The World of The Gunny

The Wasted World of Gunnery Sergeant DeShane
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 Post subject: CONDEMNED
PostPosted: 31 Aug 2005 14:19 
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Warrant Officer 1
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Joined: 25 Aug 2005 09:47
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Location: Maumee, Ohio
Anyone at STGFC should recognize this.

CONDEMNED

As he watched the missiles begin their inevitably deadly climb heavenward, General Winthrop knew that the fate about to befall the Chinese upon whom these rockets would soon descend would be the fate of billions of people all over the planet. He knew that at that moment the Chinese had hundreds of ICBMs arcing toward the US and its allies. The American response just left the silos. General Winthrop knew that in five hours the majority of the people on the planet would be reduced to radioactive ash. He also knew that the only survivors of the war would be the Americans. He turned from the window just as another missile took off, propelled by a column of fire. The general joined the rest of the silo staff in the elevator that would soon be descending thousands of feet into the earth.

The war had been going on for eight months now. Due to the possibility that the war could end with the use of nuclear weapons, the US had built 1000 vaults by the year 2093, each capable of holding 1000 people for as long as necessary. Only one million US citizens would survive. The Chinese weren’t able to construct vaults. They had a similar project underway when they invaded Alaska, but by the time the US pushed them back to Beijing, not only were all of the Chinese resources being used for the war, the US armed forces had destroyed all of the vaults being constructed. The Chinese were bound to lose the war because the US controlled the world’s last remaining supply of oil. As the elevator went down to the bowels of the earth that was all that occupied General Winthrop’s mind. Eight billion people dead because the Chinese wanted oil.

Vault 0627 in New York was, like all other vaults, being loaded with the people who were deemed necessary to ensure humanity’s post apocalyptic survival. It was, as were the others, surrounded by US Marines that would all enter the vaults that they were guarding as soon as everyone was there, or they received word that the Chinese missiles were inbound. The crowd gathered around the vault had grown from panic to near violence. The Marines had resorted to firing warning shots. Soon the crowd surged forward, intent on dislodging the Marines from their post at the fence. Knowing that the crowds would move them no matter how hard they resisted, the Marines began to withdraw into the vault. When the last Marine entered, firing at the angry mob behind him, the giant door closed, sealing the helpless citizens outside, hours from death.

Alone in his apartment, Andrew Lyles, a 38-year-old lawyer, recently partnered in his firm, sat bolt upright, shocked by the news that he just heard. It was reported that the Chinese had fired nuclear missiles at the US. The anchor said that all citizens who had been selected as part of the Vault program should report to their assigned vault. The screen went white, filling the apartment with loud static.

Lyles was an integral part of his law firm, but not nearly important enough to be one of the million saved by the Vault system. Mind still numb from the shock, he ran downstairs to the car. He knew that there was bound to be rioting at the Vaults, so many may have already closed before reaching capacity. Starting the car, he remembered something that he had read once:
“The glories of our blood and state,
Are shadows, not substantial things,
There is no armor against fate,
Death lays his icy hands on kings.”

No average citizen would be saved by any design of the government. The geniuses, the politicians, and the rich would be saved. He knew very well about the vaults. He had done some papers in college about the extremely small likelihood that at this time in the post-cold war period a nuclear war would break out. At the time most people considered the vaults a money-drain. Ironically enough they were the same people who would be stuck outside as the world burned. There were four vaults in New York. The closest one to him was Vault 0627.

His Porsche flew across the Brooklyn Bridge at a dangerous speed. He nearly killed himself and several people on the sidewalks a few times on his way to the vault. When he arrived at the vault his heart sank into his stomach. The immense door was closed. Several people still banged on it and screamed for the people inside to open it, but to open it to the mob would be death to those inside.

He couldn’t stay at the Vault any longer. If he hurried he may be able to reach Vault 0736 or 0992. Within two blocks he had come across the first signs that civilization had begun to fall apart at the seams. A horde of people was looting, rioting, and doing countless other things that would have gotten them arrested in very short order only the day before.

Seeing his Porsche, they mistook him for a person headed to a Vault because of his affluent. Though he was well off, the Vault spot would have cost him at least ten times as much as his car. Nevertheless, the mob set upon him as if he were responsible for their plight. They completely covered the road, so he did the only thing he could: Drive.

He smashed the gas pedal to the floor and took off, sending people, trashcans, and anything else in his way flying. Abruptly the mass of people in front of him cleared, just in time for him to see he was about to crash.

His car smashed into a convenience store, totally obliterating the streetside wall, and crashed against the far wall of the establishment. As he extricated himself from the wreckage, his foot hit the radio on. A very old song was playing, “It’s the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine.” Struck by the sheer incongruity of the song and the reality of the situation, he began to laugh uproariously. His laughter was cut short when the first of his pursuers came in through the gaping hole in the building.

He opened the emergency exit at the back and bolted into an alley. Running through the street, the ever-present mob followed, determined to take revenge on someone who they considered to be responsible for their fate, hell-bent on taking at least on life before they were reduced to vapor.
Never being one to exercise, he was soon fatigued from the incessant running. As he turned a corner, he saw it. The shining silver doors of Vault 0992 stood open. His hope disintegrated as soon as he saw what guarded the door to salvation. A platoon of US Marines stood with weapons ready just outside the door. Lyles ducked into a nearby building as the mob surged around the corner.

Seeing the mob, the Marines believed it was headed for the Vault. The Lieutenant ordered the Marines forward, and they opened up on the mob as they came. Lyles noted that the mob’s seemingly inexorable advance was at least temporarily halted, he took his chance. He began to run for the door. A shout from a Marine halted all firing, and the Marines quickly outpaced him on the way back to the door. At first he believed that this long road toward salvation would be for nothing, that the Marines would stop him, but when he saw them stream into the Vault he knew something worse was going on. The city’s destruction was imminent. Driven forward by fear, he sprinted the last 15 meters.

The Marines didn’t seem to mind that he had followed them in. Standing at the doorway, looking back at the world he knew, he wondered how the world he would see when the door opened would be different.

The door slid closed, leaving the mob that had pursued him here trapped outside. High above the city, the first of many Chinese nuclear warheads detonated.






The end of the world was a difficult concept to swallow. It wasn’t really the end of course, but it was an end of sorts. It had been more than two years since Andrew Lyles, a forty-year-old former lawyer had taken shelter in Vault 0992, the enormous underground fallout shelter had been home for him since that fateful day. God, how clear the memories were. The television screen dancing with static, the white noise drowned out by the shrilling sirens. He repressed a shiver. He had just woken from a nightmare, in it he relived that night, but with one difference—he had been trapped outside the Vault. When the bright light that heralded the end of New York flashed, he woke up screaming, bathed in a cold sweat.

“Time?” he asked the clock beside his bed.
“It is 4:30 AM,” a melodious female voice intoned. The technology in the Vaults continually amazed him. The Vault itself was more than five square miles. He was still enthralled by the technological wonders he saw while walking the structure’s stainless steel labyrinths. The entire Vault had been abuzz with speculation since last Monday. The surface probes had shown that all radiation topside had dissipated to levels safe for human habitation. Scientists and technicians had gone outside and had stayed out for weeks, using the Garden of Eden Creation Kit to change the area to make it even more receptive to human life. The Vault was to be opened that day at 9:00 AM.

The Vualt’s cafeteria was open at all hours, and Lyles, still shaken from his dream, decided to forego further sleep, and got out of bed and walked down to the cafeteria. He hadn’t been surprised that the Vault had not reached capacity when he arrived. It was forced to close early like many others, too many others. Of the 1000 civilian inhabitants, the Vault was able to handle, only 829 were actually inside when the great door closed. No one seemed to mind that the last person in didn’t earn his spot. The 50 Marines that had guarded the Vault were inside as well, along with the 100 people required to maintain the Vault itself.

Inside the cafeteria Lyles noticed three of the Marines were seated at the bar. He sat next to one of them and ordered a drink. The Marines next to him had been the very ones that almost barred his entrance two years ago. The four began a spirited conversation which ended when one of the Marines, Corporal Claypoole, said suddenly, “Holy hell guys, check the time, it’s 0845!” The group left their seats almost in unison and set out at a fast trot towards the door.

A crowd had gathered by the time they reached the door, two levels up from the cafeteria. Somehow Lyles managed to muscle his way forward, and was soon standing right in front of the great Vault door. A voice cracked over the PA, “The surface has been prepared for habitation, all appropriate personnel should be in their stations at this time. Door opening will commence in three, two, one. Door opening commencing.” A red light began to pulse and the door moved forward, a bright light burned beyond it. As the door slid to the side the Vault Dwellers stepped out into the new world. Andrew just stood at the door with his mouth hanging open, people streaming past him. This world would be nothing at all like the one he knew.





CONDEMNED
Section 3

The technicians and scientists who went topside had established little more than the bare minimum for human habitation. The GECK was able to get their farming going, making the soil receptive to plows and shovels. Wells were dug for irrigation and for drinking water for those who wished to remain outside the vault.

When the Doors had opened to the general population, homes stood ready for occupation. The crews sent up had been able to build enough earthwork houses to hold the entire population of the vault. The entire layout of the cities was kept as simple and orderly as possible. Communication between the Vaults was regained that year. In the years that passed The Vault Cities, as they came to be called, flourished. All three of the vault’s cities remained separate geographically, but were united under one government. A Supreme Overseer position was created, and every year the Vault Citizens would vote in elections to determine who would get the position.

Word of the safe havens the cities provided spread quickly through the Eastern Wastes. Nearly all Outlanders who came to the cities were granted citizenship. With the sudden influx of new residents the cities exploded outward. As the cities grew so did their need for power. Before long some technicians were able to pump the generators in each vault to %300 output, but the modifications were serious, and required constant maintenance. In time trade agreements were made with nearby towns and cities. Within a few years the Cities were able to completely give up farming, trading medical supplies for food. The cities pooled their extensive resources and built two things that would hopefully jumpstart humanity’s rebirth. The enormous manufacturing facility in the heart of the city was one of them. The other one, “Project Phoenix” would play a major role in the things to come. Life in the City was about to change.

David Lyles, a 28-year-old vault citizen, was looking forward to a cold beer and a warm bed when he got back. He had been assigned to guard a caravan from New Cobe, an agrarian community a week’s travel to the south. He was one of three Vault Citizens who were present on the trip. All three were guards; the caravan master and drivers were citizens of New Cobe. After sunset that night he knew something was wrong. The horizon to the north still seemed to glow. As they drew closer his concerned thoughts turned into a constant mantra, “God, no, oh God, no.” As they drew ever closer their worst fears were realized: The Vault Cities burned.

Everyone, upon seeing the fate of the town, immediately set out as fast as they could toward it. One driver stayed behind to protect the goods and animals, but all the other New Cobians went. Dave ran through the gates to the city and immediately turned down the street where his parents lived. Even as he broke through the front door into the inferno beyond the thought began to form in the back of his mind. NO! No, it can’t be true, couldn’t happen, he wouldn’t let it be true, wouldn’t even let the possibility exist. Running up the stairs the smoke got thicker. He didn’t seem to take notice. Fear that bordered on panic began wrapping its cold hands around his mind, and pushed him forward.

Inside his parent’s bedroom the fear proved correct. The bodies of Andrew and Cynthia Lyles, 71 and 67, lay on the floor. They had clearly been shot. In his father’s hands were two different objects. In his right hand he held a revolver, a 44 Magnum. In his left hand he held a piece of fabric. Dave picked up both. The sound of a wall collapsing brought him out of his reverie, and he bounded down the stairs into the street.

Though the fire burned fiercely behind him, he collapsed on the nearest public bench and held his head in his hands. Chad Burnley, one of the other guards from the City, sat down beside him.

“They’re—they were…” Dave couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“I know, I know. I think it’s the same all over town.” Chad said. Chad’s parents had died years before, he had no siblings, and his best friends were with him on the caravan. He had no one to look for, no one to bury. He had been helping Joe Dean, the third man from the Cities, look for his family. After Dean had found his brother’s remains Chad came over to Dave. A New Cobian was consoling Dean.

“Who…why would someone do this?”

“I don’t know, man. But we’re gunna find out. What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the fabric Dave still held in his hand.

Dave opened his hand and looked at it. It was a patch, maybe from a uniform, a black skull with red eyes. This seemed to be the only lead they had. The entire group searched through the night and morning. No survivors were found.






As the sun rose the men called off the search. It was obvious there were no survivors in the city. The New Cobians left, back for their city. They had offered to take the three men with them, but they declined. Dave collapsed into the same bench he had hours ago and slept.

He woke with a start when he heard someone approaching. He rolled off the bench into a kneeling position, his sidearm was in his hand when he came out of the roll.

“Whoa, dude, put it down,” it was Chad. “Joe found something, said it was important.”

“What?”

“He didn’t say. He stuck his head out of the factory and told me to bring you there.”

The two men set off quickly through the burned out town they once called home. It was hard to believe that hours ago this land of make believe, dead and dry, was a thriving community. They arrived at the factory after a short walk. The enormous structure hadn’t been totally destroyed in the fire, it seemed. Only part of it was burnt and most of it was in good condition. Inside, however, there were two things that they immediately noticed. The most obvious was that it had been cleaned out. There should have been Stimpacks, first aid kits, weapons, and other items. The factory made everything. Nothing was there. It seems that whoever came here took everything that wasn’t bolted down. The most infuriating thing was the bodies. It looked as though they all had their hands bound behind their back. They were all in a line, and it looked as though automatic weapons had been raked along their front. Dave’s hand clenched into a FIST. “Bastards,” he said.

“Good God,” Chad gasped as he walked through the door. It seemed it was as much a prayer as it was an exclamation.

“Hey guys, come here!” Joe shouted from the other end of the complex. He was kneeling by a doorway. “Look at this,” he said when the pair reached him, “there’s blood all over the doorway, but no body. It looks like whoever got hit was dragged out. Whoever did this took casualties, and took their dead with them when they left.” That revelation made Dave’s blood run cold. Slavers and Raiders didn’t bother with taking their dead. Whoever did this were probably professionals. “The reason we didn’t see this anywhere else was because we were in a hurry to get through the gate, and no where else was really guarded. Except….”

“The Vault!” They all shouted in near perfect unison. They started running for the door. They had checked a Vault the night before. Its door was open and its occupants dead. They didn’t really expect that their Vault would be different, but hope was really all they had at that point. The door to Vault 0992 was closed, the only good sign they could see. There were bodies all around the door. Chad tapped in his code and the door slid open. Weapons drawn, the three entered.

There were no signs of life on the first two floors. They did find a survivor on the third floor though.

When they entered the control room she had her back to them. Frozen on the screens around her was the same picture. A man in Combat Armor stood with an assault weapon, it looked like a SAW, firing at a group of fleeing civilians. A City guard, also in Combat Armor, lay at the man’s feet, a pool of blood around him. On the attacker’s shoulder was an insignia—A black skull with red eyes.

The woman was asleep at her controls. Dave shook her to wake her up. She leapt out of her seat and punched him in the jaw, staggering him. “Son of a bitch!” he yelled. The woman seemed only then to realize who they were.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry…Dave Lyles, right?”

“Yeah. You’re Kelly Pasquin. Ow.” He was rubbing his jaw. “Do you know what happened here?”

“It was about four in the afternoon when they showed up. They didn’t say anything, just started shooting. They caught us between shifts.” Us meaning Vault personnel. “I was the only person at the Vault. Security tried to stop them, but they couldn’t. Before long people were running for the Vaults. The other two opened their doors.” That explained the condition of the Vault they had entered. “When they came here I cut the power to the doors. I killed them!” She burst into tears, and Chad took her in his arms and tried to console her. They all knew, she probably did too, that if she had opened the doors, even for only a minute, that she would be dead too. She regained her composure before long.

Chad seemed well suited to consoling people, Dave thought, reflecting back on last night. Something about him was just naturally calming. Of all the people in the Cities, he was always the best speaker and trader. Dean stood six and a half feet tall, and weighed well over 250 pounds, all of which was pure muscle. Chad and Dave could use almost every small gun and were reasonably skilled with energy weapons, but the big man put them both to shame. He could use any weapon, no matter what kind, and he could use it better than anyone else. Dave himself was an adept thief, able to move anywhere unseen and unheard, and take your wallet while doing it. He could open any locked door or container in seconds, and disarm the traps on them in a comparable amount of time. He knew Kelly Pasquin by reputation. She was a wizard with electronics. She could take a machine apart, tell you how it works, and put it back together so that it worked better than it did before. If I’m gunna be up shit creek, these are the people I want with me, Dave thought.

“Hey! What about Site B?” Dave asked. “Maybe there were people there, or maybe people went there after the attack.” The second thing made with the Vault’s collective resources, Site B, was practically mythical. Only a few people in all of the Cities knew where it was. It was an integral part of the Cities economy. The three men knew where it was, they had had to guard caravans going there more than a few times. With no other leads the four left the burned out city, and set off to site B.





Site B wasn’t a long walk, only about two days of travel, but it was impossible to find if you didn’t know where it was. That evening, as they were preparing camp they heard strange noises from every direction. Chirps and growls of varying pitches greeted their ears as the evening gave way to night. They went on a 25% watch, Dave first.

At around midnight Chad, the guard on watch, woke everyone up. “The things are closing in.” Everyone took their weapons and kneeled with their backs to the fire, facing outward. Chad and Dave had M16s, Joe had a SAW and Kelly had an FN FAL. They all primed flares and threw them out about 10 feet. Illuminated by the flare light a group of grotesque monstrosities threw themselves at the defenders. Gunfire lit the night.

One of the creatures was able to survive the fusillade and leapt onto Dave. It was reasonably heavy, about forty pounds, and sent him sprawling, laying on his back with the creature on top. It tried to claw at his face, but he was able to hold it back. It’s head darted forward, mouth open, just as it went limp.

Joe pulled his knife out of the thing and said, “The bastards don’t like the light. Most of them scattered when we threw the flares. Of the 10 or so we saw there are probably at least twice as many. They won’t bug us again, at least not tonight.”

“What were they?” With his flashlight he examined the one that attacked him. It was about three feet tall, black, and had wicked claws, about four or five inches long. A closer examination revealed that in its mouth were three rows of serrated teeth. He hadn’t heard of anything like this before.

“The merchants call them lurkers. They only attack small parties like us. Even the New Cobe caravans have about ten people in ‘em.”

They had two men on watch after that, and no one slept well. The next afternoon they came upon the entrance to site B.

_________________
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