Good enough design

I’m 100 pages (On an ebook, so more like 30 to 40 real pages) from being done. Its probably another hour to read. Do I stay up and finish or go to bed?

Knowing me, I’ll waste half an hour analyzing and thinking about it, then do it and be up even later.

I’m only posting this to gauge interest. I’ve written more to this chapter and 2 more chapters, if people enjoy it, i’ll post more, so lets hear some feedback. If you know me, or follow me on twitter, you may have hints as to the storyline, but Its supposed to be somewhat suspenseful. I’ll add my disclaimer.
“The places in this story are real, the events are not. Details of locations (proximity among others) are based on reality but may not be accurate. All characters are fictional and any similarities between the character’s and real people are simply coincidence.”

Ready? Good.

Chapter One: Vacation.
A loud clang shattered the deathly still vast emptiness of the hanger. The crowbar, Clint Feared, but he kept up his brisk pace towards the huge sliding doors, standing but savaged on the opposite side of the hanger. The right door, a tall sheet of alloy metals had been damaged and sank towards the center, weeping off its hinges, while the left untouched now bore the brunt of the weight of both. The crippled right door had a gap large enough for a human -or beast, to fit through with several smaller holes peppered around it, higher up, as if shot by a monstrous shotgun.
Clint stopped to catch his breath just shy of the gap in the door, looking up from his crouched stance he could see a rusty metal ladder, which lead to a small rooftop sentry building, like most tall buildings in the coastal area had, a remnant of the war so many years before, the first time residents, muscle heads and retirees, fled the beautiful shore region for so called higher ground. Above the roof of the hanger, the outpost provided a vantage point for many miles out to sea, as well as the bay over to Delaware, and all around the airport, on this crystal clear day. To the left were the hangers, all empty, that Clint had just run through, checking briefly for supplies. On the right was the air traffic control tower, which sat empty next to a burnt out curvy neon sign saying “Welcome to Cape May, New Jersey, The Nation’s Oldest Seashore Resort”. In front of it was the Flight Deck dinner, “Useful” Clint noted nodding, and continued to scan the area.
No sign of his slow moving friends, but they weren’t more than an afternoons run away, enough time to explore but not catch a nap safely. Pulling out a pair of binoculars to assist in the scan, a green fabric and leather tool bag was spotted next to the tower along with a ladder, stood up to the light post hanging from above the door, both the old and new light bulbs on the ground, trampled on and shattered. The tower, in need of a fresh coat of paint, still bore the sign from the old naval base built during World War 2, then sold as a public airport shortly after. Clint mapped out the quickest path to search these areas, first the tower, then the dinner, and then to the tool bag and continuing North off the tarmac and down the beaten road lined with half century old cement guard towers. Nearing sunset, the dinner would hopefully have something edible, and the towers, locked up tight to keep bored teenagers from climbing, or more likely falling, would provide a possible camp for the night, as they ran one every mile up through the next several towns, until the land between the ocean and bay divided them from simultaneous sight.

Making his way down to the floor of the hanger, Clint could hear a distant roar. A storm, perhaps, or perhaps the collective groans of a flesh eating mob. Crawling through the crippled door, the tower was but a minute away. Walking past the tool bag, he could see a replacement crowbar jetting out from its side along with an industrial knife and blowtorch. Clint climbed the spiral staircase to the top of the tower, ignoring the weapons for the moment. As he neared the top he could see buzzing flies and the stench of gotten meat filled his nostrils. A half-eaten hamburger lay on top of a control panel, lettuce brown and tomatoes wimp. A week ago it would’ve been a fine meal, but now, abandoned, it did nothing for him, except make him suddenly forget how hungry he was. He opened a window on the far side of the tower and flung the burger onto the tarmac, the flies following it downwards. Thinking better now, without the stench to disrupt him, he slowly revolved around the glass room, until his eyes focused in on a handheld radio. Jumping over to inspect it was a disappointment as it was only a receiver for FM radio, probably entertainment on a slow afternoon, and not a transmitter that could be used to locate survivors.

…End Part one of Chapter 1. More available upon request.