Posted: 6/30/2009 6:14:33 PM EDT
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I couldn't think of what to do for post 1000, so I came up with this.
The Darkest Part of Day part 2.5... I know you guys love this story, and I do too. We will have to wait a while for the 3rd part, so I figured I would try to entertain you guys a little by adding to the story. Fast45, I hope you're not offended. I am using a couple of different characters so it shouldn't mess up your story. I hope you guys like it, even though I am not nearly as good as Fast45 at writing. ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––- “We’re running out of time! There’s too many coming through,” a kid yelled from down the hall. “Hold this line, the power will be back to the fence soon, just keep those creatures at bay.” I was having a hard time keeping the three survivors with me calm after we were cut off from those at the command post. Thousands of undead poured through openings in our security fence and converged on the main road where our town was making its final stand. Hours earlier we had lost power for lights and the electric fence as hundreds of Zeds attacked the dam. Now we were on our own, maybe 100 strong, facing possibly 100,000 zeds. For months our little “town” had survived inside Zed occupied territory, and we had worked hard to keep it that way. We created a small utopia where survivors of this plague could help to clear the land of these Zeds. We had become too complacent in our society though, feeling that we were finally succeeding in our goal since a man and his family had come to our town. This man, Verne, had been an inspiration to us all. He had traveled across the country, through mobs of Zeds, and found survivors like us. He had come to our town to help us repel these creatures and turn the tide of the zombie war. I found myself hoping he was alright. He left for the Dam hours ago, and hadn’t checked in with command. I worked the bolt of my rifle and sent another Zed to a second death. I was shaking, and having a hard time keeping the crosshairs on target. All of the other survivors had managed to make it to the command building and were putting up one hell of a combined last stand. As far as I knew, we were the only survivors that didn’t make it, having been surprised and overwhelmed by a group that broke through the fence at a different point. Now we were a group of four, surrounded, about 100 yards to the left, and a block forward of the command center. We were deep in the horde, and completely unable to get away to safety. “This is Ray. If you can hear me, pull back and head south. We are losing the city and soon won’t have a chance to escape. Stay safe and get away,” my handheld crackled as the message ended. There were concerned faces all around, and one young man started to tear up as he sighted his mini-14 out the window again. They all understood we had no chance at escaping, and now our only ally’s were pulling out and running away. I wasn’t angry though, it was their only chance for survival. Our only hope was to shoot our way out. My rifle bucked under me again as I sent a 180 gr. Boat tail hollow point through the chin of one Zed, and into the pelvis of another, dropping both. There were hundreds of walking dead pushing their way past our building, and just as many attempting to get inside. The other survivors rained hot lead into the mob, thinning its numbers some, but it seemed as if two Zeds took the place of every one that dropped. “What now Brian?” someone called out from the next room over. I didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t a leader. I was just the oldest in our group. If I was a leader, I wouldn’t have holed our group up in a house cut off from help. I would have had a plan. “We keep fighting, and give those at the command post a chance to get away. Then we wait, and hope these creatures move on and give us a chance to get away,” I said, and rolled four more rounds of .30-06 into the action of my rifle. “I’m out,” James said and threw his shotgun out the window. He transitioned to his Glock and started shooting at the Zeds that were at the windows and doors of our house. From the second floor they were easy targets, and he had dropped a pile of 15 before reloading. Maybe we would get lucky, and create a body barrier to prevent any Zeds from getting in. We fought for what seemed like hours, and were running low on ammo. I knew I had a last resort backpack with my Ruger 10/22 and two full cases of ammunition. This was a close in fighting setup though, as the little .22lr didn’t have enough force to penetrate the skull past 50 yards. All sounds of fighting had stopped coming from the command post. I looked out the window and saw the gasoline fires they had started were dying out, but there seemed to be a fire coming from inside the command post. They likely set it when they started to be overrun, sending as many Zeds to their death as possible. I ran out of individual rounds for my rifle and started delinking from a small strip of military surplus. James had completely ran dry on ammunition, and had gone downstairs to try and secure the windows and doors as much as possible. He had built up a nice wall though, and the windows were covered by rotting corpses. The young man with the mini-14, Brandon I think, picked up where James left off. He started moving through the rooms, dropping the Zeds below that were closest to the windows, creating barriers of dead bodies. There was a loud whine, and the lights inside the house began to flicker and come to life. I looked out to the fence and there were hundreds of Zeds smoking, and even a few burning. Some seemed to light up the others and small fires began around those closest to the fence. Those of us in the house started laughing and congratulating the dam crew. We knew though that it was too little too late. I felt the same way about our own actions. Within minutes I had finished off what rounds I had left for my rifle, leaving me with my Glock 17, a few 30 round magazines, and my 10/22 with a backpack full of .22lr. I needed to save this however, just in case we made it out of this mess. Brandon came in next to me, the action of his mini-14 locked open on an empty mag. “We are almost out of ammo, we need a plan.” He said and poked his head out the window pretending to be interested in the house next door. James walked into the small room as well. He was covered in sweat, and had scratches on his arms. “Please tell me that’s not what I think it is,” Brandon said and stood ready to confront James if necessary. “Uh, no. I got stuck on a little bit of broken window. I haven’t been bitten.” “James, go check on Chris and see how he is doing. I haven’t heard him in a while.” I said and James headed out of the room. “Brian! Come help!” I heard James yell. I went to the room at the end of the hall and stopped dead in my tracks. Chris was hanging out of the window with a clothes hanger bar in his hand, swinging at the Zeds as they attempted to climb onto our body barrier. “What the hell is wrong with you?” I yelled as I yanked Chris into the room. “I can’t just wait to be eaten.” “Tough shit. If you want to live you need to keep it together. We can’t afford to be acting crazy. We need to stick together.” I said as I helped Chris to his feet. He was staking terribly as the realization of what he was doing set in. “What do we do now?” James asked as he pulled a machete from his pack. “I guess we hunker down and wait.” I retrieved my Glock and racked the slide. If you guys liked it, I can add some to the story every day. At least until Fast45 gets the third part up 
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“It seems they aren’t very interested in us. It looks like they are already starting to move away. We just aren’t a big enough meal.”
The horde we had been watching for hours was finally thinning out. There were only about 50 stragglers moving through the streets, and they seemed to be ignoring us. We gathered up what supplies we had left and prepared to move. Everyone except me seemed to be down to melee weapons. James held his machete, and Brandon held his Kabar in one hand and his mini-14 in the other. I dropped a couple of spare magazines for my Ruger 10/22 into my front pocket, and grabbed my backpack from the floor. “How are we supposed to get out? The windows and doors are covered by bodies.” Brandon said. “We will climb out the window onto a pile and move over to the command post. We will try to find some more supplies and then make our way south to meet up with everyone else. Go find Chris and make sure he is ready.” I said and moved toward the window. I heard the door at the end of the hall creak open, and then a loud thump, followed by Brandon cursing. “Shit! Get the hell off me!” I rushed to the room in time to see Chris try to chomp down on Brandon’s hand. Brandon spun Chris’s mouth away and drew his Kabar. The knife slid through the meat under Chris’s chin as Brandon slammed the knife up to the hilt, sending the blade into Chris’s brain. Black ichor oozed from the wound and covered Brandon’s neck and arms. I helped Brandon to his feet, and moved to Chris’s body raiding his vest of supplies. When I rolled him over I noticed a blackened and ragged bite mark on his right ankle. I made my way to the window at the front of the room, and climbed onto the pile of rotting corpses. A few moans emerged from the zombies nearest the house, and they started to make their way toward us. I was the first to climb out, and ended this threat with a series of double taps from my 10/22. James was the second out and moved to the end of the street to better observe any Zeds that would come from that direction. Brandon came up beside me, and together we moved toward the Command post. As the three of us moved into the main roadway, several of the Zeds began moaning and turned to intercept us. The suppressor on my Ruger helped to make my shots a lot quieter so that we did not alert other Zeds. I dropped the four closest to us, and Brandon moved forward to meet another. He butt stroked the creature hard to the nose and sent it sprawling. A forceful “curb-stomp” finished the job. James ran forward to meet two more as they closed in on our group. What seemed to me like wild flailing with his machete was actually well aimed and well placed strikes that dropped both Zeds in a pile of dismembered body parts. We sprinted to the command post, outrunning most of the remaining undead. What few followed were quickly sent to their second death by my rifle. When we entered the building I went through first, as my rifle was the best suited for meeting multiple attackers. I noticed immediately that the fire had been contained to the first floor where multiple charred corpses lay smoldering. The filing cabinets had been strewn about in a fashion to help slow these creatures. The stairs were completely covered in debris. As I made it upstairs, I noticed the hundreds of empty brass casings littering the floor in front of the windows. “This really was one hell of a fight,” I said as I grabbed an SKS that some survivor had left behind. This too was empty, and caked with carbon buildup. Even after all these hours, the barrel still felt warm to the touch. Maybe it was just my imagination. I made my way to the command post’s communication room, hoping to find a working radio that I might be able to contact others with. I was disheartened to discover the communication equipment in a pile on the floor. I did manage to find a small coil of rope however, and I strapped it to my pack with a karabiner. After spending 20 minutes searching, I came up empty on extra supplies. We would be on our own. We could attempt moving to the dam, Simon said there were some supplies stashed there, but the dam crew likely took them all when they fell back as well. Our best bet was to just head south and look for the defenders that survived. At the other end of the hall I found what must have been the defenders escape route. There was a broken out window leading to a slanted roof. It was a direct line from here to the parking area where we kept the running vehicles. This was our next stop. Brandon slid down the roof and moved to the corner of the building. The Zed had chosen not to follow us, which I felt was very strange. Usually the idea of warm human meat enticed them into a frenzy. I was thankful however that we were not facing more of these vile creatures. James slid out the window next and waited in the street. As I slid out of the window the three of us made a spear point formation and sprinted to the parking lot. The only vehicles on the lot were the few no one could get running. “We just can’t catch a break, huh?” James asked as he opened the door to an old ford F150. “Well we couldn’t exactly expect them to leave us anything if they didn’t think we would survive the onslaught.” I moved to the racks of vehicle repair supplies and spare parts. I didn’t know what I was looking for; I was just hoping to find something useful. “Hey guys, what about this?” Brandon asked, standing next to what appeared to be a clown car with broken windows, and a bad case of body rot. “Is that some kind of joke,” James asked as he walked over and kicked a tire. “We couldn’t use it even if it ran, the tires are flat.” “Look, there’s a case of ‘FIX-A-FLAT’ here.” I grabbed the case and slid it off the shelf. “We could probably push start this, it’s a manual,” Brandon said, “Lets at least try.” I dragged over the case as James stood watch. A few minutes of tinkering, and several more filling the tires had gotten the vehicle ready to test out. “One…Two…Three… push,” I called as James and I shoved with all our might. The Fiesta crept forward and began gaining speed. Within seconds we were jogging with the car. Brandon popped the clutch and the car wheezed to life. I ran to grab our stuff as well as a couple of gas tanks I managed to find. The three of us were piled inside the clown car with all of our equipment. The windows were busted out and vulnerable to attack. The tires still had flat spots and made the ride uncomfortable. At least we wouldn’t have to walk the whole way. We drove south, through the debris of overturned cars, downed utility poles, and fallen body parts. There was black ooze on everything from the zombie’s passing. Finally we made it to the south side fence, and noticed the gaping hole. There were several sets of tire tracks, as well as a wide stretch of black ooze. It made the road and grass slippery, making it nearly impossible to move fast on the Fiesta’s nearly bald tires. We drove south until we made it completely out of town. We saw few Zeds. What few we found were knocked to the ground by our vehicle, and finished with either a .22LR to the head or a machete strike to the neck. After about two hours of driving I pulled out the handheld and tried reaching anyone within range. All I got was static. I had no idea of knowing where the survivors were. The tire tracks disappeared on the asphalt, and we were at least 16 hours behind them. The sun was starting to fade, and the cars headlights didn’t work. There was a gas station a few miles up ahead. This was where we would try to make camp. We pulled the Fiesta under the pumping station awning, and filled the tank with our spare gas as much as possible. We would have to push start the car again, but at least it ran. We made our way inside and grabbed some canned goods. We hadn’t eaten all day and were famished. There were streaks of dried blood on the floor and back wall, no doubt from months before. I wasn’t about to let my guard down however, and searched the entire station for any undead. Behind the front counter I found a baseball bat. I tossed this to Brandon so he wouldn’t have to tear up his mini-14 anymore. As I walked into the back room I found a lot of other goodies. There was a Smith & Wesson 627 in the manager’s desk and a small box of hollow points. This went to James. I also found a crate for filling with canned goods, and several cases of smokes. They were stale, but it would feel good to light up again. Among other things, I also found a couple of knives, fluids for the car, and some old GUNS& AMMO magazines. In the back is where I found the remains of whoever left the bloodstains. I quickly ended the possibility of a sneak attack with a heel to its neck. After we were done stacking the supplies on top of the car and lashing it down with bungee straps, we set about creating defenses. We would be sleeping on the roof, and had found a ladder to help create an escape route if necessary. We decided to sleep in shifts, and I was first up. As James and Brandon settled into their sleeping bags on the rocky roof, I fed a fresh magazine into my Ruger and moved to the edge of the roof. With any luck, in eight hours we would be safely back on the road and searching once more for our friends and family. |
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i hope this dosen't screw up any details or fubar the story line for fast45, other than that i fucking love it!..
the only complaints i have or details i would really point out is as follows. 1.your group of survivors was seemingly tracking the main group south by following the trail of black ooze and or tire track in the dirt. the main group was estimated as being 16hr ahead, but your group lost track as there were no signs to follow on the pavement. "The tire tracks disappeared on the asphalt, and we were at least 16 hours behind them." this isn't consistant as the 'Zs' following the main group should have left their ooze trail as they followed the main group of survivors or, your group should have run right up on the 'Zs' six and right into the mass of the horde as they pursued the main group of survivors...
2.we(i anyway) could use just a touch more description on the characters, i didn't really care that chris died because i didn't really know anything about him and hadn't developed any "invested interest" in his character. other than that exelent work! i have heard some complain in the past in "Z.O.T.I." about artyboys', or "taste of blood" about bullseyes' detailed graphic discription of the supplies and weapons(niether of which were ever finished   ).
for me the exellence is in the details, it allows the reader to really draw an eloborate mental picture of the sceene and even imagine themselves in the story, so far you're doing a pretty damn good job. details(imho) seem to definatelly be one of your strenghts, run with it: what brands were the stale cartons of cigarettes, were they menthal or not, would the character have preffered menthal(i do), was the revolver loaded, how many rounds were in the "small" box of ammo(i'm the asshole reader who's gonna be counting down rounds), what interesting articles were in the copies of guns and ammo(sounds like the convienence store was a great score btw!) will they try to syphen fuel out of the holding tanks before the take off, etc?.. GOOD STUFF SO FAR!.. hope you don't mind my critique and [helpful intentioned  ] advice, keep it coming...
MOAR! 
K. |
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Quoted:
i hope this dosen't screw up any details or fubar the story line for fast45, other than that i fucking love it!.. the only complaints i have or details i would really point out is as follows. 1.your group of survivors was seemingly tracking the main group south by following the trail of black ooze and or tire track in the dirt. the main group was estimated as being 16hr ahead, but your group lost track as there were no signs to follow on the pavement. "The tire tracks disappeared on the asphalt, and we were at least 16 hours behind them." this isn't consistant as the 'Zs' following the main group should have left their ooze trail as they followed the main group of survivors or, your group should have run right up on the 'Zs' six and right into the mass of the horde as they pursued the main group of survivors...
2.we(i anyway) could use just a touch more description on the characters, i didn't really care that chris died because i didn't really know anything about him and hadn't developed any "invested interest" in his character. other than that exelent work! i have heard some complain in the past in "Z.O.T.I." about artyboys', or "taste of blood" about bullseyes' detailed graphic discription of the supplies and weapons(niether of which were ever finished ).
for me the exellence is in the details, it allows the reader to really draw an eloborate mental picture of the sceene and even imagine themselves in the story, so far you're doing a pretty damn good job. details(imho) seem to definatelly be one of your strenghts, run with it: what brands were the stale cartons of cigarettes, were they menthal or not, would the character have preffered menthal(i do), was the revolver loaded, how many rounds were in the "small" box of ammo(i'm the asshole reader who's gonna be counting down rounds), what interesting articles were in the copies of guns and ammo(sounds like the convienence store was a great score btw!) will they try to syphen fuel out of the holding tanks before the take off, etc?.. GOOD STUFF SO FAR!.. hope you don't mind my critique and [helpful intentioned ] advice, keep it coming...
MOAR!
K. Thank you, this is exactly the kind of critique I'm looking for. You are correct about the zombie ooze. I wrote it remembering that the Zombies had started moving West in TDPOD 2. I think that's the direction they went anyway. I just forgot to include that a majority of the Zeds had given up pursuit to go West. (Hint Hint )
As for the rest of the details you mentioned, I planned to work them into the next part of the story, but the character development definitely takes time for me. I just didn't want to overload the first few chapters with a bunch of details. Also, is there a direction anyone would like to see this story go? Im just goofing around with this story to keep you guys entertained until part 3 comes out, so if you would like to see my group do something, just let me know. |
I kinda had a  moment when Chris came through the door as a zombie because the last I knew about him, he was fighting off Zeds with a closet rod. I had to go back and read your first chapter again to find out more about Chris and how he was infected. But as I re-read chapter 2 again I assumed Chris was infected while defending his position. Just my humble opinion but a little more character development on Chris may have been informative. Overall your story is well written so keep this going and thank you for continuing to keep ARFCOM entertained while fast45 writes TDOD III.
As far as where I would like to see you go with these characters, I'd say you have to be careful not to create an ending that fast45 would not be willing to incorporate into his story. Meaning; fast45 has a group of 24 or so survivors at the hydro station with plenty of provisions to survive for over a year. We don't know when fast45 will continue with his part of the story so it would be unwise to find a cure for the zombie virus in your story if fast45 does not intend to go that route with his story. Does this make sense? AKASL  LIVE ZOMBIE FREE OR DIE
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agree with the above i think it's cool as shit that you are branhing off and running with the story. just try(which i believe you are doing) to tread lightly on altering any of the details of the story which could screw up the story line for fast45. maybe IM him wth details about the zombies giving up pursuit of the main group of survivors(just as an example) etc. prior to posting as this may not fit in with his story line, and in fairness that main story arc is his and he shouldn;t hav to alter it from whatever he was planning on doing with it... as for what direction your story should take, brother that's all up to you! but in interest of the above, perhaps it would be best if they don't find the main group of survivors(which i get the feeling is the direction you're planning on taking). it would be really cool if maybe they were out on their own for a while traveling and scavenging(gives you the chance just like at the convienence store to work in some more of those details you are good at, would also give a chance to develope your 3 characters more. perhaps they eventully meet up with a survivor here or there. can your charatcers trust the new characters, are they welcomed to join and follow, is there a tense moment where they meet with more survivors while both scavenging the same suplies and face off over them, do they shoot it out or make nice, do they join up or head in seperate directions? it's all part of the drama! maybe they make some companions along the way, maybe being good "sheep dogs" they run into some "wolves" praying on other survivors. they will probably need a new and more appropriate vechical at some point... i can see some really great writing comeing out of this. i would personally i guess like to see this spin off of D.P.O.D. stay seperate from the other story at least for a while, i kinda want to follow these characters independantly as we all followed verne. i relise now i am starting to wonder and think about the characters a bit more now than i originally thought i would. good job and keep it coming!... K. |
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lol, its funny that you guys mention what you do. Its all stuff I am working on with the third chapter. A few things I can tell you without giving much away...
*I tried to leave fast45's characters and plot alone as much as possible, obviously if he says that things happened in a different way (the CP isnt burned, the survivors dont go out the south gate, the zombies dont follow, etc.) then we will go with his version of things. *my survivors will never meet up with his group. I know this gives a lot away, but I don't want to mess up his story with mine, so our groups will never meet unless fast45 wants them too. *Im still working on character development, and it may take a few chapters to do so. I'm trying to write down what these characters are, their strengths, weaknesses, what they were before this, and where they are headed after. *I am working hard to put more detail into the story about the stuff you guys want. *My survivors wont find a cure. his is because I don't want a cure... Good suggestion with talking to fast45 about what my plans are. I can't believe I didn't think of this before I started this story. |
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Daylight broke over the horizon, and the buildings of the city were beautifully outlined in orange light. It is strange to think how nice it has actually become since the power went out. No longer did you have the light pollution that prevented you from seeing stars, and no longer did you have to worry about a passing car’s headlights waking you up at all hours of the night. There has definitely been something peaceful about the fall of civilization.
Throughout the night there were random encounters with Zeds coming from the south. I thought this was a good sign, as these might have been some of the creatures that had followed our survivors. We still had about an hour before we could leave so I packed up my gear and pulled out a pack of cigarettes from the carton I looted. The cigarettes were cheap PALL MALL menthols. They had been sitting on the floor in the back of the store for months and tasted terrible. I used to smoke Camel menthols, but I found myself wishing even for a warm stale beer to help fight the taste of the cigarette. To make it worse, it was almost as if I could taste the rotting remains of the body in the back room on the cigarette. I quickly extinguished it on a small rock next to me and reached into my pack for a GUNS & AMMO magazine. I opened the magazine and flipped through the first few articles. It was the May 2006 issue, with a Winchester model 777 on the cover. The first article I saw was a discussion on proper hunting bullets for the .375 H&H. The author seemed quite passionate that solid bullets like those offered by A-Square were the only choice for large African game. I wonder how many people had gone out and bought such a large rifle thinking it was the ultimate for hunting. I also wondered how many had been killed when the intense recoil of this round prevented a follow up shot to a group of ravenous undead. The second article was about the Colt Thunderer, a pistol I had never heard of. I learned that it was a .41 caliber ball revolver made over 100 years ago before I became disinterested and tossed the magazine away. I was too amped up at the possibility of meeting up with the other survivors to be reading old magazines about guns I would never own. As we finished packing, I took a peek over the roofs edge. There was a small group of five zombies that had managed to make it close to the building. There were two more on the road 30 yards to the south. I chambered a round and took aim at the Zeds closest to the building. As I began shooting, I heard moans from the other side of our building. I had eliminated the five to our front and jogged to the other side of the building. This group was larger, around 12, with more coming from the small buildings a few yards behind the gas station. “Get the gear and head to the car, I’ll finish this off and we can go.” I said as I dropped two more zeds from the rooftop. As I finished off the last of my 50 round magazine, I slid down the ladder, and piled into the car. There was no need for me to stand around and kill all of these creatures when we could just as easily drive away. I did reload and land a few parting shots on the two Zeds in the road as James and I push started the Fiesta once again. In minutes we were making our way onto the highway, and weaving our way through the immobilized vehicles. Occasionally we would see vehicles with blood spattered windows, but it seemed that for the most part, these people had left their cars and most likely returned to the city. I doubted that the other survivors had gone this far from the city. It would have been too hard to maneuver a convoy of vehicles. I suspected that they may have gone off road and into the woods somewhere, but I knew this car could not make such a trip. I needed some way of contacting the others, or a way of leaving a sign that we were still here. We continued to drive on the highway, and eventually came to an onramp for a smaller rural town. This may have been where the others went. There was a railroad track that followed parallel to the road. On it was a train that looked just like any other train. It had several gang tags sprayed to it, and there was plenty of rust, but what was unique about this train was the minivan tucked securely under the front of the engine. I assume it was from the impact with the minivan, but the last two cars had disengaged from the tracks and created a 100 foot wide swath of torn earth and felled trees. As we passed by I could have sworn a hand reached out from inside that powder blue minivan. Along the way we found another gas station, and attempted to raid it of supplies. They had been cleared out of everything but the storage racks, and the underground tanks were bone dry. I did manage to find a three foot piece of hose inside of a wrecker rig behind the building. We drove back to the highway and refilled our tank and spare containers by siphoning the abandoned cars. We turned back onto the exit and drove into the small town. Before all of this began, it was probably a pretty quiet and peaceful town. Now the cars along the main drag were overturned, some showed evidence of being set on fire. Storefront windows were shattered, and the stores wares spilled out across the street. Tall grass and weeds took over where nothing stood. The scene reminded me of the few episodes of “Life after People” I watched on the science channel before the bombs dropped. There were large cracks in the road, and the ride through town was very unpleasant. The town had a foreboding feeling, almost like it was telling us something bad was about to happen to us if we stayed as well. There were several clothing shops along the main road, and even a BURGER KING and a MCDONALDS. There was a strip mall a little further down with a Super Wal-Mart, and grocery store. Both stores parking lots were filled with cars, as well as the surrounding grassy areas. We were forced to abandon our vehicle and walk the 100 yards to the stores. As we made our way through the Wal-Mart parking lot, I saw a few Undead under the awning to the front doors, one of which was slumped across the flower stand under the large front glass. When we were within 50 feet of them I settled the crosshairs of my 3-9 Bushnell scope on the first ones brow line and squeezed the trigger. The Zeds in front of the store seemed completely uninterested in us and didn’t make a sound as I finished them off. The power doors did not work, and we could not push them open. Instead Brandon swung his bat through the glass of one of the large front windows, and we hopped inside. The smell of decay was very evident. You could smell rotten fruit and vegetables, as well as the rotting remains of corpses. Most of the contents of the isles had been knocked to the floor and their containers busted open. There was a large pile of mold growing from a knocked over salsa stand. The jewelry counter at the Front of the store had been completely destroyed, most of its contents gone. All around the store you could see where rioters and thieves had taken what they wanted. We made our way through the clothing department towards the sporting goods section at the back of the building. “Should have known that wasn’t going to happen,” Brandon said as he cleared some broken glass away from the empty gun rack. “They even took the target loads,” I said as I pointed to the empty shotgun ammunition stand. There were a few individual rounds scattered across the floor and down the aisle. I managed to find seven rounds of .30-06 Springfield and four rounds of .223 Remington. There were also a handful of rounds marked .22-250. Those could stay for some other survivor to find later on. “What about this?” I heard James call from a few aisles over. He walked over to us with a CO2 powered “Super Varminter” rifle, a box of .177 caliber Copperhead™ varmint pellets, and a box of 12 gram CO2 chargers. All I could do was laugh and turn back to the shooting supplies. We moved to the automotive section next in search of parts for our car. All of the batteries were gone, and one was broken open on the floor. The spilled acid left a discolored patch on the floor where it had eaten through the shellac. Down the entire aisle it seemed like those previous to us had cleared everything off of the shelves and deposited it on the floor. It was impossible to find anything. While James and Brandon continued to search the store for supplies I made my way to the drug and hygiene section. I picked up the few bottles of aspirin I could find, and even a bottle of Flintstones vitamins. I grabbed a pair of DR. Scholls foot pain relievers for my boots. Wearing them for three days straight was starting to make my feet ache. I walked around and grabbed a stick of Old Spice deodorant. I must have smelled horrible from the lack of a shower and the sweating I had been doing. I decided to get some for the guys as well. I also ended up grabbing some toothbrushes, paste, and a couple rolls of toilet paper. As I walked to the other end of the store to find James and Brandon I noticed the door to the back room was ajar, and covered in bloody hand prints. Immediately on guard, I began looking around for the Zombie that had left the blood. I hadn’t noticed before, but there was blood on the floor and clothing racks leading to this door. As I pushed the door open I noticed that sunlight passed through multiple gunshots in the door. I imagined that the person who put them there had likely tried killing a Zed through the door with multiple chest shots. Inside there was a small pool of dried, black blood, and what appeared to be drag marks. I could smell decaying flesh, and knew there was a body close, within feet of me. The backroom was very dark, with no windows. I pulled out my Zippo and struck it. There was little light but it allowed me to maneuver around. There were clothing racks, pallets of food, and a mix of other items strewn all over the floor. Even one of the 20 foot tall racks had been toppled, covering the floor in footwear. The drag marks weaved around a few racks and led to the back of the room where the emergency exit sat completely open. Fear coursed through me. I turned to run back towards the door I came in, but tripped and fell. My Zippo skittered across the floor and went out. I could see the light coming through the doorway some, but there were too many racks in the way for me to successful navigate without another light. I stood and slowly began making my way to the door, feeling in the darkness for other obstacles. I felt something brush my shoulder and immediately struck out in the dark to it with my elbow. Pain coursed through my arm as I realized what I had done. I strayed too close to a shelf and with my overactive imagination I thought it was one of the walking undead. Striking the shelf had tossed if off its mounts and it banged its way to the floor. The door leading to the back room slammed against the wall as both James and Brandon burst through it. One of them turned on a flashlight and I saw the barrel of the mini-14 outlined and pointed straight at me. “It’s alright; I just hit my elbow on this shelf.” I said, as I looked around the floor for my Zippo. I retrieved it from under the fallen rack and stood. The light followed me as I did and it shined on a long plastic box marked “INGTON”. “Jackpot! Quick, come help me with this.” I called out as I climbed through a space in the racks and pulled the rifle case off the shelf. I cut the plastic wrap and opened the case. Inside sat a Remington 700 BDL. Marked on the paper inside was .308 Winchester. I handed this to James. Also on the rack was a Remington R-15 with REALTREE camouflage coating. There was a pallet of rifle and pistol ammunition near the shelf. I sent Brandon after a couple of carts so we could put all of this in. “So these places really do have ammunition, even when they say they don’t,” James said, “Good to know now.” He chuckled as he pulled a 500 round case of Winchester 9mm off of the pile. He retrieved a small Gerber multi-tool and cut open the case. The he took the magazine out of the Glock on his hip, and loaded it. We spent the next hour reloading our rifles and magazines. We pulled three carts full of ammunition, a few rifles, enough canned goods to probably last the three of us a few weeks, and some changes of clothes. There were also the extras such as toiletries, some camping gear, and a few books. I thought of heading down to the grocery store, but if the mold and decay inside Wal-Mart was any indication, it was probably unhealthy to even step inside. There was no way to fit all of our gear into our little fiesta, so we spent a few hours searching for the perfect truck. We found an old Ford Flatbed parked in the grass. Looking it over we were surprised to see minor rust, four low but not flat tires, and if the meter was correct, a full tank of gas. I would have guessed it as a mid ‘50s that someone had swapped the bed out for a large piece of sheet steel. It was the perfect supply transport truck. Push starting was easy, and we were delighted when the truck fired right up. We put all of our loot on the back, and drove to the Fiesta. Twenty minutes later we had everything on the back of the truck, tied down with my rope under a couple of tent tarps, and were back on the road. If we met up with the others we would have quite the present for them. Looking in the back of the truck you would think we were going to war. Well, I guess we actually were. We had everything from 3 .22lr Remington 597’s, to a Remington 700 chambered in .300 Win Mag. There were eight rifles in total, and we had hundreds of rounds for each rifle. “This should go pretty far towards getting everyone ready to fight again,” I said to James inside the cramped cab of the truck. “Yeah, if we ever find them,” He said and fiddled with the front zipper of his vest, an old military surplus rifleman vest in desert camouflage. He was right, and all three of us had likely been thinking it. We must have driven at least 400 miles south out of the city and hadn’t seen any signs of others except a handful of undead. “We will find them. In the mean time, let’s worry about finding more supplies.” I said as I stared into the side view mirror and watched the small town shrink into the distance and disappear. ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––- there will be character development in the next chapter, I promise. I'm jotting down notes about the characters right now. |
| Update: just wanted to let you guys know it might be about 2am before I get the next chapter up. I'm just now starting it. I've spent all day fixing my sisters computer after she spilled a full cup of Dr.Pepper on it. It works fine now though. Had to just about take it completely apart. |
| I'm becoming more disappointed in you guys each day. I'm all for people writing their own stories but can't see where all of you are openly encouraging someone to walk away with my hard work and ideas. I don't remember anywhere in this forum where someone has done so with say, Day by Day Armageddon, Dying to Live, WWZ or any other story. I have no intentions in co-writing my next book or working all of my drafted story line around another story. RnG, Please re-title your story and venture forth into zombie land on your own plot, characters and ideas. Fast45 |
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Quoted:
I'm becoming more disappointed in you guys each day. I'm all for people writing their own stories but can't see where all of you are openly encouraging someone to walk away with my hard work and ideas. I don't remember anywhere in this forum where someone has done so with say, Day by Day Armageddon, Dying to Live, WWZ or any other story. I have no intentions in co-writing my next book or working all of my drafted story line around another story. RnG, Please re-title your story and venture forth into zombie land on your own plot, characters and ideas. Fast45 Will do, sorry for any problems this caused. You can disregard the IM if you wish. I sent it before reading this. Stay tuned everyone, ill need a little time to change everything. |
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Quoted:
I'm becoming more disappointed in you guys each day. I'm all for people writing their own stories but can't see where all of you are openly encouraging someone to walk away with my hard work and ideas. I don't remember anywhere in this forum where someone has done so with say, Day by Day Armageddon, Dying to Live, WWZ or any other story. I have no intentions in co-writing my next book or working all of my drafted story line around another story. RnG, Please re-title your story and venture forth into zombie land on your own plot, characters and ideas. Fast45 Fast45, i think perhaps you misunderstood our posts. we were incouraging runs-and-guns to not infringe upon your story, and i think it was his intention to avoid doing so(minus your story inspiring him and he starting his story from yours ofcourse)... i don't think it was any ones intention to deny you anything and this isn't much different from the fan fiction that has been written, which was inspired by works just like the ones you mentioned above... it's certainly your right to not want any such writing stemming from your intelectual property though, and to have him not incorporate any of the details form yours into his. probably should have voiced these concerns up front in your thread though instead of just requesting R-N-G to make his own thread. it probably would have curtailed the problem from the begining... guess my only point really is i'm sorry if i had any part in offending you, it was not my(nor, do i believe anyone elses' here) intention to offend or wrong you in any way, rather the opposite. i believe this was/is simply a case of intentions-immitation/flattery not working out the right way, and so i offer my appologies as well... ETA: R-N-G, maybe you should edit your post and remove the link in the darkest part of day part II thread also... K. |
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Quoted:
Quoted:
I'm becoming more disappointed in you guys each day. I'm all for people writing their own stories but can't see where all of you are openly encouraging someone to walk away with my hard work and ideas. I don't remember anywhere in this forum where someone has done so with say, Day by Day Armageddon, Dying to Live, WWZ or any other story. I have no intentions in co-writing my next book or working all of my drafted story line around another story. RnG, Please re-title your story and venture forth into zombie land on your own plot, characters and ideas. Fast45 Fast45, i think perhaps you misunderstood our posts. we were incouraging runs-and-guns to not infringe upon your story, and i think it was his intention to avoid doing so(minus your story inspiring him and he starting his story from yours ofcourse)... i don't think it was any ones intention to deny you anything and this isn't much different from the fan fiction that has been written, which was inspired by works just like the ones you mentioned above... it's certainly your right to not want any such writing stemming from your intelectual property though, and to have him not incorporate any of the details form yours into his. probably should have voiced these concerns up front in your thread though instead of just requesting R-N-G to make his own thread. it probably would have curtailed the problem from the begining... guess my only point really is i'm sorry if i had any part in offending you, it was not my(nor, do i believe anyone elses' here) intention to offend or wrong you in any way, rather the opposite. i believe this was/is simply a case of intentions-immitation/flattery not working out the right way, and so i offer my appologies as well... ETA: R-N-G, maybe you should edit your post and remove the link in the darkest part of day part II thread also... K. good idea. ill fix it after I post the new chapter. |
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I apologize in advance if this chapter is dryer than others. I got off to a late start, and only had a couple of hours to write all of it. I hope you all enjoy it anyway.
–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– I looked out the window at the scenery as it flew by. With no police to pull us over, we could drive as fast as we wanted. Brandon had the arm of the speedometer buried at 80 mph. For being sixteen, he had definitely proven himself useful during this whole ordeal. We passed a Maroon Dodge Intrepid that had plowed into a large drainage pipe on the side of the road. There was no way the occupants could have survived, but the driver’s door was wedged open. The windshield was shattered and had a gaping hole in front of where the passenger should have sat. I immediately noticed the lack of blood. Surely an accident as violent as this would have gallons of blood, but there was none. What was stranger still was that it appeared that the left rear tire was slowly spinning. I realized then that this was not an old accident resulting from the EMP blast, but a fresh crash scene which meant survivors were nearby, and may need our help. “Pull over, we need to help those people,” I called to Brandon, and the truck skidded to a halt, nearly tipping in its tight arc into the ditch. I leaped from the cab and rushed to the car. Frantically I searched inside the car. There was nothing inside, no blood, broken glass, or any supplies. Checking the entrance to the drainage pipe, I expected to see the remains of the passenger, or at least a blood trail. Nothing again. Confused, I climbed on top of the hood and looked around to the surrounding field, and turned to look back towards the overpass exit. “This doesn’t make sense. Do you guys see anything?” I called to the other two as they climbed from the truck. “What are you talking about Brian? Why did you make me pull over like that? I could have killed all of us!” I heard Brandon yelling. “Yeah, are you mental or something? What’s so special abou-“James started to berate me too, but his sentence was cut short when his face disappeared in a pink mist. The report of the rifle sounded a second after, and I looked towards the field to my right and noticed a black figure aiming a rifle towards my two friends. I saw the muzzle flash as this man sent another round screaming towards my friends. Adrenaline flowing, I turned to run towards Brandon and pull him down before he was hit as well, but the gunman had claimed his life before I could get off the hood of the Intrepid. I slid from the hood and twisted awkwardly trying to get out of the line of fire. Pain shot up my leg. I limped to the back of the car and attempted to tuck myself against the slowly spinning tire. The man in the field was less than 100 yards away, but I had left my rifle in the truck in my haste to save these imaginary survivors. I needed to make a move, or sit here and die. I turned toward the truck and coiled my body, preparing to sprint. “1…2…3… go!” I thought as I lunged forward, taking large strides, and closing the distance to the truck. My legs strained, and my right ankle ached terribly, but I had to keep going. Suddenly there was a huge force throwing me to the ground. Pain coursed through my stomach, which felt as if it had been lit on fire and torn apart. Looking down I saw the massive amount of blood pouring from the gunshot wound. I attempted to roll onto my knees, but received no response from my legs. Tears rolled down my face as I cried in agony, not just from the pain in my stomach, but from the realization that I had gotten my two friends killed. I turned my head into the grass and screamed for the pain to stop when I heard the crunching of grass in the distance. I turned my head in time to see the dark man silhouetted by the evening sun as he leveled the rifles barrel at me. Then he pulled the trigger, Boom. I lurched awake, a cold chill running up my spine, and sweat covering my face. “Hey man, are you alright? You’ve been out for hours.” James said from the cramped confines of the truck cab. I looked around somewhat dazed, still feeling that my dream was reality. The sun was still bright, but starting to fade. Must be around 5 p.m. We were still on the road, but had gotten off the highway at some point because we were heading towards a large lake, and what might at one time have been a boating community. You could see the boats half sunken around the pier, the months of neglect showing. We followed the road as it circled the lake, passing a building called ‘The Shore Shack Bar and Grill’. The building looked intact, showing minor wind and rain damage. The sky blue paint was starting to peel, and the largemouth bass above the door hung by its tail, gently swinging in the breeze. A flutter of movement through a nearby alleyway took my attention from the weathered building. “Pull over, there’s something in that alley.” I called, as I chambered a round of .30-06 into my savage 111F. My mind buzzed as I remembered the dark man from my dream. This time, if he showed up, I would be prepared. The truck rolled to a halt, and I hopped out of the cab. I laid my rifle across the hood, and aimed my scope towards the mouth of the alley. James emerged with his Remington 700 BDL, and aimed the same direction. I saw Brandon aim the mini-14 out of the cabs window as he scanned the streets for threats. A shadow began to emerge from the alley, and I slowly started letting the slack from my four pound trigger. A large brown creature emerged from the alley, with a blackened face, and a white belly. It had a short white tail, and stood almost five feet tall. “Wow, that is a nice doe.” James said in amazement. Since the pandemic started, animals had all but disappeared. I always figured that the walking undead had consumed them. The doe that stood before us was the largest I had ever seen. It must have been at least 150 pounds. “Looks like we will be eating well for a while,” I chuckled as I finished letting the slack from my rifle. The recoil was stiff, no doubt because I had expected the low recoil from my 10/22. My shot was a little off, striking the big doe squarely in the shoulder blade. The doe jumped and whipped wildly before turning back into the alley. I heard trashcans tumble around in the alleyway, and a moan of pain from the doe as if fell to the ground. I rushed to the alley in time to hear the doe moan once more before becoming silent. I walked up to it and watched as it took its final breath. James and I picked up the big Doe and carried it across the street to the Shore Shack. Brandon was already ahead of us clearing the building to make sure we weren’t surprised. I heard the muffled report of three shots, and I worked the bolt of my rifle to chamber a fresh round before heading to the door. Brandon emerged with his rifle slung across his back, and a bottle of Jack Daniels in each hand. “Look what I found,” he said as he handed me a bottle. “Good score, what else is in there?” James asked as he pulled some rope off the bed of the truck and cut it. He then tied it around the deer’s feet and hung it from an exposed rafter on the building’s porch. “I’ll go find out,” Brandon said and disappeared. “You want some help with that?” I asked James as I pulled a camping knife out of a sheath on my belt. I opened the doe so the two of us could begin field dressing it and harvesting edible meat. While we were cutting up meat, Brandon came back out holding a bag of charcoal in one hand, and plate and forks in the others. I could hear glasses clinking around in the pockets of his BDU pants. He walked around the side of the building and I heard the screech of rusted metal. Walking around the side of the shack, I saw Brandon wiping off a large smoker with the sleeve of his BDU top. I walked inside the shack to find some proper grilling equipment, and returned shortly after with a steel brush and a set of tongs. Over the next two hours the sun had settled low in the sky, casting twilight rays onto our little camp. While James worked to finish harvesting meat, and Brandon tended to our Grill, I set about searching the surrounding area for any signs of the undead. During those two hours, I found nothing to suggest there were any of the creatures in the town at all. I returned to the others and we set up a booth inside the Shore Shack for a little feasting and drinking. We pulled down several boards inside the shack to use for slow cooking the meat we had left over. There was about 100 pounds of meat sitting in the cooker. We were all in the booth inside the shack drinking and telling stories. It felt good to finally relax. We didn’t even lock the front door. “Listen Brandon, I have been searching the town for hours and I haven’t seen a single sign of Zeds, so I have to know. Just what in the hell were you shooting at earlier?” I asked as I poured myself another half glass of the warm Tennessee whiskey. It burned the roof of my mouth in the best way possible. “Rats,” He said, “Ever since I was a kid on the farm with my Aunt and Uncle I’ve hated them. My Aunt says it was because one climbed in my crib and bit me when I was a baby.” “You lived with your Aunt and Uncle growing up?” James asked as he poured Brandon some more of the liquid courage. “Yes, my Mom died giving birth to me and my Dad left before I was born.” Brandon stared into the bottom of his glass, before draining it of its contents. We were all quiet for a time, mostly in our own minds remembering the family and friends we had lost. I was the first to speak again. “This is the best deer meat I have ever had,” I said as I chewed on some of the Doe meat. “It doesn’t even have seasonings. It is okay, but not fantastic,” James chuckled, “Have you ever had deer meat before?” Reluctantly I mouthed “No” before finishing off my glass of Jack. I could feel the heat in my face and chest. It helped to take the edge off the cool breeze blowing in from the lake. Over the next few hours, the sun had completely disappeared over the horizon. Both bottles of Jack Daniels were empty, and the three of us sat in the booth around a small scented candle I had found behind the bars counter. The candle gave of little light in the darkness, but none of us minded as we hadn’t seen or heard anything here that suggested walking dead, and were having too good of a time telling our life stories. Brandon was the most vocal of the group. Being only sixteen, he hadn’t been able to build up a tolerance for alcohol and had aired all of his dirty laundry to the two of us. As he swayed back and forth in the booth, he recited memories of cute girls at school that he had dated, and his greatest fears such as rats and packing peanuts. He also told of his disappointment that he never got to sleep with Ashley Wilhoit, the head cheerleader at his school, before she joined the ranks of walking dead. He finally passed out before finishing his story of how he walked in on his Aunt taking a bath one day. James was quiet for the most part. He talked a little later into the night about putting his wife down after she became “one of them”, as he put it. I could understand why he would prefer to drink that memory into submission. It reminded me that I have not seen or heard from my parents and Girlfriend since this entire incident started. After mulling these memories over in my head for a few minutes, I was really thankful we were in a bar, and grabbed a half full bottle of gold medallion tequila from the bar and started drinking. The last thing I remembered before passing out was the sweet smell of the “cinnamon roll” candle as it burned on the booths tabletop. |
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Thud. Thud. Thud.
I could hear the screech of the shacks screen door opening on rusty hinges. Thud. Thud. Thud. I could hear something crawling across the floor. Boom, a gunshot. I lurched awake from my stool at the bar and drew my pistol. The sun was still rising, casting amber colored rays across the room. Shadows still covered a majority of the room, and I didn’t see James or Brandon at the booth. Boom, there was another gunshot coming from the front of the shack. I looked out the window and saw movement in front of the truck. As I started to raise my pistol something moved onto my boot. The sound of the pistol firing was excruciating, as was the muzzle flash. Something twitched by my foot, and I fired again. “Stop shooting, Stop shooting!” Someone called from outside. Brandon came through the open screen door with his mini-14 shouldered. “What the hell are you doing?” James called as he followed close behind with his camouflage back pack in his hands. “I thought,” I started, “Zombies.” My mind buzzed as I realized just how bright the day was, and how loud the world around me had become. I looked to the floor, attempting to identify my target, and noticed blood on my boots. “Rats,” James said as he moved to pick up what was left of the small black creature. “Looks like you hate them too,” Brandon chuckled and walked back outside, slamming the screen door closed as he did. He opened the door to the truck, and returned his mini-14. When he closed the door, it made a large bang; this was the gunshot I had been hearing. I winced, feeling the full force of my hangover. “Too loud, everything is too loud.” I mumbled as I holstered my pistol, and staggered over to my gear. I rummaged around for a minute and found a large bottle of Tylenol. I popped a handful, and swallowed what was left of one of my water bottles. I only had a few liters left. We would need to raid another store for supplies soon. As I made my way outside, I walked around the shack to the smoker and grabbed some breakfast. The deer meat was a little tough, kind of like jerky, but it still tasted pretty good. After living on canned goods, and processed meats, anything that wasn’t packaged had brand new, and delicious, flavors. As I chewed my piece of deer jerky, I looked out across the lake. It was very calm, no ripples or waves, but there was a small breeze coming off the water, cooling the air around me. I watched the boats at the pier slowly bob around as the breeze caught what was left of their sails. The boats were partially submerged, and a few only had the mast sticking up from the water. There were a few birds on one, and all seemed to have a green slime from algae building on them. I noticed that a couple had broken away from their moorings, and sat completely submerged except for the pointy front end sticking up a few feet out of the water. There was one that caught my eye in particular. It was slowly drifting around the lake, about 100 feet away from the shore. It was a big houseboat. As it began to drift past the shack I noticed that its windows were covered by black trash bags. The sun had faded the paint on the boat and instead of it being a nice deep brown, it had become a light tan, and where the waterline was, the paint was almost completely gone, exposing wood, and fiberglass underneath. After watching the boat for about five minutes, it began to drift away, and on the back was the name ‘ANNABELLE’. I watched the boat begin to drift away, and as the sun hit the back “deck”, the flat portion on a house boat used for getting on and off, something metallic caught the sun, and reflected a brass color towards the shore. Intrigued, I headed inside to retrieve my rifle. Looking through the nine power scope revealed several spent casing laying about the deck. It occurred to me that there may either be other survivors on the boat, or supplies. I don’t know why, but I found myself caught between investigating the boat, and wishing to run further south. I went to James and Brandon, telling them about the boat, and together we moved to the pier hoping to find something in good enough shape to row out to the houseboat. We entered the building at the front of the pier, and sitting inside was a small metal canoe with a few oars hanging on the wall. We grabbed it and started for the end of the pier. The three of us easily made it to the houseboat, and James jumped out onto the deck first. He pulled his 627 revolver from a large pocket on his backpack, and moved to the windows. After getting out of the canoe, and tying it to the back of the boat, the three of us lined up by the door. James would move in first, followed by Brandon, then myself. On three, James stomped the lock, and forced the door open, stepping inside. Brandon shined his flashlight around the room, lighting up what could only be described as a scene out of a horror movie. There appeared to be seven dried out, rotted corpses lying around the main living compartment. All had gunshot wounds under the chin, and the tops of their skulls, as well as brain matter, was sprayed all over the walls and ceiling. All kinds of body fluid and rotten flesh lay around the bodies. I had a feeling that if the three of us had not already become accustomed to the look and smell of rotting corpses, we would all be heaving from the side of the boat. I almost felt ashamed that we had become accustomed to scenes like this. I stepped outside for some fresh air while Brandon and James checked the rest of the boat. “Brian, come look at this.” I heard James call from inside. As I walked inside and past the bodies, James was standing in a doorway at the back of the boat. Looking inside I noticed another body with a self inflicted gunshot wound to the chin. In his hand was a Beretta, locked open on an empty magazine. Behind the body was a stack of empty supply boxes. There was an envelope at its feet. I lifted it, and brushed the dried brain matter from it. Written on the front in grease pen was the word, “HELP”. There was a note inside. When I opened the envelope and pulled out the note, a keychain fell out. There were two keys, one of which had Master lock inscribed on it. The other was a house hey of some sort. The keychain was from the “Full Gospel Holiness Church”. I walked outside to the deck to read the letter. James and Brandon followed. It was a women’s handwriting, in pencil. I started reading aloud, “Please help us. Our town has been attacked. There are people here fighting and killing everyone. We have many sick people now. Those that have been killed by our attackers are coming back and attacking us. We are hiding from these attackers in the town’s church. There are about 200 of us and a few sickly and hurt. We need medical help. Please help us. We sent out a small group to look for help. They will lead you to our town. Please help us. We have women and children.” Underneath that was a small paragraph written in grease pen, “If you are reading this, things have not gone in our favor. We have been attacked. We tried to find help, but there were too many. We couldn’t get away from them. They killed Tony, and Janice. There are eight of us left on this boat. These people are everywhere. These people that attacked us won’t die. I shoot them and they don’t die. Help us.” “What do you suppose we do?” Brandon asked me. “I don’t know. I do not like the idea of fighting a large group of Zeds by ourselves. Maybe if we had a few more people we could check out the church, but its suicide with just three.” I folded the letter up and put the envelope and keychain in my front pocket as I spoke. This was another one of those times I hated being the leader. What if there were survivors we could help? But what if they were all undead and I got my friends killed? “So what then? We leave and keep going south hoping to find everyone else? It’s been days and we haven’t seen anyone. We aren’t going to find them.” James said aggravated. He had always been keen on killing Zeds when the opportunity presented itself, likely trying to get back at them for his wife. “We have been running scared for days now, trying to find everyone. It’s time to pick up the fight again. There is still plenty of ass whoopin’ to go around.” Brandon spoke softly as he stared across the lake. “Fine.” Was all I said as I climbed back in the canoe. We drove through the center of the small town by the lake, and saw a few broken windows, and smear marks on houses. There were a few doors standing open. Tall grass and weeds had taken over the lawns, and there were broken patches of sidewalk where tree roots had grown under them. The road dead ended at a church. It was a two story brick building, with “Full Gospel Holiness” stenciled across the front of a car port awning. Even from the parking lot we could see the front doors were chained shut from the outside. The parking lot had several patches of weeds sprouting up from the cracks, and there was a ragged skeleton lying by the door. The birds must have picked at it after death. Brandon parked the truck in the middle of the Parking lot, about 30 yards from the front doors. This would give us enough space to escape if things turned bad. I grabbed my 10/22 and pack from the back of the truck and set them on the hood. I would need volume over the hitting power of my Savage. It only took a few minutes for everyone to prepare. James sat on the back of the truck, with a Wal-Mart bag filled with .308 Winchester sitting next to him, his Remington 700 BDL in his lap. James stood in front of the truck by the driver’s door, with his mini-14 at a low ready. I moved from behind the hood, towards the doors. I had my 10/22 in one hand, and the keychain in the other. I fumbled with the locks for a bit, somewhat nervous about what I was unleashing. I could smell decay without even opening the doors, so I knew we weren’t opening up to friends. I undid the chains across the doors, and unlocked the deadbolt to the front door. The rusty lock creaked inside, echoing inside the building. I prepared to turn and run out of the field of fire once the doors were opened. I turned the knob, kicked the doors, and ran. The doorway was black, as was the inside of the church. The windows were covered and allowed no light inside. At first the three of us just sat there waiting for the horde to pour out of the door. I made it back to the truck, and sighted in on the door. There were no sounds from inside. Wait. There was a low moan from within. Then a second. Then more, a lot more. The shadows inside the church began shifting, moving. A skeletal hand moved from the shadows into the daylight. A single Zed moved through the doorway, followed by another. As the undead horde poured through the door, we opened fire. |
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runs-n-guns_66, i would suggest rewriting the begining and coming up with your own intro and breaking completly away from the inspiration/parent story as that author was so adamint about his intelectual property...
your stuff is good enough to stand on it's own, and i for one would love to read more!!. K. |
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Quoted:
runs-n-guns_66, i would suggest rewriting the begining and coming up with your own intro and breaking completly away from the inspiration/parent story as that author was so adamint about his intelectual property... your stuff is good enough to stand on it's own, and i for one would love to read more!!. K. Already had that written down on the "to do" list. I just have to figure out how to do it now lol. |
