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Old 08-21-2007
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Default Alone

Act One -- Alone

He sat in a dark, dank, bedroom. The air boiling with the late summer humidity. The air conditioner long
dead. An array of small arms and ammunition clutter the bed. A G.I. sleeping bag sprawled across the floor. His
obsolete laptop hardwired into a pirated connection via phone line. He waited until late at night and fired up
the PC running only on battery power. During the days he sucked power from the small solar panel to recharge.
The private, encrypted, messages from Armorer and Uzi stopped a few weeks ago. He was all alone for now. PT was
now stateside, but far away, and in the middle of a warzone.

So now he sat and waited, in the dark of night for some type of contact from his brothers. His military
contacts had fled, some to PA, others to Canada. Now the remnants of society stumbled and shuffled about in the
dark. He lived unnoticed in his home, sitting, going insane, and waiting to make the long haul to the mythical
"Neo Sparta".

At first it wasn't so bad. He patrolled the streets with his squad and made quick work of the deadheads. After
a while, the other soldiers stopped showing up to work. They were young, and had a hard time dealing with
splattering deadheads with their M-16s. Soon their numbers were too great. They just kept multiplying as our
ammunition dwindled. And that was that. The begining of the end. His neighborhood now sat abandoned, looted,
and decaying with the rest of the modern world. Now he hunted them during the day with his silenced .22 Walther.
It had become so easy he found it boring. When the sun set he retreated to his home, to the "safe place", waited
till the right time, and sat in front of the computer and waited......and waited....and waited...........

"Tomorrow" he thought "There will be a message tomorrow, then I'll start moving." He had been telling himself
this for over a month. He clutched his Makarov and stared into the mirror propped against the closet. A strange figure in a black beret and camoflauge face stared back at him. He was slowly starting to go insane. "There will be a message
tomorrow ". He thought......."There will be a message tomorrow".
__________________
You who inherit the heavy privilege to serve in freedom's name, must brace for the battle surely to come.

-- Charlton Heston, 1923-2008

Last edited by D Yankee (The Zionist) : 08-22-2007 at 04:51 PM.
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