The Events of November 30th, 2019
It was a little past one in the afternoon. The survivors were slowly filtering out of the camp's mess hall, heading back to their work. Bill stumbled drunkenly towards the lake. He had downed nearly a gallon of vodka, his usual ration. His alcohol-soaked mind tried to form thoughts of widemouth bass, but failed. A shrill whistle suddenly cut through the air. Bill looked up, and saw Indri standing on the ramparts above him. "Whuh...that lady flying...?" was his last coherent thought before he collapsed snoring on the ground.
Indri looked down over the camp, whistle in hand. The survivors looked up at her nervously. Normally the whistle was reserved for Jenn's use only, in case of an Infected attack. Indri held out a long, thin stick which appeared to be some kind of weapon. "Listen up, you screwheads!" she shouted. "Out past that wall waits an enemy we know all too well. We've all lost family or friends to them. They will not stop coming until every last one of us is dead. It's up to people like us to take charge and make a difference. You have a choice. You can sit here and play house, or you can get up here and fight!" The crowd stared blankly at her. No one said a word. Indri sighed. "Let me spell it out for you then. This..." she said, holding out the weapon "... is my BOOMSTICK." With that, she loaded a shell into the chamber, and with one smooth motion spun around and fired a slug into the brush. An Infected who had been standing behind some bushes fell forwards, a gaping hole in its head. "Wiping out the Infected is the only hope we have left. Ya got that? Now get the hell up here, and let's kick some Infected ass!" As she spoke, the sounds of groaning filled the air. Drawn by the gunfire, Infected poured out of the bushes from every direction. Indri yanked a tarp off a heap next to her on the ground, revealing a stack of what was unmistakably homemade shotguns. The survivors cheered and clambered up onto the ramparts. Dohon rushed back and forth handing out weapons to the eager survivors, juggling three shotguns under each arm. The survivors enthusiastically blasted away at the horde milling mindlessly below. The roar of gunfire echoed through the mountains. Before long, the battlefield was covered in a huge cloud of dust, thrown up by the impacts of thousands of slugs. The survivors watched with bated breath as the wind began to blow the dust away. When the cloud had settled, they saw that the ground was covered with Infected corpses stacked three high. Not a single one moved. The survivors let out a cheer. "And that's what's waiting for the rest of those bastards too!" Indri shouted.
There was a party held later that evening in Indri's honor. The survivors nearly depleted their supply of vodka.
Author
Topic: A Tale of Zombies (Community Fortress) (Read 15046 times)