Author Topic: A History of Time to Come  (Read 1417 times)

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Re: A History of Time to Come
« Reply #15 on: October 22, 2021, 09:59:57 pm »
Sokolov had gotten the transmission that his weapons were ready. So after passing security the convoy of trucks sped down the roads of Walkerville and came to a quick halt outside the church. Two dozen men  quickly dismounted, old and rusty rifles on their slings as six of them moved to keep security on the vehicles.

Sokolov, dressed in a dull grey uniform that included a custom made mask that concealed his face, led the rest to retrieve their weapons. Each man’s uniform was adorned with the insignia of the postal service and below that the sigil of the Crows, a protective charm. As one of the nuns approached to enquire about their business, their fast approach having put a few of them on edge as Sokolov saw a few with weapons of their own, Sokolov called out “We’re here to retrieve our weapons. Given the nature and quantity of the package the postal service determined that a grade three secure transport would be the best option. I apologize if our entrance caused any distress.”

The nun waved it off now that they knew who these men were and guided him to where the crates were. His men followed, looking around in awe at the church. Upon reaching the crates two of the men opened one and passed the new rifles around, the men exchanging them for their old and dirty weapons. Once finished each man turned their old weapon over to the church as a gift.

Sokolov’s right hand in the Crows, Dimitri, handed his AN-94 rifle to one of the nuns present and said “Please care for her, saved my life many times in service.”

Elsewhere, in a house overlooking the parking area in front of the church, a man sat idly with his sniper rifle. He slid another round into his magazine as he watched the armed postmen watching their surroundings, unaware of just how far to look out. The man looked over at the body of the abode’s former owner for a moment as he rolled the hard candy ball around his mouth.

Of course he was careful not to break it against his teeth lest he ingest it’s liquid center too soon. After all it’s contents would turn him into a zombie within a matter of seconds and he still had a job to do. So he slid the magazine in and quietly took aim as he sat a few feet back from the window. He hoped the special payload of his munitions would work as intended.

Back inside the church Sokolov and his men carried the crates out and slid them into one of the trucks, tossing a PKM to one of his men. The Crow in question slammed a magazine in and readied the weapon as he climbed into the cab of the vehicle and popped out of the hatch in the roof. The rest finished loading and piled into the trucks. Then the shot rang out.

One of the Crows grabbed the hole in his chest as the others pulled him the rest of the way into the truck. A second later and one of the gunners slid down the hatch and into the cab of the truck as they started to speed away. The third round pinged off the cab of the lead truck as they tore away from the church and down the road.

In the back of the middle truck the injured man started to vomit blood and shake. Dimitri shook his head as he pushed the medic off the man. Pulling him up Dimitri cut the man’s patches off and hefted him to his feet as he started to growl. The truck horns signalled the gate to hurry the fuck up with opening. Which they did, though the guards were surprised to see Dimitri shoot the zombified Crow in the head, letting the body drop onto the bridge as they sped away.

Back in the house the man sighed and leaned back. Standing he walked to the door and quietly rigged it with a quick dissipation smoke bomb. Then he gave a sad smile and rolled the candy between his teeth. He heard the candy crunch in his mouth as it’s liquid center exploded and began the process. Smiling he pulled his handgun to fire off a few rounds just to be sure the neighbours got the towns security to come find him. As the infection took hold he smiled, they'd never know just how he'd become infected, nor about the specialty ammunition he'd used since he'd only brought three rounds. Just as the prophet had planned.

At the same time his two compatriots in the town walked down a street towards the market. The pair had heard the gunshots and knew their brother was dead but still smiled for him. He had succeeded in his mission and would join the changed ones in their enlightened life. They however had a greater mission at hand to sow chaos in this place of civilization. So as they walked the little balls of candy knocked together in their bags waiting for victims to enjoy their surprise.

So they made their way to one of the vendors and smiled at the man. They had spoken previously with the man at great length and had agreed for him to sell their candy at his stall for a cut of the profits. They’d ensured he wouldn’t consume any of them, after all he was a diabetic, but had convinced him they would sell well. So the pair handed the bags over and walked away to go find their little stash of weapons as they sent a radio signal to their last little surprise.

The convoy of course were...well..surprised. Very much so as they finally shoved their zombified gunner out of the window to see a small horde running out of the woods. A horde of people they knew weren’t dead that long ago. A horde that was now running towards them as a group of rifle bearing cultists shot the bullet resistant windows of the trucks.

Two of the men climbed up the hatches with their new PKMs readied, spraying into the mass of undead. Meanwhile Dimitri climbed on top of his truck and began picking off the riflemen, shouting over the radio to keep going and not stop. Which was quite easy for the trucks, though it didn’t stop the undead from jumping up onto the hood. That was met with the gunners leveling their weapons at the zombies climbing up the hood and firing, rounds ricocheting off the armor.

“Motherfuckers! Come get some!” One of the Crow’s shouted as he leaned out the window firing his AK at the Cultists. The first took a shot to the chest, throat, and then through the mouth as the Crow sprayed his rifle at them. The second’s head exploded as he went to throw a grenade, causing it to fall at his dead feet and take out his comrades.

As they mowed their way through the horde that surrounded and chased them the convoy heard it. A transmission that they’d hoped they wouldn’t hear, and one that was being broadcast on an unencrypted line and broadcast over as wide a net as they could. “This is Battalion Six of the Crows stationed at-” static blared for a moment “-city. We have held a horde of zombies within this damned place for the past three years. Now, on this day that started off so beautiful, we send our final broadcast over the open airwaves. Our normal frequency is being jammed in the city. I ask for the forgiveness of those we serve in silence for our failure, as without us this horde will begin to wander and roam until it finds a new place to feast on and destroy. I ask for the forgiveness of my comrades who were relying on us to last another four months before replacement.”

As the gunners ripped into the horde and the Crow’s opened rifle slits to fire into the horde they listened. Listened and feared the consequences of what had happened so far away. The man continued “A section of Battalion Six is holding the line at our HQ where some unknown opposing force has brought the horde. A small group has fled to give a detailed report to our superiors. God be with them. I will pray to my dying breath that the Crows re-establish control of the horde and route it through the city again. Battalion Six commander signing off, thank you, whoever you are, for listening to our last broadcast.”

Sokolov’s vision greyed as he fired relentlessly at the diminishing horde. For the moment all he could feel was hatred. Hatred for the undead, for the few who had ignored his warnings of the hordes his scouts had found, for the men who had sabotaged him time and again throughout his life. Then he was brought back as one of his men pulled him away from the rifle slit he’d been at, telling him they were in the clear. Only a handful of the undead were left roaming the road behind them as they rode home.

Sokolov took a long few minutes to get himself together before standing. Grabbing his encrypted radio he called out to the Crows. “Men, we all heard news. We will stand strong, we will regain control. When the time is right we will find these evil men and kill them. We will destroy them. In the meantime we will continue to rearm, regroup, and move to eliminate the immediate threat. We will repay our newfound enemy for this, so keep this in your hearts my brothers and sisters. When the time comes use it, let your hate and pain fuel the fight.”

The Crows made it clear they agreed and understood over the radio. Then Artyom came over the radio “I will make tools to destroy enemy. Kill them when time comes, until then make them fear us.”

Mila took his radio and Artyom could be heard in the background telling her to give it back as she added “And we’ll make it hurt too!”

Sokolov nodded at the voices of his children. Well, one was his, the other had been the child of his other self. Artyom was his son, an engineering wizard as far as he was concerned. He’d designed the armor of the Crows and some of their more specialized gear. On top of that he was a titan in melee combat, having trained to fight since he was young.

Mila was a shooter like he’d never seen before. Even better when she was sober. Now if he could get her to hold her old AK upright instead of sideways he was sure she’d be the best shooter in the wastes. But that was a fight for another day. Today he would go home and hug his children, hold them tight, and then get ready to kill to protect them. Then he would come home again.

Elsewhere Artyom shoved everything off his workbench and pulled out a fresh blueprint as Mila watched. She adored watching her brother work and wished she could do something even remotely similar. But she wasn’t as smart as him, at least not when it came to making things. So she sat cross legged on his tool bench and watched as he drew out the plans for a new set of armor. A few seconds ago he’d been burning with rage and now he was calmly drawing the blueprint.

Mila shook her head at that and thought she would never really understand her brother. She wanted to get in a truck and go find the bastards, but she knew that wasn’t going to happen today. “Artyom?” Mila said as she handed him another pencil.

“Dah?” He answered, drawing the curved line of a shoulder pauldron. The armor would have to be resilient to the undead and be able to take high caliber rifle rounds. The pauldrons would have to be strong without impeding the motion of the soldier. He would experiment with segmentation and a few other techniques to find the optimal solution.

“Are you okay?” Mila asked as she watched. He stopped for a moment, looking at her over his shoulder. She wondered, as she always had, why he never removed that balaclava of his. She didn’t know what had happened but she’d always wanted to help him.

He looked back at the blueprint and didn’t say anything for a long time. Picking up his pencil again he drew the line of the first plate on the chest, making notes for Molle rigging so they could remove and replace pouches as needed. Then after feeling Mila staring at him he said “I had friends in the sixth. I knew some since childhood. I am not okay.”

Mila was about to say something when Danny opened the door and stared at the two. Mila looked at the concerned look on Danny’s face and back to Artyom before standing up. Giving Danny a smile Mila walked over and patted him on the chest “Glad the surgery went well.” before walking away with the comment “By the way you two should be more subtle if you don’t want command catching on!”

Watching Mila walk away Danny shook his head and walked over to sit on Artyom’s desk, covering his blueprint. Pulling out a bottle of Mezcal Danny said “I brought the drinks, figured you’d want to spend some time calming down. Though that would be easier if we sat on the couch, maybe turned on the tv and found something to watch.”

Artyom looked up at Danny, initially annoyed before letting out a sigh and standing up. Walking over to sit on the couch he wondered what Danny had planned only to be surprised by Danny sitting on his lap after a moment. Leaning over Danny pulled out a pair of glasses from under the coffee table as Artyom turned on the tv.

Some madman had managed to scrounge together a lot of precataclysm recordings, tapes, dvds, and the like and brought it back to the Crows. Now the regular postal service was constructing a broadcast tower network to bring some entertainment back to the apocalypse. So Artyom settled on an old horror movie, Friday the 13th.

Danny meanwhile had poured each of them a drink and leaned back against Artyom. Reaching up Danny pulled Artyom’s balaclava off and set it aside as he said “Interesting choice. Last time we watched a horror movie I fell asleep holding you.”

Artyom looked down at Danny with a grin before picking up his glass and taking a sip. He decided he liked mezcal well enough as the pair watched the movie. Taking another sip he watched the camp councilors act incredibly stupid and leaned back against the couch.

A half hour later and Danny winced as Artyom’s arms wrapped around his chest and pulled him closer. Putting his hand on Artyom’s Danny said “Ow! Still recovering from the surgery Artyom so maybe not so tight?”

Artyom apologized and loosened his grip as the pair sat there looking at each other. Artyom and Danny had met a few years ago as members of Road Crew 13, keeping the major highways clear of the undead. Back then Danny had been a private and Artyom had just been the ‘Commanders kid’. Still, the pair had proven themselves time and again to be brave and loyal to the Crows. Though in recent years Danny would have left if he’d have been able to take Artyom with him. But Artyom had remained loyal to the Crows though if you were to get him drunk, in private, where he knew there were no cameras he’d tell you he was only there to make sure his father and adopted sister were okay, the rest of the postal service be damned.

So Danny stayed, and much like Artyom he worked to ensure the others would return home at the end of the day. But for now he leaned back against Artyom and decided to forget about work. He’d have time enough for work tomorrow after all.