Chuck's
200 words at a time flash fiction challenge continues this week. I continued
Ely's continuation of Mozette's story. Originally I wrapped up at 237 words for
my part, but I trimmed it back to 199. I hope the edits aren't too harsh. Font
color signifies each contributor.
***
Rain poured from the sky.
Why did
she wake up?
She wondered exactly how the day had begun as she pushed herself
to get out of her bed and get dressed.
Ashlee pulled on her work boots, laced them up nice and tight,
then came the bulletproof jacket – with full sleeves – that was handed out to
all personnel.
Then, she picked up her remote from the duchess of make-up, a
curling iron, hair ties and perfume, pointed it to the wall by her bed.
Pressing the blue button on the top left of it, a huge section of it slid
forward, split into two horizontally and swung up and down on air-controlled
hinges.
Ashlee had her pick of guns, artillery and high-tech gadgets to
fight the ongoing battle which was going on beyond her front door. But
the first thing she did was pull on her vest which had empty pockets, zipped it
up, clipped on a utility belt (which fitted neatly in a waistband gap around
the vest – and could be worn on its own if needs be) and then, she began
working on what she would need today.
Today, she was going to be busy.
Three targets. Two of which had not been seen for over 180 days.
One high priority, high profile, high risk. Not to mention the work that would
have to be done in order to get downtown.
Only one week had passed since the world had collapsed. Over
three billion dead. And half of the remaining four were not so much remaining
as they were quickly decaying. Ashlee understood, they were merely fighting to
stay alive---using any means necessary. Anyway, she didn't much mind. Chaos had
its benefits. Boredom wasn't likely to be a problem for a while, the fallout
was too great.
She grabbed her sidearm first, the Glock17 was a comfortable
extension to her right hand. One loaded clip, slide, release, safety, holster.
And four extra loaded clips she had filled the night previous. Her bedtime
routine was becoming very one-sided.
She eyed the .408 CheyTac. It would be needed for target number
two, but she was hesitant to carry it with her for the rest of the day's work.
Ashlee made plans to come back for it. She would save Two for
last. As for the other assignments for the day...
Ka-Bar, tactical kit, two
flashbangs, grenade, AR-15...
***
She gripped the Colt AR-15 and tapped the twenty
round magazines in her pockets. She didn't think she'd need them, but it never
hurt to be prepared these days. She preferred a scope for a job like this, but
she was still proficient over open sights. Before the collapse, she qualified
expert. Clipped to her utility belt was her marksman ribbon with the silver 'E'
signifying her qualifications. Not many alive recognized the ribbon, but the
people who mattered did.
She peered around the tree she hid behind. Target two would need the precision shooting of the CheyTac M-200 Intervention. This
target, however, .223 Remington rounds would suffice. The General sat at his
desk reviewing paperwork. She found his audacity revealing through the glass
panes separating them.
She knelt
with her elbow resting firmly on her knee. She lined up the sights and
squeezed. The general flopped back, but she needed to ensure the job was
complete. She let loose a torrent. It wasn't just rounds that tore up the
general's body and office, it was the deception. The lies. It was losing
everything she believed in.
As she backed away, she spoke into her transmitter,
"Tango one eliminated."
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