|
Post by me on Apr 9, 2007 15:26:23 GMT -5
Yet still, the public never knew about the approaching catastrophe. They lived their lives as they always had, traveling from point a to point b, only to do the same mindless task they had been doing for decades or more. In many ways the living dead were more alive then them.
The Bay Area
One of their rival gangs, The Falcons, or as he liked to call them the ****tards, had locked themselves inside their harbor fortress. This would usually be a welcome turn of events, but they had done so without any kind of attack made against them. So the leadership of his gang tore themselves away from their carnal pleasures long enough to send a strike team to blow the Falcons away.
Who were they kidding? The gang had nothing even remotely resembling a strike team, and had very few who could hit a target without a machine gun. But their leaderships word was law, and as such the few people that could aim (such as himself) and many who couldn't were sent in to kill the enemy or die trying....most likely to retreat before they died trying.
He knew exactly what was going to happen, and yet he was still nervous. Something was telling him that being here was not such a good idea, and that he would probably die. He didn't know what it was, some left over self preservation instinct? or maybe even something that ran deeper?
Who cares he wasn't a philosopher, he was a gangster.
Before the order to move in came, he saw many people get one last dose of their drug of choice, and even saw several people die of overdose right there. It was a death that he was use to, the body would immediately start to shake, then the person would start jerking around in some random pattern. He knew there was a medical term for it, but he never got enough of an education to care. Finally the victim would foam slightly at the mouth, and die.
It wasn't a pretty way to go, and he wanted to make sure he never died like that. Actually he wanted to make sure he never died.
They started to move in, walking out in the open armed with pistols and shotguns, toward their sworn enemies base. They met no resistance, and so they continued toward the building set in the middle of the enemy territory. Still no one challenged them, they didn't even see anyone until they came to the nearest entrance to the building.
A single person sat against a door, holding what looked like a bite in his arm. Someone or something was smashing against the door, and every time it bounced the man seemed to shudder in horror. A shotgun lay by the man's side, and he continually muttered something.
Several of his fellow gang members began to pull the door open, while he knelt by the man to hear what he was saying. "They...they died, but...the horror! I cant let them touch me...I cant let them free," the man kept whispering to himself. The man finally closed his eyes, and died.
He backed away, something bad was happening here, and it was all trapped behind this door. He turned to look at the man, and saw the man start to jerk rhythmically. Then stand up with arms stretched out toward him. The door burst open, and more people began to shuffle out. A horrible moan escaped the man's lips, and soon many more voices lifted up to join it.
|
|
|
Post by me on Apr 9, 2007 16:03:06 GMT -5
He lifted his pistol, and aimed directly at the nearest man. Unlike many gangsters he didn't use the sideways grip that they thought looked cool. He fired a shot that passed through the chest of his target. Without even flinching, the man continued to walk toward him. He fired his pistol again, hoping he had missed, but he saw the man flesh fly out, and strange brownish specks fall to the ground.
He emptied his pistol into the man, and saw more of his flesh explode outward. He saw the man fall over, and nearly cheered. Then the man pushed himself to his feet with stiffened limbs, and began to advance once more.
The man was supposed to be dead. I saw him die, I saw him fall over. No one is supposed to survive that many bullets. WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE!
He took several steps back, away from the man, before regaining enough sense to reload his pistol. He saw another gangster firing at the crowd with a sideways grip, and even though he was only using a .22 revolver, his bone snapped under the pressure. The gangster fell to the ground with a shout of pain, clutching his arm. Two of the...creatures fell onto him, biting into his flesh. Another came forward to beat the creatures of his friend, using a metal pipe as a baseball bat.
The creature barely stumbled with the blow, and immediately grabbed the mans arm and bit deep into the flesh. Hundreds seemed to appear from no where, each lifting a horrible moan into the air. Gunfire and screams of pain soon joined them. People around him fired wildly into the hordes of enemies surrounding them.
He saw what looked like a dozen enemies coming directly at him, and lifted his pistol. Fire flashed from the end creating explosions of flesh and those strange brown specks to leap from his targets. He saw the jaw of one of the creatures explode outward, all without the creature flinching. He quickly reloaded, and began firing once more into the small crowd advancing on him.
One fell when its forehead exploded outward, but he didn't notice. He was already running with the two or three others that had survived this long. He could almost see into their minds as they ran. **** the gang, **** it all. I just want to get out of here.
***
Well thats odd...
The gang war was supposed to be in full swing, but except for a few scattered incidents nothing was happening. The police department stepped in to take full credit, and to ask for more funding. Everyone knew that they were lying, but they needed the money.
Then next on the news a government official stepped in to say with an important announcement. He merely told everyone that the president would be speaking in around two hours, and that all T.V. stations were required to play the message.
That sounded like fun...
He exchanged looks with his friend, something important was about to happen. Something odd was happening, and maybe the president would speak about it. He knew something was wrong, because he could sense something in the air. A smell that was barely at the edge of his memory. What was it?
For a fraction of a second he nearly admitted to himself, the identity of the smell. It smelled like death, but it couldn't be that...could it?
|
|
|
Post by Uesugi on Apr 9, 2007 19:52:59 GMT -5
Narrative felt a bit weak at the beginning. You missed a 'to' between 'team' and 'blow' in the first (or was it second) paragraph. Otherwise, I liked it. Not my favourite story of yours, but I'll keep readin'. I like you style, so I guess I am hooked, huh?
|
|
|
Post by me on Apr 9, 2007 20:38:35 GMT -5
Nice eye Uesugi Fixed it
|
|
|
Post by me on Apr 29, 2007 4:18:10 GMT -5
Two hours later they were still sitting in front of the television set. The last of the preliminary speakers finished her speech, and stepped off the platform. Subdued applause floated below the the announcement of the next speaker. The President of the United States.
A man walked calmly up to the podium in an immaculate blue suit. Flashes of light as dozens of cameras tried to capture what was sure to be a historic moment. A multitude of voices rang out at once, each vied with the others for the presidents attention.
The president didn't even need to signal for silence, instead everyone instinctively knew that they should be silent. The cameras all fell silent, and the flashes of light all stopped. The only sound that could be heard was the subtle buzz of strategically placed microphones.
After the silence had been drawn on for what seemed like an eternity the President finally spoke, "My fellow Americans. Throughout the last century many things that had once seemed like fantasy have become real, created through human ingenuity. We have risen to each challenge, climbed each mountain of fantasy and created a reality."
He thought he heard gunfire, just at the edge of his hearing, but he didn't see anyone on the T.V. panicking. The secret service seemed more nervous then usual, but if they had heard gunfire, they would be doing alot more then just standing there.
"As we reached the peak of each mountain we found only another waiting to be conquered, and in time we only began looking for more and more mountains. In the process we have forgotten to be wary of the valleys that often stand besides these points."
Instead of diminishing, more guns seemed to join the ones in the background. The reports only got louder, their message more urgent. Why wasn't anyone panicking? They couldn't be that confident in White House Security.
"Its hard to understand or even believe what has happened, but we can no longer refuse to believe things which were once fantasy. It was once only fantasy that had the dead come back to life, but sadly this is no longer true. Many of you may be thinking, 'Why is this so bad? Isn't it just another testament to human ingenuity.' This reality wasn't created by man, but instead was forced upon us, seemingly by God."
The gunfire reached a fever pitch, and with the Presidents words fresh in his mind, he walked over to the window, and looked down into the streets. A mass of bodies lurched through the streets, crashing into buildings, and tearing through the few who tried to oppose them.
He heard his friend walk over and look over his shoulder. "May God help us."
|
|
|
Post by Uesugi on Apr 29, 2007 12:00:35 GMT -5
This story is moving along at a strange pace, though it looks like things will get a little more interesting coming up. The reactions still seem bland, though... But otherwise, I like it and can't wait.
|
|
|
Post by me on Jun 8, 2007 1:20:01 GMT -5
That phrase could be heard around the world, a presidential cry for assistance, not directed at another nation, but the supreme being. In thousands of different cities people ran to their windows, searching for any sign of infection. Panicked crowds ran for the nearest gun shop, only to find a riot forming. People died, mistaken for shambling wrecks, others were injured in brawls or by maniacs.
The world was falling apart at its seams, and the worst part was, everyone knew what was happening. People saw the fabric of once great civilizations crumbling because of mindless bodies shambling toward them, yet still very few had died; the numbers of the horde empty. If only that could remain true. ***
He stood in front of the window, staring down at the wave of humanity washing down the street. Hundreds upon hundreds of men and women dressed in gang attire, breaking down the weak doors guarding dozens of hotel suites. All accomplished in a stiff limp, as if the muscles in their legs refused to flex beyond a certain point, yet even as slow as they were, they proved a terrifying force.
His vision began to swim, and his lungs burned with an intense fire. He finally managed to draw a breath through lungs that had refused to cooperate. Oxygen, however, failed to lessen the shock and pure disbelief that had flooded his system. It seemed like a fairytale, hell it was a nightmare.
"This isn't freaking real," he heard his friend whisper.
The president droned on in the background, "Some of you may be feeling shock, or disbelief-"
"Shut up!" he shouted, as the T.V. fell from its perch. An anger fueled shove had knocked it down, but that didn't replace the reality that confronted him. He kept retreating, falling into a corner, trying to escape the situation that confronted him.
He felt his friend lift him bodily to his feet, pulling him within inches of his face. "Get it together, now!" his friend shouted.
He could only whisper, "This can't be real, this just isn't happening. It just can't be ****ing real!"
His friends cold answer brought him back to sanity, "What happened to the man you use to tell me about? The one who laughed in the face of death, right before he beat the shit out of it?"
He was pulled back into reality, his mind being forcefully dragged into sanity. He went silent, trying to hold onto the small thread that had brought him back. The sound of breaking glass, and a scream echoing from the lobby three floors down, clarified his duty.
His friend let go of his collar, and walked over to the few things that he had brought. Inside he pulled out a box that held his prized possession, a Nagant M1895. Then his friend left him, to save whoever had screamed in the lobby.
He took only a second to breath, before going for a weapon of his own. Before he had fallen on his current situation, he had been able to purchase several pistols, mostly revolvers. Now he went for the one that was closest, a Smith and Wesson model ten, which used .38 caliber rounds.
He quickly sprinted out the door, and leaped down the flights of stairs, dodging other residents who had emerged from their rooms, most carrying weapons of their own. He reached the stairwell leading down into the lobby, to see his friend standing at the top firing down into a steady stream of bodies, that had pierced the front door.
A large group had already managed to break through the door, and were surrounding a small group of people that had been in the lobby at the time. He raised his pistol, and centered his aim on one of the shambling horrors in the room. His first instinct, to aim for the chest, he quickly checked and elevated the barrel of his weapon.
He had seen the effect his friends rounds had had, when they were fired at the chest. He fired off the first shot, and watched the undead's head explode. Thickly congealed blood splattered, across the other shambling horrors, and a horrifying moan rose from the small horde.
He emptied the other five shots in his revolver, before leaping over the banister that kept people from falling into the lobby. His foot lashed out against the nearest zombie, pushing it back, and causing it to trip over its stumbling legs. He had created a small hole in the line of undead, and the group immediately took advantage of it.
The last one out, a woman, was grabbed by one of the undead, and bitten. Blood leaked from the wound and flesh was ripped off by the gnashing jaws of the zombie, but he lashed out with an open palm and broke the beast jaw with a well placed strike.
They ran up the stairs, and crawled under the table that had been placed at the top of the first flight. When they got through more unneeded furniture was laid across the small entryway. A small barricade had been formed, one that wouldn't allow any of the dead to pass.
|
|
|
Post by Uesugi on Jun 9, 2007 2:33:03 GMT -5
Hmm... The one thing I don't like is that the narrative for this story is strange. Also, always mention characters by name at least once.
|
|
|
Post by me on Jun 9, 2007 14:16:51 GMT -5
I always had trouble with creating names, but expect a name by the next update, either one I create dor one of my friends names...
|
|
|
Post by spamilla on Jun 10, 2007 1:33:23 GMT -5
Wow, this is really great! I totally agree with Uesugi, you do need some names for these guys! Happy to hear we'll know what to call these guys in your next update.. (Well, except 'Andy', we already know him) Names would be profoundly helpful, because I had to reread a few sections because of the overuse of the pronoun 'he' or 'his'.
You have a lot of little grammar problems through out the whole piece, perhaps consider getting a BETA?
The whole side adventure with the gang felt slightly misplaced. I think it might have gone better before the first secret government scene.. a kind of lead-in.
^^ Besides those few things, this story has potential. I'll be looking for future updates!
|
|
|
Post by me on Jun 10, 2007 1:37:52 GMT -5
The guy who escaped was going to be a new character, but your right about the misplacement....
Grr I should start running these through word...
|
|