บท 1: The Place I Call Home.
I gazed upon the ash-filled sky, the cruddy wind blowing past my slender black cloak, forming small dust devils as the moving air rushed away from the ever-growing conflict. The fetor of dry air swirled around my nostrils as I shifted to lie down the cold ground.
The plains around me might've been once a home to a grazing, majestic herd, but now it's just covered with dry dust, littered bones, and the pain of melancholy from past wars waged by both the two races.
"Damn them." I said. Throwing a gray, piece of rubble towards the far horizon.
I cursed the arrival of the unknown, the alien, the Insecar.
They had taken every bit of thing I held dear most in my life. My friends, my family... even my fondest memories of our time together, leaving me with excruciating nightmares of my loved ones souls wandering in torment, tearing me apart.
I decided to leave the area soon before it got dark... even still then you almost can't differentiate day from night in this deserted wasteland.
I rose to stood on the parched ground, regaining my strength to move on, and went on my way about to the only place I could call home.
...
The echoes of my footsteps clanking against the hard, asphalt road resonated all throughout the still streets and buildings of New York, a silence I'm too familiar with.
It was a normal day in America... motionless streets, still skyscrapers, and the broken, flickering lights of old dollar stores -oh, and did I mention that run down doll playhouse besides the crossroad? I'm sure you'll love those.
I continued pacing myself cautiously across the streets, readying my hunter knife in any case necessary in which I might need it...
I took a step back as I heard rowdy cowboy music turned up to the max along the right corner of the streets two blocks away, an alleyway between a McDonald's restaurant and a shoe shop. If those guys wanted to stay hidden from the Insecars, then they need to go to an earphones department store.
Raiders.
Those pesky little worms always mugged surviving loners in the streets, invading bunk bases set up by other surviving groups, and even worse, they have the 1st album from Elvis Presley's first live concert! This band of thieves are the worst bunch.
I glimpsed a drunk guy wearing the usual "punk" style clothes, with chains around his waist exiting the alleyway, holding a bottle of beer and throwing mom jokes at the lamppost, and certainly did the lamppost got offended.
I didn't like my chances with raiders. Sure they were as drunk as the god of wine could get, but I can't fight off a dozen, buff buffalos readied with their guns and knives, that would be pure suicide.
I took a detour to avoid the gang and left them with their shenanigans while I whistled my way towards home, a little way northwest from the outskirts of New York.
...
Out in the middle of nowhere was nothing. I edged over the flat piece of land and found a precipice beneath my foothold, hundreds of feet below, the tidal waves sent from the ocean crashed against the slope's base, the smell of saltwater fueling my senses back to life.
I crouched low, pitting my ears against the bitter cold ground, knocking the back of my fingers against it, seemingly trying to find a hidden switch to trigger something of the kind.
"There it is." Once a wooden thud met my ears grasp, I knew this was it.
I banged the wooden trapdoor covered in dust, springing it open and unsticking itself against the ground. A lever appeared underneath it; a ticket to my entrance to the basecamp.
Once I pulled the trigger, the ground shook. Gears and wires spewed to life, the engine making a loud roar as it assembled the metal stairs leading down an antre upon the precipice.
As I paced down the rusty stairs, entering the crevice, my eyes beheld a massive limestone cavern, flashing it's grandeur with the large stalactites hanging from the wide ceiling dotted with gas lanterns.
Houses upon houses made of wood and scrap metal occupied each portion of the walls, glowing radiant orange lights and showering the five tents below with a flicker. But of course, they weren't really houses. They were bunkers. Shaped like an unpolished oval.
The scent of burning incense filled the underground paradise, people were seen rushing about with their own business, waving a quick welcome back gesture at me.
As all these majestic sights were a feast for the eyes, all that was separating me from enjoying my well earned rest was a ten foot wooden barricade patrolled by a watchtower. The entrance being underneath it.
As I neared the tower to enter the wooden gates, I could make out a familiar face standing guard on the top, sitting on a rocking chair. It was Jason. A twenty year old mercenary just two years older than me. He was wearing a worn-out leather jacket, with a black t-shirt, complimenting his style. From the waist down he wore the camp shorts; a ragged piece of plain brown clothing.
"Yo Jason!" I said. "Care to open the gates for your sweet comrade?"
Jason looked down from the tower, had a quick glance at me, and decided something fun. As always.
"Only if you offer your babe Zero!" He said, laughing his lungs out until he choked on his coffee.
He shouldn't even be having fun since we're in the middle of a one-sided alien apocalypse, but who can blame him for trying to brighten up the sour mood? And yes, my name's Zero. Don't ask.
"Or what about if you do the chicken dance?!" Again, he laughed his heart out. This guy's way too cheesy to even talk about.
"Give me the keys dude!" Another familiar voice crackled in the tower, ripping the gate keys from Jason's hand. It was Amir. My old friend.
"Hey dude! How you doin'!" He said. Waving his hands to greet me. Apparently he has this kind of surfer accent he inherited from his family of surfers.
He slid the key into the keyhole, making a loud clank as he bared it open.
In front of me was an eighteen year old, blonde teen wearing the usual attire, composed of a rough brown t-shirt and shorts hidden under a black cloak. It was the only resources we could get our hands on.
He greeted me with the usual jokes and reported all that had happened while I was away.
"So bro, what did my relatives on Miami say?" He said, a hopeful look sprouted from his face.
"They..." They died.
His parents reached out to us through a radio wave transmission days ago... begging for help to drive out a hive of Insecars they were holding off.
We --I was too late. After I arrived at their bunk fort inside a rundown diner in central Miami, what I saw shook the sanity out of me.
The bodies of his dead relatives were there, lying on the damp ground... but that wasn't the worst of it.
The way they were killed by the Insecars, it was enough to hurl my lunch out onto the bloodstained floor.
It was horrible. I couldn't bring myself to say that to him. That his relatives died a disturbing death. It would tear him apart like meatballs being processed in a meat factory.
"They uhh, appeared to be fine..."
I lied.
I could feel the cold stare of Amir piercing a hole straight right through me, like he was trying to pull out the deepest and worst secrets I'd hidden inside my head, and apparently one of it was the bloodcurdling death of his family. His face hardened, and a slight grimace unfolded on his handsome face, ruining it.
"I... I hope they're happy." Amir said, clenching his fists hard.
"Amir I..." I hesitated. He needs time, I told myself. He needs space to figure things out, and only then will I be there WHEN he needs the support.
"Thanks bro." He said. "For being honest."
Then he stormed away from the tower and went inside in one of the makeshift tents.
"Ouch." I said.
"Oh don't be disheartened mate!" Jason interrupted. "He just needs time. It's tough losing the ones you love. More so when they're the only ones you have left." All the while pointing his index finger to his scar on the left side of his cheek. And I knew what he meant by that.
"Danger! Southbound! A band of raiders sighted!" A patrol screeched outside the cave, rushing in and reporting to both Jason and I.
Raiders. It couldn't be. I made sure nobody was following my traces. If I had to be seen by one of them, it would have been...
Then it came to me. The drunkard DID see me, being out in the open, while he was flirting around with the lamppost. But the guy appeared to have ignored me, so I assumed he was just too drunk to notice anything.
"Holy mother of Jason." I said.
"Oi!" Jason sounded offended, but reading the situation, he cracked his fingers as he readied his AK-47 rifle, with a machete hanging by his waist, ready to fight a full out war.
I took out my Desert Eagle and my trusty hunter's knife, reloading my handgun with a quick three second lap.
The other survivors rushed in to the bunkers, and for a moment you'd probably think they were gonna stay there hiding and wimpering inside the safety of shelter, but the second a nine year old girl brings out an MP14 rifle, you'd better get ready.
"Zero here, ready for combat." And just like that, we braced ourselves for the small scale battle we were about to face, between the races of Elvis Presley's fans and a bunch of nobodies with a cool fort.
ความคิดของผู้สร้าง 
Nightkrawler
Nightkrawler Heya mate!
Damn it's cold here! Couldn't even press the buttons without any finger of mine acting up with Alzheimer's.
So, enjoying the story so far? If yes, I'd be oh-so happy if you kindly drop a power stone! If not, why not drop an honest review on which parts I need to improve on? I'd be blimy if I didn't improve my writing!
That's all for now and see ya next time!
สถานะพลังงานรายสัปดาห์
-- การจัดอันดับด้วยพลัง 
-- หินพลัง