Burning Skies

Chapter 7 - One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest

Stanley awoke to the noise of crackling...and smoke. His eyes widened as he realised something was seriously wrong. After woken up properly, and having clearer sinuses he took a deeper breath...and then broke down in a coughing fit. It was smoke! Stanley, thankfully having some experience in this situation, dropped to the floor and slowly started to make his way to the door. He heard screams, but dismissed them. In cases as such, grief and thought are the last things you need on your mind - no matter how bad it is. He heard crying as well, but this wasn't crying from pain or sorrow; this was forced. Tight and pained. After Stanley finally reached the door and got out, he noticed that the smoke was thinner, so it was easier to breathe and move. After moving along the corridor, still hearing that piercing laugh, he got to the mess hall. Well - at least what was left of it. Roughly 90% of whatever food they still had was a burnt pile of ash. Stanley, thankfully having more common sense than Matthew Thomas' dandruff, attempted to recollect some food that had been spared. Beef jerky, Spam, Bottled water and some vinegar.

"Oh praise the lord and all that is holy, we can feast on VINEGAR for the rest of our lives!" Stanley spouted out sarcastically, shortly realising that that was an astonishingly bad idea, as he got a chest full of smoke.

As tedious as it was, he managed to slither his way across the mess hall floor, occasionally seeing that odd burnt extremity, but otherwise it was good progress. Stanley kept repeating to himself, in his head 'Iron fist not a heart of gold. Iron fist not a heart of gold.'. Granted, Stanley wasn't exactly on an emotional being. He didn't spurt lovingness and care from his heart, especially in this world now. Screams echoed as Stanley finally managed to get fresh air in one of the rooms. Reflecting back on it, they'd gotten themselves in a bit of a pickle, come to think of it. They had been focusing so much on protecting themselves from the fires on the surface, they hadn't stopped to think about what would happen if there was a fire on the inside. Idiots.

Stanley stopped a minute to recollect himself, and take a look at what he said in his pack. Spam, Luke warm water, Vinegar and Beef Jerky. There was an abundance of vinegar, for some reason, and a fair amount Spam. Water was scarce, along with anything remotely fresh, Spam and Beef Jerky wasn't real food to Stanley, they were dried nutrients. Stanley took a moment to reflect on what the hell was actually going on, before he heard heavy, dull footsteps. Round-soled shoes. Followed by the laugh he'd heard earlier. Like a jigsaw puzzle, Stanley pieced together the pieces. The fire, the dull footsteps, the laugh. Stanley paused as he'd realised where Dylan had been this entire time. Jim and Stanley spent so much time looking in the obvious places. Dylan was part of the background. Invisible to society. Stanley remembered at Kristjan's scene. The smell of gasoline...that wasn't Kristjan...that was Dylan. BANG! Stanley sharpened his scenes as he heard his metallic door shudder. Another bang. More laughing. Dylan had gone insane, completely mad. Stanley fumbled to get everything back in his pack, and ran full pelt into the door, simultaneously opening the handle and tackled Dylan, pressing him against the wall and dropping him onto the floor. Despite being mad, you can still be surprised. Dylan swung at Stanley and tried to knock him out, Stanley dodged and returned the swing to Dylan. Breaking his nose, Stanley then tried dashing to the exit, but Dylan managed to grab his ankle, and knocked him over, consequently breaking his nose at the same time.

Fighting continued for a couple of minutes, swinging punches and kicking, until Dylan finally got in a decent swing. After elbowing him in the face, Dylan dragged Stanley over to the slightly unhygienic toilets and smashed Stanley's head against one of the walls. Now bleeding and with mild concussion, Stanley slumped to the floor. Dylan started to laugh hysterically as he flicked open Gerald (he was insane), his trusty lighter, and threw it at Stanley's feet. With the conveniently drenched with gasoline, a blaze roared - and promptly died down. As shock struck throughout Dylan's features, Stanley regained a minute amount of consciousness and kicked outwards towards Dylan's leg. Dylan roared like a furious lion as a snapping noise echoed throughout the toilets, as Dylan's shin snapped, and broke his leg. Consequently, the broken leg nerves flung the leg skywards and promptly struck Stanley in the groin. Dylan collapsed, falling to the floor, screaming in pain. Stanley struggled to get up, after being kicked in the groin. After recovering, and Dylan still injured on the floor. Stanley retrieved his pack and made a dash for the exit, Dylan, retrieved his lighter, and with his last laugh, set the room ablaze. Screams and laughs conversed as Dylan let out his dying laughs. Stanley looked at Dylan with a mixed emotion of disgust, but pity as well. Stanley readjusted his pack, and headed towards the exit.

Stanley sighed, as he realised fate was taking its turn. First Dominik, Kristjan, Dylan...everyone who he loved and respected in this hell-hole were dieing out. Stanley didn't want to admit it to anyone, but suicide was high up on his list. Could things get any better? Lets look at this from a wider angle. Epidemics haunt America and Africa. The United States is now Atlantis' cousin - in thousands of pieces and wiped off the map. Europe's is in chaos, both physical and governmental. Asia's been levelled, and in a nutshell, the world's going to shit.

Stanley finally made it to the last ladder to get out of this claustrophobic hole in the ground, now ablaze. As he climbed, he heard a familiar voice. Thick Irish accent, yet she was sobbing. Stanley popped his head out over the hatch. The heat was overpowering. Any even remote sign of grass was now a brown crisp. Wasteland spread out over nature, overcoming it, like a disease in Mother Nature. The city of Riga was no more. Stanley cast his mind back to the Czech...at least nature was flowing through the abandoned city. Now, in Riga, it was nothing. Cracked sand replaced grass. Weeds and plants were decayed and crispy. Time was lost. Stanley thought it fair to assume that near no-one left in this world still kept time. Winter, summer, autumn, spring...it was all the same. Excruciatingly hot. And arid. Stanley heaved the rest of himself onto the hot ground, and inspected his surroundings...whatever of it was left. He spotted Mary a few feet away, head between her knees, and crying. Mary looked up and glanced at Stanley, with a face of near pity, and helplessness. Stanley came over at put his hand on her shoulder.

"Come on, Mary, let's get out of here." Stanley said.

Lifting her up with his right hand, and poked around in his pack, trying to look for something for Mary to hold her belongings in.

"Hmm, bottles, food, vinegar, and...an empty roll of toilet paper? Huh. Ah! Here's a small pack, will it do?" Stanley said as he passed the small pack to Mary. Mary responded by nodding, still refusing to speak.

"I'm heading West, Mary. I'm sick and tired of us masses hiding in a hole in the ground, being picked off piece by piece. I'm going elsewhere. New places, Mary. I'm sick and tired of this shit." Stanley sighed before asking a question, that had previously picked at his brain. "Do you want to come?"

Mary finally spoke, answering with a gravely yes. She said her excuses and headed down the ladder, saying she would retreive some belongings, as her living quarters was thankfully untouched. Stanley stood. And waited. And waited...and waited. Stanley still had faith in that Mary would return, but she was taking abnormally long. Whilst she was waiting, Stanley cast his mind back to his childhood, before things went bad.