Post by Stu Pott on May 10, 2007 16:27:35 GMT -8
“What are we going to do?”
“I have no idea! Just don't panic!”
“Shit man, seriously. What the hell!? What are these things?!”
“I really wish I knew, but right now, we just have to remain silent. Stop talking so loudly. If they hear us, we are done for.”
“I know man, I know m-”
“Dude?
Dude?”
The T.V. Turns onto the news. Tom McAlester rubs his head vaguely, trying to force into his mind the happenings of the night before. Ted Koppel or someone like that seemed to go on and on about some sort of disaster.
Whatever.
Standing up and stretching, he saunters into the kitchen, a gait that indicates a certain rigidity within his muscles as the rough night on the couch slowly seeps from his body. He yawns, opening the refridgerator. He grabs the milk, and drinks straight from it, something that would've sent his wife into hysterics.
Whatever.
Setting the container back into the fridge, he opens the door. He looks around for the paper that is normally throw onto his yard, and sees nothing. Strange. He looks about again, and sees a cherry red minivan, almost entirely red, smashed into the telephone poll out infront of his house. He begins a slow creep forwards, when he realizes why the van looks so red.
There is blood everywhere, coating the broken front window, and almost the entirety of the side windows facing him. He runs towards the vehicle, but stops. He hears something distant, yet close by, a seemingly glutteral growl, and he turns. Staggering down the road is a man. He seems detached, his eyes glazed over, a look of pure stupidity etched across his face. As he comes forwards, he outstretches his arms, as though to grab for Tom. Tom moves closer, trying to act on kind will. However, when he gets within a quick grabbing distance, the man lunges, baring his teeth. Tom tries to half dodge the man, half catch him, failing seemingly with both, as the guy lands face first at Tom's feet, grabbing onto his pant leg, dragging himself closer to Tom. The man tries to bite Tom as he kicks outwards, catching the man in the nose with the foot the assaulter was about to bite.
With a sickening crunch, the man's face caved in, Tom's slipper covered in the icor from the man's face. Yet, for some bizarre reason, the prostrate man continued trying to come after Tom, helpless in his pursuit, almost too stupid to stand up on his own volition. Tom backed away, when suddenly the glass broke from the Van behind him, a single bloody and bruised arm reaching out for something, though in a way that indicated more of a grasp than a call for help.
Tom legged it back towards his house, locking the door behind him. He rested against his, breath coming in harsh ragged draws. He reached over to the counter, and grabbed his last cigarette, lighting it quickly with safety matches. He waived it out, and threw it into the sink. He took a long drag, when a thumping came from behind him.
They were trying to break in. They wanted him. They wanted only him.
Quickly running to the back of the house, he stumbles upon a victim of the aggregious acts. Shakily smashing through his livingroom, Tom grabs a cane, and starts whacking away at the demon. It shambles backwards from the hits, and is eventually driven out the backdoor, where Tom gives it one good stab to the eye. Landing a square hit, he twists, and watches as the fiend groans one last time, as it falls backwards into the waiting arms of four of his compatriots.
It was dead.
Tom slammed the door, locking it was well. He jammed the cane up underneath the handle to slow down the opening the of the door. He ran back into his living room, looking at the T.V., shuddering through each and everyone of the thumps that came to his door. The Ted Koppel lover went on and on about a national pandemic, chaos in the streets of all major cities, and terror throughout the suburbs of America. Tom held a single hand to his face in pure awe as video feeds of a man being grabbed from the roof of his car, as he battered at multiple aggressors at his feet, as he smashed down with a two by four on one of them. Suddenly, two jumped him from behind, pulling him off the car, as they bit down upon his arms, tearing out huge chunks of flesh, and devourering him from behind the car. Tom nearly threw up, but kept his composure so he could watch. The anchor kept on with his analysis, and then, in a final conclusion, that struck Tom the deepest,
"The dead are rising from the grave -- they get up and kill! The people they kill get up and kill!"
Dear... God...
A crashing noise, as glass shatters behind Tom from somewhere. He runs quickly into his bedroom, ignoring the groaning of the creatures outside. He grabbed his only 'defense', a snub nosed revolver, mostly meant to deter an enemy from killing him, than for him to be killing with it.He stuck it into the waistband of his pants, just like they did in the movies. He walked into his hallway, and back into the living room, only to see one of the bastards trying to climb in through the window. He aimed, with the only shot he had.
BANG.
The creature shuddered backwards as the back half of its skull exploded outwards, spraying its cohorts in its brain goo. It slumped down and onto the, crushing a few beneath it, who only squirmed with broken legs. Tom rushed to the opposite bedroom, where he kept the only ammunition for the gun, pocketing a few cartridges. He opened the window, and looked out. There were a few of the things sauntering about, but none in his direct path to his car. He leaped out the window, and made a bee line. He grabbed onto the car's handle, and hopped in. He started, the engine roaring to life. Suddenly, both groups of creatures come towards the car. Tom guns it in reverse, crushing one behind him, the popping noise as he crushes the thing ringing in his ears as he peels out of the driveway.
He barrels done the street, mercilessly crushing the things, their bodies bounding off his hood as he blazes a living trail through the things. He is on his way towards the police station, the hopefully last bastion of help.
He finally sees it, smoking pouring from buildings on either side of him, dead creatures everywhere. He pulls up in front, adding his car to the barricades that had been erected by the final survivors. Sharpshooters train their scopes on his head as he walks forwards, through the barbed wire and bodies. He meets a few survivor scouts this far out, but continues deeper on. He sees that many of the alleys' entrances had been boarded up, heavily, to prevent infiltration, not the only way into their fortress a single street, with easily defensible areas peppered along the street.
Tom continued onwards, meeting up with a few survivors, and travelling with them. They finally arrived at the 'headquarters', and spoke to the man in charge, a heavy set black man named, simply, Jones.
“Whats going on?!” Tom seemingly begged.
“We've been invaded, son” Jones responded, somewhat despondently, as though he had said it far too many times today.
“Yes, I realize this, but by what?”
“The living dead! Are you that thick skulled boy!? They are ZOMBIES! Flesh eaters! Living corpses... You haven't been bitten, hav-”
“Jones! We got an incoming survivor party! They've got wounded!”
“Shit... Lets go. I'll show you what happens when you get bit.”
Three stretchers, with a party of 9 others accompanying them. From an apartment building downtown, they had fought through a horde, losing 4 others, but saving these three. All had been bitten. Jones sighed heavily, and grabbed the pistol from his holster. Suddenly, one of the wounded stopped breathing all together. Tom watched in horrid fascination as the thing's eyes fluttered closed, and then suddenly sparked open, ressurection. Jones grabbed the thing by the shoulder,
“Sir, are you coherent?” No answer besides the vacated look. “You realize that I am a police Officer, yes?” No answer. “Sir, if you do not answer, I will have to consider you a detrimental factor to our survival.” Suddenly, the things head snapped, and its arms shot forwards. However, Jones was quicker, and the drew his pistol to the things forehead, and squeezed off a round, penetrating deeply through the hard skull, blasting out the rear of its head.
“Sorry. But it had to be done. Anyone who is bit will die and reanimate within 12 hours, no matter the severity of the bite. You will all, when order is restored, have to testify for me that what I did was out of self defense, you understand this?”
A few nods, but nothing solid. Jones went to each one as they died. The entire process took about thirty minutes.
Tom held his hands in his hands. What had happened? Why was this all happening? Why him!? The pistol laid by him on the bench, he grasped the bridge of his nose in frustration. He grabbed the pistol, stood, and walked towards the barricades. For some reason, though, Tom's timing that day was perfect.
A barricade clattered to the ground, sending a few survivors scattering in the silent attack by a mob of Zombies. One unlucky survivor was dragged by her feet into the pulsating mass of rotten flesh. Unexpectedly, the first few Zombies in the mob exploded, their heads erupting in an explosive festival, their brains blossoming outwards like a grotesque flower, a crimson blanket sweeping over those near them. Survivor snipers reloaded their bolt actions, as survivors on the ground opened fire, Tom included. Bodies shuddered and kept advancing, and some fell, bullet holes either disabling their leg movement, or destroying their brains. A few survivors came forwards with machete's and swords, hacking away at the foremost before retreating again behind the ranged rifle and shotgun wielding survivors.
Yet, for every one zombie they killed, more seemed to pour through the gap. A grenade was seen dropping from on high, and soon a cacophonous explosion dulled their senses for a moment, causing the Zombies to stutter momentarily as their brethren were cut down at the knee cap and waist. A few Molotov cocktails came soaring through the sky, their flaming rags like fire-flies in the night, they explosions like water lapping upon a beach.
A living beach.
Tom fired off his six shots before falling back to the second tier of barricades, quickly reloading. Sniper shots rang out, zombies either being knocked over from the blow, or killed from the accuracy. The sound of people shouting orders rang dully in his ears as they tried to block out the fear inducing groan of the zombies. Another survivor fell, being drug backwards through the mob, only to be partially consumed and reanimated. The crowd pulsed forwards, consuming two more survivors, as suddenly barricades began falling in from the sides, crushing a few zombies, but allowing more to infiltrate from the alleyways where they had been trying to break in. They began shuffling inside buildings, working their way up to the snipers, as the grotesque noise of human screams were heard.
And then silenced.
Tom ran backwards, firing off shots into the crowd on his heels. He was superiorly faster, but he had to dodge and weave around barricades, where as the Zombies just pushed through them, like water around rocks. He met with the final perimeter defense, where a few fully automatic government weapons were being set up.
“Those won't help!” Tom screeched above the din of noise.
“Bullshit! These are the best the army has to offer! If nothing else, they'll cut them down...”
Tom shook his head, and climbed to the top of Town Hall, a gigantic bell at its peak. There, he watched as the broods marched forwards, a few survivors taking their lives instead of falling beneath the hordes advance. He watched as one man leaped from a perch not much higher than Tom's own at this time, and plummet to his death upon the concrete, his lower leg bones snapping outwards, showing their pearly white nature. His thigh bones compacted up through his pelvis, causing his spine to jettison out the back of the man, literally splitting him vertically. He was dead, all right.
The machine guns opened fire at this 'signal'. The front rows of Zombies ruptured under the withering fire. They were being cut down at chest level, blood and gore blossoming outwards, sending its crimson contents splaying across the mortar and bricks of the buildings around them. They crumpled, but most were still alive, the bullets not landing marks upon the brain, but upon the chest, where no vital organ existed for the zombies.
And yet, the crowd pushed on, until they were upon the machine guns, eliminating their efficiency. Gunfire was heard as the survivors tried to push back the final remnants of the Zombie army. Many were consumed. Many took their lives in their final moments, even as the zombies ripped them open and began feasting on them. Tom watched in horror. Yet, he knew what to do. He huddled under a blanket on the roof of the building, keeping entirely quite, his pistol nearby. He listened intently for a certain scream however.
He heard it. Satisfaction as the leader fell.
APC's rolled into the town, their backs opening as strike force units poured out, making surgical hits against the few remaining Zombies, emaciated being that could barely hold themselves up. The turret on the APC tracked large groups of the beings, firing off controlled bursts that kept them standing, but grouped together and held back the the sweep of the town began.
The army reached the Town Hall, where suddenly, they head the ringing of the bell. Immediately, they began their ascent upwards, killing the many Zombies that inhabitted the building. They opened the roof door and spread out, to find Tom. He was nearly dead, having lived on the little food and water that was atop the building. He was huddled, shaking against the bell, the sound coming from his own head flopping almost comically in the wind as he tried to keep control of his mentallity.
The nearest soldier came over, slinging his rifle. He knelt down, and spoke to the man.
“Sir, are you coherent?”
“I have no idea! Just don't panic!”
“Shit man, seriously. What the hell!? What are these things?!”
“I really wish I knew, but right now, we just have to remain silent. Stop talking so loudly. If they hear us, we are done for.”
“I know man, I know m-”
“Dude?
Dude?”
~:~
The T.V. Turns onto the news. Tom McAlester rubs his head vaguely, trying to force into his mind the happenings of the night before. Ted Koppel or someone like that seemed to go on and on about some sort of disaster.
Whatever.
Standing up and stretching, he saunters into the kitchen, a gait that indicates a certain rigidity within his muscles as the rough night on the couch slowly seeps from his body. He yawns, opening the refridgerator. He grabs the milk, and drinks straight from it, something that would've sent his wife into hysterics.
Whatever.
Setting the container back into the fridge, he opens the door. He looks around for the paper that is normally throw onto his yard, and sees nothing. Strange. He looks about again, and sees a cherry red minivan, almost entirely red, smashed into the telephone poll out infront of his house. He begins a slow creep forwards, when he realizes why the van looks so red.
There is blood everywhere, coating the broken front window, and almost the entirety of the side windows facing him. He runs towards the vehicle, but stops. He hears something distant, yet close by, a seemingly glutteral growl, and he turns. Staggering down the road is a man. He seems detached, his eyes glazed over, a look of pure stupidity etched across his face. As he comes forwards, he outstretches his arms, as though to grab for Tom. Tom moves closer, trying to act on kind will. However, when he gets within a quick grabbing distance, the man lunges, baring his teeth. Tom tries to half dodge the man, half catch him, failing seemingly with both, as the guy lands face first at Tom's feet, grabbing onto his pant leg, dragging himself closer to Tom. The man tries to bite Tom as he kicks outwards, catching the man in the nose with the foot the assaulter was about to bite.
With a sickening crunch, the man's face caved in, Tom's slipper covered in the icor from the man's face. Yet, for some bizarre reason, the prostrate man continued trying to come after Tom, helpless in his pursuit, almost too stupid to stand up on his own volition. Tom backed away, when suddenly the glass broke from the Van behind him, a single bloody and bruised arm reaching out for something, though in a way that indicated more of a grasp than a call for help.
Tom legged it back towards his house, locking the door behind him. He rested against his, breath coming in harsh ragged draws. He reached over to the counter, and grabbed his last cigarette, lighting it quickly with safety matches. He waived it out, and threw it into the sink. He took a long drag, when a thumping came from behind him.
They were trying to break in. They wanted him. They wanted only him.
Quickly running to the back of the house, he stumbles upon a victim of the aggregious acts. Shakily smashing through his livingroom, Tom grabs a cane, and starts whacking away at the demon. It shambles backwards from the hits, and is eventually driven out the backdoor, where Tom gives it one good stab to the eye. Landing a square hit, he twists, and watches as the fiend groans one last time, as it falls backwards into the waiting arms of four of his compatriots.
It was dead.
Tom slammed the door, locking it was well. He jammed the cane up underneath the handle to slow down the opening the of the door. He ran back into his living room, looking at the T.V., shuddering through each and everyone of the thumps that came to his door. The Ted Koppel lover went on and on about a national pandemic, chaos in the streets of all major cities, and terror throughout the suburbs of America. Tom held a single hand to his face in pure awe as video feeds of a man being grabbed from the roof of his car, as he battered at multiple aggressors at his feet, as he smashed down with a two by four on one of them. Suddenly, two jumped him from behind, pulling him off the car, as they bit down upon his arms, tearing out huge chunks of flesh, and devourering him from behind the car. Tom nearly threw up, but kept his composure so he could watch. The anchor kept on with his analysis, and then, in a final conclusion, that struck Tom the deepest,
"The dead are rising from the grave -- they get up and kill! The people they kill get up and kill!"
Dear... God...
A crashing noise, as glass shatters behind Tom from somewhere. He runs quickly into his bedroom, ignoring the groaning of the creatures outside. He grabbed his only 'defense', a snub nosed revolver, mostly meant to deter an enemy from killing him, than for him to be killing with it.He stuck it into the waistband of his pants, just like they did in the movies. He walked into his hallway, and back into the living room, only to see one of the bastards trying to climb in through the window. He aimed, with the only shot he had.
BANG.
The creature shuddered backwards as the back half of its skull exploded outwards, spraying its cohorts in its brain goo. It slumped down and onto the, crushing a few beneath it, who only squirmed with broken legs. Tom rushed to the opposite bedroom, where he kept the only ammunition for the gun, pocketing a few cartridges. He opened the window, and looked out. There were a few of the things sauntering about, but none in his direct path to his car. He leaped out the window, and made a bee line. He grabbed onto the car's handle, and hopped in. He started, the engine roaring to life. Suddenly, both groups of creatures come towards the car. Tom guns it in reverse, crushing one behind him, the popping noise as he crushes the thing ringing in his ears as he peels out of the driveway.
He barrels done the street, mercilessly crushing the things, their bodies bounding off his hood as he blazes a living trail through the things. He is on his way towards the police station, the hopefully last bastion of help.
He finally sees it, smoking pouring from buildings on either side of him, dead creatures everywhere. He pulls up in front, adding his car to the barricades that had been erected by the final survivors. Sharpshooters train their scopes on his head as he walks forwards, through the barbed wire and bodies. He meets a few survivor scouts this far out, but continues deeper on. He sees that many of the alleys' entrances had been boarded up, heavily, to prevent infiltration, not the only way into their fortress a single street, with easily defensible areas peppered along the street.
Tom continued onwards, meeting up with a few survivors, and travelling with them. They finally arrived at the 'headquarters', and spoke to the man in charge, a heavy set black man named, simply, Jones.
“Whats going on?!” Tom seemingly begged.
“We've been invaded, son” Jones responded, somewhat despondently, as though he had said it far too many times today.
“Yes, I realize this, but by what?”
“The living dead! Are you that thick skulled boy!? They are ZOMBIES! Flesh eaters! Living corpses... You haven't been bitten, hav-”
“Jones! We got an incoming survivor party! They've got wounded!”
“Shit... Lets go. I'll show you what happens when you get bit.”
~:~
Three stretchers, with a party of 9 others accompanying them. From an apartment building downtown, they had fought through a horde, losing 4 others, but saving these three. All had been bitten. Jones sighed heavily, and grabbed the pistol from his holster. Suddenly, one of the wounded stopped breathing all together. Tom watched in horrid fascination as the thing's eyes fluttered closed, and then suddenly sparked open, ressurection. Jones grabbed the thing by the shoulder,
“Sir, are you coherent?” No answer besides the vacated look. “You realize that I am a police Officer, yes?” No answer. “Sir, if you do not answer, I will have to consider you a detrimental factor to our survival.” Suddenly, the things head snapped, and its arms shot forwards. However, Jones was quicker, and the drew his pistol to the things forehead, and squeezed off a round, penetrating deeply through the hard skull, blasting out the rear of its head.
“Sorry. But it had to be done. Anyone who is bit will die and reanimate within 12 hours, no matter the severity of the bite. You will all, when order is restored, have to testify for me that what I did was out of self defense, you understand this?”
A few nods, but nothing solid. Jones went to each one as they died. The entire process took about thirty minutes.
~:~
Tom held his hands in his hands. What had happened? Why was this all happening? Why him!? The pistol laid by him on the bench, he grasped the bridge of his nose in frustration. He grabbed the pistol, stood, and walked towards the barricades. For some reason, though, Tom's timing that day was perfect.
A barricade clattered to the ground, sending a few survivors scattering in the silent attack by a mob of Zombies. One unlucky survivor was dragged by her feet into the pulsating mass of rotten flesh. Unexpectedly, the first few Zombies in the mob exploded, their heads erupting in an explosive festival, their brains blossoming outwards like a grotesque flower, a crimson blanket sweeping over those near them. Survivor snipers reloaded their bolt actions, as survivors on the ground opened fire, Tom included. Bodies shuddered and kept advancing, and some fell, bullet holes either disabling their leg movement, or destroying their brains. A few survivors came forwards with machete's and swords, hacking away at the foremost before retreating again behind the ranged rifle and shotgun wielding survivors.
Yet, for every one zombie they killed, more seemed to pour through the gap. A grenade was seen dropping from on high, and soon a cacophonous explosion dulled their senses for a moment, causing the Zombies to stutter momentarily as their brethren were cut down at the knee cap and waist. A few Molotov cocktails came soaring through the sky, their flaming rags like fire-flies in the night, they explosions like water lapping upon a beach.
A living beach.
Tom fired off his six shots before falling back to the second tier of barricades, quickly reloading. Sniper shots rang out, zombies either being knocked over from the blow, or killed from the accuracy. The sound of people shouting orders rang dully in his ears as they tried to block out the fear inducing groan of the zombies. Another survivor fell, being drug backwards through the mob, only to be partially consumed and reanimated. The crowd pulsed forwards, consuming two more survivors, as suddenly barricades began falling in from the sides, crushing a few zombies, but allowing more to infiltrate from the alleyways where they had been trying to break in. They began shuffling inside buildings, working their way up to the snipers, as the grotesque noise of human screams were heard.
And then silenced.
Tom ran backwards, firing off shots into the crowd on his heels. He was superiorly faster, but he had to dodge and weave around barricades, where as the Zombies just pushed through them, like water around rocks. He met with the final perimeter defense, where a few fully automatic government weapons were being set up.
“Those won't help!” Tom screeched above the din of noise.
“Bullshit! These are the best the army has to offer! If nothing else, they'll cut them down...”
Tom shook his head, and climbed to the top of Town Hall, a gigantic bell at its peak. There, he watched as the broods marched forwards, a few survivors taking their lives instead of falling beneath the hordes advance. He watched as one man leaped from a perch not much higher than Tom's own at this time, and plummet to his death upon the concrete, his lower leg bones snapping outwards, showing their pearly white nature. His thigh bones compacted up through his pelvis, causing his spine to jettison out the back of the man, literally splitting him vertically. He was dead, all right.
The machine guns opened fire at this 'signal'. The front rows of Zombies ruptured under the withering fire. They were being cut down at chest level, blood and gore blossoming outwards, sending its crimson contents splaying across the mortar and bricks of the buildings around them. They crumpled, but most were still alive, the bullets not landing marks upon the brain, but upon the chest, where no vital organ existed for the zombies.
And yet, the crowd pushed on, until they were upon the machine guns, eliminating their efficiency. Gunfire was heard as the survivors tried to push back the final remnants of the Zombie army. Many were consumed. Many took their lives in their final moments, even as the zombies ripped them open and began feasting on them. Tom watched in horror. Yet, he knew what to do. He huddled under a blanket on the roof of the building, keeping entirely quite, his pistol nearby. He listened intently for a certain scream however.
He heard it. Satisfaction as the leader fell.
~:~
APC's rolled into the town, their backs opening as strike force units poured out, making surgical hits against the few remaining Zombies, emaciated being that could barely hold themselves up. The turret on the APC tracked large groups of the beings, firing off controlled bursts that kept them standing, but grouped together and held back the the sweep of the town began.
The army reached the Town Hall, where suddenly, they head the ringing of the bell. Immediately, they began their ascent upwards, killing the many Zombies that inhabitted the building. They opened the roof door and spread out, to find Tom. He was nearly dead, having lived on the little food and water that was atop the building. He was huddled, shaking against the bell, the sound coming from his own head flopping almost comically in the wind as he tried to keep control of his mentallity.
The nearest soldier came over, slinging his rifle. He knelt down, and spoke to the man.
“Sir, are you coherent?”
