Durandal!

((Work schedule has been hectic past few days. Will post tomorrow. Sorry guys))

((Are we posting in rotating order? Because I'm waiting on that.))

Loved it. I pictured an 80's glam rock band solo at the very end after RAID.

They walked for what felt like hours along the wind-swept snow covered terrain of Illum. The whole way Dominic scrunched up his nose and placed an open palm on the tip. It didn't really help since his hands were just as frozen. He rubbed his hands together and tried in any small way to generate some heat. No such luck. His teeth were chattering, his toes could have fallen off miles ago for all he knew, and his comb sat begrudgingly in his pocket. Too afraid to make a pass through his black hair for fear it might break off all together. Some test, he thought. This is suicide. He felt like a lemming about to jump off a cliff onto the jagged rocks below. An end he would almost welcome at this point- just as long as the jagged rocks were heated. The afterlife and the option of an eternity swimming in a lake of fire sounded pretty damn good. He turned to Doran and gestured with his head towards Cathair with a nod. "I'm gonna say it first. You guys get hungry, you're not eatin' me. The big guy could house the both of us if we cut'im open." He said with a grin. He didn't think it would actually come to that, but he desperately needed to lighten the mood. Especially if it meant forgetting the cold for a few minutes. He got lost in the realization that he managed to forget about the bitter cold for a moment. He stopped dead in his tracks and lifted an eyebrow. His mind wandered like a drunk stumbling home. Lost, but with a destination just out of reach. How did he manage to do that? He felt warm. Not just preoccupied, but genuine warmth. Before he could figure it out, the feeling came back. Like whiskey in his stomach and a blanket over his shoulders, he felt warm. "Tell me this isn't just me." he said, hoping this wasn't common sense for force sensitive people. "I'm feeling toasty." he said with a grin. He felt like clicking his heels and lost his sense of mental balance. As soon as it left, the bitter cold came crashing back into his body. Dominic Skallig nearly had a heart attack from the instantaneous return to freezing to death. "..." "...Fun while it lasted.." He furled his brow and stuffed his hands in his pockets and caught up with the other two knights. They had stopped just short of a small snow bank. He sprinted up to them, and looked directly down to the jagged rocks of what was apparently a very deep fall from a snow bank. In fact, they were all standing on the precipice of a chasm. "Fan-F*ing-tastic" he quipped. It looked too far to jump. The other knights ignored him and Doran began to run backwards. "You're not actually.. No way. You'll never make it." he said to the Mandalorian as he backtracked to get a running start. "That chasm's easily ten feet across. Without the right equipment you're good as dea...." The Mandalorian sprinted and almost took flight. He flew over the chasm and tumbled over the other side. "Never..mind.." Dominic said wide-eyed. He glanced over to Cathair and gave him an almost challenging grin. "Well cap, if that guy can do it.." Dominic ran backwards a good 20 feet. His sensitivity to the force was returning to familiar grounds with this jump. He'd jumped crates, chasms, scaffolding, anything you can think of when it came to ducking imperial scanning crews way back when. It had been a while since he had tried anything like this, though. He shook out his arms and legs. "Loosey goosey, baby. Loosey-Goosey." He said while cracking his neck. He began to hyperfocus. The path between the ledge and the chasm became so detailed, his brain began to think it wasn't going to be a difficult jump at all. He took a brief moment to whip out a flask he had been hiding and took a gulp. Cathair noticed (( I'm told this is god-modding, but since it's such a small thing I hope it's no big deal)) and Dominic shot him a stink eye. "Hey, if I'm gonna fall on some sharp rocks after a long fall, I'd prefer not to feel it thankyaverymuch." With that he took off, his stride became fluid, his eyes remained level on the landing target. He gripped the ledge with one foot and leaped. After what felt like ages, he came tumbling down on the other side. "Not bad if I do say so, m'self." He said with a genuine smile. "I'd give it at least a 9.5" He chuckled. "What do you think, pally?" He glanced over to Doran and brushed the snow off his armor.

As Dominic arrived on the planet's surface, he made sure his armor was properly fitted to his skin, as to keep the bitter wind, and the blowing snow out. He checked his blaster and took a deep breath. The air almost made him go into a coughing fit. His lungs filled, and he exhaled a plume of white air. "Funny place to keep something so coveted, eh?" he said as he was walking over to the remaining two knights. He took position and looked up at the horizon. A storm was a'brewing. "I'm willing to bet a weeks pay the Grand Admiral dropped us here knowing full well that the weather was looking like" he quipped while lighting a death stick. "Shame too, I packed tropical." The other two knights were much quieter than himself. The Grand Admiral had indeed selected a motley crew. The other two were stern, military men. Dominic was a smuggler and gambler. This training could be crucial to being able to make a better life for himself, or maybe it was going to be a dead end like so many other failed careers. All he knew was this place made him feel confident, and his constant chatter may be a problem. Not his problem, but a problem nonetheless. His train of thought was interrupted by a shot fired by Cathair. The bolt zipped past Dominic and nailed a small floating probe in the teeth (or where it's teeth would likely be, if droids had'em) His heart nearly stopped. "Dick.." he said stone faced as the little thing fell to the ground, sputtering and sparking. This made the whole operation significantly harder than it could have been. The death stick pressed between his lips fell out of his mouth and made a hiss as it was extinguished in the soft snow. "Using remotes? Cheating? Did you happen to notice all the high tech equipment on the Star Destroyer we were just sitting pretty on? One little remote is cheating? On my ship, you'd be airlocked for that." He said looking down at the little droid making a puddle on the ground. "Could've at least told him to get back on the ship.. Poor little guy didn't even have a chance." He took a deep breath and slid a replacement stick between his lips and lifted his collar up as high as it could go to cover his neck from the cold. "Ugh.. Whatever. Let's go." He said as they began their trek through the ice and wind.

This gets better and better. "Aye sir. Will be be getting any sort of weather proper gear?" he asked as the grand admiral turned and exited towards his shuttlecraft. "I guess not. Fantastic. Well gents, let's get going, I suppose." He grabbed what gear he could find, holstered his blaster and set out for the surface. ((Leaving for 2 days for the 4'th 'o' july. Will write back sunday))

Breathing heavily, he looked the chiss in the eyes. "Illum..?" he thought to himself. "Illum is a cold cold place.." "Yessir. I'll grab my gear and be on the next transport." He said to the Grand Admiral. Yet, all he could think of was how sweet it was going to be to own a lightsaber.

As they entered the training area Dominic could only think of how much if must have cost to get a giant sandbox installed on a Star Destroyer. He pondered this a little too long before a grapefruit sized stone became good friends with his face. "WHAT THE.." He dropped down to his knees, as another stone came whizzing overhead, his knees dug into the soft sand as he was hit by surprise and anger. He gathered his strength and rolled to the left as another stone headed his way. As he stood up, his eyes got a lock on it. His feet pressed downward as it came. With as much force as his legs could muster, he jumped up and over the rock as it passed. Before he could regain his footing, another came rocketing his way. "You call this, training?!" He shouted at the Chiss as he then bent backwards on his knees as the rock came speeding by his ear. "This isn't training, this is target practice!" He could see the Chiss' eyes looking from side to side as the rocks flew by. For a split second Dominic could see a pattern forming. His mind, out of self preservation or the desire to make the chiss look bad, felt a moment of clarity. He couldn't see where the rocks were going to go, but he had a feeling.. Two smaller stones lifted out of the sandy floor and hovered next to the chiss, Dominic focused his mind for just a moment, and managed to side step out of their path. The smaller ones became easier to dodge when he did this, his mind wasn't in a grand state of clarity, but he was paying closer attention than he thought possible. After all, he did just get hit in the face with a rock. he dipped his head and buckled his rib cage as the final rocks started his way. With one good open palm slap in an gradual incline, he swatted away two. "Ha! Look at that!" he said as he regained his footing. "Not bad, eh?" The chiss wasn't finished. He saw a final salvo of tiny rocks begin to lift off the ground. Dominic focused his mind and readied himself for them. He focused his mind on the velocity they were traveling, the size of the stones, he was Concious of his entire body. And as one stone passed easily through the space between his left arm and chest, the other pegged him squarely in the solar plexus. "Ow." "But still.. not bad for a raw recruit, eh cap?" he said while hacking up a lung.

Dominic stood stone faced for a few seconds as the grand admiral spoke. His attention drifted to the Chiss' red eyes. This began to freak him out just a little bit, and this was then pushed further by the fact the grand admiral knew about his smuggling past. "Next stop, brig.." He thought. He was pleasantly surprised to find out that he was still being admitted into the knights. The force was not a new term for him to hear, but he was not such a force wielding madman as the Jedi, or their equally brooding counterparts, the Sith. He'd been able to do small, but quite useful, things with the power. Cheat at cards, Woo easy women, one time he even swore he made a checkpoint guard drop his pants and waddle out of his office while trying to return to coruscanti space with a cargo bay full of smuggled death sticks. "Well cap, I prefer to call it luck." He said with a big grin as his suit popped up in front of him. He listened to the admiral tell him about the immediate training and became a bit more somber at the thought of not getting a stiff drink or a death stick break before all the madness started. "Jeez.. You people don't.. eh.. You don't waste any time, do you." he said as he grabbed the armor and went into the changing room. "My god I look badass." he said under his breath once he finally pieced it on. He ran a comb through his hair and then scrambled to find a pocket for it. He stuffed it down in between some of the armor plating and exited the small room. "Alrighty. Shall we?"

Dominic Skallig stood for a moment and looked over his uniform outside the grand admiral's quarters. Not developed in the ways of the force, the only thing he'd ever managed to be decent at with the ability was recognizing the presence of someone who would find him to be a rather.. grating personality. In a past life he'd been called a whole mess of things. including smuggler, troublemaker, and from what he could recall "The guy with the worst poker face this side of the rishi maze." Yet here he was standing outside the entrance to the grand admiral's quarters. One whiff of the air gave him the distinct impression that behind that door, there was a Chiss who gave off the major presence of a strict military man. "I wonder if it's too late to cut and run, I mean.. being assigned to an imperial ship was the last place I expected to find myself." He thought as he ran a comb through his hair. "Screw it.. Too late now, Dominic. Just don't dig yourself any holes with the people you used to spend your life hiding from. I think the empire knows to look for smuggling vessels perched behind asteroids and on icy moons by now." his conscience quipped. Dominic didn't even think before he gave a melodic "Knock Kn-Kn-Kn Knock Knock" on the door.. "Oh hell..." he thought, realizing immediately it wasn't going to be returned by the friendly double knock that always came afterwards..

Real Name: Dominic Skallig Nickname: ...Dominic Skallig? Age: 22 Species: Human Height: 5'10 Weight: 165lbs Hair: Black Eyes: Brown Sex: Male Homeworld: Corellia Alignment: True Neutral Clothing: Imperial Uniform Weapon: Sidearm Blaster Force User: Yes Inventory: Weapon, Clothing, Black "UNBREAKABLE" comb Possessions: Wit, and an unbreakable comb

I missed the first 56 chapters and thought I'd maybe be able to start at 57. As soon as I read "Robot spiders hanging from the ceiling" I knew this was impossible.

Wat

Wat

Jesus dude. This is really well written. The cycle terminated at the end really reminds me of the old terminals in Marathon. The guy's death was genuinely brilliant.

Preface- I'm very proud of how this turned out. I spent a long time on something this short, but it means a lot to me. Please please read, and let me know what you think. -D The sky has been grey for six months. I feel as a wine cork would feel adrift in the Atlantic. The cold metal of a microphone between my fingers, the tattered wool blanket draped over my frail body. Here goes, The oceans had cooled, hurricanes tore apart coastlines, and floods left whole counties inaccessible to the outside world. The sun became little more than a vivid memory after only six months of a grey sky. The planet was falling apart at the seams, yet no one reported on it. What television stations that were still broadcasting replayed the same six minute clip on constant loop. Set for constant repeat after everyone had abandoned the area. The world just stood in awe as we as a collective species took one last breath. I guess in the eyes of the cosmos we didn't even merit the chance to think much of it. And we accepted that after coming to terms with the fact that humanity was that small. If we were blinked out, the cogs of matter and space would move on completely unchanged. And the world was not yet able to wrap its head around the thought of life without us in it. Like a baby holding its father's watch. Cooing, staring, pulling, twisting, yet never able comprehend it's purpose. The small gears housed inside, yet never understanding the incredible amount of detail and craftsmanship gone into creating something so intricate. Could it be real? The end of humanity as a bleak and whimpering mass of skeletons in the streets? The thought ran through every able minded human being for six months. But there was no rioting in the streets. The human vision of the apocalypse was one of fire and rubble. But this never came to be. T.S. Elliot was right when he wrote The Hollow Men. The world didn't end with a bang, but a whimper. We were warned. Not to change our ways, but to prepare for the inevitable. Humanity's actions would play no part in the end. It was out of our hands as soon as no one was behind the wheel. Try to imagine that feeling. We had no hope. Our armies and scientists, poets and artists were useless to stop it. Hollywood had always shown us a positive vision of the apocalypse; Men in orange space suits heroically diverting cosmic wrecking balls from ending the American way. It's hard to picture the real men who would have been first in line for such a job, to be huddling around dying loved ones praying to themselves as the world collapsed inward. In the entire six month period of global catastrophe, I never once saw someone break a storefront window, or even a scuffle in the streets. We were too ashamed. We were ashamed of the pharos and kings who came before us, ashamed of our parents. Had we a scope of things to come, humanity may have found a way to find safe passage away from the collapsing planet. Like rats from a sinking ship. We just didn't have enough time. Something of that scale would have required centuries of ingenuity and global cooperation. Instead we were ill prepared for something completely unforeseeable. In our hearts we had no choice but to accept our fate. To see a hint of sadness in the low rumbling voice of the one who created not only you, but every person you have ever heard of, was enough for us to realize the gravity of the situation. Wars ceased, governments gave their speeches, families talked for weeks about how much they would give to have more time together. But no one really talked for the remaining two months. Things looked normal from far away. We would just look at the ground the way you would look away from a picture of a lost loved one. If you distance yourself enough, you'll be hurt less when you're life gets thrown into upheaval. But there was no life to be worried about. There was no escaping the fact that we would be gone in seven months from the time the message arrived. It was God who told us so on the morning of July 18, 2010. Whole countries went silent when the bright figure materialized in the center of every city, town and village across the globe. In unison the booming voice said but one thing. "You are my children. I wrought you from the clay. I created you in my image. The figure you see here is one of a few in the emptiness of space. When I stand I am taller than whole galaxies. When I breathe, the solar winds of whole star systems seep into my chest. But I did not create these things. No, I am not as omnipotent as you may have been lead to believe. I came to you once before in a similar fashion as this. Only then I came to make myself known. To give the explanation you seek for the world around you. You called me Christ. King. I was deeply gratified at the love you showed towards the being that created you. My children. My kin. I am here on my last breath. I am not immortal. I am not outweighed by the laws of physics. As incorporeal as I am, I cannot escape death. The matter that creates my many forms is the same that constructs yours. And though my life has spanned eons, it is drawing to a close. I am the caretaker of the world I created. I paid a close ear to your prayers. I gave the world the light touch it needed to stay in balance. But my children, when I am gone that touch will cease to be. The world I created, the life that sprang from myself, will cease to be as well. You are not alone in the cosmos. A few like me have created few like you. But you must come to terms with the resolution of all things here. The mantle will not be passed to anyone. I am the only thing that could keep the planet we call Earth alive. Do not be sad, my children. There is neither heaven nor hell to fear being given a new life in. I created you out of love, Simplicity in its truest form. The perception of the human mind exists here and here only. You may say I am a liar for setting the belief that there is a life after ultimate death. But without this, morality would crumble. I gave you that morality to do with what you saw fit. The only catch to the free will you were granted. But it would not be my place to say I can take it away. True, I will be gone as soon as I leave this mortal shell you see before you, but the life you have is your own to do with what you see happiness in when the end comes in seven months to this very day. My only regret, is that I created you at all knowing it would end like this." And with that the bright human figure faded away. People were stunned by what they had just seen. A prank? a hoax? No one could understand why ”˜god' would appear just to abandon them. Show himself only to deliver a message that we will have to ride out the end on our own? The following weeks were the most unsteady of any. We noticed things about ourselves that only cemented our shame. The sun withdrew from the sky and a grey view of the heavens replaced it. With governments in a panic, a global war would seem almost inevitable. Yet instead the world ceased contact with anybody farther than their own country. If it was a primal sense of racism or a feeling of longing to things that were only familiar are unknown. I wish I could say history would be the judge. All the way up until September news reports commented on the weather getting worse and worse. The sky being a constant grey, the then famous six minute video shot out of Melbourne, Australia; was the most popular footage in the world. The man who shot is was a student film maker filming scenery near the station pier when we got the message. His camera was rolling the entire time when he saw it. Three weeks later he was hit by a train. The footage went on to be the clearest of all film shot of the phenomena. And his death sent shock waves through continents. It was the first time the population in unison stepped back to take a look at it. His life ended there. No heaven. No hell. So the news reports stopped. People stopped going to their jobs. The weather went so far off balance that the entire country of Japan had been submerged. Millions died in the ensuing weeks. We all wanted to turn towards the sky and beg for help. But every time the thought of salvation from above came into our minds, we were shot back to earth with the cold fact that there was no one to save us. We wanted to be enraged at our neighbors for doing this to us, wanted to force blame onto anyone but ourselves. But none of us were to blame. By December half of the human population was gone already. Those who were left were skeletal masks of their former selves. Surviving just to survive. It seems like such a wasted concept. We just lived. Breathing in oxygen, exhaling carbon dioxide. The names of things lost meaning. It became a bleak blur of things god created, and things we would never see again. A house stopped being a home, and became a tome of nostalgia. A scratch ticket became a painful reminder of the lives we once had. Once February 17'Th 2011 came, the planet was united in the glimpse we had of the end being something to strive for. Earth's axis has been altered. The surface temperature dropped to -10 degrees in California. It was a heartbreaking sight. The instinct to survive was almost a hinderance to most. They wanted to give in, wanted to let go and be finished with it all. They couldn't. Those people were either fighters or simply didn't come to the conclusion of it all yet. They didn't want to believe. I have no doubts many of them still ask ”œWhy does god let this happen?”

Somewhere in the story, there's a line where god says that he put the heaven/hell story in place only to keep morality in place, and that it was the only catch to our free will. After death there was no heaven or hell.

I have the SETI program on my desktop at home. Thanks guys. Amidala, if you could point out the errors, I'd be glad to fix-em up.

I re-wrote the ending and did some touch-ups to some of the story. Please give it a read and let me know what you think. It's the first time i've written.. ANYTHING in a long long time. ------------- The sky has been grey for six months. The oceans had cooled, hurricanes tore apart coastlines, floods left whole counties inaccessible to the outside world. The sun became a vivid memory after only six months of a grey sky. The planet was falling apart at the seams, yet no one reported on it. What television stations that were still broadcasting replayed the same six minute clip on constant loop. The world just stood in awe as we as a collective species took one last breath. I guess in the eyes of the cosmos we didn't even merit the chance to think much of it. And we accepted that after coming to terms with the fact that humanity was that small. If we were blinked out, the cogs of matter and space would move on completely unchanged. And the world was not yet able to wrap it's head around the thought of life without us in it. Would there be life after every living creation was gone? Do we define what it is to have life? The thought ran through every able minded human being for six months. But there was no rioting in the streets. The human vision of the apocalypse was one of fire and rubble. But this never came to be. T.S. Elliot was right when he wrote The Hollow Men. The world didn't end with a bang, but a whimper. We were warned. Not to change our ways, but to prepare for the inevitable. Humanity's actions would play no part in the end. It was out of our hands as soon as no one was behind the wheel. To see a hint of sadness in the low rumbling voice of the one who created not only you, but every person you have ever heard of; was enough for us to realize the severity of the situation. The only hint you would get that something was awry was the sunless sky and the natural weather that ripped though each continent. Wars ceased, governments gave their speeches, families talked for weeks about how much they would give to have more time together. But no one really talked for the remaining two months. Things looked normal from far away. We would just look at the ground the way you would look away from a picture of a lost loved one. If you distance yourself enough, you'll be hurt less when you're life gets thrown into upheaval. But there was no life to be worried about. There was no escaping the fact that we would be gone in seven months from the time the message arrived. It was God who told us so on the morning of July 18, 2010. Whole countries went silent when the bright figure materialized in the center of every city, town and villiage across the globe. In unison the booming voice said but one thing. "You are my children. I wrought you from the clay. I created you in my image. The figure you see here is one of a few in the emptiness of space. When I stand I am taller than whole galaxies. When I breathe, the solar winds of whole star systems seep into my chest. But I did not create these things. No, I am not as omnipotent as you may have been lead to believe. I came to you once before in a similar fashion as this. Only then I came to make myself known. To give the the explanation you seek for the world around you. You called me Christ. King. I was deeply gratified at the love you showed towards the being that created you. My children. My kin. I am here on my last breath. I am not immortal. I am not outweighed by the laws of physics. As incorporeal as I am, I cannot escape death. The matter that creates my many forms is the same that constructs yours. And though my life has spanned eons, it is drawing to a close. I am the caretaker of the world I created. I payed a close ear to your prayers. I gave the world the light touch it needed to stay in balance. But my children, when I am gone that touch will cease to be. The world I created, the life that sprang from myself, will cease to be as well. You are not alone in the universe. A few like me have created few like you. But you must come to terms with the resolution of all things here. The mantle will not be passed to anyone. I am the only thing that could keep the planet we call Earth alive. Do not be sad, my children. There is neither heaven or hell to fear being given a new life in. I created you out of love. Simplicity in it's truest form. The perception of the human mind exists here and here only. You may say I am a liar for setting the belief that there is a life after ultimate death. But without this, morality would crumble. I gave you that morality to do with what you saw fit. The only catch to the free will you were granted. But it would not be my place to say I can take it away. True, I will be gone as soon as I leave this mortal shell you see before you, but the life you have is your own to do with what you see happiness in when the end comes in seven months to this very day. My only regret, is that I created you at all knowing it would end like this." And with that the bright human figure faded away. People were stunned by what the had just seen. A prank? a hoax? An ad campaign? No one could understand why god would appear just to abandon them. Only to ride out the end on their own. The following weeks were the most hectic of any. All the way up until September news reports commented on the weather getting worse and worse. The sky being a constant grey, the then famous six minute video shot out of Melbourne, Australia; was the most popular footage in the world. The man who shot is was a student film maker filming scenery near the station pier when we got the message. His camera was rolling the entire time when he saw it. Three weeks later he was hit by an train. The footage went on to be the clearest of all film shot of the phenomena. And his death sent shock waves through continents. It was the first time the population in unison stepped back to take a look at it. His life ended there. No heaven. No hell. So the news reports stopped. People stopped going to their jobs. The weather went so far off balance that the entire country of Japan had been submerged. Millions died in the ensuing weeks. We all wanted to turn towards the sky and beg for help. But every time the thought of salvation from above came into out minds, we were shot back to earth with the cold fact that there was no one to save us. By December we had all stopped talking to one another. Half of the human population was gone already. Those who were left neither cried or swayed. We just lived. Breathing in oxygen, exhaling carbon dioxide. The names of things lost meaning. It became a bleak blur of things god created, and things we would never see again. A chair became a tome of nostalgia. I scratch ticket became a painful reminder of the lives we once had. And once February 17'th 2011 came around, the planet was united in the glimpse we had of the end being something to strive for. Earth's axis has been altered. The surface temperature dropped to -10 degrees in California. It was a heartbreaking sight. The instinct to survive has become unhinged in many ways from the planet. Some fought when the end came, but most just huddled together to keep warm as we died off one by one. Two by two. Ten by ten. If you are hearing this, we do not send a message or peace. Nor do we send a message of conquest. We only wish for this transmission to echo through space. A cosmic last testament of the human race. My name is Richard T. Clark. I am the only current employee in the SETI program of the University of California. I am a former designer of the SERINDIP V program. Our goal was to search out and pick up radio signals from other worlds. Although this goal was never accomplished, I am still here. Bundled up and cased in from the bitter weather of the outside. It would seem that life has a sense of irony. Even with our last breath, one of the last surviving members of our kind is attempting to find others who may never be found. I do not tell this story over the airwaves as a way to send a message of peace. Nor do I send a message of warning. I merely wish to have my final deeds be realized as positive in my eyes. Even though they will be remembered by none. I just want someone out there to know we existed. One small step for man. The last step we ever took. (Static)

Very vivid. The imagery was very well done. I like!

Very little written so far. Just wanted to have it somewhere. All I could hear are the gunshots. Each shot making the distinct echo any noise near a lake would make. Every pang of bullets spraying tree bark would fire off again in unison as the sound bounced off the water. Every one came closer. Closer still. Survivors has somehow made their way through the woods and landed on the last place it seemed that me and my family had left to hide. The seclusion of the lake house in the middle of what seemed to be nowhere was where we had been held up for the past two weeks. Moving at night, the infected never managed to follow. We worked hard for that fact. we moved like mice in the dark. And since we left West Durham, the sightings and overheard broadcasts of towns becoming overrun became more frequent. This felt like an outbreak. The newscasts always called it that. But the feeling felt more like running away from something you couldn't be rid of. I always pictured an outbreak of anything being something that parliament would make sure was taken care of in a few days. This felt like a dream. When you've lost your home, friends, family, your entire basis of who you are in the course of 21 days, it will be more than difficult to believe it's actually happening. It's hard to swallow being holed up in an abandoned lake house that's been plated with sheet metal stolen from the roof. It's hard to believe half of England has been overrun with these things. These monsters. Blood and saliva have been narrowed down to the greatest concentration areas for the virus. Making every infected person a walking biohazard. A fleshy water balloon. If it were to pop near you, it's over. In the blink of an eye a family member, a loved one, a neighbor, a friend. In seconds they would have become something different altogether. A screaming figure. Any hint of the person you knew would be gone. That would be one of the hardest things i've had to see. A child crying for his mother. Only for her to tackle him to the ground and tear them apart. Down to the bone. Children were never active infected it seemed. Any infected would just tear it apart of ignore it all together. The shots kept getting closer. The echo became much softer than the original shot. The howling and screaming of the infected were louder still. From the small hole etched out of the wooden door, I could see them now on the far side of the lake. Four men, one child. one woman. About twelve infected screaming behind them. My wife kept telling me to get out the rifle and help them. The thought of a child being torn from a parent is something she knew first hand. But to expose ourselves to the infected would put her, myself and our daughter in more danger than we could risk. Part of me hated them for dare leading the infected here. Part of me begged to help them. They weren't as fast as the infected were. Reports gave little explanation as to what the virus was, or where it came from, but detailed that an infected human felt reduced activity in the nervous system causing sporadic movement and above all else, a high tolerance to pain. An infected shot in the chest wouldn't feel much, but the wound itself would do the same damage as a regular human. They weren't an invincible enemy. But ask anyone who had met up with one in a corridor or alleyway. It sure as hell felt like it. They move with no concept of fear. Clamoring over razor wire. Grinding their teeth until they fell out of their mouths. An infected would usually have blood running down their chin from either inadvertently severing their own tongues or the projectile vomiting of half coagulated blood. It would seem they move using more of the untapped potential that the uninfected are naturally hindered by. Our bodies fell second to our brains as we evolved. But that's a far stretch from saying an infected human wouldn't have the ability to find it's way an uninfected one. Losing fingers, arms, legs and other limbs along the way if need be. And the infected now following the eight people circling the lake were no exception. The child was maybe seven years old. Carried in his mother's arms, she was too slow to keep in pace with the rest. An infected grabbed the child's dangling foot. Forcing him out of his mother's arms. He cried out as he and his mother fell to the ground. It was too late for him. The infected swarmed like dogs to a steak. The mother had a clear shot to get up and run. I could see how it would play out before it happened, and the mother leapt onto the infected. Wildly clawing toward her son. And in seconds she was gone as well. The screams of her and her son mixed with that of the infected were enough to make me want to spring up and open the door. But I kept my hands still. I needed to keep absolutely silent. The men knew we were here. The infected had no way to tell. They lacked the ability to find hidden people very well. They seemed to posses the problem solving skills of an animal. While a lake cabin lined with rust-covered sheet metal would send up a red flag for someone looking for survivors, an infected wouldn't know the difference. The only problem being spotted. Once the infected knew you were in there, they would not stop trying until they had forced their way in. Fearing no harm unto themselves. So I sat and pray the four men did not make it to the cabin. The one room was enough to fit more people, but food was dwindling. And who knows how many were still in the woods following the group. I held the trigger of the rifle as sweat poured down my neck. My wife and daughter huddled in silence across the room behind me. And I watched with the heaviest pain and the greatest joy as two of the three men were forced to the ground and disappeared under four more infected. Their screams echoed across the lake. UNFINISHED More to come

I am writing this in memorium of a fly a good friend of mine had found in the mini fridge propped up against the chalkboard wall in my lime green room. Little guy never asked for a death such as that. And without probable cause for anything otherwise, I can only blame myself. Tuesday April 14, 2007. A cloudy, rainy day if I'm remembering correctly. Jacob Gaulin, Macon Cummings, Zachary Peckham and myself. Strapping young lads ready to take the day for ourselves. A fresh twelve pack of Pepsi sitting on the chipped, pock-marked wooden floor. Warm. Caramel Color 5. The bright blue and white box forgotten behind the Pac-Man themed coffee table. I believe it was Macon who took the initiative to actually open the fridge and put the cans in. Warm pepsi has always been mankinds most unsettling beverages. No lie. So he opens the tiny door. No trembling in his hands when he picks up the frozen, lifeless exoskeleton of a house fly. Legs curled inwards. Eyes still carrying the sheen of a new kaleidoscope. Proboscus at the ready, he sad there in the palm of my good friend's hand. And it was at that time that I began questioning how a fly could get in there. A mini fridge door, in the eyes of a house fly, would measure up with a side of a skyscraper. Thus would rule out any chance of a suicide. And I rarely used the refrigerator. It never proved as useful as I once thought it would. I would touch it maybe once every two weeks or so. Exept last week. That was when it hit me. Minutemade Lemonade. A twelve pack. Fridge box. It made perfect sense. I opened the door, the fly flew in. And as it flew in, I threw the box in and slammed it shut. That had to have been it. The only reasonable explanation. I had sealed the little guy's tomb. He froze to death in a forest of Nilla Wafers and sweet & sour packets. It must have been a terrible way to go. Not five seconds after the thought ran through my head, I could see it. Small letters scratched into the plastic inlay of the interior of the refrigerator. I almost needed a magnifying glass to read them. In letters 3 millimeters high, "Who the f*ck keeps Nilla Wafers in a fridge?" In another life, I may have called him friend.