bobbyshane

Viva Necropolis

Hank made sure to stuff the compass, a pair of camo pants, and a white T-shirt in his backpack before making his way for the door. He stepped around the shattered glass strewn on the floor. Making sure he was alone, he waited outside the door for any trace of sound other than the wind. Then he faced the direction he had already confirmed with the compass to be south and began to walk. As he wandered his way down the back alley behind the store, lighting his way with the flashlight, he thought about the city. He was surprised the empire hadn't come in and milked the place for all of its valuables. It was all completely useless to the vampires.

The Penitent

Hank hadn't expected the judge to decide any other way. These days they didn't hand out robes to anyone afraid of sending less than a dozen men to Necropolis almost every day. Hank found that he couldn't blame them. It keeps the peace, he thought. Even in the days before the chaos took hold, America had never been as safe as it was now.

He was sitting in the back of a paddy wagon, surrounded by twenty or so other males of all different shapes, colors, and sizes, who were also condemned to die. The air smelled of bad breath, thick body odor, and stale, smoked tobacco. Only a few of them had committed violent crimes. A tall, pale, black-haired man with tattoos covering his arms had murdered three people. More than a handful of the prisoners were children. One, a young blond kid, had been caught stealing in a supermarket. Most of the men had broken the morality laws, same as Hank.