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> Bring it, why don't you?
Elite viking
Posted: June 06, 2008 11:17 am
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Veteran Lord Carnage

Group: Old BB:S Betatesters
Posts: 2470

Joined: December 16, 2004

New story, and guess what? It's already done! One piece, one long lovely piece of death and mayhem. One man, a whole army of undead, and a few guns and bullets. Comments are as always appreciated wink.gif

Click. The sound of a bullet not firing. Empty. My left hand grabs the spent magazine, pull it out. I reach for one of the magazines at the table, dropping the spent one in the process. I slam it into the rifle, pull back the bolt. My weapon is ready to fire yet again, and not a moment too soon. I double-tap the trigger, and the burst tears off the face of the closest enemy. I didn't see him closely before I shot him, but judging by the shreds of clothing he wore he'd been a lawyer. Or something else important. A job requiring him to wear a suit and a tie. It hadn't helped him much. He got infected as easy as anyone else. And now he was truly dead.

My ammunition supply at the table is dwindling. I don't know how long I've been here, hanging on to my life with every ounce of my will and strength. It had to be hours, but I really had no idea. All I knew was that the sun was almost gone when I ran in here, now it was dark night. In here, it was still pretty bright however. All the lights were on, but I had no illusions of how long that would last. The generator would probably run out of gas any moment.

I was in a military base in North America. The exact location is classified, ha-ha. Truth is I don’t remember. I barely remember anything. Combat fatigue, shock, lack of nutrition, something was eating at my brain power. Everything but today is dim and dark, and even today is a blur. All I focused on now, however, was my very survival at this very moment. And now I swung the assault rifle at another of these sons of bitches. Fellow human beings that only care about eating other human beings. My compassion for them is long gone. I barely care of the fate of the old guy lunging at me, with a gaping wound at his neck, probably a bite. I don’t have the time. I fire a bullet straight between his eyes, dropping him instantly, and spraying blood and brain matter all over those behind him. They didn’t care either. They only wanted to tear me apart, just like they did to everyone. My finger pulled back the trigger once, twice, thrice. People kept falling to the ground, but new ones kept coming. Crawling over their own dead. The floor was full of them.

I remember the chaos when all hell suddenly broke loose. We received no warning, all communication simply stopped working from one moment to the next. It could have been anything. All the equipment could have failed at the same time, however unlikely. But everyone suspected an invasion. If it was an invasion, it was unlike any other invasion in the history of man. The camp was placed on high alert, of course. Patrols were doubled, all guns were loaded with live ammunition, being armed at all times was obligatory. It wasn’t many hours before the first patrol reported an incoming crowd of several hundred civilians coming towards our base. All of them war-torn and scared shitless. But still, just regular civilians, by the looks of it.

We actually let them into the camp before we saw something was wrong. And then we saw it real fast. They weren’t war-torn. They were literally torn apart, with huge wounds all over their bodies. Some were even missing limbs. They were covered in blood. And they didn’t talk. They moaned…Some guy who saw it first ran over to them, probably figuring they were all in shock. He shouted for others to grab first-aid gear, these people were dying, for Christ’s sake! Then his shouts became screams as they attacked him. No matter how good our military training had been, nothing could have prepared us for this. So for a moment, we stood there, paralyzed, watching a private being covered in people biting at him, trying to pull his limbs apart. Then the moment passed. Those with rifles shouldered them, the others whipped out their sidearm, taking aim at this group. “First and final warning!” the superior officer yelled at the crowd, pistol in hand. A few amongst the rabid crowd turned from the man they were killing, and began shambling towards us. “Open fire!”

A dozen guns cracked to life. The courtyard lit up, literally, from the muzzle flashes. Well-placed shots at their torsos, meant to take down, but not kill. Only it did nothing. The first volley of bullets did nothing to stop their approach. If anything, the rest of them became aware of us, and dropped the corpse, now mutilated beyond recognition. Not much more than a heap of blood, guts, intestines and clothes. The horde stepped past him, and I couldn’t see him any more. I had been one of the few soldiers hesitating to fire on this group. I quickly joined the chorus of gunpowder and lead, taking aim at the closest one, twenty or so metres away.

But even as our shots tore holes in them, they barely flinched. They came at us shuffling, yet way too fast. At last, a couple of bullet-ridden corpses fell to the ground. Some were cut down, their legs shot in two clean, but they kept crawling at us. And the distance between us and them kept decreasing. The first guns were empty, and the marines desperately ejected magazines before slamming in new ones. We began inching our way backwards. No one wanted to share the fate of the first casualty.

Even if everyone were armed, and the guns loaded with live rounds, few except the patrols and those on guard duty wore full combat gear. The rest of us didn’t have more than t-shirts, combat boots, a gun and a spare mag. And as good as all of us were now down to that last mag. I hadn’t noticed it before, but as I ejected the empty clip of my handgun I saw three of the abominations fall without rising up again, or worse, starting to crawl, defying the laws of nature. The sharpshooters stationed in the guard towers were armed with high-calibre rifles, and took careful aim before they shot. They shot to kill, aiming for the head. I couldn’t really say the heads exploded like a melon, but that was what first came to mind. The bullets tore huge chunks of skull and flesh off, leaving a bloodied lump of meat and bones attached to the neck behind. With half my ammunition gone, I decided to spend the rest of it as efficiently as possible. I took careful aim at an unusually filthy bum, ten meters away and closing in fast. A single shot, through one of his eyes. He toppled over and lay still at the ground.

Gradually the rest of us had gotten the idea. Headshots were fatal. Dozens of them fell, but that couldn’t halt the head start they had received. And we were running out of space and ammunition. When the retreat finally was called most of us had emptied their guns. We were idiots.

These creatures, they seem to have gone back to the most primitive instincts of man. They have a very crude understanding of logic, but mostly they seem to rely on their senses. Smell, sight and sound. So as all our guns cracked to life, other hordes in the vicinity that we hadn’t seen were attracted to us. As we ran back to one of the barracks they were already there. We were seriously outnumbered, only now we barely had the means to fight back. We were surrounded at almost every side. There were four men in full gear, I think, apart from those in the towers… or were they five? Four or five, they still did their best at fighting a way out for all of us. As we saw those things were all around us, it only took a fraction of a second for the marines to focus their fire on a single part of the horde, to open a small escape corridor. A hundred or so bullets cleared enough space for people to run through. Only thing was, the space closed almost as soon as they stopped shooting to reload. Only I and a handful of others made it through. A few tried, but stumbled on the dead on the ground, meeting certain death as the cannibals fell on top of them, crushing them and eating them. Others were grabbed, held in their clothing or hair. Brutally pulled away from freedom and to their gory demise. My friends and colleagues, dying, dead. Undead.

By now the rest of the soldiers were completely surrounded. I took one look behind me before running onwards. With a mob of hundreds all around them less than a dozen soldiers stood back to back, clutching empty rifles and pistols, with a look of total fear on their faces. I turned away just as the space between the two groups was measured in centimetres, and terrible screams of agony filled the sky. But I didn’t stop. My will to live was growing every second. I was going to get through this, even if I had to run across the whole damn continent.

The few lucky survivors were quickly separated. Even if we had gotten through the thickest concentration of cannibal monsters there were still lots of them all around us. And more were coming every second. All the exits that I could see were blocked. So I ran to the nearest barracks, slammed the door shut, locked it, hurled things in front of it to prevent anyone from coming through. And for a while, it held them off. That time I spent walking along the rows of beds, searching for weapons and ammo. This wasn’t the supply depot, it was the sleeping quarters for one of the squads here. But command never made us place things where they should be. And everyone wanted to have their gun and some ammo close to their living quarters, for the shooting range or just in case of quick deployment somewhere. So the entire camp was full of guns, supplies, clothes and everything else lying around. I found an M4 assault rifle, two M92F Beretta pistols, a Springfield sniper rifle, and the ammunition to go with it, as well as a handful of combat knives. I looked at the bolt-action rifle before deciding to take it as well. All this would probably be done at less than ten metres, but I could always use it as a club. I checked the footlockers and found several boxes of 9mm and 5.56 rounds, as well as a dozen magazines.

The time before they broke through my barricade was the worst of my life. For several agonizing minutes I carefully pushed one bullet at a time into the magazines, trying to calm my nerves enough to do it properly. A jam would probably mean my death. So I stopped loading the mags for a short while, just feeling the shaking sensation wash all over me and then disappear. Then I finished loading the last few. After that I took some duct tape and taped the combat knives to the M4 and Springfield, as makeshift bayonets. After placing all the ammo and guns at a table besides me a strange feeling of calmness came over me. This was it. Nothing more to do. I realized, I probably had no chance of living through this, but I would take as many of these undead monsters with me. And maybe, just maybe, I could make it…

I shove the bayonet of the M4 through someone’s forehead. As I pull it out and swing the barrel towards someone else a small fountain of gore erupts, showering the gun. The grip feels sticky, but there’s no time to clean it. The thing better not jam, or else…I take aim at another enemy, gurgling something sounding like a curse at me. I curse him back, only my curse is final. The left side of his forehead hits the ground before the rest of him does, and is squished underneath shuffling feet. “Why…won’t…you…just…fucking…die!” I scream between each shot. They don’t answer, or perhaps their persistence, their continued effort to try and eat me is their answer. Well, I won’t let them. Over my dead body.

Another click, another spent magazine. Three left, then it’s the M9’s, and then the Springfield. I even loaded five loose rounds I found for the bolt-action, as those five bullets can hold them away just a little longer. Slam the magazine to see it’s properly stuck, pull back the bolt. Fire. Each reload brings them a little closer. How it will be when I have two handguns two worry about, and not just a rifle? I can barely hold them back as it is shit shit it grabbed my shoulder smack him with the butt of the rifle he’s still holding me swing the knife cut the hand off blow his brains out now he’s dead. A jolt of adrenaline surge through my body. I hadn’t realised it, but my senses had begun to dull. Combat fatigue is finally taking its toll on me. But I’m not done fighting yet. My gun barks, tearing off rotting chunks of flesh. I can’t smell them anymore, the nose over stimulated by the death and decay all around me. My hearing and vision works, at least. I can see them closing in, never stopping. And I can hear their moans. The shuffle of their feet. And in the background…Gunfire. Not just my own gun. There are still others like me, alive, fighting this menace. Those in the towers, surely. No way these walking dead can climb ladders. And maybe one or two have barricaded themselves, like me.

I slice off three fingers on a hand grabbing for me, then I thrust the gun through the forehead. They are all over me now. In a desperate manoeuvre I swing the bayonet wildly in a wide arch, creating some more space between me and them. It works just as long as it has to. They are at shooting distance again, and now most of them haven’t got arms beyond their elbows. I should write a thank-you letter to the makers of this knife, man it’s sharp. I pull the trigger, this time not worrying about semi-auto. I empty the magazine in seconds, spraying their heads with metallic death. Only two mags left.

I pull back the bolt, readying the gun once more, as the lights start to flicker. Oh God. This will be bad. The only light sources I found in the barracks were the lamps that now were fading out. No flashlights, only regular lamps. But the M4… My last two mags contains some of the few tracer rounds I found. Every three rounds aren’t leaden bullets, but small flares to light the way. They aren’t good for dealing much damage, but at least I’ll be able to see. I decide to save them for when the lights are completely out. There’s still some gas in the generator.

Both M9’s are loaded with 15 bullets in the magazines and one in the chamber. Dual-wielding is for morons and cops in John Woo movies, but at this range I simply can’t miss. And I need that extra firepower. I point one barrel at a bloodied soldier, the other at a…sailor, or something. I pull both triggers at once, downing the two of them. The muzzle flashes light up the room, which is by now worse than any slaughterer’s nightmare. Blood, guts, brain matter and people thrown around. Blood is dripping from the ceiling, small streams down the walls. Hadn’t it been for the hundred or so people strewn on the floor there would have been a pool all over the floor. The sheer amount of violence around me defies my imagination. How can even so many dead people be in a single room?

The nine millimetre ammunition of the handgun does an effective job, even if the bullets are less powerful than the 5.56 rifle rounds. Bullets through the skull kill, whether they penetrate the entire head or not, in an exit wound tearing off a huge chunk of flesh and bone. The bodies are less deformed this way, however slightly. The terrible silent, but so loud it’s all I hear, clicks as the first gun, and then the second, is empty, echoes in the room. I eject both mags, and find two new ones. Reloading two guns is ever harder than firing them. I insert a new in one, then the other. I pull back both slides with a satisfying snap as both slides chamber a round. The barks deafen everything. The flashes chase every shadow.

The lights stutter, then they die out completely. Complete darkness. Like the worlds sickest disco party, complete with a fanatic crowd and strobe lights, the room alters between light and utter darkness when I fire the guns. When it’s bright they are one place, when it goes dark and then bright again they are even closer. It is unreal. This is the time when I will die, guns blazing, dismembered by people when I can’t even see them. Will it be worse to not see the teeth gnawing at my legs, the arms clawing at my face, just to feel them? No. I will not die at their hands.

The last two bullets of the handguns penetrate a single foe, with a firm grip at my shirt. I feel her- no, its hands letting go as all the nerve signals of the brain finally go silent. Using the handles of both guns I crack its skull open with them as well, shoving it away from me. I see the contour of the assault rifle at the table, and the the two remaining magazines. I grab the closest, and steady the stock against my shoulder, gripping the handle as well as the thirty-round spare magazine. I pull back the bolt twice, the second ejecting a brass round. I grab it, clench it in my fist. The last bullet will free me of this nightmare. But for now I’m bringing back the light, muzzle flashing six hundred times a minute, tracers every three shots. The tracers burn all the way from the barrel and to the undead, still burning as they hit, actually staying alight and igniting some. I embrace the light with my whole mind, grinning like a lunatic as I mow down former friends, their heads riddled with gaping holes from my rifle as they go limp and fall on top of the thick layer of already dead things. I am going to die, but so are you, my friend. I never really liked you anyway, and now you’re DEAD! Ha! Die already, won’t you?

Eject the magazine, there, find the fresh one…in the dark a moment of clarity comes to me. I’ve lost it, haven’t I? I’m a monster, just like them. A cold and mindless killing machine. And they are going to swarm all over me anyway in a matter of seconds.

…But I still have more firepower than them. So come and get me. I’ve still got twenty or so uranium-depleted, Teflon-coated, high-speed death bringers with your names on it. And special offer, this lifetime-only: flares to char your damned skin into ash.

Bring it.

This post has been edited by Elite viking on November 10, 2009 08:35 pm
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Zombie Assassin
Posted: June 06, 2008 11:53 am
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Last hope of Mankind

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Sweet story, I loved it.

He should've jumped in the middle of the crowd at the end and have blubbern.gif with them biggrin.gif just kidding.

This post has been edited by Zombie Assassin on June 06, 2008 11:53 am
Posted: June 13, 2008 03:02 am
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Real zombie Nemesis

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Joined: December 05, 2004

Very good Viking, i like it alot.
Few spelling or gramatical errors which can easily be overlooked.
I like the transitions between past and present. Very sly.
Keep it coming =)

Zombie connoisseur, BrainBread enthusiast, slayer of the undead.

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Posted: June 13, 2008 11:57 pm
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That was effin' awesome, mate.
Great detail, thrilling happenings, and lotsa guns! Awesome as teh shits.

I loved the ending, mate. It inspired me somehow... a new character!! Gosh, I forgot I had to make a new character in the main RPG. ohmy.gif

Current game(s): Uh uh not updatin' this no mo
Looking forward to: Some shit
Name Shortcut: Zombie, Isit, Bob(not recommended)
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Elite viking
Posted: June 14, 2008 01:29 am
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Veteran Lord Carnage

Group: Old BB:S Betatesters
Posts: 2470

Joined: December 16, 2004

Thanks for the comments, it's what makes a writer want to continue writing wink.gif

Who knows, maybe he isn't dead just yet...?
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