I watched the monitors, I saw the fence, mile after mile of it. I saw a wolf, an eagle, a dog, a cat. It was true. Animals watched the fence. I saw the old trucks on one monitor, and a couple of the guard repairing a piece the fence. I’d seen those trucks countless times.
55 words
@LurchMunster
This is Part 33 of the serial story I’m working on for Lisa McCourt Hollar‘s #55WordChallenge flash fiction challenge. Please, go read all the other entries in the challenge this week.
The entire story, from Part 33 to Part 1, is located here.
The dead guardians all had guns, some drawn, some not. I set my rifle and two pistols on the floor. The stone table changed. Ghostly figures appeared behind it, looking at a woman laying on it. She wore only stockings and lingerie. She looked at me, smiled, and spoke, “Hello, Flint.”
A standard guardian base of two brick buildings was on the village’s southern end. The buildings’ windows were broken. Something was wrong. I searched each building. Eight dead guardians were inside. Their guns had been fired. They died fighting something. Outside, I found tracks through the grass. I drew my gun, and followed them.
The fence marked the edge or our world. I walked along the fence, rifle ready. Nothing had come through the fence in years, but once, things had. We’d survived, standing against the chaos that engulfed the world when the fossil fuels ran out. Since then, we guarded the fence, the edge of our world.
As I walked along the fence one morning, I came to one of the gates, and checked its lock. The lock was broken. The chain it held the gate shut with hung loosely. Something had come in. I secured the gate with a new lock, then headed to the nearest village to sound the alarm.
When I reached the village, it was dark, the street lights were on. I entered quietly, hiding in the shadows, looking for signs of life. I jumped when the breeze blew the clothes on a clothes line.The church was empty, as were all the homes and shops. All I saw was my own shadow.
I made my way to the church, hoping I’d find someone. Its door opened silently. Its interior was lit only by moonlight. Everything was gone. No pews. No crosses. No altar. Just a very old book, sitting on a table. I opened it, and flipped through. It was written in the Ancient’s language.
My Soul's Tears 