Friday, March 03, 2006
Lucky?
I really must stop thinking that it can’t get worse. I woke up today in a hospital. Granted – I’m now in a neighboring library, only because its barriers are jacked up to Fort Knox levels, and I needed some quiet to reflect on my recent horror.
At the end of my last entry I was resting up and finding more bullets in the Broad Ave PD. The locals finished up the church scene, so I resumed my pace northwards. As I traveled block after block, I noticed the groups of zeds becoming more and more frequent, and larger in number. The stories, I was beginning to believe, were true.
I ducked into a firehouse to get off the streets. These folks were looking scared. REAL scared – a bunch of regular people with no fighting or emergency experience. It was obvious since they didn’t even bother to arm themselves. And since they didn’t grab the fireman’s axe on the wall, maybe it was time to supplement and deliver the true meaning of “firearms” by swinging some angst against my next zed. The axe might prove useful if I find myself sans ammo in a pinch.
Next thing I know the folks here freak out. I had a shiver run down my spine, too, but the sheer volume of the groans was more than I’ve ever encountered. The guttural rumbling wasn’t just heard – it was felt by everyone there. They were right next door.
I peered out the window to look at the library. A couple of zeds were swaying out by the main door, or what was left of the door. I did a quick mental calculation and figured I was able to hop from the firehouse over into the second floor landing of the library. I wouldn’t even have to hit the streets. It was hero time again.
There’s nothing like the sound of a fresh clip getting loaded to spur you into action mode. I flung myself through the window and with a dive roll I was bounding through the balcony’s door of the ancient library. It was pretty obvious that I wasn’t Superman, because Kal-El would’ve turned on the x-ray peepers to see what he was getting into before bursting into the room. The hero in me noticed that there were three survivors, backed up against the far wall, praying to all kinds of different gods and mercy from nowhere. The ten zombies were all in motion, creeping their way to their next blood fest.
I had to position myself to not only distract he horde, but also make sure my shots didn’t go through the Zulus and hit the poor trapped fools. A quick dodge and weave and I was clicking off rounds like the Chinese New Year. I must have used the wrong cologne that day, because they were on me in no time, hands, claws, and teeth with a smell that made the landfill seem like a bakery.
I didn’t even have time to reload, they were on me so fast. I had to move, and the newly acquired axe was my newest best friend on the scene. With a Babe Ruth arc, I hacked the arm of the closest, and as I made my dash for the stairway, my leg failed. Not that it wasn’t there, it just had a zed’s head attached to it, working the teeth deep into my thigh. The pain was causing bright spots in my eyes, so Mr. Bunyan swung again to break the jaw connector off. I fell away from the pack, and gave them something to chew on by firing my flare gun into the middle of them. The burning un-corpse in the center of their ranks started ripping into the lot, so I hobbled back to the window, hurtling myself through it back towards the fire house.
The pain in my leg was exponentially getting worse, and it spread up to my chest and arms. I barely made it over the barricade and into the midst of the bunch of wide-eyed yokels. Before I passed out, I remember there was someone else there, someone with a long white coat…
I woke the next morning in a hospital, or what was left of one. Someone else in one of those white coats who looked like he took a nap last year told me that my infection was stopped and I should be ok in about a day. They got to it in time and I was lucky.
So tell me – if this is lucky, what was unlucky nowadays?
At the end of my last entry I was resting up and finding more bullets in the Broad Ave PD. The locals finished up the church scene, so I resumed my pace northwards. As I traveled block after block, I noticed the groups of zeds becoming more and more frequent, and larger in number. The stories, I was beginning to believe, were true.
I ducked into a firehouse to get off the streets. These folks were looking scared. REAL scared – a bunch of regular people with no fighting or emergency experience. It was obvious since they didn’t even bother to arm themselves. And since they didn’t grab the fireman’s axe on the wall, maybe it was time to supplement and deliver the true meaning of “firearms” by swinging some angst against my next zed. The axe might prove useful if I find myself sans ammo in a pinch.
Next thing I know the folks here freak out. I had a shiver run down my spine, too, but the sheer volume of the groans was more than I’ve ever encountered. The guttural rumbling wasn’t just heard – it was felt by everyone there. They were right next door.
I peered out the window to look at the library. A couple of zeds were swaying out by the main door, or what was left of the door. I did a quick mental calculation and figured I was able to hop from the firehouse over into the second floor landing of the library. I wouldn’t even have to hit the streets. It was hero time again.
There’s nothing like the sound of a fresh clip getting loaded to spur you into action mode. I flung myself through the window and with a dive roll I was bounding through the balcony’s door of the ancient library. It was pretty obvious that I wasn’t Superman, because Kal-El would’ve turned on the x-ray peepers to see what he was getting into before bursting into the room. The hero in me noticed that there were three survivors, backed up against the far wall, praying to all kinds of different gods and mercy from nowhere. The ten zombies were all in motion, creeping their way to their next blood fest.
I had to position myself to not only distract he horde, but also make sure my shots didn’t go through the Zulus and hit the poor trapped fools. A quick dodge and weave and I was clicking off rounds like the Chinese New Year. I must have used the wrong cologne that day, because they were on me in no time, hands, claws, and teeth with a smell that made the landfill seem like a bakery.
I didn’t even have time to reload, they were on me so fast. I had to move, and the newly acquired axe was my newest best friend on the scene. With a Babe Ruth arc, I hacked the arm of the closest, and as I made my dash for the stairway, my leg failed. Not that it wasn’t there, it just had a zed’s head attached to it, working the teeth deep into my thigh. The pain was causing bright spots in my eyes, so Mr. Bunyan swung again to break the jaw connector off. I fell away from the pack, and gave them something to chew on by firing my flare gun into the middle of them. The burning un-corpse in the center of their ranks started ripping into the lot, so I hobbled back to the window, hurtling myself through it back towards the fire house.
The pain in my leg was exponentially getting worse, and it spread up to my chest and arms. I barely made it over the barricade and into the midst of the bunch of wide-eyed yokels. Before I passed out, I remember there was someone else there, someone with a long white coat…
I woke the next morning in a hospital, or what was left of one. Someone else in one of those white coats who looked like he took a nap last year told me that my infection was stopped and I should be ok in about a day. They got to it in time and I was lucky.
So tell me – if this is lucky, what was unlucky nowadays?
# posted by Elvis @ 8:10 AM 
