Generic Post-Apocalyptic Story

[SenisterDenister]

I've been bored, so I've been writing on this in my spare time. Read it or don't, I don't care at this point. I doubt there's anyone on the forum left to read it now.


It was the morning of the fifth of October; the leaves wilted and fell with the gentle autumn breeze as I sprinted through the dry cold, my breath heavy. An ambient sporadic rattling of gunfire resounded across the destroyed woodland as I dove behind a ruined tree stump, it was riddled full of bullets and it had already been exposed to a rancid termite infestation. I doubt it could withstand any more punishment. I hefted my rifle and glanced to my left, trying to see any movement. I couldn’t see anything. I was all alone.

I heard yelling up in front of me and swore; I was too close to the attackers. I had assumed that at the rate I had moved up with that of the attacker's rate of advance; they should be on me in about two minutes. I thumbed the magazine release of my LR-300 to see how much of the magazine I had spent from the gunfights earlier. I counted ten rounds. I flicked the rate of fire to semi-automatic. I had to make every shot count.

I gently lifted the muzzle of my rifle up over the stump and took up aim through the iron sights. I began to slow down my breathing. The yelling was louder. I closed my left eye and focused my attention through the iron sights, they’re so near I can hear their footsteps crunch through the leaves. A light breeze meandered in front of my vision, picking up leaves and swirling them about tranquilly. There was a flash of light; sunlight glinted off of the Survivalists’ well maintained weaponry. I could see them. I exhaled slowly, my torrid breath vapor in the breeze.

There were three of them. One was tall and thick, I’d guess about six foot four and two hundred and fifty pounds, and the other two were of an average stature. The big one was carrying a scoped single shot rifle, I thought it didn’t suit his size, but the other two had pristine M-16A3’s. They must have been in the National Guard before the bombs dropped. They were all in old US Army digital camouflaged uniforms, helmets and all. All they were missing was the kevlar. I took the big one up in my sights. There was a clearing from the trees about a dozen yards in front of them, if I can catch them there I’d have them finished lickity-split.

They stopped and talked for a few minutes, about what I don’t know. Honestly I didn’t care. They had food, weapons, and ammunition; and I needed all of that badly. They continued their casual advance towards the clearing. The wait was killing me. Finally the big one walked out into the open area. I fired once in his chest and he dropped. The other two dove to the ground and began a hasty retreat to the direction they had come from. One stuck his head up to try and find me. The second shot smashed through the side of his head, right under his left earlobe, and exited through his corresponding cheek. It wasn’t a kill shot, and I swore. The third had crawled over to his buddy and was trying to stop the bleeding. That was what killed him. It had him so preoccupied that he got up and knelt over his friend. The third shot ripped into his spine. He flopped over his buddy like a wet napkin.

I sat behind the stump, staring intently through the iron sights at the scene I had created. The one I hadn’t killed laid underneath his deceased comrade gurgling in pain, rasping words of help to no one. I tried to tune it out, it stopped after about five minutes. That was the all clear. I slung my over my shoulder and trotted over to the corpses. I stacked the rifles in a ditch next to the stump and covered them in dirt and leaves, marking it with a dull and rusted nail so I could come back for them later. I scrounged through their backpacks and took what I could. Spare magazines, they would fit in my LR, packs of food, gloves, socks, anything I could find a use for; and cigarettes. I could get a pretty penny for those if I ever got the chance to trade for them.

I took a spade out of the side of my backpack and began to dig a grave for them. The Survivalists don’t need to know about what happened to them, and any passerby would look around and might stumble across my stash of rifles. There were more Survivalists around the area, but I figured my chances would be better if I disposed of the evidence. Whether they took the town of Foxfoot or now, if they would come across the dead bodies they’d track me until they’d catch me.

I labored on the hole for about a half an hour and figured it was deep enough. I grabbed the tall one by the feet and pulled him in, and followed suit with the other two. As I was covering them up my shovel kicked up an old photograph from underneath the dirt. It was a picture of the tall man with his wife and kids pre-war. Everything he had back then isn’t around any more, so no one would miss him. It’s better off that way, especially since he’s a damn Survivalist.

The thing is, Survivalists are a rotten bunch. About fifteen years back, when things started to get tense with China, people began to stockpile supplies in their houses. I never objected to them, but then they began to get organized under the banner of Randall Snyder. For some reason white people flocked to him, I guess he really was charismatic, but I was never suckered in to his speeches. Stress can make sensible people do stupid things after all. It turns out he was on a path to create a new white supremacist group, and their first task was to get ready for when the shit hit the fan. And so they did. Snyder held rallies in D.C. with hundreds of thousands from across the nation flocking there to hear him. And then the bombs dropped.

December the twenty first, twenty twelve. The Mayans were right, only that it wasn’t some supernatural or astronomical disaster like judgment day or an asteroid. It was us. God damn us if it wasn’t. Diplomacy finally fell through the roof with China after they had invaded Alaska for the pipelines, and then the bombs subsequently dropped. This was exactly what Randall Snyder had wanted. He and his followers tucked themselves away in their bomb-shelters as the world was incinerated around them. Those who didn’t have their own shelters were either caught in the giant radiation plumes or had managed to get to a public shelter before everything really went sour. I was the latter. For half of a year the radiation clouds covered the United States, hell, they covered the whole planet. We stayed in the shelter for over a year, until the radiation clouds had dissipated and the overall radiation count had become tolerable.

The shelter I took refuge in was near Richmond, Virginia. I, with about a hundred other survivors, migrated north to see what had happened to the Capital. I wish I hadn’t. Already the Nuclear Winter had begun to set in. It had snowed the entire way up there; our supplies had run out fast. We weren’t prepared for two feet of snow in August. We retreated south, I assume we were heading towards Florida, but we ended up in what was Alabama, and I’ve been there ever since. I’ve made a trade circuit between the five towns of Foxfoot, New Montgomery, New Birmingham, Choctaw, and Muskogee. I had made a pretty decent living; I live in New Birmingham, the largest trading hub, with my family. We have a dog.

Seven years ago, once The Winter had begun to subside, the Survivalists under that bastard Snyder started to come out of the woodwork. They apparently have high powered radios, because they’re able to get orders relayed from Snyder himself while he’s tucked away in his Fourth Reich, which takes up about half of the southern United States. I don’t know how the rest of the country is doing, but I know he has a large contingent of his army focused right on us in the South.

Muskogee, which was the northern most of the towns, was overrun by them about three years ago. The survivors in the area, which not only includes the remaining four towns but nearly every other settlement around, started a coalition to combat the invaders. They’ve called it the Longleaf Confederacy. The front lines have pretty much stabilized. The only reason the Longleafs have been able to hold out is that they outnumber the survivalists by at least ten to one.

Last week the Survivalists had managed to break through in the west and had swept down to Foxfoot. Fortunately the townspeople rallied fast enough and have managed to hold them off so far, but it doesn’t look too good. All the runners they’ve sent out have been killed or captured, so I don’t think the Longleafs know what has fully happened yet. So, out of self-preservation and in an attempt to get the town reinforced, I snuck out of Foxfoot last night. I’ve managed to avoid Survivalist patrols until now, so I don’t know how much farther I’ll make it until I get spotted.

Making sure everything was squared away; I stuffed my spade back into my pack and snatched up my rifle as I began to creep through the brush. Something electronic crackled behind me. I turned around and stared from the direction from whence I had come and laid low, expecting something to happen.

I heard the noise again, and listening closely I could hear a voice. Shit, did I bury the bodies when they still had their radios on? That was a rookie mistake, how did I let that happen?

The bushes to my right rustled and a few men stepped out towards the clearing, one was carrying a radio. He spoke into it again and when he was done, the radio in the ground crackled back. He tried again, and the crackle sounded off underneath his feet. He looked down and ordered some of his men to begin digging around where he was standing as he stepped off and looked around, trying to see something beyond the tree line; most likely for who had done it.

He saw my tracks and began to walk towards me, but I was still concealed in the brush. My cloak was colored for this time of the year, and I made it porous so I could fit leaves and things like that in there for instances just like this. It worked a whole lot like a primitive version of the old military ghillie suits.

As he edged around the tree line, I began to work my rifle in front of me. There was about five of them, I would have to pick my shots carefully. I only had seven to spare. He came closer, and my finger wrapped around the trigger, I tried to adjust my breathing. Closer still he came. My adrenaline began to race through my body; my heart was pumping in my ears. Any second now I would be discovered. This would be a bloodbath. I know it.

The man puffed on a cigarette and stopped about three feet in front of me; I was surprised he couldn’t see me. My rifle was dulled down from age and my wanting to remain concealed for instances like this over the years. He looked around through the woods, but not down. One of his subordinates called out to him when they discovered the bodies, and he turned around and headed back to investigate. I got lucky there.

Slowly, I crawled backwards through the brush trying to keep my noise at a minimum. The rustle of the naked trees covered my departure. About twenty feet out, I felt I was covered enough by the trees and knelt up and crept away. I could hear the men talking amongst themselves, but was more concerned with not being seen.

I found a ditch about another forty yards out from the clearing and crawled along that to relative safety. I could relax, but I didn’t. I kept following the ditch for another fifty feet until I came across an old, paved road. It was cracked and poorly neglected, but without a government to run internal improvements, all it could do is fade away.

[Smiley]

Reminds me of http://www.postnukecomic.com/index.php storywise.

I like how the world still seems to be alive, that there are forests, towns, supplies... Like there's still a fighting chance to be had, and that the world might start anew.

You should just check it over for past-tense/present errors and some missing words here and there.


I'm not sure I understand the beginning.. There's random gunfire, and he ducks for cover, but the men who are approaching him act casual and talk for minutes?


More please.

[Doomed2145]

This is an amazing story. I would love to read more that takes place in this world.

"As he edged around the tree line, I began to work my rifle in front of me. There was about five of them, I would have to pick my shots carefully. I only had seven to spare. He came closer, and my finger wrapped around the trigger, I tried to adjust my breathing. Closer still he came. My adrenaline began to race through my body; my heart was pumping in my ears. Any second now I would be discovered. This would be a bloodbath. I know it.

The man puffed on a cigarette and stopped about three feet in front of me; I was surprised he couldn’t see me. My rifle was dulled down from age and my wanting to remain concealed for instances like this over the years. He looked around through the woods, but not down. One of his subordinates called out to him when they discovered the bodies, and he turned around and headed back to investigate. I got lucky there. "

Awesome!!!

[Machiavelli]

Excellent story! You took a great concept and managed to make it work in the 1st person (not as easy as most would think). All in all it was great although I would consider capitalizing "Survivalists" so that people know you're talking about a group and not a mindset. I'm a survivalist and I am by no means racist nor are any of the "survivalists" I run around with. Other than that though, I thought it was a great story and I hope you write more of them!

[SenisterDenister]

Writing in first person comes more naturally to me than in the third person, and I'm glad you guys like it. The Postman is a large influence when it comes to my post-apocalyptic writing, as that (which the exception of the super human augmetic soldiers) seemed the most realistic from most other stories I've read (I still haven't read The Road yet, but I plan too). I'll take the advice given and improve the next part, which I haven't even begun to work on. Tell you the truth, I'm already writing another story on another forum, and between my classes I barely have enough time anyway. I'll try to write a next part within the next month or so.

Thanks for reading it.

Edit:

Basically, in the beginning of the story, the main battle had subsided and now was beginning to pocket in specific areas, which is why the weapons fire seemed sporadic and distant; which is also why the Survivalists were caught off guard by the protagonist because they weren't expecting anyone anywhere close to them. I guess I should include that somewhere at the story's beginning when I begin the next part.