Another Ficlet
Apr. 4th, 2005 11:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
alfvaenI decided to just skip three of the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
15minuteficlets words, because I was getting too hung up on trying to get caught up. So here's my ficlet for Word #101, still in the continuing saga of Warren and the disintegration of technology:
Word: Searching
"Maybe we can use those cans on a string," Rick said derisively.
Elaine considered. "Not a bad idea, actually. Depending on the length of the string, I imagine. We could also just use a megaphone. Some kind of stiff cardboard might work, because I don't know if this thing eats plastic or not."
"I know where there's cardboard in our office," Warren said. "If we can get to it."
"I dunno," Rick said. "These buildings with all the high-tech stuff in them are like deathtraps, I'd say."
"There's a stationery store a block or two down," Warren said. "We can try there. I don't think we'd be spreading anything any further than they would have already. Unless people have started barring their doors or something."
They covered up Officer Morris's body with a blanket from the back of the police car--the trunk had popped open, and the spare guns and ammunition inside had already gone up, but the blanket was only a little bit charred. Then they set off down the street.
The chaos seemed to have subsided, but probably only because everything had already broken. The sidewalks were treacherous with coins, and the streets were littered with vehicles in various states of disintegration. Only a few people were around, and most of them were either moving quickly, as if hoping not to be affected by whatever it was, or shambling aimlessly, stunned.
"Where'd everybody go?" Brian asked.
"Listen," Elaine said. They stopped, and above the hissing of various fluids leaking from automobile hulks, they heard crowd noises coming from a few blocks east. "Winston Churchill Square, I'd say," she said.
Warren nodded. It made sense, since it was the largest open space in downtown. Some of them might have gone the other way, to the park on 105th Street. And probably a few of them were, misguidedly, probably trying to walk home, spreading the contagion with them.
A couple of the more alert people on the street, seeing Elaine's uniform, rushed over and began asking her if she knew what was going on. "We're still gathering information," she said. "At the moment we're working on a way to regain contact with the authorities. There may be safety in numbers, so if you want to come with us, you can."
So Irene and Norman joined their little band. Irene was a fortyish businesswoman limping along in shoes with one broken heel, a black smudge on one cheek and her glasses askew. Norman was a pudgy computer-geek type with a luck of betrayal on his face. Warren felt a little sorry for him, and wondered if Norman would ever be able to touch a computer again.
Finally they reached the stationery store. They could hear noise from the park on 105th, but couldn't quite see it yet. The door was locked, and they could see somebody huddled down inside it. Warren hoped that the lock would just pop open, but probably the mechanism had just jammed in place or something. Rick and Brian tried forcing it, but it wouldn't budge. Finally they took a tire iron from the trunk of a nearby vehicle and just smashed the glass. Elaine made a point of going in first. "Don't worry, ma'am, I'm a police officer."
15minuteficlets words, because I was getting too hung up on trying to get caught up. So here's my ficlet for Word #101, still in the continuing saga of Warren and the disintegration of technology:Word: Searching
"Maybe we can use those cans on a string," Rick said derisively.
Elaine considered. "Not a bad idea, actually. Depending on the length of the string, I imagine. We could also just use a megaphone. Some kind of stiff cardboard might work, because I don't know if this thing eats plastic or not."
"I know where there's cardboard in our office," Warren said. "If we can get to it."
"I dunno," Rick said. "These buildings with all the high-tech stuff in them are like deathtraps, I'd say."
"There's a stationery store a block or two down," Warren said. "We can try there. I don't think we'd be spreading anything any further than they would have already. Unless people have started barring their doors or something."
They covered up Officer Morris's body with a blanket from the back of the police car--the trunk had popped open, and the spare guns and ammunition inside had already gone up, but the blanket was only a little bit charred. Then they set off down the street.
The chaos seemed to have subsided, but probably only because everything had already broken. The sidewalks were treacherous with coins, and the streets were littered with vehicles in various states of disintegration. Only a few people were around, and most of them were either moving quickly, as if hoping not to be affected by whatever it was, or shambling aimlessly, stunned.
"Where'd everybody go?" Brian asked.
"Listen," Elaine said. They stopped, and above the hissing of various fluids leaking from automobile hulks, they heard crowd noises coming from a few blocks east. "Winston Churchill Square, I'd say," she said.
Warren nodded. It made sense, since it was the largest open space in downtown. Some of them might have gone the other way, to the park on 105th Street. And probably a few of them were, misguidedly, probably trying to walk home, spreading the contagion with them.
A couple of the more alert people on the street, seeing Elaine's uniform, rushed over and began asking her if she knew what was going on. "We're still gathering information," she said. "At the moment we're working on a way to regain contact with the authorities. There may be safety in numbers, so if you want to come with us, you can."
So Irene and Norman joined their little band. Irene was a fortyish businesswoman limping along in shoes with one broken heel, a black smudge on one cheek and her glasses askew. Norman was a pudgy computer-geek type with a luck of betrayal on his face. Warren felt a little sorry for him, and wondered if Norman would ever be able to touch a computer again.
Finally they reached the stationery store. They could hear noise from the park on 105th, but couldn't quite see it yet. The door was locked, and they could see somebody huddled down inside it. Warren hoped that the lock would just pop open, but probably the mechanism had just jammed in place or something. Rick and Brian tried forcing it, but it wouldn't budge. Finally they took a tire iron from the trunk of a nearby vehicle and just smashed the glass. Elaine made a point of going in first. "Don't worry, ma'am, I'm a police officer."
