Fragments of Judgment Day

[Kazakovich]

The Potomac river gushed past the bank, with the occasional splash emitting from the black water in the cold September night. On the riverbank, shrouded in that same darkness amongst the trees and shrubs stood a lone man, in a trenchcoat and with a suitcase in his hand. The stars glintered on the vast sky, a cold breeze rustling the leaves.

The man removed his coat, carefully putting it on a small rock on the enbankment. He looked back over the advancing rivermass, and took a deep breath. Far away in the distant came some human shouts. 'The drunkards by the trailor park', the man told himself. Except for them and the sound of the occasional passing car, he was completly alone.

He took another breath, then, with the suitcase firmly against his chest, stepped fully clothed into the cold river water. The chilling water against his legs came him to shiver as he slowly advanced, leaving the embankment behind. Through his soaked shoes, he could feel the pebbles on the riverbed. With careful steps and with the suitcase still in a cold grip, he kept walking. As the water splashed against the groin, which immediatly sent an angered complaint towards his brain over the issue, he began panting heavily were he stood in the dark Potomac. But he stepped forward still. Until he finally bumped into a metal mass on the riverbed with his knee. There it was, the old car wreck he'd observed from the shore some days earlier. Submerged under the water, forgotten and left to soak. The perfect place to hide something.

With the water splashing against his waist, the man felt blindly for the car with his right hand, the other tightly wrapped around the suitcase like a frightened mother carrying a child. He felt the cold metal, and began erraticly feeling for an opening. Then, he located the open window on the left side of the derelict vehicle. Shivering, he submerged the heavy suitcase in the dark waters, fumbling it inside the car. Not without a sting of fear, he let go of the handle and the suitcase settled inside, sliding down the seat and ending up hidden underneath the glovebox. Relieved, the man quickly returned to the shore, shivering and snorting in the quiet night. While wrapping the warm coat around him, he felt very relieved and content.

'Everything I will need... For the coming dark days, lies safe and secure in a spot only I can find... I'll be prepared for when the dark storm comes. I'll survive. I'm ready', he solemnly thought to himself, on the river bank that quiet September night.

With a heavy cough and still shivering, he began making his way back to his own car to return home to some warm coffee and a warm bed.

[Maharg67]

Kazakovich, good writing, I am waiting eagerly to read more.

[Kazakovich]

Frank stepped off the bus, greeted by a chilly, autumn wind. He adjusted his hat as he quickly paced over the small town square towards the tobacconist. The usual people was there. A group of commuters proceeding down the steps to the metro station, two clerks smoking outside the bank office and a lonely police officer on patrol. He quickly entered the store and greeted the old man behind the counter.

-'Morning, Dick', he told him as he removed his hat.

-'Morning, Frank. The usual?'

-'Yes, please.'

The shopkeeper took out one pack of Revel cigarettes and a newspaper from the stand. The headline was dominated by the lynching of a suspected Chinese spy in Boston.

-'You can feel it creeping closer, can't you?', said Frank as he took out his wallet.

-'Yeah. And fall's keeping it company, too. It's getting colder each day', the shopkeeper remarked, while putting the money in the cash register.

-'Well, can't do much about it. How's Hyacinth?', said Frank, putting the paper under his arm.

-'As usual. Her latest idea is that we need one of those Mr Handy robots...'

-'You're getting one?'

-'Blimey, no. They cost a fortune and I don't trust those things. I don't want to wake up with that sawblade in my back'.

-'Yeah, I don't think too much of them either. I don't think Mary's letting one of them near the kitchen. What does a robot know about cooking anyway?'

Frank looked at his wristwatch, while putting his hat back on his head.

-'Need to catch my train. See you tomorrow.'

-'Goodbye.'

Frank left the store, hurrying towards the metro stairs, accompanied by several other commuters in apparent haste. The shopkeeper began reading a newspaper of his own, while tidying the counter.

-'Riiichard!', came a woman's voice from the kitchen behind the store.

-'Coming, dear.'

[Keanumoreira]

I find myself, enthralled. LOL, I've played too much Fallout 3, oh curse you mister Burke and your desires to destroy Megaton. Anyway, great story, I like where it is going. I sense a prewar and postwar connection with our friend Frank coming up.

[Kazakovich]

The early morning sun fell through the dusty windows, warming the seats and tables inside the small diner. A woman in her mid years went from table to table, wiping them with a damp cloth and setting the place up for the usual business, while huming some bits from Turandot. Satisifed with the tables, she turned to the vending machine and began polishing the chrome rims. She was interrupted, however, by a knock on the door.

She looked over and saw a sombre man outside, in a coat, suit and hat so inconspicious it felt eerie. Not without some nervosity, she approached the door and unlocked it. It was quite clear that this weren't a customer who hadn't noticed that the diner weren't open yet.

-'Mrs. Irma Sidorova?', the suited man queried.

-'Yes, It's me. How can I help?', she responded. She often felt uncomfortable when being adressed with her full name.

-'James Rockwell. Federal Bureau of Investigation.'

Irma felt her heart sink. She couldn't imagine what they'd want with her, but with the paranoia falling over the state...

-'We need to inform you that a suspect is expected to come here in about fifteen minutes. We are seeking to apprahend this man. First, we'd like to ensure you that there will be no harm to you or your property. Second, we'd like you to open early for us, so that we can deal with him without making a scene.'

Irma nodded silently, subconsiously placing her hand over her chest, releaved and frightened at the same time. Many questions wrestled for her attention; who was this man? A regular or a stranger? What would happen? Would he go with them quietly, or would he fight?

-'Two of our agents will be with you shortly. Treat them as usual customers and wait. When they move in, keep out of harm's way.'

The mysterious man then swiftly walked off, leaving Irma to her work. She would never remember quite how she unpetrified herself from the door, but suddenly, she stood behind the counter of her diner, filling two mugs of coffee for the two rather muscular men who'd taken their seats, conversing in their unbearably inconspiscious way. Then, the third man walked inside, wearing casual clothes with a suitcase in his hands. He nodded towards her, but took a seat rather than making an order, like he was saying 'I'll sit down and wait a while'. Irma went back to brewing more coffee, her mouth drying up as she waited for the inevitable.