Excerpt
Across the canal from Staten Island, all eyes
on the mainland remained glued to their televisions, their computers, and their
mobile device waiting for reports on the takeover of the island. Those living
close by were able to witness, firsthand, the clouds of billowing smoke and the
occasional sporadic bursts of flames, which appeared throughout the island.
Sirens continually blared their warning letting all know that insurgents
continued their siege.
From the mainland, a white satellite van came
to a screeching halt at the mouth of the Goethals Bridge. The logo on the side
of the van read, News Channel: New York 2. A man exited from the driver’s side
while a woman exited the passenger’s side of the vehicle.
Brittany, the
woman, stayed as close to the van as she could, but also wanted to be as close
to the action as possible without being shot. But now, she was mad. She turned,
and scowled at Jimmy, the driver and camera operator, as he came around the
back of the van because he didn’t have the camera rolling when she had witnessed
the fall of the Statue of Liberty.
Though scared,
Brittany understood there was a job to do. She considered herself the best
reporter from New York 2. She was determined to be the first to report the
events taking place on Staten Island. She believed what was happening could
possibly be the story of the century. She readied herself to report every
little detail in which her eyes witnessed.
Brittany wore a
black jacket with a baby blue shirt barely visible underneath and matching
black skirt. She was pretty and possessed a snooty attitude. There was not one
blemish on the smooth skin of her face. She had eyes, which invited men to try
their bet to be her friend. A plain hairpiece held her long, black hair in a
ponytail with not one strand out of place. Conscious of this, she looked at
Jimmy whom prepared the camera, which sat on his shoulder, and ran her left
hand across the top of her head to make sure her hair remained perfectly in
place. She wanted to look her best for the American people. She ducked and
leaned against the van for protection when sporadic gunfire erupted from way of
Staten Island.
Jimmy, the
camera operator stood just behind the van also using it for protection. He wore
a black and white checkered button up shirt. Blue jeans covered the bottom half
of his body. Black, curly hair sat on top of his head. He loved operating a
camera and would do his best to film the greatest story ever told. Though a bit
shaky, he took a step away from the van and pointed a finger Brittany's way. “We’re
rolling, Brittany,” he stated.
“Okay, thanks
Jimmy,” Brittany replied. She smoothed back her hair again to make sure she
looked presentable for the camera and the viewers. A shaking hand held the
microphone close to her mouth. Occasionally, she ducked at the sounds of
bullets zinging above her head with some close enough to part her hair. She
clamped her jaw tight to stop her teeth from chattering. She closed her eyes
and counted to ten. When she was ready, she opened her eyes, held her
composure, and proceeded to report what was happening. “I am standing here at
Goethals Bridge, across the canal from Staten Island where anti-American
insurgents have taken control of the island. As you may already know, the
island is in utter chaos. It appears these insurgents are attempting not only
to take over Staten Island, but reports have it, our country, and our
government as well.”
In reality,
Brittany was uncertain as to what was really happening. She looked towards
Staten Island and could see things were not good. She began to remember a friend
telling her this would happen, but she thought he was crazy and chose to ignore
him. In truth, she was going to make her report the best, so she began to bluff
her way through, hoping her information was right.
Suddenly, heavy
gunfire broke out, which caused Brittany to press her body against the van.
Though fearing for her safety, she continued to make her report. “It has been
reported insurgents have killed a countless number of innocent people.”
Brittany ducked as a loose round flew over her head to shatter the window of
the van’s passenger door. With the microphone still held near her lips, she
quickly looked at the camera, and then began to speak. “It is believed the
city’s police force and other law enforcement officials have been killed
fighting the insurgents,” she said. Another fusillade of bullets rang out with
several plunking into the front of the van. Brittany swallowed hard at the fear
engulfing her soul, but continued to report the story. “Law enforcement has
tried but failed to cross the bridge due to fierce resistance from the
insurgents.”
Machinegun fire
erupted from somewhere on the Goethals Bridge. NYPD officers returned fire and
began to advance, but the larger caliber weapons quickly drove them back.
Brittany
crouched down and hid behind the front corner of the van, but continued to
report on the situation. When she heard the sounds of approaching vehicles, she
glanced around the front of the van to see approaching military personnel, and
then ducked back to look right at the camera. "A unit of the National
Guard has just arrived on the scene," she said. Bullets plunked into the
front of the van. She turned to look across the water to see if she could
locate the shooter.
Unbeknownst to
Jimmy, he was about to record his own death. He moved the camera angle to look
past Brittany, but kept her in view on the left side. The camera zoomed in on
movement across the channel. Off in the distance a muzzle flash erupted. The
camera fell to the ground, but kept the lower half of Brittany’s body in view.
Brittany watched
Jimmy collapse to the ground. “Jimmy!” she screamed. “Oh no, I think he’s
dead!” She stood erect and was about to rush to Jimmy’s aid, but stopped when
she looked around as panic-filled screams and the shouts of those nearby filled
the air.
She looked at
those nearby and noticed everyone was looking at an approaching green mist,
which was making its way towards her. As the cloud consumed her body, Brittany
found it hard to breathe. She began to cough uncontrollably, the burning
sensation in her lungs becoming unbearable. The microphone she held fell from
her hand. She bent at the waist, placed her hands on her knees, and released
the vomit from within her stomach, only to collapse to the ground with her eyes
locked in a dead stare at the lingering green mist.
If you wish,
please leave a comment and let me know what you think.
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reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without
permission in writing from the author.
Warning: some of
the material above may not be suitable for the faint-hearted. This writing is a
work of fiction. The businesses, characters, events, incidents, names,
organizations and places, here in, are the product of the author's imagination
or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to real persons, living or
dead, events, or locales, is purely coincidental.
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