Post by longstevo on Nov 12, 2012 14:00:28 GMT -5
Chapter 1
Food
Characters:
Adam
Chris
Harper
The light from the sinking sun shone blood red across the sky. It illuminated the remains of buildings, as the structures attempt to reach into the clouds, in an effort to regain their past glory. They once stood tall and proud, overlooking this city of two million people as they went about their daily life. Cars buzzed beneath their gaze, and pedestrians scaled their internal stairs and elevators. Couples walked their dogs in the central park amongst the midst of these towers, and mothers pushed their children in the swings. After work, numerous bars and pubs would host men and their friends while they consumed their alcohol, usually shouting at a TV broadcasting a sports event. And at night, even when most of the city went to sleep, it never fully rested. Police sirens could be heard throughout the night, their flashing red and blue lights casting striking colors along the corridors these buildings created. Flags continued to wave in the dark, establishing allegiance to a greater organization, the government. It was this same government that people trusted and expected to render them safe in disastrous times that betrayed them and struck them down instead.
Now the people were forced to crawl about ruins and scurry amongst destroyed remains. No more laughter resonated among the walls, and people certainly didn’t present themselves freely. There were dangers about. Some were…traditional. While other dangers came from a much more hideous origin.
The poison that once filled the air in the city was mostly gone, concentrating now in low pockets, collecting and maintaining a lethal ‘kill zone’ that suffocated anyone who approached. Bodies remained in the streets, uncollected. In many places, they were struck down in groups while one or more friends attempted a rescue. Many of these casualties came after the bombs fell. Craters still dotted the landscape throughout the entire river valley in which this city was situated.
The same industry that brought this city to power was the same industry that brought its downfall. Because of its geographical location, deep water ports were established on the river, and for that reason, other large industries rose in this location, shipping their goods and products to the ships for global distribution. But, during times of war, civilian industries are often converted to war factories. And because of this, this city was hit in the first wave of bombers.
Unlike the American army and its specialized and accurate ‘smart bombs,’ the Russian still utilized carpet bombing techniques. The Russians did possess highly technical and accurate smart bombs as well, but those planes were deployed to counter military targets. Old Cold War technology was chosen to destroy the industrial sites, so carpet bombers produced wholesale devastation and destruction. Once the city had been bombed into submission, as if it had ever posed an active resistance threat, the gas was deployed next. For months, yellow poison inhalant floated through the broken streets. The death toll was staggering. But, the city’s people proved their strength.
When the Russians moved in after the air cleared itself, they began work to repair the industries for their own purpose. A resistance quickly formed. The crafty American insurgents chased off the Russian armor and air superiority. But the victory was not long lived. The Americans were rewarded with a low yield nuclear bomb. After facing humiliation at the hands of the locals, the Russians wrote the city off as ‘LOST’ and strove for total devastation. The shockwave ripped buildings to shreds and disintegrated anyone unfortunate enough to be outside when it hit. The survivors of the shockwave were roasted in 6000 degree heat that followed. Those who were outside of the immediate impact zone were thrust into a nuclear winter.
That was eight years ago.
But once again, the American people survived. But they didn’t always survive for the better. Instead of a resurgence of the city and the beginning of a state of rebuilding, gangs of bandits and thieves roam the land. Outlaws take for their own, preying upon the weak and struggling. Everyday life has become a struggle to survive. And that’s on the good days. The bad days include fighting and combat to strive off hunger and dehydration. There are no shortages of those who will kill for their own survival.
In fact, there are no shortages of those who will kill period.
--
Adam peered through the window that looked down upon a community park. The merry go round stood still while the swings rocked gently in the breeze. The trees in the park were alive somehow. Adam didn’t understand the effects of a nuclear winter of a 6 kiloton blast, but he did understand the death and devastation it created.
He was twelve when the big one hit. He had survived the carpet bombings and the military battles that ensued, and therefore he was used to warplanes and explosions. But the afternoon of the big one, something was clearly not usual.
Instead of waves of bombers and helicopters and artillery, the residents were greeted to a single aircraft screaming through the sky. Eyes turned skyward, and a jet bomber cruised overhead innocently enough. It flew over the entire city once, before circling around and making another pass. Those who were watching saw the bomb drop, although many didn’t realize what it was. Others were hurrying their loved ones into bomb shelters and basements.
Adam’s father was ex military, and after twenty years in the service and several combat tours, had built a shelter underneath the house stocked with month’s worth of supplies. Friends and family called him paranoid and slightly crazy. And then the Russians arrived. Adam’s father had taken an active role in the insurgency against the Russians and had somehow survived. And when thousands were watching the single jet drop a single bomb, his father was rushing him into the shelter.
They never heard it detonate, at least, not at first. But even through the closed door and windowless walls, the dark basement lit up as if the sun had rose upon the eastern wall. It was blinding, and the father and son sheltered themselves in each other’s embrace. They stayed there for months, weathering out the nuclear storm that set in on their valley.
--
Adam watched the windows that surrounded this park. Any sign of movement was a red flag for danger. But everything was quiet. He glanced to the pack at his feet. The ragged old Army pack was sitting full of canned food gathered from an apartment at the top floor of the building he was now sitting in. After the war, food stores were quickly ransacked and rendered empty. Fresh fruit and vegetables were out of the question, and so people had taken to pillaging just to survive.
Adam looked now at his hands. Black gloves without fingers wrapped their way around his skin. The dark fabric couldn’t hide the blood stains from past escapades. He had taken from those who could defend themselves. But they didn’t defend themselves well enough. The law of this land was simple.
“If you want something that another man has, you take it. If he wants it bad enough, he’ll keep it.”
Adam made his living by wanting things more than their owners did.
He thought to the old man at the top floor of this apartment complex. He didn’t want this food as much as Adam did. He acted like he did, brandishing an old Marine Corps bayonet, but Adam was faster. His mind wandered to the feel of the old man slipping way, his windpipe crushing beneath the younger man’s strong hands.
“How do things look down there?” the question was hissed from the doorway. Adam’s friend, Chris, knelt just inside with his head peeking out, keeping an eye on anyone attempting to get the jump on them.
“Clear,” Adam whispered back, “Let’s go.”
Adam left the window and rejoined Christ. The apartment they were currently in was third story, and based on the décor and furniture, had once belonged to a young couple with a child. Adam stopped for a moment and admired a family photo on the wall. The couple held their one year old child between them in a park. Most likely the park they were about to enter below them. For a second, Adam wondered what had happened to the small family.
He squeezed Chris on the shoulder and gently pushed him into the hallway. Chris stood and raised an old hunting shotgun in front of him and made his way down the hall.
--
The two of them knelt at the exit and peered outside. Still nothing moved. Despite that, they maintained their position concealed at the entrance to the apartment for nearly ten minutes. They were playing the deadly game of cat and mouse. And more often than not, the breaking point in this high stakes game was the patience of the predator. These two young men were not predators in this game.
Predators came in many different groups, but generally they came down to common outlaws and then ex military. Ex military were the most dangerous. They relied on their years of training and skills and often maintained equipment that they used to use in the field. State of the art assault rifles, sniper weapons and a basic understanding of explosions made these killers most formidable. They usually ran in groups and usually possessed some sort of mass casualty weapon like a machine gun. But what was worst, is they knew how to employ basic and advanced military tactics. The group here in this town adopted the name The Renegades.
Basic bandits were usually just a few guys with guns or other weapons. They mobbed their victims, sometimes running them down for the kill. They possessed no military training or weapons. Despite the lack of supplies or experience, they made up for it with inhuman savagery. These outlaws adopted no name because they had a lack of organization.
Every now and then the two groups would clash. A basic confrontation would usually follow a normal format. The bandits would open fire only to be overwhelmed by the ex military. The bandits would scatter like rats, and those that were trapped would be ruthlessly slaughtered.
Adam and Chris knew from personal experience that both groups were lethal. But the Renegades were the worst. They were patient and smart. They would wait out their target for hours if need be, while the outlaws would lose interest and attack.
And then there were the Others. Adam shuddered to think about what would happen during a run in with one of them.
Things looked quiet today. Adam looked both ways once more, turned and nodded to Chris. They crept out the door and turned left, making their way south. Silence was their friend, as frantic footsteps that running caused might as well be an alarm.
Slowly they made their way down the street, keeping their eyes on rooftops, windows, alleys and doorways. They were surrounded by fifteen story buildings, but just to the south was a railroad bridge and the river. From there, they could quickly make their way east and to relative safety. But they had to get by this urban nightmare first.
The windows behind Adam exploded and shattered, and he and Chris dove to the ground. A shot rang out from across the park. So much for stealth. Both men leapt to their feet and sprinted down the sidewalk. They only had a hundred yards to go before they were out of the city park.
Another shot sounded to their right. Adam didn’t know where the bullet hit. He passed a burnt out hulk of a car but didn’t slow down. He heard the passenger door crunch behind him, and a third shot broke the afternoon silence, followed by a fourth shot.
Fifty more feet, and Adam hurdled a trash can. His worn boots pounded the pavement as he crossed the street. He jumped onto the curb and took cover behind the corner of an old hotel. His heart pounded in his ears and the blood rushed through his body. That was a close one. He looked back at Chris, but his friend wasn’t there.
He looked down the street where the two had come from, and to his horror, Chris lay on the street, just on the other side of the destroyed car. He was still and unmoving. Adam cursed aloud. The shotgun was laying next to Chris’ side and out in the open. There was no way Adam could get to it.
“You damn fool!” he whispered to himself. Weapons were extremely difficult to come by. With that thought, his hand drifted to the 9mm he had on his side. That weapon had come at the cost of a lethal struggle with a Renegade. For some reason, the ex soldier had been alone, and Adam had risked a confrontation. Somehow he had come out on top and this sidearm, and his life, had been the reward.
“Dam nit Chris!” Adam cursed again. He found himself angry at his friend. Not for the fact that he was laying motionless on the ground, but because of the loss of the shotgun. “F uck!” Adam clinched his fists. He could think of only one thing to do.
--
For the second time this afternoon he found himself crouched in a building and watching the outside, except this time he was in the lobby of the hotel, watching Chris’ fallen body. The shotgun was laying in the street on the side the shooting came from, and Adam was betting on the shooter coming to claim the firearm for his own. He was betting that the shooter thought he had left the area.
Adam waited thirty minutes, and then an hour. He was kneeling behind the drapes in the lobby, peering through the separation between the fabric. It was getting late in the afternoon, and the shadows began to stretch long. Suddenly, Adam’s view went black. And in a second, it was clear again. His heart leapt into his throat as he realized someone was right outside. Was it the shooter? An accomplice? Someone else entirely? He couldn’t know. He risked a peek, and pulled the drapes to one side just an inch.
The man faced away from him. The first thing Adam noticed was a rifle was slung across the man’s shoulder. He was most definitely the shooter. Adam ran through a quick scenario, and figured the shooter had fired on them from a building on the west side of the park, then took an hour circling around to the south before coming up on the east side of the hotel in an attempt to retrieve the shotgun. It was quite the prize indeed. A prize that Adam wasn’t going to give up easily.
Leaving the army pack in the lobby, Adam crept through the lobby until he reached the doors. He had left them ajar in case he needed to leave quickly, and this in came handy, allowing him to slip through without a sound. His worn boots were soft and broken, keeping quiet on the asphalt road. He saw the man slowly closing to within ten yards of Chris’ body. Adam approached, keeping the car in between them.
The man was holding a sidearm in front of him, forsaking the use of the rifle. Was it out of rounds? Broken? By now Adam was kneeling behind the car. From here, he could size up the shooter easily. He was short and slender, despite an oversized green jacket. Worn jeans fell over tennis shoes, and a ball cap sat atop his head. Long hair flowed down, partially covering the rifle. He knelt down and silently picked up the shotgun.
Adam swept around the side of the car, pistol in hand and closed the gap between the two with lightning speed. He cracked the shooter across the skull with the butt of his pistol, and he went down immediately. Adam stood over the two bodies for a moment to ensure the shooter was incapacitated.
First, he nudged Chris. No movement. He felt for a pulse, and noticed immediately that the skin was cold. Chris was dead. He went through his friend’s pockets and took from him his knife, a candy bar and stripped the jacket from the dead man’s back.
He turned his attention to the shooter and thought for a moment about slitting his throat. He had tried to kill him and did kill his friend after all. Knowing this, Adam turned the body over to see the identity of who tried to slay him…
…and found out that the shooter in fact was a woman. It didn’t surprise Adam all that much. Nothing really surprised him anymore. He did hesitate for a moment though, expecting what he thought was a tough, experienced killer and instead finding a woman. She had long, brown, unkempt hair. She looked young; not much younger than Adam himself. As he peered down on her, he realized that she appeared pretty enough. A small scar was dominant on her right cheek. Her eyes fluttered for a second before remaining closed.
Adam began to go through her pockets but stopped himself. Something about it seemed…wrong. He wasn’t sure why. He’d pilfered pockets, stolen, murdered, but going through this woman’s pockets seemed wrong. He stopped himself when he looked back at her face and found himself staring into her open eyes.
She seemed fully alert and was focusing on his eyes in return. Adam reached for the pistol on his belt, but the young woman didn’t move. They stared at each other for what seemed like minutes, but couldn’t have been more than seconds. She moved to get herself up and Adam raised a fist as if to strike her. She paused for just a split moment before continuing her upwards motion. She was challenging him, and she won.
Now sitting up, Adam could see that she was in fact attractive. She was down trodden, dirty and grimy, but underneath all the filth, there was a pretty girl there. She reached back and rubbed the back of her skull where the pistol had struck her and winced. Adam leaned back on his knee, keeping an eye on this woman.
Another moment of silence passed between them before Adam spoke, “Who are you, and why did you shoot him?” He thumbed in the direction of Chris.
She grimaced again and brought her hand forward. She looked up at him straight into the eyes.
“I didn’t shoot at you. Nor did I shoot him,” she motioned with a flick of her hand at Chris, “I was in the hotel when I heard the shooting. Your attacker was across the park, on the west side in those apartments,” she motioned that way, “I fired at him once. I don’t know if I hit him or not. I came down here to check on your friend.”
Adam looked at her, and then at Chris, “Well he’s dead.”
The woman pressed her lips together in response.
Adam looked around, pausing his survey towards the apartments to the west. There was still no movement, but a good sniper wouldn’t be moving. With the singular attack, and the counter fire of this woman, and the fact that they weren’t dead currently pointed to the possibility of the attacker being a random bandit. Adam looked towards the darkening sky.
“It’s getting late,” he mentioned, rising to his feet.
The woman nodded and rose to her own feet, adjusting the rifle on her back. Adam reached down for the shotgun and took note of the rifle.
“Remington Model 700. Chambered in…” he studied a moment, “.308?”
She nodded curtly.
“Where’d you get your hands on that?”
She nodded towards the shotgun on the ground, “Where you get that?”
Adam looked down at the shotgun. He got his hands on that by killing a teenager who was shooting at him. Afterwards, he had raided the youth’s survival closet for whatever food he could find and left the body bleeding in the living room.
Adam snatched the shotgun up and turned to leave.
“You won’t make it out there. It’s getting dark,”
Adam paused in his steps, but didn’t turn back.
“You’ll never survive. There’ve been more sightings of the Others recently,”
Adam looked at the ground. He knew this. He’s seen one himself. She was right. He was a long way from home.
“You can stay with me for the night, and then leave in the morning. We’ll be safe here,”
Adam looked down at Chris. He couldn’t trust this woman. For all he knew, she was the one firing, and now she’s leading him into a trap. He’d end up like Chris after all the effort he spent on staying alive, he felt as if he were about to make a bad decision.
She stepped around Adam and reached down for Chris, “Come on, help me with him.”
--
Her name was Harper. She had come from the city south of the river. Somehow she had survived the carpet bombings, conflicts and A-bomb. All of her family were killed in one instance or the other. She had nothing left, and seeing that life was pretty horrible in a nuclear zone, she began working her way north. She had heard through certain circles that there was a place to the east that was unaffected by war. Personally, she thought it was pretty slim. Before the media channels went off the air, it had sounded like the Russians had brought all they had to the states. There were confirmed nuclear impacts in San Francisco, L.A., Chicago, Washington DC and New York. She heard that broadcast the morning the bomb fell on her own city. She had been living north of the river for two years, struggling to survive. She had somehow been scratching out a living in the hotel. Somehow she’d managed to remain unseen, feeding on irradiated fish from the river and eating bugs. She had stolen the rifle from an outlaw. He had parked his hill billy truck at a store and went inside. She’d taken the opportunity to steal the rifle. The outlaw had come back out of the store and was drawing his pistol on her as she was exiting the truck. She shot him with his own gun.
Adam was impressed, although he didn’t let it show on his face. They were sitting on the floor of her hotel room; the bed leaned against the door for security. They were six stories up. Adam thought they might be safe enough. He worried that someone might follow them into the hotel, but he was counting on them losing track of them in the hundreds of rooms inside.
The two had laid Chris in the back of a car that was parked in the parking garage underneath a mothballed tarp. They had no time to bury him, but it seemed better than leaving him in the street. They grabbed Adam’s pack and made it up to her room.
It was there that Adam pressed her for answers. She didn’t talk much. She was two years younger than Adam’s twenty one. He remembered jokes from the old world about how teenage girls were impossible to stop from talking, their shopping habits, and relative immaturity. But Harper was different. Obviously this harsh world had hardened her personality. She was as grown up as anyone gets around here, and at 19, she had already lived past life expectation projections.
Adam leaned against the corner and opened a can of peaches. Harper sat against the opposite wall and watched him slurp a syrup coated half into his mouth. He chewed while a drop of syrup leaked down his chin. He fingered another half from the can and ate that one too. Harper looked away and hugged her knees. The sky was now illuminated with just the last rays of the day’s light.
Adam finally swallowed the mouthful of peaches he was chewing and set the can down on the carpet floor. He pointed to it and then to Harper. She relocated to sitting near to him on the same wall and helped herself to one half. While chewing, she offered the can back to Adam, who waved it off.
“Finish it,”
Adam felt himself begin to drift off, feeling oddly comfortable here. He woke himself up with a start, causing Harper to jump to her feet. The Remington rifle was already in her hands. The two stared at each other wide eyed. Each one had been startled by the other. Adam raised his hands up, palms out. Harper gently lowered the rifle.
Suddenly, they both broke into a laughter. The situation itself was alien to both of them, and each one was on edge, but something was funny about it. They laughed quietly, and Harper sat back down.
They exchanged small talk for a bit longer; nothing important. They spoke of the latest rumors they had heard. Seattle was a safe zone. Seattle was blown away. The mountains were the best bet with safe water. The mountains were infested with mutated animals and murderous mountain men. America had won the war and the army would be here to rescue them. America had lost, and it’d be a matter of time before the Russians arrived.
Adam kicked his feet out, cross his arms and felt his eye lids grow heavy. Before he knew it, Harper had positioned herself against his body and draped a threadbare blanket over the both of them. She cuddled up on his arm, resting her head on his shoulder.
“I’m tired of being cold at night,” was all she said. Adam stared at the door, uncomfortable. But she was right. The warmth of her body melted into him, and her rhythmic breathing put him at ease.
They were both asleep in minutes.
--
Food
Characters:
Adam
Chris
Harper
The light from the sinking sun shone blood red across the sky. It illuminated the remains of buildings, as the structures attempt to reach into the clouds, in an effort to regain their past glory. They once stood tall and proud, overlooking this city of two million people as they went about their daily life. Cars buzzed beneath their gaze, and pedestrians scaled their internal stairs and elevators. Couples walked their dogs in the central park amongst the midst of these towers, and mothers pushed their children in the swings. After work, numerous bars and pubs would host men and their friends while they consumed their alcohol, usually shouting at a TV broadcasting a sports event. And at night, even when most of the city went to sleep, it never fully rested. Police sirens could be heard throughout the night, their flashing red and blue lights casting striking colors along the corridors these buildings created. Flags continued to wave in the dark, establishing allegiance to a greater organization, the government. It was this same government that people trusted and expected to render them safe in disastrous times that betrayed them and struck them down instead.
Now the people were forced to crawl about ruins and scurry amongst destroyed remains. No more laughter resonated among the walls, and people certainly didn’t present themselves freely. There were dangers about. Some were…traditional. While other dangers came from a much more hideous origin.
The poison that once filled the air in the city was mostly gone, concentrating now in low pockets, collecting and maintaining a lethal ‘kill zone’ that suffocated anyone who approached. Bodies remained in the streets, uncollected. In many places, they were struck down in groups while one or more friends attempted a rescue. Many of these casualties came after the bombs fell. Craters still dotted the landscape throughout the entire river valley in which this city was situated.
The same industry that brought this city to power was the same industry that brought its downfall. Because of its geographical location, deep water ports were established on the river, and for that reason, other large industries rose in this location, shipping their goods and products to the ships for global distribution. But, during times of war, civilian industries are often converted to war factories. And because of this, this city was hit in the first wave of bombers.
Unlike the American army and its specialized and accurate ‘smart bombs,’ the Russian still utilized carpet bombing techniques. The Russians did possess highly technical and accurate smart bombs as well, but those planes were deployed to counter military targets. Old Cold War technology was chosen to destroy the industrial sites, so carpet bombers produced wholesale devastation and destruction. Once the city had been bombed into submission, as if it had ever posed an active resistance threat, the gas was deployed next. For months, yellow poison inhalant floated through the broken streets. The death toll was staggering. But, the city’s people proved their strength.
When the Russians moved in after the air cleared itself, they began work to repair the industries for their own purpose. A resistance quickly formed. The crafty American insurgents chased off the Russian armor and air superiority. But the victory was not long lived. The Americans were rewarded with a low yield nuclear bomb. After facing humiliation at the hands of the locals, the Russians wrote the city off as ‘LOST’ and strove for total devastation. The shockwave ripped buildings to shreds and disintegrated anyone unfortunate enough to be outside when it hit. The survivors of the shockwave were roasted in 6000 degree heat that followed. Those who were outside of the immediate impact zone were thrust into a nuclear winter.
That was eight years ago.
But once again, the American people survived. But they didn’t always survive for the better. Instead of a resurgence of the city and the beginning of a state of rebuilding, gangs of bandits and thieves roam the land. Outlaws take for their own, preying upon the weak and struggling. Everyday life has become a struggle to survive. And that’s on the good days. The bad days include fighting and combat to strive off hunger and dehydration. There are no shortages of those who will kill for their own survival.
In fact, there are no shortages of those who will kill period.
--
Adam peered through the window that looked down upon a community park. The merry go round stood still while the swings rocked gently in the breeze. The trees in the park were alive somehow. Adam didn’t understand the effects of a nuclear winter of a 6 kiloton blast, but he did understand the death and devastation it created.
He was twelve when the big one hit. He had survived the carpet bombings and the military battles that ensued, and therefore he was used to warplanes and explosions. But the afternoon of the big one, something was clearly not usual.
Instead of waves of bombers and helicopters and artillery, the residents were greeted to a single aircraft screaming through the sky. Eyes turned skyward, and a jet bomber cruised overhead innocently enough. It flew over the entire city once, before circling around and making another pass. Those who were watching saw the bomb drop, although many didn’t realize what it was. Others were hurrying their loved ones into bomb shelters and basements.
Adam’s father was ex military, and after twenty years in the service and several combat tours, had built a shelter underneath the house stocked with month’s worth of supplies. Friends and family called him paranoid and slightly crazy. And then the Russians arrived. Adam’s father had taken an active role in the insurgency against the Russians and had somehow survived. And when thousands were watching the single jet drop a single bomb, his father was rushing him into the shelter.
They never heard it detonate, at least, not at first. But even through the closed door and windowless walls, the dark basement lit up as if the sun had rose upon the eastern wall. It was blinding, and the father and son sheltered themselves in each other’s embrace. They stayed there for months, weathering out the nuclear storm that set in on their valley.
--
Adam watched the windows that surrounded this park. Any sign of movement was a red flag for danger. But everything was quiet. He glanced to the pack at his feet. The ragged old Army pack was sitting full of canned food gathered from an apartment at the top floor of the building he was now sitting in. After the war, food stores were quickly ransacked and rendered empty. Fresh fruit and vegetables were out of the question, and so people had taken to pillaging just to survive.
Adam looked now at his hands. Black gloves without fingers wrapped their way around his skin. The dark fabric couldn’t hide the blood stains from past escapades. He had taken from those who could defend themselves. But they didn’t defend themselves well enough. The law of this land was simple.
“If you want something that another man has, you take it. If he wants it bad enough, he’ll keep it.”
Adam made his living by wanting things more than their owners did.
He thought to the old man at the top floor of this apartment complex. He didn’t want this food as much as Adam did. He acted like he did, brandishing an old Marine Corps bayonet, but Adam was faster. His mind wandered to the feel of the old man slipping way, his windpipe crushing beneath the younger man’s strong hands.
“How do things look down there?” the question was hissed from the doorway. Adam’s friend, Chris, knelt just inside with his head peeking out, keeping an eye on anyone attempting to get the jump on them.
“Clear,” Adam whispered back, “Let’s go.”
Adam left the window and rejoined Christ. The apartment they were currently in was third story, and based on the décor and furniture, had once belonged to a young couple with a child. Adam stopped for a moment and admired a family photo on the wall. The couple held their one year old child between them in a park. Most likely the park they were about to enter below them. For a second, Adam wondered what had happened to the small family.
He squeezed Chris on the shoulder and gently pushed him into the hallway. Chris stood and raised an old hunting shotgun in front of him and made his way down the hall.
--
The two of them knelt at the exit and peered outside. Still nothing moved. Despite that, they maintained their position concealed at the entrance to the apartment for nearly ten minutes. They were playing the deadly game of cat and mouse. And more often than not, the breaking point in this high stakes game was the patience of the predator. These two young men were not predators in this game.
Predators came in many different groups, but generally they came down to common outlaws and then ex military. Ex military were the most dangerous. They relied on their years of training and skills and often maintained equipment that they used to use in the field. State of the art assault rifles, sniper weapons and a basic understanding of explosions made these killers most formidable. They usually ran in groups and usually possessed some sort of mass casualty weapon like a machine gun. But what was worst, is they knew how to employ basic and advanced military tactics. The group here in this town adopted the name The Renegades.
Basic bandits were usually just a few guys with guns or other weapons. They mobbed their victims, sometimes running them down for the kill. They possessed no military training or weapons. Despite the lack of supplies or experience, they made up for it with inhuman savagery. These outlaws adopted no name because they had a lack of organization.
Every now and then the two groups would clash. A basic confrontation would usually follow a normal format. The bandits would open fire only to be overwhelmed by the ex military. The bandits would scatter like rats, and those that were trapped would be ruthlessly slaughtered.
Adam and Chris knew from personal experience that both groups were lethal. But the Renegades were the worst. They were patient and smart. They would wait out their target for hours if need be, while the outlaws would lose interest and attack.
And then there were the Others. Adam shuddered to think about what would happen during a run in with one of them.
Things looked quiet today. Adam looked both ways once more, turned and nodded to Chris. They crept out the door and turned left, making their way south. Silence was their friend, as frantic footsteps that running caused might as well be an alarm.
Slowly they made their way down the street, keeping their eyes on rooftops, windows, alleys and doorways. They were surrounded by fifteen story buildings, but just to the south was a railroad bridge and the river. From there, they could quickly make their way east and to relative safety. But they had to get by this urban nightmare first.
The windows behind Adam exploded and shattered, and he and Chris dove to the ground. A shot rang out from across the park. So much for stealth. Both men leapt to their feet and sprinted down the sidewalk. They only had a hundred yards to go before they were out of the city park.
Another shot sounded to their right. Adam didn’t know where the bullet hit. He passed a burnt out hulk of a car but didn’t slow down. He heard the passenger door crunch behind him, and a third shot broke the afternoon silence, followed by a fourth shot.
Fifty more feet, and Adam hurdled a trash can. His worn boots pounded the pavement as he crossed the street. He jumped onto the curb and took cover behind the corner of an old hotel. His heart pounded in his ears and the blood rushed through his body. That was a close one. He looked back at Chris, but his friend wasn’t there.
He looked down the street where the two had come from, and to his horror, Chris lay on the street, just on the other side of the destroyed car. He was still and unmoving. Adam cursed aloud. The shotgun was laying next to Chris’ side and out in the open. There was no way Adam could get to it.
“You damn fool!” he whispered to himself. Weapons were extremely difficult to come by. With that thought, his hand drifted to the 9mm he had on his side. That weapon had come at the cost of a lethal struggle with a Renegade. For some reason, the ex soldier had been alone, and Adam had risked a confrontation. Somehow he had come out on top and this sidearm, and his life, had been the reward.
“Dam nit Chris!” Adam cursed again. He found himself angry at his friend. Not for the fact that he was laying motionless on the ground, but because of the loss of the shotgun. “F uck!” Adam clinched his fists. He could think of only one thing to do.
--
For the second time this afternoon he found himself crouched in a building and watching the outside, except this time he was in the lobby of the hotel, watching Chris’ fallen body. The shotgun was laying in the street on the side the shooting came from, and Adam was betting on the shooter coming to claim the firearm for his own. He was betting that the shooter thought he had left the area.
Adam waited thirty minutes, and then an hour. He was kneeling behind the drapes in the lobby, peering through the separation between the fabric. It was getting late in the afternoon, and the shadows began to stretch long. Suddenly, Adam’s view went black. And in a second, it was clear again. His heart leapt into his throat as he realized someone was right outside. Was it the shooter? An accomplice? Someone else entirely? He couldn’t know. He risked a peek, and pulled the drapes to one side just an inch.
The man faced away from him. The first thing Adam noticed was a rifle was slung across the man’s shoulder. He was most definitely the shooter. Adam ran through a quick scenario, and figured the shooter had fired on them from a building on the west side of the park, then took an hour circling around to the south before coming up on the east side of the hotel in an attempt to retrieve the shotgun. It was quite the prize indeed. A prize that Adam wasn’t going to give up easily.
Leaving the army pack in the lobby, Adam crept through the lobby until he reached the doors. He had left them ajar in case he needed to leave quickly, and this in came handy, allowing him to slip through without a sound. His worn boots were soft and broken, keeping quiet on the asphalt road. He saw the man slowly closing to within ten yards of Chris’ body. Adam approached, keeping the car in between them.
The man was holding a sidearm in front of him, forsaking the use of the rifle. Was it out of rounds? Broken? By now Adam was kneeling behind the car. From here, he could size up the shooter easily. He was short and slender, despite an oversized green jacket. Worn jeans fell over tennis shoes, and a ball cap sat atop his head. Long hair flowed down, partially covering the rifle. He knelt down and silently picked up the shotgun.
Adam swept around the side of the car, pistol in hand and closed the gap between the two with lightning speed. He cracked the shooter across the skull with the butt of his pistol, and he went down immediately. Adam stood over the two bodies for a moment to ensure the shooter was incapacitated.
First, he nudged Chris. No movement. He felt for a pulse, and noticed immediately that the skin was cold. Chris was dead. He went through his friend’s pockets and took from him his knife, a candy bar and stripped the jacket from the dead man’s back.
He turned his attention to the shooter and thought for a moment about slitting his throat. He had tried to kill him and did kill his friend after all. Knowing this, Adam turned the body over to see the identity of who tried to slay him…
…and found out that the shooter in fact was a woman. It didn’t surprise Adam all that much. Nothing really surprised him anymore. He did hesitate for a moment though, expecting what he thought was a tough, experienced killer and instead finding a woman. She had long, brown, unkempt hair. She looked young; not much younger than Adam himself. As he peered down on her, he realized that she appeared pretty enough. A small scar was dominant on her right cheek. Her eyes fluttered for a second before remaining closed.
Adam began to go through her pockets but stopped himself. Something about it seemed…wrong. He wasn’t sure why. He’d pilfered pockets, stolen, murdered, but going through this woman’s pockets seemed wrong. He stopped himself when he looked back at her face and found himself staring into her open eyes.
She seemed fully alert and was focusing on his eyes in return. Adam reached for the pistol on his belt, but the young woman didn’t move. They stared at each other for what seemed like minutes, but couldn’t have been more than seconds. She moved to get herself up and Adam raised a fist as if to strike her. She paused for just a split moment before continuing her upwards motion. She was challenging him, and she won.
Now sitting up, Adam could see that she was in fact attractive. She was down trodden, dirty and grimy, but underneath all the filth, there was a pretty girl there. She reached back and rubbed the back of her skull where the pistol had struck her and winced. Adam leaned back on his knee, keeping an eye on this woman.
Another moment of silence passed between them before Adam spoke, “Who are you, and why did you shoot him?” He thumbed in the direction of Chris.
She grimaced again and brought her hand forward. She looked up at him straight into the eyes.
“I didn’t shoot at you. Nor did I shoot him,” she motioned with a flick of her hand at Chris, “I was in the hotel when I heard the shooting. Your attacker was across the park, on the west side in those apartments,” she motioned that way, “I fired at him once. I don’t know if I hit him or not. I came down here to check on your friend.”
Adam looked at her, and then at Chris, “Well he’s dead.”
The woman pressed her lips together in response.
Adam looked around, pausing his survey towards the apartments to the west. There was still no movement, but a good sniper wouldn’t be moving. With the singular attack, and the counter fire of this woman, and the fact that they weren’t dead currently pointed to the possibility of the attacker being a random bandit. Adam looked towards the darkening sky.
“It’s getting late,” he mentioned, rising to his feet.
The woman nodded and rose to her own feet, adjusting the rifle on her back. Adam reached down for the shotgun and took note of the rifle.
“Remington Model 700. Chambered in…” he studied a moment, “.308?”
She nodded curtly.
“Where’d you get your hands on that?”
She nodded towards the shotgun on the ground, “Where you get that?”
Adam looked down at the shotgun. He got his hands on that by killing a teenager who was shooting at him. Afterwards, he had raided the youth’s survival closet for whatever food he could find and left the body bleeding in the living room.
Adam snatched the shotgun up and turned to leave.
“You won’t make it out there. It’s getting dark,”
Adam paused in his steps, but didn’t turn back.
“You’ll never survive. There’ve been more sightings of the Others recently,”
Adam looked at the ground. He knew this. He’s seen one himself. She was right. He was a long way from home.
“You can stay with me for the night, and then leave in the morning. We’ll be safe here,”
Adam looked down at Chris. He couldn’t trust this woman. For all he knew, she was the one firing, and now she’s leading him into a trap. He’d end up like Chris after all the effort he spent on staying alive, he felt as if he were about to make a bad decision.
She stepped around Adam and reached down for Chris, “Come on, help me with him.”
--
Her name was Harper. She had come from the city south of the river. Somehow she had survived the carpet bombings, conflicts and A-bomb. All of her family were killed in one instance or the other. She had nothing left, and seeing that life was pretty horrible in a nuclear zone, she began working her way north. She had heard through certain circles that there was a place to the east that was unaffected by war. Personally, she thought it was pretty slim. Before the media channels went off the air, it had sounded like the Russians had brought all they had to the states. There were confirmed nuclear impacts in San Francisco, L.A., Chicago, Washington DC and New York. She heard that broadcast the morning the bomb fell on her own city. She had been living north of the river for two years, struggling to survive. She had somehow been scratching out a living in the hotel. Somehow she’d managed to remain unseen, feeding on irradiated fish from the river and eating bugs. She had stolen the rifle from an outlaw. He had parked his hill billy truck at a store and went inside. She’d taken the opportunity to steal the rifle. The outlaw had come back out of the store and was drawing his pistol on her as she was exiting the truck. She shot him with his own gun.
Adam was impressed, although he didn’t let it show on his face. They were sitting on the floor of her hotel room; the bed leaned against the door for security. They were six stories up. Adam thought they might be safe enough. He worried that someone might follow them into the hotel, but he was counting on them losing track of them in the hundreds of rooms inside.
The two had laid Chris in the back of a car that was parked in the parking garage underneath a mothballed tarp. They had no time to bury him, but it seemed better than leaving him in the street. They grabbed Adam’s pack and made it up to her room.
It was there that Adam pressed her for answers. She didn’t talk much. She was two years younger than Adam’s twenty one. He remembered jokes from the old world about how teenage girls were impossible to stop from talking, their shopping habits, and relative immaturity. But Harper was different. Obviously this harsh world had hardened her personality. She was as grown up as anyone gets around here, and at 19, she had already lived past life expectation projections.
Adam leaned against the corner and opened a can of peaches. Harper sat against the opposite wall and watched him slurp a syrup coated half into his mouth. He chewed while a drop of syrup leaked down his chin. He fingered another half from the can and ate that one too. Harper looked away and hugged her knees. The sky was now illuminated with just the last rays of the day’s light.
Adam finally swallowed the mouthful of peaches he was chewing and set the can down on the carpet floor. He pointed to it and then to Harper. She relocated to sitting near to him on the same wall and helped herself to one half. While chewing, she offered the can back to Adam, who waved it off.
“Finish it,”
Adam felt himself begin to drift off, feeling oddly comfortable here. He woke himself up with a start, causing Harper to jump to her feet. The Remington rifle was already in her hands. The two stared at each other wide eyed. Each one had been startled by the other. Adam raised his hands up, palms out. Harper gently lowered the rifle.
Suddenly, they both broke into a laughter. The situation itself was alien to both of them, and each one was on edge, but something was funny about it. They laughed quietly, and Harper sat back down.
They exchanged small talk for a bit longer; nothing important. They spoke of the latest rumors they had heard. Seattle was a safe zone. Seattle was blown away. The mountains were the best bet with safe water. The mountains were infested with mutated animals and murderous mountain men. America had won the war and the army would be here to rescue them. America had lost, and it’d be a matter of time before the Russians arrived.
Adam kicked his feet out, cross his arms and felt his eye lids grow heavy. Before he knew it, Harper had positioned herself against his body and draped a threadbare blanket over the both of them. She cuddled up on his arm, resting her head on his shoulder.
“I’m tired of being cold at night,” was all she said. Adam stared at the door, uncomfortable. But she was right. The warmth of her body melted into him, and her rhythmic breathing put him at ease.
They were both asleep in minutes.
--