Infection / Destruction / Hope

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Raccoon_City_Survivor

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Snoogans
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Reply with quote  #1 
I know, I know.  It's no Winslow, but I liked this character aswell.

***


It was down to the last moment.  The next instant the world would be without him, and it was saddening.  He remembered what led him here, and as he closed his eyes for the last time he wondered if that was his life flashing before his eyes.  He'd had a wife--killed, kids--grown up and presumably dead, even a damn little shitzu that bit at his ankles every chance he got.  He missed that damn dog.  The house, now overrun with those damn rabid people, had been a nice house.  He couldn't believe how fast some of them were.  In his past there was a '69 Corvette Stingray in his garage.  He took it out on weekends when he wasn't attending or hosting barbeques for the neighborhood.

 

            But it was all gone.  And as a tear rolled from his closed eyelids and onto his face, he had trouble finding anything, just one experience, which he regretted.  He opened his eyes in time to see the ferocious muzzle-flash and then his world came to a close.  His limp body fell to the floor--the entrance wound the size of a penny, the back of his skull scarcely there.  His eyes were still open, giving the illusion he still harbored thought in a brain that had been blown away by a .45-caliber hollow-point.

 

            "Fuckin' old man, man."

 

            "Shut it, Jimmy," the man holding the weapon ordered, scratching the coarse hairs of his goatee.  He wiped the slide onto Jimmy's shirt and holstered it.  "This man was my mom's neighbor."

 

            Jimmy stared at him, confused.  "Then why'd you just kill him, Ian?"

 

            Ian gave him a look that said 'why can't you keep it shut?'  "Because he bitched about me breaking his weed-whacker a few years back, when I was trying to mow a few lawns around the area."  He mocked the man with a whinny tone in his voice.  "I let Caroline borrow it, not her son."  He scoffed.  "Now look who's the asshole?  You Frank!"  He kicked the man in the head, sending more grey matter onto the floor.  Jimmy winced.

 

            "Now let's get out of here."  Ian waved Jimmy to follow him.  They left the backyard and the few dead that were sprawled out on the lawn.  "Those shots are bound attract some of those Freaks."  Freak was a name he had chosen for them.  He couldn't remember the name the news networks used.  Couriers, or some bullshit like that.  Fuck it.  He liked his name better.  Walking around to the front of the house, he heard some gunshots coming from the rest of his people.  He rounded the corner and found that they were almost nearly surrounded.

 

            He loaded a fresh magazine into his pistol, and started firing into the crowd.  His shots had no effect on them, as the gun was new to him and his aim was piss-poor.  He ran past the crashed vehicle that the people in the backyard had been trying to flee the city in and jumped into his favored car--the Brinks truck that he had found on the street a few weeks back.  He fired off a few more rounds as he waited for the driver to get in.

 

            "Hurry, get in the damn cars, you worthless motherfuckers!"  he shouted, but no one heard over the firearms discharging.  Some of them did it to get away from the hordes, but others had seen the hand movements of Ian and were glad to go.  The three-vehicle convoy peeled out of the area with the hordes of Freaks in tow.

 

 

 

Unknown to them, there was a man watching.  He was on the third floor of the structure that sat diagonally across the street from the house.  This man was watching through a scope that was settled on a sound-suppressed M1-A rifle.  It was the civilian model of the military classic M-14, but it suited his needs ten-fold.  He had been sitting in this area for a month now, and, getting up to refresh his coffee, perhaps it was time to get out and see some sights.  As he stirred the single sugar into the black concoction, he thought that perhaps he should have helped those people.  Every life was valued until it proved itself indecent.  That man with the goatee, along with his entire retinue, had proven themselves indecent.  He allowed himself a smirk to accompany his coffee.

 

            Two hours later Ian had arrived at his destination.  On a normal day, without traffic making the streets impassable, it would have been more of a forty-five-minute drive.  The Freaks had also become a problem, it seemed that for every one that they lost, two more would appear and catch up somehow.  These things ran, but Ian was surprised at how they could think.  Shit, they were probably smarter than he was.

 

            He approached the heavily gated entrance to his place in the woods.  It was secluded enough that they weren't bothered by more than could be handled.  He nodded to the guards, to let them know it was him.  He should shoot them for not letting him in immediately, but he kept his sidearm in his lap.  As they pulled the five-minute drive from the concrete perimeter, he thought about the previous tenants.  A couple ex-merc types, real survivalists.  They built this place to be defendable.  They were probably going to last forever, if they hadn't let his Nancy in.  He grinned.  Nancy had bedded with one, showing how full of gratitude she was for him saving her.  She killed him in his sleep.  She caught the other guy drunk.  He was an easy kill, Ian bet.

 

            His grin grew wider.  It had all been so easy.  She had even gotten some information on secret passages and areas that weren't even on blueprints.  There was a passage to outside the perimeter.  A garage built into the side of a hill about a mile away.  The state park probably didn't know about it.  It didn't matter, though.  All the park rangers and officials were dead.  She was a real peach.  "Was," being the key word.  He'd caught her with his number two man one night, and had hung them out to dry in the middle of an infested city.  It probably didn't help that Ian had placed a boombox below them and turned it to the maximum volumn, or that they had been hung by their wrists just high enough to where the Freaks could only bite the waist and down.

 

            He got out of the car and up the collapsable stairs into the foyer.  The pistol was holstered--who needed to clean these, anyway?--and his coat came off.  He had a tight shirt that showed off his muscular physique, thanks to the workout room in the basement.  He remembered when he was skinny and a weakling, now he was fit for battle.  Ian had instituted the rule that all his men were going to be fit, like him.  He killed all the fatties and threw them in the city.

 

            Sitting down in his chair, he let a woman bring him some home-brewed beer.  He drank and remembered a time when beer didn't taste like his home-brewed muck.  He thought of when the Freaks first started showing up nearly a year ago.  He mowed lawns and shit like that, sold downers that his mom had prescriptions for so he could get cash to buy weed to smoke.  Now all that was gone.  He grew the weed out back, so there was no need for steeling to get it.  The lawns went unmowed due to the fact that it had become quite a dangerous profession to sit on something that generated a lot of noise in an unprotected area.  There was just nothing to fucking do.  Even going into the city was getting more and more dangerous every day.  It's like the Freaks were learning Ian's habits.

 

            He leaned back in his chair, stroking his long goatee and gazing at nothing with his thoughtful blue eyes.  His diaphragm produced a long sigh.

 

            Jimmy took notice, taking a hit off a bong.  "Boss," he coughed, "you all right, boss?"

 

            Ian looked to his new number two.  The idiot.  "Yeah.  Just gimme that bong, leave the room, and tell Tiffany to get in here."

 

            Back in the city, the man risked a glance over the knee-high wall that seperated the yard from the street that seemed to be full of the bastards.  They were just standing there, looking at the sky as the rain fell and the lightning struck.  They seemed to be unphazed by the thunder, or perhaps they didn't notice it.  He watched them for a few moments, then resumed his crawling.  The downpour was deafening, so he didn't worry about making a little noise.

 

            The wall grew taller the further down he crawled, the tallest being about waist-hieghth before ending and opening up into a driveway.  He knelt down at the edge and peered around, trying to make his actions slightly slower than the average person so as not to attract attention.  The majority of them were still watching the lightning dance across the sky, but others were milling about.  He watched them for a few minutes longer, taking in all the area.  He found nothing he could use.

 

            His lips pursed, he gauged the distance from one wall to the next.  It was nearly eight feet to the next wall, and with those rotten fuckers, it may as well have been a full mile.  He stabbed his knife into the dirt to free up his hand and unlatched his holster, pulling out the Glock Model 19 with threaded barrel, and then the sound suppressor out of the pouch on the front of his vest.  A few seconds later he had a sound-suppressed Glock.  White knuckles grasped the polymer killing machine as he took another glance around the corner.

 

            They were still busying themselves with meaningless shit.  He wondered how they could just stand around and wait for so long.  Their forms were lightning fast whenever there was food within view, but right now--with nothing in sight but each other--their actions were slow and utterly pointless.  He watched them for a moment more as he picked up his knife and wiped it off on his pantleg.

 

            He noticed a change in ferocity in the rain and looked up into the sky.  The rain was getting lighter.  He needed to move now before it stopped altogether.  He looked around the corner once more, found that none were looking in his direction, and bolted silently across the open area.  He stopped near at the edge of the wall and fell on his back, holding his weapon up.  If any of the rotted carriers had heard or seen him, they would come and look for him.  The twenty seconds he mentally ticked off seemed like hours to him.  His heart was beating deeply, and it felt like it was in his throat.  He had been feeling this quite often these past few months; the teeth of fear clasping around his bare neck.

 

            Fortunately, none had seen him, though one had come awfully close.  It had seen a shadow, but was too mesmerized by the lightning to care.  The man stood and took off to the side of the house, he had a cache of supplies in this area, so his map said.  He looked at the door to the rear of the house and grinned.  It had been marked with a FEMA-style stamp, so he could tell which house he had caches in.  He tried the knob and found it unlocked.  It should be, he had left it that way the last time he had visited.

 

            Sheathing his blade, he nudged the door with his pistol and peered into the dark interior.  Hopefully, no one had come across his cache.  He closed the door and knelt down, searching the floor and finding what he was looking for in a matter of minutes.  It was a trip wire attached to some glass bottles.  It was his security device.  It showed him if anyone had been there since his last visit, and also woke him up if anyone were to come while he was sleeping.

 

            He stepped over it and walked over to the table, setting his gear down.  He felt mildly secure in this house, and would probably rest for a while.  There was only an hour until dawn, and the nearest safehouse was too far away for him to be sneaking around.  It was only about two blocks away.  He frowned.  He remembered when this city was safe.  On saturdays there were children on bikes in the roads, enjoying the beginnings of their weekends.  He shook away the thoughts and opened the eyelids that he hadn't realized he had shut.

 

            Yawning, he took his gear back up and walked up the flight of stairs and into the attic.  The sleeping bag was still where he had left it, along with the box of edibles and small table with chair.  He sat in the chair and stripped and cleaned his pistol and rifle, checked the backpack for any leaks.  It had advertised a water-tight seal, and so far it had held up to it's promise.  He then laid down for a few minutes.  He considered eating, but didn't feel hungry.  Maybe in a few hours when he awoke from his nap.  He wasn't laying there for one hour before he heard it.  There was a loud clattering, and glass scattering across a wood floor.  It shattered the calmness he appreciated so much.

 

            His hand went straight to his pistol.  There was a second of confusion and then it all registered and he checked the chamber and walked over to the retractable stairway that provided access to the attic.  He knelt down and put an ear to the thin wood that seperated the attic from the second floor.  There was only silence.  After listening for a few minutes longer, he quietly stalked over to a small window and gazed out onto the area below.  Some of them were looking in his direction, but not a one of them seemed to be interested.  He reminded himself to think about that later.

 

            There were soft footsteps.  Deliberate, calm.  Not one of those beasts.  This was different, a rarity--a human being in a world gone crazy.  Moving back over to the stairs, he pondered if the newcomer was hostile or just curious.  He clicked the weapon's safety off, deciding to be cautious.  He lowered the stairs--the well-oiled mechanism making no noise.  He lowered himself into the hallway and gazed into the infinite darkness, straining his hearing to discover the footsteps once more.  He heard one, on the stairs that led down into the first floor.

 

            He took a breath.  "If it's food you want, I can offer you none."  He utilized the talent that he had worked to a perfect tune over the many years; throwing his voice.  He made it sound as if he were standing on the opposite side of the hall.

 

            The footsteps stopped.  "What, then, can you offer?"  The voice came back to him.  "In exchange for your life?"

 

            He fired upon the intruder.  The room lit up for an instant, enough for him to see the man who wanted him dead.  He redirected his fire and squeezed the trigger.  It impacted the man in the shoulder, and he fired as a scream escaped his throat.  Another shot ended his life and sent defender into a panic.  The rotten bastards must have heard the scream.

 

            He wheeled around and took to the stairs as fast as he could.  He picked up his rifle and bag.  He had no time to resupply, only time to escape.  His boots went on and he flew down the stairs, and into the second floor.  He could hear them busting into the doors and windows as he cleared the flight of stairs the led him to the ground floor.  His pistol discharged three times into into the closest one, but he knew he couldn't kill them all.  Sighting up for another shot, he was hit from the side and pushed to the floor.

 

            Landing on his side under the beast, he was worried for a second he wasn't going to make it.  Maybe this was it.  He'd be gone the next second and a new buffet would open in the suburban district--limited time only.  The ragged breath of the rabid remains of the human nearly made him gag.  Hearing more windows shattered, he attempted to twist himself so as to get a shot in the beast's center mass.  Before he could position himself so that the monster was in his sights, the heavy weight was lifted off him and another larger beast threw Stinky Breath across the living room.

 

            The man didn't hesitate, he pointed the weapon at the larger monster and fired twice into his chest.  He didn't wait to see the rabid human fall to the ground and choke the last breath out before finally resting on the hardwood floor.  The man dashed into the basement, firing as he went.  He emptied the magazine and exchanged it after swinging the door shut.  He hurried down the steps and looked at the tools that lay before him.

 

            A few moments later the rabid group busted the door off its hinges and barreled down the steps and spread into an empty basement.  They stood for a moment, unsure what to do at the moment.  They had seen the man come this way, but he was nowhere to be found.  Seemingly at the same instant, they noticed an open window leading to the outside, and they ran toward it.

 

            If they had noticed the trip wire that triggered the explosives, it was a short-lived realization.


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DocT

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Reply with quote  #2 
Very nice beginning.

The thought of a future conflict between the Professional and the Criminal Ian pulls you right into the story.

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Raccoon_City_Survivor

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A block away a woman sat in a dark living room, she had just finished a snack of stale potato chips and was cleaning her firearm when the gunshot had aroused her attention. She got up and calmly walked up to the circular, slatted window that would provide her to see the street below. After adjusting the slats to maximize her view, she found a house that seemed to be swarming with the Carriers. She noted the flashes of light coming from the first floor, and was sure they were gunshots--but there was no sound. Perhaps a silencer?

She glanced back at her stripped MP5K fitted with a silencer and grinned. Of course, how does someone survive without on of them? The weapon he was using probably had a silencer. She looked back out the window just in time to see a dark form dart between the besieged house and another. And ten seconds later the house went up in a ball of fire. She put the weapon back together as quickly as she could and decided to persue the dark form. Another reason is that she did not want to be caught in the middle of a city when there was a large fireball that was bound to attract more than a few dozen Carriers. She just wasn't that good at what she did. Laura Kindrell, former spook and CIA operative.

She took the back entrance and kept in the darkness, between the cookie-cutter houses. The grass hadn't been mowed in a few months, so she was sure to check the ground for any parapalegic Carriers--she remembered the last time she had run into one, and shivers ran up and down her spine. Laura ceased her flashback when a loud, thrashing noise erupted from behind her. She turned and saw two shadows running in her direction. She ducked and rolled to her right, keeping flat on the ground and against the wall with her weapon pointed at the duo of lumbering shadows.

The hair on the back of her neck was tingling as she watched the horrific monstrousities came abreast of her position. One stopped, emitting a low howl after he sniffed the air. She aligned that one into her sights and waited. He was a gentleman in a windbreaker and black slacks, the other was a punk with a torn metal tee and multiple piercings on his face. The windbreaker would be the first to go if she decided to open fire.

Windbreaker stopped sniffing, and began running again. The punk followed suit, and soon the noises faded until she heard nothing. After counting to ten, she stood and followed her previous route to persue the shadow that had escaped from the house. She looked up at the half-moon and let out an inaudible sigh--she'd have to be careful, those Carriers can see as well as she in the light.

She began in the direction the man had gone, and skirted around a few houses making her way west. After a few hours, she had made it to thee outskirts of the city and still saw no sign of the man. It looked as though he had disappeared into thin air. She moved into an office building as the first light of the morning made it to the horizon. She would need to make a place to stay. From the position behind the car, she scanned the buildings, feeling like she had eyes on her--but only seeing the dark windows of the businesses around her. Something caught her eye and she focused on it.

A FEMA evacuation symbol on a business--Jerry's Auto Repair. That was odd. Houses were marked, most businesses weren't unless it was a business that had a quarters for the owner in the facility. She read it and frowned. One occupant, no survivors. The owner was apparently dead. Laura took a look around and bolted for the business. Curiousity had taken a firm hold of her, and she wouldn't move on until the area had been looked over for supplies. She tried the knob, and it was unlocked. After letting herself in, she turned the light mounted on the front of her weapon on and looked over the area. All she saw was useless mach--

"State your name and purpose." The hard voice demanded.

She went low, next to a tool cabinet. The voice had sounded like it was across the room, on the other side of the cabinet. She could use it as cover until she found out was the man wanted. "Laura Kindrell, I'm just trying to find supplies--"

The man cut her off. "You can find supplies elsewhere. Get lost."

"But it's almost daylight, I'll be breakfast to any Carrier that sees me--"

"Your problem, lady." He said, harshly.

She pursed her lips. This man was beginning to irritate her. "Look, how about I come out into the open?"

"As long as it's before you leave."

"Why are you acting so rude?" Perhaps she could get a response from that.

A few seconds elapsed before he answered. She thought maybe he had taken off. "Disarm yourself and come out."

She placed her weapon on the ground as well as her sidearm and came into the open. A hand touched her on the shoulder and she turned to face the man that had survived the rushing Carriers. After a moment of staring at his face and eyes, it came to her. After years of having worked with the man, it was incredible to see him among the living. "Wolf," she managed to say after a few seconds of realization.

He chuckled, slinging his rifle. "Foxy Lady." 'Wolf' had been his call sign on quite a few asignments, including a few that they had been on together. She'd had her own, but he couldn't remember calling her anything but 'Foxy Lady.'

"How long as it been? Two, three years?" She asked.

"As long as you've been with the 'Agency.' " He said that as if he was wishing hellfire upon it.

"It was actually nice working there." She defended, hands on her hips. Uh-oh, Wolf thought. "I didn't have to go deep into foreign countries to take out assholes of the political agenda, or collect intelligence. It was a great little desk job that was still pretty damn exciting."

He nodded. "Yeah, they were great when they left me to rot in Korea." She averted her gaze, and he huffed. "Two years I spent getting tortured and mutilated in that hellhole and your Agency didn't even negotiate. Tell me you didn't hear about it." She didn't say anything. "I thought so. Thankfully, I had a friend on the inside that helped me out." He turned away and started up the stairs to the area he kept for himself.

He dropped the subject, so did she. "How've you been surviving?"

Wolf shrugged. "Better than most of the world." He gave her a once-over, noticing that she didn't look unclean like most of the survivors he had seen. "And yourself? You look like you've been in a bunker since day one."

She smirked. "I have been. It was a little panic room I had installed." He rolled his eyes after turning away to put some coffee on. If she had noticed, she didn't say anything. "I heard on the shortwave that there's some sort of government sprouting out in the mid-west. So I put the last of my food in my bag and opened the door. That was back in Charleston."

He cut his eyes to her. Charleston? Jesus, that must've been full of creeps. He told her the same.

"It wasn't as bad as you would think. I had camera's hooked up to the inside and outside of my home. I pretty much just waited for it to clear up before I left. The rest was just sticking to the shadows." She brushed her hair back and he felt something pop in his head. She was quite a beauty. He had bonked her in both Samolia and Bosnia, and would never forget it. He wasn't a sentimental man, he just never forgot great sex. He had a feeling she felt something for him, but he couldn't and they both knew it. She wanted that picket fence with the little puppy. He was bred for something else.

For a second he thought of all the times they'd spent together. There had been more missions than Bosnia and Samolia. He thought back in time, to a distant place. Training. That's when the two had met. He already had quite a few years of Rangers under his belt, and had been selected to undergo a type of training he had never heard of. It was under the code name Black Eagle, or something ridiculous like that. She had been pretty good at it, but the leaders had flunked her anyway with a good recommendation to the Company. That seemed like it had been a lifetime ago.

Laura noticed him staring at the wall and asked, "what are you thinking about?"

Wolf looked to her a drained the last of the coffee from the cup. "Nothing. Look, you can nod off in there. I'll keep watch and wake you up in four hours." Looking out the window at the sun bathing in between the buildings with its rays of light, felt her come up behind him and touch his shoulder. He had screwed her in other parts of the world, why not the US of A? He looked at her and her eyes read something that he hadn't seen before. It was lust, but a whole lot more.

"Come on," she said with a smile, motioning for him to follow her. "Keep me safe in here." He followed.

That night at dusk he rolled off the matress and checked the perimeter. Everything was quiet. He was glad that she was a soundless sleeper and didn't snore or have nightmares as most people had gotten since the rise of the Rotheads. He tried not to dream if he could help it, but he did from time to time--like it had hours befor e he decided to get up He had been forming a plan for that time he had been awake, and it required quite a bit of work. Hard work.

 

 

Four days later Ian was making another run into the town--probably the last, as he had gutted all the supplies he could from the shithole. He would have to make his runs elsewhere. He sighed, knowing this run would more than likely be fruitless, but he knew he had to make it once more or he couldn't call the town empty. He was behind the lead vehicles, holding a two-way radio so that he knew everything that was going on in the lead vehicle. So far they'd seen a couple Dead Fucks, but nothing out of the ordinary.

"Looks like a dry run," he turned and looked to his driver, "but keep alert, I haven't lost my last bit of hope."

"Ian, we got a sign up ahead." The two-way crackled. "Looks new."

Ian paused, looked to Jimmy. "What's so great about a fucking sign?" he pressed the button on the side of the radio and said, "fine, then. What's it say?"

"Survivors up ahead. The need medicine." There was a second of pause. "What d'ya say, boss?"

Ian shrugged. "I say we pay these survivors in need of medicine and very intimate visit." He licked his lips. All the bitches back home were too worn out for his tastes, and he needed some news ones to spruce up his personal activities. He licked his lips in anticipation and lit a cigarette in the armored truck as he gave Jimmy and glance.

The radio crackled once more, " 'intimate visit,' boss?"

Ian sighed, a puff of cigarette smoke evaporating into the air like the muscles beneath his shoulders as they slumped in a show of defeat. "Just fucking lead the way, moron."

 

 

Wolf held still. He knelt in a dumspter, ready to spring up and cause a bit of mayhem. He could hear engines rumbling, and grinned. They'd fallen for his trap. They were idiots. He glanced at the pack of ammo and C-4 that he had found during a visit to an old National Guard Armory that had failed as a rescue station for the survivors in the first few days the plague had hit the town. It was heavier than he preffered, but he could deal.

The silenced M-14 lie beside him in the dumpster--he needed to time it just perfect, or he could fail miserably and that would spell disaster for his plan. The reason the rifle lay beside him is due to the switch he held that was used to set off the few dozen pounds of C-4 he had triggered to explode. To sweeten the pot, he had found some copper BBs from a sporting goods store and made a few pounds into make-shift claymores.

This bunch would be in for quite a surprise when they realized there weren't any innocent survivors to prey on, Wolf saw to that. He lifted the lid a half-inch and checked the advance of the convoy. They were almost on the mark, and then he'd have them. The lead car stopped, followed by the other four vehicles and soon the whole gang was on the road, scanning the area for hostiles and survivors. One man, looked to be the leader, was barking orders to the rest and that was Wolf's first kill.

"Boom," he said simply and clicked the trigger to the explosive. The blast was tremendous, and the whole area was rocked with the screams of pain from a half-dozen of the men under Ian's command. Before the men had been able to fully recover from the explosion Wolf was shouldering the rifle outside the dumpster as he alligned the crosshairs on the center of the leader's chest. The leader had time to look at the man in the dark alley before Jimmy--his face pelted with ricocheted BBs--crashed him to the ground screaming in pain.

Wolf still pulled the trigger. The .308 Full Metal Jacket projectile slammed into Jimmy's back, came out of his gut and into Ian's right hip. Ian yelped as he hit the ground hard and forced the still-screaming Jimmy off his hip. Wolf began to sight Ian in once more, but by that time a majority of the group had spotted him and were ready to open fire.

Time to scoot. He dodged to his left, into an old department store, his bag in tow. He had planned this exit, and well. The next time he would see daylight would be right outside the convoy--and he could easily jump aboard in all the confusion and hang on until they arrive home. If all went as planned. He spotted an item of his and he picked it up, his M-11 that he had converted to fully-automatic in the few days that proceeded this one, in the event that he were followed by a few of the jerk-offs.

Nope, no noises. The ones that were alive were more than likely still reeling from the explosion and following assassination attempt to be worried about pursuit. He continued his way to the exit point, pausing once by a window to watch as the leader shot the man that had crashed into him, screaming at the man to shut up. Confusion in the battlefield brought the worst out of the inexperienced sometimes.

He snuck through the rest of the stripmall and to the exit--nearly on the opposite side of the convoy than when he began. In a flash he was running and inside one of the trucks, his pistol drawn as he drilled a neat hole in the side of driver's head. Luckily, no one had been in sight and he was stretching out the rubber on the tire in no time as he caught up with the convoy. He smiled and looked up at the top floor of a building along the way. He saw Laura looking down at him, and he gave her a nod.

"You should come with me, Wolf," Laura told him the day before, just as he had finished converting the machine pistol, "if there is a sort of government growing the the midwest, they could use a talent like yours."

He had given her a hard stare. "Foxy, men like me are a dime a dozen. We exist because the system exists--the system is what made us what we are, and when you find the system, you'll find as many of me as that system desires. And when that system is through with us, we disappear." He indicated the tattoo on his wrist--a tattoo he had recieved in North Korea during his prison term.

She knew what it was. She hadn't seen many of them on living men. "You take care of yourself, Wolf."

He smiled. "You watch that ass, Foxy." And then he was gone.

And she was left to wonder just who the hell that man was.


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A block away a woman sat in a dark living room, she had just finished a snack of stale potato chips and was cleaning her firearm when the gunshot had aroused her attention. She got up and calmly walked up to the circular, slatted window that would provide her to see the street below. After adjusting the slats to maximize her view, she found a house that seemed to be swarming with the Carriers. She noted the flashes of light coming from the first floor, and was sure they were gunshots--but there was no sound. Perhaps a silencer?

She glanced back at her stripped MP5K fitted with a silencer and grinned. Of course, how does someone survive without on of them? The weapon he was using probably had a silencer. She looked back out the window just in time to see a dark form dart between the besieged house and another. And ten seconds later the house went up in a ball of fire. She put the weapon back together as quickly as she could and decided to persue the dark form. Another reason is that she did not want to be caught in the middle of a city when there was a large fireball that was bound to attract more than a few dozen Carriers. She just wasn't that good at what she did. Laura Kindrell, former spook and CIA operative.

She took the back entrance and kept in the darkness, between the cookie-cutter houses. The grass hadn't been mowed in a few months, so she was sure to check the ground for any parapalegic Carriers--she remembered the last time she had run into one, and shivers ran up and down her spine. Laura ceased her flashback when a loud, thrashing noise erupted from behind her. She turned and saw two shadows running in her direction. She ducked and rolled to her right, keeping flat on the ground and against the wall with her weapon pointed at the duo of lumbering shadows.

The hair on the back of her neck was tingling as she watched the horrific monstrousities came abreast of her position. One stopped, emitting a low howl after he sniffed the air. She aligned that one into her sights and waited. He was a gentleman in a windbreaker and black slacks, the other was a punk with a torn metal tee and multiple piercings on his face. The windbreaker would be the first to go if she decided to open fire.

Windbreaker stopped sniffing, and began running again. The punk followed suit, and soon the noises faded until she heard nothing. After counting to ten, she stood and followed her previous route to persue the shadow that had escaped from the house. She looked up at the half-moon and let out an inaudible sigh--she'd have to be careful, those Carriers can see as well as she in the light.

She began in the direction the man had gone, and skirted around a few houses making her way west. After a few hours, she had made it to thee outskirts of the city and still saw no sign of the man. It looked as though he had disappeared into thin air. She moved into an office building as the first light of the morning made it to the horizon. She would need to make a place to stay. From the position behind the car, she scanned the buildings, feeling like she had eyes on her--but only seeing the dark windows of the businesses around her. Something caught her eye and she focused on it.

A FEMA evacuation symbol on a business--Jerry's Auto Repair. That was odd. Houses were marked, most businesses weren't unless it was a business that had a quarters for the owner in the facility. She read it and frowned. One occupant, no survivors. The owner was apparently dead. Laura took a look around and bolted for the business. Curiousity had taken a firm hold of her, and she wouldn't move on until the area had been looked over for supplies. She tried the knob, and it was unlocked. After letting herself in, she turned the light mounted on the front of her weapon on and looked over the area. All she saw was useless mach--

"State your name and purpose." The hard voice demanded.

She went low, next to a tool cabinet. The voice had sounded like it was across the room, on the other side of the cabinet. She could use it as cover until she found out was the man wanted. "Laura Kindrell, I'm just trying to find supplies--"

The man cut her off. "You can find supplies elsewhere. Get lost."

"But it's almost daylight, I'll be breakfast to any Carrier that sees me--"

"Your problem, lady." He said, harshly.

She pursed her lips. This man was beginning to irritate her. "Look, how about I come out into the open?"

"As long as it's before you leave."

"Why are you acting so rude?" Perhaps she could get a response from that.

A few seconds elapsed before he answered. She thought maybe he had taken off. "Disarm yourself and come out."

She placed her weapon on the ground as well as her sidearm and came into the open. A hand touched her on the shoulder and she turned to face the man that had survived the rushing Carriers. After a moment of staring at his face and eyes, it came to her. After years of having worked with the man, it was incredible to see him among the living. "Wolf," she managed to say after a few seconds of realization.

He chuckled, slinging his rifle. "Foxy Lady." 'Wolf' had been his call sign on quite a few asignments, including a few that they had been on together. She'd had her own, but he couldn't remember calling her anything but 'Foxy Lady.'

"How long as it been? Two, three years?" She asked.

"As long as you've been with the 'Agency.' " He said that as if he was wishing hellfire upon it.

"It was actually nice working there." She defended, hands on her hips. Uh-oh, Wolf thought. "I didn't have to go deep into foreign countries to take out assholes of the political agenda, or collect intelligence. It was a great little desk job that was still pretty damn exciting."

He nodded. "Yeah, they were great when they left me to rot in Korea." She averted her gaze, and he huffed. "Two years I spent getting tortured and mutilated in that hellhole and your Agency didn't even negotiate. Tell me you didn't hear about it." She didn't say anything. "I thought so. Thankfully, I had a friend on the inside that helped me out." He turned away and started up the stairs to the area he kept for himself.

He dropped the subject, so did she. "How've you been surviving?"

Wolf shrugged. "Better than most of the world." He gave her a once-over, noticing that she didn't look unclean like most of the survivors he had seen. "And yourself? You look like you've been in a bunker since day one."

She smirked. "I have been. It was a little panic room I had installed." He rolled his eyes after turning away to put some coffee on. If she had noticed, she didn't say anything. "I heard on the shortwave that there's some sort of government sprouting out in the mid-west. So I put the last of my food in my bag and opened the door. That was back in Charleston."

He cut his eyes to her. Charleston? Jesus, that must've been full of creeps. He told her the same.

"It wasn't as bad as you would think. I had camera's hooked up to the inside and outside of my home. I pretty much just waited for it to clear up before I left. The rest was just sticking to the shadows." She brushed her hair back and he felt something pop in his head. She was quite a beauty. He had bonked her in both Samolia and Bosnia, and would never forget it. He wasn't a sentimental man, he just never forgot great sex. He had a feeling she felt something for him, but he couldn't and they both knew it. She wanted that picket fence with the little puppy. He was bred for something else.

For a second he thought of all the times they'd spent together. There had been more missions than Bosnia and Samolia. He thought back in time, to a distant place. Training. That's when the two had met. He already had quite a few years of Rangers under his belt, and had been selected to undergo a type of training he had never heard of. It was under the code name Black Eagle, or something ridiculous like that. She had been pretty good at it, but the leaders had flunked her anyway with a good recommendation to the Company. That seemed like it had been a lifetime ago.

Laura noticed him staring at the wall and asked, "what are you thinking about?"

Wolf looked to her a drained the last of the coffee from the cup. "Nothing. Look, you can nod off in there. I'll keep watch and wake you up in four hours." Looking out the window at the sun bathing in between the buildings with its rays of light, felt her come up behind him and touch his shoulder. He had screwed her in other parts of the world, why not the US of A? He looked at her and her eyes read something that he hadn't seen before. It was lust, but a whole lot more.

"Come on," she said with a smile, motioning for him to follow her. "Keep me safe in here." He followed.

That night at dusk he rolled off the matress and checked the perimeter. Everything was quiet. He was glad that she was a soundless sleeper and didn't snore or have nightmares as most people had gotten since the rise of the Rotheads. He tried not to dream if he could help it, but he did from time to time--like it had hours befor e he decided to get up He had been forming a plan for that time he had been awake, and it required quite a bit of work. Hard work.

 

 

Four days later Ian was making another run into the town--probably the last, as he had gutted all the supplies he could from the shithole. He would have to make his runs elsewhere. He sighed, knowing this run would more than likely be fruitless, but he knew he had to make it once more or he couldn't call the town empty. He was behind the lead vehicles, holding a two-way radio so that he knew everything that was going on in the lead vehicle. So far they'd seen a couple Dead Fucks, but nothing out of the ordinary.

"Looks like a dry run," he turned and looked to his driver, "but keep alert, I haven't lost my last bit of hope."

"Ian, we got a sign up ahead." The two-way crackled. "Looks new."

Ian paused, looked to Jimmy. "What's so great about a fucking sign?" he pressed the button on the side of the radio and said, "fine, then. What's it say?"

"Survivors up ahead. The need medicine." There was a second of pause. "What d'ya say, boss?"

Ian shrugged. "I say we pay these survivors in need of medicine and very intimate visit." He licked his lips. All the bitches back home were too worn out for his tastes, and he needed some news ones to spruce up his personal activities. He licked his lips in anticipation and lit a cigarette in the armored truck as he gave Jimmy and glance.

The radio crackled once more, " 'intimate visit,' boss?"

Ian sighed, a puff of cigarette smoke evaporating into the air like the muscles beneath his shoulders as they slumped in a show of defeat. "Just fucking lead the way, moron."

 

 

Wolf held still. He knelt in a dumspter, ready to spring up and cause a bit of mayhem. He could hear engines rumbling, and grinned. They'd fallen for his trap. They were idiots. He glanced at the pack of ammo and C-4 that he had found during a visit to an old National Guard Armory that had failed as a rescue station for the survivors in the first few days the plague had hit the town. It was heavier than he preffered, but he could deal.

The silenced M1A lie beside him in the dumpster--he needed to time it just perfect, or he could fail miserably and that would spell disaster for his plan. The reason the rifle lay beside him is due to the switch he held that was used to set off the few dozen pounds of C-4 he had triggered to explode. To sweeten the pot, he had found some copper BBs from a sporting goods store and made a few pounds into make-shift claymores.

This bunch would be in for quite a surprise when they realized there weren't any innocent survivors to prey on, Wolf saw to that. He lifted the lid a half-inch and checked the advance of the convoy. They were almost on the mark, and then he'd have them. The lead car stopped, followed by the other four vehicles and soon the whole gang was on the road, scanning the area for hostiles and survivors. One man, looked to be the leader, was barking orders to the rest and that was Wolf's first kill.

"Boom," he said simply and clicked the trigger to the explosive. The blast was tremendous, and the whole area was rocked with the screams of pain from a half-dozen of the men under Ian's command. Before the men had been able to fully recover from the explosion Wolf was shouldering the rifle outside the dumpster as he alligned the crosshairs on the center of the leader's chest. The leader had time to look at the man in the dark alley before Jimmy--his face pelted with ricocheted BBs--crashed him to the ground screaming in pain.

Wolf still pulled the trigger. The .308 Full Metal Jacket projectile slammed into Jimmy's back, came out of his gut and into Ian's right hip. Ian yelped as he hit the ground hard and forced the still-screaming Jimmy off his hip. Wolf began to sight Ian in once more, but by that time a majority of the group had spotted him and were ready to open fire.

Time to scoot. He dodged to his left, into an old department store, his bag in tow. He had planned this exit, and well. The next time he would see daylight would be right outside the convoy--and he could easily jump aboard in all the confusion and hang on until they arrive home. If all went as planned. He spotted an item of his and he picked it up, his M-11 that he had converted to fully-automatic in the few days that proceeded this one, in the event that he were followed by a few of the jerk-offs.

Nope, no noises. The ones that were alive were more than likely still reeling from the explosion and following assassination attempt to be worried about pursuit. He continued his way to the exit point, pausing once by a window to watch as the leader shot the man that had crashed into him, screaming at the man to shut up. Confusion in the battlefield brought the worst out of the inexperienced sometimes.

He snuck through the rest of the stripmall and to the exit--nearly on the opposite side of the convoy than when he began. In a flash he was running and inside one of the trucks, his pistol drawn as he drilled a neat hole in the side of driver's head. Luckily, no one had been in sight and he was stretching out the rubber on the tire in no time as he caught up with the convoy. He smiled and looked up at the top floor of a building along the way. He saw Laura looking down at him, and he gave her a nod.

"You should come with me, Wolf," Laura told him the day before, just as he had finished converting the machine pistol, "if there is a sort of government growing the the midwest, they could use a talent like yours."

He had given her a hard stare. "Foxy, men like me are a dime a dozen. We exist because the system exists--the system is what made us what we are, and when you find the system, you'll find as many of me as that system desires. And when that system is through with us, we disappear." He indicated the tattoo on his wrist--a tattoo he had recieved in North Korea during his prison term.

She knew what it was. She hadn't seen many of them on living men. "You take care of yourself, Wolf."

He smiled. "You watch that ass, Foxy." And then he was gone.

And she was left to wonder just who the hell that man was.


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Reply with quote  #5 
Say it ain't so. You decided not to include the obligatory sex scene!!

The horror of it.   

  There is now nothing to live for in ZPAW.

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Reply with quote  #6 
Note: My bad, I said he had an M1A in the beginning and then later said it was an M-14.  I think everyone can work around this.

EDIT: Isn't an implication of sex just as good?

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Reply with quote  #7 
Quote:
Originally Posted by Raccoon_City_Survivor
Note: My bad, I said he had an M1A in the beginning and then later said it was an M-14.  I think everyone can work around this.

EDIT: Isn't an implication of sex just as good?


Just don't have him fire auto rounds, if it was a M1A you wanted him to originally carry (more likely he would pick up one of those in a ZPAW).

No way an implication is good. I need something for my imagination to build upon. But then that's me. 

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Reply with quote  #8 

Edit: (Not sure who was posting as me, but I don't appreciate it.)


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Reply with quote  #9 
Huh??? 

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Reply with quote  #10 

????

I don't know what that is... But I didn't post it.  I'm not even up at 2am.

I can't see pictures at work, but whatever it was, I editted the post and removed it.


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Reply with quote  #11 

Pulling through the gates, he wondered if the screaming man he had heard earlier in the back of the postal delivery van was dead, or maybe just knocked out? He couldn't tell, as the gate that gave him access to the back was closed shut and locked. And he continued to wonder as he laid a medium-sized brick under the seat, primed and ready to wreak havoc. He palmed the switch as he cut the engine and disappeared in the area around what he guessed was the motorpool. He hid behind a table full of engine parts and looked around for a means of escape. He would have to give the area wide birth when he triggered the brick.

"Hey, where's Colliin?" one man asked, pointing to the van with his finger. Wolf supposed he was talking about the driver of the van, but it didn't matter. A friend of the man patted him on the arm, offering the explanation that Collin was already inside the compound and that he needed a bong hit and a bimbo. They laughed and continued on, leaving Wolf alone in the "motorpool." He silently walked around, checking everywhere for gasoline. He found it in the form of two very large tanks on the opposite side from where he had parked.

He let a smirk play across his lips as he laid a brick of the explosive under the fullest tank and walked away to the main building. From the looks of it, they had power, and everyone seemed to be inside except for the one man on watch. Wolf edged up to the man's back with his knife out and ready to slash. He was too worried about the flash of the pistol to use it on the man when he could simply use a knife. The man didn't know what had happened, the blade was jutting into his eye socket.

After a quick twist of his wrist, the knife was out and wiped clean on the man's shirt. He propped his rifle against the exterior of the house and put on the man's coat and hat, as well as picked up the man's double-barreled shotgun and insuring it was loaded. He checked the area, then strolled right up to the front door and tried the knob. It was unlocked. Smirking, he walked casually into the house.

"Hey, Sal!" A voice called to him. "I told you to watch outside, dammit!"

Wolf made eye contact with the man before before feeding him both barrels. He dropped the shotgun and brought the M-11 up and sprayed a magazine into a trio that were standing with surprised expressions on their faces. Switching magazines, he side-stepped into the next room and caught two more that were trying to get their weapons up.

That was seven down. There were about 10 more. He only had two magazines, so he dropped the machine pistol and picked up a fully-loaded AK-47. It was a semi-automatic, but he would work around it. He listened to the rest of the house, hearing yelling and footsteps on the north side. He retrieved the switch from his pocket and pushed the button.

An instant later the house was rocked by the blasts of the C-4. He brought his rifle up and checked the rest of the house, finding that the plan had worked well; they were all running toward the explosion. He backed up the way he had come, and found eight men looking at the blaze, trying to figure out what had happened. One man was helping another to walk around a bit, and Wolf wondered if that was the leader.

"Christ, boss, what're you doing up?" A man asked, looking to the limping man.

Ian looked to him. "Doc looked at it, it's just a graze."

"He's a fuckin' highschool student, boss," the same man said.

"Pre-med, jerk off!" The man helping Ian to walk said.

Wolf walked up to the assembly and shot Pre-med first, then the rest with calm, quick shots. They had only been able to take their weapons from their holsters before being shot dead by a 7.62 round to their chests. After he made sure they were down for the count, he dropped the rifle, pulled his Glock out, and walked up to pleading Ian.

The sobbing man was trying vainly to crawl away from the horrific scene, awash in blood and chunks of flesh. He was speaking incoherently.

Wolf checked the chamber and pointed the pistol at him. "Look familiar?" He tightened his finger around the trigger.

The muzzle-flash ended the tale.
 
I'm going to do more on this character.  I like his style.

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Reply with quote  #12 
I kind of like the story of the Professional taking care of all the bad men in this ZPAW.

In this particular ZPAW world, he would thus become a legend spread by word of mouth to all the enclaves that if you act like an animal, the Professional will pay you a visit and you won't like it...

Keep writing and good work!


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Reply with quote  #13 

Nice!!!! Good story!!!!!! MORE!!!!


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Better THEM, than Me!-The only person who could miss with this gun is the sucker with the bread to buy it...... You don't got to be Stonewall Jackson to know you dont want to fight in a GD basement. Just a reminder, Tuesday is Soylent Green day!
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Reply with quote  #14 

I appreciate you both reading.  Thanks for the comments.


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Reply with quote  #15 
RCS this is brilliant. I am really enjoying so far!

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In those moments where you're not quite sure if the undead are really dead, dead, don't get all stingy with your bullets. I mean, one more clean shot to the head, and this lady could have avoided becoming a human Happy Meal. Woulda... coulda... shoulda.
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Reply with quote  #16 

Thanks for all the motivation.  I really appreciate it.


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Reply with quote  #17 
Just wrote this up--no spellcheck so sorry for that.

Every so often there would be a drop of blood that splattered onto the floor. Laura watched this happen--saw it dripping from her face and onto the floor. Every time she came to from a painful beating the puddle would get bigger. She wondered how much more she had left before losing consciousness. Perhaps a few more hours. The man standing over her would probably wish to shorten that time.

"Kindrell, tell me where he is." A voice shot through all the haze in her mind. It was a familiar voice that she hadn't heard in ages. It was enough for her to look up to have a glance at the voice.

It was him. Top--not his real name, but what everyone that had come from the same background of Wolf and herself called him. He had been their trainer, handler, and, now, her executioner. She looked at the Colt M1911 that was settled so steadily in the palm of his hand, as if it were an extension of himself, pointed at her center mass.

"I told you"--she spat a glob of blood onto the floor--"he was in Kentucky three weeks ago." She looked back to the ground, slumped in defeat. "He never told me where he was go--" Her sentence was cut off when her head was pulled up and she was assaulted by another salvo of rights and lefts. She blacked out once, and then woke up to the feeling of another hook that broke her nose.

"Enough!" Top said, going up to the man and pistol-whipping him to the floor. "Go outside, Daniels." Like a beat dog, he left the room and closed the door behind him. Top knelt down to one knee, holstering the pistol, and pulled her by the hair to look her in the eye. "You were always a tough one--you and Wolf were one of the few Generation One Scouts I trained. The last ones, from what I've been able to gather." He let out a sigh. "These Gen Threes lack so much self-control, and discipline." He left out the fact that all the Gen Two Scouts had been lost in the Middle-East--but that was a different story.

Top scratched the stubble on his cheek. "If you would like to continue living, tell me where he is."

Painfully, she shook her head and began sobbing. "I told you the last place I saw him--I don't know where he went after that."

He nodded and let go of her hair, standing. "I'll believe you, Kindrell. You've never lied to me." He walked around to stand behind her and put a hand on her shoulder. "Too bad you betrayed me." He patted her shoulder and snapped her neck with one fluid motion, then wiped his hands onto her shirt.

He grinned. She had been a good operative, but when she had gone to the CIA he had promised himself she would pay for it. "Daniels, come in her and clean this mess up!" He looked down at her, her eyes wide in shock and her head slumped at an unnatural angle. Daniels opened the door and winced at the scene. Top pulled out his pistol and shot him.

Daniels fell to the ground, holding his kneecap and screaming.

"Be a fucking man, Daniels." Top grunted, kneeling down and prodding the wound with the pistol. "You don't interrupt me when I'm trying to get information from a subject. Not fucking ever, Daniels!" He stopped prodding and frowned. "Where the hell did I go wrong with you Gen Threes?" He put the pistol to Daniels' forehead and pulled the trigger.

He went to the wall and pressed the button on the intercom. "Need a clean up for two bodies in Room Two-One. And tell Jackal to meet me in my office." He stood and walked from the room. Time to start on some Gen Four Scouts. But first, Wolf needed to be dealt with--and Jackal was just the man to take him down.


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Reply with quote  #18 
Interesting twist. Now we have a bad guy with the same or better skills than the Professional. Give us more.

I will also forgive you for not giving us more Sgt. Winslow. 




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Reply with quote  #19 
Small installation:

Seven months later, Wolf awoke to the wind blowing through the first floor of the two-story house. As usual, he lay in the attic and away from prying eyes. The whistling was constant and had not been there before. Instantly alert, he donned his pack, slung his rifle and unholstered his sidearm. In a crouch, he waited at the top of the pull-down ladder for any telltale noise of an intruder.

Recently, there had been an itch in the back of his skull. He felt that he was being followed but could never catch a glimpse of whoever it was. He had always trusted his instincts so he knew they were there, whoever they were.

After fifteen minutes, he pushed down the ladder and descended into the master bedroom of the second floor, his pistol ready to rock. In another part of the house, a loud noise was made. He couldn't figure where, but there was definitely something large downstairs. The last time he had experienced this sort of upset, it hadn't ended to his preferences. Maybe a more peaceful approach was in order.

He moved over to the window and stole a quick peek to check if the coast was clear. Satisfied, he opened it and lowered himself onto the top of the garage and then to the ground. Unslinging his rifle, he scanned the area--not much to see in the cloudy night hours--and moved around the house to get a look at whoever had interrupted his sleep. After a few moments of careful checking, he saw what it had been.

A dog, highly malnourished, was scanning the grounds for something to eat. Wolf turned his head, glancing at the area surrounding him. He could feel eyes on him, but the source was nowhere to be seen. Wolf had been feeling those eyes for the past few weeks, and it was unnerving, even for him, that he hadn't yet caught a glimpse of the owner. Focusing back on the dog, he was startled to see the canine charging at him.

He had scarce time, so he let the rifle, attached to a sling, fall to his front and gripped his pistol before it came crashing through the window and onto him. Falling back, he put his arm up to protect himself from the dog before the cuncussion of the fall knocked the pistol from his grasp and made his head swim. He forced himself to keep from blacking out and pulled a knife from a sheath at his waist with his spare hand.

Before he could implement the edged weapon, a red geyser erupted from the dog's neck, splurting blood all over him and the ground. A second geyser hushed the dog's whining and effectively ended its struggling.

Startled, Wolf rolled it off him and struggled to his feet before ducking into the house through the shattered window. He could not tell who had done it, or where they were, but that dog had succumbed to a pair of shots from a suppressed weapon of some sort. He brought his rifle to bare and went upstairs in the house, finding a lone window facing the direction of the shots. He stood back from the window and turned the night vision for his scope on.

The world opened to him in a hazy green. He saw a few infected making their way to investigate the noise, but that didn't concern him. Judging from their habits, they would pay no attention to the dog and, provided he made no noise, wouldn't even know he was there. After awhile of waiting, they would simply disperse and leave the area. He smiled at the simplicity of them--they had taken over the world and had but a child's mind.

Something caught his eye. A black blob ducking behind a burnt-out hulk of a car 50 yards down the street as a group of infected made their way past. Wolf leaned forward, not that it would help him see the man better, but more out of suspense. He watched as the man crouched and scooted into a house across the street from Wolf.

Unable to discern who it was, Wolf frowned. He would wait until morning. He was closing the door and pulling up a chair as the infected downstairs finally calmed their clamoring and began to get bored with the area. Three hours until daylight and sleep wasn't on his mind--all he could think of was why the mysterious man hadn't taken the shot to kill him.


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Reply with quote  #20 
I'll get to reading this when I have some spare time. Reviews are lookin good, Coony.
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Reply with quote  #21 

It's one of my best, I believe.


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Raccoon_City_Survivor

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Reply with quote  #22 

As the sun played rays of light across the horizon, Wolf was still staring at the door. He had been contemplating all the man's actions the night before. The man was one of the others, there was no doubt in his mind about that. But what was his purpose? He shrugged his shoulders. He couldn't think of anything, and the man proved he was not sent to kill by not executing him when the feral dog was over him. Maybe the man was just sent to make contact with him?

He stood, stretching his legs. Only one way to tell. He kneeled before the bed and set his rifle down. If he was going to die, he would die with immaculately clean weapons. He began breaking down the rifle on auto-pilot while his mind roamed his past encounters with the others under Top. His training. His life after civilian activity.

"Son, you remind me of a man I used to know." A man who had introduced himself only as, "Sir" told him. "Me. Before I found the military, before the best was brought out of me. Now, you may be thinking that you are at your peak of ability--but I'm here to prove to you otherwise." He socked the lance corporal square in his jaw with a massive fist.

The man, perhaps twenty years of age, reeled back from the punch and raised his left hand up as he hooked his right into Sir's gut. Sir took no step back, he simply smiled at the man and put a kicked his kneecap, then pushed him down to the ground before delivering a heavy boot to the prone man's nose. The blow broke his nose and soon the floor was thick with his blood.

Snarling, Sir looked down at the man and clapped his hands. "You have good reflexes, I'll give you that. Welcome to the Scouts." He leaned down and slapped the man on the cheek, waking him only slightly from his daze. "I'm Top, son. And you're about to enter more pain than this. Are you sure you can handle that?"

Slowly, the prone man stood back up. He was a bit wobbly, and his nose still slightly squirting blood, but he had enough energy to look Top in the eye and say, "one more time." He smiled as Top laughed and launched his second attack on the young man.

A year later the young man was still in training. He would be for many more months, but it didn't bother him. He was running a firearms course with his rifle as Top and his second in command, a man known as Carter, watched in a tower above the course. Top leaned down and put both palms on the table and looked over his shoulder at Carter. "What do you think?"

Carter nodded. "He's one of the best fighters out of the lot, sir. Highly intelligent, too. He's nearly too ferocious to control. Almost like a wolf."

Top grinned. "You're right, Carter. Just like a wolf." He spat on the ground. "Run it again!"

Seven months later, Wolf sat in a car in Istanbul, Turkey. He was alone, with only his sidearm to keep him company. He kept an eye on his surroundings, and never let his guard down. They told him to never allow that to happen. Ever. He lifted the paper in the seat next to him and pretended to read it as he studied the man in the photograph.

He was perhaps 50 years of age with horn-rimmed glasses and a large moustache with a large nose between them. Wolf folded the picture and placed it back with the other information in his jacket pocket. It was nearly time, and then he would put an end to the man who dealt arms to the Taliban. All his training had come down to this moment. He was ready for it, and he knew he would do it. There was no question about it. He looked at the rearview mirror and grinned. Glancing to his watch, his grin disappeared as he got out of the car and began walking down the street. In two minutes the man would cross paths with Wolf--and death. Wolf felt his holstered firearm and unbottoned the restraint.

He stopped on a street corner, pulled out a cell phone and pretended to speak into it as a car pulled up ten feet away. Wolf pretended not to notice, he just kept talking, laughing occasionally. A guard got out of the passenger seat of the vehicle and gave Wolf a once over before going to the rear of the vehicle and letting the man out.

Wolf glanced over his shoulder as they talked breifly and smiled. Horn-rimmed glasses, large nose, big moustache. Good enough. He pocketed the cell phone, and turned to the duo. The guard noticed first and reach under his coat for his submachine pistol, but Wolf beat him to it and two red blossoms formed on the guard's chest before he could flip the safety off. Wolf turned his attention to the arms dealer and put three rounds into his face. The dealer fell to the ground as the driver got out of the car and Wolf fired a quartet of hollow points that hit the man's exposed upper body before he could bring his shotgun to bare.

The deed done, Wolf dropped the pistol and began walking back to his car. The loal authorities found it days later a burnt out hulk.

Back in the present, Wolf chambered a round into the M1A and stood. He had killed many more after that night, but none had been as exciting as the man in horn-rimmed glasses. He had never been much for the nostalgia, but every once in a while he would reminisce of times past. He slung the rifle and checked his pistol, then stepped up to the door. He listened for a moment, then walked out into the hallway. A Carrier stepped out of the room on his right, so he pulled out his knife and threw it into the man's eye. The Carrier dropped instantly.

He went down the stairs, wiping the knife on his pants, and shot two Carriers with his suppressed pistol. He had wanted to avoid the flashes from a pistol, especially if the man across the street was watching, but it had been unavoidable with these two. He spat on the ground and walked up to the front door. He stopped for a moment, taking a breath, and then opened the door.

The sun felt hot against his skin, and the transition from darkened indoors to the bright outdoors blinded him for a moment. But he could still see the form in front of him.

"Hello, Wolf."


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kkamikazekidd

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Reply with quote  #23 

..catching up on this one, awesome so far...now to continue my reading


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Raccoon_City_Survivor

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Reply with quote  #24 

Thanks, Kkid.


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SOBChaos

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Reply with quote  #25 
More now
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