The fog was thick, around the Redwoods. So thick, that at the base of the old Gate Bridge, you can't even see the first arch.
A herd of elk were grazing, browsing about over some broken, overgrown pavement. In the distance behind them, dark shapes stood deathly still. One could pick out which weren't trees when the wind blew; cell towers and structures of the old world didn't usually bend with the wind.
The elk were upwind; there was no smell to warn them. They were caught by surprise when one of the shadows in the fog quickly charged! The scattered around it's feet, half the size of the rusted old cars on the bridge as it slid into a crouch and swatted down one of their number. It's trumpeting scream was cut short as it was lifted in that same hand, and crushed in the rotting flat teeth.
The giant chewed with it's mouth open, looking this way and that, like it didn't understand the fog, or the bridge before it.
Another bite, and most of the elk was already gone. It halted it's crunching to sniff the air, swallow, and raise it's eyebrows thoughtfully. A smell made it lose interest in what little was left of it's kill. One that killed curiosity, and compelled it to brave the fog, and cross the bridge.
The smell of humans.
6 AG; After the Giants
Central Cali Colony Prime
Briefing Room 34, 09:23AM
A handful of middle aged men and women sat around a table in a boardroom, their faces showing a mix of hesitance and concern.
"So, you're proposing... An expedition, of sorts?"
The younger man standing at the head of the table nodded, "yes, sir. We've been fairly stable, here, but I think it's important for new generations to know that we're looking toward the future, and not just..."
A woman seated at the table interjected, "-Waiting to die?"
"W-well-"
"Don't worry about my feelings, Mr. Gordon. The older among us, the one's who remember life before They came, certainly haven't struggled to maintain the age old tradition of gossip, rumors and general grumblings. It just so happens, we feel that we're beginning to understand enough that we can consider... Bolder actions."
A pause. "S-so, are you willing to approve my proposal?"
Another man spoke up, this time, "Not as written; Alaska might as well be on the Moon. But, if you think we have people that could manage re-exploring the Northern California Coast, maybe even push into Oregon, and make it back alive? Then we could proceed with furthering a push North in similar stages, reconnecting with any colonies outside our radio range."
The woman from before resumed control of the conversation, "While some of us are nervous about asking people to do something so dangerous, I must admit, a number of your candidates seem encouraging. 'If Anyone can do it', as we used to say."
The meeting wrapped up in a rather mundane fashion, and afterward the so-called "Mr. Gordon" began composing a message, "Congratulations, Mr. Bramworth..."
The Stockton Ruins,
Zone 5, 10:07AM
What remained of the city was in varying states of 'destroyed'. Just like everywhere else.
The only thing to interrupt the blowing of the wind through the ruins was the tremors; feint, but steady, and getting stronger. One vehicle in particular shook, dropping a scrap of it's own structure clattering down a half covered manhole, followed by a clattering of cans, or something. Some crude alarm system...
A herd of elk were grazing, browsing about over some broken, overgrown pavement. In the distance behind them, dark shapes stood deathly still. One could pick out which weren't trees when the wind blew; cell towers and structures of the old world didn't usually bend with the wind.
The elk were upwind; there was no smell to warn them. They were caught by surprise when one of the shadows in the fog quickly charged! The scattered around it's feet, half the size of the rusted old cars on the bridge as it slid into a crouch and swatted down one of their number. It's trumpeting scream was cut short as it was lifted in that same hand, and crushed in the rotting flat teeth.
The giant chewed with it's mouth open, looking this way and that, like it didn't understand the fog, or the bridge before it.
Another bite, and most of the elk was already gone. It halted it's crunching to sniff the air, swallow, and raise it's eyebrows thoughtfully. A smell made it lose interest in what little was left of it's kill. One that killed curiosity, and compelled it to brave the fog, and cross the bridge.
The smell of humans.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
6 AG; After the Giants
Central Cali Colony Prime
Briefing Room 34, 09:23AM
A handful of middle aged men and women sat around a table in a boardroom, their faces showing a mix of hesitance and concern.
"So, you're proposing... An expedition, of sorts?"
The younger man standing at the head of the table nodded, "yes, sir. We've been fairly stable, here, but I think it's important for new generations to know that we're looking toward the future, and not just..."
A woman seated at the table interjected, "-Waiting to die?"
"W-well-"
"Don't worry about my feelings, Mr. Gordon. The older among us, the one's who remember life before They came, certainly haven't struggled to maintain the age old tradition of gossip, rumors and general grumblings. It just so happens, we feel that we're beginning to understand enough that we can consider... Bolder actions."
A pause. "S-so, are you willing to approve my proposal?"
Another man spoke up, this time, "Not as written; Alaska might as well be on the Moon. But, if you think we have people that could manage re-exploring the Northern California Coast, maybe even push into Oregon, and make it back alive? Then we could proceed with furthering a push North in similar stages, reconnecting with any colonies outside our radio range."
The woman from before resumed control of the conversation, "While some of us are nervous about asking people to do something so dangerous, I must admit, a number of your candidates seem encouraging. 'If Anyone can do it', as we used to say."
The meeting wrapped up in a rather mundane fashion, and afterward the so-called "Mr. Gordon" began composing a message, "Congratulations, Mr. Bramworth..."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Stockton Ruins,
Zone 5, 10:07AM
What remained of the city was in varying states of 'destroyed'. Just like everywhere else.
The only thing to interrupt the blowing of the wind through the ruins was the tremors; feint, but steady, and getting stronger. One vehicle in particular shook, dropping a scrap of it's own structure clattering down a half covered manhole, followed by a clattering of cans, or something. Some crude alarm system...
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