Max decided to get to higher ground, hoping that it would put the Ayra between him and the zombies.
Jumping to his feet Max began to sprint his way to the top floor. He could hear the slapping of bear feet on the concrete as a murder ran through the garage. Max looked behind him to see where the Ayra were. They were running behind him. Well at least attempting to run while one supported the wounded one.
Max was ready to dodge bullets when the Ayra started shooting at him but after a couple of steps he noticed that they weren’t shooting at him.
“Wait! Stop! Please, help us!” The Ayra supporting the wounded one cried, its voice sounded like that of a young female.
Max slowed, but didn’t stop.
“Please,” she said, “I don’t care about what our kind was fighting about! Help us! We only want to survive.”
Max stopped and turned, the Ayra stopped too. He could hear the pounding footsteps of the zombies getting louder as they ascended into the garage, he had to get moving.
“Oh God, I can’t believe I’m doing this!” Max groaned under his breath.
He ran over to her and threw the wounded Ayra’s other arm over his shoulder and started running again, practically dragging the Ayra behind him. He couldn’t help but notice how light the Ayra was.
That must be why the Ayra are so agile, Max thought to himself.
Max could feel the pattering of the rain again as they ran through the mouth of the garage that led to the roof. He kept running straight until he reached the side of the building and peered over the edge. A six story drop.
He lifted the Ayra’s arm off of him and walked in circles surveying the surrounding buildings, his mind racing.
“Great! We’re trapped, how are we going to get off this building and get away from those… those things?” The female Ayra cried.
She sounded extremely scared and panicked. Max held up a finger to silence her and continued raking the memories of his Army Training. He finally came up with something.
“Come on,” he said in a serious tone.
Max helped the two Ayra over to the nearby ledge ofthe garage. Over the side there was a service ladder that led to the ground. But there was also a large cement pipe that hung from a crane. The pipe led to the scaffolding of a tall building maybe fifteen or twenty feet away.
He had to think fast. He could either go to the ground and find some shelter and possibly run into more zombies, or go through the cement pipe to the scaffolding and find a way inside the building.
Before giving it a second thought Max…
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Monday, December 28, 2009
Text Adventure: Urban Survival 1
Max took a deep breath and decided to deal with the Ayra, rather than try his luck with the zombies. His wet hands grabbed the rifle in anticipation of conflict.
When Max pulled himself up over the ledge one of the Ayra saw him out of the corner of their eye and yelled, “Human!”
The Ayra got up. Throwing down its food and shutting the visor on his helmet, it pulled up a rifle and fired at Max as the other Ayra scrambled to their feet. Max quickly dropped to the cold, hard ground and pushed himself with his legs to behind a car. More loud bursts from the Ayra weapons joined in with the first.
Max's ears were filled with a metallic ring as bullets ricocheted off the body of the car. He looked at the silencer he had put on his rifle to try to reduce the risks of provoking a murder. He couldn’t help but think how pointless it was now.
Rolling his eyes Max leaned around the side of the car and sighted one of the Ayra through his scope and squeezed off three bullets. Each one hit the Ayra square in the chest, it let out a grunt as the force of the impact knocked it onto its back. But before the Ayra landed on its back Max squeezed off three more bullets into a second Ayra.
Peering around the car a bit further Max counted three more Ayra. One of the Ayra grabbed some kind of device from his left lower chest. Max lowered his rifle to get a closer look at what the Ayra was doing only to see the gold device flying towards him. It landed beside him and he stared at it until it began beeping.
"Crap!”
Max dove behind another car a few feet away and threw his hands over his head. Suddenly the beeping stopped and everything seemed deathly quiet.
BOOM!
The ground underneath him shook. Pieces of concrete and car fell all around him. Max looked behind him, the explosion had put the car through the ceiling and made a large hole all the way through the floor to the second story.
“Jesus…”
Scrambling to his feet Max turned and unloaded the remaining bullets in his clip, knocking one of the Ayra over and wounding another. Max got down quickly leaned against the car and reloaded. He breathed in and out heavily praying to God that the zombies hadn’t heard all the gunshots and the explosion. But given the size of the explosion, it was highly unlikely.
Max peered over the car to see the unscathed Ayra dragging its wounded partner behind cover. He sat back down and leaned his head against the car door. Closing his eyes, Max tried to remember the good times he had as a child. Although he had been born into the war between the humans and the Ayra, his childhood hadn’t been all that affected by the war.
His day dream was cut short when a horrific shriek caused his eyes to shoot back open. He knew that sound and knew what was coming next would not be pretty.
Max…
When Max pulled himself up over the ledge one of the Ayra saw him out of the corner of their eye and yelled, “Human!”
The Ayra got up. Throwing down its food and shutting the visor on his helmet, it pulled up a rifle and fired at Max as the other Ayra scrambled to their feet. Max quickly dropped to the cold, hard ground and pushed himself with his legs to behind a car. More loud bursts from the Ayra weapons joined in with the first.
Max's ears were filled with a metallic ring as bullets ricocheted off the body of the car. He looked at the silencer he had put on his rifle to try to reduce the risks of provoking a murder. He couldn’t help but think how pointless it was now.
Rolling his eyes Max leaned around the side of the car and sighted one of the Ayra through his scope and squeezed off three bullets. Each one hit the Ayra square in the chest, it let out a grunt as the force of the impact knocked it onto its back. But before the Ayra landed on its back Max squeezed off three more bullets into a second Ayra.
Peering around the car a bit further Max counted three more Ayra. One of the Ayra grabbed some kind of device from his left lower chest. Max lowered his rifle to get a closer look at what the Ayra was doing only to see the gold device flying towards him. It landed beside him and he stared at it until it began beeping.
"Crap!”
Max dove behind another car a few feet away and threw his hands over his head. Suddenly the beeping stopped and everything seemed deathly quiet.
BOOM!
The ground underneath him shook. Pieces of concrete and car fell all around him. Max looked behind him, the explosion had put the car through the ceiling and made a large hole all the way through the floor to the second story.
“Jesus…”
Scrambling to his feet Max turned and unloaded the remaining bullets in his clip, knocking one of the Ayra over and wounding another. Max got down quickly leaned against the car and reloaded. He breathed in and out heavily praying to God that the zombies hadn’t heard all the gunshots and the explosion. But given the size of the explosion, it was highly unlikely.
Max peered over the car to see the unscathed Ayra dragging its wounded partner behind cover. He sat back down and leaned his head against the car door. Closing his eyes, Max tried to remember the good times he had as a child. Although he had been born into the war between the humans and the Ayra, his childhood hadn’t been all that affected by the war.
His day dream was cut short when a horrific shriek caused his eyes to shoot back open. He knew that sound and knew what was coming next would not be pretty.
Max…
Friday, December 25, 2009
Text Adventure: Urban Survival
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 that was just visible in the dark gloomy light of the sun. Max’s tattered urban BDU’s were hardly protection against the heavy onslaught of rain that pelted the destroyed war torn streets.
It had been 8 years since the Ayra vacated earth leaving the remaining humans to die. The Ayra had brought an uninvited parasitic being that latches itself to the brain of its host making them want to kill anything it sees (essentially making the host a zombie).
The Ayra hadnt been expecting the sudden outburst of the ‘zombies’ so were caught off guard and fled. Some of the Ayra didnt make it to the ships and were left behind to deal with the humans and the ‘zombies’.
Knowing that he had to get shelter soon Max decided he’d go check and see whose camp it was, hoping that it was some human survivors. Max 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 that was slung over his back bounced against his armor, his breath was hot in his scarf that was wrapped around his neck and chin.
He leaped up on to the wall and ran up it, his Kevlar helmet kept the rain out of his eyes, diving forward and grabbing the ledge of the wall to the second story. Pulling himself up and over it, Max landed in the parking lot and pulled out his silenced pistol. Looking around he saw nothing; a few abandoned cars and some rubble.
Double checking the gray lit floor to make sure there was no hostile or dangerous thing, he turned around and looked out onto the side of the parking garage building. There was a pipe that ran up to the top of the building, holstering his pistol, Max climbed up once again onto the ledge of the wall and jumped out to the pipe. He climbed hand over hand until he was straight across from the third story parking lot.
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 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. Max looked at the ground below and cursed under his breath when he saw some zombies walking across the road past him. He knew that they wouldnt look up but it meant he couldnt go down there, even killing the zombies, could cause a murder (a hoard of angry zombies). Max would have to face the Ayra; better them then hundreds of unhappy zombies.
Max took a deep breath and…
______________________________
comment on what happens next, maybe a couple of sentences.
a little background: the Arya (Humanoid creatures. they only difference between them and humans are their thought process and they are more agile than humans) came to earth to harvest energy bu got angry with the humans. this caused a giant war between them and the humans. But the parasite, zomarinot, created an out break of zombies and the Ayra fled earth. The human population dropped from eight billion people to a couple hundred thousand people how were immune to parasite.
I'm going to leave it at that....
It had been 8 years since the Ayra vacated earth leaving the remaining humans to die. The Ayra had brought an uninvited parasitic being that latches itself to the brain of its host making them want to kill anything it sees (essentially making the host a zombie).
The Ayra hadnt been expecting the sudden outburst of the ‘zombies’ so were caught off guard and fled. Some of the Ayra didnt make it to the ships and were left behind to deal with the humans and the ‘zombies’.
Knowing that he had to get shelter soon Max decided he’d go check and see whose camp it was, hoping that it was some human survivors. Max 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 that was slung over his back bounced against his armor, his breath was hot in his scarf that was wrapped around his neck and chin.
He leaped up on to the wall and ran up it, his Kevlar helmet kept the rain out of his eyes, diving forward and grabbing the ledge of the wall to the second story. Pulling himself up and over it, Max landed in the parking lot and pulled out his silenced pistol. Looking around he saw nothing; a few abandoned cars and some rubble.
Double checking the gray lit floor to make sure there was no hostile or dangerous thing, he turned around and looked out onto the side of the parking garage building. There was a pipe that ran up to the top of the building, holstering his pistol, Max climbed up once again onto the ledge of the wall and jumped out to the pipe. He climbed hand over hand until he was straight across from the third story parking lot.
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 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. Max looked at the ground below and cursed under his breath when he saw some zombies walking across the road past him. He knew that they wouldnt look up but it meant he couldnt go down there, even killing the zombies, could cause a murder (a hoard of angry zombies). Max would have to face the Ayra; better them then hundreds of unhappy zombies.
Max took a deep breath and…
______________________________
comment on what happens next, maybe a couple of sentences.
a little background: the Arya (Humanoid creatures. they only difference between them and humans are their thought process and they are more agile than humans) came to earth to harvest energy bu got angry with the humans. this caused a giant war between them and the humans. But the parasite, zomarinot, created an out break of zombies and the Ayra fled earth. The human population dropped from eight billion people to a couple hundred thousand people how were immune to parasite.
I'm going to leave it at that....
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Taken From Home (part one (chapter one))
“Alexander, Clarissa,” Summer Blackhawk called to her kids in a sing-song voice. “Come in and eat.”
Summer was an upbeat young woman in her mid-thirties. She was one of those moms who was fun-loving but follow the schedule to the T kind of moms.
The Blackhawk’s lived in a beautiful forested area about twenty miles North East of the inner city of Charlotte, North Carolina. The sun was high in the sky; it was a very nice day. Alex took advantage of the amazing day, to play outside. There were many activities to do in his fairly large yard and Alex loved the outdoors. But right now he and his younger sister were passing a soccer ball around.
“What are we having,” Alex asked.
“I made us some pizza.”
Alex kicked the ball back to Claire, the soft thump that came from the ball hung in the air.
“Okay,” Alex said after a few seconds had gone by, and he and Claire started towards the house.
They stopped in their tracks when a loud thundering noise erupted from above. They all looked up. Flying lower than normal was two UNA F-60 jets.
“Cool.” Alex smiled like the dumb teenager he was.
Summer stepped out of the house to get a better vantage point of the F-60’s. Through a clearing in the trees they could see the two jets flying toward a massive, strange ship the size of a football stadium. The ship was definitely not of UNA or SNR build; it didn’t even look human made. The ship had no wings, and the armored shell around the air craft was rounded and smooth and seemed to have a strange bluish glow.
As the F-60’s neared the unknown aircraft, the engines on both wings turned angling down. The jets slowed to a hover in front of it. Alex and his family stared at the three ships. The two F-60’s, which were a fairly large jets(about the size of an eighteen wheeler), seemed small in comparison to the unknown aircraft which loomed not two hundred yards from where the Blackhawk’s stood.
As Alex looked at the aircraft, the only thing that was going through his mind was, “is this real?”
The more he thought about it the more he believed it was a dream, because things like this never happen to normal people like him.
Alex was interrupted in the middle of his contemplation, when he realized that the unknown aircraft had started shooting at the F-60’s. At least that’s what Alex would call it, for bursts of green and blue light were being ejected at a high velocity from all over the aircraft. The F-60’s had gone into evasive action, performing barrel rolls and turns to avoid the bursts of light that created a blue-green rain storm.
The F-60’s tried to return fire but each shot that hit the unknown aircraft caused the bluish glow around the armored shell to glow even more brightly where the bullet hit, appearing to cause no damage.
“Let’s go inside,” Summer said nervously, trying to lead her kids towards the house.
Alex began to follow her reluctantly but stop when suddenly there was a bright blue explosion on the wing of one of the F-60’s. Flame and smoke trailed from the wing as the pilot struggled to keep the fighter jet under control. But to no avail.
The flaming F-60 began to go down towards the tree line behind where the Blackhawk’s stood.
The black smoke that trailed behind the flames hung in the air as the fighter jet zoomed overhead. Alex watched as the pilot ejected from his fiery vehicle, the windshield getting whipped from the cockpit and ripping through the tail-fin causing the jet to spiral out of control.
The cork-screwing jet plowed through a few trees.
A spark from the breaking metal ignited a fire in the gas chambers and the increasing pressure caused a huge explosion. The flaming gas sprayed onto a tree and caught it on fire.
The white billowing parachute that extended from the pilot’s back almost blend into the sky as the pilot slowly floated down into the trees bellow.
Alex, before he even knew what he was doing, began to run towards where he saw the pilot land. The fight in the sky continued as Alex ran.
Just than realizing that Alex had gone Summer called after him, “Alex! No, come back.”
Alex ignored her and continued past the trees at the edge of the woods. He loved the UNA and was proud to be an American; he felt it was his duty to help someone if they were in trouble.
Alex also wanted to meet a true UNA soldier, so he hurried leaping over logs and fallen branches.
Alex came to a stop when he found what he was looking for; the UNA pilot. The pilot’s parachute had snagged on the branch of a large oak tree. When he struggled to take the chute off, he swung back and forth slightly.
It looked pathetic, but Alex didn’t laugh at the predicament the pilot was in because of the circumstances, “Are you alright?”
The pilot stopped struggling and looked down as if he hadn’t noticed that Alex had been there. Alex could imagine how embarrassed the pilot must feel, being stuck ten feet off the ground in a tree and hanging there helplessly.
“Um, I… I’m not sure. I know I’m stuck,” His voice was somewhat muffled by the helmets visor but Alex managed to make out what he had said.
“Well hang on; I might be able to help you.”
Alex couldn’t help but notice how the pilot seemed irritated with Alex’s statement but Alex ignored this and began to climb up the tree. Lifting himself up onto the first branch and then the next branch, where Alex was almost directly above the helpless pilot.
“I’m going to pull you over to the branch,” Alex said to him.
When the pilot nodded Alex grabbed the ropes connecting the pilot to the parachute and pulled them towards the tree branch. Once the pilot had grabbed the branch, Alex took hold of his shoulders and helped him get his elbows over top of it.
Then Alex reached into his pocket and took out his switch blade, which he carried with him everywhere, and began to cut through the parachute cables.
Alex looked over when he saw his mother and sister come into view just as the thundering sound of maybe five more F-60’s and a G-46 gunship flew overhead. Alex watched them until they disappeared behind the tree tops.
“They must be coming from the Pope Air force base,” Alex thought to himself.
The Pope Air Force Base was maybe 100 miles east of Brookwood, NC allowing fighter jets and gunships to be scrambled in a matter of a couple minutes.
Shaking his head, Alex snapped out of it and started cutting through the cables again. When he had cut through the last cable, Alex dropped to the branch below and again to the ground.
The pilot did the same, “Thanks kid, you’re a life saver.”
Then suddenly he lost his happy tone and started talking in a gruff serious voice, “You people shouldn’t be here. There is a threat to UNA national security.”
“What is that ‘thing’?” Alex asked gesturing in the direction of the unknown aircraft.
“That’s not important, we have to get you people out of here,” said the pilot.
Summer raised her hands, “What do you mean, that’s not important! You could have just died, we could have gotten hurt! I think we have a right to know what’s going on!”
The pilot took off his helmet and held it between his arm and body; his blue eyes stared at her intently. His short brown hair was drenched with sweat, and his face was darkened with the smoke that had engulfed his jets wing.
He looked like he was about to say something but then he ducked as the deafening, buzzing sound passed overhead. It sounded a lot like a train was flying by but through the air above them.
Alex noticed that there was a heavy thick smog straggling behind the aircraft, it darkened the ground where he stood because of the massive shadow it cast. The tree tops bent, reaching out as if to touch the belly of the large ship. The Alex heard the loud snapping of wood as the aircraft dove down into the trees.
The large oaks were knocked over like little twigs as the huge aircraft crashed into the ground seeming to shake the entire earth. Dirt was thrown in all directions as if it were the sand in a child’s sandbox. It came to a hulking stop and all was quiet.
to be continued...
Summer was an upbeat young woman in her mid-thirties. She was one of those moms who was fun-loving but follow the schedule to the T kind of moms.
The Blackhawk’s lived in a beautiful forested area about twenty miles North East of the inner city of Charlotte, North Carolina. The sun was high in the sky; it was a very nice day. Alex took advantage of the amazing day, to play outside. There were many activities to do in his fairly large yard and Alex loved the outdoors. But right now he and his younger sister were passing a soccer ball around.
“What are we having,” Alex asked.
“I made us some pizza.”
Alex kicked the ball back to Claire, the soft thump that came from the ball hung in the air.
“Okay,” Alex said after a few seconds had gone by, and he and Claire started towards the house.
They stopped in their tracks when a loud thundering noise erupted from above. They all looked up. Flying lower than normal was two UNA F-60 jets.
“Cool.” Alex smiled like the dumb teenager he was.
Summer stepped out of the house to get a better vantage point of the F-60’s. Through a clearing in the trees they could see the two jets flying toward a massive, strange ship the size of a football stadium. The ship was definitely not of UNA or SNR build; it didn’t even look human made. The ship had no wings, and the armored shell around the air craft was rounded and smooth and seemed to have a strange bluish glow.
As the F-60’s neared the unknown aircraft, the engines on both wings turned angling down. The jets slowed to a hover in front of it. Alex and his family stared at the three ships. The two F-60’s, which were a fairly large jets(about the size of an eighteen wheeler), seemed small in comparison to the unknown aircraft which loomed not two hundred yards from where the Blackhawk’s stood.
As Alex looked at the aircraft, the only thing that was going through his mind was, “is this real?”
The more he thought about it the more he believed it was a dream, because things like this never happen to normal people like him.
Alex was interrupted in the middle of his contemplation, when he realized that the unknown aircraft had started shooting at the F-60’s. At least that’s what Alex would call it, for bursts of green and blue light were being ejected at a high velocity from all over the aircraft. The F-60’s had gone into evasive action, performing barrel rolls and turns to avoid the bursts of light that created a blue-green rain storm.
The F-60’s tried to return fire but each shot that hit the unknown aircraft caused the bluish glow around the armored shell to glow even more brightly where the bullet hit, appearing to cause no damage.
“Let’s go inside,” Summer said nervously, trying to lead her kids towards the house.
Alex began to follow her reluctantly but stop when suddenly there was a bright blue explosion on the wing of one of the F-60’s. Flame and smoke trailed from the wing as the pilot struggled to keep the fighter jet under control. But to no avail.
The flaming F-60 began to go down towards the tree line behind where the Blackhawk’s stood.
The black smoke that trailed behind the flames hung in the air as the fighter jet zoomed overhead. Alex watched as the pilot ejected from his fiery vehicle, the windshield getting whipped from the cockpit and ripping through the tail-fin causing the jet to spiral out of control.
The cork-screwing jet plowed through a few trees.
A spark from the breaking metal ignited a fire in the gas chambers and the increasing pressure caused a huge explosion. The flaming gas sprayed onto a tree and caught it on fire.
The white billowing parachute that extended from the pilot’s back almost blend into the sky as the pilot slowly floated down into the trees bellow.
Alex, before he even knew what he was doing, began to run towards where he saw the pilot land. The fight in the sky continued as Alex ran.
Just than realizing that Alex had gone Summer called after him, “Alex! No, come back.”
Alex ignored her and continued past the trees at the edge of the woods. He loved the UNA and was proud to be an American; he felt it was his duty to help someone if they were in trouble.
Alex also wanted to meet a true UNA soldier, so he hurried leaping over logs and fallen branches.
Alex came to a stop when he found what he was looking for; the UNA pilot. The pilot’s parachute had snagged on the branch of a large oak tree. When he struggled to take the chute off, he swung back and forth slightly.
It looked pathetic, but Alex didn’t laugh at the predicament the pilot was in because of the circumstances, “Are you alright?”
The pilot stopped struggling and looked down as if he hadn’t noticed that Alex had been there. Alex could imagine how embarrassed the pilot must feel, being stuck ten feet off the ground in a tree and hanging there helplessly.
“Um, I… I’m not sure. I know I’m stuck,” His voice was somewhat muffled by the helmets visor but Alex managed to make out what he had said.
“Well hang on; I might be able to help you.”
Alex couldn’t help but notice how the pilot seemed irritated with Alex’s statement but Alex ignored this and began to climb up the tree. Lifting himself up onto the first branch and then the next branch, where Alex was almost directly above the helpless pilot.
“I’m going to pull you over to the branch,” Alex said to him.
When the pilot nodded Alex grabbed the ropes connecting the pilot to the parachute and pulled them towards the tree branch. Once the pilot had grabbed the branch, Alex took hold of his shoulders and helped him get his elbows over top of it.
Then Alex reached into his pocket and took out his switch blade, which he carried with him everywhere, and began to cut through the parachute cables.
Alex looked over when he saw his mother and sister come into view just as the thundering sound of maybe five more F-60’s and a G-46 gunship flew overhead. Alex watched them until they disappeared behind the tree tops.
“They must be coming from the Pope Air force base,” Alex thought to himself.
The Pope Air Force Base was maybe 100 miles east of Brookwood, NC allowing fighter jets and gunships to be scrambled in a matter of a couple minutes.
Shaking his head, Alex snapped out of it and started cutting through the cables again. When he had cut through the last cable, Alex dropped to the branch below and again to the ground.
The pilot did the same, “Thanks kid, you’re a life saver.”
Then suddenly he lost his happy tone and started talking in a gruff serious voice, “You people shouldn’t be here. There is a threat to UNA national security.”
“What is that ‘thing’?” Alex asked gesturing in the direction of the unknown aircraft.
“That’s not important, we have to get you people out of here,” said the pilot.
Summer raised her hands, “What do you mean, that’s not important! You could have just died, we could have gotten hurt! I think we have a right to know what’s going on!”
The pilot took off his helmet and held it between his arm and body; his blue eyes stared at her intently. His short brown hair was drenched with sweat, and his face was darkened with the smoke that had engulfed his jets wing.
He looked like he was about to say something but then he ducked as the deafening, buzzing sound passed overhead. It sounded a lot like a train was flying by but through the air above them.
Alex noticed that there was a heavy thick smog straggling behind the aircraft, it darkened the ground where he stood because of the massive shadow it cast. The tree tops bent, reaching out as if to touch the belly of the large ship. The Alex heard the loud snapping of wood as the aircraft dove down into the trees.
The large oaks were knocked over like little twigs as the huge aircraft crashed into the ground seeming to shake the entire earth. Dirt was thrown in all directions as if it were the sand in a child’s sandbox. It came to a hulking stop and all was quiet.
to be continued...
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Crying
The interloper ran along the ground next to the wall until he came to a tree. Without stopping, he jumped onto the tree, and then pushed off towards the wall. His hands caught the spikes atop and he scrambled to keep his hold on them without slipping, or getting his wrists impaled on the other spikes. He pulled himself up so he could see over.
There was a lawn leading up to the house, which was starting to look like a swamp from the weeds and bushes that were growing in it. The house itself looked to be in good condition; he supposed it had been in good condition leading up to the zombies, and was probably occupied for some time afterward, if not still occupied. The only thing that made him think it was deserted was the overgrown condition of the lawn. But he smirked and thought how much of a waste of a time it would be to mow your lawn when zombies wandered on the other side of your wall, their ears open for any sounds.
The interloper pulled himself up the rest of the way, and rolled lightly over the spikes (which weren’t really that sharp anyway, dull concrete things more for decoration than anything else) until he slid foot first onto the other side of the wall and kept a hold on a spike until he was ready to drop the rest of the way. He landed in a roll and found himself amidst the vegetation. It grew all around him, and now that he was in the middle of it, he saw how tall it really was. Tall enough to make him think that perhaps the owners had been absent for longer than the zombie outbreak. Or else they were bad at keeping a yard.
He moved towards the house, which also appeared larger than he had thought. It had seemed further away than it was but was also a wider house than assumed, with a Spartan arrangement of windows, and no doors that he could see (still only two stories though).
The interloper came to the side of the house and grabbed onto the bottom of the windowsill, which was just above his head, and pulled himself up to look inside. It was a kind of office, with a computer sitting on the table with the monitor facing him and a door on the opposite side of the room. There were stuffed bookshelves and two chairs, one behind the desk and one in front of it.
He let himself fall and then pushed up against the window with his hand, and found it locked. He pulled out his gloves, and tucked his long sleeve shirt into them, and punched out the glass. He climbed in and managed to not cut himself on the jagged glass. Kneeling by the computer he found the on button. He pressed it, and the computer hummed to life. He hadn’t been expecting it, but, given that the house was walled, in its owners might have wanted to make their own power supply. It might have been a rich survivalist family. Assuming that it was a family.
While the computer started up, the interloper looked at the books on the shelves. Many of the books were medical in nature and several had the word “Biotech” in the title. There were even a few books on the Egyptians. To the interloper, it supported his idea that the room he was in was a dad’s office. But something still bothered him, so he walked back around to the computer and sat in the swivel chair.
The front screen asked either for a password, or to enter as a guest. He entered guest and tried a workaround that he’d learned from a friend in High School. It didn’t work. So this computer had a better security system than a school or the average home’s? He tried another method, but found no success. He was afraid if he might get locked out so he opened the desk to see if the password had been written anywhere. The first paper he found looked clinical. He opened it to find a chart of some patient named R. F.
R.F.
• Jan 15: Arrived with necrosis around left elbow, further inspection revealed it was also on the inside of his thigh. Doctor V.T. supposed it was a fungus.
• Jan 18: Anti-fungals removed the spreading of the necrosis, skin not too seriously damaged to warrant a graft. Sending patient R.F. home.
• Feb 2: R.F. returns again. He has multiple wounds on wrists and legs, self-inflicted. Crying blood. Was sent to mental hospital and put under solitary confinement…
The interloper stopped reading, and turned the page to the next, titled “McCarnegie Research institute.”
R.F. admitted a few hours ago; he is considered brain dead although he exhibits violent intentions and thrashes in his constraints. There is a possibility that this is what we’ve been looking for all this time. Please report any return to normal behavior at once.
Then in hand writing:
I agree, this matches what we’ve been looking at. I’m finding the necrosis a bit unsettling but otherwise I think we can swing this one. Maybe we’ll get our grant money after all! Day 2, nothing strange to report. Day three, nothing out of the ordinary, except that he has begun to cry blood again, which reaffirms the notion that he is a “zombie”, as examined in digs in Egypt. Day four, nothing. Day five, nothing. Day six, nothing. Will not make a further note until situation progresses. Day nine, reports are spreading that there are zombie outbreaks in New York, Washington, Los Angeles, and Seattle. We’re running out of time. Does anyone else find this unsettling? Day ten, no progress on a cure. Day eleven, I got a call from my wife, she’s moving the kids to her uncle’s house in Canada, she thinks it will be safe there and I agree. I just hope she gets there all right. Day twelve, I apologize for writing about my family, I know it is not conductive to research. Day thirteen, I’ve nothing to add, except that I don’t think my input is required anymore. The zombies will be running the world in a few days, I guess there’s nothing left to do but pray. Day fourteen, R.F. bit Doctor C.T., and I killed both of them. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, C.T. was a great friend of mine, and R.F, I’ve never killed a child before... Day fifteen, I’m getting out of here, I can’t take it anymore. I’m leaving my computer with its settings on default, all the files should be intact for anyone who thinks they are necessary. The password is "password" and the user is "user". Goodbye everyone.
I’ll be in Canada. I got off the phone with my wife and she says there is a quarantine in place that’s working great. If I hurry they might let me in.
The interloper closed the folder and sighed. He looked at the monitor which was displaying a screensaver; the words McCarnegie Research Institute floated across the screen and bounced off the side. He shook the mouse until the login screen appeared and entered in the username and password. It loaded up for a second and displayed an error message, “CAN’T CONNECT TO INTERNAL DATABASE, CONTINUING IN OFFLINE MODE”. The interloper pressed “OK” and the screen passed.
The desktop was occupied mostly by folders, and one media player, which he opened. He selected the first item off of the playlist and a classic rock song started pounding from the speakers.
He minimized it and opened the file on the desktop labeled “R.F.”. He prepared to read it, when he heard a noise from behind the door. He paused the song and listened closely, and heard footsteps pacing back and forth, that he hadn't been able to hear because of the music. He rose from the computer and reached into his backpack for his machete.
He heard the noise again, a soft sob. It sounded so genuine, he thought, so honest and real. It could have been anyone outside, sad enough that they were crying. Pacing as they desperately thought of a solution. The interloper stepped to the door and the pacing stopped. The sobbing increased and sped into crying. The interloper held the machete in front of him, and turned the door knob. He could definitely hear someone on the other side of the door and, if they were crying, he knew what they were now. He quickly pulled the door open, and chopped out into the air. It could have been any tired soul, lost and weary, crying for everything that had been lost.
His machete caught the zombie in the neck and dark blood leaked out.
The interloper felt a tear in his eye and he hacked again, the damn thing wasn’t this contagious was it, he wasn’t catching it by being there, was he? The zombie fell down, screaming at him. Screaming, like a dog lost without its most loved owner. “God damn you!” The interloper yelled at the crying body, “Why did it have to be so fucking sad?” He’d always imagined the end of the world would be China or Russia stepping on the nukes, or the oil would run out. Not some virus that makes you cry, that’s depressing, it’s the worst way to go. He knew America was nuts, that we all felt sorry for ourselves and we were all on anti-depressants, "but this is stupid." The interloper stared into the zombie’s face as it lay on the ground looking up at him.
There it was; the bloody tear. He could see it tricking past the zombie’s mouth. On the left side, a trail of red preceding it. The interloper finished it off, and stared at it for a second. It was still now, not crying at all.
The interloper became worried at how emotional he’d become; he could feel a warm droplet running down his cheek. He ran down the hallway checking door after door for a bathroom, finding office after office until he came to a kitchen. He pulled a mirror out of his pocket and checked his face.
There was no blood coming from his eye. He only had real tears; so he was alright. He washed his hands and he was alright. He went back to the office and stepped past the bloodied corpse. He gathered the folders on the patient, “R.F.” He left the building through the front doors and didn’t stay.
And he was alright.
There was a lawn leading up to the house, which was starting to look like a swamp from the weeds and bushes that were growing in it. The house itself looked to be in good condition; he supposed it had been in good condition leading up to the zombies, and was probably occupied for some time afterward, if not still occupied. The only thing that made him think it was deserted was the overgrown condition of the lawn. But he smirked and thought how much of a waste of a time it would be to mow your lawn when zombies wandered on the other side of your wall, their ears open for any sounds.
The interloper pulled himself up the rest of the way, and rolled lightly over the spikes (which weren’t really that sharp anyway, dull concrete things more for decoration than anything else) until he slid foot first onto the other side of the wall and kept a hold on a spike until he was ready to drop the rest of the way. He landed in a roll and found himself amidst the vegetation. It grew all around him, and now that he was in the middle of it, he saw how tall it really was. Tall enough to make him think that perhaps the owners had been absent for longer than the zombie outbreak. Or else they were bad at keeping a yard.
He moved towards the house, which also appeared larger than he had thought. It had seemed further away than it was but was also a wider house than assumed, with a Spartan arrangement of windows, and no doors that he could see (still only two stories though).
The interloper came to the side of the house and grabbed onto the bottom of the windowsill, which was just above his head, and pulled himself up to look inside. It was a kind of office, with a computer sitting on the table with the monitor facing him and a door on the opposite side of the room. There were stuffed bookshelves and two chairs, one behind the desk and one in front of it.
He let himself fall and then pushed up against the window with his hand, and found it locked. He pulled out his gloves, and tucked his long sleeve shirt into them, and punched out the glass. He climbed in and managed to not cut himself on the jagged glass. Kneeling by the computer he found the on button. He pressed it, and the computer hummed to life. He hadn’t been expecting it, but, given that the house was walled, in its owners might have wanted to make their own power supply. It might have been a rich survivalist family. Assuming that it was a family.
While the computer started up, the interloper looked at the books on the shelves. Many of the books were medical in nature and several had the word “Biotech” in the title. There were even a few books on the Egyptians. To the interloper, it supported his idea that the room he was in was a dad’s office. But something still bothered him, so he walked back around to the computer and sat in the swivel chair.
The front screen asked either for a password, or to enter as a guest. He entered guest and tried a workaround that he’d learned from a friend in High School. It didn’t work. So this computer had a better security system than a school or the average home’s? He tried another method, but found no success. He was afraid if he might get locked out so he opened the desk to see if the password had been written anywhere. The first paper he found looked clinical. He opened it to find a chart of some patient named R. F.
R.F.
• Jan 15: Arrived with necrosis around left elbow, further inspection revealed it was also on the inside of his thigh. Doctor V.T. supposed it was a fungus.
• Jan 18: Anti-fungals removed the spreading of the necrosis, skin not too seriously damaged to warrant a graft. Sending patient R.F. home.
• Feb 2: R.F. returns again. He has multiple wounds on wrists and legs, self-inflicted. Crying blood. Was sent to mental hospital and put under solitary confinement…
The interloper stopped reading, and turned the page to the next, titled “McCarnegie Research institute.”
R.F. admitted a few hours ago; he is considered brain dead although he exhibits violent intentions and thrashes in his constraints. There is a possibility that this is what we’ve been looking for all this time. Please report any return to normal behavior at once.
Then in hand writing:
I agree, this matches what we’ve been looking at. I’m finding the necrosis a bit unsettling but otherwise I think we can swing this one. Maybe we’ll get our grant money after all! Day 2, nothing strange to report. Day three, nothing out of the ordinary, except that he has begun to cry blood again, which reaffirms the notion that he is a “zombie”, as examined in digs in Egypt. Day four, nothing. Day five, nothing. Day six, nothing. Will not make a further note until situation progresses. Day nine, reports are spreading that there are zombie outbreaks in New York, Washington, Los Angeles, and Seattle. We’re running out of time. Does anyone else find this unsettling? Day ten, no progress on a cure. Day eleven, I got a call from my wife, she’s moving the kids to her uncle’s house in Canada, she thinks it will be safe there and I agree. I just hope she gets there all right. Day twelve, I apologize for writing about my family, I know it is not conductive to research. Day thirteen, I’ve nothing to add, except that I don’t think my input is required anymore. The zombies will be running the world in a few days, I guess there’s nothing left to do but pray. Day fourteen, R.F. bit Doctor C.T., and I killed both of them. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, C.T. was a great friend of mine, and R.F, I’ve never killed a child before... Day fifteen, I’m getting out of here, I can’t take it anymore. I’m leaving my computer with its settings on default, all the files should be intact for anyone who thinks they are necessary. The password is "password" and the user is "user". Goodbye everyone.
I’ll be in Canada. I got off the phone with my wife and she says there is a quarantine in place that’s working great. If I hurry they might let me in.
The interloper closed the folder and sighed. He looked at the monitor which was displaying a screensaver; the words McCarnegie Research Institute floated across the screen and bounced off the side. He shook the mouse until the login screen appeared and entered in the username and password. It loaded up for a second and displayed an error message, “CAN’T CONNECT TO INTERNAL DATABASE, CONTINUING IN OFFLINE MODE”. The interloper pressed “OK” and the screen passed.
The desktop was occupied mostly by folders, and one media player, which he opened. He selected the first item off of the playlist and a classic rock song started pounding from the speakers.
He minimized it and opened the file on the desktop labeled “R.F.”. He prepared to read it, when he heard a noise from behind the door. He paused the song and listened closely, and heard footsteps pacing back and forth, that he hadn't been able to hear because of the music. He rose from the computer and reached into his backpack for his machete.
He heard the noise again, a soft sob. It sounded so genuine, he thought, so honest and real. It could have been anyone outside, sad enough that they were crying. Pacing as they desperately thought of a solution. The interloper stepped to the door and the pacing stopped. The sobbing increased and sped into crying. The interloper held the machete in front of him, and turned the door knob. He could definitely hear someone on the other side of the door and, if they were crying, he knew what they were now. He quickly pulled the door open, and chopped out into the air. It could have been any tired soul, lost and weary, crying for everything that had been lost.
His machete caught the zombie in the neck and dark blood leaked out.
The interloper felt a tear in his eye and he hacked again, the damn thing wasn’t this contagious was it, he wasn’t catching it by being there, was he? The zombie fell down, screaming at him. Screaming, like a dog lost without its most loved owner. “God damn you!” The interloper yelled at the crying body, “Why did it have to be so fucking sad?” He’d always imagined the end of the world would be China or Russia stepping on the nukes, or the oil would run out. Not some virus that makes you cry, that’s depressing, it’s the worst way to go. He knew America was nuts, that we all felt sorry for ourselves and we were all on anti-depressants, "but this is stupid." The interloper stared into the zombie’s face as it lay on the ground looking up at him.
There it was; the bloody tear. He could see it tricking past the zombie’s mouth. On the left side, a trail of red preceding it. The interloper finished it off, and stared at it for a second. It was still now, not crying at all.
The interloper became worried at how emotional he’d become; he could feel a warm droplet running down his cheek. He ran down the hallway checking door after door for a bathroom, finding office after office until he came to a kitchen. He pulled a mirror out of his pocket and checked his face.
There was no blood coming from his eye. He only had real tears; so he was alright. He washed his hands and he was alright. He went back to the office and stepped past the bloodied corpse. He gathered the folders on the patient, “R.F.” He left the building through the front doors and didn’t stay.
And he was alright.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Sykport
Previously
As Rasputina promised, I was given food and drink and allowed to sleep.
I did not dream, and was left alone for a long time. I woke up and saw outside my window, once for I would guess an hour. My best judge of time was watching the light from the window slanting across the room, and guessing where it had been some time before, and judging how much time would have to have passed since it arrived at a second point.
A guard I’d never seen before, with no weapon other than a sword, woke me from a nap by opening the door. “Is it time to go?”
“Yes,” He said. “This sword is for you, but I’m not to give it to you until we leave the elevator.”
“Will she come to see me off?” I asked.
He shook his head, and somberly, stepped aside to let me pass. I walked past him and tried to look in his eyes, but they were cast against the ground, and his head tilted so that I would not have been able to recognize him even if he’d been someone familiar.
He followed behind me for a short time, and then put his hand on my shoulder.
“Do you know which way to go?” He asked kindly.
“No… Where are we going?”
“To the central platform. The one that you got up here on. We’re going to the top of the tower.” His phrases were quick and I very quickly heard the fear in his voice.
“What is this?” I asked. But he did not answer. I felt the tip of the sword against my back.
“There’s only one way to go, forward. These tunnels don’t make forks, or give you choice. They know where you’re going and they adjust themselves accordingly,” he said.
“What?” I asked. “Is it to repel invaders?”
“It doesn’t work like that,” He said, “Now; go forward.”
The pressure on the tip of the sword increased, and I moved forward. He kept it against the fabric of the back of my shirt, and we kept going forward through the tunnels, following the path that the tunnel had chosen. In less time than before, it seemed, we arrived again at the moving platform. He forced me on, and it started to go up. I looked behind to see him toss the sword on it. He did not get on, and instead he stood on the catwalk and watched me go up.
I saw his face turn, in the same manner that Barbara’s had when she had been sitting with me, before I left the engine. In his eyes was that same sadness. And I realized that the sadness was pity; that he thought I was going to my death. It was what Barbara had thought too, I realized.
I grabbed onto the sword and sat down on the platform, which rose and rose, moving faster with each passing second until I lay down and felt myself pressed against the platform below me. And then I noticed that the pressure ceased, and only wind rushed past me. And then I felt lighter as the platform slowed. And it slowed and slowed, and I looked above and saw a ceiling. I knew that if the platform were to travel straight up into it, I would have been crushed. Fear entered my veins and made me tremble, as the ceiling grew closer. It was metal of some kind.
But the platform stopped before we would have impacted. I stood staring at the termination of the shaft, and saw it slide open. A ladder extended down, and I knew that I was to climb onto it.
I kept the sword in my right hand and climbed slowly. I relied more on the strength of my left hand to keep myself moving up, and pressed down against rungs with my right hand to raise myself up and up. As I reached the opening that the ladder had extended from, I heard the platform descend. But I did not look down. I climbed up.
I was again in the cold outside; and it seemed very dark. Only the moon overhead seemed to give light; there were clouds enough that the stars were insignificant. I hoisted myself onto the roof, and once my feet were clear, I saw the opening close itself, in a sliding fashion. I stood, and held the sword in my hands very loosely. Around me was a metal plain, with a square building some hundred or two feet in one direction, and a visible termination of the tower in another direction. I was on the very highest point, I realized.
The building was an addition, and it was only three stories tall. Compared to how many stories of the tower itself? I have no idea, and I do not believe it was the kind of structure that would be measured easily in stories. The highest point on the tower had slightly lower air than below, but it was not very noticeable. I only breathed a little harder. And I believed it was from trepidation of the events that were to occur, instead of any lack of oxygen.
I determined that the building was the only logical place to go towards; if I was moved to the roof, and then given no further instruction, I guess the building seemed ideal. I moved towards it, holding my sword upright. The wind picked up and some snow fluttered across my vision. The building seemed bigger as I moved towards it. My sword wavered on the air a little, and then I saw a door on the building. As I moved closer I saw windows as well, and I thought that it looked so traditional. Like something built on the engine.
The door opened, and Rasputina stepped out, dressed in heavy furs. She looked at me, and then stepped from the doorway. In the opening I saw light, and movement, and then Bishop appeared, and followed her after closing the door behind him. He was wearing the same things I was, but he looked absolutely frozen. I could hear his teeth chattering as the wind brought it towards me. His haggard breath was the loudest thing aside from the wind, even their footsteps seemed inconsequential.
Rasputina stopped, and Bishop stopped at her side, and moved closer to her. She put an arm around him, and I saw immediately that they were family. Mother and son. “The engine had no part in this at all?” I asked.
“No,” Rasputina said, “But Bishop does know where to find information on the Carentans.”
I looked to Bishop for confirmation, and he nodded, but I also saw fear in his eyes, “How can I trust you?” I asked Rasputina.
“I don’t know,” She said. “I’m sorry, I never meant for it to come to this. When I acquired your freedom, I had meant to put it to use against the cryonauts below, but no one told me that you would be so human. Rakkard agreed with me, said that you were a weapon, but didn’t want me to let you go so easily. He knew that you knew Bishop, so I arranged for him to come over from the engine…”
“Who is Rakkard?” I asked, “Bishop? You’re not from the engine?”
Rasputina responded first, “Rakkard is the dark one that possessed me… I figured you would have known, but Bishop told me that the engine doesn’t have any dark ones, so that it wouldn’t be obvious.” And then she stepped forward and looked into my eye, and I saw that emptiness, that vacuum from before. I realized what it was that drew me in. “He’s angry now,” Rasputina said, “He wants me to kill you. But I need you to kill him. Bishop can’t, he’s not strong enough. But you’re a Carentan!”
She stepped back, and I saw a kind of dark substance drip from her mouth and then flow outwards into the air. It seemed liquid at first, but became gaseous as it was exposed to the air. Bishop held onto his mother and pulled her back, as the filth was dredged forth. Once she was emptied, she stumbled completely into Bishop’s arms, and he began to pull her away.
The darkness that had poured from her manifested itself. It grew tall, twice as tall as I, and made itself into a vaguely human form. It was like the image of someone behind a thick veil of smoke; except that the only thing there, was smoke. I saw its hands extend into long claws, and its back arch, so that it appeared more animal. When I looked at its head, I saw it as more spherical than a human head, and it stretched itself further and became more thin.
Then it lunged. It glided through the air, but never left the ground; its tendrils always remained latched, but never slowed it. I raised my sword instinctively, and it drew closer. I swung at it before it drew within three feet, and it pulled back to escape my swords reach. But it had a much longer reach than I had, I realized. Its arms were at least five times as long as my sword, and it could easily attack me if it wished.
It did. I raised my sword to defend myself, and the claws were cut to pieces against it. But the ends still grazed against my chest, and I fell backwards, gasping. I stood, trying with all my strength to prepare myself for another attack. It swung again and I tried to defend the same way, but it stopped short and then reached to my side. I swung my sword to the side and cut at the wrist, but the fingers still pulled against the palm, and the claws cut into my side.
I staggered and fell. The sword clattered to the ground in front of me, and I felt only pain. A pain worse than I had ever experienced before. It was a sharper pain than Livingston’s sword had caused; more painful than the disgrace of being exiled from my home.
I scrambled back to avoid another swing, and then the creature placed itself over my sword, so that it was completely outside of my reach. I felt my side and could feel smooth skin; so that I knew the wound had healed itself and I would not be losing more blood, and then I stood. I faced the creature that had possessed Rasputina, and prepared myself to die. I ran towards it, and it opened its arms wide to receive me.
I scooped my sword up, and fell into it, cutting the air. But I knew that it had been useless. It had opened itself too well, and I was now inside of its murkiness. I looked out but only saw the night. I fought it, and found it was turning to liquid again, and trying to get into my mouth. I shut my lips and swung the sword in a wild arc, hoping to catch something, and then swung it the other way. I saw that I opened a small fissure in its side, which closed quickly.
But this gave me hope, and I swung against it, my breath running out. I tried to move forward but it was hard. I swung back and forth in front of me, and moved forward against its force. I pushed myself through the final barrier and emerged on the other side.
I was again in the air, and opened my mouth to get a breath of air. I turned around, swinging my sword, hoping that I might cut it again where I had escaped through, but missed. It had moved itself away again, and now resembled a shorter figure, that more human in shape, save the legs which now merged into a long dress like shape.
I charged for it, now not fearing contact with its body, but only the claws. It made an attack, and I ducked, and spun around and cut at its claws, and then swung the sword into its chest. But I missed again, and could not see it.
I felt the pain it had caused in my side, but looked down and saw a claw extending from my stomach. It twitched, and I felt my insides shudder. It had gotten behind me, and I had not been able to see it happen. The claw twitched again, and then moved violently from side to side.
My torso dropped backwards onto the cold steel, and my legs dropped away from me in the other direction. I looked down at them, and saw redness seeping out. My sword still in my hand, I pointed it at the darkness that now loomed over me. I saw it descend upon me, and then all was blocked out as before. And I knew that it was going to kill me.
My eyes shut, and I held my lips closed against it, but I lost the willpower soon. I felt weak, and my lips were ripped open. The liquid rushed in as I tried to gasp for breath, and I felt my life leaving me.
And that is the last thing I remember before I wake up in the engine.
As Rasputina promised, I was given food and drink and allowed to sleep.
I did not dream, and was left alone for a long time. I woke up and saw outside my window, once for I would guess an hour. My best judge of time was watching the light from the window slanting across the room, and guessing where it had been some time before, and judging how much time would have to have passed since it arrived at a second point.
A guard I’d never seen before, with no weapon other than a sword, woke me from a nap by opening the door. “Is it time to go?”
“Yes,” He said. “This sword is for you, but I’m not to give it to you until we leave the elevator.”
“Will she come to see me off?” I asked.
He shook his head, and somberly, stepped aside to let me pass. I walked past him and tried to look in his eyes, but they were cast against the ground, and his head tilted so that I would not have been able to recognize him even if he’d been someone familiar.
He followed behind me for a short time, and then put his hand on my shoulder.
“Do you know which way to go?” He asked kindly.
“No… Where are we going?”
“To the central platform. The one that you got up here on. We’re going to the top of the tower.” His phrases were quick and I very quickly heard the fear in his voice.
“What is this?” I asked. But he did not answer. I felt the tip of the sword against my back.
“There’s only one way to go, forward. These tunnels don’t make forks, or give you choice. They know where you’re going and they adjust themselves accordingly,” he said.
“What?” I asked. “Is it to repel invaders?”
“It doesn’t work like that,” He said, “Now; go forward.”
The pressure on the tip of the sword increased, and I moved forward. He kept it against the fabric of the back of my shirt, and we kept going forward through the tunnels, following the path that the tunnel had chosen. In less time than before, it seemed, we arrived again at the moving platform. He forced me on, and it started to go up. I looked behind to see him toss the sword on it. He did not get on, and instead he stood on the catwalk and watched me go up.
I saw his face turn, in the same manner that Barbara’s had when she had been sitting with me, before I left the engine. In his eyes was that same sadness. And I realized that the sadness was pity; that he thought I was going to my death. It was what Barbara had thought too, I realized.
I grabbed onto the sword and sat down on the platform, which rose and rose, moving faster with each passing second until I lay down and felt myself pressed against the platform below me. And then I noticed that the pressure ceased, and only wind rushed past me. And then I felt lighter as the platform slowed. And it slowed and slowed, and I looked above and saw a ceiling. I knew that if the platform were to travel straight up into it, I would have been crushed. Fear entered my veins and made me tremble, as the ceiling grew closer. It was metal of some kind.
But the platform stopped before we would have impacted. I stood staring at the termination of the shaft, and saw it slide open. A ladder extended down, and I knew that I was to climb onto it.
I kept the sword in my right hand and climbed slowly. I relied more on the strength of my left hand to keep myself moving up, and pressed down against rungs with my right hand to raise myself up and up. As I reached the opening that the ladder had extended from, I heard the platform descend. But I did not look down. I climbed up.
I was again in the cold outside; and it seemed very dark. Only the moon overhead seemed to give light; there were clouds enough that the stars were insignificant. I hoisted myself onto the roof, and once my feet were clear, I saw the opening close itself, in a sliding fashion. I stood, and held the sword in my hands very loosely. Around me was a metal plain, with a square building some hundred or two feet in one direction, and a visible termination of the tower in another direction. I was on the very highest point, I realized.
The building was an addition, and it was only three stories tall. Compared to how many stories of the tower itself? I have no idea, and I do not believe it was the kind of structure that would be measured easily in stories. The highest point on the tower had slightly lower air than below, but it was not very noticeable. I only breathed a little harder. And I believed it was from trepidation of the events that were to occur, instead of any lack of oxygen.
I determined that the building was the only logical place to go towards; if I was moved to the roof, and then given no further instruction, I guess the building seemed ideal. I moved towards it, holding my sword upright. The wind picked up and some snow fluttered across my vision. The building seemed bigger as I moved towards it. My sword wavered on the air a little, and then I saw a door on the building. As I moved closer I saw windows as well, and I thought that it looked so traditional. Like something built on the engine.
The door opened, and Rasputina stepped out, dressed in heavy furs. She looked at me, and then stepped from the doorway. In the opening I saw light, and movement, and then Bishop appeared, and followed her after closing the door behind him. He was wearing the same things I was, but he looked absolutely frozen. I could hear his teeth chattering as the wind brought it towards me. His haggard breath was the loudest thing aside from the wind, even their footsteps seemed inconsequential.
Rasputina stopped, and Bishop stopped at her side, and moved closer to her. She put an arm around him, and I saw immediately that they were family. Mother and son. “The engine had no part in this at all?” I asked.
“No,” Rasputina said, “But Bishop does know where to find information on the Carentans.”
I looked to Bishop for confirmation, and he nodded, but I also saw fear in his eyes, “How can I trust you?” I asked Rasputina.
“I don’t know,” She said. “I’m sorry, I never meant for it to come to this. When I acquired your freedom, I had meant to put it to use against the cryonauts below, but no one told me that you would be so human. Rakkard agreed with me, said that you were a weapon, but didn’t want me to let you go so easily. He knew that you knew Bishop, so I arranged for him to come over from the engine…”
“Who is Rakkard?” I asked, “Bishop? You’re not from the engine?”
Rasputina responded first, “Rakkard is the dark one that possessed me… I figured you would have known, but Bishop told me that the engine doesn’t have any dark ones, so that it wouldn’t be obvious.” And then she stepped forward and looked into my eye, and I saw that emptiness, that vacuum from before. I realized what it was that drew me in. “He’s angry now,” Rasputina said, “He wants me to kill you. But I need you to kill him. Bishop can’t, he’s not strong enough. But you’re a Carentan!”
She stepped back, and I saw a kind of dark substance drip from her mouth and then flow outwards into the air. It seemed liquid at first, but became gaseous as it was exposed to the air. Bishop held onto his mother and pulled her back, as the filth was dredged forth. Once she was emptied, she stumbled completely into Bishop’s arms, and he began to pull her away.
The darkness that had poured from her manifested itself. It grew tall, twice as tall as I, and made itself into a vaguely human form. It was like the image of someone behind a thick veil of smoke; except that the only thing there, was smoke. I saw its hands extend into long claws, and its back arch, so that it appeared more animal. When I looked at its head, I saw it as more spherical than a human head, and it stretched itself further and became more thin.
Then it lunged. It glided through the air, but never left the ground; its tendrils always remained latched, but never slowed it. I raised my sword instinctively, and it drew closer. I swung at it before it drew within three feet, and it pulled back to escape my swords reach. But it had a much longer reach than I had, I realized. Its arms were at least five times as long as my sword, and it could easily attack me if it wished.
It did. I raised my sword to defend myself, and the claws were cut to pieces against it. But the ends still grazed against my chest, and I fell backwards, gasping. I stood, trying with all my strength to prepare myself for another attack. It swung again and I tried to defend the same way, but it stopped short and then reached to my side. I swung my sword to the side and cut at the wrist, but the fingers still pulled against the palm, and the claws cut into my side.
I staggered and fell. The sword clattered to the ground in front of me, and I felt only pain. A pain worse than I had ever experienced before. It was a sharper pain than Livingston’s sword had caused; more painful than the disgrace of being exiled from my home.
I scrambled back to avoid another swing, and then the creature placed itself over my sword, so that it was completely outside of my reach. I felt my side and could feel smooth skin; so that I knew the wound had healed itself and I would not be losing more blood, and then I stood. I faced the creature that had possessed Rasputina, and prepared myself to die. I ran towards it, and it opened its arms wide to receive me.
I scooped my sword up, and fell into it, cutting the air. But I knew that it had been useless. It had opened itself too well, and I was now inside of its murkiness. I looked out but only saw the night. I fought it, and found it was turning to liquid again, and trying to get into my mouth. I shut my lips and swung the sword in a wild arc, hoping to catch something, and then swung it the other way. I saw that I opened a small fissure in its side, which closed quickly.
But this gave me hope, and I swung against it, my breath running out. I tried to move forward but it was hard. I swung back and forth in front of me, and moved forward against its force. I pushed myself through the final barrier and emerged on the other side.
I was again in the air, and opened my mouth to get a breath of air. I turned around, swinging my sword, hoping that I might cut it again where I had escaped through, but missed. It had moved itself away again, and now resembled a shorter figure, that more human in shape, save the legs which now merged into a long dress like shape.
I charged for it, now not fearing contact with its body, but only the claws. It made an attack, and I ducked, and spun around and cut at its claws, and then swung the sword into its chest. But I missed again, and could not see it.
I felt the pain it had caused in my side, but looked down and saw a claw extending from my stomach. It twitched, and I felt my insides shudder. It had gotten behind me, and I had not been able to see it happen. The claw twitched again, and then moved violently from side to side.
My torso dropped backwards onto the cold steel, and my legs dropped away from me in the other direction. I looked down at them, and saw redness seeping out. My sword still in my hand, I pointed it at the darkness that now loomed over me. I saw it descend upon me, and then all was blocked out as before. And I knew that it was going to kill me.
My eyes shut, and I held my lips closed against it, but I lost the willpower soon. I felt weak, and my lips were ripped open. The liquid rushed in as I tried to gasp for breath, and I felt my life leaving me.
And that is the last thing I remember before I wake up in the engine.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Sykport
Previously
The message left me with an ill feeling. I realized that it was written before I had even seen Bishop, and that whoever wrote it must have had some sort of foreknowledge that I would be contacted by Bishop. Yet, I had already made up my mind. I suppose that nothing they could have said would have changed my mind; I already knew that I was going to return to Rasputina.
Yet I also considered, before kicking the design of glass to pieces, how it was the man with the steel mask who had given it to me. He had later sent the men after me as well, and while I hadn’t heard him speak the second time I’d seen him, I also wondered if he was truly the same man as before. Perhaps the one who had given me the bottle was some lieutenant, and this one who had tried to kill me was another lieutenant, who dressed like the other because of the similar positions they both held.
It would seem like an easy way to remain anonymous in any kind of organization, so that you may even switch positions whenever you wanted to, and it would be hard for anyone to know when you had. It may present the problem of unqualified people taking on positions they were unprepared for, but if everyone in the organization was prepared for any position, it would seem to me that it would eliminate favoritism.
What if they were given masks whenever they showed up for duty, and whatever mask they received determined their job?
I thought about it, and then continued to the stairway that led up to the tunnel, and followed it to the end of the building. It was day time then, so that I could see the stretching pillars of building, going to the horizon from every direction I could see, sometime eclipsed by closer buildings that were by some luck taller than the one I was near. The sky was clearer than I’d ever seen it, and it was a morning sky. I saw the sun near a hill, and guessed that it was moving up the horizon rather than down.
I climbed the stairs up, and had an easier time at it than the descent, as it was so perfectly clear. There was no snow, no whipping wind. Just the stairs and I. I reached the top, and my legs were sore, but I walked into the jungle all the same. I was determined now, to see this Rasputina, to take this task that the engine had assigned for me.
Had it all been planned from the beginning, I wondered. Was it the engine’s plan all along to subject me to the journey that had given me my skills, and had revealed better my abilities? I was motivated as I stepped through the jungle, with Livingston’s sword in its sheath knocking against my leg, motivated to seek a name for myself, to seek who I was, out among these towers.
I came to the river and followed it back, all the way to the bridge that Arthur and I had crossed, and then continued to follow it until I came to the lake. The trees above still blocked out the sky, but more sunlight cut through their branches than before, and the lights on the trees were quite dim, and offered up little light at all. The gnats returned now, and assaulted me with fervor, but in my determination I suppose I just ignored them.
I took steps towards the lake and stood, confident. My hand rested on the hilt of Livingston’s sword, and I felt all the power of a man with direction, with drive. I had spent so much time running, that it felt good to have such a major and exciting goal.
I heard the lake monster roar at my proximity to the water, and took a few steps backwards.
Then I waited. I do not know why I stopped there. Perhaps I should have continued towards the metal side of the building, and there, searched for an entrance into the tower, but I decided against it. I thought that I would be detected as I stood by the lake.
Someone walked out of the forest; I hadn’t heard her, before, until she was only ten feet or so behind me. I turned and saw that same paradoxical beauty; the bright exterior, and the dark secret that lay within.
“So you’ve come back?” Rasputina asked. She walked forward until I could smell the perfume on her form. Under the perfume I smelled a darker thing.
“Yes,” I said. “I decided to try my luck here…” I said.
“Why did Livingston die?” She asked, “Why did you have to kill her?”
“She was trying to kill me,” I said. “I have saved her sword, if you want it.” I pulled the hilt with the sword inside, from my belt, and handed it to her. “I am sorry that your sister died, but I can’t make her better again.”
Rasputina looked at the lake for a second, and then said, “I need someone to go to the top of my tower. There is a dark one there, and no one I have sent up has ever returned.” Rasputina pulled the sword from the hilt and stared at its poisoned blade. I could see that she was fighting tears, but she was fighting well, for none appeared. “My sister was to go up and destroy it. You will take her place.”
I looked at Rasputina and she handed the sword to me without looking. “Follow me to the boarding rooms, I will see to it you eat and sleep, and then you will go to the elevator.”
“Yes,” I said, “Of course.”
There is little else to discuss. She led me, with hunched shoulders, through the forest until we arrived at the steel wall that must have been the side of the tower I had climbed down before. There was a sliding door set into the metal, and we entered it. The corridors were black floors and ceilings, and yellow walls. There were portraits hung, of Rasputina and Livingston, along these yellow walls. We did not see anyone as we walked these corridors, which turned and twisted, but never deviated. So that although we made sharp turns frequently, they were the only turns afforded by the architecture.
At the end of the long tunnel we came to a chamber room, which surprised me. It was not as large as the room that had held the escaped slaves, but it was similarly vast. I saw that it went straight up, and at the center of the room was a platform that was maybe twenty feet across, squared, and raised a couple hundred feet into the air. I could only see the bottom of it when we entered the room, but Rasputina called something into the air (it was in another language, I think, that I did not understand). The platform lowered, and I saw the first people I’d ever seen since we’d entered the building.
They were armed, with some of the most vicious weapons I’d seen in my entire life. Some of their armaments curled around their wrists, or glowed a bright red on their ends. “Step on,” Rasputina said. I was further transfixed by their weapons; as I stepped onto the platform with Rasputina I saw them closer, and noticed a dark mist pouring from the cracks in the plates. I would say that some of them more resembled animals than rifles, but from their shapes and the way the men held them, that the weapons were intended to kill.
The men themselves were unremarkable. There was nothing that made me think that they were unlike Rasputina, or anyone else I’d ever seen. I supposed that they were guards from their weapons, and the stances they held.
The platform rose after a second, and one of the guards, whose weapon seemed to breathe, said something to Rasputina in that language which I could not understand. She seemed to ask a question, which the guard answered. She looked over at me, and behind her amber eyes I saw a dark veil behind them, a gulf that seemed to want to pull me into it. I broke eye contact, and she said nothing.
This platform rose and then stopped. I saw a doorway across from us, and a catwalk extended across the gulf. The catwalk was most similar to the one I had seen in the room where I had directly spoken to the engine, it was only two feet across, so we had to walk single file; one guard and Rasputina ahead of me, and the two guards behind me. We stepped across it, and I looked down at the floor below. I lost my balance for a second, and one of the guards grabbed my arm and held it until I reasserted myself against gravity. “Careful,” he warned.
Rasputina turned around and asked, again in the language I could not understand, what had happened. The guard who had saved me replied, and she said, “Yes, watch your step.”
I nodded, and moved more carefully along it, until we entered that door and were again in passageways like those that we had entered from the jungle. All of our footsteps echoed loudly in my ears, and I can still hear it today, a clear succession of footfalls lasting forever in my memory.
After moving again forward and never coming to a place where we were given a choice to turn left or right, we arrived at a place where the corridor widened, and raised itself up, to admit my sight to three doors.
“You may enter through the third door,” Rasputina said. “The one on the far right.”
“Yeah,” I said, and walked to it. I opened it by twisting its knob, and found my room from earlier. The window was now welded shut, and the book Sykport was where I had left it, resting on the uneven sheets.
Next
(AUTHOR'S NOTE: Excuse me if I am becoming sloppy. This is not ending as well as I had hoped it would.)
The message left me with an ill feeling. I realized that it was written before I had even seen Bishop, and that whoever wrote it must have had some sort of foreknowledge that I would be contacted by Bishop. Yet, I had already made up my mind. I suppose that nothing they could have said would have changed my mind; I already knew that I was going to return to Rasputina.
Yet I also considered, before kicking the design of glass to pieces, how it was the man with the steel mask who had given it to me. He had later sent the men after me as well, and while I hadn’t heard him speak the second time I’d seen him, I also wondered if he was truly the same man as before. Perhaps the one who had given me the bottle was some lieutenant, and this one who had tried to kill me was another lieutenant, who dressed like the other because of the similar positions they both held.
It would seem like an easy way to remain anonymous in any kind of organization, so that you may even switch positions whenever you wanted to, and it would be hard for anyone to know when you had. It may present the problem of unqualified people taking on positions they were unprepared for, but if everyone in the organization was prepared for any position, it would seem to me that it would eliminate favoritism.
What if they were given masks whenever they showed up for duty, and whatever mask they received determined their job?
I thought about it, and then continued to the stairway that led up to the tunnel, and followed it to the end of the building. It was day time then, so that I could see the stretching pillars of building, going to the horizon from every direction I could see, sometime eclipsed by closer buildings that were by some luck taller than the one I was near. The sky was clearer than I’d ever seen it, and it was a morning sky. I saw the sun near a hill, and guessed that it was moving up the horizon rather than down.
I climbed the stairs up, and had an easier time at it than the descent, as it was so perfectly clear. There was no snow, no whipping wind. Just the stairs and I. I reached the top, and my legs were sore, but I walked into the jungle all the same. I was determined now, to see this Rasputina, to take this task that the engine had assigned for me.
Had it all been planned from the beginning, I wondered. Was it the engine’s plan all along to subject me to the journey that had given me my skills, and had revealed better my abilities? I was motivated as I stepped through the jungle, with Livingston’s sword in its sheath knocking against my leg, motivated to seek a name for myself, to seek who I was, out among these towers.
I came to the river and followed it back, all the way to the bridge that Arthur and I had crossed, and then continued to follow it until I came to the lake. The trees above still blocked out the sky, but more sunlight cut through their branches than before, and the lights on the trees were quite dim, and offered up little light at all. The gnats returned now, and assaulted me with fervor, but in my determination I suppose I just ignored them.
I took steps towards the lake and stood, confident. My hand rested on the hilt of Livingston’s sword, and I felt all the power of a man with direction, with drive. I had spent so much time running, that it felt good to have such a major and exciting goal.
I heard the lake monster roar at my proximity to the water, and took a few steps backwards.
Then I waited. I do not know why I stopped there. Perhaps I should have continued towards the metal side of the building, and there, searched for an entrance into the tower, but I decided against it. I thought that I would be detected as I stood by the lake.
Someone walked out of the forest; I hadn’t heard her, before, until she was only ten feet or so behind me. I turned and saw that same paradoxical beauty; the bright exterior, and the dark secret that lay within.
“So you’ve come back?” Rasputina asked. She walked forward until I could smell the perfume on her form. Under the perfume I smelled a darker thing.
“Yes,” I said. “I decided to try my luck here…” I said.
“Why did Livingston die?” She asked, “Why did you have to kill her?”
“She was trying to kill me,” I said. “I have saved her sword, if you want it.” I pulled the hilt with the sword inside, from my belt, and handed it to her. “I am sorry that your sister died, but I can’t make her better again.”
Rasputina looked at the lake for a second, and then said, “I need someone to go to the top of my tower. There is a dark one there, and no one I have sent up has ever returned.” Rasputina pulled the sword from the hilt and stared at its poisoned blade. I could see that she was fighting tears, but she was fighting well, for none appeared. “My sister was to go up and destroy it. You will take her place.”
I looked at Rasputina and she handed the sword to me without looking. “Follow me to the boarding rooms, I will see to it you eat and sleep, and then you will go to the elevator.”
“Yes,” I said, “Of course.”
There is little else to discuss. She led me, with hunched shoulders, through the forest until we arrived at the steel wall that must have been the side of the tower I had climbed down before. There was a sliding door set into the metal, and we entered it. The corridors were black floors and ceilings, and yellow walls. There were portraits hung, of Rasputina and Livingston, along these yellow walls. We did not see anyone as we walked these corridors, which turned and twisted, but never deviated. So that although we made sharp turns frequently, they were the only turns afforded by the architecture.
At the end of the long tunnel we came to a chamber room, which surprised me. It was not as large as the room that had held the escaped slaves, but it was similarly vast. I saw that it went straight up, and at the center of the room was a platform that was maybe twenty feet across, squared, and raised a couple hundred feet into the air. I could only see the bottom of it when we entered the room, but Rasputina called something into the air (it was in another language, I think, that I did not understand). The platform lowered, and I saw the first people I’d ever seen since we’d entered the building.
They were armed, with some of the most vicious weapons I’d seen in my entire life. Some of their armaments curled around their wrists, or glowed a bright red on their ends. “Step on,” Rasputina said. I was further transfixed by their weapons; as I stepped onto the platform with Rasputina I saw them closer, and noticed a dark mist pouring from the cracks in the plates. I would say that some of them more resembled animals than rifles, but from their shapes and the way the men held them, that the weapons were intended to kill.
The men themselves were unremarkable. There was nothing that made me think that they were unlike Rasputina, or anyone else I’d ever seen. I supposed that they were guards from their weapons, and the stances they held.
The platform rose after a second, and one of the guards, whose weapon seemed to breathe, said something to Rasputina in that language which I could not understand. She seemed to ask a question, which the guard answered. She looked over at me, and behind her amber eyes I saw a dark veil behind them, a gulf that seemed to want to pull me into it. I broke eye contact, and she said nothing.
This platform rose and then stopped. I saw a doorway across from us, and a catwalk extended across the gulf. The catwalk was most similar to the one I had seen in the room where I had directly spoken to the engine, it was only two feet across, so we had to walk single file; one guard and Rasputina ahead of me, and the two guards behind me. We stepped across it, and I looked down at the floor below. I lost my balance for a second, and one of the guards grabbed my arm and held it until I reasserted myself against gravity. “Careful,” he warned.
Rasputina turned around and asked, again in the language I could not understand, what had happened. The guard who had saved me replied, and she said, “Yes, watch your step.”
I nodded, and moved more carefully along it, until we entered that door and were again in passageways like those that we had entered from the jungle. All of our footsteps echoed loudly in my ears, and I can still hear it today, a clear succession of footfalls lasting forever in my memory.
After moving again forward and never coming to a place where we were given a choice to turn left or right, we arrived at a place where the corridor widened, and raised itself up, to admit my sight to three doors.
“You may enter through the third door,” Rasputina said. “The one on the far right.”
“Yeah,” I said, and walked to it. I opened it by twisting its knob, and found my room from earlier. The window was now welded shut, and the book Sykport was where I had left it, resting on the uneven sheets.
Next
(AUTHOR'S NOTE: Excuse me if I am becoming sloppy. This is not ending as well as I had hoped it would.)
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