Infection / Destruction / Hope

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Raccoon_City_Survivor

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Reply with quote  #1 
This is a small story I wrote over the past two days.  Figured someone would like it.



"Hold the line, hold it!" Winslow shouted over the sporadic fire of the rifles around him. His had run dry seconds before, and he was attempting to find a fresh magazine in the area around him. For fuck's sake, his mind screamed as his eyes scanned the ground. He found a man crouched down behind the barricade and grabbed him by the arm, wrenching him to his feet. "Listen, asshole, those fuckers are going to break through if you don't get your ass up and fight!" The kid probably couldn't even hear him over the gunfire.

But he stood, teary eyed and frightened, and began firing bursts into the crowd of Carriers. Winslow reached around to the front of the man's vest and fished around for a magazine. He found one and popped it into the belly of his rifle. "Thank fucking--"

"Sargeant! Sarge, where the hell are ya'?" the corporal shouted. She was dark-haired, though it was hard to tell with her helmet covering the majority of it. She connected eyes with him and made a bee-line for him. "Hey, they need you to extend the line, Sarge."

Winslow gave her a look. "Extend the lines? What-the-fuck-ever!" He emptied his magazine and reached for her vest, reloading his rifle. "I've got fifteen fucking people, they should be amazed I'm holding the line!" He looked at her again, "look, tell them we'll extend it by two feet. You got that, Stewarts?" He smiled and affixed the bayonet to the barrel of his rifle.

She hopped on her radio and told the brass, "he's going to push it out now, sir." She always did know how to translate for Winslow. She gave him two magazines from her vest and resumed shooting.

There was a moment of silence for Winslow. The gunfire still rang in his ears, but his mind cleared all the ambient noise and, looking up and down the line, he almost believed he could do this. There were Carriers everywhere in front of him, and behind him were the hands of the higher-ups pushing on his back. He let his mind wander, working up just how he would do this. The buildings around him worked the Carriers into a funnel that pointed straight to him. The road was thick with them, both runners and shamblers.

"All right, Stewarts, let's do this shit." He jumped up on the hood of a car and shot the closest Carrier. Stitched the former teen across the chest and then once in the head. "People, let's move up!" He jumped down from the car and stabbed the bayonet into the eye of a shambler--they were the only ones that moved slow enough for that sort of action. His magazine was dry as he smacked the butt of the stock into a runner and performed the fastest reload of his life before the Carrier could stand back up. It received a bullet for its efforts.

And as there was a second of lull in the fighting, he was able to look around and recognize that his soldiers had just done it. They had extended the line 20 feet from the previous barricade. It was a Goddamned miracle. Now, all he had to do was hold it. He went for a spare magazine and his hand clasped only air. He looked down, momentary panic wrenching him by the throat. "Fuck! Magazine! Someone gimme a fuckin' magazine!"

Private Mills threw him one and he reloaded his rifle. More Carriers fell every second, and to him he felt like he and his soldiers may be able to hold the line--at least temporarily.

Stewarts found Winslow and dropped down beside him. "Hey, there's a convoy comin' through here. And you're gonna be pissed as hell with this news." She handed him the portable battle radio and he strained to listen.

"--The people are pulling out of the safe zone. Thank you for all your efforts, good luck and Godspeed." The line went to hash and he looked at it, then tried to hail someone. No one replied. He handed the radio back to Stewarts just as the convoy approached. He waved down the first Humvee and noted the sergeant manning the .50 swivel the barrel toward him.

"What the fuck is gong on, sir?" He asked the passenger--a lieutenant.

The officer sighed. "The lines have all but fallen in the other areas. This is the only line that's showing stability. We're pulling out while we still can."

Winslow nodded. "All right, sir. Let me get my men into one of these trucks."

The man shook his head. "No good, sergeant. We're full. Thank you for supporting us. Drive on." He told the driver. The driver hesitated, then reluctantly stamped the accelerator. Winslow threw every obscenity that could come to mind at the man and his mother, then watched as the last truck moved out and past his line. He couldn't imagine what would be more important than his troops.

As he thought that, a man fell off the back of the Duece that brought up the rear. He wore an officers' uniform and had a pistol in his hand. While protecting himself, Winslow watched the man firing rapidly into the crowd that came at him. They had him surrounded and bleeding within seconds. Winslow felt no pity for him.

"What do we do, Sarge?" he heard Stewarts ask. He didn't know. At any minute he was going to find himself between to line of Carriers--one at the front, another at the back. He didn't much like that idea, so he emptied his magazine and got a crazy idea.

"Fall back to the safe zone! We'll take it from there." He told his soldiers. He knew there was a helicopter there. They could rearm with whatever was left behind and take off for someplace. Maybe it would work.

Maybe.


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jake1100

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Reply with quote  #2 

i like it, definately want another installment


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Reply with quote  #3 
Good job for something thrown together in two days!  Let's see if the Sarge gets his people out after the officers ran off (a bit of a cliche, but forgivable).

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Reply with quote  #4 

Another installment?  'll consider it.  Thanks.


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thasic

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Reply with quote  #5 

That's a great opening. I'd love to read more.


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DocT

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Reply with quote  #6 
Quote:
Originally Posted by Raccoon_City_Survivor

Another installment?  'll consider it.  Thanks.



It has been a month. Have you decided to stop??

That would be a shame...

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"When a guy walks away from three 5.56 rounds to the face, then I will give up my AR15."
Raccoon_City_Survivor

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Reply with quote  #7 
Quote:
Originally Posted by DocT
Quote:
Originally Posted by Raccoon_City_Survivor

Another installment?  'll consider it.  Thanks.



It has been a month. Have you decided to stop??

That would be a shame...

Well, yes and no.  I have been working on both this project that has been running for three years (this Nov. 1st) and a little side project I plan to have rapped up pretty soon.  You all will like the side project, I swear.  But I do plan to keep going with Winslow when I get the chance.


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Raccoon_City_Survivor

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Reply with quote  #8 

I shit my pants that day. The first time since I had the runs in gym class when I was in eighth grade.

But I wasn't told to let you in on my bowel movements of any moment of my life. No, you wanted to heard about Winslow. Heh. Winslow was a trip. He was quick to joke, but could rip your head off if you caught him on a bad day. Generally, I saw him as a guy I'd like to share a beer-soaked countertop with at some hole-in-the-wall bar unless there was a loud-mouthed drunk who hated men in uniform for one reason or another anywhere in the room. He was the kind of guy that hated men who couldn't find respect for those who protected their freedom in any way.

When I first met Winslow I was in Iraq, fresh off a plane and sick to my stomach with a mouth-full of sand. He was a corporal in Uncle Sam's Marines, I was a private. We were in the same unit, as mine was folded into his. He had already been there seven months, I was such a greenhorn I didn't know up from down. He looked me square in the eye during my first patrol and said to me, "you look all shook up."

He was able to get a chuckle out of me, up until the ambush. Most of it I couldn't remember, but I do remember the yelling and the deafening gunfire. It was indescribable. All I remember is an overload of confusion and looking up when it all settled, rifle clicking on empty. Winslow was looking down at me, leaning against the wheel of the Humvee we had been walking near. He was smiling at me as the choppers flew overhead, dispersing the hostiles in the area.

After realizing and swapping my empty magazine for a full one, I sat up and leaned against the Humvee next to Winslow. Still smiling, he said, "did you get anyone, or just fuck up some air, Rogers?"

Yeah, he was that kind of guy.

I'll get on with the story: only four of us made it back to the Last Ring--which were some construction barricades haphazardly strewn around what the bastards with the fresh coffee and sandwiches chose for a operation center. It was an old National Guard Armory complete with a large gated parking lot that currently served as a parking area for transport vehicles.

On the journey there, Winslow noted the helicopter on the horizon, fleeing the area. Winslow hadn't been the only one to imagine a feasible escape plan.

"Pour it on, people!" He said in a low, meaningful tone. He hadn't seen an infected person or a walking corpse in two blocks and he was sure he could hold that kind of luck with a vise grip. Too bad he didn't have a clue. He had been hearing sporadic gunfire for over a week, but nothing this close. There was an intersection coming up, and he got a bad feeling about it. He got the troops' attention and hand-signaled them to stay low and seek cover, then waited.

After a few moments, the gunfire getting louder and louder as the seconds ticked by, he found the reason; two soldiers were fleeing from runners. One man, attempting to shake off some of his weighty gear, tripped over his own feet and fell on his face. A runner came up to him, identifying the easier pry as opposed to the still-running friend.

One of the troops with Winslow raised a rifle, and Winslow shook his head. As much as he hated it, there was absolutely no way he would put them all at risk in a rescue attempt that would definitely end in tears. The troop frowned, getting back behind the cover and praying. Winslow focused back on the group and saw they were still in hot pursuit of the still-running man except for the few that were feasting on the unlucky one. He moved to the left, into an alleyway and away from the scene. His men followed him, except for one.

As he got out from behind cover, a runner spotted him and began barreling in his direction. Private Soloman frowned and threw the rest of his magazines into to alleyway. "I'll see you at the motorpool, Winslow!" he hollered into the mouth of the alley just before charging the group that had ditched the thoroughly pcked-through for a fresher adversary. Risking himself, Winslow grabbed the magazines and, tight-lipped, moved on.

The gunfire stopped seconds later.


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RixFire

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Reply with quote  #9 

Keep it up!  i liked that intro!

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Reply with quote  #10 
Quote:
Originally Posted by RixFire

Keep it up! i liked that intro!



Ok. Finally.  Like the side story about one of his men. Makes me hope they live...

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Raccoon_City_Survivor

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Reply with quote  #11 

Thanks for reading.    I'll write some before I go to work.


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Raccoon_City_Survivor

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Reply with quote  #12 
All right, I had to pull this bit out of my ass.  Lost a feel for the character so I probably won't be writing about him anymore.  Sorry, guys.

They worked their way down the alley, conscious of every open door they passed, and finally made it to the end. The gunfire in the city was still, for the most part, dwindling into nothing. Winslow could tell everyone had lost some of their morale with the loss of Jenkins, but it hadn't been avoidable. The man sacrificed himself to make sure the rest made it.

There was nothing at the end of the alley. Silence. Winslow wondered where all the infected had gone, and also the other men who were protecting the town. He risked a peek around the corner to look right, then another to look left. Clear so far. He pointed to Rogers and Collins and motioned for them to move out to the right. They had to get to the operation post. They were only two blocks away.

They made it onto the street and spread out across the two-laner, weary of the parked cars. Rogers and Collins both looked right, down a street and both of them cursed at once, bringing up their rifles to open fire on the dozens of Carriers heading their way in a run. Winslow screamed for everyone to keep going, down the road and toward the post. He dropped to a knee and unloaded a magazine in only a few seconds, killing a few but not making a sufficient dent in the ranks. He stood and swapped magazines.

Winslow was tackled by a teen in a Burger King uniform and was nearly bit before a Rogers kicked the Carrier off him and shot it twice with his rifle. He helped the sergeant up and they continued running. Rogers stole a glance at the ten-or-so troops behind them and nearly threw up. They were getting slaughtered. He stopped and unloaded two magazines into the advancing horde, trying his best not to hit his comrades. He couldn't believe the Carriers were so fast.

As they made it to the Last Ring, Winslow propped his rifle against a barricade and took precise shots at the Carriers, his soldiers being eaten made his eyes well up but he pushed back the emotions and kept firing. Three more accompanied him and joined with their rifles. After a few moments of fierce fighting, the Carriers were all disposed of. A few began to start the early signs of reanimating, but that didn't concern Winslow at the moment. He stood and headed over to the main gate and up the ladder to the helicopters on the roof.

The Last Ring was, for the most part, intact. A few barricades had been toppled in the brass' bid to leave quickly, but it was still manageable. It'd hold up until he could prep the helicopter for take off. Winslow looked in the back of the helicopter and found ammunition and food to last a few days, then got in the pilot's seat and began the sequence to get it started while the others kept a look out down below for infected.

He was nearly done with the checklist when Rogers shouted, "It's Soloman! Christ!"

Winslow looked up. Then got out of the helicopter to see him. He was busted up bad. A reanimated Carrier. "Jesus," Winslow breathed. He didn't know what else to say. He picked up his rifle, aimed and sent the private to rest. Rogers looked at him, then lowered his head in prayer. Winslow went back to the helicopter and started her up. "Come on, let's get away from here!" Winslow shouted over the humming of the rotors. Under his breath, he said, "Away from this hell."

While they were getting in, Collins sniffed the air. "Jesus, who shit their pants?"

Rogers just sat down quietly.


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