Armageddon Rain chapter 3: Kansas
Title: Armageddon Rain
Rating: M
Words: 1,526
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: 3, Kansas
Fandom: Doctor Horrible's Sing Along Blog
Notes: Multi-chapter piece. Post apocalyptic world.
Five years. That was a rough guess, of course. Five years, maybe six, maybe four. Maybe twenty, who knew? Billy didn’t. It had been, by his estimation, five years since the dehydration ray had exploded. Five years since he single-handedly destroyed the Earth. Five years since Billy became the last human alive. Five years felt like forever. And with any unluck, he’d be here for many more years to come.
Kansas. Land of the flat nothing. At least, it sure was now. A land that at one time flourished with crops and families was now flatter than ever. There were no hills. There were no mountains. There were no houses, or people, or towns, or plants. It was a dirt patch, nothing more. There were some devastated roads, but nothing that could get you where you wanted to go.
Billy sat on the prow, watching the sun appear out of the ground, sipping his metal canteen of water as it turned the world burnt brown. Hunched over, the man gazed at the star and didn’t see it. His mind was far away while his body sat, elbows on knees, hands dangling, existing with nothing. He’d changed in the last five years. After the death of the love of his life, he had changed his coat to red. After a while, he changed it back to white for the simple reason of red drew too much attention at the Laundromat. Three years ago, the white had become a redish brown from dust. Today, it was red from the same dirt, though it would never wash out. It had been baked in. His hair was long, tied up and falling down across his neck and back. His face was lined with age dirt and sweat. Oddly enough, there were no lines around his mouth. No creases of grins, no pulls of frowns, no breaks from chats with friends.
He looked old. He was so young, just in his thirties, but he looked ancient. Being the last person in the world and hardly protected from the sun will do that to you. Careworn eyes behind thick dust-covered goggles turned away from the ball of light, back to his surroundings, and down to his gloved hands. How he wished he could wear something else. His white leather gloves, his soft white coat, they were such a deep dirt-red now. He would love to wear normal clothes again. But these protected him from the harsh rays of the unfiltered sun. He had no choice. Hoisting himself to his feet, Billy turned and headed back into his boat.
Three years ago he awoke in San Francisco with an idea. He had tasked himself with burying everyone that had died. So far, he had been walking, and was limited by where he could find food water and shelter. Being so close to what had once been an ocean, there were boats everywhere. And cars. Billy found an off-roading truck and after some fun with a saw, removed the body of the truck. He also had removed most of the shocks, as they were heavy and wouldn’t be used much anyway.
Then the trick, which wasn’t all that hard, was finding a boat. He found one. It was a small sail boat, not very large. But it had what he needed, with some modification. Long body, lean and pointed. It had the deck that you could walk on and control the sail. And there was a hole in the deck that lead to the hollow body of the boat. With some tools and digging, Billy had scraped away the inside of the boat until the sides and top were almost paper thin. Then he shored them up with fiberglass insulation and plywood, doing the same to the outside of the bottom. He made it keep out the heat as much as he could. It didn’t work quite like he wanted, but after putting a door on, it actually wasn’t too bad. Since he spent the day outside, the heat was kept out. Then he spent the night inside with a hole in the bottom to let air move, and kept it about ten to twenty degrees cooler.
With some more work, he loaded the boat onto the truck chasse, and raised the sail. With some work, and some guessing, he harnessed the power of the wind to move him faster, further, and give him shelter that he could take with him. It took him about a month to make. Since then, he left the over-populated west coast and headed into the country. He couldn’t deal with being around nothing but glowing balls of light or floating people waiting to be buried. He needed to get away. Moist had told him that, though he had forcefully pushed that dream out of his memory. Two years later, Billy pulled open the hatch, hung his water on a hook from the strap, closed up the door, and furled the sail. The morning Kansas wind caught, and he was speeding on his way.
Maps did nothing for Billy now. They were just pieces of paper that could keep the sun off of him. So he just went where the wind let him. Seeing a large boulder ahead, he grabbed the boom of the sail, dug his feet into the deck of the boat, pulled, and leaned back. The boat turned; wheels made for rough roads turned and tumbled over the dry desert dirt. Bowing his head Billy’s modified coat collar protected his face as grit kicked up, hair flapping wildly behind him. Kansas. If he hadn’t seen the dead sign welcoming him to the dead state he never would have known. Kansas. He didn’t care much where he was or what he did, so long as he buried whomever he found in his travels. Kansas…
What a stupid state. He had been here a month and hadn’t found a single town or homestead. Did ANYONE live here?! Had anyone died? How morbid had he grown, to be disappointed that no one was dead for him to burry and free? It kind of made sense, though. No one to burry, no purpose. He needed to do something. That, and he was running out of food.
Sun set, sun rise, sun set, sun rise, the days ran into each other and became nothing more than a blur of time when Billy finally ran out of food and water. Sitting in his boat, the evil genius gazed at his hanging cans and wondered what would become of him now. He needed a town, and fast. Something that might just maybe have water, or food, that survived these last five years. Climbing up to the deck once more, he rode the wind this night. He never liked going out at night. Some instinctual fear he never seemed to have overcome until now. Desperation had led him into the cool night.
And into a town. He felt delirious. Everything was suddenly moving so fast. Blurs, everything was a blur around him. He went from watching sunrises to dirt sailing at night to suddenly finding a town. Everything was going too fast, too choppy. There, he found it, just inside the town’s boundary. A gas station, standing and okay. Letting the sail down he let the boat slow itself down, it wouldn’t go anywhere. He hopped off, stumbling inside and expecting it to fade away; a mirage of his dying wish. It didn’t. Inside were dead drink refrigerators with bottles of soda and water. The soda was long rancid, but the water was perfectly fine; protected by plastic. Wrenching a door open so hard it pulled the hinges off, Billy grabbed a bottle and downed it. The water was warm, stale, tasting of plastic. But it was water. The bottle was empty before he knew it, and Billy sat heavily on the filthy ground, panting and gazing at his new surroundings. There was a fat, balding middle-aged man standing behind the counter, gazing down. Probably at his bones that were more than likely on the floor behind the register. Billy paid him very little attention. Instead, his eyes found the packages of jerky in their foil and plastic pouches. This place was standing. Unlike California and parts of Nevada, Billy found that most mid-western towns and cities had their buildings still standing. The shockwave didn’t hit them as hard. The ray had done its job; taking all the water out of everything unprotected. But the explosion the gun had caused hadn’t demolished buildings. And for this, Billy was thankful. He had water and food because of it. He’d have to raid the grocery store and other stations now that he had found this one. And a map. He had little use for them, but could at least find out which way he should be going now for more food.
The clerk was buried. The town was buried. The canteens were refilled and re-hung from the ceiling of the hatch. The boxes that stored food were filled and spilling out. Billy had procured a new pillow from a toy store. Life was good once more.
Rating: M
Words: 1,526
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: 3, Kansas
Fandom: Doctor Horrible's Sing Along Blog
Notes: Multi-chapter piece. Post apocalyptic world.
Five years. That was a rough guess, of course. Five years, maybe six, maybe four. Maybe twenty, who knew? Billy didn’t. It had been, by his estimation, five years since the dehydration ray had exploded. Five years since he single-handedly destroyed the Earth. Five years since Billy became the last human alive. Five years felt like forever. And with any unluck, he’d be here for many more years to come.
Kansas. Land of the flat nothing. At least, it sure was now. A land that at one time flourished with crops and families was now flatter than ever. There were no hills. There were no mountains. There were no houses, or people, or towns, or plants. It was a dirt patch, nothing more. There were some devastated roads, but nothing that could get you where you wanted to go.
Billy sat on the prow, watching the sun appear out of the ground, sipping his metal canteen of water as it turned the world burnt brown. Hunched over, the man gazed at the star and didn’t see it. His mind was far away while his body sat, elbows on knees, hands dangling, existing with nothing. He’d changed in the last five years. After the death of the love of his life, he had changed his coat to red. After a while, he changed it back to white for the simple reason of red drew too much attention at the Laundromat. Three years ago, the white had become a redish brown from dust. Today, it was red from the same dirt, though it would never wash out. It had been baked in. His hair was long, tied up and falling down across his neck and back. His face was lined with age dirt and sweat. Oddly enough, there were no lines around his mouth. No creases of grins, no pulls of frowns, no breaks from chats with friends.
He looked old. He was so young, just in his thirties, but he looked ancient. Being the last person in the world and hardly protected from the sun will do that to you. Careworn eyes behind thick dust-covered goggles turned away from the ball of light, back to his surroundings, and down to his gloved hands. How he wished he could wear something else. His white leather gloves, his soft white coat, they were such a deep dirt-red now. He would love to wear normal clothes again. But these protected him from the harsh rays of the unfiltered sun. He had no choice. Hoisting himself to his feet, Billy turned and headed back into his boat.
Three years ago he awoke in San Francisco with an idea. He had tasked himself with burying everyone that had died. So far, he had been walking, and was limited by where he could find food water and shelter. Being so close to what had once been an ocean, there were boats everywhere. And cars. Billy found an off-roading truck and after some fun with a saw, removed the body of the truck. He also had removed most of the shocks, as they were heavy and wouldn’t be used much anyway.
Then the trick, which wasn’t all that hard, was finding a boat. He found one. It was a small sail boat, not very large. But it had what he needed, with some modification. Long body, lean and pointed. It had the deck that you could walk on and control the sail. And there was a hole in the deck that lead to the hollow body of the boat. With some tools and digging, Billy had scraped away the inside of the boat until the sides and top were almost paper thin. Then he shored them up with fiberglass insulation and plywood, doing the same to the outside of the bottom. He made it keep out the heat as much as he could. It didn’t work quite like he wanted, but after putting a door on, it actually wasn’t too bad. Since he spent the day outside, the heat was kept out. Then he spent the night inside with a hole in the bottom to let air move, and kept it about ten to twenty degrees cooler.
With some more work, he loaded the boat onto the truck chasse, and raised the sail. With some work, and some guessing, he harnessed the power of the wind to move him faster, further, and give him shelter that he could take with him. It took him about a month to make. Since then, he left the over-populated west coast and headed into the country. He couldn’t deal with being around nothing but glowing balls of light or floating people waiting to be buried. He needed to get away. Moist had told him that, though he had forcefully pushed that dream out of his memory. Two years later, Billy pulled open the hatch, hung his water on a hook from the strap, closed up the door, and furled the sail. The morning Kansas wind caught, and he was speeding on his way.
Maps did nothing for Billy now. They were just pieces of paper that could keep the sun off of him. So he just went where the wind let him. Seeing a large boulder ahead, he grabbed the boom of the sail, dug his feet into the deck of the boat, pulled, and leaned back. The boat turned; wheels made for rough roads turned and tumbled over the dry desert dirt. Bowing his head Billy’s modified coat collar protected his face as grit kicked up, hair flapping wildly behind him. Kansas. If he hadn’t seen the dead sign welcoming him to the dead state he never would have known. Kansas. He didn’t care much where he was or what he did, so long as he buried whomever he found in his travels. Kansas…
What a stupid state. He had been here a month and hadn’t found a single town or homestead. Did ANYONE live here?! Had anyone died? How morbid had he grown, to be disappointed that no one was dead for him to burry and free? It kind of made sense, though. No one to burry, no purpose. He needed to do something. That, and he was running out of food.
Sun set, sun rise, sun set, sun rise, the days ran into each other and became nothing more than a blur of time when Billy finally ran out of food and water. Sitting in his boat, the evil genius gazed at his hanging cans and wondered what would become of him now. He needed a town, and fast. Something that might just maybe have water, or food, that survived these last five years. Climbing up to the deck once more, he rode the wind this night. He never liked going out at night. Some instinctual fear he never seemed to have overcome until now. Desperation had led him into the cool night.
And into a town. He felt delirious. Everything was suddenly moving so fast. Blurs, everything was a blur around him. He went from watching sunrises to dirt sailing at night to suddenly finding a town. Everything was going too fast, too choppy. There, he found it, just inside the town’s boundary. A gas station, standing and okay. Letting the sail down he let the boat slow itself down, it wouldn’t go anywhere. He hopped off, stumbling inside and expecting it to fade away; a mirage of his dying wish. It didn’t. Inside were dead drink refrigerators with bottles of soda and water. The soda was long rancid, but the water was perfectly fine; protected by plastic. Wrenching a door open so hard it pulled the hinges off, Billy grabbed a bottle and downed it. The water was warm, stale, tasting of plastic. But it was water. The bottle was empty before he knew it, and Billy sat heavily on the filthy ground, panting and gazing at his new surroundings. There was a fat, balding middle-aged man standing behind the counter, gazing down. Probably at his bones that were more than likely on the floor behind the register. Billy paid him very little attention. Instead, his eyes found the packages of jerky in their foil and plastic pouches. This place was standing. Unlike California and parts of Nevada, Billy found that most mid-western towns and cities had their buildings still standing. The shockwave didn’t hit them as hard. The ray had done its job; taking all the water out of everything unprotected. But the explosion the gun had caused hadn’t demolished buildings. And for this, Billy was thankful. He had water and food because of it. He’d have to raid the grocery store and other stations now that he had found this one. And a map. He had little use for them, but could at least find out which way he should be going now for more food.
The clerk was buried. The town was buried. The canteens were refilled and re-hung from the ceiling of the hatch. The boxes that stored food were filled and spilling out. Billy had procured a new pillow from a toy store. Life was good once more.