Spears reaches under his shirt

    The sharpshooters had Spears in his sights - and considering the number of infected that occassionally ventured near the fort this was a blessing. He sighed with exhaustion and relief. He took an orange peice of cloth from under his shirt and held it above his head while he walked forward: Twenty sniper scopes moved off him. If he did not have a flag the protocol was to turn and walk sideways. The infected would sometimes immitate, but they could not do that.

    He reached the nearest "White nest", tucked the flag back into a pouch on his chest and climbed carefully up the ladder. Spears had once seen a young man fall and break his back, the look of bitterness on the boys face never left him. Near the top there was a small metal box with a light facing the fort. When he swiped a wrist bracelet against it, there was a click above him and the light turned orange. He pushed upwards and climbed through a hatch. When he shut it the light turned red. And would stay like that for twenty four hours. These were the protocols and systems of the establishment. And as a"volunteer, they were his as well.

    He peered onto the bare platform - a mere 2 meters by 3.  No railing, no bedding- nothing. When you were up here, you were here for display. He sat looked at the fort: An austere four metre high cement fence tracing a square a foutry metres by twenty. The wall nearest housed a gate wide enough for two trucks. He looked up: The clouds promised a mild night and a decent sleep. He laid back staring at nothing and let his mind empty of all thought. Here he drifted for a while. Eventually he reached into his shirt and pulled out a ciggarette, a lighter, and a jar of murkey liquid. He slowly imbibed the firey liquid and watched the sky flare first orange, then purple, then finally to the dark of night.

The End

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