[IC] [Ozymandias] The Way The World Ends [Catharyn]

[Cath]

Freyr cringed slightly as Indy dropped a clanger. Is everyone alright? Of course everyone was alright, apart from the bit where a young woman bludgeoned her sister to death with the vase she had bought from Bed, Bath and Beyond. Freyr bit her lip. She knew saying that wouldn’t help, and just managed to contain herself as the woman broke back down into sobs. Instead she suppressed a chortle and looked at the embarrassed face Indy had on. He moved over to the TV and switched on the national news. The news reader revealed that initial vaccinations had failed, Freyr deduced that said vaccination must have been what Dr Nguyen wanted her to come in for. She also recalled the horrendous racket going on when she phoned the hospital. Freyr imagined hordes of shambling wrecks like Tiana overrunning the health service, bodies hidden in rows under white linen sheets outside.

Her jaw clenched. Wriggling free of the distraught woman’s vice-like grasp, Freyr coaxed her husband to take action and basically arranged him around her neck like a particularly troublesome bouquet of flowers. Shooting a glance at Indy, Freyr marched back into their bedroom. Clothes still littered the floor and the kitchen was still plagued by food wrappers. Normally her OCD would be demanding she cleanup for their guests but circumstances seemed a little different than normal. Getting down on her hands and knees, Freyr pulled a dark green box out from under the bed. It had gathered dust over several years and some of the felt which coated it had been ripped off. Carefully undoing it’s little latch, Freyr pulled it open to expose the M1911 handgun.

After a few false starts Freyr determined it was in fact loaded so she made sure the safety catch was on, tucked the handgun into the back of her jeans and grabbed the four spare magazines. Shoving the green felt box back under the bed, Freyr got into some strong boots (just in case) before striding back into the living room. The family who had made their home on their couch seemed engrossed in the news whereas Indy was looking pensively into the distance in their kitchenette. Hugging him from behind, Freyr kissed his shoulder. “You okay?”

[Ozymandias]

Tossing the TV remote onto the settee Indy wandered over to the nearest window and stared out. The streets were still dark save for street lights. It was too difficult to make out any sort of movement from this high up. The sun would be up soon and then he'd see the state Atlanta was in. He heard Freyr talking to the family behind him. He wondered what their plan was. With two young children and a father who's unable to react under pressure he wondered if they'd even make it out of the city. Where would they even go? At this point in time as far as Indy was concerned this problem had only struck Atlanta. It wouldn't be long until he found out just how widespread it had become in such a short time.

“A state of emergency,” he whispered to himself as he leaned hard against the glass window with one arm. He knew what that meant. Every highway would be locked down by the police, riot teams would be in the streets, martial law would be declared, quarantines and detention areas would be erected, and helicopters with spotlights would be all over the city like flies around a carcass. All of the things Indy figured would happen did happen, and much more. At that time he would never have imagined the president's ultimatum, but that wouldn't happen for some time yet. They'd be safe up here in the apartment, he figured. They were high up and they could lock and barricade the door. Electricity and water would still be running for a long time yet. They were close to the roof too, if they needed to be evacuated. He kept a calm demeanour and at that time he told himself that the local authorities could contain the situation. He had no idea. Whatever was happening however he wanted to focus on protecting Freyr, not some other man's wife and children. He walked quietly over to where they were sitting and sat down.

“Where were you planning on going?” he asked the woman with a soft voice.

“Florida,” she managed to say between choked sobs. “My family's there. We're gonna take the I-75 down to Tallahassee.” Indy knew they probably wouldn't get far. The local authorities knew people would likely try to flee along the highways and would either send them back where they came from or, if things were particularly bad, funnel them into quarantine.

“Alright,” Indy nodded slowly. “I guess you'll want to take advantage of the time and get as far as you can before everyone else gets the same idea,” he added. The woman nodded. She wanted to get her family to safety as much as Indy wanted to protect Freyr and his home. He wandered over to the kitchen table and rested his hands heavily against the surface. He let out a long, deep sigh and wondered what his plan was. He'd figure something out, he always did, but he had never been in a situation quite like this. Riots were one thing – the apartment had special security systems and its own security guard which would keep the residents safe – but this was something else. He felt Freyr's arms around him. He turned around to face her, put his arms around her in return, and gave her a soft kiss on the lips. He felt something hard near the base of her back.

“What is--...” He lifted up the back of her shift and grasped the object. It was their pistol. Freyr had insisted they bought a firearm and enough rounds to sink a battleship 'just in case'. He never understood why or how a woman who lived in this kind of apartment and worked in real estate was so keen on guns, but that was just her. He put it down to her just being southern. He wanted to tell her that they weren't about to go to Vietnam and that she wouldn't need it, but decided against it. He placed it on the kitchen counter behind them, out of the family's sight. The last thing he wanted was for the father to get ideas and steal it to protect his wife and children. Indy had his own firearm which he kept locked and hidden; a Smith & Wesson M1917. An original which had been fired at the second battle of the Somme in the first world war by Indy's grandfather, Captain Nelson Ford. Indy's grandfather knew his grandson loved old relics and figured it would be safest with him. Indy had kept it pristine over the years. It was locked away in a green army tin as old as the pistol itself. He had twelve rounds of ammunition to go with it. He wasn't going to dig it out just yet however.

“Let's not arm ourselves just yet, Frey,” he said softly. He spoke and looked at her in a gentle manner, wanting his calm demeanour to reassure her. He smiled at her and put his arms loosely around her neck. “Let's get these people on their way and we'll be safe here.”

[Cath]

Freyr grinned impishly when Indy felt her gun with both his hands. Biting her lip mock-seductively she whispered in his ear "is that a gun in my pants or am i just pleased to see you?" It dawned on her just how ridiculous this whole affair seemed. Yesterday she had been trying to sell a lovely Greek revival house to a lovely couple who drove a lovely car. Barely twelve hours later and she'd just seen someone hit over the head with a vase that clearly needed to be restrained in a psychiatric ward. Freyr looked out at Atlanta, it seemed quieter than normal. The pure darkness that permeated the watchful blocks of flats was unsettling and Freyr would have given anything to hear another fire engine zooming to put out a house fire.

The family approached them at the breakfast island. The two children had stopped crying and were putting on a brave face, the parents looked shell-shocked but stable. Freyr peeled away from Indy and met them. "I'm sorry about what happened. What're you going to do now?" Both the adults looked at each other before answering her. "We're going to continue what we planned. Head for Florida, my parents." The woman said courageously. Freyr nodded. "They said on the news it's some kind of virus, it drives people insane or something." The man said helpfully, motioning back towards the TV. Freyr didn't want to think about what it is; let the authorities deal with it. They were safe up here for a few days, while the food lasted.

There was a low and muffled noise far down below them and the lights flickered, went off before coming back on again. Freyr instinctively looked up at the ceiling as the family ushered themselves out, fleeing with their suitcases down the corridor. "What's up with the power?" She asked, looking at Indy as the lights flickered violently again. She looked to the muted TV. The anchorwoman who was looking very seriously into the camera blinked in and out of existence. Freyr was beginning to hear people in the nearby flats talking anxiously too.

[Ozymandias]

Indy looked at Freyr for a moment as she teased him. She had just watched a woman get bloodily murdered in front of her yet seemed completely unfazed. He gave her a small chuckle and quietly held her. A few moments later the family approached them near the table and spoke with Freyr. Then the room went black for a second or so. The family rushed out of the building as if it were on fire. Indy heard hastened footfalls on the stairwell until they disappeared into the darkness. He also heard a series of pop pop pop sounds outside. Releasing his grip on Freyr he moved over to the front door and locked the top bolt and the latch key. He considered moving something heavy in front of it but he didn't want to make things appear worse than they were to Freyr. If he had known at the time what was outside he would have barricaded it with everything in the apartment. The lights went off again.

“Something must be stressing the mains,” he said idly. The street lights were still on and Atlanta was still a gleaming neon light in the darkness but individual buildings were periodically going dark. He knew the apartment had a backup generator as well as a backup-backup generator in case things really got desperate. For the amount of money the apartment building cost to make and what the owner charged for the apartments Indy expected the owner to have put measures in place for situations like this. 'Situations like this' at the time meaning some sort of strange riot.

A black and yellow police helicopter slowly glided through the air past the apartment. They were so close Indy was sure he would see the pilots if it wasn't so dark. The pilots could certainly see him. All Indy could see was the lights on the helicopter and the spotlight shining down onto the city. His eyes followed the light along the streets. They were jammed with cars, some piled on top of others in mangled crashes. People were pouring over them like river water rushing over stones. They were all running in one direction, but Indy couldn't make out if they were running to or from something. He heard that same pop pop pop sound again. A few moments later he saw where it was coming from. Flashes in the darkness followed by loud pops and cracks. Those were gunshots, from something quite big. The spotlight followed them for a while. A small convoy of four humvees rolled through the street. An armoured soldier stood grasping a machine gun at the top of the vehicle.

“The army's in Atlanta.” They were actually Georgia National Guardsmen but it made little difference. Their involvement went against the Posse Comitatus Act. Indy couldn't see what they were shooting at but he imagined it was at more people like Tiana. The convoy stopped after twenty metres or so. Three of the four doors on each humvee opened and three armoured soldiers appeared holding a rifle in their hands. They advanced slowly and cautiously alongside their transports. They were here as part of a perimeter force securing a five mile area around the governor's office. Georgia really was in a state of emergency if the national guard had been authorised to subdue the riots in Atlanta.

[Cath]

Freyr rushed to the window as the black and yellow helicopter chopped by. The sound of its powerful rotors was nothing more than a muffled boom so it was no surprise that the flashes of gunfire didn't even reach her ears. As they watched the camouflaged men and women fanned out to cover the width of the street. Moving carefully around the mass of abandoned cars which now seemed to jut out at awkward angles from the sidewalk, the Humvees maneuvered into a roadblock with their armored flanks showing to... Freyr pressed her face up against the glass. The lights went out in the flat which helped her see what they were actually shooting at. People. Shuffling toward the barrier with an odd shamble which didn't seem indicative of intelligent life. They were being mowed down by determined gunmen but there were so many. Some even seemed to go down and then come back up again; undeterred.

The National Guardsmen or whoever they are obviously hadn't enough men, an alleyway had been left relatively unguarded and Freyr's keen eye picked out a posse of figures overflow from its depths and attack the soldiers from the side. She couldn't see exactly what happened next but it seemed... violent. The helicopter's searchlight had moved somewhere else and the flat's lights hadn't turned back on. The street was thrust back into semi darkness. "Oh my god, this is real." Freyr shivered, the reality of the situation suddenly weighing down on her like an anchor in the dark. Indy and her had often talked about what it would be like to be living through Judgement Day, but those sessions had always ended in laughter. "We're not safe here, we need to get out of the city too. Don't you think?" Freyr paced the living room in the twilight, perfectly aware of all the furniture was. Another few sets of feet raced past the door on their way to the stairwell.

[Ozymandias]

“Right now we're safest in here,” Indy began saying as he put his arms around Freyr to comfort her. He didn't want her to panic. His grandfather had drilled it into Indy's head that staying calm in a crisis is paramount. Nelson Ford, Indy's grandfather, had always hated hysterics, panic, shouting, and all the things that come with chaos. After the first world war was over Nelson had become a police officer in New Jersey where he remained until his retirement a few years ago. When Indy was growing up in Princeton Nelson was there to look after him when his father was off on expeditions. It was during these years that Indy learned how to be calm. When something was stolen from him as a child he learned how to react responsibly, when he broke his arm he learned how to control his emotions. This had carried over into his adult life and, despite not knowing it at this time, would save his life in the years to come.

“We're up high,” he added. “We have plenty of food and water to keep us going till the riots stop. If Georgia's in a state of emergency it won't be long until federal authorities come to help. We'll be fine. If you're lucky you might even meet some soldiers,” he teased Freyr to take her mind off what was happening. When he finished his sentence he heard that same series of pop pop pop sounds outside. The helicopter had moved away and Indy assumed the pilot was guiding the army on the ground. He wandered over into the bedroom and changed out of the untidy clothes he had thrown on in a rush. He put on a grey t-shirt and a pair of dark blue jeans. Over his t-shirt he wore a green and white flannel shirt. He stared at the mirror in the low light and breathed slowly and deeply as he buttoned the shirt up. He considered asking himself what his grandfather would do in this situation, but he knew the answer already. Stay calm, don't panic. Nelson used to tell Indy how, during the first world war, panic got more men killed than enemy fire. Indy was certain he was exaggerating but he understood his point. Stay calm, save lives, he used to say. But Indy wasn't a soldier, he was an archaeologist, and he wasn't a man of Nelson's calibre, or at least that's what he would tell himself. He walked slowly over to the wardrobe and withdrew a small army green tin from the back, hidden away inside an inconspicuous cardboard box and buried under clothes. He heard the familiar click as he flicked the metal catch and lifted the top up. Inside he saw the pristine relic of war his grandfather had given him. The revolver, a small number of bullets and a worn brown leather leg holster.

“I guess I'll be needing you after all,” said Indy. The loud snaps and pops of gunfire outside had warned him it may be necessary to carry it, against his will. He tied the leather holster to his leg and hid the majority of it under his shirt. He slowly loaded the bullets into the revolver and placed it quietly into the holster. It wasn't like a modern pistol that could be carried in his trousers, it needed a proper holster to carry. He felt the uncomfortable weight on his right leg as he walked back into the living room and placed his arm around Freyr's waist.

[Cath]

The whole city had started to come alive now Freyr's ears had become more adjusted to the more subtle nuances. Distant booms and a strange buzzing had woven themselves in with the inconsistent hums of their air conditioning and lighting. Both of which were struggling to remain active, with the latter flickering on and off periodically. She didn’t appreciate the soldier gag and bit her lip in dissatisfaction and her arms folded as Indy’s hand made its way around her waist. “Do we though? I don’t think the fridge works if it’s being turned off every thirty seconds.” Freyr pouted, releasing herself to peer closely through the glass again before turning for the kitchen.

Crossing the space quickly she opened their Smeg integrated double fridge and looked inside. They’d done the weekly shop yesterday and did have a lot of food and bottled water, including the flavored Volvics she liked. Pushing her hand into it she grabbed a chicken she’d fancied for dinner that night Freyr tested the temperature. Cold for now. She couldn’t feel any breeze though. Closing the fridge door Freyr turned on their gas cooker, that came on with no problems. “It looks like it’s just the electrics for now” She guessed. “I’m going to cook the chicken. I think we ought to check the neighbours are okay.” Freyr said, pulling a baking tray out of a cupboard.

As she said that there was a tremendous banging on the adjoining wall with their neighbour to the left, followed by what sounded like a metal baseball bat. Freyr jumped with fright but managed to prevent the chicken from crashing to the floor. She gave Indy a look which meant ‘fuck if i’m going, you sort it out’ along with a worried ruffle of her treacle blond hair. To distract herself Freyr set about assembling a quick roast chicken, using up some of the ingredients which were likely to expire the quickest. It almost made her laugh because it was so mundane. Georgia had gone to shit in six hours yet she was preparing a roast.

[Ozymandias]

Indy heard a rhythmic crackling and thudding outside the apartment; a sound which was fast becoming familiar. The hovering helicopter had moved a fair distance away by now and the spotlight was weaving its way through the streets and alleyways, whether guiding the soldiers and police or searching for something Indy couldn't tell. Atlanta was probably quarantined by now with every exit for miles around blocked off, he told himself. The apartment lights flickered off and on again with irregular timing. Indy wanted to barricade the door but Freya mentioned something about checking on the neighbours after saying that, of all the things to do in a crisis, she was going to prepare a roast. At least she wasn't panicking, Indy told himself. His fingers traced the grip of his antique firearm as he heard loud crashes and the sounds of furious shouting from adjacent apartments. The lights flickered off again and Indy waited patiently for a few seconds for them to flicker on again, as they had been doing for the last few minutes. They stayed off and the apartment was in darkness save for the limited moonlight and illumination from nearby neon signs. The apartment has a back up generator, he reminded himself. Then he remembered that the generator didn't switch itself on automatically, it had to be done manually. Usually this was done by the building's security guard. Indy doubted that he'd have stayed at work at a time like this. He ran a hand through his dark hair and took a deep breath.

“Frey,” he began. “Lock the door after me. I'm gonna check on the generator, get the lights back on. Should just need to flick a switch.” He gave her a reassuring look and fished a small torch out from one of the kitchen cupboards near the sink. He turned the handle of the apartment door and stepped into the corridor, closing the door firmly and quickly in his wake. He pressed the on button of the torch and the bright light it emitted flickered. He banged it hard against his leg and it began projecting a constant, steady light. He checked along both sides of the corridor. The stairwell to the left was clear. Half the apartments to the right were open and there was a pool of blood near the front door of one of them. He swallowed hard and took small steps towards it, walking as quietly as he could. As he turned the corner and saw red foot prints in the apartment carpet leading away from the pool of blood. The beam of his torch slowly followed the foot prints until he saw glittering in the darkness. The constant noise outside masked the low, drunk groans. Indy's torch rose in the air, illuminating the wrecked apartment room. Wallpaper had been torn, there were dents in the wall, a coffee table had been over turned, a television was smashed and on the floor. The glittering shimmered and as the torch rose Indy realised the glittering in the darkness was a pair of eyes. He gasped loudly, startled, as he saw his neighbour, a young woman in previously white pyjamas, now wet and red with fluid that glittered in the torchlight. Her hands were red and her neck was streaming blood from a fist sized wound in her throat which looked like she had been attacked by some vicious animal. Indy caught the woman's eye and she stumbled drunkly towards him. He shook his head and woke from his paralysed state. He turned and ran towards the stairwell, slamming the side of his fist into his apartment door as he passed it.

“Lock the door!” he cried as the sound of his voice tried in vain to keep up with the blurring speed of his flight down the stairs with the bloody woman following him. It took him seconds to reach the bottom, having practically thrown himself down the steps, four or five at a time, winding his way around the baluster. He heard a loud crash above him proceeded by heavy mass tumbling down the staircase. He didn't stop to look until he reached the maintenance door; a heavy, grey metal door with a yellow sign that simply read 'maintenance'. Indy tried the handle. The heavy door wouldn't budge. His breath was hoarse and he swallowed hard as he heard the drunk groans behind him. He saw the blood smeared steps in the wake of the tumbling woman as she chased after him, dragging her feet behind her with heavy steps. One hand reached out before her and her eyes glittered in the darkness. Indy threw his weight against the door again and again until his shoulder was red. He didn't have the damn key, it was kept in the security office at the front of the building which he didn't have time to get to at this point. He withdrew the antique revolver from its holster and pulled the hammer back with his thumb. He prayed his tinkering and constant polishing hadn't somehow stopped the mechanism from working. He pointed the barrel towards the woman and gritted his teeth. He remembered Tiana and the furious struggle he had with her. He turned his gaze away and pulled the trigger desperately. The hammer struck the bullet and the dark stairwell was illuminated by two short, sharp flashes of light proceeded closely by two loud bangs.

The barrel of the revolver smoked in front of Indy as he turned his gaze back to the woman who lay motionless at the first step of the stairwell, barely ten feet away. He turned to the heavy metal door and, having guessed where the locking mechanism was, fired another round into the door and slammed his weight into it again. It opened with a crash and he stumbled inside in its wake. Hurriedly he lifted his torch and scanned the room until he found the generators side by side. The one on the left was silent and none of its lights were on to indicate that it was functional. Another generator to the right, which read 'auxiliary' in white letters, indicated that it was working by a number of red lights. There was a large red handle and a dozen or so red switches next to it. Having no clue what to do Indy took a guess and flicked the switches at random before pulling the red handle ninety degrees to the right. The red lights of the generator switched to green and the generator began making a deafening noise which echoed through the cold, dark room. Indy flicked the last of the switches up until each of the red lights were green. The last one to turn green switched on the lights in the generator room. Indy sighed with relief as the shroud of darkness around him was lifted. He felt fear paralyse him as he caught movement in the corner of his eye. He turned slowly and choked at what he saw. An open door at the opposite end of the room with a long blood trail leading towards it preceded by glittering eyes. Two dozen pairs of glittering eyes stared at Indy as he stood paralysed near the generator. Two dozen red faces, bloodied mouths open wide showing red teeth, horrific bites and wounds on each of them in different places. Some had entire limbs missing, others had no eyes. A terrible howl woke Indy from his paralysis as the horde of bloody people shuffled towards him. The noise of the generator was quiet compared to the mass of groans and stumbling feet. Indy fired two rounds from his revolver in panic, unsure if he had hit anything, and ran back in the way he had come, through the maintenance door, hauling a heavy solid metal bar behind him. He slammed the door shut and positioned the bar between the frames and the door handle. He wished desperately that he hadn't destroyed the lock and wondered if the door had locked in the first place to keep the shuffling mass inside. They wouldn't get through the door any time soon but Indy practically flew up the stairs nonetheless, his feet pounding on the steps. The sounds of heavy thudding against the metal door followed him up the stairwell.

[Cath]

The silence seemed deafening. Of course it wasn't completely quiet in the flat; there was a slight dripping from the tap that they had never got round to fixing. There was the muffled ululations from outside that seemed completely disconnected from the world as she knew it. To stop herself crying out, Freyr went over to put Chopin into action on their state of the art stereo system and couldn't help but crack a smile when it didn't work. How could she have been so stupid? Of course it didn't work. Freyr checked her chicken in the oven; it was on the right track. She thought about starting the vegetable preparation. She thought about turning her roast into a salad instead, it'd be easier that way. The zeal that had consumed her minutes earlier had for the most part evaporated and she just felt exhausted.

It occurred to her that they should probably phone up the parents at some point. They deserved to know what was happening, even if it didn't affect them in the slightest. Freyr supposed that her mother might even have something to say about whatever it was, being an Epidemologist and all. There wasn’t even a certainty it was a disease, Freyr hadn’t yet seen anybody wearing a gasmask; from the what she had seen the soldiers down on the street could even have been private security firms. If they played it smart with the food that they had, Freyr reckoned they could survive a week or so before things started getting hairy. After that they’d have to scavenge for food and water, and even venture down onto the street.

She was disturbed from her inner monologue by a bang on the door. Freyr jumped visibly, a hand going instinctively for her chest. A guttural and phlegmy growl vibrated through the door, freezing her to the spot. Freyr closed her eyes, hoping she’d imagined it but barely five seconds later it happened again, louder. Edging closer to the door, the lights coming back on now. Indy must have found the switch, Freyr thought at the back of her mind as she pulled her gun from out of her waistband. After what seemed like an eternity she reached the door. A faint scratching sound as well as bangs and a strange shuffling could be heard directly outside. Steeling herself, Freyr put her eye to the looking glass installed on their door, granting her a view of outside.

She had to cover her mouth in shock because a grotesquely mutilated corpse was proceeding to lounge against the door, scratching weakly. It wasn’t someone Freyr recognized, though that could be because they were almost entirely caked in dried blood as well as pieces of half chewed innards. As she watched, the zombie raised her head and almost seemed to stare back through the looking glass at her, before closing in with mouth open and the view turned black. Recoiling slightly, Freyr breathed out in deeply. The thing appeared to hear her because it produced a mewling groan that curled her lips in disgust. Freyr thought of Indy, stumbling back from his mission to be caught by surprise at their doorstep.

That wouldn’t do. Freyr thought long and hard about her potential next move before damning the consequences, putting the barrel of her gun up against the portion of door that she suspected was adjacent to the thing’s head and pulled the trigger.