He burst around the corner, sweeping his rifle across the courtyard. It was empty. Staying low, he headed down the street and ducked inside an abandoned shop. Another soldier was waiting for him.
"Are we the only ones left, Brian?" he asked.
"Afraid so," Brian answered.
"So what's the plan?"
"Our target is on the far side of the courtyard," Brian said, gesturing. "Stay low, and watch for enemy fire."
"Right. Let's go."
They exited from different sides of the shop, zigzagging across the treacherous open ground. On the abandoned streets, every step seemed like a crash of thunder.
"Where are they?" he asked.
"I think I see some movement in that two-story building up ahead," Brian replied over the radio.
A hail of gunfire sounded. "Got him," Brian said. "There should be three left. I'm going for the objective."
He watched as Brian left cover, sprinted across the courtyard, and slid behind a bunker.
"I'm going for the plant," Brian said.
"Wait, there's one coming up behind you," he shouted. He raised his rifle and shot the enemy through the head, but Brian was already gone.
"Hell, I guess it's just me then."
Glancing in every direction, he headed toward an abandoned building. An enemy rounded the corner and fired, hitting him in the shoulder as he raised his weapon. He raised his gun and shot, and the enemy soldier went down.
"One to go," he said. Time was almost up; he had to hurry. He ran out of the building and stopped behind the objective, picking up the explosives from Brian's corpse. He knelt next to the target and began to arm the bomb. Suddenly, he felt the gunfire as it hit him in the back. He fell, watching helplessly as the enemy disarmed the bomb.
"Well that sucks," Brian said.
"I know. I always hate losing in overtime," he replied.
"You guys want to play another round?" Andrew asked.
"Sure, why not," he said. "Hopefully we'll win this one."
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Friday, March 12, 2010
Forsaken
Evening has fallen. It's nearly dark now. But still he walks down the street, among cars and newspapers and bodies.
"My name is Evan Wilkes," he says to no one in particular. "I have been here, alone, for over three years."
He spends his days foraging through the city, taking whatever supplies he can find. Even after three years, he can find places that have not been touched by the infection. It only took a few months for everyone to be wiped out. Now, the only living things he sees are animals.
"I should probably be getting home," he says. "Thanks for listening."
The emptiness gives no response. It never does. Once, he would not have been caught talking to himself, but times had changed. He is trapped; his magic has stopped working. Throughout his life, he had never considered the possibility that one day the magic would fail. It had, and trapped him in this forsaken world, of all places.
He quickens his pace, heading for the place he calls his home. When he arrives, he flips on the old radio. He is only answered by silence. Still, he has done this for the past three years, and will continue doing so. He holds on to the faint hope that someone, somewhere, will find him. Until then, he locks himself in his safe room, waiting, praying, for morning to come.
And in the dead of night, he hears them, searching for him, waiting for the day he simply gives up. It shouldn't be long now.
"My name is Evan Wilkes," he says to no one in particular. "I have been here, alone, for over three years."
He spends his days foraging through the city, taking whatever supplies he can find. Even after three years, he can find places that have not been touched by the infection. It only took a few months for everyone to be wiped out. Now, the only living things he sees are animals.
"I should probably be getting home," he says. "Thanks for listening."
The emptiness gives no response. It never does. Once, he would not have been caught talking to himself, but times had changed. He is trapped; his magic has stopped working. Throughout his life, he had never considered the possibility that one day the magic would fail. It had, and trapped him in this forsaken world, of all places.
He quickens his pace, heading for the place he calls his home. When he arrives, he flips on the old radio. He is only answered by silence. Still, he has done this for the past three years, and will continue doing so. He holds on to the faint hope that someone, somewhere, will find him. Until then, he locks himself in his safe room, waiting, praying, for morning to come.
And in the dead of night, he hears them, searching for him, waiting for the day he simply gives up. It shouldn't be long now.
Purpose
Hello everyone. Recently, I decided to change my major to Creative Writing, and so I have decided to have weekly (hopefully) postings of short stories that I have written. They will most likely vary in length, so don't expect the same thing over and over. I hope everyone enjoys what I write, and if you have any constructive criticism to give, go ahead. Thanks.
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