argh
Well, just typed up a rough-rough draft of the 4th? chapter to 'Radicals.' *sigh* I don't know, you tell me...
The sand seems to have piled into even higher mounds once they reach the edges of the desert and the beginnings of the town. Secluded, small, and now swarming with foot soldiers who observe the cinema, grocery store, the all night diners, keeping the town and it’s people in their place. It feels like a whole new world. Brave New World. A place that Larry is beginning to hate, even though it is helpless to defend itself.
They’re crawling through an unknown alley behind a nameless bar – well, maybe not nameless, since the neon sign flickering above the back door reads ‘The Bar’, as if it were the only bar in town. Which isn’t even close, since there are a dozen or so sprinkled evenly along every major street. Nevada may have been filled with life years and years ago, with it’s shiny nightlife and sparkling signs, but now it is a mere skeleton of what it used to be. The bars, despite the prolific number of them, are stripped bare and leaning on their war torn foundations.
Adam nods to him, signaling that the cost is clear.
In any other circumstance, Larry would have found it funny that the two of them are sneaking along back alleys with lead pipes in their hands, taken from an abandoned construction site not too far behind to use as temporary weapons, until they find some guns. But Larry isn’t so lucky, and he nods back at Adam, who moves farther ahead on quiet stealth as soiled shoes glide along the soot stained gravel, the sounds of their progression honed to a mere whisper.
Larry can hear the occasional booming voice inside, probably that of a foot soldier, since the town’s people don’t seem like the type for sporadic bursts of happiness while being overrun by, what Larry and Adam and all the libertarians like to think of them as, basically terrorists. He can tell the difference between a soldier’s laughter and a local’s. A local laughter sounds broken and desperate, while the others do not.
The smell of ozone and gasoline and burnt buildings lingers in the air, what had been clear skies and radiant sun that morning out in the desert now a blundering, inky swirl of gray made by the inevitable pollution of war.
It hadn’t even been this bad before, damn it.
Shh, Adam raises a finger to his lips, turning back to Larry.
Larry scowls, annoyed by the fact that their efforts to gather a militia to rival the incoming soldiers is clearly becoming a pointless one, seeing how it is never going to happen if all they do is sneak around like helpless mice.
Also, went back, and I'm probably going to re-write a major chunk of chapter 2.
The sand seems to have piled into even higher mounds once they reach the edges of the desert and the beginnings of the town. Secluded, small, and now swarming with foot soldiers who observe the cinema, grocery store, the all night diners, keeping the town and it’s people in their place. It feels like a whole new world. Brave New World. A place that Larry is beginning to hate, even though it is helpless to defend itself.
They’re crawling through an unknown alley behind a nameless bar – well, maybe not nameless, since the neon sign flickering above the back door reads ‘The Bar’, as if it were the only bar in town. Which isn’t even close, since there are a dozen or so sprinkled evenly along every major street. Nevada may have been filled with life years and years ago, with it’s shiny nightlife and sparkling signs, but now it is a mere skeleton of what it used to be. The bars, despite the prolific number of them, are stripped bare and leaning on their war torn foundations.
Adam nods to him, signaling that the cost is clear.
In any other circumstance, Larry would have found it funny that the two of them are sneaking along back alleys with lead pipes in their hands, taken from an abandoned construction site not too far behind to use as temporary weapons, until they find some guns. But Larry isn’t so lucky, and he nods back at Adam, who moves farther ahead on quiet stealth as soiled shoes glide along the soot stained gravel, the sounds of their progression honed to a mere whisper.
Larry can hear the occasional booming voice inside, probably that of a foot soldier, since the town’s people don’t seem like the type for sporadic bursts of happiness while being overrun by, what Larry and Adam and all the libertarians like to think of them as, basically terrorists. He can tell the difference between a soldier’s laughter and a local’s. A local laughter sounds broken and desperate, while the others do not.
The smell of ozone and gasoline and burnt buildings lingers in the air, what had been clear skies and radiant sun that morning out in the desert now a blundering, inky swirl of gray made by the inevitable pollution of war.
It hadn’t even been this bad before, damn it.
Shh, Adam raises a finger to his lips, turning back to Larry.
Larry scowls, annoyed by the fact that their efforts to gather a militia to rival the incoming soldiers is clearly becoming a pointless one, seeing how it is never going to happen if all they do is sneak around like helpless mice.
Also, went back, and I'm probably going to re-write a major chunk of chapter 2.