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The Next Morning
Topic Started: Dec 20 2009, 06:22 AM (383 Views)
Silas Whitfield
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[ *  *  *  * ]
Silas jogged over the rough broken ground, his boots making little noise in the early dawn. His objective slowly came into view as he continued, a small outcropping of rock before a huge depression in the land, a few miles across. A village lay a little ways away down the sandy slope. Silas slowed, and took a left before the embankment and the dirt road into the town, going prone on the edge of the cliff. He placed his spotters sight on the ground and leveled the miniature tripod, setting his weapon beside him. His orders were simple. A few Taliban agents had managed to fix up an old soviet t-series tank, and he was to spot for an artillery team before the insurgents decided to use the armored vehicle to perpetrate a massacre in any larger cities nearby.


The village was quiet and the only hint of dawn was a red light creeping over the horizon. The tank was parked next to a clay house (hovel was a more accurate description), covered in sand camouflage netting. A few dozen Talib's were standing near it, one sitting on the front armor, obviously giving some sort of speech, or briefing. A speech was more likely considering the animated hand gestures. Silas pulled out his backpack satellite radio and folded out the rough metal antenna. He input the command frequency and pushed the BEGIN CONV. button.

"Godfather, this is Winchester 2-1 actual, reporting in position, how copy over?"

An older voice squawked back over the radio at him

"Solid copy 2-1. Be advised, battery code Steel Rain is active and awaiting targets, over."

"Copy that, Winchester 2-1 over and out."

Silas reached back over to his radio and changed the frequency. A few miles away, the commander of 105MM Howitzer battery "Steel Rain" heard a voice come through his headset.

"Steel Rain, Steel Rain, this is Winchester 2-1 actual requesting fire mission,
targets to follow, how copy over?"

"Solid copy 2-1, send targets, over."

Silas re-focused his scope and counted the gunmen. "Thirty five, thirty six, thirty seven."

He pushed the send key and relayed the message.

"Targets are as follows; Armor one and Infantry three-seven in the open, along MSR code Uniform-one-one-seven, stand by for remarks, over."

"Roger that 2-1, send remarks, over."

"Remarks are as follows: Force is in weak defensive posture, currently stationary, probably distracted. There has been no sign of civilians so far, over."

"Steel Rain copies remarks, standing by for grid coordinates, over."

This was the annoying part of calling in a fire mission, Silas thought, reaching into his pack for the map. He unfolded it and found the dot that had been circled with red sharpie. He took a few seconds to write the numbers down and picked up the mouthpiece.

"Gridmarks are as follows; Yankee-Golf-Hotel one-six-six-eight-one-three by
Oscar-Lima-Foxtrot two-two-niner-four-seven-niner, how copy over?"

"Steel Rain copies, Yankee-Golf-Hotel one-six-six-eight-one-three by
Oscar-Lima-Foxtrot two-two-niner-four-seven-niner, over."

Silas wrote down the numbers and double checked them against the transmitted ones.

"2-1 Copies all."

"Winchester 2-1, be advised, gun line firing, thirty rounds, staggered HE and AP,
shot out, Splashdown in five, over."

"Copy, splashdown in five, over."

Silas put away the map and held on tight to the spotters scope, zooming out to catch the fireworks. The men were still listening to the speech, unaware of silent shells speeding down on them from high above.

There was a very faint whistling and then a huge plume of dirt flung itself into the air. A quarter of a second later the rest of the barrage hit, one shell after another. The Armor Piercing ones blowing up in short lateral blasts, and the High Explosives sending massive fireballs skyward. The shock wave of sound took three seconds to reach Silas, and he watched in awe as it whipped across the ground toward him, kicking up dust and rocks as it went. Silas put in earplugs just in time as the tremendous over-pressure wave broke across the lip of the embankment, knocking his antenna down flat and dissipating with a roar like a wounded jungle cat.

The dirt fell back to earth and Silas looked back at the village. It was gone. Obliterated. Wiped off the face of the earth as surely as if Thor himself and reached down from the heavens and smote it. There was a mass of overlapping craters, extending from the epicenter of where the tank had been. The body of the tank was shredded and metal sections were lodged in the ground. The rounded turret, relieved of its barrel was lying further up the road, upside-down. There was not a single hovel undamaged, and many were simply rubble. Silas reached back and flipped the antenna back up.

"Steel Rain, this is 2-1, good effect on target, over and out."

"Steel Rain copies, over and out."

An hour later Silas was in the lead Stryker's troop bay rolling down the road to survey the damage. The doors opened and the sqaud piled out. There were dozens of bodies, some that had been thrown clear almost undamaged, save for SNT. When a large enough explosion goes off near enough to you, it often just flicks your body off like someone threw a switch. That was Sudden Nerve Trauma. But these bodies were far out, the rest were in pieces all over the road. Silas kicked one of them and light a cigarette. Something was wrong. There was a lot more than thirty seven bodies here. Silas walked over to the side of the village farthest from the explosions. Here there were some walls standing, and in some cases only one wall crushed, or a roof caved in. Suddenly a figure burst out of one of the doorways, carrying something in it's arms. Silas jumped back and before he could think he fired a long burst and gunned the figure down. The rest of the squad came running and Silas approached the corpse, weapon drawn. It was a woman. Her shawl had been stained with blood and dust. Tentatively he turned it over. The bundle of cloth was not moving. Not crying out. Some of the squad grimaced, others looked like they were going to throw up. The cigarette dropped from Silas's slackened mouth.

"Oh god." He whispered.

The Sargent laid a hand on his shoulder "Lets go, there's nothing to see."

"I didn't, she just popped out, I thought..." Silas sputtered out words trying to explain

"I know. It happens"

A soldier piped up from the next row of houses. "Hey sarge take a look, theres a ton of bodies over here and they don't look like the one's were after."

Slowly, the squad walked back to the plaza. Silas looked to where the corporal was pointing. A man dressed in robes was lying atop a pile of rubble, missing his arm from the elbow down.

Silas looked up and down the row of destroyed hovels and saw more bodies, women in black dresses, and children, ripped and maimed past the point of recognition.

Silas's eyes went blank. He wasn't looking, he couldn't look at them, and yet he couldn't look away. His body shook slightly.

"I... I thought there weren't"

The Sargent took a step towards him

"I told you, it happens, the important thing is that we got what we came here for."

The corporal heaved a little and pointed behind Silas.

"Aw crap there's more over there!"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP WALLACE." The Sarge boomed.

He put his hand on Silas's shoulder again.

"Come one, you don't need to see it, lets get out of here."

Too late. Silas turned and saw the hands and feet sticking out of the rubble, stiff and bloody. It was too much. His senses jammed, the bodies seemed to call out to him, screaming at him, berating him.

He dropped to his knees and yelled. Yelled at the top of his voice. And the yell turned into a scream, like a beast in pain.




Silas woke up with a start. Dawn was filtering in through the window. Silas sat up and removed himself from his sleeping bag.

"Still remember that little incident at Al-Bakra do you?"

Silas spun around. Standing there, leaning against the wall was... Silas.

"It was rather unfortunate business, so many poor little farmers, plastered just because some Private didn't know they were there."

Silas fought down shock and spoke.

"Who the fuck are you?"

The other Silas grinned at him

"I'm in that head of yours so there's no point in playing dumb. I'm you, you're me. I'm the person that has a bit of fun and you're the person who feels all bad just because we stabbed some travelers."

"You stabbed them, it was you! Not me! I wasn't in control, YOU were, you fucking bastard! You're the whole reason I take the medication!"

"You thought you could keep me chained in the back of our brain with some pills? Goodness Silas, you insult us."

"Fuck you, this is my body."

The beast waved it's hand dismissively.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, you enjoy killing people just as much as I do, you're just too much of prude to admit it."

"You like to see people in pain, I only kill when I have to!"



"Again with the lying, I've already told you, I know every curve of our grey matter, you get a kick out of it you cheeky devil! But since you fight it tooth and nail, I've decided to be your own little shoulder angel.

Silas turned away, shaking his head.

"This is not fucking happening..."

The beast was there leaning against the wall near the doorway, the grin still curving it's lips.

"You should keep your voice down, dear old Simon is in the next room, and you're going to have to answer some awkward questions if you keep talking to thin air."

Oh shit, Though Silas as he looked across the room to where Simon was sleeping I hope he didn't hear that
The Edge... there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over.
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Simon Gerolt
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Simon awoke to a voice nagging in the next room. He couldn't quite make out what was being said, or even if it were just the wind. He looked at his watch. 12:00. Then he remembered his watch didn't work anymore. It had stopped when it had been crushed under the beam that had fallen on him on the set of Time Log during the Apocalypse. He and several other people had been wringing in the new year with other people on the set.

One of the features of the end of the world was that it brought light sleep, and the constant fear of death. Simon thought he had better figure out what was happening. Climbing out of bed, he grabbed the small handgun from beside his bed and cocked it. He silently moved across the room, each step sounding like a disaster. Adrenaline moved into his system as he reached the door. Everything seemed to be moving at a slower rate. He turned the knob, and pulled the door open, aiming the gun at the first thing he saw: Silas.

Things didn't register for Simon for a minute, still filled with adrenaline. When Simon realized it was just Silas standing there, out of his sleeping bag, Simon lowered the gun, and breathed once more. Words came again, slowly at first, but gaining speed, "Sorry. I heard something, and thought a shadow beast might have found its way in."
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Silas Whitfield
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Silas picked his Carbine off of the table behind him and shouldered the sling. The beast was leaning over the table across from him.

"We'll see how long this setup lasts before you slip up.""

Silas gave him the finger and turned towards the door, just as it burst open, an armed Simon pointing a handgun at him. Silas recoiled and fought the impulse to shoulder his rifle. After a few seconds the barrel lowered and Simon seemed to calm down.

"Sorry. I heard something, and thought a shadow beast might have found its way in."

"Oh, uh, yeah, just the wind, I thought so too." Silas lied through his teeth.

The beast tut-tutted in the corner

"Gotta be quieter old boy, this guys head isn't filled with rocks."

"I'm going to go poking around for a bit, see what I can find while you fix up the camera."
The Edge... there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over.
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Simon Gerolt
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Simon shifted uneasily. It seemed this man wasn't telling the truth, but there was no reason to suspect, so Simon stayed quiet. Silas, if that was his name, was keeping something from him, but what? It would be nice to have some supplies, and if he didn't need to go after them, he might actually have some time to fix up the old movie camera.

"Yeah. I need more canned beans, so if you find any, grab some. Other than that, there's some food in the cabinets in the other room for breakfast." Simon left Silas there, walking to grab a quick breakfast. He walked to his camera, and began his work.
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Silas Whitfield
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Silas ripped the plastic off of the pop tart and bit into it as he walked away from the building. He'd seen a Sports Chalet further down the road, and that was always worth checking out. He light a smoke and looked over at the beast as it strode along beside him.

"He knows somethings up, just like the others. You really don't hide this well do you?"

Silas's lips tightened around the filter but he did not reply.

"Do I really bother you that much? We used to actually get along."

"Yeah, until you killed those office workers."

"What was the big deal about that anyway? Not like they would have survived long without you anyway, bunch of condescending assholes."

"You know why it's a big deal, you're in my head remember? Now shut up, I'm trying to remember where the store is."

For once the beast acquiesced, and Silas spotted the big red letters of the Sports Chalet logo. The store was already ransacked, displays stolen, broken, and opened boxes littering the floor. Unphased at the apparently treasure-less store, Silas slid behind the counter and pulled out a large stock manifest. After a minute of leafing through it, it became apparent that if there was anything left to be had, it was in the back. Silas strode to the back of the store, and pushed on a large metal door. It did not open. Reaching into his bag, Silas pulled out a tension wrench and pick, and inserted them into the jagged keyhole. It was a typical Masterlock five pin rotating bolt assembly, and after a few slip-ups and curses as the pins tumbled back down, the cylinder rotated free of the housing and the lock clicked open. The back room was dark and lined with large metal shelves, held up by beams. Silas turned on his flashlight and perused down the row.

"40mm gas mask canister, need another one of those, old one's probably filthy by now." A small box went into the bag. A small bottle of propane, some batteries, and a can of MRE beans.

The beast was leaning against the end row of shelves, a dour look on it's face.

"Doesn't look like they're carrying any NVG's."

Silas had been looking for a pair of generation 3 night vision goggles for a while. They were scandalously expensive before the world went to hell, and now they were very rare, existing sets pilfered to level the playing field between humans and the things that went bump in the night. Silas was about to exit when a long brown cardboard box caught his eye. Upon closer inspection it had the words Remington 700 emblazoned on the side. A rare smile light upon Silas's face.

"This isn't..."
The beast had a similar smile on his face, if a little more toothy and disturbing.
"It is!"

Silas pulled the box out into the light and ripped it open like a kid with the biggest present under the tree. There sat in the padded cardboard box, a long black scoped rifle. Silas pulled it out and admired it.

"At least I got SOMETHING worthwhile."

Silas pocketed a box of .308 Winchester on the way out, and almost skipped back to the safe house. He set the can of beans by Simon's door and grabbed an easy chair from his room. After a few minutes of puffing and grunting he managed to fit it up the staircase marked ROOF ACCESS ONLY. He dragged the chair over to the safety railing, loaded the rifle, and leaned it against the chair. As the minutes stretched into an hour, and then two, Silas grew bored.

"The one time I actually want to see a wolf, they're all off somewhere else. Great."
The beast was lying prone on the concrete next to Silas, watching the streets below with it's strangely malicious blue eyes. It pointed it's finger down a block, in the opposite way Silas had walked.

"Look again."

Silas looked closer and spotted a black shape, nosing around the rubble of a busted gas station.

"Speak of the devil" Silas grinned and grabbed the rifle, settling back farther into the chair. It took a few seconds to zero in the scope, but the creature did not move from the general area of the gas pumps. Slender black cross hairs alight ever so gently upon the doomed shadows head. Silas emptied his lungs and slowly tightened his index finger around the trigger, It clicked back into the first position, and then the rifle gave a bang which echoed across the block and the rifle jerked in Silas's grip. Quickly he focused back on the hound. It was lying at the base of a pump, its foot twitching slightly, a dark red pool getting bigger by the second.

Silas reloaded the rifle and laughed. "Mess with best, die like the rest!" He leaned the rifle back against the easy chair and rifled through his pack, looking for a drink. "I wonder if Simon's done with that lens yet" Silas mused aloud. He stuck a straw into a Capri Sun package and sipped at it, watching the dust form interesting patterns in the wind.
The Edge... there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over.
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Simon Gerolt
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Simon had made quick work of fitting the proper lens into the old hole. That only took him several minutes. What was difficult, and what he had struggled on for most of the day, was replacing the batteries. These things are supposed to be sent in to a specialist with a tork screw driver. Not having the proper screwdriver, and without having access to one anywhere in Los Angeles, Simon had spent hours finagling it out.

But he finally got it, and replaced the dead batteries. He grabbed some duct tape from his diminishing stock, and taped the battery slots over, so that he wouldn't need to spend so much time on it in the future.

Simon felt a tingle of anticipation rush through him. This camera is done. I just need some film now. Simon would just need to stop by the storage in Hollywood, and then he would be able to film.

He excitedly grabbed his stuff, and opened the door. He saw a can of beans. So, Silas was back? Where? He tossed the beans inside, and walked towards the outside.
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Silas Whitfield
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The big grey blob that was the sun was almost overhead, and not another wolf had peaked it's head out. Silas got up and brushed off a small avalanche of Capri Sun packages, grabbed his rifles and pack and carried them downstairs. He could hear Simon working in the next room.

There was a problem with the rifle He thought. It was heavy as hell to carry on a sling. Silas popped out the magazine and pushed on the two buttons that kept the receiver attached to the bolt. They popped apart cleanly and he set them in his pack. Next he took out his gas mask and replaced the filter, tossing the old one in the corner. He put it back and cleaned out his pack, tossing trash and miscellaneous items he had never and would never use in the corner. It cut down almost ten pounds, and untold room. Silas slid the everything into the bag and repacked it. He looked up when he heard Simon open the door and got up and stepped into the hall to see if he had finished the camera yet.
The Edge... there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over.
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Simon Gerolt
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Simon was still a little jumpy from the attack from the previous day, and when he saw Silas with his usual set of guns, he couldn't help jumping a little. "Hi." The not-so-common courtesy was blunt off his tongue, but served the purpose of a greeting, and a launching point for conversation well.

"I've done all I can with the camera now, and we just need to make a trip to Hollywood for some film." Simon fingered a small chain around his neck that led down to his chest and held several keys. He had worn it there before the Apocalypse, and it just never felt right to leave home without it. The key to the shed of Hollywood was still there. Being involved in films definitely had its perks, though he had never thought of this one.

"You're welcome to come with me, if you want. It shouldn't take too long, and there isn't much else to do." Simon waited a while for a response, and then continued, excitedly anticipatory "I want to leave soon. If we're attacked again, at least it won't be in the dark.
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Silas Whitfield
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At least it will be something to do thought Silas

"Alright then, we should leave soon. We'll have to get there before dark, find the film, and find somewhere safe to spend the night, I don't think our luck is good enough to withstand another nighttime hike."
The Edge... there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over.
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Simon Gerolt
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And with that, the two of them set off into the afternoon, towards Hollywood.

[We are now Here.]
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