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Story Hour
Modern/Delta Green - The Beginning of the End (COMPLETED)
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<blockquote data-quote="talien" data-source="post: 4381847" data-attributes="member: 3285"><p><strong>Nemo Solus Sapit: Part 14 – Willow’s Creek</strong></p><p></p><p>Cresting a rise, an open valley appeared before them. A "FOR SALE" sign still flapped in the wind at the entrance to the valley. The first few rays of light broke through the dawn sky. </p><p></p><p>There was nothing but scorched earth for a quarter mile in each direction, the ground blackened and hard-charred, dessicated remains of trees thrusting upward like rotting, black bayonets. Even trees lining the circle, those spared the wrath of the actual holocaust, were dead or dying. The birds were quiet.</p><p></p><p>“Notice that?” asked Jim-Bean, staring up at the trees.</p><p></p><p>“Notice what.”</p><p></p><p>“The birds,” said Jim-Bean. “They’re not flying over the scorched area.”</p><p></p><p>There was a faint, alien odor, a combination of vinegar and ash unpleasant to the nose. The edges of the circle were quite distinct; the area where no growth met healthier soil was cleanly defined. The ruined tree trunks were similar in that instead of brittle charred remains, there was tough, almost petrified, wood and ash. </p><p></p><p>Only one incongruous structure stood, newly built. A barn. </p><p></p><p>Jim-bean drew his SIG. “Only one place to go.”</p><p></p><p>The barn was dark and empty. The wind outside caused the aluminum siding to flap noisily. </p><p></p><p>“Just the wind,” said Hammer. </p><p></p><p>There was a glint of metal in the opposite corner. Where the walls should meet, there was a narrow gap, leading to a passage, maybe five inches wide. A padlocked chain was threaded through a hole in both walls, holding them together. </p><p></p><p>Hammer put one of his Glocks to the padlock and shot it. The chain fell to the ground with a clatter.</p><p></p><p>Jim-Bean switched on his flashlight and stepped cautiously a few feet into the opening. There was a hatch on the floor immediately in front of him. </p><p></p><p>When Hammer pulled on the latch, it opened with a rusty creak. There was a stepladder leading down.</p><p></p><p>Jim-bean emerged from the ladder. As he illuminated the room with his flashlight, rats scurried for cover. Something metallic caught the flashlight’s reflection way in back. </p><p></p><p>Jim-Bean took a few more steps until his foot hit a bulk on the floor. In the dim half-light, he could make out a backpack. </p><p></p><p>Hammer rifled through its contents. The backpack contained t-shirts, underwear, an iPod, and a wallet. The billfold contained an ID.</p><p></p><p>“According to the ID, this belongs to a Malvin Kuhn.”</p><p></p><p>Up ahead, Jim-Bean could make out the metallic thing that reflected light before. It was a hook in the ceiling. And suspended from it were several heavy chains, like a meat rack. There were household tools strewn about; wire cutters, pliers -- a pool of dried blood.</p><p></p><p>The torso of a man hung over the red pool, hanging from its arms. The legless torso had been neatly, surgically severed at the spine. </p><p></p><p>“I think it’s time we visited the Van Dyson Center,” said Jim-Bean.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="talien, post: 4381847, member: 3285"] [b]Nemo Solus Sapit: Part 14 – Willow’s Creek[/b] Cresting a rise, an open valley appeared before them. A "FOR SALE" sign still flapped in the wind at the entrance to the valley. The first few rays of light broke through the dawn sky. There was nothing but scorched earth for a quarter mile in each direction, the ground blackened and hard-charred, dessicated remains of trees thrusting upward like rotting, black bayonets. Even trees lining the circle, those spared the wrath of the actual holocaust, were dead or dying. The birds were quiet. “Notice that?” asked Jim-Bean, staring up at the trees. “Notice what.” “The birds,” said Jim-Bean. “They’re not flying over the scorched area.” There was a faint, alien odor, a combination of vinegar and ash unpleasant to the nose. The edges of the circle were quite distinct; the area where no growth met healthier soil was cleanly defined. The ruined tree trunks were similar in that instead of brittle charred remains, there was tough, almost petrified, wood and ash. Only one incongruous structure stood, newly built. A barn. Jim-bean drew his SIG. “Only one place to go.” The barn was dark and empty. The wind outside caused the aluminum siding to flap noisily. “Just the wind,” said Hammer. There was a glint of metal in the opposite corner. Where the walls should meet, there was a narrow gap, leading to a passage, maybe five inches wide. A padlocked chain was threaded through a hole in both walls, holding them together. Hammer put one of his Glocks to the padlock and shot it. The chain fell to the ground with a clatter. Jim-Bean switched on his flashlight and stepped cautiously a few feet into the opening. There was a hatch on the floor immediately in front of him. When Hammer pulled on the latch, it opened with a rusty creak. There was a stepladder leading down. Jim-bean emerged from the ladder. As he illuminated the room with his flashlight, rats scurried for cover. Something metallic caught the flashlight’s reflection way in back. Jim-Bean took a few more steps until his foot hit a bulk on the floor. In the dim half-light, he could make out a backpack. Hammer rifled through its contents. The backpack contained t-shirts, underwear, an iPod, and a wallet. The billfold contained an ID. “According to the ID, this belongs to a Malvin Kuhn.” Up ahead, Jim-Bean could make out the metallic thing that reflected light before. It was a hook in the ceiling. And suspended from it were several heavy chains, like a meat rack. There were household tools strewn about; wire cutters, pliers -- a pool of dried blood. The torso of a man hung over the red pool, hanging from its arms. The legless torso had been neatly, surgically severed at the spine. “I think it’s time we visited the Van Dyson Center,” said Jim-Bean. [/QUOTE]
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