Re: Journal of the Plague Days, 3/4
anonymous
August 26 2012, 04:53:07 UTC
The front window broke with a crash. She fired the shotgun, and heard a screech as the round hit something. Vorcha, it sounded like.
“Get out,” she snarled.
“Human,” a voice hissed. Definitely vorcha. “You give us-”
She fired again, advancing. Something yelped and ran. When she let her eyes adjust to the dim light coming from outside, she found she had one dead vorcha in her living room. Its companions had gone. She heaved the corpse out the window and used omni-gel to seal the metal shutters closed. Not a perfect solution, but it would hold for now. She was right, the power was out; she took the last cold packs out of the freezer and applied them to her lover’s overheated skin. She still had some tea and soup made up for him, at least. She tried to feed him a little more soup. When a fit of coughing took him, she found he was now coughing up blood, dark and inky.
“Damn it,” she whispered, and cried a little, her hand tightening around his. She remembered the times they’d gone dancing and drinking together, how she’d gotten to love the feel of gentle talons prickling against her skin. They’d been watching this truly ridiculous vid series about star-crossed lovers during the First Contact War, and now they might never finish it.
When she was done crying, she checked her supplies. She had dry rations and bottled water for herself, more soup and tea for him. She could hold out for a while. She wasn’t sure how long.
She wasn’t sure how long he had.
She dozed again, and woke again to the sound of someone fiddling with the door. As before, she readied herself, grimacing at the stiffness of her muscles.
This time, they succesfully hacked the lock. It whirred and the door slid open. She fired and heard the sizzle of shields.
“Whoa there,” somebody said. “Easy, we’re not here to hurt you.”
Human voice, female. Her heart pounding, she said, “Then what the hell are you here for?”
The lights flickered back on. She winced and squinted in the glare. Three humans, a hatchet-faced old white man, a young black guy, a woman, all heavily armed and armored. Great. Mercs. The woman seemed to be in charge, pulling up her gun. “Just checking things out. You all right?”
“I’m fine,” she said, “but my boyfriend’s sick.”
As if on cue, there was a round of coughing from the bedroom behind her. She turned and ran back to him, reaching for the cough syrup. The merc woman followed her, and sucked in a breath. “Your boyfriend?”
“Get out,” she snarled.
“Human,” a voice hissed. Definitely vorcha. “You give us-”
She fired again, advancing. Something yelped and ran. When she let her eyes adjust to the dim light coming from outside, she found she had one dead vorcha in her living room. Its companions had gone. She heaved the corpse out the window and used omni-gel to seal the metal shutters closed. Not a perfect solution, but it would hold for now. She was right, the power was out; she took the last cold packs out of the freezer and applied them to her lover’s overheated skin. She still had some tea and soup made up for him, at least. She tried to feed him a little more soup. When a fit of coughing took him, she found he was now coughing up blood, dark and inky.
“Damn it,” she whispered, and cried a little, her hand tightening around his. She remembered the times they’d gone dancing and drinking together, how she’d gotten to love the feel of gentle talons prickling against her skin. They’d been watching this truly ridiculous vid series about star-crossed lovers during the First Contact War, and now they might never finish it.
When she was done crying, she checked her supplies. She had dry rations and bottled water for herself, more soup and tea for him. She could hold out for a while. She wasn’t sure how long.
She wasn’t sure how long he had.
She dozed again, and woke again to the sound of someone fiddling with the door. As before, she readied herself, grimacing at the stiffness of her muscles.
This time, they succesfully hacked the lock. It whirred and the door slid open. She fired and heard the sizzle of shields.
“Whoa there,” somebody said. “Easy, we’re not here to hurt you.”
Human voice, female. Her heart pounding, she said, “Then what the hell are you here for?”
The lights flickered back on. She winced and squinted in the glare. Three humans, a hatchet-faced old white man, a young black guy, a woman, all heavily armed and armored. Great. Mercs. The woman seemed to be in charge, pulling up her gun. “Just checking things out. You all right?”
“I’m fine,” she said, “but my boyfriend’s sick.”
As if on cue, there was a round of coughing from the bedroom behind her. She turned and ran back to him, reaching for the cough syrup. The merc woman followed her, and sucked in a breath. “Your boyfriend?”
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