Post by Khornate Marksman on Sept 4, 2008 17:41:00 GMT -5
"That stench. That god awful stench. It's everywhere down here. I can smell them. Those goddamn maggot-ridden bastards. They're down here Clyde. They're all around. We need to go back. The surface has to be safer...It must be...Come on..."
"Goddamn, Phil will you shut the hell up? If there are any down here they'll find us if you keep bitching," Clyde said. He looked at his companion standing beside the ladder leading back up to the surface where they had just come from. Phil wore light brown army fatigues and a helmet with goggles that covered his eyes. He carried a machine pistol in his right hand and a torchlight in his left. Clyde, being about two and a half feet taller that the spindly four foot scout, carried an HMG with about half of its three-hundred round drum magazine remaining. Two torchlights were hooked into the shoulder pads of his combat armor.
"Easy for you to say," Phil replied. "You've got fifty pounds of body armor between you and there clawing hands and rotten teeth."
Clyde looked at the smaller man and pushed his goggles up onto his helmet. The grey eyes that stared at Phil were full of the same fear he felt. After half a minute Phil shined his light down the tunnel that lead into the sewers. Clyde pushed his goggles back down and braced his HMG against his shoulder, walking past Phil and into the tunnel.
Phil followed him, switching his machine pistol's safety to fully automatic. He shined his light at the ceiling only three feet above him. The heavy rains on the surface were still going and the water was beginning to seep through the many cracks in the streets and sidewalks of the city. He stopped to let some of water wet his hand, but withdrew when he noticed it was tinged red with blood.
The slaughter on the surface was so horrendous that the streets were flooding with the lifeblood of the people that walked them everyday.
The last two members of the group, a woman and a man, followed Phil and Clyde into the sewers. The man, a middle-aged veteran of war called George, carried a triple-barrel shotgun with a dual bayonet stained with dried blood mounted on the end. The woman who refered to herself only as Sam carried a lightweight, but high-powered sniper rifle with a bag full of various scopes and silencers.
They trudged on through the opening and dropped down into the foetid muck composed of the city's waste and garbage. The putrid, watery mix ran up to the Phil's knees. Since he was the shortest of the four survivors it wasn't too bad. The sewers went left and right, the ends blocked by the many twists and turns the waste water flowed through.
"The water's running left, so that must be where the exits are," Clyde said.
"And where those filthy bastards will be waiting to devour us piece by bloody piece," Phil muttered.
The others ignored him and walked past to follow Clyde.
"Goddamn, Phil will you shut the hell up? If there are any down here they'll find us if you keep bitching," Clyde said. He looked at his companion standing beside the ladder leading back up to the surface where they had just come from. Phil wore light brown army fatigues and a helmet with goggles that covered his eyes. He carried a machine pistol in his right hand and a torchlight in his left. Clyde, being about two and a half feet taller that the spindly four foot scout, carried an HMG with about half of its three-hundred round drum magazine remaining. Two torchlights were hooked into the shoulder pads of his combat armor.
"Easy for you to say," Phil replied. "You've got fifty pounds of body armor between you and there clawing hands and rotten teeth."
Clyde looked at the smaller man and pushed his goggles up onto his helmet. The grey eyes that stared at Phil were full of the same fear he felt. After half a minute Phil shined his light down the tunnel that lead into the sewers. Clyde pushed his goggles back down and braced his HMG against his shoulder, walking past Phil and into the tunnel.
Phil followed him, switching his machine pistol's safety to fully automatic. He shined his light at the ceiling only three feet above him. The heavy rains on the surface were still going and the water was beginning to seep through the many cracks in the streets and sidewalks of the city. He stopped to let some of water wet his hand, but withdrew when he noticed it was tinged red with blood.
The slaughter on the surface was so horrendous that the streets were flooding with the lifeblood of the people that walked them everyday.
The last two members of the group, a woman and a man, followed Phil and Clyde into the sewers. The man, a middle-aged veteran of war called George, carried a triple-barrel shotgun with a dual bayonet stained with dried blood mounted on the end. The woman who refered to herself only as Sam carried a lightweight, but high-powered sniper rifle with a bag full of various scopes and silencers.
They trudged on through the opening and dropped down into the foetid muck composed of the city's waste and garbage. The putrid, watery mix ran up to the Phil's knees. Since he was the shortest of the four survivors it wasn't too bad. The sewers went left and right, the ends blocked by the many twists and turns the waste water flowed through.
"The water's running left, so that must be where the exits are," Clyde said.
"And where those filthy bastards will be waiting to devour us piece by bloody piece," Phil muttered.
The others ignored him and walked past to follow Clyde.