Well, I can't say I've concluded a lot, but I think I set things up for you to have an ending of sorts -- and space to carry it on if you feel like it at some later date. Which is pretty much how all of our year-long prompts ended up, I think :)
Mine It was a little cramped in the back seat but the officer was driving fast enough along nearly deserted roads that I was more worried about peering round his head to see what was ahead of us than I was about being pressed in close with other people. I did start off wishing that Monica had maybe sat in the front seat instead, but the officer had been insistent we all go in the back. The roads were clear and I realised that this meant that the shambler-infection, whatever it was, must be contact-transmitted. Otherwise they would have abandoned their cars on the roads and we'd be weaving around them and dodging wrecks, but there was no sign of it. "Not many drivers out here," said the officer as though reading my mind. "Most people seem to have got hit by whatever it is when they got home, or to work, or wherever they were going. The victims don't seem to have enough coordination after that to drive things, or even move much around." "Is that a test you can do for them? Make them pass a driving test?" Monica's voice was just a little too high, a little too shrill. I shifted uncomfortably and my companion rested his hand on my knee reassuringly. I was starting to wonder how long Monica had been alone for at that station. "I don't think they understand the concept," said the officer shortly. He acted like he needed to watch the road -- and we were going fast -- but I thought he just didn't like talking to her much either.
We reached the Emergency Ops Centre in about forty-five minutes with the officer hitting the brakes and sliding the car into a large, mostly empty concrete parking lot, turning through 180 degrees and coming to a neat stop not far from a pair of blue-painted double doors to what looked like an after-school centre. He grinned, to himself I think but I could see him in the rear-view mirror, and got out to let us out. I tried the door myself but they were locked from the inside. That gave me a moment of mild panic, realising that if Monica had done anything... weird... we'd have been trapped with her, but then she hadn't, had she? I still got out of the car with alacrity when the officer opened the door. He raised an eyebrow and I stretched. "Cramped back there," I said. "Glad to be out." While the others got out he moved slightly out of earshot of them and I followed. "How well do you know that woman?" he asked softly. He didn't look at Monica and neither did I. "Not at all," I said. "We found her a couple of hours before you found us." "Uh-huh. Watch her. I don't think she's a victim, but I do think she's not handling it well." I nodded. The other two were getting closer to us now and the officer suddenly beamed a huge smile at me. "So just go in there, introduce yourselves at the desk and they'll assign you some space. There's bed, showers, a canteen. Hell, there's even the library that's part of the building, but no internet. Seems like a lot of that kind of infrastructure is down." He was a little louder than he needed to be, but I guessed he didn't want Monica realising we were suspicious of her. "Thanks," I said. "It'll be nice to see other people again! How many of us are there." For the first time his smile faltered and he looked tired. "Um," he said. "Nine. Twelve, now you've arrived."
So, that was it. The Dirty Dozen, as I came to think of us, though it was never going to last long.
The other nine survivors kept mostly to themselves, armed with haunted expressions that discouraged questions. Four men, four women, one child of maybe six or seven years who didn't seem to belong to any of the adults.
A mix of soldiers and doctors kept watch over us, the soldiers looking outward and the doctors inward. I didn't realize both groups were armed until late that first night when I got up to use the washroom and I encountered an elderly doctor in the hallway.
"Too much coffee," I offered as an explanation, pointing to the nearest toilet. He smiled uneasily, the hand at his hip not quite managing to conceal the gun holstered there.
I was not thrilled by this discovery but it was shortly after breakfast the next day that I came to appreciate their watchfulness. Monica's limp had become more pronounced but before I could say anything a pair of doctors had escorted her away to an examining room near the rear of the building.
She never returned. The last I saw of her, I suspected later, was in the black smoke that appeared in the sky sometime before dinner.
My companion and I found ways to pass the time together, determined to keep each other's spirits up. We played cards, wrote terrible poetry with the sole intention of making ourselves laugh, devoured the books in the sparse library. We didn't know what we were waiting for, none of us did, but we promised each other that whenever it came, whatever it ended up being, we would be as sane as possible when the time came.
The police officer who had brought us there visited occasionally, but never with passengers and rarely with word of the outside world that we cared to hear.
The world was ending, or so it seemed. And we were all left to wonder whether or not this life was worth living. I didn't know the answer then, and I still don't now.
But we continue on. Waiting, hoping against hope, for... what? Not a one of us can say.
2 comments:
Well, I can't say I've concluded a lot, but I think I set things up for you to have an ending of sorts -- and space to carry it on if you feel like it at some later date. Which is pretty much how all of our year-long prompts ended up, I think :)
Mine
It was a little cramped in the back seat but the officer was driving fast enough along nearly deserted roads that I was more worried about peering round his head to see what was ahead of us than I was about being pressed in close with other people. I did start off wishing that Monica had maybe sat in the front seat instead, but the officer had been insistent we all go in the back.
The roads were clear and I realised that this meant that the shambler-infection, whatever it was, must be contact-transmitted. Otherwise they would have abandoned their cars on the roads and we'd be weaving around them and dodging wrecks, but there was no sign of it.
"Not many drivers out here," said the officer as though reading my mind. "Most people seem to have got hit by whatever it is when they got home, or to work, or wherever they were going. The victims don't seem to have enough coordination after that to drive things, or even move much around."
"Is that a test you can do for them? Make them pass a driving test?" Monica's voice was just a little too high, a little too shrill. I shifted uncomfortably and my companion rested his hand on my knee reassuringly. I was starting to wonder how long Monica had been alone for at that station.
"I don't think they understand the concept," said the officer shortly. He acted like he needed to watch the road -- and we were going fast -- but I thought he just didn't like talking to her much either.
We reached the Emergency Ops Centre in about forty-five minutes with the officer hitting the brakes and sliding the car into a large, mostly empty concrete parking lot, turning through 180 degrees and coming to a neat stop not far from a pair of blue-painted double doors to what looked like an after-school centre. He grinned, to himself I think but I could see him in the rear-view mirror, and got out to let us out. I tried the door myself but they were locked from the inside. That gave me a moment of mild panic, realising that if Monica had done anything... weird... we'd have been trapped with her, but then she hadn't, had she? I still got out of the car with alacrity when the officer opened the door.
He raised an eyebrow and I stretched. "Cramped back there," I said. "Glad to be out."
While the others got out he moved slightly out of earshot of them and I followed.
"How well do you know that woman?" he asked softly. He didn't look at Monica and neither did I.
"Not at all," I said. "We found her a couple of hours before you found us."
"Uh-huh. Watch her. I don't think she's a victim, but I do think she's not handling it well."
I nodded. The other two were getting closer to us now and the officer suddenly beamed a huge smile at me. "So just go in there, introduce yourselves at the desk and they'll assign you some space. There's bed, showers, a canteen. Hell, there's even the library that's part of the building, but no internet. Seems like a lot of that kind of infrastructure is down." He was a little louder than he needed to be, but I guessed he didn't want Monica realising we were suspicious of her.
"Thanks," I said. "It'll be nice to see other people again! How many of us are there."
For the first time his smile faltered and he looked tired. "Um," he said. "Nine. Twelve, now you've arrived."
Mine:
So, that was it. The Dirty Dozen, as I came to think of us, though it was never going to last long.
The other nine survivors kept mostly to themselves, armed with haunted expressions that discouraged questions. Four men, four women, one child of maybe six or seven years who didn't seem to belong to any of the adults.
A mix of soldiers and doctors kept watch over us, the soldiers looking outward and the doctors inward. I didn't realize both groups were armed until late that first night when I got up to use the washroom and I encountered an elderly doctor in the hallway.
"Too much coffee," I offered as an explanation, pointing to the nearest toilet. He smiled uneasily, the hand at his hip not quite managing to conceal the gun holstered there.
I was not thrilled by this discovery but it was shortly after breakfast the next day that I came to appreciate their watchfulness. Monica's limp had become more pronounced but before I could say anything a pair of doctors had escorted her away to an examining room near the rear of the building.
She never returned. The last I saw of her, I suspected later, was in the black smoke that appeared in the sky sometime before dinner.
My companion and I found ways to pass the time together, determined to keep each other's spirits up. We played cards, wrote terrible poetry with the sole intention of making ourselves laugh, devoured the books in the sparse library. We didn't know what we were waiting for, none of us did, but we promised each other that whenever it came, whatever it ended up being, we would be as sane as possible when the time came.
The police officer who had brought us there visited occasionally, but never with passengers and rarely with word of the outside world that we cared to hear.
The world was ending, or so it seemed. And we were all left to wonder whether or not this life was worth living. I didn't know the answer then, and I still don't now.
But we continue on. Waiting, hoping against hope, for... what? Not a one of us can say.
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