I got the idea for this when my family and i tooka trip to Ukraine. Specifically what inspired...
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Part 1 “Grining” “F***… Roger, Market Outpost, do you hear me out there? This is Pichkin Outpost… F***. Piece of s***…” Ulrich was turning all of the possible knobs on the consul. He looked up to see Michael, back from his patrol with Mikhail. They greeted each other silently with a nod and Michael went to the fridge. He took out a bottle of water and drank down the first quarter. “What’s up with the radio?” Asked Mikhail, apathetically laying on the couch and staring at the soot blackened ceiling. The couch was originally white leather, but due to age it was now much closer to a black. The floor was mostly carpeted but there were areas where the carpet had been ripped. “For the last time Mikhail… it’s not a f*ing radio, it’s a wire phone… if it was a radio it wouldn’t break every five minutes!” Ulrich scorned. Just then the door swung open, and out of the light, cold air stepped Winston and Eric. Their patrol was down the street at a department store of some sort. After some glances are exchanged Ulrich returns to speaking to the group. “Well… now that were all here, I have a job for you boys, I think the wire has been cut again, you guys need to go out and fix it. Also here are some documents to be delivered.” Ordered Ulrich, without turning from the wire phone consul. Without protest the men picked up their rifles and walked out the door. Once they stepped outside it was a different world; this one devoid of life of almost any kind. The street was full of skeletons of cars and rubble. This was the Dead City, once a bustling metropolis, now nothing more then the skeleton of its former glory. The malls were empty, the streets abandoned. A few homes remained occupied by those who were braver then the rest of the populace. The city was once the capitol of some nation. Patriotism, however, had ended after the end, with life meaning more then love of country and kin. In the days after the end many died; sickness, savagery, thirst, starvation… suicide. Little good came from what the enemies saw as good. Due to the intense flames a large amount of smoke lifted into the atmosphere, stopping the sunlight from reaching the ground and therefore starting a constant cold climate. With no rain to wash the smoke out, this would persist for many decades to come. The city was now empty of life, besides the few outposts that dot the city every couple miles. “… Winston… What the hell is that?” Said Eric. Eric was looking down a street that the wire crossed. Down the road were several… things… that were eating fresh corpses. Looking into the binoculars Winston stated: “The dead are not from another outpost, they look like bandits, strange to find them so far into the city. And the things out to lunch, those are birds, but they aren’t right, they’ve adapted. Try not to draw their attention.” Eric took back his binoculars and the quartet walked as cautiously across the street. After the end many turned to banditry, six months after the great flames the city was left to no one but the strong. Soon people, being a social species began to seek each other out, for kinship and reproduction. Some succeeded and carved their own safe haven in the Dead City, others failed. The quartet was walking along, through the central business district. Following the wire in an almost trance like state. Soon however Michael’s eyes fell upon a break in the wire, an almost surgical cut had been made to cut off one outpost from another. Michael got down and proceeded to reattach the two lines with the electrical tape. “S***… a cut that precise isn’t an accident, someone did it one purpose… someone wanted us to not hear what the other outpost’s crying for help… we need to get out of here… were being watched I can feel it.” Spoke Eric, slowly increasing his hysterical tone as he spoke. He pulled the bolt back on his gun, and slammed it forward. “Were leaving right now… okay…”. Winston looked back at Eric to find him white, and eyes filled with fear, shaking slightly. “ Maybe… maybe Eric’s right, maybe we should get going…” Spoke Winston quietly. He too had been infected with fear. Michael stood up and spoke his order: “Winston and Eric, you guys go back to Pichkin, Mikhail and I will go to Market and check up on them. If were not back by night fall expect that we have stayed at Market Outpost for the night. Is that alright and understood.” Winston nodded and exited the ruins with Eric. After a brief smoke Michael and Mikhail made their way towards the market. The Dead City, located on the fringe of existence. The constant overcast made the place look more ghastly then it was in the sunlight. The surrounding area was just open field, covered in a thin layer of snow. Parts of the city were inhospitable, due to the chemical weapons that were used, still maintaining their dominance over many parts, making the air unbreathable. These areas however have been mapped out and are well known areas in which people know to avoid. In parts of the city where the flame came closer the piles of rubble block entire streets. With little interference the world had found itself a peace that had not been known for many centuries. At about ten feet from the outpost they noticed the door was open slightly, and that one of the inhabitants lay face down in front of it. Michael turned the corpse over to fine no face, just muscle ligaments, no skin. The grinning corpse just looked back, in its lifeless grace. Michael turned the body over on its stomach once again and proceeded to check the building. The door opened to a sitting room, empty however. The entire building was abandoned, except for the sentry outside, never leaving his post, even in death. He walked to the wire phone and called into the Pichkin Outpost. “So what happened?” Ulrich asked. “No one’s here. Were coming home, see you in a bit.” Michael replied, still recovering from the corpse of the sentry. He turned and called out for Mikhail… no answer. The second time… no answer, the third… silence. The boy had vanished without a trace. Walking out to the street corner he called again... this time there was an answer, a howl of some sort from the top of a rubble pile. Standing on top of a long forgotten car was a wild dog, dark grey hair. From every corner other wild dogs came out and began walking in a circle pattern, waiting for Michael to display weakness. He slowly walked back into the outpost, tripping backwards on the sentry man and falling inside. The dogs had begun their charge, but he kicked the door shut before they could get in. Night was falling; he walked to the door on the far side of the room and looked through the peep hole. He saw descending stairs. He opened the door and walked down the stairs. When he reached the bottom it was dark. Too dark to see, he took off his heavy jacket and placed it over himself. Leaning back against the wall he drifted to sleep. With city wolves pawing at the door of the New Market Outpost the true darkness began to fall, some light could penetrate the thick smoke of the great flames but by night there was no light.