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Author Topic: The Degenerate  (Read 7552 times)
mako
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Posts: 82



« Reply #60 on: September 04, 2017, 12:01:47 PM »

Thanks for the feedback Dotys.  I do think I specified Dutch heritage in one chapter, but it's interesting to me that that's what came to mind for you.

Damo's cave was not something I was going to add before.  Would you mind explaining in more detail what about it threw you for a loop?   Was the writing confusing?  Did you not enjoy the content?  Too much genre shift?

Thanks.
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mako
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Posts: 82



« Reply #61 on: November 06, 2017, 08:14:30 PM »

6.5 pages into the next chapter, now that it's indoor season again.  Back to the survivalist genre and introduction of a new character, and world.  Coming soon...
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deerstalker
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Posts: 6999


« Reply #62 on: November 07, 2017, 04:56:30 AM »

Don't stop now 
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mako
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Posts: 82



« Reply #63 on: November 12, 2017, 09:18:49 PM »

I decided to get back to the survival genre for a while and fill out the adventure with a new character and a side mission since I was getting a little bored of writing only three characters myself.  Meet: Kit Cooper.  This is not the entire chapter but I wanted to put something up.

C10 – Kit’s Scouts

Kit Cooper squatted atop the upturned back end of a bus with its nose sunk in the interstate embankment where it had run adrift, smoking a cigarette.  Ahead of him, a line of parked vehicles lay abandoned in haphazard lines as far as his eyes could see.

In places, there were three or four cars abreast both on and off the paved lines of Interstate 90.  Their drivers had wedged themselves into a funnel trap leading upward toward the pass that had obviously been blocked at its highest point.  He had seen the same at the Idaho-Washington border, though not as bad as this, where there were few alternatives through the mountains heading west.

Campers, semi-trucks, rental cars, SUV’s, loaded trucks and all the rest stretched as far back as this nowhere town of Cataldo.  The amount of wealth that fleet of parked vehicles and everything inside them was worth boggled his imagination.  We had no idea, he thought to himself. 

This was a mess.

Gerrard and Morris fettled with the handheld communicator ahead of him, holding wire stripped from one of the parked vehicles and a large truck antenna to boost reception.  It wouldn’t do them any good.  These were rated at what—36 miles?  And the scanning range was too narrow to pick up groups operating in the area supposing there were any survivors in the area.

“Benjamin, how far to the pass?” he shouted, pitching his voice just loud enough for them to hear.

Benjamin Gerrard looked up from the mess of wire he was untangling in the back of an abandoned truck and then up toward the pass as if it were visible from here and thought a moment.

“I don’t know.  It starts getting steeper soon.  Maybe twenty-five, fifty miles?”

Kit spat his cigarette in place of an expletive. 

“I’m not great with distance though” the young man ahead of him called back with a smile.

Ben was tall and cumbersome, awkward in his movements but pleasant.  He always had a smile and did what he was asked without hesitation.  He looked high European, but Kit knew he was American grassroots to his core.  He wouldn’t have been Kit’s first choice but the kid was growing on him.  He was a local that knew the way around as well as anyone and never hesitated to do what his was told.

Cliff, on the other hand was ex-military which was ideal for the situation at hand.  He was short and bulky and balding early and was subsequently strong and useful to have at hand, especially since he could handle a firearm.  Or did the Navy know how to shoot beyond a urinal?  He’d have to rib Morris on that point later.

He watched the ember smolder against the yellow paint of the school bus.  It reflected his anxieties about the mission. 

The fire that had taken Coeur D’Alene had burnt thousands of acres.  Most of the road toward the pass had been a scarred dystopian wasteland still burning in places as they passed.  No fire crew had been around to clean it up and so it had still sent smoke from stumps and fallen trees that blocked the way.  They sky was still thick with smoke from distant blazes.

It made traversing this interstate distance even harder, wherever the shoulder was blocked by downed trees so that a single car could not be driven or pushed out of the way to let them pass.  They had used a chainsaw at several points.   It had taken more than a day to make it less than 100 miles already and time was not on their side.

If the pass was blocked this far back, there was little chance of getting through the way they had been going at it.  Every avenue of progress was congested by the forgotten remains of the people who had been trying to do the same thing.  It wouldn’t work.

Less than an hour, Kit thought.  That’s how long it would have taken us to come this far before.

He shook it off, turning around to watch their six-o’clock.  He thought about the success they had already had finding two survivors on the way.  That’s what this mission was about—survivors.  Real people.

Twenty minutes later, Kit’s eyes went sideways with a quick and lazy glance at the sound of a snapping twig in the distance.  Not a muscle of his body tensed as he waited passively for the sound perpetrator to reveal himself.  A moment later, the two new rescues walked into view.  Kit sat unperturbed as they grew near.

His one-sixteenth was coming out, he knew.  That was interesting.  It was like a foreign possession of his personality.  It had never really been useful until now, but Kit had always known it was there.  A feint, almost ignorable trace of Blackfoot Indian blood passed down from a forgone ancestor—someone a few generations past who had somehow mingled with his family’s mostly Spanish-European blood.

It was taking over since Kit had been assigned to lead this mission west for survivors over the Montana-Idaho border.  He sat silently like a patient Indian awaiting the moment to spring into action with a tomahawk in hand and do some bloody deed.  That impulse was within him.

Its command was small by proportion but not insignificant; this little side of himself that had gone ignored most of his life.  He had seen it, of course, playing cops and robbers with kids down the block where he grew up in a suburb of New Jersey.  Nobody caught him in hide-and-seek.  Nobody put him in jail.  And when he was caught he had a bad habit of giving the other kid a bloody lip without aggravation.  It had gotten him in trouble many times, this I-don’t-lose-I-go-down-fighting part of himself.

It was the same one-sixteenth or so that had made him enlist.  He had been offered opportunities for Native American scholarships but the thought of turning over books all day made him mad.  He would much rather ruck into the bush and await someone needing a silent knife to the back.

Of course, that hadn’t been how his military career had gone.  He had missed that MOS entirely.  But much thanks to the dominant 93% European heritage he hadn’t gotten himself into trouble and had done quite well for himself, going on to retire from active duty with enough time under his belt to make E5, Sergeant, and had continued on in the past three years with the National Guard.

But nothing in all his time in the military felt like this.  Running privates through combat mockups was one thing, but this was real.  A chance to lead a small cadre into something dangerous and necessary—he felt needed and useful for the first time in his life.  And while the 93% urged responsibility for the people under his care, that one-sixteenth felt truly alive for the first time in his life.  It had been waiting for this chance.

His face was the same stale blank when James, the fourth and newest member of their party, climbed up the back of the bus with agility and sat beside him a little winded.  Kit was glad he had pressed to keep him on with them.

Yes, that had been a good choice.  Management hadn’t allowed him to take more than Cliff and Ben with him on the mission, but stragglers he didn’t have to urge back on their own.  They were tag-alongs whom no-one would miss.  It might even help in the short term to have fewer mouths to feed as the city center continued to organize its new operations.

 “We found motorcycles and ATV’s we could take at a nearby shop.  Only trouble is there’s razor-wire around the whole thing, but I can get over it.”

The Indian side seemed to have possessed him entirely now.  His eyes stayed forward as if scanning for enemies in the trees with an easy, self-assured impassiveness.

“Good work.  Did you find a way around?”

“I’m not sure,” James replied.  “There’s a paved walking path but it looks like it goes north, across the river.”

The spell seemed to break then, and Kit turned to face James.  “We can ask Ben.”

“It’s that or take backroads for days until were lost.”

Kit nodded and looked ahead again for a moment as James caught his breath.  Then he turned around and gave the signal for Ben and Cliff to wrap it up.  The three of them followed James and Carl toward their find several blocks away.

There was a small recreational store along the main and only memorable road in a town that barely deserved a name.   Inside the fence were a small selection of ATV’s on a lot with a small building attached.

“How do we get in” Kit asked.

“Right, I think we can use the carpet from the entrance” James replied in a way that suggested he was making this up as he went.
James’s strange entrance procedure involved throwing the rug over the razor wire and having them help him slide over.  He slung the giant plastic rug up onto the wire, keeping a grip on one end.  Then he positioned it better until it slumped over the top of the wire.
“Why don’t we just throw a rock through the window or break down the door,” Cliff said.

“We’d still have broken glass to deal with and it would make a lot of noise,” replied James.  “Can two of you come hold the corners to keep it from slipping?”

Kit looked on in curiosity as the procedure, his head tilted slightly aside.  “Now how do you get over” Kit asked.

“You give me a boost and I slide over on my belly and catch the fence on the other side to flip myself over and land on my feet.”

“You’ve done this before?”

“Not the razor wire part, but the rest, yes.”

“And you just came up with this?”

“Saw it in a book.”

“Ok.”

Kit hardly believed he was doing it when he laced his fingers for a boot lift and offered it to James.  He wasn’t sure he liked gesture of being under someone’s boot but the whole thing was too amusing to him to object.

“Don’t get hurt,” Kit said.

“I won’t” replied James.

With surprising dexterity, James was up and over the carpet, sliding face down towards the other side.  Kit grimaced as he realized the disaster of his position but had no time to react as James grabbed the fence with his hands and deftly flipped himself over, landing only a little imperfectly on his feet on the other side.  He turned around and smiled.  Kit only nodded his head in bemusement. 

“He just ninja’d that,” Cliff remarked.

“Yes, James is a ninja,” Ben added.

Kit was still too surprised to process what he had just let transpire.  That razor wire could have done serious damage to James and that would have been very bad for the mission.  Don’t let that happen again, he berated himself.

Still, James had just proven himself in a very real, albeit unusual, manner as someone with unique and, frankly, unusual aptitudes.  He couldn’t exactly call it weird but it was.  Who knew how to scale razor wire with a rug and what made someone think of a solution like that.  The window or door, or some clippers on the fence would have been much more straight-forward.  Still, he liked what he saw in James.  Odd talent could prove useful—it just had.

In short time James had unlocked the front door to the establishment and they were free to choose from a small selection of off-road vehicles.  James and Ben were the only two without off-road vehicle experience.   James was chosen for the XR-250 because it seemed like something he might manage with a bit of practice. Ben was placed on a King Quad.  Carl also chose a four-wheeler while Cliff and Kit each chose two-stroke motorcycles from the lot.

It was full noon before they were packed and ready to proceed.  Thankfully, they hadn’t had an encounter since killing their vehicle engines earlier, but the motorcycles were a sure way to attract unwanted attention.  James and Ben would have to learn fast. 
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mako
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Posts: 82



« Reply #64 on: November 12, 2017, 09:19:41 PM »


“Everybody check your straps and do a mental checklist.  Water, gas, light, radios, food, spare clothes if you have them—” Kit’s eyes landed on James and Carl apologetically.  “Anything you need let’s make sure we have it before we start these engines.”

“How about a woman with tight shorts and a case of beer,” Cliff said.

“Can’t help you” replied Kit.

“We can check every gas station on the way.”

“We’ll see what we find” said Kit with a chary smile.

“Are we taking the path?” James asked.

“Right.  Ben where does that paved foot path lead north of here?  Does it follow the highway a good distance?”

Ben shrugged, looking as if someone had put him in front of a classroom on pop quiz day.  His eyes moved side to side as he thought about his response.  He didn’t really appear to be thinking about the question so much as his anxiety about having been asked a direct question in a group. 

“I don’t know” he said, obviously embarrassed.  “I’ve never taken it.”

Kit nodded.  This was his team and he’d have to make the best of it.  They would do fine but he had to know how to best use each member in his party.  Cliff was rock solid and would be useful.  James seemed competent and had already surprised him.  Ben could take and order and Carl—well, Carl he might have to coddle a little.

The small group continued tinkering with straps and gear as they finished preparations.  He checked his own gear as he made quick plans in his head.

“You two,” he said, pointing to Ben and Carl.  “We watch from atop the school bus while these two warm up.  Let them get some practice while we cover.  If we are attacked, we hold out long enough for them to get away and then catch up.  Guys, we take the shoulder here between cars until we can’t fit anymore then find another way around.  It won’t be easy so I want these guys to get a feel for riding first.”

Ben noticeably sighed, Kit clapped lightly and everyone took position.  James seated himself, took the weight off the peg and placed it into position as he had been shown.  He put his foot on the starter and kicked hard.

Cliff had already primed it for him so it was a few cold kicks to get it going and then his engine was idling and gaining in volume.  He looked up through his open helmet and nodded at the three above, watching.  Then he eased the clutch and promptly killed the bike.  The three laughed.  James nodded and laughed too.

In less than a half-hour James and Ben we doing circles around each other and making tighter turns.  James was still tense but Ben seemed to have relaxed into the less-difficult task of operating on twice as many wheels.  Ben was spinning a cookie when Kit saw the first one.
 
Kit stood waving to them: “Guys, get going!  Go, go, go!”

Below him, James tensed and tried to slow but overcorrected his turn and dropped the bike.  It fell, pinning his leg to the ground.  He obviously couldn’t see well with the visors inhibiting his peripheral vision and his pinned hip kept him from lifting the bike.
Kit was at his own bike in seconds.  He kicked hard several times before the loud high whine of the two-stroke bike cut through the confusion with a deafening squeal.  There was shouting and the sound of Ben’s quad slowing then speeding off up the road as he had been instructed.
“Get him up!” Kit yelled, pointing to the other two, before releasing the clutch and allowing his back tire dig into the soft dirt.

Kit could ride.  This had been his childhood.  Several years of it at a rich friend’s house who owned a few and let him come often.  He gunned it for the creature almost on top of James now at the top speed he could manage while keeping control of the unfamiliar bike.

He pressed his heel in hard to the ground, using his leg like a peg stand, gritting his teeth, allowing the bike to tip and ride the edges of the wheel where there was less traction.  He pulled the throttle a little harder as his bike swung around and sent a wall of dirt spraying into the oncoming creatures face.

Eat rocks!, he thought as he yelled through the engine’s roar.

Cliff and Carl were to him by the time Kit had circled around, lifting the bike from atop James.  Kit gunned it again toward the body of the human-like creature that was struggling to get to its feet again.  The creature was half up as Kit gained acceleration in a straight line toward the monster, too late for Kit to realize he didn’t have a plan this time.

Two more humanoids had emerged from the wood behind the first and were coming in on James’s position.  Kit glanced quickly at his party; they almost had James up and ready to move.  In the last second Kit pulled in the clutch and kicked the shifter, intending at least to get his front wheel into the creature’s face.  It panicked and jumped out of the way with its arms flailing just in time for Kit to keep his fingers tight and down-shift again to maneuver away.

He weaved between the two new infected, drawing their attention away from James, and circled up on the hillside to lead them off.  Then he heard the lower pitch of the four-stroke starting again.  Soon the two other bikes came to life.  It was time to go.

Cliff had explained to them that James and Ben didn’t need to go very fast.  A human running can’t go much more than ten miles an hour on average and that not for very long.   If they stayed steady and held a good course they would quickly outrun any pursuers.  By the time he reached them he saw that they were holding fine.

In short time they had a system enacted where Cliff and Kit went ahead searching for viable routes. They rode forward, sideways and occasionally backwards to make miles through the maze of cars.  They also cut side roads wherever they could which usually offered a more open shoulder.  This got them ahead much faster than the bulky HUM-V had and the next twenty miles went comparatively fast, at least until they reached Wallace.

The five of them were sweating when they stopped.  There was no easy way forward as they looked up the ascending mountain ahead of them.  They all killed the bikes.

“Nice work boys,” said Kit.

“Oh my God” Ben complained. 

James was collecting himself, but his shoulders were tight and fatigued from long tension.  The other two were grinning like school boys.  Kit smiled too.

“Drink water, everybody.  Carl, on watch.  James check straps and gear on everyone’s bikes.  Cliff you have that map?”
Everyone did as they were told.  Kit was pleased to see that discipline wouldn’t be an issue on this trip and he could lead by respect.
“Fuck, those things are freaky” said Carl.

“Legs a little long in the saddle?” Cliff asked James.  He was limping.

James sat back on the bike seat and pulled up his pant leg.  They could see the fabric was melted through at the calf.  He peeled the pant back, clenching his jaw as he revealed a swollen red burn patch with a few white bubbles.

“James,” Kit said.

“It’s alright” James replied.  “It’s not too bad.  I barely noticed it until now.”

“That’s a real burn” said Ben.

“Look, it has bubbles” said Cliff, pointing at it with his fingers like a school-boy.

“It’s a second-degree burn” added Ben.

“Hey Cliff, where’d we pack that first aid kit?” asked Kit.

“Your bike, left satchel.”

Kit found the first aid pack and opened it up, finding the tweezers, burn crème and medical tape.  He cut open the remains of the pant leg bottom and peeled it back.  He carefully began treating the wound. 

He wasn’t well trained in first aid or at least he didn’t remember much from early courses in his training.  But he had to move confidently to earn the trust of his men.  What was the acronym for what to do first in an emergency like this?  S.T.O.P.?  What did that stand for?  He couldn’t remember, so settled for what-would-Mom-do?

“I’ll put you on night shift tonight.  You may not sleep well with this.”  James nodded back without showing discouragement.  “You’ll be alright.”

“I didn’t realize it was so bad.”

“This will heal up alright.  You might have a little bit of scarring around the bad part for a while.”  Kit didn’t know if what he was saying were true but it seemed as likely as not.

When Kit finished, Cliff had the map in hand studying it.  Kit joined him as he packed the medical supplies back into the bag they had come from.

“Well we could try to take the Highway Four North.”

“Is there any reason to believe it’s going to be any better than the Interstate?”

“Not really.  But there’s actually a trail up here called the North Pacific Trail.  Looks like a bicycle path or something over the pass.”

“You want us to ride bicycles over the pass?”

“No, no.  But we should fit with what we have.”

Kit chuckled.  “Where does it start?”

“I dunno.  Somewhere after Mullan near the ski resort here.”

Kit chewed his thoughts for a moment.  “Alright, we follow you.”

Cliff nodded, seeming please with the responsibility.  That’s good, thought Kit, let them all share responsibility, even a little authority.”

“I say we camp at the top tonight if we can find somewhere safe.  Let’s get a fresh start from the top.”

He watched the demeanor of more tired members of the group visibly relax and that sealed the decision in his mind.  It was the right thing to do.
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mako
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Posts: 82



« Reply #65 on: November 15, 2017, 10:28:38 PM »

Parked cars bled onto the walking path near the summit as if they had burst like a hernia through the tree line.  Kit and the others were forced to ride the steep grassy ski slopes southeast to the top of the resort, then back northeast to the main lodge.  Deep wheel ruts indicated that some trucks had done the same.

The top of the pass was a battle zone.  There were a mess of barricades: parked vehicles, cement dividers, trenches and even sandbags in places.  There were signs of a small war all around them.  Decrepit bodies littered the field.

As they approached, the joints of skeletal remains glistened in the blood red light of dusk through the smoke of distant fires; the remaining muscular flesh was black and curled in on itself in a way that reminded Kit of salted dry meats.  The stench was awful.

The entire pass had been sealed off by defenders to prevent infections from spreading east into Montana.  It hadn’t worked, just as it hadn’t at the Idaho border where Kit had been stationed during the outbreak.

Near the top, the skirmish zone showed area of struggle and even a few detonations.  Abandoned vehicles were pock-marked with bullet holes, including one overturned car the advancing parties had obviously used for cover.  They circled a few times taking it in.

The gruesome scene in front of him brought Kit flashbacks of their short entrenchment trying to prevent traffic east.  Scenes of confusion as scattered and conflicting commands came down the pipeline too unready for such a crisis. They had been horribly outnumbered by traveling mobs of people willing to cut off road, cut down fences, cross pastures and otherwise avoid the outnumbered and overwhelmed forces of the National Guard.  It had happened so fast. 

He shook his head clear.

Finally, Kit circled one arm over his head and pointed a flat hand back south toward the top of the ski lifts.  They parked near a small ski patrol hut and killed the bikes.  The high mountain sloped around them seemed eerie quiet compounded by the long roar of engines in their ears and few words were spoken as they dismounted and took to drinking water and unsaddling gear.

Kit unstrapped an empty gas can from the back of his bike and handed it to Carl.

“Cliff and Carl, fill gas.”  Kit was surprised at how soft and quiet the words came out of his mouth.   No one responded and Cliff took the can, strapped it to the tail of Carl’s ATV, and they were off.

Kit, James and Ben armed themselves to look for a place to sleep.  The City Center had allowed Kit to take one firearm on his mission.  He had chosen a semi-automatic M16, in hopes that it would be easiest for anyone in his party to use.  He unstrapped rifle and moved the collapsible butt stock into place, casting the strap over his shoulder, then slid in a cartridge.  He prayed not to have to use it this night.

Ben had a baseball bat resting against his bike as he strapped a few hockey guards over his wrists and shins as Kit has taught him to do.  He then wrapped a long, thin multicolored scarf over his face until he looked like some sort of Taliban sports teamster.  Kit suppressed a smile at the look of Ben’s curly blond hair and adolescent eyes poking out over the odd getup.  James merely took up a long iron bar and looked confident and ready.

Kit pointed to James and then spun his finger around his own face, pointed to Ben for example, then shrugged his shoulders as if to ask a question.  James squinted in thought and then shrugged.  Kit dug for another scarf from his bag and tried to hand it to him.   James politely bowed his head, offering it back.  Kit offered again and James refused. 

Kit didn’t fight it.  The kid had obviously taken care of himself long enough to have been alive today and it didn’t seem worth having a confrontation over.  He needed to save his battles and he could cover James well enough up here in the open.  He gave James a single nod and wrapped it around his own mouth.

The cabin would have been an obvious choice if Kit did not expect it either to be occupied or at least infected. James and Ben naturally followed him towards it with weapons ready.  Kit raised the rifle, checked the chamber, played with the safety and brushed the curve of the trigger with his finger.

If he used the firearm, he knew, they were in trouble.  Something about loud, sudden noises did more to aggravate the infected than almost anything else.  And the sound of a shot carried far—up here, very far.  The fire-arm, as always, was a weapon of absolute last necessity against a horde.  The survivors had learned that fast.  It was crankbait for problems.

They approached the door carefully to clear the building.  His firearm had a small LED torch flashlight near the front activated by a remote switch.  He turned it on as he swung the tip of the rifle through the door staying covered.  Suddenly the sound of loud movement erupted from inside as if something large were trying frantically to get away.  Then, there was the sound of something landing outside as if it had gone through a window, and then a second and a third.

James moved spontaneously to the edge of the building to cover their rear.  Ben stood ready with the bat in hand.  James tapped Ben to get Kit’s attention and then waved Kit over.  By the time he reached James only the backside of two figures remained in view, dashing away through the trees.  Kit’s was sure his heart could be seen beating in his chest.

“Let’s not sleep there tonight” Ben said in a tone that was almost a question.

“Yeah” Kit replied.

The small sheds were as likely ways to be a way of trapping themselves in during the night.  The sun was setting over the hills and they needed to find someplace soon.  But where could they go?  The ski lodge was almost certainly a worse place to be.  They could get into a car somewhere and lock the doors or—

He was looking at the setting sun when James tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the top of the ski lift.
“We might be able to find sleep up there” he replied.

Kit felt surprised.  “On those chairs?”

“No” James replied.  “Follow me.”

Kit tried to remind himself that he had already decided to share responsibility around the group.  He could play nice and not get upset about not leading every turn of their adventure.  And sure enough, James’s idea was sound.  A small ladder led up the side of the ski lift and gave them access to the large iron wheel that pulled the cable for the ski lift and better still, there was room to sleep up top.

“We’ll have to sleep three and two on each of these lifts to have enough room,” Kit said when they were all three up and feeling satisfied with the decision.  “Cliff and Ben can take this one.  James and Carl sleep with me.  We’ll take sleep shifts.”

Cliff and Carl soon returned with the gas and filled up tanks for their morning ride.  Kit gave the orders and everyone unstrapped and made for sleep.  They were quick to get and away from the forest floor.

The darkness seemed to settle in slowly and the sleeping bags were too warm to use yet except to keep them off the iron wheel.  It was uncomfortable and cramped but better than risking their lives.  He gave James first watch and tried to sleep.

There were sounds in the woods; unmistakable movements as night enveloped them.  Kit had ordered no lights or sound to attract attention.  He hoped nothing had seen them come but that seemed a hopeful fantasy to him then.  They heard the sounds of rummaging near the bikes but everything of value was suspended with them.  We’ll need to disinfect the bikes in the morning, he thought as he finally began settling into sleep.

He woke suddenly from his sleep without clear reason why.  He had been asleep—how long?  An hour?  Two?  The waning moon was bright in the clear sky outside and the stars shone around them except where James sat against the center pole of the wheel.  He adjusted his eyes.

No, James wasn’t relaxed.  He was tense.  As if readying himself for something.  Kit quietly turned and grabbed his rifle.  James's eyes remained fixed on the ladder.

Kit brought himself up to a squat and readied himself near it.  The rifle was backward, he realized, but his instincts held him from correcting it.  He readied the butt of the weapon and waited.

Suddenly a hand and then a face appeared over the lip of the platform.  Kit thought fast.  Was it Cliff or Ben?  No, they would have whispered and announced themselves.  And this was not—

Kit slammed the butt of the rifle into the creature’s face.  Its head smacked into the steel wall then made no sound until it hit the ground, then silence.  They both sat in stunned muteness for a number of minutes, listening for the sounds of anything moving in the night.  Finally, there were the sounds of a couple large creatures slinking away into the woods.  Kits felt his heart slow minutes later.

“I’ll take watch now,” he said to James.

“Ok” James replied.

Kit kept watch the rest of the night.
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Dodys
****
Posts: 400


« Reply #66 on: November 16, 2017, 12:48:16 AM »

  Good Stuff,Good reading! The genre shift is what threw me for a loop sometime back,this time around is what I was reading into & for the adventure/survival of the non-infected people,Thanx for that!
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mako
**
Posts: 82



« Reply #67 on: November 16, 2017, 06:54:51 AM »

Glad to hear that Dodys.  That's why feedback is important! 
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