It Happened One Sunday
A/N: I put it to you to define terror. It's only a word; unless you have experienced it and if you have experienced it, there is no word for it. There are many kinds of terror, the greatest is of the unknown. Norville "Shaggy" Rogers is about to discover the truth of these statements.
Chapter Two: Terror
Two hours had passed since the room had last been shaken. It had taken Shaggy and Scooby by surprise, dumping them onto the floor in a jumble of arms, legs and paws. "Like, that was really close, Scoob! Must have been the gas lines," Shaggy stated as if there were no doubt but reluctantly because that would mean his home was gone along with the neighbors as well.
The young man made a successful search of the small storage area, walking back into the room flipping a small rubber ball, "How about some fetch, Scoob?" Anything to starve off boredom; no telling how long they would be in this seven by eight by twenty five foot room. He refused to acknowledge the term "coffin", pushing it into the back recesses of his mind. By throwing the ball off the walls he could get some wicked bounces but Scooby was up to the challenge, fielding the ball before it hit the back wall. The game deteriorated into a mix of fetch and keep away.
"If you could throw, you could go pro," an exhausted Shaggy commented some thirty minutes later. Huffing and puffing, Scooby watched the ball come to rest against the wall. He walked over, lay down under the bed and placed his muzzle on his paws. "Want something to eat? Mom stored some Scooby Snacks." Scooby didn't even twitch an ear. "Okay, maybe later."
The shelter wasn't completely soundproofed; the room did have an air vent which filtered and exchanged the air. A battery operated radio that included emergency weather and Emergency Broadcasting System channels. The only sounds emanating from the radio had been static. The EBS
channel was broadcasting a recorded message over and over and getting on Shaggy's nerves until he had finally turned it off to conserve the batteries. And his nerves.
A phone had been discussed and considered but never installed. In a real emergency, like the one Shaggy and Scooby found themselves in, the phone service would be the first to go and the last to be repaired.
The remaining contact with what was left of Coolsville, the Geiger counter, was Shaggy's target. The reading was high but not as high as expected. As high, if say, a nuclear war had commenced only hours before.
So if the attack hadn't been nuclear, only two alternatives remained; both sent shivers of fear down the teen's spine. The first alternative would be tactical; cause as much damage and terror as possible. Shaggy didn't want to think of the second alternative; a combination like the game of fetch and keep away, tactical and...biological!
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After the terror feeling of the recent revelation and subsided, the teen sat on the bunk staring at the blank wall eight feet away. To keep the thoughts of terror at bay, he thought of happier times. Eventually he rose and retrieving the journal from the desk, returned to lay on the bed. He recorded the Geiger reading and began to write below his last sentence,
"If you went to any high school and picked four students to be friends, my friends and I would never be chosen. Fred and Daphne would be chosen of course, the jock and the pretty girl, they're the natural choice. Their love is just beginning to blossom from seeds of friendship sown years before.
"It's the friendship between Velma and myself that blows people away. Who would believe a hippie and a computer nerd would be friends and friends with the jock and most popular girl in school? But we did; the four of us against the world of monsters, ghosts and other things that go bump in the night.
"Her lips were so soft and warm that first stolen kiss, her chest rising and falling with each breath. I really tried to resist stealing that second kiss but the memory of those soft lips against mine was just too much; my resistance vanished in the scent of her perfume. My hand had started up to touch her breasts, those breasts I'd only dreamed of, when I felt a hand on mine. I looked up to see Daphne who whispered, "you should try that when she's awake. You both would enjoy it more."
"I didn't dare wake her, she'd only scoot to the far side of the seat. I left my arm around her shoulder, holding her close, intoxicated by her perfume. We were quiet the rest of the evening. I thought of walking her to her door but she woke just before Fred stopped in front of her house. She waved as Fred pulled away from the curb.
"I miss my friends!" The pen left a line to the edge of the page before dropping to the floor. The journal followed soon afterward. The noise of the journal and pen hitting the floor did not disturb the sleeping duo.
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Monday morning "dawned" with Shaggy slowly coming awake, groaning at the thought of another day below ground. "Come on, Scooby, let's see what we can find for breakfast...or lunch." Scooby joined his human companion in a search for food. The duo, who had been known for their eating prowess in the past, now found their appetite nonexistent.
Their search was successful and after a nourishing, if not appetizing breakfast, and another game of fetch, Shaggy turned his attention to trying to figure something to do to dispel the feelings of boredom, despair and hopelessness that permeated the small room. By noon he had had only one idea; not a good idea but an idea. The walls were devoid of anything to distract the eye, including paint. A good painting would help but what color? If his friends were here, Daphne would want to paint the whole room purple, Fred would go for white with a blue stripe across the center, and Velma...his thoughts turned to Saturday and and the stolen kisses...Velma would do everything in orange. But his friends weren't here.
He sat on the edge of the bed scratching Scooby behind the ears. Scooby liked that, liked the attention. There was a knock at the door. Both teen and canine looked at the door in disbelief.
"Wh...who's there?" Shaggy stammered. Scooby emitted a low growl.
"Who's there?" Shaggy repeated, "ANSWER ME!" He pleaded.
The knock was repeated.
TBC