Besides that, the end was quiet. People vainly tried to continue life, act like nothing was happening. The fact was people no longer cared. No one talked, or laughed. They couldn't. Death was first and foremost.
For a few minutes, he actually wondered if the bomber pilots would live. But where would they return? They would crash, and burn, and die, along with the rest of humanity.
Back and forth, back and forth the missles went. It was like a sick game of ping pong. Back and forth, back and forth. For a moment, he wondered if he was losing his sanity.
What did it matter? He died sane, and he died mad. He died asleep and awake, hungry or full. He still died. What did one do then, knowing they would die in days? Live life to it's fullest? Not care? It didn't matter. In a few moments, maybe days, he would be staring at Heavens gates, Hell's rivers, or he wouldn't be staring at all.
He wondered if you heard the bomber that killed you. Or the missile.
Only five more minutes, and he got his answer. No.
500 and some years later:
Gordon. That was his name. Gordon. Few people knew it. Those few were hiding in the shadows, unseen to him at
the moment.
The crossbow set easily on the edge of the building where he lay, tracking the guard moving back and forth on patrol. He crept his finger over to the bolt lying at his side.
Very small, very sharp points met his fingertips. Tracing his hand up to the shaft, he pinched it between his thumb and forefinger, and placed it on the loader to his bow.
The guard was in for the shock of his life.
Most literally. The arrow struck him square in the chest, penetrating the chainmail just enough to embed the point in his flesh. Then, a blue flash, and the guard was down and the bolt was gone.
It was completely silent, and the guards buddies didn't even notice their unconscious ally. Three more bolts found their correct targets with exactly the same result.
The cart they were protecting was now completely vulnerable, and ready to be robbed. His job was done. Time to sit and watch.
You would have never seen her if you weren't looking. She hopped down from her rooftop position, crossbow slung across her back, and ran up the narrow alleyway to the awaiting cart.
She threw open the fabric hiding the gold inside, and vanished inside of it. After a few minutes she came out, carrying a large bag.
One whistle later, 3 horses emerged from the shadows, saddled and ready. After a quick glance around, Gordon dropped from his sniping position and hopped on his charger.
It's third leg joint buckled under his weight, generally the weakest point of all horses. It was just one of the things animals had undergone since the explosions, and the bombs. Since humanity resurfaced from underground. All horses were dark in color too, with the exception of those bred to be otherwise.
They were off for home after just one more unspoken command.
Gordon jumped upright in his bed. The analog clock next to him read 1:00 in the morning. It was time.
Gordon swung his legs over the side of the bed, grabbing his dagger and it's sheath from table next to him, and belting it around his waist quietly, as not to wake David sleeping in the bed next to his.
Judging from the pit-pat sound coming from the roof, Gordon assumed it was raining, and grabbed his knee length black coat before heading out of the room door.
He entered the main living area to their underground home, and headed directly across the way to another room. Inside was a room not unlike his, where the fraternal twins Mira and Khane were sleeping soundly.
Satisfied, Gordon headed back out to the main living area and over to the kitchen, where he grabbed a beer to wake him up before he left.
David awoke to the sound of footsteps in the main room. He looked at the clock next to him. 7:43. It was probably Khane. He was always the first to get up.
He sat up, planting his feet or the ground and stretching. He noticed Gordon was sleeping in his coat, and Gordon's dagger was missing. He must have done something fun during the night. He couldn't wait to hear about it.
David was not a skinny man, not by any meaning of the word, so after some difficulty, he rose out of bed and entered the main room.
Khane was sitting in his usual brown leather vest an white T-shirt, sipping at a ceramic cup full of a steaming liquid. His morning coffee.
