Infection / Destruction / Hope

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Raccoon_City_Survivor

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Haven't done any MSS-fiction in a while.  Tell me if I've lost my touch, people.

The Survivor

 

"Keep the line!" Sergeant Keffer shouted, attempting to reload his shotgun while peering through his riot-shield at the advancing mob.  He gave up in a panic and switched to his pistol, finding that the advancing group was no more than five yards away.  He ditched his shield and began taking accurate shots at the enemy.

 

            "They're not fucking dying!" one man screamed, slapping another magazine into his M-4 and firing rapidly into the throng.  The nametag on his ballistic vest declared that his name was Carlson of the Knoxville SWAT.  He fought back the vomit as the slugs clipped into one man and his bowels dropped onto the ground before him.  The man instantly fell to his knees and pitched onto the pavement.

 

            Another man, shouldering a blood-splattered MP-5 submachine gun, fired in short bursts, facing in a different direction than the other two.  He dropped a carrier, changed magazines, and had just enough time to cock the charging handle before seeing Keffer get overpowered by a small group of the ridiculously fast beasts.

 

            "Jimmy!  The fuckin' got Mark!" he screamed, shoving his stock into a slow-moving stinker.  "What're we gonna' do, Jimmy?" he shouted, expending a magazine into the group that had just taken Keffer from his hip.

 

            Jimmy backed against the van, looked around.  There were only two men left of the six who had set up the roadblock, and that sucked worse than anything.  He hadn't given a rat's ass about the Sarge, as he hadn't liked him at all.  Jimmy was a new member to the outfit, but, having been in the Marines previous to the police force, and then the SWAT, he knew a thing or two about how things should get shot.

 

            Carlson repeated himself.

 

            "I get it!  Let's bug out!" Jimmy saw a shotgun lying next to the man nearest him, an old Remmy 870, and he picked it up and slung it over his back, he picked up the bandoleer of shells and did likewise.  "On me, Ben!" he shouted and took off, away from the van.

 

            There must have been at least a hundred of the carriers in that intersection when he had left it.  He was in downtown Knoxville, and he knew that there were going to be more.  Worse, though, was the fact that there were people in the buildings.  Earlier in the day, they had lost one of their members to a sniper in a nearby building.  The six of them had gotten free and cleared the building, finding a man with an old .30-06.  It hadn't taken much for Jimmy to kill the man.

 

            Now he was worried about that exact thing as he de-assed the area.  "Keep up, Ben!  You can run faster than that!" he yelled behind himself, looking to his rear for his companion.  The man was trying his best to keep up with Jimmy's speed, while simultaneously fighting off the fast-moving carriers barking at his heels.

 

            Jimmy frowned, realizing that without help, his friend wouldn't be able to match his own pace.  He turned around, snatching an object from his belt and pulling the pin on the grenade.  He winced, wishing he had the good ole' fragmentation type, but the flash-bang would do nicely.  He hoped.

 

            Ben barreled past him, a confused look on his face, and watched Jimmy roll it on the ground toward the advancing crowd now only thirty feet off.  Their collective howls and snarling were like the sounds of the worst nightmare imaginable.

 

            Jimmy turned and ran, re-shouldering his MP-5.  He couldn't quite remember what the range on the grenades were, but he hoped he could clear it in time.  He made sure he didn't look back and warned Ben not to, for they might become incapacitated as well.

 

            It blew.

 

            A flash of white accompanied by an ear-splitting bang!  Luckily, he had put ear-plugs in his ears before all of this had begun, so his hearing was not impaired.  He looked over his shoulders to find that the advancing enemy had been stopped in their tracks by the grenade, and they were now lying on the ground scratching at their eyes or convulsing in a seizure-like state.

 

            Jimmy grinned, facing forward.  The closest threat was now fifty yards behind him.  "Ben, find us somewhere to hole up, buddy."  They had been working on the force for a long time now, and Jimmy had grown quite fond of the man.  He was the only thing that resembled a friend to him.

 

            "Fuckin' A!" he said, cutting left down a street and proceeding up the incline.  At the next intersection, he cut right and ran up to an apartment building.  He waited at the door for Jimmy to catch up, and they entered the building like two robots, their movements oiled to perfection.

 

            Jimmy went in first, his MP-5's mounted flashlight boring into the hallway.  Surprisingly enough, the power was on.  He scanned the immediate area and told his partner that they were clear.  Ben then locked the door and moved a bench in front of it.  It was a shitty defense, but it suited them both for the time being.  The carriers had no idea they were in the building.

 

            They both leaned against the same wall, catching their breath.  Jimmy reloaded the shotgun, and secured the weapon to himself.  He knew the MP-5 was full, but he still only had a duo of extra thirty-rounders for it.  He looked down at his pistol and smiled grimly.  It was reassuring to have something that wasn't chambered in 9mm.

 

            Ben had a half-full magazine and four others along with his pistol.  He was happy for the moment.

 

            They had both calmed down enough to think about their fallen comrades, then joke around a little about the situation they were in.  They were more depressed about the latter.  They were stranded, miles from any help, and without transportation.

 

            "We're boned, aren't we?" Ben surmised, reading Jimmy's thoughts.

 

            Jimmy nodded.  "Apparently so, friend."  He looked up at the ceiling as the sound of trampling feet was heard.  Whether it was human or one of them was anybody's guess.  Jimmy was sure not going to stick around long enough to find out.  His eyes caught Ben's, and he pointed his finger down the hall.

 

            Ben nodded, taking the front with his pistol drawn.  His M-4 was too cumbersome in the tight confines of the building.  They passed door after door, each door as silent as the next.  As they reached the end of the hall, they passed an elevator and approached a door that had the words "Parking Garage" written on it.

 

            Ben opened the door and angled his pistol's barrel down the stairwell.  He looked back to Jimmy, and that was all the time the carrier needed.  The woman jumped up out of the darkness and grabbed Ben around the next, piercing his flesh with the bare bones where her fingertips had been once upon a time.  He screamed out and tried to bring his weapon into play but she bit him on his forehead, ripping away his hair and flesh as he pushed her away.

 

            The impact of the carrier on Ben had pushed Jimmy to the floor, so he hadn't been able to aid his friend.  He had only been able to stare on as the carrier took another bite out of his friend's face, taking a large portion of his nose.

 

            Jimmy hurriedly aimed the weapon and planted a bullet between her eyes, then stood up.  He kicked her down the stairwell with a well-placed boot and shut the door.  That was the end of that.

 

            Ben was wheezing in the corner, blood flowing from his forehead and nose.  He choked, coughed, and started wheezing again.  "Jimmy..." he was able to say with great difficulty.  "Help me out..... friend..." he knew it was over for himself.  One bite was all it took.

 

            Jimmy slowly lifted his pistol from the holster and pointed it at his friend.  "Well, I'm sorry about this."  That was all he could think to say.  He fired, hitting his friend just above the hairline on the top of his head.  The hallway filled with stink as the man's relaxed bowel filled his pants with excrement.  Jimmy had to turn away.

 

            He moved down the hall, away from the parking garage.  He didn't want to go down there, not after what had happened to his friend.  His movements were stealthy, and he could hear footsteps upstairs.  Only he could tell they weren't fast, nor were they a shamble.  He didn't care enough to look into it, but it made him wonder if the fast-movers merely walked around in a circle when in a room, too stupid to figure out how to open a door.

 

            He didn't care, all he knew was whatever had been on the news about this Morningstar virus thing, and it hadn't been much.  He reached the end of the hall, looked back to his friend, then moved the bench out of the way and exited the structure.  He peeked out, looking in both directions before stepping out onto the street.

 

            Wondering for a second if he should go back for his partner's weapons, he shook his head of the thought.  He was loaded down with enough of them for now.  He had to get back to the station.  He looked around, noting that there weren't any runners in sight, but there were a few shamblers looking in his direction.  He decided he should get moving, knowing that fact could change soon.

 

            He started off in a jog, running in the direction of the station.  Once there, he could get in touch with some of his buddies from the force and they could find somewhere to hole up.  But he knew he couldn't jog all the way there, so he needed to find a car.

 

            Many blocks later he met an intersection and stayed close to the line of buildings to his right, his weapon out in front of him.  He had slowed down to a crawl, trying to be cautious.  He couldn't afford to slip up.  He was hesitant to look around the corner, as his friend's death kept flashing through his mind.  His friend had been one of the best on the squad, and he had died in the most stupid manner possible.  It was almost unbelievable.

 

            Come on, he thought to himself.  You pansy, do it.

 

            Peeking around the corner, his heart skipped a beat.  There were fifty of them milling about.  They were all in varied conditions, and none of them seemed to notice him.  Fortunately.  He backed slowly away from the corner of the building, and tripped over a trash can.

 

            He found himself staring up at the sky, dazed, and scared shitless.  He quickly stood up and pointed his weapon at the corner and slowly backed away, trying to clear his mind of the cobwebs.  He was holding his breath, hoping that none of the carriers had heard his fumble.

 

            And then a carrier peeked his head around the corner.  Jimmy blanched, planting a bullet in the man's center mass.  It dropped him dead, but he would get up.  Jimmy dropped the next few that rounded the corner, but soon he was overwhelmed.  It was time to get moving.  He spied an alleyway across the street and sped over to it, fighting with the infected as he ran.

 

            He spotted a door up on the right and angled to meet it.  Hurriedly moving from the alleyway into the structure, he shut and barred the door behind himself.  He was greeted on the other side by a storeroom for some sort of bakery.  It was all flour and sugar and he could still smell the faint aroma of baking in the air.  He welcomed it.

 

            The creatures banged on the door, and Jimmy jumped as the first fist sounded against the door.  His heart was pounding, his adrenaline pumping.  He felt like he was ready to do anything.  He moved to the front of the store and dispatched the one owner in there, a slow-moving shambler feeding on some patron.

 

            He bet over and checked the patron for car keys and took them.  They belonged to a Saturn parked outside.  He looked out at the parking lot and searched for any carriers before busting out of the door and making a beeline for the Saturn.  He fired upon all the carriers that came in his path, then settled himself into the vehicle.

 

            The carriers were running from the alleyway to find him as he laid rubber down on the pavement.  He smiled as he looked in the rear-view mirror and found that he had left them all in the dust.  He was going to make it.  He was a survivor.

 

THE END


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surviver5

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wow. how did you find out my past!!???? i thought i fooled everyone by adding a 5 to the end. o well.

Raccoon_City_Survivor

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I know everything, did you not remember?

So, anyone else going to give me feedback?

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zombiechow

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yeah, write some more..... i like it!

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very good, u need to add more


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Shit, I don't know if I can.  Between papers and essays, I don't really get much else done.  College is full of repeatitive tasks like that.  Probably won't be an update, but maybe a few more stories before the semester's end.

Hate to dissappoint.

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This is very good.

Sorry to hear there will not be updates.  Looking forward to other short stories. 
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Sike!


Part 2

 

            A block from the bakery he had calmed down some.  A few more and he had let a smile crease his features.  He felt tired, but he had found ways to work around it—the feeling one has after coming down from adrenaline.  His eyelids felt heavy as he steered the Saturn down a road.  He blanched at the foreign car.  Didn’t even have an audio cassette tape player.  However, he was happy it had gotten him this far.

 

            The shotgun and submachine gun lay in the seat beside him, looking as much like a personal arsenal as possible.  He smiled at them but knew something was missing.  He knew the world was spiraling down the drain, only God knew when the garbage disposal would be flipped on.  This outbreak could not be contained on a national level, and, last he had heard, there were definite cases everywhere across the God blessed US of A.  So that one thing that missed from his pile was provisions.  Food.

 

            The only issue he had was the fact that he would have to loot.  He had never stolen a thing in his life.  It was against his values and ethics to do it--those of which his loving parents had instilled in him from the earliest age possible--not to mention it was illegal.

 

            He nearly scoffed at that thought.  Nothing’s illegal if there is no law.

 

            At that moment he frowned, knowing that was a truth that many citizens are planning to use against themselves.  If there is no law, then Average Joe could realize that, and use it against the man who had slept with his wife.  And, if he liked the power trip enough, maybe he would kill again for some bug repellent and a box of ammo.

 

            He swerved on the road, passing a public transit bus.

 

            He had read the books.  All about civil disorder after the collapse of society.  One of his friends overseas got him hooked on them.  He remembered one of the books about a man named Rain and his army trying to give order back to the world after a nuke-out.  He had liked it as a story, but never thought it would have happened in real life.  And, shit, he thought, this is as close as I’m going to get to something like that.

 

            Amazing, he thought, how this place turned for a normal-looking shithole to the pits in two days.  Two days ago there had been few cases of the virus, but now you couldn’t throw a rock without hitting two of the damn things.  It had gotten out of hand, and he didn’t know who to point the finger--

 

            His throat went dry at the sight he saw on the top of a building.  There were quite a few people on the roof of a building that had tied their shirts end-to-end and were climbing down to a balcony on the sixth floor of the seven-floor structure.  One had already made it to the balcony and the second was half-way down the makeshift rope.

 

            After a quick decision he stopped the car in the front of the building, grabbed his submachine gun, and climbed out of the vehicle.  The people had noticed him and were trying to make themselves as low-profile as possible.  He must look like some bad guy in their eyes due to his uniform and weapon.  He waved to them.

 

            “Afternoon!” he started, “I’m Jimmy.”  He heard no response.  “Hello up there!  I am—was an officer with the KPD SWAT team, do not be alarmed, people.”  What was it they taught about engaging civvies?  Oh yeah.  “I am here to help those in need!”

 

            More silence, then a head shot over the railing.  “Where’s your van?”

 

            Jimmy looked around himself, he didn’t know why.  The van was back at the roadblock, accompanied by two-thirds of his friends.  “I didn’t want to bring it with me.”  Although now he wished he had de-assed with it, as it had quite a few goodies in the rear compartment.

 

            More silence.  “Fuck you!”

 

            A potted plant landed on the sidewalk five feet away from him, and another landed seconds later but closer.  Jimmy looked up at the balcony just in time to dodge another that was coming straight for his head.  He flattened himself against the building and cursed under his breath.

 

            “What the fuck was that for, you jackass?” he screamed at the man, all regards to protocol concerning an irate civvie thrown out the window.  He felt more pissed now than ever, and he wanted them to know it.  A minute passed without so much as a flower thrown his way.

 

            “Out of ammo, punk?” he asked the occupants of the sixth floor balcony.

 

            It seemed he had spoken too soon, as a television set—a 32-inch diagonal screen that was as old as he was—smacked the pavement and splashed him with a wave of glass that cut his face in some areas.  Luckily, his body was covered by clothing and he wore goggles, so he didn’t get hurt badly.

 

            Looking around, and seeing a few runners down the street howling at his presence, he decided to bug out.  He looked up at them.  “All right, then!  Suck it!” he turned and made it to the car, opening fire as the runners got within 25 yards of him.  He turned rear to the building, and gave the sixth floor balcony an erect middle finger.

 

            He swerved to miss a few shamblers, and had to dislodge a few runners from his vehicle trying to make the getaway, but he came out unscathed.  He was glad for that, but blocks later he felt guilty for leaving those people in the middle of a warzone alone and, seemingly, with no weapons.

 

            Sighing, he brought the car to a halt and checked the rearview mirror.  He wasn’t in any immediate danger, as far as he knew, so he had time to think.  He could leave those people there, stranded and without even a modicum of hope for survival.  On the other hand, he could turn around and save them, and in exchange they might bring some sort of skill to the table, if only the knowledge on the best way to gut a squirrel.

 

            His face frowned, cut the wheel to the right, and turned around.

 

            He looked up at the balcony to find that they were still trying to get the entire group down, though he could see from the small assembly of… Whatever these things were, he had no idea what they were, that one from the group had fallen from the balcony.

 

            They noticed him right away, and one of the men produced a bow and arrow, pointing it in his direction threateningly.  Jimmy looked again at the man, noting that he was the same that had spoken with him earlier.  He must have found a weapon inside the house.  Smart, but too bad he was a douche.

 

            He pulled down an alley that led to the rear of the structure, and parked next to the rear entrance.  He grabbed his shotgun and slung the MP5, then checked the bandoleer for the proper ammo.  He knew his teammate always had them; he just had to find them.  There were three of the suckers sitting neatly in their loops.

 

            After unloading the shotgun, he loaded one up and the rest he left as usual buckshot, as he might need the regular rounds for when he got in.  He smiled, stowing the bandoleer back on the floorboard and pocketing the keys to the vehicle.  He ran to the door, heel-to-toe and hunched over, and knocked on the door while the visions of his friend’s

 

            Nothing, not even a mouse squeaking.

 

            He brought the shotgun to port-arms, grinning to himself at what he was about to unleash—which looked like a regular 12-gauge buckshot shell, but held ferocious power.  The entire shell was coated in a red paint, and on the side it read in black letters, “DOOR BREACHING ROUND.”

 

            He pulled the trigger, the weapon bucking against his shoulder.  Before the din had finished reverberating through the alley, the mounted flashlight was on, the door was kicked open, and a round was chamber.  However, he was met by no resistance, and the hallway stretching out before him was devoid of presence, human or otherwise.

 

            Taking on tentative step after another, he switched to his MP5, feeling more comfortable with the shorter barrel and amount of rounds.  He flicked its flashlight on and moved over to the wall, attempting to plaster himself against it as much as he could.  He stared down the barrel, it pointed wherever he looked and vice versa.

 

            He searched the doors, looking for a stairwell.  He didn’t dare open them; he was just searching for a sign.  After a moment or two of searching, he found it and knocked on it.  No noise.  He opened it and braced for the feeling of a dozen of the fuckers to come pouring out on top of him like a dog pile.  He was rewarded with a smell of shit and piss and blood—none of which he was happy about at all.

 

            Looking around, his thoughts hindered by the smell, he started off to the stairs, taking them two at a time slowly.  He got to the fifth floor without any problems, but found the reason for the smell on the landing above him.

 

            At first it had looked like the man was dozing off with his head lolled over to one side, but that was far from the truth, he could tell.  He had shot himself in the head.  There was a small revolver in the man’s hand, and Jimmy scooped it up, checking the chambers.  They were all spent, and a pat-down of the man showed no extra rounds.  He tossed it back on the man’s lap, and moved on, up the stairs.

 

            Bang!

 

            The sound turned him around, his weapon pointing toward the sound; the stairwell door.  There was a 10-inch square bullet-proof window installed in the upper half of the door, and framed in the window was a shambler, looking at him as if he were the last of the baked potatoes at the buffet.

 

            Smiling at his jitters, he turned back around and climbed the final set of stairs that brought him to the sixth floor.  Using the window, he looking into the hall and couldn’t find any enemy.  He hoped his good fortune would hold up.

 

            Tediously, he opened the door and looked down the hall, knowing it was clear.  He wished he knew where the kids were, as that could save his life if he didn’t have to go and search through all the apartments.  But he hadn’t.

 

            “Shit,” he cursed, closing the door as quietly as he could behind himself.

 

            Jimmy scanned the hallway, finding that there were only ten apartments on the floor.  He felt more comfortable about those odds, as it was less ground for him to cover.  He was only one man, after all.  Stepping down the hall, in much the same fashion as he did when first approaching the building from his car, he stopped at many of the doors and knocked, listening to the answers.

 

            He judged that the room they were in was on the left side, as that was the side that faced the street, and that narrowed his searching to 5 apartments.  He stealthily walked to the next door and knocked.  Nothing.  At the next, he stopped before he knocked.  There was a commotion playing out on the opposite side of the door.  Although it was muffled, he could hear some of it.

 

            “—The fuck was I supposed to do, huh?” a man said.

 

            “He was with the police department—fucking SWAT, Terry!  He could’ve gotten us out of here.”  It was a female speaker.  “But no, you had to go and throw a fucking T.V. at him.  Smart move, you jackass—he was right, you are a jackass, Terry!”

 

            Jimmy smiled.  That’s right, lady, he thought.  Give that motherfucker hell.

 

            “Who the fuck is in charge?” the man practically screamed.  “Me!”

 

            Another voice cut in, male.  “Whoa, none of us said that, Ter.”

 

            ‘Butt out, Mike.  I’m sick of your neutrality bullshit, asshole.”  Terry said.

 

            Jimmy frowned as the fighting continued.  He decided to risk it.  He flattened himself against the wall just beside the door and rapped on the door twice with a hard fist.  “Open up, it’s the five-oh!” he snickered to himself, wondering what their collective reaction would be, if anything at all.

 

            An arrowhead appeared on the door, having gone through from the other side.



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quijote

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Nice! an update!!

though Saturns are American made, not foreign.
Raccoon_City_Survivor

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My mistake, sorry.

Thanks.

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shouldve put him in a ford f-350, much more badass than a saturn. anyway, cool story, keep it up.

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I was planning on switching to a bigger car, anyway, bud.  It's considered.

Thanks.

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Part 3

 

           

            What practiced perfection, he slung his submachine gun and whipped his pistol from its holster with one hand, and grabbed a flashbang with his other.  He frowned as he kicked open the door and lobbed the non-lethal package into the apartment.  He heard a mixture of fear and confusion a second before the device blew.

 

            Jimmy, having stood beside the door frame with his eyes shut, wasn’t incapacitated by the loud device.  He edged past the corner of the door with his right hand hugging a Glock 17 chambered in 9mm.  With his left hand he held a pair of plastic disposable restraints.  He was going to be ready for that asshole.

 

            He rushed in, pistol up and pointing down the hallway.  He hated to do entry by himself, because one person couldn’t watch every corner by himself.  The entrance to the kitchen was on his left, he cleared it with a sweep of his eyes, and he did the same with the bathroom that followed.  At the end of the hallway he saw them, the survivors were blinking rapidly, trying to see their hands in front of their faces, and some were panic-stricken by the sudden loss of their hearing.

 

            Finding the man holding the bow, Jimmy stepped over to him, roughly rolled him over and tied his hands behind his back.  The man screamed bloody murder all the while, explaining to Jimmy what he was going to do to him once he could see again.  The former Marine had a smirk of achievement plastered across his face.

 

            “All right,” he had to scream so they could hear his words.  “You’re going to be okay, it’s all temporary.  Nothing is permanent.”  He strolled over and took a seat, the first he had actually rested since he had slept last night.  Laying the pistol on his leg, he rubbed at the back of his neck.  Captain Shithead was still screaming profanities about what he would like to do to Jimmy’s mother.  Jimmy shook his head.  They were just words.

 

            Slowly, the people in the apartment regained their senses and starred frightfully at him, as if they were expecting to be robbed.  He calmed some of them down with a smile, but most of them didn’t find warmth in it.

 

            “Take it easy.”  He holstered the pistol, took a deep breathed, and lounged in the chair.  “I’m not going to kill you.  How’s everyone doing?  Can you all see okay?” he was mildly worried, as two of the survivors were in their 50s, at least, and they could have had irreversible damage done to them.  If he had known they were in the room, he would have entered differently.

 

            A majority of them nodded, and the rest looked okay, they were just frightened.

 

            “Good.”  Standing, he grabbed the chair he was sitting in and walked to the entrance.  The door looked smashed, unsalvageable.  The hinges were broke off; one was lying on the kitchen floor beside the refrigerator—an easy ten feet away.  He stood the door up and propped the chair up against it.

 

            He stood back, admiring his shitty barricade job.  It could work.  If no one tried to get it, that is.

 

            Walking back into the living room, he noted that someone had helped the restrained man into a chair.  Jimmy wondered what was going on in the kid’s head that would force him to open fire on an armed member of KPD’s SWAT.  He grabbed another chair and placed it in front of the man, facing him, and sat down.

 

            “Can you see?” he asked, not receiving a response.  “Can you hear?” he questioned, his arms folded across his chest in a non-threatening manner.  He signed the question again, using his finger and pointing to his ear.

 

            “I know what you said,” the man blurted, a certain rage in his eyes that Jimmy had seen among the locals in the town—even overseas.  The man spoke with the ignorance of a much younger man, as Jimmy guessed his age around 25.

 

            Jimmy smiled a mirthless smile.  “All right.  I’m about to let you go, but we’re going to work together to get the hell out of this place.”  He pulled a knife from his vest and took a splinter out of his hand from when he had picked up the door.  “Are we in agreeance, or should I just leave your ass here them?”

 

            “Who would do something like that?” one of the others said, judging from the voice it was the lady who had given Terry a hard time earlier.  She was brunette, and about 19 years of age.

 

            “Sorry, lady,” Jimmy started, covering his hand with a band-aid.  He’d heard somewhere that if the Carrier’s blood mixed in with your own, you turned into one of them.  He didn’t want that.  “But it’s hard times.”  He looked back to Terry.

 

            “What’s it going to be?”

 

            Terry, thankfully, swallowed his pride.  “All right.  But I want proof you’re a cop.”

 

            Jimmy pulled his wallet out and showed him the ID.  “No hard feelings?”

 

            Terry grudgingly shook his head.  "Not for now.  But when we get to safety, your ass is mine.”  He bent forward so Jimmy could cut his restraints, and then he stood and picked up his bow, which had an attachment that held up to four arrows.

 

            Jimmy stood and looked at the group, counting.  There were seven, all told.  And only one of them was armed.  He nodded.  “All right, anyone who’s coming with, I can offer protection.  I can’t promise your safety, protection is all I have.”  He knew that sounded bad—awful—but he still had to try to save some of the people.

 

            Everyone seemed to become interested in their shoes.  The woman raised her hand, and so did another man.  Two more raised their hands, but the rest did not.  Jimmy frowned, knowing they would probably meet their maker in this building.

 

            The woman lowered her hand.  “When we were up on the roof we saw a few helicopters going that way.”  She pointed in a direction, and Jimmy was pretty sure it was north.  “Maybe it’s some sort of rescue station.”

 

            He nodded.  “Correct.  There is a Red Cross station north of here.”  He hadn’t thought of it as a place to go to.  He was planning on going to the station to hook up with his buddies and find somewhere to hole up.  Jimmy guessed now that the station was overrun, as they had lost contact with them earlier in the morning.  It would be useless to go there now.

 

            Sighing, the officer cast a careful eye on each of the people going with him.  The only two that hadn’t decided to come along were the older couple, who sat on the couch.  He looked around and found that there were pictures of the couple all over the apartment, then nodded.  “All right, if you two want to stay, that’s fine.  Can I help you into a neighboring apartment?”

 

            “No, I believe we’ll be fine.”  The man stated, the wife agreed.

 

            Sighing, Jimmy nodded his goodbyes and told the rest to meet him by the door.  He had never liked tearful goodbyes.  It had been that way ever since he had joined the Marines and said goodbye to his parents.  He was glad, now, because they were in North Dakota somewhere, away from most of civilization and the Carriers.

 

            As he stood by the door, he wondered how many would make it to the rescue station.


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quijote

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Reply with quote  #14 
Nice update! 

I specially like the touch of the married couple deciding to stay behind.  I would think that a couple on their 50's would wanto to make a run for it (heck!  they still have a good 20 to 30 years ahead of them).  Maybe if the couple were in their 70's, they would have the 'we've had a long, happy life together, you young'uns go ahead' type of attitude.  Anyway, just a thought.
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Reply with quote  #15 
Yeah, I wasn't going for that, the next scene is coming up and I didn't want them involved.

For.... Reasons.

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mpls_osiris

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Reply with quote  #16 
I like it alot! Keep it up!

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Reply with quote  #17 
All right, this is the last update for a little bit.  I really need to get on my homework (I have to summarize newspaper columns, and I have quite a few to do in little less than a week).

Part 4

He waited next to the door for only a few moments before the five emerged from the apartment. The SWAT member attempted to give the couple a fighting chance by barricading the door further, but he could only do so much. He nodded grimly, trying to keep his best composure. The were only so old, why had they decided to stay? He knew he couldn't forcibly take them from their home, but it still made him feel helpless occasionally to see events such as this. It didn't make sense to him.

The woman, he learned her name was Sandy with a gentle handshake, asked him what the plan was. He told her the closest thing he had to the truth: "I know where I'm going, I just don't know how to get there quite yet."

Truth is, he knew how to get there, but he was very unsure how he was going to get there with six people crammed into the Saturn. He barely liked the amount of space left with just him in the car--it was only a three door, and two in his group were stretching the limits of obesity. He needed to get another vehicle. As he stared at the largest of the two, he decided something like an SUV or a pickup.

He split up the weapons he had, giving the shotgun to Mike, and his Glock 17L to Sandy. He gave them both ammunition (assuring Mike he had some more in the car), and went over the operation of the firearms. Terry was pouting with his bow and arrow after asking Jimmy for a gun. The former Marine had laughed at him in response.

Jimmy wasn't expecting marksmen--err, also a markswoman--out of the lot. He just wanted, although it was cruel, diversions so that he may take the time to fire accurately if the group was attacked. Assured that they could ably use the firearms, he lead them down the hall, the others were talking amongst themselves.

"What's that, Sandy?" one of the bigger couple said. Her name was Tiffany, and her boyfriend was named Kevin. "Did you hear that?"

Jimmy had heard it too, and he stepped slower, trying to pick up on the noise. He stopped mid-step and looked right--a door with the numbers 65 in small black letters settled above the doorbell. Jimmy sensed something wrong on the other side of the door, and he didn't know what it was. He heard scratched, and there seemed to be something wavering behind the eye hole, as light appeared and disappeared every second or so. He also heard a scratching sound.

Sandy, peering over his shoulder, said, "what is it, officer?"

The figure must have heard, as the clawing on the door stopped.

Jimmy frowned. "Get down the hall, to the stairwell." He was only half-ready when it happened.

The door started rattling on its hinges, an inhuman howl escaping from the cracks already appearing in the frame. He ushered them toward the stairs and backed slowly away from the door with his weapon at port-arms, attempting to minimize the distance between himself and the stairs.

The door continued to rattle and shake, and Jimmy silently cursed the building's contractor, for the doors' construction was the absolute pits. The first of the people made it to the stairs fifteen feet down the hall; surprisingly enough, it had been Kevin who first grasped the doorknob, not thinking to peer into the window to see if the well was clear. As he opened it, a creature grabbed hold of his shoulders and bit chunks from the man's face.

Kevin, his screeching almost as deafening as the howling of the Carriers, fell to the ground as the creature feasted more on the soon-to-be remains of Kevin. His girlfriend tried to help him, but she, too, was taken by the wave coming from the stairwell. There seemed to be a half-dozen in the hall, and they had only been unleashed moments ago.

Mike and Sandy unloaded shells and casings into the oncoming wave, firing side-by-side. Jimmy switched his fire to the wave, and kept a steady rate of fire on the collected target the bodies made. Terry went down, being attacked by a Carrier. Reluctantly, Jimmy blew the Carrier's brains out. He never claimed to be entirely heartless.

"Move back. Now!" he screamed. He noticed that Mike had gone dry, and was attempting to take on a single Carrier with only the weapon, using it as a club. Sandy was attempting to extract the magazine--she must have forgotten that she had to push a button on the handle in the heat of the moment.

Gladly, they obeyed, as did Terry, pushing the carcass off his lower half and picking up his bow.

"Another stairwell!" Sandy shouted, taking off on a full run toward the other side of the building. Everyone else followed, and Jimmy fired back sporadically. He couldn't believe how fast they were--the hallway was empty aside for the group one instant, and the next he could see nothing but ravenous people. But the people, they used to be people. The weren't. With that he wondered what exactly they were.

"Shit!" Sandy said. "It's locked! Why is it locked?" she screamed.

Jimmy caught up with the rest and looked around. It was clear for the moment, so he exchanged magazines in the Glock for Sandy, he didn't even have to look at it as he surveyed the area. It was when he had chambered a round that he noticed the rectangular metal object, he ran over and tapped the elevator's "call" button frantically.

He spied the oncoming Carriers, his mind reeling. He couldn't believe it... He was about to die... After all he'd been through... How come it had to end like--wait, what was that annoying dinging sound?

He was forcibly shoved into the small confines by two strong hands.

Sandy gripped the Glock with white knuckles, trying to get precision shots but failing. Jimmy noted that and wanted to remind himself to take her to a range when all this was through. When. He could laugh at his own optimism.

Finally, the doors shut and the slow descent to the ground floor began. Jimmy checked with everyone to insure their safety, then looked over himself. He gave himself a once-over, then swapped magazines with a fresh one. He needed more ammo, as he had five near-empty or empty magazines, and only one was full. It didn't feel reassuring.

The doors opened and he showed his flashlight in the hallway, as he had before. The front of the building was still empty, the glass doors showing nothing but the street beyond and the store across. That was a good sign, it meant that the noise had not attracted a crowd. He was sure it would have.

He turned to the rear of the building and started toward the rear entrance, trying to keep a low profile. With a backward glance, he could tell the others were attempting to do the same. Smiling at the fact they were totaling ignorant of the concept, he approached the backdoor. He held up a fist and stopped.

Mike rear-ended him.

He nearly stumbled to the floor, but caught himself. "The fist means stop!" he whispered urgently, trying to keep a handle on his temper. He punctuated his sentence by showing him the fist. Mike nodded. Jimmy poked his head outside, quickly looked both ways, then ducked back in.

"It's clear, move up."

He stepped out, weapon up and looking at the tops of the buildings (he wasn't sure why, but he felt like he should), and made a beeline for the Saturn. He was about to grasp the door handle when the side-mounted mirror snapped off.

He dropped to one knee and flattened against the car. He saw two men at the end of the alleyway, one of them held up a hunting rifle. Jimmy couldn't tell what it was from this distance, but guessing from the sound of the shot it was a large caliber. He instantly fired a volley in their direction, and the second of the two fired his shotgun as the first worked the bolt.

Luckily, Jimmy shot them both dead. But the hissing sound that emitted from the tire nearest him was disconcerting. He watched as it finally ran out of air, and frowned as he ran out of options for a tactful retreat from the area.

Muttering to himself curses that were better left to his mind, he took stock and came up with another plan. He reached in the car and grabbed the bandoleer of shells, tossed them to Mike and told him to reload it. He made sure the remainder of them were okay, then told them to follow him closely.

Jimmy took off running down the alleyway.

I'm happy the older couple wasn't part of that.  I'd feel like an asshole.

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Sandman7

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Reply with quote  #18 

Good stuff, RCS.  I always enjoy your writing.  Don't keep me waiting though.  You won't like me when I'm waiting.  Sandman SMASH!!!


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Eighty are nothing but targets,
Nine are real fighters...
We are lucky to have them...They make the battle,
Ah, but the One, One of them is a Warrior...
and He will bring the others back."

- Heraclitus (circa 500 BC)
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Reply with quote  #19 

And I always enjoy compliments.


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Part 5

He had yet to find a vehicle that he could hotwire without being mauled to death by carriers ten blocks from the Saturn. His legs were beginning to ache, and his lungs were burning from all the strenuous activities of the day so far. And it seemed that ever corner he passed brought on more of the fuckers, and more came just because they heard the others howling their insane rage.

He fired upon a shambler that crossed his path, watching the chunks of bone and hair and brain matter part from the woman’s head. And she just stood there for a few seconds afterward, attempting to reached out and get him. Finally the wound had kicked in and she plopped down on the ground, to litter the street with herself.

Jimmy felt sick to his stomach--wondering how it had gone sour, when it had done so, and why he was still alive and all these others weren’t. Shit, he thought. Gritting his teeth, he looked around and ducked into the road-side shop nearest him. The other survivors, surprised by his sudden change in trajectory, hesitated.

“Come on, get in here!” he shouted, holding open the door with a foot and shoulder his rifle. He shot two down, then retreated to the inside of the shop, where he found them all taking a breath and relaxing. “What are you doing?” he asked, incredulous.

“Taking a break, so just relax, dude.” Terry said.

Jimmy pointed to the door behind him, seeing the frenzied carriers on the other side of the glass door. “They aren’t taking a break, and neither are you. Get up, let’s find a way out.” He shouldered the rifle and walked deeper into the shop.

It was a candy shop, seeing as its shelves were filled with candy and other sweet treats. Jimmy kept a watchful eye in the dark shadows of the store, being careful as he approached the store room. His mind was racing, trying out every scenario that could go down, and attempting to solve them. Since the door had been locked, he understood that the shop had been open since the place went to shit.

So it could have gone two ways, either the owner or worker went home to prepare and accidentally left the door unlocked, or they’re still in the establishment--undead or otherwise. He sighed inaudibly. He reached the open doorway to the backroom, which was incredibly dark seeing as it was mid-day.

He flicked the mounted flashlight on and panned the entire room, not finding anything that could be a potential hazard. He gathered them all into the storeroom and dragged a shelf so that it was directly in the way of the back room. Then he closed the door to the backroom, and parked a desk in front of it. He wasn’t happy about it, but he knew they would have to, so he told them, “take five everyone. Don’t get too comfy, we’ll be gone soon.”

“Aren’t you a ray of sunshine?” Terry cracked as he took off his shoes, Jimmy ignored him.

Jimmy knew it would only lead to another pissing contest. And he was tired of that. He leaned against the desk, hearing he glass break in the front of the store. Seconds later he heard them banging on the shelves. He cast a weary eye over his shoulder and then scratched his ear, trying to block out the howling that was sure to haunt his dreams for years to come.

He looked around, finding clown suits, another door--possibly the latrine--as well as a few more desks and a door that looked heavy enough to be the one that lead outside. Getting up, he swapped the MP5 he had for the Glock 17L that he had handed to Sandy. He gave her a spare magazine--unfortunately, only half-full--and tucked it into the front of his pants.

Jimmy had heard of the OSS during World War 2 doing this, so they could get to their sidearms faster, they tucked it in the front of their pants. It was simple enough, and may save his life in a scrape.

His hand gingerly touched the doorknob, and he found it unlocked. His hand wrapped around his pistol and pulled it out. There was a moment of hesitation, then he turned it and pushed it open. It was only a bathroom. Apparently for the workers only. He holstered his pistol in his drop-leg holster and shut the door behind himself. He unzipped and began urinating, wondering where to take it from here.

The bunch could take their chances outside, out the rear entrance. But he was tired of all the running--it just seemed that every vehicle he got to was completely unusable. He needed to get something he could drive, so he wouldn’t have to worry anymore about the carriers running him down.

He sighed, looking at the walls around him. Finding worker’s insurance plan paperwork, and a few notes written on the walls. He saw “Phil was here--got fired 08/21/07” and he wondered when they would paint over it. He also saw another note, “Alan, when you gonna fix it?” with another note beside it that said, “I’ll get it when I get it, Luanne.”

Fix what? Must be the something to do with the toilet. He looked down and around the toilet, not finding anything that looked like it had been fixed. He finished and zipped up when a howl came that deafened and frightened him. Only he knew this howl had been from inside the small room.

“Jimmy, you okay?” Sandy asked from outside.

Only he was frozen stiff. He grew pale as he looked up.

There was a man-sized hole in the ceiling of the bathroom, and in the hole he saw two crazy eyes staring at him. Within the orbs was a sign of remorseless, unchecked, absolute rage that would be foremost on his mind for days. Fix what? The Goddamned hole? he thought and nearly shit himself.

He barely had time to curse before it was on top of him, clawing and attempting to bite him. He tried to reach for his pistol, but couldn’t find it. He ditched that Idea, and slammed the carrier’s head into the sink. He could feel a snap in the creature’s skull, but it didn’t stop it. The thing just kept trying to bite him. He slammed the carrier against the sink again, and heard a sickening, audible snap.

The creature went limp.

He dropped it to the ground and stepped outside the bathroom. He slumped against the wall and held his head in his hands, trying to keep himself under control. He barely noticed it when Sandy had touched him, and didn’t even hear her when she asked if he was okay.

“Shit,” he breathed, then stood straight, his head high and shoulders squared. “Let’s go. I don’t want to be here anymore.” He gathered them up and opened the rear door, finding an empty alleyway with a parking lot beyond. Something in the lot caught his attention, and he smiled.

“Hold on,” he handed the Glock back to her and scooped up his MP5. Disappearing into the candy shop, he was gone for a few minutes, then reappeared with a keyring full of keys. “They do catering.” Was all he said.

“Catering?” Sandy asked. And saw it.

“They do kids parties and stuff,” he explained. “Didn’t you see the clown suits? I remember doing patrol to a person’s house when I was a cop. Domestic dispute on this kid’s birthday. Saddest thing.” He tsked and kept walked.

What they were heading to was a large panel van with “Sweettooth Express” written in large letters across the side. Large clowns were laughing on unicycles around the words. Sandy wondered how far they’d make it in that van.


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zombiechow

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Reply with quote  #21 
Nice story so far.  I nearly shit myself when the thing came through the ceiling, I'm gonna have to remember in a zombie PAW to look up   Never thought the fuckers could climb......

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Reply with quote  #22 
Oh, yeah.  Never did explain that.  The store owner was bitten and climbed up there to get away.

Thanks for reading.

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Reply with quote  #23 
Quote:
Originally Posted by Raccoon_City_Survivor
I know everything, did you not remember?

So, anyone else going to give me feedback?


i just joined this site i love your story and the attention to detail with the character's background history and what not part 2 was amazing as well and the other are riht get a bigger car better for mowing down mofo's

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Reply with quote  #24 
Quote:
Originally Posted by Raccoon_City_Survivor
Yeah, I wasn't going for that, the next scene is coming up and I didn't want them involved.

For.... Reasons.


part 3 was very good i hope terry gets his he is a doche

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Reply with quote  #25 
Quote:
Originally Posted by zombiechow
Nice story so far.  I nearly shit myself when the thing came through the ceiling, I'm gonna have to remember in a zombie PAW to look up   Never thought the fuckers could climb......


just finished part 5 it was good, dont let terry win or rape sandy thou it seems like he would do it. and i cant wait to read more

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"What would drive a man to dress like a nocturnal animal and beat up people in parking lots is beyond me."
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