Angus' Story [WIP]

[Lewis]

(Got bored writing journals, as it's always the same shit in them; well, it's 1:30am and I'm bored, so it's story time.)
WIP.

On the trail


The frost quite literally bit the man's face, as he sat in the desolate room; desperately trying to get a spark, get his small 'camp fire' going. Sighing audibly, the man gave up, scratching at his head in a cliche manner; scrunching his eyes up as he thought. Angus Buchanan was in a bit of a pickle; he was stuck, not by his own intentions, in a small concrete room. He couldn't risk exiting the room, and getting caught outside, in the frozen barren of District Two; and he couldn't get back to District One, his previous 'home'. Rubbing his hands together for a moment, Angus slung his backpack off, emptying the contents onto the table.
A raincoat, a pair of socks, a few jars of supplements, and two bottles of water.
Ruffling in the small compartments, he pulled out a Citizen Issue spork, tossed it onto the table, and stuffed his six-hundred-or-so tokens into the raincoat pocket, before pulling it on.
The man looked at his flashlight, before tapping the bottom, the batteries falling onto the table, one of them rolling off, landing with a slight 'tap'.
Ignoring the battery on the floor, he walked to the door, pulling back the eye slit, peeking out into the exterior corridor. He closed it with a sigh, knowing that some day or another he would have to leave. He picked up his backpack, stuffing his minute amount of possessions into the main compartment, before zipping it up. Opening the door a few inches, he peeked out into the corridor, looking in all directions, before running to the other end, through the archway leading outside. Edging slowly round the corner, Angus felt for the familiar metal rungs planted in the wall, instinctively pulling his hand away, the ice numbing his hand for a second or two. He slowly climbed the ladder, trying to hook around the rungs with his arm, rather than using his hand.
This technique was painstakingly long, but it was better in the end. Edging himself up onto his knees, he stood up, shuffling along the edge; until he came to his next path. Angus tugged at the window, until it finally opened, the hinges creaking in response. He slipped in, immediately walking to the door. Giving it a small budge with his foot, the door opened; unlocked, just as it was before.
He hurried up the steps, once again in the cold night air, until he came to a door, connected to a large housing complex.
Angus clicked the handle down, expecting the same reaction as before.
Something clicked behind the door, and started to make a high-pitched 'beeping' noise.

"Well, shit." whispered Angus, to nobody in particular.

Plan B


The man scurried back, trying to retrace his route, looking for a way back to the comfort of his relatively new 'home'. The anxiety and paranoia building up, the man decided to look for somewhere, else, and he continued running around, going back and forth, lost in the labyrinth of alleyways and tunnels. Just when he thought he was settling down, Angus felt a sensation of floating, for a few milliseconds, and he saw a large piece of material envelope him as he fell to the ground, making a large 'splodge' sound as he landed. Dazed, Angus pulled the heavy material from him, and looked at his mud cladden clothes. Looking upwards, there was a hole, and no visible way back up. He felt the material, deciding whether to take it or not.

"Tarpaulin," thought Angus, "Could come in useful..."

Dragging the material into the dark of the tunnel, and through a rather short but wide pipe, he sat down on the edge of the water, stuffing the tarpaulin into his backpack, looking up at the storm drain; the heavy clatter of feet attracting his attention.

"Something must be going on, something big..."

He continued on, trying to ignore the smell of the sewage; more worried about his safety; his well-being. He continued skulking around the sewers, not aided by the fact that he couldn't see much. Nearly four hours had passed since his mishap; his unintentional descent into the sewers, and he was getting quite tired. Setting himself down on a pallet, underneath a pipe, he took out the tarpaulin, using it as a makeshift cover, lying on the pallet. Slowly he dozed off; snoring lightly in the dark of the sewers.

Out of the frying pan...


Angus awoke with a start, something felt wrong; out of place. He looked around, and noticed his backpack was missing. Someone had taken it while he was sleeping. Angus felt furious, but he felt relief; he had made it out of the City. Peeking through a storm drain, he saw the early morning sky, the sun rising. Sadly; no birds were chirping to complete the scene. Crouching down, he edged through a small gap in the drain, out into a puddle. Oddly, his backpack was lying in the puddle, opened up, some of his possessions were floating in the puddle.
He looked to his left and right, a look of confusion replaced by horror. A man was lying face down in the mud, only a few metres from his backpack; the water turned slightly red. Rolling the man over onto his back, there was a large hole in his forehead, presumably he had been shot.

"If he can rob me, or at least try to," thought Angus, "It wouldn't hurt to take a little from him..."

Rifling through the man's pockets, there was nothing to be found. The man was just trying to get along, survive; just like himself.
He wiped his hands on his trousers, pushed the man back onto his front with his foot, and set off again, through a canal gate; where he was once again in the dark.
There was a noise of static, and Angus turned round, surprised to find a radio lying at the bottom of a collapsed table.

"This is Easy Station, do you come in Beatle?" crackled the radio.

Also on the table, there was a small handheld radio; albeit it was not on the same frequency as the larger radio. Angus picked it up, turning the dials until they were in the same position as the larger radio.

"I repeat, this is Easy Station." emitted both of the radios; a second or so delay between them.

Tucking the radio into his pocket, he exited through the tunnel; and began to walk across the small outdoor expanse between him and another tunnel.

"Beatle station, please, respond." crackled his radio, the noise echoing through the tunnel.

"Is anyone out there?" called a voice.

Angus dropped down onto the concrete, meeting the face of a bald man.

"You're the guy on the radio, I guess?"

The bald man nodded, and began to speak.