Sylar
Experienced Survivor
The Original Admin
Posts: 183
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Post by Sylar on Nov 27, 2010 2:33:43 GMT -6
Chapter One - "Stupid and Slow"
"Say buddy, are you sure this is legal?"
The pilot's voice interrupted the photojournalist's concentration, causing him to snap a picture of the thick forest below rather than the military roadblock ahead. He chose to ignore the concerned pilot momentarily as he attempted to line up another shot.
"Mr. West?"
"Yes, Ed?" Frank replied, lowering his camera and glancing up at the pilot through dark aviator lenses.
"Are we supposed to be flying here?" Ed asked. "That sure looks like a blockade down there."
"The 5 grand I paid you for this trip says it's legal," Frank replied. "I wouldn't worry about them. You'll be out of here before they can get any choppers in the air."
"You better be right, man," Ed replied, before quieting once again. Ed DeLuca was a man of medium height, with shoulder length gray hair and a black and gray goatee. He wore an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt with a white wifebeater undershirt underneath. Not the most professional helicopter charter pilot, but the best Frank could do in the state of Colorado.
"So what's going on here?" Ed asked, trying to spark up some more conversation.
"I don't know," Frank replied as he scanned the ground below through his camera. He could see the first buildings off in the distance. "I got an anonymus tip back in the my office in Chicago that something big was going on here. I haven't had a good scoop in months, so figured it might be worth a look. That blockade back there has me excited, needless to say."
"Ah," Ed replied. "Well, I don't really get what could be going on here in Willamette."
"A small, isolated town deep in the Colorado forest," Frank said. "If you think about it, pretty much anything could happen under the right circumstances."
As they began to fly over the town, Frank noticed an unusual number of people just lumbering around, seeming to wander aimlessly. He began to snap pictures, zooming in and noticing something odd about the walkers.
"They're all covered in blood," Frank commented.
"I don't like this," Ed commented. "They all look like they're drugged or something."
As Frank panned the camera over the town, he noticed a man with red hair and a blood-stained white shirt standing on a car, waving a baseball bat around in the air. Many of the dazed looking people began to stumble toward the man, and surround him. In a panic, he started swinging the bat wildly at the crowd, striking one of them hard on the temple.
"Holy shit," Frank muttered as he snapped a picture. As the helicopter passed over the frantic survivor, the crowd pulled him off of the car and began to take bites out of him.
"Take me towards the center of town," Frank ordered, shocked by what he just witnessed.
"What the hell are you getting me into here, Fred?" Ed asked, seeming to get on edge.
"It's Frank," the journalist stated as he snapped a picture of a crowd trying to overturn a schoolbus. "Frank West. Fred West was a serial killer in London."
"My mistake," Ed said a little uneasily. "I'm about ten seconds from flying out of here, Frank. The fuel's almost to the halfway mark and I sure as hell ain't staying the night."
"Damn it," Frank muttered as he glanced back down at the town. He pulled off his sunglasses as a building up ahead caught his eye. "Can you drop me off on the rooftop of that mall?"
"You are crazy, aren't you," Ed muttered as he shot a glance back at Frank. Frank only stared back. "Fine, I'll drop you off, but I sure as hell ain't staying."
"That's fine with me," Frank said as he zoomed his camera in on the mall entrance. There was a massive crowd of people clustered around the doors, with more people shambling across the parking lot to join them. "Just as long as you come back for me in three days."
"You've got to be kidding me?" Ed said, shaking his hand as he began to hover the helicopter over a small landing pad on the mall's roof.
"It'll mean another 5,000," Frank said. "In cash. This is going to be the story of a lifetime."
"Fine," said Ed as he set the bird down on the pad. "But you better be on this roof when I get here."
"I will be," Frank said as he unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped out onto the roof. "In three days. Don't forget."
Ed gave him a small salute as he began to take off again. Frank stood and watched as the chopper ascended into the air and headed back in the direction from whence it came. Looking around the roof, he noticed a number of vents and a single door.
"Well," Frank said as he opened the door. "I hope I'm not the only sane person in town."
As he descended the stairs down into the mall, he noticed he was in some sort of storage room. There were several empty rooms on either side of the lone hallway that ran from the end of the stairs to a door that read "Security".
"Hello?" Frank said aloud as he opened the door to the security room. Before him he saw a cluttered desk with a number of security monitors above it. The monitors each showed various parts of the mall. Most of the mall appeared to be somewhat empty. He glanced down at the desk and noticed a half full cup of coffee.
"What happened here?" Frank muttered to himself as he continued past the security room, into a larger room with a ventilation system that seemed to lead out into the mall. Across from that was a door.
"There has to be somebody out there," Frank said as he stepped through the door and headed down the hallway. Finally, after going through another door, he stepped out into the mall's second floor. The plaza was mostly quiet, except for the soft murmur of people below. Seemingly normal behavior. Frank let out a sigh of relief as he walked down a curved staircase to meet with them.
"Madonna?" an elderly woman's voice drowned out the rest of the soft conversation as Frank looked around at the crowd. There were at least twenty people in the plaza, four of whom were tending to a barricade at the mall entrance.
"Madonna?" said the woman again as she walked up to Frank. "Have you seen my little baby, Madonna? She can't live without me. Madonna?"
Frank merely shook his head as the woman walked off. Ignoring her eccentricity, he glanced out the glass doors at the crowd that these people seemed so determined to keep out.
"What's wrong with them?" Frank asked out loud.
"They're dead," a gruff voice replied. Frank turned to the source to see a middle-aged man with gray hair and a mustache approaching him. He was dressed in slacks and a wrinkled, white button up shirt.
"Excuse me?" Frank asked. "Did you say dead?"
"Yep," the man replied as he popped a piece of nicotine gum into his mouth. "Used to be, at least. I mean, look at 'em. The torn flesh. The pale complexion. The dead, glazed over eyes. Deader than hell."
"So...they're..." Frank started.
"Zombies," the man finished. "Where have you been all this time?"
"I was up in the security room," Frank lied. "I suppose I just thought this was all a dream."
"Oh, it's real," the man said, taking a few steps forward to glance out at the horde. "Don't worry, though. Zombies are stupid and slow. We ought to be fine here."
As Frank was about to snap a picture of the horde, the man stepped into the frame. "The name's Ryan LaRosa," he said, offering his hand to shake.
"Frank West," Frank replied, shaking it.
"Well, Frank, you may as well make yourself useful," Ryan said. "Go on back toward the gate and help Desmond finish unbolting the benches. Those fuckers are a bitch to unscrew, and we need to get this barricade finished."
Frank nodded, zooming in on the crowd to take a shot, before Ryan stepped in yet again, clapping. "Come on, man. Endele. We don't want these fucks getting in. Get going."
Rolling his eyes, Frank strode off to find Desmond. As he passed by the other people in the plaza, he noticed one commonality amongst them all; Fear.
"What the hell is going on in this town?" Frank muttered to himself as he noticed a man with long brown hair and a scruffy beard messing with a bench.
"Desmond, I presume," Frank said as he walked up to the man. "I'm here to help with the bench."
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Sylar
Experienced Survivor
The Original Admin
Posts: 183
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Post by Sylar on Nov 29, 2010 19:28:57 GMT -6
Chapter Two - "Poodles and Handgrenades"
Frank stood in silence, extending his hand toward Desmond as he eyed the journalist. Finally, he stood up and shook it.
"Aye, I'm Desmond," the man replied in a Scottish accent. "If ye don't mind, I can finish unbolting this thing, then you can help me move it toward the doors."
"No problem," Frank replied as he stepped toward the gate and began to shake it with his hands. "Why is there one of these in the middle of the plaza?"
"Don't ask me, brotha," Desmond replied as he worked at the bolts with a tire iron. "Ask Otis."
"Otis?"
"The older black fella," Desmond replied. "The janitor hanging out by the doors with Ryan and Chris. He has all the keys, so I imagine he left this gate down for a reason. As for why it's here...well, I have no sodding idea." At that moment, Desmond got the last bolt off. "Alright, this one's ready."
As Frank was about to turn back to Desmond, he noticed someone wandering around on the other side of the gate. An older man with a cane wearing a tweed jacket. Frank raised his camera and snapped a photo of the man, catching his attention.
"You!" the man shouted as he stumbled over to the gate and began jabbing at Frank and Desmond with the cane. "What do you want from me? Why did you summon me to this place?"
"I don't even know what you're talking about, man!" Frank shouted back. "Who are you?"
The man simply grunted, then began to walk away.
"Hold on," Frank said to the old man. "Just give us a second and we can have you on our side of the gate."
"No, thank you very much," the man grunted angrily as we lumbered away. "I'm just fine over here."
"Wait..." Frank started to argue before Desmond grabbed his shoulder.
"Don't bother," he said to Frank. "He doesn't want our help. Now help me with this bench."
Meanwhile, back at the front of the mall, officer Michael C. Rhodes sat at the bottom step of the staircase to the left of the front doors, watching Ryan and Otis check up on the barricade. Only one door was left unblocked, but the dead seemed to have trouble even cracking the mall's thick glass. He smiled as he spotted a zombie with low riding jeans and an oversized hoodie scratching at the door.
"Fucking whigger," the cop said as he took a drink from his bourbon filled flask. He had been taking the occasional swig from it since his arrival the previous night, and was beginning to run low. He scratched the back of his head as he glanced groggily around the plaza. The alcohol was beginning to make his head swim. He was still in uniform, but only barely. He still had his badge on, but his shirt was untucked and his belt missing. His nightstick had been lost out in the parking lot the night before, leaving him with an empty pistol sticking out of the back of his pants and an unused taser in his pocket.
"Madonna!?" the older woman, Lindsey, shouted as the sound of barking could be heard from outside. Michael glanced over and spotted the little poodle wandering around at the zombies' feet.
"Well, I'll be damned," he uttered with a slight smile as he took another drink.
"Calm down, you old bat," Ryan said as he grabbed Lindsey's arm. "They obviously aren't interested in your little rat. She'll be fine."
"No!" Lindsey shouted as she kicked Ryan in the shin, causing him to loosen his grip on her arm. "I'm coming, baby," the panicked woman shouted as she ran toward the unblocked door, pushing an off guard Otis to the ground.
As she reached for the lock, Michael jumped up, pulled out the taser, aimed it carefully, and pulled the trigger. The two darts clung to the back of the woman's neck, instantly forcing her to the ground as electricty ran through her entire body. She was unconcious within seconds.
"You guys need to be more careful," Michael muttered with a grin as he knelt over the downed woman and removed the darts. "We wouldn't want another feeble old woman getting us all killed."
"Fuck you, man," Ryan replied grumpily. "She caught me off guard."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Michael said as he stood to return to his seat.
"uhhh....guys?" uttered Chris Hines, a younger man who had just returned from the other end of the plaza with a trashcan, in a shakey voice. "Look."
Michael and Ryan glanced out and immediately noticed what Chris had seen: one of the zombies who had just made his way up to the doors was clutching a grenade in one of his hands, with his thumb in the clip.
"Dear God," Otis muttered as he began to back away from the door.
"Don't worry," Michael said calmly. "None of them are smart enough to use it."
At that moment, another zombie eyed the grenade. Seeming to mistake it for a human hand, it snatched the explosive away, leaving the clip behind.
"Oh sh-" was all Michael could mutter before an explosion ripped the entrance apart. Ryan and Michael were killed instantly, ripped to shreds by the flying glass shards. Otis, who had started running when the grenade was activated, was struck in the back of his head by a chunk of a wood, knocking him unconscious.
"Oh bloody hell?" Desmond uttered, dripping his end of the bench as debris rained down around them. Rhodes's police badge landed at Frank's feet. As he leaned down and picked it up, he heard a scream. Looking up, he noticed the zombies were quickly filling the plaza.
"Oh shit!" Frank shouted. He glanced back toward the gate, then back at the horde. Toward the front of the plaza, survivors began to fight the undead, but were quickly losing.
"Get to the stairs!!!" a voice from above shouted. Frank glanced up and saw a bald, black man with a mustache and a shirt and tie. He was glancing down at the crowd of survivors below, waving a handgun. "There's a safe room up here! You just have to get to the stairs!!"
Frank looked back to the horde. They were slow movers, but had already managed to pass the stairs, killing a number of people. Frank looked back to the survivors behind him. Other than he and Desmond, there was a thin, black man with dreadlocks, a midget with short, black hair wearing a suit, a thin man with black hair and a Hawaiian shirt, an older man in a sweater vest, and a woman with long, black hair and nurse scrubs.
"Alright, we need to move," Frank said quickly as he grabbed a metal bat away from the dreadlocked man and began to smash at the bench with it. "Everyone grab a chunk. We're going to have to push through the crowd."
"Are you insane!?" the midget shouted in a slightly high pitched voice. "There's no way in hell we'll make it!"
"The alternative is death, brotha," Desmond said bluntly as he grabbed a chunk of the bench.
"Alright, we should be able to get through the horde if we stick together," Frank said as he handed the dreadlocked man his bat. Grabbing one of the wood chunks, he made a dash for the stairs, with the others right behind him. The horde was thick, and the group's movement was slowed as they had to fight off the walkers that closed in around them. As they were about the reach the fountain, the old man in the sweater vest tripped over a limb. The zombies immediately closed in on him and began to tear him apart.
"Fuck!" the nurse shouted.
"We're almost there!" Frank shouted as he kicked a fat zombie in the chest, forcing her into the water. "Just hold on!"
As the group reached the staircase, the man with the gun began to shoot down any zombies that blocked their path. Frank hopped over the railing and kicked a zombie that had been sitting on the bottom step, knawing on a piece of Ryan's arm.
"Come on!" the armed man shouted as he pulled the back of Frank's jacket. "We need to move!"
Frank and the man sprinted up the stairs and back down the hall that Frank had previously followed to get into the mall. The others were right behind them. Within seconds, they were back in the security room, with the armed man welding the door shut.
"Were you all that made it?" a blonde haired woman in a tan suit and glasses asked Frank, who merely nodded.
"What the hell happened, anyway?" Desmond asked, as he leaned against the vents to catch his breath.
"A walker had a grenade," answered Otis, who was sitting in the corner, clutching his neck.
"Damn," Desmond muttered. "What the hell happened to your neck?"
"One of those damn things bit me," Otis grunted as blood trickled out from under his hand.
"Let me look at that," the nurse said as she knelt next to Otis.
"Now that we got what happened out of the way, I have just one question," Frank said as he glanced back at the black man, who had just finished welding. "Who the hell are you two?"
"My name's Jessie," the woman said before the man could. "He's Brad. That's all that matters right now."
"All that matters?" Frank asked. "No offense, but you don't exactly look like locals."
"Neither do you," Brad replied as he pried open the vent and glanced inside.
"What the hell are you doing?" the midget asked as he lit a cigarette.
"We need food and water," Brad replied. "These vents likely go back out into the mall."
"You're going back out there?" Frank asked.
"Yeah," Brad replied. "The rest of you should stay here. I'll be back."
With that, Brad pulled himself into the vent and was gone. Frank, frustrated and confused, looked back to the others. He felt a tinge of sadness at the fact that a group that had once contained more than twenty people had been reduced to less than ten in a matter of moments, but it passed quickly.
"Well, we're likely going to be stuck here awhile," the nurse said as she examined Otis's wound. "We may as well introduce ourselves. I'm Katie Lynch."
"My name's Frank West," Frank said as he scratched his forehead.
"Do you mind if I look at your pictures, Frank?" Jessie asked as she extended her hand. "Just to see what you've seen out there."
"Sure," Frank said, slightly wary of her intentions as he handed her his camera.
"Well," Desmond said, continuing the introductions. "My name's Desmond Hume. This is my first time coming to America."
"You chose a hell of a town to visit, man," the midget said with a laugh as he took a drag from his cigarette. "My name's Carl Settis, and this tall guy with the dreads is François. He's from Haiti, so he don't talk much."
François gave a slight wave as he looked around the room. The man in the Hawaiian shirt glanced at the others, scratching at a vertical scar over his right eye.
"What's your name, son?" Otis said in a raspy voice. Despite his bite not being too serious, he seemed to be getting feverish. "Mine's Otis Washington. I've been a janitor here for about 25 years."
"I'm Matt Ruinoff," the man said quietly. "Is there a bathroom in here?"
"Back there, behind the stairs," Otis answered as he pulled himself off the ground.
"You need to sit still for a second, Otis," Katie said with concern.
"I plan on it," Otis replied. "On my cot in the camera room."
With that, many of the survivors began to spread out in the security room. Jessie remained where she was, looking through Frank's pictures. As he was about to take back his camera, he noticed her react with surprise at one of his pictures. One of the old man with the cane.
"Who is that?" Frank asked.
Jessie seemed startled by the question. "Nobody," she answered as she handed him his camera, then strode on into the monitor room. Frank stared after her.
She's not telling me everything...
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Sylar
Experienced Survivor
The Original Admin
Posts: 183
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Post by Sylar on Nov 29, 2010 19:32:26 GMT -6
Chapter Three - "Going Commando"
Feeling a headache coming on, Frank followed Jessie into the monitor room. Inside, Frank took note of the people around him: Otis was sitting on the cot while Katie looked through a first aid kit for bandages, Desmond was standing in the doorway that led deeper into the security room, and Settis was leaning against a filing cabinet. All the others had likely gone to find a quiet place to rest.
Jessie, do you read me?
Jessie grabbed a walkie that was attached to her belt and responded. "Yeah, I hear you, Brad," she said. "What do you need?"
Ask the janitor if there's any way to raise all these shutters. I can't get into any shops.
"Under the desk," Otis said. "There's a switch that opens every shutter in the mall."
"Even that huge one in the middle of the God damn Entrance Plaza?" Settis asked as Jessie reached down and flicked the switch. Otis merely nodded.
"Well why the fuck didn't you open that before!?" Settis cried. "We almost got ourselves killed because of you."
"Because I had no idea how long it would take those things to break through the unbarricaded entrances throughout the mall," Otis replied sharply. "With that shutter down, we only had to worry about one set of doors rather than several."
"I don't blame ya, brotha," Desmond said, his eyes on the monitors. "Those buggers are all over the mall."
"Do these cameras run everywhere in the mall?" Jessie asked as she waved at the monitors.
"All except the North Plaza," Otis replied.
"Why aren't there cameras in the North Plaza?" Jessie asked, sitting down into the rolling chair.
"It's under contruction," Otis replied, as Katie began to clean the bite on his neck. "There aren't many stores open up there. Just a grocer, a knife shop, a hardware store...and a gun shop."
"Gun shop?" Frank asked as he leaned against the wall next to the desk. "In a mall?"
"Welcome to small town Colorado, Mr. West," Otis replied with a slight smile. "There are gun shops everywhere. It's almost deer season."
"Well, it may come in handy for other reasons," Frank said with a chuckle.
"I wouldn't recommend going up there," said Otis, wincing as Katie dabbed his wound with alcohol. "It's a deathtrap. Construction tools and scaffoldings are everywhere, and we have no way of knowing how many....well, zombies are up there."
"I'm sure we could handle it if we needed to," Desmond said, scratching at his beard.
"Trust me, Mr. Hume," Otis said. "Anybody who chooses to go to the North Plaza has very little chance of getting out alive."
***
As Frank and the others were running for the stairs in the Entrance Plaza, another group of survivors were fighting for their lives just outside Crislip's Home Saloon in the North Plaza. The group of seven stood in a tight group around the store's shutters as the owner, David Crislip, struggled to get them open.
"Damn it, what's taking so long!" Song Nai shouted as he knocked the zombie of a teenage girl away from him with the butt of his rifle.
"Aha!" Crislip shouted as he unlocked the shutters and pushed them up just enough for the others to crawl in. "COME ON!!!" he shouted. Seconds later, everyone had made it into the store, and the shutters were closed once again.
"You think they'll get through that?" asked Kiera Laen, a teenage girl, as she sat down on the counter.
"No way," Crislip replied as he leaned next to her. He was a middle aged man with a big, gray beard. He was wearing a flannel shirt, jeans, and a John Deere cap and was armed with a bloody shovel. "A normal man couldn't brake through those shutters. None of those fucks are getting through."
"Hey Doc," called out John Dillon, a contruction worker who was standing over a weak Bridget Erickson. "I think one of those things bit her."
Dr. Veta Elizalde set down his lead pipe and strode over to them, running his fingers through his tangled shoulder length hair. After glancing over the wound on her shoulder and feeling her temperature, a puzzled expression fell over his face.
"That's odd," he said. "The bite doesn't look to be infected, but her temperature is rising fast."
"Is she gonna be okay?" John asked with concern.
"I....I don't know," Veta said as he stood up. "I've never seen anything like this before."
"Heh," Song laughed as he paced back and forth in front of the shutters. "None of us have, man."
As the others discussed what to do, the sixth survivor, Cliff Hudson, crept to the back of the store. Tears ran down his cheeks and he stumbled disorientedly to the back corner and leaned against the wall.
"They killed her...." he muttered to himself. His head pounded, and he found he was quickly losing track of what was going on around him. As sweat trickled down his forehead, he pulled off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves on his flannel shirt, attempting to cool off.
Those monsters killer her right in front of me...
At that moment, Cliff heard gunshots off toward the front of the store. For a moment, Cliff figured Song was shooting out at the crowd, but then it dawned on him....
Vietkong....
There was no way he was going to let them take anything else. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he jumped to his feet and looked around the aisle. He was surrounded with various bladed tools, such as sickles and machetes. Grabbed a machete from its hook he began to creep around the store.
Back at the front, Song fired his final shot into the zombie horde outside. "Shit," he muttered as he threw the gun down.
"You shouldn't have done that, kid," Crislip grumbled. "That was our only gun."
"There's a fucking gun shop around the corner," Song snapped back. "If we need more, we can go get them."
"If you want to step out there, be my guest," Crislip replied. "Me, I'm staying here."
At that instant, a small fire axe flew from across the store and lodged itself in Crislip's back. After a few raspy breaths, the old man fell forward dead.
"What the fuck!!!" Song shouted as he back up against the wall, looking around the store. Covering her mouth to keep from shrieking, Kiera quickly jumped behind the counter and hid underneath it.
"Where the hell is Cliff?" Veta asked as he and John stood back to back, looking in all directions.
"Fuck it," John muttered as he grabbed Veta's lead pipe and started walking toward one of the aisles.
"Where are you going!?" Song asked. "Are you insane!?"
As John rounded a corner into an aisle, he was immediately stabbed through the gut with the machete. He was dead before he hit the floor. Noticing the lead pipe in John's hands, Cliff decided that the rest of the guerillas must be unarmed. There was no need to continue sneaking around.
"John?" Veta called out as he reached for Crislip's shovel. As he leaned down to grab it, Cliff immediately charged him, elbowing him in the face. After Veta fell to the ground, knocked out, Cliff turned his attention to Song.
"You want some!?" Song shouted, reaching for the nearest thing he could grab: a parasol. Cliff chuckled and dropped the machete, seeming to dare Song to attack. Closing the parasol, Song began to swing it at Cliff, who dodged the attacks with ease. After a few moments of this, the Vietnam vet kicked Song in the knee, knocked him to the ground. With another swift kick the the forehead, the Chinaman was out cold.
After picking up his machete, he strolled casually behind the counter and glanced down at the terrified teenage girl underneath.
"Don't worry," Cliff said as he reached down and grabbed her arm. "I'm not going to kill you...yet."
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Sylar
Experienced Survivor
The Original Admin
Posts: 183
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Post by Sylar on Nov 30, 2010 21:10:58 GMT -6
Chapter Four - "An Agent in Distress"
Frank West sat with his back against the metal cabinet next to the cot, deep in thought. It had been half an hour since Brad Garrison had left to find supplies, and he was no closer to knowing what was going on around him or who the two strangers were. They could be anyone from FBI to CIA, and he would never be able to know for sure unless one of them talked.
He glanced up at Jessie, who was staring at the screen of her laptop. She seemed to be worried about something, but Frank couldn't tell what exactly was bothering her. Standing behind Jessie was Desmond, who busily surfed through the channels on the small TV hanging in the corner above the security monitors, looking for information on what was happening.
"Have you found anything?" Frank asked, breaking the silence.
"Nothing," Desmond replied, not turning away from the screen. "All the local channels are dead, and the national ones are business as usual. None of the news networks like CNN have mentioned a damn thing. Nobody knows about it, brotha."
Then who tipped me off about this town....
At that moment, the door behind Desmond opened and Katie Lynch walked in, holding a water bottle. "How's he doing?" she asked as she leaned over Otis's sleeping form and pressed her hand against his forehead.
"He hasn't stirred at all," Frank replied, picking himself up off the ground and popping his back. ''Is he okay?"
"I don't know," Katie replied. "He seemed fine when we got here, but now he has a high fever. I've never seen anything like this before."
"You think it was the bite?" Desmond asked, turning off the TV and setting the remote down on top of the filing cabinets.
"I don't know what else it could be," Katie replied. "But if it gets any worse, I'm afraid we might lose him."
"Damn," Frank muttered as he looked down at the sick man. "What the hell is going on here?"
"I wish I knew," Katie responded. Frank sensed a bit of sadness in her voice.
"Brad!!" Jessie suddenly shouted, jumping up from her chair and watching a monitor. Frank, Desmond, and Katie all gathered around to see what the issue was. Through one of the cameras in the Food Court showed Brad ducking from a shower of bullets in one of the small eateries. Jessie quickly reached into a duffel bag that sat at her feet and pulled out a 9mm handgun.
"Whoah, where do you think you're going?" Frank asked, stepping in front of Jessie before she could walk out.
"My partner is being attacked!" she snapped. "Where do YOU think I'm going!?"
"You're going to go save your older, likely more experienced partner from an enemy we can't see through that camera and have no way of knowing how skilled or armed he is!" Frank snapped back. "On top of that, you're going alone....in high heels."
"Just move out of my way," she replied, trying to push by him.
"Just hold on a second, will you!?" Frank said, sidestepping into her path again. "Let me and Desmond go instead."
"What? I can't allow that," Jessie replied, seeming to grow anxious.
"Consider this, sweetheart," Frank said, growing impatient. "How far do you really think you're going to get through a plaza full of zombies?"
Jessie did not respond, but merely thought things over a few moments. After some hesitation, she handed her handgun to Frank. "Do you know how to use it?"
"Kinda," Frank said with a chuckle as he checked the clip. "I've covered wars, ya know."
"Are there any more?" Desmond asked. "I don't mind you volunteering me on some deadly mission, but I'd feel a hell of a lot better about it if I had a bloody gun."
"In the bag," Jessie said as she sat back down in the rolling chair. "You can take one of them."
Desmond reached in and grabbed one of the handguns, then he and Frank crawled through the vents as quickly as possible. After a few moments, the duo popped out on a rooftop. Taking a few moments to scan the area for danger, they ran for a nearby elevator and pressed the down button. As they stepped through the doors, the transceiver Frank had grabbed before leaving began to ring.
"Yeah," Frank answered.
Have you reached the elevators?
"Yeah."
Ok, the warehouse it will take you to leads to Paradise Plaza. From there, you should be able to cut across the mall's park to the Food Court.
"Ok, we'll find our way," Frank replied. "Don't worry, we'll bring him back in one piece."
Within moments, they stepped out of the cluttered warehouse into Paradise Plaza. The plaza was relatively clear, with the occasional lone zombie shambling about aimlessly. Frank knew this emptiness wouldn't last long.
"I don't like this, brotha," Desmond said as they made their way to the park entrance. "Why would whoever these two work for send such an inexperienced agent into this mess?"
"I don't know," Frank replied as he shoved a zombie out of their way. "What bothers me more is the lack of new coverage. The military quarantines an entire town and doesn't tell anyone? This isn't right."
"I hear ya," Desmond replied as he pulled open the doors to Leisure Park. "I just hope we get some news soon. Those bastards can't just sit out there forever."
As they moved their way across the park, they managed to stay back-to-back, shooting at any walker that got too close. In an effort to preserve ammo, Frank picked up a bloody baseball bat that had likely been left by some unlucky bastard and began to swing at the surrounding hordes. After a few moments, they had finally reached the entrance to the Food Court. After a few desperate tugs at the door handle, Frank quickly realized that the door was locked.
"What the fuck!" he shouted as they began to find themselves surrounded by the undead.
"What's the problem!?" Desmond shouted as he grabbed the bat and began to swing at the zombies.
"It's fucking locked!" Frank replied as he tugged some more. Finally, he just drew his gun and fired a single shot into the door's lock. "Come on!" he shouted as he grabbed Desmond and pulled him inside, then shoved the bat through both door handles, preventing the zombies from pushing them open for the time being.
Almost immediately after they had entered the area, gunshots began to ping off the ground all around them. In a panic, Desmond shoved Frank into Chris's Fine Foods while firing a few shots toward the attacker, who seemed to be hiding out on top of the entrance to the eating area. As Desmond joined him in hiding, Frank noticed Brad ducked behind a booth on the other side of the restaraunt.
"Hey Brad!" Frank shouted, causing the shooter to let out another barrage of bullets. Brad glanced over at Frank and furrowed his brow a bit, seeming upset. After a moment, he beckoned them over. As Brad opened fire at the shooter, Frank and Desmond quickly dashed over to where he was ducked.
"Your girlfriend sent us to find you," Frank said as he hit the ground next to Brad.
"Well, you've found me," Brad replied. "But that doesn't change the situation."
"What's going on?" Desmond asked.
"I have no idea," responded Brad. "I just walked through those doors and got shot at."
"Did you get a good look at him?" Frank asked as he peeked over the top of their hiding place. He was met with another round of bullets hitting the wall overhead.
"A couple of times," Brad replied. "He looks to be Hispanic, with long hair, a black muscle shirt, and I think camo pants. He seems to know what he's doing, too. He's keeping the zombies out of here with a small bonfire in a trashcan at the entrance to....I think it's called Wonderworld Plaza."
Brad raised his gun and fired a few more shots at the attacker. "Look, I'll distract him by making my way toward that Italian place over there. One of you try to sneak around behind him."
With that, Brad began emptied the rest of his clip at the gunman as he dashed for That's a Spicey Meatball. Meanwhile, Frank and Desmond took advantage of the diversion by making their way into the eating area and jumping into one of the small food stands. Peaking over the counter, Frank got a good look at the attacker. He looked very much like what Brad had described, and was armed with an assault rifle. As the man fired at Brad, he seemed to take notice of their hiding place behind him. Before reloading his rifle, he tossed something over his shoulder and made a run for it, jumping on top of one of the nearby Food Stands and climbing a rope up into the rafters.
"Oh shit!!" Frank shouted as he noticed what had landed near them: a live grenade. In a panic, he and Desmond both jumped out of the stand and bolted back toward Chris's Fine Foods. Seconds later, they found themselves on the ground as the blast pushed them off their feet.
"Bloody hell," Frank heard Desmond mutter over the ringing in his ears.
"Where did he go?" Brad said as he ran over and helped them up.
"He just took off," Frank grunted as he brushed some dust of his shoulder. "Who was that, anyway?"
"What makes you think I would know?" Brad asked.
"Whoever you and Jessie are, you sure aren't here to deal with this plague," Frank said as he gave Brad a quick look at the picture Jessie had reacted to earlier.
"Where did you take that?" Brad asked as he reached for the camera, which was quickly pulled away from him by Frank.
"Is this really the time, brotha?" Desmond asked as he pointed toward the entrance to Leisure Park. Several zombies had gathered around the doors and were all putting their wait against it. The baseball bat was beginning to crack under the pressure. Frank merely ignored it as he tried to stare Brad down.
"Fine," Brad finally said. "Jessie and I are from Homeland Security, and yes, we are looking for the man in that picture."
"Why?" Frank asked.
"His name is Russell Barnaby," Brad continued. "He's a very important government scientist who disappeared a few days ago. We managed to track him here, and I fully intend to bring him back safely. Just tell me where he is."
"I took this picture in the Entrance Plaza," Frank said as he handed Brad the camera. "He may not be there, though. Things got hectic in there real fast."
"It's a good place to start," Brad said as he handed the camera back and reloaded his gun. "Let's put out that fire and get moving. I want Dr. Barnaby in the security room before nightfall."
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Sylar
Experienced Survivor
The Original Admin
Posts: 183
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Post by Sylar on Dec 4, 2010 4:10:03 GMT -6
Chapter Five - "...and a Stranger Rode Into Town"
As Brad, Frank, and Desmond made their way through Al Fresca Plaza, dodging various undead as they went, Frank contemplated what could be going on. What was so important about an old scientist that the DHS would drop two agents into a warzone with no back-up and no way of communicating with the outside world?
Frank took a look around the outdoor plaza they were walking through. It was still baffling to him that there were so few zombies in the mall still. They were moving through the plaza with little trouble. He knew it wouldn't stay that way forever, though.
"So why was the door locked?" Desmond asked as they approached the plaza's fountain.
"I didn't go through the park," Brad said as he shoved a fat zombie out of his way. "Believe it or not, I walked right by where Barnaby is likely hiding. There's a bookstore in the Entrance Plaza that has a door instead of shutters. My money says he's there."
As they approached the doors to the Entrance Plaza, Frank noticed a flyer on the wall advertising dates to see Motocross star Chuck Greene do stunts at the local monster truck arena.
Looks like that will never happen...
***
As the three men made their way through Al Fresca, the roar of an approaching engine could be heard in the parking lot. Many zombies who had been approaching the mall began to turn their attention to the sound as an old, beaten up Trans-Am tore into the lot, swerving recklessly into any zombie in its path. Finally, the car came to a sudden stop as it crashed into a stone sign that read "Willamette Parkview Mall".
Almost immediately after the car stopped, the driver side door flew open, releasing the heavy sounds of Type O Negative and the thick smell of cigarette smoke, and out stepped Dean Edwards. He stood at a fairly tall height, and had a slim build with more muscle than he appeared to have. He was dressed in a black trenchcoat over a Korn T-shirt, black jeans, and biker boots.
"Bloody Americans," Edwards said in an English accent as he aimed his sawn-off shotgun and destroyed a zombie's head. After tossing his finished cigarette away, he ran his fingers through his short, brown hair and dashed for the nearest doors. Inside, he found himself in the North Plaza, facing an empty fountain.
"I would end up in an unfinished mall," he said with a sigh as he watched the hordes begin to surround him. He fired off a number of shots before running across a wooden plank to the statue in the middle of the fountain.
"Hey you," Dean heard a voice whisper at that point. He looked around and noticed three figures in the darkness of an empty store next to what appeared to be a hardware store.
"What do you want?" Dean asked, focusing on the zombies who continually failed at crossing the planks.
"We're being held against our will in here," a voice said. "There's a man in the Home Saloon. He's got the key to these doors."
"You want me to go in there and attack a man who appears to have been able to incapacitate three people?" Dean replied. "Are you off your sodding head?"
"I'll do it," said a voice from behind him. He glanced back and noticed a man with blonde hair standing on top of a scaffolding. "And you're going to help me."
"Why would I do that?" Dean asked with a smirk.
"Because I know of a safe place," the man said as he jumped down from the scaffolding and ran over the Dean's position. He was armed with a bloody fireaxe.
"Why don't I just blow the door open with this, if you want them so bad?" Dean asked, waving the gun around.
"Because whoever is in there needs to be stopped," the man replied. "Just follow my lead."
"Not a chance, mate," Dean said as he lit a new cigarette. "I've got better things to do than play cops and robbers with some Yank with an additude problem. Deal with him yourself."
"Fine," the man replied as he walked toward the entrance to Crislips. "That ammo won't last forever, though."
Dean glanced first at his shotgun, then toward the zombies around him. After a few seconds, he let out a sigh and followed the stranger to the shutters. "You wouldn't happen to have the key, would you?" he asked before aiming his gun at the lock and firing.
"Thanks, Mr...." the man said.
"Dean Edwards," the Englishman replied as he pushed the shutters up.
"Hello, Dean," the man said as he followed Dean into the store. "My name's Chuck Greene."
After taking a few steps, both men stopped and looked around the store in awe. Hanging from the ceiling, all over the store, were several decapitated zombies with their hands bound. It seemed like the psycho had been letting zombies in one at a time and systematically killing them.
"Halt!!" Cliff shouted from behind them. Chuck and Dean swung around and were met with a grizzly site. In the hour or so since he had captured the others, Cliff had become soaked in blood and had ripped the sleeves off of his flannel shirt.
"That seems to be a popular fashion trend in this town," Dean commented as he aimed his shotgun at the vet. However, before he could fire, Cliff kicked the weapon from his hands.
"I knew it!" he roared as he raised his machete. "I knew you weren't soldiers! You're just filthy commies just like the others!"
With a snarl, he brought the blade down the ground between the two men, who each ran their seperate ways. Chuck clutched his fire axe, then lunged at the crazed soldier, who deflected the axe with his machete with ease. After a few more impasses, Cliff kicked Chuck in the gut, knocking him back into a pile of chainsaws.
Dean, while scanning the room for his lost firearm, finds and grabs the lead pipe that had previously been wielded by John Dillon. Noticing Cliff about to slice Chuck's head off, Dean charged at the beast and brought the pipe down onto his shoulder. With a pained grunt, Cliff swung his arm around and punched Dean in the forehead, knocking him back a step.
"Is that all you've got, mate," Dean shouted as he swung the pipe, which Cliff deflected with the machete. As Dean swung it again, Cliff managed to grab it with his left hand.
"You're mine now, chink," Cliff grunted as he raised the machete.
"Hey Arnie!" Chuck shouted. The second Cliff turned to face him, his gut exploded as Chuck fired two shots from Dean's sawnoff shotgun. Groaning, the wounded veteran fell to his knees, dropping his machete.
"I'll take that," Dean said as he snatched the shotgun from Chuck's hand and pressed it against Cliff's forehead. "Any last words?"
"Where am I," Cliff uttered deleriously in a raspy voice as blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. He glanced around at his surroundings, then at the two men in front of him before it dawned on him. "No....I didn't....I couldn't..."
"You did," Chuck said. "You've been running around with a damn machete, chopping up zombies and collecting survivors next door. I'm surprised you didn't kill the three of them with how you came at us."
"....Th....Three?" Cliff uttered as he fell onto his back. His breathing was becoming more labored. "There were seven of us before.....before I...."
"Can I kill him already?" Dean asked as he cocked the gun. "This is growing tiresome."
"Shut up, man," Chuck muttered as he leaned in closer to Cliff. "What happened."
"Those....monsters got my grand daughter just before we got here," Cliff said as sweat poured down his face. "I was....was so torn up. I should have been able to save her......but I couldn't.....th....the next thing I know, I'm right here."
Chuck said nothing, but watched as tear rolled down the side of Cliff's face. After a few seconds his breathing slowed to a stop, and the soldier was dead.
"Damn," Dean said as he lowered his gun. "I wanted to shoot him."
"What the hell is your damage?" Chuck asked as he searched Cliff's pockets for keys.
"My damage is the world is collapsing around me," Dean said as he watched the zombies outside struggle to open the damaged shutters. "May as well get some bloody enjoyment out of it."
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Sylar
Experienced Survivor
The Original Admin
Posts: 183
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Post by Sylar on Dec 6, 2010 0:40:11 GMT -6
Chapter Six - "Once Bitten"
The Entrance Plaza was eerily quiet as the trio walked in. There didn't seem to be more than one or two lone zombies wandering around, but there were random pools of blood all over from when the undead had overrun the plaza.
"Where did they all go?" whispered Frank, standing at the foot of the escalators, scanning the area. In the plaza's silence, he first noticed the mellow music playing over the mall's PA.
"They're probably off looking for food elsewhere," Desmond replied as he glanced around at the shops around them. "I have a feeling this place will be crawling with them by this time tomorrow. There are three places in this town that survivors will head to: the police station, the hospital, and this mall. And with every person who comes here, a whole horde of those things are bound to follow."
"There," Brad said abruptly as he pointed at Everyone Luvs Books. "Both of you hang back while I see if he's there. Keep an eye out for walkers."
As Brad strolled over to investigate the bookstore, Desmond and Frank remained in the center of the plaza, talking and watching the few random zombies begin to shuffle towards them. Frank noticed Barnaby open the door and begin discussing things with Brad.
"They don't seem like that much of a threat," Frank finally said as he watched one of them. He took aim with his camera and snapped a photo.
"You wouldn't think so, brotha," Desmond replied. "But they are. It's amazing how fast this town turned upside down because of them. It just happened during the night two nights ago. That morning, have the town was just bloody undead."
"I wasn't here yet," Frank said with a smirk. "It seemed I missed the worst part of all this."
"I have a feeling that you haven't," Desmond said ominously as he took aim and shot one of the zombies in between the eyes. At that point, Brad began to make his way back over to them as Barnaby shut the door again.
"What gives?" Frank asked as he gestured toward the old man.
"He won't budge," Brad replied. "He insists that the zombies are the least of our problems, and that he won't be joining us until we've amassed an army of some sort."
"We'll that's just wonderful," Frank muttered as he scratched at the stubble on his chin. "So what are going to do?"
"Right now we're going back to the security room," Brad replied as he began to walk toward Paradise Plaza. "There I'll have Jessie get in touch with HQ about it. We may have to break into that store and take him."
***
Jessie sat at the monitors, watching Brad, Frank, and Desmond walk into Paradise Plaza. She let out a sigh of relief. She had been worried about how the two men would do in their efforts to rescue Brad, and they had done well.
Just then, the door behind her opened, startling her a bit. Glancing over her shoulder, she noticed Fran?ois and Settis walking in. "Can I help you?"
"Yeah, me and my buddy Fran?ois here were wondering when we'll get food," Settis said as he puffed on a cigarette. "It's been a while since any of us have eaten."
"Brad is fixing to be back," Jessie replied. "We'll discuss food when he gets here."
Settis repeated her answer to Fran?ois in French, answering the question in the back of Jessie's mind: how the hell were a vertically challenged businessman and an immigrant from Haiti friends. Carl Settis was likely the only person Fran?ois could talk to since the outbreak.
"Sounds good to us," Settis replied. "If you don't mind, he and I will be sitting in on those proceedings."
"Whatever," Jessie said as she glanced back at the monitors. "How are the others doing?"
"Katie's napping, and that other guy Matt is just kind of sitting at the foot of the stairs," Settis replied. "Something's not quite right about him."
At that moment, Brad, Frank, and Desmond walked in. "We've got a problem with Barnaby," Brad said.
"I saw," Jessie replied as she pointed at the monitors. "What happened?"
"He just doesn't trust us to keep him safe," Brad said as he leaned against the file cabinets next to Settis and Fran?ois. "Have you been able to get ahold of anyone?"
"No," Jessie said. "All the lines are down. Even ours."
"That's strange," Brad replied. "How do they expect us to get anybody out of here if we don't even know when our helicopter is coming."
"I've got a ride coming," Frank said just then. "A helicopter. In three days."
"Is it reliable?" Brad asked, his interest piqued.
"He should be," Frank replied. "Half his pay relies on it."
"Three days?" Settis interupted. "If we're gonna be sitting around here for three days, we're gonna need some fucking food. I'm almost out of cigs, too."
"I'll go back out there in a few minutes and get some supplies," Brad said. "Food, blankets and the like. Any of you who wish to join me are welcome to."
"Not me this time, brotha," Desmond said as he strolled toward the back rooms. "I need some rest. I'll see you all in a few hours."
As Fran?ois stepped away from the door to allow Desmond through, he bumped into Otis, who was standing next to the cot. Without hesitation, Otis grabbed the Haitian by the shoulders and sunk his teeth into his jugular. Fran?ois screamed in agony as arterial spray shot across the room.
"Holy shit!!!" Settis screamed as he dived underneath the desk. Frank and Desmond lunged forward to pull the to apart as Brad drew his handgun and aimed.
"Get them apart, damn it!!" Brad shouted as the men struggled to free Fran?ois from Otis's grip. Finally, Frank reared back and kicked Otis in the knee, knocking him to the ground. Brad immediately stood over the undead janitor and fired a single round into his forehead.
Just then, Katie and Matt stood in the doorway to the crowded room, in awe of what had happened. Katie immediately began tending to Fran?ois.
"Damn it," she snapped as he felt the wounded foreigner's pulse. "He's gone. What the hell happened?"
"Otis must have died," Settis said as he climbed back to his feet. "Then he just happened TO WAKE THE FUCK UP! What the hell is going on here, guys!?"
"Will you calm down!," Brad shouted as he knelt down on one knee and looked Settis in the eye. "There's a helicopter coming in three days. All we have to do is last in here for three days. There's no reason we won't be able to. First, we need to tend to your friend, because any moment now he'll be getting back up."
As Brad was saying this, Fran?ois began to sit up, his complexion pale and his eyes glazed over. Without hesitation, Brad jumped up and fired another shot into Fran?ois's left eye, splattering blood and brain matter on the wall behind him. The everyone stood in a tense silence for a few moments as the corpse collapsed next to Otis.
"Before I go, we're gonna have to tend to these bodies," Brad finally said quietly as he holstered his gun. "Anybody willing to give me a hand?"
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Sylar
Experienced Survivor
The Original Admin
Posts: 183
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Post by Sylar on Dec 11, 2010 13:56:01 GMT -6
Chapter Seven - "A Second Group"
Frank grunted as he and Brad tossed Fran?ois's body, wrapped in blankets, over the edge of the roof down onto the parking lot below. Right afterward, Desmond and Matt tossed Otis's.
"This isn't right," Desmond muttered as he watched the horde below surround the corpses. "They didn't deserve this."
"It's the best we can do for them now," Brad said as he rubbed the back of his neck. The four men stood in silence for a few moments, seeming to be in honor of the two losses.
"All those things really are dead, aren't they?" Frank finally muttered, breaking the silence. "It's still hard to believe."
"I hear ye there, brotha," Desmond said as he walked back toward the door to the security room. "I'm off to bed, now, before I collapse."
"Night," Frank said, before turning to glance at the helipad behind them. For a moment, he wondered if Ed would come back for him. If Ed would even be able to come back...
"They get stronger at night," said Matt Ruinoff, who was sitting crosslegged on the ledge, watching the walkers below.
"What do you mean?" Brad asked. "How much stronger?"
"They're still slow and stupid," Matt replied. "But they react faster, and see further. Their eyes glow red in the dark. You watch your back out there, Mr. Garrison."
"He won't have to," Frank said as he checked the clip on his handgun. "I'm going with him."
Brad gave Frank a slight smile before walking off toward the door. "Just don't slow me down."
With that, both men moved down into the security room to prepare for their trip back out into the mall, leaving Matt alone to watch the sunset.
***
As Chuck fumbled with the keys at the locked door to the abandoned store, Dean kept the zombies at bay with his sawn-off shotgun. After a couple of wrong keys, the Motocross star finally got the door open. Within seconds, he and Dean had slipped in and the doors were shut again.
"Are you all alright?" Chuck asked.
"Yes, we're fine," Veta Elizalde replied. "What's become of Cliff?"
"Dead," Dean said abruptly as he watched the zombies outside.
"I'd hoped it would end better than that," Veta said sadly. "Cliff was a 'nam veteran. He just lost his grand-daughter to those flesheaters out there, and I guess it just made him snap back to a different time."
"How about we stop worrying about him and get the hell out of here?" Song asked as he walked over to the door and stood next to Dean.
"I left some people on top of the scaffolding in front of the grocery store," Chuck said as he peeked out at the crowd of undead. "If we're quick and careful, we should make it in five minutes."
"Count me out," Dean said as he pulled the last of his shotgun shells from his trenchcoat pocket and begun to reload his weapon. "I came here for guns, not baggage. I heard a gunshop just opened up here in the mall."
"I suppose you mean the Huntin' Shack," Kiera said suddenly, standing up from the box she had been resting on.
"Yes," Dean said without turning to face her. "I do."
"I don't suppose you have a key?" she asked.
"Babe, I've got my own key right here," Dean said impatiently, turning to Kiera and waving the shotgun.
"No," Kiera said as she pulled a keyring out of her jeans pocket."I have the key right here. All that will get you is a blaring alarm and a whole bunch of those monsters on your ass."
"Where the hell did you get that?" Song asked. "And when were you gonna share?"
"I had forgotten that I had my dad's keys," Kiera replied. "He co-owns the store. These keys are the only way we'll get in quietly. Johnny English here won't get any if he doesn't stick with us."
"Alright, I'll bite," Dean said with a sigh. "I'll stick with the lot of you for a bit. Where's the shop at?"
"Just around the corner," Kiera replied. "At the end of a long, narrow hallway."
"Oh that's just great," Song muttered as he paced impatiently in front of the door. "How do you propose we get through there if the hall's a clusterfuck?"
"As long as we arm armselves in the hardware store and stick together, we ought to do fine," Chuck said as he approached the door. "At the count of three, I'm going to open this door, then we'll all head for the hardware store....one.....two.....three!"
With that, the group tore through the doorway and dashed for Crislip's hardware, making sure to close the shutter behind them. Kiera gasped at the sight of Cliff's bloodied corpse and the mess the store had become since the attack. As the decapitated zombies hung from the ceiling, their blood dripped onto everything below, making the store very unsightly and giving it a foul, metallic odor.
"...and how wonderful it is to be here again," Dean said bitterly. "Hurry up and arm yourselves, then."
Song reached down and grabbed the bloody machete from Cliff's hands. After a few swings, he smiled contently. Veta grabbed the lead pipe he had armed himself with before, feeling most comfortable facing the undead with something blunt. Kiera picked up the empty rifle that Song had used up, hoping to reload it once they reached the store. As soon as they were all content with their weapons, they gathered around Chuck, who was swinging his fireaxe.
"Like I was saying before, I know of a safe place we can head for after we get the guns then pick up my friends by the market," Chuck said, glancing from person to person. "I have a cousin who lives here named Brian Reynolds. Before my cell died, I had gotten a voicemail from his describing a sort of shelter he and a few others had made out of the Entrance Plaza to this mall. As soon as we're done here, we need to head that way. So long as we stick together and be strong, we should have no problem getting there. Any questions?"
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Dec 12, 2010 19:28:49 GMT -6
Hey good job here so far; I like the way that you mix in the main plot from DR1 with some of your own invented characters and their own situations. The parts with Cliff were especially intriguing here. I'd be interested in seeing more chapters in the future.
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