|
Post by Rock114 on Jul 6, 2014 17:45:01 GMT
As those of you who read Inferno know, I said I was planning on writing a final story to wrap up the loose ends and finish the whole series off. Since I have to wait until Episode 5 comes out to complete it, given that it involves Wellington, I got kind of bored. Then this story happened. I won't lie, this story isn't really all that important when compared to the others. It's entirely pre-apocalypse and only serves to expand a bit on the backstory of a few of my characters. It's pretty small, nowhere near the length of Inferno, so don't worry about that. I just need to do a tiny bit of editing, and the first half should be up in about half an hour. Maybe less.
|
|
|
Post by Michael7123 on Jul 6, 2014 17:53:20 GMT
I'm looking forward to it.
|
|
|
Post by Rock114 on Jul 6, 2014 17:54:21 GMT
Thanks Mike. Shouldn't be too long now.
|
|
|
Post by Rock114 on Jul 6, 2014 17:59:02 GMT
“Son, I’ll need you to state your name. For the record.”
“Farley,” the young man said, absently scratching at his beard as the tedium of the enlisting process set in. Before him was gray haired man in a stark neat uniform with an assortment of medals adorning the deep blue outfit’s left breast, gently glinting in the late afternoon light that shone through the dirty windows of the Statesboro National Guard recruiting office. On the right side of the uniform was a black tag embroidered into the fabric bearing the name “Jonas”. Farley recognized the rank insignia identifying a Captain on Jonas’s collar. As the veteran squinted into the boxy computer monitor resting on his desk to the side, he shook his head and turned back to their conversation with an air of irritation.
“Your full name,” he emphasized. “We’ve got about a dozen folks with ‘Farley’ somewhere in their name in this county.”
That’s probably bullshit, but what about this isn’t? “My full name?”
“Yes. Your first, middle, and last.”
Fuck. Farley drew in a breath. “Really? Don’t you already have it in the system,” he asked, pointing at the computer, “Or did you just forget your glasses at home and need me to read it to you?”
Growling, the Captain sneered. “You’d best watch that mouth of yours if you want a prayer of getting in,” he menaced.
“Fine,” Farley gave in. “Eugene Farley Reynolds.” Captain Jonas punched the name into the computer’s keyboard and drew up the necessary information. “Is that it?” Farley asked.
“State of birth?”
“Wyoming,” Farley sighed.
“Yes, and how long have you been here?”
“I walked in five minutes ago, remember?” Jonas growled at Farley’s joke, and the younger man gave him an innocent shrug. “I’ve been living in Georgia since I was four. Are we done yet?”
“Hmmm… just about. You said you were here for…?”
“I’m here for-”
“His full name, Mr. Reynolds. You got that?”
Jesus, I gave up the Marines for this? “I’m here for Conner David Bryant. I want you to reconsider his enlistment.”
“Right, Bryant, let me see here,” Jonas mumbled, giving his attention back to the computer. Farley’s hard wooden chair was uncomfortable, especially after baking in the summer afternoon heat. The office they were in normally had air conditioning, but Jonas had been grumbling about it being broken to a hard nosed old Sergeant when Farley had entered. Posters hung from the walls showing uniformed National Guardsmen in various poses with an array of pro-military slogans punctuating each picture. Jonas’s desk was fairly barren, save for a framed picture of a woman around his age, a stack of books, and messily organized enlistment forms in various states of completion sitting over to the left of the old Captain. The occasional car roared by outside as Jonas continued his search, and Farley caught sight of Conner sitting on a bench outside the window, cradling his head in his hands. This was his last shot to get into the military. He’d tried everything he could to get the recruiters to take him, and now it was up to Farley.
“Oh, that Bryant,” Jonas commented, bringing Farley back. “I’m sorry, Mr. Reynolds - can I call you Eugene?- but we can’t take Mr. Bryant.”
“Not Eugene. I go by Farley for a reason, okay?”
“My mistake, son. Anyway, let me be up front with you, Farley. Mr. Bryant is not built to be a soldier. His entrance exams revealed some… interesting things about him. You’ve been his friend for years, I’m sure you know what I mean.”
“Not at all,” Farley lied. “Conner’s always been just another normal guy.”
Jonas hesitated for a moment before deciding to stand up. He leaned forward and locked his gaze with Farley’s. “Normal? Completely, 100%, no question about it, absolutely certain, not yanking my chain, bullshit free, Grade-A certified normal?”
“Yes,” Farley bluffed.
The next few moments stretched into what seemed like hours as the Captain stared him down, searching for any chink in the armor that Farley had pulled around him. Farley stared back equally determined, unwilling to give any ground in this unstated battle of wills.
Jonas gently went back to standing straight, clasping his hands behind his back in a blatantly obvious military manner, likely meant to subtly impress Farley with a display of discipline. “Alright,” he relented, “I’ll go get a second opinion on this. If the man through those doors,” Jonas said, nodding toward the back of a room, “Says he has a good feeling, then your friend can join.”
“Thanks,” Farley managed as he watched the Captain stroll to the doors at the back of the office. Farley caught sight of the Sergeant he had seen earlier before the officer slipped in and the doors clicked shut. Left alone in the silence, he snaked a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and flicked his lighter on. Leaning the chair back on its two rear legs and resting his feet on the Captain’s desk he began to smoke.
|
|
|
Post by Michael7123 on Jul 6, 2014 18:01:12 GMT
Nice part.
|
|
|
Post by Rock114 on Jul 6, 2014 18:11:28 GMT
Sergeant Albert Keenan tried not to choke on his coffee as his friend, Captain Quincy Jonas, finished. “Really? You actually believed that kid? What’s his name... Eugene?”
“No Al, I don’t believe him. I barely believed that that was his name. He’s full of shit, especially when it comes to that Conner guy.”
“Alright Quinn,” Keenan leveled as he finished off his styrofoam tasting coffee and threw the empty cup into the trash. “If you know he’s full of it, then why are we having this conversation?”
“You want my honest answer, Al?”
Keenan laughed. “Quinn, we’ve served together for 20 years. You’ve always appreciated my honesty, so I think I can do the same.”
“Alright Al. The truth is that I have no clue why I’m doing this.” Keenan’s laughter died down. The old sergeant’s eyes widened slightly at the out of character statement from his commanding officer of two decades. “I just… I don’t know, I’ve got a good feeling about these kids.”
With crossed arms Keenan shot his old friend an unbelieving grimace. “A feeling? Really?”
Jonas shrugged, as incredulous as Keenan was. Perhaps more. “I know. It doesn’t make any sense, but there it is.”
“No, I think I know what it is,” Keenan said, voice low and even. “Denise was always getting these kinds of feelings about things, remem-”
“Sergeant,” Jonas hissed, voice cold as steel. “You will not bring Denise into this.” The Captain’s hands were balled into fists at his side and going steadily white as he clenched them together.
Keenan let his arms fall to his side and dropped his hard expression. “Sorry sir,” he apologized as he brought himself close enough to put a friendly hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I just forget sometimes. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Jonas relaxed, standing in a daze for a moment as he tried to flush the emotions out of him, trying to once more adopt the disciplined soldier facade he'd been wearing to shield the grief broken man beneath. “It’s okay, Al,” he whispered. “It’s been two years. I… I shouldn’t…”
“No, it’s alright,” Keenan comforted. “She was your wife. It’s natural.”
“I just can’t stop thinking about her,” Jonas confessed. “Every day for the last two years, her face is the first thing I think of in the morning.” The man leaned himself against a wall and brought his hand up to cover his eyes. “It’s getting blurry, Al. I can’t remember clearly anymore. Even after I see her picture, she’s gone again a few minutes later.” Keenan moved again, bringing himself alongside him. “Al, I don’t want to forget. She’s gone, and all that I have left of her is slipping away.”
“Tell you what,” Keenan said. “I’ll go out there and look this Eugene kid over, okay?”
“Okay,” Jonas breathed.
Keenan continued. “And after I’ve decided, we’ll go talk about this over a good drink. Sound good?”
“Sure,” he said at last. “Let me get myself together before we go back in there, okay?”
“Okay buddy, sure. Just take your time.”
“She was just so… so…”
“Hey, remember that time back in Panama?” Keenan interrupted with a smile, “When we were pinned down by that river?”
Jonas sniffled. “Yeah, I do.”
“And Peterson, that huge guy with the machine gun was right in the middle of our squad laying down fire over the water? Remember that?”
“Yeah,” Jonas answered. The familiar story casually eased the pain and lifted the sadness out of his voice.
“And the next thing you know, in the middle of the firefight,” Keenan continued, struggling to keep a straight face, “This huge guy, a guy who looks like he could lift a tree out of the ground and throw it over the next hill…” Keenan’s laughter was infectious, bringing his friend back from wallowing in despair.
Jonas continued the story, chuckling softly. “Yeah, he just jumps up with bullets flying everywhere and jumps into the river screaming ‘There’s a spider on me! Get it off get it off!’ and the enemy starts shooting at him while he’s dancing around in the water trying to scrape the damn bug off his helmet.”
“I can still hear him now, Quinn. ‘It’s the size of a dinner plate, someone shoot it off of me for the love of God!’” Both men were caught up in a gale of laughter as the absurd sight of Peterson in the river with a spider dangling off his helmet, bullets whizzing into the water all around him came back to them.
“Oh Jesus,” Keenan gasped, still laughing. “Every time I think about it-”
“-It’s just as funny as it was the first time,” Jonas finished, wiping a tear away from his eye. “My God.”
“Yeah,” Keenan said. The two men let the laughter out of their systems over the next minute as their uncontrollable guffaws turned into a quieter, more tame laughter fading away into broken chuckling before stopping completely.
“Al?”
“Yeah, Quinn?”
“Thanks.”
“No problem,” Keenan said. “Now let’s get out there.”
AN: And that's the first half. I feel that the second needs more work, but it should be up by tomorrow at the latest.
|
|
|
Post by Rock114 on Jul 6, 2014 18:54:00 GMT
So does anyone else want to give their thoughts so far? Good, bad, what?
|
|
|
Post by wakemeup on Jul 6, 2014 18:56:45 GMT
So does anyone else want to give their thoughts so far? Good, bad, what? Definitely "what". But really, I'll read it later tonight, then I'll post my thoughts.
|
|
|
Post by Rock114 on Jul 6, 2014 18:57:45 GMT
So does anyone else want to give their thoughts so far? Good, bad, what? Definitely "what". But really, I'll read it later tonight, then I'll post my thoughts. Thanks Brotato. It's still not done yet, though. I'm working on getting the rest of it fit for posting.
|
|
|
Post by Rock114 on Jul 7, 2014 17:19:52 GMT
The first thing Farley saw when Captain Jonas and the sergeant came through the door was shock. The Captain’s eyes went mad in an instant, and the next he lunged at Farley, tearing the cigarette out of his mouth as he screamed at him.
“If you want to join the Guard,” he hollered, “You will not pollute my company with this shit, you hear me?!” In one smooth motion Jonas threw the cigarette to the ground and ground it beneath his heel, spitting on the remains for good measure as Farley spectated.
“Fuck you, man!” Farley shouted. “That was mine! Or does the military hand out the Kevlar to protect soldiers from cancer, now?”
“No one in my unit,” Jonas spat, “Not one man will give himself to cancer. Not on my watch.”
“Whatever. This was a mistake. Screw this, and screw you too,” Farley said, rising from his chair to march out of the office.
“Hold!” A gravel-like voiced boomed, stopping Farley in his tracks. “About face!”
“Uh…”
“That means turn your ass around, soldier!” Farley obeyed, coming face to face with the old sergeant. “You’ve got a hell of a mouth on you, don’t you son?”
“Most people are born with mouths,” Farley informed him. “So it’s to be expected.”
“Yes, and most never end up saying anything worthwhile. Like you,” the Sergeant countered. The Sergeant’s head was crowned with thinning white hair, giving him an even older appearance than the Captain. Like Captain Jonas, his uniform hosted medals of every size, shape, and color. Even at a glance it was obvious that the Sergeant had more medals than Jonas did, with the shiny commendations nearly forming layers instead of simple rows upon his chest. The man’s nametag said “Keenan”, and the old soldier’s steel colored eyes narrowed at Farley as the man drew himself up. Though the old soldier was at least half a head shorter than Farley, his presence was huge, demanding Farley's full attention. A range of scars made their home on his face, though alone none of them would be fairly noticeable.
“Alright, you’re the guy who decides if we make the grade or not?” Farley questioned.
Keenan kicked the remains of Farley’s cigarette across the floor and into the corner, keeping his eyes on the young man the entire time. “You’ve already passed, Eugene-”
“Farley,” he corrected. “I hate the name Eugene.”
“Alright,” Keenan responded. “Anyway, Eugene,” he said, emphasizing Farley’s first name, “It’s not you that’s in trouble. Your entrance tests came back just fine. It’s your buddy out there on the bench that didn’t make it,” Keenan went on, pointing at Conner on the other side of the glass window.
“Is he not smart enough or something?” Farley questioned. He knew that wasn’t it. Between the two of them Conner had always been the smarter one for as long as they had known each other.
“It’s not his intelligence,” Keenan answered, “But his… stability.”
“I don’t understand, sir,” Farley responded. Another lie, of course, but it was all he had. Jonas had taken up residence near the doorway he and Keenan had come through, silently fuming and glaring at Farley as Keenan rounded the officer’s desk and seated himself in the chair.
“Your friend Conner, well, let’s just say that he needs to be meeting with a therapist much more than he needs to be meeting with a recruiter.” Keenan leaned forward in Jonas’s chair. “Don’t bullshit me, Eugene. You know what I’m talking about.”
Farley denied it. “No. I don’t.”
“Kid, listen up. I’ve served in this country’s armed forces for forty years. I’ve fought in five wars, killed 23 men, and been shot, burned, stabbed, or otherwise wounded more times than you’ve had birthdays,” Keenan muttered with an edged voice. “I was hiking through jungle shitholes for Uncle Sam since before you were even an absent minded thought in the back of your mother’s mind. Don’t think you can pull the wool over my eyes. Now cut the shit.”
The ticking of the clock on the wall echoed through the room as beads of sweat began to drip down Farley’s face. Keenan’s steely gaze never faltered as the Sergeant casually leaned back in the chair with an almost bored expression on his face. Farley’s throat tightened as the walls seemed to get closer, but he was too afraid to take his eyes off of the old man before him.
Shit, he thought, this guy’s good. But he had to say something, anything, anything at all. The assaulting, almost accusatory stare drilled deep, wrapping itself unrelentingly around his lungs and squeezing tight.
“He just wants to serve!” Farley blurted. At least that’s the truth. “All he wants is to serve his country! He’s smart, too! He can keep himself under control so he’ll never… uh…” Oh no. Did I just say that?
“He’ll never ‘what’, Eugene?” Oh Christ, I think I fucked up. His heart thudded against his chest as Keenan’s eyes continued to bore into him, divining the secrets he was trying to hide with an almost inhuman ease and confidence. “I think I know what you were about to say,” Keenan calmly intoned. “I’ve seen it before. I’ve seen people like your buddy before, people who like what they do. A lot. Sometimes just a little too much. And when they get a gun in their hands and a license to kill from Uncle Sam… Well let’s just say that it won’t take very much to ‘Set them off’ so to speak. You get the picture?” Farley gave a single sober nod, eyes directed to the floor.
Keenan turned back to Jonas, still glaring daggers into Farley, and stood up. “Well sir,” he groaned, “Clear’em through. They’re in.”
Both Jonas and Farley went slack jawed at the statement, crying out in unison with disbelief. “What?!”
“Well kid, the Captain said he had a good feeling about you,” Keenan admitted as he pushed Jonas’s chair back in. “And I don't think he was entirely wrong.”
“I… b-but C-c-conner and… b-but… you said…”
Keenan brought his heavy hand down on Farley’s shoulder. “Knock it off with the stutter, Eugene. That’s an order. Now get out of here and tell your buddy the good news.”
Farley struggled to stand as the shock of Keenan’s unexpected decision weighed him down with lead. “Get a move on, son!” Keenan cried. “And just remember what I said. Your friend Conner? It doesn’t take much to set people like him off.”
“Yes sir!” Farley saluted, rushing out the door without another word.
AN: The final part should be coming later tonight.
|
|
|
Post by Rock114 on Jul 7, 2014 20:55:27 GMT
Captain Quincy Jonas watched Farley exit the building with a perplexed grimace. “Al,” he asked, “You have to tell me. Why are you letting them in? Especially Conner. If you’re right, then that kid’s going to snap someday. You have to know that.”
“Maybe he will,” Keenan admitted. “It wouldn’t surprise me. But I think he deserves a chance.”
“A chance?” Jonas repeated. “A chance to do what? Go crazy and start killing people?”
“A chance to overcome that,” Keenan exclaimed. “Now let’s go, okay?”
Jonas picked Farley’s cigarette up and threw it in the trash can under his desk. The Captain picked up the framed picture on his desk and ran his hand over the smooth glass separating him from Denise’s image. “It was two years ago tomorrow,” Jonas mumbled. “The day she passed.”
“Yeah. Come on, let’s go get that drink.”
Jonas stood their for a few seconds longer, unable to break eye contact with the picture.
Keenan took the picture out of his friend’s hands and gently placed it back on the desk. “You couldn’t have helped her, Quinn,” he comforted.
“I know,” his friend said. “I guess that Cancer is just one of those problems you can’t solve by shooting it.”
The duo made their way out the door and into Keenan’s car. The sun had set and the streetlights of Statesboro were keeping the darkness at bay in the small town as the vehicle started up.
“Wait,” Jonas said. “You told that kid in there that you killed 23 people, didn’t you?”
“I did,” Keenan said.
“I’ve served with you for 20 years, Al. At least. I’ve only seen you do five, and that was back in Panama.”
“Remember when I told that kid that I knew people like his friend Conner? People that enjoy being soldiers so they can kill other people?”
“Yes…” Jonas trailed off, seeing where his friend was going.
“I was talking about myself,” Keenan said, switching on the car’s radio, “I was just like that back in Vietnam. Before you were even old enough to sign up.”
“You're shitting me.”
“That’s why I let him in,” Keenan went on. “That Conner, he’s just like I was at his age. You’re right, Quinn. He’ll snap one of these days if someone pushes him hard enough. Like I got pushed. But maybe, if he’s somewhere that I can keep an eye on him, maybe I can help him before it gets to that point. Maybe I can stop him from snapping like I did back in the day.”
“It seems like a long shot, Al,” Jonas said.
“It is,” Keenan confirmed. “But let me do this, okay? I want to do something good. For once. You understand?”
“Alright,” Jonas caved. “They’re in. I hope you know what you’re doing, Al.”
“Me too, Quinn,” the old soldier sighed. “Me too.”
The car pulled away from the darkened recruiting office and down the road as the radio inside blared with the next in a long line of news stories. “Thank you for tuning in,” a male voice said, “Here at WABE, we have news updates every hour, on the hour. We now take you to our reporter in downtown Athens, coming to us with the latest on the gruesome murder of one of our state senators. Take it away, Carley…”
AN: And that's that. It's over.
|
|