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Guest
Guest
All that remained of the once sprawling metroplolis of Denver was rubble and the burnt skeletons of metal buildings which now stood as enormous mass-grave markers, seemingly raising a silent plea to whatever god was above, begging to be spared. Ward stayed on the outskirts of the city, trying to avoid the endless pile of snow-covered debris that filled the dark set. I-25 was blocked by toppled structures and huge chunks of concrete, all appearing flat white against the constant gray sky. Ward was the only life that stirred in the eerie place. Destroyed cities always gave Ward chills and made him feel very edgy.
The chill night was still and quiet. The only sound for miles was the humming of a small, fusion engine and the creaking of the snow beneath the tires. It moved with relative ease through the powdery snow, occasional jostling the rider with a small bump as it ran over a rock, and sometimes that bump was accompanied by a sickening crunch as Ward drove his ATV over a human skull. He shuddered, the air just didn't feel right, not that anything was ever right in his world, however, there was something very wrong about the night.
For a half hour, Ward skirted the edges of Denver, always looking behind to check for any signs of someone tracking him. No one was, though, but he was uneasy, nonetheless.
It was another five minutes of bumpy, skull crunching riding, then Ward heard the faint sounds of gunfire in the distance; south, the way he was traveling. Flashes began to appear on the horizon, lighting the clouds with a hellish orange strobe that pulsed, then gave off deep, thundering boom. It must be some large weapons fire... probably tanks... Ward thought distantly.
Ward approached the battle slowly, with the headlight off the avoid notice. He had reached the highway again, which made for smoother traveling, but it also meant he would run into the fight, something he was hoping to avoid.
Three tanks were lined up on a ridge overlooking the highway, firing shells into the night. Ward wondered what they were shooting at as he pulled off the highway and stopped his ATV behind a jutting chunk of cement. He could barely see over the piece of concrete, but had a clear enough view to catch a glimpse of an infantry-man running through the shadows to some sparse cover behind the tanks. A rocket streaked across the battlefield, leaving a bright streak of white in Ward's eyes. It struck one of the tanks in the rear of the turret with wrenching force. The turret bent forward and the explosion, nothing spectacular; just a large flash and a lot of smoke, catapulted the top half of the tank commander, into the snow in front of the tank. Two more rockets followed just a few seconds behind the first, both with equally devastating results. All three tanks lay disabled and at the mercy of several armed men runned forward. On each of the tanks, the driver's hatch was methodically popped and a grenade was thrown inside, shredding any personnel left alive. It was morbidly fascinating to watch the professional soldiers execute their orders without hesitation and with such precise control. Ward decided to stay hidden until everyone had cleared the area, just in case the soldiers weren't friendly.
As Ward continued his journey down the highway, he encountered several more battles and a disturbing thought occured to him, The south seems to have their hands full... the Brotherhood may not be able to help us. He put it in the back of his mind, focusing on his task. His focus was abruptly broken by a bone rattling explosion. The ATV was flipped over multiple times, as was Ward, who was tossed around like a rag doll. The ground rose to meet him, again and again and again. Finally, battered and confused, Ward fell unconcsious.
Once again, sleep, that oh-so-annoying distraction, must end my writing.... bah!!
Mad Ass
The chill night was still and quiet. The only sound for miles was the humming of a small, fusion engine and the creaking of the snow beneath the tires. It moved with relative ease through the powdery snow, occasional jostling the rider with a small bump as it ran over a rock, and sometimes that bump was accompanied by a sickening crunch as Ward drove his ATV over a human skull. He shuddered, the air just didn't feel right, not that anything was ever right in his world, however, there was something very wrong about the night.
For a half hour, Ward skirted the edges of Denver, always looking behind to check for any signs of someone tracking him. No one was, though, but he was uneasy, nonetheless.
It was another five minutes of bumpy, skull crunching riding, then Ward heard the faint sounds of gunfire in the distance; south, the way he was traveling. Flashes began to appear on the horizon, lighting the clouds with a hellish orange strobe that pulsed, then gave off deep, thundering boom. It must be some large weapons fire... probably tanks... Ward thought distantly.
Ward approached the battle slowly, with the headlight off the avoid notice. He had reached the highway again, which made for smoother traveling, but it also meant he would run into the fight, something he was hoping to avoid.
Three tanks were lined up on a ridge overlooking the highway, firing shells into the night. Ward wondered what they were shooting at as he pulled off the highway and stopped his ATV behind a jutting chunk of cement. He could barely see over the piece of concrete, but had a clear enough view to catch a glimpse of an infantry-man running through the shadows to some sparse cover behind the tanks. A rocket streaked across the battlefield, leaving a bright streak of white in Ward's eyes. It struck one of the tanks in the rear of the turret with wrenching force. The turret bent forward and the explosion, nothing spectacular; just a large flash and a lot of smoke, catapulted the top half of the tank commander, into the snow in front of the tank. Two more rockets followed just a few seconds behind the first, both with equally devastating results. All three tanks lay disabled and at the mercy of several armed men runned forward. On each of the tanks, the driver's hatch was methodically popped and a grenade was thrown inside, shredding any personnel left alive. It was morbidly fascinating to watch the professional soldiers execute their orders without hesitation and with such precise control. Ward decided to stay hidden until everyone had cleared the area, just in case the soldiers weren't friendly.
As Ward continued his journey down the highway, he encountered several more battles and a disturbing thought occured to him, The south seems to have their hands full... the Brotherhood may not be able to help us. He put it in the back of his mind, focusing on his task. His focus was abruptly broken by a bone rattling explosion. The ATV was flipped over multiple times, as was Ward, who was tossed around like a rag doll. The ground rose to meet him, again and again and again. Finally, battered and confused, Ward fell unconcsious.
Once again, sleep, that oh-so-annoying distraction, must end my writing.... bah!!
Mad Ass
