Akropolis

The Soldier (part 1)

It was ash and clouds of smoke swirling through the air; walls of fire in the distance, advancing like the frontlines of an army, lighting up the night sky in an orange dome. Every few seconds there would be a razor thin trail of blackness that streaked upwards in an arc from the horizon. Higher and higher it would go until it slowed, suspended in the sky, hovering, until with a screeching whistle it came hurtling down to the ground. There would be an explosion of dirt and metal and concrete, followed by a cloud of dust that would plume like the sneeze from a giant's mouth.

He didn't have much time. What came behind the walls of fire would be relentless, merciless, and anything caught in the path would be so much ash and dust when the wheels of the war machines rolled by.

Trey squatted on one knee for a moment and dropped his rifle. He unbuckled his ammo belts, his pack, threw aside the bulky night vision attachments he wore around his head. With the night sky lit up by the fires they would be useless to him.

He withdrew all the clips from his belt and crammed them into his pockets. They would be necessary on the way back from the heart of the city, once they reached the wall. There would be panic, mass droves struggling to get to the transports for liftoff. The people would feel the flames licking their backs and singing their hair and that panic would shortly turn to violence. He abhorred the thought of having to use what he had against them but he would do what was necessary for Shai and Hannah.

Unburdened from all the extra equipment Trey stood to his feet and started to run towards the center of the city. As he did he vaulted over piles of rubble and skirted burning transports. Some citizens were running in the opposite direction towards the wall; some stumbled back and forth senselessly, covered in dust and blood, sheep lost without their shepherd. When they saw his uniform some semblance of clarity would shine in their eyes and they would go for him with hands outstretched in a supplicating manner. He had no time for them and shouldered them aside.

Bodies were everywhere, smoking and on fire, pieces scattered here and there from the rockets. A few minutes into the heart of the city and he inadvertently stepped on a slick puddle that twisted his knee hard enough to the side that he crashed to the concrete with no time to brace himself, biting back a scream even as his face bounced off the concrete. He lay there for a moment and fought off a wave of nausea induced by the pain. When he rolled over, he found that the cause of his fall was a pile of intestines. The owner of the organs was about a foot away, or at least the upper half of her was; wide glaring eyes staring up at the sky with an expression of pure bewilderment.

Attempting to regain his feet, Trey realized that he had done something a bit more damaging than just wrenching his knee. He could barely put pressure on his wounded leg without nearly passing out.

"Shit!" he shouted and began to pat his pockets.

Precious seconds passed until he finally found what he was looking for. He pulled out a small black roll of what appeared to be electrical tape. He unwound a corner of it and wrapped the thin fabric around his knee and the surrounding area until the spool was gone. A little wire hung from the end and he grasped it between his two fingers and yanked.

The pain made him swoon on his feet as the fabric shrunk tightly around his kneecap, sending a slight electrical charge along the surface of his flesh that started to deaden the nerve endings from the thigh down.

Gasping, he withdrew a very small syringe from his breast pocket. He counted four more lined up like soldiers before he closed the flap on the pocket, bit off the cap of the syringe, and plunged the small needle into the flesh on the side of his neck.