Creative Challenge Treasure Hunt

Jamie lay on her side in her small hole and traced the edges of the ancient transportation device in the picture plastered to the wall, as if petting it. The picture was old, ancient. If not for the sealant coating it, it would have turned to dust ages ago. The colors were faded and distorted. What she thought may have been images of trees, once green and lush, were now brownish orange. The discoloration was made worse by the dim glow light she kept beside the image. At the center of the brow- orange trees was the transport sitting on top of a cliff, maybe a waterfall. Parts of the transport look broken but it may have just the paper.

It reminded her of the small toy Hill had had when they were little. She had bent one of the little triangles that stuck out from the side. He had broken all the fingers on one of her hands for that and then had thrown the toy away.

The implant in her wrist buzzed. She still wasn’t used to the sensation and her skin crawled in reaction. She shimmied forward in her hole until she could grip the wheel that closed the door. She switched off the light and pushed the door open just enough to let sound and any light, if present, in. There was no light and the only sound was the drip and soft murmur of water. She flicked the light back on as the implant buzzed impatiently at her.

“I’m coming. I’m coming,” she muttered as she pulled herself the rest of the way out of her hole and then closed and locked the hatch. The light stretched down the tunnel in both directions, illuminating the vivid colors. The once blood-red brick was now discolored by the minerals and chemicals of the water that dripped down the sides to the floor where it collected into a lazy, dirt filled stream. She would sometimes leave the hatch cracked just enough to let the gentle sounds in while she fell asleep.

The hole that she called home had once been a pipe of some kind that had emptied into the tunnel but she had sealed off one end, built in an air filter into the metal hatch, and had coated the walls with sealant and pictures. It was stuffy and damp, but it was safe, and hers.



By the time she reached the shop front to which she had been summoned her arm was going numb from the constant buzzing sensation. She flexed her hand, spreading her twisted fingers as far out as they would go and then into as tight a fist as she could get while rubbing the wrist with her other hand. She hated this store.

The whole front of the store was an upturned eye with a drop of colored water above it as if something had been dropped into the eye and then had splashed out. BEAUTY IS IN THE EYE OF THE BEHOLDER proclaimed words that shimmered across the image. An optical nano shop. One of the few still operating. Probably because the owner had enough blackmail material to destroy anyone who was even a passing threat.

Jamie stepped through the eye and looked around the oval office as the buzzing stopped. The walls were decorated by the most attractive people, past and present, and beautiful, exotic landscapes. The promise of the OptNanos. Don’t like what your spouse looks like? Change how you see her. Change what he looks like to anyone you want. Don’t like the slum you live in? Then how about living in some exotic land where the sun always shines and the earth is scattered with balls of stone. Only the image was changed. If you wanted the sounds you had to go three stores down. They still didn’t have something that could change what things felt like when you touched them and the images and sounds tended to have a bit of delay. Not a good idea if you needed to be fast on your feet.

On the far side of the office was a desk and just behind that a hall blocked by a glow bead curtain. A grey man with grey skin and grey hair and grey eyes looked up at her from behind the desk.

“You’re late. Room 3.” Even his voice seemed grey. She slipped around him and through the curtain. The rest of the shop looked sterile, clean. Like you could cut someone open and pull out all their secrets and smile all the while kind of clean.

The entire facility was automated. The room she walked into had a chair at the center with a head rest that looked like it would rip her head off to keep it in place if need be while a complex machine tapered down from the ceiling to end in a point a hands length above the head rest. Her stomach twisted into a knot as she leaned back and she jumped as the head rest clamped around her skull and flat metal tongs forced her eyes open.

Her rapid, ragged breath echoed back to her off the walls as a drop fell from the machine into her eyes blurring and then blinding her for an instant. Slowly the room came back into blurry focus only now instead of blank white the walls looked like cracked paint and Murshi was there looking at her. Drool dripped down his jaw onto his furry chest while one of his wings flicked his cigarette.

“You’re late.” Murshi’s voice had a heavy accent that just did not work with the bear’s mouth it was coming out of. Too much lip movement in the voice for a fuzzy muzzle.

“So I have been told. Will you get this thing off of me?” She pawed at the head rest, feeling vulnerable and claustrophobic. Murshi smiled; at least she thought it was supposed to be a smile.

“It improves your looks.”

“I am not here to play your games with you. Do you have something for Hill or not?” She tried to lace the threat of failing Hill into her words while glaring at Murshi’s fur covered digital projection.

He rolled his eyes and his paw waved about in front of him and the clamping force on her head relaxed until she could pull her head free.

“You are no fun and Hill is obsessed.” His paw moved again and her vision wavered as streaks of orange and black swirled and streaked across it, like the pulsating surface of the sun. It made her dizzy and sick and closing her eyes did nothing to shut off the image. The swirls and lines formed into fleeting images, people, places, some words. As the colors spun once more she leaned forward and vomited on to the floor she couldn’t see and was satisfied by a stream of curses from Murshi.

The spirals settled in to a moving image. Jamie turned her head and shifted her eyes but the image stayed the same. Stupid, she thought, she was not really seeing this. This is what someone else was seeing. It was some place outside the cities. Low buildings sit under the chemical sky. People moved about in the orange light of the sun. The target was looking at a tree-shaped sculpture and Jamie worked to fix it in her mind. She would have to find out where this sculpture was. She was surprised when one of the figures in the image walked out of view and again tried to turn her head to watch.

“Is this real time?” she asked, noting the position of the sun and the shapes of the buildings.

“Almost. There is a four-minute lag due to the upload.” Murshi wouldn’t risk recording the POV stream. Stealing what people’s POVs was a major crime. The kind that made you disappear if you were caught. So here she was, seeing what the target was seeing and noting anything and everything that could tell Hill where the target was hiding. The image started to streak and blur, returning to the pulsating swirls that made her head spin and her stomach lurch.

“That’s it. The transmitting nanos are burning out. Tell Hill my debt is paid.”

Her vision returned slowly. Her hands were outlined with fire that streaked as she moved her fingers. As soon as she could see well enough to stand she did so and moved to the door, stopping just long enough to look over her shoulder at the smoking bearadactal on the wall. “Our debts are never paid.”

Creative Treasure Hunt

100
http://dailyartmuse.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/05/gordon1.jpg

Jamie clenched her fist around the necklace so hard, the edges bit into her flesh. The pain in her hand throbbed in time with her pounding heart. Her lungs and throat burned a counter rhythm with each gasped breath. And her feet pounded out yet another beat. Heart beat and lungs inside, breath and feet out, the beats of her body pounded on as she ran.
And run she did.
She ran until the lights of the food and drink establishments flattened out into the dim lights of the commercial district and the sounds of her pursuers faded. She swerved down alleys, ducked under fences, and at last slid through a tiny window that led into a dark hole.
Her arms shook as she took slow deep breaths through her nose, fighting to keep them as quiet as possible. As her heart slowed and her breathing easied she strained her hearing into the night beyond the window. Safe in the dark she could hear some distant shouts but they were well away from her. And at last she opened her hand and held her prize up to the light that spilled sluggishly through the window.
A half formed memory of pictures in a book came back to her as she looked at the strange creature outlined in blood on the pendent. The creature’s eye gleamed back at her, seeming to glow in the darkness, as the light struck it.
She would have to replace the chain that had snapped off when she had grabbed it.and clean the blood of, maybe polish it up before she could offer it as tribute. But at least she wouldn’t go empty handed.


50
http://twilightnotes.com/wp-content/uploads/Little-Dragon.jpg

Jamie eyed the crowd as it shifted, growing and shrinking, pulsating as people moved in and out of the club. The yellow lights on the brick face of the building made everyone look sickly while the bright white lights inside the door alcove washed every one out. Black and white movie characters with splashes of color merging with diseased hordes.
Jamie shut her eyes and willed away the images that thought brought to mind. Images of people rotting where they stood.
“Stop.” Her voice snapped her out of the past and she started toward the crowd. She stayed as close to the wall as she could. The doorman spotted her in the crowd and raised an eyebrow in her direction before reaching out and clearing a way for her.
There were three doors into the club, two stood open for those the doormen chose worthy while the third was firmly closed with a camera mounted above it. That door clicked open a moment after she stepped in front of it.
The corridor just beyond the door was quiet. The noise of the crowd and club sealed away by the closed door. The hall itself was dim, lit from below. The light shining up through the glass floor from small rooms,“The Collection”. A large animal on four legs with orange and black fur was next to a room with a brown pot in the center next to a room with a young woman asleep partly on her stomach and partly on her side with one arm under her head Her tattoos looked fresh and dark, swirling around her legs, up her back, down the one arm that was visible. Her black hair and pale skin gave her that same black and white illusion. It made the colors in her tattoos POP out.
Jamie moved down the hall quickly when the woman’s eyes popped up and looked up at her. She could feel her cheeks flush slightly, feeling a bit guilty for gawking at the woman.
The room at the end of the hall was simple. Four grey walls with a conference table in the center. The dim lights and dark colors made the room feel claustrophobic and far too large at the same time. She dropped the pendent on the table quickly then retreated to the doorway and stood waiting. The silver metal and orange gem seemed to glow on the table while the black leather she has used for a cord blended into the dark table.
“Her name is Sashina.” Hills voice whispered above her right ear just as his hand landed on her shoulder. She jumped and twisted so suddenly that she would have fallen over it not for his large heavy hand. He snickered as he released her and walked over to the table. The pendent looked absurdly small and cheap in his hand as he turned it over and over before turning to her and holding it out towards her. “A trinket?”
Jamie stepped up in front of him and pressed the center of the creature’s shell. Light burst out from the orange eye. Three dimensional images, streams of numbers, text files floated between them, dazzling their eyes.
“Oh.” the shocked look on his face gave way to a grin.

60
http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lyeumxE6Y91qllucco3_400.jpg

Jamie looked at the painting on the wall above the couch. She was Hills’ own apartment. She was clean, clean for the first time in a long time. In contrast to the offices and Collection rooms, his apartment was full of colors and was massively cluttered. Books and papers and data units and models covered every surface. Maps and posters and blueprints were pinned and taped to all the walls. It seemed as if the area around this one painting was the only clear spot in the apartment.
“It was mother’s” He stood in the doorway looking at her, he seemed less massive and terrifying now. A totally different person almost. “At night we would sit in front of it and she would tell me stories. Stories about spaceships, other worlds; some were true, some were fake. No matter what we collected, or lost, or sold, she kept this picture.”
“I don’t remember it.”
“It was never for you. Be gone in the morning” He said dismissively before turning and leaving the room. She wrapped her arms around herself and did not look at the painting again.

Night

Lord Tem watched the Lady Commander's hands as she shuffled through papers, occasionally moving a marker on the map. He liked watching the Lady Commander. She was a contradiction in many ways. Unlike the Lady Knights of the realm, she was not hard muscles and scars; her hands were not rough with sword calluses. Nor were they a lady's dainty little hands meant for nothing more than embroidery or playing music. Her's were soft, gentle, and warm. Hands made to hold infants, to ease aching muscles, soothe fevers, and quiet the nightmares that years of battle left in their wake. Her brown eyes were not shielded with rage and hate and lust for battle, but like her hands, soft and warm, quick to merriment but missing nothing. Her outward appearance spoke of a comfortable home with good food and lots of children, of warm lazy days in the summer, and playful dark nights in the winter. It hid the mind that had crushed the kingdom's enemies to dust every time they road to war.

The soft glow of the lights added to the illusion as she shifted the markers of the enemy lines. The Lady Commander usually worked through the night, sleeping during the hottest time of the day in a wagon designed to keep the heat and bright light from her. The King had once laughingly called her his little snow flake. She had smiled and lowered her eyes demurely while her skin had flushed. The King took great pleasure in making her blush. Tem liked her like this; peaceful, intent, in her element; the soft light, the cool night breeze; her robes of office discarded for simple garments. She had let her hair down and now it hung down and over one shoulder in a loose braid. The candlelight added hints of red and gold to the brown locks as the flickered in the occational desert breeze.

Even as his eyes followed her movements, his ears were drawn away from the shuffle of papers to the sounds of the camp. The sounds were shifting from the tranquility of rest to strife. He shifted his weight so that he was closer to her.

The Lady Commander's head snapped up an instant before the flaps of the door flew open. The guard who stumbled in and fell to the ground was filthy, half covered in blood, and almost incoherent. Lord Tem caught the words "attack" and "intruders". The Lady Commander had risen to her feet and was moving around the desk to the fallen man, but was stopped when Tem grabbed her arm and dragged her out the back of her tent. He stopped long enough to assess the situation and to wrap a dark blue cloak around her, more to hide her from prying eyes than from the cool air. The fighting seemed to be concentrated in one area but he could see figures moving between the tents who did not look like his men.

"This isn't right. Tem. Wait." She pulled her arm, looking back the way they came. "The Lurmites are weeks away from us. I need..."
"To follow orders." Tem snapped. He wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her along and keeping her on her feet across the soft sand. He could just make out the gleam of the chariot he always had waiting; armored, guarded, and provisioned. His men were dressed in dark greys and browns just as he to hide them in the night.
"Tem. That information." She tried to pull back again.
"Is not worth your life. Don't make me carry you."
"Oh for crying out loud, Tem. It's probably just raiders." He knew she was rolling her eyes, as she spoke, "And they are your orders, not mine."
He half lifted her into the chariot and noted with satisfaction that she immediately crouched down under the armored lip at the front of it.
"The last time it was raiders, you ended up with a poisoned knife in your shoulder."
"Arm. It was my arm. And I was fine." she grumbled.
"You were sick for a week. Now quiet or I'll gag you." He knew she was probably glaring at him but the dark obscured all but her profile. Her face was lit up as a tent caught fire. She was looking back past him. Her eyes were bright with wonder and a bit of longing.

"They are here for me." It was more a breath then actual words. As if her thoughts had escaped on her breath. Tem spun in the sand, drawing his sword. His men's swords already bared as they moved to engage the dark figures. Tem barely caught her as the Lady Commander sprang from her spot. He snapped her back into her spot and winced as her head connected with the metal with a clang and she curled into a ball gripping her head. He spared a second to clamp a shackle around her ankle before turning back to face the fighting only to find most of his men were down and the attackers closing in on them. He stepped back, up onto the chariot, moving to stand shoulder to shoulder with the charioteer while facing the battle. He watched as some of his best men were cut down by shadows. Shadows who were not simple raiders. He braced himself with his free hand.

"Go."
The fighting and lights fled away as the night mares dragged them into darkness. Lord Tem sheathed his sword as the light of the camp faded and settled himself into place, taking comfort in the warmth pressed into his lower legs.

Broken

Milli leaned her head against the window of the bus. The glass was warm from soaking up the sun all morning. That heat combined with the hot, humid air inside the bus and the press of the passenger beside her made it hard to breath. Her head ached. Pain pulsed at the back of her skull, sending rivulets forward to claw at the backs of her eye balls.

The bus started to curve around on the off ramp from the highway and a sun slammed through her window. She slapped a hand against her eyes but it was to later. Pain exploded through her head. Everything sounded muffled as if she had cotton in her ears and every sound hurt. She bent forward, pressing her head against the seat in front of her and panted through the pain. The man beside her repeated something to her several times, possible a question, before shifting just a bit away from her, probably afraid she was about to throw up. If she had had anything to eat or drink in the last two days, she might have. Her stomach added its voice to the choir of her pain. Her skin burned where it touched the warm seat, the side of the bus, the man who was still too close. The air itself seemed to be trying to press into her skin, into every pour on her body. It wrapped itself around her and squeezed. Its heat pressed in to her nose, burning at the sensitive sink within. Despite the humidity it seemed to suck the moisture from her lips and mouth. The smell of the other people was so strong she could taste it on her parched tongue.

Each turn the bus made pushed her into the man or into the wall with the man against her. She could feel his sweat on her arm, oily and thick. Her own swear was content to stick to her skin in a grimy layer, more salt and dirt then water. Her head felt heavy and her limbs unresponsive. The spots in her eyes were almost so bad she didn’t even notice the light changed as they entered the tunnel. She didn’t notice the light, but she noticed the sound. Out in the open it could spread out and disperse. Here in the tunnel the sound packed in to the bus and into her ears, the engine, the murmuring of other passengers. But she clenched her jaw and sat up, they would be at the station soon, then maybe she could get out and breathe.

The bus stopped with a jerk that rocked her forward, into the moment. She squinted out the window at the rows of buses, disgorging their bounty into the grey-walled tunnel and the waiting rows of metal guide fences beneath rows of lights just shy of daylight bright. She watched as people stumbled, lumbered, scurried, scrapped, and some dragged off busses and into the lines divided by the fences. Lines of people all moving toward the unknown beyond the walls of tunnel.

All broken she thought, Just like me.

The hot pressure on her arm vanished like a band-aid torn away, drawing her attention back to her own bus. For the most part people had risen and joined in packing the aisle. A few, like her sat watching the people on the bus or looking out the window. One man, a few rows behind her appeared to be asleep. No one tried to wake him. Milli could hear crying at the front of the bus but could not pin point its owner.  She sat back and turned back toward the window, seeing no point it standing in the crowded aisle and watching the people outside took her mind off the ache in her head to some extent.

A bus pulled up next to her’s. Unlike her’s it had no windows. The contents were revealed shortly when men and women in shackles shuffled off of it. They radiated violence that made people look away. One man glared up at Milli but she just looked at him. He face contorted in dark emotions, his brown eyes narrowed and his lip curled in a snarl. He leaned toward her menacingly, but she just looked at him. His violence was meaningless here. He tried to maintain eye contact, trying to force her to look away first, but the pressure of the other convicts behind him pushed him forward and he stumbled. He shoved back once upright, but the altercation was short lived has both combatants were subdued and dragged away.

She watched a bus pull up and the passengers went to an apparently rarely uses line. They were in better shape than the rest of the horde, not sweaty and red faced. Their hair hadn’t been cut for sanitation purposes. Their clothes were clean. They even had shoulder bags, personal possessions.

Volunteers. The broken pieces who came to get fixed. Who wanted their scrambled insides scooped out and fixed or new ones put in. The repairs that didn’t kill the other damaged components like Milli and the angry convict, would be refined on and in them. If they survived and were deemed CURED, they would go home. Refurbished people for a better, more functional world. A world she didn’t belong in, had no place in. She, like the rest of the passengers were damaged components disrupting the smooth operation of the world. Her migraines the doctors couldn’t fix. Her emotions that disrupted her ability to function in her place in the world. Her inability to connect with other people, to operate properly.

She looked out the window at the lines of people under the lights, packed into rows divided by metal fences, rows that lead through doors. Doors where they would be cured, repaired, refurbished, and if they couldn’t be, then scrapped. She stood to join the line, standing so that her shoulder was pressed up against the man. Taking her place with the broken.

security tower 3 event notebook second excerpt

12-6am

Zombie sighted sited showed up about 3:30. No worries. I killed it. WITH AN ARROW. Oh yeah. Who’s yo daddy?

I totally OWN that zombie. We should totally just use bows like aaallll the time. I wonder if there are like villages out there of like the crow or the eskimos all living in peace with nature and using bows and stuff. These things are awesome. All quiet and sneaking.  BOW TO ME. FOR I AM KILLS WITH BOW.





6-noon

Ok Kills with bow. You big chief. But you still need to clean the bathroom.

Just one? Were there more? Man I haven’t seen a Z-man in months. Was it all rotten and gross? I remember how about year 3 there were tons of those half rotten ones around. The smell was horrible. I still think I can smell it in my hair when I haven’t washed my hair in a couple of days.

noon-6pm

Man. Someone needs to clean up the Z-man (awesome name. I am stealing it). He  she it is really starting to smeeeeeeeell. Or at least dump some bleach on it.

 And why are all the arrows gone?





1800hours-0000hours

Reminder to all personel: Encounters with the re-animated dead must be reported using Form A-46 and the corpse must be properly disposed of by the individual responsible for the termination. And stop using this notebook for private conversations.





midnight-6am

Thank you. I think Z-man is more interesting then zombie and less thesoreathusly then “re-animated dead”.



Any one volunteering for the raiding party next week? I need some stuff. Pretty please.

One nice thing about this rain, its washing a lot of the smell away. Seriously. Some one needs to deal with that blimp. Its all puffed up. So Gross.





6am-12

Hehehe. I said I killed it with AN arrow. Never said which one. I think all but the last was defective.

Also I am signed up for the raiding party. Whatcha need? Make a list. Check it twice.

(what the hell is thesoreathusly?)



1200 hours-1800hours

I will not tell you this again. You need to clean that mess up. It’s a sanitation issue. And you need to replenish the arrows. Don’t make me write you up.

6pm-mid

Dude. He’s right. This shit is gag worthy. Someone needs to clean that up. NOT IT.

If you see any hoodies, I need a new one. And of course will totally trade sexual favors for an whiskey or vodka or anything like that. Real. Will do ANNNYYY thing.





12-6am

Ca’pin’s log. Shtar Date 5489254556538. The cru sheme restless. The dark of night bringsh little peace to dem. Dey shcwable over de responsibilities an shnap at each other o’er shupplies. I fear der spirits ah bre’ckin.



Oh and NOT IT. And keep your sexual favors to yourself.





6-noon

What the hell is that?



I need:

Tennis shoes. Size 7. Something bright like pink or blue. NOT GREEN. Sick of the ones they issue at the supply tent. So ugly.

If you can find them. Dress shoes. Same size. Something with a slight heel. No giant bows please.

Also nail polish. You know what I like there.

Lace. Something pretty. Not black. Prefer something soft. About 2 inches wide.

1 inch wide non-roll elastic. At least 40 inches

blue satin. At least three yards.

Matching blue thread

A pair of gardening gloves. Size small. (why the hell can’t the supply keep some on hand. We need small gloves too you know. Geez)

And if you just happen to see some, flower seeds. Don’t care what kind.



And ditto. Not it.





1200-1800

CAN’T YOU PEOPLE FOLLOW SIMPLE RULES?!?! If you kill it, you clean it.

But fine. I will clean it up. Replenish any supplies or weapons that are low at the end of your shift. Is this all really so much to ask.

And the exchange of sexual favors for anything is strictly forbidden. If I see it again I WILL report you. The same goes for the possession of restricted alcoholic beverages.

6-mid

That was my Scottish captain. Have list, will raid. See you all on the return.  Don’t worry captain, my captain, I will bring you a new stick to shove up your (paper torn through from heavy scribbling)

12-6am

That is the worst Scottish captain I have ever read. Hmmm Come to think of it, I think that is the ONLY Scottish captain I have ever read. Hmmm Can’t think of any I have even ever heard of. They were all really American. Except that English dude.

Oh looks like someone has a hot date. Hubba Hubba. Who’s the lucky laddie?

0600-1200

Hi I am Jean. I am filling in here while the raiding party is out.

Report for shift.

No Contact made with living people

No contact made with re-animated people

Saw elk at 11:30

Replenished arrow supply

Noted that toilet paper supply is low

Repaired bug net

This is the first time I have been assigned to a lookout tower so please let me know I am messing up.

Noon-6pm

Oh Hi Jean. Welcome to 3.  Don’t worry about the net. It doesn’t keep them out anyways and just makes it hot and hard to see at night.  And don’t mind Bob (the elk) he comes by every day looking for food. We found him years ago when we first set up out here and started feeding him. But we have him on a diet. Don’t worry. As long as you listen to us you’ll be fine.

And yes. I do have a date and no its not you :P

And what are you talking about? What captains? Some days I think you aren’t even human. Most days in fact.

1800-0000

Welcome Jean. Please be aware that this notebook is for work related information only. Please keep personal conversations out of it.

12-6am

Oh Burn. That’s harsh. You have crushed my dreams of twuw wove. As for the captains, you just won’t understand.

Wait. Bob’s on a diet? Since when? That explains why he is so hungry when he comes by on my shift.

We’re out of TP again.

Doo be doobe dooooo. Beware the penguins.

0600-1200

I REMEMBER THAT. That was from a beer commercial. Wasn’t it? 

Filled up the TP supply. No contacts of any kind. Not even Bob. Why Bob anyways? This coffee is terrible.

Noon-6pm

Don’t drink that coffee. It’s so old I don’t think it counts as coffee any more.

Has anyone heard anything about the raiding party? I thought it was supposed to be a quick trip.

I can’t remember where Bob came from as a name.

1800-0000

Don’t feed that animal. Don’t drink that coffee. In fact throw it out.

Mid-6am

Piss off.

Haven’t heard anything. I am going by supply later today. Will ask.

0600-1200

I am sure they are fine. Most of them are experienced rangers and it’s not like we have had many Re-animated showing up recently.

Noon-6pm

Any news?  What about the radios?

1800-0000

No personal conversations. If you have something to say that is not tower related say it when you are off duty and don’t put it here.

Mid-6am

Supplies told me something is up. Supposedly there has been no radio contact.

0600-1200

It’s only been a couple of days.  They may just be having issues from all the rain we have been getting. That could be messing with the signal too.

Noon-6 pm

(no entry other than date)

1800-0000

Bathroom is clean now.

Mid-6am

Anyone heard  anything?

A walk in the city

The sky above us is a black felt with red overtones, the stars lost to the electrical glow of the street lights and buildings that stretch up above and out around. The moon set hours ago behind a skyline of tall towers, but the streets are far from dark. Light from inside the buildings and from the street lamps flood them, filling them with a light that is not bright and not dim, and is just a little orange. It feels as if there is not a world outside of these streets. 

It’s hot as well. Hot and humid. My clothes stick to me and my face feels warm and clammy. My breath is hot on my lips as I try to keep up with my uncle. It’s like the city is moving around him instead of him moving through the city, and I have to rush to stay with him or become lost.
I watch him plunge into a crowd and dart to keep up, my eyes focused on his back. He moves around and between and past people as music from a street band plays. Crowds of people have gathered to drink and dance and talk, filling the night with a living pulsating force I can feel on my skin. I feel the urge to giggle as I weave after him, the joyous feeling of the crowd infecting me a little. When we finally break free it's like breaching the surface of water after being submerged for almost too long. For a moment I am drawing deep breaths of hot, heavy air as if I had been holding my breath.

My boot is starting to feel loose as I stride after my uncle and I glance down. The laces are showing but that doesn’t mean they are untied. He is talking about how this part of the city was absorbed from what it was originally to what it is now and I am racking my brain for something to say but there is nothing there but those damned laces. He keeps up a running monologue as we pass by numerous shops; clothing shops, shoe shops, shops for stuff I can’t identify as we rush past. The storefronts are a blur broken by the occasional restaurant, most closed at this late hour, but not all.

He is talking about when he first moved here and now I am sure my laces on that boot are untied. I know he would stop if I asked but he is in a hurry and I don’t want to slow him down.
We rush past a restaurant with outside tables and there is a couple sitting with goblets of red wine; the man is talking while the woman looks a bit bored. Neither look up at our passing.
The fast pace is just a hair from being too fast but I will keep up. I don’t want slow my uncle down. And those damned laces. Now they are completely untied and they lash forward with every step. Instead of looking at the stores we pass or the streets we cross, my attention is on the laces, on not tripping on them. And on the sidewalk we are flying over. My uncle changes direction like a line on an architectural drawing and I skrabble after. A red light stops the mad dash and I have a moment to breath and to kneel on sidewalk speckled with black spots, to tie the laces, but not enough time. The light flashes green and the race is on again over sidewalks strewn with blackened gum like a reverse image of the Milky Way. We pass a couple of women dressed up for the night and he comments that the blue dress just wasn’t working and I have to laugh. I hadn’t really noticed. He comments that it probably is a nice dress, just not on her. And what a shame that she probably paid a lot for it. And I laugh again. My salty sailor uncle in his polo shirt, his shorts, and his sandals commenting on the fashion of a clubber.

Another corner and another character. A woman in a red dress. But it’s the mickey mouse ears that both of us notice. He starts the song and I join in for the O-U-S-E. We pass two men on their way to some club or event, based on their dress. Very snazzy.

The laces are loose again. Damn it. I hope he doesn’t notice. I don’t know why but I am ashamed of how they have come untied. He is talking again and I move up closer to his side to hear what he is saying more clearly. I glance down a street and catch a glimpse of chinese lanterns, red and gold, and bright in the night for just a moment. Then we are past it. The city stretches above and around us. He is talking again but my focus is on the laces and my breathing. It’s harder to keep up with my laces untied and I am regretting saying “Let’s walk” because he won’t get home until late.

He darts down a lane saying something about a cannoli and my mind scrambles for the definition, from meat and cheese stuffed crust to sweet crunchy shell as I swerve to stay with him. He asks me if I want one and while my brain says “yes, I haven’t eaten since lunch and am starving, and I am thirsty” my voice says “no, thanks, I’m good”. I want to kick myself but the words are out and I can’t take them back. He steps into the restroom to wash his hands and I take the moment to kneel down again. This time I double knot it.

security tower 3 event notebook excerpt

12-6am
Zombies are like magnets. Or well…maybe humans are like magnets and zombies are like those little metal bits that you move around WITH magnets. Yes that’s it. Let’s try this again.

Humans are like magnets. Some of us are attracted by each other and others are repealed. Only difference is that if you flip us around we don’t start attracting those we repeal. Or I guess, sometimes we do. But anyways.

Humans are magnets and zombies are little bits of metal dust. The closer humans get to them, the faster they move.  Thought I heard something. Where was I …..Oh yeah the zombies.

You know, every one used to be all “oh zombies aren’t real”, “Zombies can’t exist”, “even if zombies showed up they would never take down the world.” HA and where are all those people now I ask you? Eaten…or dead…or looking to eat me. Hehehe. Eat me. HA. EAT ME YOU JACK ASSES.

This is like that old episode of the Twilight Zone where the guy just wants to read but everyone tells him no and then they all die and he gets to read all he wants but then his glasses break so he can’t see. Only instead of having broken glasses, we have hordes of parasite controlled corpses looking to chew our flesh off our bones. But at least we’re not alone and at least I don’t need glasses. And the Geek shall inherit the zombie infested world. BTW. Did you borrow any books from my room? Can’t find one I was reading. No biggy, just want to know where it went so I can finish it at some point.

(Scribbled out)

Sarah is asked me what cheese tastes like. Funny how we don’t think of somethings. The kids read the books we bring them but don’t understand the world described in them. I think we should find a cow. I will see if the library has a book on how to make cheese and butter next time I do a sweep there. I still think we should move the base to some place larger and move the library there.

I miss cheese. And the internet. I wonder if there is someone out there who has it running. Some lonely person logging into empty chat rooms and dead forums; looking for signs of life online like we look for it in the empty towns around us.

Cheese
Internet
Fresh coffee
Pizza (really miss pizza)
Steak (seriously. I think we could totally keep cows. Just need to set up the security right)
New cloths
Going into a store and just looking around at what they have instead of clearing it first and always being on guard
Talking to new people
Funny. I used to hate having to meet new people. Hated having to be judged. But now. I miss the stupid socially required “how are you today. Fine. How are you. Ok. Did you find what you were looking for.”

Can you imagine that conversation now? “Are you bitten? No, are you? No. Did you see anything? I think you have a zombie on aisle 5 near the canned beans. Clean up to aisle 5. Clean up to aisle 5.”

Meh. Might not be so bad.

6-noon

Magnets? Ok. I guess I can see the resemblance. But dude. Seriously. You think up some of the randomest shit some times. Ok. So we get a cow and we get a cheese book. Does any one know how to get the milk OUT of the cow? I sure as shit don’t know how to “milk” a cow. It always just looked like the farmer dude in movies was just pulling on those dangling things on the cow and milk came out. I miss French fries and buffalo wings and that hot sauce that came in those little packets. Hmmm tacooos. I miss Tacos. Where would we even FIND a cow?

Oh and Todd was in your room the other day. Maybe he has your book.

Man. Doing a total clearing on a building is a pain in the ass. But I think your right. After all, it will have to get done at some point unless we plan to just hide where we are for like the rest of eternity. I vote for sports complex. (you would :P)

noon-6pm

Oh man I miss chocolate. Like not the powdered stuff but like the really expensive stuff that you could get a those specialty shops. Oh and pineapples

And kiwis
And shopping for shoes
Going to the beach. (we should totally set up a pool.)
I don’t like cows. They smell. I would rather have goat cheese anyways.

Ooohhh I could have a flower garden if we had more space. I vote for that private school just east of town. It has a high wall and lots of garden space. It has a pool.

If Jon and Linda keep going at it like they do, they will need a whole building just for their kids.

I think there was talk of looking for a better location at the last meeting. They really should talk to us about this stuff first. “We would like you to go out and get eaten while checking to see if anyone has repainted city hall. Um No. really. Well ok. How about checking to see if the newspaper as come out with a new edition? Uh..nay” I swear they think up the dumbest stuff in there. It’s like they want us to shoot their ideas down.  I did like their idea to put kites up to signal people that we are here. They are pretty even if no one ever comes. I do miss being able to call some one in another state or log on and talk to some one in a different country. Kind of feels lonely. Like what if we are the only people left in the entire world. Kind of a scary idea.

1800hours-0000hours

The logbook is NOT for personal conversations. It is to keep track of events and issues at this posting.

midnight-6am
You wanted things to be like they used to be? How much more normal can you get then getting reprimanded by a dickish supervisor.

6am-12

Hehehe

1200 hours-1800hours

I am not dickish.   

(several pages torn out)

and another thing, you always use the last of the TP and never replace it. You don’t even mention that we need more. Which is what this god damned note book is FOR. Zombies could be popping up all around us and I would never know because its all “food this and food that and todd said this and sarah did that and jon has this and so and so is sleeping with so and so.” And for the record its "REPEL". Learn to spell.

12-6am

Wow…You really need to learn to relax.

6-noon

Tell us how you really feel.

noon-6pm

Aaww does some one need a huggy-wuggy?

1800-0000

I hate you three so much.

Dragon's Breath

Dragon's Breath

Chantri watched the sun set over the temple and surrounding forest. Tonight he would prove himself. He had the goat tied near his campsite, ready to be slaughtered, wood ready to be lit, and blankets arranged in a nest. It had taken him almost a year of searching to find the dragon's cave, and three weeks to map his way into its depths. He started down the crawl way as the light slipped into darkness, the soil cool and damp under his hands and knees. The lamp he had tied around his neck swung to and fro, casting shadows that danced and twitched and spun. By the time the cave opened to the point where he could stand, his fingers were aching with cold and felt scrapped raw while his throat felt burned by the small flame in the lamp. He climbed and slid and shimmied through the darkness, between rocky outcrops, under roots reaching down through the hard earth for an eternity. At last the cave sides opened into darkness. The darkness of the night sky from which the moon and stars had fallen. The air was heavy with the smell of fire and rain, as if this is where both came to rest.

Chantri pulled candles out of his small pack. He placed them on the floor and lite them as he walked, creating a path of stars in the darkness. As he added more light, it started to reflect off the cavern’s surfaces. Great scaled coils and legs and gleaming eyes appeared to move on the walls and columns around him.  Scales worn by dripping water, eyes rimmed in white from water evaporation. Stone given life by flickering flames. His steps slowed as he crossed to the center of the chamber as if his heart and feet feared the end of this quest, feared what lay in the recess of the low, spreading mound ahead of him. He knew this place from all the drawings in the temple, all the books, the stories, the memories passed down from generation to generation. This was the place where kings were created, empires born; lost to the past in a time drenched in blood. Confusion flooded his brain as he peeked over the edge of the mound into the cradle of dragons to see only greyness; a gentle slop of grey that streched out and a way, until it blended with the darkness of the cave like the meeting of the sky and sea. His snarled "NO" was swallowed as if it had never been. He brought his fist down on the curved surface in anger only to be thrown off balance as it gave way and billowed up in a silent puff of dust and ash. He tumbled face first into the soft material and thrashed about trying to right himself. His hands and feet scrambled across the shifting dust and hard lumps hidden beneath it until he was able to shove himself against the side of the cradle and drag himself upright, sending more dust into the air as he coughed and spat. After the worst of the shaking and coughing had subsided and he could breathe again, he reached down into the softness and felt around until his hand touched a rounded smooth surface. His fingers felt around for purchase until they encountered a jagged line and gripping that, he lifted the object clear. It was a sphere about the size of his head with a hole the size of a fist smashed into it. It was hard as stone and in the twilight of the cave he could barely make out the swirls on its surface, the colors lost in the darkness.

He dug through the ash and dust for hours until the candles began to dwindle and die one by one. He snuffed some out to save for later and dug in the silent dark. Every shell he found he placed on the edge of the cradle with reverence. He was so exhausted that he nearly dropped the egg when he found it. It was heavier than the others, its surface unbroken.

Chantri knelt in the dust, wrapped in cold darkness, running his fingers over the its surface. "I am here," he whispered to the egg he held in his arms.

The journey out of darkness lasted a thousand times longer as the trip in and as he emerged into the light of day, his hands and knees were ribbons of raw flesh and blood, the egg cradled in a sling against his stomach. He staggered to his camp and laid the egg in the nest. The sun light warmed the green and brown surface for the first time in thousands of years.

Chantri managed to light the wood before collapsing beside the egg. He dreamt of a storm with thunder that shook the earth and lightning that stole all sight and when he woke to cried out, afraid he was still in the dragon's cave, trapped in the dark silence. But the light of the stars and moon above shone bright and the dying fire crackled, giving back his sight and hearing. As his heart thudded in his chest, his hand sought out the egg only to find it broken beside him. He jerked upright dragging the rough shell to his chest. His voice died in his throat and his sight dimmed as if he had never left that chamber. He came back to himself when something warm and wet hit his leg. His eyes slid over to the mass. It looked like a partly eaten goat’s leg. As he turned toward where the goat had been a figure rose from the shadows and stepped into the dying light of the fire. It was a woman with long dark hair and equally dark eyes. The fire and moon light reflected off of her bare skin and the blood that dripped down her chin from her mouth, onto her bare chest. Her arms were dark with blood up to the elbows.

“Who are you?” His voice sounded small and far away in his ears.

 “I am Fire.”

Somewhere in the corner of his mind he heard an old warning about playing with fire just before her tongue and fiery breath snaked into his mouth. And he burned.