ZOMPOCAPLYSE (A kickass zombie apocalyspe story inspired by Left4Dead and Fallout 3)
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ZPN PART 4
Boyd raised his new AK-47, far too slow. Johnson charged forward, bashing a soldier named Samuels aside and knocking Boyd down. There wasn?t enough space in the claustrophobic bunker for the other four soldiers to raise their rifles, so in unison they began to reach for their pistols. By that time Johnson had his hands around Boyd?s neck.
PttT.
A long, fine jet of red mist appeared out of the back of Johnson?s head and he collapsed. Dead instantly.
From the back of the room, Elliot lowered the smoking silenced M14 sniper rifle. ?Boom,? he said, slowly and calmly. ?Headshot.?
Boyd rolled Johnson off him. Samuels tried to wipe Johnson?s blood out of his eyes. ?Damn, Elliot,? said Boyd, getting to his feet. ?Nice shot.?
Elliot said nothing.
Boyd turned to Samuels, who was trying to get the blood off his face. ?You okay, man??
Samuels?s only response was to scream in tortured fury and leap forward at horrifying speed, hands clenching at the air like he hated the very essence of the world
The only two shots that the soldiers managed to get off before Samuels reached them ripped through his left arm but they didn?t slow him down a bit. He dashed like lightning under the next burst of fire and tackled a soldier named Harrison to the ground. Hissing madly like a rabies victim, he sank his teeth into soldier?s exposed neck, who screamed horribly. Blood spurted. Samuels was thrown to the side as Jay?s MP-5 chattered on full auto, silenced bullets tearing his chest apart. The fast zombie?s body crumpled down and stayed still.
?JESUS FUCK!? shouted Boyd. Everyone in the tiny claustrophobic bunker kept their guns trained on Samuels? still form. He didn?t move.
?He?s not a zombie,? breathed Jay through his mask. ?He?d be back up by now.?
?Seriously, what the shit?? said Boyd. ?Did you see that? He ripped that guy?s freaking throat out with his teeth! Did you see how fast he moved? Crazy voodoo madhouse shit, that?s what that shit is. Fucking crazy.?
?Be quiet,? said Jay, moving toward Harrison, whose throat was torn open. He was still alive, there was blood pouring out. His body was spasming.
Boyd looked out the window. The battlefield was deserted, just craters and plumes of dark smoke from low oily fires, skeletons of Humvees smouldering with charred bodies inside. ?Coast?s clear,? he barked.
Suddenly the soldier whose throat had been ripped open spasmed wildly, throwing his weight against Jay, who fell backward, finger tightening on the MP-5?s trigger. Bullets punched up through Harrison?s body, spraying blood like a garden hose but he still fell back onto Jay, smashing him to the floor. Jay whipped his pistol out and he and Harrison fought madly over it. The man was horrifyingly strong but Jay was fighting to survive ? he slowly forced the gun with every inch of his strength under Harrison?s chin, and pulled the trigger.
Harrison?s head exploded.
?Gross,? said Jay, rolling him off, just like Boyd had done with Johnson a minute ago.
?Thanks for the help,? he said sarcastically to Elliot.
?You didn?t need it,? said Elliot, quietly as always, turning and walking out of the bunker. The others followed him.
?Oi!? said Boyd, hesitant about going out the door as well. ?What?s that supposed to mean?? Now that he was alone in the bunker, he followed them outside. ?Come on! I had that guy! Sure, he was choking me, but I had him! I?ve never lost a street fight!?
Boyd stopped when he realized what was happening outside.
The bunker they had previously occupied faced the coast. It was in the middle of a large cleared battlefield, strewn with debris as he had seen before. Dark forest surrounded it like a cutout from a prehistoric age. He distantly heard the blare of a faraway ship?s horn.
But that didn?t concern him.
Because out of the forest was charging at least two hundred fast zombies, all slavering and screaming and foaming at the mouth, trampling each other with mad abandon as they fought to be the first to reach the survivors. The closest were less than fifty metres away and they were running at a speed across uneven ground that would make Usain Bolt jealous. \
Then Boyd realized the situation.
They were six men. Against two hundred blood-crazy flesh-hungry fast zombies intent on ripping them limb from limb. They had no backup. No airstrike or magical napalm wall to call upon from the air anymore. No-one coming to save them.
?Good golly, Miss Molly,? said Boyd.
Boyd raised his new AK-47, far too slow. Johnson charged forward, bashing a soldier named Samuels aside and knocking Boyd down. There wasn?t enough space in the claustrophobic bunker for the other four soldiers to raise their rifles, so in unison they began to reach for their pistols. By that time Johnson had his hands around Boyd?s neck.
PttT.
A long, fine jet of red mist appeared out of the back of Johnson?s head and he collapsed. Dead instantly.
From the back of the room, Elliot lowered the smoking silenced M14 sniper rifle. ?Boom,? he said, slowly and calmly. ?Headshot.?
Boyd rolled Johnson off him. Samuels tried to wipe Johnson?s blood out of his eyes. ?Damn, Elliot,? said Boyd, getting to his feet. ?Nice shot.?
Elliot said nothing.
Boyd turned to Samuels, who was trying to get the blood off his face. ?You okay, man??
Samuels?s only response was to scream in tortured fury and leap forward at horrifying speed, hands clenching at the air like he hated the very essence of the world
The only two shots that the soldiers managed to get off before Samuels reached them ripped through his left arm but they didn?t slow him down a bit. He dashed like lightning under the next burst of fire and tackled a soldier named Harrison to the ground. Hissing madly like a rabies victim, he sank his teeth into soldier?s exposed neck, who screamed horribly. Blood spurted. Samuels was thrown to the side as Jay?s MP-5 chattered on full auto, silenced bullets tearing his chest apart. The fast zombie?s body crumpled down and stayed still.
?JESUS FUCK!? shouted Boyd. Everyone in the tiny claustrophobic bunker kept their guns trained on Samuels? still form. He didn?t move.
?He?s not a zombie,? breathed Jay through his mask. ?He?d be back up by now.?
?Seriously, what the shit?? said Boyd. ?Did you see that? He ripped that guy?s freaking throat out with his teeth! Did you see how fast he moved? Crazy voodoo madhouse shit, that?s what that shit is. Fucking crazy.?
?Be quiet,? said Jay, moving toward Harrison, whose throat was torn open. He was still alive, there was blood pouring out. His body was spasming.
Boyd looked out the window. The battlefield was deserted, just craters and plumes of dark smoke from low oily fires, skeletons of Humvees smouldering with charred bodies inside. ?Coast?s clear,? he barked.
Suddenly the soldier whose throat had been ripped open spasmed wildly, throwing his weight against Jay, who fell backward, finger tightening on the MP-5?s trigger. Bullets punched up through Harrison?s body, spraying blood like a garden hose but he still fell back onto Jay, smashing him to the floor. Jay whipped his pistol out and he and Harrison fought madly over it. The man was horrifyingly strong but Jay was fighting to survive ? he slowly forced the gun with every inch of his strength under Harrison?s chin, and pulled the trigger.
Harrison?s head exploded.
?Gross,? said Jay, rolling him off, just like Boyd had done with Johnson a minute ago.
?Thanks for the help,? he said sarcastically to Elliot.
?You didn?t need it,? said Elliot, quietly as always, turning and walking out of the bunker. The others followed him.
?Oi!? said Boyd, hesitant about going out the door as well. ?What?s that supposed to mean?? Now that he was alone in the bunker, he followed them outside. ?Come on! I had that guy! Sure, he was choking me, but I had him! I?ve never lost a street fight!?
Boyd stopped when he realized what was happening outside.
The bunker they had previously occupied faced the coast. It was in the middle of a large cleared battlefield, strewn with debris as he had seen before. Dark forest surrounded it like a cutout from a prehistoric age. He distantly heard the blare of a faraway ship?s horn.
But that didn?t concern him.
Because out of the forest was charging at least two hundred fast zombies, all slavering and screaming and foaming at the mouth, trampling each other with mad abandon as they fought to be the first to reach the survivors. The closest were less than fifty metres away and they were running at a speed across uneven ground that would make Usain Bolt jealous. \
Then Boyd realized the situation.
They were six men. Against two hundred blood-crazy flesh-hungry fast zombies intent on ripping them limb from limb. They had no backup. No airstrike or magical napalm wall to call upon from the air anymore. No-one coming to save them.
?Good golly, Miss Molly,? said Boyd.
Thanks for the input Kneelord, I see what you mean with the gun naming, it hadn't really crossed my mind, thanks for pointing it out. About the MP5, and I think it was said once right at the beginning, it's the silenced variant, more akin to the COD 4 gritty steel style than the cleaner looking Counter Strike Source style.
The saturation idea - stay tuned, we've got something similar in the works. I'll get it out by friday if work lets up.
EDIT: Also, I've found someone to do illustrations for us! Not sure how it will work in the forums, but in time we'll get some nice pic's together and we'll certainly put them somewhere for you guys too see.
The saturation idea - stay tuned, we've got something similar in the works. I'll get it out by friday if work lets up.
EDIT: Also, I've found someone to do illustrations for us! Not sure how it will work in the forums, but in time we'll get some nice pic's together and we'll certainly put them somewhere for you guys too see.
holy crap. wonderful job. I love zombie apocalypses. keep it coming. All neatly arranged in text files.
I'm just at the end of the train bit. Tis good. Some parts are really good and some make no sense at all, but over all I'm liking it.
Edit: K. Just finished it. Over all really like it. Sure, some bits need to be tightned up and maybe more consistant (like why did the army just turn on each other and why are the zombies now fast? I hope this all will be reviled later), but it is a good story non the less. Looking foward to the next part.
Edit: K. Just finished it. Over all really like it. Sure, some bits need to be tightned up and maybe more consistant (like why did the army just turn on each other and why are the zombies now fast? I hope this all will be reviled later), but it is a good story non the less. Looking foward to the next part.
They all shouted profanities as the fast zombies pounded towards them. Their arms were wide set, held outwards almost like limp wings, but their hands were black and bloody, tensed beyond belief. Something had changed the zombies. Elliot sucked up his fear and raised his rifle.
?Form a tight group!? Someone yelled as the zombies closed ground around at them. It was like a wave from the sea crashing against a sand bar. They had maybe 3 seconds before the wave hit. Jay felt for his hatchet. It wasn?t there.
Boyd has lost most of his equipment long ago. He looked pale and sickened.
?Fire! Fire, fucking fire!? Someone shouted desperately. The soldiers unloaded. Their grenades launchers popped fat rounds into the crowd, blowing holes in the advance. Jay dropped to one knee, seconds later he ran dry, the gun helplessly clicking, making small gas sounds, no bullets to be found. ?Fucking USELESS!? He roared, pulling out the desert eagle, equally the coolest and most impractical gun ever created. The magazine contained 7 bullets, each of which caused massive recoil, making it almost impossible to keep the gun steady. The gun itself weighed over 2 kilo?s, which didn?t sound like much at first, but was a huge load to carry. It was like firing a milk bottle at aircraft carrier.
The first group of zombies actually blew into pink mist as a grenade impacted into a hidden anti-tank mine, an explosion 5 storeys tall erupted in front of them like a volcano. The shockwave rippled outward, knocking over everything. The zombies were flipping around on the ground, stunned momentarily, wildly tossing and turning. The survivors recovered quicker.
?It?s time to RUN!? Said the young commander, they all turned on a dime and bolted, willing their escape to be covered by the thick smoke and dust. They dashed away from the army of zombies behind them like rabbits from dogs, scrambling in panic, paying no mind to the hundreds of cuts and grazes they suffered, or the twisted ankles or blistering hands. They ran into low ground through a bombed out train terminal, tacked uphill by tracks where the ground levelled back out onto the wide battlefield, easily three square kilometres. They wouldn?t be out that easy.
?This place is a fucking hedge maze!? Roared a marine, gasping for air.
?We?re not stopping, move!? Shouted the boyish commander back. ?They won?t stop. We can?t stop.?
They gave a quick glance back. The first of dozens of zombies were running haphazardly through the train station. Elliot?s mind was racing. They had a kilometre or so lead. The zombies were coming uphill, that would surely slow them. The survivors had reached a ravaged plateau, they had the flat ground. The first few zombies could be held off if they caught up. The survivors had the advantage.
They entered the panning waste. Blu corpses were curled up everywhere like dead spiders.
?Jesus? Said Boyd, thinking back to the white gas. How long had he been breathing that shit in?
There was a distant thunder clap from the ocean. No one stopped. Another clap. Jay paid no mind. Another. And Another. There was no storm rolling in. No dark clouds. The sea air was clear and fresh. Another.
They were half way across the flats when the first chemical weapon hit.
Jay saw a sailing blur on his right, it slammed into the ground next to them, there was a boom and a shockwave, he was on the ground, stunned, there was a second boom, with it a spray and a smell, seconds later a stinging, then loud hissing. Seconds late there was melancholy silence. He was somehow alone.
He climbed to his feet awkwardly, peering around for Boyd and Elliot, feeling on the ground for them. The air was poisoned by noxious fluorescent white haze, the wind carried it in swirls and dips, slowly stirring it into the good air.
He squinted through his gas mask, and flicked on its speaker.
?Boyd!? He voice came in an electronic rattle. ?Boyd!? He couldn?t see anything. Visibility was less than 3 meters. He tossed the desert eagle away and picked a fallen soldiers M4 Carbine. He flicked on the laser pointer and shone it through the poison. ?Someone, talk to me!?
There was a terrifying grunting and a shape rushed past his right.
?Oh fuck..? He groaned.
He fell to a low shooters crouch silently.
they can?t see me in the haze they can?t see me in the haze they can?t see me in the haze
Another dark shape sprinted past, missing him by inches.
If I stay quiet I can survive if I stay quiet I can survive if I stay quiet I can survive
He wheezed on the poison, the gas mask trying its best to keep the deadly chemical out.
Fuck this!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
He began belly crawling along the ground, worming a path through the dirt, shouldering aside debris. The chemicals seemed to stay off the ground, like smoke in a fire. He could make it. Footsteps pounded to his right. There was a thud thud thud and a fast zombie tore across his broken vision, all he saw was a blur of combat boots. It was less than a second. He dragged himself through the footprints.
He rolled into a ditch, flipped over onto his back and rolled again onto his belly and crawled to the edge of the dirt. Peering outwards into the deadly quiet, he was getting desperate. Where was everyone? How long would the gas mask hold out? Was Boyd dead yet?
He chanced a yell.
?BOYD! ELLIOT!?
Nothing.
?BOYD!?
A pause.
?ELLIOTT!?
?WHAT?!? Came the response. 5 gas masked figures appeared in the white gloom.
?OH THANK FUCK! I?LL COME TO YOU, ONE SECOND!?
?WOULD YOU JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!? Came the distant insult.
He smiled a little and leapt to his feet, running, the chemicals were clearing, the wind was carrying them away. He joined the group of rag tag gas mask wearing survivors, all just black silhouettes, indistinguishable from one another. Except by voice.
?Ok, what the fuck!? Came an annoying complaint from the person that was apparently Boyd.
?I mean, you work for these guys? Tell me Grey, since when did the army start bombing itself with chemical weapons? Huh? I?d really like an answer to that! And also, why the fuck have you divided yourselves into Red and Blu? I think we?d all like an answer!?
?Fuck up Boyd!? Someone said. ?There?s zombies in the smoke, I don?t really give a shit right now!?
?Grey, me and you are having a talk later. A big fucking talk.?
The soldier who was apparently Grey who it could be assumed was the young commander from the bunker gave Boyd what could only be guessed as a death stare before he turned and loaded his gun.
?We're going to the river for PBR Pickup. But first we get out of this shit. Let's go.? He said it in a tone that meant no questions, no complaints.
They began jogging as the next three chemical strikes hit.
?Form a tight group!? Someone yelled as the zombies closed ground around at them. It was like a wave from the sea crashing against a sand bar. They had maybe 3 seconds before the wave hit. Jay felt for his hatchet. It wasn?t there.
Boyd has lost most of his equipment long ago. He looked pale and sickened.
?Fire! Fire, fucking fire!? Someone shouted desperately. The soldiers unloaded. Their grenades launchers popped fat rounds into the crowd, blowing holes in the advance. Jay dropped to one knee, seconds later he ran dry, the gun helplessly clicking, making small gas sounds, no bullets to be found. ?Fucking USELESS!? He roared, pulling out the desert eagle, equally the coolest and most impractical gun ever created. The magazine contained 7 bullets, each of which caused massive recoil, making it almost impossible to keep the gun steady. The gun itself weighed over 2 kilo?s, which didn?t sound like much at first, but was a huge load to carry. It was like firing a milk bottle at aircraft carrier.
The first group of zombies actually blew into pink mist as a grenade impacted into a hidden anti-tank mine, an explosion 5 storeys tall erupted in front of them like a volcano. The shockwave rippled outward, knocking over everything. The zombies were flipping around on the ground, stunned momentarily, wildly tossing and turning. The survivors recovered quicker.
?It?s time to RUN!? Said the young commander, they all turned on a dime and bolted, willing their escape to be covered by the thick smoke and dust. They dashed away from the army of zombies behind them like rabbits from dogs, scrambling in panic, paying no mind to the hundreds of cuts and grazes they suffered, or the twisted ankles or blistering hands. They ran into low ground through a bombed out train terminal, tacked uphill by tracks where the ground levelled back out onto the wide battlefield, easily three square kilometres. They wouldn?t be out that easy.
?This place is a fucking hedge maze!? Roared a marine, gasping for air.
?We?re not stopping, move!? Shouted the boyish commander back. ?They won?t stop. We can?t stop.?
They gave a quick glance back. The first of dozens of zombies were running haphazardly through the train station. Elliot?s mind was racing. They had a kilometre or so lead. The zombies were coming uphill, that would surely slow them. The survivors had reached a ravaged plateau, they had the flat ground. The first few zombies could be held off if they caught up. The survivors had the advantage.
They entered the panning waste. Blu corpses were curled up everywhere like dead spiders.
?Jesus? Said Boyd, thinking back to the white gas. How long had he been breathing that shit in?
There was a distant thunder clap from the ocean. No one stopped. Another clap. Jay paid no mind. Another. And Another. There was no storm rolling in. No dark clouds. The sea air was clear and fresh. Another.
They were half way across the flats when the first chemical weapon hit.
Jay saw a sailing blur on his right, it slammed into the ground next to them, there was a boom and a shockwave, he was on the ground, stunned, there was a second boom, with it a spray and a smell, seconds later a stinging, then loud hissing. Seconds late there was melancholy silence. He was somehow alone.
He climbed to his feet awkwardly, peering around for Boyd and Elliot, feeling on the ground for them. The air was poisoned by noxious fluorescent white haze, the wind carried it in swirls and dips, slowly stirring it into the good air.
He squinted through his gas mask, and flicked on its speaker.
?Boyd!? He voice came in an electronic rattle. ?Boyd!? He couldn?t see anything. Visibility was less than 3 meters. He tossed the desert eagle away and picked a fallen soldiers M4 Carbine. He flicked on the laser pointer and shone it through the poison. ?Someone, talk to me!?
There was a terrifying grunting and a shape rushed past his right.
?Oh fuck..? He groaned.
He fell to a low shooters crouch silently.
they can?t see me in the haze they can?t see me in the haze they can?t see me in the haze
Another dark shape sprinted past, missing him by inches.
If I stay quiet I can survive if I stay quiet I can survive if I stay quiet I can survive
He wheezed on the poison, the gas mask trying its best to keep the deadly chemical out.
Fuck this!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
He began belly crawling along the ground, worming a path through the dirt, shouldering aside debris. The chemicals seemed to stay off the ground, like smoke in a fire. He could make it. Footsteps pounded to his right. There was a thud thud thud and a fast zombie tore across his broken vision, all he saw was a blur of combat boots. It was less than a second. He dragged himself through the footprints.
He rolled into a ditch, flipped over onto his back and rolled again onto his belly and crawled to the edge of the dirt. Peering outwards into the deadly quiet, he was getting desperate. Where was everyone? How long would the gas mask hold out? Was Boyd dead yet?
He chanced a yell.
?BOYD! ELLIOT!?
Nothing.
?BOYD!?
A pause.
?ELLIOTT!?
?WHAT?!? Came the response. 5 gas masked figures appeared in the white gloom.
?OH THANK FUCK! I?LL COME TO YOU, ONE SECOND!?
?WOULD YOU JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!? Came the distant insult.
He smiled a little and leapt to his feet, running, the chemicals were clearing, the wind was carrying them away. He joined the group of rag tag gas mask wearing survivors, all just black silhouettes, indistinguishable from one another. Except by voice.
?Ok, what the fuck!? Came an annoying complaint from the person that was apparently Boyd.
?I mean, you work for these guys? Tell me Grey, since when did the army start bombing itself with chemical weapons? Huh? I?d really like an answer to that! And also, why the fuck have you divided yourselves into Red and Blu? I think we?d all like an answer!?
?Fuck up Boyd!? Someone said. ?There?s zombies in the smoke, I don?t really give a shit right now!?
?Grey, me and you are having a talk later. A big fucking talk.?
The soldier who was apparently Grey who it could be assumed was the young commander from the bunker gave Boyd what could only be guessed as a death stare before he turned and loaded his gun.
?We're going to the river for PBR Pickup. But first we get out of this shit. Let's go.? He said it in a tone that meant no questions, no complaints.
They began jogging as the next three chemical strikes hit.
?This is insane!? Shouted Boyd. ?I mean, it was like a joke before, but this is like, really serious!?
?I think we could die this time!? Yelled Jay as yet another chemical round sunk into the earth next to them. ?In fact, I?m pretty sure should be dead already!?
The gas thickened like cake mix on their gas mask breathers, a moist white powder, deadly snow. It was a white Christmas. But this time, Santa was an aircraft carrier offshore sinking presents into the coastline and the elves were hideous walking corpses.
?Merry X-Mas!? Roared the bearded captain of the carrier as yet another Chem-Shell rocketed into the city.
Back on shore, the survivors, Elliot, Boyd, Jay, the young commander called Jackson and the last 2 remaining soldiers made their way through the poison cloud. The 2 marines turned out to have exactly the same name by complete coincidence, Reuben Wilson.
The first Reuben was Australian, a true blue, raised in the rainforest of the far north. He?d invent nick names almost constantly for everything, and had incredibly muscular forearms.
?Z-Bone!? He called as a zombie stumbled in from left, it was headshotted instantly.
?What the frig does Z-Bone mean?!? Boyd said, and was instantly and irreversibly shut down.
?Shut the fuck up Boyd, a Z-Bone is a zombie with a bone sticking out of its head, relating to the fact that a walking corpse is, in fact, dead. I hope you would have come to realise that because this is the apocalypse but that just shows how immature you are. Keep idiotic comments like that to yourself in the future unless you want me to shut you down like I always do.?
?Yeah but-? Boyd attempted to rebut, but was destroyed verbally by Reuben?s superior speech skill.
?No Boyd. I don?t think so. What you don?t understand is that a zombie when exposed to heavy weapons fire is prone to have bones exposed. To differentiate between zombies and targets the term Z-Bone is used so we all know what to look at and who to distinguish between. I thought you?d understand that by now, but frankly, I?m a little disappointed.?
Boyd?s mouth was hanging opening in defeat, but no one noticed because they all had gas masks on and there was poisonous toxins floating in the air and hundreds of fast zombies were surrounding them.
The second Reuben Wilson was a Canadian military photographer, made famous by his iconic picture of three zombiefied police officers staggering around their patrol cars. He was a photographic badass, and had a camera strapped to the barrel of his gun, and it would take a photo every time he pulled the trigger.
?The framings all wrong!? He called as he opened up with the SOPMOD into a blathering crowd of undead.
?Reuben!? yelled Elliot.
?WHAT?!? They both responded, Reuben still ranting at Boyd, and the other Reuben still snapping shots of the zombies by shooting them in the head.
?Nothing..? Said Elliot, ginning. He always got a little kick out of things like that.
Jackson ran from in front of them.
?What the fuck are you all doing! Pick up the pace, the rivers only a few miles away!?
?You're not in America anymore Jackson, its kilometres around here, get with the times, America is the most outdated country, still using imperial or metric or whatever the fuck, anyway who cares, the point is, you're a dickhead!? Said Aussie Reuben as they fell into single file.
?I?m so sick of your shit Reuben! When we get on the boat we don?t talk! In fact, how about you don?t talk! I'm officer now, so shut your fucking mouth!? Said Jackson, his American accent shielded by the electronic speaker in his gas mask. They all sounded the same, but Jay could start to tell who was who.
The multi cultural bunch jogged along the high ground, the white haze choking the atmosphere. The land began curving downwards steeply, they ran down a deserted street lined with abandoned cars, went under a freeway bridge and down a long series of stairs, disappeared into the tree line and came out on the other side at the river.
It was clear and panning, the chemical cloud obscuring any view across the water.
?What now?? crackled Jay, wondering why the hell they had stuck with these guys in the first place. It seemed to make sense at the time...
?The PBR should be here!?
?Sorry, PBR?? Asked Elliot, head cocked to the side in question.
?Patrol Boat, River. It?s like a boat with guns and a cabin and a deck. It?s like the humvee of boats. You?ll see in a sec.?
?Hope it?s not too long..? Said Jay, looking back. He swore he heard a grunt.
?Let?s move out onto the dock.? Said Jackson.
?Now I know that?s not a good idea...? Said Boyd.
They all slowly made their way onto the dock, in the dream like light of the chemical day. Sitting down and unloading their equipment, resting their guns on crates, taking timeout on the dead end of the lonely dock in the middle of the zombie apocalypse.
It wouldn?t end well.
?I think we could die this time!? Yelled Jay as yet another chemical round sunk into the earth next to them. ?In fact, I?m pretty sure should be dead already!?
The gas thickened like cake mix on their gas mask breathers, a moist white powder, deadly snow. It was a white Christmas. But this time, Santa was an aircraft carrier offshore sinking presents into the coastline and the elves were hideous walking corpses.
?Merry X-Mas!? Roared the bearded captain of the carrier as yet another Chem-Shell rocketed into the city.
Back on shore, the survivors, Elliot, Boyd, Jay, the young commander called Jackson and the last 2 remaining soldiers made their way through the poison cloud. The 2 marines turned out to have exactly the same name by complete coincidence, Reuben Wilson.
The first Reuben was Australian, a true blue, raised in the rainforest of the far north. He?d invent nick names almost constantly for everything, and had incredibly muscular forearms.
?Z-Bone!? He called as a zombie stumbled in from left, it was headshotted instantly.
?What the frig does Z-Bone mean?!? Boyd said, and was instantly and irreversibly shut down.
?Shut the fuck up Boyd, a Z-Bone is a zombie with a bone sticking out of its head, relating to the fact that a walking corpse is, in fact, dead. I hope you would have come to realise that because this is the apocalypse but that just shows how immature you are. Keep idiotic comments like that to yourself in the future unless you want me to shut you down like I always do.?
?Yeah but-? Boyd attempted to rebut, but was destroyed verbally by Reuben?s superior speech skill.
?No Boyd. I don?t think so. What you don?t understand is that a zombie when exposed to heavy weapons fire is prone to have bones exposed. To differentiate between zombies and targets the term Z-Bone is used so we all know what to look at and who to distinguish between. I thought you?d understand that by now, but frankly, I?m a little disappointed.?
Boyd?s mouth was hanging opening in defeat, but no one noticed because they all had gas masks on and there was poisonous toxins floating in the air and hundreds of fast zombies were surrounding them.
The second Reuben Wilson was a Canadian military photographer, made famous by his iconic picture of three zombiefied police officers staggering around their patrol cars. He was a photographic badass, and had a camera strapped to the barrel of his gun, and it would take a photo every time he pulled the trigger.
?The framings all wrong!? He called as he opened up with the SOPMOD into a blathering crowd of undead.
?Reuben!? yelled Elliot.
?WHAT?!? They both responded, Reuben still ranting at Boyd, and the other Reuben still snapping shots of the zombies by shooting them in the head.
?Nothing..? Said Elliot, ginning. He always got a little kick out of things like that.
Jackson ran from in front of them.
?What the fuck are you all doing! Pick up the pace, the rivers only a few miles away!?
?You're not in America anymore Jackson, its kilometres around here, get with the times, America is the most outdated country, still using imperial or metric or whatever the fuck, anyway who cares, the point is, you're a dickhead!? Said Aussie Reuben as they fell into single file.
?I?m so sick of your shit Reuben! When we get on the boat we don?t talk! In fact, how about you don?t talk! I'm officer now, so shut your fucking mouth!? Said Jackson, his American accent shielded by the electronic speaker in his gas mask. They all sounded the same, but Jay could start to tell who was who.
The multi cultural bunch jogged along the high ground, the white haze choking the atmosphere. The land began curving downwards steeply, they ran down a deserted street lined with abandoned cars, went under a freeway bridge and down a long series of stairs, disappeared into the tree line and came out on the other side at the river.
It was clear and panning, the chemical cloud obscuring any view across the water.
?What now?? crackled Jay, wondering why the hell they had stuck with these guys in the first place. It seemed to make sense at the time...
?The PBR should be here!?
?Sorry, PBR?? Asked Elliot, head cocked to the side in question.
?Patrol Boat, River. It?s like a boat with guns and a cabin and a deck. It?s like the humvee of boats. You?ll see in a sec.?
?Hope it?s not too long..? Said Jay, looking back. He swore he heard a grunt.
?Let?s move out onto the dock.? Said Jackson.
?Now I know that?s not a good idea...? Said Boyd.
They all slowly made their way onto the dock, in the dream like light of the chemical day. Sitting down and unloading their equipment, resting their guns on crates, taking timeout on the dead end of the lonely dock in the middle of the zombie apocalypse.
It wouldn?t end well.
Real neat. You boys have some skill, no doubt. You're a far different writing than most writers I know, including myself x] It's a bit frenetic, but it's an exciting reading because of it.
Loving it so far. If you need help with the writing, I wouldn't mind taking a bit of time from my personal projects to help you out ^^ I'm a bit Tolkienish, but this story has caught my eye, and I wouldn't mind taking some time from elves and what not.
Keep it up!
Loving it so far. If you need help with the writing, I wouldn't mind taking a bit of time from my personal projects to help you out ^^ I'm a bit Tolkienish, but this story has caught my eye, and I wouldn't mind taking some time from elves and what not.
Keep it up!
Jay Kay said:
Awesome story but are you guys ever going to finish it? I know it's been like a year now but still.Streetfighter said:
Yes, that was me!easy evil said:
I wasn't planning on writing anything new. It's been a while, and I'm a bit out of practice.
