Armageddon Rain chapter 2: Francisco
Title: Armageddon Rain
Rating: M
Words: 1,774
Summary: Water, precious, required, gone. Sun so bright it was literally
blinding filled the exchange chamber, making the man flinch behind thick dark
glass that consisted of his wielding goggles. A necessity, if he was going to
remain on this earth.
Chapter: 2, Francisco
Fandom: Doctor Horrible's Sing Along Blog
Notes: Multi-chapter piece. Post apocalyptic world.
The sea was gone. Billy had known it would be, but had been determined to avoid seeing it for the last two years. LA wasn’t exactly far from the ocean, though it was quite a walk to get there. Even more so when water was that hard to come by. Problem with making a Dehydration Ray, it dried up all the water. Well, almost all of it. See, two of the staples of the special cloth Billy had made were metal and plastic. So while the rivers and lakes and streams and, yes, oceans, were gone, bottled water was still around. So long as there wasn’t a crack in it (meaning opened bottles were gone) he had water. Which helped. But like with his books and food, if it was in a building, it could have been crushed. Crushed water bottles spilled their water. And in this heat spilled water evaporated as though it were never there. The broken pipes that gave up water and sewage were long dry, protected from the ray until they broke open. So hunting for undamaged water bottles was a long and tiresome task.
But Billy had decided to broaden his efforts. What his efforts were he wasn’t quite sure. There was survival, there was burying the dead, there was… well, that was about it, actually. Neither of which he really wanted to do. But he did. Standing on what had once been a cruise ship, he gazed around at the vast emptiness that had once been the Pacific Ocean. The ship was on its side, having been suddenly grounded as the water disappeared, falling to the side with nothing to support its keel. Many other boats and ships had done the same, or leaned against each other. The once cool sea-side was now barren and hot. All over the sand were skeletons of boats and fish and creatures of all kinds. He had already buried the thousands of skulls and bones of the people on the streets as he walked here. Balls of light bobbed around behind him, going about their own business of doing nothing. Before him was a vast, mountains plane devoid of all life. And not one image of a person. There were bones in the ship, though, and all the other boats. He’d have to take care of those before…
Before what? Why had he come out here after two years? To see what it was? He knew it’d be dry. The land was coated in white salt, a nice change from the dull red that was LA. But it blinded him, even with the dark tint on his goggles. So, what was he going to do? Turning his back on the lunar landscape, Billy hopped off the hull of the cruise ship and onto the tilted wooden deck. He had work to do, people to burry. Hundreds and thousands of them. Best get started.
Days came, and days went, on and on without number. After two years, he stopped counting. He probably hadn’t been at the San Francisco bay more than three weeks, but he decided to stop keeping count. All he knew now was that night was approaching, and fast. Once the sun dipped behind the hills and mountains it’d get dark. There was no moon tonight, just the stars. Though, they were pretty bright now that there was less atmosphere to block them. He’d still have to find shelter for the night though.
He had left his underground room behind in Los Angeles. He had only built it to protect him from the raging heat. At first, the heat was constant, beating down and almost killing him. Instinct had him digging and building an underground shelter. It was warm, but bearable. But he couldn’t take it up north with him. So he left it, and all of his extras, there. No cot to sleep on, not whining clock to wake him up, no gadgets that he’d never finish anyway. And he couldn’t find himself caring. Though, it did make finding a place to sleep for the night difficult. He’d need to make something later.
Tonight, though, he decided to take the blanket he had found some days ago in a (surprisingly) still standing house, and curl up in the space under the stairs. He couldn’t sleep in the house, there were lights in there and family pictures and home-like comforts. They haunted him worse than his dreams could. Besides, houses held the heat in. Under the stairs was cool and dark. He felt like a mole person.
He had climbed hills, entered buildings that couldn’t hold his weight, shifted rubble, and buried any and all he could find. In what felt like forever, he was willing to say that he had finished with ten miles up and down the coast, and ten miles inland. It was a lot of work, a lot of bones. But unlike LA, it was clumped together very closely. So close, that shifting one roof found him twenty to thirty lights. He wanted to call this place done.
So there, under creaking steps that lead to a house that he never wanted to enter again, Billy fell into a rock-like sleep.
Moist looked down at him, a small smile crossing his lips as he sat on the cold tile across from his young friend. The fridge rumbled steadily against Billy’s back, calming him more than anything in the world could. No amount of science or well-done heists could bring him as much comfort as a cold floor and a plugged in fridge could. Patting Billy’s knee, Moist sat quietly with him, offering his support in whatever had riled the mad scientist up. Probably his mother, knowing the way the woman affected his friend.
“Doc, talk to me once in a while, okay?”
“But I can’t Moist.”
“Why not?”
“You’re dead.”
“Who said that?”
“I did. I buried you myself. The ray gun…”
“And yet, here I am.”
“Well, that’s true. But, Bad Horse, he- and I… but-”
“Doc, you should get out of here. It’s not healthy for you.”
“Where do you suggest I go? There’s no one alive, I’m alone. I need to bury everyone.”
“Stop torturing yourself Doc. Get out there; finish your life your way. You can bury all of us, but when you’re done, who’ll bury you?”
Billy sat staring at his friend for a while, unsure how to answer him. The damp henchman grinned at him, taking his hand back and leaving a wet spot on Billy’s knee. The grin started to fade, along with his face, his hair, the kitchen behind him… the last thing to fade into the wooden slats of the stairs Billy slept under were Moist’s eyes. The hazel that had captivated him so much when he was a young adult blended into the boards above him, their sparks of life turning out to be two small dots of sunlight that crept through the wood. Billy’s face was wet. Tears. He chose to ignore them. Moist had always grounded him, kept him from working up a storm into starvation. He’d always give Billy a reality check when his plans got too big and adventurous. Most of the time it came in the form of reminding him that the rent was due in a few days.
Pulling his goggles back over his eyes, Billy scooted deeper into the foundation of the house before sitting up and digging through his pack for breakfast. He had to move on and forget his dream. Moist wasn’t there anymore, he couldn’t dwell on that. Or he’d never get anything done. Though what he was doing really wasn’t that important. He went in circles trying to give himself reason. The human part of him wanted to be optimistic and find a reason why he was alive. The science part of him kept coming up with depressing facts that kept him from feeling whole.
Pulling out yet another can of SPAM, Billy shucked off a glove and dug into it with gusto. To think that two years ago he had been a hard-core vegetarian. No meat, not even fish, ever crossed his plate. The first few days after coming to the realization that he was the last person on Earth, he tried to keep to his diet. Fresh fruit and vegetables were out of the question; they had become dried and shriveled as their water was sucked out of them. Some dried fruits in plastic packages and some vegetables in cans had survived. Problem with them was just the same as the water; they had been crushed. So he couldn’t live off of that alone, he had to find other things to supply him with food.
So SPAM it was. He hated it, even now. Meat, the slaughter of pigs for food. It was almost fitting, as he had killed the entire human race along with every animal on the planet. The only thing beside himself that had survived was bacteria. It developed on the bread and other foods that had dried out and sat under rocks. He wasn’t sure how, bacteria needed moister to survive. But he had found a loaf of bread that was covered in black, and the second he touched it it crumbled into dust; the spores devouring the inside as well as the outside. It had been sitting on a counter; no plastic or metal to save it.
But the items inside house refrigerators had survived. Plastic and metal were surrounding food. But he learned quickly not to open them. With no power, the few that had survived being swept under the crumbling buildings had let the food within them get warm with the sweltering heat of the sun. Milk, cheese, bread, eggs, everything was spoiled within days of the power disappearing. The stench that assaulted Billy the first (and only) time he had opened one taught him very quickly that he’d be stuck with cans and packages.
The first week was not kind to Billy with food anyway. After most of his life being meatless, his body was not ready for the spiced can ham. Four days of being sick in a landscape where heath meant life was hell.
Two years later, he barely even noticed it. Washing down his meager breakfast with a mouthful of water, Billy shoved his shovel back into his bag and creaked open the loose panel of wood that acted as his door under the stairs. Heat and light assaulted him instantly. He didn’t notice it. An idea had struck him as he ate, and he was now going to start on his project.
Rating: M
Words: 1,774
Summary: Water, precious, required, gone. Sun so bright it was literally
blinding filled the exchange chamber, making the man flinch behind thick dark
glass that consisted of his wielding goggles. A necessity, if he was going to
remain on this earth.
Chapter: 2, Francisco
Fandom: Doctor Horrible's Sing Along Blog
Notes: Multi-chapter piece. Post apocalyptic world.
The sea was gone. Billy had known it would be, but had been determined to avoid seeing it for the last two years. LA wasn’t exactly far from the ocean, though it was quite a walk to get there. Even more so when water was that hard to come by. Problem with making a Dehydration Ray, it dried up all the water. Well, almost all of it. See, two of the staples of the special cloth Billy had made were metal and plastic. So while the rivers and lakes and streams and, yes, oceans, were gone, bottled water was still around. So long as there wasn’t a crack in it (meaning opened bottles were gone) he had water. Which helped. But like with his books and food, if it was in a building, it could have been crushed. Crushed water bottles spilled their water. And in this heat spilled water evaporated as though it were never there. The broken pipes that gave up water and sewage were long dry, protected from the ray until they broke open. So hunting for undamaged water bottles was a long and tiresome task.
But Billy had decided to broaden his efforts. What his efforts were he wasn’t quite sure. There was survival, there was burying the dead, there was… well, that was about it, actually. Neither of which he really wanted to do. But he did. Standing on what had once been a cruise ship, he gazed around at the vast emptiness that had once been the Pacific Ocean. The ship was on its side, having been suddenly grounded as the water disappeared, falling to the side with nothing to support its keel. Many other boats and ships had done the same, or leaned against each other. The once cool sea-side was now barren and hot. All over the sand were skeletons of boats and fish and creatures of all kinds. He had already buried the thousands of skulls and bones of the people on the streets as he walked here. Balls of light bobbed around behind him, going about their own business of doing nothing. Before him was a vast, mountains plane devoid of all life. And not one image of a person. There were bones in the ship, though, and all the other boats. He’d have to take care of those before…
Before what? Why had he come out here after two years? To see what it was? He knew it’d be dry. The land was coated in white salt, a nice change from the dull red that was LA. But it blinded him, even with the dark tint on his goggles. So, what was he going to do? Turning his back on the lunar landscape, Billy hopped off the hull of the cruise ship and onto the tilted wooden deck. He had work to do, people to burry. Hundreds and thousands of them. Best get started.
Days came, and days went, on and on without number. After two years, he stopped counting. He probably hadn’t been at the San Francisco bay more than three weeks, but he decided to stop keeping count. All he knew now was that night was approaching, and fast. Once the sun dipped behind the hills and mountains it’d get dark. There was no moon tonight, just the stars. Though, they were pretty bright now that there was less atmosphere to block them. He’d still have to find shelter for the night though.
He had left his underground room behind in Los Angeles. He had only built it to protect him from the raging heat. At first, the heat was constant, beating down and almost killing him. Instinct had him digging and building an underground shelter. It was warm, but bearable. But he couldn’t take it up north with him. So he left it, and all of his extras, there. No cot to sleep on, not whining clock to wake him up, no gadgets that he’d never finish anyway. And he couldn’t find himself caring. Though, it did make finding a place to sleep for the night difficult. He’d need to make something later.
Tonight, though, he decided to take the blanket he had found some days ago in a (surprisingly) still standing house, and curl up in the space under the stairs. He couldn’t sleep in the house, there were lights in there and family pictures and home-like comforts. They haunted him worse than his dreams could. Besides, houses held the heat in. Under the stairs was cool and dark. He felt like a mole person.
He had climbed hills, entered buildings that couldn’t hold his weight, shifted rubble, and buried any and all he could find. In what felt like forever, he was willing to say that he had finished with ten miles up and down the coast, and ten miles inland. It was a lot of work, a lot of bones. But unlike LA, it was clumped together very closely. So close, that shifting one roof found him twenty to thirty lights. He wanted to call this place done.
So there, under creaking steps that lead to a house that he never wanted to enter again, Billy fell into a rock-like sleep.
Moist looked down at him, a small smile crossing his lips as he sat on the cold tile across from his young friend. The fridge rumbled steadily against Billy’s back, calming him more than anything in the world could. No amount of science or well-done heists could bring him as much comfort as a cold floor and a plugged in fridge could. Patting Billy’s knee, Moist sat quietly with him, offering his support in whatever had riled the mad scientist up. Probably his mother, knowing the way the woman affected his friend.
“Doc, talk to me once in a while, okay?”
“But I can’t Moist.”
“Why not?”
“You’re dead.”
“Who said that?”
“I did. I buried you myself. The ray gun…”
“And yet, here I am.”
“Well, that’s true. But, Bad Horse, he- and I… but-”
“Doc, you should get out of here. It’s not healthy for you.”
“Where do you suggest I go? There’s no one alive, I’m alone. I need to bury everyone.”
“Stop torturing yourself Doc. Get out there; finish your life your way. You can bury all of us, but when you’re done, who’ll bury you?”
Billy sat staring at his friend for a while, unsure how to answer him. The damp henchman grinned at him, taking his hand back and leaving a wet spot on Billy’s knee. The grin started to fade, along with his face, his hair, the kitchen behind him… the last thing to fade into the wooden slats of the stairs Billy slept under were Moist’s eyes. The hazel that had captivated him so much when he was a young adult blended into the boards above him, their sparks of life turning out to be two small dots of sunlight that crept through the wood. Billy’s face was wet. Tears. He chose to ignore them. Moist had always grounded him, kept him from working up a storm into starvation. He’d always give Billy a reality check when his plans got too big and adventurous. Most of the time it came in the form of reminding him that the rent was due in a few days.
Pulling his goggles back over his eyes, Billy scooted deeper into the foundation of the house before sitting up and digging through his pack for breakfast. He had to move on and forget his dream. Moist wasn’t there anymore, he couldn’t dwell on that. Or he’d never get anything done. Though what he was doing really wasn’t that important. He went in circles trying to give himself reason. The human part of him wanted to be optimistic and find a reason why he was alive. The science part of him kept coming up with depressing facts that kept him from feeling whole.
Pulling out yet another can of SPAM, Billy shucked off a glove and dug into it with gusto. To think that two years ago he had been a hard-core vegetarian. No meat, not even fish, ever crossed his plate. The first few days after coming to the realization that he was the last person on Earth, he tried to keep to his diet. Fresh fruit and vegetables were out of the question; they had become dried and shriveled as their water was sucked out of them. Some dried fruits in plastic packages and some vegetables in cans had survived. Problem with them was just the same as the water; they had been crushed. So he couldn’t live off of that alone, he had to find other things to supply him with food.
So SPAM it was. He hated it, even now. Meat, the slaughter of pigs for food. It was almost fitting, as he had killed the entire human race along with every animal on the planet. The only thing beside himself that had survived was bacteria. It developed on the bread and other foods that had dried out and sat under rocks. He wasn’t sure how, bacteria needed moister to survive. But he had found a loaf of bread that was covered in black, and the second he touched it it crumbled into dust; the spores devouring the inside as well as the outside. It had been sitting on a counter; no plastic or metal to save it.
But the items inside house refrigerators had survived. Plastic and metal were surrounding food. But he learned quickly not to open them. With no power, the few that had survived being swept under the crumbling buildings had let the food within them get warm with the sweltering heat of the sun. Milk, cheese, bread, eggs, everything was spoiled within days of the power disappearing. The stench that assaulted Billy the first (and only) time he had opened one taught him very quickly that he’d be stuck with cans and packages.
The first week was not kind to Billy with food anyway. After most of his life being meatless, his body was not ready for the spiced can ham. Four days of being sick in a landscape where heath meant life was hell.
Two years later, he barely even noticed it. Washing down his meager breakfast with a mouthful of water, Billy shoved his shovel back into his bag and creaked open the loose panel of wood that acted as his door under the stairs. Heat and light assaulted him instantly. He didn’t notice it. An idea had struck him as he ate, and he was now going to start on his project.