It never should have been like this.
Families lived in these houses. Mothers, fathers, sons...
Families lived in these houses. Mothers, fathers, sons...
Ten.
- Thread starter Pineapple
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Pineapple
Punished Pineapple
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- Passin' the kouchie 'pon the lef' hand side
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- She/They
It never should have been like this.
Families lived in these houses. Mothers, fathers, sons, and daughters. I remembered seeing children playing on the street. I remembered when I played on that street, so many years ago. So man--
"Kid, you alright there? You're kinda zoning out on me."
I shook myself out of my reverie, locked eyes with Old Man and nodded, "Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking about before." Before, back when food was a few dollars and a short walk away, when you didn't have to scavenge for clothes or fight for food.
I had my memories, they would have to be enough; that world wasn't coming back, not for me, not for Old Man, that time passed us by, when we missed our chance to get out, before Oppenheimer's Light redrew the map.
My hands were sweaty on the slick oiled stock of the old war horse; Number One, Mark Three. Short Magazine Lee Enfield. Bolt-action, ten rounds; a gift from my grandfather, when he was still on this earth. For all he'd fought for, I was thankful he hadn't had to live to see it turn into this, that would have killed him before the cancer did.
Not that he'd have stuck around much longer after gran passed, he stuck around for us just long enough to make sure we'd be okay, and then he went to go see her again. It's what he believed, so I had to have that faith, for his sake.
"Before, huh? Guess we've all got that, keep it, kid. It'll keep you going when you don't wanna anymore... maybe you'll live to see times like that again, you know?" Old Man explained. His eyes drifted to the rifle I clutched in my death grip.
"We'll find you something better, if we can. If we get through this."
I shook my head, "No, It's... It's fine. Like you said, keep your memories close, right?"
He gave me an appraising look and shrugged, "Yeah, I guess I did. Get ready, Kid. They'll hit this house soon."
A raiding party. Some government troops, which government, I couldn't say. They weren't from here, but they looked just enough like me to make Old Man nervous, at first. The first time I shot one, he stopped worrying, or stopped showing it. In this world, you couldn't afford to forsake an ally, even if you did have some apprehension.
I cycled the first round out of the magazine and into the chamber, pulled my hair back and tied it up with an old shoe lace. A hot shower, some shampoo, conditioner, I'd almost kill just for that. I couldn't remember the last time and yet...
I saw movement through the window, Old Man locked eyes with me. It was time. The telltale report of a Kalashnikov rifle hammering out its deadly cadence echoed down the road. We weren't the only ones hiding in this neighborhood, that would slow them down.
But it was an opportunity, and a distraction. This was a place for families, not for violence, not for death, but... But they changed this. Who was at fault doesn't matter anymore, nobody deserved to be dealt this hand and yet...
Old Man looked down at his M1, and back out that dusty cracked window, down the road, to those men in uniform, or what passed for one, dragging a girl out of a house. A few years younger than me, if I'd wanted to guess.
Not here, not in this place. This was a place for families, these were homes.
I kneeled behind the window and shouldered my rifle, hands slick on polished wood, but my aim was steady... steady enough. I looked to Old Man, he nodded.
Front post between the notches, target in the center. Range... two hundred yards, that was two notches up the rear sight, slight hold under. I closed my eyes, took a breath....
And let it out. squeeze. The rifle barked and bucked into my shoulder, the window exploded, and a yell from down the street drew attention to our attic. Still, a hit.
One.
Old Man shouldered his rifle and snapped six rounds off into the now running and firing group of men. Shots tore through the wall, but at this range it was random and sporadic, they knew which house but they couldn't see us against the light.
I drew the bolt back and ejected the spent, smoking casing. Slid the slick bolt back into the chamber, stripping around out of the magazine on the way. Handle down, bolt locked. I lined up another shot in time to watch a man they left behind aim at the girl they'd found.
My jaw clenched. CLICK. I slapped the trigger and a round barked out, missing low and skipping across the concrete roadway.
Two.
Old Man snarled and I heard his rifle bark six more rounds, watched the girl's killer drop bleeding to the pavement. He was burning through ammo faster than I would have expected, but I couldn't blame him. Ammo unfired is worthless if you're dead.
Bolt back, bolt forward, lock, aim. I fired wildly into the group, they were inside of seventy yards now, not much time left before this got way too up close and personal. Click. Back, forward. Click. Back. Forward. Click.
Three.
Four.
Five.
I heard wood splinter as the front door came off its hinges downstairs, heard Old Man turn to the staircase and shoulder his rifle again as another clip slid into the top. Heard him screaming, but the blood pumping in my ears wouldn't let me understand it if I tried.
I heard those AKs bark from the hallway, saw Old Man take a hit in the leg but keep on firing.
Bolt back, spent casing out, bolt forward, lock. I held the rifle around the corner, pulled the trigger. I was rewarded with a scream. a Hit?
Six.
Bolt back, bolt forward, lock. Old Man pulled himself out of the line of fire. His leg was bleeding, but not as bad as it could have been. I saw the muzzle of a rifle cross the threshold of the doorway, saw a man start to follow it.
Click. At this range I didn't even bother to aim, fired from the hip as he crossed through and caught him in the chest. He fell down on top of his rifle and another came in. Bolt back, bolt forward, lock.
Seven.
Old Man grabbed me to pull me back as the new soldier raised his rifle to fire, I jerked the trigger and my rifle kicked, the rifle in the soldier's hands fell apart.
Eight.
Bolt back, bolt forward. Lock. Old Man tried to shoot, his gun was jammed. The soldier ran for me, tried to close the distance before I could fire.
Panic. Click. The shot went through the ceiling, my aim lousy from trying to aim while fleeing backwards.
Nine.
He was on top of me in an instant, out weighed me by at least a hundred pounds. Knocked the rifle from my hands as I tried to swing; His hands were dry and callused against my neck as she squeezed. Tears and sweat stung my eyes as I tried to reach my bayonet, anything to fight him off...
My vision started to tunnel, Old Man was yelling something, my arms felt heavy.
Click. The hands around my neck went slack with the sound of an explosion that brought me back. The soldier rolled off of me, his eyes wide and glassy.
The sound of gunfire had stopped, I looked at Old Man. M1 laying on the ground, Lee Enfield in his hands, empty chamber, bolt back.
Ten.
Families lived in these houses. Mothers, fathers, sons, and daughters. I remembered seeing children playing on the street. I remembered when I played on that street, so many years ago. So man--
"Kid, you alright there? You're kinda zoning out on me."
I shook myself out of my reverie, locked eyes with Old Man and nodded, "Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking about before." Before, back when food was a few dollars and a short walk away, when you didn't have to scavenge for clothes or fight for food.
I had my memories, they would have to be enough; that world wasn't coming back, not for me, not for Old Man, that time passed us by, when we missed our chance to get out, before Oppenheimer's Light redrew the map.
My hands were sweaty on the slick oiled stock of the old war horse; Number One, Mark Three. Short Magazine Lee Enfield. Bolt-action, ten rounds; a gift from my grandfather, when he was still on this earth. For all he'd fought for, I was thankful he hadn't had to live to see it turn into this, that would have killed him before the cancer did.
Not that he'd have stuck around much longer after gran passed, he stuck around for us just long enough to make sure we'd be okay, and then he went to go see her again. It's what he believed, so I had to have that faith, for his sake.
"Before, huh? Guess we've all got that, keep it, kid. It'll keep you going when you don't wanna anymore... maybe you'll live to see times like that again, you know?" Old Man explained. His eyes drifted to the rifle I clutched in my death grip.
"We'll find you something better, if we can. If we get through this."
I shook my head, "No, It's... It's fine. Like you said, keep your memories close, right?"
He gave me an appraising look and shrugged, "Yeah, I guess I did. Get ready, Kid. They'll hit this house soon."
A raiding party. Some government troops, which government, I couldn't say. They weren't from here, but they looked just enough like me to make Old Man nervous, at first. The first time I shot one, he stopped worrying, or stopped showing it. In this world, you couldn't afford to forsake an ally, even if you did have some apprehension.
I cycled the first round out of the magazine and into the chamber, pulled my hair back and tied it up with an old shoe lace. A hot shower, some shampoo, conditioner, I'd almost kill just for that. I couldn't remember the last time and yet...
I saw movement through the window, Old Man locked eyes with me. It was time. The telltale report of a Kalashnikov rifle hammering out its deadly cadence echoed down the road. We weren't the only ones hiding in this neighborhood, that would slow them down.
But it was an opportunity, and a distraction. This was a place for families, not for violence, not for death, but... But they changed this. Who was at fault doesn't matter anymore, nobody deserved to be dealt this hand and yet...
Old Man looked down at his M1, and back out that dusty cracked window, down the road, to those men in uniform, or what passed for one, dragging a girl out of a house. A few years younger than me, if I'd wanted to guess.
Not here, not in this place. This was a place for families, these were homes.
I kneeled behind the window and shouldered my rifle, hands slick on polished wood, but my aim was steady... steady enough. I looked to Old Man, he nodded.
Front post between the notches, target in the center. Range... two hundred yards, that was two notches up the rear sight, slight hold under. I closed my eyes, took a breath....
And let it out. squeeze. The rifle barked and bucked into my shoulder, the window exploded, and a yell from down the street drew attention to our attic. Still, a hit.
One.
Old Man shouldered his rifle and snapped six rounds off into the now running and firing group of men. Shots tore through the wall, but at this range it was random and sporadic, they knew which house but they couldn't see us against the light.
I drew the bolt back and ejected the spent, smoking casing. Slid the slick bolt back into the chamber, stripping around out of the magazine on the way. Handle down, bolt locked. I lined up another shot in time to watch a man they left behind aim at the girl they'd found.
My jaw clenched. CLICK. I slapped the trigger and a round barked out, missing low and skipping across the concrete roadway.
Two.
Old Man snarled and I heard his rifle bark six more rounds, watched the girl's killer drop bleeding to the pavement. He was burning through ammo faster than I would have expected, but I couldn't blame him. Ammo unfired is worthless if you're dead.
Bolt back, bolt forward, lock, aim. I fired wildly into the group, they were inside of seventy yards now, not much time left before this got way too up close and personal. Click. Back, forward. Click. Back. Forward. Click.
Three.
Four.
Five.
I heard wood splinter as the front door came off its hinges downstairs, heard Old Man turn to the staircase and shoulder his rifle again as another clip slid into the top. Heard him screaming, but the blood pumping in my ears wouldn't let me understand it if I tried.
I heard those AKs bark from the hallway, saw Old Man take a hit in the leg but keep on firing.
Bolt back, spent casing out, bolt forward, lock. I held the rifle around the corner, pulled the trigger. I was rewarded with a scream. a Hit?
Six.
Bolt back, bolt forward, lock. Old Man pulled himself out of the line of fire. His leg was bleeding, but not as bad as it could have been. I saw the muzzle of a rifle cross the threshold of the doorway, saw a man start to follow it.
Click. At this range I didn't even bother to aim, fired from the hip as he crossed through and caught him in the chest. He fell down on top of his rifle and another came in. Bolt back, bolt forward, lock.
Seven.
Old Man grabbed me to pull me back as the new soldier raised his rifle to fire, I jerked the trigger and my rifle kicked, the rifle in the soldier's hands fell apart.
Eight.
Bolt back, bolt forward. Lock. Old Man tried to shoot, his gun was jammed. The soldier ran for me, tried to close the distance before I could fire.
Panic. Click. The shot went through the ceiling, my aim lousy from trying to aim while fleeing backwards.
Nine.
He was on top of me in an instant, out weighed me by at least a hundred pounds. Knocked the rifle from my hands as I tried to swing; His hands were dry and callused against my neck as she squeezed. Tears and sweat stung my eyes as I tried to reach my bayonet, anything to fight him off...
My vision started to tunnel, Old Man was yelling something, my arms felt heavy.
Click. The hands around my neck went slack with the sound of an explosion that brought me back. The soldier rolled off of me, his eyes wide and glassy.
The sound of gunfire had stopped, I looked at Old Man. M1 laying on the ground, Lee Enfield in his hands, empty chamber, bolt back.
Ten.