Station Eleven の小説・ストーリー

All they did was close their doors and windows and wait till the air clear. The streets looked deserted as the gunfight rages on. It lasted for almost an hour and no single police came. Suddenly, a window burst open from one of the apartments, and someone got thrown out of it. He landed on the ground, splattering blood everywhere. I watched as he took his final breath. It was One eyed Sunday.

Daniels nodded his head before stepping out of the principal's office. SATURDAY. "Miller?." A voice blares over the phone waking up a sleeping Callum. "Agent Callum Miller on the line, who am I speaking with?." Callum said yawning quietly. "You from Homeland security?." The voice which sounded like man's voice asked over the receiver. "Yea, how can I help you?." Callum said getting up from his bed. "Well my name is Adam Badminton and I got your number from Inspector Lee." Principal Badminton spoke out.

I get to the foyer, where the three staircases meet and lead down into the main entrance, and there's no escape. Past the grandiose chandelier, down at the bottom of the staircase are no guards but wrought iron seals. There are three seals, spinning on the front door, softly pulsing blue. I rub my lips, upset, still in anticipation of tasting more Ray, upset that there is something I can't get past. I can at least try. I quickly look behind me, and dash down the stairs, lifesaver underneath my arm, my present in my left hand, and look down, careful not to trip. I'm sweaty and flushed, nervous because I am so close.

She sighed and dialed 911, she heard it ring and she sighed in relief when they picked up. “Hello.” She called. “911, what’s your emergency, Mrs. Robbin?” She heard his voice ask and her hand shook. What the hell? “Da... Damien?” She asked in shock. “Yes, Mrs. Robbin?” “I... I... “ “Roy, turn the car around, my wife seems to be in trouble.” She heard him tell the chauffeur and the call ended. ‘Oh no, am doomed!’

The dormitory's heating suddenly went out at one in the morning. Shivering beneath the blankets, I called June. On the other end, she sounded sleepy, yawning between words. "The power station said the lines were damaged and they're still repairing them. It won't be fixed until tomorrow morning. If you're cold, fill up a few more hot water bottles. There's nothing I can do about emergencies like this." Before I could say another word, the line disconnected, leaving behind nothing but the hollow beeping tone.

I said without any expression. He shut the door and dropped into the chair across from me. "One of our biggest shipments-the container we had stashed in Sector Eleven-was tampered with. Broken into." My jaw flexed, though my face remained calm. "Sector Eleven? That's under Roy's unit." "Exactly," Collin nodded grimly. "At first I thought it was some outside crew. But I pulled the surveillance footage myself." He slid a drive across the desk. "You need to see this. Boss"

He answered curtly and left the room. Selena hated the disappointment that crashed through her. --- That night, a violent thunderstorm rolled across the city. Rain hammered against the mansion windows while thunder shook the walls hard enough to rattle chandeliers. Selena sat curled on the couch in the living room reading one of Alexander's architecture books when the lights flickered once before dying completely. Darkness swallowed the room. A few seconds later, footsteps approached through the darkness before warm candlelight appeared near the doorway. Matthew. The candle in his hand cast flickering gold across the sharp lines of his face, softening him somehow. He looked younger like this

Panic swelled in my chest like a wave crashing over a dam. Then, my phone rang and it showed No caller ID. “Hello, are you Ella?” asked a voice from the other end. “Yes, I am. Who is this?” I answered cautiously. “This is Doctor Liam from Evergreen Hospital. I’m calling to inform you that Mr. Denver was involved in a shootout several hours ago. He’s in critical condition.” My phone slipped from my hand and crashed to the floor but I barely noticed.

I shout angrily. “Just turn it on sir. Channel four.” He says before hanging up on me. As I take the remote, my hand trembles. When the screen flickers on, time stills. A woman is currently on the tv, narrating a plane crash incident that happened ten minutes ago. No survivor confirmed. The screen shows twisted metal burning against the night sky. Passengers’ suitcases litter the ground. And different bodies on the stretcher. As I watch the paramedics trying to gather the bodies, warmth drains from my eyes, and I stagger backwards.

Victor knows this, which is why he spent a fortune on blackout curtains and a whole-house generator that apparently decided tonight was the perfect night to take a vacation. My hands scrambled across the nightstand for my phone. Found it, thumbed the flashlight on. The thin beam shook in my grip as I slid out of bed, bare feet hitting cool marble. Silk camisole, tiny sleep shorts, hair everywhere. I looked like a lunatic and felt like one. I needed another human being. Any human being. Even if that human being happened to be the same infuriating stepson who’d had his thumb on my lip six hours ago.