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Forums Index -> Best-cellars -> Decay
PostPosted: Wed Aug 22, 2007 3:38 am  Reply with quote

Joined: 21 Aug 2007
Posts: 16
Location: trust me...u don't want to know!

They were rebuilding the city. It was Edward’s job as the foreman to make sure that the construction went smoothly and that the plans were intimately followed down to the most minor detail. Years ago this type of undertaking would have seemed ludicrous for a mere office building, but after the dead had risen and the cities had been destroyed during the bombing, they were taking no risks.
The blueprints called for easy access crawl spaces which would all lead to a hidden storage room full of supplies and weapons enough for at least three months plus and alternative escape route in case any zombies managed to break through the security and into the room.
He heard the sound of the whistle and watched as the rest of the men began to take the elevator down to ground level where they would either cross the street to McDonalds or buy something cheap from the lunch wagon only to spend the rest of the day in the can.
Edward always spent his hour alone and he was thankful for the privacy. Lucy packed his lunches and he believed that she did it more out of fear than kindness. Even though his taste buds were slowly beginning to heal he didn’t find the bologna sandwich, potatoes chips and pop to be the least appetizing. He dug deeper and found a sticky note attached to a chocolate covered hostess cake. ‘For daddy, love Liz’
He would at least eat the cupcake.
When he had finished he walked towards the eastern edge to where the beams stuck out like walking planks on some invisible ship. He would sit on the edge and dangle his feet.
Below the people looked like tiny ants as they walked the busy street and a few of them drove vehicles within the confines of the tiny city. But it wasn’t the life beneath that he was watching.
He could see for miles at this height, beyond the little epicenter lay decay of burned and rotted buildings that had once been small and prevalent towns and minor cities. What the bombs and fires had left was now being devoured by newly returning plant and animal life. But his eyes traveled further past this to the great wall.
He had only vague memories of that place, sometimes nightmares that would intrude his dreams. It stood nearly thirty feet high and separated the east from the west. It ran all the way from the Great Lakes area in Michigan down to Louisiana. The few remaining states created a blockade that was strong enough to stop the hordes, but then realized with their ever increasing numbers that it must be made stronger.
His company had been one of those that had been contracted for the job. His boss had been thrilled that they had been chosen. Edward knew that it was because there was no one else left.
They had had so many casualties and he had lost some very good friends and coworkers. He could still remember how his great grandfather had told him the stories as a child about when his father had worked on the Mackinaw Bridge up near the UP and how some of the men had fallen into the cement and now their bodies were imbedded into the bridge forever. That had always frightened him, that story, but after what he had seen during the construction of the wall was much worse.
Sometimes some of the men would be pouring the cement and they would get too close to the fencing and then the arms would come through and pull that man apart piece by piece.
Night and day they had toiled. It seemed as if the country had had a common goal as every human survivor as far as the eye could see had come to pitch in and help build the wall.
Those had been good days.
“Excuse me,”
Edward looked around to find a man in a slick gray suit and glasses with a leather briefcase.
“Can I help you?”
“Are you Mr. Edward William Branson?”
Edward only nodded.
“Sorry to bother you here, but.” He reached down into his briefcase and pulled out a packet of documents. His hands shook as he did so and he pulled his fingers back quickly after handing the files over to Edward as if he might not get them back.
“What’s this about?”
“It seems that those few weeks that you were, how I shall say it…not you’re self, that you were responsible for at least thirteen homicides. The surviving members of the families are holding you responsible and your court date is December 17th.”
The man actually smiled this time.
“Well…you’ll need to find yourself a good lawyer then.”
“Are there any others besides you, that are left I mean?”
The man only turned and walked back to the elevator without ever answering Edward.
He opened the letter and started to read through the list of names:
His wife wasn’t gonna be pleased about this. He quickly hid the letter in his coat when he heard the other guys emptying out of the elevator.
The men continued to work, all except Bernie.
“Are you going tonight…to the meeting?”
“I still have the old cravings.”
“I know.”

To be continued……..
"Conversations these days always ended with a bullet to the brain..."
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