Under A Crimson Sky

This is a project I started last week. I’m not sure how far I’m going to go with it.

Under A Crimson Sky

1

Jameson’s world was ruled by nothing but war. He was born in the first year of World War Three, eighteen years ago. His father was killed in battle two years after the war began, while his brother was killed by a biological weapon in battle three years ago.

Robert was Jameson’s big brother. Growing up they were all they had. After their father was killed, their mother dove into a state of depression, reducing her to nothing but a sack of bones. She suffered until she shot herself six months after Robert’s death.

Jameson had Robert’s dog tags. He’d worn them every day since he got them as a reminder to try to be the man that his brother was.

Jameson rose out of the manhole onto the destroyed street. Burned out cars were scattered about the street that ran between deserted buildings. Most of the buildings had been demolished or burned. Some of them had been reduced to nothing but a pile of rubble, while others still stood intact with windows smashed out and sidewall poking through into the rooms inside. Some of the floors had given way, making the ceiling several stories higher than it should be.

The few survivors of the city made refuge in what was left of the buildings, using whatever they could. Newspapers were burned for heat as people slept under their jackets and papers for sheets.

This area had been bombed several years ago, just before Robert joined the army. This city still stood in better shape than a lot of the country.

It was 3:00 in the afternoon, but it was as dark as night. Day and night were never any different from each other. The world was enveloped in a cloud of smoke and ash so thick it blocked out most sunlight. The light from fires and various hazard lights reflected off of the endless cloud of smoke, painting everything a shade of crimson red.

This cloud was high enough over the earth that people could still breathe without having to worry about the dangers of smoke inhilation.

Jameson walked down the street carrying an automatic rifle in one hand and a black duffel bag in the other. If any of the survivors knew the bag had enough food to last himself and his group of friends a week and a half, they’d kill him for it.

Jameson picked up his pace as he saw people staring down at him through broken windows. A young boy looked at him through a chain link fence. He stopped and flashed the boy a smile. The boy waved back as his father appeared out of a nearby building.

“Don’t you ever run off again,” he shouted as he thre the boy over his shoulder and carried him back into the building he came out of.

Jameson continued walking until he reached the edge of town. A tattered flag flapped in the wind atop a bent flagpole. The decrepit sign marked the city line, offering a friendly welcome to an unfriendly city.

An old firehouse stood off the cracked asphalt. He approached the front door and pounded on the sheet metal. The locks disengaged as the door screeched open on its old, rusty hinges.

His childhood friend, Maverick, waited just inside.

“Did you get anything good?” he asked as a gloved hand brushed his blonde bangs away from his face.

“Depends on your definition of good.”

Jameson swung his rifle on his back as he carried the duffel bag inside. The den was lit by a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling and an oil drum burning in the corner. A couch sat in the middle of the room facing a small TV perched upon an old wooden table.

Two women sat on the couch. Anna was Maverick’s girlfriend. She wore a gray headband, holding her red hair tight against her head. She flipped her torn scarf behind her as she stood.

After acknowledging Jameson’s presence, the other woman- Amanda- stood. She had been his neighbor growing up, and was as close to him as a sister. Her blonde hair draped over her shoulders, contrasting to the army-green coat on top of a white tank top.

Two more men sat in the back of the room at a radio console. John and Keith. They were both brothers who had found the group just after they took refuge in the firehouse two years ago. They stood and set their headsets on the table.

Jameson sat the bag on the floor and unzipped it. Everyone gathered around it like children around a Christmas tree on Christmas morning.

“You scored this time,” Maverick said excitedly, lifting a can of noodles out of the bag.

“We should be set for at least a week,” Jameson said. “Although the subway is running low, so we need to start looking for new places.

They had found an abandoned subway train under the city on the old tracks. Someone had hidden out there at some point, although when they had discovered the subway the previous suitors remains were found slouched over a bench. His supply had been untouched, which was an invitation to Jameson and Maverick.

Keith leaned back and sighed. “I miss meat.”

John patted his stomach. “Yeah, I could definitely go for a huge fucking steak.”

Maverick looked over the can of noodles. “It’s been years since I’ve had any. Bacon, burgers, turkey… Damn.”

Shortly before they took over the firehouse, the last creatures left the area. A shipment would still come by train, but Jameson and the group had made an agreement to get their own food and to leave whatever came in by the surface trains to those still in the city. They didn’t want to risk their food getting poisoned by their enemies, and the people in the city needed it more.

At 3:30 in the morning, Maverick found Jameson sitting on the roof of the firehouse with his rifle beside him.

A siren sang across the countryside through the city. They learned a few years ago the sirens didn’t mean anything anymore.

Jameson looked at his friend over his shoulder. “I thought everyone was asleep,” he said softly.

“They are.”

The two friends sat silent, side by side for a few minutes.

“When do you think this is going to end?” James said in a hushed tone.

“I wish I could give you an answer.”

“I wish there was something we could do, instead of just simply existing.”

“There’s nothing we can do. This war is bigger than just us.”

Jameson sat silent for a moment. He reached for his brothers tags.

“My brother was going to make a change.”

They both knew how naïve this statement was.

They sat silent.

~ by Traverse on January 28, 2008.