Subject: Aftershocks
From: beehatch@sim.zipnet.com (Ken Adams)
Date: 6 May 1996 19:59:08 GMT


   On December 22nd, 1999, the world was destroyed.  The "Ring Of Fire", a
series of interconnected fault lines and volcano chains that surround the
Pacific Ocean, was set off by a sudden, rapid shift in the Pacific Basin
tectonic plates.  The entire Pacific Basin buckled, triggering cataclysmic
quakes throughout the rest of the world.

   It is the year 2005.  The governments of the world have ceased to exists.
Those few people who survived the first quake, and the subsequent aftershocks,
fight to survive.

   This is the story of one of those survivors.

                            *       *       *

May 3rd, 2005. Detroit, Michigan

   Trace knew he was in trouble before he heard the crunch crunch of
approaching footsteps.  For the last hour and half he'd been struggling to free
his foot from the hole it had found.  This is why Trace hated scavenging in the
ruins - to damn many holes.  Now he was stuck, and another scavenger had found
him.  Trace exercised the only real option he had left - he shut up and
pretended he was (already) dead.  He knew he wouldn't be pretending soon.

   The footsteps got closer, stopping at the top of the pile of rubble that was
Trace's only cover.  Trace slowly opened his eyes and looked up.  At least he'd
get to see his death, a rare treat these days.  Looking down at Trace was an
angel.  Or at least, that's was Trace's first guess.  But angel's generally
didn't wear grungy combat fatigues and carry shotguns.  Last time he'd checked,
they also had wings.  Then the angel spoke.

   "Hi, looks like you're in a bit of a jam there."

   Strange, thought Trace, she doesn't sound much like an angel.

   "You want some help or something?  Or would you rather I just leave you
here?"

   No, she must be an angel.  A scavenger would never offer help.

   "Can you talk? Hello?"

   Odd, the angel seemed to be getting impatient.  An idea flashed through
Trace's mind: Maybe I should talk to her.

   "Um, yeah, I'd love some help, to tell the truth."

   "Great, hold on a second."  The angel (?) put down her shotgun, shrugged off
a rather large backpack, and extended a hand to Trace. "Here, I'll pull you
up."

   "Ok, sure.  Mind if I ask you a question?" Trace grabbed her hand, and was
rather shocked to discover that she had an incredibly strong grip.

   "Not at all, ask away." The angel grunted, and pulled. Trace reached with
his free hand to grab hold of something. His ankle twisted, popped, and then
came free. Trace muffled a cry of pain - his ankle was defiantly sprained, and
gave the angel a weak smile.

   "You come here often?"

   "Jesus, that line went out with 80's."

   "Um, yeah, I guess it did, didn't it? What I meant was: what is a young girl
like yourself doing in the Ruins?  It's dangerous out here."

   "I'm looking for clumsy scavengers who've gotten themselves stuck in holes.
Maybe you think there's a safer place to be?"

   "Good point.  What's your name?"

   "Most people call me Angel, what's yours?"

   "Angel. Wow.  I guess I called that one," Trace returned Angel's confused
glance with a knowing smile, "anyways, people call me Trace.  Then again,
that's my name, so it's not that surprising."

   "So Trace, what's next?"

   "I don't know Angel.  Most people would have killed me by this point."

   "Well, I'm obviously not planning to kill you." She smiled.  Trace decided
he liked her smile.

   "And I generally consider it rude to kill people who save your life. Hey,
it's getting late. What say we find some shelter, and make a fire?  I've got
some coffee, if you like."

   "Wow, I haven't had coffee in a long, long time. That sounds like a great
idea." Angel looked around the Ruins, and pointed to a mostly collapsed
building that still had two walls standing. "How about that?"

   "Looks great to me.  C'mon, let's get that fire started."

                            *       *       *

   Trace was a professional scavenger.  He made his living digging through the
ruins of commercial sectors.  Areas that hadn't survived the quakes.  Sometimes
it was possible to find still functional equipment, canned food, and sometimes
weapons and ammunition.  Trace kept enough to survive on, and traded the rest
at the small tent towns that had sprung up all over the country.

   Scavenging was a dangerous business of course.  Other scavengers sometimes
decided it was much easier to take other people's finds for themselves. And of
course, there were the animals.  Back before the quake there were a lot of
zoos.  Most of the animals they held were dead and buried, but some had
survived, and all of them were hungry.  Trace once encountered a very ornery
tiger in the ruins of Washington DC.  And he'd seen monkeys and apes in just
about every city he'd visited.  But worse than the other scavengers, and the
animals, were the Marauders. Groups of raving lunatics who wandered the ruins,
killing anything that offended their wared view of reality.  They were the
aftermath of the quakes...men and women who's minds were shattered by the chaos
and anarchy that had followed the quake.

   Angel, as it turned out, wasn't a scavenger.  She was one of those rare
individuals that people called Paladins.  A well-armed nomad who wandered
around, looking for wrongs to right, people to save, kittens to get out of
trees. Trace wasn't sure what made Paladins tick, but he figured it was their
only way to maintain their sanity. Helping people gave their life a higher
meaning, a purpose beyond surviving just for survivals sake.

                            *       *       *

   Trace woke shortly after sunrise, and was surprised to find his gear still
intact, and Angel still there.  She had cracked open a can of pork and beans
(pork and beans that had come from Trace's own pack, he realized) and was
preparing breakfast.  Trace slowly sat up, and stretched his arms.  He smiled,
and said, through a muffled yawn, "Hiya babe, what's cooking?"

   "Hah, sorry Trace, but I'm not your 'babe', so cool it with the macho crap,
okay?"  She smiled as she said it, so Trace wasn't sure if she was joking or
not.

   "Hey, sorry, it was just a joke." Trace rolled up his ratty sleeping bag,
and shoved it back into his pack. "So, what are your plans?  I'm heading to
Seattle,via Chicago.  I'd love some company, if you're interested."

   Angel squatted next to the camp fire, and rocked back on her heels. "Maybe,
I don't know.  Chicago is only a couple of days from here, I suppose I could
follow you that far.  I don't know about Seattle.  We'll see."

   "Hey, that's cool, company for part of the trip is better than no company at
all.  We'll pack your bag, and let's get going." Trace slung his backpack, hung
his old rifle (a thirty ought six he found in Boston), and relaced his boots (a
nice pair of dark green Doc Martens).

   Angel frowned, looked at the slowly boiling beans, and said "Wait Trace, we
should at least eat breakfast..."

                            *       *       *
May 4th, 2005 Suburbs of Detroit, Michigan

   After breakfast, Trace and Angel set out for Chicago. They found a fairly
clear section of highway, and started walking.  The going was slow, since Trace
had to favor his left ankle (his right was sprained after all).  Around noon,
they enter a hilly section, where the highway became cracked and unpassable.
They headed off to the side, passing through the what must have once been a
residential section.  most of it was just char and loose stone.  After the
quakes, fires had spread pretty bad.  People said parts of New York were still
burning.  Most of the fire stations had been destroyed, so there wasn't really
anyone to put them out.

   Angel whistled as they walked, and Trace just grumbled, except when he
banged his ankle into something.  Then he just swore.

   "Hey Trace, what did you do before the quake?"

   "Nothing.  I don't really want to talk about it."

   "Oh come on, you don't need to be embarrassed.  What did you do?"

   "I robbed houses."

   Angel smiled, and then saw that Trace wasn't joking. "Really?  So you were a
criminal, huh?"

   "No, I was poor, other people weren't, and I decided they could afford to
share.  Unfortunately, the cops disagreed, and when they caught me, they stuck
me jail for what was supposed to be 25 years.  I served a year and half, and
then the jail fell down."

   "Fell down?  You mean, in the quake?"

   "Luckily the warden believed in earthquake drills. We got hit by a small one
first.  Most everyone got out, but when the walls fell, everyone ran, and the
guards just started shooting them.  I stayed right where I was.  Then the big
one hit, and there weren't anymore guards.  So I left.  Now, here I am."

   "Wow. Well, don't worry, I won't hold your past against you.  The quake gave
us all a second chance."

   "Yeah, something like that."  Trace was about to ask Angel what she did
before the quakes, when the mid-afternoon silence was shattered by a gunshot
and screaming.

   "Fuck!  C'mon, we got to go check that out!"  Angel was already scrambling
over the rubble, heading towards the scream.

   "Hell no! Angel, get back here! It's not any of our business!"  Angel
stopped, and gave Trace a glare that chilled him to the bones.  "C'mon Angel,
it could be dangerous, it's not our business!"  Angel continued to glare at
him, and Trace felt his resolve giving away. "God damn it!  Fine, we'll check
it out, put damn it, I want you to know I think this is a bad idea."

   Trace joined Angel, and together, they headed towards the screams.

                            *       *       *

   Angel moved faster than Trace, who was slowed by his busted ankle, and
reached the top of the hill before him. She pulled out a pair of binoculars,
and scanned the small "valley" before them.

   "Here, take these, and look down there."  Angel handed Trace the binoculars
as he joined her.  He looked where she pointed, and didn't like what he saw at
all.

   Four marauders where harassing a young woman who cradled a small child in
her arms.  Two of the marauders had guns, the other two were armed with
baseball bats.  Nearby a man lay face down in a pool of blood - presumably his
own.

   "Okay Angel, you're the paladin, how do you want to handle this?"

   "Crap.  Okay, you circle down towards that house there," she pointed towards
a single story home that had amazingly enough, survived the quake, "take up a
position there, and use that monster rifle of yours to take out the two with
guns.  I'll come in from the other side, and take out the two with bats with my
shotgun.  Think you can handle that?"

   "Aw, fuck. Okay, okay.  Yeah, I can do that.  Fuck. I really don't like
this. Really don't like this."  Trace unslung his rifle, loaded it, and started
heading down the hill.

   "Don't worry, it's a great plan.  What could go wrong?"

                            *       *       *

   Trace climbed up the side of the house, and straddled the roof.  He took
sight on the marauder who seemed to be in charge.  He took a deep breath, and
slowly pulled the trigger, when all hell broke out in the clearing.

   His target ducked behind a large tree, and opened fire - but not on him.
Trace followed the Marauders line of fire, and saw Angel, pinned down by the
two marauders cross fire.

   "Fuck!" Trace took aim on the second marauder, and fired.  The marauder's
head burst like a ripe melon, sending a spray of blood of gore into the air.
His dead body stumbled, and fell, slowly sagging to the ground.

   The other marauder appeared from nowhere, and fired at Trace.  The bullets
whizzed by his head, and Trace dove down the other side of the roof.  As he
rolled, he lost his grip on the 30/06, and shot over the edge of the roof,
landing hard on his busted ankle.  He screamed in pain, and then passed out, as
merciful darkness descended on him.

                            *       *       *

   Trace snapped back to consciousness, his ankle throbbing. "How much time has
passed?" he wondered.  His question was answer when he heard the maniacal
laughter of one of the marauders.

   "I found him!  He's over here!  I found him!" The marauder was screaming and
laughing at the same time.  He was short, and skinny, with red rimmed eyes, and
long nappy hair.  He wore a grease and blood stain worksuit with a multitude of
strange symbols drawn over it.  A black-taped baseball bat swung from his
hands,and he raised it over his head as he charged Trace.

   Trace forced himself to his feet, trying to ignore his ankle. He doubled up
his fists, and swung with all the force he could muster.  He caught the
marauder full in the midsection.  The lunatic collapsed as his breath found
freedom.  He moaned, and doubled over, and Trace fell on to of him, his leg
giving out.

   Trace wrapped his hands around the marauders neck, and clamped down with all
his might.  The marauder, unable to regain his breath, quickly passed out.
Trace twisted the unconscious marauders head like a bottlecap, snapping his
spine with ease.   He grabbed the discard baseball bat, and pulled himself to
his feet.

   The second marauder, hearing the commotion, came charging around the corner.
He howled strange gibberish, and came down on Trace like a maddened bull. Trace
held up the bat as defense, but it shattered under the force of the other's
swing.  Trace was bowled off his feet by the blow, but was basically unharmed.
As he fell, he spotted the 30/06 laying in a clump of nearby bushes. he
scrambled, on all fours, towards the rifle.  The marauder swung again, and
Trace just barely managed to leap/scuttle forward fast enough to avoid the
blow.

   Trace reached out, and grabbed the barrel of the rifle, just as the marauder
leaped and landed full force on Trace's back.  Trace managed to turn himself
over, so the other marauder straddled him, and they were looking into each
other's eyes.  The marauder gripped his bat in both hands, and pressed it into
Trace's throat, hoping to crush his windpipe.  Trace pulled the rifle towards
him, and gripped the heavy barrel with both hands.  He brought it up, and then
down, on the marauders skull with a heavy crash. The marauder scrambled back,
screaming and grabbing his head.  Blood cascaded down his face, clouding his
vision momentarily.

   Trace brought the gun into firing position, as the marauder regained his
bearings and leapt.  Trace pulled the trigger, and with a mighty roar, the
30/06ripped a hole through the marauders breastplate, covering Trace in a
geyser of blood and gore.  The marauders dead weight landed on Trace, and he
collapsed back.  After taking a few breathes, and trying to regain a semblance
of a normal heartbeat, he pushed the marauder's fresh corpse off his chest, and
struggled to his feat.

   "Angel!  Angel!" He screamed. Was she alright?  Had the other marauder
killed her?

   "Over here Trace!  Are you okay?"

   Trace let out the breath he hadn't even realized he was holding. "Yeah, I'm
fine.  I'll be there in a minute."

   He checked the marauders bodies, looking for anything worth taking.  He
found a Zippo lighter, that seemed to be in working condition, and half a very
old pack of Camels.  Why don't marauders ever have anything valuable?

                            *       *       *

   Angel demanded Trace give the woman and her child some food (actually, half
their food), but at least she didn't want to take them along.  Trace
jury-rigged a brace for his ankle, which was probably broken by now, and
reslung his rifle, and holstered a machine pistol he took from the first
marauder he'd killed. He and Angel headed out again, still aiming for
Chicago...

                        To Be Continued...

_____________________________

This is the first time I've ever shown off my writing to such a large 
crowd (what is it, 8 million and growing?).  I'd really appreciate any 
honest criticism or comments.  But, like Mom always says, "if you don't 
have anything nice to say, shove it out your ear."



-- 
 ---                         ____________________                          ---
  Ken Adams                _/                    \_ "he's losing his mind, and
  beehatch@zipnet.com    _/   I'm gonna kill him   \_   he can feel it going."
                        /  I'm gonna break his face  \           -Skinny Puppy
                       |  I'm gonna crack his skull   |
 ----------------------|   I'm gonna kick it all in   |-----------------------
                      /  I'm gonna break his legs off  \
                  ___|    I'm gonna rip his head off    |___
                 /       And then shit down his neck        \
                |  And then I'll laugh like a motherfucker   |
                |  And then I'll laugh like a motherfucker   |
                 \____        Cause I hate her!         ____/
                      \__  And then I'll fall past   __/
 ------------------------\_  I'm gonna flashback   _/-------------------------
                           \____  Flashback!  ____/
                                \____________/