The Storm

[Abira]

As if torn apart by the same insanity that seemed to rip the fabric of reality, the towering bank of black clouds suddenly gave way to rain—a welcomed deluge that seemed to wash clean (at least for the moment) the grime and terror that blanketed the region. Abira didn’t need to see the rain to know that the storm had finally come; brilliant flashes of lightning and deep, chest-pounding peals of thunder alternately assaulted her senses through the small square window in the manager’s office. It was a much-appreciated break from the groans, from the scrabbling, and from the stretches of eerie silence that otherwise made up her world.

Her rations long since depleted, Abira was mustering up the courage to make another jerky run when, in a break between the thunder, a wholly different sort of commotion caught her attention. Slipping to her feet and peeking around the massive, makeshift barricade, she slid gingerly from the office and rested a moment behind the service counter. There were no zombies inside the store at the moment—no, only rats feeding on the stinking bits of carrion…sharp-toothed, furry little monsters that squealed in outrage at her sudden appearance. Creeping to the bank of windows that lined the far wall, Abira snapped back one of the metal blinds and peered out—and almost shrieked with relief.

People! Humans! They didn’t shuffle, didn’t moan, didn’t look like the living dead…and they had vehicles! Of course, one had just been used as a battering ram and its driver was now seizuring on the ground…but relief overcame her concern, and Abira nearly sobbed with new-found optimism.

Thanking the gods that she’d remembered to authorize the pumps early on in the nightmare, she appraised the situation as best she could and decided that she’d have to make herself known. The Bug had pulled in first, and to its driver Abira planned to speak. Or cry. Or rave hysterically. Whatever emotion bubbled to the surface first, she supposed…after all, she’d been holed up in a gas station with nothing but a gun and zombie wanderers to keep her company.

Dressed in a black tank that showcased artfully her toned shoulders and taut torso, Abira hiked up the low-slung, second-hand Army fatigues that clung tenaciously to her hips and burst through the main entrance. Blue-black hair streaming and heavy-soled boots splashing in the puddles that had begun to form at the edge of the awning, she stopped a few yards short of the newcomers and hugged herself. Was it too good to be true? Was there someone else left besides herself that still remained…un-zombified? Calling out into the rain, wary of the man sprawled on the sidewalk and the reeking pile of mush (that had formerly been a group of the Infected), Abira directed her greeting at the woman behind the wheel of the Bug.

“Oh, my god. You’re alive, too? Help me! I’m begging you! Please take me away from here…Jesus…”

Retaining her composure was difficult, and she knew it wouldn’t be long before more zombies would arrive, drawn by the promise of fresh flesh. Shivering against the wind and the rain, Abira wiped a few telltale tears from her cheeks and stared anxiously at the new arrivals.

[Leila Darkmoon]

*Leila was looking at Casey when she saw a black blob approaching them through the gore stained passenger window of the Bug. Frowning slightly as she realised that the speeding blob was in fact a car, she muttered ~Woah, they are coming at us kinda fast!~ before the black car drove over a group of approaching zombies. Grinning slightly with satisfaction at the sight of those undead fiends flying through the air in a bloody heap, the smile soon faded from her lips as the black car spun out of control and flipped onto its roof. As she sat there, watching helplessly with her mouth hanging open in shock, she reached out on impulse to squeeze Casey’s arm as the black car’s door opened and a man stumbled out. Her surprise was so great a few moments later however, that when she saw that the stumbling man was having a seizure and was in fact Harvey, she swore under her breath as she fumbled for her seatbelt in a desperate bid to exit the Bug in time to help him.

It was then that a woman came running from within the store. It was clear by her demeanour and words that she had thought she was the only survivor left in this crazy world, and Leilas worried gaze softened slightly as she looked to the woman. As her violet tinged orbs focus on the woman, she yelled out in alarm as she saw the woman running carelessly through the puddles.

~Wait!~ Leila called out as she opened the door and climbed out of the Bug, hoping that Casey was doing the same. ~You have to stay out of the rain! It’s infected somehow! Please.. stay under cover!~

With that, she turned on her heel and ran towards where Harvey lay in a crumpled heap, his body jerking uncontrollably. Although the main part of his body was under cover of the awning, a large puddle was starting to form not far from where his head lay. Leila screamed out to Casey

~Come help me!~ as she tugged on Harveys’ pant legs and tried to pull him away from the puddle.

Looking over her shoulder to Casey, she panted ~I don’t know what to do! I did a CPR training when I was at camp once, but.. ~she glanced back over at Harvey who was still jerking with those terrifying spasms. ~ I don’t know what to do!~

Her panic was soon heightened by the fact that a strange moan was now audible in the small area where she worked, trying to pull Harvey clear of the falling rain. Dropping his legs softly, she stood up and peered into the deluge. The zombies that Harvey had just driven over appeared to still be still, though another group had already arrived to take its place. Leila swallowed quickly as her eyes moved rapidly in a desperate attempt to count how many there were. As the number grew to 20, and then to 30 Leila felt sick to her stomach. As more zombies continued to come over the rise, she swallowed again, this time paling slightly as she dried her sweaty palms on the legs of her jeans. Her faux-fur lined coat was welcome warmth against the bitter wind that howled in unison with the zombie horde and threatened to tear her golden locks from her head. She had never felt so scared, cold and miserable in her life.

Hoping that Foxx and the guys in the truck were well equipped for such a number of zombies, Leila screamed out

~WE’VE GOT COMPANY!!~

as she bent over and picked up Harvey’s legs once more. With the adrenalin from her panic attack raging through her veins, Leila was surprised to find she moved him a bit more easily as she finally pulled him clear of the rain and puddles. His body was still jerking around however, and Leila gazed down at him helplessly as she dropped his legs softly down on the tarmac.*

[Catrux]

(I hope it is alright that I'm posting even though Foxx has yet to declare that the truck arrived.)

As they pulled up Loki smiled when he found two Zombies along comming up along side the truck. It was set up perfectly, one on either side of him. Loki raised his arms in unison, bringing them to head level of the Zombies and simultaneously fired. Both shots found their mark. With a satisfied grin firmly afixed to his face, Loki said to the two other contestants, "That's three for me boys." He had been paying very little attention to anything besides the zombies and as such was surprised to hear an unfamiliar woman's voice.

Turning reflexively to face the new commer, Loki could see the excitement the woman had. His attention wasn't allowed to stay on her for too long seeing as Leila began shouting for help. Immediatlely, Loki climbed atop the roof of the cab, getting into position to fend off the gaggle of Zombies. For a moment he thought he would just shoot them all, but soon realized he would have to expend a large amount of precious ammo. With out realizing it Loki voiced his concerns, "Damn.....Theres a shit load of them..." A twisted thought entered Loki's mind, he knew how to get rid of the lot of them with just one shot. Turning to Patrick and Derek, Loki gave out orders. "Pat, Derek you two stave off the Zombies. I'll go and get....supplies." Loki flashed a mischevious grin, and ran off toward the conveniance store.

He paused only long enough to try and persuade the new girl to help him, granted his persuasive skills could use some work. "Come with me, we need to gather supplies." Being a football player, Loki didn't have much use for powers of persuasion unless intimidation was brought into consideration though this was hardly a time to intimidate. With out waiting for a response, Loki continued into the building calling out behind him "You grab Food and Drink, I'll take care of the rest." Which ment that he was going to secure their exit.

Loki stopped in front of the liquor and pulled out a bottle of beer, began drinking it, then poured the rest on the floor. He continued this behavior, save for the drinking, each time he kept the bottle. After he had a cumbersome load, he found an empty cardboard box and began setting them inside, once the box was relatively full, and the floor slick with booze, he set off for some form of cloth. The cloth he found belonged to some shirts which he quickly tossed into the box, once satisfied with the amount of cloth or wick as he was thinking, Loki searched for a red gasoline container he could fill. Not having any luck, Loki was starting to get perturbed before he finally opened his mouth. "Do you have any idea where some gas cans would be?"

All that was left for his plan was to fill up the cars, fill the gas cans, leave the gas pumping and blow the place along with the zombies straight to hell. The main problem with this plan was one that Loki was quite unaware of, in the midst of his hurriedness Loki never noticed the seizuing man, though no doubt he would upon exiting the store.

[dagodevas]

Patrick began firing into the undead flesh. He was still rushing to the convenience store. "There are things we have to make sure we get. We should all work on getting supplies as fast as possible. But here's cover fire." Patrick's bag was a simple courier bag with a heavy duty strap. The way he figured it he could fit all of his personal supplies and a decent amount of food on his first run. A second shot rung out into the crowd of Altered. Patrick began running after the football player. Once inside the store he began throwing everything he thought he could use into his bag while looking up and pointing his gun around to make sure nothing came close enough to him to attack. Once he was done with minor electronics and gift shop accessories he started grabbing bottled water and loaves of bread, the basics. He rushed back to the van to unload his haul. He fired one last bullet to clear the way back to the van.

His first run yielded

• Two packs of lighters (20 lighters)
  
• A cell phone charger
  
• A handful of jack knives including one Swiss Army Knife
  
• 2 Watches
  
• 3 Bottles of motor oil
  
• A carton of Camel Wides cigarettes
  
• A candle
  
• A pair of headphones
  
• A box of paper clips
  
• 3 packs of chewing gum
  
• A bottle of vodka
  
• 6 20-oz. bottles of water
  
• 2 Loaves of pre-sliced bread
  
• And jar of peanut butter
  

Patrick started getting ready for another run but first had to grab more shells for his shotgun.

[† The Jaxness †]

It wasnt the first time she had found herself looking down the barrel of a gun. The air force had tons of those scare tactics in order to sort out the wimps from those who didnt care if they were killed in combat or not. She had passed through each one of those damn bullshit mind games with flying colors, making the army shrinks believe she was either incredibly brave, or extremely stupid. Either way, she had flown through the ranks faster then any man had. This all the more made her a target for snide remarks and rumors of why she had become the first female master sergeant in 15 years. None of that shit mattered now. No matter what position she had held, it didnt help her in the present situation.

As the van was thrown into gear, she dug the toe of her left boot under the bar attached to the grill. She braced her right boot against the top to keep her balance, and reached out for something for her hands to grip onto. Finding nothing stable enough to hold onto, she placed her hands on the hood to brace her ass from the bouncing of the vehicle from the bodies of the zombies it had just run over. Momentarily free of obstacles, she turned her head to aim her scream at the lunatic at the wheel.

"Are you fucking insane?! What the fuck are you doing!?!"

She had turned back around just in time to see the van hit yet another mindless drone to send it flying up and over her head to disappear behind the roof of the van. Laying herself flat against the windsheild, she didnt care if she was blocking the psycho's line of view or not. It wasnt as if he was watching where he was going anyways. And as if karma had come back to bit her in the ass, said psycho jerked the wheel sharply to the left and slid around a corner. Every ounce of her 145 lbs. was thrown to the left, and only her stance on the van's grill kept her from falling off. Wanting to laugh at his suggestion of 'holding on', her only response to it was to reach down with both hands and grip the bars, removing her right foot from the top and replacing it on the bumper.

As she was now straddling the towing bars, the nose of the van was thrown into the air as it ran over something larger and more solid then a body of a zombie. A metal bar came up from whatever they had run over and lodged itself in her leg. She screamed through her teeth as she looked at the damage. The bar had run right through the material of her pants and dug itself an inch into her thigh. They landed on the cement only to hear a crunch and a squish, and blood was now strewn across her white wife-beater. They had no doubt made jell-o of the creature they had just landed on. Momentarily free of flying bodies, she removed one hand from the bars attached to the front of the van to take hold of the bar that was sticking out of her thigh. Ripping it out in one forceful jerk, blood oozed from the wound and added to the now bloody decor of her clothing. Keeping her balance and gripping the bloody bar in her right hand, she managed to beat off any zombie that attempted to grab onto her before they were either caught in the tires and smushed or plowed through like corn stalks.

When he found it suitable to stop, he hit the brakes in the middle of an on-ramp. After all she had been plowed through, he was giving her 30 seconds to get in the van or he was leaving her. This jackass had some nerve. Her stubborn mindset would have told him to go fuck himself on any other day, but with her luck, he was her only way of transportation. Gritting her teeth in an effort to keep her rude remarks to herself. She jumped down from the grill of the van to take limping steps to the passenger side door. Sliding up onto the seat, she removed her rifle from its strap on her back to place it between her legs, barrel up. Tossing the bloody bar to the floor, she swung the door shut and looked to see that the nutcase that had just put her through hell had a nice little shotgun placed on his lap. Well, that had kept her from thinking he was stupid to let a stranger ride with him in this time of crisis. At the same time, she had remembered the sight of a cigarette earlier, and to her dismay, it was no longer there. With a sigh, she laid her head against the headrest of the seat, and turned her gaze towards him.

"Hell, this has got to be a dream. I'm made into a zombie plow, got the remains of the undead all over me, and I cant even get a bloody cigarette. Names Harley, now would you mind telling me where the FUCK we're goin'?"

[Benito Senfetti]

Casey sat and in setting his firearm to a more useable setting (3-round bursts) he turned and stepped out of the VW quietly and began to walk forward, his gun was first fixed on the woman running madly out of the establishment, he then turned to see the rising number of Zombies, he crouched to one of his knees as one of his soldiering instincts kicked in and he turned only once to look and speak to Leila.

"You need to find someone else to help or leave him to die, we need food and drink and we arent going to make it much longer here without my aim." He spoke sternly and it was only now that he realized how tuned they had him in the military and yet he found more sense in what he was doing than anything and so in turning his eyes down the sights of his weapon he began to squeeze the trigger ever so often sending three bullets into the necks and heads of approaching zombies. He was tuned out from the world and that splattering of coagulated blood was the only thing he saw and in a blood thirsty rage the firing, reloading, and firing was the only thing he knew.

[foxx]

The events that led to the truck’s arrival at the pump appeared to happen extremely fast, yet still painfully slow. Although is felt as if they were rushing up on the gas station at uncontrolled speed, in the same instant it seemed like they’d never reach their destination at their current crawl. Foxx grit her teeth, tightened her grip on the wheel and pushed back into the seat in preparation. She might have been landing a 747 on a dead-end dirt path for all her stress. The muffled voices drifting from behind her in the bed and the Bug ahead of her vanished from her range of awareness. The gas pump island and the curb that lifted it above the rest of the parking lot became the end-all, be-all of her world. She braked unsteadily, the truck jerking sharply with each push of the pedal, and cursed her ability to look as inexperienced as she was. Nerves. The sooner she calmed the nerves, the better.

She eased the wheel left gradually as they came into the lot and with little effort came up behind the Bug, aligned a foot or so from the curb. Before she knew it, it was over. Disbelief had her scrambling across the front seat to peer out the passenger window and confirm that she had, indeed, managed to do it. With an internal, triumphant ‘WOO HOO!’, she slid back across the seat and flung open the front door. Had she not known better she would have sworn her legs were missing after the ride and that her butt had taken serious damage by some unseen force, but when she shimmied out and dropped to the ground her M.I.A limbs were there to support her. They also were there to assist moments later when a black, blood-soaked vehicle plowed through a small gathering of the infected and careened into the parking lot. Terrified, it occurred to her that she may die before ever having the chance to eat again.

By some miracle, the car swerved to miss her and her vehicle by what felt like a half an inch. When it rolled and skidded to a stop on its top Foxx was not the only witness of the scene to gasp in horror. Her stomach flipped as had the vehicle. She inched closer and jumped in surprise as the door opened and a familiar man dragged himself out. Within seconds, he was on the ground seizing. She watched in somber silence with no clue of what to do. The call of a voice Foxx didn’t recognize had her turning to face the newcomer. They could be bitten, insane or violent for all she knew and she wasn’t taking any chances. As well as she’d parked the truck, the rest of the plan was quickly falling apart.

Everyone around Foxx seemed to know just what they were doing. Well, Harvey didn’t act as though he was working with a full deck, but as he was in full seizure on the pavement, that was understandable. The men in the truck had bailed the moment she’d brought the truck to a stop and were now running to and from the gas station’s convenient store. To avoid being run over or splashed by tainted rain water, Foxx snatched up the nearest nozzle, clawed open the gas cover and stuffed it in the hole. There. She could be useful as well. She fixed her eyes intently on the numbers as they flew by to avoid having to look at the army of creatures she just knew were converging on them this very minute. When the pump automatically stopped she squeezed it a couple more times to top the tank off and gently placed it on its cradle. Unlikely as it was, others may come here with the same need for gas and would appreciate the gesture. Gun shots from various positions through the area sounded as Foxx screwed the cap back on tightly and snapped the cover shut.

As desperate as she’d been to get here, the desire to flee while screaming her head off was overwhelming. In this new world sanity was as difficult to hold onto as smoke might have been. It hovered around her so long as it chose and then dissipated when at last it was ready to go, never letting her in on its schedule. Doing things made that sanity-smoke thicker and easier to hold. The Harvey-Leila-Gunman scene was still drawing Foxx’s attention, so on a random spurt of bravery she approached and knelt to help. Staring sadly down into the man’s contorted face and seeing his pain and fear made emotions the girl had spent years working to turn off bubble up inside her. Rather than look up into the army of infected, she kept her gaze firmly planted on Harvey.

“What can I do? He’ll be safer in the truck. Can we move him?”

[dagodevas]

Patrick continued to make a couple of food runs, grabbing what he could in terms of just the basic staples: water, bread, and lunch meats. When he felt he grabbed enough for a couple of people for a few days he stayed back at the truck and started to fire at the hordes of undead.
"Guys, is there anything else we need? Hurry up, I'll stay here. Oh, and we might want to grab any gas we'll need for here to the border if there's gas canisters we can fill inside."
His 9mm let out a resounding crack as a zombie hit the ground.

Patrick finally noticed the scene around him in full view as he stood by the truck gaurding the valuable food and ammunitions.
"What's wrong with him? I'll help you get him into the truck."
Patrick wasn't strong, but he was willing to do what he could to move the man.

[The Joshness ™]

Vanman wasted not time at all, the moment she got in he slammed it back into drive and squealed the vans tires through the entire climb of the onramp. He was in no way wanting to wait and see if the Shifted would chase them up the onramp. “I’m sure as hell not dreaming, which means you’re as wide awake as I am, especially after that ride.”[/i] He would expect some hostility over is comment, but the van would soon cut off whatever she was about to say when he jerked the wheel of the vehicle sending it sliding across the wet pavement back and forth to avoid random abandoned cars parked all over the road. The van had been modified, majority of it restored for his own amusement. He glanced over at his leg “In the back, under the dresser there is a first aid kit...excuse the ‘paraphernalia’ and try and fix yourself up. If this Shift isn’t like all of the movies, you might be able to stop the infection.” He she did, she’d have to climb over the hump between them, which would be the transmission, and the first thing she’d see is a large water bed. With a tiny bit of walking space between them, on the other side is the dresser that was a decent size (2 columns of 5 drawers.) The walls on each side had decent sized windows that are so tinted and perfectly designed; you can’t even see them from the outside of the van. As it is cobalt black as well.

“I got a radio transmission a while ago, apparently there are some other survivors, Trucky said to meat her at a gas station down the interstate here. I don’t exactly know where we’re going from there. But honestly, I see us all dying on a horrible bloody mess.” The van swung to the left avoiding a downed that had most certainly been tipped over. When he turned the van a body made contact with the front end and there was now blood all over the windshield, so he turned on the windshield wipers that began to shoot water at the glass to try and clean them. “That’s got to be –horrible- for my insurance. But I'm not sure I could ask them to charge me for Zombie coverage. These Shifted buggers fall apart pretty easily. As they rot their body tissue tears easily. When it hit them, I like to think of it as I’m plowing through a Jell-O mold of a guy. SPLAT!” He laughed, as he is still sorta googly from the joint he smoked while she rode on the hood. Swerving again “Don’t worry about anything flying around back there and crushing you, its all been bolted down or latched up.” At the foot of the bed, where the large double doors at the bay of the van had a fairly sized 2 panel plasma television embedded into it. The nice fabrics, carpeting, and style made it –obvious- this stuff was stolen or that he stole the van itself. “…They call me Vanman.”

[Abira]

Although it hadn’t occurred to her before that the rain itself was a source of toxicity, Abira screeched to a halt at the woman’s warning and skittered back under the store’s awning. Garishly illuminated as another tongue of lightning licked the sky, her face registered nothing of the absolute terror she still wrestled with; snapping black eyes moved furtively from face to face…watching first the seizing man and then traveling over the small company that had begun to raid the station. Ripping a rubber band from her wrist, Abira caught her hair up and twisted it into a knot at the back of her head. The rippling wave of blue-black hair, rarely manageable but perpetually stunning, seemed only a hindrance to her at the moment—indeed, her attention was needed elsewhere.

"Come with me, we need to gather supplies...you grab food and drink, I'll take care of the rest.”

Chewing the inside of her lip, Abira nodded in reply to the man’s request. She followed him into the cool interior, now dark due to lack of sun and the ruined fuse box; the rats had exited minutes ago, frightened by the sudden flurry of activity that had accompanied the group’s arrival. As another individual from the party scurried to and fro, food and other essential supplies in tow, Abira began to gather up foodstuffs as well. In a short while, her arms were laden with canned soup, crackers, cookies, beef jerky, and cereal. Uncertain as to where she should actually put the items, Abira simply tossed them into the same truck Patrick was ferrying goods to. After several cases of bottled water had been hauled out as well, she paused to take stock of the situation…again.

The strangers, numbering less than a dozen, were hastily going about their business—some filling the tanks of vehicles, others gathering supplies…and the woman, the first living person Abira had seen in days, was struggling to help the sick man. Turning as someone addressed a question to her, she recognized the individual who’d sparked her into action the first time…and with a genuine (albeit hasty) smile, she grabbed him by the wrist and led him to a storage room near the back of the store.

“Here. They're in here…four or five, maybe.”

Twisting the bottom of her shirt anxiously as a faint, droning wave of sound signified the imminent arrival of more monsters, Abira’s dark eyes fixed uncertainly on Loki.

“What else can I do? …And do you promise to get me the hell out of here? Please…?”

[Catrux]

Not long after he had dropped off his supplies which consisted of the ingredients for his favorite cocktail, moltov, did the woman grab his wrist and begin leading him somewhere. He quickly discovered to where he was being lead, a storage room, which the woman said was to contain a few gas cans. Loki was just about to begin gathering them up when the woman spoke once again. Bringing his gaze back to her, he waited for her to finish speaking.

“What else can I do? …And do you promise to get me the hell out of here? Please…?” Of course he would bring her with, but he felt like being an ass at the moment. Thoughtfully, Loki rubbed his chin. "Geez, I don't know....I mean we don't have much room and all." He let his words hang in the air for a moment or two before winking at her and saying, "Of course you can come along, now lets fill these gas cans." Without another word Loki grabbed up two cans in his left hand and grabbed his .45 with his right. He too had heard the droaning, this was an opprotunity to get further ahead of the other two guys.

Expecting the woman to follow him with the rest of the containers, Loki ran out and made sure his path was clear. The Zombies seemed more interested in the other group than in him and the new girl, so he fired off a few rounds into the mob to buy them some more time. "Lets fill these up and get them in the back of the truck, then I think it is about time to make our glorious escape."

Loki grabbed one of the pumps and began filling his containers. The gas they were gathering was going to be used for two things, one was refuling the vehicles should the need to and the other was to be the last ingredient in the moltov's.

[Boston]

Rii~iing.
Rii~iing.
Rii~iing.
Click.

“Thank you for calling the Bostons’ ‘Home of Booty’. Press one if you have a hot booty. Press two if you want hot booty. Press three if-”

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Making our outgoing message.”

“What!? That ain’t rip-city, darlin’, no way, we’re changin’ that!”

Scuffle. Laughter.

“Quit bein’ a melvin, girly!”

“Gimme that phone!”

More scuffling. More laughter.

“Too late!”

Bee~eep.

“Melissa, girly…Remember my promise, I’ll find a way to make this all right…”

It was almost serene outside on the abandoned Mulberry Street. The commotion of the city had reached and passed this street some time ago, and it was silent until the rain started. The rain carried on it the moans of the undead.

Zoom in on the window of “Men’s Casual: A Boutique”. The large single-pain window was surprisingly still intact, the name of the store complete and legible in a circle of fancy golden letters. The interior of the store was dark. All that was visible was the mannequin display immediately inside the window, which had been knocked over and stripped, torn apart from limb to limb, full of bite marks and teeth left behind by confused and ultimately disappointed zombies. Then when the rain brought the moans of the undead into the boutique, it was illuminated by a single beam of light shining out through the window.

Vrrrmmm…

Pull back from the window as it shatters. Follow the shards and the light in slow motion. The light from within the store smashed through the window, reducing it to a million butterflies of glass that reflected the rain. They followed the light for several feet then flitted slowly to the ground, the sound of the glass shattering overpowering even that of the moans, and for just a second or two a moment of reprieve was granted.

A motorcycle as the source of the light comes into focus. A sleek, non-descript motorcycle, completely crimson in color, escaped the pull of the glass and soared over the heads of a zombie or two. Its rider aimed for a clear patch of pavement between an overturned dumpster and an abandoned car, which looked like it would lead onto a main road. An average brown leather satchel hugged the front fender of the motorcycle, clinging for dear life several feet above the ground.

Zoom in on the rider of the motorcycle. A man clenched his teeth tight and snarled as he struggled to maintain control of his motorcycle as it drifted through the air, steering it to the desired location. He wore a new pair of black slacks and comfortable black boots, which pressed down on the pedal to rev the engine as his vehicle floated. His brown leather jacket, full of holes, presumably from narrowly escaped bites, fluttered open to show off a well-built upper body concealed by a plain red T-shirt. It also showed off a hip holster on his right, containing a standard 9mm pistol, black, as well as a side holster under his left arm, home to an identical gun. Slung across his back was a gray cloth sheath, the end of what appeared to be a shiny wooden baseball bat protruding.

Resume normal speed and focus on a puddle as the motorcycle lands. The motorcycle’s back tire hit the puddle and kicked up water instead of asphalt. The tire spun out and the rider lost control of his motorcycle, muttering obscenities under his breath as he tried in vain to regain control of his bike, turning the handlebars left and right rapidly. Eventually he had to hit the killswitch, though, and managed to hop off before the motorcycle fell onto its side and slid several feet.

Boston, the motorcycle’s rider, landed easily on his feet, crouched for a second as he assessed the situation. He blamed the impending rain for the sudden increase in zombie activity. Now standing in the center of Mulberry Street, he found himself just a little surrounded. They were aware of his presence, too. Two from the boutique limped their way over to him; they were moving slow, he had a little time to fend off the few almost within grabbing distance. He stood straight and wrapped his strong hand around the hilt of his baseball bat, waiting for one of the stenches to get within clobbering range.

The first zombie got close enough and made a rather clumsy lunge for Boston. He sidestepped rather easily and drew his baseball bat like one would a sword, and in one fluid motion, brought it down onto that zombie’s head. The sound of the skull cracking overpowered the rain and moans, and it fell to the ground. Next up was a little kid charging him and screaming, or crying. Taking the bat in both hands he spun his entire body, building up momentum, then used the force to land a blow to the side of the child’s head.

Zoom in on the contact point of the child’s face and the baseball bat. Fire erupted from the end of the bat upon making contact, and the kid dropped. The blow should have been more than enough to dispatch this child zombie, more than enough to knock his head clean from his body. Though it just must have destroyed enough brain activity to leave the child writhing in pain on the ground, his head a pyre.

By now the zombies from the boutique had reached Boston. One grabbed him from behind and chomped down on his shoulder, but had trouble biting through his leather jacket and what must have been a Kevlar vest beneath his shirt.

Zoom in on the zombie’s mouth. Several teeth cracked and bent, falling out of the zombie’s mouth as they met such resistance.

Pull back. Boston gritted his teeth and grunted as the zombie put yet another hole in what was once his favorite jacket. He threw his foot out, planting a firm kick square against the second zombie’s chest as it tried to grab him from the front. This stunned it enough for Boston to deal with the zombie which held him, so he turned the bat around in his grip and jabbed the wider end into the zombie’s stomach. This was not enough to push it off, but that was not the intention. He pointed the bat up a little and a shotgun blast rang from the end, blasting the zombie’s insides out, and forcing it back several steps. This freed Boston from its grasp and he spun on a heel, turning the bat around once more, now tucking its thick end snuggly under his armpit. He threw his shoulder back to aim the handle of the bat up, and another blast erupted from that end. A 9mm round suddenly found itself imbedded between the eyes of the zombie.

Boston turned just in time to throw his bat between himself and the final zombie that besieged him. Catching it mid-chomp, it clamped its teeth onto the bat, nearly breaking all of them out of its head. With another kick to the zombie’s gut, he forced it off his bat and it stumbled over its own feet, spinning around and catching itself on a dumpster. Before it had a chance to regain its bearing Boston set up for another spin; taking the hilt of the bat in both hands he spun, this time aiming the bat for the back of the zombie’s neck.

Zoom in on the back of the zombie’s neck. The wide end of the baseball bat whiffed by the filthy and rotting neck, missing by a quarter of an inch. For half a second, though, what must have been a blade ejected from the end of the bat, and severed the zombie’s spinal cord at its neck, killing it. Killing it? Putting it out of its misery. Anyone watching from more than six inches away would have been given the impression that the blunt bat had actually sliced.

Boston was impossibly calm and collected. He breathed in deeply then exhaled the fire from his lungs, sliding his bat back into its sheath. Then just as the rain actually started and picked up, he found his motorcycle and lifted it back onto its wheels, rolling it under the protection of a nearby awning.

“Rip-city, babe…” He muttered to himself as he rested his motorcycle on its kickstand, then leaned against it to search through the satchel.

He pulled a cigarette out of a pack and held it between his lips for a second, then felt around for his lighter. He produced a chrome Zippo lighter, engraved with a butterfly and the name “Melissa Boston” in fancy cursive. He paused before flicking the flint, though, and stared at the child zombie, still writhing and burning.

“You mind, buddy?” He clicked the lighter shut and pocketed it, then bent at the waste, touching the end of the cigarette between his lips to the fire on the boy’s face. “Much obliged.” He took a slow drag as he stood straight, then without really thinking about his actions, planted a powerful kick to the boy’s head. The fire had burnt most of the flesh away, and the kick was enough to detach the head from the body. It flew several yards away, and into the window of the boutique.

Boston then went about removing the contents of the pockets of his brown jacket – just some extra clips, several extra clips, actually, a set of “His and Hers” chrome Zippo lighters, and a few books of matches. He slipped that jacket off and left it on the ground, then pulled from the satchel on the front of his motorcycle his new jacket. It was dark red, almost matching his motorcycle, and sturdy leather. He slipped it on and placed the items in the appropriate pockets, and slung his bat over his back once again.

“Carried by humidity…” Boston spoke to himself, his tone sarcastic, “We’d all be dead already…” He had been listening to the radio transmissions, but was slow to put trust in any of them.

Also from the bag he produced a white ski mask, which he pulled over his head after finishing his cigarette and tossing the butt onto the street. He pulled a pair of goggles over his eyes, and slipped a pair of fitted black leather gloves onto his hands. Then finally, before leaving, he decided to bottle some water. He grabbed a spent water bottle and stuck it under the awning, letting water fill it as it fell off the awning in a waterfall. He clearly marked it “Rain water” with a thick black marker, and kept it separate from his clean drinking water in the satchel.

“If it was still air born we’d all be like them…” Working out his own theories, he mounted his motorcycle and kicked its engine to life. “Guess it’s time to make it for the tower…”

Boston must have been traveling just a few minutes ahead of the other group, utterly oblivious and indifferent to their existence and survival. When he first heard the transmission saying to gather at the weapon shop, he blew it off. It sounded like a god damn death trap. Unorganized civilians scrambling for guns. Not Boston’s style.

Not that the tower sounded much better, but perhaps it would provide some refuge. Get up high, then destroy the stairwell. As far as meeting up with others…Boston was uninterested…

He had hit the gas station for supplies and then made it out before anyone noticed (it would make sense for any scared attendants hiding in the gas station to have simply not noticed Boston, he was in and out – stealthy, silent and quick). Perhaps that other group would have noticed that the place already looked slightly ransacked, but who could tell? A great amount of cigarettes would have been missing, bottled water, juice, soda, the hotdog machine would have been cleaned out, vending machines smashed open and canned food not on shelves, but not strewn on the floor in the midst of a struggle, either.

He maneuvered his motorcycle quickly and easily around wrecked cars which littered the streets, its small size ideal for traveling in such confined spaces. The way he handled it in such a situation was testament to his skills and ability with the vehicle.

So Boston’s scuffle would have put him just about even with the group in the bug as his motorcycle tore onto the interstate heading towards the tower. He took the ramp at a speed that would be unsafe for anyone less experienced. Skidding on the rain, his motorcycle actually slid sideways across every lane, cutting off the bug, even, before he regained total control and took off straight. He had indeed seen that bug, but didn’t give it another thought. They should see by the fact he was driving a motorcycle he was human, but he felt he had little to prove to them either way.

Except perhaps his sanity, if the need to do so should arrive. Riding in such exposed conditions, when the infection may or may not be caused by the rain? Well, his goggles, ski mask and jacket were rather water proof, so he should be just fine. And who really knows? So little makes sense right now, it would make sense in the sense it makes no sense for Boston to be just fine even being so exposed.

He didn’t even glance over his shoulder as he passed the bug – surely his motorcycle was faster, and he easily lost them as he traveled full speed. Maybe if he drove quick enough he'd be able to go back in time. Back to reality. He made it his business manipulating and distorting how people perceived reality, but now he found himself...under the effect of his own tricks?

Perhaps he'll meet that group formally at the tower.

“Pretty girl…Melissa…I’m sorry…Once I make things right, we’ll get outta dodge and it’ll be rip-city, I promise…I love you…”

Click.
Call ended.


((I promise they all won't be so riDONKulously long! There was just a lot to say in the introduction!))

[dagodevas]

Patrick waited eagerly for the response. If this guy was going to become a zombie Pat would rather place a slug through his brain than risk having him in the van with them. Something else came to mind. "When we leave, do we do it with a bang or leave this place with the hopes that more survivors can use it to stock supplies themselves?"

[Leila Darkmoon]

*Leila barely flinched as the bullets zipped past her ear. She was confident in Casey’s ability as a marksman - he was a trained soldier after all. Her confidence did not extend to the man that had jumped onto the roof of the truck however, and she cringed as he shot off a few random shots. Luckily, he was clearly consumed by a better idea as he soon disappeared into the store with the woman from the gas station. Feeling somewhat safer now that Casey’s shots were the only ones she could hear, Leila still almost jumped out of her skin at the sound of Foxx’s approach.

~Yeah, the truck sounds ideal. We cant stay here much longer..~ she muttered, with a mouth so dry she found it hard to swallow.

Her violet eyes betrayed her will by turning slowly to look at the oncoming horde. Caseys’ shots rang out in three continuous quick bursts, and although a lot of the zombies fell, there seemed to be a never ending supply. Swallowing painfully a few times, she nodded at Foxx and bent over to pick up Harvey’s legs once more.

~I’ve already moved him, so if there is any damage to be done by doing so.. well.. I would’ve already done it.. right?~ She gestured with a tilt of her head towards Harvey’s arms.

~You grab his arms, Ive got the legs.. lets get him into the truck..~ It was then that Patrick arrived, and with his help Harvey was moved with ease. She simply shrugged in answer to his question of how they were going to leave this place, though in her minds eye she saw a mass explosion ripping through the Gas Station. The longing to blow these monsters to smithereens was more than she could bare, though she tried to remind herself that if other survivors came, then the active fuel line would be a godsend.

A few minutes later, Harvey was securely laying in the back of the truck. Leila found an old and slightly smelling sweatshirt behind the back seat that she folded up and used as a pillow for his head. Although she wasn’t a nurse, he seemed to be convulsing a lot less, though he certainly did not look any better. Frowning with worry, Leila climbed out of the back of the truck. Once her feet were back solidly on the tarmac, Leila turned her attention back to her original mission: to refuel the Bug. Glancing up in surprise as she heard another gun firing, Leila saw the shooter from before, return with the woman from inside. They seemed intent on something, and Leila prayed that it would work out in their favour. All she could do was make sure the Bug was ready to go whenever everyone else was.

As she stood there, with the petrol guzzling down the tube and into the nozzle, Leila cast a glance over at Casey. He was completely in “the zone”. He was unblinking, almost inhuman. It sent a shiver down her spine to see someone so robotic and her slightly altered mind conjured up images of demons and conspiracy theories while the numbers continued to click. Finally, the Bug was full, and Leila shrugged the morbid thoughts from her mind as she hung up the nozzle and screwed the tanks cap closed. Looking back up to Casey again she called out

~Bugs all full.. so is the truck. The others have got supplies, and Harvey is securely in the truck… I think its time to go, don’t you?~ without waiting for an answer, she reached into the drivers side window and blasted her horn twice.

~Time to go people! Lets get ready to roll pronto!~ *

[Abira]

The low, droning sound of the reanimated corpses pressed into Abira’s consciousness with a vengeance; gritting her teeth against the horror it sought to instill, she grinned ruefully at Loki’s jest and followed him out onto the wet pavement. Lugging the gas cans behind her, she dutifully stationed herself at the next pump down, watching nervously as the swarm of zombies continued to inch towards the gas station. Thankful for the barrage of bullets that whizzed into the army of the undead, Abira filled her containers hurriedly before chancing another glance at her impromptu rescue party.

The woman who’d been driving the Bug had lifted the seizing man from concrete to truck with the help of two others…although Abira wasn’t sure what, exactly, was afflicting the former daredevil, she could hazard a guess. That guess, along with the horror story that they all seemed to be a part of, was making her skittish. Patting at her hip where she’d stowed the gun she’d been using, Abira sighed. She wasn’t sure what kind of firearm it was—but the thing was small, compact, and extremely good at dispatching the living dead. She’d found it in the manager’s office along with a small arsenal of cartridges, and she’d loaded the large, durable pockets of her BDU pants with them…after claiming the gun as her own, of course.

As said gun was still nestled in the hip-band of the fatigues, Abira decided to utilize the thing when it was really needed…better to save her bullets for a more dire situation, though she dreaded what such a scenario might look like. Shoving these thoughts aside, she slid over to the Bug. She’d finally harnessed the courage to ask about the details of the world-gone-wrong, and with black eyes large and curious, Abira touched Leila on the arm.

“I know now’s not the time for introductions…but my name is Abira. I’ve been holed up in that shit-stand for god-knows-how-long—and if you don’t mind me asking…what the hell is going on?”

Wrapping her arms about herself protectively and betraying just a little of the fear and the horrified confusion she felt inside, Abira fought back the urge to utterly break down.

“And before we go…can I do anything else? Can I help in any other way? Jesus Christ…I just want to get out of here…”