Slaughter Posted March 12, 2005 Share Posted March 12, 2005 This is one of the contributions to a fan-fiction contest we had some time ago. It used to be a part of the Aftermath site, and will soon be part of the StrategyCore site. In the meantime I'm posting it here. Written by Skonar. The public telephone handset hung loosely from itscable. It hummed helplessly. No one seemed to careanymore.A young man came around the corner, bandana tiedaround his head, rifle held loosely in his left handwhile he checked each phone's card slot or coin returncup. He paused to stare up at the murky sun, tear thebandana from his head and wipe away the sweat."I think, I think it's gonna happen again. It'sdarker than it was yesterday. It's hotter, too."Another slightly older man rounded the corner,keeping the muzzle of his own rifle, black and sleek,low. He watched the corners, eyes sweeping overdessicated and dead trees, abandoned cars, the stillflickers of sunlight on broken building windows."Hush up" The older man hissed, watching the streetscarefully.The young man frowned, taking hold of his rifle'sbarrel, setting the stock against the ground, leaningon it. "There's nothing here, old man. Stop trying toscare me, let's just try and find some food before wehave to go back to the others."The older man shook his head, lowering his rifleslightly. "You quit worrying about that, and you justthink about them. The enemy."The young man shook his head, his face crumpling withmisery. He continued along the row of phones, checkingeach one. "I don't wanna find any of those things, oldman. I just wanna eat tonight.""Like I said. Quit your whining. We haven't run outof food yet, and we're sentries, not foragers." A gust of wind whispered down the street. In thebuilding across the street, broken shards of glasswere disturbed in their windowpanes. Fragile sliverstumbled free, scattering light as they fell. Old woodcrunched, the sound filtering through the windows andinto the streets below.Both men looked up. The older began across thestreet, sweeping his eyes across the urban landscapeintently."It's probably nothing. The wind just disturbedsomething. ... Damnit! Don't leave me here" The office block was a tomb. Bulletin boards postedup with department memos and ads told the story assurely as any grave marker or epitaph. Instantphotographs pinned up of flashing lights in the sky.News clippings, photographs of the dimming sky. Imagesof the alien spores as they grew and multiplied in theclouds, drifted to earth like a steadily expandingbiological rain. Beyond that it was as empty as thechoking nothingness the world had become.Life stirred, and boarded-over plate glass windowslost one board, dull orange sunlight stabbing through,illuminating motes of dust. More boards were pulledaway, until the balcony door could be opened. The older man tucked a crowbar back into his rucksackand slung it over his shoulders. Picked up his rifle,and advanced through.The young man pulled himself up the fire escape afterthe older man, rifle hanging from his back. "Weshouldn't be here," he whispered.The older man stalked down the rows of desks,ignoring the dead computer terminals, the abandonedlitter, the shaggy rags slumped in a chair that hadonce been a body.The young man stepped through after the older man,touching the dusty keyboards as he went past. "I wasstudying to do computer engineering," he whispered.His gaze moved on. His breath caught in his throat ashe saw what had passed for a human being once. The older man continued on, pulled open the corridordoorway. He stepped on into the gloom even as theyoung man ran after him. The older man counteddoorways. He held his rifle steady with his righthand, approached the second to last doorway andreached for its doorknob with his left.The young man pulled in a gasping breath, afraid inthe darkness. "... Old man?"The older man had his hand on the doorknob. He turnedhis head, and hissed, "Quiet, you fool! Something willhear yo-"His words were cut off by a heavy coughing bark,flakes of bone and flesh chipping through the door'swood in hollow crunches, a sickening slap of impactson flesh. The shuddering inhalation of lungs fillingwith blood.The young man stared helplessly at the older man. "Hel... help..."The young man took two steps closer, spasming hand ofthe old man pulled at the younger man, twisted in thedangling strap of the young man's rifle. Leathery flesh brushed against the door, scrapingagainst the wood, the weight cracking it.The older man gasped, his breaths bubbling throughhis ribs. "Puh... Please... Hel... Help..."The young man pulled away frantically, out of therifle's strap to get away. He ran down the corridor.The door gave way, and a mangle of human limbs pulledthrough. The young man pulled open another door at random,glancing back as the older man tried to scream throughthe blood. The thing pulled through that broken doorway, atwisted mass of flesh and limbs, slack-jawed facesstaring from its bulk in silent screams. An orificequivered, and the flesh shook as it coughed again,bone and oozing flesh tearing through the remnants ofthe old man.The young man pulled the doorway shut behind him. Hecould hear that thing, rustling as it moved. He hauled breath into his shaking body, and shoved adesk in front of the door. He backed away from it asthe rustling neared, jerking in fright as his back hitthe wall. He looked up at the passive features of Christ on thecross, immortalized in a glossy wall poster. The youngman fell to his knees, clasping his hands in front ofhim. Tears dripped down his nose, he leaned hisforehead against the wall in resignation."Our Lord, who art in heaven..."The desk shook and dragged over the tiling as thedoorway pushed in. "Ha... Hallowed be thy name..."The door broke inwards.He looked up at the poster, and sobbed."Please help me... Someone..." Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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