Post by WJChesek ((Evern)) on Feb 7, 2010 21:29:39 GMT -5
((A little something I found in the coffers, thought I'd share it with y'all.))
The Windy City
Chicago, at one time called the “Windy City” now reduced to an extension of the lake. A handful of roofs, and several dozen skyscrapers. The dark clouds above released tears of lament for this once grand hub of civilization, the waters splashing into the lake, and onto the many flat surfaces. There was a lone figure, dropped off by a Sea Hawk, the silhouette of the craft, shaped oddly like one of the ancient helicopters these people once used, disappearing into the rain, on a course set toward the man-shaped figure’s base camp.
The figure nodded at the rain, pulling its hood lower over it’s face, and spoke to the rain in a gruff voice, one that many knew would lose that quality the instant he, for it could be no other, got excited by his work, “I’ll radio in when I’m ready for you to come back out here, Recovery One.”
Through the rain, he heard, almost inaudibly through the static, to the point where he worried that the wouldn’t be able to reach his pick up through the weather, “Sure thing, Rich,” even with the bad reception he could detect the pilot’s, somehow preserved through out the years, southern drawl, “Just holler, an’ we’ll be righ’ ou’ wit whatever ya need us ta bring.”
“Rich” smiled to himself, despite all that had gone on over the past few weeks, their funding running dry to the point where he went in alone, it was nice to have such a dedicated team, even if they merely dropped him off atop what was probably once an office building. The man turned on his flashlight, a relatively small device with great visibility range, at least when it wasn’t raining, and walked to a doorway, carefully turning the old handle and entering the building.
His light played eerily off the walls, now reduced to drywall and the studs beneath without someone to care for them, and the pools of water on the ground. Slowly, taking care to leave as little of this ancient site disturbed as possible, Rich’s booted feet tread across the shiny, and slippery, floor. His team had already taken a sample, the .25 by .25 meter square of metal by the bottom of the stairway to the roof testified to that.
The man stepped through the oddly measured doorway, about 2.03 meters tall, into what clearly was an office. Rows upon rows of empty cubicles, little screens and ancient technology still within each one. Occasionally, Rich would come across a body still in it’s chair, glass shards embedded in it’s back and neck. These shards had clearly come from the holes in the wall, one covered by large panes of glass, and had blown inward at these hapless office workers.
Rich stopped at one of these bodies, shining his light on what was the man’s (or woman’s, he couldn’t really tell) face, from the bits of flesh and hair that had survived the open access to the wind and water, he could barely see what may have passed for boredom among zombies, perhaps she (or he) had grown tired of the monotony of the every day, until the every day had ceased to be the every day, and had begun by taking his (or her) life.
Rich’s own face had an inquisitive look on it, where, had he not been what he was, it would’ve held horror. Indeed, one of his crew had remarked that a civilian would’ve “tossed his cookies” all over the corpse. Rich smiled at that memory, and pressed on, moving toward the vertical shaft in the hall. Here there had been the most bodies, killed by… Probably starvation as the outside wall to the stairwell had been ripped off by the Event. These corpses had been moved, and the metal doors wrenched open, revealing the complex contraption known as an elevator at the time.
His team had placed the rappelling gear properly, Rich was delighted to see, and he donned the harness for the 61 meter ride down to the third floor, just above the water level. He hadn’t brought the gear for an underwater search, ‘that,’ he thought, ‘will have to wait until I get funding again.’ Of course, that day might never come, and the secrets of this ancient city might forever be lost to time, and nature.
That was why Rich was here now.
He needed that one good find, something to make sure he received the funds to finish excavating the city, more than just a few floors in a random office building. He wanted to find the cause of this disaster, the reason the government failed its people. He had to know. Shaking his head to clear his thought, Rich slipped out of the shaft, looking at what once was the third floor of this building. The rain had caused the water level to rise slightly, just enough that the floor was covered in a thin layer of water.
Rich shined his light across the hall, where they had located another mass of bodies, also moved aside to clear a path. This particular floor was different than the twenty eighth, it had held a few offices, and across what had once been a ground level street, an old sign, long since deprived of power, barely topped the water, the English letters: C I. Beneath the murky waters, Rich could only guess what the rest of the word may have been. Knowing what he knew of American culture, Rich could only assume that it was something vulgar.
On this floor, the light played odd tricks, reflecting off the water and shining on the ceiling, the ripples playing with the way his light shined, and in turn the way he perceived some of the objects. Every once in a while, Rich came across a corpse, usually face down in the water, there was one with what am-ounted to a blanket, or at least it looked like it may have passed for one, a few hundred years ago.
Rich sighed, giving a last, longing look around. There were no secrets hidden in this ancient relic, no answers to his burning questions, nothing but some bodies that should’ve been buried, ancient texts asking about this memo or that account, and ancient technology. There was nothing in the least bit valuable to those who provided funding, who gave him the money to continue his excavation. Perhaps, had he the funding, the man thought, climbing back up the shaft, he might’ve been able to explore the first two floors, leaving a-
SNAP!
There was a second of nothing, as the “Oh Crap” look, shown by many over the ages, spread across Rich’s face, he gasped, knowing he should reach out and grab something, but unable to do so. Then, movement, slowly at first, it seemed to last forever, those moments of flight. Rich was amazed that it would take that long to hit the water, arms pin wheeling in a fashion seen on televisions long ago.
His last thought before he hit the water was not what one would expect, it was not a lament for his life, it was not one of self affirmation, nor was it one of prayer that he might survive. It was a thought that, were he to look at it later, he would be surprised he thought it.
That girl back at the camp isn’t so bad.
SPWOOSH!
Rich hit the water, sinking almost to the bottom of the first floor, surprised to be conscious. Giddy from survival, he started to kick his way up through the shaft, releasing what was left of his air in a massive amount of bubbles, each doing what he could not, reaching for the top of the shaft. Frantically, Rich bent over in the dark drink, grabbing his right leg, attempting to release his caught foot. Numb, dull, fingers barely wrapped around his ankle, tugging futilely against the building that had withstood the elements for centuries, fighting for his life, at the same time, knowing that he wouldn’t make it.
Gradually his movements slowed, the cold water sapping Rich of his energy, until sightless eyes stared upwards, watching the way he had come, waiting for someone to find his body.
At the base camp, in one of the anti-environment tents, “that girl” curled up around a bowl of noodl-es, embracing the warmth given off by the hot bowl, and picking tangled knots of the food between two sticks and placing them into her mouth, relishing the taste. With a sigh, she glanced at the clock, not without worry, for Richard had been gone for quite a while now, a day of rain to be exact. She grimaced, having read the books involving ancient ruins. Maybe these were cursed by their builders, meant to keep the dead within, and they had disturb- She shook her head as a figure entered the tent, dispelling thoughts that belonged in adventure novels, not science.
The other figure was a lean man, dressed in pilot’s fatigues, “Ami, ya ready ta go? I ain’t got all the time in the world, lil’ Missy.” He spoke in his usual southern drawl, “Now, y’want me to fly ya out there now? Or ya wanta make me wait another day?”
A mere hour later, Ami hopped off Sea One, the pilot telling her that he’d be back in a half-hour to pick her up. Smiling at the leaving VTOL despite the rain, the small framed woman hefted the coiled rope over her shoulder and, turning on her large flashlight, ventured along the same path Rich had taken a day earlier, though much quicker than the man, for she was on a mission that could require speed, not thoroughness. The bodies that had encompassed Rich’s attention for a few seconds at least, she blatantly ignored, merely shining the light over them to be sure that one wasn’t her quarry, until she got to the elevator shaft.
Ami gasped when she lifted the end of the rope, broken to a frayed end right where the rope met the corner of the shaft. It was instantly clear what happened to Rich then, and she hoped, shining her light down the shaft, that he lived. For a brief moment, when her light penetrated the standing water below, she had dared to hope that he would be alive.
It wasn’t to be.
At that moment, Ami realized that he was dead, drowned by human error. Whomever had placed the line in the floor, rather than in the ceiling had screwed up, as had the supervisor himself, he should’ve brought someone else, someone to keep an eye on him, save him if necessary. The small woman sighed with resignation and acceptance, trudging back to the top floor. This would certainly end the excavation, even though Rich’s death would go on the books as human error. Maybe, just maybe, someone else would come along later, and think the same way Rich did. Then maybe they’d play it safer, bring in a friend when the funding stopped.
Maybe.
The Windy City
Chicago, at one time called the “Windy City” now reduced to an extension of the lake. A handful of roofs, and several dozen skyscrapers. The dark clouds above released tears of lament for this once grand hub of civilization, the waters splashing into the lake, and onto the many flat surfaces. There was a lone figure, dropped off by a Sea Hawk, the silhouette of the craft, shaped oddly like one of the ancient helicopters these people once used, disappearing into the rain, on a course set toward the man-shaped figure’s base camp.
The figure nodded at the rain, pulling its hood lower over it’s face, and spoke to the rain in a gruff voice, one that many knew would lose that quality the instant he, for it could be no other, got excited by his work, “I’ll radio in when I’m ready for you to come back out here, Recovery One.”
Through the rain, he heard, almost inaudibly through the static, to the point where he worried that the wouldn’t be able to reach his pick up through the weather, “Sure thing, Rich,” even with the bad reception he could detect the pilot’s, somehow preserved through out the years, southern drawl, “Just holler, an’ we’ll be righ’ ou’ wit whatever ya need us ta bring.”
“Rich” smiled to himself, despite all that had gone on over the past few weeks, their funding running dry to the point where he went in alone, it was nice to have such a dedicated team, even if they merely dropped him off atop what was probably once an office building. The man turned on his flashlight, a relatively small device with great visibility range, at least when it wasn’t raining, and walked to a doorway, carefully turning the old handle and entering the building.
His light played eerily off the walls, now reduced to drywall and the studs beneath without someone to care for them, and the pools of water on the ground. Slowly, taking care to leave as little of this ancient site disturbed as possible, Rich’s booted feet tread across the shiny, and slippery, floor. His team had already taken a sample, the .25 by .25 meter square of metal by the bottom of the stairway to the roof testified to that.
The man stepped through the oddly measured doorway, about 2.03 meters tall, into what clearly was an office. Rows upon rows of empty cubicles, little screens and ancient technology still within each one. Occasionally, Rich would come across a body still in it’s chair, glass shards embedded in it’s back and neck. These shards had clearly come from the holes in the wall, one covered by large panes of glass, and had blown inward at these hapless office workers.
Rich stopped at one of these bodies, shining his light on what was the man’s (or woman’s, he couldn’t really tell) face, from the bits of flesh and hair that had survived the open access to the wind and water, he could barely see what may have passed for boredom among zombies, perhaps she (or he) had grown tired of the monotony of the every day, until the every day had ceased to be the every day, and had begun by taking his (or her) life.
Rich’s own face had an inquisitive look on it, where, had he not been what he was, it would’ve held horror. Indeed, one of his crew had remarked that a civilian would’ve “tossed his cookies” all over the corpse. Rich smiled at that memory, and pressed on, moving toward the vertical shaft in the hall. Here there had been the most bodies, killed by… Probably starvation as the outside wall to the stairwell had been ripped off by the Event. These corpses had been moved, and the metal doors wrenched open, revealing the complex contraption known as an elevator at the time.
His team had placed the rappelling gear properly, Rich was delighted to see, and he donned the harness for the 61 meter ride down to the third floor, just above the water level. He hadn’t brought the gear for an underwater search, ‘that,’ he thought, ‘will have to wait until I get funding again.’ Of course, that day might never come, and the secrets of this ancient city might forever be lost to time, and nature.
That was why Rich was here now.
He needed that one good find, something to make sure he received the funds to finish excavating the city, more than just a few floors in a random office building. He wanted to find the cause of this disaster, the reason the government failed its people. He had to know. Shaking his head to clear his thought, Rich slipped out of the shaft, looking at what once was the third floor of this building. The rain had caused the water level to rise slightly, just enough that the floor was covered in a thin layer of water.
Rich shined his light across the hall, where they had located another mass of bodies, also moved aside to clear a path. This particular floor was different than the twenty eighth, it had held a few offices, and across what had once been a ground level street, an old sign, long since deprived of power, barely topped the water, the English letters: C I. Beneath the murky waters, Rich could only guess what the rest of the word may have been. Knowing what he knew of American culture, Rich could only assume that it was something vulgar.
On this floor, the light played odd tricks, reflecting off the water and shining on the ceiling, the ripples playing with the way his light shined, and in turn the way he perceived some of the objects. Every once in a while, Rich came across a corpse, usually face down in the water, there was one with what am-ounted to a blanket, or at least it looked like it may have passed for one, a few hundred years ago.
Rich sighed, giving a last, longing look around. There were no secrets hidden in this ancient relic, no answers to his burning questions, nothing but some bodies that should’ve been buried, ancient texts asking about this memo or that account, and ancient technology. There was nothing in the least bit valuable to those who provided funding, who gave him the money to continue his excavation. Perhaps, had he the funding, the man thought, climbing back up the shaft, he might’ve been able to explore the first two floors, leaving a-
SNAP!
There was a second of nothing, as the “Oh Crap” look, shown by many over the ages, spread across Rich’s face, he gasped, knowing he should reach out and grab something, but unable to do so. Then, movement, slowly at first, it seemed to last forever, those moments of flight. Rich was amazed that it would take that long to hit the water, arms pin wheeling in a fashion seen on televisions long ago.
His last thought before he hit the water was not what one would expect, it was not a lament for his life, it was not one of self affirmation, nor was it one of prayer that he might survive. It was a thought that, were he to look at it later, he would be surprised he thought it.
That girl back at the camp isn’t so bad.
SPWOOSH!
Rich hit the water, sinking almost to the bottom of the first floor, surprised to be conscious. Giddy from survival, he started to kick his way up through the shaft, releasing what was left of his air in a massive amount of bubbles, each doing what he could not, reaching for the top of the shaft. Frantically, Rich bent over in the dark drink, grabbing his right leg, attempting to release his caught foot. Numb, dull, fingers barely wrapped around his ankle, tugging futilely against the building that had withstood the elements for centuries, fighting for his life, at the same time, knowing that he wouldn’t make it.
Gradually his movements slowed, the cold water sapping Rich of his energy, until sightless eyes stared upwards, watching the way he had come, waiting for someone to find his body.
At the base camp, in one of the anti-environment tents, “that girl” curled up around a bowl of noodl-es, embracing the warmth given off by the hot bowl, and picking tangled knots of the food between two sticks and placing them into her mouth, relishing the taste. With a sigh, she glanced at the clock, not without worry, for Richard had been gone for quite a while now, a day of rain to be exact. She grimaced, having read the books involving ancient ruins. Maybe these were cursed by their builders, meant to keep the dead within, and they had disturb- She shook her head as a figure entered the tent, dispelling thoughts that belonged in adventure novels, not science.
The other figure was a lean man, dressed in pilot’s fatigues, “Ami, ya ready ta go? I ain’t got all the time in the world, lil’ Missy.” He spoke in his usual southern drawl, “Now, y’want me to fly ya out there now? Or ya wanta make me wait another day?”
A mere hour later, Ami hopped off Sea One, the pilot telling her that he’d be back in a half-hour to pick her up. Smiling at the leaving VTOL despite the rain, the small framed woman hefted the coiled rope over her shoulder and, turning on her large flashlight, ventured along the same path Rich had taken a day earlier, though much quicker than the man, for she was on a mission that could require speed, not thoroughness. The bodies that had encompassed Rich’s attention for a few seconds at least, she blatantly ignored, merely shining the light over them to be sure that one wasn’t her quarry, until she got to the elevator shaft.
Ami gasped when she lifted the end of the rope, broken to a frayed end right where the rope met the corner of the shaft. It was instantly clear what happened to Rich then, and she hoped, shining her light down the shaft, that he lived. For a brief moment, when her light penetrated the standing water below, she had dared to hope that he would be alive.
It wasn’t to be.
At that moment, Ami realized that he was dead, drowned by human error. Whomever had placed the line in the floor, rather than in the ceiling had screwed up, as had the supervisor himself, he should’ve brought someone else, someone to keep an eye on him, save him if necessary. The small woman sighed with resignation and acceptance, trudging back to the top floor. This would certainly end the excavation, even though Rich’s death would go on the books as human error. Maybe, just maybe, someone else would come along later, and think the same way Rich did. Then maybe they’d play it safer, bring in a friend when the funding stopped.
Maybe.
