RIP School Survival Forums
August 2001 - June 2017

The School Survival Forums are permanently retired. If you need help with quitting school, unsupportive parents or anything else, there is a list of resources on the Help Page.

To everyone who joined these forums at some point, and got discouraged by the negativity and left after a while (or even got literally scared off): I'm sorry.

I wasn't good enough at encouraging people to be kinder, and removing people who refuse to be kind. Encouraging people is hard, and removing people creates conflict, and I hate conflict... so that's why I wasn't better at it.

I was a very, very sensitive teen. The atmosphere of this forum as it is now, if it had existed in 1996, would probably have upset me far more than it would have helped.

I can handle quite a lot of negativity and even abuse now, but that isn't the point. I want to help people. I want to help the people who need it the most, and I want to help people like the 1996 version of me.

I'm still figuring out the best way to do that, but as it is now, these forums are doing more harm than good, and I can't keep running them.

Thank you to the few people who have tried to understand my point of view so far. I really, really appreciate you guys. You are beautiful people.

Everyone else: If after everything I've said so far, you still don't understand my motivations, I think it's unlikely that you will. We're just too different. Maybe someday in the future it might make sense, but until then, there's no point in arguing about it. I don't have the time or the energy for arguing anymore. I will focus my time and energy on people who support me, and those who need help.

-SoulRiser

The forums are mostly read-only and are in a maintenance/testing phase, before being permanently archived. Please use this time to get the contact details of people you'd like to keep in touch with. Send me a message if you'd like to keep in touch with me & Steve.

Please do not make a mirror copy of the forums in their current state - things will still change, and some people have requested to be able to edit or delete some of their personal info.


Post Reply 
 
Thread Rating:
  • 0 Vote(s) - 0 Average
  • 1
  • 2
  • 3
  • 4
  • 5
Off the Edge-Part III
Author Message
Rebelnerd Offline
Fanatic

Posts: 8,781
Joined: Aug 2005
Thanks: 0
Given 113 thank(s) in 97 post(s)
Post: #1
Off the Edge-Part III

The sun was high over the small town of Sycamore, New Hampshire. But the bright, cheery light that would normally have been shining down on the town's residents was being filtered through dense clouds of smoke into a depressing shade of grey. The hellish glow of the city burning stood out in sharp contrast to the ever-darkening sky as the quiet, peaceful little world that Police Chief Frank Ward had worked so hard to build tore itself to pieces under the flood of chaos. He had one chance to end it, just one.
As the two figures materialized out of the darkness of the woods, he lowered his hand as a signal to his men. What sounded like a thousand explosions crackled and flashed all around him like some demonic fireworks display, and he got one last glimpse into Officer Barnard's eyes as the man was torn apart under the hail of bullets. And it had all been for nothing, the kid had got away, vanishing into thin air like a vengeful spirit. Barnard's body was spurting blood, there was screaming...

Ward's body convulsed and he sat up straight, a hoarse yell escaping his lips as his bloodshot eyes whirled around wildly. His heart was pounding so loud he half expected it to wake his infant son, but his franice breaths were getting slower and calmer. He looked around again, confirming that he was still in his own bedroom, in his own house, with his own family. He could hear the sounds of construction workers rebuilding outside, and the familiar noise conforted him.
His wife slowly opened her eyes, and reached out a hand to flick on the lamp sitting at the bedside table. Sitting up and putting a hand on his shoulder gently, she looked at him sympathetically.
"Bad dreams again, dear?"
Ward rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying not to look her in the eye.
"It's nothing, just a nightmare..."
She didn't look convinced. "Frank, I know what you were thinking, and it's ok."
He wiped some sweat from his forehead and turned to her, looking slightly ashamed.
"I just can't help it, it's been nearly six months since it happened but I still can't get it out of my head...Every time I close my eyes I see him lying there, covered in blood..."
He swallowed, and took another breath.
"And it was all for nothing, he got away. He died for nothing, I killed him for nothing, they all hate me for it, I know they do, I can see it in their eyes every time I leave the house, I can hardly blame them..."
His wife touche dhis arm gently. "Frank, you did what you had to do. Maybe some people don't understand that, but you know I do. I don't think any less of you, and you know I never will. Now, you've gone through therapy for this, and the doc said you've just got to gt over it. You still have a life, Barnard would have wanted you to move on."
He attempted a smile, and failed.
"I know, but if the kid had just dissapeared underground I could...but now everyone's talking about the Blackwood incident and if I hadn't fucked it up, maybe all those men would still be alive..."
His wife opened her mouth to respond, but could fine no answer for this. Tears were forming in Ward's eyes, and she saw the same tortured expresssion she'd seen on him so many times before.
He continued talking, more to himself than to her. "I'm going to resign. I should have as soon as it was over, but I've just been putting it off. I failed them, and they know it. The crime rate is the same, but the number of 911 calls is down to almost nothing. People don't trust us anymore. And they shouldn't."
His wife looked him in the eye with a stern expression on her face.
"NO. Absolutely not. I don't care if they call you, they still need you. You've got a baby in the other room that needs you, and I need you. You are NOT going to resign, and that's final!"
He looked away. "I don't have a choice. You know that."
She still didn't give up. "Ok, how about this. Stay for another month, and if it's still bad then go ahead. But you just woke up, you just had another dream, and you're in no condition to make a huge career decision right now."
He looked a little reluctant, but she persisted. "Just one month, that's all I'm asking."
He hesitated, then slowly nodded.
She lay back down, and after a few moments he could hear her snores. But he didn't fall asleep for the rest of the night.
If he had known what would happen to his life, his town, and human civilization as we know it within the next month, he would have made his decision differently. But he had no idea, and continues lying there in bed, visions of Barnar'd body flashing before his eyes, as the world hurtled towards it's own destruction.

+++++++

The security officcer walked along the cement path, whistling and occaisionally attempting to swat mosquitos out of the air with his baton. It was a peaceful night, and the hanging high over St. Paul's hospital in Pennsylvania was shining bright. Crickets were chirping in the bushes, and bats were swooping and wheeling around ovrehead. He smiled, then continues whistling as he followed his assigned path around the Southern wing of the building, where the long-term residents lived in quarentine. The windows were sealed with long strips of rubber, and he could hear rumblind as the air being filtered through the bacterial and viral filters was pumped through the turbines on the roof. Except for the turbines humming and the occaisional car whizzing by, it was quiet. The way he liked it.

Suddenly, he stopped. He had heard something in the bushes, a faint rustling, like some small animal was running through. Which was probably what it was, he though to himself. But then he heard it again, the distinct sound of branches moving. And it was much bigger than a squirrel or a chipmunk. There were no deer in this part of the city, and stray pets were rare, so he figured it was probably human. Still, he wasn't scared. Sighing, he turned on his heel and walked over to the manicured pine bushes lining the sides of the path.
"Ok, come on out. I know you're in there, you damn kids TP'd this place last week, did you really think you were going to get away with it again? Get out of here before I call your parents."
The rustling started again, and he grinned. The cleaning crew would be very grateful to him, now that they would no longer have to scrape toilet paper off the elegant statues in the parking lot.
A dark figure emerged from a bush about twenty feet away, and raised it's hands. He could by the size and proportion that it was definately a kid, propably teenage.
He grinned broadly again, and shined his light in the kid's direction. It was a boy, he guessed about fourteen, wearing a dirty, mottled shirt and pants that he had imagined had once been white. The boy's face was expressionles, but he thought he saw the hint of a smile.
"All right, game over kid. You're out passed curfew, not a good idea. You never know who could be creeping around here at night..." He barely had time to laugh proudly before someone grabbed him from behind and held a knife to his throat. His eyes widened, and he thought for a split second about reaching for his gun, but he dismissed the idea instantly. He had lost. He was about to yell at the kid to run, run away and get help, when he saw the boy calmly walk over to him and give a smug grin.
"Couldn't agree more, officer." He reached down and pulled the Beretta 9mm out of his holster, and shove it into his pants.
The person holding the knife spoke, but he couldn't see his face.
"Right then officer, why don't you tell us which window is room 392? You do that and maybe you'll survive to see the sun again."
The guard's lip was quivering, and he made a little choking noise. The mysterious attacker spoke again, sounding impatient.
"There are plenty of guards to use, you're quite expendable. So don't be a hero, just point to the window. I'm not going to ask you again." He pressed the knife into his throat, and the guard whimpeded in pain and fear.
"One...two...three...ok then, it's your choice-"
"No! Wait!" He choked back tears and slowly raised his hand. Gesturing towards the building, he extended a shaking finger and pointed it towards a second story window.
"That's 392. But it's dangerous, totally quarentined, don't know why you'd want to go in there..."
The boy laughed, and the sound chilled him to the bone. "That's really none of your business, but I can assure you we know what we're doing. Thank you for your help officer, just keep quiet and we all live through this."
He pulled the knife away, but before the guard could consider running two more kids rose up from behind the bushes. They didn't bother with knives, both of them were carrying guns. He got to his knees and clasped his hands behind his head as the two of them stood guard, looking at him arrogantly.
More of them were appearing now, some of them carrying guns of all shapes and sizes, others with duffle bags full of equipment, all wearing the same dirty white uniforms. He counted fourteen in all. Finally, he could see the one who had threatened him, standing there overseeing the operation. He was dressed differently, wearing a ragged camouflage jacket and carrying a pistol in a shoulder holster.
The guard's throat tightened. This was no TPing. These people meant business.

The leader and two others walked over to one of the bags and pulled out several floppy rubber things attached to small silver cylinders. He had been around too many epidemologists and hospital cleaning crews to not recognize them as gas masks. He saw them strapping on the masks and putting on rubber gloves before a girl jabbed the barrel of an AR-15 automatic rifle into his temple and he turned away.
Behind him, he could hear someone cutting the rubber insulation around the windowframe, and all of the boys and girls not wearing masks stepped back to behind the bushes. They were in his line of sight now, and he could see that they all looked both apprehensive and excited.
There was a loud scraping sound as the window that had not been opened in years was slowly and meticulously raised. There was grunting, and he assumed it was not easy. For a moment he hoped it would not work, but he realized, with a sinking feeling, that it was a stupid hope. They had gas masks and rifles, with that kind of planning and dedication they were not going to let a stiff window foil their plan, whatever it was.
He raised his head, trying to muster his courage enough to speak. "Excuse me, I'd like to move farther back..."
The girl with the rifle looked at him sharply. "What'd you say?"
He took a deep breath and continued. "That room had a patient with a very contagious and rare infection. I heard some news reporters talking about it earlier. If you're going to hold me hostage, you need to make sure I'm safe."
At first the girl seemed thunderstruck, then her expression turned to one of amusement. "Fine, move back. But if you try to run, I'll kill you."
He slowly got to his feet and walked into the bushes, where the other kids were waiting. Turning back towards the building, he saw the three boys in masks slide into the window headfirst, carrying a small metal briefcase.

A few minutes passed, and he prayed for a car to pass, or for someone to looke out a window. But it was midnight on a Tuesday, and nobody was going to be out. He realized he was on his own, and tried to concentrate on keeping himself alive. He didn't even consider trying to run.
Finally, he heard muffled noises from inside the window and a masked face came into view. He slid out over the sill, and when his hands touched thr ground he rolled out and got to his feet. The leader was next, and he was carrying the briefcase. He too stood up on the grass beside the first, and waited for the third one to emerge.
As soon as he was out, the three of them grabbed the window and pulled it down all at once, straining with exertion. Inch by inch, the window stubbornly scraped down until it was closed. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of duct tape. One of the others picked up the rubber sealant strips off the ground and fitted them back around the edges of the window as the leader carefully placed the briefcase on the ground and tore off a strip of tape. He stretched it over the rubber, and rubbed it into place. He repeated this with the others until the whole window was sealed. He put the tape back into his pocket, and nodded at one of the others. He walked forward, and pulled a grey metal jar out of a duffle bag, and pressed a button on the top. Immediately, a fine spray of mist shot out and formed a cloud around the window. Then he turned to the three boys wearing masks and sprayed them up and down, until their clothes were damp and the gas formed a blurry haze all around the area.
The guard sniffed the air, and the smell stung his nostrils. He knew exactly what it was, he'd guarded a hospital too long to have not been able to recognize it. It was decontamination fluid, used to sterilize clean rooms or secure sites exposed to hazmats. There was only one explanation for this, and he knew what it was.

He whirled around, momentarily forgetting the danger, and looked desperately at his captors.
"No, please you can't..."
But they didn't listen, and the girl with the rifle stuck the barrel into his face. "Shut up, or I'll kill you. Understand? Shut up."
He looked around frantically, but still nobody was there to help him. The three boys were taking off the gas masks now, and after spraying them with the cleaning fluid they tossed them back into the bags and zipped them shut.
The leader faced the crowd, and raised the briefcase over his head looking triumphant.
The kids around him stayed quiet, but the guard had the feeling that if they weren't in a situation requiring stealth they would have erupted into applause and cheering. The excitement was evident on all their faces, even though nobody made a sound.
He lowered the case and handed it to one of the boys, who held it like it was made out of glass. Placing it in a padded backpack, he gently slung it over his shoulder and stepped back into the group.
The leader looked around at all of them, with an expression of admiration and pride on his face.
"I know this really isn't the place, but I can't help but feel that the occaision calls for some recognition. You see, tonight the tables have turned. In the last few minutes, the system that had beaten us into submission all our lives has taken the place that we have been trying to escape for generations. Now, they are at our mercy. It doesn't matter how many tanks they have, or how many soldiers they can deploy, or how many bombs they can drop. Right here, right now, we are at the top. For the rest of history, this night will be remembered as the moment that the tide turned, and we came out of the shadows to build a better world out of the ashes of the old one. The story will be passed on, and your great great great grandchildren will hear about the day that we stood up to the rulers of the world as we know it as equals, not slaves." he raised his fist. "Tonight, everything changes!"
The people around him made subdued grins, but the guard could almost feel the energy pulsing through them. He absorbed the speech, and the full realization of what was happening hit him like a bomb. But the girl with the gun was still watching him suspiciously, and he didn't move.
The boy who had sprayed the gas reached into another bag, and pulled out another metal canister, a smaller one this time. Walking over to the wall, he pushed the button down with his finger, and a jet of red spray burst out and stained the concrete blocks. The guard knew from graffeti-fighting experiance that it was spray paint.
The boy meticulously moved the can around, making bright red lines on the wall. When he was finished, he stepped away to reveal a dripping red triangle. To the guard, although he had no idea what it meant, it seemed unspeakably terrifying.
As soon as the boy nodded in aproval, the groupd turned and started to walk away. They picked up the bags and weapons, and moved across the street and into the woods as quietly as ghosts. Within seconds, everyone but the leader was gone. He walked over to the guard, and looked him in the eye, smiling sadly.
The guard's fear for his own life was dissapearing fast, replaced by fear for literally everything else.
"You can't do this. Someone will stop you, it won't work, there's no way..."
THe boy continued looking into his eyes. "You're not planning to tell anyone about this, are you?"
The guard tried to look brave. "Fuck yeah, I am!"
The boy gave him an almost admiring look, and pulled out a gun. The guard's mouth went dry.
"I'm really sorry about this then, but I swear it's for your own good. At least it will be quick." Before the guard could protest, he raised the gun and shot him in the forehead.
The guard's body stood balanced for a moment, then started swaying undre it's own wieght. A second later, it tilted slowly then fell over backwards.

+++++++

Joe holstered the gun, and pushed the guard's body under a bush. The shot had echoed, and it wouldn't be long before someone came to investigate. He darted across the street and into the woods, where the rest of his comrades were waiting.
He regretted having to kill the guards, but he had been honest about it being for his own good. Men like that had no place in the new world they would build, and he had spared the man the torture of dying slowly with the rest of his kind.
He pointed North, and they started running through the woods like they had done for nearly three months. Soon, the police would be here, then the military, once they realized what had happened.
But Joe knew it didn't matter. They could send the entire US Army for all he cared, he now had in the shiny metal briefcase, a sample of P-44, one of the newest and most deadly viruses in the world and there was nothing anybody could do to stop them now.

TO BE CONTINUED

I think Buenaventura Durruti is a pretty cool guy. eh kills fascists and doesnt afraid of ruins.
The quickest way to kill a revolution is to wait for it.
09-11-2006 08:26 AM
Find all posts by this user Quote this message in a reply
Freak Offline
Fanatic

Posts: 4,532
Joined: Dec 2005
Thanks: 0
Given 14 thank(s) in 10 post(s)
Post: #2
 

HA! I knew when they were talking about the suitcase that is was a virus... or atleast I suspected it. Oh, the government is sceeewwwwed. Mwahaha

[Image: ambnh8.jpg]
09-11-2006 09:51 AM
Find all posts by this user Quote this message in a reply
Alucard483 Offline
Site Mod

Posts: 5,469
Joined: May 2006
Thanks: 6
Given 92 thank(s) in 65 post(s)
Post: #3
 

ohhh the suspence

Whilst some work diligently there are those who ask why. I am one of them
(\__/) This is Bunny. Paste Bunny into your signature
(='.'=) to help him gain world domination.
(")_(")
Soul#2: I already have a grip. Doc:and a porno mag and a tube of lube I'm sure"
Lifes a bitch, then you marry one
This has been a test of the emergency pointless argument system. Had this been a real pointless argument, someone would have been called a facist.
Ceiling Cat: For that you need to wear a fursuit, though.

Inside sources say that Carla Franklin has had more dick in her than a public urinal.
09-11-2006 10:03 AM
Find all posts by this user Quote this message in a reply
WildFire Offline
Fanatic

Posts: 4,553
Joined: Sep 2006
Thanks: 0
Given 1 thank(s) in 1 post(s)
Post: #4
 

Wow this story IS good! Way better than mine. i cant wait.
09-11-2006 02:21 PM
Find all posts by this user Quote this message in a reply
SoulRiser Offline
Site Founder

Posts: 18,240
Joined: Aug 2001
Thanks: 2673
Given 1975 thank(s) in 1208 post(s)
Post: #5
 

ooh, virus warfare... Evil

mooore Biggrin Tripleevil

"If you can, help others; if you cannot do that, at least do not harm them." - Dalai Lama
Help & Support - Get help with leaving school, unsupportive parents, and more.
Click here if school makes you depressed or suicidal

Support School Survival on Patreon or Donate Bitcoin Here: 1Q5WCcxWjayniaL92b8GfXBiGdfjmnUNa2
"Believe those who are seeking the truth. Doubt those who find it." - André Paul Guillaume Gide
"The true sign of intelligence is not knowledge but imagination." - Albert Einstein
"I'm pretty sure there's a lot of beauty that can only be found in the mind of a lunatic." - TheCancer
EIPD - Emotionally Incompetent Parent Disorder

Push Button for Collection of Useful Links:
Hidden stuff:
09-11-2006 10:55 PM
Visit this user's website Find all posts by this user Quote this message in a reply
Rebelnerd Offline
Fanatic

Posts: 8,781
Joined: Aug 2005
Thanks: 0
Given 113 thank(s) in 97 post(s)
Post: #6
 

ok, but if i do a part today they won't use the virus yet cause you know, with it being 9/11 and having terrorist heroes it doesn't seem right.

I think Buenaventura Durruti is a pretty cool guy. eh kills fascists and doesnt afraid of ruins.
The quickest way to kill a revolution is to wait for it.
09-12-2006 04:45 AM
Find all posts by this user Quote this message in a reply
SoulRiser Offline
Site Founder

Posts: 18,240
Joined: Aug 2001
Thanks: 2673
Given 1975 thank(s) in 1208 post(s)
Post: #7
 

terrorists with honour, go figure Biggrin

"If you can, help others; if you cannot do that, at least do not harm them." - Dalai Lama
Help & Support - Get help with leaving school, unsupportive parents, and more.
Click here if school makes you depressed or suicidal

Support School Survival on Patreon or Donate Bitcoin Here: 1Q5WCcxWjayniaL92b8GfXBiGdfjmnUNa2
"Believe those who are seeking the truth. Doubt those who find it." - André Paul Guillaume Gide
"The true sign of intelligence is not knowledge but imagination." - Albert Einstein
"I'm pretty sure there's a lot of beauty that can only be found in the mind of a lunatic." - TheCancer
EIPD - Emotionally Incompetent Parent Disorder

Push Button for Collection of Useful Links:
Hidden stuff:
09-12-2006 04:53 AM
Visit this user's website Find all posts by this user Quote this message in a reply
modest mouse Offline
Fanatic

Posts: 2,282
Joined: Aug 2005
Thanks: 0
Given 1 thank(s) in 1 post(s)
Post: #8
 

Write more dude, you're talented at it.

But add more detail to the setting. i.e. How the sky looks and the ground...Like colors and stuff.

"If the doors of perception were cleansed everything would appear to man as it is, infinite. For man has closed himself up, till he sees through narrow chinks of his cavern."
09-12-2006 04:59 AM
Find all posts by this user Quote this message in a reply
Rebelnerd Offline
Fanatic

Posts: 8,781
Joined: Aug 2005
Thanks: 0
Given 113 thank(s) in 97 post(s)
Post: #9
 

I will, this last part was meant mostly as setup so i didn't use as much detail.

I think Buenaventura Durruti is a pretty cool guy. eh kills fascists and doesnt afraid of ruins.
The quickest way to kill a revolution is to wait for it.
09-12-2006 06:29 AM
Find all posts by this user Quote this message in a reply
WildFire Offline
Fanatic

Posts: 4,553
Joined: Sep 2006
Thanks: 0
Given 1 thank(s) in 1 post(s)
Post: #10
 

well its okay, since it is 9/11 and all, but it is a good story, goo detail in the action but as cradle said you could add a little more to the setting. But whatever you do, listen to us or not, well still read and think its well done.
09-12-2006 09:09 AM
Find all posts by this user Quote this message in a reply
Rebelnerd Offline
Fanatic

Posts: 8,781
Joined: Aug 2005
Thanks: 0
Given 113 thank(s) in 97 post(s)
Post: #11
 

Chief Ward sat in his office, absently writing something on a scrap of paper while not really knowing what it was. His office was the kind of place that would have made anybody who didn't find it comfortingly familiar feel sleepy as soon as they walked inside. It was a plain, windowless block, with a grey metal desk with grey metal filing cabinets and a grey, dirty computer. The plain brown mat underneath his chair was dented from feeling the weight of the same chair for twenty long years. Faded newspaper clippings of successful arrests and other past glories hung on the wall next to the generic pictures of family members, almost unrecognizable under layers of dust. The steady thumping hum of the radiator filled the background, like the breathing of some giant oppressive creature that had just swallowed him whole. Everything was dull and depressing, and it expressed how he felt with startling accuracy.
It had been eight days since his wife had convinced him not to leave, and Ward was starting ot regret his decision. He could feel people accusing him even in the station, and every time he walked past the framed picture of Officer Barnard, wreathed with flowers and kept spotless by the rest of the force, he felt guilt and shame like a knife in his heart. And every time he walked in on his men, the whispering would abruptly stop. The station, which had been his home and family for twenty years now felt like some hostile alien planet, and only in his soothingly austere office could he escape the rest of the world.

All at once, a noise interrupted his daydreams and he dropped the pen on the desk, the noise seemingly muffled by the overwhelming drearyness. He cocked his head towards the thick oak door that protected him from his former friends, and heard muffled speech. That was nothing new, but something about this was different. He'd known these men for years, and he could tell almost exactly how they felt without even looking at them. And they sounded scared.
Slowly, he pressed down on the handles of his chair and painfully lifted his body to its feet. He cracked his back, then reluctantly stepped towards the door. They were probably talking about me again, he thought. Maybe I'm getting fired, that would be nice. But he wasn't sure, and he was still chief. It was still his job to know what people in his town were scared of.
He took a deep breath and wrenched the door open, stepping into the room trying to look as confident as possible. He could immediately tell that they weren't talking about him, but this wasn't much of a comfort. Eight of his fellow officers were clustered around a TV like it was a football coach, and when one of them looked at him his face was pale.
"Chief, you'd better come see this..."
Ward stepped forward and tried to get a good view, a sinking feeling growing in his stomach. Whatever this was, it couldn't be good.
He still couldn't see, and the men were acting like wasn't even there as he tried to squeeze in. Had he really lost that much respect? Apparently so, as it took a full ten seconds for him to shift his men aside enough to fit both himself and his slight beer gut into the circle. But when he finally got a glimpse of the TV, he almost wished he hadn't.

The a reporter from CNN was talking anxiously, highlighted by a backdrop of rubber-suited workers spraying sterilizing liquid and a sea of flashing red police lights.
"I'm standing here outide the St. Paul's hospital in Pennsylvania, where a shocking and terrifying robbery has taken place. Reports have indicated that late last night a group of terrorists calling themselves the Red Delta actually broke into a quarentined ward, murdered a guard, and obtained a sample of the newly discovered P-44 virus form a patient who was being treated for it. The patient, who asked for his name not to be revealed, claims that three young men wearing protective gear invaded his room last night and took a sample of his saliva against his will, although he was otherwise unharmed."
She paused to catch her breath, then continued in a more subdued tone.
"Although it is too early for any conclusions, it is believed that one of the individuals masterminding the operation was none other than the infamous Joseph Murphy, the sixteen year old terrorist responsable for arson in Sycamore, New Hampshire, and more recently the Blackwood incident in which many security personel were killed..."
Ward stood back up, and now all the men were staring at him as though they'd just suddenly noticed his existance. He barely even noticed. He would have expected to feel horrified, but instead a sensation of numbness was taking over his body, and he turned away from the TV and just gazed off into space. He looked almost braindead, but in fact his mind was buzzing with panicked thoughts.
So Murphy had survived. And now he had his own terrorist organization, and a sample of an incredibly deadly virus to boot. This just kept getting better and better. From what he'd experianced six months ago, the Murphy boy was resourceful and intelligent, a force to be reckoned with. Ward had no doubt that he would find a way to grow, and even weaponize the virus. He knew now that his failure would now be known to the entire world. His wife would be plagued by reporters, and his child would grow up with the stigma of being related to him. It was as if every last hope he'd had for reviving his career and regaining his respect had swirled down into the toilet to be lost in the murky depths beyond.
And strangely, it was exactly that feeling that gave him strength. He didn't know it, but the feeling he was experiancing at the moment was the exact same that Joe had felt on several occaisions. It was the empty, total, apathetic sensation of having absolutely nothing to lose. His devastated career and the subtle hostility of his men were trivial now, this matter concerned the whole world. And it may even be more personal than that, he thought, as a sudden, disturbing though occured to him.
Joe had turned around in Blackwood, he thought. That had been in Virginia. Next he had been sighed in Pennsylvania. That meant he was moving north, in fact, he was probably in New York or even Massachusetts by now. If he planned to release the virus, it may be near his town.
"But why?" he muttered to himself, as a couple of rookies standing nearby looked at him uncertainly, like he was some kind of loon. "Why would he be moving North? What strategic value does anything up here have? This town's the only significant thing to him, but why would he come up here? He's already destroyed us once, why again?"
He went into his office and closed the door, shutting himself off from reality as effectively as if he'd stepped through some kind of wormhole. He toppled into his chair, and the springs and levers groaned and shifted under his weight. He kneaded his face with his hands until it was as red as a sunburn.
He knew he had to act. He knew now that his wife had been right; he was still the chief, and his people still needed him. There was a kid out there with a deady biological weapon and a grudge against his town, and if he expected anyone to survive he had to take action before it was too late.
But he also knew he couldn't do it alone, and at the moment there was only one person he could think of who could, or more importantly, would, help him understand what he was up against. He picked up the ancient, dusty old phone covered in black fingerprints and dirt, and dialed a number that he hadn't called in six months.

+++++++

The Catskill mountain range in southern New York were still mostly brown in the aftermath of winter, but here and there a tinge of green was beginning to show on the long, steep ridges lining the countryside like waves, as April brought its warm weather and wealth of vegetation. High up in the tops of the ridges where only serious hikers would venture, snow was beginning to melt and the streams running down the rugged mountainside were swelling and growing icy cold. Waterfalls that had been frozen into motionless statues were moving in full fury again, and the sound of their triumphant roaring echoed off the rocks and could be heard from miles away. Frogs were tentatively creeping out of their holes, and bears were stirring in their dens after a the long, silent sleep of hibernation. Up in the sky the birds were returning, and a vast V of geese soared through the crisp clear air like a squadron of fighter jets. They arrived in this wild, untamed region of the land, freem from human interference, and decided it would be a good spot to eat.
One by one they swooped down into a clearing, their wings blowing shimmering waves in the long, swaying grass around them. They all lowered their heads in one smooth, fluid motion and began to eat. To them, this was paradise. A safe clearing, with all the food they could eat and the promise of months of warm weather ahead after an exhausting journey across the country.
All at once, their illusion of utopia was shattered by the sound of a ringing pop bouncing around the rocks, and in their heads. They exploded of the ground in a panic, individual birds invisible in the chaotic tornado of wings and wind. But as the ascended into the sky like a great black cloud, one was left behind. He lay on the ground dead, feathers matted with blood, as a teenage boy with a smoking pistol stepped out of the bud-laden bushes and gave a joyous whoop.
Andy Williams ran up to the dead goose, and grabbed it by the neck. His heart thumping with joy at both the weight of the bird, and his luck at killing it with nothing but a Glock 9mm handgun.
He shoved the gun back into the bag around his shoulder, and slung the goose over his shoulder. The bullet hole left a slimy spot of dark blood on his shirt, but he didn't care. For once, he could eat properly without having to risk revealing himself to the world by buying or stealing.
"Surviving in the wilderness," he said to himself. "Maybe I did learn something from that terrorist piece of shit!"
But he immediately regretted it, the thought of Joe Murphy and why he was out here now killed his happy mood almost instantly, and as he slipped back into the dark, vengeful thoughts he had been having nonstop for the last three months the forest seemed to reflect this by blocking out steadily more sunlight as he penetrated farther into the dense woods, where his makeshift campsite lay.

It had been a torturous three months. He had been following Joe's band of guerillas ever since they had escaped from Blackwood Academy in the middle of the night, after he had led Andy's sister into his crazed plans that had eventually resulted in her death. He had stood there over Jesse's body, and gotten a quick look at Joe vanishing into the woods. At the time, the frustration of not being able to do anything to stop him felt like a rabid animal trapped inside Andy's stomach, tearing off pieces of his heart from within and eating them alive. He had trailed Joe's crew for days after in an almost blind rage, until he gradually calmed down and accepted an important face: if he wanted to kill Joe, he'd have to be patient. Observe his enemy, and not reveal himself. Stay quiet, learning as much about him as possible, until he had found a weakness and the right opportunity to exploit it.
It disgusted him to use tactics like that, and sometimes he almost felt like a terrorist himself. But he reminded himself every time that this was war, and they weren't going to fight while riding white horses on a shining field of honor. Their battle would be fought in the shadows, and if one of them died it would be when he least expected it. All Andy could do now was try and make sure that that person was Joe.

Then one day, everything changed. He'd just come out of a 40-mile trek across a steep, hilly region of backcountry in the pouring rain, and had had nothing to eat in days. He had been starving, and the importance of maintaining stealth seemed insignificant next to finding some food. He'd tried to make himself look as presentable as possible after living the woods for nearly three months, and casually walked into a convenient store to get some snacks. But what he'd found instead was a newspaper.
The headline had said "Homegrown Terrorist Steals Deadly Virus" and had a picture of Joe and the hospital. He had paid for the food and the paper, but even after his hunger had faded a painful feeling in his stomach still remained.
His enemy was now the world's enemy, and he was the only on in a position to stop him. It had given him strength and kept him strong, the feeling that he was fighting not only for himself and his sister, but for the society of his entire country. If he hadn't been starving on that day, he never would have found out. The tantalizing concept that maybe God himself was guiding him to his goal made him feel strong, and had kept him going even at times when all his hope had seemed lost.

He lay in a sitting position against a dead tree stump, long since turned white after the weather had stripped it of it's bark and unstoppable armies of insects had checkered it's surface with the zigzaging shapes of abandoned tunnels. He had erected a crude shelter out of a large pine bough leaning off a tree, its joint bristling with splinters. The orange glowing coals of a dying fire cast tiny shadows on the dirt in the darkness of the woods, and radiated warmth onto his face as he prepared his dinner. His bag lay at his side, and the handle of the gun could be seen sticking out the top. he stabbed a sharpened stick through the goose, and began ripping its feathers out. He was not particularly experienced at this, and the goose ended up a bit mangled, but still edible.
Leaning the stick over the fire, he began slowly turning it over and over, blowing the coals until a small, wavering flame snaked its way up from under the sticks and began tickling the goose's skin, leaving darkened scorch marks on it's back and legs.
As the goose slowly cooked, Andy picked up the newspaper again. He had read it many times, and the paper itself was dirty and wrinkled, plastered with rips and dirty fingerprints. He knew exactly what it said, about how Joe's Red Delta network had successfully raided the hospital and obtained the P-44, how it was speculated that he was heading up north towards his old hometown he had once destroyed.

But he wasn't looking at the article. What his attention was focused on this time was the picture. Not the obligatory picture of the hospital, but of the picture of Joe himself. He knew what the boy looked like, he'd spent several days in his company, but something about this dark, tattered photo never lost it's significance in Andy's mind. It had been taken when Joe was still at school, before he had run away, before all the death. The picture had burned itself into his mind the moment he had seen it in the store. Joe was sitting in school, at his desk, looking up at the cameraman like he hadn't been expected the picture to be taken, his face utterly expressionless. There were other kids in the background, laughing and talking amongst themselves, blissfully unaware that in that same year their classmate would become the enemy.
Andy stared deep into the pixilated eyes like he had many times before, and the same thought immediately took over his brain. Why had he done it? He had listened to Joe himself talk about how the government was controlling all their lives in it's ravenous hunger for power, but he had never really believed him. He looked at him, sitting there glancing at the camera in the town that he would later be burning surrounded by townspeople he would later be killing, and Andy wondered, what was he thinking?

+++++++

Two miles up ahead, in a small valley between two long ridges covered in tall pine trees, a spiderweb of thin streams of water snaked down the mountainside, fueled by the melting snow. Every once in a while, as they ran frantically over the smooth white rock, two of them would converge into a bigger stream, then that would converge into another, and grow even larger. Finally, at the bottom of the valley, they all meshed together to create a roaring current that wore through the rock and emptied into a large pond in a clearing. Frogs shot under the surface beneath a roof of lilypads, flies hummed through the air, and Joe strode through the campsite inspecting his troops.

There were sixteen in all, Joe himself and the fifteen escaped prisoners from Blackwood Academy. They were still wearing the plain white uniforms, but the previously bright cloth was now so smeared with dirt and grass that it actually made very effective camouflage. The few pieces of clothing they had been able to steal or scavenge had been fashioned into bags and holsters to carry food, equipment, weapons, and of course, the all-important briefcase.
Joe smiled and walked over to the black duffle bag, the girl with the AR-15 standing guard over it. She whirled around as he approached, pine needles flying into the air like a torado.
He smiled. "Relax Clara, it's me. I want to check our progress."
She lowered her gun, and nodded. She then bent over, and slowly and carefully unzipped the bag. The metal suface gleamed, looking surprisingly benign in the sunlight. Joe took a breath, and unlocked the case. Pulling the cover up, his eye caught a glint of light from inside, like something made of glass.
Once the case was fully opened, he widened his eyes and made a low whistle. Even though he knew perfectly well what was inside, it never ceased to amaze him.
Inside, resting in a block of foam they had cut specifically for this purpose, was a battery-powered heating device, several spare canisters of agar, and one long, glass test tube glimmering like some sinister finger. Inside the tube was what looked like clear water, but they all knew it wasn't so.
Joe looked up at Clara. "Any estimates on when it will be ready?"
She shrugged at him. "I dunno, you designed the thing. I guess any day now."
He smiled approvingly and snapped the case shut, taking care to lock it as he did. He stood up, and saluted. Clara did the same, and resumed her watch over the bag.
Joe walked away with his hands in his pockets, towards the pond where several stills were floating on the surface like otherworldly bubbles, silently providing them with drinkable water. They would need it for the last leg of the journey to Sycamore.
Joe turned towards the jagged horizon of the Northeast, where they were headed. They had never sat down and decided to go there, it had just been an unspoken agreement. They had all seen Jesse die, and they all unofficially agreed. Joe had lost the most, he got to decide where the virus was realeased. And it felt right to him, doing this back there. It didn't really matter, with a strain like the P-44 they could release it anywhere and it would spread just the same. But to Joe it felt right, that the place where it all started should be the place where it ended.

All at once, a faint, echoing bang reverberated off the solid rock walls of valley, and Joe saw a flock of birds take off into the air like some kind of distant cloud. He recognized the sound immediately as the report of a pistol.
Everywhere around him, heads sprang up and people jumped to their feet, waving all manner of guns around like the shooter was inches away instead of miles. He held up his hands to get them to calm down, then waved for the people sprawled out on messy mats of dead pine needles to go back to sleep.
A boy with a shotgun clenched in his white knuckles tiptoed up to him, making almost no noise on the soft floor of needles.
"What is is?" he whispered. "Did they find us?"
Joe tried to smile confidently, and dearly hoped he suceeded. "Alex, dude, calm down. It's probably just a hunter. They come up here a lot."
Alex still didn't look calm, but he relaxed his grip on the gun enough for a hint of red to slide back into his pale hands.
Joe looked at him reassuringly. "I swear, it's just a hunter. You're not in any danger. Go back to, well, whatever is was that you were doing."
Alex looked like his mind was more at ease and walked back to the fire he'd been trying to get lit.

Joe looked towards the South, where the two ridges on the side of the valley stretched out into the distance like the sides of a giant half pipe. The sun was getting lower, and he shielded his eyes wit his arm.
What he had told Alex was only slightly true. It was indeed a hunter, but they weren't hunting deer or turkeys. The mysterious shooter was hunting him, Joe knew deep in his gut who it was.
He sighed regretfully and sat down to start absentmindedly cleaning his gun. He knew Andy had to follow whatever path he chose, just like he himself did. But he had a strong, almost certain feeling inside, that sooner or later, before the end of this, their paths would cross. He only hoped that it would end better than it had begun.

TO BE CONTINUED

I think Buenaventura Durruti is a pretty cool guy. eh kills fascists and doesnt afraid of ruins.
The quickest way to kill a revolution is to wait for it.
09-12-2006 11:00 AM
Find all posts by this user Quote this message in a reply
WildFire Offline
Fanatic

Posts: 4,553
Joined: Sep 2006
Thanks: 0
Given 1 thank(s) in 1 post(s)
Post: #12
 

wow.
09-12-2006 11:08 AM
Find all posts by this user Quote this message in a reply
Abandoning Ship Offline
Fanatic

Posts: 2,692
Joined: Oct 2005
Thanks: 0
Given 14 thank(s) in 11 post(s)
Post: #13
 

<3
09-12-2006 11:14 AM
Find all posts by this user Quote this message in a reply
WildFire Offline
Fanatic

Posts: 4,553
Joined: Sep 2006
Thanks: 0
Given 1 thank(s) in 1 post(s)
Post: #14
 

i posted part 1 2 and 3 into a word document to maybe print it out sometime and have a few non school survival people read it. I probably shouldnt bring it to school, for the violence, our school board is a bitch. and the techers, but i bet mr. olsen would care, he doesnt care, he even says what the hell are you doing and ill eb like. " reading possibly the best story in the world made by a school survvial resident.
09-12-2006 11:23 AM
Find all posts by this user Quote this message in a reply
Rebelnerd Offline
Fanatic

Posts: 8,781
Joined: Aug 2005
Thanks: 0
Given 113 thank(s) in 97 post(s)
Post: #15
 

cool. sorry about all the misspellings and stuff, it looks a lot worse as a word doc. Cool

I think Buenaventura Durruti is a pretty cool guy. eh kills fascists and doesnt afraid of ruins.
The quickest way to kill a revolution is to wait for it.
09-12-2006 12:03 PM
Find all posts by this user Quote this message in a reply
WildFire Offline
Fanatic

Posts: 4,553
Joined: Sep 2006
Thanks: 0
Given 1 thank(s) in 1 post(s)
Post: #16
 

i will probably edit the mispeelings that word catches, but the story itself i wont edit at all. damn we should have awards for stories.
09-12-2006 12:26 PM
Find all posts by this user Quote this message in a reply
SoulRiser Offline
Site Founder

Posts: 18,240
Joined: Aug 2001
Thanks: 2673
Given 1975 thank(s) in 1208 post(s)
Post: #17
 

:biggrin:

I've got the whole thing saved in text files as well... I'd like to add it to the site, but I suspect some idjit might think I'm "promoting violence" or something, so maybe it's not a good idea Razz

But I definitely think more people should read it.

"If you can, help others; if you cannot do that, at least do not harm them." - Dalai Lama
Help & Support - Get help with leaving school, unsupportive parents, and more.
Click here if school makes you depressed or suicidal

Support School Survival on Patreon or Donate Bitcoin Here: 1Q5WCcxWjayniaL92b8GfXBiGdfjmnUNa2
"Believe those who are seeking the truth. Doubt those who find it." - André Paul Guillaume Gide
"The true sign of intelligence is not knowledge but imagination." - Albert Einstein
"I'm pretty sure there's a lot of beauty that can only be found in the mind of a lunatic." - TheCancer
EIPD - Emotionally Incompetent Parent Disorder

Push Button for Collection of Useful Links:
Hidden stuff:
09-13-2006 12:34 AM
Visit this user's website Find all posts by this user Quote this message in a reply
Rebelnerd Offline
Fanatic

Posts: 8,781
Joined: Aug 2005
Thanks: 0
Given 113 thank(s) in 97 post(s)
Post: #18
 

i dunno, as long as you don't actually say people should do this i think you're ok. plus, you've got that wallpaper with the shooting scene on it and nobody's arrested you yet. Biggrin but it's your site, whatever.

I think Buenaventura Durruti is a pretty cool guy. eh kills fascists and doesnt afraid of ruins.
The quickest way to kill a revolution is to wait for it.
09-13-2006 05:27 AM
Find all posts by this user Quote this message in a reply
Rebelnerd Offline
Fanatic

Posts: 8,781
Joined: Aug 2005
Thanks: 0
Given 113 thank(s) in 97 post(s)
Post: #19
 

The sun was going down over the forest just across the New Hampshire border. The great glowing orb cast an eerie red glow over the tops of the trees, giving the rolling hills of pines the appearance of a flickering sea of flame. This illusion of inferno had consumed the upper layers of the trees, but down below in the dark underworld of the forest floor it was still as black as if the night had already come. Insects were starting to come up from the ground, crawling and oozing from their hiding places in the dirt as the gathering dark called them into the world. Grubs, worms, and spiders slowly revealed themselves as the birds and mammals holed themselves up in their dens and the small creatures who never saw the light of day took over the Earth for their designated time.
But they weren't the only ones on the move. As a lone spider crept its way across the dirt like a skeletal hand, a shoe plummeted from the heavens and crushed its brittle body into slime. More feet followed, but the spider could no longer see.
Joe ran through the forest, silent except for the thumping of shoes on the dirt and rocks and the heavy breathing of his soldiers from behind. They moved through the woods as effortlessly as a herd of deer. Pushing branches out of the way and occasionally taking swigs from bags filled with water, the Red Delta guerillas pushed on in their inexorable trek to Sycamore.
Joe passed a gap in the trees and saw the bottom of the sun just begin to touch the top of the ridge, the macabre orange light dull enough to look at with the naked eye. Then it was gone as fast as it had come, whisked away into the dark as he once more descended into the murky blackness of the trees.
He saw the spider just after he stepped on it, and for a moment a thought crossed his mind. We're just like them, he thought. The big ones rule the day, but when the sun goes down we come out for our time to shine.
But Joe buried the idea deep down, as he reminded himself that when this was over the world would be theirs for all time, regardless of the unblinking eye of the sun.

They reached a stream, running hard and fast with the nervous energy of the melting snow. Joe didn't even pause to think of a plan, he just ran into thin air, savoring that one perfect moment as he sailed through the air, untouched by even the Earth itself, before he fell from the sky and hit the other side, his feet squishing dents in the softening mud. He kept on running, and he heard the whooshes and thuds of the others running and jumping, to land behind him on the bank. He never even considered looking back, they were too close to look back. He was so close now to reaching his target, the place where it started and the place where it would end. Nothing as trivial as a stream could slow him down now.

He got another fleeting look at the weakening sun, now a mere half circle buried on the windswept mountaintop. Soon it would be gone, and the harsh flaming orange would be replaced by soft, silver moonlight. The night seemed to give him some kind of mysterious energy, and even though he was running harder and farther than he had in years he didn't feel any fatigue at all. Instead, a feeling of almost machinelike stamina coursed through him like some kind of powerful drug injected straight into his veins. He was almost there, the town couldn't be more than ten miles up ahead, and he could smell the impending victory like a seductive perfume, leading him on greater things.
The sun was the old world, and it was fading fast. Soon the night would arrive, the time for those beaten into the dirt by the powers that be to rise into the world. And when the sun rose again, it would shine down on a new era.

+++++++

Chief Ward walked down the hallway of Sycamore High School, his footsteps bouncing off along the walls of the hallway that seemed to stretch out into the infinite. He could see a blurry image of himself looking up at him from the polished tile floor, interrupted by the periodic glare of the harsh fluorescent lights looking down on him almost in disapproval. It was after hours, and all the students had gone home until tomorrow, if there was to be one after all. It was almost completely silent, and, he though to himself in slight shame, a bit creepy. The faces on motivational posters leered down on him, and the air currents of his body sent little tufts of dust and lint sliding along the floor like tumbleweeds. The dull orange light from the setting sun radiated from the windows, illuminating sections of the wall like fire and giving Ward a strange feeling of Hell.

He reached an intersection, and paused. If he wanted to get the updated records of Joe Murphy as well as a psychological profile, he should go left down to the main office and the guidance counselor. They would be helpful, or course, and provide him with whatever information they could. But something in him whispered that they didn't have all the information he needed, and in all probability would shun him the same as the rest of the townspeople. But there was somebody here that he knew wouldn't do so, and he turned to the right and started down another seemingly endless corridor, with the hellish light piercing his eyes, paper and pencils lying on the floor like the shadows of students who had carried them not long ago.
He looked at each room number, until he reached 301. Moving hesitantly closer to the door that lay ajar, he rapped his knuckles on the polished wood three times. After a moment, there was a scuffing noise from inside, and an unseen hand pulled the door inward. Ward smiled faintly and walked inside.
"Hello John, do you mind if I have a word with you? I called earlier, I think..."
Mr. Franklin smiled broadly, and ushered him into the room.
"Of course, I remember. Please, have a seat Chief."
Ward smiled again, more genuinely this time. The fugitive's former science teacher had not show him the usual hostility, that could only be a good thing.
He pulled out one of the annoyingly uncomfortable desk chairs, and pulled it over to the large table in the front of the room. The low chair strained his back and neck, but he was glad to rest his feet. Mr. John Franklin tenderly lowered himself into his swivel chair, and turned to face the Chief.
"Well? I'm going to assume you're not here to ask me about the weather. What's up?"
Ward looked him in the eye. "I think you know."
Franklin lowered his eyes somberly, his calm smile evaporating.
The police chief continued looking at the old man, and spoke again. "I know you've probably been bursting to scream 'I told you so' ever since it happened, and apparently you had every right too. We should have listened to you, you were the only one who really understood him. But I'm not going to make the same mistake twice, I wanted to talk to you about him."
Mr. Franklin raised his eyebrow quizzically. "I only know what he let me know, Chief. I don't know how I can help you.'
Ward persisted. "John, I have a feeling that the shit's going to hit the fan pretty soon and I want to be ready. I need literally everything I can get."
Franklin hesitated for a moment, then nodded slowly. He took a deep breath and folded his hands on the desk.
"The first thing you have understand is that Joe didn't just get up and decide to leave because he had a bad day. There was no divorce among his parents, there was no family tragedy like the textbook case of teen runaway. It was the little things. Little nagging problems and annoyances that on their own would have made him do no more than frown. But they added up. Every day he had to deal with this, getting pushed around by stronger kids, and admittedly, us. It's not the first time something like this had happened, you need look no further than Columbine High to understand that. Most of the time when life gets this bad for a student, they go into severe depression. Many times they commit suicide.
"The second thing you have to understand was that he was an extremely unusual young man. In addition to being remarkably intelligent, he had a knack for understanding the big picture. He probably saw this as not just his problem, but a problem for the whole world. He wanted to get out, but after his first suicide went wrong instead of just trying again he uses a different approach. Do you see what this means?"
Ward was listening raptly, absorbing this. It would take time to figure out what it meant and how to use it, but he nodded anxiously for him to continue.
"It shows that even in his darkest hour, he used his mind instead of his heart. He saw that he had nothing left to lose, and believed himself to be free. So he left, and the more you tried to catch him the more confirmed his beliefs became, at least in his mind.
"Then in Blackwood, everything changed. The third thing you need to know is that the world of the nation's youth is not an innocent utopia. Most of them make it through ok, I try to help them as much as I can, but there are always some who just aren't happy with it. Blackwood Academy, as you know, was a place filled with boys and girls who felt that way. They were all capable of fighting back, but they never did. Joe was that catalyst that set off the explosion. This threat has been growing under our noses for hundreds of years, but unfortunately the people at the top turned a blind eye. The Academy was a storage tank for the outcasts of a generation, children who, like your fugitive, considered themselves liberated by having nothing to lose."
Ward was still listening attentively, but felt a little confused. "That's a lot of good info John, you're a very perceptive man. But how am I supposed to use it to get the bastard?"
Franklin looked startled for a moment, then gave him a somewhat condescending look. "Think about it. This whole time he's been driven by the despair of having nothing. It gives him strength. So what must you do?"
Ward finally understood. "Give him something to lose. Use the things he cares about against him."
Mr. Franklin smiled softly, but Ward's enlightened excitement started to fade. "Wait, how exactly do I do that? He's already showed he doesn't give a damn about his parents. What else has he got?"
The old teacher slowly closed his eyes. "I have no idea. You're the Chief of Police, isn't that your job?"
Frank Ward sighed, then started to get up. "Thanks John, it's been a big help but I should get back to the station; I need time to think about this."
Franklin took a deep wavering breath, and at that moment he seemed indescribably old, like someone whose soul had been battered by seeing more sorrow and misery than the rest of the world combined.
"There is no time."
"What?"
He raised his eyes, and looked sadly into the Chief's face. "You still don't undestand what you're dealing with. This isn't some crazy band of kids blowing things up and making people sick."
His chair squeaked as he turned it and gazed off through the window into the setting sun.
"The paradigm is about to shift, a new age is coming. The Murphy boy isn't just a boy, he's karma, he's everything wrong we've done in the past coming back to make our world pay. I saw the threat growing inside him from the first day we met, and I only regret that I was too late to help him. I could have, but I didn't, and I hate myself every day. We created him, now he's going to be our destruction. Almost sounds poetic, doesn't it?
"They call themselves Red Delta. Do you know what that means Mr. Ward? In scientific equation the delta symbol stands for a variable's change. And that of course is what this is all about. Changing the world."
Ward stood there, looking at this frail old man predicting the end of the world. Coming from anybody else in any other situation, it would have sounded ridiculous. But at the moment, it chilled him to the bone.
"Are you a religious man, Mr. Ward? If you are then you should have a vague idea of what's now upon us. Hellfire and damnation, whatever it's called. That's what we're up against."
Ward sighed steadily, trying to gather his thoughts. "I didn't know you believed in that sort of thing, John."
Franklin breathed a tiny laugh. "No, no. I'm a scientist, not a theologian. And I believe that there is nothing mystical about this, any more than the extinction of the dinosaurs. I can only hope that it isn't like that."

Ward nodded curtly, and turned towards the door. As he stepped across the threshold, he turned back for a moment. Mr. Franklin was still sitting there, gazing out the window. The logical part of his mind was gaining its influence again, and he started to think about it rationally again. Bullshit, he thought. It's not the end of the world, it's a terrorist attack. It's dangerous, and people may die, but we've had terror attacks before and we've always recovered. The old man's no prophet, he's just a teacher.
He strode down the infinite hallway more confidently this time, trying to form a battle plan. He would need more information about the members of Murphy's group. Real information, not, some philosphical crap about armageddon. Cold, hard facts that could be used. And this time, he knew where to get them. He knew who he needed to call, and kicked himself for not thinking of it earlier.

He stopped, and the clouds of cobwebs and dust swirled around his feet for a moment before settling onto the ground. He reached into his pocket and whipped out a cell phone. Flipping it open, he dialed the number that he had had to call once before, when giving interviews just after the Blackwood incident.
The dial tone buzzed in his ear, then stopped.
"Hello?" he asked, trying to sound confident.
There was a pause, and then he spoke again.
"Yeah, it's me. Frank Ward, I remember we spoke earlier about the whole Blackwood fiasco...yeah, I know...but listen, I'm sure you know why I'm calling, you've probably heard it on the news...yeah, it's true, unfortunately...and look, I could really use your help up here. You know a lot more about the kids than we do, and your advice could really be helpful...yes, I know it's late, but we don't know when he may arrive...yes, of course we'll arrange a flight. It's not too far, you should be here in an hour or two...oh what's that? Only an hour? Excellent! We'll meet you at the station...yes, thank you very much, it's very appreciated, good bye..."
He snapped the phone shut triumphantly, and slipped it back into his pocket. The man would be hear tonight, and then they'd have some real leads to go on.
Ward was breathing normally again. With his help, and the extra SWAT teams that that the state and the ATF were providing, Joe didn't stand a chance. He was going to solve this, and his honor and reputation would be safe. The idea of redeeming himself in the eyes of his town filled him with nervous energy, and as he shoved the main door open and strode outside he felt and urge to get out there and do something. Maybe, he thought, this would turn out all right.

+++++++

Nearly fifty miles away, Mr. Scott stood in the living room of his sister's apartment. He had been living there for the past three months, after his quarters at Blackwood Academy had been riddled with bullet holes and overrun with forensic officers. He hated it, being cooped up in here while the battle he had sworn to finish raged on without him. But now it looked like he finally had a chance to get back in the game.
He hung up the phone, seconds after Chief Ward had gone. Gliding across the room, he threw on his black jacket and pulled open the door. The helicopter would be waiting at the local police station, and he wanted to get there as soon as possible. His sister would wonder where he had gone, but he didn't care. This was a personal score he had to settle. The brats that had destroyed his career and his only hope of preserving the society he loved so dearly were not all gone. The girl was dead, yes, but there were bigger fish out there now. Joseph Murphy had to die, and he swore to himself it would be tonight.

+++++++

In the empty, bare school, silent except for the janitors humming to themselves as they made their rounds thought the hallways and classrooms, Mr. Franklin still sat there staring at the tiny spot of orange light peeking over the tops of the trees in a last gasp of glory before it was overcome by the coming darkness.
A tear ran down the lines and wrinkles of his weary face, but he still remained motionless.
He thought of the quiet, intelligent boy who had shown genuine interest in his class the knowledge he had to offer. How he had stuttered awkwardly when he was paired with the prettier girls during labs, how he had always seemed enthusiastic when truly learning about the world.
And now he would be the end, the darkness and plague that were circling overhead waiting, were being brought by that innocent freshman.
Franklin closed his eyes and lowered his head.
"What happened to you?" he whispered to himself "What pushed you over the edge? How did I fail?"
He looked back at the orange shimmer on the horizon, and felt instead of fear, a deep, overpowering sadness.
"This is it," he thought. "Tonight it all changes."
In one last glorious flash of flamelike light, the sun disappeared behind the land, and darkness fell over the town.

TO BE CONTINUED

I think Buenaventura Durruti is a pretty cool guy. eh kills fascists and doesnt afraid of ruins.
The quickest way to kill a revolution is to wait for it.
09-13-2006 08:16 AM
Find all posts by this user Quote this message in a reply
SoulRiser Offline
Site Founder

Posts: 18,240
Joined: Aug 2001
Thanks: 2673
Given 1975 thank(s) in 1208 post(s)
Post: #20
 

the suspense... aaaaah!

damn this is good.

can't wait Biggrin

"If you can, help others; if you cannot do that, at least do not harm them." - Dalai Lama
Help & Support - Get help with leaving school, unsupportive parents, and more.
Click here if school makes you depressed or suicidal

Support School Survival on Patreon or Donate Bitcoin Here: 1Q5WCcxWjayniaL92b8GfXBiGdfjmnUNa2
"Believe those who are seeking the truth. Doubt those who find it." - André Paul Guillaume Gide
"The true sign of intelligence is not knowledge but imagination." - Albert Einstein
"I'm pretty sure there's a lot of beauty that can only be found in the mind of a lunatic." - TheCancer
EIPD - Emotionally Incompetent Parent Disorder

Push Button for Collection of Useful Links:
Hidden stuff:
09-13-2006 09:06 AM
Visit this user's website Find all posts by this user Quote this message in a reply
WildFire Offline
Fanatic

Posts: 4,553
Joined: Sep 2006
Thanks: 0
Given 1 thank(s) in 1 post(s)
Post: #21
 

i cant believe it. its so good.
09-13-2006 10:48 AM
Find all posts by this user Quote this message in a reply
xXThe Damnation ProjectXx Offline
Fanatic

Posts: 1,693
Joined: Jun 2006
Thanks: 0
Given 0 thank(s) in 0 post(s)
Post: #22
 

ok

what the fuck are u waiting for and write more

i love this story

write more godamnit

Freya Stark - “There can be no happiness if the things we believe in are different from the things we do.”


[Image: untitled-4.jpg]
09-13-2006 11:26 AM
Visit this user's website Find all posts by this user Quote this message in a reply
Cilaos Offline
Fanatic

Posts: 4,299
Joined: Aug 2006
Thanks: 0
Given 18 thank(s) in 15 post(s)
Post: #23
 

lemme ask you somthin rebelnerd
are your finger tips bleedin from all the typin XD
09-14-2006 12:21 AM
Find all posts by this user Quote this message in a reply
Rebelnerd Offline
Fanatic

Posts: 8,781
Joined: Aug 2005
Thanks: 0
Given 113 thank(s) in 97 post(s)
Post: #24
 

no, i'm ok. ;D besides when i get really into i barely notice. guess OCD's got some benifits, huh?

I think Buenaventura Durruti is a pretty cool guy. eh kills fascists and doesnt afraid of ruins.
The quickest way to kill a revolution is to wait for it.
09-14-2006 04:55 AM
Find all posts by this user Quote this message in a reply
Cilaos Offline
Fanatic

Posts: 4,299
Joined: Aug 2006
Thanks: 0
Given 18 thank(s) in 15 post(s)
Post: #25
 

yea its got some benifits
09-14-2006 01:10 PM
Find all posts by this user Quote this message in a reply
Alucard483 Offline
Site Mod

Posts: 5,469
Joined: May 2006
Thanks: 6
Given 92 thank(s) in 65 post(s)
Post: #26
 

i can already tell its going to have a ending like bravehart

Whilst some work diligently there are those who ask why. I am one of them
(\__/) This is Bunny. Paste Bunny into your signature
(='.'=) to help him gain world domination.
(")_(")
Soul#2: I already have a grip. Doc:and a porno mag and a tube of lube I'm sure"
Lifes a bitch, then you marry one
This has been a test of the emergency pointless argument system. Had this been a real pointless argument, someone would have been called a facist.
Ceiling Cat: For that you need to wear a fursuit, though.

Inside sources say that Carla Franklin has had more dick in her than a public urinal.
09-15-2006 09:45 AM
Find all posts by this user Quote this message in a reply
Abandoning Ship Offline
Fanatic

Posts: 2,692
Joined: Oct 2005
Thanks: 0
Given 14 thank(s) in 11 post(s)
Post: #27
 

What happened then?
09-15-2006 09:45 AM
Find all posts by this user Quote this message in a reply
Rebelnerd Offline
Fanatic

Posts: 8,781
Joined: Aug 2005
Thanks: 0
Given 113 thank(s) in 97 post(s)
Post: #28
 

In the middle of the New Hampshire countryside, that looked from the sky like a sea of inky blackness from the lack of human development, lay a small sea of light. Like a million fireflies that had just descended from the heavens and gathered together, the pinpoint spots of glow from the streets, windows, and cars of Sycamore twinkled and shifted, flashing on and off into space like a Morse code signal that would never be read. Normally at this time of night the lights would be thin and scattered, but tonight was not a normal night and the town was flashing like a Christmas tree.

Joe shifted his head, and the illuminated town whizzed by through the small circle of the binoculars' lenses. It reminded him uncomfortably of his ethical dilemma while sniping security personnel back at Blackwood. But now, as he lay flat under the bush at the top of the hill, pine needles poking at his elbows and stomach, he didn't think he would care if he had to do it again. This was it, he told himself. This is the night where we finish everything we started.
He swept his gaze over the Southern border of the town once again, his eyes pushed firmly into the twin sockets of the binoculars. What he saw both amused and saddened him.
The townspeople had obviously known he was coming. From the looks of it, the entire area had been locked down and put under martial law. There were thick bands of flashing red and blue lights at every intersection, indicating police roadblocks and checkpoints. Long thin beams of spotlights swished through the air, scouring the surrounding hills from a distance. Every once in a while one would pass over Joe's hiding place, giving him the most unsettling feeling of being naked under a microscope. But he reminded himself that he was well concealed under the bush and trees, whose newly-budding leaves offered him complete protection from all angles. The only thing he needed to worry about was thermal cameras like the one he'd been tracked with by helicopter when he'd first run away. The thought deeply worried him, sending a shiver down his spine that he knew had nothing to do with the dew on the grass. With the entire Red Delta crowded behind him, there was no way they could be mistaken for hunters.
But as he searched the starry sky he saw no helicopters or planes, only the full moon staring down unblinkingly like some great unholy eye. He knew there were still satellites glaring down at the Earth from out of reach, but due to the police's apparent lack of offensive action he assumed that they had not been located yet.

He lowered the binoculars from his face, and ducked his head further back into the bush. Twisting around, he looked at the boys and girls clustered around him on the ground. The all looked either scared or determined, or both, and he gave them a comforting smile. He pushed his hands again the trunk of a nearby shrub, and slid down the hill on his back, mud slipping and oozing under him. Once he was back in the middle of the group, he turned to Clara.
"You got it?"
She nodded resolutely and patted the bag that held the metal briefcase. Even though it was contained, the all were looking at it nervously, as if it might jump out at any moment and attack them. Joe gave a thumbs-up and raised himself into a squat, his feet sliding in the mud several times until he was able to maintain his balance.
"Ok, here's the plan. We move around the outskirts until we're here," he drew a diamond shape into the mud that vaguely looked like the town. Then, he scratched an X into the West corner.
"This is the train station. From what I've read the P-44 is very resilient, it's hard to kill and it lasts a long time. We release it here, and even if they manage to kill most of it some will get on the trains over the next few days and spread all over the country. We just need to get it in a place there where it can be safe and grow. I think our best bet is the tunnel, here." He drew another X, right next to the first. "That tunnel is old, and starting to crack and fall apart. Even if they find out and clean it, there will probably be some left in the cracks in the walls. Also, even if that doesn't work the wind blowing through the tunnel will force it out into the air and spread it farther than a normal breeze outside. Does that sound alright?"
He looked around questioningly at their scared faces, but nobody disagreed.
"Remember; we get in, we let it go, then we get the hell out. It'll be guarded, so there's going to be fighting. Just so you all know that. If you want to back out, now's your chance."
He scanned their faces again, but still no one said a word.
"Right then, let’s do this."
He stood up, still hunched over beneath the low branches of the trees, and pulled out his pistol. After racking the slide, he stuck it back into the holster but left the strap off, so he could reach it at a moment's notice. As he turned towards the Northwest, he heard a sudden cacophony of clicks and scratching behind him. He turned around hurriedly, and saw them all cocking and charging their weapons at the same time. He grinned, and some of them weakly smiled back. Then he turned back into the woods, and started off.

But he had only gotten a few feet when he suddenly threw himself onto the wet, slimy ground before he even realized why. It was like for a moment his instincts had taken over and the logical part of his brain still had to catch up. But a half a second later, he understood.
Like the rumbling voice from some beast of his darkest nightmares, a low thumping filled the air. It vibrated everything from the branches of the trees to the ribs in Joe's gut, and some wet leaves fluttered down from the treetops that they had been prematurely blown from. He could see the helicopter in his mind before he could see it with his eyes, and his body shook like it hadn't done in months.
The other kids were also taking cover beneath whatever they could find, but they were not filled with the same penetrating terror as Joe. he knew why. They hadn't been there, the second day of his escape, cowering under a tree while the hellish beast from the sky circled overhead like a buzzard, tracking his every move and just waiting for him to die. It's infrared camera had seen him, and nothing he could do, no hiding place he could find, no camouflage he could invent, had helped him. It had been a stroke of luck that had saved him, he knew it wouldn't happen again.
Joe clutched the ground, feeling the dirt shaking as the helicopter swooped overhead. They'll see us, he thought desperately, they'll see us and it will all be over, just like that...
But the helicopter didn't stop, didn't hover over the trees or circle around like a bird of prey. It didn't deviate from its course at all, and Joe saw the piercing spotlight beams emanating from the cockpit sweep over him without paying him any notice. The low, reverberating hum gradually quieted, like the fade-out at the end of a song with heavy drums.
Joe dared to raise his head slightly off the ground, mud and twigs clinging to his hair, and he just barely saw the glistening, flashing monstrosity pass over the tree line towards the town. He breathed normally again. It had been a transport, that's all; they hadn't been out to look for them.
He painfully raised himself into a standing position, the broken branches scraping his arms and head. Once he was back on his feet, he felt his chest to check that the gun was still there, took several deep breaths to calm himself back down again, and looked at his comrades.
They were all standing already, looking at him strangely. Joe didn't care, he'd been looked at like that before more times than he could count. He just gave them a blank look.
"What?”
They were silent, and didn't press the topic. He nodded slightly and continued through the woods, shoving low-hanging branches out of his way as they pushed on through the undergrowth towards the train station.

+++++++

Chief Ward pressed his hand onto his head, to hold the blue police hat in place as the winds swirled around him like a small yet vicious tornado. Squinting his eyes against the xenon spotlights burning into his brain, he watched as the State Police helicopter hovered in the air, slowly maneuvering into position over the landing pad like a giant clumsy animal. Finally, it's left landing skid touched down onto the asphalt on the roof of the police station and the rest of the vehicle settled onto the ground.
Ward walked forward, bending over subconsciously as though the rotors could lop off his head if he stood too tall. This wasn't easy as the long, sweeping blades still swung overhead, sending gusts of wind blasting into his torso and making his open jacket flutter like a flag.
The door on the left side of the cabin popped open, then slid out to the side. The light difference between the helicopter's cabin and the darkness of the night made it hard to see clearly, but Ward could tell that a tall figure dressed in a black coat was standing up in the doorframe. The figure climbed down onto the launchpad, slammed the door firmly shut behind him. He walked over to Ward, who knew who it was before the copter had even landed.
The Chief extended his hand. "Mr. Scott, thank you so much for coming out here on such short notice!" he had to shout loudly to be heard over the raging wind of the rotor blades, slowing but not yet still.
Mr. Scott took his hand and gave a half-hearted shake. His silvery hair seemed to glow in the light of the many security stations and flashlights around the building, and Ward realized he had never know that the man was that old.
Scott let go of his hand, and stared levelly into the Chief's eyes.
"It had better be good, I wouldn't want to be here when they arrive."
That was completely false, the only place the former director would rather be than here was right in front of Joe, with his hands around his neck. But he had no intention of letting Ward know this, or that he planned to kill the boy whether this small-town Chief liked it or not.
Ward laughed. "No need to worry, we've got more security than Area fuckin' 51 right now. All we need from you in some info on the other kids that are working with him, most of the files were-"
"Destroyed by gunfire at my facility. Yes, I know that Mr. Ward, as I was nearly killed along with them."
Ward seemed momentarily taken aback, but seemed to calm down a moment later. "Yes, yes, of course, I know and I'm very sorry...but for both tactical and legal purposes we needed you here, we'll do our best to make your stay as short and comfortable as possible."
Scott nodded wordlessly, then strode to the edge of the building with his hands clasped behind his back. Ward followed him, but stayed a few feet back. He didn't like heights and the roof had no railing.
Mr. Scott gazed out at the town, and the streets below. "Quite impressive."
Ward smiled, but inside he didn't feel that proud. The state had donated nearly every SWAT team available, and what few National Guard troopers and vehicles hadn't been sent to Iraq were now deployed to Sycamore. Overnight, his peaceful little suburban town had been turned into a veritable fortress, and although he felt it was best for keeping the terrorists out, he felt slightly guilty. He had been forced to turn this town into a police state, with himself holding absolute power of everything within it's borders. Looking out at the scene in front of him, it looked rather disturbing.

The town was lit up like a beacon, with searchlights mounted on the tops of every building sweeping the streets and walls. Citizens huddled in their homes, those who had chosen not to evacuate now under strict orders not leave their homes until the authorities had given the OK. The deep, robotic clump of the black masses of soldiers marching through the streets, moving as one, the black and white blur of their urban camouflage suits gliding over the concrete as hundreds of boots stomped mercilessly into the pavement over and over again.
Every once in a while, over the incessant clomping of the infantry, came the cold, high whine and screech, like fingernails on a blackboard, of a tank's treads squeaking as it slugged its way down suburban roads that normally would have been traveled by tricycles. Their headlights blazed out into the night, peering coldly into the houses of civilians as if demanding to see what was going on inside.
The intersections, usually congested with mini vans and SUVs filled with squealing kids on their way to soccer practice, were now blocked off by the massive green bulks of humvees, looming over the discarded toys and cheerful chalk drawings like a heard of dark beasts from the nightmares of the children who had drawn them. Ward turned his eyes toward the east, near the downtown area. There, faint screams echoed through the alleys as protestors and vandals, as well as those out after curfew, were tackled by armored SWAT units and thrown into unmarked vans. Flames were flickering into the sky as a few scattered houses were Molotoved by angry residents.
Deep inside, Ward could hardly blame them. His town looked like a scene from 1984.
All at once he heard more yelling, and whipped his head around towards the park. The sight that met his eyes was made even more painful by his inability to do anything about it at the moment.
The large, fenced-in field that was usually reserved for families to let their dogs roam around off the leash, had been filled with prisoners who had been caught outside after curfew. They huddled together inside, wrapping themselves in blankets and sitting with their backs up against the fence. The hulking shadows of guards patrolling around the outside of the fence could bee seen all the way from the roof of the station, and yellow circles of light moved over the prisoners crowded inside as the spotlights set up in temporary watchtowers glared down at them, as though already accusing them of some heinous crime. Ward was too far to be sure, but most of the people clustered within looked very young.
He squeezed his eyes shut as if hoping to block it out, but when he opened them again this nightmare version of his town was still there, the military-controlled streets glowing like rivers of hellish light between the looming islands of darkness made by the buildings.
He lowered his eyes to the floor in front of him, and said a prayer under his breath. Mr. Scott must have heard, because he looked at him curiously as though wondering what was wrong.
Ward turned to him sympathetically. "I hate seeing Sycamore like this, Scott. I can barely stand it. Even when Murphy burned it at least we had our freedom, now it's almost like everything worth defending is gone."
Mr. Scott appeared completely unmoved by this, and kept looking at him with the same quizzical expression. "But it's what needs to be done, of course."
Ward turned away, looking sadly back out at his town.
"I hope so, I really, really hope so."
Then without a word, he turned away from the edge and headed for the door that led down into the station. Mr. Scott stood there looking at the town for a moment, then he too turned and disappeared through the door.

+++++++

Joe peered out from around the tree he had flattened himself against. Looking around quickly, he then ducked back around the trunk and tiptoed a few feet into the woods, taking extra care not to step onto the many twigs and empty cans littering the ground. Once he was safely behind the line of shrubs, he addressed his people squatting in a dirty depression between two clusters of pine trees.
"Ok, the situation is this: there are lightly armed guards patrolling the edge of the railyard every hundred feet. They'll be easy to take out, but they're just for warning. From what I could see, there's a machine gun nest in the alley between the fuel house and the main station building. The tunnel is about one hundred feet down the tracks, but because of the fences the only way to get there is to pass the gun. Do you understand what this means?"
Several of them shook their heads, looking even more worried than before.
Joe sighed grimly. "It means we have to take out the guards and the nest, and do it without being seen by the others."
This was greeted with many gasps and hushed protests. One or two of them looked ready to back out at this point, but they gradually calmed themselves and after a minute, looked determined again.
Joe was silent for a moment, and many of them recognized that he was in the middle of deep thought and tried to be as quiet as possible. But after a few minutes of rolling his eyes skyward and muttering to himself, he spoke.
"Ok, here's what we're going to do. We're going to take out the guards silently, then instead of going all the way down the tracks, we get across fast, then move along the side of the building where they can't see. Once we get to the corner of the alley, we get them with silenced weapons before at point blank range. That way they won't even have time to aim the machine gun. The hard part is getting across the tracks. After that, we're cool."
From several reactions, this didn't sound remotely cool.
He quietly clapped his hands together. "Right then, let's go. Those with knives or melee weapons, front and center."
He stood up, and reached into his pocket. Fishing around inside, he finally felt the smooth, hard surface of a knife handle. It was a long, sharp hunting knife that he'd stolen on the day of his escape while sneaking though a construction site, and during his long period of life on the run it had saved his life more times than he could count. He pulled it out of his improvised cloth sheath, and held it tightly in his fist. Looking around, he saw three of them do the same. Two others pulled out wicked-looking clubs made from heave sticks and pieces of metal. The boys and girls with firearms were attaching crude silencers to their muzzles, mostly made of crumpled cloth and tape. When he looked around at them once more and saw them all ready, he gestured with his hand towards the railyard and they started creeping through to the end of the woods.
The railyard was big, a great, sprawling plain of gravel crisscrossed with the thick metal bars of train tracks. Although it was only about seventy feet across, it seemed to stretch out to the left and right for infinity, until it vanished into the night. A few lights were on in the station, casting sharp yellow squares of light onto the yard, and Joe and he team were careful not to step into them.
Fortunately, there was cover. Every few feet there would be some piece of machinery; signs, lights, and large metal devices used to direct trains that looked like they had been around since the Industrial Revolution. They were hulking, oddly- shaped, and orange colored with rust, but provided adequate protection from the eyes and bullets of the three men at the gun.
They waited in the murky black shadow of a low concrete wall, broken in half with the spindly red twists of rebar poking out of the top at weird angles. Joe scanned the yard, until a small movement caught his eye off to the right. He squinted into the dark, holding up his hand to block out the distracting light from the station and could just barely see the figure of a guard, walking along the middle track. Even at this distance, Joe could tell it would not be the usual police patrol. This man was decked out in full combat gear, with a helmet, goggles, tactical vest and everything. With a start, Joe realized that the National Guard had probably been brought in.
Looking off to the left, he could suddenly see another guard, in the same war outfit. Studying their paths and extrapolating them along the ground, Joe realized that they would pass directly in front of the wall. They had to act, and they had to act fast. He made a motion towards the others behind him, and they all got up into crouched position, motionless but ready to spring into action at a second's notice.
The guards moved closer. Joe knew that their only chance was to kill them both at once, if one died first the other might yell. He adjusted his grip on the knife and waited, not even breathing.
The two men kept coming closer, now he could clearly see them, their combat gear giving them the appearance of bizarre Medieval knights.
Joe held his breath until he couldn't stand it any more, and dared to let out a tiny breath.
The first guard stopped.
Joe felt a surge of panic, and the idea of everything going wrong pulsed through his nerves like poison. But a moment later, he heard a click and a small flame, blindingly bright in the darkness, sprang into the guard's hand. Joe breathed in relief; the man had just stopped to light a cigarette. For a few seconds the tiny butane flame lit up the man's face, and Joe could clearly see the features of the man he would be killing in a moment. Then the light flicked out, leaving the weak orange glow of a cigarette in its place, and the guard started to walk again. They got closer and closer, converging on the wall, until Joe could hear the crunching of their boots as gravel scraped its way out form under their feet. Still, he gestured to his comrades to stay down.
Now the guards were mere feet away, their polished black helmets shining in the darkness. But still, Joe stayed in place. The boys and girls around him were getting scared, and as they sat there silently in the dark watching the men move inexorably towards their hiding place their nerves seared with pain and adrenaline. At last, the two men stopped, directly on the other side of the low wall, and nodded to each other.
"You got a light?"
"Yeah, here you go..."
He never finished giving the man the lighter. At that moment, Joe cast his raised hand down and sprang up and around the wall, all the stored energy in his muscles and nerves shooting out at once like a spring, or a bomb. He grabbed the first guard around the neck, and drove his fist into the man's Adam's apple. He gave a muffled grunt, and his arms swung around into the air in a desperate attempt to shake Joe off. But it was too late. Through the darkness and the savage animal instincts clouding his brain, he could faintly see the other guard struggling under the grip of Alex and two others, but he concentrated on his own job. Holding the knife blade up in his right hand, he swung his fist around the man's neck, and the shiny metal wedge, razor-sharp from six months of being filed on rocks, flashed once in the moonlight. Then it disappeared into the folds of the man's vest and shirt as the momentum of Joe's arm drove it into his throat. The blade sunk in deep, and he didn't even have time to cry out before it stopped at the hilt, buried in the flesh of his neck. As his lifeless body slumped to the ground, a thin squirt of blood spilling out of his neck, Joe caught him by the arms before he could make noise by hitting the gravel. Pulling the knife out, he quickly wiped it on his shirt. It was soaked in blood, and left a dark stain on the cloth. Joe breathed deeply and looked up, the adrenaline fading enough for him to regain control of his brain.
But as he looked up, he realized the others hadn't been so lucky. Alex had tore the guard's helmet off and aimed his club for his bald skull, but the man had shifted at the last minute. Joe saw, with a sinking heart, the heavy metal head swing through the air sa if in slow motion, and could see what was going to happen before it did.
The club missed, and struck the man in the shoulder. There was a faint sound, like a crack and a pop, and he realized that the man's arm had been dislocated. Even the force of one of the boys wrapping his arm around his throat couldn't silence this. The man took a short, crackling breath, then let out a hoarse yell of pain. Alex's body reflexively sprung into gear, raising the club up again and striking the man square on the head. There was a resounding crack, and the guard's skull split. Blood poured out, spraying Alex and the two others with him. The man fell silent, but it was too late.
"Hey! Hey YOU! What the fuck's going on!?!?" Joe whirled around, just as a the bright eye of a spotlight flew across the stone and steel of the railyard floor and fixed itself onto Joe. His reflection on the wall was immediately cast into sharp clarity, and his blood ran cold. He could hear shouts from both his people and the men at the machinegun nest, and all at once there was a loud sound like a clack and a sliding scratch. Joe knew instantly from experience that it was the sound of the machinegun, a .50 Browning, being racked. He whipped his head around while simultaneously yanking the Glock out of his shoulder holster, until he faced his crew.
"Head for the building wall, go-NO! NOT THE TUNNEL THEY'LL SEE!"
Alex and the two other boys who had killed the guard had taken off down the tracks in the direction of the tunnel. Joe didn't know if they meant to, or if they had just panicked. But it looked like he would never find out. As the spotlight turned the three of them into speeding black silhouettes, gravel spraying into the air as they ran, Joe heard a noise that battered his eardrums and shook his brain inside his skull. It was the sound of the machinegun opening fire.
Once as a kid, Joe had tried setting off a string of firecrackers in a large metal pot, and the noise had almost deafened him. But this was a hundred times worse. The echoing bangs shook the windows of the station, and Joe felt the gravel bouncing with the vibration around his feet. He got once last look at Alex and his two friends, a horrific image that seared itself into his memory for the rest of his life. They were still running, not even looking where they were going, as a thin flickering beam of light sprayed out of the darkness and knocked all three of them off their feet at once. The bullets tore through their clothes and flesh with the same level of ease, and their limp bodies shook and jerked as they were knocked around in midair by the horizontal hailstones of lead filling their bodies, and the air around them. When they finally hit the ground, they were already in pieces, a fine red mist covering the tracks and the gravel like paint from a spray can. If Joe's instincts had been any less developed, he would have just stood there in horror and been cut to pieces. But fortunately, being on the run for half a year had given him better reflexes than most, and while his mind was still paralyzed with shock his body was already running, kicking gravel everywhere like a cloud of rock as he dashed across the railyard, jumping over the thick metal tracks whenever he encountered them. This seemed to mobilize the others, and they ran behind him like a panicked heard of deer beset by vicious lions. By now the gunners had seen them, and as they swung the smoking barrel of the Browning around they still held the trigger, and as the boys and girls of the Red Delta followed Joe to the wall bullets thudded into the ground around them, and gravel was blasted into the air. Joe saw two others go down, but he didn't have time to recognize them.
All hell had just broken loose at the train station, and the only thing that mattered now was staying alive.

TO BE CONTINUED

I think Buenaventura Durruti is a pretty cool guy. eh kills fascists and doesnt afraid of ruins.
The quickest way to kill a revolution is to wait for it.
09-15-2006 11:19 AM
Find all posts by this user Quote this message in a reply
WildFire Offline
Fanatic

Posts: 4,553
Joined: Sep 2006
Thanks: 0
Given 1 thank(s) in 1 post(s)
Post: #29
 

I bet if you sent this into a publisher, they would publish it. Smile Smile I bet this story is going to one honking big novel thats for sure!

[Image: ninjawarrior.jpg]
09-15-2006 11:56 AM
Find all posts by this user Quote this message in a reply
Rebelnerd Offline
Fanatic

Posts: 8,781
Joined: Aug 2005
Thanks: 0
Given 113 thank(s) in 97 post(s)
Post: #30
 

well, there's only two more parts left. i guess it would be pretty long though, if each chapter is about 5-7 pages and there's six chapters in each part...hmmm, i dunno...

I think Buenaventura Durruti is a pretty cool guy. eh kills fascists and doesnt afraid of ruins.
The quickest way to kill a revolution is to wait for it.
09-15-2006 12:19 PM
Find all posts by this user Quote this message in a reply
Post Reply 


Possibly Related Threads...
Thread: Author Replies: Views: Last Post
  off the edge Rebelnerd 51 4,108 12-22-2006 11:18 AM
Last Post: Rebelnerd
  Off the Edge-Part II Rebelnerd 51 3,543 09-09-2006 11:55 AM
Last Post: xXThe Damnation ProjectXx

Forum Jump:


User(s) browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)

Contact Us | School Survival | Return to Top | Return to Content | Mobile Version | RSS Syndication