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September 12, 2005

Volume 6, Issue 12

The radio alarm clock wakes you up with the following

"This is not a drill, if you haven't already, take......" static and then the power goes off.

Go ahead and hit the snooze bar now...

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The Eschatologist: Running

I wake up sweating - it's impossible that I'm here again.

There's a rancid smell from the open window. I draw my first breath and it's overwhelming. Too new. A fit of coughing, and I pitch my head over the bed spilling bile, blood and preservative on the patchwork tile, where it ricochets back at me.

It feels good, clears my head of the sirens and the voices, a bitter symphony of hate.

The radio mumbles something in the background, before I can smash it, the door crashes in. Out the window, black feathered wings unfurled and carrying me upward.

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Michele: Swallowed

...take your capsules now.

No. I will not take the capsule. They want us to go down with the ship, to take all the secrets and mistakes with us.

When the first Code: Release alarm went off, I panicked briefly and then went into save-the-world mode. And then the emergency radio (which I hoped would always remain silent) went off and I realized there was never a Plan A. Right to Plan B.

The plague will get me eventually. But not before I let everyone know who let this dog out. I’ll save the capsule for when the bloating starts.

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Ted: Family Tradtions

"...up your arms and convene at the Armory. Repeat in clear for all Defenders..." The battery backup died almost immediately also. Must be some kind of EMP or something.

I roust the kids and grandkids, arm everyone up, kiss my wife for what I hope isn't the last time, and tell my youngest to hold the fort until I get back. She looks up at me, ten year old eyes shimmering with unshed tears, and promises.

The kids and me jump in the jeeps and hummers and drive to town to see how we can help. Just like my daddy taught.

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Stacy: Fortress

"This is not a drill, if you haven't already, take......"

The radio buzzed into silence, along with everything else as the grid went down. There was a distant chuff as generator power kicked in, bringing up emergency lights and environmentals. Faint slamming sounds came to us in the unnatural stillness as the metal shutters slid shut, and then an even fainter buzzing as the perimeter fence came online.

Thad came into the control center as I completed the sensor sweep. I ruffled his nine year old head and smiled reassuringly at him. "No school today, eh, mom?" he piped cheerfully.

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From the Comments: Amphioxus

I awaken to the morning radio newscaster. "This is not a drill, if you haven't already, take...” He’s cut off, replaced by a nasty hiss. I stumble to the bathroom. Wizz, brush, floss like a good boy, and shave.

Dressed in sweats, I begin my pre-breakfast stretch. Outside, sirens wail. This is not a good day for jogging. Yoga seems a better idea.

From the standing tadsana I flow to uttanasana, head down, arms hugging calves. I progress to baddha hasta padottanasana, legs apart, head still down. A blinding flash of light comes through the window as I kiss-my-asana goodbye.

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