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Post by James Furnell on Apr 10, 2009 20:22:16 GMT
He sat with his back to a car. Cold eyes watched the blocked entrance, hoping against hope that he’d made it safely away from the monster that chased him. Even though it had been an hour or so, he was terrified of attracting more attention. His hands were dark with blood and charcoal, stained by the weeks of surviving alone in the city. In his left was the biggest wrench he could find, stained with his children’s blood…
The thought caused his arm to twitch, his muscles were still haunted; he could feel each impact even now.
His right hand gripped a stubby revolver that he’d found in a glove box. James had no idea whether it’d fire when he would inevitably come to need it. He knew nothing about guns except from what he’d seen in the movies. At least he knew that 5 of the 6 chambers were loaded. It felt cold in hit hands, longing to vent it’s fury at his enemies…
Something rattled. Shit. He dared not breath, dared not move. The long seconds that followed were silent but heavy. Deep pupils frantically scoured the ruined cars for movement, but there was none.
A minute or so later and a cold wind rushed through the parking lot, bringing with it a foul smell. He was aware of his surroundings – it was getting dark, probably about 8pm. An instant decision was made; find somewhere else to hide. Not only was the carpark hell to secure, it was cold and vulnerable.
Finally, his reluctant limbs pushed him to his knees, then up to his feet. He was careful and quiet, checking all around him, revolver pointed into the nothing that surrounded him. Beneath a frown, his eyes were sharp despite their near-crippling exhaustion. James began for the entrance…
From here, he had a view of the empty street. There were a few cars outside dispersed only by dead-corpses. No monsters. He needed to cough, but kept it to himself.
The first building he came across was wide open and dark. The narrow corridor was stained and heavily littered. He was reluctant to look within, let alone enter.
‘Portals’ it said near the door.
He continued on, silently, like an intruder in a distant territory. James spotted an old haunt – ‘the Incan’. It was in tatters, the windows boarded and the door kicked in. The familiar sign lay all around him, torn down and set on fire. He knew the bar well – he knew that it had two ways in, and that it was small. Even if it was currently inhabited, there would be few of them…
A wind clawed at his clothes and he shot a terrified look behind him. Way down the road he could see a few of the infected people ambling around. They were so far away from being human; oblivious to the dark and the cold, content to stand slightly swaying in the wind. He was horrified at the thought of another night sharing the street with them.
Quickly, he skirted around a car (keeping his vision locked on the monsters) and pushed at the door. It moved something with a quiet grind. Inside was pitch black.
With a last look at the infected, he pushed the door with his shoulder and ducked inside. The revolver was up and aiming at the dark, he could make out the bar and an upturned table. It seemed empty enough and smelled fresh – or at least of smoke; fresher than a corpse. He fished around for his flashlight and scanned The Incan. There was the jukebox, there was the old bar. A single defiant glass sat upon it. There was the selection of liquor – or would have been if not for looters. The back of the bar was burned and furniture was stacked up against one wall.
Then he saw it – a figure facing the wall near the bathroom. The woman’s arms were down at her side and her skin was a cold grey, spattered with blood. James’ stomach twisted violently and he froze to the spot. His mouth was instantly dry but his hands would not move. The infected just stood there, looking at nothing, lost in her contorted expression. It swayed slightly.
James considered going back out into the street and leave the monster to herself but it was far worse out there. No, he’d confront it – her. Without much else to think about, he called out; ”Hey!” It was feeble, nothing could come from his dry mouth. James checked the door then tried again; ”Hey!”
The infected remained idle. Completely oblivious to him being there. He couldn’t settle here while she did… a swallow later and his legs carried him to where his courage couldn’t. A few meters behind the woman. He could see now, she was bitten on the right leg, naked from the waist down. One of her hands were missing.
A shaking hand raised into the light, aiming the stubby revolver at the back of her head. He didn’t know what would happen when the trigger came back. Would she die? Would she turn around and take revenge for the missing part of her skull?
BANG!
Shit, the bullet passed by her head and buried itself deep into the wall. He sort of expected a more dramatic happening from the gun and he pulled on the trigger again.
BANG!
Whether he was just paying more attention now, or whether the bullet was bigger, he didn’t know – but the flare lit up the entire bar and the noise was deafening. The Infected slumped to the floor like a doll, leaving only traces of matter on the wall. His initial urge was to throw up – but he hadn’t eaten in days. James swallowed hard, he felt immediately guilty – another death on his hands.
Within a few minutes he’d barricaded the doors and dragged the body into the female bathroom before barricading that too; he had no idea whether the corpse was actually dead. It was all done under the diminishing light from his torch, until he found a lighter in a pile of rubble. He lit a fire against the bar and sat on a stool over it. It was the first time he’d felt warmth in weeks and the first time he’d felt relatively safe from those outside…
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Post by Blake Abbot on Apr 10, 2009 23:54:54 GMT
A click than a flame, Blake put it to his cigarette, taking it in deeply, slowly. Taking off his S.W.A.T. issued helmet he brushed through his hair. Pressed against the door he entered not twenty minutes ago, he thought.
'5 men dead from my troop, apparently fuckin', fuckin' ate. Is this where we were issued, had this been Williamsburg.'
The details of Blake's mission were obsolete, only told he would be briefed when he reached Williamsburg. What those things were he did not know. Only that he'd seen a few almost standing stalemate when he ran for the closest shelter, ending up here? Whatever here was, Blake taking another long drag, glancing about. He saw what appeared to be an area where a secretary would sit. His vision was limited.
'Fuck...'
He didn't want to move, he knew his Desert Eagle .50 cal was loaded, it always was, but his shells were limited. Sighing, he drew the Deagle from his pocket and touched the barrel to the bottom of his chin, inhaling from the tobacco.
BANG
Blake's eyes grew wide, and he dropped the gun. Yet the darkness didn't disappear and he didn't see any bright lights or his life flash before his eyes.
It wasn't his gun.
Blake standed quickly, flicking his cigarette into the open dark, revealing another side room. A desk and computer, briefly. Holding his gun he moved to the nearest window, big and square. Apparently the window was all this town had left. Flames were blazing in the distance, the town was in complete distraught.
BANG
Another shot. This time he saw it. It lit a whole room up, what appeared to be a bar. Looked to the street, saw nothing. Darkness was creeping, and he knew that sound was from an old revolver. Shit, there weren't many guns he hadn't fired.
Than the glow of a fire?
He was going. No way he was gonna stand here waiting for those flesh-fuckin' things to come knocking on his door. He heard a scuffle from behind him, like that of an old boot, and he was gone. Back through the way he came he was twirling. Keeping his gun at the ready, watching, but not waiting. Slowly he made it to the bar, keeping low, his eyes always watching.
He backed toward the door of the gunshot building and knocked on the door, giving someone a good 4 seconds to reply before he in shooting. His gun drawn and ready.
'Hell, I feel like shootin' a few of them son's-of-bitches myself.'
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Post by James Furnell on Apr 11, 2009 11:26:44 GMT
[[Sorry, didn't realize you'd be posting here ;P I was meant to post in your first post ^^]]
James heard the door wrap and almost jumped out of his skin. His frantic eyes looked back at the female bathroom; No, he told himself, she was most certainly dead. The wrench was heavy in his hand, but he knew that he'd have to fight off more of these monsters - may aswell get used to it.
A frown of resolution crossed his weathered face and he stood once more. The revolver was shaking in his hand, but he cross the bar and held it to the door. He couldn't bring himself to open it - what if he saw someone he knew? Or once knew... What if it was a child?!
God, the thought almost took him to his knees...
He gritted his teeth and reached for the chair wedged between floor and handle. With a yank, the door swung open and there on the other side stood an equally resolute man, standing in full police apparel with a hefty gun in his hand.
Another survivor!
"Jesus!" James exclaimed, his right hand had almost pulled the trigger. "Get in, quickly!"
[[Alright, you post once more then we'll close this thread, since Eddie is meant to be the first survivor James has seen. From here, we'll create a new thread with all three survivors in. Sound good?]] |
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Post by Blake Abbot on Apr 11, 2009 18:58:43 GMT
[ You know what, that was totally my fault. Sorry 'bout that, how about we leave it open ended like that and i'll do my first post, so we can do it right. You can delete my post if you'd like, and def. delete this after reading]
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