Here it is, I'm not sure where I'm going with this so if you want me to stop I will. If the format doesn't work then I'll try again with another post. And please, this is only for entertainment. it helps me get those wacky thoughts of my head, because you see... I do live in a high rise Atlanta apartment complex. But flame away if you feel ya hafta =) I'm a big boy I can take it.

Part Two

The world was dark; the atmosphere grim as Ned tried unsuccessfully to calm his nerves. The darkness wasnt frightening; it was the ever-present feeling of uncertainty that was disturbing. Ever since childhood Ned was accustomed to being alone so there wasnt the typical feeling of helplessness that he figured was spreading throughout the building. He tried the phone again to hopefully reach 911 but again there was only the sound of a million people tying up the trunk lines in a desperate effort to get help.

Ned was still wearing his work clothes, which was thankfully just slacks and a dress shirt. Casual Fridays were the latest rage at his office so he didnt feel compelled to change and shower like he normally did after a grueling day at work. He went back over to the front door and flipped the light switch up and down to maybe coax some electricity to his defunct lights. But there was none to be had. Remembering now that his alarm was useless Ned thought it might be a good idea to keep his pistol handy. It wasnt dark inside his apartment, so he didnt need to get the flashlight to find his way into the bedroom. Sitting peacefully on top of the dresser was an oak box that held a .40 caliber Beretta. He flipped it open and took out the black gun, with the spare magazine holster that held two more clips. He didnt need to check to see that it was loaded it always was. He read somewhere that you should keep the ammo and gun separated to avoid accidents but he never heeded that advice. In fact the gun was off safety, and ready to rock and roll in a moments notice. Clutching the gun was comforting and yet unsettling somehow. It was like holding something incredibly sacred and deviously vile at the same time. With thirty hollow point shells in all he wondered if he could actually fire even one at a human being.

There were more sirens coming now, probably in response to the Rifle Guys misguided attempts at justice. Or whatever it is that causes a man to open fire on an ambulance. Ned went over to the bedroom window and lifted the blinds all the way. The city wasnt entirely dark like he thought it would be. In fact some parts looked like they were functioning perfectly. Off to the west he could see the Underground Mall and it was lit up as brightly as any time hed ever seen it. But his building was out of power that much was for sure. The streetlights below were out and it appeared that his entire block was in a blackout. Hastily he shoved the Beretta into his front pocket and the spare clip holster into his back pocket. He found another unopened pack of Camels on the bedroom table and unwrapped it. As he fumbled for a lighter from the drawer he heard the sounds of the helicopter come roaring over his complex and off towards Turner Field. It was on a direct path with the stadium and when it got overhead it began circling, as if the pilot was looking for a place to land. Ned took out a cigarette and lit one up with a pack of matches he finally found. Using the last match in the pack the flame illuminated his small bedroom, making it look like the dwelling of a cave man and not like the house of a professional IT consultant he was accustomed to. He was watching the dark chopper circle the stadium, now casting a spotlight down below onto a crowd of people who were probably wondering what happened to the Omni-Vision television wall that was showing an in the park concert live from Central Park in NYC. Someone downstairs at the New Years eve bash yelled someones name but Ned couldnt make it out. He was about to try 911 again when the telephone rang.

Hesitantly he picked up the bedroom extension and said hello. It was his ex-wife Susanne calling to wish him Happy New Years. He was explaining to her the situation that had just taken place downstairs and then the ensuing blackout when the line went dead. He fingered the call button a few times but couldnt get it back up. Getting close to a state of hysteria he rushed into the living room to try the other phone, and in his haste knocked over the printer table. He stumbled around on the floor for a second, rubbing his hip. He had fallen on the Beretta and it had given him a nasty contusion on his pelvic bone. He stood up and found the phone, but it was dead, like he thought it might be.

Realizing that he had also dropped his cigarette when he fell he found the glowing embers and stomped them out before they could cause a fire. And then he suddenly felt like he needed to get out of the building. Ned wasnt the type to break down into melodrama but something instinctual told him that he really, really didnt want to be inside anymore. He went over to the window and as he looked out down to the street the second ambulance pulled up, being escorted by two Metro Police Cruisers. The cops got out first and immediately crouched down to avoid being hit by potential sniper fire. Ned didnt know how long this power outage would last but he was sure that it wasnt the average run of the mill electrical storm. He kept a backpack in the closet by the front door and he went to fetch it. The party downstairs was picking up pace again. Only now the sounds werent localized to one unit. It sounded like the drunken fools were now coming out to explore the rest of the building in their drunken revelry. Ned was really beginning to get worried that in the event of an accident there wasnt going to be any help from the local police. God knows what was going on at Turner Field but he could hear the sounds of another chopper flying low and towards the general direction of the first. He opened up the backpack and dumped out the computer manuals and writing supplies he had stashed in there at some point. It wasnt very big, but he figured it would come in handy. There was a small Mag-Lite flashlight in his desk, the kind that took two double A batteries, so he went to fetch that next.

As he pulled out the flashlight he heard someone from the apartment directly next door shouting down to the police. It sounded like he was trying to tell them the coast was clear, but he wasnt sure. There was at least one more emergency vehicle on the way, because he heard the siren coming down the street, faintly at first, and then louder as it approached his building. Ned shoved the Mag-Lite into his pack and then went back into the bedroom. He had some leftover camping supplies from when he was in Colorado, trying to find his wild side. He dug into the closet in the far corner of the room and pulled out a box. Inside the box Ned sifted through some tent stakes, environmentally friendly soap and strike anywhere matches until he found what he was looking for. Inside a small blue box was a rudimentary first aid kit, and he shoved that inside the pack with the flashlight.

He then shoved about ten small boxes of matches into the backpack, almost as an after thought. He turned and started back for the kitchen on the far end of the apartment. Spying his fresh box of Camels on the bedroom table he grabbed then and went out. Ned was feeling exceedingly nervous at this point and it was clear that the partygoers were getting out of hand downstairs. He heard crashing and yelling and what was unmistakably a brawl starting between two men. There was a feminine voice trying to calm them down but after a few moments that disappeared altogether. He saw this kind of behavior a thousand times at college frat parties. As soon as the alcohol was all used up and there werent any more laughs to be had, the fists started flying.

He made his way to the kitchen and pulled open the fridge, a little disappointed that the light didnt come on. He took out three cans of soda and a ham sandwich he made that morning but didnt bring to work. Stuffing them into the pack with the flashlight and matches he slammed the door shut and zipped the pack up tight. Hearing the sirens down below Ned decided that he wanted to go see what was happening outside. But more truthfully, there was something about being inside the great big dark complex that unnerved him and he wanted nothing more than to get out, fast.

He had his keys in his front pocket so he wasted no time getting to the front door and after clicking open the locks he opened it up and stepped outside. Peering cautiously (although he didnt quite know why) to the left and right showed him that he was at this point the only one in the hall. He closed the door behind him and locked it up tight. He shoved the keys into his front pocket and realized that he still had the gun in there. Ned was sure that it was only going to cause trouble if someone saw it, so he hoisted his backpack onto his shoulder and loosed the strap until it hung over his pants, effectively covering up the bulge the pistol made. Nervously he started down the hall.

Meanwhile, at Turner Field, there were two dark choppers flying low over the frightened crowd, spotlights glaring menacingly into their faces. The power was off here and the floodlights were no longer any use. The moon was up but it was waning and cast very little light down on them. There was already a plethora of police on hand but they were having trouble keeping the scared crowd from getting out of hand. Most people were just anxious to get back to their cars and go home. But in the lights out confusion there was a real problem in the making. Kids were getting separated from their parents by others pushing and shoving towards the exit. Some elderly folks were knocked down flat by stampeding youngsters, already half drunk from the nights festivities. At one point an officer tried to get people to stay where they were but facing the multitude of people growing ever confused was too much for him to handle, even with help. He radioed in to headquarters that there was a riot in the making if people didnt settle down.

One dark chopper flew down almost within rock throwing distance of the crowd and hovered above them, spotlight flashing around. The wind created by the props was knocking peoples hats off and kicking up dust and wrappers in a flurry of garbage. Women were screaming for their children and in some places men were facing off to the police when they tried to get some semblance of order established. There wasnt any real harm being done until the sound of gunfire started.

Somewhere from the left field foul line was a man decked out in black fatigues, pointing a large rifle at the crowd. He was squeezing off a shot or two here or there but not wasting ammo. The sound of small lead projectiles screamed over the crowd, like high-speed darning needles straight from the bowels of Hell. Immediatley the police saw was what going on but with the crowd disintegrating into total mayhem it was impossible for them to get close and stop the madman. He kept firing slow and calculated, picking out targets with deadly accuracy. A brave police officer got within twenty yards of him and ordered down on the ground, hands out. The Rifle Guy took deliberate aim and squeezed off a single shot at the officer. The slug hit him about an inch below the jaw and tore into his throat. The cop fell down to his knees and gagged helplessly, his blood running hot down his chest, soaking his uniform. Another cop made his way through the mob of people and threw himself over his fallen comrade. The Rifle Guy then resumed his sporadic assault on the crowd, the bullets whizzing through the air like rabid hornets, bouncing off metal railings and cement stands with an audible ting.

The chopper directly ahead finally got sight of the lone gunman and shined the ten million candle power spotlight directly into his face, blinding him temporarily. He waved his hands in a futile gesture but he was unable to get his bearings with the light in his face and he tumbled off the left field wall onto he turf below. Three young men grappled him and took the rifle away. Moments later the suspect was in handcuffs and being thrown around and beaten horrendously as officers descended on him like a pack of wolves.

Looking up bewildered, one young boy spied the helicopter directly above and made out the markings on the side, right in front of the rear propeller. It read U.S. Army. He had seen movies in the theater but he never thought hed get the chance to see one up close. The wonder of it all was enough to make him forget that he was alone and scared in a mob of panicky people all heading for the exit at once.

The situation went from bad to worse as people finally began getting to their cars and al at once there was a mass exodus from the parking lots. Security guards were all but helpless to see people literally ramming their way out of the enclosed lots through the fences and saw horses that had POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS stamped on them in orange letters. It was beyond confusion, it was totally and utter mayhem. It only took a few minutes before there was a bottleneck in every lot and horns were blaring incessantly from every side. Parents were still inside the stadium searching desperately for their kids. Police were ignoring the pleas of frightened mothers and fathers to help find lost children in order to arrest some of the more unruly people causing a ruckus. One chopper took off suddenly from its position and headed north. The other circled briefly and landed down in a back lot, far away from the crowd. There were the unmistakable shrieks of scared toddlers and terrified school kids coming from the darkness that engulfed Turner Field. Somewhere a few blocks away, Ned was exiting his apartment building like a rabbit running from a hungry jackal.

(Authors note: I have no idea how long this story will last, I guess it's up to the forum here to decide)

-- (Anonymous@ door mouse.com), June 17, 1999

Answers

Well you and story teller sure have my attention! Love it. I think both of you should hurry up and have it on the shelves of Amazon by Sept 1st. Both stories are soooooo interesting and sooooooo different. Maybe these stories will put some of the needed thought and emotions into our heads. Its a case of knowing it could be TEOWAKI with my head,...but really imagining it with my heart and emotions is another thing. I wonder if any of us can REALLY grasp TEOWAKI. Maybe your stories will help. Keep up the good work. I think they are great. I print out each segment and put into a folder. Thanks for your efforts and BRING IT ON!!!!

Got reading glasses and a good flash light? Taz

-- Taz (Tassie @aol.com), June 17, 1999.

Rifle Guy needs to be some sort of foreign terrorist, or this starts to get kind of iffy.

Ned didn't do much preparation so, either he needs to fall into a situation where somebody has, and needs him, or he's gonna die in about 5 chapters.

I smoke too, so I'm curious how long Ned keeps finding packs of Camels. Me? I think cold turkey is coming next year.

-- Dog Gone (layinglow@rollover.now), June 17, 1999.

I hear that brother Dog ! Those things'll kill ya!

I think these are really great stories, from both Story teller and Anon. We get two diferent sides of the story, one from the country and one from the city. I'm curious to see how they'll turn out!

Kepp those thought processes going guys! Thanks for the effort, I'm really happy to see some entertainment in the middle of all this arguing about who is right and who is wrong.

-- (oldyeller@sanfran.com), June 17, 1999.

DG - No the Rifle Guy doesn't need to be a foreign terrorist, after all all the "going postal" events over the last few years haven't been foreign terrorists, just for the most part people that either went off their psychotropic meds or had a "bad trip" on their psych meds.

As for TEOTWAWKI. It already happened. U.S. Atty. General asks for and gets toxic C.S. "gas" to be used on children in an enclosed space, even though it was specifically designed and fielded to be used out of doors since it is deadly if used indoors. That's why we no longer sell C.S. to Isreal, the number of dead Palestinians caused by C.S. use became embarrassing after the first 50 corpes or so. That's just #1 of a LONG list. That's TEOTWA I KI it. "It can't happen here." Nope, just did.

-- Ken Seger (kenseger@earthlink.net), June 17, 1999.

Anonymous, you write a very interesting story...and Dog, stock up on the nicotine patch. That's how my husband quit. Even if you don't want to quit NOW, you'll be glad you have 'help' when you need it later.

-- Helen (sstaten@fullnet.net), June 17, 1999.

Good ,good,good ! More, more, more !

-- sue (deco100@aol.com), June 18, 1999.