rightwing401
28-Mar-2009, 03:13 PM
(Ok, so here's how the Memoirs of Yonkers opens. Not a lot of action until later on.)
The interior of the car reeked. Even though the q’s held a whole lot less tobacco than those of a prior age they still gave off a decent amount of smoke. The small clump of butts grounded into the ash tray just under the real time GPS was an easy explanation for why everything from the padded leather seats to the reinforced steel siding stunk of the coffin nails. Rolling down the windows was a possibility, but being so far out from the protective walls of the city seemed like just asking for fate to sneak up and give a painful, and deadly, bite in the ass.
Luke Wilson, second year journalist for one of the few remaining independent news bodies still existing in the country, repeatedly shifted his eyes from the GPS system to the view ports of the front windshield, or as those his age preferred to refer to them, Z shields. It was a fitting name, since the glass was three times as thick as those found on vehicles before the war and was laced over with intricate layers of steel mesh. Several view ports made it possible to use the naked eye for driving, but their field of vision was very limited. The two 6x4 television monitors above his steering wheel that were connected to the hood and fender mounted cameras more than made up for the handicap. Glancing around at the densely packed forest, Luke felt his anger growing with each passing turn that took him deeper into the wilderness of nowhere.
“Where the hell am I? I’m in the middle of nowhere.” he mumbled to himself, the remaining half of the q dangling from his mouth as he tried to figure out exactly how much further he was going to have to go before he got to the house.
He wasn’t really scared. The last time anyone had reported seeing an actual zed in the wild had been well over ten years ago, and his vehicle could have smacked head on into a tree and still got him where he needed to go. Plus, the twelve gauge sawed off shotgun attached to the weapon’s rack on his front passenger side and the fifteen round mag semi automatic pistol attached to his waist gave him a comfortable peace of mind.
It was just…well…creepy being so far out in the middle of nowhere without anyone else around him. As he slowly traversed the next sharp bend down the dirt road (he couldn’t believe that there were still dirt roads that existed), Luke began to wonder just how the hell he had gotten into this position.
Two weeks ago, his head editor had approached him with the fact that they were quickly approaching the fifty year anniversary of Yonkers. It hadn’t been something that Luke or many others put a lot of thought to. It had been a defeat, a bad one. Plain and simple. Who the hell would want to remember that?
Luke had initially thought that he was going to have o write some half-assed recap of the details of the battle, until his editor had sprung the big surprise to him. As it turned out, there was an actual veteran of Yonkers still alive in their area. That wasn’t something to take lightly, but it still wasn’t something that would warrant the attention of the older and more experienced journalists. Not with Russia nabbing up another former providence on the Baltic area and increasing calls from less isolationist senators and congressmen for something to be done to curb the aggressive expansion.
The interior of the car reeked. Even though the q’s held a whole lot less tobacco than those of a prior age they still gave off a decent amount of smoke. The small clump of butts grounded into the ash tray just under the real time GPS was an easy explanation for why everything from the padded leather seats to the reinforced steel siding stunk of the coffin nails. Rolling down the windows was a possibility, but being so far out from the protective walls of the city seemed like just asking for fate to sneak up and give a painful, and deadly, bite in the ass.
Luke Wilson, second year journalist for one of the few remaining independent news bodies still existing in the country, repeatedly shifted his eyes from the GPS system to the view ports of the front windshield, or as those his age preferred to refer to them, Z shields. It was a fitting name, since the glass was three times as thick as those found on vehicles before the war and was laced over with intricate layers of steel mesh. Several view ports made it possible to use the naked eye for driving, but their field of vision was very limited. The two 6x4 television monitors above his steering wheel that were connected to the hood and fender mounted cameras more than made up for the handicap. Glancing around at the densely packed forest, Luke felt his anger growing with each passing turn that took him deeper into the wilderness of nowhere.
“Where the hell am I? I’m in the middle of nowhere.” he mumbled to himself, the remaining half of the q dangling from his mouth as he tried to figure out exactly how much further he was going to have to go before he got to the house.
He wasn’t really scared. The last time anyone had reported seeing an actual zed in the wild had been well over ten years ago, and his vehicle could have smacked head on into a tree and still got him where he needed to go. Plus, the twelve gauge sawed off shotgun attached to the weapon’s rack on his front passenger side and the fifteen round mag semi automatic pistol attached to his waist gave him a comfortable peace of mind.
It was just…well…creepy being so far out in the middle of nowhere without anyone else around him. As he slowly traversed the next sharp bend down the dirt road (he couldn’t believe that there were still dirt roads that existed), Luke began to wonder just how the hell he had gotten into this position.
Two weeks ago, his head editor had approached him with the fact that they were quickly approaching the fifty year anniversary of Yonkers. It hadn’t been something that Luke or many others put a lot of thought to. It had been a defeat, a bad one. Plain and simple. Who the hell would want to remember that?
Luke had initially thought that he was going to have o write some half-assed recap of the details of the battle, until his editor had sprung the big surprise to him. As it turned out, there was an actual veteran of Yonkers still alive in their area. That wasn’t something to take lightly, but it still wasn’t something that would warrant the attention of the older and more experienced journalists. Not with Russia nabbing up another former providence on the Baltic area and increasing calls from less isolationist senators and congressmen for something to be done to curb the aggressive expansion.