#AStoryAWeek | Week 25 (Jun 16 - 22): Carrion Feeders (Part One)

Here we are, just in time for week 27 - week 25's effort comes along. I've been mulling this one for a while, and I really like some of the ideas in my head - I'm just not entirely sure I've successfully planted them all here. Oh well - this is a draft one of part one, and any comments you have will be welcomed. Don't worry if you have no idea what is going on. You're not really supposed to just yet.

Week 25 | 399 Words

Carrion Feeders - Part One

There were two pale and wide-eyed faces blinking up at him from one of the monitors. Gor scowled at them. He had known this day would come. He wasn’t happy about it, but he had a very firm sense of what was bound to happen, and people begging for sanctuary was inevitable unless things spread faster than even he had anticipated.

It was the fact that they were children that really annoyed him. Their vulnerability seeped out of the black and white screen. They were not the first wave of survivors he had expected. He had assumed that the prison, once it was considered as a plausible haven, would attract people who might somehow come in useful (although Gor could count the people he felt were truly useful on one hand, so it had seemed unlikely…). Instead it had attracted a girl and a boy who did not yet seem to have reached their teens. Part of Gor – the impatient and surly part – suggested he leave them out there. But then he remembered the promise he had made to himself as he headed for Hayfield – sanctuary for all. The promise had made him feel simultaneously wide open, like a shining light, and prickly and annoyed. This sort of promise was not the kind of thing Gor usually did. Being ahead of the game had made him generous, and he was certain, even as he basked in the glow of his benevolence, that he would come to regret it.

The girl, the older of the two, waved again. She had a thick woollen scarf tied around her head and the collar of her thinly padded jacket turned up against the biting cold wind. She had odd gloves on. The boy, much more sensibly kitted out in a thick parka and ski gloves, moved closer to her and tugged her coat. She glanced at something out of the camera’s view, and waved again, more frantically.

Hissing through his teeth Gor pushed his chair away from the monitor and rolled to the desk behind him. He pulled up the electronic floor plan on the PC and opened the main door with two mouse clicks. He grunted a curt “okay” into the microphone, and the kids shared a quick look and then ran for the door. Gor locked it behind them and, with another deft click, sealed them in the vestibule.