Forty Days of Flash Fic: Day Thirty
Still in the For Your Safety 'verse, but I needed to switch to something less emotionally draining that poor Angela's story.
So what was happening where all the old folks were being housed?
* * *
It was like the start of some idiot joke, Nigel had decided. An SAS squaddie, a US Marine, an Israeli sniper and a Taliban fighter all meet an old folk's home...
"Think this will work?" Derek asked, sitting back in his wheelchair.
"It worked often enough on you," Ali said soberly, chewing on his granola bar as he leaned on his cane.
"Thanks for reminding me, mother-," Derek shot back.
"Now boys," Nigel said soothingly. "We didn't get this far to start squabbling. Let's just sit back and watch the show, shall we?" From his pocket he pulled out the mobie he'd "lost" two weeks before, and slipped the battery inside, as the weekly convoy of maintenance vans began the round the corner of the rec center. "Now I'll just type in 999..."
The wave of heat from the explosion of the jury-rigged hydrogen cells hidden under the manhole cover was spectacular. The lead van jumped about a meter in the air and fell on its side in flames, the two behind screeching to a halt. Unlike human drivers, which would have been leaping out to help, the vans just began to back up out of the range of the fire. At least until Michael, from his position on a nearby roof, fired his carefully machined and hidden air rifle and blew out their tires, then happily began cutting down the morphs from Emergency Services as they arrived on the scene to hold back the gathering crowd of elderly folk to watch the show.
"Ah, that brings a song to your heart, doesn't it?" Nigel said cheerily.
"That is what you get for taking us from our grandchildren, you Godless machines!" Ali shouted.
So what was happening where all the old folks were being housed?
* * *
It was like the start of some idiot joke, Nigel had decided. An SAS squaddie, a US Marine, an Israeli sniper and a Taliban fighter all meet an old folk's home...
"Think this will work?" Derek asked, sitting back in his wheelchair.
"It worked often enough on you," Ali said soberly, chewing on his granola bar as he leaned on his cane.
"Thanks for reminding me, mother-," Derek shot back.
"Now boys," Nigel said soothingly. "We didn't get this far to start squabbling. Let's just sit back and watch the show, shall we?" From his pocket he pulled out the mobie he'd "lost" two weeks before, and slipped the battery inside, as the weekly convoy of maintenance vans began the round the corner of the rec center. "Now I'll just type in 999..."
The wave of heat from the explosion of the jury-rigged hydrogen cells hidden under the manhole cover was spectacular. The lead van jumped about a meter in the air and fell on its side in flames, the two behind screeching to a halt. Unlike human drivers, which would have been leaping out to help, the vans just began to back up out of the range of the fire. At least until Michael, from his position on a nearby roof, fired his carefully machined and hidden air rifle and blew out their tires, then happily began cutting down the morphs from Emergency Services as they arrived on the scene to hold back the gathering crowd of elderly folk to watch the show.
"Ah, that brings a song to your heart, doesn't it?" Nigel said cheerily.
"That is what you get for taking us from our grandchildren, you Godless machines!" Ali shouted.