My head is swimming...can't see straight Most days began this way for Howie. After converting his home into a makeshift fortress with one entrance, he began making alcohol and drinking it to keep the moaning down to a dull roar at night. There was a a 20 pound sledgehammer next to him, and a Mosin Nagant was sitting in a chair across the room. The ammo was in a crate sitting above the TV, all 1,423 rounds. Sure, Howie wasn't the only survivor in town, considering the outbreak happened just two months ago...but he was the only survivor he could tolerate. Something was banging on the door... Howie! Get your ass up! We need to make a run for some food, and we're pretty sure you're the only guy in town with ammo. Screw you! Maybe if you were all better shots, you wouldn't have that problem! A fairly audible sigh was heard from the outside. That's not all, Howie. They're getting smarter. Last night, the damned things found crowbars and pried the planks from my windows, and they...they killed Sarah. We have to get food and get the hell out of here. Dammit, Jake... God...I'm so sorry...uh, how many of us are there? 23, er...22, now. We just need to get to the market, some of the guys were able to get to the elementary school and take a bus with a half tank of gas. We have about an hour until they get there, though, so there's plenty of time to get supplies for the move. Alright...I'll be right out. Howie got his hammer and rifle, and put the ammo in a knapsack to sling over his shoulder. Dammit Howie, get out here! AAAAAAUUUGH!!! *gargle cough* Aaaaahhagh...!! Jake fell silent, and there as a sickening sound of flesh tearing, and the shuffling of dead feet outside the house. The door began to creak, and the shuffling seemed to become faster and more excited. Sounds like there might be twelve of them out there...five shots per clip, bolt action, and all my targets funneling through a single door about three feet wide...ok The door seems to explode into thousands of splinters. *BAM!!* Four *BAM!!* Five *BAM!!* Three...time to go. Howie runs out of his house, and runs for the market, calling for survivors...
Essentially, life is shit. Most people would find that saying pathetic when uttered by a grown man, but when you're pushing forty, overweight, balding, work part-time at a gas station, can barely pay the rent for your run-down appartment and the last time you had sex was five years ago with an wrinkled old prostitute who conveniently happened to give you herpes, you might actually have a point. Of course, having your left hand cut off by a customer with a string trimmer wasn't all that good either. Turned out the bastard was a zombie. That was the beginning of the zombie invasion, that mad night when Earl apparently came to hell, except he didn't die first. Looking on the bright side of things, it wasn't his right hand. He wouldn't had been able to aim well with his .44 otherwise. In retrospect, it might have been excessive to fill that zombie with twenty-nine bullets after he'd shot it's head off, but Earl had got angry. Oh well, he'd managed to fortify the gas station, and the wound had healed pretty well, even though his left index finger still itched every now and then - he found it delightful that he did better than other people, those formerly successful sods who'd been crawling outside his store for the last two months. Unfortunately, his supplies of snacks and bourbon were running low, and he'd already read all the adult magazines a thousand times over. He's in need of more supplies. Earl has a torn denim jacket. He puts it on, fills the pockets with candy, his remaining ammo and his last bottle of liquor, takes his gun and enters the streets...
Shit. Shit-fucking-arse-and-his-bollocks. Why in gods name did it have to jam now? Chased by a dozen of those bastards, and the machinegun just has to take the day off. Bloody typical. She dodges into alley and runs as fast as she can down it. She can clearly hear them now; their heavy panting and their constant barking. They'd caught her in quite a bad moment, really. Sitting on the ground, tying her shoelace, not mentioning her surroundings. Then they were all suddenly there. All twelve faintly glowing pairs of eyes watching her with a hungry gaze. It was quite amazing that she'd made it this far. She reaches the end of the alley, and in front of her is a gasstation. A man in a torn Denim jacket steps out of it, looking supriced. Get the fuck inside right FUCKING now! Run!
What the crap? *Sigh* Engine failure, the perfect place! Durnit! Matt was a man who just got out of college. He was in his 20's and was going across the country looking for a good place to work. Matt had an old Chevy and it would be common for cars as old as his to have engine failure now and then. Matt grabbed his Colt Single Action Army Revolver, his map, $30, a CocaCola and an average swiss army knife. He stuck a cigarette in his mouth and stepped out of his car. Hmmm... It says on this map that a small town is about 10 miles east. I should go check it out... Get some gas... But then again, this map is pretty old and I couldn't rely on it too much. Ah, what the heck. I'll check it out. Although Matt thought it was a good idea at the time he soon found out, it was not... At all... After a long journey, Matt finally got to the town... But he found it deserted... No, not at all deserted. There were people. Although not alive, people. Matt examined the bodies and found bite marks on their necks. Alerted, Matt found a nearby Gun Shop and locked all the doors and boarded all the windows. The electricity was still working, but there was very little ammo left in the shop. Matt managed to find some revolver bulletsand some others. Then there was inhumane bang at the door... What the f...?
Garret growled in frustration as the engine failed to start for the fourth time. With resignation he started checking the connections of the mass of cables running from the Prius's engine to the solar panels on the rear hatch. The car was horribly scratched and the rear passenger side door was missing, having a crude array of bars welded across it. The salveged thirty-cal hung listless from it's mount by the sunroof. Garret looked regretfully at the two 10 gallon cans in the back seat. If he hadn't run out of gas he could have been 300 miles further north by now. He looked around the overpass, checking for movement, and then at the exit sign by the onramp. The name of the city was backened beyond legibility with soot, because a fire engine had apparently exploded beneath it. Ironic, thought Garret. Doesn't matter, though, I don't even care when I am anymore. He slotted the wire back into thier fiberglass shell and tried the starter again. Click-click-click-click-click. Damn. Garrest closed his eyes and to several deep breaths. Ran though the jurry rigged system one more time in his mind. CPU to Starter to Resistors to Fuses to panel to... "I'm an idiot," he said to himself. He open the fusebox and flicked up the switches, then tried the ignition. The car purred. I could still use some gas, though Garret. Looking at the city east of him, he saw a tall gas sign protruding up from the building a couple miles off. Garret pushed forward on the throttle and the car slid forward. Taking a quick sip of water from his canteen, Garret directed the car down the off ramp and towards the distant sign.
Get the fuck inside right FUCKING now! Run! Sweet Jesus, that was simply too much. Not only were there a dozen of zombies just waiting to taste on his lead, the nicest piece of ass Earl had seen in years was coming up towards him, and she was armed, come to that. Wonder what she'd like to taste on? Sure baby. Ladies first, eh? He spanked her ass as she tumbled past him into the gas station. She gave out a little shriek, just like he knew she would. (Mmmm... those were some really firm cheeks!) And now she'd be all alone, with HIM, her SAVIOUR, in his barricaded GAS STATION! Perhaps life wasn't that bad after all. Oh right, there were some zombies coming. Better take care of that first. He took aim, and sent a .44 Desert Eagle round straight at the forehead of the biggest zombie. The effect was definitely satisfactory; it's head exploded like a squished water melon. The other zombies apparently forgot about chasing living beings for a while and began cannibalizing their fallen brother. That will have to do for now, he said, grinned with anticipation and walked into the safety of the gas station and locked the door behind him. Who's your daddy?
Matt looked out the tiny hole in the wooden door. Dang, fool you need a tan. He shot out of the tiny hole and watched the zombie tumble off its feet. He looked out the hole again. 2, 3, 8, 10, 15... Durnit, more than 30... He hit a few zombies while rolling out of the doorway, which sent them flying in a chain reaction. He put a quarter in the soda machine, grabbed a Coke, swiped the remaining .45 ammo and just bursted through the door. He fired his Colt .45 like crazy and managed to kill enough zombies to intimidate the rest of them. The so-called 'Zombie' creatures started the slowly limp away. He quickly dashed right back into the Gun Shop and shut the door, knowing now that his shelter is safe... For the time being. If he had ammo then, he hardly has any now... What am I doing here? Why did I come here?
Who's your daddy? Her first reaction to this was a swift kick in the direction of the man in front of hers groin. Then, she took of her helmet and scraped off some dirt from the badge on her chest. Now anybody could see she was a police officer. And a S.W.A.T. at that. Don't you try any of that chauvinist crap on me, old guy, 'cause then I'll hurt your manhood so badly you'll wish you'd never been born. Now, barricade that door while I fix my gun. As she finished speaking, one of the zombie-dogs came crashing into the thick glass door. The glass didn't brake, but it more or less cracked. More of that and they wouldn't be safe for long. Hurry, you loon! Don't just stand there!
Howie was running. Running! He hadn't done any sort of long distance haul since junior-varsity track, but he was pretty good at evading police when they didn't have to worry about being eaten by that "drunken hobo" stumbling down the street. Come to think of it, the first report was about a drunken hobo taking a nice chunk of fat from a chubby rookie. Still running, he found it a bit easier than he expected. Muscle memory, maybe... He came up on the local gas station. It was exactly 2.4 miles from his house, and three miles from the market. People seemed to be barricading the station, when Howie realized he was running into a rotting mob. FUCK! He backpedaled a few yards, and remembered shouting an obscenity (or anything, really) was not a good idea when you were just 12 feet from one of those beasts. They turned, and it tore their attention from the gas station with two bags of meat inside. Deciding on the easier meal, the "leader" stumbled toward Howie. Gaaaaagh.....! Suddenly, it hit him. By him, I mean zombie, and by it, I mean the bullet. Shut up. The leader was still standing, albeit sans cranium. He fell onto the ground and started convulsing like it was his first blow-up doll. How many...25..34? Dogs, too...shit! He had only one bullet left in his clip, and he wasn't exaclty in a situation that would let him take a new one from his knapsack without fear of personal injury. There was a phone booth nearby, so howie rushed in, put his last shot in the chamber, and hurriedly took six more clips from the knapsack, loading them into his pockets, and putting some on the ground (pockets are only so big...). They had almost reached the booth, and six lined up. Perfect He shot through the first, and the bullet went through four more behind it. the last zombie was pelted by chunks of bone and brains, and ended up being cannibalized for the newfound bounty on her face. Grabbing the clips on the ground, Howie rushed out to the gas station while the beasts were distracted, and started pounding on the door and yelling complicated words (zombies aren't known for enunciation). The woman took notice, and hopefully the man with the Desert Eagle wasn't too territorial.
Durnit! Dazing off again! I know why I'm here, to get some gas for my car, duh. Matt grabbed his Colt .45 drank a soda and carefully sneaked around corners. Fortunately, he was not greeted by the undead legions. However he saw bodies of zombies carpeting the town's asphalt. This can't be mine, I didn't come to this part of town. That must mean there are survivors. Or... No, I can't think that. I am confident there are humans beside me in this forsaken town. He finally made it to a Gas Station, however the glass was broken and there was blood and guts all over the exterrior of the already rotting building. The owners won't mind me doing this... Matt took out his SA Knife and punctured the tubes of the broken Gas pumps and filled up a can with gasoline. Now I'll just get out of... He looked around, none of his current surroundings looked familiar to him at all... Hmmm... I think this may be a problem... A group of zombies with crowbars approached him with grim looks on their faces. No time for thinking... Matt started banging on the wooded Gas Station door. Anyone inside!? I'm human! Let me in! Ummm... I got Coke, crap just let me in, there is a crowd of undead retards surrounding the building and I've got ammunition! Let me in! What the hell is that noise?
The kick was probably intended to miss, but he could not be mistaken on the neutering sort of pain coming from his groin. Oh God... he liked them feisty! And she was a police officer, too. Wonder if she had handcuffs? Oh fuck, that really HURTS... Hurry, you loon! Don't just stand there! Apparently she tried to get her gun working. Bloody zombies, they'd practically left him alone for the past months and now, NOW of all times, they came for him. Life wasn't fair. Sure babe... he muttered, as he limped around and began pushing furniture in front of the door. The glass was all cracks and blood now, from the dog smashing its head into it. Would the bastard never die? Better get that gun working soon honey!
After a few more seconds of furious tinkering with her gun, the weapon suddenly gives up a welcoming clicking sound, and the policewoman gets to her feet. Shit! Let that guy in first! She throws a chair aside from the barricade, and quickly opens the door for the man outside. She more or less tosses the man inside and raises her gun at the advancing horde. Die you braindead sons of a bitch! She opens fire and instantly causes an entire dozen of the zombies to fall to the ground. She uses the entire clip, and then dodges inside, slamming the door behind her. We'll take the introductiuon later, now help me keep these motherfuckers outside!
Garret was six blocks from the station when he heard the shots. Moments later zombies began emerging from alleys and building and moving toward the sounds. Must be some survivors around, thought Garret, parking the car. I suppose I could just get gas from somewhere else. That feth-storm's coming from the gas station. There was a snarl and some dogs bounded past the car heading for the noise. I've gotten cynical, he thought. I guess that happens. It would be nice to hear someone talk again though... He was distarcted from his musing by a low snarl. A zombie had stopped in front of his car and had turned to look at it. At me, thought Garret. It's looking at me. Now when the hell did they they get smart? The zombie howled and started loping forward. Garret put the car in drive and accelerated forward. I guess I woun't be able to sit this out, he thought as the zombie splattered across his bumper. Aftere several turns and swervs to run down zombies, Garret found himself facing the gas station. He brought the car to a halt as a man ran up top the door and started banging on it. There must be other survivors in there, thought garret as zombies began converging on the man several of them alarmingly armed with crowbars. Hundreds of zombies were coverging on the station now and they could probablly break the doors in with their numbers if nothing else. I got to distract those fuckers, said Garret to himself. Give those inside time to regroup. He pushed open the sunroof and loaded a belt into the Thirty as the sation door was opened and the man was pulled inside. A rapid sieries of accurate shots took out tweleve zombies. Damn fine shooting, said Garret. HOW ABOUT SOMETHING WITH LESS FINESSE, YOU BASTARDS! The gun ripped into the advancing zombies with a roar, blowing off limbs and pulverizing torsos. About twenty-five dropped and the rest all turned to Garret with unmistakable looks of malice on thier faces. Smiling, Garret dropped back into the car and accelerated off up the block with the zombies in hot pursuit.
Someone in a decked out Prius mowed down about 3/4ths of the mob surrounding the gas station. Hopefully, with the remainder of the creatures chasing down the car, Howie would be able to get noticed by the now three people in the station. He had to tell them about the school bus that would be arriving at the market in about 40 minutes, or else they might be stuck in the gas station until the beasts learned how to take doors off their hinges. A dog ran around the gas station, looking for a way in. It saw Howie and made a bee line in his direction. Taking the sledgehammer from his back, he took a heavy swing at the rotting mongrel's head. The resulting splatter stained his clothes. DAMMIT! God, where the hell am I going to find a new set of clothes? Whatever...Hey! You three in the station! I need to tell you something! They let him in...finally. Hi, I'm Max Howard. Call me Howie. Ok, you know how the zombies were just gathered around your station? They broke into my neighbor's house last night with crowbars, and they killed his wife. They killed him today, too, but it's because he was standing outsie my house like an idiot. Whatever the case, they're getting smarter, and we need to get the hell out of this town to create a stronghold. There's a schoolbus that should be arriving at the market in about 40 minutes, and it can take us out of here, with whatever we can take from the store in supplies. I have some friends outside of town with a LOT of guns, and they have even more ammo than I do. We can go there and ride this storm out. Or, you can wait here until the horde learns how to pick locks. He stood in front of them and let the information sink in. We should probably get the guy in the prius to come with us...we need someone with that kindof expertise to help fortify our destination. Regardless, I'm heading down there right now. Howie turned and began to head toward the market.
The man made his way out of the gas station after saying something about a school bus coming to pick them up at some market square. She stared at him in disbelief as he left the building he'd just been so eager to get into. Not even a thank's, eh? Oh whatever... She reloaded her gun and went after him. No use staying behind with that pervert in the gasstation if she instead could get onto a bus and get out of here, or something. Besides, she liked the promise of guns. Or, rather, lots of guns, as he'd said. So, uh, where are we going exactly? Where are we going to make our last stand thingy?
He could stay at the gas station, but that would mean that this guy... this Howie, had won. He could see it in her eyes, Howie this, Howie that... IT WAS SICKENING! Was it his looks? His oh-I'm-so-cool demeanor? What the hell did women look for, really? Anyway, it wasn't over yet. He followed them out, content on taking the bus wherever.
Well, heck lets go. If it means surviving this hellhole town, I'm down for it. Besides I'm low on ammo. said, Matt smirking. And if I'm riding a bus, then I probably don't need this anymore. He then threw down the remaining Gasline in the canister and watched as the liquid was soaked into the freshly bloodstained dirt. Matt threw his remaining box of ammo on his shoulder, holstered his Colt .45. Well, do you feel lucky punk? Men and their dumbass cliches...
Howie was glad he could help some others out of this dump that used to be home, but he wasn't sure of what to expect when they got to the market. He'd hate to get there and find out the bus never made it. Damn...three other people with guns, all pissed at Howie. Not a pretty picture. Still, getting to the market may prove an adventure in and of itself. Why the hell did I ever sell my G 650? Oh, right...girlfriend thought I might crash and die. Hell of a time I picked to get whipped. The surrounding area began to slope down toward a massive parking lot. The parking lot looked relatively zombie free, save for those few gathered at the entrances to the market. The (living) group was about 200 yards from the western market entrance. Howie took a clip from his pocket and loaded it into his rifle. Looks like you all have enough ammo...Good. I don't want these wretches to know what hit them. He took aim, and put a round in the chamber. *BAM!!*
Garret sent his car fishtailing around a corner and plowed through another three zombies. I haven't had this much fun in ages, he thought. Road Life has really gotten dull. He turned down a side ally and burst out into a parking lot. He turned the car around seventy feet from the ally and popped up to the thirty again. A few moments passed and zombies began emerging from between the buildings. Garret opened fire, working the gun up and down the crowd. Perhapes thirty lay dead when a weird howling rose among them and they turned and headed back the way they cad come. Garret did not miss the looks of malice they shot him as he dropped back into the driver's seat. He was quite startled however when seven of them pushed the wreck of a minivan across the ally before departing. Bastards are getting smart, he muttered as he set off to find another way back to the gas station.
