paul simon
Paul Simon is played by [email protected]
Last updated: 27/12/00
A fortnight after the world ended, Paul realised that the silence he had first thought overwhelming, simply wasn't silence at all, but noise, constant noise. The flies buzzing around the corpses of his comrades, even the wind had substance here, as though it's very particles had grown larger and scraped, yes scraped against matter.
Nights were the worst. In the night other, more organised and almost humanly random noises haunted the darkness outside his barracks. A scratching, clicking... once the sudden hum of electricity that made a window glow blue, but despite his best efforts, he could not see the source of it. Instinct told him (memories of the machine wars, where men's allies turned on them in an instant. Still vividly remembering the young soldier... what was his name? Johns, that was it, as he glowed blue then burst like a sausage on a grill as the weapons the super-powers had sowed in the sky turned against those they were designed to protect), instinct told him that it was those responsible for the death of Johns, and those like him, and everyone he had ever spoken to or knew, who made the mysterious noises outside at night.
The sun was near to setting (a dully rosy glow, with none of the former glory the sunset once had in the heyday of man), when approximately four miles away, there was a sudden explosion. It looked to be in the vicinity where there were other barracks.
The explosion disturbed him the most. Anything that could have exploded from a fire or leak or anything would have exploded a few days after the world ended. Not now. Unless it was a human, or worse yet - a machine. However, comeing from the barracks that lay maybe five miles away started the wheels in his head to start spinning again. If someone was alive, then why would they blow something up? To get his attention? But how would they know where he was? The questions kept piling on top of eachother.
He shook his head. He was going to invetigate it no matter what it was. He returned to the barracks room, stepping over a few bodies that littered the doorway. Inside, on a bunk, lay his Armalite Assault Rifle, a few magazine clips, and a backpack which contained a med kit, water, and food. He shouldered the bag, holding the gun in both hands and took one last look around the Barracks that had once been a lively place and his home. Now all that was left was death and destruction. He locked and loaded his gun as he set off cross country, or what should be called rubble, towards the exploison. He heard noises here and there and stopped to make sure no machines were in the vicinity or any diseased people. He quietly crept towards the other barracks, his dark, scracthed ABC Gear made him just another shadow in a very dark landscape. He absently mindly counted the corpses he passed. 1...2...15....25...30....
Paul had stopped counting the bodies, skirting around the few still alive. Most were all contageous with the virus.
As he crept around the boumdrie of the barrack, noteing dead soldiers and a burnt wreakage of a car, a body inside, another explosion flung shrapnel to within a few feet of him. He dove around the side of the building, gun ready, and caught a glimpse of something colored black - like ABC Gear - on the rooftop. Whoever it was most likely a soldier. Even so, he would have to be cautious. Finding a side soor, he kicked it open and slid in
Paul had stopped counting the bodies, after all, they were dead anyways.
As he crept around the boumdrie of the barrack, noteing dead soldiers and a burnt wreakage of a car, a body inside, another explosion flung shrapnel to within a few feet of him. He dove around the side of the building, gun ready, and caught a glimpse of something colored black - like ABC Gear - on the rooftop. Whoever it was most likely a soldier. Even so, he would have to be cautious. Finding a side soor, he kicked it open and slid in.
As soon as the door was shut, the smell of kerosene and oil overwhelmed him. Though it was dim, as his eyes adjusted, he could see that the place was once a workshop - a regulation jeep was still up on the blocks, and gruesomely, there were legs protruding from under it. A corpse, mimicking his mechanical work of his mortal life.
As Paul approached, he could see that the man's stomach had been removed, by what appeared to be razors. The stench of the corpse mingled with the kerosene rose up around him and he felt like he was going to throw up or pass out.
Looking around the room, he could see where the kerosene odour was coming from - oddly enough, it's source was from not one, but six overturned jerry cans of kerosene. It was naught but good luck that the explosion hadn't shattered the door - a single spark would set this building alight.
But other matters demanded Paul's attention: there was a noise on the floor above him, hasty footsteps - they would have been silent before this building had died, even the low hum of the airconditioning would have hidden them.
He readied his gun as he moved towards the gasoline cans, shakeing them to see if they had an kerosene left in them. There was only a little - combined, it would hardly fill 1/8 of a jerry can. It was dangerous in here, and Paul quickly found another door, opening it as its lock had been blown off.
He crept silently through the halls in the direction the footsteps hand gone, glancing from side to side, stepping over the occasional body. His gun - armed and ready - was pointed at the doors and other hallways as he crossed them. A flcikering light that read "Stairs ->" directed him to the right and he cautiosly opened the doors onto the stairway...
The light must have been battery operated, since there had been no power running through the mains for quite a while.Suddenly another noise from the floor that Simon was advancing towards, a sharp crack, then the familar hiss of a flare, then another. As Simon neared the top of the stairs, he could see light from under the firedoor. Footsteps now... there was definitely someone on the other side.