Capítulo 25: The run of a life time for a generator
Inside the gloomy expanse of the maintenance room, the industrial generator loomed like a monolith of pre-calamity power. James grappled with its weight, the dense heft of it a testament to its potential to breathe electronic life into his fortress. Yet, the dead lift of cold metal quickly proved itself to be an endeavor too Herculean for one man to manage alone.
Resolute, James stepped back into the broader halls of the mall in search of a more practical means of transport. His eyes roved the landscape of the entrance, where shopping carts lay scattered like the discarded toys of a bygone era. They were metallic steeds waiting to be harnessed, and he chose one that seemed sturdy, its wheels intact, its basket unmarred by the chaos that had swept through here.
He maneuvered it back to the maintenance room, a chariot for his modern-day quest. Positioning the cart just so, James bent once more to the task, muscles straining and breaths coming in short, determined gasps. It took several attempts—grunts of effort punctuating each one—but finally, with a monumental heave, the generator settled into the basket with a metallic clatter that seemed too loud in the stillness.
With the generator now mobile, James began the precarious journey through the store. Each push of the cart was measured, mindful of the noise that might carry beyond the mall's walls. Yet despite his care, the right wheel issued a persistent squeak, a small sound that cut through the silence, a beacon for any creature attuned to the cadence of human activity.
The store itself was a landscape of disarray, shelves upturned and goods scattered across the floor as if a tempest had torn through, leaving only destruction in its wake. But James's focus was singular: he navigated the debris with a dancer's grace, his movements purposeful and precise.
As he wove through the chaos, his eyes caught sight of items that might prove useful. A flashlight here, its beam a reliable guide; a multi-tool there, its functions numerous and necessary. Each treasure he tucked into the remaining crevices of the cart's basket, a scavenger securing his finds against the needs of an uncertain future.
The exit drew nearer, the light of the outside world a dim outline against the dark interior of the mall. James's grip on the cart tightened, the squeak of the wheel now a drumbeat to which his heart synchronized. The threshold of the mall loomed, and with a final push, he and his cargo crossed the boundary, emerging back into the light.
There, with the generator in tow, James paused, taking a moment to scan the horizon for any sign of the creatures that roamed by daylight. The coast was clear for now, the squeak of the wheel seemingly unnoticed by anything other than the silence itself.
With the mall at his back, James made his way through the desolate streets, the cart In toe. James realized as he made his way through the streets that he couldn't take his normal route to his base so he had to move the army of creatures that surrounded the neighboring buildings and the bottom of his base. So as he got close to his building he stashed his basket in a building close to the hoards.
The desolate streets greeted James with their haunting familiarity as he navigated the maze of destruction, the generator-laden cart rattling behind him. Each turn and alleyway held the memory of his past journeys, but today's path required a deviation. The creatures, those twisted remnants of what once was human, had congregated like a dark army around the familiar buildings that led to his fortress, creating an obstacle that could not be ignored.
James's grip on the cart tightened as he drew closer to his destination, the rattling wheels an unsettling accompaniment to the pulsing fear that quickened his heart. He couldn't risk leading such a horde to his doorstep. With a glance that took in the sea of distorted figures, he made a swift decision. He veered off, ducking into a building that stood decrepit but unoccupied, a hollow shell that would serve as a temporary cache for his precious cargo.
The generator and the cart, concealed in the shadowy interior of the abandoned structure, would be safe for now. James ensured they were well hidden from the casual glances of any creature that might wander by. He then retraced his steps, moving with a stealth that contrasted with the urgency coursing through his veins.
Four blocks he ran, his route circuitous to avoid the attention of the creatures, until he found himself standing at a vantage point—a location directly adjacent to the swarm that blocked his way. He crouched, his breaths measured, his rifle cold and heavy in his hands. This was the moment, the turning point that would either grant him passage or spell out a dire turn in his fortunes.
With a resolute breath, James shouldered his rifle, the familiar weight a comfort against the pounding of his heart. His aim was steady, a calm within the storm of adrenaline that threatened to overtake him. And then, with the resolve of a man with everything to lose, he fired. *BOOM, BOOM, BOOM*—the shots cut through the silence, echoing off the empty buildings like a clarion call of defiance.
At the sound, the creatures stirred, a single monstrous entity awakened. They turned, their movements sudden and frenzied, a mass of chaotic limbs and gnashing teeth. They surged toward the sound, toward James, their hunger an insatiable force.
James didn't wait to see the effect of his shots. As the creatures descended upon the location of the noise, he bolted, his legs pumping with a survivor's speed. The plan was desperate but simple: draw them away, circle back, retrieve the generator, and secure himself within the fortress once more.
James's heart hammered against his ribcage, each beat a drumroll that spurred him onward as he dashed from the creatures' immediate vicinity. The sharp reports of his rifle had fractured the haunting silence like a stone through glass, and now the cacophony of the creatures' pursuit filled the air. They were a mindless horde, drawn to the disturbance with a single-minded fervor that left no room for hesitation in James's plan.
He tore down the street, a route mapped with military precision in his mind's eye. To his left lay the remnants of a once-popular café, its outdoor chairs scattered and overturned, the cheerful umbrellas that once dotted the sidewalk now faded and tattered. He darted past it, the memory of weekend crowds sipping coffee and laughing under the sun a stark contrast to the current desolation.
Taking a hard right, he skirted around a derelict fountain, its dry basin filled with debris. The coins that once glinted at the bottom, wishes cast by hopeful hands, were now just another piece of the rubble. His boots crunched over broken glass, the shards a glittering carpet laid out on the path of his desperate marathon.
Ahead lay an alleyway, its narrow passage a gauntlet that he navigated with the agility of a man whose life depended on it—because it did. Graffiti-covered walls loomed on either side, the spray-painted tags and murals a chaotic testament to the city's final cries before silence took hold. He weaved between trash cans and the husks of old machinery left out for collection in a world that no longer had use for them.
Emerging from the alley, James faced an open plaza, the broad space daunting in its emptiness. He sprinted across, the sound of his footsteps echoing off the surrounding buildings, a staccato rhythm that punctuated his escape. To his right, the gutted shell of a library stood watch, its windows dark and brooding, the knowledge within its walls now a mausoleum of thought and theory.
He could not afford to look back, to see if the creatures had followed his ploy, for his focus was solely on the path ahead. Another sharp turn brought him to a boulevard lined with the corpses of cars abandoned in haste. Weaving through the metallic graveyard, he was a specter haunting the remnants of a world swept away by calamity.
Finally, he spotted his landmark, the art deco facade of an old theater, now a beacon guiding him to his destination. He rounded the corner, his lungs burning and his muscles screaming in protest. The building where he'd stashed the cart came into view, its nondescript front a welcome sight.
Slipping through the broken door, he found the cart and generator untouched, just as he'd left them—a small grace in a world where such things had become increasingly rare. His breaths came in ragged gasps as he allowed himself a moment to rest, to gather the strength needed for the final leg of his journey back to the fortress.
The creatures, for now, were a distant problem, their attention diverted. But James knew well the fleeting nature of safety in this new world. With a deep, steadying breath, he gripped the handle of the cart, ready to navigate the silent streets once more, each turn and each step a measure closer to the sanctuary he had carved out in a world turned upside down.
With the cart and its precious cargo in tow, James set off towards his base, his steps a mix of fatigue and urgency. The surrounding cityscape was a blur, the details indistinct as he focused on the path ahead. The once familiar streets were now just the route to his refuge, the way home.
As the fortress came into sight, his pace quickened with anticipation. "It worked," he whispered to himself, a wry smile breaking through as he saw the space around his building free of the creatures. His plan, a desperate gamble, had paid off. The immediate area was clear, the creatures drawn away by the sound of his rifle, their simple minds unable to resist the lure of the noise.
But as he approached the entrance, his relief turned to consternation. The door, usually welcoming with its solid familiarity, was now barred to him—a chain wrapped tight around the handles, a padlock glinting mockingly in the dim light. His sanctuary, his fortress, had been sealed off from the inside.
A surge of adrenaline cut through the weariness that clung to his bones. Who could have done this? Was it another survivor taking refuge, or something more sinister? The fortress was supposed to be impenetrable, a haven safe from both the creatures and the desperation of other survivors. Yet, here stood James, locked out of his own bastion.
He set the cart aside, hiding it once again in the shadow of the building, and approached the door with caution. His hands explored the cold metal of the chain, seeking a weakness, a link that might give under the pressure of his tools. But it was resolute, a barrier as formidable as the walls it secured.
PENSAMENTOS DOS CRIADORES 
Signed_JMB
Signed_JMB Creation is hard, cheer me up!
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