And then I woke up
Aug. 10th, 2015 20:47![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
torquillWhen I saw the zombies massing beyond the wall, I knew we were in trouble.
The wall wasn't finished yet; we had all been hoping for a little more time. We hadn't anticipated that there was an ancient cemetery a stone's throw from the outer defenses, nor that they would rise so soon. We weren't ready.
More worrying was what they were doing: they were all collecting a short distance from the wall, and waiting. They weren't acting as individuals, or even swarming as a mob. They were forming ranks. An army.
On my first attempt to dial the phone, I fumbled so badly that I got a dentist's answering machine. My second try was met with the cool voice of the company operator. "Mayday, mayday." My voice cracked, then steadied. "Critical. Convoy. Convoy. Please respond. Out."
As I hung up I wondered whether command would think that I was misusing the critical flag because I was young and excitable. Of all the scenarios we had considered, an organized troop of the undead hadn't come up. I had no idea what we were going to do, or whether there was any backup to send. All I knew was that a sick, cold feeling was congealing in my gut. We were probably all going to die, fairly soon.
When my companion tried to distract me with a newspaper headline, I didn't smile. Nothing was funny anymore.
The wall wasn't finished yet; we had all been hoping for a little more time. We hadn't anticipated that there was an ancient cemetery a stone's throw from the outer defenses, nor that they would rise so soon. We weren't ready.
More worrying was what they were doing: they were all collecting a short distance from the wall, and waiting. They weren't acting as individuals, or even swarming as a mob. They were forming ranks. An army.
On my first attempt to dial the phone, I fumbled so badly that I got a dentist's answering machine. My second try was met with the cool voice of the company operator. "Mayday, mayday." My voice cracked, then steadied. "Critical. Convoy. Convoy. Please respond. Out."
As I hung up I wondered whether command would think that I was misusing the critical flag because I was young and excitable. Of all the scenarios we had considered, an organized troop of the undead hadn't come up. I had no idea what we were going to do, or whether there was any backup to send. All I knew was that a sick, cold feeling was congealing in my gut. We were probably all going to die, fairly soon.
When my companion tried to distract me with a newspaper headline, I didn't smile. Nothing was funny anymore.