Zombie Story Chapters 0 & 1

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Zombie Story Chapters 0 & 1; Title needed
Topic Started: 30 Oct 2009, 12:26 AM (90 Views)
Cameron	30 Oct 2009, 12:26 AM Post #1
Administratinator Posts: 1,740 Group: Admin Member #1 Joined: 20 December 2007	Prologue: Sergeant Rachel Hodges sat in the seat of a Black Hawk helicopter. The tension of the mission she’d just completed slowly drained from her body. She looked out the The city of Chicago below them was still mostly intact. It was weird, from up here you might think it was still the good old days. Sure, if you looked closely you’d see that none of the cars were moving. But she didn’t see any damage to the buildings. At least it was over. The mission had been difficult. Maybe it was just the importance. It wasn’t a normal rescue or supply run. That sort of mission had the potential to save a few lives. No, this time they were going after the vaccine. It could save thousands. If they were lucky, it might even turn this whole epidemic around. True, humanity had been anything but lucky these last few years, but that only meant they were due. They had recovered the vaccine and had done so without casualties. These men really were the best of the best, even the Silverton brothers. And now that they were in the helicopter they were home free. And their commanding officer, Lieutenant Freeman had led them perfectly. If it wasn’t for his direction they probably wouldn’t have succeeded. The night before the mission Sergeant Hodges had a nightmare that Freeman died, and she had to take over as next in the chain of command. All the men had died until she alone was left, and then she was eaten alive. She’d awoken in a panic, still feeling the biting. But none of it had happened. She looked out again and saw a fire in one of the buildings. And the smoke from it was… That was odd. Then it clicked. She shouted, “Incoming rocket! Brace yourselves.” Everyone strapped in. Rachel’s first thought was the vaccine. She picked up the containers of vaccine and wrapped them in her coat and gripped tight. The deafening roar of an explosion and tearing steel pounded against her eardrums. She didn’t hear it, she felt it. After that came the buzzing that, if she’d been able to think about it, she would’ve recognized as hearing loss. The helicopter spiraled out of control and started dropping. The rotors would slow its decent to the ground. Hopefully it would be slow enough that the vaccine was unharmed and someone was left alive to carry it back. But the ground was coming up fast. Slam! It hit the ground and her whole body felt like she had been hit by a car. Her vision blurred and she could barely move, could barely think. She crawled away from the wreckage as it started to catch fire, still holding the containers of vaccine. Maybe she should look and see if… and then everything went black. **** She awoke to pain. Something was stabbing her leg. Chewing? Her eyes burst open. It was one of them. She pulled out her sidearm and aimed in between the two images her double vision gave her and fired. Have to treat the wound. Don’t want to get infected. Have to carry the vaccine. Have to go on. Someone has to. Need to get to shelter. Nearest building had closed door. Good. They normally couldn’t open doors. Have to crawl. Leg doesn’t work. Okay, have to drag myself. And the vaccine, don’t forget the vaccine. She managed to tilt herself up and open the door, then got in. It closed automatically behind her. She leaned against it to keep it closed and looked at the leg. She’d need… and then she blacked out again. Her unconscious mind didn’t stir once as the life seeped out of her. And then she died. Chapter 1 Christa ran down the street. She didn’t look behind her. Were there one dozen or two? Didn’t matter. She had to run. They didn’t come out in the daytime, but it was day and they were outside. They must be really desperate, or really angry. She ignored the pain in her side. They were catching up and she couldn’t take it much longer. Her legs began to ache. She was thirsty? When had she last had a drink of water? No time to think about that. Christa was breathing hard and her throat was sore. Her lungs started stinging. Her body kept telling her to give up. She’d never make it anyway, better just to get the pain over with. But no, she had to survive. She’d find a safe place and wait them out. Then she could return home. Just had to keep, keep on going… Keep running. The streets of Chicago up ahead were clogged. They’d navigate the strewn cars better than her. She turned the corner. There were two men ahead. They were wearing camo, probably gun nuts. Avoid or ask for help? They were humans, which made them better than those chasing her. Or were they? She’d heard of survivors doing terrible things to other survivors, especially to women. Well this was it, she could ask for help or she could die. “Help, they’re after me,” she screamed. The men turned. They drew their pistols instantly and pointed them at her. So this was it. They’d shoot her and it’d be over quickly. “Get down,” one of them yelled. What were they talking about? “Drop to the ground, now,” the man said. She slammed into the ground, scraping her palms on the asphalt. Instantly the air filled with the sharp crack of gunfire. She crawled slowly toward them. The first one stopped firing from the pistol in his right hand and pulled out a second in his left. He bumped the safety off with the butt of the other pistol and opened fire. The second man pulled out a shotgun a second later and began shooting over her head. Then they stopped. “You can get up now,” the second said. She looked behind her. There must have been almost twenty bodies lying on the ground. A few of her pursuers were twitching, but the rest lay still. Many of them were missing the backs of their heads. Some had gaping holes in their chest. One had a tight cluster of three bullet holes in her chest. “You okay, miss?” the first man said, sliding a fresh magazine into his pistols. She said, “Huh, oh, yeah, I’m fine.” “I’m Tim.” “I’m Christa, Christa Ramirez.” The second man said, “And I’m Jack.” He finished reloading his shotgun and put a new clip in his pistol. Tim was at least 6 feet, maybe 6’1” or 6’2” tall. He had blond hair, blue eyes, and a white headband. He was well built, and he was about five years older than her, so maybe 30. He was wearing camouflage. Some of it was actual parts of a military uniform, though none of it from the same uniform. The pants had a dark camo print as well, but she knew they came from JC Penny. Her boyfriend had had a pair just like it before he died. Jack was a couple inches shorter and was also wearing mismatched camo. He was a few years older and had brown hair, but the same blue eyes. The man wasn’t as muscled as the first, but he was still pretty strong. Both of the men had guns holstered, strapped, or poking out of rucksacks. And they both had blue armbands strapped to their right arm with a yellow eagle stitched into them. That was odd. Christa said, “Who are you guys?” Jack said, “We’re militia. Wisconsin Civil Defense Corps.” Militia. That meant gun nuts, right? “We’ll take you back home, miss,” Tim said. “Where do you live?” Should she tell them? She could probably make it back safely. But if they were good people she could use their protection. And if they were bad people, well they’d do whatever they wanted anyway. Maybe if she went along they’d let their guard down. She could grab one of their guns if she had to and… They’d had fast reaction times. They’d gun her down in a second. She’d figure something out. They walked through downtown Chicago. The windows were broken in most places, but the highways weren’t clogged with cars much. There were a few dead bodies in the street, but she didn’t notice them anymore. The stores in this area had all been looted. She’d broken into a nearby bagel shop early on, and found some decent food. Some of it was spoiled, and a bit was stale, but a lot of it was still good. That was still in her first month, back when she was optimistic. She’d only eaten the stale and good food and let the spoiled stuff go to waste. You couldn’t be picky like that if you wanted to survive. If it was edible, you ate it. She knew that now. She still regretted wasting that food. Her stomach growled just thinking about it. She entered the lobby of Roddheim towers and the men followed her. “Interesting place,” said Tim. “You live here?” “Yeah,” she replied. “Why’d you pick it?” “It’s where I worked.” She walked through the dim lobby. The building was dark, had been ever since the power went out. The militia boys each took out a flashlight and briefly swept it around the area, looking for enemies. They didn’t see any and they shut them off, probably to save the batteries. She went to the stairwell door. “This is it,” she said. “Beyond this door I’m home free. Thanks for bringing me back.” Jack said, “If it’s okay with you, ma’am, we’d like to see where you live, if you don’t mind.” Of course she minded. But what could she say? She opened the door to the stairwell and motioned the camo boys in, then shut the door behind them and braced it closed with the 2x4 she kept there for that reason. Sunlight came in through windows to give a little light to the stairwell. Tim said, “You live here alone?” Lie or tell the truth? She decided to lie. “I’ve got my boyfriend and a few of his friends here.” Hopefully they’d be scared off. Tim looked at Jack questioningly. Jack nodded. They continued. Shoot. They reached the ninth floor and she led them through the abandoned rows of cubicles. “That’s where I used to work,” she said, pointing at a receptionist’s desk. She said, “And this is where I live. It used to be my boss’s office, and I said I’d get one like it one day. Now it’s mine.” She opened the door to the corner office. Inside she had set up a folding cot with blankets and pillows. She’d loaded down the shelf with a bit of canned goods and food, whatever she could find, as well as some odds and ends chosen for their weight instead of their usefulness. There were a few posters on the walls of famous people. There was her collection of stuff from her old life in a box. Most of it didn’t get used anymore. Next to it was a wagon, one of those Red Rider things, that she sometimes used for scavenging. And there was a dolly laying in it, for moving bigger items. The office chair was still here, it was comfy, but the desk had been moved out into the hallway. Her sketchpad and a set of carbons lay on top of the drawing table she had set up in the corner A kerosene lamp hung from the ceiling, hanging ironically from the ceiling light fixture. It was currently off. And she’d set up a chest of drawers in the Southwest corner. The windows gave a good view of the city around her. And she had installed the curtains herself. It had taken some work, but it had been worth it. Jack said, “Nice place. You put up the blinds so people don’t see the light from the street?” She said, “People or stalkers, yeah.” “Stalkers?” Tim asked. Christa said, “Yeah, you know, the infected.” “Sure,” said Tim. “And that shelf. Looks like you move it in front of the door to barricade it while you sleep. You’ve worn a groove in the carpet.” “You guessed it.” They were still making small talk? Why didn’t they just get it over with? Jack said, “Nice place. You keep it clean. We’ve seen a lot of survivors who didn’t bother. And you have a change of clothes in that dresser?” “Yeah,” she said. Tim said, “I noticed your clothes were clean earlier. Wondered how you managed that. I know Jack here looks like he was playing tackle football with the hogs.” “Yeah. You look like the ‘before’ picture in a Tide commercial yourself, pal.” Christa said, “So why’d you want to come up here in the first place?” They waited for a moment. Jack spoke up first, “Honestly, ma’am, we wanted to see what we could do to help you, or what you could do to help us. We’re trying to make our way out of the city.” Tim, “We try to barter or work for supplies if we can. Sometimes we can teach people survival skills.” “And do you steal?” she asked. Jack said, “Sometimes. We don’t like it either. But the Sergeant says-” “Doesn’t make it right,” said Jack. Christa said, “This sergeant guy sounds like he’s a jerk.” Both of them stiffened at that. She’d made them mad. This was it. Now they’d go after her. Jack said, “She’s tough, but it’s a tough world. We’d be dead if it wasn’t for her. And I don’t want to have to make the hard decisions she makes.” They walked around the room, looking at her things, but they had enough respect not to dig through her stuff. Tim looked at her shelf, “She doesn’t have much food.” “Then we don’t take any,” Jack said, glancing into her box. “We’ve got enough to last us for a few more days. Hey, Christa, you’ve got a cell phone in here. Do you need it?” She said, “My cell phone? There’s no reception. I used to check once every few weeks, but I haven’t done it in years. You can take it.” Jack turned it on. “Still has a bit of battery. I haven’t met a survivor yet who used one, except for us.” “Should I check the dresser?” Tim said, obviously not wanting to. “Nah, leave it. She doesn’t seem to have much of anything else we need.” They began to leave. Disaster averted. They’d leave her be, and she could go back to her life. Alone. In the middle of a city where every shadow might be hiding something that would kill you just because it was in a bad mood. “Wait,” she said. “You’re leaving the city?” “Yes,” said Tim. “Can you take me with you? I won’t cause much trouble. And I-” And I’ll sleep with you if you get me out of this place, that’s what she’d almost said. Madre de Dios, was she really that desperate? Tim looked at Jack. “She wouldn’t cause that much trouble.” Jack said, “I know, I know. But the Sergeant won’t be happy about this.” He turned to her, “Come with us, we’ll talk to the Sarge, see what she has to say about it. Are you bringing your boyfriend or any of his buds?” “No, um, I wasn’t exactly honest about that.” “Figured. Pack your things and we’ll leave.” She still had her backpack on. It was for carrying stuff she scavenged, but she hadn’t managed to find anything today before being attacked. She packed the last of her food, a change of clothes, and some tools. She also grabbed her sketchpad and drawing supplies. And then, she left behind the last three years of her life. She'd never miss it.
	Note that Cameron is not Patrick and does not run Godlimations.


Luemas	30 Oct 2009, 03:37 PM Post #2
All ur Walrus R belong to Me Posts: 4,047 Group: Members Member #189 Joined: 14 January 2009	Sweet job mate. Looks good so far. And I can assume the Seargent Tim was talking about was Rachel?
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Cameron	30 Oct 2009, 04:55 PM Post #3
Administratinator Posts: 1,740 Group: Admin Member #1 Joined: 20 December 2007	You can if that makes you feel better. She died, though. Edited by Cameron, 30 Oct 2009, 05:40 PM.
	Note that Cameron is not Patrick and does not run Godlimations.


dragonshardz	3 Nov 2009, 12:01 AM Post #4
Horned Rogue Posts: 188 Group: Members Member #383 Joined: 14 August 2009	More plz?
	I'm also known as "the Other Patrick." Yes, really. And now for the link to my profile on Urban Dead and my character's status: Willful stupidity makes me angry. I'm not a happy person when I'm angry.


Cameron	3 Nov 2009, 01:48 PM Post #5
Administratinator Posts: 1,740 Group: Admin Member #1 Joined: 20 December 2007	Working on it. I should have the next chapter done soon.
	Note that Cameron is not Patrick and does not run Godlimations.


Luemas	3 Nov 2009, 09:18 PM Post #6
All ur Walrus R belong to Me Posts: 4,047 Group: Members Member #189 Joined: 14 January 2009	Sweet, I need to write or something... Jazz helps.
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