Light flowed in and out of the concrete pillars covered in a damp green moss. White rays bubbled out into the cracked floors, lighting upon the blemishes and imperfections in the grey slabs. Nearby, a small fox twitched slightly. She arose from her small cardboard bed, and began to look around sleepilly while the rest of the building warmed in the light of the sun. The fox felt weak, deathly sick at points, but she felt comfortable. Kicking a plastic orange tube aside, as small flowers followed every step she took. She looked down at the ground of the building and then over the edge of the hollow tower. It seemed like a ten foot drop before a grey mist would take over. In the distance, a giant wall rose higher than her poor eyes could see. She began to make her way up the final steps of the hollow tower. Finally, she could see out of the Dome. Past that wall was freedom. But the small fox looked at her hands. The bottle her mom told her to take at the top was gone, and now she saw why mom wanted her to take the bottle. It told her the truth. Death was the true freedom. The kit looked over the edge a little too much this time, and was blessed. Blessed with true freedom, as the jagged, rubble covered ground greeted her flailing body. One more fell to the zone. The Cloud's territory.
Chapter 2: Because the Sky is Grey
The city is bustling with negative energies. Constant worry that someone is armed, or that person they fear is also wanting to kill them for a can of beans. The few rich are making it by with as much as contempt of the outsiders as the now considerably less well off middle and lower class. Hatred of those who fled the night of the red skies with all of their money. They left the city and its people they robbed to rot. Now they live as the only fuel people still are willing to keep living on, hatred. Pure and guttural, many take it out on those trying to help, or they punish those who are not willing to give their shared wealth with others. Anarchy while a simple system to enact, it is hard to keep in place peacefully. Someone eventually comes to power.
Judy closed the now metal and barbed wire door into her apartment, and took off her gas mask. Breathing in fresh filtered air after another shitty day. Her scarred right hand reached into her bag to pull out 3 cans of beets, stuffing, and pickled onions. Better than usual. Turning on her gas stove, she checked the pressure gages to make sure they stayed at a constant value. Anything too lowe meant a quick refill of coolant to the pump down in the basement. The gas was still supplied by the next continent over and so was food and water, but people who got there first usually took 3-8 cans of each. Occasionally, Judy would take a can or two from one of those families. Their kids would survive another night. The rabbit looked up at a cracked mirror she kept above her bed on the wall. She looked at a creature she couldn't recognize, what with that left arm, scarred cheek and eye, and removal of sense of duty. She served only one creature now, and it was her. She was the most important thing in life now. Too bad, she would have made a good cop. The stuffing burned again. Judy ate her lukewarm beets with some much warmer onion and stuffing. After cleaning her teeth with precarious tedium, she laid upon the bed that could have been a rag over a bed frame for all she cared. Her eyes closed slowly to the sounds of screams and groans a few blocks away. How can you have a sense of duty after you yourself are nowhere close to being a person to carry out the people's will? Judy turned slowly and cried tears of indignation. She didn't feel sad anymore. No one did. They were too angry and hungry to do so.
Jesse coughed again. She had a joint in one hand, a hard drink in the other. Porter and her were assigned to watch over the only way in or out of the city.
"City… I'd need to be higher to believe that horseshit" Jesse grumbled. Her eyes sulked around what was her view. Blue and turquoise waters with white little caps, a black and grey dome with lights all around it, making sure nothing got in or out. Jesse puffed another time from her now quickly burning joint. Her tongue grimaced at the taste, her mind lapped at the tingling feeling that came with it. Whatever would take her mind off of the painful migraines. Ever since that surgery and arm replacement, she couldn't help but feel that Porter was right. Maybe she was trying to cheat death. First Yellow fever, now tumors. Some immune system she had. Jesse flicked what remains of the burning herb remained, and continued on with her drink. The sounds of gun fire came to her ears from a distance away. Someone tried to get out, and paid the price for it. They just had to wait it out. Time would eventually free them. How long time would take? That came down to Jack and Porter's work. Jesse sighed, thinking about that big o' goof of a partner Porter was. She coughed after nearly laughing at the memories. Blood came out of her mouth.
Jack checked vitals once again. Nothing new. The blob that was once Nick had begun to heal slowly. Soon they could make him whole again, but not just yet. The shepherd stared into his screen as he booted up a game. Something about being a mailman who was shot in the head. Whatever, seemed interesting. Jack's mind rolled around in it's own confining space. His skull was to him, a restraint. He wanted to just be nothing and everything. Just like when you dreamed a lucid dream. He wanted that feeling again, but he couldn't pick that habit up again, could he? The smell of said habit wafted down into his lab. Jesse's shenanigans once again got him thinking about his old habit. He knew why he stopped, but sometimes that urge to feel light and happy came back to him. A crave that needed a little more time before it could be scratched. Jack looked back out of a window near Nick. The sun showed through the cave's entrance, and made the whole airfield below sparkle. All but in one place. A large piece of metal jutted up and out of the ground. It had darkened stains of blood upon its bottom. Jack turned away and slowly got up to leave his office. Grabbing his coat he turned for the last time to look into Nick's eyes. Nothing. Jack waved slightly. Giving up hope, he looked away and exited the room.
Porter sighed as the last bolt needed to repair his aircraft went into it's marked spot. Porter glanced into his aircraft's engines, checking for any inconsistencies. He smiled. His work was done. Porter hopped down off the aircraft's tail end, and put his tools away. As he did so he felt a weird presence behind him.
"Jess?" Porter said, turning to see that no one was there. He glanced around, shrugged, and began to walk towards the lobby of their apartment building.
"Well, more large home than apartment building, but I digress." Porter mumbled as he walked in. He must have been late as the lights were out. Porter began to walk to his room. Then he heard it. A sound. One that was like a sponge hitting a wood floor. It came from upstairs. Porter's arm began to glow and change form. It now looked akin to a complete hand, but of something else. Porter looked at it, confused, but the thumping got louder. Porter ignored the visual change, and crept up the stairs. He felt something run down his back, and he turned to look. On the walls, spelt in a black foul smelling liquid, were the words "Deny".
"This has to be a dream." Porter said. He thought about going home. Lucid dreams usually allow you to do that. He just went up the stairs a little. Not under his own command. At the end, he saw what would make a strong man cry in horror. Nick, rotting at his wounds and his head hanging by a strip of flesh, turned to him with white eyes. He cried that same acrid and black fluid. He began to move at Porter. Porter couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. The walls didn't change, nothing else did. Nick just came towards him, crying in a most awful pitch. Porter couldn't take it. He couldn't scream.
"Deny" uttered Nick, with a gutteral and phlegm filled voice "or..SucCuMb".
"Ac… ce… pt"
Porter shot up. His face covered in oil. He looked at what he thought to be a scratch on his hand. A lotus flower was burned into his arm. He looked around, terror flowing through him. Was this the act of the Cloud? Judy? … Nick?
Porter jogged to the well lit lobby. He ran up to his room, stripped down, and tried to get the oil and muck and lotus off of himself. The burn was still black when he got out of the shower. He flopped onto his bed. Exhausted with what had happened. Someone was watching him. Had to be. He gripped a pistol he kept by his bed and put it under his pillow. After 3 hours, he finally began to fall under the spell of fatigue. As he closed his eyes, he looked at his door. Under it, a puddle, of that black acrid liquid receded.
Do not deny the truth. Do not succumb to change. Do let go. Let go. o. Let's go, home. /h048o52547m6783e865i5879s7959435w69886h9857e9835r3423eTAEIGHEAtAOGHAEOGhOAHGONEe5$(AG$$($GUm4$)**^$)%o^#&)$n%$)%s)%$)^t^$)*%$^)&$$e%)$&)^$HJ)G)Gr$))HJH$) lives…
Thank yall' so much for reading. I know, I have been gone for a bit, but it's hard to write when school is a foot. I will do the best I can, and I hope you all have a Happy New Year.
He knows where you are. He can hear you breathe.
