Turn 3.
Frelock's turn will be up shortly. Ironically, it contains the challenge.
SILU
Jacob looked at the survivor for a moment. The poor chap had done well. Yet, he had failed in the end. Jacob calmly switched back to his half-empty pistol clip. Peaire’s eyes fluttered open. Jacob sighted on his head. Even through a broken jaw, he muttered, “Thaankks.”
Jacob fired once, twice. The strange Frenchman died from three bullet wounds to the head. Jacob wondered about the moral implications stemming from his act. The zombies were clearly self-defense. But this guy? Jacob tried to pray, but couldn’t get any words out.
Peaire’s battle axe was a big, two handed affair. Jacob hefted it and marveled about the strength of its former owner. He brought the big blade down on Peaire’s neck. The head was cleanly severed. Jacob grabbed the pistol as well. It was a Beretta 9 mm, (skilled: pistols) a Frenchmen with an Italian made, American army pistol? Strange. There was only one empty clip. He had saved the last bullet for himself. Jacob tucked it into his bag.
Jacob resigned himself to leave this bloody place. He dropped the blood covered battle ax on the floor and strode out of the small hotel room. He nudged one of the zombies that he had shot with his foot. I stirred, an alarmed Jacob jumped back with surprise. The zombie seemed to be critically wounded and made no attempt to attack, or even to get up. Jacob turned around and went to grab the axe. Jacob carefully beheaded all of his newly killed zombies (damn the axe was heavy). Realizing that it wouldn’t do him much good in a fight, Jacob propped the axe up in the hallway. It might save someone else’s life after all. Jacob left the hotel without further incident.
The sun had quickly risen in the sky and it looked like it might be a good day. Jacob didn’t like the look of those clouds to the west though; it might end up raining later. Just what he needed. Jacob headed to the mall, there might be survivors there, and he could probably find something useful there anyway.
It was a bit further of a walk compared to the one to the hotel, two blocks instead of one. Had there been any traffic, it would have been a hazard to life and limb. The city planners had really messed up the roads around the commercial district. He didn’t see any zombies anywhere. Jacob didn’t like that at all. He’d rather that they were he could see them, as opposed to being hidden somewhere, might they be weak to light?
Jacob walked up to the nearest entrance. It was a pair of automatic sliding doors, flanked by plate glass windows. Unsurprisingly, they didn’t work automatically. Jacob tried to push them open, but they resisted his efforts. Feeling them, Jacob found a small switch (dexterous). When he flicked it, the resistance disappeared, and the door opened. Jacob walked into what was once the shopping mall.
Jacob strode into the fountain area. The power was out, and the fountain didn’t run, but it was more than enough sky lights for Jacob to see perfectly clearly. There was a department store to his rear, a fast-food and eye care place to his left. There was a fine clothing outlet and an electronics store to his right. There were flanking entrances to either side; he had come in the one by the electronics store. In front of him was a big mall directory. Past that, the rest of the mall loomed, relatively dark and murky. “Let’s see where I should go . . .”
As Jacob was examining the map, something caught his eye, there was something moving in front of him. Lots of somethings. It was a good thing that he saw them that quickly (Good Sight). Looking around him, Jacob thought that he could see something moving in the electronics store as well. Jacob decided that he would have to exflitrate the area.
He aimed and fired several times into the advancing mass of zombies (damn, there were a lot of them) and ran to the entrance that he hadn’t used yet. The door and windows loomed in front of him. Remembering his earlier difficulty, Jacob raised his Glock and fired into the window. Thank God for tempered glass, it shattered. Lying out in the open was a police bike; Jacob saw the keys in the ignition. Perfect!
Jacob’s elation was interrupted by a moan to his side, close to his side. The bikes former owner was standing right there. Helmet still on blackened flesh, red eyes, frothing jaws, definitely not friendly. Jacob raised and fired. BANG. BANG. BANG.
It still came forward. Jacob centered firmly on the head and pulled. <CLICK> <CLICK>
Jacob did the first thing that came to mind, he shoved the zombie hard. It fell to the ground. Jacob turned and picked up the bike. Despite his inexperience with the thing, he quickly found the ignition and got it started (Dexterous). He rode off, although not nearly as fast as the bike could go, he didn’t want to break his poor neck (weak: driving includes motorcycles I suppose).
After riding a couple of hundred feet, Jacob stopped and looked around. Streaming out of mall (a.k.a. death trap) were a lot of zombies. Probably thirty or so, the cop among them. Across the parking lot was a movie theater, a fancy restaurant, and a bit behind him was the big electronics chain store. Now that he had fast (albeit unsafe) transportation, the whole city was open to him. Jacob changed clips (one and a half left) and wondered what he would do now.
You got lucky there Silu. The intro period is over . . . You are slightly tired and slightly hungry. Also, because only about an hour passed during you turn, your next turn can be a bit longer (barricade and nap for example, although that might not be the most secure). Neither energy nor hunger will have any effect on your guy this next turn.
Vaiolis
Markov decided that his next objective was better weapons. He rifled through the secretary’s desk until he found a phone book. A quick glance through the yellow pages found a listing for “The World’s Largest All Sports Store!” It was the closest one to his apartment. It would be a bit of a run though. Markov resigned himself to an hour or so of careful stealth. He left straightaway.
The going was surprisingly uneventful, moving from shadow to shadow, Markov made quick (and unseen) movement. Despite the frequent stops Markov really moved fast when he did move (agile). He quickly left the slums and into generic middle class houses. He briefly wondered about all the goodies that were just sitting in the houses, but he needed a better weapon first.
Markov encountered ten zombies on his way. Seven of them were in groups (three and four respectively), he gave them a wide berth and they didn’t notice him. One was by itself, Markov knifed it with no problem (it seemed that a knife to the head was really effective here). Even better, it had a handkerchief in a pocket. The thing was a bit grimy, but it let Markov get some of the blood off of his knife. The last two were a bit worse.
There had been one zombie just standing in the middle of the street. Markov grinned to himself. The last one had been wandering around so Markov had to be careful when approaching, but this one would be easy. Markov snuck up and killed the thing. No sweat. He carefully lowered the body so that it wouldn’t even make noise as it fell. Then one charged out of an as-yet unnoticed alleyway. Markov turned and ran. Easily outstripping it, Markov ducked into an alleyway of his own. When it shambled past, he slammed the knife into the side of its head. It was killed (again) outright.
It was a quirk of the terrain, but the houses gave way almost immediately to the commercial development. The ‘World Largest All-Sports Store was on the very outskirts (this was a hint for challenge one actually :-/). It was a huge two story building, filled with all sorts of useful (and valuable) stuff. Markov approached cautiously.
The parking lot was mostly deserted, although a pair of big pickup trucks were parked in the fire line. The glass door was shattered. Markov dashed in, and moved into the nearest pool of shadow. It was good to be out of the midday sun.
The gun and knife departments were right next to each other, on the second floor, in the back-right corner. Markov thought that he saw movement in that area. “Perfect, I’m sure they’ll be right where I need to go,” Markov thought bitterly.
The lights were extremely dim in the store. Markov glided past the registers (for later) and noted all of the food just sitting there for the taking. He wondered briefly at the giant Farris wheel that dominated the center of the store. He would be neigh unsiegeable up there, if he could stockpile guns and food, it might make a good bug out point. He moved to the stopped escalators and climbed up.
The weapons department was set off from the rest of the store. It was brightly lit. Markov made out dark shapes at the edge of the brightness. Zombies, at least twenty-five. As he watched, the numerous forms lumbered out of the darkness and charged. There must be something there. As Markov watched, a withering storm of lead erupted from out of his sight (some shelves were in the way). Most of the zombies were cut down before they even got close. Some sort of machine gun? A grand total of two zombies made it to the point where they left Markov’s sight. While he tried to reposition himself to get a better view, the shooting stopped.
There were two more gunshots, louder than the earlier ones. Some sort of shotgun (weak: shot guns)? Markov wasn’t sure. However, looking down the aisles, Markov could clearly see a barricade of shopping carts and duct tape. Two figures in camo were standing behind it. “Ha, they didn’t stand no chance! How is we set fer ammonuation brother?
“Don’t worry; we still have more than enough to hold off an army. There isn’t anything that can get to us here, short of a jet.”
It seemed that Markov has met some well-fortified, but not necessarily friendly survivors! The thief wondered what his next move would be. He thought that he might be able to sneak in close, but it would be risky with all of their lights. Being friendly might be better, but they might shoot out of hand. What would he do now?
Markov is slightly tired and slightly hungry. Neither will affect him next turn.
Rickvoid
“Okay, troops. We’re going to hoof it north. I think that we’ll need to find people before we can do anything else. At the same time, I worry about all of the attention that we’ve drawn to ourselves here. I think that because the there were so few people to start with, there won’t be many, but it is better safe than sorry. Is this alright with you two?”
Jon was the first to respond, “You defiantly seem to be better equipped to deal with this than I am. We’ve got four guns, how do you want to distribute them (I was going to ask you this Rick, but I forgot. I’m just going to assume)?”
Rick’s answer was, “Clareice, I think that you should just carry the bat for now. That way, you’ll stay out of danger as much as possible. Just hang back, and if they get close, try to distract any zombies long enough for me or Jon to get a bead on them. Jon, I want you to carry this pump-action shotgun. The six shells are all yours. I’d recommend that you use the scatter first.”
Clareice seemed content with her bat. Jon distributed their meager supply of water (he carried one, and Jon carried on). The MRE’s were divvied as well, fortunately, they were pretty light, and Clareice was able to cram ten of them into her bag with no weight troubles. Jon took the other four, plus the couple of tools that he had found in the house. That left Rick with all of his bullets. Jon took Ricks empty duffel bag as well.
The stuff distributed, the survivors shouldered their packs and left. The sun was rising, and the day was warming up quickly. Rick took the front of the line, incessantly scanning around, looking for trouble. Clareice walked in the middle, trying to be observant. Jon, the fittest of the three, had little trouble keeping up while walking backwards. They proceeded up the road, at the three houses where Rick had heard the noise before, he quietly said, “Stop here.”
They stood there for a moment, looking around. Nothing happened, but Rick still felt like he was missing something. The three continued, and Rick risked a glance over his shoulder. He thought that he saw something white move in the big bay window, but it was nothing?
Further up the road, the trio saw a lone figure wandering in a cull de sac. It made no move to attack them, and they silently decided that they would ignore it. They reached the major road, and bike path without incident. It was a pretty long way into the town proper. It wouldn’t be too bad on a bike, but on foot and carrying stuff it was a pain. No one complained, but Rick called several stops on the way. At one, they all sat down by a small tree next to the path. They were all feeling hungry, so Rick decided that they should have brunch. Each person had an MRE and a bit of the water. Rick wondered to himself for a while about why MRE’s could heat themselves. It really was strange, wasn’t it? Add water and generate heat?
They saw a couple of zombies on the trip, but none were very close. They never bothered the trio. Was it that they just couldn’t see very far? Regardless, Rick and company reached the grocery store without further incident. The store was on the very edge of commercial Fargo. The only nearby stores were a fancy restaurant (it looked to be solid brick, it might make a good spot to barricade) and a tennis court / gym place (did tennis rackets make good melee weapons?). Jon checked his shotgun again (it had quickly become his nervous action) and asked, “Shall we enter the store?”
Rick took the lead saying softly, “You two have to stay close. I’ll try to shoot any thing from a distance. Don’t take any risk; you are the close-quarter defense. Let’s go.”
The automatic doors worked, and they entered gingerly. Emerging behind the line of cash registers, they had a good view of several aisles. There must have been at least five zombies that they could see, plus a couple that were certainly out of view. Rick calmly raised his AR015 and took aim at the closest one. He puffed out three rounds (I couldn’t remember how loud an AR-15 is, so for this turn, it is silenced). The zombies head exploded into gore. It fell. Most of the zombies turned and faced the intruders.
Acting on instinct and long days of practice, Rick swung to the next target. He shot another short burst, and it fell. The zombies let out a collective moan. Through the haze of combat, Rick noticed details that he never would have normally. Some of the creatures were defiantly slower than others. The more tattered they were, the slower it seemed. Did these creatures lose strength with time? None of them were even close to fast enough to be dangerous though. Even when two unseen ones popped up close, Rick popped them. He ran out of bullets once, and calmly changed clips in time to kill the last standing enemy. Seven corpses littered the aisles.
Rick motioned for the group to follow him. The produce department had been obscured from view by the deli area. They must secure the store! The fruit was lying in neat piles, some of it starting to show its age. There were a lot of non-perishables too though. Rick had no problem with potatoes. With slightly more confidence, they moved up to the deli counter. It looked like the refrigeration had gone out a while ago; Rick wouldn’t have willingly eaten most of the stuff there. He doubted that the meat department, a little ways diagonally across the produce would be much better. However, Rick was more than confident that they could survive on.
The zombie leaped over the deli counter, right on top of Rick. He barely caught it by holding his rifle cross wise. The zombie, wearing an apron and hairnet, looked almost whole. The teeth looked like the gaping jaws of hell, though. Rick felt his grip slipping, it was awesomely strong. His hand slipped, and the teeth came rush to his neck. Time slowed again. Rick wondered if he would end up in heaven, hell, or possibly somewhere else. Was there only two places? The question seemed unimaginably important. (I seriously just thought about making this your end Rick, but . . .) The spiked bat came swinging from the side, smashing into the zombies shoulder.
Clareice was quickly in mortal danger. The zombie twisted and was quickly scrambling against the spike bat, also held crosswise. Rick had, by this time, fallen to the floor, his rifle was, . . . somewhere. Clareice’s strength failed and the zombie prepared to bit. Rick pulled his pistol and shot. The shot went wide. He shot. He could see brains, almost black, through the zombies head. He shot. The zombie spun backwards.
The shot guns blast seemed strangely loud and short compared to the distortion that Rick had been through. Rick spun on his heels (getting a head rush) and saw that Jon had blasted a zombie, presumably from the meat department.
Everyone was unhurt (with the noticeable exception of the zombies). Was it a miracle?
Rick is slightly tired, it will have no effect next turn.
Zako
Zak and George reviewed their options. They couldn’t stay here without supplies. They needed weapons, ammo, food, water, and wood. There best bet would be to head to South High School. There was enough wood in the construction classes to build a castle. The pair would set out immediately. They split up the load as easily as possible, taking the ladder with them as well.
Zak looked back at his house; he had lived there for pretty much his entire life. Would he every see it again? George said quietly, “It was like that when I left my ship for the last time too. We are both going to make it through this Zak. Don’t worry.”
It was about ten blocks to the school. It was quickly looking to be a very nice day out. Zak worried about being in the open like this. George had the only real weapon, and a bolt action rifle was not all that much. A block in, they came to a house with a double garage. One of the doors was open. Inside, they could see a neat stack of wood logs. “Do you think that we could find an axe?”
They searched the garage thoroughly and quietly. They didn’t find an axe, but Zak managed to get his hands on a wood splitter. It was a big heavy thing, completely unsuited for fast attacks, but it would do super-serious damage. It’d do. George found a shop broom. The handle was as long as a stave with a metal screw at the end (he removed the broom part). He slipped it behind his backpack. So armed, the two set out again.
They covered the distance at a decent pace (George still seemed to be weary from running from the zombies earlier, but the old man was tough). When they had about three blocks to go (that spot over there with nothing tall was the school, right?) tall security fences sprang up on either side. Zak and George could only go forward, or backwards. Right on cue, at least twenty zombies shambled into sight, directly blocking the way forward, but still a ways away (read it out loud).
Zak and George looked behind them to find ten more zombies blocking their retreat. Zak murmured under his breath,”Shit. Now what?”
“Going back doesn’t make sense now, sonny. They don’t look very healthy, some look like they’re about to collapse. Our best bet is to smash through the line,” because the zombies in front were defiantly forming a line to block the way, “and then run like hell to the school. What do you think, Zak?”
“It’s the best we got.”
George raised the rifle and fired off the shots rapidly. One or two zombies fell. Not enough. The old man slung it and pulled out his stick. Zak hefted the splitter. Was this a good idea? “CHARGE!”
Only a step behind George to start, and quickly alongside him, the two prepared to smash there way through. The zombie tried to congregate together. Zak swung his splitter, going through most of the torso of his target. It stuck. Something shoved Zak, hard. He looked up to see a zombie, bearing down on him. Zak raised his left arm, a feeble attempt at defense. The jaws bit down, and Zak wrenched his arm away, feeling skin rip.
The zombie prepared to attack again. Zak watched in horror as it got closer. Then, in amazement, as the steel-tipped pole shattered its head like an eggshell. George yelled, “COME ON!”
Zak scrambled to his feet, despite his painful arm (Tough) and sprinted with his savior. Risking a glance over his shoulder, the zombies were a block behind, moving like snails. Zak tried to stammer out, I’ve been bitten but George ignored him. They covered the block.
Zak’s arm felt like fire. Still, he continued to sprint (tough). His entire body felt to be in flames. Another block was covered. Zak vaguely wondered if he would live.
Zak felt his body shut down, through sheer willpower, he covered another half-block. He vision clouded. "Georg . . .?”
Zak remembered only bits and pieces of what happened next. George was carrying him. They had reached the school? Shattered glass? So hot. “Be careful. Change?”
Zak remembered being lain somewhere. And cool water being poured on his burning face. And two low voices talking. Someone singing?
Blackness.
. . .
Frelock
Dmitri looked at the trailer. He couldn’t make noise by starting the thing up. Could he use the trailer, perhaps? It was pretty big though, and it looked like it would squeak. Dmitri overlooked the locking mechanism. It was a basic ball hitch. With such light vehicles, it would be a cinch to get it off. Dmitri decided to leave it for now.
Satisfied with his survey of the school, Dmitri decided that he would make it his base of operations. The possibilities for constructing defenses were very good. Jogging quietly, Dmitri moved back to his house and gathered his usable gear. It would be a bit awkward riding his bike with all of it, but he would have to make due. His saddle bags would help a bit.
Dmitri finally decided that it was too tough to bike his way there. With his laptop on one side, it would be impossible to pedal and balance. He might till need his trusty bike, so he walked it there. Everything was deserted, yet again.
Remaining cautious, he made his way to the same door. Thankfully, his bike fit through it with only a bit of trouble. It was strange to walk his bike through the halls of South, wasn’t it? Dmitri made his way back to the drama room that he had decided to call home. He moved his stuff onto the balcony (except for the weapons, flashlight, and bike). He left his bike near the foot of the stairs. Carrying his gun, with the flash in his pocket, Dmitri walked over to the commons (cafeteria).
The actual kitchen was chained closed (he doubted that there would be anything there, school had been closed, for what, three weeks?). There were several vending machines. They contained only diet crap and water (Dmitri really hated diet tea). A couple had tough plastic covers, but two were glass. They should be easy enough to break. Dmitri refrained from the wanton violence. He didn’t want the noise.
There was also the school store. Dmitri walked over. It had two doors (in and out) but strangely, his key didn’t work. The front window was very thick. Would bullets shat?
Dmitri turned and cringed at the sound of breaking glass. He brought the rifle to his shoulder (smart) and proceeded in that direction.
Someone, two someone’s were coming in through the now shattered door. It was a white haired man carrying a young m. “Zak? What’s wrong with him? Who’re you?”
George was clearly exhausted. Dmitri did most of the work of getting him into the drama room. Together they hauled him up to the couch. Zak was burning up. Dmitri commanded, “He needs water, now. Stay here, I’ll get it.”
Dmitri rushed down the stairs. There was a drinking fountain right outside of the door. It didn’t work. His student would die shortly! Dmitri ran to cafeteria, no longer caring about noise. He smashed a glass vending machine with his rifle butt and grabbed a handful of waters. He rushed back.
Pouring the semi-cool (looks like the power was out to the machines) water on Zak seemed to help a bit. He still tossed and turned. Dmitri tried to bind the wound (really not much more than a scratch) as best as he could. Except for water and cooling, it was in God’s hands. Did he care to act?
Watching helplessly, George pulled out an old radio and fiddled with it. Before long, he had it working.
Start challenge four.
Scanning through the channels, they heard the airport message, still unchanged. Then they heard something else. It had a loud background that drowned a lot out, and they didn’t risk turning it any louder (smart) but they could hear someone singing.
He wasn’t a terribly good singer, and seemed to make up the notes as he went, but the words (when they weren’t covered up) were firm.
Halfway down the trail to hell, in a shady meadow green, are the shades of all dead troopers camped <garbled>
Marching past straight through to hell, the infantry <garbled>for none but the <garbled>
<Long garbled stretch, rough terrain?>
So when man<garbled> saber keen <garbled> put your pistol to your head and <garbled>
The song (poem?) was over, he (whoever he was) started again. Reception however, quickly deteriorated. The mechanical noises are still heard on the frequency, but nothing can be made out right now.
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Topic: Another Little Zombie Apocalypse . . . (Read 22933 times)