Author's Note:
Well, I certainly didn't expect THIS kind of response to this little ficlet. I actually wrote them as two seperate stories, and merged them together afterwards. Anyway, I hadn't intended to add on to them, but.. when I noticed the most recent review had only been DAYS ago, I decided, what the hell. So.. here you go! :)
**************************
My name is Bill. Well, William Daniel Richardson II. But you can call me Bill. I don't think there's anyone else with that name on the planet at the moment, so I'm sure if you called out "Hey, Bill!", I'd be the only one to answer.
Not that my name's called out very often. Being one of at most six people in the continent puts a slight damper on any sort of social life.
I really wish I had indulged that back when I had the chance. I was thirty-six when the open warfare broke out, and up until that point, I had concentrated on being a nerd. I'd put my all into going into science, and had, for several years, been a senior researcher at NASA. I did a lot of work with the orbital space-plane. Fat load of good that did.
When the war broke out, it was sort of a shock. It primarily occurred in California, but swept around the world. Being in Florida gave me some security, but over time, less and less. And then the bombs started falling.
Miami was vaporized by Dracon Beam. Tampa, Orlando, Jacksonville, all the larger towns were struck by various weapons; in Tampa's case, a mislead nuclear warhead that was actually launched by the US. And then the viruses were released. At first, conventional plagues and highly contagious agents. In the hot, humid land of my home state, there wasn't much to do to keep them at bay. With all the fighting, nearly 70% of the population of the southeast perished.
I was never more grateful for air conditioning and the cleanliness procedures of NASA. Because of the precautions taken, out employees were greatly spared from disease. But as we had been commandeered for military purposes, we had become a prime target. It's funny that of all the people that could have survived, I, at the place and time the quantum virus was released, made it through.
It was horrible. We were immediately sent into a bunker, but someone had been exposed. Soon everyone was in a panic, screaming. I hid like a coward behind some discarded computer consoles. For some reason, some random twist of fate, the virus passed me by. I'd heard an estimate that it was 99.998% effective. They had underestimated it quite a bit, but still, I had managed to slip into the very small group of survivors.
I managed to find a wind-up radio, and a portable TV set. I assumed their former users wouldn't be needing them. I managed to pick up some weak broadcasts from some other survivors. I slowly made my way north, and then west, to where people had begun to gather.
Ten people. Ten. Only ten people had managed to find their way to each other. We guessed maybe a few others hadn't been able to catch our broadcasts. We split up to search probably places, mostly where people had thought they had heard someone on the radio, but hadn't been able to confirm it.
Sadly, just as we were separating, the Yeerks were back. Two small fighters were all they had, but it was enough to track down our radio transmissions and drop some conventional bombs on out last known locations, and the last knock locations of other groups over the world.
The largest group, a group of five people, was all killed. Two others just vanished. Similar things happened to other groups around the world. With more than a hundred around the world, we could manage to regain the population to a point where humanity could survive. But we were ruined afterwards. We couldn't have more than twenty people left in the world. We were all doomed.
After the final attack, I tried contacting anyone, but I had no luck. I'd wandered for several months through the middle of the US, ending up near St. Louis. And there, against all odds, I'd managed to find one of the people who hadn't been able to meet up with us. A young boy named Ian. He couldn't have been more than seven before the war had begun, although he claimed to have been eight. I took him with me, protecting him. We aimlessly made our way around for several years.
Now I'm 42. Ian, the boy I rescued outside of St. Louis, is 15. He never even knew his last name. We had made a decision to go to where the Animorphs had lived, figuring anyone out of any contact might try to head there.
And now we're to the present. Ian's rushing over towards Cassie's barn, of all places. It's amazing to be in places where such dramatic history happened, and within my own memory. Ian's pushed down the door, and tripped. I ran over to see if he was hurt.
"Ian?" I asked, jogging over, "What is..."
I was cut short by the sign in front of me. It couldn't be. They couldn't have actually left it here the whole time, could they?
Ian looked up at me sharply, "What?" And as he did that, he got a view of exactly what I had just seen.
"This changes things quite a bit," I murmured.
Well, I certainly didn't expect THIS kind of response to this little ficlet. I actually wrote them as two seperate stories, and merged them together afterwards. Anyway, I hadn't intended to add on to them, but.. when I noticed the most recent review had only been DAYS ago, I decided, what the hell. So.. here you go! :)
**************************
My name is Bill. Well, William Daniel Richardson II. But you can call me Bill. I don't think there's anyone else with that name on the planet at the moment, so I'm sure if you called out "Hey, Bill!", I'd be the only one to answer.
Not that my name's called out very often. Being one of at most six people in the continent puts a slight damper on any sort of social life.
I really wish I had indulged that back when I had the chance. I was thirty-six when the open warfare broke out, and up until that point, I had concentrated on being a nerd. I'd put my all into going into science, and had, for several years, been a senior researcher at NASA. I did a lot of work with the orbital space-plane. Fat load of good that did.
When the war broke out, it was sort of a shock. It primarily occurred in California, but swept around the world. Being in Florida gave me some security, but over time, less and less. And then the bombs started falling.
Miami was vaporized by Dracon Beam. Tampa, Orlando, Jacksonville, all the larger towns were struck by various weapons; in Tampa's case, a mislead nuclear warhead that was actually launched by the US. And then the viruses were released. At first, conventional plagues and highly contagious agents. In the hot, humid land of my home state, there wasn't much to do to keep them at bay. With all the fighting, nearly 70% of the population of the southeast perished.
I was never more grateful for air conditioning and the cleanliness procedures of NASA. Because of the precautions taken, out employees were greatly spared from disease. But as we had been commandeered for military purposes, we had become a prime target. It's funny that of all the people that could have survived, I, at the place and time the quantum virus was released, made it through.
It was horrible. We were immediately sent into a bunker, but someone had been exposed. Soon everyone was in a panic, screaming. I hid like a coward behind some discarded computer consoles. For some reason, some random twist of fate, the virus passed me by. I'd heard an estimate that it was 99.998% effective. They had underestimated it quite a bit, but still, I had managed to slip into the very small group of survivors.
I managed to find a wind-up radio, and a portable TV set. I assumed their former users wouldn't be needing them. I managed to pick up some weak broadcasts from some other survivors. I slowly made my way north, and then west, to where people had begun to gather.
Ten people. Ten. Only ten people had managed to find their way to each other. We guessed maybe a few others hadn't been able to catch our broadcasts. We split up to search probably places, mostly where people had thought they had heard someone on the radio, but hadn't been able to confirm it.
Sadly, just as we were separating, the Yeerks were back. Two small fighters were all they had, but it was enough to track down our radio transmissions and drop some conventional bombs on out last known locations, and the last knock locations of other groups over the world.
The largest group, a group of five people, was all killed. Two others just vanished. Similar things happened to other groups around the world. With more than a hundred around the world, we could manage to regain the population to a point where humanity could survive. But we were ruined afterwards. We couldn't have more than twenty people left in the world. We were all doomed.
After the final attack, I tried contacting anyone, but I had no luck. I'd wandered for several months through the middle of the US, ending up near St. Louis. And there, against all odds, I'd managed to find one of the people who hadn't been able to meet up with us. A young boy named Ian. He couldn't have been more than seven before the war had begun, although he claimed to have been eight. I took him with me, protecting him. We aimlessly made our way around for several years.
Now I'm 42. Ian, the boy I rescued outside of St. Louis, is 15. He never even knew his last name. We had made a decision to go to where the Animorphs had lived, figuring anyone out of any contact might try to head there.
And now we're to the present. Ian's rushing over towards Cassie's barn, of all places. It's amazing to be in places where such dramatic history happened, and within my own memory. Ian's pushed down the door, and tripped. I ran over to see if he was hurt.
"Ian?" I asked, jogging over, "What is..."
I was cut short by the sign in front of me. It couldn't be. They couldn't have actually left it here the whole time, could they?
Ian looked up at me sharply, "What?" And as he did that, he got a view of exactly what I had just seen.
"This changes things quite a bit," I murmured.