All's fair in War and Hell

The dream happened again, during the night in his fitful rest. Connor never slept that well but after all this happened it only got worse. He relived that same moment over and over like a recording that never stopped. He was there again, in the night, the day that his world turned to hell.

When the world stopped turning on that day the city had still remained normal on its solitary island. There was no disruption of order, no break down of society, but rather a calm reaction to something strange happening everywhere else. They had a good idea though of what was happened, the rumbles of explosions in the distances, massive plumes of smoke, and the cloud that stretched like a terrible menace from across the ocean. Some had of coursed panicked, it was natural for some to occur when your entire world was rocked, but the government and the police kept things in order while the firefighters made sure the debris that seemed to wash up on shore was safe. That was before the ash cloud in the distance seemed to stretch bigger and bigger. People grew worried and from the mainland they could see the glow of fires in the rest of the city but still the mayor and his staff told them nothing was wrong.

The moment he remembered was the breaking point. For the past few nights Connor had slept in that same bed at the fire station, in that same sweat drenched bed still wearing his suit, his armor. For the countless time that they the alarms went of and not knowing the seriousness of what was going on and the sheer exhaustion in him, Connor was slow to move. He was the last onto the engine, an occurrence that had never happened before and at any other time might have been more then just an occurrence to him. He felt as though he was moving in slow motion though he knew the engine was moving at a good fifty miles per hour. It was like a dream within a dream that night, as it had been the night before straight to the point of this night. His focus cleared the moment he heard the roar of a crowd. The engine veered towards the port but was forced to stop so abrupt some of the men had to let go of the truck. Connor got off in a daze, confused and somewhat intimidated by the crowd before him. It was the entire city screaming as one towards the docks. Around him he could see acts of looting but not of television or of useless commodities but of foods and water. He watched a camping store go from fully stocked in empty in a manner of seconds but before he could gawk any further he was shoved in the shoulder by his Captain. The burly man cut his way through the crowd with the other masked and uniformed men behind him, Connor being in the mix.

He didn't know how long it took them to get through the crowd with the pushing and shoving, a woman had even spit on Connor's faceplate and all Connor could think of was why. By the time they reached the docks and the police line guarding it the crowd had grown more violent. Tear gas created pockets of space but did nothing to disperse the crowd and batons did nothing against the tide of bodies. Gunshots were heard firing into the air causing Connor to flinch each time at the explosive sound. Standing next to his captain as he conversed with the Police Chief he caught a glimpse of what they were guarding. It looked to be a yacht that gleamed white against the glow of flares, streetlights, and fire. Suddenly the Captain screamed," WHAT?!" so loud into the chief's face that both the police man and Connor stepped back. "John you don't understand!" the chief shouted over the crowd," There's little to no food left, the sea is poison, and ash has been beginning to fall more frequently. Too frequently! The city is gone John! We're getting out while we still can. Get your firefighters together and get on the boat! We can't do anything else for these people and they can leave once we're gone. They'll be-" He didn't get farther as a heavy hand smashed into the side of his face. Several officers jumped into the mix to hold the Captain back as Connor and the rest of the Fire department shouted back. The Chief was still reeling over the blow but managed to regain his sense enough to take out his gun and point it at the Captain....

BANG!

Connor jumped back into the waking world to find himself back in the dusty old, burnt apartment. Still confused he tried to register what happened. Realization dawned on him as his eyes opened wider from behind the mask. He jumped up from the couch and grabbed the rifle. Clicking the safety off he went into the main room where the banging came from. The door was nearly of its hinges as dark figures screamed obscenity and threats at Connor as they hammered at the door. One of them had a sledgehammer and it wouldn't be long before they got through. He didn't think they'd be back so soon, not after the last time they came. He made sure one of them had lost an arm and another was nearly burnt alive, they shouldn't be back so soon. They usually ran when confronted, but something was wrong with these men. Connor felt scared, his arms trembled as the slamming on the door continued. Gripping the weapon he aimed it at the door. The words repeated in his mind, they shouldn't be back yet, they shouldn't even be alive, something wasn't right. The hammer smashed through part of the door and a masked face stuck his head in quickly before getting back to work.

BANG!

Red mass and flesh slops against the back wall from the blast and someone cries out and grips their should. There's a tumble allowing Connor the chance to click the bolt back to fire again. A loud rumble is heard as the white door caves in but Connor doesn't bother looking up, instead concentrating entirely with the gun. Bringing it up he stares into the face of one of the masked men and for the first time gets a good look at him. Around his neck was a gruesome array of severed fingers arranged as a necklace, his once expensive suit was matted with dark blood and grime. Through the hockey mask the sound of his ragged breathing was heard and spittle still fell from under it. He was taken by the Hunger, just like the rest of them. He didn't have time to brace himself for the kickback of the gun for that slow second had passed in a rush as the hockey mask rushed him. The gun goes off and hits him in the knee cap, unlike the gory mess before Connor could tell the bullet went through and though it brought him down it wouldn't last long. Meanwhile Connor was tripping backwards as the gun fell down, sending the old bullets cascading out. The Hockey mask regarded the bullets with no interest but rushed at Connor. A fist smashed into the former firefighter's mask causing him to fall and pinned down by the savage murderer. Grappling with him the pair tried to get the upper hand on the other by headbutting, punches, and kneeing in painful areas. The sheer mad strength though couldn't be overcome and Connor found fingers viciously groping and suffocating his throat. With one hand he tried to get the clamp off his windpipe while the other struggled by searching for a weapon. His hand gripped something sharp, a splinter from the door. Holding it like a stake he drove it upwards and closed his eyes. There was a crunch and then what sounded like slime as a suffocating sound was heard, gaining the courage to look up Connor wanted to puke. The splinter had done the job by cracking through the side of skull and into his brain, sending a large amount of blood to the ash filled air. The suffocating sound was the man's last death throws and feeling the grip loosen around his neck, Connor pushed the dead man off.

Not bother to stand he got to a crouch and backed away from the corpse, winded and coughing. His eyes darted to the door and to his mild surprise he saw the rest of them gone (were there more? He could not tell) but even as curious the body of the man he had shot was gone. More food for the carrions, Connor thought.

Standing up he quickly got his axe, the rifle and bullets, and the bag of supplies. Stepping out he checked each of the corners before heading down the hall. The stairs would be too dangerous but he doubted the fire escape would be any safer, still it had to better then what waited for him down there. Reaching the end he unlocked the window to the fire escape and with a groan the stained window moved up with quite a bit of resistance. Ducking under he stepped out to the ash covered world and for a moment he almost fell back from the powerful wind that hit him. Gaining his footing he heard something from inside. The screams and shouts of obscenity that served as their war cry. No doubt they'll tear the place apart but why do they keep coming? There was nothing left to take, only the corpse but nothing more. Climbing down he couldn't help but think back to the missing body. He could of gotten up and left, those maniacs could of turned out to be desperate people who ran away to help their friend. If this was anywhere else he might of believed it. The dogs were gone, all the meat was gone, all the supplies, the water, everything, but the exception was people. Was it true? He knew there were some out there and the stories about infection were possible but he didn't think the dogs here were that unhealthy. Then again did it matter? It was them and it was him, that's all he needed to worry about.

In his pondering he had forgotten how unstable some of these buildings could be but was quickly reminded as he went to place his foot on the last scaffolding before the ladder to the ground. The latches gave way and with a loud snap the scaffolding fell down, and Connor along with it.

He fell hard, positive something was broken but all he felt was winded. From upstairs he could hear the shouts. Had to get up. Had to leave before they got here. Standing up he picked up his scattered belongings and ran as fast as he could down the alley. From behind he heard a shout," If we ever see you again! We'll Kill you!"

"We'll kill you!"


They'll kill you! the police chief shouted still waving the gun around. To everyone's relief he did not fire but still he was a man panicking there was no telling what he would do. " I'd rather take my chance and try to help them, not run-" The fire chief didn't finish before one of the cops shouted," Molotov!" Everyone ducked but the flames did not take heed. It smashed near them sending burning liquid fire in all directions. The police line scattered away, some pulled down to the ground the frenzied crowd. Patting out one of the flames, Connor made a move to help one of the cops until he saw the already bloody rock. He ran. Back towards the boat, searching for the yellow forms of his comrades, his friends. How couldn't he see them? Where were they? From up above on the yacht the police were rushing up as the engine was warming up. They were still attached to the fuel line though, they could go until they removed it. No doubt they were trying to siphon as much as they could before running, the bastards. Following the line, Connor got a shock as he saw what was happening at the fuel pumps. The crowd by now was not just frenzied but violent as sticks and stones and anything was used as weapons against the police. They were being beaten back away from the pump and in the crowd's mad rage they were beating up the flammable container. "No.. no no no.." he kept repeating as he tried to rush towards them. Suddenly a woman blocked his way, shouting at him for being a fascist pig to leave them here. Connor tried to explain but his voice was lost, all he could see was the danger posed by that soon to be bomb and the obstacle in his way. He screamed and shouted at her to move but she only increased in volume with the people around her joined in.

Connor wasn't sure what happened next. He knew he had swung but he didn't know it was with the fire man's most sacred tool. Something meant to save lives.

Now the crowd was backing off in horror, and that tool was stained in warm blood. Connor looked in horror at the woman just moments ago shouting at him, crumpled to the ground. He expected to be attacked and trampled to the ground for his crime but he didn't care. He had to get the fuel tanks before those idiots did something stupid. Pushing through the crowd that bloodied axe seemed to split the mob in half like moses parted the sea. Connor doubted God was on his side though, if there was one. All he could see was the fuel tanks still attached to the ship and already valves broken releasing gasoline and diesel. Still the crowd tried to use the line attached to the ship to get on or stealing the gas for themselves, they seemed to lack all reason in their actions.

Then he saw a bright light that forever will be in his mind, haunting him. A young man, not even 16, lighting a molotov. He looked starved, with black circles around his eyes and blue veins poking under his skin. In that crowd, Connor swore one of those veins wiggled on his neck. He grinned wildly as he raised it up to throw the fire bomb.

Perhaps he could of stopped it, hell it was his job to stop it. He wonders what would of happened if he did something different, anything different. He didn't though. For Connor ducked his head, and ducked to the ground. Saving himself rather then saving them.

Heat and fire struck his back but the cries were what scared him the most. Those pained cries. The ones he heard in the whispers.