, not space. I’ll fall back into the past once I grow tired of the present, or perhaps fling myself into the future as I wish.

I looked far ahead once.

But there was less there than here, so I left.

200 Words--The Amber Elevator

2011-08-01T17:15:00.001-07:00

The amber dripping from the holes in my hands scared them, I think. They raised their flintlocks and fired in unison, as though commanded by gods.

I tried to dash to the side. It’s hard to do that when you’ve lost most of your blood.

I fell into the elevator with a soft thud beside Hera’s feet. She looked down at me like a cat to a dead dog, and then dragged my feet inside and hit the button for the enth floor. The elevator ascended like an angel.

“I never wanted it to end this way,” she said.

“I’m so sorry,” I said.

I could see the redness dripping from her tear ducts and knew that I’d really done it this time.

“I’m so sorry,” I said again.

“Don’t say you’re sorry,” she said. “I told you it makes you sound weak.”

All the while I pulled the knife from its sheath within my coat. “I have to do it.”

She reached into her chest and pulled out her heart, and handed it down to me.

I stuck the knife into the gears and held the heart tightly. My fingers slipped once but by then the universe had stopped.

200 Words--A Mystery

2011-08-01T17:14:00.001-07:00

When I stepped into the living room it was with the careful grace of someone trying to avoid hidden piles of animal droppings (this is the most accurate metaphor I could come up with because my pets used to not be entirely trained).

It was the dark of night, the darkest I mean, and the only illumination was the soft orange glow from the streetlights through the shutters. They cast uneven lights on the sofa and loveseat, which fluctuated as the vents blew warm air over the drapes.

I saw a shape move in the kitchen doorway across the room. I had the baseball bat in my hands as I advanced, ready to deal with this unwelcome intruder.

“Son?” He asked as I, now in full swing, realized who it was I was about to kill.

I would have asked him what he was doing in my house, why he’d broken the locks on the back door to get in, why he hadn’t called first, where he’d been for the past three years, but instead, he was on the floor, bleeding from his skull which it turns out I fractured in three places.

The police said they don’t believe me.

adventure friends updates

2011-07-29T21:39:00.000-07:00

Figured this is as good a place as any to announce Adventure Friends things:

Thinking that instead of being The Obsidian King, it's The Eventide King. His mythology changes a bit, as he's merely the one that hearkens in the night of the universe, rather than the darkest foe. Which makes for some fear at what waits in the night of the universe.

Adrian is no longer a secret arcane user. He is actually a secret natural user. He has an innate ability to heal, which once he learns, he can use this to heal others. He is really good at swordplay because he's been able to learn from his mistakes instead of just dying from them.

NEW CHARACTER YO: Ty Darko is sort of a prototype character for who Adrian was going to be. She can do the timetravel shenanigans, and is actually like something of a guardian angel. The reason the Adventure Friends have never died is because she goes back in time and fixes things before they get super bad.

Nothing else for now. Thoughts???

(A Tepid Crossing is at 55,000 words right now, so I'm still writing it. Don't be afraid. I feel like it has another 10,000 left in it at least, maybe another 15,000.)

update: a tepid crossing

2011-07-13T13:38:00.001-07:00

So, planning this thing out is really hard.

I'm moving up the official "resume" time for August. My original estimate of this book being halfway done is now outdated, I would say it's two thirds of the way done. I realized that I have to get less ambitious about this thing if I want to finish it ever. But that doesn't mean that I'm going to do a cop-out and have it end really terrible. Don't worry about that. I'm trying my hardest to make it finish the way I originally wanted it to.

Don't know if that's possible but sheesh I am going to try, ok?

future of A Tepid Crossing

2011-06-30T13:21:00.000-07:00

You all saw this coming, I'm sure.

I'm going to put an indefinite hiatus on A Tepid Crossing while I figure out exactly how I want the story to end. I've been putting it up chapter by chapter, proofreading after each. I've been treating it like a television show, or at least trying to, where each chapter contains a beginning, middle, and end. But books aren't supposed to function like this. The whole thing is supposed to have a beginning, middle, and end, not the chapters.

Thus, I'm going to plan out the second half of the book before I start writing the chapters.

Why?

I flew into this book headfirst, and never expected to write a second chapter, or to continue long enough to the point that I'd write chapters about Harriet Lyre. When Abigail Tyrell became a character, it was not planned. I just simply needed someone to keep an inn of sorts. It wasn’t until I finished the chapter that I began to really flesh her out. Everything was made up on the spot, to serve a different purpose in each chapter.

This is an absolutely awful way to go about things. But it’s because I didn’t think I’d even write that much.

If no one had liked any of it, I never would have continued it. I wasn't wholly invested in it, and I'd already started planning other things, when all of a sudden, three/four people said they wanted to see more (this isn’t to say I didn’t like this; on the contrary, I thought it was awesome). So I wrote another chapter, expecting my "fans" to go away. Two of them did, but two of them didn't. So I wrote another chapter, still expecting interest to fade. Yet there you two were again. And one of the other fans came back.

That's when I realized I had something on my hands. So I kept writing, and started liking it more.

And then, while writing Ch. 8, I realized I didn't like the process anymore.

I wanted to make it all work better.

As well, Work has been making me braindead. I can't come up with stuff as well as I could when I had the whole day to plan things out…

So here we are.

Expect A Tepid Crossing to continue at some point in July; maybe mid-way, maybe later. In the meanwhile, I will continue writing. I've had some ideas involving a certain Museum, and a certain group of Friends who tend to go on Adventures. I'll try to get those things written up and posted while I work on the overall plot of A Tepid Crossing.

Don't worry: This isn't going to turn into the last book I tried to write. I REALLY want to get A Tepid Crossing written and sent to a publisher. I think this is my best shot at getting a writing deal so far. I won't screw this up. And I know how much you guys have enjoyed the first half.

So in the meanwhile, feel free to tell people about it. Feel free to go over the first eight chapters and tell me what you think can be improved. Feel free to forget about it, and then be surprised when chapter nine shows up like an unopened Christmas present (at least I hope you’ll think of it like that.) Feel free to do whatever you want. It’ll go up when it’s good and ready to go up…

So, that's it.

Urban Survival: Prologue (editted)

2011-06-15T22:47:00.000-07:00

Joe’s fingers tapped ever so impatiently on the desk as he read through the file. He had to find the right one, the perfect one, one that would allow him to leave no trace behind. He glanced up at the mountain of files on his desk. Each one contained old blueprints, information, history and occupational status on temporary and permanent military bases alike. Joe missed his days as a soldier when he led missions for the safe house as opposed to plan them from behind the safe house's walls. He clenched his jaw in anger. His injury had grounded him in a cowardly place; stuck behind a desk instead of out there in the field. It wasn’t fair!

He had to find one base, just one that had been overrun by the freaks who had been dubbed the Cretin by the United Nations, yet still was not too far from the safe house itself. Then he would be able to exact his long awaited revenge.

Joe thought back to when the US Government had used up most of their money in order to build the hidden safe houses deep within many of the United States National Parks. It had all started with those freakin' aliens who called themselves the Ayra. Once they had began to turn hostile the government's priority was to protect the civilians, and to them shipping everyone into local safe houses seem the most proper.

The Morristown National Historic Park's safe house had made itself a home to Joe as soon as he had moved in during the incident. He almost felt bad for the human-like aliens. All they had wanted was a place to stay since their planet had been destroyed. He winced and began to feel pity for the poor Ayra… until he remembered he hated anything that was not Human.

Joe’s head suddenly felt like it was going to split in two. He heard an ungrateful noise, the same noise he had heard ever since his injury where he had nearly been killed by one of the Cretin. He could feel a tear leak past his clenched eyelids as he heard the “purring” of the Cretin in his head. How was this even possible? It seemed even after his accident he could still hear the freak of nature as if it were literally in his head. The “purring" then changed into unrecognizable words. A harsh whisper which unnerved him.

Maybe he had been infected and the parasite? And the Kreton was attempting to turn him into one of those things? No, no! He was only getting paranoid that's all. Joe knew he was immune and it was impossible for the little pests to turn him.

The whispering was making it tough to think though, so he put his full concentration on it and his brain slowly worked out each syllable into comprehendible words and finally into a full sentence. But once he was able to understand the words, his head began to ache even more. The words chanted in what sounded like a chorus of raspy whispers, all of which said the same thing over and over like a broken record, “Kill him! Kill the man that did this to you!”

The violent whispering slowly died down, however, after what seemed like days and he was able to start thinking clearly.

“They’re right! They’re always right!” Joe yelled aloud, punching the desk with so much anger his knuckles began to bleed.

He looked around the room slowly. He was glad he was in his private quarters because there was no telling what someone might think of him if they had seen him. They would probably lock him in the loony bin.

Many people said that the “purr” of the Cretin could make a man go mad, Joe on the otherhand thought this was rubbish. No sort of noise, of any type, would be enough to make him break psychologically! Joe rationalized the voices in his head by saying they were nothing more than his conscience telling him what he should, or needed to do. But just to reassure himself that he was still sane, Joe liked to use big words as a way to prove to himself that he still knew fact from fiction.

But this was the whole reason he hated anything not human. Because of what that Cretin had seemingly done to him... If it was not of human origin it disgusted him. Some claimed that the Cretin were still human and this was where the arguments got him for the Cretin were of human origin... In fact they had been humans at one point in their lives. Well, except for the Cretin who were born to Cretin parents. But he hated when people said such things. According his rules anyone or anything that is a cannibalistic psychopath deserves hatred and should be destroyed.

Joe leaned back in his chair and rested the file on his lap, continuing to read through it. Most of the words he read through were blobs of black and white as he began to blank out all of the “boring” bits. He stopped to relish a few words such as ‘death’, ‘died’, ‘explosion’ and the like. Although all of these words dealt with violence and misfortune, Joe couldn’t help but feel intrigued by them.

He flipped to the last page of the file and began to read it over. It was a typed log of the bases last comm. link transmission. He skimmed through it blanking the words out like he had before but then stopped and sat up quickly as he read the last three words, “we are overrun.” Joe’s eyes widened as he went back and reread the whole transmission over again.

Quickly flipping back to the first couple of pages in the file he found a map of the base's location. And after staring at it for a few moments he stood up and with somewhat of a limp, walked over to a bucket in the corner of his room. The bucket was full of many maps of various sizes, which he rummaged through hastily until he found the exact map he was looking for.

Rushing back over to the desk he knocked the mountain of files onto the floor carelessly with a single sweeping motion. Joe then unrolled the map quickly and threw it on top of the table smoothing out its edges. He glanced at the map in the file then looked back to the jumbo map and smiled. New Jersey was certainly a beautiful state.

Opening a drawer in the desk and pulling out a marker, Joe plotted out the coordinates of the base in the South Western regions of New York City and then the coordinates of the Morristown National Park’s safe house in New Jersey.

Joe stood back and admired his beautiful, yet sloppy scribbles. To him a master piece... others, not so much. But he was proud of it.

He then proceeded to cap the marker and throw it over his shoulder. He then walked his fingers from point A to point B chuckling more and more as his fingers neared the final destination.

“Perfect!”

He hurried over to a shelf on the opposite side of the room and fumbled with the objects atop it, until he found his radio.

Pressing down the button he spoke into it, “Miss Jane… Miss Jane, are you there?”

He released the button and heard static. So he tried again, “Miss…”

“Yes Mr. Hunt?” a young female voice interrupted him before he was even able to finish his statement.

Letting out a sigh of relief he calmed himself, “Miss Jane, is the Drone still up over New York?”

Jane stumbled to say something but paused and after a moment replied, “Yes?”

“Good! Transfer the controls to my console please,” Joe said almost gleefully running over to the computer in the other corner of his room.

“Yes sir... may I ask what for?”

Once he saw that he had the control of the UAV he stated simply, “I love Drones.”

Upon saying this he shut off the radio and grabbed hold of the joy stick which was sitting on the computer desk in front of him. Images of buildings far below appeared on the computer screen and flew by quickly, reminding him of some videogame he used to play as a teenager.

Joe typed in the coordinates of the military base into the computer letting the Drone autopilot itself to save himself the time of trying to find it manually. Rather soon afterward a message blipped on the screen indicating that the Drone had arrived at the destination.

“Excellent!”

Once again grabbing the joystick, Joe piloted the drone angling it down, closer to the ground. When he felt that it was at a sufficient altitude, he locked it in a large circling course above the buildings in that sector. He then took control of the camera and began looking at each of the buildings trying to find the base.

After a few minutes and some conformation from pictures in the file Joe was sure that he had found the base.

He sat there watching the building for about thirty minutes and was about to give up until at last, he saw what he was looking for. Around the back end of the base in an ally, Joe saw the pale nearly naked bodies of a group of Cretin enter the base carrying the dead bodies of some other Cretin, likely to be from a rival clan; in other words their food.

This was great news for Joe, it meant that there was a Cretin clan living in the base and he could enact his revenge.

Suddenly the splitting headache started again and Joe grabbed his head as if holding it would keep it from splitting in two. Just as before he could hear the Cretin’s “purr”, and as it got louder and louder it turned back into the harsh, raspy whispers again whispering the same thing, “Kill him! Kill the man that did this to you!”

This time the voices began to laugh after a few choruses as if what they had said was the funniest thing in the world. Joe joined into their madness and the headache died away but the laughing voices remained as they all laughed in unison.

“Yes!” Joe cried out, “It shall be soon!”

Joe grabbed the file and tore out the comm. link transmission. He then produced a lighter and proceeded to burn its edges. Once it was ablaze, he dropped it into the metal waste bin at his feet.

“My revenge shall be fulfilled! The man who did this to me shall pay!” The voices laughed more gleefully than before as he spoke the word 'revenge', “Max Urban shall pay for what he did!”

My Update? 0:,'

2011-06-14T23:12:00.000-07:00

I am presently working on the REAL start to my Urban Survival story... not that anyone really cares i just felt like i would post something to show i havent forgotten about this place! :D

So I will end up posting the real first two chapters of Urban Survival at some point hopefully. it will deal a whole lot with actually developing the main character Max and hopefully go more in depth into the plot of the story... so hopefully clearing up any questions about it because it sure did start in a funny place at first... without a real plot! :O no worries the plot has been thunk to its most thoughtful place that my mind could think!

And so it shall be... you know... hopefully... written... at some point...

:D

minor update

2011-06-12T17:01:00.001-07:00

A Tepid Crossing ch. 7 should be up tomorrow or tuesday or wednesday. If it doesn't happen any of these three days, something terrible has happened and you should notify the authorities.

(not really you guys)

edit: so just because i want to build up a little bit of a buffer, part 7 goes up friday night no questions asked. if i can, part 8 will go up on friday. so on and so forth from there unto infinity.

edit edit: so ch. 7 needs some heavy editing. it is in no condition to be uploaded after the first read through. but i AM working on it, so i hope that makes you feel better about being alive.

JOUSE--randump

2011-06-11T12:24:00.000-07:00

THIS is the text aBOVE

THIS IS THE REST

and the text goes down

and down

and it burns a hole in the ground

and the earth stares up at you through the hole

(-I swear that we were god, when we stepped into it-)

(-holding hands like children across an intersection-)

(-as time folded in upon itself-)

(-your smile was never as beautiful as it was then-)

(-I fell through-)

(-but it was worth it just to see you spread across eternity-)

The Odds are Against It...

2011-05-24T08:52:00.000-07:00

The sky was dark, blanketed by the gathered vapor. The pressure had given way and you feel the first heavy drop on your head. You didn't hear the thunder over the buds muting your ears, but the droplets made you look up. You smile and close your eyes, removing your hood; the pressure lifting from you as if mirroring the dropping sky. There is a flash and you see the first lighting strike. This time you hear the thunder a few beats later. After seeing the lightning you begin to run, you're not sure why, but it makes you feel free, so you begin to run faster. Another strike, this time a low roar quickly following, almost in time with the music in your ears. After reaching the top of a hill you decide to rest, taking a few seconds to feel the pouring rain. Your heart is beating in time with the music and you have a sudden rush, you can feel the crescendo building and a pressure in yourself ready to be released. You almost feel as though you are flying. Another flash, but this time there is no delay before the tremendous crack. The music has stopped and your heart stops keeping time; stopping completely. Your body becomes limp and collapses on itself in the wet grass. Your eyes stare blankly, unmoving, motionless, and still; your consciousness not yet gone, but not in place. You watch your numb body as it lies still. Still since the instant the bright light hit you. In the same instant, death took you.

You feel the pressure begin to return, a silent crescendo builds and once again you feel as though you are flying. You are ready to soar.

One final flash strikes, silhouetting the hill's lonesome tree, and the pressure is gone.

Suddenly you hear music playing, quietly, but clear. A solid beat. Your tingling toes and fingers keep beat. You turn your head towards the sky as it divides to reveal the sun.

And you can't help but smile.

What If I Told You?

2011-05-23T18:11:00.001-07:00

What if I told you
That you are the one
For me
For me
You are the
What if I told you
We could take a second breath
Second breath.
What if I told you
We had something
It's real, it's true
It's not in my head
And I thought that we
Could be
Forever...

Where are you now,
Where are you now,
I need you.
What if I tried,
What if I died,
To be with you.

Where are you,
I need you,
Please come back home!
You are the
Only one
I ever knew!

----instrumental----

What if I told you
I would give it all
to you,
to you,
I'd give it.
What if i told you
I would catch a star'
All for you!
What if I told you
That I love you
What if I told you
That I need you
I need you

Where are you now,
Where are you now,
I need you.
What if I tried,
What if I died,
To be with you.

Where are you,
I need you,
Please come back home!
I need you
You are my
Only hope

----bridge----

What if I said
That i needed you more
Than Anything,
Anything,
Anything,
In the world, and
What if I said
We could be together
Forever and,
Ever,
Ever,
Until the end

Where are you now,
Where are you now,
I need you.
What if I tried,
What if I died,
To be with you.

Where are you,
I need you,
Please come back home!
You are the
Only one
I ever knew!

What if I said
That i needed you more
Than Anything,
Anything,
Anything,
In the world, and
What if I said
We could be together
Forever and,
Ever,
Ever,
Until the end and,

What would you
Say to me?
What would you
Think of me?

----end----

shithy storhy

2011-04-22T06:29:00.001-07:00

Alfred was a dude with a tuxedo. He was a cool dude and didn't afraid of anything. One morning he was fixing himself a meal and he happened to see some pure rabblerousers outside, dancing and causing trouble for his neighbors. Alfred decided it was time to do something with his life, so he fetched his doublebarreled shotgun and stepped out to deal with them.

(I apologize for what follows. It was a vain attempt to write 750 words in under an hour...)

He looked at each of them. One wore a baseball cap, tight shorts, and a bright pink T-Shirt. Heh, thought Alfred, he must believe he is quite the clever fellow, wearing a pink T-Shirt. But instead, all it made him look like was A TOTAL DOUCHEBAG.

The second child had on a backwards baseball cap (what a fool, doesn't he know that baseball caps won't work if worn backwards?) and tight jeans. Heh, thought Alfred, those jeans make him look like quite the woman. And then Alfred came to the realization that the second rabblerouser was indeed a woman. Poor woman! Caught up in the rabblerousing that was so prevalent among the youth of her age!

The third rabblerouser was the worst of them all. He wore a PENNY and a gym bag, although it was evident that he did not currently play sports, as his limbs were soft and heavy with the weight of A LAZY PERSON. Alfred HATED lazy people, almost as much as he hated FOREIGNERS.

"You, children!" He said, brandishing his doublebarreled shotgun. "Leave now, or forever become dead!"

The children looked up at him. The girl said, "Who made you the emperor of mankind? Huh, gramps!"

"I'm only forty five!" Alfred shouted back, continuing to walk up to them. His fingers felt clumsy, and sweat made the handle of the shotgun slick. He worried he might drop it. "My neighbors have done nothing to bother you!"

"That's what you believe, OLD MAN," said the PENNY KID. "But in actuality, they have taken my dear girlfriend from me, and these two friends you see here are my only allies!"

"I am sorry to hear that," Alfred said. "But I ascribe to a higher form of justice that does not include rabblerousers. You should report these crimes to the High Douchebagollators."

"Why must you taunt us so?" Said the child with the pink shirt. "Have you not experienced the loss of a sister?"

"It is your sister, and his girlfriend, in that house, then?"

"Yes, it is," the three of them replied, in unison and of the same tone.

"Then even better! It makes you sound like mountain people! Your squabbles amuse me!" Alfred hoped they would not see past his mask of pure STOIC.

"I can see past your mask of pure STOIC," said the girl, much to Alfred's chagrin, "and inside, you are quite unhappy with yourself. You have long tried to uphold your banner of justice and goodness, but you have seen a corrupt world where it is impossible to do so. I am like you. I was once a soldier in the Far Wars, and I have returned to enjoy life for as long as it can exist. For I am cursed with the Terminal Sickness that has claimed the lives of nearly every soldier whom participated in the Far Wars."

"That is a sad story," Alfred said, "But it is a pointless one at that. Everyone who is not immortal gets the Terminal Sickness at some point in their lives. ALL THAT LIVES WILL DIE."

Then, suddenly, a shot rang out. The girl fell to the ground, a wound in her side. Alfred looked up to his neighbor's house and saw a lamppost wielding a sniper rifle. It adjusted the sniper rifle towards him, and he dodge rolled the fuck out of the way. He ran behind a car and fired at it with his shotgun. He saw the two rabblerousers dragging the girl to behind the car as well, and he covered them with COVERING FIRE.

"This," she said. "Is it, the sickness has come to claim me at last."

"We will miss you," said the pink T-Shirted child. "We will never forget the good times. And in time, while we may forget them, I will never forget the bad times."

"Aye," said the PENNY CHILD, "We will not forget any of the times."

"I depart."

"All that lives will die," said Alfred.

And it was so.

What if I Told You?

2011-03-30T18:17:00.001-07:00

What if I told you
That you are the one
For me
For me
You are the
What if I told you
We could take a second breath
Second breath.
What if I told you
We had something
It's real, it's true
It's not in my head
And I thought that we
Could be
Forever...

Where are you now,
Where are you now,
I need you.
What if I tried,
What if I died,
To be with you.

Where are you,
I need you,
Please come back home!
You are the
Only one
I ever knew!

What if I said
That i needed you more
Than Anything,
Anything,
Anything,
In the world, and
What if I said
We could be together
Forever and,
Ever,
Ever,
Until the end and,

What would you
Say to me?
What would you
Think of me?

Where are you now,
Where are you now,
I need you.
What if I tried,
What if I died,
To be with you.

Where are you,
I need you,
Please come back home!
I need you,
You are my
Only hope!

----bridge/solo----

What if I told you
I would give it all
to you,
to you,
I'd give it.
What if i told you
I would catch a star'
All for you!
What if I told you
That I love you
What if I told you
That I need you!

........................?

(Song i've been writing. I've gotten all the music and solo and whatnot, all i need is an outro.... like i said im working on it.)

A Nightmare

2011-03-29T18:52:00.000-07:00

or: Hotboxing Terrors

olympic noones
dashed against white concrete
in drunken feats of bravery
theater walls surrounding,

crushing

tearing at the corpulence as the spectators escape

awake cold and dark as the fan spins
a blinking light
as a reminder of awareness

I'm zoning out, lost in thought.
is free speech sufficient the professor inquires
why can politicians lie but advertisements cant
I think advertisements lie all the time.
should politicians provide more evidence
did he put drug companies first

(a right to free speech requires that you be informed

but people ARENT informed
I like free speech. It's cool. I approve--
Who's this? You're looking like the coolest kid in this class. You look conceited.
Now I feel conceited.

pause
did i say that out loud

Oil

2011-03-27T11:15:00.000-07:00

I stood beneath the hull
Pearlescent, a shell
Tar dripped down into my eyes
There was the house beneath which I climbed into

Day and night the tar fell; I plugged the openings with my shoe
I climbed into the living room and the tar followed
The pressure above caused wood to break in two

I fell into the maze
Where my hands, slick with glaze
Tar dripped down into my eyes
Worked along the surface of thedarkfloor

A rumbling beneath my bare feet reminded me of doors

Slamming shut around me and the tar followed

A moment of clarity between the doors

Tar dripped down into my eyes

Roderick (3)

2011-03-09T13:55:00.000-08:00

After a fourth shot, I felt I was prepared for whatever event was to occur. I let myself soak in the aura of a drunken state of mind, sitting down in a chair and reminiscing. My memory fell upon a time when I was a child.

My parents had divorced, and my mother had inevitably married another man in the year following. I was staying the night at my (new) father’s house while he was gone on business with my mother. My older brother, fourteen, wanted to find something special to occupy our time, as we were bored, and our step-father didn’t have anything child-oriented lying around. We searched for something to do, opening cabinets and raiding through drawers.

We came upon a handle of whiskey in the fridge, opened although far from empty. My brother poured us both glasses. After my first taste I was put off, but he continued, eventually calling a friend of his to come over. His friend, a fifteen year old, had connections with some girls, who came as well, one of them having her own stash of alcoholic beverages. While I stayed sober, still very much disgusted by the taste of alcohol, they became very inebriated.

There was a moment when they played spin the bottle and I was invited to join in. Eventually, the bottle landed on me and I had my first kiss, although I was too young to understand its significance or its significance (although I did recognize that it was not something to be repulsed by, unlike those in my classes).

Later that night, the girl who kissed me (Sharon, I think was her name) walked outside to sit on the porch. She lingered for a moment at the doorway and asked me to join her. I followed. She told me all about the things she did and I was enlightened that not everyone was good and kind at their hearts.

The party went undiscovered, of course, but there was the inevitable fear that I we’d be had. The knowledge that what you are doing is wrong and that you should leave immediately. I had that feeling then.

Suddenly, my benefactor appeared behind me. “Are you ready for dinner?” She asked.

I turned and saw that she had changed into a deep red dress which exposed her shoulders but neglected to dip low enough to see much of her chest (to my dismay, although it did reveal much of her curves). “Yeah,” I said. “Nice dress.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I found it here yesterday.”

“Found it?” I asked. “You mean this isn’t your house?”

“It is now, since I found it,” she said, walking across the room. “Do you still not know who I am?”

“You haven’t told me your name, so… no,” I said, in part realizing that she didn’t know mine either.

“My name isn’t what I mean,” she said. She was silent for a moment and looked at me real longingly, like I meant something important that I couldn’t understand. “You’re nice, and I’m almost sorry about what I have to do.”

Two things happened very quickly. Her teeth shone and I noticed two fangs had descended, and secondly she sprang at me from the other side of the room like a monster leaping in a nightmare. It happened much more quickly than it took to say it.

As soon as I’d seen the fangs, I had already begun to stand up, so that I managed to keep my neck out of the path of her gaping maw. Still, she grabbed me and we tumbled to the floor. I tried to kick against her stomach to knock the wind out of her, but of course, had forgotten that vampires don’t necessarily take breaths.

My moment of misjudgment gave her time to rip into my throat, tearing like lightning through the flesh. I’m not entirely sure how I managed to do it, but I pulled my head away from her teeth, and then managed to swing the crowbar out from my belt and scrape along her torso. She leapt back, startled, and the dress now ruined. I scrambled backwards, and turned to run towards the porch door.

She leapt after me and we went tumbling again, this time I remember less except that we tumbled through the cardboard covered door out into the daylight. My plan had not been to go all the way out, but had been to threaten breaking the glass to let sunlight and all the skin-stealers inside. But this would have to do, I thought. We landed roughly against wooden porch, the sun blinding me and forcing my hands up against the sun for a moment.

My benefactor fared less equally. Watching a vampire under sunlight is like watching an animal drown. It simultaneously immobilizes and distracts, so that her grip on my shoulders went limp. I used the opportunity to flee inside, grabbing the hem of her dress and dragging her in after me. We got through the porch door and when I turned I saw the first of the skin-stealers leap onto the porch where we had been.

It was the first one I’d seen from a distance of less than a hundred feet, and everything was now magnified. You can see the human parts of them much better, the bone structure that you’d associate with a human. Beyond the basic form (two legs, two arms, a head) it began to look much different. Its skin was a dark grey-green color, and its eyes looked leafy in their texture. The head is mostly uncovered, except in skin. From the mouth descend the swinging tentacles, hooked on their ends. It crouched down and hunched, so that I saw the way it’s shoulder blades were pulled to support the arms. And then it leapt at me, its thorned arms swinging at me. I hardly sidestepped this first attack, attempting to slash at it with my crowbar.

By now the vampire was starting to regain focus; not much, as the sunlight still filtered in through the porch door, but she now slowly crept to her feet as I barely parried an attack. She must have realized that the only way to survive would have been to attack the skin-stealer; as it was, it was distracted by me.

So she leapt after it, her fangs digging into its neck. I fled to the kitchen.

I heard them crash together and looked back to see the vampire’s mangled form on the floor. The skin-stealer looked up and me and stepped to the side for an instant, thick brown blood dripping from its neck. It must have recognized my own injury, and stepped back for a second, before launching forward again.

I grabbed one of the chairs and spun on my feet, slamming it into the skin-stealer midair. It flailed to the ground and I used my crowbar to give it a swift lobotomy. After it completed its final throes, I gathered the vampire’s body in my arms and carried it upstairs, finding a small room to deposit it, and then did the same for the skin-stealer.

Tired, I sat down, and slowly began eating the skin-stealer, knowing that it wouldn’t stay nutritious as long as the vampire would. My strength restored, I found bandages from a medical cabinet in the bathroom located on the second story.

Upon fixing my neck wound I returned to the room to see that the vampire was once more alive and feebly sipping from the skin-taker’s wounds. Her flesh was already coming back, I realized, now that we’d been out of the sunlight.

I sat down and ate next to her for awhile, knowing that my strength would be enough to finish her. For a moment she stopped and looked up at me curiously. “You’re a cannibal?”

I shrugged.

And of course, now I can see how afraid that’s made you. Please, understand that this is simply the way things go nowadays. I did not tell this story to frighten you, in fact, I’m not entirely sure what purpose this exchange has served. But I thank you for your time. Now if you remain calm, this next part won't hurt at all.

What’s Happening?!

2011-02-22T04:54:00.000-08:00

John Erokan awoke suddenly, his bed sheets soaked in sweat. He was almost disgusted with the dream he had just had. It had seemed too real.

Looking around his room he saw a gloomy yet somehow delightful light outside through his window. Maybe he was weird, but to him cloudy days seemed to be happier to him. Although his ideas may be different from most people he stuck with them, it had always been his “motto”.

John also noticed it had just recently snowed a little bit, for there was a fresh coat of white powder outside. It was perfect. He loved snowy, gloomy days. The cold and the gloom were a wonderful combination for going on a run. He figured that he had not gone on a run in a while and it would be good for him to start the day off with a good run.

Walking over to his dresser, he began to reach for one of the drawers when he had a sudden ache in his left arm. It seemed very strange, he rubbed his arm and it felt sore but he could not think of what he could have done to make it feel as such. Ignoring it he continued to get dressed, sliding on a pair of sweat pants and a light jacket.

He opened the front door of his house and felt the cool air outside. John took a deep breath inhaling the fresh, crisp air. It was refreshing and made him feel somehow calm.

The streets were clear of any snow and suspected the salt had taken care of anything that had been on it. He started his run at a light jog. To him this was the perfect day for a jog. It was not too cold and the grass and houses were covered in a small layer of the white powder and made for a beautiful scenery that he could enjoy.

John turned down a street breathing in the wonderful and chilly air. He was glad that he had gone for a run it had been way too long.

John slowed, as an abrupt pain in his left arm started again. He felt it again and it seemed even more sore than it had earlier.

However, it went away as quickly as it had started and John kept running. As he looked ahead, he noticed something odd about a patch of snow a ways away. He squinted to see if it was what he thought. There was a patch of snow on the side of the road up ahead that had been stained red.

He blinked and looked again but it had disappeared. He was just seeing things, but it had seemed strangely real to him.

John slowed when he neared the spot where he thought he had seen the blood. When he neared it he thought he heard a gunshot and the pain in his arm started up again, only this time the pain was excruciating. He stopped running and grabbed his arm only to see that there was blood where his hand grabbed!

He looked at the patch where he thought he had seen the blood and to his surprise there it was, the he thought he had seen was his own!

John turned his head to see an obviously disturbed man holding a pistol at his side. His eyes were wide his lips spread apart to show his teeth in a huge insane grin. John didn’t know what to think when he saw the figure but he knew his arm hurt extremely bad.

The man began to raise the pistol slowly, apparently planning to aim it at John and finish him off. John would not allow any such thing. He was not ready in any way to accept death.

John decided to make a run for it, and he bolted away towards a house to his left just as he heard another crack from the pistol. Luckily, the man had missed and John ran around to the side of the house and leaned against the corner of the wall. John looked down at his arm. Blood was slowly oozing down his arm. He reached up to touch the wound with is other hand but as he did so he saw the crazy man turn the corner.

John quickly ducked as the man fired again and missed. John ran at the man hunched over and tackled him in center mass. John slammed the man into the ground using all the force he could. He was pissed and wanted to know why this man was trying to kill him.

“What is wrong with you?!” John yelled at the man punching him in the face.

The man didn’t respond and tried to aim the pistol at John again. John hastily grabbed the barrel of the pistol with one hand and the handle with the other. He then forced the pistol to the side so that the barrel was facing away from them. In a quick motion, using the pistol as a lever he twisted the handle up towards him.

John felt nauseous as he heard the man’s trigger finger snap. He knew that it was going to happen but frankly, John had not been expecting it.

The man was screaming and writhing in pain. Ignoring this John easily pulled the gun from the man’s grasp. John turned the pistol and aimed it at the man’s face.

“Why are you trying to kill me?!”

John could feel anger and rage building up inside of him when the man gave no reply. Punching the man again, John removed the magazine from the pistol and shoving it into his pocket. He then pulled the slide back and tossed the extra bullet out of the chamber.

John threw the empty gun to the side so that he would not be mistaken for the bad guy when the police arrived. He was sure that the whole neighborhood had heard the gunshots and probably already called the police.

John forced the man over onto his stomach, pulled the man’s arm up behind his back, and held it with his knee so that the man would not get away. John looked around. He was next to a car in someone’s driveway.

He looked down at his arm again and saw that the slow oozing blood had reached his finger tips and was dripping onto the snow and staining it bright red. It was a through and though but he needed an ambulance bad. This all seemed too familiar to him and it scared him that he felt like he had done all of this before.

John had never been shot before but for some reason it did not hurt as much as he thought it might. He somehow doubted anyone had called for an ambulance so he began to reach for his phone to call 9-1-1 but he was distracted as the door to the house he was next to opened.

John could not see who it was from his position behind the car but before he could even call out the man underneath of him did first.

“Hey, guys I’m over here! Help!”

The man began to squirm, trying to get free of John’s grasp. John could not allow this so he grabbed the man’s arm and pushed it up even farther until he felt and heard a loud pop as the man’s arm was dislocated at the shoulder.

John had not meant to do this but it nearly sickened him at the fact that he had did not bother him. He had never purposely hurt anyone before and whenever he had accidentally hurt someone he felt sick. Nevertheless, he could not help the strange feeling of déjà vu.

Ignoring the loud screams of the man he was on top of, John saw a large man walk around the side of the car. The man was holding a pistol and John seemed to instinctly know what he was going to do.

Standing quickly John swung his foot at the man’s gun and kicked it from his hand. John threw himself at the man knocking him into the garage door with a bang as the hollow metal doors rang at the impact.

John pushed himself away from the man and as the man stepped towards him, John kicked at the man’s knee with all of his weight. The man’s knee bent backwards and John heard the loud snap of bone.

The man fell to the ground screaming in pain holding his now broken knee.

“God! What is wrong with me?!” John thought to himself

He had never once hurt anyone but he could not seem to control himself when these men attacked him and it scared him.

John looked over to the first man. He had passed out from the pain. John then looked at the man he had just immobilized. The man ignored John completely and seemed to be fully focused on his wrecked knee.

Walking over to where he had kicked the man’s gun he bent over slowly and picked it up. Same as before, he removed the magazine and extra bullet then stuck the magazine into his pocket.

He touched his wounded arm and winced at the pain it brought. What was happening? It was all to weird.

John reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and typed in the numbers 9-1-1. Just before he pressed the SEND button, he saw the neighborhood cop pull up in his cruiser.

“Thank God!” John said falling onto his knees and putting his phone away.

The officer quickly got out of his car, “Excuse me sir is everything alright?”

John almost laughed, “no sir… I’ve been shot.”

Without answering the officer grabbed his radio and called for an ambulance.

There was a sudden burst of gunfire from another shooter, and the police officer quickly ducked down taking cover behind his bullet proof cruiser. John suddenly got very angry, he was tired of these people and he wanted to put an end to their annoyances.

Getting up slowly as to not feel as light headed, John peered around the car there was a large van. Walking around the car John took refuge against the side of the van. He then again peered around the back of the van and saw another man taking pot shots at the cop.

When the police officer saw John he ceased fire. He was not allowed to fire upon civilians. The man took the opportunity to fire off a few more rounds at the police officer. When he did, John ran up behind then man, using one arm to put him in a head lock and the other arm to grab his firing hand and twist it back and away from the cop.

The police officer quickly ran up to them, aimed his weapon at the man, and yelled, "Drop your weapon!"

The man reluctantly dropped his weapon and stopped struggling. The police officer kicked the weapon further away from him.

“Here, you get to cuff him. You deserve it,” the officer joked, unclipping the handcuffs from his belt and handing them to John.

“Sweet…” John said sarcastically

John cuffed the man and threw him to the ground face first.

“There are two others unconscious over there,” John said motioning to the other side of the car.

“Goodness! Have you done this before?”

John clenched his jaw then shook his head, “No…”

“What do are you?” the officer asked.

“A college student... I’m studying for a game art major.”

The officer shook his head in disbelief and then directed his attention to the man on the ground in front of them, “Are there any more of you in the house?”

The man nodded.

“How many?”

“Just one,” the man said with a huff.

The officer looked at John and then the blood oozing from his arm, “You. Sit down and don’t move. Wait here for the back up and the ambulance.”

John nodded and sat down leaning against the side of the garage. The police officer then walked up to the front door of the house pistol at the ready.

John leaned his head against the wall. He felt dizzy and tired and wanted nothing but to go back to bed.

He suddenly heard a yell and then a couple of gunshots. John’s eyes shot open and saw a man burst through the door and heading towards the cruiser, which had been left on.

Without thinking about it, John picked up the gun next to him and sighted the man’s legs as he neared the cruiser. John pulled the trigger and he felt the gun kick back. The man then fell hard to the ground screaming.

John struggled slightly but stood up dropping the gun. He ran inside to see the officer lying against a blood-covered wall. At first, he thought the officer might be dead but he was proven wrong when the officer inhaled heavily and coughed.

John tried to run over to the officer quickly but ended up stumbling hastily. He knelt over the officer and saw that he had been shot in the right side of his chest and was bleeding badly. John placed his hands over the wound to try to stop the bleeding but the thick, hot blood just oozed through his already blood stained hands.

“Stay with me!” John said slapping the officers cheek in order to keep him from blacking out, “You can’t just die…”

There were three loud gunshots each painful impact as they tore through his chest. He looked down to see masses of blood pouring from the holes now in his chest, and he saw his blood that had just splattered all over the officer.

John began to fall over backwards and everything seemed muffled and extremely white. Before he even hit the ground his vision was nothing but a bright, white blur.

John awoke suddenly. His room was dully lit by the gloomy brightness outside, he loved gloomy cold days. He looked out the window and saw that it must have snowed over night. The perfect day to go for a run.

He sat up but there was a sudden pain in his chest, which went away as quickly as it had come.

“That was weird,” John said aloud.

Forgetting about it, he got up and got dressed to go for a run, sliding on a pair of sweat pants and a light jacket.

He left the house to enjoy the fresh, crisp air of the nice and cool morning it was beautiful outside.

John turned down a street and continued at a brisk jog. He then felt déjà vu. When was that last time he had gone running? Was it yesterday? Or was it so long ago he couldn’t remember?

The feeling bothered him but he kept on running … until he saw what looked liked blood on a patch of snow up looked ahead.

He stopped and rubbed his eyes. He looked again but it was gone.

“What’s happening?!” John question himself.

He continued running again but his arm began to ache and suddenly he heard it.

The gunshot. He felt the pain in his arm only it did not hurt all too bad, more like he had just fallen off his bike. He looked down to see his blood oozing from his arm and splattered on the snow.

John turned around slowly to see a man with crazy eyes and a wild smile… He had definitely done this before.

Roderick (2)

2011-02-16T19:00:00.001-08:00

I guess I should say that before I was at the state park I had been at my home, having been well hidden for the four days in which the outbreak had already been occurring. I’d received a nasty wound on the very first day before I’d even known that I should have been hiding.

After the four days passed I left, wandering in search of hope. My first thoughts turned towards the wilderness, perhaps there’d be fewer spooks out that way. I met some people along the way from whom I learned that there weren’t just zombies, and that everyone was pretty sure that the zombies were being created by vampires, and I learned what exactly a cannibal is in those terms. I guess maybe you don’t know; a cannibal became the term to describe someone who was bitten by a spook, but hadn’t been fully turned. Just enough so they retained their humanity but still craved flesh. I’m not sure if a cannibal actually needs it. I think it’s more like Wendigo syndrome. I read about that on the internet, I think. It was a proneness to eating flesh, or resorting to cannibalism in survival situations much earlier than other rational people.

Ok, so from the park, I came across the truck, and I quickly decided I would give civilization one last shot, even if it might take a shot at me. That asshole kicked me out of his truck, I ran into the ranger station to avoid the spooks, and here I am.

So I listened to the sounds of someone running, and the spooks slow shuffling away toward it. The sound of running trailed off, and with it the spooks’ shuffling grew quieter and quieter. Knowing that they would likely be outpaced by this savior, and knowing that spooks returned to where they last found food, I decided to make a break for it.

I knew that the road that the truck had been parked on would lead to a highway, and given every zombie scenario I’d ever encountered there were plenty of cars parked on the sides of highways. I figured I’d give it a shot.

While the zombies shambled away I tried to run as quietly as possible, which I discovered can be a very difficult thing to do. One of them caught on, and not wanting to make a scene, I smashed it in the head with my crowbar, peeling back the skull in a very professional manner.

This violent event, which occurred upon the very spot the truck had driven through just moments prior, took me a great deal longer than I intended. I was very distracted by this fresh kill. I left it eventually, but not before seeing the first of the spooks returning to the ranger’s station. I cursed my luck, considered using my pistol to gun a few of them down, and decided upon sprinting in a not so quiet manner.

I had been a runner before this, one of those people you saw running along the sidewalks in the early morning with gym shorts and a headband, and so I knew I could outpace the spooks as well as my savior had. It would be taking a risk, of course. I wished that I hadn’t taken so much time with the spook I killed, so that I could have simply returned to the safety of the ranger’s station.

But now I found myself jogging as I’d always done before, knowing that the spooks would potentially tire of me, perhaps returning to the ranger’s station, believing that there was someone else inside. I was a wishful thinker at that moment.

I jogged a ways along this path; I would like to say for twenty minutes, until I reached the highway. But, as my luck would have it, there were no abandoned cars. I stopped to catch my breath for a moment, knowing that I might see spooks before long.

It was still the dead of night, except now the moon was peeking from the clouds. This enabled a brilliant line of sight into the park, and I knew it would be an unusually handy early-warning system.

From my knowledge of the highway I rested upon, it’d be a few miles more before I reached any semi-habitable place. So I knew I could probably make it to safety before daylight. I took a couple of extra minutes to stretch and waited to see if any spooks shambled out upon the trunks and bushes.

Instead, I heard the running once more. It was up the highway a ways, and at first I could not see her. But she came closer and I could see that it was another survivor. At first I wondered if she would attack me; if she was a cannibal, she would likely pretend to be my friend and then attack me when I let my guard down, but if she were a vampire she wouldn’t have to.

But then again, I knew an easy way to test whether one she was. The pistol I’d retrieved from the ranger’s station was still tucked into the belt that held up my jeans at the waist. One bullet would reveal everything I’d need to know.

While my hand strayed there, it eventually settled on the crowbar. “Hello!” I called, as it was obvious she had already seen me.

She slowed to a walk, and put a finger up to her mouth in a “shush” kind of way. I waited for her to get closer, and she finally said, “What do you think you’re doing? Are you suicidal?”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “The trying to steal the truck or the hiding in the ranger’s station?”

“What?” She asked. “No, yelling at me like that.”

“Ah,” I said. “Ok.”

“What about trying to steal a truck?” She said.

“Well, I didn’t try to steal it. It was empty and covered in blood when I first saw it, so I thought it was up for grabs. Then the owner decided he wasn’t dead and took it back,” I said.

“Do you have a safe place to stay for the day?” She asked.

“Not really,” I said. “I’d hoped to get a truck and head for the safe zone.”

“You really are suicidal aren’t you? You know they’re shooting people right? Anyone who tries to break quarantine.”

“I did not know,” I said. “Then what the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“Uh,” she said. “Survive?”

“That’s shitty,” I said. I wanted to scream, I think, except I didn’t, and instead just clenched my teeth and balled my fists. It hadn’t ever really impressed upon me until then that all hope was lost, there was no chance of salvation.

“At least until the military carpet bombs everything. I think that’s their plan.”

I wanted to grab my gun and shoot her then; she was so relaxed about this, so relaxed about being the bearer of bad news. I even wondered if she enjoyed it.

“Come on, we’ll screw and drink,” she said finally.

All of my negative emotions resolved, I grinned.

“Maybe in reverse order,” she added. She kissed me on the lips in a very apocalyptic kind of way, and it lasted for ten or so seconds; long enough to get me excited for liberation in a carnal sense. Afterwards, she said, “Come on.” And began to walk down the highway. I followed after staring for a second, delighted in my luck. I pondered upon the strange feeling I had, something about the way she kissed was foreign. Perhaps she was not American. I wondered if they kissed significantly different in different countries.

It’s hard to say how much time passed while we moved along the highway. We walked in silence, only once passing an abandoned car with smashed windows and a ripped out radio. I found a few dollars in a purse in the backseat, and she claimed ownership to a bottle of liquor in the trunk. I wondered about her age, and how much she’d consumed in the past. My first tastes of alcohol had been at age seven though, at my stepfather’s house. Maybe she was like me, and was naturally attuned to such substances.

After passing the abandoned car, we walked along the highway for some more hours, and as the sun began to brighten the horizon in a really warm orange kind of way, she suddenly turned and bounded over a guardrail to step into the forest. I followed after a moment’s hesitation. I wondered where we were then, as I’d known of no town near that part of the highway.

We walked through thick brush and branch before reaching a manor set into a hill overlooking a creek. We approached by way of the creek, I should add, climbing up a ladder to the porch on the back of the structure, where she unlocked a sliding door that led into a grand foyer.

When she shut the cardboard-covered glass door behind us, she said, “Home sweet home.”

“Were you rich?” I blurted.

“A little. It was my mother mostly.” She said.

“Ah,” I said. “How old are you?”

“That’s an odd question to ask,” she said. “And you wouldn’t believe the answer if I told you.”

“Ok,” I said, “Twenty three?” I ventured.

“You flatter me with such conservative estimates,” she said, smiling. She flipped a light switch and I got my first good look at her face; distinctly Arabic, in the exotic kind of way. Her eyes were what caught me the most; the deepest verdant shade of green I’d seen with flecks of gold around the iris. It made me think of a comment my step-father had said once, about how Arabic women always had the prettiest eyes because in the countries they came from that would be the only part of their face not obscured by a burka, and therefore the men would prefer the girls with the “prettiest” eyes.

And I left it at that. She led me to the kitchen, and I took a seat at the end of the dining table closest to the front door. She set the liquor on the table and walked off; we’d soundlessly agreed upon a meal, I thought.

While I waited, I ended up standing up and taking a walk around the kitchen. I decided to look for a glass. The first cabinet I opened contained bowls, and the second was an arrangement of glasses, short and tall. I selected a shorter one and walked back to the liquor my patron had grabbed. I poured myself a shot and downed it, savoring the fiery burst of flavor coursing over my tongue. A minute passed, and I took another.

Roderick (1)

2011-02-06T11:51:00.001-08:00

I shone my flashlight over the truck and called out, “Hello?” into its empty windows. There was blood on the outside of the door, which made me assume that whoever the driver had been had been pulled out.

No reply.

I grabbed my crowbar and crawled into the driver’s seat. I jimmied open the panel beneath the steering wheel and connected what wires need to be connected in order to hotwire a car. It was my second time ever doing it, so I moved carefully to not trigger the alarm. Once it agreed to work for me, I turned on the radio and listened.

I flipped up and down the spectrum, past radio stations outside of the quarantine, and finally fell upon one that was a recorded broadcast by the government.

Between the static I got a few words.

[…nearest police station…evacuation…]

I took it to mean that we had to escape to a police station. I turned put the car into drive and awkwardly drove off onto the road. I’d never driven a truck before.

I was thinking about an escape. All I’d ever known was running the past few days, running and killing. My crowbar had done more than simply helped me break into cars and hotwire them.

It was while driving past the park ranger’s station that I heard the transistor in the backseat spark to life. I stopped, set it to park, and crawled back to have a look-see. I saw its bright green lettering flashing, something about some station it’d “found”. All I could hear was someone frantically trying to say something, but it was too quiet to make out any words. I fumbled around the knobs and buttons and came across the volume control.

[please help me please oh god] It sounded like a teenage girl, although I wasn’t sure.

I found a microphone, and quickly spoke once I found the button that’d allow it to receive audio. “Hello? Where are you? Maybe I can help?”

[hello?] she said cautiously.

“Hey, where are you?” I asked.

[who is this?] she asked, suddenly sounding skeptical and calm.

“I’m a policeman. My name is Roderick,” I said. It was a small lie. I’d never had any interest in police work, but I considered myself to be a fine individual.

[Roderick you said? how did you find this]

“Back of a pickup truck, why?”

[my father is the only one who knows this frequency], she said, [is he alright?]

“I didn’t see him,” I said, honestly, “I just found the truck and I needed a ride… So…”

There was a moment of silence on the other end. [he told me he was going to find supplies], she said. [please give him his truck back]

“I can help you though,” I said. “I mean there are reasons why he wouldn’t be with his truck. And I saw an awful lot of zombies back there. I don’t think he’s doing so hot right now.” There was silence from the other side, “Listen, I’m trying to get to the police station in ‘Clark. If you’re on the way there I can break you out. I mean, are you surrounded or what?” I considered going back though, even though I’d said I wouldn’t.

[kinda…] she began coughing.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

[yeah. I'm surrounded.]

Wary suddenly, I made a mental note that I would drive past wherever she was. I wouldn’t waste time on someone that might be showing signs of infection. “So… where are you?”

I didn’t hear her response, if there was one, because I heard a shout and turned my head towards the source, to look straight into the barrel of an over-large revolver. “Get out of my truck, mister.” He spoke with a thick southern drawl.

He had a thick mustache perched over trembling lips. His chin quivered too, and it was then I realized that he had never fired the revolver at a living thing before. Or at least, I felt certain he hadn’t. “Listen, buddy, we can coexist right here. I figured the owner of this truck was long dead. Given the smashed windows and blood, ya know. You can have it back,” I said. With that, I slowly grabbed the door handle and gripped the crowbar with my other hand. “We can team right the fuck up.”

“No sir,” he said. He backed up far enough that I wouldn’t be able to smash in his head with the crowbar.

When I opened the door I tossed my crowbar at his feet and then held both hands up. He lowered his gun slightly, although if he pulled the trigger he’d still probably have gotten me in the chest or legs. I stepped aside slowly, “Why not?” I asked. “Your impression of me right now is that I’m a desperate survivor. Hell, I’m desperate enough to believe that you aren’t some cannibal or vampire. What harm could I—”

“Do I look like a vam’per to you?” He asked.

“Yeah,” I said. When he raised his gun again I held by hands out and said, “Just kidding. Chill.”

“No, you’re not jokin’. I’m not gonna kill you though,” he said. “Walk over to the station there. And maybe I won’t injure you.”

“Yes sir,” I said, now feeling quite agitated. He was going to leave me out here. And the zombies were probably going to be closing in at any second. As I stepped back, I said, “You’re the worst sort of asshole, you know that? I’m going to die and you’re going to go on living. I was going to save your daughter, but you’ve wasted enough time here to last two lifetimes. She’s probably succumbed to her infection.”

“How did you know that?” He said. When I grinned (I was so surprised I was right) he pointed the gun at the ground and fired, wasting a perfectly good bullet, “How did you know that?” He repeated.

“I could hear it in her voice, when she hesitated. She sounded a bit hysterically paranoid.” I made great efforts to pronounce every syllable in hysterically paranoid. I figured it would make me sound more intelligent.

“You some kind of doctor?” He asked.

“Yes,” I said without hesitation.

“Do you know a cure?” He asked, his aim wavering.

“We both know there’s no cure,” I said, not wanting to promise something there was no chance of delivering.

“Then get over to that station,” he said, his aim steadying. “And keep your hands in the air until I’m gone.”

I’d really been hoping that I could lie my way into a ride. I was no doctor, but if I could make him believe it, I could get him to let his guard down, smash his head in while he wasn’t looking, and take the truck. “Yes sir,” I said again. I turned and walked away, keeping my hands up. I practically jogged over to it, with the headlights placing the shadow against the wall. I set my hands against their shaded copies and waited. I heard the truck peel away, and the headlights passed.

I was left in the pitch dark of the night. Back to where I started. No ride, a crowbar, and a grenade. My shirt was starting to smell seriously shitty and I was not feeling ready to spend the rest of the night living in terror.

I heard a groan drift down the wind. “Fuck.”

I walked around to the side of the ranger station and found the front door. It was locked, but the crowbar was quite handy in smashing the window, giving me ample opportunity to reach my hand in and flip the lock to its friendliest position. I stepped in and closed it behind me. I saw a bookshelf and quickly flipped it down, and pushed it in front of the door. I walked to the receptionist desk and crawled behind it. I sat down and hoped that the zombies would move on if they couldn’t see me. Yet I could hear them getting closer.

By the number of their growls, moans, and shuffling feet, I knew they were numerous. Too many for my crowbar. I felt the grenade in my pocket, and wondered how it’d feel to pull the pin and wait for it to go off. I’d place it right beside my heart, I thought. I might not even feel a thing.

I could hear them outside the window now, and decided it was too early to give up. I turned around and searched through the shelves in the receptionist’s desk. Papers, pencils, pens, and other things that were completely useless.

Until I reached under the chair and felt the pistol taped there. I ripped it off and by its weight I figured it had a few bullets left in it. If nothing else, it might help me make an escape. I didn’t consider myself to be a marksman by any stretch of the imagination, but if there weren’t a proper swarm of them I knew I wouldn’t need to do much aiming. Just walk up to them until they were about arm’s length away, and then it’d be near impossible to miss.

I stood up, and looked at them. All I could see was their outlines, but they weren’t swaying, or attempting to break in. I wondered if something else had gotten their attention.

I heard the sound of someone running.

social anxiety disorder at a party (thru a guy's eyes)

2010-12-21T20:00:00.001-08:00

I am at a party. I’ve had a fair amount to drink and everything is bathed in a warm red-orange glow.

Everyone’s talking to everyone else. I’m struggling to maintain a conversation with a girl who is in a relationship. It’s comforting that she’s in a relationship; I don’t have to watch what I say, and I can be honest. I tell her about college, and listen when she talks about her own experiences. We’ve known each other since middle school, but I know we’ve grown distant, and I know it’s never going to be the way it was before. It’s for the better anyway. I still like her, I guess. I awkwardly end the conversation and she seems relieved. I look for a moment at her beautiful eyes and wish for all the world I could know what it feels like.

I take a walk around the room, stopping by the concentrations of conversation.

This one guy, he plays guitar really well, he knows all sorts of songs and he’s in this cool band, and, like, he thinks it might be a big deal. He’s attracted a crowd of groupies, most of which are immensely attractive girls. I know I’m jealous that I hadn’t put more time into learning guitar. I think about his future. If he gets lucky, he’ll be rich and will never be at a loss for companionship. But it’s always more likely that they burn out somewhere along the way.

I walk on, green envy clouding my thoughts. I stop by a second group, and listen in for a second.

With a grin and narrowed eyes, this well dressed kid speculates on how wonderful it’d be to pop a girl’s cherry. He makes it clear that he really likes having sex. Most of the guys talking to him share similar sentiments. I’m at a loss. More jealous rage in the back of my mind, so I move on.

This other fellow has put in the hours at the gym (his arms ripple with muscle and his face is lean), and has put six or seven shots of whiskey down his throat in the past thirty minutes. He’s loud, liable to brag, but overall friendly. And the girls around him don’t care that he’s obnoxious. They’re attracted to it, even if they don’t know it. It’s the confidence.

Every guy who’s popular with the ladies is confident. I decide that I’ll be more confident. I’ll start socializing.

But I think back to the girl I’d been talking to earlier, and see her standing with her significant other. I get a nod from the boyfriend, an acknowledgement that I’m harmless, and the party continues. I look at everyone and think that I might need to vomit.

I step outside, leaning over the railing, scolding myself for drinking too much. Never again, I think. But nothing arises from my throat, and my stomach calms. I don’t feel how cold the air is. I see hills beyond, and a road winding between the trees.

I wonder what it would feel like to die.

[edit: even though this is in first person, it doesn't mean it's a true story]

2010-10-13T16:22:00.001-07:00

Leopold awoke, his arms wrapped around Susan’s waist. His throat burned and his legs were sore. I should be retired. He looked up and saw sunlight creeping in through the windows; the dust in the air manufactured brilliant rays of light. The beauty of the sunlight was dampened, however, when it revealed the peeling wallpaper (with the skeletal wooden walls beneath) and the caked dirt on the windowsill. The rest of the room was empty save he and his wife, their backpacks, and the moldy carpet.

He crawled from his sleeping bag and groggily pulled himself to a sitting position. Deciding that he had gone too long without a smoke, crawled to his backpack; he zipped it open to retrieve a hatchet and a cigar. He ran his fingers against his chin, and feeling the stubble, decided he would shave before doing anything else. He fetched the razor from his backpack’s rear pocket.

He stepped out of the room and walked down the narrow hallway to the bathroom. He turned the faucet handle, expecting it to silently reply that the plumbing was out. Instead, foggy water poured out. He splashed some on his face and then brought the razor up. A cry from outside of the house caught his attention before he touched his cheek. He stuffed his razor into his jacket pocket along with his cigar and turned off the sink.

He ran from the bathroom, taking a brief look inside the room he and Susan had slept in to see that she was still there, to the front door. He opened it slowly, hatchet in hand and muscles tense. He was briefly overwhelmed by the sunlight before his eyes adjusted as he eased open the door.

It was a chilly autumn morning; the frost covered forest was calm and silent. Most of the trees had already dropped their leaves, but a few branches remained with orange and yellow vegetation. A morning fog obscured his vision; he judged that he only had a half mile. He squinted, looking for a source of the scream, when he caught a shaking tree branch. Something leapt out of the fog and climbed into a thick patch of leaves. He couldn’t make out its form very well. He reasoned that it might have been a squirrel or a raccoon.

But he knew better. He’d seen it before from afar, and knew it had been following them. Not one of the quiet ones that grumbled and hummed, but one of the loud ones. One of the ones that didn’t die without putting up a vicious fight.

He took steps out of the doorway to go towards the forest. If nothing else, he could get a better look. And if it was the thing he feared it was, he could distract it from the house. Probably could kill it, too. The dried blood on his hatchet’s head testified to his abilities.

He considered Susan then. She had a rifle, one of the accurate ones that the army used. He turned to walk back inside, and that was when he heard the window break.

He ran in through the living area and down the hallway. As he turned the corner into the room he saw a single black feather floating through the air. It puzzled him, but it also seemed somehow familiar. Where had he heard about the black feathers before? He knelt down and grabbed it. It was oily but light. And he ran his finger along the edge and felt that it was sharp enough that it could probably cut skin if used right. He looked at the broken window and saw blood. He looked out the window and couldn’t see anything. And then he heard the scream again, the same one that had roused him from the bathroom.

He dropped the feather and went back to the front door. As he neared the aperture he heard it breathing, deep ragged inhalations that betrayed what it was. He stood in the open doorway and looked at it, and it looked back at him. It had been a woman once, he could tell it in the face. Her hair had mostly fallen out, although bandages concealed it. Maybe that had been how she was infected in the first place, a head wound. Her outfit was military camouflage, which explained to him why he’d had such a hard time seeing her in the trees. The monster’s eyes were locked on him, tinted red, pupils narrow. Maybe it saw the distracted look on his face.

The feather had meant that it wasn’t this post-soldier that had taken his wife; it had been something else, something worse. And as if reading his thoughts, the monster looked up, screamed once more, and darted off. This last scream was a sound he hadn’t heard one of the monsters make before; it sounded distinctly like fear.

Leopold turned, all of a sudden knowing what was happening. He understood it then. He backed away to get a better look at his roof and saw it there. His wife’s body was skewered on its right claw, and its eye-less head tracked him. Its mouth was open, dripping blood, although it was blood too dark to have been Susan’s. Its teeth swayed like fingers, and he realized that it didn’t breathe. Judging from its scale to his wife’s body, it was somewhat taller than the average man; perhaps eight feet. Leopold’s breath caught in his throat.

The Fleshreaper.

It fluttered twice and then rose into the air, his wife’s body still pierced on its scythe-like claw. It flew off into the trees and he saw that it was like some twisted skeletal version of an angel. Perhaps the reason it needs flesh is because it has lost so much of its own, he thought.

As Leopold was left in the doorstep of the empty house, he felt emotions welling up. But before his face could betray his emotions, he pulled out his cigar, lit the end with a match, and listened to the cold wind whistling through the woods as he took his first puff.

Urban Survival: Chapter 2 part 2

2010-07-26T11:53:00.000-07:00

He stuffed his face, he had not eaten good food, or even real food in a few days. The most he had, had to eat was some MREs and although they were filling, he was not a huge fan.

When Max had finished he walked over to the window and looked out. The window overlooked the city street, which, many years ago, used to be crowded with pedestrians and cars but now there was nothing more than the street itself and some rubble.

He decided he was at least on the eighth story of the building. Then he also noticed that there was movement on the ground below. There were still hundreds of groups of Cree attempting to find a way into the building. Max wondered if that was the ‘it’ Aeila had been talking about… he certainly hoped it was not.

Max could see rain drops falling daintily past his prison window, “at least the rain is beginning to let up,” he thought to himself.

He turned around and looked around the room again, while resting against the wall. Max then closed his eyes and leaned his head back. He wondered how his squad was and hoped they had made it back to the safe house all right. They probably thought he was dead.

Max slid down the wall into a sitting position, resting his arms on his bent knees. He was so tired. He had not had a full nights rest in almost week.

The wonderful feeling of sleep was creeping up on Max but he didn’t fight it, instead he let it engulf him.

However, someone shaking him and calling his name suddenly woke him. Max tried to scramble to his feet quickly out of instinct but someone held him down.

“Max! Max, everything’s fine it’s just me,” a female voice said laughing.

Max looked up at her face and saw that it was Aeila.

He looked around, “How long was I out?”

“I don’t know? I was only gone about, maybe twenty minutes.”

Max looked at her confused. He could have sworn it was longer than that but then again he had been asleep.

The Kahnora, Nova stood happily behind Aeila watching them intently. There was a protective grey bone crest over her head that covered all but Nova’s eyes. He also noticed that what he originally thought was smooth skin on Nova was really just short fine hairs. Nova’s pelt was not a solid black either. However, her fur had thin grey tiger stripes running down her sides.

“Come on, get up. I found Marcus, so now you’ve got to go see Jaq. I’m sure he’s already grown impatient.”

“Who is Marcus?” Max asked still sitting.

Aeila laughed, “Get up and I’ll show you. He’s right outside.”

Max got up slowly. Aeila watched him carefully as if she were studying him, Max pretended not to notice and walked over to the desk where he had left his canteen. Picking it up, he clipped it to his belt and turned around. Aeila was still watching him but when she saw that Max had noticed, she looked away quickly and blushed.

“Sorry. Are you ready to go?”

Max smiled, “Do I have a choice?”

“Unfortunately, no. Come on.”

Max followed her through the open door and stepped out into a hallway, Nova tailing closely behind. The hall was lit by floodlights at random intervals. He could hear the faint humming of the generators that were powering them. The two guards that had been watching Max’s prison were nowhere in sight but Max did not think anything of it.

Standing in the hall was an Ayra who looked a bit older than Max. The Ayra was also shorter than the others, just like Aeila.

“Max, this is Marcus” Aeila said leading them down the hallway, “I believe you met him earlier in the parking garage.”

Max nodded his head slightly in acknowledgement following her, “oh, you mean one of the ones who left you to die?”

“Yeah, I told her I was sorry. But Fal would have told the guards to raise the bridge if I didn’t tell them to wait for her. Aeila always finds a way out of trouble.”

Max immediately knew which Ayra it was when he heard his Australian-like accent, “Yeah and if I wasn’t such a nice guy she would be Cree chow.”

Marcus looked at his feet as Aeila lead them through a door to some stairs, “I know what I did was wrong. I just… panicked.”

“It’s okay Marcus, I understand,” Aeila reassured him.

The three of them descended the stairs in silence as Nova ran on ahead.

“So… This ‘thing’ that I need to fix… it doesn’t have anything to do with the hoard of Cree surrounding the building would it?” Max asked worriedly.

Aeila didn’t answer for a couple seconds and began to concern Max, but then she finally said hesitantly, “Sort of…”

Max put on a fake smile, “Oh great! Just what I ordered bloodthirsty carnivores…”

They reached the bottom of the stairs and exited through a door marked with a big number seven.

When Max saw what was on the other side of the door his jaw dropped.

“Max. Welcome to our safe house.” Aeila told Max when she saw his face.

They were in a huge room that would have originally been full of cubicles but now it had a huge hole in the center of the floor with smoke rising up through it into a vent hole in the ceiling. Small huts had been erected along the edges of the room. Max walked over to the edge of the hole and looked down.

The hole went through three floors to where Max could see four floors below him. On the floor farthest down, there was a large bonfire which was what was creating the smoke.

On each floor, there were randomly shaped huts and a bunch of Ayra walking around and talking with one another. Across the room on the floor below him, Max could see a group of Ayra kids kicking around an old soda can.

He could see Nova was already down a couple of stories running around with two other Kahnora. One had a reddish-brown pelt and the other a bluish-green one. Max had only every seen one Kahnora before, he had seen it on one of his scavenge missions but then he had no clue what kind of animal it was.

“Come on,” Aeila said grabbing Max’s arm and leading him around to one side of the hole.

A rectangular section of the floor had been cut out and set up like a ramp down to the next floor. The two Ayra led Max through the mini town and down multiple ramps until they had reached the floor with the bonfire. All the Ayra men and women smiled and waved when they saw Max, Aeila and Marcus walk by.

At first, Max thought that they were waving to Aeila and Marcus but when he looked a bit closer, he saw that they were staring directly at him. At least that is what it felt like. Then Max also noticed that the teenaged Ayra girls were staring at him and giggling as he passed.

Max was very confused. He had no idea that Ayra could be so… friendly. But then again the only Ayra he had ever dealt with before were the POWs captured during the War with the Ayra. And those Ayra were extremely unhappy campers.

Up ahead, Max could see a set of double doors that they were now heading towards and he wondered what Jaq was going to tell him. He could only think about the hoard of angry and probably hungry Cree just outside of the building. If that was what he was supposed to fix… he was a dead man.

Max was interrupted in mid thought when a cocky looking Ayra and two larger cohorts suddenly blocked their path.

“Hey, Aeila. What do you got there? Is that you’re new boyfriend? You know humans are never up to any good.” The Ayra said, his voice trying to sound smooth and sly.

Aeila shifted her weight to her right leg and crossed her arms, “neither are you Syler. Not get out of our way!”

Max noticed that all the happy, cheerfulness in her voice present when she had talked to Max was now completely absent in the words she spoke to Syler.

Nova seemed to have noticed what was going on and stepped in between Aeila and Syler. She growled harshly and bared her teeth. The most eerie thing about it was the fact that Nova’s smooth, short hair was now bristling and seeming to ripple across her body.

“Whoa ho-ho! Come on babe…”

Syler chuckled, “Cute pet.”

He took a step towards Nova and kicked her. Nova yelped and ran to hide behind Aeila, still growling. Syler then tried to lean in and kiss Aeila on the cheek but before he got anywhere Aeila punched him in the gut with all her might. Syler winced as he sucked in sharply for air.

“You’ve always be a strong girl Aeila, but you’re going to wish you hadn’t done that.”

As Syler stepped towards Aeila, Marcus placed his hand on Syler’s shoulder, “Leave her alone Syler.”

Syler spun around and threw Marcus to the ground.

“Syler calm down.” One of Syler’s large cronies tried to tell him.

Looking at the large Ayra he shouted, “Shut… Up!”

Turning back to Marcus, Syler yelled, “You don’t tell me what to do Human! I don’t listen to people like you!”

Max looked awkwardly at Marcus. Was Marcus truly Human? If he were, that would explain his Australian accent. Moreover, if he were Human Max could not resist. This was one of the moments when Max felt he needed to help someone who was in trouble.

As Syler turned back to deal with Aeila he stopped suddenly, almost surprised, when he saw Max standing between him and his “prey”.

“Then maybe you’ll listen me,” Max said squaring his shoulders.

He had no intention of actually fighting but just in case a fight broke out he didn’t want to be caught off guard.

Syler laughed, “That’s cute Human. Now get out of my way.”

The Ayra stepped towards Max to shove him out of the way. But as Syler’s hands touched Max, Max threw his hands up and broke Syler’s contact with him.

Stumbling to catch himself from falling forward, Syler’s face changed from amusement to anger.

Once he regained his balance he again commanded, “Get out of my way!”

Slyer emphasized ‘way’ by swinging his fist at Max, but Max easily deflected the blow. Slyer swung a few more fists angrily, which Max effortlessly blocked. Growing increasingly more aggravated with each blocked punch, Syler threw a low blow.

Max caught Syler’s arm with both hands and twisted so that Syler was forced to turn his back to Max. Max then kicked him in the back sending Syler sprawling. When Syler got up the sight was pathetic. He looked frustrated and embarrassed as if his pride had just been pried from his clutches.

As Syler charged Max desperately, Aeila turned to Syler’s large crony who had tried to calm him down and asked, “Brale, would you please stop Syler before he hurts himself? We need to get going. Orders from Jaq.”

The muscular Ayra nodded, “Sure thing Aeila. He’s getting out of hand anyways.”

Brale walked up behind Syler. Wrapping his arms around Syler’s waist Brale picked him up. He lifted Syler off the ground and away from Max with ease.

“What are you doing you idiot!?” Syler yelled at Brale trying to hit his own man.

Marcus walked over to Aeila, “are you alright?”

“I should be asking you that,” Aeila laughed, then turned to Max, “Thank you. Again.”

Nova let a complimentary whistle as well.

Max nodded, “It was nothing.”

Smiling Aeila led Max and Marcus back down their original path. Nova ran ahead a she had before, trotting through the doorway excitedly.

As they walked through the double doors, Max could hear Syler still yelling at Brale.

“Well that was fun,” Max said to himself sarcastically.

Urban Survival: Chapter 2 part 1

2010-07-19T19:57:00.000-07:00

Max opened his eyes slowly. Everything seemed extremely bright, so he had to squint but doing so made his raging headache even worse. For a second he couldn’t remember what had happened, but when he tried to hold his head he realized that he was tied up. Everything that had happened sunk back in and Max hit his head on the ground, angry at himself, ignoring the extra pain he had just caused.

“God Max, what did you do?” he asked himself out loud.

Once he had gotten used to the light, Max looked around. He was in a small room full of old janitorial supplies. There was a door in front of him and a small window in the corner of the room that let in the dull light that Max had thought was so bright at first. From his position on the ground Max could see the faint glare of the sun through the cloud cover and guessed he had only been out for maybe an hour.

He heard the muffled talking of some people outside guessing that they were probably guards stationed outside of his ‘prison’. Max was beginning to regret following that female Ayra, of whom he could not quite remember the name of. Everything still seemed a little fuzzy.

Max’s attention was drawn to the door as it suddenly opened and a very attractive young woman in her early twenties entered the room carrying some kind of tray in her hands. Her slender body was clothed in Human garb; a black tank top and blue skinny jeans. Her brown bangs were brushed over one of her ears.

She was also shorter than the other Ayra, like the one he had met earlier in the parking garage and then he wondered if all female Ayra were shorter than the males. She also looked more Human with her height. Max had seen Ayra without their armor before but he did not know that Ayra could be so… beautiful.

Suddenly a slick black creature bolted through the door moving quickly but stealthily heading towards Max. Max, startled, tried backing away from the oncoming creature but with no luck and felt warm slobber on his face as the creature licked him. Its wide, almost flat head kind of, in a way, reminded Max of a newt or salamander.

He felt defenseless against this creature… well he was, he had no way of protecting his face with his hands tied behind his back.

The female Ayra called the creature away from Max and it walked over to the Ayra excitedly panting and wagging its tail while staring at Max. The creature was the size of a large dog and acted a lot like one as well.

“What is that thing?!” Max asked startled.

She smiled, “This is my Kahnora. Her name’s Nova. She likes you.”

Two guards walked in behind her and she turned to the guards, “Untie him.”

“But Jaq said…”

“I don’t care what Jaq said,” the young Ayra interrupted them.

“Sorry Aeila, we were told to tie him up. Orders are orders.”

Nova began to growl and bared her teeth at the two guards.

“Wait, Aeila? You’re the one who got me into this mess,” Max muttered.

“Well don’t go pointing fingers, but yeah, I helped you stay alive,” Aeila answered, then turned back to the guards, “What? You afraid this one Tiny Human is going to be able to get through two, Big and Strong Ayra like yourself? Come on, for me?”

Max did not like how she exaggerated the word tiny… or big and strong for that matter. He looked at the two guards, they weren’t that big, Max could easily take them bare handed even if they were taller than him. But he kept quiet.

The two guards looked a little uncomfortable with the way she said it as well, but one replied, “Well okay, I guess if you put it that way…”

“Thank you,” Aeila said as the two guards passed her and walked up to Max.

Nova stopped growling and began panting and wagging her tail happily again as each of the guards pulled out a blade and cut the ropes around Max’s wrists and ankles. Max sat up, massaging his wrists and staring at Aeila.

She nodded towards the doors, “you can leave us.”

The two guards looked confused, “But, Aeila…”

“That’ll be all,” she interrupted, again motioning to the door.

The guards reluctantly left the room. Max watched them as they did so, then he turned his attention to Aeila as the door closed behind her.

There was an awkward silence. Then Aeila spoke, “So you know my name but I don’t know yours.”

“Max,” he stated looking her in the eyes.

Aeila smiled, “Well, Max, I brought you some food.”

Max waited to see if she had anything else to say. She didn’t.

“Is that all?” he asked and Aeila just stared at him blankly, “I mean, you guys hold me at gun point, knock me out, tie me up and throw me in a janitor’s closet. And now you’re bringing me food?”

“Yeah… yeah that about sums it up.” She answered him still with a smile on her face.

“Oh, okay cool.” He said, still confused.

Max stood up and stretched but suddenly felt light headed and had to catch himself on a small desk that was nearby.

“Are you alright?” Aeila asked taking a couple steps towards Max and setting the tray on a self next to her.

Max waved her off, “Yeah, I’m fine. Did you bring me some water? I could really use something to drink right now.”

“Oh, I had your canteen filled,” she said grabbing his canteen off the tray she had set down.

Max took it gladly and gulped down half of the canteen’s contents, but he was still careful not to let any of the water drip out of his mouth. He had made it a habit, years ago to not waste any food or water, and get as much as you could, while you could.

When Max finished drinking he stared at the desk he was leaning on, taking deep breaths and thinking. He looked down at himself and just then realized that he had been stripped of all his gear, down to his undershirt and pants. Aeila stood there in silence watching Max as he frantically search for the yarn doll and necklace.

Then he remembered that the necklace was around his neck and he reached for it to feel that it was truly still there, and that is all that really mattered to him... for now anyways.

Max then turned to Aeila with a puzzled look on his face, “Why being so kind to me, a Human?”

“You saved my life.”

When she said this Nova let out a short whistle and began wagging her tail even more violently.

“That can’t be it, can it? Every other Ayra I’ve met thinks I was the one to endanger your home. How many of you are there?”

“A few hundred,” she said interrupting.

“What!”

“Yeah, there are a few hundred of us.”

“Huh, well that’s just great! So hundreds of Ayra, want me dead?” Max asked, freaking out.

“Oh no, no, no over half of them don’t even know you’re here. The ones that know, like Jaq, they just want you to fix it.”

Max stared at her awkwardly, “Fix it?... Fix what? What did I possible do now?”

“Well nothing, but they’re just blaming you for it.” Aeila stated slowly.

“It? Are you ever going to tell me what ‘it’ is?”

Aeila smiled, “Sorry no, um, Jaq wants to tell you himself.”

“Oh? What, is he my buddy now?” Max asked sarcastically.

Aeila laughed, but then her smile faded, “Well you’re not going to like what he has to say.”

Max looked seriously at Aeila setting his canteen on the desk and then pulling himself up onto it in a sitting position, “Well that doesn’t sound too good… Is it life threatening?”

Before Aeila said anything she cocked her head and stared at Max intently. This made him squirm uncomfortably in his seat.

Max didn’t like the silence and felt relieved when Aeila finally spoke, “You’re bleeding.”

“What? Don’t change the subject!”

“No, your cheek, it’s still bleeding.”

Max reached up and felt the cheek that Jaq had smacked with his pistol. He winced when he touched the large gash on his face. He pulled his fingers away and looked at them; there was wet blood on his fingers.

“It’s nothing.”

“No, let me take a look at it,” said Aeila walking up with an outstretched hand.

She tilted his chin up and leaned in closer for a better look. She grabbed Max’s open canteen and poured some water on the wound making Max jerk away slightly. Aeila opened a small pouch on her belt reaching in and pulling out a piece of cloth. She dabbed the gash gingerly but it still made Max cringe.

His face cringed when she wiped the gash one last time.

She smiled, “sorry.”

Aeila pulled some kind of bandage out of her pouch and placed it over the wound. She pressed gently around the edges of the adhesive part of the bandage to make sure it stayed.

Closing the pouch, Aeila stared once again at Max.

“What?” Max asked uncomfortably.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like Aeila looking at him it was just that it was a little awkward.

“Sorry, nothing. It’s just you… you remind me of someone I used to know,” Aeila answered looking away.

“Stop apologizing. It’s okay, really. It’s just… Well, a little awkward.”

“No, I… I understand, sorry.”

Max rolled his eyes and smiled when she said sorry, then all went quiet. Aeila walked over to where she had set down the tray and picked it up.

Walking back over to Max she set the tray down on the desk, “I convinced Jaq to allow you to live with us. But first you have to do something for us, the safe house. I can’t give you any details. Despite what you saw when I came in I really do listen to most orders. Eat up, and I’ll be back to get you. I need to find someone first.”

Max didn’t answer and watched as she walked towards the door. Without another word she knocked on the door and the guards opened it. Nova dashed through the opening excitedly but before Aeila walked out she turned and took one last look at Max then she was gone as the door shut behind her.

Max shook his head and began eating the food Aeila had brought him.

Urban Survival: Chapter 1 part 2

2010-07-19T19:53:00.000-07:00

The two brutish looking Ayra walked off towards the ramp to the next level of the parking garage. Their weapons at the ready.

“Fal, why are you sending those two Jokers to take care of it?” The Ayra in the skull armor asked. “They’re stupid and clumsy. They’ll probably attract more of those things.”

Max could not help but notice how the Ayra’s voice sounded like he had an Australian accent, which he found… strange. Nevertheless, listening to what the skull armored Ayra had said, Max looked at the two Ayra walking up the ramp. One thing that he noticed first was their rifles. Neither of them was silenced and this worried Max, a lot.

“Fal, or whatever your name is, he’s right,” Max said nodding towards the Ayra who now disappeared through the opening in the ceiling. “They have unsuppressed firearms. If they shoot at the Cree, others are bound to hear it. They could attract a Murder. I’m sure their own pack is already on its way, don’t make things worse.”

Fal jabbed the barrel of his gun harder into Max’s chin, “I’m going to murder you if you don’t shut up! ...What is a murder?”

Max flinched as the cold metal barrel dug into his skin.

“Bad,” The skull armored Ayra answered him, “It’s a horde of the Cree.”

Aeila appeared as if she was going to say something but she was interrupted by two loud screams and bursts of gunfire. The four of them looked around.

The two brutish Ayra fell through a hole in the ceiling where the concrete had given way to the weather. They landed in a heap but quickly scrambled to their feet aiming their rifles up and through the hole. Max could hear their loud and heavy breathing.

“What happened?” Fal asked, yelling at the two oafs.

“It just… snuck up on us,” the large one panted.

“How did it possibly sneak up on you in the light?”

They didn’t answer but instead let off a few more rounds through the hole. The shots rang and echoed off the buildings in the city.

Fal only now realized how loud they actually were and yelled, “Stop shooting!”

The two Ayra ceased fire and backed away from the hole. The smaller of the two backed up into the open wall that faced the street. All was quiet, too quiet.

Unexpectedly hands grabbed the Ayra from behind clawing at his armor. The Ayra screamed as a pale head tried to gnaw through his helmet. As the angry and hungry Cree clawed at the Ayra’s chest, it hit something that started beeping.

“Get off of me!” the helpless Ayra cried.

The Ayra finally managed to pull away from the Cree’s clutches. The Cree however kept hold of the beeping object, which had detached from the Ayra’s armor, and began to gnaw on that instead.

“Get down!” Fal yelled pulling Max to the ground with him, purely as instinct not because he wanted to save Max’s life.

The Ayra all dove for cover as the beeping continued. Max threw his hands over his head and tensed up. The beeping stopped abruptly and all seemed deathly quiet.

The whole of the parking garage shook as the device in the Cree’s mouth exploded, sending flames and shrapnel everywhere. What was left of the Cree toppled to the streets below. Pieces of concrete fell scattering on the ground around Max.

He looked at where the explosion had taken place and assessed the damage. Dust hung heavy in the air and caused them all to cough and wheeze. There was now no longer a wall or floor within a six foot radius of where the detonation had taken place.

“Holy crap!” Max gasped

The female Ayra, Aeila, was the first to get up. She ran over to check on the Ayra who had been attacked by the Cree, but he waved her off pushing himself up off the floor. As everyone slowly got to their feet, a horrible shriek rang out from the streets.

Fal ran over to the wall where Max had originally climbed over and peered out onto the street, “Oh no…”

Cree were running at the parking garage from every corner of the street, there were hundreds of them.

“Told you so,” the skull armored Ayra mocked.

Fal turned and glared at the Ayra, “Shut up! Let’s get out of here.”

He then began to sprint toward the ramp and towards the upper levels of the garage. The others followed.

Max was about to follow until he watched the first Cree jump out of the hole the two Ayra had fallen through and attack Aeila.

The momentum of the Cree threw them both over the edge and through the hole in the floor the explosion had made. Aeila barely managed to grab onto the edge of the hole but was able to keep her grip.

Aeila cried out for help but the other Ayra kept running, ignoring her. The Cree that had attacked her clung onto her legs clawing at her armor, trying to find a way to tear at her flesh. Max saw that the other Ayra were just going to leave her there to die.

Although he had, had his differences with the Ayra, he would sooner save one than let a Cretin kill one. And maybe it was a flaw, but whenever someone was in danger, he felt an urge to save them.

Max ran over to the edge of the hole and stuck out his left hand to offer his help. Aeila gladly took it for she was struggling to keep her grasp on the cold concrete, and the thrashing Cree on her legs was making things twice as difficult.

Although her visor was dark and Max could not see her face, he could sense how terrified she was. Pulling her up until her other elbow was over the ledge, Max drew his pistol. He pointed it at Aeila and she said nothing.

“Duck!”

Aeila quickly ducked her head and Max pulled the trigger. The bullet hit its mark and the lead projectile ripped through the forehead of the Cree assailant. The Cree’s expression went from anger and desperation to a calm nothingness as its limbs went limp and the Cree crashed to floor below.

Max helped Aeila the rest of the way up onto the solid ground.

“You… Saved me?” Aeila asked, breathing heavily.

“Now is not the time, we’ve got to go!”

Aeila looked out at the street. The Cree were now upon the garage and beginning to climb the walls of the building. “Right sorry, come on!”

She dragged Max towards the ramp to the next level and he followed quickly. They ran through each level until they reached the roof. As they ran through the opening to the roof Max could hear the rain patter against his helmet again. He had gotten used to the dry shelter of the parking garage, so the rain almost stung as it hit the bare skin on his face.

As they set foot on the roof, the first thing he noticed was that Fal and the other Ayra were not there. Aeila lead Max to one of the sides of the building. It was facing a twenty-story building, and he noticed that there was a large makeshift bridge that Max had not seen from the street. The bridge extended from the twenty-story building to the parking garages roof. Aeila stepped onto it but stopped when she noticed Max had.

“Come on!”

“What is this place?” Max asked, hesitant to go into the building if it were full of Ayra.

Aeila turned back and grabbed Max’s arm, pulling him onto the bridge, “It’s a safe house. Now come on!”

Max was still hesitant on whether or not he should follow the Ayra, but a loud screech from the Cree pursuing them made him think again. He decided it was better to live than to be ripped to pieces by the angry Cree, so he followed Aeila.

The bridge extended from a room in the building where the windows had been cleared, leading to a single door guarded by two Ayra soldiers. Once Aeila and Max had reach the end of the bridge, and set foot into the room there was a loud creaking noise and the bridge began to rise. It worked like a medieval drawbridge; two large cables reached down from higher up in the building and connected to either side of the bridge. These cables pulled the bridge up and away from the parking garage.

The two Ayra guards raised their weapons at Max when they saw his uniform but Aeila told them to lower them, so they did.

Max could see from around the bridge the Cree come sprint into view as it came to a stop flat against the building. Hundreds of them came pouring out onto the roof of the parking garage and even as they reached the edge of the building, the Cree behind them continued forward shoving the Cree in the front ranks over the edge and falling to their doom.

Behind him, Max heard the door open and he turned around. An arrogant looking Ayra walked through staring at Max. In his hand he carried a rustic looking pistol. He wasn’t wearing a helmet and his short brown hair looked ragged. He looked like a human in his mid forties without the helmet on.

More Ayra soldiers walked past and two of the soldiers grabbed Max’s arms restraining him.

“Jaq, he’s alright, he saved my life.” Aeila pleaded with the arrogant Ayra.

But Jaq just shook his head, “Aeila, it doesn’t matter. He’s human, we can’t trust him! At least, not now, not after he almost let those things into our safe haven.”

“Sir, that wasn’t my fault, and I didn’t come here to fight! I came here to survive!” Max told the so-called Jaq.

Jaq struck Max across the face with his sidearm. Starbursts erupted in Max’s skull and his vision began to blur. He would have fallen over if it were not for the two Ayra holding him up from behind.

“Shut up! I don’t want to hear anything you have to say,” Jaq said.

Grabbing Max by his cheeks and forcing Max to look him in the eyes he continued, “Lucky for you I can’t afford to let you go. You know where we live. However, since I’m such a nice guy your wish to survive will be granted… for now.”

Violently letting Max’s cheeks go, he stepped back. Aeila continued to plea for Max but Jaq ignored her. He motioned to the soldiers holding Max, but before Max could look behind him, more starbursts erupted in his skull and his vision went black.

Urban Survival: Chapter 1 part 1

2010-07-19T19:51:00.001-07:00

Max stood there in the rain looking up at the third story of a parking garage. There was a dull red orange glow of a fire, only just visible in the dark gloomy light of the sun.

His tattered, urban ACU’s were hardly protection against the heavy onslaught of rain that pelted the destroyed war torn streets. He had traveled light for his mission four days ago so that he would be able to get out faster if things went wrong. More or less things had.

Knowing that he had to get to shelter soon, Max decided he would check out the camp, hoping that it was some friendly human survivors. Unfortunately, a closed, metal security gate blocked off the main entrance. He surveyed the area and saw a low wall that sloped up almost to the second story.

Before he thought about it, he began sprinting towards the garage. The assault rifle slung over his back bounced against the Kevlar plating strapped around his torso. His breath was hot in the scarf wrapped around his neck and chin.

He leaped up on to the wall and ran along it, his Kevlar helmet keeping the rain out of his eyes. Diving forward and grabbing the ledge of the wall to the second story. Max pulled himself up and over it. He landed in the empty parking lot and pulled out his silenced pistol. Looking around he saw nothing; a few abandoned cars and some rubble.

He cursed under his breath when he saw that the floor and the ramp to the next level had collapsed into the first floor making it an impossible entry way. Double-checking the gray-lit floor to make sure there was no hostile or dangerous being, he turned around and looked out onto the side of the building. There was a pipe that ran up the wall to the top of the building.

Max closed his eyes and sighed, “Great.”

Although it was a possible entrance Max wanted to see if there was a more practical way to get to the next floor. With his pistol at the ready he examined his surroundings more carefully. He hadn’t been in a parking garage in over twelve years but he remembered that there were always stairs that led to each floor in buildings like this.

Peering around a parking column where the ramp used to be, Max rolled his eyes, “Of course.”

There were two cars blocking the door to the stairs. One had T-boned the other in what Max guessed had been to kill a Cree, because as Max got closer he saw the skeleton of some being wedged between the fused metal of the two cars.

He couldn’t believe it had already been eight years since the first outbreaks of the Cree in 2012. The parasite first infected insects and small bugs taking over their bodies and spreading to humans and Ayra through their bites. Most of the Ayra already had immunity to the parasite but there were those who didn’t.

The parasite spread like a disease taking over one human after the other. Most of everyone believed that it was the end of the world. People like Max knew better, although there were times where he thought otherwise.

The remaining scientists even still are baffled as to what causes some humans to turn you into a Cretin and prevents others from not. A little over three fourths of the Earth’s human population into aggravated psychopaths.

Max put his memories to the side for now and started walking the perimeter of the garage looking on the outside for a service ladder. He finally found one but he let out another sigh of dismay when he saw its condition.

The ladder had fallen loose of its bolts and was hanging uselessly out and against the building across the ally. Checking the ground in the ally to be sure nothing had seen him looking out over the ledge Max holstered his pistol.

He walked back over to the ledge with the pipe. He checked the street for any Cree but didn’t see any and thought that they must be in their hive to escape the rain.

Max then climbed up onto the ledge of the wall and jumped over to the pipe. He climbed hand over hand until he was straight across from the third story parking lot. Luckily it wasn’t too much farther up because the bolts securing the pipe to the wall as well as the pipe itself were rusty and coming loose.

Max let go with his right hand, shaking it in order to get blood flow into his cold numbing fingers. Then doing the same with his other hand, he decided he was ready.

He leapt over to the ledge and pulled himself up just enough so that he could see over it and into the garage. Max ducked down quickly, however, when he saw that there was a small group of four to five Ayra huddled around a small fire eating something that looked like canned food. Although he had only seen the figures for a second that was all he needed to see the blue and gold armor of the Ayra.

Max looked at the ground below and cursed when he saw a Cree walking across the road past him. It must have turned a corner while Max was climbing the pipe. The Cretin’s growls and heavy breathing could be heard through the noise of the rain. He hoped that it hadn’t seen him but knowing his luck so far he knew that was probably unlikely. But now he knew he could not go down there either though. Even alerting the Cree could cause a murder. So He hugged the cold, slick wall until the Cree had turned the corner and disappeared into the other ally.

There was some sixth sense that the parasite gave the Cree. They wander around by themselves or with a small group during the day but as soon as a few of them sense that there is a possibility for food the others in their pack can feel it and the whole pack comes running to the source.

If there is any extremely loud noise near a pack, they see it as a threat to their hive and they all go to attack. In a place like a city with multiple Cretin packs near each other, they all come running and you have a murder on your hands.

Max took a deep breath and decided to deal with the Ayra. Although they were enemies he needed food and water and this could be his last and only chance for that. His wet hands grabbed the rifle in anticipation of conflict.

He placed the rifle on top of the ledge. Twisting his feet for better grip, he hoisted himself up and over. One of the Ayra unfortunately saw him out of the corner of their eye before Max hadn’t even made it half way over and yelled, “Human!”

Throwing down its food and shutting the visor on its helmet, it raised its rifle and aimed it at Max as the other Ayra scrambled to their feet.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa I’m not here to fight,” Max lied in a calm tone, stepping over the wall and holding both arms and his rifle near his head as a sign of surrender. “I just need some shelter. I… I was also hoping that you could spare some food.”

He watched the Ayra’s trigger finger so that at the slightest sign of movement he would have a chance to get out of the path of the bullet. Three of the five Ayra took a few steps closer to Max weapons poised. The other two had lowered their weapons as if they decided Max was not a threat. They were both closer to Max’s height of five feet ten inches as opposed to the average height of Ayra at six feet five inches. One of them was still intimidating however. It had used some kind of white paint to draw the rough shape of a skull on its helmet and visor. This made it look like some kind of beast.

“You alone?” a large and bulky Ayra asked.

His voice was deep and strong. Max looked at all the Ayra then back at the one who addressed him, “…Yeah.”

“Let’s kill him.”

“Wait… I don’t believe him,” the first Ayra said putting a hand out, stopping the large Ayra from stepping towards Max.

“What do you mean?”

“He’s lying, that’s what I mean.” The Ayra said with hatred in his voice, “I bet he has a team out there on standby, sent here to take us out.”

This Ayra stepped over to Max himself relieving him of his rifle and throwing it to the ground out of Max’s reach.

Max almost winced, thinking, “so much for the fighting idea.”

Then the Ayra looked past him and at the surrounding buildings, “I bet he also has snipers ready to take us out!”

The Ayra took a few steps back away from the open wall, his voice got louder and faster with each word. Max couldn’t help but laugh at the Ayra’s antics but when he did the Ayra glared at him, or what Max figured was a glare. He couldn’t see the Ayra’s face.

“Fal, you’re paranoid. Just look at him he looks horrible and hungry,” one of the other Ayra said.

The voice was that of a young female. She was one of the shorter Ayra whose weapon was lowered. Max was glad that at least one of the Ayra was taking his side. Maybe they were not all bad. Max was still a little worried though, for he still had three rifle barrels in his face.

“Look at what he’s wearing! He is wearing the uniform of the humans Army. I don’t care if he looks horrible, he’s the enemy!”

“No. You’re wrong…”

“Shut up!” Fal yelled at Max, then continued talking, “and besides, shouldn’t you be paranoid in a wasteland like this?!”

Max unexpectedly, even to himself, answered Fal’s question, “No… you shouldn’t. Paranoia leads to panic. Panic leads to hesitation. That means death on a ‘wasteland’ like this. I know. It’s happened to me.”

Fal looked at Max with a glare, “I said, Shut. Up.”

All was suddenly quiet except for the constant drumming of the rain. This only lasted for a few seconds though, and then a horrible and terrifying sound could be heard echoing in the parking level above them.

Max’s heart stopped cold when he heard the sound, he knew exactly what it was. Cree tended to make the noise constantly whenever they stalk their prey. They did it to strike fear into the mind of their quarry, and it worked.

Every time the Cretin breathed in or out, it sounded almost like slow purring. The noise had always freaked Max out. It sent chills through his body causing goose bumps to form on his skin and the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end.

Fal dropped his rifle, letting it hang on the sling around his shoulder. He drew his side arm and stepping towards Max, grabbed the neck of Max’s body armor and stuck the barrel of the gun under Max’s chin.

“You led it right to us!” He yelled.

“Fal For all you know, you could have led it here with all of your yelling…”

It was the female Ayra again. He knew that Fal was the one of the reasons for the Cree’s presence but he also knew that it was him who had probably shown the Cree a way to get to them. Cree are extremely fast learners, and are very smart.

The Cree that Max had seen probably saw him too, however wanted to surprise Max by sneaking up on him but then it saw all the Ayra and decided to take the higher ground.

Fal’s constant and very irritating yelling brought Max back to reality, “Shut up Aeila!”

Fal took a last glance at Max and then continued, “Syler, Brale… Go check it out.”

Urban Survival: Chapter 2 (re-writen)

2010-06-23T11:12:00.001-07:00

The two brutish looking Ayra walked off towards the ramp to the next level of the parking garage; weapons at the ready.

Fal snatched the rifle out of Max’s hand and threw it to the ground were the metal of the gun clattered on the concrete.

“Fal, why are you sending those two Jokers to take care of it?” The Ayra in the skull armor asked. “Their stupid and clumsy, they’ll probably attract more of those things.”

Max could not help but notice how the Ayra’s voice sounded like he had an Australian accent, which he found… strange. Nevertheless, listening to what the skull armored Ayra had said, Max looked at the two Ayra walking up the ramp. One thing that he noticed first was their rifles. Neither of them was silenced and this worried Max, a lot.

“Fal, or whatever your name is, he’s right,” Max said nodding towards the Ayra who now disappeared through the opening in the ceiling. “They have unsuppressed firearms. If they shoot at that thing, others are bound to hear it. They could attract a murder.”

Fal jabbed the barrel of his gun harder into Max’s chin, “I’m going to murder you if you don’t shut up!”

Max flinched as the cold metal barrel dug into his skin. Aeila appeared as if she was going to say something but she was interrupted by two loud screams and loud bursts of gunfire. The four of them looked around.

The two brutish Ayra fell through a hole in the ceiling where the concrete had given way to the weather and landed in a heap. They quickly scrambled to their feet aiming their rifles up and through the hole. Max could hear their loud and heavy breathing.

“What happened?” Fal asked yelling at the two oafs.

“It just… snuck up on us,” the large one cried.

“How the hell did it sneak up on you in the light?”

They didn’t answer but instead let off a few more rounds through the hole. The shots rang and echoed off the buildings in the city.

Fal only now realized how loud they actually were and yelled, “Stop shooting!”

The two Ayra ceased fire and backed away from the hole. The smaller of the two backed up into the open wall that faced the street. All was quiet, too quiet.

Unexpectedly hands grabbed the Ayra from behind clawing at the Ayra’s armor. The Ayra screamed as a pale and angry head tried to gnaw through his helmet. As the angry and hungry zombie clawed at the Ayra’s chest, it hit something that started beeping.

“Get off of me!” the helpless Ayra cried.

The Ayra finally managed to pull away from the zombies clutches. The zombie however kept hold of the beeping object, which had detached from the Ayra’s armor, and began to gnaw on that instead.

“Get down!” Fal yelled pulling Max to the ground with him.

The Ayra all dove for cover as the beeping continued. Max threw his hands over his head and tensed up. The beeping stopped abruptly and all seemed deathly quiet.

The whole of the parking garage shook as the device in the zombies mouth exploded, sending flames and shrapnel everywhere. What was left of the zombie toppled to the streets below. Pieces of concrete fell scattering on the ground around Max.

He looked at where the explosion had taken place and accessed the damage. Dust hung heavy in the air and caused them all to cough and wheeze. There was now no longer a wall or floor within a six foot radius of where the detonation had taken place.
“Holy crap!”

The female Ayra, Aeila, was the first to get up. She ran over to check on the Ayra who had been attacked by the zombie, but he waved her off pushing himself up off the floor. As everyone slowly got to their feet, a horrible shriek rang out from the streets.

Fal ran over to the wall where Max had originally climbed over and peered out onto the street, “Oh no…”

Zombies were running at the parking garage from every corner of the street, there were hundreds of them.

“Told you so,” the skull armored Ayra mocked.

Fal turned and glared at the Ayra, “Shut up! Let’s get out of here.”

He then began to sprint toward the ramp and towards the upper levels of the garage. The others followed, Max was about to follow until he watched the zombie up in the level above jump out of the hole and attack Aeila.

The momentum of the zombie threw them both over the edge and through the hole in the floor the explosion had made. Aeila barely managed to grab onto the edge of the hole but was able to keep her grip.

Aeila cried out for help but the other Ayra kept running, ignoring her. The zombie that had attacked her clung onto her legs clawing at her armor, trying to find a way to tear at her flesh. Max saw that the other Ayra were just going to leave her there to die.

Although he had, had his differences with the Ayra he would sooner save one, than let those creatures kill one. He ran over to the edge of the hole and stuck out his left hand to offer his help. Aeila gladly took it for she was struggling to keep her grasp on the cold concrete and the thrashing zombie on her legs was making things twice as difficult.

Although her visor was dark and Max could not see her face, he could sense how terrified she was. Pulling her up until her elbow was over the ledge, Max drew his pistol. He pointed it at Aeila and her eyes grew wide with more fear.

“Duck!”

Aeila quickly ducked her head and Max pulled the trigger. The bullet hit its mark; it ripped through the forehead of the zombie assailant. The zombie’s expression went from anger to blank as its limbs went limp and the zombie crashed to floor below.

Max helped Aeila the rest of the way up onto the solid ground.

“Why did you help me?” Aeila asked, breathing heavily.

“Now is not the time, we’ve got to go!”

Aeila looked at out at the street. The zombies were now upon the garage and beginning to climb the walls of the building. “Right sorry, come on!”

She dragged Max towards the ramp to the next level and he followed quickly. They ran through each level until they reached the roof level. As they ran through the opening to the roof Max could feel the rain patter against his helmet again. He had gotten used to the dry shelter of the parking garage, so the rain almost stung as it hit his bare skin.

As they set foot on the roof, the first thing he noticed was that Fal and the other Ayra were not there. Aeila lead Max to one of the sides of the building. The side was facing a twenty-story building, and he noticed that there was a large makeshift bridge. The bridge extended from the twenty-story building to the parking garages roof. Aeila stepped onto it but stopped when Max did.

“Come on!”

“What is this place?” Max asked, hesitant to go into the building.

Aeila turned back and grabbed Max’s arm, pulling him onto the bridge, “It’s a safe house. Now come on!”

Max was still hesitant on whether or not he should follow the Ayra, but a loud screech from the zombies pursuing them made him think again. He decided it was better to live than to be ripped to pieces by the angry zombies, so he followed Aeila.

The bridge was ancored to a room in the building where the windows had been cleared, leading to a single door guarded by two Ayra soldiers. Once Aeila and Max had reach the end of the bridge, and set foot into the room there was a loud creaking noise and the bridge began to rise. It worked like a medieval drawbridge; two large cables reached down from higher up in the building and connected to either side of the bridge at the end. These cables pulled the bridge up and away from the parking garage.

Max could see from around the bridge, as it came to a stop flat against the building, the zombies come sprinting into view. Hundreds of them came pouring out onto the roof of the parking garage and even as they reached the edge of the building, the zombies behind them continued forward shoving the zombies in the front over the edge and flailing to their doom.

Behind him, he heard the only door in the room open and he turned around. An arrogant looking Ayra walked through staring at Max. He wasn’t wearing a helmet and his short brown hair looked ragged. He looked like a human without the helmet and was probably in his late thirties, early forties in human years. The pistol he carried looked rustic and old.

More Ayra soldiers walked past him from behind and went behind Max; two of the soldiers grabbed his arms and restrained him.

“Jaq, he’s alright, he saved my life.” Aeila pleaded with the arrogant looking Ayra.

Jaq shook his head, “Aeila, it doesn’t matter. He’s human, we can’t trust him!”

“Sir, I didn’t come here to fight! I came here to survive!” Max told the so-called Jaq.

Jaq struck Max across the face with his handgun. Starbursts erupted in Max’s skull and his vision began to blur. He would have fallen over if it were not for the two Ayra holding him up from behind.

“Shut up! I don’t want to hear anything you have to say,” Jaq said. Grabbing Max by his cheeks and forcing Max to look him in the eyes and continued, “Lucky for you I can’t afford to let you go. You know where we live.”

Violently letting Max’s cheeks go, he stepped back. Aeila continued to plea for Max but Jaq ignored her. He motioned to the soldiers holding Max, but before Max could peer behind him, more starbursts erupted in his skull and his vision went black.

(sequel to Urban Survival: Chapter 1 (re-writen))

Urban Survival: Chapter 1 (re-writen)

2010-06-21T16:02:00.000-07:00

Catharsis

2010-06-17T21:58:00.000-07:00

Shaking hands.

He presses the barrel against the side of his head. There’s just the one bullet, and that’s good because he only really needs just one.

His pores sweat; one drop drips onto his shirt and creates the only perfect circle he’s ever really noticed. His pupils dilate for a second; then retract.

He’s left the note on the refrigerator. What will they think?

He shuts his eyes, and sees a marriage, children, a legacy.

He hastily puts the gun away and rushes to the kitchen. He tears the note into pieces and throws it in the trash.

He’d almost gone Hemingway. He chuckles at the thought. And then his shaking knees give way and he vomits.

Quitters!!

2010-06-06T18:41:00.001-07:00

Frank Freeman wrote a letter to his boss describing why he didn't feel like his work at Calan Industries was satisfying, in a creative or physical sense. Frank's main complaints were:

First; Frank had obtained a degree in Classical History, not a degree in paper filing. His work was boring and despite having done the same tasks repetitively for ten years, he had seen no raise or variation in duties.

And Secondly; Frank did not much care for the way his boss was running his shift. He felt his boss placed too much emphasis on quantity and not enough emphasis on quality.

And the day came when Frank decided he would present the letter to his boss.

Frank chose his finest suit, gray pinstripe, with a gleaming silver tie. He combed his hair and shaved every follicle from his face. On his way to the office he listened to a classical waltz from the late nineteenth century, which stirred him into a confident mood, so much so that he cut off a white pickup truck that (in his opinion) had taken too long to merge into his lane. Maybe, Frank thought, maybe I look like an asshole now, but that doesn't really matter to me.

He wondered what he would do, if he wasn't working at Calan Industries, and decided perhaps that he'd sign on for a tour of duty and see some action, or maybe he'd try to find a guitar, and start playing again on the side of the street. Anything seemed preferable to his job at Calan Industries.

The glass doors slid open as he approached them, and he walked across the carpeted floor towards the front desk, where he set his briefcase momentarily on the ground to tell the receptionist that, "I'm clocking in, the time is eight fifty three."

The receptionist's monitor burned green and Frank stepped past it (scooping his briefcase from the carpet) into the hallway. There was an open elevator to his left, and he stepped inside it's faux-wood interior. He ordered it to the twenty third story, and stood inside patiently as the box rose.

It opened and the cubicles in front of him were still. A telephone rang, and was promptly picked up, a soft female voice answered. A hundred fingers typed against keyboards and set a quick percussionist beat.

Aside from the woman who had answered the phone, no one was talking. She was telling someone (likely from the military) about the shipments that had been delayed due to an oil spill.

Frank walked down the center aisle of cubicles towards the door where the name emblazoned on the door was that of his boss. He turned the door knob and stepped in.

With his letter held high, he shouted, "Boss, I'm putting in my two weeks!"

His boss did not say a word. Frank saw the pistol that his boss had placed against his temple. Frank saw his boss' eyes, wide and fearful, as though the entire world was staring at him.

Frank watched his boss pull the trigger, as brain and blood scattered into the air. Frank's boss tumbled backwards from his chair, and the pistol fell to the ground.

It was a solid steel kind of pistol, with a spring loaded clip and thick black paint. A yellow stripe ran down the length of its barrel, with the three-pronged Calan Industries logo on its handle. Frank had remembered marketing that pistol to a Private Military Corporation, boasting of its killing ability.

Frank stood open mouthed, not sure what that meant.

A few hours later, the Corporate Manager found Frank sitting at his desk, staring at a blank computer screen. "You know you're going to be moved into that office by the end of the week, right? Someone's got to fill his shoes, and you're the best fit."

Re-Writen: Urban Survival (Notice)

2010-06-03T12:34:00.001-07:00

I am re-writing what i have of Urban Survival. Its the same story, same original characters (a few new), same idea. Max is just put through a different situation before he gets into the Ayra safehouse. I should hopefully have the first chapter done soon.

H.P.

2010-05-12T14:34:00.000-07:00

In the vast oceans between worlds, where the water had infinite depth, shapes turned beneath the waves and worked to force their way to the surface, with malicious intent. A mariner from an ancient world saw the darkness moving beneath his ship, and ran to grab his radio. The movement shifted the water and created a massive wave that smashed his ship to plywood.

The wreckage washed ashore some years later, on a desert world that never saw sunlight. A tribesman with a painted face and spear came across the wreckage and discovered that the sailor had recorded a message. The tribesman brought this message back to his friends, and they spoke it to one another, and word spread. And as the tribes formed cities, and the cities formed nations, the words of the broken ship grew in significance.

When philosophers rose, they debated the meaning of the words, of a language they did not understand.

When philosophers were replaced by religion, the religions all claimed that it was a prophecy, if only anyone could understand it.

When religion was replaced by science, they studied its linguistics, and ventured to the wrecked ship, discovering a miniature library. And they studied this archive, and slowly began to understand the warning. It was a warning! The religions claimed that it was the prophecy! They said that prayer must begin.

The governments of the nations decided that the threat was imaginary, but also decided to prepare. They outlawed travel on the high seas and began to construct massive weapons. They mined their islands and lands as long as they could, and constructed a fleet of cruisers and battleships. Wars were forgotten as they prepared for this massive apocalypse.

Many snuck out into the high waves, and began to worship. They were greeted by emissaries of these great beings. The great beings demanded sacrifice, and these worshippers returned to their world to collect. The governments split in two, those who believed in the sacrifice, and those who did not. A great war raged, in which even greater weapons were created to battle one another. By the end of the war, their resources were consumed, and so they decided to brave the waters to find this other world where this cryptic message had come from.

This desert world came across a forested world, and they quickly made war with those there. The forest-people were ill equipped, still just barely constructing firearms, and the forest-world lost its resources. And so the desert people continued from world to world, until they were sated. They decided to retrace their steps back to their original world, where they resettled their cities, content with their supplies.

A scout reports having seen great movements beneath the waves, and the desert world rallies its navy. It is time, they decide, to find this great apocalypse. Every man, woman, and child is found and gathered for this task. Each is taught how to operate some piece of their great machinery. Some of their ships require a thousand workers to keep working. Their weapons can smite worlds from existence at the touch of a finger.

This fleet glides into the open sea, where the movement had been seen. But the fleet comes to a halt, seeing nothing there. As the scout is being chided, sonar detects a massive object pushing through the ocean towards them. They had time enough to warm their weapons before it wiped them out.

The monster saw the smashed navy on the edge of its finger and shook it off into the waves.

The Third Wish

2010-04-19T18:54:00.000-07:00

"And for my third and final wish," said Esteban, "I wish for the end of the world to never happen."

The genie grimaced, then pointed to the sky. A fizzle of sparks shot from his fingertips. "There, it's done."

"That wasn't very spectacular. I expected a... Something more? Is that it?" Esteban asked.

"Well, you know, you're probably the hundredth person to wish for that. The world will never end because it's been wished a hundred times that we'll all exist for infinity. We've had one person wish that it would end, but a few wishes down the line the world got wished back into infinity. As a consolation prize for the man who wanted the world to end, we put him on a copied world from this one, and then ended that one. He never knew we did it, and he got his wish. A win win situation as far as I'm concerned. I wonder where he is now..."