The Tower

[Boston]

Boston sighed quietly and nodded, leaning back against the wall. He kicked one foot up against it and folded his arms as he listened to Eliska, and nodded along. “Yeah, I won’t muck with your doors…” He didn’t want to admit it, because admitting it would mean waiting around, but Eliska had a point. Now that he was in this damn zombie-surrounded cylinder, the surest way out was probably with at least one other person providing cover fire while Boston escaped on his motorcycle. Now he just needed to trick someone into coming with him…

“Got any patsies up there?” Eliska had darted off to fetch him that root beer by the time he asked, though, so the question likely went unheard.

Then suddenly left alone, Boston quickly set to work rummaging through his satchel; he produced a fresh roll of gauze and some medical tape, and then slipped the bag to the floor, along with his baseball bat and jacket. He hoisted his shirt up to his chest and pushed aside what seemed to be some sort of thin protective garment, and began frantically tearing at the bloody gauze wrapped tightly around his torso. Figuring he had such little time before Eliska returned, he simply dropped the gauze to the floor, and kicked it aside and under some junk to conceal it from sight.

Once Boston had discovered that he wasn’t turning, he had thrown just a bit of caution to the wind and began playing Resident Evil: Real Life (Working Title). The idea of the game was to barge into houses and, timing yourself, see how long it takes to dispatch all the zombies, and then try to break your record. The next step will be try to break your friend’s record, but until an actual cure is developed, Boston won’t be able to market this fantastic game show idea.

Anyway, naturally, when playing such dangerous games, zombie bites were unavoidable. There didn’t seem to be a clear spot of flesh on either side of his torso; he was covered in bite marks of varying severity, ranging from badly bruised to bleeding a bit, but they seemed to be healing just fine, and he didn’t seem to be in danger of bleeding out. The idea behind keeping this mess a secret was to keep anyone from worrying, of course. If anyone, aside from perhaps Eliska, saw the state of this extremely masticated torso, chaos would most definitely ensue.

Boston had by now wrapped and taped most of his torso, but ran out of gauze just as Eliska returned with that root beer. She might have caught a glimpse of some bite marks as he pulled his shirt down over the gauze, but he played it off as if he wasn’t thinking about that. He simply took his time adjusting his holsters and slipping back into his jacket, then slung his satchel and baseball bat sheath back over his shoulders.

“Thanks.” He popped the tab and leaned back against the wall again, kicking one foot up as he drank his root beer. “So, there anything to do around here for fun? For a city infested with zombies, there sure ain’t a whole lot goin’ on…” He made a mental note of how this tower had gotten considerably quieter in the last few hours… “Say, how do ya feel about magic? Maybe I can put on a small show for everyone.”

“Is this your card?” He thrust his free hand suddenly into the air in front of Eliska’s face, and what looked like a standard playing card ejected from his sleeve. He caught it between his middle and index finger, and turned it for Eliska to see its face; on that side was a Polaroid quality picture of Eliska, as she was, standing there in that moment. He held the Eliska card out for her to take, “Collect the whole series, Eliska the Zombie Fighter rookie card.”

[Eliska Loxalyn]

|| The temptation to drop her load of snacks was overwhelming as Eliska dashed down the steps, offered Root Beer and saw enough of Boston’s torso to understand the wound he’d shown her originally wasn’t the worst of his problems. As the ability to be squeamish had been crushed out of her in the service, she weathered a sight that would have in the distant past had her knees weakening and stomach heaving with the slightest of grimaces. If the victim could suck it up that gracefully, so could she. She was at a loss for what to do for him and looking thoughtfully down at her boots again when she spotted a bloodied sliver of gauze that had evaded its hasty concealment. The first complication of having a Boston-type in the tower revealed itself to her then. What did his blood do? What should be done with it? By the time she glanced up from the tip of what seemed to be a very soiled bandage, he was redressed and accepting his soda. Eli had long since forgotten she offered him one. As he drank deeply, she half expected it to spurt out the many holes under his shirt. The mountain of bagged, baked and processed sugar remained in her arms, as undesirable now as undercooked squid. She was about to set it aside when he started talking. Polite to the end, she forced her thoughts to postpone their race and focus on what the Miracle Man had to say. ||

Well…Crosswords and Word Finds are about as exciting as we get. If I wave my gun around long enough, I just may scare up a deck of cards. Once upon a time when we weren’t all in Hell I had a decent hand at Poker. Deal with Strip is, if we do it, you swear to keep that wrapping on. I’d rather you didn’t die after I whoop you.

|| There. Now it was out in the open. Nothing broke the ice like a jackhammer. Suddenly she was asked about magic and he had his hand up much too close for an ex-soldier’s comfort. Instinct- the kind you get from random people trying to cave your face in unexpectedly- had her dropping the food to deal with the “situation” and the shot was snapped in her moment of disastrous, defensive glory. The harmless Polaroid he held out had captured the flicker of surprise and distrust radiating from her protective stance perfectly as snack cakes and trail mix rained down on her. If he snapped another now, it would give her head the appearance of a tomato with hair as an uncharacteristic blush flared in her face. Mortification didn’t cover this. Embarrassed had never been such an understatement. With her hands free it was easier to accept the card and get out of the pose that suggested she was about to attack him. It was impossible not to smile at the stupidity of the whole thing, even if her face felt as though it might crack under the pressure of such an unused expression. The fire in her cheeks, unfortunately, wasn’t dying down as quickly as Eli would have hoped. Damn training. ||

I’ll assume that I’ve jumped the gun and you’re not secretly plotting my demise. I’ll try not to break your neck the next time you make a sudden move. I apologize. Not even sure if I qualify for a rookie card in this craziness, but I must admit I’m impressed. This is definitely me at my finest. Shudder to think what a series might show... What else you got up those sleeves?

|| The blood soaked gauze hiding under the junk on the floor still needed a new home but it could wait. They were alone for now and she was coming off her “Imma Kill You” high now that she understood his magic tricks weren’t fatal. When it wouldn’t be too awkward, she’d find a way to…dispose of it. ||

[Simon Gideon]

The cool touch of the steering wheel was his first recollection, and then he was aware of being in the rental car. Sunglasses on, casually keeping himself in between the lines as he noted other drivers and the occasional road sign only subconsciously and with peripheral vision. At his side was a briefcase, steel with black leather skin, the locks incredibly durable; an expensive model he had been gifted with earlier. He reached over and checked the charge on his mobile phone, noting it was still drained from being on last night during the drive upstate. No radio or music played in this car; it was the quiet, solemn atmosphere, reminiscent of a temple. Indeed, there was some sort of quasi-religious fervor in which things were arranged. The car itself was spotless, cleaned and detailed by Simon less than an hour after he rented the vehicle, and any loose articles were arranged at right angles. The floor mat included.

After a few more minutes of navigating the interstate highway, he came off of the exit, heading towards downtown. Arrangements had been made for him to stay at the expensive but still modest-looking Admiral Inn for the weekend, more than enough time to finish the assignment. He politely refused the bellhop's assistance with his one and only suitcase, and in another few minutes he was dropping the same case on the bed top, appraising the room with a calculating eye.

It took some time to make himself comfortable with the place. The Admiral was a clean place, which he appreciated and had insisted on, but the furniture was gaudy and old. Content that he had made enough changes, he sat down on the bed, working the steel security number lock. The combination was long- eight digits- but he had been briefed properly. Snapping it open, he took out a laptop computer and a flash drive. Plugging the laptop in for power, he scanned the contents of the card for the better part of the day, occasionally breaking for coffee or a short pace in the room to keep his circulation going. When he was satisfied with the results, he snapped the flash drive into pieces and threw them outside of the window- also specifically arranged for- which faced the short wooded park out back.

The laptop, which did not contain any sensitive information on it, was systematically broken as he smashed in the LCD and stuffed it under the bed. Left inside of the suitcase were various suits and leisure clothes which fit him, specifically asked for as a plausible reason for him checking in a suitcase. He poked through, content with the styles and brand names picked out, and then snapped the suitcase shut again. It was time to go to work.

The drive out of the downtown district and into the residential, middle-upper class district two towns over had been hell, thanks to dozens of crazy drivers. In the hours since he had been on the road, night-time had descended, and navigation became touch and go. When he pulled up to his first stop, it was nearly eleven PM. The whole process maybe took ten minutes. Smooth, in and out.

He made two other stops that night with equal success, both in different sections of the town. Coming back late that night, he noted the bellhop hadn't come out to shake him for another dollar, and the greeter was also absent. Tired and thinking nothing of it, he made his way up to his room, collapsing on the bed in a practiced manner. Sleep came instantly. The vivid dreams did too...

He woke with a start, suddenly aware that he had fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion. Bolting up from his sitting position, he heard the clatter of the rifle as it fell, and noted the mild looks from the others in the room. Reg and Danny were muttering among themselves in low tones about some sort of survival plan, Michael sitting mutely beside them curled up in a tarp. No doubt keeping up hope. Bridgette rocked, as always, no real change. Edward was coughing and apparently in deep thought. But something was amiss...

Engie.

He slung his rifle over his shoulder and looked around frantically for her. After a few minutes his eyes adjusted to the gloom, and he spotted Engie with her new friend... his eyes narrowed. Not the trusting type, he came over to them, looking down as they passed crackers and sipped sodas. Thoughts of chiding her for running off filled his mind, but then dispersed as though by a strong wind. He didn’t like the idea of telling her how to behave. It seemed wrong to him somehow, as if he didn’t have a moral foundation on which to do so. Instead, he turned his gaze on Leila, noting her casual attire and demeanor. Carefree, young, smelled of peculiar smoke. She didn’t give him vibes of a thief or killer, but then again the good ones never did. He would try something straightforward.

“Engie, I see you have a friend. And who might you be?” He asked, his subtle accent polished and his tone amiable if not overly friendly. Certainly rough from the sleep or lack thereof.

[Boston]

“A game of strip poker is all about layers, babe, I’m wearing four pairs of underwear.”

Boston would have taken the rest of the snacks off Eliska’s hands when she returned with them, but he recalled pointedly asking just for a root beer, so naturally assumed that she had retrieved those snacks for herself. No matter, though, she dropped them a moment later when he startled her with that trick.

He couldn’t help but smile at her reaction, and laugh, “My apologies, my dear, I assure you it was not my intent to give you such a fright…” He didn’t seem the least bit worried about the defensive stance she had taken up, or the look of retaliation in her eyes; at the moment, he simply didn’t believe that Eliska would actually attack him.

He undid the buttons on the cuffs of his jacket and pushed both sleeves down to his elbows to show his arms, decorated with a few more bite marks, to Eliska. “Nothing up the sleeves, miss,” he showed her his palms, “and nothing in my hands.” He brought his left fist to his left ear, and then with his other hand, gave his fist a firm slap. With a quiet pop, multicolored confetti erupted from his right ear and fell to the floor, “But a head full of shredded paper!” He announced in an overly exuberant manner.

Now, why exactly Boston would bring all these tricks with him is a total mystery. A few of them seemed alright, like the handcuffs and the bat, both have proven pretty useful…But he’s carrying around a canister of confetti? What a weirdo. But an amusing weirdo nevertheless! Why, he had suddenly taken to doubling over as if in pain, clutching his stomach and coughing a violent smoker’s cough, and dry heaving.

He dropped his now empty root beer can, shouting, “My stomach…!” He continued coughing, and then clutched his chest, “Agh!” Dropping to his knees and clapping a hand over his mouth, he coughed a few more times, before moving his hand to unleash a burp of truly epic proportions. At the same time a stream of fire erupted from his mouth, blackening some of the nearby junk and singeing the floor before vanishing.

“Woo!” Boston shot to his feet and pounded his chest with his fist, “Must’ve just been some bad heartburn.” Surely this would elicit some sort of rather violent reaction from Eliska, but that was a calculated risk. Boston certainly seemed to have enjoyed his trick, he was grinning rather broadly about it – around a cigarette which had suddenly seemed to appear between his lips.

He stared silently at Eliska for several moments, then, “…Ta-daaa~!!” He clicked his heels and threw his arms out to the side.

[Leila Darkmoon]

*As she munched away on the slightly stale crackers, Leila’s drug induced mind began to drift away to earlier, happier times where “the munchies” had been satisfied with far more appetising morsels of chocolate and pastries. She blushed slightly as her mind drifted back to the last time she had been with Seth, and the games they had played with the chocolate body paint. Licking her lips, she could almost taste the chocolate in her mouth as she wiped away some cracker crumbs, before she washed down her last mouthful with a swig from the Coke can. She was brought back to the present by the arrival of the man Engie had pointed to earlier, when asked who her guardian was. Staring up at him with slightly glazed eyes, Leila offered a half smile in answer to his question.

~I might be Leila.. least I was last time I looked. But, these are crazy times… so who knows, eh?~

Handing the last two crackers back over to Engie, Leila drained her Coke can in three long gulps before she placed it on the ground beside her and stood up. Reaching out a hand in greeting, she paused to shake Simons’ hand regardless of whether he had offered it to her or not. Leila had been raised to be polite, regardless of the situation; and although her parents had died before she had reached adolescence she still liked to cling onto the morals they had instilled in her when she got the chance.

Content in the knowledge that Engie was now with Simon once again, Leila grabbed a nearby oil lantern and excused herself with the pretence of stretching her legs. Making her way back down the staircase, Leila bypassed the man still talking to their self appointed leader as she made her way quickly and quietly back to her little alcove she had discovered earlier. Resting the oil lamp on an overturned crate, Leila sat down with her back propped against the wall as she began to search in her pocket for her tin. Finding it quickly, she retrieved her pipe and packed it with the last of her stash. Taking a moment to relish the sensation of what might possibly be her last ever smoke, Leila struck a match and was about to light her cone when the match suddenly went out. Swearing under her breath, Leila struck another match only to have this one snuffed out almost immediately. Realising that the flames had been blown out, Leila cocked one slender brow as she looked around the alcove, now assisted by the light of the oil lantern whose flame was protected in its glass enclosure. The coiled rope she had seen earlier was in front of a wall that seemed to have a large crack running down the right side of it. Moving closer, Leila felt a cool breeze blow a strand of long blonde curl away from her face and she traced the crack with her finger.

~There’s something behind there… ~ she muttered to herself, as she nearly dropped her pipe in excitement. Cursing to herself, she turned her back to the wall with the crack, blocking the wind with her back as she struck her last remaining match. This time, the flame burnt bright as she used it to light her cone, sucking it dry in three long tokes. Placing the pipe, matchbox and empty baggy back into her tin and then her pocket, Leila turned around to take a better look at the crack. It ran from the top of the small wall, all the way to the bottom in a perfect straight line. She had the fleeting thought that it looked like a door before a sound reached her ears that caused her blood to run cold. It was a sound she had heard many times in the last few days – the sound of the relentless moaning of the un dead. But this time, the moans were louder. They were followed by the banging on the door of the Tower. Drifting out of her alcove in a daze, Leilas’ violet eyes turned towards the only door of the Tower. Although it had been barricaded with everything imaginable, Leila saw the furniture that had been stacked up against it was now starting to move. A chair fell down, followed by several planks of wood. Against her will, her feet took her closer to the door as she raised a trembling hand to her mouth. Watching with wide, terrified eyes, she saw several crates that had been stacked in a pile of four all tumble to the floor as the door itself moved forward an inch.

~Uh guys…~ she called out to Eliska and Boston. ~We’ve got a situation happening here..~ *

[Boston]

After his small bout with heartburn, Boston noticed that Leila seemed to have found something. His ears perked and his eyes drifted over to the darkness when he heard her mumbling, but he was unable to make out what she had been saying. She had sparked his curiosity nonetheless…He would have gone to see what she was going on about had he not been currently engaged in a conversation with Eliska.

But then the front door pushed open an inch, and Boston’s attention split between Eliska and the door. “Who’d have thought that a bunch’a random junk piled insecurely against the door wouldn’t have stood up against an army of zombies with super-human strength, huh?” He shouted quite calmly over to Leila, and then turned his attention back to Eliska.

He had a point – look at that pile of clutter. Flimsy crates and empty barrels, it didn’t work for the Blues Brothers, why would it work for this bunch of survivors? Granted, the Blues Brothers were running from intelligent cops, not zombies…

However, Boston quickly remembered that most people tended to react more negatively to zombie bites than he did…So it probably posed a bit more of a problem for them than it did him…So, he politely excused himself from his discussion with Eliska, and strolled on over to the door. For a moment he stood beside Leila, swiveling his head between her and the makeshift barricade…

“Maybe I can…” He crouched and pulled a roll of duct tape out of his satchel, taking just a moment to tear a long strip off and wrap it around the base of a virtually weightless tin trash can. Then putting the tape back into his satchel and standing, he placed the trash can on top of a crate that had been stacked haphazardly against the door. “That should hold it!”

He frowned when it just as quickly fell to the floor, rattled by the zombies trying to get in. He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly and shook his head, looking over at Leila, “I was sure that one more piece of shit would be the thing that secured our safety…” He sighed quietly as the door pushed open another inch, and a zombie’s arm jutted suddenly through the opening. It made a grab at the air, and Boston took a step back.

“Well, you should go tell someone in charge that they’re all about to die. I guess I’ll get lookin’ for a way outta this cylinder of death…” It was pretty easy for him to remain calm since he knew that he couldn’t turn. His biggest concern had always been self-preservation so he could find someone to concoct an antidote from him, and so at the moment he was only worried about the safety of his motorcycle. There apparently weren’t any scientists in this tower, so he could call it splitsville.

Yep, Boston’s a real class act.

Once that door was busted down, maybe he could push through the undead swarm and get to his bike…The biggest threat the zombies posed to Boston was holding him down and tearing his throat out, so as long as he kept moving, he should be just fine…

But, well, let’s call that Plan B. Plan A consisted of playing the role of “Leading Man” and helping those not fortunate enough to be blessed with an in-body remedy. “Maybe there’s a back door or something…” He pulled the baseball bat out of the sheath on his back, and began walking along the inside wall of the tower, giving the wall a firm knock every few steps.

“Maybe the walls are weak enough to break through…If I can find a particularly dilapidated area, I can blow a few bricks out and the rest should push out easily enough…Though I suppose that might bring the rest of the tower down…And I don’t think I’m immune to buildings falling on me…” He continued pounding the wall, listening and feeling carefully for any imperfection in the building’s architectural integrity – either a backdoor or a weak point. “After all, this tower’s gotta be a hundred years old…” Although unaware, he grew closer and closer to that seam Leila had noticed just moments ago.

[Simon Gideon]

Engie's newfound friend proved to be easygoing and odd. After a greet, she offered her paw, a gesture Simon thought was a bit silly under the circumstances yet still he automatically obliged her by returning it. He studied her, his cool eyes narrowing as he searched her face. It was an impersonal thing to do, but with his just waking up he was in no mood to play amiable. She made as if to leave, begging exercise for her legs, and he sniffed, convinced she was a trouble maker at the worst, no real danger to the girl. Still, he would keep an eye out in any case. Engie, for her part, was munching her crackers, tugging on his sleeve and offering him one. He took a single cracker, held it in his hand examining it subconsciously for dirt or mold, when he heard a commotion in the storage room across the hallway.

He caught bits of the turmoil; apparently, Edward was upset about something, nearly shouting. There was a series of voices suddenly... something had gone wrong in the room. Leaving Engie to her treat, he was about to step forward when the sharp retort of a gun went off.

Time seemed to stand still, the idea of a gun going off in the tower seemed so alien, and the echo was overpowering in a sense. Simon was rooted, the sluggishness of his muscles after his micro-nap did not allow for the reflexes he needed. Somehow, his overburdened brain was trying to cope with the fact that something bad had just happened. He did not recognize the sound of the gun though, somewhere in his addled brain, and that made him more uneasy. So it was with a confused mind that he suddenly saw the slim figure standing in the doorway.

Bridgette was up. She stood in the doorway of the room, her eyes glazed with madness. Her emaciated figure wrapped in her stained white blouse and skirt. He was vaguely aware of how pretty she must have been before she had lost her mind, a sort of willowy younger woman who could have done anything in her prime. Anything other than idle down and have a child in some backwater town, perhaps. The lines of bitterness were present at her lips, and the blackness around her eyes was from more than just crying about the infection running rampant through the whole place. Her wraith-like arm dangled at her side, a small snub-nosed revolver there.

Where had that come from?

It all happened so fast. Danny and Reg were shouting. He could almost imagine them pointing their guns, lacking the resolve to blow her away. But she was one he could not see through, and the fancy took him from the present. He made only one conscious move- to further position himself between the mad woman and the little girl that was his ward before her arm came up. He did not feel the shot, only heard the sound of it going off, and the subsequent shot fired by someone in the storage room which took her head right off. Her mad gleam never left her eyes as she fell like a broken doll.

He was on the ground, and blood was streaming from his side. What had happened? What went wrong?

[Eliska Loxalyn]

|| Eli had never wanted to shoot anyone so enjoyable as much as she did Boston right now. Impossible though he may be not to like, she could literally feel her red hair going gray at his continuous antics. His mother, God rest her soul no doubt, must have been bald before the stress created by her offspring put her in the ground. She lowered the gun for what must have been the fifth time in the last ten minutes and this time had to gradually let up off the trigger. That it hadn’t gone off was a miracle. Perhaps the zombies couldn’t kill him, but his chances of surviving Eliska in this tower at the rate he was going were slim to none. Rather than comment further, she simply scowled at him and waited out her thundering heart. It was a wonder his dragon breath hadn’t set the random heaps of junk scattered around them alight and ended the joke in a suicidal evacuation. Cook to death or be eaten alive- tough call.

‘Me’- what was her name again? Oh yeah, Leila- descended from behind about then, but didn’t appear to need anything and that suited Eli just fine. Whereas she actually didn’t always want to shoot Boston, it was consistantly a struggle not to want to fire on this one. Leila hadn’t been around very long when the world went to hell again. Big surprise. The zombies- against the odds in all zombie movies, novels and fan-fiction- were crashing through the tower door suddenly, unnoticed by Eliska who stood mere feet away and with no prior warning despite the military strength door and cross bracing, among various other barricades. What should have kept out a tank had failed to keep out a diseased horde of rotting corpses. What a day.

Without a word to Leila and Boston, who had it all well under control, she headed back up into the chaos that was upstairs and calmly informed the remaining uninjured adults or semi-adults of the group to arm themselves. With the woman and cantankerous asshole dead, that left two less hassles to deal with as they planned an escape. A bigger problem was Simon’s wound and the panicked little girl beside him. Offering an encouraging smile she didn’t feel to Engie, she ushered the little one off to join the other child after explaining briefly that she had medical training and could patch him up, but it would mean having him in his underwear. This had embarrassed her enough in her shock to have her scuttling off and Eli knelt to inspect the damage. ||

Can’t leave you people alone for a minute. It’s all fun and games until someone gets shot in the side. The good news is, you’re going to live. The bad news is, I’ll have to get the bullet out when we’re not being invaded by the undead and it’s all going to hurt like hell. Buck up, soldier. We have to get moving. I think, with any luck, you’ve missed the major organs. If not, I’ll look after the girl. Stay put a second while I get some gauze.

|| A quick trip to the store room rewarded her with two well stocked first aid kids, a large duffle bag to carry them and some snacks for the road, a blanket and a few spare boxes of ammo. In the hall she briefed Harold and had him helping the others load what could be easily carried and hustling the group into flee-mode. She made one stop on her way back to Simon’s resting place to pack weapons on her person what she could carry and still move and filled every inch of pocket space with their ammo, hoping the others would follow suit. At Simon’s side she dropped the bag, pulled out the gauze and went to work tying his insides back in. Into his hand she pushed four Tylenol, another four ibuprofen and an orange soda for the road. ||

Don’t breathe too fast, but don’t stop breathing either. The morphine will have to wait until I don’t need you ready and able to shoot. We have to move. Can you stand? They’re here.



(As promised, I dealt with the people and the packing. The exit plan, etc. are for Leila and Boston to figure out.)

[Boston]

Boston continued testing along the wall for a way out, the thud of his bat against the brick drowned out by the ever-growing groans of the zombies outside, and their gradual battering down of the door. Another section of random clutter avalanched to the floor and the door burst open another few inches, and two more zombies’ arms jutted through the growing opening.

This was only a mild distraction for Boston, he wasn’t too concerned about the zombies getting in. His biggest threat from the zombies was being torn limb from limb, so as long as he could evade well enough, he was confident that he could escape this Cylinder of Death in a pinch.

He stared somewhat blankly the door, watching the increasing number of arms reaching into the room and grabbing at air, knocking over another piece of barricade, generally making a bad day worse, with a bland, uninterested expression. He was probably thinking about something else, miles away from here, like what Melissa’s going to make for dinner when he finally gets home…Maybe she’ll make lasagna…That would be a treat…

“Maybe if I stop for some sauce on the way home…” Eventually Boston came to the seam that Leila had noticed earlier, and the dull, metallic thud that was produced when his bat hit it snapped him out of his stream of consciousness.

“Hm…?” He frowned thoughtfully and furrowed his brow, taking a step closer to the wall, leaning his head in and squinting his eyes to better inspect it in the darkness. He leaned his bat against the wall and took the flashlight out of his satchel, holding it up to that section of wall to see the same seam. “Hey, there’s something here…” He called out casually, not thinking that perhaps he could not be heard over the sound of the zombies and the ever-tumbling makeshift barricade.

He felt along the seam, and then walked his fingers slowly to the left, to another seam; then he moved his fingertips once more, to the right, to discover yet a third seam. This told him that the first seam he had discovered was actually the center seam, and after taking a step back to crane his neck up in search of the top of these seams, came to the logical conclusion that this was indeed some sort of back door out that he had discovered.

“Sweet, I’m a hero.” He grabbed his bat from against the wall and slipped it into the sheath on his back, and turned triumphantly to announce to the rest of the room, “Hey everyone, I’m a hero!” He threw his arms into the air, “I found a door!”

He turned quickly on a heel to face the door again, throwing his other leg out in the same motion, planting a strong roundhouse kick against the center seam. The door didn’t budge an inch, but instead the entire tower seemed to shake as a result. “Ow!” The resulting shock sent up his entire leg caught him by surprise, he hadn’t been expecting such a sturdy door to be in such an old tower… “Nevermind,” he shouted over his shoulder, “don’t look yet…”

Well, now Boston had to put his super-sleuthing skills to work. He leaned in to inspect the wall, taking his time as the tower’s front door was forced open another few inches. There was now enough space for one of the invading zombies to actually get half its torso and head inside, and it swiped and chomped at Leila, who was (assumably) several feet away. When it found the nearest meal out of reach, it began flailing wildly at the items piled up against the door, greatly increasing the zombies’ progress.

It would be just a matter of minutes until the tower was swarmed, but Boston didn’t seem to notice, or perhaps it was that he didn’t mind…He had found a brick in the wall that didn’t quite fit, it was a little loose, and when he fit his fingers into the top seam, he discovered that it was actually just about an inch thick – nothing more than a faceplate to hide some sort of numeric panel.

“Now we’re talkin’. Let’s see what we got here…” He shined his flashlight on the panel, and the proper numbers that made up the password became immediately evident. Four of the numbers on the panel had blood on them, so Boston set to work pushing them in an orderly manner.

“Two, four, five, eight…” A red light flashed on the top of the panel, and it let out a quiet buzz, “Nope…Four, five, eight, two…Nope…Five, eight, two, four…Nope…” That zombie kicked its leg into the narrow opening of the front door, and began pushing on the inside for leverage to force the rest of its way into the room. “Hmm…Eight…Two…Five…Four…” The light on the top of the panel finally flashed green, and a more satisfying, lighter tone was sounded. It was followed by the sound of the door unlocking, a loud click, and the sound of metal sliding over more metal. The doors parted in the center, and opened into what looked like a particularly long, dark, and mysterious tunnel.

“Yes!” Boston pumped his fist and turned to the rest of the room, which apparently had been filling with more and more panicking survivors, who had been getting angrier and angrier at Boston for taking his time. They were staring daggers into him, and Boston shouted, taking a step back, and pointing, “Where’d all you come from!” He ran his hand over his hair and rubbed the back of his head, “Um, I mean…I’m a hero! See? So, let’s…Let’s all see where this door leads, yeah? Last one in is zombie food.”

He took a step to the side and began motioning for everyone to pile on in, “Move it along,” he imitated an Irish accent, “nothin’ ta’ see here, keep it movin’.” While the NPC’s continued piling through the mystery door, Boston flicked open the right side of his jacket and placed his hand over the handle of the gun tucked into the holster on that side.

The green light on the holster blinked and let out a quiet beep, followed by a quiet, pressurized hiss. He drew the gun and twirled it in his hand once, then took aim at the zombie that was by this point almost entirely inside – its foot had actually gotten caught in a guitar, and the guitar stuck on a desk. Unfortunately it lacked the ability to reason, so found itself trapped, and blocking the other zombies’ access to the tower.

It made for a nice target, though, and Boston fired a single shot into that lead zombie’s skull. The bullet hit right between its eyes, but there was no gross explosion of gore – or even the sound of gunfire, for that matter. The bullet ejected from the gun with another quiet pressurized hiss, and then came to nestle comfortably in the zombie’s brain.

It hit with enough force to knock the zombie off its feet and back into the crowd; the other zombies, naturally, did not catch that first zombie, so it fell to the ground. What smelled like gasoline now began squirting wildly from the bullet hole in its head, drenching the surrounding zombies, and then in that same instance, a stream of fire erupted from the same bullet wound.

The zombies caught fire easily, and didn’t have the sense to know how to keep it from spreading. It tore quickly through the crowd, speeding up the process of decaying by burning away the already dying flesh, and forcing large groups of them to the ground at a time. The scent of burnt flesh now accompanied the scent of dead flesh; it was overwhelming and filled the tower quickly, but at least it provided a decent roadblock. The zombies closer to the door were crawling and burning on the ground, while the zombies in the back of the group were tripping over the burning masses, and catching fire themselves.

So assuming nobody had an irrational fear of tunnels, everyone should have gotten in just fine and without problem. Boston was the last one in, and after a few moments of searching, discovered another panel of numbers. He entered the same code, and the doors slid shut with the same loud metal-on-metal grinding noises – a thick steel bar slid into place over the inside of the door, and Boston walked swiftly to get ahead of the crowd.

“The door back there looks like it’ll hold just fine, so now we just gotta worry about where this tunnel lets out.” He placed his pressurized gun back into the holster on his right side, and the light flashed with another quiet beep and pressurized hiss. He removed the gun from the holster on his left side, then, which seemed to be a normal 9mm handgun. He cocked it, and then crossed his wrists to point both his flashlight and handgun ahead of himself.

The group of survivors found themselves in a long, dark tunnel that seemed quite endless. Boston’s flashlight offered a view of the smooth, plain, sterile metallic walls, floor and ceiling, every fluorescent light in the wall/ceiling junction burnt out. The still air inside tasted metallic and artificially produced.

The group would walk for several minutes longer before they reached the end of the line: What looked like a military-grade blast door made up the entire wall, the same plain, gray metallic color as the rest of the tunnel, except for the thick black and yellow stripe down its center.

On the wall to the right of the door was a panel of numbers similar to the one outside – three, six, seven and zero smeared with blood And should someone figure out the order of numbers before Boston, then the door would lift open and lead into what looked to be your classic hidden underground laboratory.

The immediate room would contain just several computers lined up on metal desks, some of which had been knocked over and destroyed in some sort of scuffle; one entire wall would consist of a blood-smeared chalkboard, the equations marred by whatever gruesome battle had recently taken place, but perhaps the most noticeable feature to these zombie-weary travelers would be the absolute lack of zombie-related sounds and scents.

All that could be heard would be the blast door sliding shut behind the last survivor and the air filtration system clicking on and then whirring quietly overhead; the only scent was that of the same metallic, artificial air that occupied the tunnel.

((So there's the exit. I had Boston take so much time opening the door and left the end of the post open so you can all have your characters head downstairs and walk down the tunnel at your own leisure - spend as many posts as you want in the tunnel; one post, two posts, fifty posts, though we'd hope you don't spend fifty. The purpose of the open end is so you don't need to wait a GM to post what's at the end of the tunnel before your character discovers and interacts with it. So have at it.))

[Leila Darkmoon]

*Leila stepped back with relief etched all over her face as the man that had just been talking to their self appointed leader approached her. Her relief was soon replaced by doubt however, when he proceeded to use some tape and an obviously weightless tin can to try to bolster the already crumbling fortress they had tried to construct in order to keep out the approaching horde. She laughed slightly out of the corner of her mouth at his obvious attempt at humour, while simultaneously shrugging to show that she herself had no hope of offering any better ideas currently.

She nodded as he told her to go and tell the person in charge that they were all about to die, though she instantly thought that she wouldn’t apply such a negative aspect to the message when she relayed it. Just as she turned to tell their fearless leader of their impending doom however, she saw the woman turn on her heel and ascend the stairwell just as what sounded like a gun shot rebounded around the Tower.

She turned back to see the man was now edging his way along the wall, feeling with his bat for what she imagined would be a door. It was just on the tip of her lips to tell him of the crack she had found earlier when he stumbled upon it himself. She rolled her eyes and muttered ~no shit Sherlock.~ in response to his calling out that there was “something here” and edged closer towards him.

~Yeah, I found it earlier.. do you think it’s a door or something?~ she was interrupted by his self proclamation that he was a hero because he had found a door. ~Well, technically I’m the hero, cause I found it originally ..~she mumbled to herself. ~But the male ego is so fragile.. why spoil it for him?~

As she watched the man fumble around with something at the wall that was hidden from her view by his back, Leila let out a scream as she felt dead fingers brushing against her hair. Batting the zombies arm away with her own, Leila screamed again and moved as close as she could to the man without bumping into him. ~Hurry up will ya? They’ll be inside any minute!~

Finally something buzzed and clicked into place and the doors opened. Without waiting for an invitation, Leila ran through the opening, into what was a long dark tunnel. Halting where she was, she turned and looked back through the tunnel, as the others had arrived from further up the Tower. Leila smiled at Engie as the young girl stepped gingerly through the opening and found her hand. Squeezing Engies hand in her own, Leila mustered up as much fake cheeriness as she could and murmured ~Everything’s going to be okay babycakes.. we are about to go on a magical mystery tour.~

She was vaguely aware of the man taking what appeared to be a gun from his coat pocket, but the approaching Tower group shielded the final outcome from her curious gaze. All she could see was the faint glow of a burning fire near the door and the smell of burnt flesh teased her nostrils, fighting for possession of the tunnel alongside the stagnant air that had previously laid claim to it for so long. Once he was finished, the man closed the door he had just opened, and she joined the group as they followed him further down the tunnel, aided by his flashlight.

Desperate to feel some sense of belonging, Leila resisted walking ahead of the group, and instead lingered alongside their fearless leader and Engies guardian who appeared to be bleeding from what she assumed was a gunshot wound. ~What happened to him?~ she asked anyone who would answer. *

[Blood and Roses]

Turk took one last, long drag from his cigarette as he glared at the screen on the far wall. The cherry on his smoke flared an angry red in the dim light of the security room, reflected in the monitor bearing his scrutiny, whose contents were a scene from a nightmare -- thousands of dead people milling around the outside of the tower, pushing, clawing, tearing, all trying to reach the tower doors. He held his drag for a few moments, savoring the buzzing between his ears before forcefully expelling it through his teeth, along with a single word.

"Fuck."

Turk leaned against the wall in a posture that would suggest ease: one hand in his pocket, one foot tapping the floor with its booted toe, head leaned back against the wall. The truth was that the hand in his pocket was counting the last of the ammunition for his Desert Eagle, a clip and a half; the lock pin on his toe blade had broken in the last scuffle with the bastards outside the tower, and Turk was nervously pushing the blade back into its housing and letting it slide back out unbidden; and his head was splitting from the tension of being trapped in a great tube leading up into the sky, where there was nowhere to run from the monsters just waiting to devour him.

With a sigh, Turk dropped his cigarette butt onto the stone floor, then absently cut the burning coal from the end of it with his toe blade. He picked up the shotgun leaning against the wall beside him and once again checked the barrel. He had already cleaned the zombie blood from the weapon, then cleaned it again. But it never hurt to be prepared, and a weapon whose firing pin was gummed up with partially coagulated ichor was of no use. With any luck, the Doc would have a plan to get them out of the tower alive before he would have to use the shotgun again, but Turk was skeptical. Thus far, the Doctor with the Cure had failed to impress him.

The company had assigned Turk and his crew to guard the good doctor shortly after all of this mess had begun. His job had been easy then, but back then he'd had extra weaponry, a team of trained professionals, and the backing of a corporation that still had some control of their projects. Since then, he'd lost all of those things. Turk shook his head roughly, trying to clear his mind before melancholy set in. Have to stay sharp, he told himself, if I expect to live through this clusterfuck.

A small green light began flashing, first on one screen, and then another, and a low buzzing sound came from the control panel situated beneath the monitor wall to his right. Turk's eyes snapped from the monitor he had been observing, widening in disbelief. He rubbed them, and looked again, just to be certain he was seeing the image on the screen clearly.

On one panel, Turk could see that the damned zombie bastards had finally broken through the tower door, only to be engulfed in a raging inferno that devoured scores of the front-most monsters. On another, figures were shuffling, wandering, and blundering down the hidden passage that led to the laboratory where the Doctor was cooking up his mojo. How could those things have made it through the security door? Impossible! The zombies should have lacked the cognitive reasoning to find the key panel, let alone activate the controls.

Turk studied the monitor a few moments more, then released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Those weren't monsters coming down the hallway -- those were people! Real, living people, frightened out of there minds. And the fools were rushing right into the "security measures" he'd placed in the corridor. Claymore anti-personnel mines were placed at knee level every 10 feet down the last fifty yards approaching the laboratory's blast doors. They were meant for the monsters, but this crowd of idiots were about to run right into the killing field and spoil his trap. The thought that the innocents would be killed came to Turk as an afterthought.

Turk flipped a series of switches powering the intercom system, connecting the microphone in the security room to the corridor's speaker system. Lifting the handset from its cradle, he held in the switch and lifted it to his mouth.

Out in the corridor, the quite air was shattered by a series of pops and screeches as the PA crackled to life. A voice, deep and articulate, boomed up and down the hall.

"Halt! Stop where you are! Come any further and you're all hamburger."

Turk held his breath and prayed they didn't spoil his ambush.

[Boston]

At the first crackle of the PA system, Boston’s eyes shot open wide, and he stopped in his tracks. His left arm jutted out towards the far wall to halt the movement of the crowd (luckily they caught on quick and stopped moving), the flashlight in that hand remaining focused down the remainder of the hallway, his gun trained on its center. When he was sure that the crowd behind him wouldn’t take any more steps, he crossed his wrists once more, and began panning his light up and down the walls for the reason of this voice’s warning.

“I’m more of a chicken club kinda guy!” He shouted back, unsure of whether or not the owner of that voice could hear him, “When you can turn these survivors into chicken clubs, we’ll talk…” He muttered to himself, eyes squinting when he just barely noticed the tripwire hardly a foot in front of his ankle; he knelt to inspect it more closely, carefully, following the wire with his eyes up to where the actual mine was located.

This put a particularly well-fed male survivor in his line of sight, and Boston lifted an eyebrow, “I bet you taste kinda like a chicken club…” His eyes narrowed as the fat man receded into the crowd.

“Alright!” Boston spoke loudly as he shot back up to his feet, wrists once again crossing as his light counted the mines down the rest of the hallway, “So the situation seems to be we got a lotta landmines up ahead, and as far as bypassing landmines goes, it seems unlikely that I’ll actually acquire them simply by crawling over them. So, any suggestions?” He addressed either the crowd, or the owner of the voice.

He continued panning his light along the upper portions of the walls and ceilings, looking for the cameras or motion sensors, whatever it was that told this guy that they were about to trip his landmines. Although, the idea that it could be an automated system didn’t escape him…So Boston decided that if he didn’t receive an answer within a few minutes, he would go ahead and try to cut the wires…

Of course, this would be a last resort – not because he was worried that cutting the tripwires might set off the mines, but because whoever put these mines here might get a little upset if Boston went and cut up all their wires…

[Leila Darkmoon]

*Leila was still waitng for an answer from either their fearless leader or the wounded Simon when she heard a voice call out from the tunnel telling them to halt or they would all be hamburger.

~I’m a vegetarian!~ she called out. ~ I don’t like hamburger!~

Of course it didn’t make any sense, but as her buzz was slowly wearing off, she was clinging to it for dear life as she didn’t know when she would get the chance to have another smoke. She didn’t feel too bad though, when the guy in front of her called out his own weird little offering about Chicken Clubs. Shrugging, Leila looked down at Engie and squeezed her hand. Talking softly, she smiled.

~Its okay kiddo.. stick with me and we’ll be okay.~

The guy who had showed her the cop badge earlier, Boston she believed his name was, had assumed more of a leadership role in the tunnel, and Leila for one was glad. She was definitely more of a follower than a leader in this kind of situation and she liked the thought of someone else looking after them and making their decisions. Of course he might have a fight on his hands against their female version of the fearless leader, but as long as they had at least ONE fearless leader, then Leila was happy to follow.

She watched with wide eyes as Bostons torchlight revealed what appeared to be mines. Just to confirm her suspicion, he spoke up to say they were in fact landmines, and asked for any suggestions.

Leila just shrugged and looked at him blankly.

~Well, if you’re asking me for suggestions, I think you’re dreaming.. If we go back, we get eaten by Zombies.. forward, we get blown to smithereens or equally disgusting meat.. ~ wrinkling her nose, she stared at him. ~Maybe we should just ask the nice man that put these bloody things here, what he suggests we do?~*

[MstSgtDoyle]

Dead... Everyone, dead.
His Family... Dead.
His Friends... Dead.
His Co-Workers... Dead

It was kind of hard to adjust to at first but he remember that he had to fight for survival. He learned that long ago when he was just 20 in BUDs training to become a Navy SEAL. The long nights on the Northern beaches of California during Winter. The long, cold nights where they slept on smelly sleeping bags on the beach in a tent, wearing the same cloths day and night. He remembered the ice cold waves lapping against his face as the 30 men sat there with arms hooked sitting waist deep in water. The only Latrine available was a porta-potty that hadn't been cleaned in years. The only break they got was 15 minutes around noon, and another 15 minutes around 7 PM to eat lunch and dinner. Then the sleep was only 4 hours long, to be woken up by a man sitting in a warm truck with nice dry cloths honking the horn. Men in dry clean cloths beating against trashcans, and blowing whistles.

God, how this was not by very, but a little bit easier than all that. Well, he thought at least. The blacked out M1025 Humvee was cruising along at its topped/governed down speed of 45. It the vehicle wasn't governed down it would probably be up to 135 by now. The top hatch was closed, and the doors where secure and locked, along with the back lid. Up top was a large Browning M2HB-QCB .50 cal air-cooled machine gun, with full ammunition. His rifle was sitting, on safe beside his right leg. His automatic weapon was sitting in the passengers seat. Boy was he armed to the teeth.

Earlier he had heard the radio wave transmission about coming to a tower. He written down the location and used a GPS unit at the Naval base to map out directions on how to get there. He also raided the armory at the Naval base. He had gotten 10 cases. 1 case of 1000 5.56 rounds. 1 case of .45 cal rounds, another case of 7.62 rounds. 1 case of .9mm rounds, and the rest he didn't keep track of. He grabbed an arm full of weapons also. Which would happen to be 3 M16A4's, 1 M14 SOPMOD, 2 M4 Carbines, and a single Mp5A10. And a lonely M107. What? He wanted to see what it was like to shoot the big fucking thing instead of watch those pussy snipers shoot them all day.

He looked to the paper as he switched on the radio light, which just hovered over the transmission switches and toggles for the radio. He kept his eye on the road. The directions where leading him right to the tower, or so he hoped.

Before he had heard the transmission he was held up with 5 small children, 2 women, 3 men, 4 Marines, and 2 fellow Navy SEALs in a small house in a Suburban area of town. The group had decided that the best way was to head to the base, where they hoped it would be safe. So the entire group loaded up in cars with the support of the troops and headed off. During their daring dash to the vehicles, they lost one child, a woman, and 2 Marines.

When they arrived at the base, the entire place was empty. No spotlights, no troops. Hell the gate was completely level with the concrete. There where burning vehicles, body parts, weapons, spent ammunition shells, even some corps that decided not to get up and walk with the dead. But the only thing that caught Doyle's attention out of the entire massacre of the base, was the American flag sitting on the ground. It was drenched in blood, covered in dirt, and water. So he did the thing every good soldier should do, and burned it. It was a disgrace to the flag, and he couldn't just let it sit there.

Well, while they thought the military base was safe, the entire horde was following them to the base. Well, when they got there they took all the children, all the men, all the women, and the rest of the soldiers, except for Doyle, who hid in a weapons locker and kept still, and quiet for close to 19 hours before they left.

So after that he searched the radio tower, and the radio waves, and everything for a sign of life and the tower transmission is what caught his attention, so like said before, he loaded up and left the base.

The trip to the town was a bit bumpy, and bloody. He had to stop a few times to unjam a carcase from the wheel well, or clean blood off his windshield, or even take a hitchhiker who was holding on with the upper half of his body dragging behind the vehicle while the bastard held onto a tow hook latch at the back of the truck.

Well, according to his directions he was there. He eased off the gas and let it come to a coasting 10 mph. It seemed like all the zombies where heading one way, and he happened to catch the back of the line. So he slowed to a creeping 5 mph and set the cruise control.( Military recently fitted Humvee's with cruise control) He tied off the wheel, and let it follow the back of the horde, while he checked the fuel from the inside, and filled it up with a large gas can he filled up at a gas station outside of the base.

After about 15 minutes, he kept his distance of about 75 yards, and kept following. But they had arrived. The increased moaning sound from outside seemed to fill the Humvee and his ears.

The tower came into view and he came to a stop as he saw the large horde massing at the front door. The only thing that he could muster up and say was.
" Holy shit..." He took in a deep breath and said." Well, time to get this party started." He unlocked the top hatch with a smirk as he stood up completely.

[MstSgtDoyle]

When he opened the hatch he pushed it open and he stood up completely as he pushed it.

He heard his back crack as he stood up straight. Being bent that entire time kinda made him a bit stiff so he had to adjust. He quickly reached down with one foot and found the light switch. The lights on the grill, and the build in lights switched on. The zombies where like Deer's in headlight's.

A smirk crossed his lips as he flipped the safe off of the gun. He pulled the large bolt back and he checked the chamber." Your fucked now." He said and they started to rush him. He placed both hands on the handles of the weapon and he just began to pull the lever.

The large Browning M2HB-QCB .50 cal air-cooled machine gun started to sound. It was a deep, thumping sound almost. But it was also loud. It was loud enough to make his ears ring.

They tried to surround the truck, but lucky him the street was pretty narrow so he was able to get them before they got past the front of the truck, but some managed to smack against the front of the truck before they met a .50 cal burst. He used one hand to hold the lever down while he reached down to pick up a box at his feet. It was quite a reach but he managed to snatch it with his fingertips.

He grunted as he pulled the heavy box and set it on the roof of the truck. Just as he poked his head up, one was crawling onto the hood of the truck. He then felt the gun getting a bit hotter.

He let off the lever and reached to his hip. Withdrawing from the hip holster his USP .45, he switched off the safety and quickly but a single round in the face of the zombie. He smirked and set the pistol down on the hood beside the box of ammunition and he swung the gun and continued to fire.

A loud screech was heard as he put a few more rounds into the horde. Then he looked down. Only 5 rounds left in the chain. " Fuck." He mumbled and quickly opened up the top hatch of the weapon and he undid the last bits of the chain. He dropped it into the truck and quickly opened the box. pulling the chain out he fitted the first round into the chamber and made sure it was good.

Right as he closed the hatch he felt someone on the back of the vehicle. He was surrounded now. He picked the USP up and swung the turret around and aimed. The zombie was about to latch onto his back when he swung the turret around. The large gun tripped up the zombie and he fell over sideways. Placing the barrel of the weapon by its face, it growled at him and he put a round through its head. He turned his head away and the spatter just missed him by a few inches. Thank God.

He pushed the corps off the gun and it rolled off the truck and landed on top of a few. He knew he wasn't getting out of this alive unless he got inside of that tower, cleared it out, and blocked the door off some how.

He picked the USP off the roof of the vehicle and he slid down back into the vehicle and closed the hatch quickly. He slid into the drivers seat." Shatterproof, and bullet proof bitches!" He yelled to them as he gave them the finger. He had the doors all locked so they had no way of getting into the truck.

He thought for a moment and he leaned forward in the drivers seat and he slung the M249 MINI-Para around his right shoulder and tightened it so when he moved it wouldn't budge. He looked down to his rifle and checked it. He attached it to the clip in between some pouches and made sure it was secure. It now hung between his legs.

Having a small view of the tower, he taught out his scenarios. Block the door with the hood if the truck, knock out the front glass... Crawl out, clear.... No, Put the passengers door to the front door and crawl out the other side, clear... Maybe flip the truck? Crawl out top hatch. Or back the truck into the door, open back hatch, crawl out, clear... He thought. The best thing was to back in, or put the passengers side door to the front door of the tower.

He put the truck into Drive and pushed on the pedal as hard as he could. The truck began to run everything in his way over. Smacking into another vehicle, it sent the truck a little haywire, but he gained control once again and he turned left instead of right, towards the front door. Snapping the gears into Reverse he looked through the side view mirrors and slammed on the gas. The truck would ram straight into the building, giving it a good shake.

He grunted as he hit the steering wheel. Thank god he was wearing body armor or that would have broken his ribs, and possibly his neck if he hit hard enough.

He quickly unslung the M249 MINI-Para from his back and pulled the charging handle back and checked it. It was good to go. Oh yeah.... this was gonna be fun.

Now he wasn't much for blind firing but sometimes there was an exception. He opened the back latch from the inside and he just peeked it open. Reaching into his vest, he pulled 1 of the 5 Fragmentation Grenades out of his vest and he Opened the hatch fully. He pulled the pen quickly, and released the spoon. He let it cook for about 3 seconds before he tossed it into the room.

His hand shot up to the handle to the back hatch and he quickly shot into a fetal position and shut the hatch over himself. The loud explosion shook the back of the truck, and also caused him to bounce and hit the hatch. He grunted and pulled up the automatic weapon. He peeked the hatch once more and poked the barrel out and just held the trigger down, and twisted it back and forth, up and down.

The gun was beginning to smoke as it heated up. The shells poured out of the ejection port into the trucks floor. He was counting each round also.

When the weapon dry clicked he just smirked and pulled the weapon back into the truck and locked it. He reached back over his head to the backpack and opened it. He closed his eyes and fished around the top until he felt a box. Yanking it out he dropped it onto the floor and he opened the hatch of the automatic weapon. Unlocking the box magazine he let it drop into his hand and just dropped it once more onto the floor.

Loading another box on, he was ready to go. He re-slung the gun and tightened it so it didn't move. reaching down to his rifle he turned on the green laser designator/laser sight and he opened the hatch. The place was filled with smoke, and body parts, and also bullet holes. He just smirked and slowly stepped down without looking into a pool of blood. He was about to slip onto his ass but caught himself before he fell. His weapon swung around. The laser was rested on the wall. Nothing in the open space. He began to follow the bodies.

What where they after? Well, he found out where they where going is all. Maybe it lead to people? Who knows... He moved slowly until he found and opening into what seemed to be like a tunnel.

Reaching down to a small pouch attached to his right side he let his gun hang by the strap. Reaching into the pouch he retrieved the set of NVG goggle. Sliding the headband around his nugget(head) and folded down the eye piece. It was a single eye so he could aim his rifle and not have his vision limited. It also helped the other eye somehow see also.

He continued to follow the flow of bloody footprints and hand prints along the wall, not knowing what held in store for him.

Little did he know, the top hatch of the Humvee unlocked from the massive whiplash and it was only open a few Centimeters.