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ZOMBIES!!! (Story Thread)
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SSG Chad Thomas leaned forward as the giant C-5 touched down on the tarmac at Gray Army Airfield on West Fort Hood, Texas. The past 72 hours had
been the most hectic hours of his life and the fact he was now crammed in the back of the giant transport with nearly the entirety of his battalion
was a silent testament to the dire situation the US apparently now faced.
The entire 4th Infantry Division had been literally yanked out of Iraq and sent back to the states, the only information being that they were to "defend the homeland at all costs." The problem was that no one below the rank of Major seemed to know what the hell was going on and those who did were silent on the matter. SSG Thomas overheard rumors ranging from China coming to collect their debts to massive illegals uprising to militias overthrowing the government, but no one seemed to have any further information other than the rumors.
The 4th ID was rushed from their posts throughout Iraq to Baghdad International Airport, where every single man and woman was forced through a checkpoint erected by the CDC, who'd been flown in from the US. Chad felt lucky that no one he knew had been stopped or detained, but once he and his men were on board the C-10 they heard more rumors of people who were stopped. Rumors that said they were going to be staying in Iraq. Chad didn't want to think about a disease so bad that he'd have to stay in that hellish country, but then again, these were all just the nervous speculations of Soldiers that came with a complete information blackout.
The flight back to the states was non-stop, the plane even getting a refueling in mid-air to carry her the entire way to Fort Hood. By the time she reached West Post, the inside of that plane was rank and humid from sweat, b.o. and other smells. Men and women both were crammed in so tight, Chad literally swore his entire battalion was in the back of that plane. It didn't help that everyone was still in full kit with full loads of ammo, grenades, helmets and body armor. Everyone was longing for the moment that the massive ramp in the rear of the plane would drop.
As soon as the C-5 rolled to a stop, the pilots came over the intercoms. "Attention in the rear, welcome home. Stay put until your black hawks get here. You will move out in chalks of 8, proceed directly to your chopper and get on board. You will receive further orders once you're on the ground out there. Good luck." The intercom went dead. The back of the plane immediately grew loud with a thousand questions, cursing, laughter and yelling. After about twenty more minutes of sitting inside the flying oven, the ramp came to life, slowly lowering. People cheered as a waft of fresh air blew in, cooling the interior of the plane down. At least, it seemed fresh. Chad caught a whiff of what smelled like rotten meat float in, faintly detectable on the breeze.
As the ramp lowered enough to reveal the exterior, the inside of the plane quickly grew quiet. On the horizon, black pillars of smoke could be seen, drifting into the air. A haze seemed to blanket the grounds between the C-5 and the UH-60s. The yelling grew to a murmur as Command Sergeant Major Tillery walked up the ramp and started hollering.
"Alright men, get your # together and get on your birds. First row, on your feet! Let's go. Once you're on the birds, they'll take you to the staging area on main post where our brads are waiting for you. Your orders are to clear and secure the perimeter at all costs!"
This drew confused looks from everyone in the back of the plane.
"Secure it from what, Sergeant Major?"
The CSM lowered his hand he was using to emphasize his words with and looked around.
"They didn't tell you?"
They all slowly shook their heads, the inside of the plane dead silent.
"The damned zombies!"
[edit on 16-6-2010 by mf_luder]
The entire 4th Infantry Division had been literally yanked out of Iraq and sent back to the states, the only information being that they were to "defend the homeland at all costs." The problem was that no one below the rank of Major seemed to know what the hell was going on and those who did were silent on the matter. SSG Thomas overheard rumors ranging from China coming to collect their debts to massive illegals uprising to militias overthrowing the government, but no one seemed to have any further information other than the rumors.
The 4th ID was rushed from their posts throughout Iraq to Baghdad International Airport, where every single man and woman was forced through a checkpoint erected by the CDC, who'd been flown in from the US. Chad felt lucky that no one he knew had been stopped or detained, but once he and his men were on board the C-10 they heard more rumors of people who were stopped. Rumors that said they were going to be staying in Iraq. Chad didn't want to think about a disease so bad that he'd have to stay in that hellish country, but then again, these were all just the nervous speculations of Soldiers that came with a complete information blackout.
The flight back to the states was non-stop, the plane even getting a refueling in mid-air to carry her the entire way to Fort Hood. By the time she reached West Post, the inside of that plane was rank and humid from sweat, b.o. and other smells. Men and women both were crammed in so tight, Chad literally swore his entire battalion was in the back of that plane. It didn't help that everyone was still in full kit with full loads of ammo, grenades, helmets and body armor. Everyone was longing for the moment that the massive ramp in the rear of the plane would drop.
As soon as the C-5 rolled to a stop, the pilots came over the intercoms. "Attention in the rear, welcome home. Stay put until your black hawks get here. You will move out in chalks of 8, proceed directly to your chopper and get on board. You will receive further orders once you're on the ground out there. Good luck." The intercom went dead. The back of the plane immediately grew loud with a thousand questions, cursing, laughter and yelling. After about twenty more minutes of sitting inside the flying oven, the ramp came to life, slowly lowering. People cheered as a waft of fresh air blew in, cooling the interior of the plane down. At least, it seemed fresh. Chad caught a whiff of what smelled like rotten meat float in, faintly detectable on the breeze.
As the ramp lowered enough to reveal the exterior, the inside of the plane quickly grew quiet. On the horizon, black pillars of smoke could be seen, drifting into the air. A haze seemed to blanket the grounds between the C-5 and the UH-60s. The yelling grew to a murmur as Command Sergeant Major Tillery walked up the ramp and started hollering.
"Alright men, get your # together and get on your birds. First row, on your feet! Let's go. Once you're on the birds, they'll take you to the staging area on main post where our brads are waiting for you. Your orders are to clear and secure the perimeter at all costs!"
This drew confused looks from everyone in the back of the plane.
"Secure it from what, Sergeant Major?"
The CSM lowered his hand he was using to emphasize his words with and looked around.
"They didn't tell you?"
They all slowly shook their heads, the inside of the plane dead silent.
"The damned zombies!"
[edit on 16-6-2010 by mf_luder]
Jaxon Kemp
Age: 45
Employer: US Chemical Warfare Defense Security
Title: C/O Lab Security/Special Forces
Current Location: Classified
Jaxon sat at this desk. The bottle of scotch he had started long finished. He was just about to light his last Cuban when his intercom rang.
“Sir, you have call from a secure line, some disturbance in the lab.”
“Must be another idiot scientist overlooking security protocol again Mariah?”
“I’m not sure Sir, they said it was urgent.”
“Put him through.”
Jaxon breathed a long sigh. He was so fed up with this place. He’d been a trained soldier; a special ops sniper in his twenties. He’d done 3 tours of duty in Iraq and Afghanistan as well as Desert Storm.
This pencil pushing job was lunacy and would have been turned down had it not been offered to him by the Vice President himself. He’d said he needed his best on this as a million things could go wrong.
Not that he ever knew what they did down there in the labs. Some research project for curing diseases he was told; Nothing more. He’d always suspected they were working on biological weapons. In any case it wasn’t his place to ask questions, he was to follow orders.
He picked up the receiver.
“Yeah.”
“Commander, this is Charles from communications. We are getting SOS transmissions from West Fort Hood, it’s all garbled but apparently they’ve come under attack. 4th Infantry has just landed on the ground and are securing the area but we’ve been requested to take Special Ops and assist.”
Jaxon’s eyes lit up. Finally some action he thought to himself.
“Who is it? The Chinese? Illegals? Did those crazy conspiracy theorist militias start something?”
“I don’t know Sir, but your chopper is waiting.”
Jaxon rushed from his office to the armory to get suited. One done, he took the elevator up two miles to the surface where his helicopter was waiting.
“We all set Sir?” Screamed the pilot as he got in.
“Hoora” Replied Jaxon.
"What are we expecting soldier? And where is the rest of my team?"
" No word on what's happening Sir, intel is classified and on a need to know basis. The rest of Special Operations Team Cobra will be hooking up with us on the way. They were in the moutains on a training exercise."
Jaxon pondered his current situation. He was a CO for god's sake. This must be somethinb big if they've classified it and are sending teams without knowledge of what is going on.
"ETA soldier?"
" Forty Five minutes Sir."
" Make it thirty."
Age: 45
Employer: US Chemical Warfare Defense Security
Title: C/O Lab Security/Special Forces
Current Location: Classified
Jaxon sat at this desk. The bottle of scotch he had started long finished. He was just about to light his last Cuban when his intercom rang.
“Sir, you have call from a secure line, some disturbance in the lab.”
“Must be another idiot scientist overlooking security protocol again Mariah?”
“I’m not sure Sir, they said it was urgent.”
“Put him through.”
Jaxon breathed a long sigh. He was so fed up with this place. He’d been a trained soldier; a special ops sniper in his twenties. He’d done 3 tours of duty in Iraq and Afghanistan as well as Desert Storm.
This pencil pushing job was lunacy and would have been turned down had it not been offered to him by the Vice President himself. He’d said he needed his best on this as a million things could go wrong.
Not that he ever knew what they did down there in the labs. Some research project for curing diseases he was told; Nothing more. He’d always suspected they were working on biological weapons. In any case it wasn’t his place to ask questions, he was to follow orders.
He picked up the receiver.
“Yeah.”
“Commander, this is Charles from communications. We are getting SOS transmissions from West Fort Hood, it’s all garbled but apparently they’ve come under attack. 4th Infantry has just landed on the ground and are securing the area but we’ve been requested to take Special Ops and assist.”
Jaxon’s eyes lit up. Finally some action he thought to himself.
“Who is it? The Chinese? Illegals? Did those crazy conspiracy theorist militias start something?”
“I don’t know Sir, but your chopper is waiting.”
Jaxon rushed from his office to the armory to get suited. One done, he took the elevator up two miles to the surface where his helicopter was waiting.
“We all set Sir?” Screamed the pilot as he got in.
“Hoora” Replied Jaxon.
"What are we expecting soldier? And where is the rest of my team?"
" No word on what's happening Sir, intel is classified and on a need to know basis. The rest of Special Operations Team Cobra will be hooking up with us on the way. They were in the moutains on a training exercise."
Jaxon pondered his current situation. He was a CO for god's sake. This must be somethinb big if they've classified it and are sending teams without knowledge of what is going on.
"ETA soldier?"
" Forty Five minutes Sir."
" Make it thirty."
Dr. David M. Demetrius M.D. P.H.D.
Hungarian Immigrant Age: 38
Class Valedictorian: '08 Graduate School of Medicine Univ. of Penn.
100% Scholarship Recipient
Employer: United Hospital (St. Paul Minnesota)
Resident ER Physician/On-call ICU
Chronic Insomniac
The shredded flesh hanging down his cheek-bone looks grotesque to him in the mirror as he contemplates the last few days’ events. It’s been seven days since he has eaten… He reaches for his Grandfather’s barbers-scissors then begins to sever the flesh from his face. Oblivious to any pain, he shears-off the largest piece in one swift motion. It falls into the sink. He wastes no time completing his task, and is soon wiping his face with a towel.
Ever since the morning he had to hide himself in his basement; running down-stairs and sealing the door shut with whatever he could find to wedge it closed, he has been incensed with despair, and morbid thoughts of suicide. But given his back-ground he knows the effects of Necro-Mortosis.
When the outbreak first took hold in his beloved city of St. Paul, he was the attending emergency room physician. He stuck to a regimented diet and exercise routine, as sporadic as his working schedule would allow him to be. But now, all is forgotten. He reaches down into the sink and takes a piece of the flesh. He smells it. He turns it about as to inspect it. He then places it on his tongue. He is surprised at its salty taste. He nibbles at it at first. Its texture is like a saltine cracker dipped in soup for just the right amount of time. Just the way he loved it. Before he realizes what he has done, there is no flesh left in the sink.
He then scrambles to the door and throws himself against it to keep whatever it is on the other side from getting in. He hears more than one voice moaning and groaning beyond the door. The door soon gives way and he is horrified by the faces staring blankly ahead. He makes a dash through them towards the stairs, and reaches the top step. Hoards of strangers’ faces turn to look at him. His once upon a time tidy kitchen was now ransacked; nothing was in its happy place. His home was nolonger happy.
He makes a run for the front door hurdling bodies as he goes. He reaches it, turns back to see if he is being followed. The intruders pay more attention to the bodies being devoured. One body that appeared to be one of the fresher/ less decomposed was sat up-right in a chair. He recognized her face. It was the face on most of the pictures on the mantelpiece. He knelt-down before her and taking her hand in his, he began to release what remained of his numbing emotions. He got back on his feet then grabbed her in a cradle from the chair. Brain matter oozed down onto his arm as her head relaxed on top of it.
He fell to the floor with her in his arms. He looked around the room and saw the many faces staring at him. The room fell silent. He pressed his lips on hers. He petted her head and it felt to him like nothing he had ever experienced prior. He let her body rest on the floor. He sniffed his hand. He licked his hand. He then immediately reached into her skull and pulled-out some brain matter and began eating it.
Having not quenched his hunger, he rises to his feet. He again looks around the room. His visitors are all making their way towards the door, and leaving. He files in behind them, and together they forge into the next home, across the street. Screams are heard in the up-stairs back bedroom. He forces his way up the stairs and proceeds to his next meal. Along the way he finds a hammer sitting on a laundry hamper in the hall-way. Underneath it is a picture frame. He takes a hold of the hammer and raises it above his head. The little girl is in a fetal position in the corner of her room. He swings the hammer down with the claw end penetrating her skull. It gets stuck. He wiggles it loose, and then swings another blow. This time with the blunt end, Katy's skull caves-in. One of the zombies reaches for her brains; David swings the hammer down upon his skull. It cracks wide open. As his brains fall from his skull, another zombie reaches for a handful. He proceeds to the little girl lying prone on the floor, dead, and commences eating her brains.
As he helps himself to the little girl’s warm brains, one zombie tried to pick-up the hammer. David connects his elbow across that zombie’s chin, retrieving his eating tool. He clutches it in one hand while he finishes his meal with the other. Soon afterward, he rises to his feet then leaves the room in search of the little girl’s family members; the O’Tooles’ from across the street, a fading memory losing its self in his mind. After searching all three floors and finding only other zombies in search of food, David makes his way back outside. The moon is full and rising above the tree-line. The sky is dark with thick clouds rolling-in. Most of all of the other houses on the street have their lights turned off. As he makes his way down the street, he sees one with its lights on. Then he sees movement beyond the lacey curtain.
He looks to see if he has any companions or rather, meal contestants. There’s at least seven that he can make out in the darkness of the street. He squeezes his hammer then heads for the door. Just as he tried to turn the knob, the door swings open.
“You came to the wrong house tonight!” Mr. Stanley Leonard, the retired Philadelphia beat-cop says as he pumps his twelve gauge shot-gun, raising it to David’s forehead.
“Click” He pumps it a second time.
“Click” Oh God, he mumbles.
David grabs the shotgun by the barrel and pulls Stanley closer. He swings his hammer and sticks the claw into Stanley’s ear. Then he pulls Stanley out the door onto the porch. After he struggles to remove the hammer from Stanley’s ear, he enters the house and heads toward Stanley’s wife Sarah. She is hiding under the dinner table. David grabs her by the foot then pulls at her. She is screaming so loudly and kicking at him that he gives-up, and begins looking around the house for Daphne, Katy’s best friend.
The rest of the house is silent except for the screaming going-on upstairs. David found Daphne hiding inside the dryer. Her restlessness gave her away.
[edit on (6/17/1010 by loveguy]
Hungarian Immigrant Age: 38
Class Valedictorian: '08 Graduate School of Medicine Univ. of Penn.
100% Scholarship Recipient
Employer: United Hospital (St. Paul Minnesota)
Resident ER Physician/On-call ICU
Chronic Insomniac
The shredded flesh hanging down his cheek-bone looks grotesque to him in the mirror as he contemplates the last few days’ events. It’s been seven days since he has eaten… He reaches for his Grandfather’s barbers-scissors then begins to sever the flesh from his face. Oblivious to any pain, he shears-off the largest piece in one swift motion. It falls into the sink. He wastes no time completing his task, and is soon wiping his face with a towel.
Ever since the morning he had to hide himself in his basement; running down-stairs and sealing the door shut with whatever he could find to wedge it closed, he has been incensed with despair, and morbid thoughts of suicide. But given his back-ground he knows the effects of Necro-Mortosis.
When the outbreak first took hold in his beloved city of St. Paul, he was the attending emergency room physician. He stuck to a regimented diet and exercise routine, as sporadic as his working schedule would allow him to be. But now, all is forgotten. He reaches down into the sink and takes a piece of the flesh. He smells it. He turns it about as to inspect it. He then places it on his tongue. He is surprised at its salty taste. He nibbles at it at first. Its texture is like a saltine cracker dipped in soup for just the right amount of time. Just the way he loved it. Before he realizes what he has done, there is no flesh left in the sink.
He then scrambles to the door and throws himself against it to keep whatever it is on the other side from getting in. He hears more than one voice moaning and groaning beyond the door. The door soon gives way and he is horrified by the faces staring blankly ahead. He makes a dash through them towards the stairs, and reaches the top step. Hoards of strangers’ faces turn to look at him. His once upon a time tidy kitchen was now ransacked; nothing was in its happy place. His home was nolonger happy.
He makes a run for the front door hurdling bodies as he goes. He reaches it, turns back to see if he is being followed. The intruders pay more attention to the bodies being devoured. One body that appeared to be one of the fresher/ less decomposed was sat up-right in a chair. He recognized her face. It was the face on most of the pictures on the mantelpiece. He knelt-down before her and taking her hand in his, he began to release what remained of his numbing emotions. He got back on his feet then grabbed her in a cradle from the chair. Brain matter oozed down onto his arm as her head relaxed on top of it.
He fell to the floor with her in his arms. He looked around the room and saw the many faces staring at him. The room fell silent. He pressed his lips on hers. He petted her head and it felt to him like nothing he had ever experienced prior. He let her body rest on the floor. He sniffed his hand. He licked his hand. He then immediately reached into her skull and pulled-out some brain matter and began eating it.
Having not quenched his hunger, he rises to his feet. He again looks around the room. His visitors are all making their way towards the door, and leaving. He files in behind them, and together they forge into the next home, across the street. Screams are heard in the up-stairs back bedroom. He forces his way up the stairs and proceeds to his next meal. Along the way he finds a hammer sitting on a laundry hamper in the hall-way. Underneath it is a picture frame. He takes a hold of the hammer and raises it above his head. The little girl is in a fetal position in the corner of her room. He swings the hammer down with the claw end penetrating her skull. It gets stuck. He wiggles it loose, and then swings another blow. This time with the blunt end, Katy's skull caves-in. One of the zombies reaches for her brains; David swings the hammer down upon his skull. It cracks wide open. As his brains fall from his skull, another zombie reaches for a handful. He proceeds to the little girl lying prone on the floor, dead, and commences eating her brains.
As he helps himself to the little girl’s warm brains, one zombie tried to pick-up the hammer. David connects his elbow across that zombie’s chin, retrieving his eating tool. He clutches it in one hand while he finishes his meal with the other. Soon afterward, he rises to his feet then leaves the room in search of the little girl’s family members; the O’Tooles’ from across the street, a fading memory losing its self in his mind. After searching all three floors and finding only other zombies in search of food, David makes his way back outside. The moon is full and rising above the tree-line. The sky is dark with thick clouds rolling-in. Most of all of the other houses on the street have their lights turned off. As he makes his way down the street, he sees one with its lights on. Then he sees movement beyond the lacey curtain.
He looks to see if he has any companions or rather, meal contestants. There’s at least seven that he can make out in the darkness of the street. He squeezes his hammer then heads for the door. Just as he tried to turn the knob, the door swings open.
“You came to the wrong house tonight!” Mr. Stanley Leonard, the retired Philadelphia beat-cop says as he pumps his twelve gauge shot-gun, raising it to David’s forehead.
“Click” He pumps it a second time.
“Click” Oh God, he mumbles.
David grabs the shotgun by the barrel and pulls Stanley closer. He swings his hammer and sticks the claw into Stanley’s ear. Then he pulls Stanley out the door onto the porch. After he struggles to remove the hammer from Stanley’s ear, he enters the house and heads toward Stanley’s wife Sarah. She is hiding under the dinner table. David grabs her by the foot then pulls at her. She is screaming so loudly and kicking at him that he gives-up, and begins looking around the house for Daphne, Katy’s best friend.
The rest of the house is silent except for the screaming going-on upstairs. David found Daphne hiding inside the dryer. Her restlessness gave her away.
[edit on (6/17/1010 by loveguy]
name: Glyndwyr Hauberk Repast. (Glyn for short)
age: 26.
occupation: Manager of a promotions company and serving in the T.A. (Territorial Army)
The sun was setting as the rain came down upon the mountins accompanied by a light blowing of wind.
It was Mid-June in Wales and apparently summer time. But as usual, it seemed that God had forgotten that summer should mean sun. Not rain.
Typical Welsh weather.
A rainbow faded as did the sun behind the Black mountins of Brecon.
On top of one of these mountins was a small squad of eight 'weekend warriors'... Although it was Thursday.
They had been out in the Brecon Beacons National Park for a week playing war games whilst running... Well... Walking up and down the landscape leaving footprints in the mud.
The rain was slowly subsiding as the group of soldiers sat down in a circle with their backs at each other resting against the wait of the full field kit inside them.
Each digging through their pockets looking for a energy bar or something to dry their faces with.
One of them took their helmet off and asked, "where are we sergeant?" brethlessly.
"Right now.. We're.. right where we're ment to be.. Lost." the sergeant trailed off.
"Nice one serge, who put you in charge?" replyed one soldier.
"Listen up Freshman.. Im acting sarge, your just some green. Hence your nickname, freshman" the sargent moan'd, he'd been having this of the rookie all day. He assumed that freshman was one of these kids that had some 'romantic' notion about joining the part-time army and shooting guns at bad guys.
"Sarge, I believe we're about five miles from Talgarth" another soldier added. His name was Holding. He was anotherone of the soldiers on this excersise trying to get a promotion along with a few more of the boys- Micky, English and Glyn.
The others soldiers - Freshman, Jamesy and Evans where here to make up the numbers.
Freshman being the newest addition to the group.
The ''Sarge's'' real name was Chris, but everyone was calling him 'sarge' to wined him up.
He was the typical out of the ''university'' type which was funded by the Army and as young as Freshman at the age of 20.
He was the only real Army regular in the squad too. One day the sarge would be on a commissioned officer. But right now... He couldnt organise an empty draw.
He kept relying on Holding or English to help him out due to his inexperience.
Holding looked to his right and stared at Glyn.
Glyn and Holding had been in the T.A. for four years together now.
They'd both done two tours of Afghanistan and where good friends.
They and another of the group everyone called 'English' due to him being the only Englishman in the group, where the most experienced in the squad.
In a quiet voice Holding said to Glyn "I think the regulars are gonna have to order some nappies for the sarge, fella belongs in play-school. I dont see how hes compitent to give any of us a promotion."
"I know, I know. Hes more greener than Freshman, but dont let it get to you. Im the perfect example of what happens when you let some snot nossed # get at you." Glyn reply'd quietly.
He had been busted down to private after striking an officer two years back. This 'sarge' remminded Glyn about that same officer whos nose he broke.. Fresh out of Sandhurst, has the Gods, kings and Queens on his side and everything they touch turns to gold... So they think.
He attacked the officer in Afghanistan for sending Two fellow T.A. Soldiers to their deaths, along with four allied Afghan soldiers.. "what kind of officer tells soldiers to run into the line of fire?" Glyn thought to himself.
He'd earned a lot of respect for hitting the officer from fellow soldiers but, alas, the Army dosnt like that and he was lucky to be able to stay in the T.A. when another officer defended him and brought up Glyn's exemplary service and signifigantly pointed how he had averted a tradegy by shooting a suicide bomber before he could ram his vehicle into a Camp on his first tour...
"I guess there not all that bad though." he ended, saying it out loud..
[edit on 17/6/10 by Esrom Escutcheon Esquire]
age: 26.
occupation: Manager of a promotions company and serving in the T.A. (Territorial Army)
The sun was setting as the rain came down upon the mountins accompanied by a light blowing of wind.
It was Mid-June in Wales and apparently summer time. But as usual, it seemed that God had forgotten that summer should mean sun. Not rain.
Typical Welsh weather.
A rainbow faded as did the sun behind the Black mountins of Brecon.
On top of one of these mountins was a small squad of eight 'weekend warriors'... Although it was Thursday.
They had been out in the Brecon Beacons National Park for a week playing war games whilst running... Well... Walking up and down the landscape leaving footprints in the mud.
The rain was slowly subsiding as the group of soldiers sat down in a circle with their backs at each other resting against the wait of the full field kit inside them.
Each digging through their pockets looking for a energy bar or something to dry their faces with.
One of them took their helmet off and asked, "where are we sergeant?" brethlessly.
"Right now.. We're.. right where we're ment to be.. Lost." the sergeant trailed off.
"Nice one serge, who put you in charge?" replyed one soldier.
"Listen up Freshman.. Im acting sarge, your just some green. Hence your nickname, freshman" the sargent moan'd, he'd been having this of the rookie all day. He assumed that freshman was one of these kids that had some 'romantic' notion about joining the part-time army and shooting guns at bad guys.
"Sarge, I believe we're about five miles from Talgarth" another soldier added. His name was Holding. He was anotherone of the soldiers on this excersise trying to get a promotion along with a few more of the boys- Micky, English and Glyn.
The others soldiers - Freshman, Jamesy and Evans where here to make up the numbers.
Freshman being the newest addition to the group.
The ''Sarge's'' real name was Chris, but everyone was calling him 'sarge' to wined him up.
He was the typical out of the ''university'' type which was funded by the Army and as young as Freshman at the age of 20.
He was the only real Army regular in the squad too. One day the sarge would be on a commissioned officer. But right now... He couldnt organise an empty draw.
He kept relying on Holding or English to help him out due to his inexperience.
Holding looked to his right and stared at Glyn.
Glyn and Holding had been in the T.A. for four years together now.
They'd both done two tours of Afghanistan and where good friends.
They and another of the group everyone called 'English' due to him being the only Englishman in the group, where the most experienced in the squad.
In a quiet voice Holding said to Glyn "I think the regulars are gonna have to order some nappies for the sarge, fella belongs in play-school. I dont see how hes compitent to give any of us a promotion."
"I know, I know. Hes more greener than Freshman, but dont let it get to you. Im the perfect example of what happens when you let some snot nossed # get at you." Glyn reply'd quietly.
He had been busted down to private after striking an officer two years back. This 'sarge' remminded Glyn about that same officer whos nose he broke.. Fresh out of Sandhurst, has the Gods, kings and Queens on his side and everything they touch turns to gold... So they think.
He attacked the officer in Afghanistan for sending Two fellow T.A. Soldiers to their deaths, along with four allied Afghan soldiers.. "what kind of officer tells soldiers to run into the line of fire?" Glyn thought to himself.
He'd earned a lot of respect for hitting the officer from fellow soldiers but, alas, the Army dosnt like that and he was lucky to be able to stay in the T.A. when another officer defended him and brought up Glyn's exemplary service and signifigantly pointed how he had averted a tradegy by shooting a suicide bomber before he could ram his vehicle into a Camp on his first tour...
"I guess there not all that bad though." he ended, saying it out loud..
[edit on 17/6/10 by Esrom Escutcheon Esquire]
"Hey Mickey-so-fine, you got your radio on?" Holding asked, dropping in the words to some annoying pop song. "HEY Mickey.."
"Stop saying that Holding, that song keeps getting stuck in my head every time you say it!.. And yes, ive got my head-phones on. But, for some reason the games been stoped.. Something to do with rioting." Mickey said, whilst trying to listen to what was happening.
"English, seems your mob is doing the same old thing again." Holding said as he laughed.
"Why is it everytime theres rioting in football everybody thinks its us?" English moan'd. "Football is a way of life."
It was compleatly dark now and the low, but now empty rain clouds emersed the squad in the mist.
They where ment to be on their way back to Cardiff now, back to the T.A. Center so that they could say they've compleated their weekcourse in map reading and go back to their normal lifes and jobs until the next T.A. Exercise.
"Right then.. We'll have to sit this cloud cover out. I dont want to move and risk any broken ankles" the sarge said..
"Now thats the most sensible thing you've said all day boss..."
The sarge turned to glare at Freshman, "Its sergeant to you. And keep your mouth closed or Ill have accounting dock your pay for this week... Evans, get on the radio and let base know we're running late.."
"So hows the missus Glyn? See still wanna marry your ugly # ?" Holding said in his usual manner. Glyn was used to the way he talked, it was just everyday banter, but got tiering after a while.
"Nooo.. Still has cold feet due to her Old man. He thinks im trouble.. Especially after buying that dodgy holiday home in Spain. Just because I got done by some scam he thinks im irresponsible and would bankrupt her. Hes a right #"Glyn swore. He'd been dating Rosalie for nearly three years now and her father still had'dnt warmed up to it. He never liked Glyn from day one.
Meanwhile, Evans had been trying to keep his head down. He didnt like confrontation and didnt want to get into any trouble.
He just followed orders.
He set up the small radio. It was good kit, but not the newest of front line radios..
"Halfway home, Halfway home, This is Flair company, Come in please...over" silence.. "Halfway home, Halfway home, come in please..." Evans started to get butterflys, had he done it wrong? 'come on' he thought..
"This is Halfway Home, who is this?" the person sending the reply sounded nervous and furious.
Evans shook. He just said it was Flair company.. Didnt base here him?
"let me have that." the Sarge had grabed the radio of Evans and continued the message.
"Halfway home, this is Flair company on Games up in Breacon. Got news that we're going to be late coming back... Do you copy?" he stopped. Awaiting reply.
"Flair company.. Dont.. Come back to base. Dont come back. Your lucky your still out there.." the voice ended..
"WHAT? Halfway house..? Who is this? Base?? Is this a joke? Ive honestly had enougth of this.
Put someone else on the line... Halfway house?" the Sarge was starting to show signs of nervousness.
"Why would they be joking around like this..? Just because im new dosnt mean they can act like kids.' he thought.
"Wont you listen Flair company! There all dead and there living! There outside now and everytime you reply they start banging my door. They know im in here because of you.. Take my advice.. Stay away. Dont come to Cardiff.. Dont go anywhere populated. Stay away from Towns.. Stay away from Villages. Stay away from the people. Im serious! Dont go where there are people!! Im cutting transmition now. God help us and good luck Flair company".. The radio burst into static and cut out..
"Stop saying that Holding, that song keeps getting stuck in my head every time you say it!.. And yes, ive got my head-phones on. But, for some reason the games been stoped.. Something to do with rioting." Mickey said, whilst trying to listen to what was happening.
"English, seems your mob is doing the same old thing again." Holding said as he laughed.
"Why is it everytime theres rioting in football everybody thinks its us?" English moan'd. "Football is a way of life."
It was compleatly dark now and the low, but now empty rain clouds emersed the squad in the mist.
They where ment to be on their way back to Cardiff now, back to the T.A. Center so that they could say they've compleated their weekcourse in map reading and go back to their normal lifes and jobs until the next T.A. Exercise.
"Right then.. We'll have to sit this cloud cover out. I dont want to move and risk any broken ankles" the sarge said..
"Now thats the most sensible thing you've said all day boss..."
The sarge turned to glare at Freshman, "Its sergeant to you. And keep your mouth closed or Ill have accounting dock your pay for this week... Evans, get on the radio and let base know we're running late.."
"So hows the missus Glyn? See still wanna marry your ugly # ?" Holding said in his usual manner. Glyn was used to the way he talked, it was just everyday banter, but got tiering after a while.
"Nooo.. Still has cold feet due to her Old man. He thinks im trouble.. Especially after buying that dodgy holiday home in Spain. Just because I got done by some scam he thinks im irresponsible and would bankrupt her. Hes a right #"Glyn swore. He'd been dating Rosalie for nearly three years now and her father still had'dnt warmed up to it. He never liked Glyn from day one.
Meanwhile, Evans had been trying to keep his head down. He didnt like confrontation and didnt want to get into any trouble.
He just followed orders.
He set up the small radio. It was good kit, but not the newest of front line radios..
"Halfway home, Halfway home, This is Flair company, Come in please...over" silence.. "Halfway home, Halfway home, come in please..." Evans started to get butterflys, had he done it wrong? 'come on' he thought..
"This is Halfway Home, who is this?" the person sending the reply sounded nervous and furious.
Evans shook. He just said it was Flair company.. Didnt base here him?
"let me have that." the Sarge had grabed the radio of Evans and continued the message.
"Halfway home, this is Flair company on Games up in Breacon. Got news that we're going to be late coming back... Do you copy?" he stopped. Awaiting reply.
"Flair company.. Dont.. Come back to base. Dont come back. Your lucky your still out there.." the voice ended..
"WHAT? Halfway house..? Who is this? Base?? Is this a joke? Ive honestly had enougth of this.
Put someone else on the line... Halfway house?" the Sarge was starting to show signs of nervousness.
"Why would they be joking around like this..? Just because im new dosnt mean they can act like kids.' he thought.
"Wont you listen Flair company! There all dead and there living! There outside now and everytime you reply they start banging my door. They know im in here because of you.. Take my advice.. Stay away. Dont come to Cardiff.. Dont go anywhere populated. Stay away from Towns.. Stay away from Villages. Stay away from the people. Im serious! Dont go where there are people!! Im cutting transmition now. God help us and good luck Flair company".. The radio burst into static and cut out..
The black hawk jerked a bit as it lifted up from the tarmac and started toward the main part of Fort Hood. The crew chief had left the side doors
open on the chopper and Chad could see for literally miles. He wasn't ready for what he saw.
As the UH-60 flew over the portion of 190 that divided the massive post, he could see cars literally gridlocked - going both directions down the highway. But that wasn't what shook him up.
Interspersed amongst the cars, he could see people running away from one end of the massive traffic jam, being pursued by what looked like normal humans, but covered in gore. The chopper seemed to be in slow motion as it sailed around 50 feet over the cars. He could see a group of the gore-covered people pulling a struggling woman out of a prius, tearing chunks of her flesh out with their teeth. He could almost hear her screams over the sounds of the rotors. Next to him, he saw SGT Bryce lean toward the open doorway and hurl, the vomit flying around in the rotor wash and sailing down toward the ground. Chad couldn't bring himself to look away.
A horde of the "zombies," as SGM Tillery referred to them, were making their way along the line of cars, yanking people too stupid or scared to leave their vehicles out into the road and literally eating them on the spot. Chad cursed under his breath.
The Black Hawk passed over the perimeter fence where Chad could see a line of soldiers with various weapons ranging from the small M-9 pistols to crew-served MK 19 grenade launchers struggling to hold the line against what seemed like thousands of the things. The chopper picked up speed and banked north east toward the line of motor pools.
------
As the chopper lifted off, Chad felt a slight sense of dread, wanting to be back up in the air, where the things couldn't get to them. God forbid if they could fly.
"Sergeant Thomas, we have a brad waiting over here, she's fully loaded and fueled. You are to take her and two others to the line out along 190 and keep those bastards from getting on post, do you understand?"
"Roger, sir."
Chad turned and did a quick head count.
SGT Cody Bryce, his gunner, was green as a bowl of split pea soup, standing near the edge of the motor pool, looking like he was going to upchuck again.
CPL Lee Myles, his driver, was smoking his second cigarette since landing, blowing plumes of smoke into the grayish air and mumbling to himself.
The dismounted infantry squad, consisting of SGT Mark Tynes, CPL Steven Gates, PFC Richard Mann, PFC Harry Frohike, PFC Timothy Byers and PV2 Chris Langly were all huddled on the ground near the bradley, cleaning their weapons and doing ammo checks.
Their mechanic, SPC Bruce Cunningham was buried in the back of the brad, doing last minute checks on some of the equipment.
Chad started toward the vehicle and yelled, "Load up!"
------
Once they reached the perimeter of the post, they started to get an idea of just how bad it was on the ground. Chad saw other brads gunning their engines and plowing through some of the crowds of the undead, smashing them beneath the treads of the 27.6 ton vehicle. It was literally a grisly sight. Meat, teeth and hair were all caught up in the road wheels and the sides of some of the brads that had been out there longer were crimson with the gore of the zombies they had already run through. It seemed the fully-loaded 25MM cannon was useless, as they came from all sides and didn't present one specific hard target for the crew to shoot at.
Over the headset, Chad could hear CPL Myles. "Where the hell we going, sergeant?" pulled himself up a bit in the turret and surveyed the situation.
The on-site defenders had managed to clear a goodly perimeter around the main gate and were circling back and forth in a 350 meter radius, running down any of the creatures that came too close to the defenses. Due to the confusion and proximity to other Soldiers, none of the brads were using their weapons systems save for when the chance zombie climbed up onto one of the vehicles, making a ravenous chance for one of the Soldiers up in the turret housing. Then, it was M4 fire - sporadic and loud.
To the west, a line of civilians were being allowed through a checkpoint, again manned by the CDC, and even that was starting to look like it was a fruitless effort. Too many people were booking it from the horde, trying to get away from the sudden sardine can they had found themselves in that used to be their vehicles. A mass of people were fighting to get through the gates, cursing and screaming at the line of guards on the opposite side.
It was pure and utter chaos.
The six or so brads at the gate were fighting to keep the eaters away from the meals. It wasn't an easy task.
Chad looked back toward the highway and saw another wave of the creatures scrambling through the hastily erected barricades and gutted cars, heading for the people clamoring at the gates. Chad poked Bryce and pointed at the mob tearing along the entry route to post.
"Lay down some suppressive fire into that cluster f--k and see what happens."
"Roger, sergeant."
Chad hung on as Bryce swung the turret around to face the incoming zombies and winced as he laid on the 25MM fire. The massive rounds screamed downrange, exploding the first group of zombies into barely recognizable chunks and dismembering a good amount of the others. This effectively tripped some of them up in the process.
"Where the hell are they all coming from?" Myles said.
A few seconds later, Chad heard Myles start his IPOD up over the WICS system in the brad, filling their headsets with music. Chad grinned a bit, it reminding him of patrols in the heat of the desert.
www.youtube.com...
[edit on 17-6-2010 by mf_luder]
As the UH-60 flew over the portion of 190 that divided the massive post, he could see cars literally gridlocked - going both directions down the highway. But that wasn't what shook him up.
Interspersed amongst the cars, he could see people running away from one end of the massive traffic jam, being pursued by what looked like normal humans, but covered in gore. The chopper seemed to be in slow motion as it sailed around 50 feet over the cars. He could see a group of the gore-covered people pulling a struggling woman out of a prius, tearing chunks of her flesh out with their teeth. He could almost hear her screams over the sounds of the rotors. Next to him, he saw SGT Bryce lean toward the open doorway and hurl, the vomit flying around in the rotor wash and sailing down toward the ground. Chad couldn't bring himself to look away.
A horde of the "zombies," as SGM Tillery referred to them, were making their way along the line of cars, yanking people too stupid or scared to leave their vehicles out into the road and literally eating them on the spot. Chad cursed under his breath.
The Black Hawk passed over the perimeter fence where Chad could see a line of soldiers with various weapons ranging from the small M-9 pistols to crew-served MK 19 grenade launchers struggling to hold the line against what seemed like thousands of the things. The chopper picked up speed and banked north east toward the line of motor pools.
------
As the chopper lifted off, Chad felt a slight sense of dread, wanting to be back up in the air, where the things couldn't get to them. God forbid if they could fly.
"Sergeant Thomas, we have a brad waiting over here, she's fully loaded and fueled. You are to take her and two others to the line out along 190 and keep those bastards from getting on post, do you understand?"
"Roger, sir."
Chad turned and did a quick head count.
SGT Cody Bryce, his gunner, was green as a bowl of split pea soup, standing near the edge of the motor pool, looking like he was going to upchuck again.
CPL Lee Myles, his driver, was smoking his second cigarette since landing, blowing plumes of smoke into the grayish air and mumbling to himself.
The dismounted infantry squad, consisting of SGT Mark Tynes, CPL Steven Gates, PFC Richard Mann, PFC Harry Frohike, PFC Timothy Byers and PV2 Chris Langly were all huddled on the ground near the bradley, cleaning their weapons and doing ammo checks.
Their mechanic, SPC Bruce Cunningham was buried in the back of the brad, doing last minute checks on some of the equipment.
Chad started toward the vehicle and yelled, "Load up!"
------
Once they reached the perimeter of the post, they started to get an idea of just how bad it was on the ground. Chad saw other brads gunning their engines and plowing through some of the crowds of the undead, smashing them beneath the treads of the 27.6 ton vehicle. It was literally a grisly sight. Meat, teeth and hair were all caught up in the road wheels and the sides of some of the brads that had been out there longer were crimson with the gore of the zombies they had already run through. It seemed the fully-loaded 25MM cannon was useless, as they came from all sides and didn't present one specific hard target for the crew to shoot at.
Over the headset, Chad could hear CPL Myles. "Where the hell we going, sergeant?" pulled himself up a bit in the turret and surveyed the situation.
The on-site defenders had managed to clear a goodly perimeter around the main gate and were circling back and forth in a 350 meter radius, running down any of the creatures that came too close to the defenses. Due to the confusion and proximity to other Soldiers, none of the brads were using their weapons systems save for when the chance zombie climbed up onto one of the vehicles, making a ravenous chance for one of the Soldiers up in the turret housing. Then, it was M4 fire - sporadic and loud.
To the west, a line of civilians were being allowed through a checkpoint, again manned by the CDC, and even that was starting to look like it was a fruitless effort. Too many people were booking it from the horde, trying to get away from the sudden sardine can they had found themselves in that used to be their vehicles. A mass of people were fighting to get through the gates, cursing and screaming at the line of guards on the opposite side.
It was pure and utter chaos.
The six or so brads at the gate were fighting to keep the eaters away from the meals. It wasn't an easy task.
Chad looked back toward the highway and saw another wave of the creatures scrambling through the hastily erected barricades and gutted cars, heading for the people clamoring at the gates. Chad poked Bryce and pointed at the mob tearing along the entry route to post.
"Lay down some suppressive fire into that cluster f--k and see what happens."
"Roger, sergeant."
Chad hung on as Bryce swung the turret around to face the incoming zombies and winced as he laid on the 25MM fire. The massive rounds screamed downrange, exploding the first group of zombies into barely recognizable chunks and dismembering a good amount of the others. This effectively tripped some of them up in the process.
"Where the hell are they all coming from?" Myles said.
A few seconds later, Chad heard Myles start his IPOD up over the WICS system in the brad, filling their headsets with music. Chad grinned a bit, it reminding him of patrols in the heat of the desert.
www.youtube.com...
[edit on 17-6-2010 by mf_luder]
I apologize for my formatting.
David leans down to open the dryer, just then a thud, a baseball bat lands flush against the bridge of David’s nose, stunning him. He falls backward onto the floor. Daphne springs from the dryer and escapes up the stairs. Susan looks down at David’s face and tries to stop her stomach bile from spraying out of her mouth; it drips down onto her front. David puts his hand to his nose.
“That effing *snip* deviated my Septum” he thought to himself. He is slow to rise to his feet.
Daphne stops at the top of the stairs and carefully looks around the corner, she saw three zombies crowded together kneeling on the floor by the dinner table. She freezes there for a few moments. Four zombies meander past Daphne oblivious to her presence as she tries to fade into the corner of the stairwell. Once they pass her she shuffles across the way leading into her parent’s bedroom. In the gun safe she retrieves her Father’s service pistol then sneaks back to where she saw the three zombies devouring her Mother on the floor.
Susan was planning to graduate next week from high school but not anymore. She gathered her wits then followed through with a swiping blow to the side of David’s knee with her bat; dislocating his knee from its socket. She then carefully makes her way upstairs, then out the back door.
Daphne holds the gun to the back of a zombies head then pulls the trigger. And like the training she received through her Father she takes aim with both hands and proceeds to scatter zombie brains all over everything.
David reaches the top of the stairs then watches as Daphne makes a break for the front door. On the porch she stops to take her Father and place his empty head upon her lap. She sat there and sobbed incessantly. David made his way to the garage and hid himself in the family SUV.
The first ray of sunlight began to warm Daphne’s face. She got to her feet then headed back into her parent’s bedroom to fetch all the ammunition she could carry in her Father’s suitcase, which was only four boxes, one box to accompany each weapon. A .38, a .45, and a .9mm, the suitcase was very heavy to her she thought as she made her way to the porch to grab the shot-gun. Soon after, she took the keys off the hook in the kitchen and stepped into the garage. Inside the garage she opened the door to the outside then climbed into the SUV placing her Father’s service weapon at her side. She cried to herself; “where is my sister?”
Just before turning the key to start the Liberty, she opted to run back into the house to say her last good-bye to her Mother. Daphne took some bullets out of its box and reloaded her Father’s service weapon.
Back inside the house Daphne found Susan asleep on the floor with their Mother’s empty head lay upon her lap. Careful not to startle her, Daphne places her hand on Susan’s shoulder then Susan’s eyes open.
“Daddy’s dead too, are you ok to drive?”
“Derek and his whole family, they’re all dead.”
“C’mon Susan, you’re the big sister here I need you to drive us to the Upper Mississippi River, snap out of it!”
“Um yeah I can get us there. How’d you fit in that dryer?”
“It’s a miracle. Let’s go!”
“You’re going to have to take the frontage road, the expressway is jammed!”
“Who died and left you in charge?”
As they were speeding toward the river, David was struggling to re-set his knee. He kept getting dashed from side to side, making it more difficult. Finally, it snapped back into place.
“What was that?”
“I don’t know, but roll your window down will ya’, you could’ve put clean clothes on.”
“Yeah, the whole world has gone to *snip*, and you have to tell me I smell bad!”
“There’s the turn-off, don’t miss it!”
The Jeep skids to a stop. As they survey their surroundings they agree on the best route to the river boat. The air is thick with the stench of rotting corpses as they make their way to the stationhouse where there is a shop to gather supplies. Inside, there are bodies with gaping wounds as if in a war zone.
“What brings you ladies here” asked a friendly voice coming from an open door to the walk-in fridge behind them.
David creeps along the boardwalk to the ramp leading onto the riverboat. Sounds of a century pace the deck somewhere close. He finds a hatch leading below deck and scampers below. Under a tarpaulin he hides.
“In case you haven’t noticed, there are dead people running around eating people’s brains out!”
“Yeah, pretty cool ain’t it, that doesn’t matter here though.”
The friendly stranger holds his M1 out for them to admire.
“Word here is that Rumsfeld, Rice, and the Dick himself are on that riverboat waiting to depart to good old St. Louis.”
“Is that where they plan to save the world from?”
“What’s in the suitcase, you ladies traveling to Paris?”
“I’m glad some of us find this hilarious.”
“Well, you ladies look like you can use a sandwich, are you hungry?”
“Are we ever” the two of them answered in harmony.
“All the remaining supplies are on the riverboat, plenty of fresh fixings.”
“Watch-it” the friendly stranger suddenly unleashes a short burst from his little friend.
“Whoosh” he then blows a wisp of breath over the end of the gun-barrel.
“This is the way to the boat ladies, follow me.”
Inside the galley the friendly stranger introduces his new friends to the riverboats Chief-Galley Cook, Bartholomew. He is just putting the final garnishes on the three plates of food when they enter the Galley and find him spitting lugers on each sandwich, placing each bun just so exquisitely.
“Funny isn’t it?”
“Yeah, we’re in stitches, what’s so funny” asked Daphne.
“I’m just about to serve our honored guests Cheney, Rice, and Rumsfeld brunch.”
“I so do not want you to make my sandwich, thank you very much” exclaimed Daphne.
Susan nudges her little sister, and then asks politely if she may be shown where she can find items necessary to prepare a sandwich for her and Daphne. The friendly stranger lets out a laugh, then says to Bartholomew that it’s best for himself to go let the honored guests know they will be sharing their table with a couple of surviving locals. He then tips his military helmet at the ladies and finds the honored guests in their seats by the window beyond the Galleys exit door.
“I’d be pleased to watch them eat your special-sauce-gourmet hoagie sandwich, Bartholomew.”
“Yeah, me too Bart” laughing the words out as Daphne giggled.
“I cannot believe the look on Barry’s face on that video from the oval office” said Connie.
“Touché, so, whose idea was it to lock him in there with those zombies again” asked Dick.
“It was you Dick” answered Donald.
“Ahem, Bartholomew will be serving you momentarily, he wants you all to know that he prepared your sandwiches with his own mayonnaise recipe, he is quite proud of himself, please be sensitive to his feelings won’t you?”
“Oh yes, we have two ladies here locally who will be joining you, if you won’t mind the company?”
Through the doorway walks Bartholomew carrying a tray of plates followed by Susan, and Daphne each carrying their own plates.
“Please, sit here next to me” said Connie to Daphne.
“I’ll be honored, thank you” she replied.
“Mercy me, your glasses are empty and so is your bottle of wine I see” exclaimed Bartholomew.
“Yes they are Bart, now run along and fetch us another bottle of that 1983 Yarden Sauvignon Blanc, won’t you please” scolded Dick.
“Do you have any cherry soda for the girls” asked Connie, clutching Daphne’s hand gently.
“I’ll have a sprite please, if you have one, thank you Bartholomew” said Susan.
“I want coke, I mean, please and thank you Bartholomew” Daphne asked apologetically.
“Nothing is in short supply, thanks to Mr. Rumsfeld” Dick exclaimed while patting his buddy on the shoulder.
“I will return with your requests abruptly” Bartholomew smiled then hurried in to grab their drinks, returning a moment later.
“Here you are” he served Susan and Daphne their sodas from his tray.
“Next, we have here what you requested Mr. Cheney, allow me the honor of un-popping the cork please” Bartholomew did so and then reminded his guests that he used his own mayonnaise recipe on their sandwiches, winking an eye at Daphne. Daphne giggled and thanked him. As each guest’s glass was poured, each guest said thank you to Bartholomew.
“I will leave you to your sandwiches now, please enjoy them” he said then turned and walked back into the Galley allowing the door to close for his guests to enjoy a private meal.
Below deck David is remembering that he left his eating tool in the SUV, the hunger he is experiencing is worse than yesterday when he was glaring at a strangers face in the mirror. He took a hold of what used to be his nose and peeled it from his face exposing his sinus cavity. He then bites into it and severs it in two. Its texture is like deer jerky someone forgot how to let it cure. It had no taste to it. He chews it slowly as if to buy him some extra time. His last bite feels spongier this time around; it must be due to the higher concentration of cartilage, he faintly thinks to himself.
(continued in next post)
[edit on (6/18/1010 by loveguy]
David leans down to open the dryer, just then a thud, a baseball bat lands flush against the bridge of David’s nose, stunning him. He falls backward onto the floor. Daphne springs from the dryer and escapes up the stairs. Susan looks down at David’s face and tries to stop her stomach bile from spraying out of her mouth; it drips down onto her front. David puts his hand to his nose.
“That effing *snip* deviated my Septum” he thought to himself. He is slow to rise to his feet.
Daphne stops at the top of the stairs and carefully looks around the corner, she saw three zombies crowded together kneeling on the floor by the dinner table. She freezes there for a few moments. Four zombies meander past Daphne oblivious to her presence as she tries to fade into the corner of the stairwell. Once they pass her she shuffles across the way leading into her parent’s bedroom. In the gun safe she retrieves her Father’s service pistol then sneaks back to where she saw the three zombies devouring her Mother on the floor.
Susan was planning to graduate next week from high school but not anymore. She gathered her wits then followed through with a swiping blow to the side of David’s knee with her bat; dislocating his knee from its socket. She then carefully makes her way upstairs, then out the back door.
Daphne holds the gun to the back of a zombies head then pulls the trigger. And like the training she received through her Father she takes aim with both hands and proceeds to scatter zombie brains all over everything.
David reaches the top of the stairs then watches as Daphne makes a break for the front door. On the porch she stops to take her Father and place his empty head upon her lap. She sat there and sobbed incessantly. David made his way to the garage and hid himself in the family SUV.
The first ray of sunlight began to warm Daphne’s face. She got to her feet then headed back into her parent’s bedroom to fetch all the ammunition she could carry in her Father’s suitcase, which was only four boxes, one box to accompany each weapon. A .38, a .45, and a .9mm, the suitcase was very heavy to her she thought as she made her way to the porch to grab the shot-gun. Soon after, she took the keys off the hook in the kitchen and stepped into the garage. Inside the garage she opened the door to the outside then climbed into the SUV placing her Father’s service weapon at her side. She cried to herself; “where is my sister?”
Just before turning the key to start the Liberty, she opted to run back into the house to say her last good-bye to her Mother. Daphne took some bullets out of its box and reloaded her Father’s service weapon.
Back inside the house Daphne found Susan asleep on the floor with their Mother’s empty head lay upon her lap. Careful not to startle her, Daphne places her hand on Susan’s shoulder then Susan’s eyes open.
“Daddy’s dead too, are you ok to drive?”
“Derek and his whole family, they’re all dead.”
“C’mon Susan, you’re the big sister here I need you to drive us to the Upper Mississippi River, snap out of it!”
“Um yeah I can get us there. How’d you fit in that dryer?”
“It’s a miracle. Let’s go!”
“You’re going to have to take the frontage road, the expressway is jammed!”
“Who died and left you in charge?”
As they were speeding toward the river, David was struggling to re-set his knee. He kept getting dashed from side to side, making it more difficult. Finally, it snapped back into place.
“What was that?”
“I don’t know, but roll your window down will ya’, you could’ve put clean clothes on.”
“Yeah, the whole world has gone to *snip*, and you have to tell me I smell bad!”
“There’s the turn-off, don’t miss it!”
The Jeep skids to a stop. As they survey their surroundings they agree on the best route to the river boat. The air is thick with the stench of rotting corpses as they make their way to the stationhouse where there is a shop to gather supplies. Inside, there are bodies with gaping wounds as if in a war zone.
“What brings you ladies here” asked a friendly voice coming from an open door to the walk-in fridge behind them.
David creeps along the boardwalk to the ramp leading onto the riverboat. Sounds of a century pace the deck somewhere close. He finds a hatch leading below deck and scampers below. Under a tarpaulin he hides.
“In case you haven’t noticed, there are dead people running around eating people’s brains out!”
“Yeah, pretty cool ain’t it, that doesn’t matter here though.”
The friendly stranger holds his M1 out for them to admire.
“Word here is that Rumsfeld, Rice, and the Dick himself are on that riverboat waiting to depart to good old St. Louis.”
“Is that where they plan to save the world from?”
“What’s in the suitcase, you ladies traveling to Paris?”
“I’m glad some of us find this hilarious.”
“Well, you ladies look like you can use a sandwich, are you hungry?”
“Are we ever” the two of them answered in harmony.
“All the remaining supplies are on the riverboat, plenty of fresh fixings.”
“Watch-it” the friendly stranger suddenly unleashes a short burst from his little friend.
“Whoosh” he then blows a wisp of breath over the end of the gun-barrel.
“This is the way to the boat ladies, follow me.”
Inside the galley the friendly stranger introduces his new friends to the riverboats Chief-Galley Cook, Bartholomew. He is just putting the final garnishes on the three plates of food when they enter the Galley and find him spitting lugers on each sandwich, placing each bun just so exquisitely.
“Funny isn’t it?”
“Yeah, we’re in stitches, what’s so funny” asked Daphne.
“I’m just about to serve our honored guests Cheney, Rice, and Rumsfeld brunch.”
“I so do not want you to make my sandwich, thank you very much” exclaimed Daphne.
Susan nudges her little sister, and then asks politely if she may be shown where she can find items necessary to prepare a sandwich for her and Daphne. The friendly stranger lets out a laugh, then says to Bartholomew that it’s best for himself to go let the honored guests know they will be sharing their table with a couple of surviving locals. He then tips his military helmet at the ladies and finds the honored guests in their seats by the window beyond the Galleys exit door.
“I’d be pleased to watch them eat your special-sauce-gourmet hoagie sandwich, Bartholomew.”
“Yeah, me too Bart” laughing the words out as Daphne giggled.
“I cannot believe the look on Barry’s face on that video from the oval office” said Connie.
“Touché, so, whose idea was it to lock him in there with those zombies again” asked Dick.
“It was you Dick” answered Donald.
“Ahem, Bartholomew will be serving you momentarily, he wants you all to know that he prepared your sandwiches with his own mayonnaise recipe, he is quite proud of himself, please be sensitive to his feelings won’t you?”
“Oh yes, we have two ladies here locally who will be joining you, if you won’t mind the company?”
Through the doorway walks Bartholomew carrying a tray of plates followed by Susan, and Daphne each carrying their own plates.
“Please, sit here next to me” said Connie to Daphne.
“I’ll be honored, thank you” she replied.
“Mercy me, your glasses are empty and so is your bottle of wine I see” exclaimed Bartholomew.
“Yes they are Bart, now run along and fetch us another bottle of that 1983 Yarden Sauvignon Blanc, won’t you please” scolded Dick.
“Do you have any cherry soda for the girls” asked Connie, clutching Daphne’s hand gently.
“I’ll have a sprite please, if you have one, thank you Bartholomew” said Susan.
“I want coke, I mean, please and thank you Bartholomew” Daphne asked apologetically.
“Nothing is in short supply, thanks to Mr. Rumsfeld” Dick exclaimed while patting his buddy on the shoulder.
“I will return with your requests abruptly” Bartholomew smiled then hurried in to grab their drinks, returning a moment later.
“Here you are” he served Susan and Daphne their sodas from his tray.
“Next, we have here what you requested Mr. Cheney, allow me the honor of un-popping the cork please” Bartholomew did so and then reminded his guests that he used his own mayonnaise recipe on their sandwiches, winking an eye at Daphne. Daphne giggled and thanked him. As each guest’s glass was poured, each guest said thank you to Bartholomew.
“I will leave you to your sandwiches now, please enjoy them” he said then turned and walked back into the Galley allowing the door to close for his guests to enjoy a private meal.
Below deck David is remembering that he left his eating tool in the SUV, the hunger he is experiencing is worse than yesterday when he was glaring at a strangers face in the mirror. He took a hold of what used to be his nose and peeled it from his face exposing his sinus cavity. He then bites into it and severs it in two. Its texture is like deer jerky someone forgot how to let it cure. It had no taste to it. He chews it slowly as if to buy him some extra time. His last bite feels spongier this time around; it must be due to the higher concentration of cartilage, he faintly thinks to himself.
(continued in next post)
[edit on (6/18/1010 by loveguy]
(continued)
The riverboats foghorn breaks the sounds of near silence. Darkness falls into the dusky air. The drone of the diesel engine powering the wheel at the rear of the riverboat, and all the electrical circuits revs to a faster hum. The shoring ropes are wound around there knuckles. Two more sounds from the foghorn as the boat leaves its mooring then begins its journey south into the great Mississippi River.
“I’ll show the girls to their cabin” Connie says to her partners in crime. She then asks Susan and Daphne if they are opposed to sharing a single compartment, to which they answered in unison; we insist, and thank you.
“That was quite a firefight this morning wasn’t it Dick” Donald asked.
“Firefight” he asked with a puzzled look on his face.
“That was no firefight that my friend was the best display of cullination of the culled your boys ever did, by the way where is your team of the finest mercenaries’ Blackwater would be so kind to assist us with” he asked.
“There is no Blackwater anymore Dick, remember” he reminded him, then proceeded to assure him that they are all on-board, wondering the same thing himself.
“Well Dickey-boy, it’s off to catch some shut eye for me, we have a date in St. Louis don’t forget you old drunk” Donald laughed the slurred words out.
“Yeah Donnie, meet you here for breakfast, you old weasel-faced jackrabbit you” his words less slurred than Donald’s.
“Burlington just ahead” the captain’s voice was heard on the P.A. system. Afterward he recalls to himself that he is likely the only one aboard that is not sleeping, besides the team of mercenaries.
“Those *snip*holes better be awake” he said to himself.
The voice on the P.A. system startled David. He climbed out from under the tarpaulin then began looking for a new eating tool. As luck would have it he found a wooden crate nearby with an even better eating tool resting atop it. The handle of this one was made of metal. He gauged its angle and admired the sharpness of its claw. He took a couple practice swings and was now in search for a new mind to devour.
“Where’s the boat” asked the team leader after he let himself into the walk-in fridge. The friendly stranger known as SGT Major Jamal Green rose to his feet at attention.
“What the *snip*what do you mean where’s the boat, it’s on its way to ST. Louis, like you and crack head, I mean Crackour and the others should be” he exclaimed in disbelief throwing his hands up.
“It’s just me and Bones left, God-damned Crack head got caught with his pants down on the can of munitions, let’s say. His dumb-ass was smoking next to the dumper, him, TJ and the others all went up like a roman candle” *snip*ing cool-hand Luke they called him in sniper school.
David opened a door to a compartment and silently crept in. Lying in a cot was a lady middle aged with dark hair. He swung his tool down into her skull. The claw eased its way out. He swung it again and keeping to his recent successes, he helped himself to a skull that didn’t really have much inside. He was onto his next search of food within ten minutes. Another compartment door on his left after opening it revealed another reward. This one was sleeping on his back, his glasses were held in his hands upon his chest. The glasses were dark brown, with big thick lenses. The man opens his eyes just in time to see a blurry object come crashing down on top of his forehead. The claw was really jammed in there deep. David took both hands and torques the hammer loose. When it freed from that little head, a big piece of his skull came up with it exposing another mass of fatty flesh that would turn-out to be a tease. No matter though, he is eating and that is what satiates him, for a short while however brief. David stands up then walks out the door. Another compartment he finds down the hallway, but the door is locked. He turns and meanders back the other way. He finds a door to a compartment around a corner on the opposite wall. He turns the knob then lets himself in. There is an older gentleman sitting up in his bed. His legs are held so that his knees are at his chest. Tears are streaming down his cheeks. He takes the covers and pulls them over his head. David approaches his next meal, pulls the covers down then leans down and licks the man’s forehead. The man lets out a whimper, he is shivering and shaking.
“Spit marks the spot” claims an unknown unrecognized voice David isn’t sure if he even heard it. He holds the blanket in place as the older gentleman tries to pull it back up over his head. He holds his eating tool up high then holds it out wide. He swings it sidearm into the cheekbone of his dinner plate.
“You missed” said or did he hear a voice at all? No matter, again he swings his tool sidearm sticking it into the temple of his brain-matter platter. The force of this last blow causes the man’s face to peel away from the skull. David reaches his hand inside the skull and pulls out a little pea.
The riverboats foghorn breaks the sounds of near silence. Darkness falls into the dusky air. The drone of the diesel engine powering the wheel at the rear of the riverboat, and all the electrical circuits revs to a faster hum. The shoring ropes are wound around there knuckles. Two more sounds from the foghorn as the boat leaves its mooring then begins its journey south into the great Mississippi River.
“I’ll show the girls to their cabin” Connie says to her partners in crime. She then asks Susan and Daphne if they are opposed to sharing a single compartment, to which they answered in unison; we insist, and thank you.
“That was quite a firefight this morning wasn’t it Dick” Donald asked.
“Firefight” he asked with a puzzled look on his face.
“That was no firefight that my friend was the best display of cullination of the culled your boys ever did, by the way where is your team of the finest mercenaries’ Blackwater would be so kind to assist us with” he asked.
“There is no Blackwater anymore Dick, remember” he reminded him, then proceeded to assure him that they are all on-board, wondering the same thing himself.
“Well Dickey-boy, it’s off to catch some shut eye for me, we have a date in St. Louis don’t forget you old drunk” Donald laughed the slurred words out.
“Yeah Donnie, meet you here for breakfast, you old weasel-faced jackrabbit you” his words less slurred than Donald’s.
“Burlington just ahead” the captain’s voice was heard on the P.A. system. Afterward he recalls to himself that he is likely the only one aboard that is not sleeping, besides the team of mercenaries.
“Those *snip*holes better be awake” he said to himself.
The voice on the P.A. system startled David. He climbed out from under the tarpaulin then began looking for a new eating tool. As luck would have it he found a wooden crate nearby with an even better eating tool resting atop it. The handle of this one was made of metal. He gauged its angle and admired the sharpness of its claw. He took a couple practice swings and was now in search for a new mind to devour.
“Where’s the boat” asked the team leader after he let himself into the walk-in fridge. The friendly stranger known as SGT Major Jamal Green rose to his feet at attention.
“What the *snip*what do you mean where’s the boat, it’s on its way to ST. Louis, like you and crack head, I mean Crackour and the others should be” he exclaimed in disbelief throwing his hands up.
“It’s just me and Bones left, God-damned Crack head got caught with his pants down on the can of munitions, let’s say. His dumb-ass was smoking next to the dumper, him, TJ and the others all went up like a roman candle” *snip*ing cool-hand Luke they called him in sniper school.
David opened a door to a compartment and silently crept in. Lying in a cot was a lady middle aged with dark hair. He swung his tool down into her skull. The claw eased its way out. He swung it again and keeping to his recent successes, he helped himself to a skull that didn’t really have much inside. He was onto his next search of food within ten minutes. Another compartment door on his left after opening it revealed another reward. This one was sleeping on his back, his glasses were held in his hands upon his chest. The glasses were dark brown, with big thick lenses. The man opens his eyes just in time to see a blurry object come crashing down on top of his forehead. The claw was really jammed in there deep. David took both hands and torques the hammer loose. When it freed from that little head, a big piece of his skull came up with it exposing another mass of fatty flesh that would turn-out to be a tease. No matter though, he is eating and that is what satiates him, for a short while however brief. David stands up then walks out the door. Another compartment he finds down the hallway, but the door is locked. He turns and meanders back the other way. He finds a door to a compartment around a corner on the opposite wall. He turns the knob then lets himself in. There is an older gentleman sitting up in his bed. His legs are held so that his knees are at his chest. Tears are streaming down his cheeks. He takes the covers and pulls them over his head. David approaches his next meal, pulls the covers down then leans down and licks the man’s forehead. The man lets out a whimper, he is shivering and shaking.
“Spit marks the spot” claims an unknown unrecognized voice David isn’t sure if he even heard it. He holds the blanket in place as the older gentleman tries to pull it back up over his head. He holds his eating tool up high then holds it out wide. He swings it sidearm into the cheekbone of his dinner plate.
“You missed” said or did he hear a voice at all? No matter, again he swings his tool sidearm sticking it into the temple of his brain-matter platter. The force of this last blow causes the man’s face to peel away from the skull. David reaches his hand inside the skull and pulls out a little pea.
It was early morning in Wales as eight sleepy Territorial soldiers made their way down through the mountins to a small pub called "The Buck."
They had left their Mini-Bus parked in the car park of the pub after making a deal with the owner to look after it for a week.
The pub its self was an old two story solid stone farm house, up until the early 1900's, until it was bought by some owner of a near by coal-mine, who then turned it into a pub for his work force.
It had sufferd since the closing of the mines due to the Miners strikes and now since it was practically in the middle of no-where, it relied on tourism and the occashional camper who would pitch their tents in a nearby field also owned by the pub.
The talk of the group was about the radio message they had the previous night.
Speculative debates about what was said to them had kept them awake all night.
Where they just the victims of some joke?
It was not uncommen to play tricks on the other soldiers every now and then, but the seriousness in the voice of the radio operative made them think twice.
The Sarge was increasing in paranoia, thinking that the joke was on him. This whole week was a joke. How could he possibly pick out one of the squad as a candidate for promotion. They where all useless. Didnt stop squabbling umongst their selfs, and certainly where not worthy of being soldiers.
His mind was made up... When he gets back to base, he'll write the lot of them up. He'd be doing the force's a favour in getting rid of these vermin..
They finally got to the van. It was a small Ford Transit. It wasnt a regular army vehicle, but was hired for the week and was due-back at the letting agency yesterday. Another reason to sack the lot of these usless soldiers. His temper had run its cool.
"Right, Jamesy.. Start the van. Warm up the engine. Its been idle for a week. Im gonna go to the pub and see if I can use their phone... Unless anyone else's mobile-phone battery hasnt died and are willing to lend it to me..? ...none of you?... Right.. Load the van. Ill be back in a second." the sarge stormed off towards the pub carrying his pack and still had his bullpup resting across his waist. He was kicking up trails of dust from the gritted path to the entrance and dissappeard inside.
"That 'sarge' certainly was spoilt as a child.." Holding said, as he sat in one of the empty seats of the Van. "Quite fancy... This the new shape Ford Transit init?" he asked openly..
"Yeah, I Think it is" Jamesy said, as he turned on the ignition. "Reminds me of those Focus ST's, you know? With the racing stripes down the middle.." he added... Nobody was listening. They where trying to have a quick nap before the 90 minute drive back to Cardiff.
Micky and English where standing outside the van having a smoke chatting about what they recon happend at the world cup.
They wernt arguing about the 'supposed' riot but the actuall score in the Football.
"Hey lads, you havnt got any more cigaretts have you? Im gasping!" Freshman had butted into the conversation.
"Get your own you scrounger! Theres a pub there." English hastely reply'd.
"ahhh... I aint got any cash on me.. EVANS! Evans my friend.. Do me a favour and lend me some dosh.." Freshman asked Evans who'd been sitting on the back step of the van day dreaming.
"Huh..? What no.. Uh, Ill get them my self. Only got a Twenty quid note on me, and if I give that to you ill never get any change back" Evans said, picking himself up, and adjusting the strap on his Gun over his shoulder on his way to the pub entrance..
"Very wise Evans! I once lent him a tenner, and I still havnt had it back yet!" English shouted after him..
Glyn sat in the front of the Van next to Jamesy. They where trying to tune the radio-in so they could listen to Talk-sport, to see if they could hear the results of the Football.. It was the world cup after all, which only happens every four years..
"PPRRRRRRR!!!''
The short sound of Gun-fire broke the silence. It was accompanied by a scream from inside the pub...
They had left their Mini-Bus parked in the car park of the pub after making a deal with the owner to look after it for a week.
The pub its self was an old two story solid stone farm house, up until the early 1900's, until it was bought by some owner of a near by coal-mine, who then turned it into a pub for his work force.
It had sufferd since the closing of the mines due to the Miners strikes and now since it was practically in the middle of no-where, it relied on tourism and the occashional camper who would pitch their tents in a nearby field also owned by the pub.
The talk of the group was about the radio message they had the previous night.
Speculative debates about what was said to them had kept them awake all night.
Where they just the victims of some joke?
It was not uncommen to play tricks on the other soldiers every now and then, but the seriousness in the voice of the radio operative made them think twice.
The Sarge was increasing in paranoia, thinking that the joke was on him. This whole week was a joke. How could he possibly pick out one of the squad as a candidate for promotion. They where all useless. Didnt stop squabbling umongst their selfs, and certainly where not worthy of being soldiers.
His mind was made up... When he gets back to base, he'll write the lot of them up. He'd be doing the force's a favour in getting rid of these vermin..
They finally got to the van. It was a small Ford Transit. It wasnt a regular army vehicle, but was hired for the week and was due-back at the letting agency yesterday. Another reason to sack the lot of these usless soldiers. His temper had run its cool.
"Right, Jamesy.. Start the van. Warm up the engine. Its been idle for a week. Im gonna go to the pub and see if I can use their phone... Unless anyone else's mobile-phone battery hasnt died and are willing to lend it to me..? ...none of you?... Right.. Load the van. Ill be back in a second." the sarge stormed off towards the pub carrying his pack and still had his bullpup resting across his waist. He was kicking up trails of dust from the gritted path to the entrance and dissappeard inside.
"That 'sarge' certainly was spoilt as a child.." Holding said, as he sat in one of the empty seats of the Van. "Quite fancy... This the new shape Ford Transit init?" he asked openly..
"Yeah, I Think it is" Jamesy said, as he turned on the ignition. "Reminds me of those Focus ST's, you know? With the racing stripes down the middle.." he added... Nobody was listening. They where trying to have a quick nap before the 90 minute drive back to Cardiff.
Micky and English where standing outside the van having a smoke chatting about what they recon happend at the world cup.
They wernt arguing about the 'supposed' riot but the actuall score in the Football.
"Hey lads, you havnt got any more cigaretts have you? Im gasping!" Freshman had butted into the conversation.
"Get your own you scrounger! Theres a pub there." English hastely reply'd.
"ahhh... I aint got any cash on me.. EVANS! Evans my friend.. Do me a favour and lend me some dosh.." Freshman asked Evans who'd been sitting on the back step of the van day dreaming.
"Huh..? What no.. Uh, Ill get them my self. Only got a Twenty quid note on me, and if I give that to you ill never get any change back" Evans said, picking himself up, and adjusting the strap on his Gun over his shoulder on his way to the pub entrance..
"Very wise Evans! I once lent him a tenner, and I still havnt had it back yet!" English shouted after him..
Glyn sat in the front of the Van next to Jamesy. They where trying to tune the radio-in so they could listen to Talk-sport, to see if they could hear the results of the Football.. It was the world cup after all, which only happens every four years..
"PPRRRRRRR!!!''
The short sound of Gun-fire broke the silence. It was accompanied by a scream from inside the pub...
"WWWhat the heck was that!!" English shouted, shocked.
Someone had discharged one of their guns in the pub...
"I bet it was Evans.. That buffoon is useless. The sarge will tear him a new one.. And the Pub Landlord.." Holding laughed, climbing out of the Van ...but soon, the grin was wiped of his face as Evans came stumbling out of the door coverd in blood and clutching his neck..
Evans stepped a few yards closer to the group of soldiers then fell to his knees.
"Get the first-aid Holding" Mickey shouted as he ran over to Evans, followed by the rest of the group.
Each one of them had a look of Terror on their faces.
"What happend Evans..? Wheres the Sarge??" Mickey asked..
"The Sssarge.. He bit me.. bit me. He bit me on the neck.. My neck. Bite..." Evans slumped over.. He'd lost to much blood.. He was gone.
"What is going on! Someone get an Ambulance or something!!" Mickey shouted.
"The battery on my phones dead, I cant!" Freshman whined.. He didnt know what to do.. The sight of the blood seaping out of the wound on Evans was making him sick...
"well get in there and use the phone you #!" Mickey swore in a rage,
"Im not going in there Mickey, you heard him.. He said the sarge did that.. Im not going in there, the Sarge.. SARGE!!" Freshman pointed at the doorway to the pub as he backed off..
Mickey let go of Evans's body, and stood up in shock at the sight of the Sergeant.
The six remaining soldiers walked back with each step the Sarge stumbbled forwards.
The sarge slowly looked from Evans dead body and then at the group of soldiers.
A look of hate and hunger beset in his eyes, his white teeth bore in a snarle and stained in blood, he stepped forward quicker reaching out with what where his mangled arms, theyed been gnawed on by something and trickled blood over the dusty path out of the pub...
"Sarge! Sarge whats the matter with you!!? Sarge?" Mickey stepped forwards to confront the crazy sergeant, equally with a look of anger in his face..
The others looked on as what seemed in only a split second the Sergeant lept on top of Mickey, forcing him to the floor, into a wrestling match.
Mickey kept striking the sarge, who was in the process of biting a huge chunk out of his arm.
He let out a huge cry of pain as the flesh on Mickeys fore-arm was torn off exposing the bone. Wildly, the Sarge clawed Mickeys face whilst trying to take another bite out of Mickeys arm.
Holding ran forwards and kicked the sergeant in the head, sending him flying of Mickey, who quickly got up and started wildly stamping on his sergeant untill he no-longer moved...
Silence amoung the group. They all looked on at what had just happend in front of them. It was unreal. It was disgusting. It was murder..
"what the # was wrong with him, he'd gone crazy!" Holding said as he wrapped up Mickeys ugly gouge on his arm. "I mean, he went in the pub an spoilt #, and came out a raging loon!"
Mickey laughed and winced at the same time, his arm felt numb and he felt dizzy and extremly weak.., "It was self defence though, he attacked me.. And he... Killed Evans.." Mickey said trying to justify his actions. "I just cant believe what just happend! He took a chunk out of my arm! the sick #."
Glyn had been trying to keep his nerve. What had just happend was shocking. It was compleatly crazy..
He looked on as Jamesy and English coverd Evans's body with one of their 'bivey bags' as a mark of respect, whilst trying to put together in his head what had transpierd here.
He looked at the entrance of the pub.. Then the corpse of the sarge.. He didnt have his pack on.. Their 'live' ammo was in that pack.
And that pack was in the pub..
Along with who knows what else..
"Lads.. The sarges pack is in the pub. Its got our live ammo init.. I dont know about you, but id rather have that in our guns rather than these blanks.."Glyn let off.. Letting what he said sink into the heads of the other soldiers..
"Yeah.. But.. What about the Pub Landlord.. Isnt he in there too..?" Freshman added... "What if he's.. Like the sarge..? Cause.. The sarges arms are missing chunks too..."
The group looked at the old stone pub. Freshman was right...
The Landlord was inside... And maybe he was crazy like the Sarge...
Someone had discharged one of their guns in the pub...
"I bet it was Evans.. That buffoon is useless. The sarge will tear him a new one.. And the Pub Landlord.." Holding laughed, climbing out of the Van ...but soon, the grin was wiped of his face as Evans came stumbling out of the door coverd in blood and clutching his neck..
Evans stepped a few yards closer to the group of soldiers then fell to his knees.
"Get the first-aid Holding" Mickey shouted as he ran over to Evans, followed by the rest of the group.
Each one of them had a look of Terror on their faces.
"What happend Evans..? Wheres the Sarge??" Mickey asked..
"The Sssarge.. He bit me.. bit me. He bit me on the neck.. My neck. Bite..." Evans slumped over.. He'd lost to much blood.. He was gone.
"What is going on! Someone get an Ambulance or something!!" Mickey shouted.
"The battery on my phones dead, I cant!" Freshman whined.. He didnt know what to do.. The sight of the blood seaping out of the wound on Evans was making him sick...
"well get in there and use the phone you #!" Mickey swore in a rage,
"Im not going in there Mickey, you heard him.. He said the sarge did that.. Im not going in there, the Sarge.. SARGE!!" Freshman pointed at the doorway to the pub as he backed off..
Mickey let go of Evans's body, and stood up in shock at the sight of the Sergeant.
The six remaining soldiers walked back with each step the Sarge stumbbled forwards.
The sarge slowly looked from Evans dead body and then at the group of soldiers.
A look of hate and hunger beset in his eyes, his white teeth bore in a snarle and stained in blood, he stepped forward quicker reaching out with what where his mangled arms, theyed been gnawed on by something and trickled blood over the dusty path out of the pub...
"Sarge! Sarge whats the matter with you!!? Sarge?" Mickey stepped forwards to confront the crazy sergeant, equally with a look of anger in his face..
The others looked on as what seemed in only a split second the Sergeant lept on top of Mickey, forcing him to the floor, into a wrestling match.
Mickey kept striking the sarge, who was in the process of biting a huge chunk out of his arm.
He let out a huge cry of pain as the flesh on Mickeys fore-arm was torn off exposing the bone. Wildly, the Sarge clawed Mickeys face whilst trying to take another bite out of Mickeys arm.
Holding ran forwards and kicked the sergeant in the head, sending him flying of Mickey, who quickly got up and started wildly stamping on his sergeant untill he no-longer moved...
Silence amoung the group. They all looked on at what had just happend in front of them. It was unreal. It was disgusting. It was murder..
"what the # was wrong with him, he'd gone crazy!" Holding said as he wrapped up Mickeys ugly gouge on his arm. "I mean, he went in the pub an spoilt #, and came out a raging loon!"
Mickey laughed and winced at the same time, his arm felt numb and he felt dizzy and extremly weak.., "It was self defence though, he attacked me.. And he... Killed Evans.." Mickey said trying to justify his actions. "I just cant believe what just happend! He took a chunk out of my arm! the sick #."
Glyn had been trying to keep his nerve. What had just happend was shocking. It was compleatly crazy..
He looked on as Jamesy and English coverd Evans's body with one of their 'bivey bags' as a mark of respect, whilst trying to put together in his head what had transpierd here.
He looked at the entrance of the pub.. Then the corpse of the sarge.. He didnt have his pack on.. Their 'live' ammo was in that pack.
And that pack was in the pub..
Along with who knows what else..
"Lads.. The sarges pack is in the pub. Its got our live ammo init.. I dont know about you, but id rather have that in our guns rather than these blanks.."Glyn let off.. Letting what he said sink into the heads of the other soldiers..
"Yeah.. But.. What about the Pub Landlord.. Isnt he in there too..?" Freshman added... "What if he's.. Like the sarge..? Cause.. The sarges arms are missing chunks too..."
The group looked at the old stone pub. Freshman was right...
The Landlord was inside... And maybe he was crazy like the Sarge...
I'm writing this hoping someone will get a chance to read it, preferably a fellow human.
My name is Carl Kolchak. I am (was?) a writer for the Independent News Service, back in the good old BZ (Before Zombie) days.
For me it started on a balmy June evening in my beloved Chicago. I had just snuck into the Lucky Dragon Take Out for some egg rolls when my police scanner (a Radio Shack Pro-73) cackled about a disturbance on 42nd. It didn't take my Reporter Instinct to figure something was up when the dispatcher mentioned 'subjects attempting to bite caller'. My first thought was, hope it's not another vampire. Oh, dear reader, if only it were.
I grabbed the egg rolls and hopped in my Mustang and cruised to 42nd and Delany. Ran three red lights but I knew the fuzz were'nt likely to worry about little old me violating traffics for the moment.
I was the crowd and pulled up and parked (nearly legally), grabbed the camera, and hopped to the action.
There were four of them. This was my first sighting of them. They were shambling down 42nd, dressed in rags, eyes vacant, hair (what was left of it) matted, mouths open and sort of moaning. Three cops were whacking away with batons and shouting and kicking at them with little apparent effect.
Another blue unit pulled up. Some hotshot ran up and took the tripod stance and pumped six rounds of 9mm square into the chest of one of them.
It didn't seem to notice.
It didn't but I did. I've seen some stuff, dear reader, some of which I wouldn't write down figuring they'd lock me up and throw away the hearing transcript, but I'd never seen anything like this.
Eventually the cops managed to surround the four by sheer numbers and cuff them and throw them in the van. I knew one of them, Crandall, and sidled up to him after the van left. He was sweating and shaky, wiping his brow and breathing hard.
" 'The flock was that?" I inquired.
He shook his head. "Never seen nothing like it. Hit them, shoot them, bash them, they just kept reaching out for you. Bit a couple guys. Not hard, but drew blood." I didn't realize at the time what that meant for them.
"How about John Wayne rushing up and saving the day there."
He shook his head. "Like we never thought to shoot them. Newbie. Heflin, or Kevlin, or something. He was one of the ones that got bit."
I shook my head in mutual sympathy. Yeah, newbies. "Hope they aren't rabid or anything. Mental patients?"
"I guess. Took them to the Bedford station. Their prob now."
I made it to Bedford a couple hours later. A Lieutenant Bookman was in charge and he let me know it. I gave him yes sir, yes sir, three bags full, and he relented and allowed me in to see them. They were being held in their own little unit. "Would you believe, Kolchak, they bit some of the other prisoners when we put them in?"
"What's with all the biting, Lieutenant? Some kind of rabies or something?"
He shook his well coiffed head. "No idea. We tracked them from a lab at a clinic down 38th. Test subjects or something. We've got them isolated now."
"Right, right, good thinking there. What was the clinic again?"
The oh spit look crossed his face. "Clinic? What clinic? I didn't say anything about a clinic. Shoo, Kolchak. We're done here."
"Gone!" I said. "Yes sir, yes sir!" Three bags full.
Two minutes of perusing the phone book at Tio's Tavern (Open 24 hrs, No Cover Charge) gave me Clarke Biotech, homesteaded at 40th and Poppy. There were no poppies in site when I arrived around fourish. There was a large place on the side patched in plywood.
I returned to the office, scratched out a story, turned it in, and headed back for the ranch for a few hours sleep. I made a mental note to follow up when I got a chance lest this be another one-and-done deal.
I need not have worried about that.
My name is Carl Kolchak. I am (was?) a writer for the Independent News Service, back in the good old BZ (Before Zombie) days.
For me it started on a balmy June evening in my beloved Chicago. I had just snuck into the Lucky Dragon Take Out for some egg rolls when my police scanner (a Radio Shack Pro-73) cackled about a disturbance on 42nd. It didn't take my Reporter Instinct to figure something was up when the dispatcher mentioned 'subjects attempting to bite caller'. My first thought was, hope it's not another vampire. Oh, dear reader, if only it were.
I grabbed the egg rolls and hopped in my Mustang and cruised to 42nd and Delany. Ran three red lights but I knew the fuzz were'nt likely to worry about little old me violating traffics for the moment.
I was the crowd and pulled up and parked (nearly legally), grabbed the camera, and hopped to the action.
There were four of them. This was my first sighting of them. They were shambling down 42nd, dressed in rags, eyes vacant, hair (what was left of it) matted, mouths open and sort of moaning. Three cops were whacking away with batons and shouting and kicking at them with little apparent effect.
Another blue unit pulled up. Some hotshot ran up and took the tripod stance and pumped six rounds of 9mm square into the chest of one of them.
It didn't seem to notice.
It didn't but I did. I've seen some stuff, dear reader, some of which I wouldn't write down figuring they'd lock me up and throw away the hearing transcript, but I'd never seen anything like this.
Eventually the cops managed to surround the four by sheer numbers and cuff them and throw them in the van. I knew one of them, Crandall, and sidled up to him after the van left. He was sweating and shaky, wiping his brow and breathing hard.
" 'The flock was that?" I inquired.
He shook his head. "Never seen nothing like it. Hit them, shoot them, bash them, they just kept reaching out for you. Bit a couple guys. Not hard, but drew blood." I didn't realize at the time what that meant for them.
"How about John Wayne rushing up and saving the day there."
He shook his head. "Like we never thought to shoot them. Newbie. Heflin, or Kevlin, or something. He was one of the ones that got bit."
I shook my head in mutual sympathy. Yeah, newbies. "Hope they aren't rabid or anything. Mental patients?"
"I guess. Took them to the Bedford station. Their prob now."
I made it to Bedford a couple hours later. A Lieutenant Bookman was in charge and he let me know it. I gave him yes sir, yes sir, three bags full, and he relented and allowed me in to see them. They were being held in their own little unit. "Would you believe, Kolchak, they bit some of the other prisoners when we put them in?"
"What's with all the biting, Lieutenant? Some kind of rabies or something?"
He shook his well coiffed head. "No idea. We tracked them from a lab at a clinic down 38th. Test subjects or something. We've got them isolated now."
"Right, right, good thinking there. What was the clinic again?"
The oh spit look crossed his face. "Clinic? What clinic? I didn't say anything about a clinic. Shoo, Kolchak. We're done here."
"Gone!" I said. "Yes sir, yes sir!" Three bags full.
Two minutes of perusing the phone book at Tio's Tavern (Open 24 hrs, No Cover Charge) gave me Clarke Biotech, homesteaded at 40th and Poppy. There were no poppies in site when I arrived around fourish. There was a large place on the side patched in plywood.
I returned to the office, scratched out a story, turned it in, and headed back for the ranch for a few hours sleep. I made a mental note to follow up when I got a chance lest this be another one-and-done deal.
I need not have worried about that.
(1 of 3)
David could not contemplate this fact. He took the flesh of the gentleman’s face and with both hands yanked it off, nearly dragging the body off the bed in the process. Once the flesh became free he began chewing on it. An eyeball fell out and rolled along the floor. David stretched and picked the eye up. He then bit into it and the fluid squirted out. That eye must have been pleasant tasting because even while still chewing the one, he plucked the other one out of its socket and forced it into his mouth. He apparently enjoyed having both eyes in his mouth together because he leaned his head back and began laughing hysterically.
Then he took a part of an eye from his mouth and inserted it through his sinus cavity followed by inhaling it back into his mouth.
“Who says there ain’t life after death, this is life right here” he slapped his knee for such a thought or whatever it was, then rose to his feet. He had to come back from the door on his way out to grab his eating tool.
A little while later, back under the tarpaulin he heard noises from the deck above. Along with the sound of feet stomping around, he also heard voices too. The drone of the boats engine seemed to quiet-down.
“Bartholomew” the boat’s captain yelled into the P.A. system.
“Get everyone off the boat now!”
The sound of boots running into the area where David sat hiding ran straight to the crate where David found his eating tool.
“Where’s that *snip* ing hammer” the voice connected to the boots cried-out.
“There it is” the voice answered its own question. All of a sudden David’s eating tool slides out from under the tarp. He sat still and listened to the panic in the noisy boot’s voice, and the sound of the crate being popped open. Just then the hammer landed on the floor somewhere close by. David sat still while listening to the sound of something that had to be some kind of a weapon being put together, loaded then cocked. Soon after, the noisy boots began to fade away into the distance, some other place on the river boat.
Susan and Daphne along with Bartholomew and the captain all ran to where the ramp was being fastened to the boat by the engineer. Then they each made it down onto the boardwalk below.
“I went to go see if Mr. Rumsfeld was in need of anything while we moor here at Burlington” the captain was explaining to his companions.
“Where is Rumsfeld’s security team?”
“By the way, I’m Captain Alexander Foster, who are you young ladies” he asked tipping his hat to them.
“I am Susan Leonard, and this is my sister Daphne.”
“Yeah, we’re stow-a-ways” Daphne giggled.
Susan nudged her younger sister then asked Bartholomew;
“Where are your honored guests?”
“I guess they were allergic to Bartholomew’s mayonnaise, yes, I heard about it” the captain gave Bartholomew a snicker and then his face became serious.
“It seems we have ourselves a zombie on-board, fact is, Mr. Cheney’s face got misappropriated from the rest of his body. That zombie did a real number on him, must have had some serious liking to the guy, both of his eyes and half of his face are missing” the captain’s snicker returns after his raised eye brows lower again.
“Rumsfeld and Rice both gave the zombie a piece of their minds, ok; they let him have it I won’t lie” he spoke matter of factly. Together they all shared a laugh.
The doctor came out from his hiding place and found his hammer lying next to the tarp. He picked it up and started towards the hall-way again. Those noisy boots were stomping around the floor above David’s head again. The door that David found to be locked during the night was now un-locked, he let himself inside.
David could not contemplate this fact. He took the flesh of the gentleman’s face and with both hands yanked it off, nearly dragging the body off the bed in the process. Once the flesh became free he began chewing on it. An eyeball fell out and rolled along the floor. David stretched and picked the eye up. He then bit into it and the fluid squirted out. That eye must have been pleasant tasting because even while still chewing the one, he plucked the other one out of its socket and forced it into his mouth. He apparently enjoyed having both eyes in his mouth together because he leaned his head back and began laughing hysterically.
Then he took a part of an eye from his mouth and inserted it through his sinus cavity followed by inhaling it back into his mouth.
“Who says there ain’t life after death, this is life right here” he slapped his knee for such a thought or whatever it was, then rose to his feet. He had to come back from the door on his way out to grab his eating tool.
A little while later, back under the tarpaulin he heard noises from the deck above. Along with the sound of feet stomping around, he also heard voices too. The drone of the boats engine seemed to quiet-down.
“Bartholomew” the boat’s captain yelled into the P.A. system.
“Get everyone off the boat now!”
The sound of boots running into the area where David sat hiding ran straight to the crate where David found his eating tool.
“Where’s that *snip* ing hammer” the voice connected to the boots cried-out.
“There it is” the voice answered its own question. All of a sudden David’s eating tool slides out from under the tarp. He sat still and listened to the panic in the noisy boot’s voice, and the sound of the crate being popped open. Just then the hammer landed on the floor somewhere close by. David sat still while listening to the sound of something that had to be some kind of a weapon being put together, loaded then cocked. Soon after, the noisy boots began to fade away into the distance, some other place on the river boat.
Susan and Daphne along with Bartholomew and the captain all ran to where the ramp was being fastened to the boat by the engineer. Then they each made it down onto the boardwalk below.
“I went to go see if Mr. Rumsfeld was in need of anything while we moor here at Burlington” the captain was explaining to his companions.
“Where is Rumsfeld’s security team?”
“By the way, I’m Captain Alexander Foster, who are you young ladies” he asked tipping his hat to them.
“I am Susan Leonard, and this is my sister Daphne.”
“Yeah, we’re stow-a-ways” Daphne giggled.
Susan nudged her younger sister then asked Bartholomew;
“Where are your honored guests?”
“I guess they were allergic to Bartholomew’s mayonnaise, yes, I heard about it” the captain gave Bartholomew a snicker and then his face became serious.
“It seems we have ourselves a zombie on-board, fact is, Mr. Cheney’s face got misappropriated from the rest of his body. That zombie did a real number on him, must have had some serious liking to the guy, both of his eyes and half of his face are missing” the captain’s snicker returns after his raised eye brows lower again.
“Rumsfeld and Rice both gave the zombie a piece of their minds, ok; they let him have it I won’t lie” he spoke matter of factly. Together they all shared a laugh.
The doctor came out from his hiding place and found his hammer lying next to the tarp. He picked it up and started towards the hall-way again. Those noisy boots were stomping around the floor above David’s head again. The door that David found to be locked during the night was now un-locked, he let himself inside.
(continued)
The engineer came to where the boat’s captain and the others were to give his report;
“The whole boat is clear captain; I did however find some signs of where the zombie must have been stowed-away from Minneapolis to wherever I guess he jumped over-board some time during the night, I searched the boat from stem to stern, and star to port, he’s not on the boat anywhere.”
“Where was it you said you found signs of him” the captain asked.
“In the room where the Blackwater guys have their crate of guns and stuff, well, the zombie was I guess hiding himself under the tarp with that thing the Blackwater guys referred to as ‘the device’ or whatever they said it was, anyhow there was some blood and pus smeared on the underside of the tarp.”
“How the hell did he even get on the boat, did you happen to find any of the Blackwater guys by chance” Bartholomew asked the engineer with an expression they all shared.
“The last time I saw any Blackwater guy was when I sent one of them to bring me another barrel of diesel, he never came back.”
“That Cheney was barking how imperative it is we arrive in St. Louis at such and such time, if I had known for one, that we needed more diesel, and two, that his so-called team wasn’t even on the boat, I’d have waited before setting sail, he could kiss my ass” the captain said angrily.
“We don’t actually need more fuel captain; I told the Blackwater guy that it’s better safe than sorry. We’ll make it to St. Louis with some to spare” the engineer said.
“Suppose we get that ‘device’ to St. Louis, and Dubya and none of his Blackwater men are there to get it off my boat” thought the captain out loud. Nobody had an answer.
“Who wants to help toss them fearless leaders over-board, it’s time for us to continue on to St. Louis” the captain asked his withering companions.
The doctor once again found himself under the tarp. He rested there during the commotion of people clamoring to throw the bodies over-board and cleaning all the mess in the three compartments where David shared his last supper with himself. He sat there licking his eating tool clean to pass the time. And soon afterward the foghorn blasts its sound and the boat is off again setting sail down the great Mississippi River toward the great city of St. Louis.
“Can I sit at the helm captain” asked Daphne.
“Sure thing young lady, just don’t do anything I don’t instruct you” he replied.
“My daddy was a cop he taught me how to shoot a gun and how to fight” she said matter of factly.
“He and my mom they were so proud of Susan she was about to graduate high school ya’ know” she mentioned sadly.
“Where are-I mean I guess I know I’m sorry Daphne” he says softly.
“At least I have my sister still she’s really great I love her so much.”
Just then Susan and Bartholomew enter.
“Hey when is it my turn” Susan asks the captain, her smile as bright as it is sheds light on this dire situation.
“Iceberg” Bartholomew cries out. Daphne jumps almost out of her shoes!
“Very funny Bart”
“Yes I aspired to be a comedian once back in the day”
“You just stick to what you do in the kitchen huh; I ain’t going to find a better cook”
“Thank you Joshua, I mean captain”
“I know why you won’t let that shot gun out of your sight Susan, but what’s in the briefcase” the captain asked.
“We got my daddy’s service weapon and stuff like that in there” Daphne explained.
“Daddy’s little marksman” Susan said.
“Daddy’s big graduate” they share a hug and then Susan takes the helm.
“Group hug” initiated Bartholomew.
“I’m off to go take Jeremy something to eat, ‘its Nessy she’s huge!’ just kidding” Bartholomew jumps up and points out the window.
The engineer came to where the boat’s captain and the others were to give his report;
“The whole boat is clear captain; I did however find some signs of where the zombie must have been stowed-away from Minneapolis to wherever I guess he jumped over-board some time during the night, I searched the boat from stem to stern, and star to port, he’s not on the boat anywhere.”
“Where was it you said you found signs of him” the captain asked.
“In the room where the Blackwater guys have their crate of guns and stuff, well, the zombie was I guess hiding himself under the tarp with that thing the Blackwater guys referred to as ‘the device’ or whatever they said it was, anyhow there was some blood and pus smeared on the underside of the tarp.”
“How the hell did he even get on the boat, did you happen to find any of the Blackwater guys by chance” Bartholomew asked the engineer with an expression they all shared.
“The last time I saw any Blackwater guy was when I sent one of them to bring me another barrel of diesel, he never came back.”
“That Cheney was barking how imperative it is we arrive in St. Louis at such and such time, if I had known for one, that we needed more diesel, and two, that his so-called team wasn’t even on the boat, I’d have waited before setting sail, he could kiss my ass” the captain said angrily.
“We don’t actually need more fuel captain; I told the Blackwater guy that it’s better safe than sorry. We’ll make it to St. Louis with some to spare” the engineer said.
“Suppose we get that ‘device’ to St. Louis, and Dubya and none of his Blackwater men are there to get it off my boat” thought the captain out loud. Nobody had an answer.
“Who wants to help toss them fearless leaders over-board, it’s time for us to continue on to St. Louis” the captain asked his withering companions.
The doctor once again found himself under the tarp. He rested there during the commotion of people clamoring to throw the bodies over-board and cleaning all the mess in the three compartments where David shared his last supper with himself. He sat there licking his eating tool clean to pass the time. And soon afterward the foghorn blasts its sound and the boat is off again setting sail down the great Mississippi River toward the great city of St. Louis.
“Can I sit at the helm captain” asked Daphne.
“Sure thing young lady, just don’t do anything I don’t instruct you” he replied.
“My daddy was a cop he taught me how to shoot a gun and how to fight” she said matter of factly.
“He and my mom they were so proud of Susan she was about to graduate high school ya’ know” she mentioned sadly.
“Where are-I mean I guess I know I’m sorry Daphne” he says softly.
“At least I have my sister still she’s really great I love her so much.”
Just then Susan and Bartholomew enter.
“Hey when is it my turn” Susan asks the captain, her smile as bright as it is sheds light on this dire situation.
“Iceberg” Bartholomew cries out. Daphne jumps almost out of her shoes!
“Very funny Bart”
“Yes I aspired to be a comedian once back in the day”
“You just stick to what you do in the kitchen huh; I ain’t going to find a better cook”
“Thank you Joshua, I mean captain”
“I know why you won’t let that shot gun out of your sight Susan, but what’s in the briefcase” the captain asked.
“We got my daddy’s service weapon and stuff like that in there” Daphne explained.
“Daddy’s little marksman” Susan said.
“Daddy’s big graduate” they share a hug and then Susan takes the helm.
“Group hug” initiated Bartholomew.
“I’m off to go take Jeremy something to eat, ‘its Nessy she’s huge!’ just kidding” Bartholomew jumps up and points out the window.
(continued)
Susan slaps Bartholomew on the arm and they all share a laugh. Then Bartholomew asks the captain what he wants for dinner. The captain said that his belly has been craving something spongy to really sink his teeth into;
“Fry me up some of those Zombie cakes will ya” he let out a chuckle.
“I got just the recipe”
“Has anyone ever mentioned that you two guys are really weird” asked Daphne.
“How long do you expect for us to reach St. Louis captain” asked Susan.
“Well providing everything goes smoothly I would say by mid-afternoon tomorrow, that’s about as fast as this old girl can swim with her throttle wide open”
“Old girl this boat is brand new ain’t she captain” asked Susan.
“This is the MS Swiss Jewel you’re right she is brand-new but she is still my old girl” he says as he pets her wheel.
“O-okay I think we should let these two be alone now huh Daphne”
“Yeah let’s go he’s too weird for me”
“You ladies’ can pretty much venture around the boat and if you happen to find that zombie let him know Bartholomew’s looking for him ok”
“Yes sir” they both saluted the captain and did an about face then scampered out of there in search of adventure!
By this time, the doctor was literally hoping to give someone anyone a frontal lobotomy. He is in dire straits and cannot sit still any longer. He takes the claw of the hammer and uses it to remove one of his ears. He sniffs it. He turns it about as to inspect it. He licks it. He then bites into it and its texture is worse than his nose was. It shouldn’t even have been prepared as if it was supposed to be any kind of jerky, that numbing whatever it is that keeps invading his otherwise sense of nonsense, or nonsense of sense. He is living a nightmare but making the best of it.
Susan slaps Bartholomew on the arm and they all share a laugh. Then Bartholomew asks the captain what he wants for dinner. The captain said that his belly has been craving something spongy to really sink his teeth into;
“Fry me up some of those Zombie cakes will ya” he let out a chuckle.
“I got just the recipe”
“Has anyone ever mentioned that you two guys are really weird” asked Daphne.
“How long do you expect for us to reach St. Louis captain” asked Susan.
“Well providing everything goes smoothly I would say by mid-afternoon tomorrow, that’s about as fast as this old girl can swim with her throttle wide open”
“Old girl this boat is brand new ain’t she captain” asked Susan.
“This is the MS Swiss Jewel you’re right she is brand-new but she is still my old girl” he says as he pets her wheel.
“O-okay I think we should let these two be alone now huh Daphne”
“Yeah let’s go he’s too weird for me”
“You ladies’ can pretty much venture around the boat and if you happen to find that zombie let him know Bartholomew’s looking for him ok”
“Yes sir” they both saluted the captain and did an about face then scampered out of there in search of adventure!
By this time, the doctor was literally hoping to give someone anyone a frontal lobotomy. He is in dire straits and cannot sit still any longer. He takes the claw of the hammer and uses it to remove one of his ears. He sniffs it. He turns it about as to inspect it. He licks it. He then bites into it and its texture is worse than his nose was. It shouldn’t even have been prepared as if it was supposed to be any kind of jerky, that numbing whatever it is that keeps invading his otherwise sense of nonsense, or nonsense of sense. He is living a nightmare but making the best of it.
John A. Daniels
Age 42
10 Year veteran US Marines. 1833 YAT-YAS!
Present occupation. Survivalist.
Father of Two.
Status of Children, Unknown Searching for them.
Status of Ex-Wife, Unknown Doesn't care.
Sitting at his custom modified surveillance center. He monitored how many Zombies were crossing near his location. The numbers were increasing by the hour. He had held up in an abandoned old Cold War missile complex. He had spotted this location a few years back in anticipation of the inevitable collapse of western civilization.
He never dreamed it would be an all out Zombie apocalypse. That was only in the movies he thought to himself. He always thought it would be the Chinese, Russians or the hordes of American Sheeple who let the Elites rule their lives through the Media and Internet, Programming them into submission who would rise up when they realized they have been fooled and destroy themselves in an orgy of destruction. Anything but the undead.
The complex was fairly large. With 8 levels below ground and the only entrance that he was aware of was the reinforced concrete building on top which resembled an oversize WWII German Pillbox. Complete with an automatic garage door. He rode the elevator to the top level and looked out through one of the blast proof glass windows, there in the immediate area were literally hundreds of Zombies all stumbling around the complex. They could not get in but they somehow knew he was there. He could hear them throwing themselves against the steal doors. Thump Thump.
Looking at his watch he noticed it was almost noon. Having finished his last bottle of booze last night he had slept in and needed to get some supplies from the nearby town of San Luis Obispo Cal. He made his way to the medium sized parking location in the adjacent room. He had taken an AAVP7-A1 with EEAK Armor added to it from Camp Pendleton's abandoned motor pool a few hours after the outbreak. They apparently were ordered to saddled up and head out to sea.
He had modified it by extending the vehicles range with additional fuel tanks. He climbed up on top, raising the skull and crossbones of the Jolly Roger flag. He fired it up and pushed a remote he had rigged, The heavy steal garage doors swung out pushing several zombies off to the side as he rolled out. The Zombies slowly turned and walked towards him as he rolled into them crushing several under tread as the vehicle moved forward. The Vehicles bow plane cracking a few skulls as he came to a stop and watched as the Doors closed behind him, making sure none got in.
Driving down the wreck filled highway into town. He noticed that it was a hot sunny day. Not a cloud in the sky it would have been a perfect California day if not for the stench of rotting flesh that permeated the air or the smoldering ruins of small towns and city centers engulfed in flames off in the distance. Driving into town he started seeing more and more Zombies walking around town with nothing to do other than search for the still living.
I hadn't seen anybody alive in a couple of days. He said out loud to himself. He knew people were still alive and fighting he could hear sporadic gunfire off in the distance and see the occasional chopper flying overhead. He had barricading himself in the facility a few hours after the outbreak. He turned off the main drive and rolled up a small side street and headed to Liquor City it was the towns large Franchised liquor outlet location. There were very few zombies he had seen in the last few minutes and none by the store location. He pulled right up front.
Strapping on his .45 side arm and loading his HK MP5. His Loadout was always light and simple. He made his exit through the back of the vehicle.
He left it open simply because it was easier to load supplies and he would also be able to get a full view of the rear compartment and see if he had collected any unwanted passengers.
Dashing into the store he grabbed a shopping cart and quickly made his way to his favorites then his secondary choices. Stopping to consider the prices then he laughed and shrugged as he reach to the back of the shelf and with one sweeping move pulled all the bottles into this cart. Shattering a few but it didn't matter. He spun around to head down the isle when a hand grabbed his left shoulder and yanked him back. He slipped as he fell backwards on the wet floor from the broken bottles. He looked up and saw a horribly grotesque face with it's lips gone exposing it's rotten mouth and teeth as it lunged at him to take a bite out of his face.
Grabbing the creature by the chest he pressed it up and away from him and held it at bay with one arm as he pulled out his .45 side arm and gave it two in the head. There wasn't much left except Grey matter all over the ceiling tiles above their location. Pushing the body to one side he stood and realized that the gun fire had attracted much unwanted attention. Reaching into his shopping basket he pulled out his MP5 and pushed the cart towards his vehicle there in the parking lot were over twenty zombies moving in his direction. He raised and squared his weapon and with small 3 round controlled bursts started popping heads.
Stopping only briefly to check his six and reload, in a matter of seconds he had cleared the parking lot back far enough to load up his booze and close the ramp. By the time the vehicle was fired up and rolling the zombies were coming out of the woodwork. Hundreds were now in the streets. He rolled into them and kept moving forward. Grinding them under as he made his way back onto the main drag. Looking out through the view port he grinned then fired up a smoke, took a long pull on a freshly opened bottle of Jack Daniels and started the CD player. AC/DC Hells Bells blared through vehicles AN/VIC-2 intercom system as he started purposely aiming for the undead as he traveled down the road. He fired off a few smoke grenades to the rear and engaged the fuel-burning smoke generator system.
After a few miles it was back to the way it was when he first entered town. The streets were clear in this section. He motored up to the local warehouse food outlet. They had a large meat freezer which he figured the town and it were still being powered by the nearby Diablo Canyon Nuclear power plant. This time he was not so cocky and loaded what he needed quickly. He was about to drive off when he noticed off in the distance something he could barely make out moving towards him making a noise, it couldn't be? He questioned himself...
It was a woman running towards him about 300 years down the street. She was carrying a baby! He fired up the vehicle and started moving in her direction. He knew she was alive and not a Zombie, he could hear her screaming for him to wait. Just then a mob of Zombies came from both directions and tore her and the baby to pieces in a matter of seconds. His stomach turned. She and the child never had a chance. After vomiting he manned the turret equipped with an M2HB .50 caliber heavy machine gun. He opened up on the crowd of Zombies shredding them to nothing more than hamburger meat.
Wiping tears from his face he slumped down and thought of his children for a few seconds and wondered if they were safe. He regained is composure, buttoned up and started rolling, heading home. The days light was fading and he was now very depressed. As he was about to load another CD into the player. Something a bit more somber he thought to himself.
He heard a voice coming over the Radio.
Is there anybody out there....?
We are barricaded at the Police Station here in town. We have several officers down. We need medicine and ammo come quickly. He grabbed the mic. I hear you, I'm about 2 miles away. I should be there right before sunset. Gather what you need and get ready to roll as soon as I get there Hold tight, Out!
Thank God! Hurry, Hurry. came the reply.
The Engine roared as he throttled it, smoke poured from the exhaust as he made it's best speed in their direction.
[edit on 30-6-2010 by SLAYER69]
Age 42
10 Year veteran US Marines. 1833 YAT-YAS!
Present occupation. Survivalist.
Father of Two.
Status of Children, Unknown Searching for them.
Status of Ex-Wife, Unknown Doesn't care.
Sitting at his custom modified surveillance center. He monitored how many Zombies were crossing near his location. The numbers were increasing by the hour. He had held up in an abandoned old Cold War missile complex. He had spotted this location a few years back in anticipation of the inevitable collapse of western civilization.
He never dreamed it would be an all out Zombie apocalypse. That was only in the movies he thought to himself. He always thought it would be the Chinese, Russians or the hordes of American Sheeple who let the Elites rule their lives through the Media and Internet, Programming them into submission who would rise up when they realized they have been fooled and destroy themselves in an orgy of destruction. Anything but the undead.
The complex was fairly large. With 8 levels below ground and the only entrance that he was aware of was the reinforced concrete building on top which resembled an oversize WWII German Pillbox. Complete with an automatic garage door. He rode the elevator to the top level and looked out through one of the blast proof glass windows, there in the immediate area were literally hundreds of Zombies all stumbling around the complex. They could not get in but they somehow knew he was there. He could hear them throwing themselves against the steal doors. Thump Thump.
Looking at his watch he noticed it was almost noon. Having finished his last bottle of booze last night he had slept in and needed to get some supplies from the nearby town of San Luis Obispo Cal. He made his way to the medium sized parking location in the adjacent room. He had taken an AAVP7-A1 with EEAK Armor added to it from Camp Pendleton's abandoned motor pool a few hours after the outbreak. They apparently were ordered to saddled up and head out to sea.
He had modified it by extending the vehicles range with additional fuel tanks. He climbed up on top, raising the skull and crossbones of the Jolly Roger flag. He fired it up and pushed a remote he had rigged, The heavy steal garage doors swung out pushing several zombies off to the side as he rolled out. The Zombies slowly turned and walked towards him as he rolled into them crushing several under tread as the vehicle moved forward. The Vehicles bow plane cracking a few skulls as he came to a stop and watched as the Doors closed behind him, making sure none got in.
Driving down the wreck filled highway into town. He noticed that it was a hot sunny day. Not a cloud in the sky it would have been a perfect California day if not for the stench of rotting flesh that permeated the air or the smoldering ruins of small towns and city centers engulfed in flames off in the distance. Driving into town he started seeing more and more Zombies walking around town with nothing to do other than search for the still living.
I hadn't seen anybody alive in a couple of days. He said out loud to himself. He knew people were still alive and fighting he could hear sporadic gunfire off in the distance and see the occasional chopper flying overhead. He had barricading himself in the facility a few hours after the outbreak. He turned off the main drive and rolled up a small side street and headed to Liquor City it was the towns large Franchised liquor outlet location. There were very few zombies he had seen in the last few minutes and none by the store location. He pulled right up front.
Strapping on his .45 side arm and loading his HK MP5. His Loadout was always light and simple. He made his exit through the back of the vehicle.
He left it open simply because it was easier to load supplies and he would also be able to get a full view of the rear compartment and see if he had collected any unwanted passengers.
Dashing into the store he grabbed a shopping cart and quickly made his way to his favorites then his secondary choices. Stopping to consider the prices then he laughed and shrugged as he reach to the back of the shelf and with one sweeping move pulled all the bottles into this cart. Shattering a few but it didn't matter. He spun around to head down the isle when a hand grabbed his left shoulder and yanked him back. He slipped as he fell backwards on the wet floor from the broken bottles. He looked up and saw a horribly grotesque face with it's lips gone exposing it's rotten mouth and teeth as it lunged at him to take a bite out of his face.
Grabbing the creature by the chest he pressed it up and away from him and held it at bay with one arm as he pulled out his .45 side arm and gave it two in the head. There wasn't much left except Grey matter all over the ceiling tiles above their location. Pushing the body to one side he stood and realized that the gun fire had attracted much unwanted attention. Reaching into his shopping basket he pulled out his MP5 and pushed the cart towards his vehicle there in the parking lot were over twenty zombies moving in his direction. He raised and squared his weapon and with small 3 round controlled bursts started popping heads.
Stopping only briefly to check his six and reload, in a matter of seconds he had cleared the parking lot back far enough to load up his booze and close the ramp. By the time the vehicle was fired up and rolling the zombies were coming out of the woodwork. Hundreds were now in the streets. He rolled into them and kept moving forward. Grinding them under as he made his way back onto the main drag. Looking out through the view port he grinned then fired up a smoke, took a long pull on a freshly opened bottle of Jack Daniels and started the CD player. AC/DC Hells Bells blared through vehicles AN/VIC-2 intercom system as he started purposely aiming for the undead as he traveled down the road. He fired off a few smoke grenades to the rear and engaged the fuel-burning smoke generator system.
After a few miles it was back to the way it was when he first entered town. The streets were clear in this section. He motored up to the local warehouse food outlet. They had a large meat freezer which he figured the town and it were still being powered by the nearby Diablo Canyon Nuclear power plant. This time he was not so cocky and loaded what he needed quickly. He was about to drive off when he noticed off in the distance something he could barely make out moving towards him making a noise, it couldn't be? He questioned himself...
It was a woman running towards him about 300 years down the street. She was carrying a baby! He fired up the vehicle and started moving in her direction. He knew she was alive and not a Zombie, he could hear her screaming for him to wait. Just then a mob of Zombies came from both directions and tore her and the baby to pieces in a matter of seconds. His stomach turned. She and the child never had a chance. After vomiting he manned the turret equipped with an M2HB .50 caliber heavy machine gun. He opened up on the crowd of Zombies shredding them to nothing more than hamburger meat.
Wiping tears from his face he slumped down and thought of his children for a few seconds and wondered if they were safe. He regained is composure, buttoned up and started rolling, heading home. The days light was fading and he was now very depressed. As he was about to load another CD into the player. Something a bit more somber he thought to himself.
He heard a voice coming over the Radio.
Is there anybody out there....?
We are barricaded at the Police Station here in town. We have several officers down. We need medicine and ammo come quickly. He grabbed the mic. I hear you, I'm about 2 miles away. I should be there right before sunset. Gather what you need and get ready to roll as soon as I get there Hold tight, Out!
Thank God! Hurry, Hurry. came the reply.
The Engine roared as he throttled it, smoke poured from the exhaust as he made it's best speed in their direction.
[edit on 30-6-2010 by SLAYER69]
As the helicopter passed through the various communities ahead of the base, Jaxon was in complete disbelief.
Everywhere he looked things were on fire, people we screaming and it seemed as if world war three had started. The funny thing was there were not soldiers, or weapons or any sign at all that there was any sort of “attack”.
It looked more like a civil war had broken out. At this altitude he could only make out silhouettes of American citizens fighting each other.
Jaxon spoke into his headset.
“Do we have any long range binoculars or something up there soldier?”
“Yes sir, here you go.” The pilot passed them to him from the cockpit.
As Jaxon looked through the binoculars at the burning towns below he began to shake. What he witnessed were three people eating another on the ground; blood and flesh everywhere.
“Solider, set us down in the clearing up a head, I’m going to find out what’s going on right now.”
“Sir, we’ve been given direct orders to not stop regardless of circumstance, our orders are to escort you and the rest of Spec Ops to the base and await further instruction.”
“I’m the one giving the orders here son, you will land this chopper. Radio the rest of Spec Ops and have them rendezvous with us here. Were going to mop up this mess and help anybody who isn’t eating other people.”
As they landed in the clearing Jaxon felt a cold shiver run up his spine. He could not help but think that something at the lab he was working in was responsible for this.
Stepping out of the chopper he did a quick weapons check. M16 at the ready with his .45 side arm, full pack of grenades and enough ammo to take down an entire unit, he set off into the small town looking for survivors.
His radio crackled.
“Sir, chopper team bravo here; were redirecting to your position, ETA is 5 minutes.”
“Good to hear, I’m activating my transceiver, have the team rope in at my location when you get here. Jaxon out.”
He walked further attempting to avoid being spotted, passing a sign on his left which read: Welcome to Oakalla.
As he turned a corner onto the main strip he heard a scream from his left. Looking down his sight he spotted two civilians, covered in blood running towards him. They seemed crazed almost.
“Move back! I’m warning you!” Jaxon screamed as the continued towards him.
“Freeze!” He screamed again as they continued towards, they seemed to pick up their pace. Now about a hundred yards away, Jaxon was finished giving orders.
He opened fire on them. Hitting the first with two rounds to the chest he fell over, screaming in agony. The second took a shot straight to the head and was out before he hit the ground.
Checking his surroundings to make sure it was all clear he moved forward towards the bodies. One clearly dead, suggested by the gaping hole in the back of the man’s head. The second however, was still trying to get up.
“Sir, what is going on here? Who is doing this?.”
As Jaxon spoke he realized this person, no this thing, had no comprehension of what he was saying. The eyes were glazed over, almost cloudy, blood vessels blown. He was missing his hand and as Jaxon stood over him it reached for his foot.
Pulling his sidearm he put one bullet in it’s head.
“ What the hell is going on here?”
He picked up his radio.
“ Chopper team alpha, I’m going to need you to circle the area and provide air support over.”
“ Will do Sir.”
“ Chopper team bravo come in over.”
“ Chopper team bravo here, go ahead.”
“ What’s your ETA, I need some serious support down here, it’s a massacre.”
“Were just coming over the ridge now Sir, thirty seconds or less.”
“ Hurry, I’ve got about two hundred hostiles in the area and they are not like anything I’ve ever seen before. This is something big soldier, biological warfare big.”
“ Have we identified the enemy Sir?
“American Citizens…over.”
Everywhere he looked things were on fire, people we screaming and it seemed as if world war three had started. The funny thing was there were not soldiers, or weapons or any sign at all that there was any sort of “attack”.
It looked more like a civil war had broken out. At this altitude he could only make out silhouettes of American citizens fighting each other.
Jaxon spoke into his headset.
“Do we have any long range binoculars or something up there soldier?”
“Yes sir, here you go.” The pilot passed them to him from the cockpit.
As Jaxon looked through the binoculars at the burning towns below he began to shake. What he witnessed were three people eating another on the ground; blood and flesh everywhere.
“Solider, set us down in the clearing up a head, I’m going to find out what’s going on right now.”
“Sir, we’ve been given direct orders to not stop regardless of circumstance, our orders are to escort you and the rest of Spec Ops to the base and await further instruction.”
“I’m the one giving the orders here son, you will land this chopper. Radio the rest of Spec Ops and have them rendezvous with us here. Were going to mop up this mess and help anybody who isn’t eating other people.”
As they landed in the clearing Jaxon felt a cold shiver run up his spine. He could not help but think that something at the lab he was working in was responsible for this.
Stepping out of the chopper he did a quick weapons check. M16 at the ready with his .45 side arm, full pack of grenades and enough ammo to take down an entire unit, he set off into the small town looking for survivors.
His radio crackled.
“Sir, chopper team bravo here; were redirecting to your position, ETA is 5 minutes.”
“Good to hear, I’m activating my transceiver, have the team rope in at my location when you get here. Jaxon out.”
He walked further attempting to avoid being spotted, passing a sign on his left which read: Welcome to Oakalla.
As he turned a corner onto the main strip he heard a scream from his left. Looking down his sight he spotted two civilians, covered in blood running towards him. They seemed crazed almost.
“Move back! I’m warning you!” Jaxon screamed as the continued towards him.
“Freeze!” He screamed again as they continued towards, they seemed to pick up their pace. Now about a hundred yards away, Jaxon was finished giving orders.
He opened fire on them. Hitting the first with two rounds to the chest he fell over, screaming in agony. The second took a shot straight to the head and was out before he hit the ground.
Checking his surroundings to make sure it was all clear he moved forward towards the bodies. One clearly dead, suggested by the gaping hole in the back of the man’s head. The second however, was still trying to get up.
“Sir, what is going on here? Who is doing this?.”
As Jaxon spoke he realized this person, no this thing, had no comprehension of what he was saying. The eyes were glazed over, almost cloudy, blood vessels blown. He was missing his hand and as Jaxon stood over him it reached for his foot.
Pulling his sidearm he put one bullet in it’s head.
“ What the hell is going on here?”
He picked up his radio.
“ Chopper team alpha, I’m going to need you to circle the area and provide air support over.”
“ Will do Sir.”
“ Chopper team bravo come in over.”
“ Chopper team bravo here, go ahead.”
“ What’s your ETA, I need some serious support down here, it’s a massacre.”
“Were just coming over the ridge now Sir, thirty seconds or less.”
“ Hurry, I’ve got about two hundred hostiles in the area and they are not like anything I’ve ever seen before. This is something big soldier, biological warfare big.”
“ Have we identified the enemy Sir?
“American Citizens…over.”
He had underestimated the distance he needed to cover in order to reach them. By the time he had rolled to within a block of the police station that
was under siege night had fallen. He palmed the mic. Then spoke.
"Are you still with me?"
"Yes, but hurry they have broken in several times. We had to fight them off more than once. Also we no longer need the medicine we had to shoot the injured that were bitten."
John engaged the vehicles night vision, brought it up on the control panel screen. The situation was a mess. The local law enforcement and units of the national guard set up a last stance perimeter. Humvees, police cars and other emergency vehicles were piled in a semi circle around the police station entrance. Obviously it failed. There were half eaten remains of police and guardsmen everywhere with a mob of zombies trying to get into every door and window of the station.
The pile of vehicles was not going to make his job easy. He pressed the mic button again.
"How many of you are there?"
"Four.........We have a man up on the roof with a high powered scoped rifle."
John looked up with the night vision camera and could see somebody waiving in his direction.
"We are held up on the second floor with the elevator and stairwell pretty much blocked off with office furniture"
John paused to consider the situation carefully. He thumbed the mic again...
"OK hang tight, you may have to jump out the window onto the vehicle I'll try to bring her in close. Stand back from any exterior walls. It's going to get loud."
With that he drove right through the barricade of vehicles, stopping just short of the police station entrance by about 40 yards. He took his position in the turret and opened fire on the crowd of zombies. Mowing them down in a horrific display of brute force firepower. Blood, guts and limbs flew in all directions.
When he felt that the mass of Zombies was manageable he returned to the drivers seat and moved her in close. Right under a double wide window. He quickly opened the hatches onto and climbed up and out. First one female came out and landed hard on her rump but she stood and then quickly climbed in the vehicle then a male followed by another female and finally the one from the roof showed in the window. He fired a few rounds at some zombies who started to surround the vehicle.
"Jump already" John yelled up at him. He shook his head to acknowledge then fired another round. He was about to jump when without warning a mass of Zombies who had apparently gotten passed the stairwell barricade came at him from behind and in a mass of bodies of about ten all told fell on top of the vehicle.
John seeing what was about to happened jumped straight down through the opening and reached up to shut the hatch. His arm was grabbed by the young man with the rifle. He was screaming not to leave him there. John thought twice but when he saw one Zombie take a huge bite out of the guys shoulder he didn't hesitate. Pulling out his .45 he let loose with a few rounds into the Guy and the Zombies devouring him and shut the remaining hatch.
They could hear faint scratches and banging on the haul.
"Don't worry they can't get in"
"Yeah! Well we can't get out Either." Yelled one of the females in about the most irritating voices John had ever heard.
He turned back to look at her. Gave her a cold hard stare and told her to sit down and shut up. Looking over at the male he noticed he was wearing a shredded National Guard uniform.
"What's your name soldier?"
"James Sir" He replied.
"You know how to fire a .50 cal?"
"Yes sir"
"Good, man that turret."
As they rolled out of the barricade he looked over his shoulder at the other female. she was closer to his age. Not a bad looking woman they made eye contact.
"So whats your story" John asked in a mature, level voiced manner.
"I'm a doctor at..." she caught herself and said "Was a Doctor at the local Hospital here in town."
"Are you still with me?"
"Yes, but hurry they have broken in several times. We had to fight them off more than once. Also we no longer need the medicine we had to shoot the injured that were bitten."
John engaged the vehicles night vision, brought it up on the control panel screen. The situation was a mess. The local law enforcement and units of the national guard set up a last stance perimeter. Humvees, police cars and other emergency vehicles were piled in a semi circle around the police station entrance. Obviously it failed. There were half eaten remains of police and guardsmen everywhere with a mob of zombies trying to get into every door and window of the station.
The pile of vehicles was not going to make his job easy. He pressed the mic button again.
"How many of you are there?"
"Four.........We have a man up on the roof with a high powered scoped rifle."
John looked up with the night vision camera and could see somebody waiving in his direction.
"We are held up on the second floor with the elevator and stairwell pretty much blocked off with office furniture"
John paused to consider the situation carefully. He thumbed the mic again...
"OK hang tight, you may have to jump out the window onto the vehicle I'll try to bring her in close. Stand back from any exterior walls. It's going to get loud."
With that he drove right through the barricade of vehicles, stopping just short of the police station entrance by about 40 yards. He took his position in the turret and opened fire on the crowd of zombies. Mowing them down in a horrific display of brute force firepower. Blood, guts and limbs flew in all directions.
When he felt that the mass of Zombies was manageable he returned to the drivers seat and moved her in close. Right under a double wide window. He quickly opened the hatches onto and climbed up and out. First one female came out and landed hard on her rump but she stood and then quickly climbed in the vehicle then a male followed by another female and finally the one from the roof showed in the window. He fired a few rounds at some zombies who started to surround the vehicle.
"Jump already" John yelled up at him. He shook his head to acknowledge then fired another round. He was about to jump when without warning a mass of Zombies who had apparently gotten passed the stairwell barricade came at him from behind and in a mass of bodies of about ten all told fell on top of the vehicle.
John seeing what was about to happened jumped straight down through the opening and reached up to shut the hatch. His arm was grabbed by the young man with the rifle. He was screaming not to leave him there. John thought twice but when he saw one Zombie take a huge bite out of the guys shoulder he didn't hesitate. Pulling out his .45 he let loose with a few rounds into the Guy and the Zombies devouring him and shut the remaining hatch.
They could hear faint scratches and banging on the haul.
"Don't worry they can't get in"
"Yeah! Well we can't get out Either." Yelled one of the females in about the most irritating voices John had ever heard.
He turned back to look at her. Gave her a cold hard stare and told her to sit down and shut up. Looking over at the male he noticed he was wearing a shredded National Guard uniform.
"What's your name soldier?"
"James Sir" He replied.
"You know how to fire a .50 cal?"
"Yes sir"
"Good, man that turret."
As they rolled out of the barricade he looked over his shoulder at the other female. she was closer to his age. Not a bad looking woman they made eye contact.
"So whats your story" John asked in a mature, level voiced manner.
"I'm a doctor at..." she caught herself and said "Was a Doctor at the local Hospital here in town."
The crowd of panicked civilians at the gates were about most of the way through when the horde caught up to the first line of defenders out near the
overpass. Chad watched as a cluster of the flesh-hungry freaks scrambled up onto the rear of one of the brads, working their way up toward the turret
housing. It was obvious the guy sitting up in the top couldn't hear or see what was coming. Chad tried his best to scream and wave his hands, but
to no avail.
The first of the zombies, a dumpy man in a tattered jogging suit with half of his right arm missing took the poor bastard from behind, cramming him down into the turret, tearing away at his flesh. A few of the others worked their way down into the turret, disappearing into the Bradley. Muffled rifle fire from within sounded briefly followed by high-pitched screams. Chad cursed. The brad with the zombies in it started to lurch forward, moving toward the gate and the crowds clamoring to get in.
"Bryce! Open fire on 2-1-8, hurry!" Thomas gestured toward the out-of-control Bradley and poked his gunner on the shoulder.
The turret swung to the rear and there was a brief instant of waiting for Bryce to do his sighting, then the brad opened fire. Several 25MM SABOT rounds pierced the engine housing and slammed through the brad, taking everything inside of it out of a hole no bigger than the original round on the other side. The engine spouted black smoke and the massive vehicle ground to a halt literally feet away from the gates.
"All Bandit elements, this is Raider 6, you are hereby ordered to fall back into the base. I repeat, fall back."
"What the hell? Fall back!? We're not losing yet.! What the hell is the Colonel talking about?" Myles sounded genuinely agitated over the headset.
Chad stood up in the turret and looked toward the exit road into Killeen, trying to see through the haze and clutter of debris. Somewhere out there he had a dim hope that she was still alive...
"Raider 6, this is Bandit 7, over."
"Go ahead."
"Roger. Fall back to where?"
"Anywhere. The entire northern sector has been overrun by the influx from Austin. No stations remaining capable of holding them back. We have to.... argghhghhhh.... the........ (indistinct moans)..."
"All elements, this is Bandit 7, take your assets and regroup at the III Corp Headquarters area in 20 mikes. How copy?"
The first of the zombies, a dumpy man in a tattered jogging suit with half of his right arm missing took the poor bastard from behind, cramming him down into the turret, tearing away at his flesh. A few of the others worked their way down into the turret, disappearing into the Bradley. Muffled rifle fire from within sounded briefly followed by high-pitched screams. Chad cursed. The brad with the zombies in it started to lurch forward, moving toward the gate and the crowds clamoring to get in.
"Bryce! Open fire on 2-1-8, hurry!" Thomas gestured toward the out-of-control Bradley and poked his gunner on the shoulder.
The turret swung to the rear and there was a brief instant of waiting for Bryce to do his sighting, then the brad opened fire. Several 25MM SABOT rounds pierced the engine housing and slammed through the brad, taking everything inside of it out of a hole no bigger than the original round on the other side. The engine spouted black smoke and the massive vehicle ground to a halt literally feet away from the gates.
"All Bandit elements, this is Raider 6, you are hereby ordered to fall back into the base. I repeat, fall back."
"What the hell? Fall back!? We're not losing yet.! What the hell is the Colonel talking about?" Myles sounded genuinely agitated over the headset.
Chad stood up in the turret and looked toward the exit road into Killeen, trying to see through the haze and clutter of debris. Somewhere out there he had a dim hope that she was still alive...
"Raider 6, this is Bandit 7, over."
"Go ahead."
"Roger. Fall back to where?"
"Anywhere. The entire northern sector has been overrun by the influx from Austin. No stations remaining capable of holding them back. We have to.... argghhghhhh.... the........ (indistinct moans)..."
"All elements, this is Bandit 7, take your assets and regroup at the III Corp Headquarters area in 20 mikes. How copy?"
Name: Mia Monroe
Employer: Pfizer
Dept: Finance
Age: 33
Mia looked up from her laptop and glanced around the First Class cabin taking note of the other passengers on the flight to Seattle. All were asleep, one was snoring. She stood up and moved quietly down the aisle, stopping briefly beside the snoring man, peering into his face. She didn't like what she saw. Something wasn't right, but she couldn't put her finger on it. There was a foul smell coming from him. He gave her the creeps. Disgusted, she continued to the lavatory and locked the door. Looking in the mirror, she asked herself again, what in the hell are you doing? She still didn't have an answer, but she did have a job to do. The company was implicated and she was tasked with damage control. The meeting was in a few hours. She had to be prepared.
“All passengers return to your seats and prepare for landing.”
Mia was first off the plane and moved quickly through the crowd. Her driver was waiting for her as she stepped outside. Sliding into the back-seat of the sedan, she nodded. “How long?” “30 minutes” the driver answered. “I'm on a tight schedule” Mia warned. The driver nodded. As the car pulled away from the curb, Mia opened her laptop and went back to work.
“What the hell?” the driver yelled, as he slammed on the brakes. The car jerked to a sudden stop in the middle of the bridge, throwing Mia into the front seat. Her head hit the dashboard, splitting open her forehead. “Your incompetence will cost you your job” Mia spat as she struggled to get up, but the driver didn't hear, he was already gone.
Mia heard screaming and the loud [thunk] of a body hitting the side of the car. Looking out the window she froze. What she saw was straight out of a horror movie.
Cars were burning. People were attacking each other! All were covered in blood, many were missing arms or legs. She watched in horror as two men fell upon another, crushing his skull with a rock. Mia saw a woman missing half her face, her entrails falling from her. She saw two others, covered in blood and fighting each other with maniac expressions. She watched as one grabbed the other and took a bite out of his neck leaving a huge, gaping, bleeding hole.
Bile rose and Mia thought she was going to throw up. She moved quickly to the driver's seat and tried to start the car. The engine sputtered, but would not engage. “Please, please” Mia begged as she tried again. She heard blood curdling, strangled screams and looked up. The crowd was moving toward her, fast. She had drawn their attention. “Start, damn it!” Mia screamed at the car, trying a third time. The engine sputtered again, then died completely.
Mia was out of time. She dove out the driver's side door and ran for the other side of the road. The center divider was too high to jump, but she could climb it. She was halfway up, when the first of the crowd caught up to her. She felt a hand on her leg. She kicked viciously, continuing to climb. She reached the top and let go, falling to the ground on the other side. She hit hard and for a moment, couldn't move. “I'm dead” she thought, gasping for air and not getting any. “I can't breathe!”
Mia saw something move and in horror, watched as a young girl, no more than 11 years old, crawled toward her. The girl's face was bloated, purple and oozing blood. She was missing an eye. She screamed and lurched forward, hands curled into claws, reaching... Mia scrambled backward trying to get to her feet. The girl was fast, but she was small and was having some difficulty climbing over the bodies lying between them.
Mia reached the side of the bridge and pulled herself to her feet, just as the girl cleared the last body. With a gurgling growl, the girl leaped forward. Mia didn't think. She simply closed her eyes and jumped.
The shock of the cold water stunned her and she gasped involuntarily, sucking in water, she began to choke. She was sinking, fast. She couldn't seem to move her arms or kick her legs and wasn't sure why. She looked up towards the surface as she swallowed more water. Mia closed her eyes and it all went black...
[edit on 3-7-2010 by LadySkadi]
Employer: Pfizer
Dept: Finance
Age: 33
A Few Days Ago
Mia looked up from her laptop and glanced around the First Class cabin taking note of the other passengers on the flight to Seattle. All were asleep, one was snoring. She stood up and moved quietly down the aisle, stopping briefly beside the snoring man, peering into his face. She didn't like what she saw. Something wasn't right, but she couldn't put her finger on it. There was a foul smell coming from him. He gave her the creeps. Disgusted, she continued to the lavatory and locked the door. Looking in the mirror, she asked herself again, what in the hell are you doing? She still didn't have an answer, but she did have a job to do. The company was implicated and she was tasked with damage control. The meeting was in a few hours. She had to be prepared.
“All passengers return to your seats and prepare for landing.”
Mia was first off the plane and moved quickly through the crowd. Her driver was waiting for her as she stepped outside. Sliding into the back-seat of the sedan, she nodded. “How long?” “30 minutes” the driver answered. “I'm on a tight schedule” Mia warned. The driver nodded. As the car pulled away from the curb, Mia opened her laptop and went back to work.
“What the hell?” the driver yelled, as he slammed on the brakes. The car jerked to a sudden stop in the middle of the bridge, throwing Mia into the front seat. Her head hit the dashboard, splitting open her forehead. “Your incompetence will cost you your job” Mia spat as she struggled to get up, but the driver didn't hear, he was already gone.
Mia heard screaming and the loud [thunk] of a body hitting the side of the car. Looking out the window she froze. What she saw was straight out of a horror movie.
Cars were burning. People were attacking each other! All were covered in blood, many were missing arms or legs. She watched in horror as two men fell upon another, crushing his skull with a rock. Mia saw a woman missing half her face, her entrails falling from her. She saw two others, covered in blood and fighting each other with maniac expressions. She watched as one grabbed the other and took a bite out of his neck leaving a huge, gaping, bleeding hole.
Bile rose and Mia thought she was going to throw up. She moved quickly to the driver's seat and tried to start the car. The engine sputtered, but would not engage. “Please, please” Mia begged as she tried again. She heard blood curdling, strangled screams and looked up. The crowd was moving toward her, fast. She had drawn their attention. “Start, damn it!” Mia screamed at the car, trying a third time. The engine sputtered again, then died completely.
Mia was out of time. She dove out the driver's side door and ran for the other side of the road. The center divider was too high to jump, but she could climb it. She was halfway up, when the first of the crowd caught up to her. She felt a hand on her leg. She kicked viciously, continuing to climb. She reached the top and let go, falling to the ground on the other side. She hit hard and for a moment, couldn't move. “I'm dead” she thought, gasping for air and not getting any. “I can't breathe!”
Mia saw something move and in horror, watched as a young girl, no more than 11 years old, crawled toward her. The girl's face was bloated, purple and oozing blood. She was missing an eye. She screamed and lurched forward, hands curled into claws, reaching... Mia scrambled backward trying to get to her feet. The girl was fast, but she was small and was having some difficulty climbing over the bodies lying between them.
Mia reached the side of the bridge and pulled herself to her feet, just as the girl cleared the last body. With a gurgling growl, the girl leaped forward. Mia didn't think. She simply closed her eyes and jumped.
The shock of the cold water stunned her and she gasped involuntarily, sucking in water, she began to choke. She was sinking, fast. She couldn't seem to move her arms or kick her legs and wasn't sure why. She looked up towards the surface as she swallowed more water. Mia closed her eyes and it all went black...
[edit on 3-7-2010 by LadySkadi]
Present
Mia jerked awake, her muffled scream breaking the silence of the early morning. She was shaking and could feel a cold sweat on her skin. Nightmare, she thought. Sighing, she stood up and wrapped a worn, wool blanket around her shoulders. She fumbled in the dark for the the matches, lit a candle and tried to relax as the room brightened. In the corner, the dog snored. Usually, the snoring annoyed her but this morning, she smiled. He was a comfort and she was glad he was there.
Striking another match, Mia lit the camp stove and put some water on to boil. She wanted coffee, but tea was all they had. Better than nothing, she thought. She knew they were in a far better place, than most. She had Cap to thank for that. She had Cap to thank for being alive. Waiting for the water to boil, she wondered if he would make it back. He'd already been gone longer than planned.
“Mia, darling, are you awake?” the old woman spoke softly.
“Yes, ma'am and I've made tea, it's still hot. Would you like a cup? Mia asked.
“Yes, thank you darling. Mia, have you heard anything yet?”
Mia closed her eyes for a moment and wished she had better news. Any news.
“No, not yet. But don't worry so much. You know Cap. He'll be fine.”
“Of course he'll be fine!” Emma snapped. “We'll all be fine. Cap 'n me, we've been through worse!” Emma took the cup with a shaking hand and sipped the hot tea.
What could be worse than this? Mia wondered. Walking outside, she leaned over the railing and gazed down at the water. The ocean was calm, peaceful. She could almost fool herself into believing the last few days had just been a very bad dream.
"Cap, where are you, old man?" Mia whispered into the wind.
[edit on 3-7-2010 by LadySkadi]
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