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Darrin Drader's Post Apocalyptic Story Hour - Updated 09/10/2005
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<blockquote data-quote="Darrin Drader" data-source="post: 1923612" data-attributes="member: 7394"><p>Chapter 1</p><p>The Outpost</p><p> </p><p>Today</p><p> </p><p>Lieutenant Stone ran a hand over the stubble of the shaved patches of his head. His mohawk was growing out and it had been days since he had shaved the rest of it down. The sun beat down mercilessly upon him and dust blew all around, coating his throat in a viscous combination of mud and phlegm. He stood at his post, atop the embattled structure known only as the outpost.</p><p> </p><p>Two stories tall and constructed of concrete and steel, the outpost once served a similar purpose before the great war, before the fires had ravaged the world and changed all that that had stood before. It was built at the widest point in a narrow valley; the only passable route between the Allied Townships and what was commonly referred to as the Wildlands. The lands outside the valley were still highly contaminated with radiation, making them impassable, even to the most resistant creatures.</p><p> </p><p>The Wildlands were a collection of settlements and nomadic tribes that had banded together for mutual protection. There had once been peace between the Wildlands and the Allied Townships, but that was before the mutant lord Dragus came to power. Bent on conquest, the warlord sought out other mutants, gave them a purpose, and began his campaign to conquer the surrounding regions. Under his iron fist, mutants were given preferential treatment, while the pure humans were enslaved or used for their sadistic amusement. </p><p> </p><p>Three lines of razorwire fences surrounded the outpost. Towers stood at every corner of the facility, rising twenty feet above the structure below. Each was equipped with mounted machine guns and a small cache of personal firearms. This was their primary defense against their persistent enemies, but to those who served here, it also felt like a prison.</p><p> </p><p>“So, do you think we’ll see an attack today?” asked the new recruit. He couldn’t have been any older than sixteen years old. He still had a full head of blond hair, signifying that he had not yet made his first kill. When he did get a confirmed kill, the captain would bestow upon him a new hair cut as well as his warrior’s name.</p><p> </p><p>Stone just scowled at him. “Hell, if I could predict that, do you think I would just be a lieutenant? If I knew the movements of the enemy, I’d be running this place. Maybe we wouldn’t even have to deal with the barbarian scum at all.”</p><p> </p><p>“I was just wondering. I’ve been out here for ten days, and still haven’t seen any action,” said the rookie.</p><p> </p><p>“So you said. What was your name again?” asked Stone, who decided to oblige the kid in conversation in order to kill some time.</p><p> </p><p>“Lance. Lance Burton. I’m from Delville. You?”</p><p> </p><p>“Stone.” He replied.</p><p> </p><p>“The captain gave you that name?”</p><p> </p><p>Stone nodded.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s it mean?”</p><p> </p><p>“Stone cold killer,” said Stone emotionlessly. “My first day out, my group and I walked into an ambush. There were five of us there, and three fell to mutie sharpshooters within the first few seconds. I spotted four of them a couple hundred feet away, up above, on the valley walls. I found a boulder to hide behind, and returned fire, taking them out one by one. I dragged my buddies back in so that the docs could try to work on them, but only one survived.”</p><p> </p><p>“What about the other guy who wasn’t hit?” Lance asked.</p><p> </p><p>Stone laughed. “He was a rookie, just like I was. He found a ditch and took cover. I found him in a puddle of his own piss. He was by my side a week later when he took a bullet to the head. Didn’t even see it coming.”</p><p> </p><p>Lance’s jaw dropped. “So you’re the only one from your company who’s still around?”</p><p> </p><p>Stone laughed again. “Kid, I’m one of the only people from the entire outpost back then who’s still around.”</p><p> </p><p>“How long have you been here?”</p><p> </p><p>“Three years.” Stone replied.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t understand. You’ve served your time. You can go back now. Why are you still here?”</p><p> </p><p>“Live long enough, and you might just come to understand it one day. Just take my advice on one thing. If you do live long enough to understand it, don’t do like I’ve done. Go home.”</p><p> </p><p>The pair settled into an uneasy silence as they surveyed the parched landscape for any sign of movement. Stone knew from experience that it wasn’t a question of if there would be an attack, but when the attack would happen. Sometimes their defenses would be probed on a daily basis, while other times months would go by without any sign of the enemy. During those down times, it was common for them to send their own troops into the enemy’s territory to probe their defenses.</p><p> </p><p>The one thing that was becoming obvious was that their enemy was beginning to show signs of weakness. Initially, they had once been attacked by machine guns, mortars, and missiles. Recently their weapons had dropped down to compound bows and even clubs. Despite this, the attacks kept coming. The Allied Townships were faring little better on supplies, however. When he had first arrived, everyone was outfitted with a machine gun and bulletproof leather armor. Now some of the new recruits were coming in with handguns, or no armor at all. Weapons and armor would often be salvaged from the dead, or those who were allowed to leave for home. Both sides were growing weaker. For the Allied Townships, production simply couldn’t keep up with the demand. Each gun was hand crafted, which took time. For the barbarians of the Wildlands, many suspected that they were using, and depleting, a pre-war weapons cache.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>The attack came four hours into their watch. The whistle of incoming mortar rounds shook them from their complacency. Still, there was too much dust in the air this day to tell where the enemy was located. The first round of mortar shells exploded amidst the fences, opening up a twenty-foot wide hole in front of the compound. This was a bold move.</p><p>“Look sharp. They’re going to start rushing the front. Train your gun on the hole and don’t stop shooting until you see our guys meet them there,” said Stone.</p><p> </p><p>Lance and Stone manned their guns and watched for approaching figures. Stone was concerned. The blowing dust gave their enemy more of an advantage than he was comfortable with. They could get much closer than usual, which could allow them to damage portions of the Outpost itself. He saw shadowy figures from the edge of his visual range approach the hole in the fence, and Stone started shooting. Lance soon joined him. Within seconds, all four guard towers had opened up fire on the point where the fence had been breached. Their enemies were little more than shadows from their vantage point, so it was difficult to tell whether or not they were actually hitting anyone. The one thing they could tell was that none of their enemies had penetrated the hole.</p><p> </p><p>Stone heard the whistle of more incoming mortars. These ones sounded closer than the last time. He felt the concussion as a shell slammed into his tower roughly ten feet below. The tower shook and he heard the sound of concrete crumbling beneath him.</p><p> </p><p>“Is it going to hold?” Lance asked as the smoke began to clear.</p><p> </p><p>Stone kept shooting. “I can’t answer that,” Stone replied. “Trust the building to protect you while you protect it.”</p><p> </p><p>They could hear the sound of return fire, and a moment later, one of the other towers stopped shooting. “This is bad,” Stone thought to himself. “This could be the largest offensive they’ve launched in over a year.”</p><p> </p><p>They heard the whistle of another mortar shell, and the tower was struck again. Both men kept firing at their enemy, but this time they heard the sound of bricks collapsing. Their field of view tilted, as the tower leaned forward and them fell to the ground. “Hold onto your gun!” Stone shouted. The younger soldier did as he as instructed, and a moment later felt a powerful jolt as they hit the ground.</p><p> </p><p>The air was filled with smoke and the dust from obliterated concrete. “You alright?” Stone asked. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, my left arm is bleeding, but I don’t think it’s broke,” said Lance.</p><p> </p><p>“Great. Grab whatever weapons you can find, and lets join the fight.”</p><p> </p><p>The contents of the guard tower were scattered over a twenty foot area, but it took little time to gather up a couple of working machine guns. Stone noted that Lance’s arm was bleeding heavily. Hopefully he could do some damage before passing out from the blood loss.</p><p> </p><p>As they moved forward, the battle on the ground was well underway. Soldiers from the Allied Township had swarmed out of the building and were meeting the mutant enemy on the ground. The mass of men and mutants were broken up into small pockets of conflict. Some of the enemies were armed with clubs while others were firing rifles. Troops from both sides were rapidly falling. Stone looked back at Lance and shouted, “Follow me! Take out any enemies you see wielding guns. Only shoot the others if they get too close.”</p><p> </p><p>The pair made their way through the throng of combatants. Lance caught sight of what looked like a man, covered from head to toe in green scales. It was holding a machine gun, and was about to fire at a soldier from the Allied Townships. Lance let loose a burst, and the mutant creature fell to the ground in a pool of green ichor. “I got one!” he shouted triumphantly.</p><p> </p><p>“Good job,” said Stone as he fired into a group of three club-wielding attackers. The enemies fell to the ground, and Stone ran forward.</p><p> </p><p>Stone heard the whistle of flying bullets. He looked ahead and saw a man with four eyes firing a rifle in their direction. Stone let loose a burst and dropped that mutant. He then looked back at Lance. The boy was staring sightlessly, a bullet hole between his eyes, his brains emptied onto the ground behind him.</p><p> </p><p>Another fellow warrior dead. “Tough break,” Stone grimaced, then charged ahead into the enemy, wondering if today would see the end of his years long streak of luck. He allowed his body to give in to his training, transforming him into the thoughtless killing machine. In the back of his mind, he repeated the name of a girl he once loved, and held it as his source of inspiration, his mantra. Mali.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Darrin Drader, post: 1923612, member: 7394"] Chapter 1 The Outpost Today Lieutenant Stone ran a hand over the stubble of the shaved patches of his head. His mohawk was growing out and it had been days since he had shaved the rest of it down. The sun beat down mercilessly upon him and dust blew all around, coating his throat in a viscous combination of mud and phlegm. He stood at his post, atop the embattled structure known only as the outpost. Two stories tall and constructed of concrete and steel, the outpost once served a similar purpose before the great war, before the fires had ravaged the world and changed all that that had stood before. It was built at the widest point in a narrow valley; the only passable route between the Allied Townships and what was commonly referred to as the Wildlands. The lands outside the valley were still highly contaminated with radiation, making them impassable, even to the most resistant creatures. The Wildlands were a collection of settlements and nomadic tribes that had banded together for mutual protection. There had once been peace between the Wildlands and the Allied Townships, but that was before the mutant lord Dragus came to power. Bent on conquest, the warlord sought out other mutants, gave them a purpose, and began his campaign to conquer the surrounding regions. Under his iron fist, mutants were given preferential treatment, while the pure humans were enslaved or used for their sadistic amusement. Three lines of razorwire fences surrounded the outpost. Towers stood at every corner of the facility, rising twenty feet above the structure below. Each was equipped with mounted machine guns and a small cache of personal firearms. This was their primary defense against their persistent enemies, but to those who served here, it also felt like a prison. “So, do you think we’ll see an attack today?” asked the new recruit. He couldn’t have been any older than sixteen years old. He still had a full head of blond hair, signifying that he had not yet made his first kill. When he did get a confirmed kill, the captain would bestow upon him a new hair cut as well as his warrior’s name. Stone just scowled at him. “Hell, if I could predict that, do you think I would just be a lieutenant? If I knew the movements of the enemy, I’d be running this place. Maybe we wouldn’t even have to deal with the barbarian scum at all.” “I was just wondering. I’ve been out here for ten days, and still haven’t seen any action,” said the rookie. “So you said. What was your name again?” asked Stone, who decided to oblige the kid in conversation in order to kill some time. “Lance. Lance Burton. I’m from Delville. You?” “Stone.” He replied. “The captain gave you that name?” Stone nodded. “What’s it mean?” “Stone cold killer,” said Stone emotionlessly. “My first day out, my group and I walked into an ambush. There were five of us there, and three fell to mutie sharpshooters within the first few seconds. I spotted four of them a couple hundred feet away, up above, on the valley walls. I found a boulder to hide behind, and returned fire, taking them out one by one. I dragged my buddies back in so that the docs could try to work on them, but only one survived.” “What about the other guy who wasn’t hit?” Lance asked. Stone laughed. “He was a rookie, just like I was. He found a ditch and took cover. I found him in a puddle of his own piss. He was by my side a week later when he took a bullet to the head. Didn’t even see it coming.” Lance’s jaw dropped. “So you’re the only one from your company who’s still around?” Stone laughed again. “Kid, I’m one of the only people from the entire outpost back then who’s still around.” “How long have you been here?” “Three years.” Stone replied. “I don’t understand. You’ve served your time. You can go back now. Why are you still here?” “Live long enough, and you might just come to understand it one day. Just take my advice on one thing. If you do live long enough to understand it, don’t do like I’ve done. Go home.” The pair settled into an uneasy silence as they surveyed the parched landscape for any sign of movement. Stone knew from experience that it wasn’t a question of if there would be an attack, but when the attack would happen. Sometimes their defenses would be probed on a daily basis, while other times months would go by without any sign of the enemy. During those down times, it was common for them to send their own troops into the enemy’s territory to probe their defenses. The one thing that was becoming obvious was that their enemy was beginning to show signs of weakness. Initially, they had once been attacked by machine guns, mortars, and missiles. Recently their weapons had dropped down to compound bows and even clubs. Despite this, the attacks kept coming. The Allied Townships were faring little better on supplies, however. When he had first arrived, everyone was outfitted with a machine gun and bulletproof leather armor. Now some of the new recruits were coming in with handguns, or no armor at all. Weapons and armor would often be salvaged from the dead, or those who were allowed to leave for home. Both sides were growing weaker. For the Allied Townships, production simply couldn’t keep up with the demand. Each gun was hand crafted, which took time. For the barbarians of the Wildlands, many suspected that they were using, and depleting, a pre-war weapons cache. *** The attack came four hours into their watch. The whistle of incoming mortar rounds shook them from their complacency. Still, there was too much dust in the air this day to tell where the enemy was located. The first round of mortar shells exploded amidst the fences, opening up a twenty-foot wide hole in front of the compound. This was a bold move. “Look sharp. They’re going to start rushing the front. Train your gun on the hole and don’t stop shooting until you see our guys meet them there,” said Stone. Lance and Stone manned their guns and watched for approaching figures. Stone was concerned. The blowing dust gave their enemy more of an advantage than he was comfortable with. They could get much closer than usual, which could allow them to damage portions of the Outpost itself. He saw shadowy figures from the edge of his visual range approach the hole in the fence, and Stone started shooting. Lance soon joined him. Within seconds, all four guard towers had opened up fire on the point where the fence had been breached. Their enemies were little more than shadows from their vantage point, so it was difficult to tell whether or not they were actually hitting anyone. The one thing they could tell was that none of their enemies had penetrated the hole. Stone heard the whistle of more incoming mortars. These ones sounded closer than the last time. He felt the concussion as a shell slammed into his tower roughly ten feet below. The tower shook and he heard the sound of concrete crumbling beneath him. “Is it going to hold?” Lance asked as the smoke began to clear. Stone kept shooting. “I can’t answer that,” Stone replied. “Trust the building to protect you while you protect it.” They could hear the sound of return fire, and a moment later, one of the other towers stopped shooting. “This is bad,” Stone thought to himself. “This could be the largest offensive they’ve launched in over a year.” They heard the whistle of another mortar shell, and the tower was struck again. Both men kept firing at their enemy, but this time they heard the sound of bricks collapsing. Their field of view tilted, as the tower leaned forward and them fell to the ground. “Hold onto your gun!” Stone shouted. The younger soldier did as he as instructed, and a moment later felt a powerful jolt as they hit the ground. The air was filled with smoke and the dust from obliterated concrete. “You alright?” Stone asked. “Yeah, my left arm is bleeding, but I don’t think it’s broke,” said Lance. “Great. Grab whatever weapons you can find, and lets join the fight.” The contents of the guard tower were scattered over a twenty foot area, but it took little time to gather up a couple of working machine guns. Stone noted that Lance’s arm was bleeding heavily. Hopefully he could do some damage before passing out from the blood loss. As they moved forward, the battle on the ground was well underway. Soldiers from the Allied Township had swarmed out of the building and were meeting the mutant enemy on the ground. The mass of men and mutants were broken up into small pockets of conflict. Some of the enemies were armed with clubs while others were firing rifles. Troops from both sides were rapidly falling. Stone looked back at Lance and shouted, “Follow me! Take out any enemies you see wielding guns. Only shoot the others if they get too close.” The pair made their way through the throng of combatants. Lance caught sight of what looked like a man, covered from head to toe in green scales. It was holding a machine gun, and was about to fire at a soldier from the Allied Townships. Lance let loose a burst, and the mutant creature fell to the ground in a pool of green ichor. “I got one!” he shouted triumphantly. “Good job,” said Stone as he fired into a group of three club-wielding attackers. The enemies fell to the ground, and Stone ran forward. Stone heard the whistle of flying bullets. He looked ahead and saw a man with four eyes firing a rifle in their direction. Stone let loose a burst and dropped that mutant. He then looked back at Lance. The boy was staring sightlessly, a bullet hole between his eyes, his brains emptied onto the ground behind him. Another fellow warrior dead. “Tough break,” Stone grimaced, then charged ahead into the enemy, wondering if today would see the end of his years long streak of luck. He allowed his body to give in to his training, transforming him into the thoughtless killing machine. In the back of his mind, he repeated the name of a girl he once loved, and held it as his source of inspiration, his mantra. Mali. [/QUOTE]
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Darrin Drader's Post Apocalyptic Story Hour - Updated 09/10/2005
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