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Compartment 114
Compartment 114
Prologue

Prologue

A Chapter by NoblePariah
"

Kind of a dark start, but I'm gonna try to keep things interesting.

"

     Tom looked up at the bright sun, blaring down from its constant perch. Four o-clock, he guessed. He wiped his brow, soaking his forearm with the product of the day's exhaustion. Sighing, he ran forward through the ranks of his companions; each the same as him depression awash amongst their bony, dirty faces. The hunger was rampant, and destroyed the resolve of his comrades. Hunger they had faced, worse yet, the Sickness had recently visited the outer edges of their mile-long marching group of nomads.

      During his trot through the sea of desperate faces, he caught sight of the man for whom he searched; his sections leader, one of the thirteen. He reached the man and stood up as tall as his anatomy would allow. He saluted, a lost gesture as the man's face tightened in a wrinkle of confusion.   “Tom, how many times do I have to tell you, you don't have to salute me. I'm not your commander anymore, boy,” the man said in a slightly chastising sigh.

      “But... you are the leader of this section, sir. That makes you our military coordinator, sir,” Tom said, holding back a smile as he held his salute.

      “I'm not the leader, people simply ask my opinion, freely. Now please stop saluting me.”

      “If you're not the leader then I don't have to listen to your advice on not saluting you,” Tom said, his smirk finally breaking through. “You're never going to get me to not do it; so just embrace it and blame it on yourself for making me do it as a kid.”

      They clasped hands and his father's smirk seemed to show for a moment, before disappearing, solemnly, behind his beard. “Son... we aren't soldiers anymore, remember that. Too many died in that pursuit of that foolish war.”

      “I'm not trying to bring back the wars, father. Simply trying to preserve traditions at this point, I was a teacher once... now, a good grasp of the Sverken language, doesn't really help us survive,” he replied, looking his father in the eye.

      “Do you smell that?” his father asked lifting his nose as he tried to locate the scent with quick, shallow breaths.

       Looking at the faces around him, Tom decided to free his machete of the cloth side that hung from his side, as they became increasingly grim. “I do. Is it what I think it is?”

       “Yes. It seems the Sickness has come,” his father said, unconvincingly trying to hide the fear from his son.

       “What can we do?”

       “We can hide,” his father said gesturing for everyone behind to follow him. He knew he couldn’t save them all, but he had to save as many as possible. Luckily, the next company was two days behind them, and could be warned, with time to spare. If they survived.

       On me! If you want to live, FOR GODS' SAKE, ON ME!!” he yelled, beginning a run to the side of the sandy mountain. They had to make it, failure was not an option. Their trot lead them to the side of the valley, where the cracks hidden in the mountains were thickest. “ IN THE MOUNTAIN!!”

      The two found one crack large enough to fit the both of them and jumped in, taking a moment to catch their breath before siting across from each other. They looked for the others, whom with few exceptions, had all gotten into a crack. Those who hadn't were quickly engulfed by the purple Sickness cloud. Little was known about the cloud, with the exception of its deadly nature. It swooped upon anything in a wide area and left no survivors.

      Tom watched in horror engulfed those who had not found safe haven in the cracks. “Son, look away,” his father said gravely.

      “Father, I'm an adult. I need to know what happens when they are inflicted.”

      “You may be a man, but there are some things a man shouldn't have to see. Look away, son. Please.

His father pleading was an unexpectedly jarring sight, as he had rarely heard such a thing. He turned his head, wordlessly, though he noted his father showed no signs of looking away. “Why aren't you looking away,” he asked staring into the depths of their make-shift shelter.

      “Because, Tom. Some men have to watch to respect the dead, that is why others follow my suggestions,” he said flatly. Within moments, screams the likes of which Tom had never heard began to agonizingly taught his consciousness, with a sense of disturbing horror. These were the screams men, women, and children that had no hope. These were the screams of those doomed to live their remaining moments, in an agonizing existence trapped, unable to control their bodies.

      Wet slopping sounds began to increase as the screaming died down. His father then stood, yelling, “ALRIGHT EVERYONE, WE'VE GOT SOME SHIFTERS IN THIS ONE!!! WEAPONS AT THE READY!!”



© 2012 NoblePariah


Author's Note

NoblePariah
First draft any opinions welcome.

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Added on October 22, 2012
Last Updated on October 22, 2012
Tags: apocalyptic, action, dark, hopless, survival, death, harship, fantasy, fiction


Author

NoblePariah
NoblePariah

About
I am a writer trying to better myself in the craft. I'm 22 and in college, pursuing a degree in creative writing. Please don't add me and send me a read request without reviewing a piece of my work. .. more..

Writing
Harmonicas Harmonicas

A Story by NoblePariah