Sunday, 21 December 2008

Since it probably won't go anywhere else

I had this idea, based half off a dream, half off a random thought I had after watching the news about the guy the police killed by accident. Don't reckon I'll ever finish it. If I do, well, a bit of it's on here to start off with.

Outside St Paul's Cathedral, Christmas Day 2028

A loud voice cut through the merry chatter, shouted words in an alien language. People looked. Armed police. The leader had his gun levelled, pointing at someone, finger on the trigger. Two bangs, close together, the lead policeman jerking up as a flash leapt from his muzzle, the bullet going high and wild.
A young man, Asian in appearance, nodded briefly to the officer behind the fallen one.
Explosion. Blinding white light, searing heat, screams.

Hospital of Lower London, 30th December 2028

The patient opened his eyes slowly. He blinked a couple of times. Bright, disorientating light, fuzzy people.
"Greetings hero," a gruff voice stated. "Nice to know you're still a serious injury stat and not another death."
The patient's eyes focussed, a gasp as memory crashed back into him, and with that awareness, pain. He tried to push himself up, but a nurse pinned him back down.
"Stay still sir. You're seriously injured. I'll fetch the..."
"How many?" the patient demanded, though his voice was hoarse and it pained him to gasp even those two words.
"Two-hundred-seventy-three dead at the last count. Close on another three hundred serious, maybe a thousand or so injured. You were lucky Thimba, very lucky."
Thimba paused for a second, breathing quickly and shallowly. He didn't dare breathe at all deeply--felt like he'd at least one or two ribs broken, maybe more.
"My team?"
The man sighed. "All the ones with you, except Mig, are dead. The ones who weren't, or presumably weren't, killed by the explosion have been shot through the head."
"Treacherous bastard," Thimba snarled weakly. He gathered his energy and pushed himself to a sitting position, biting his lip a little as pain shot out from his back and crashed in from his left cheek and most of the rest of his body, rippling about and holding discussions about the price of blood in various parts of himself. "He..."
"We guessed. I'm afraid he's out there somewhere, but we can't let that slip. The public's panicked enough as is. You're a hero. All over the papers how you tried to stop that suicider blowing, tried to shoot him, but were shot yourself.
"Lovely," Thimba muttered.

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