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| Dead Men Walking | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Nov 28 2014, 02:20 AM (71,055 Views) | |
| Strompy | Feb 23 2015, 05:04 AM Post #316 |
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More posts, more Busey.
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"I just climbed into the truck after running. I can move my feet. I'm still here." Brandon chuckled softly. He did feel better having her ask though, his concern eased just having somebody worry. He wondered what kind of angle that shot came in. It entered his back and came out the hole he could see. At least he didn't have a piece of metal floating around inside him. He looked around him, everyone except Eli was there and in one piece if a little battered. "We really kicked their asses." he reflected with a grim satisfaction. "Yeah." Julie concurred. "We made those bastards pay for what they did." righteous indignation in his voice now. They killed Mac, and lost several of theirs. Brandon took at least two, maybe four of them himself. He'd seen the others take more. The monsters would be howling for blood. They weren't free of them yet though. Eli was out there still with those animals chasing him. The group wouldn't let that be. They weren't done. A loaded magazine popped up in front of him. Kelsey offered it up almost like a flower or a bag of skittles. Brandon took it with an appreciative smile and loaded his rifle. I'm not done. |
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| Make-7-Up-Yours | Feb 23 2015, 10:51 AM Post #317 |
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Is that so?
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"Yeah, we did." Glenda agreed. We got lucky. They were inexperienced. Glenda had wanted to add. But there are still a lot more of them and we are in bad shape. But she didn't. She simply shook her head and kept on applying pressure to Brandon's wound. "I killed someone..." Willow murmured nearby. "I-I actually killed someone..." "Don't worry about it, kiddo! You did what you needed to!" Glenda shouted at her, but it didn't really seem to kick her out of her daze. "Julie, how's your arm?" |
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| DoctorYerishi | Feb 23 2015, 02:34 PM Post #318 |
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Dude, wake up! We've got a world to save.
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When Eli told Nate to turn around in front of the swimming pool and get on his knees, it finally occurred to him how lucky he had gotten. He should have died back there. He had come close so many times. That he had escaped – and then turned the tables on one of them – was nothing short of astonishing. It was insanely lucky, he realized, and he wasn’t going to waste that luck on nothing. “You’re gonna answer my questions, or I’m going to kick you into that swimming pool and walk away. Are we clear?” Nate was shaking a little, clearly terrified. Behind him, the rotter in the pool moaned out loud and gnashed its teeth. Still, he looked up at Eli and frowned aggressively. “Fuck you,” he said. “Didn’t I tell you not to test me?” Eli asked, straightening his aim and scowl. “You fuckers killed one of my friends and tried to kill the rest. You tried to kill me. It’s taking everything I have not to waste you right now.” “And how many of my friends did you kill!?” Nate answered defiantly from his knees. “Six!? More?!” “After you killed Mac!” Eli holstered the Supergrade suddenly, then grabbed Nate by his shirt and leaned into him. Nate seemed taken aback by the physical contact, and the defiance in his voice faltered just a little. “That – that wasn’t supposed to happen,” he said. “That was an accident.” Hearing that just made Eli more angry, somehow. “You opened fire on us! Was that an accident!?” “Paul told you to drop your weapons! You didn’t! Don’t pretend you weren’t about to hit us first!” Eli forced Nate forward, so his feet was only an inch or two away from the swimming pool. He kept holding him up by the shirt. If he let go, Nate would surely fall onto the tarp with the thrashing rotter. “I don’t gotta pretend about shit,” Eli said, his voice quieter and cold again. “You're all fucking savages.” Nate’s bravado was faltering. Eli could see some sweat dropping down his cheek. “We’re not.” “Then what was the plan, huh? What was supposed to happen? You were gonna take our stuff, right?” “Not all of it,” Nate said hurriedly. “Just what we needed. Then we were going to send you back over the border.” Eli smiled – a disbelieving smile that just menaced Nate even more. “Oh, is that all? You were just gonna rob us and send us back to Buffalo to die? And how many times have you done that already?” “I don’t know! Now let me go, man, come on,” Nate replied. “How many times?!” The rotter behind him kept groaning. Nate closed his eyes, shame mixing with fear on his face. “Three,” he said. “You guys would have been the fourth.” “The other three groups,” Eli said. “What if they came back?” Nate shook his head. “We tell them not to. We give them fair warning. Nobody comes back.” “What if they did?” “They don’t, man, let me–” “What if they did!?” Nate just stared back at him. He wasn’t going to answer – which was an answer, as far as Eli was concerned. He tightened his grip on his shirt. He wanted to toss him forward, watch him get torn apart, maybe drown. It would be so easy and he would have had it coming. He struggled with that decision, and bared his teeth. He resisted the temptation, ultimately. Instead, he threw him back towards the house roughly, sending him tumbling on the tiles by the pool. When he lay still, Eli towered over him, his gun drawn once again. “Like I said,” Eli said. “Savages.” “What do you want from me?” Nate asked lowly, not bothering to get up. “Who shot my friend?” Eli asked. Nate was silent for a moment, but then answered with a sigh. “His name's Evan. He’s just a kid.” Eli shook his head. “He’s not a kid anymore," he said without pity. "Next question – where do you take the supplies you steal?” “To our camp,” Nate said. Eli leaned down so he was closer to Nate. He asked his next question with all the considerable menace he could muster. “And where’s that?” |
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| Strompy | Feb 23 2015, 07:18 PM Post #319 |
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More posts, more Busey.
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"Broken. Right here. I can kiss my Olympic chances goodbye." she joked through her pain as she felt her forearm for the location of the break. It had actually been a possibility at one point. She had progressed to the stage where her archery could take her there. When her father died though she had broken down. Her grades started slipping her shooting took a backseat to partying. She took her experiments with drugs a little further. She almost lost her scholarship, that was a wake up call. Her grades got back to where they were but she didn't really keep up with her archery. Willow seemed to be having trouble with what happened, Julie gave her hand a little squeeze before turniing her attention towards Brandon and his injury. Julie didn't have any compunction about the life she had taken. It wasn't the first time she'd done it. "You may have saved us back there, Willow. Those people could have killed us. You protected us." Brandon offered, for his own conscience as well as hers. |
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| Make-7-Up-Yours | Feb 23 2015, 08:08 PM Post #320 |
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Is that so?
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Willow didn't really reply. She simply laid on her back and stared up at the sky, her eyes focused on something far away, the blood on her face not even bothering her in the slightest. "We've gotten away from them." Randall slowed down the truck and shouted out the window. "Stay low though, we gotta swing around and pick up Eli." "What about Brandon!?" Glenda shouted up at him. "We don't have any supplies left! What can we do!?" Randall shot back. Glenda didn't have an answer. He was right; even if they did stop, there was little chance of finding anything; the houses has probably been looted dry by those guys. Their best bet was to do what they could. Brandon was a tough kid though, Glenda was sure he would pull through. All they had to do was find a way to control the bleeding. As Randall turned the truck onto a side road, Glenda pulled her crumpled up shirt off Brandon's wound. "This might hurt." She warned him as she lifted his shirt up to expose the wound on both sides. Looked like the bullet had gotten him from behind. All she could do was fashion a makeshift tourniquet which would control the bleeding until they could find some better supplies. She stretched out her now blood-stained shirt before wrapping it completely around Brandon's abdomen (with a little difficulty), ensuring that the body of the shirt was securely cupping the wounds and the arms of the shirt were opposite the wounded side. She then grabbed the sleeves and tied them together tightly. It was the most makeshift of solutions, but it would have to do for the time being. "When we stop, we can find something strong to make a splint for your wrist." Glenda assured Julie. |
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| DoctorYerishi | Feb 23 2015, 08:30 PM Post #321 |
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Dude, wake up! We've got a world to save.
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By the time Eli had tied Nate up, he had to get out of there, and quickly. Before leaving, he peeled the curtains back just enough to see more of the ambushers walking down the street, likely looking for their missing friend as much as they were looking for Eli at this point. Before leaving, he retrieved his AR15 from the counter where he left it, strapping it around his shoulder and carrying his new guns with him in each hand. While he left out the back, he thought he heard someone trying to open the locked door in the front. He probably could have been gone faster if he just killed Nate, and maybe that’s what he should have done. Once again, though, he couldn’t bring himself to pull the trigger on someone unarmed and at his mercy. He had to go with the next best option. Instead of hopping the fence again, he found a gate and hurried through it. He jogged through several more backyards, taking care not to make too much noise. After about 10 minutes on the move, he found another home with an unlocked door. He entered and only stopped only briefly to take a quick breath. The underside of his arms were bleeding from where he cut himself crawling over the glass. Now that his adrenaline had died down, he could feel the cuts, but they pretty much just stung a little. Still, his first stop was the bathroom, looking for medical. First he checked under the counter, in a drawer that included face creams and tooth paste. He pulled that out all the way and casually tossed it in the bathtub behind him. Under it, there was another drawer that other looters may have missed. It had a collection of band aids and even a roll of gauze. Eli also found some ointment there, which he applied after washing up with water and soap, and getting blood all over the sink. After wrapping up his arms, Eli’s next stop was the master bedroom. He peeked out the window to make sure none of the assholes from the customs checkpoint were nearby. When he was satisfied they weren’t, he raided the closet and found a gym bag that looked long enough to fit the Winchester rifle he had looted from Nate. He took it, along with a green winter jacket that looked about his size. It wasn’t as stylish or as trim as the peacoat that belonged to Brandon’s brother, but he was going to need something when winter hit, and most of the supplies from the SUV were probably gone forever. When he was done looking through the closet, he loaded up his new coat and new guns in the gym bag. He packed all the medical supplies he could find in the bathroom in there as well, in a secondary pocket. And some toilet paper too, for good measure. They were always gonna need that. When he left that house, he finally started thinking more about Randall and the others. He was confident they got away, at least. He had heard the truck take off when he was trying to reach the cure, and he saw it disappear down the street as he was running away. He was glad for that. His foolhardy attempt at retrieving the cure had been good for something at least. Of course, Eli didn’t know if the others thought he was still alive or not. If they did, he tried to think about where they might look for him. And that would be easier, Eli realized, if he knew where the hell he was. With his new luggage in hand, he crossed a residential street he identified as ‘Murray St’ by the sign. He looked both ways before doing so – now he was wary of people, not cars. From there, he headed in the opposite direction of the water. |
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| Make-7-Up-Yours | Feb 23 2015, 10:20 PM Post #322 |
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Is that so?
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After a few moments of pondering, Glenda frowned. The more she thought about Randall's idea, the more she thought he was less in the game. He had too much on his mind to think clearly about all of this. She tapped on the back window to get his attention. "Stop the car." She demanded. Randall looked at her curiously, but Glenda kept her eyes trained on him until he complied and pulled the truck over to the side of the road. The sounds of gunfire in the distance had stopped, and everything was eerily quiet. If nothing else, they had a few moments to burn. She vaulted over the side of the truck and landed firmly on the ground, a feat many women in their mid-40's would have a difficult time pulling off. When Randall opened the driver's side door, she was waiting for him. "We don't have time for this." She told him harshly. "Brandon is hurt and we have a truck full of people here who need some gauze bandages and antibiotics." "Eli has the cure, Glenda! I left in the truck and he went back to get it! If we lose that, then this entire trip will have been for nothing! Mac will have died for noth-" "Enough." Glenda cut him off. "The cure won't do us any good if we start losing people to blood loss and infection. We are lucky we didn't lose anyone more than we did; but we may lose some if we don't act now. For all we know, Eli could be dead, and running around looking for him in a zone filled with people trying to kill us is damn near suicidal!" "B-but, Glenda, we-" Randall stammered. "No buts. You've always been the leader; but you didn't keep me on your scavenging crew just because I am handy with a knife. You kept me on because I can keep a cool head in a bad situation; and that is exactly what I am doing right now. Eli is strong; if he got away, he will find us. Those thugs can't afford to send too many guys after us without weakening their position at the bridge, if we stay far enough away, we should be safe. But we need to play this smart. And right now, the best thing we can do for both us and Eli is to get everyone somewhere we can patch them up and rest." Randall bit the tip of his tongue; something she noticed he often did when he was thinking. He told her once he did it to prevent himself from talking while he got this thoughts together. After a few long moments, he let out a defeated sigh. "Then were should we take them?" "I saw a sign to a hospital not far from here." Glenda informed him casually. "A hospital?" Randall groaned. "Really? If that place isn't infected to high hell and back, then it has been looted dry by those assholes!" "It's our best bet." Glenda sternly told him. "And if it is filled with the infected, then we will simply look in the surrounding area. It's the best bet we have right now. And we don't have time to argue it." Randall knew there was no way to win. He simply nodded and closed the door, allowing Glenda enough time to crawl back into the back of the truck before hooking a full U-turn and going back the way they came. ********** The hospital was not an impressive structure by any stretch of the imagination. What had probably once been a clean and kept, sprawled out two-story building was now derelict looking and covered in weeds. He pulled into the surprisingly empty parking lot (that looked like it had been run down even before the zombies appeared) and easily found a space near the hospital proper. Hopefully, under the cover of other cars, they could blend in if anyone came looking for them. Randall frowned; the boards covering the windows made it look like survivors had tried holing up inside during the early days of the infection, but the wide open doors and decaying corpses around the place told the story of a place that had long since fallen and turned into little more than a crypt. Perhaps some survivors had cleared it out earlier, but the place looked eerily still. He doubted there was much of a chance of anything being alive inside, but judging from the corpses, there may not be much undead either. It had probably been cleared out several times over by now. But it was a big place; perhaps they could find a little something. "Let me check it out first." Randall told everyone as he left the car. Nobody argued against the idea. Randall cautiously approached the front door; the smell was terrible, but nothing he hadn't experienced several times over already. And definitely not worse than the smell of burning bodies. He knelt down to examine one of the bodies. Hard to tell how long a corpse had been dead, but a single gunshot wound through the left eye was the cause of it's second death. The blood stains looked old, so it had probably been a while ago. As suspected, this place had been cleared out pretty well by a previous group. But that was never a guarantee of it being clear on the inside. Hesitantly, he crept into the main lobby. On the inside, the devastation was far more apparent. Shattered glass littered the ground, and of course there were more bodies. Nurses, patients, doctors, survivors, all were joined together by death in this large room. He was beset by images of their own makeshift hospital back at Mount Kisco. One undetected infected in a hospital could send the entire thing downhill and he would never doubt for a second that the same thing hadn't happened here in the early days of the infection. But he quickly realized why nobody bothered making a home here; even if one could find a way to clear out the entire hospital of these corpses and bothered to burn them all, the stench would never leave. It would be ingrained into the halls of this mausoleum until the day nature reclaimed it. Surprisingly, a quick search inside a few grisly rooms revealed a single emergency medical kit, filled with gauze, antibiotics, and disinfectant. While it wasn't much, it was a good start and it could help with some of the more minor injuries. With the prize in his hand, he jogged outside and handed it to Glenda. "Do what you can; there might be more inside but be careful if you go looking." "Where are you going?" Glenda narrowed her eyes at him. "Just checking the perimeter is all. Making sure no rotters or assholes are nearby." Randall assured her. "I won't be gone long, you guys just stay low in the meantime, okay?" "Alone?" "I'll be fine." Randall lifted his hands in the air disarmingly. "I've done this before. I'm armed." Glenda gave him a worried look, but didn't try to stop him as he turned around and left. |
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| Strompy | Feb 24 2015, 12:41 AM Post #323 |
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More posts, more Busey.
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"Randall!" Brandon called out from nearby. He was leaning, fairly heavily, on Jeff as they made their way to the door. He tossed their leader his FAL. If Randall encountered more of them his M9 alone just wouldn't cut it. At the moment Randall was too important to lose, he was able bodied, skilled and decisive. Brandon looked back at Willow and Julie. Julie seemed to be taking this all well, but then she seemed to have had some experience with these kind of people. Willow seemed to be in shock. It was understandable why. They just lost a friend and in moments nearly died themselves. She'd killed somebody though, and it was weighing on her. For a moment he wondered why it wasn't so with him. He'd never killed anyone before. The man on the roof had looked him right in the eyes before Brandon shot him. He knew for a fact that a man was dead by his hand, and it didn't bother him. Instinctively Brandon had made justifications for it in expecation of remorse, but even after the action he didn't feel anything except maybe anger. That man shot him, he tried to kill him, he may have been the one who killed Mac. Any of them could have been killed, even though he doubted they'd do so intentionally they could have even killed Kelsey, a ten year old. He didn't feel an ounce of pity for them. Everything that happened back there was on them. He'd only pity them if they were stupid enough to keep testing this group. |
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| DoctorYerishi | Feb 24 2015, 02:03 AM Post #324 |
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Dude, wake up! We've got a world to save.
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Eli kept walking, his assault rifle cradled in one hand and his new gym bag in another. He kept his eyes peeled, but didn’t know what he was looking for. He just figured if the others were still around, they’d be somewhere in this direction. Hopefully they would find him before anyone else did. In his brief time alone, and with no immediate danger around him, his anger had started to curdle into self-loathing. He remembered that he was the one who suggested Canada. Randall and the others had come up here on his suggestion. Now Mac was dead, others were injured, and they had lost the cure. He had a hand in that. And he needed to make it right. He cleared another wall of trees, and found himself in the parking lot to a school building. The road had been clear of dangers so far, but that streak ended when he saw a pair of rotters on the other end of the lot. They were short and thin, and their black-mucus coated clothing was stylish when the outbreak hit. Eli narrowed his eyes at them. As far as he could tell, it was just those two alone, and he wasn’t afraid. He dropped the luggage and released his grip on the AR15 – he couldn’t afford to make any shooting sounds right now, and he didn’t want to besides. He drew his collapsible baton again. He started running at them, at twice the speed they were coming for him. When he got close, he raised his leg and booted one in the chest with all his might. He sent its skinny frame tumbling backwards over the hood of a car and out of sight. The other he turned and slugged with the baton. The impact dislocated its jaw visibly, and caused it to spin around and hit the ground. Eli was on it a moment later. He pressed his knee into its back and brought the baton down on its skull, crushing it in one. His reward was a spray of brain matter, which got all over his shirt. Literally, it wasn’t a clean kill – not like the kind he’d get with the knife. That was on purpose. He rose and circled the car he had sent the other rotter flying over. He arrived in time to see it clumsily rise, fumbling for the rear view mirror for leverage. CRACK! Eli gripped the baton with two hands and swung like it was a baseball bat. He connected with the side of the rotters’ head and sent it straight into the passenger’s side window, which cracked and spiderwebbed but didn’t break. When Eli pulled back, the zombie’s head didn’t move – he had gotten it stuck in there. He collapsed the baton, holstered it, and frowned. He headed back to his luggage. He’d hoped that would make him feel better. It didn’t. |
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| Make-7-Up-Yours | Feb 24 2015, 04:08 AM Post #325 |
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Is that so?
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Holding on to Brandon's FAL, Randall wearily trudged around the perimeter of the hospital. More dead rotters. A few living ones, but Randall swiftly ended them with a dagger to their skulls. As the third rotter he encountered slid off the blade of his knife and crumpled onto a heap on the ground, he realized this was different for him. When Elaine had died, he was filled with anger. Hate. He wanted to pound the ever living hell out of every rotter, deadhead, zombie, walker, shambler, whatever you called it, he wanted to kill it so brutally that he hoped they could still feel pain. And he had. That anger consumed him like a fire, and try as he might to pretend it wasn't there and not think about it, he always knew it was there, and when he got in the heat of the moment, it would spew forth like a volcano. But now he was... mopey. He knew there were guys out there trying to kill him, but he didn't see them. Or hear them. He had lost them a while ago. Like Glenda had said, they were unlikely to chase them this far from their hideout. It would take them time to reorganize and figure out what to do. Time that the rest of them could use to patch up. But what was their next move now? Mac was dead and although Randall was loathe to admit it, Eli was probably dead as well by now. Both of them in the name of a cure that they didn't even have anymore. And Randall didn't even know if everyone back at the truck would pull through; Brandon had lost a lot of blood. Even if they scraped themselves back together, what did they have left to do? They couldn't turn back; that would mean going back through the blockade those assholes had set up. All the questions about the future of this expedition, if there even was a future, boiled in his head like a cauldron. He didn't have it in him to be enraged right now. As long as the cure was in his hands, he felt like there was a hope in the world; something to look forward to. Even if it was a long shot, it gave him something to channel himself into. But now that passion had been lost without it and he felt almost like an empty shell; further burdened by the fates of Mac, Eli, and everyone else. "Fuck, I can't keep doing this." Randall assured himself out loud. He stopped by an old dumpster and leaned against the wall of the hospital. By now he was already halfway around the entire building, but had only encountered a few rotters. And now, at the base of the dumpster, a rotter laid on the ground with blood slowly leaking out of a wound in its head. The very sight of it made him want to puke his guts out; those things were the symbol of everything wrong with the world now. He roared and slammed his hand against the dumpster. "Eeek!" Randall paused. Did that dumpster just scream at him? He looked at the rotter again. Blood oozing out of a wound. A fresh wound! Randall's heart started pounding. A survivor? Eli? No, it couldn't be. Maybe it was one of those assholes! It was a small consolation, but even the hope that it was one of those assholes got his blood pumping again. He stepped away from the dumpster, FAL raised and pointed at it. "Get the fuck out, hands above your head." Randall growled. "Now!" "Okay, okay!" A deeper voice echoed from inside the dumpster. "I am coming out now!" Slowly, the plastic lid of the dumpster was lifted up and, hands first, a very young man rose. He was tall, a little over 6 feet, with fine brown hair, high cheekbones, and dark green eyes obscured by a pair of fractured glasses. He was dressed professionally; a black coat, a pink collared shirt, black slacks, and a green tie around his neck. Or that is what he would have looked like before all of this; the jacket was ripped and stained and the shirt was no better. The tie was disheveled and matched his generally unkempt appearance. About two-weeks of scraggly beard rested on his face. His narrow nose was flaring in panic, but surprisingly he managed to keep his composure. "L-look. You barbarians already murdered my girlfriend. I would appreciate it if you would simply begone and leave me here to die of my own devices!" Randall had a gun pointed directly at him and he was clearly panicked, but he noted the man was rather well articulated despite that. "Are you talking about those assholes at the Peace Bridge?" Randall asked him. "Is that where they are now?" The man huffed indignantly. "I didn't think neanderthals had a sense of irony! If a higher power truly exists, that alone is evidence of its perverse sense of humor!" Randall furled his brow. "But if that is your first inquiry, then... perhaps you are not affiliated with them?" For the first time the man cracked an almost hopeful (and very awkward) smile. "Are you?" "Does it sound like I am!?" The man barked back. "They gunned down my girlfriend and several of my friends when we refused to hand over our goods! In hindsight, perhaps compliance would have been a better option." Randall furled his brow. It was difficult to get a read on this guy, but despite his air of arrogance, he seemed halfway decent. Still, he kept his sights training on the man's chest. "What do you know about those guys?" "No more than you at this point, I would imagine." He shrugged with his hands still in the air. "I didn't even know where they were stationed! I was simply aware that they existed within the confines of this city and that they are armed and far from friendly! When I saw your truck pull into the parking lot, I assumed you to be them! That is why I was... well... in the dumpster. It was the only convenient location to hide." "That hardly seems like the safest place." Randall frowned. "Well, being shot is not safe at all, I would have you know! I have been lurking around this hospital for weeks while my leg healed from the last time they shot me!" Randall tilted his head to the side; when he cautiously poked his head in the dumpster he could see that the man had bandages wrapped around his left leg. "You know how to dress a wound?" "Of course I do! My name is Professor Maxwell J. Eastwood! I am a Professor of Biology and English at Buffalo State University!" "Wait, wait, wait." Randall couldn't help but smirk. "Biology and English?" "What? I happen to have an interest in both fields of study! It isn't unusual to want to have a flexible portfolio! To not only have a Ph.D in two fields of study, but also be a professor at the age of 27 is a feat worthy of-" "And your last name is seriously Eastwood? Like the actor?" "Y-yes it is!" Maxwell was looking visibly flustered. "Look, I have endured a fate worse than death this past month and I am far beyond the point of being poked fun of by some blue-collar thug with a gun. So, if you are going to shoot me, then all I request is that you do it swiftly and end my life with a shred of dignity!" Randall narrowed his eyes. He didn't know what to do. He wasn't a cold-blooded killer. And this man didn't seem like he was hostile, at least underneath the enormous amounts of fluff. But God was he going to get annoying if he always acted like this. "Unfortunately, we aren't those assholes at the bridge. We don't just shoot people for fun. But after our little meeting, we can't really just trust you either. So, are you willing to hear me out?" Maxwell frowned. "Y-yes... I will listen." "We have injured here. I know you don't have actual medical experience, but you probably know more than we do. If you come with me and help our my people, then you are welcome to join us on the road." Maxwell frowned. He obviously wasn't sure of Randall yet either, but he eventually dropped his shoulders in defeat. "I-I suppose I have little to lose now, do I? Very well, you have a deal, Mister..." "Just call me Randall. Now get out of that dumpster and I'll take you to them." |
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| DoctorYerishi | Feb 24 2015, 04:54 AM Post #326 |
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Dude, wake up! We've got a world to save.
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When he saw a sign directing drivers to parking for the hospital, a lightbulb went off in Eli's head. Considering their injuries when Eli last left them, that might have been where they ended up. It was worth checking out, anyway. He continued down the street at a deliberate pace and approached the parking lot. He saw two figures in the distance, and immediately gripped his AR15 and aimed downwind. He approached slowly, breathing softly, ready to pull the trigger as soon as he saw something he didn't like. He closed one eye as he stared down the scope of the rifle. Randall... he realized, and immense relief washed over him. There was someone else, too, but Randall had a gun and he didn't. The situation looked innocent enough. Maybe this guy wasn't one of the bandits. Even still, the sight of a new face put Eli on edge. Eli let go of the assault rifle and picked up the gym bag once again. He walked towards Randall and his new associate. There was rotter blood splashed over his shirt, but even still, Eli probably looked better like he was in better shape than both of him. And he came bearing supplies. Just not the one particular supply Randall would be hoping for. "Randall!" he said when he was within earshot. |
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| Strompy | Feb 24 2015, 06:16 AM Post #327 |
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More posts, more Busey.
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Jeff helped Brandon into a virtually untouched examination room and onto the table. Brandon awkwardly removed removed his leather jacket. He looked at it briefly and the two neat holes in it, close together, pretty far to the left. Did it take out a kidney? Puncture his intestine? No, he'd be able to smell the second one. Cold dread gripped him, there was a good chance this wasn't something a few stitches and some bed rest could fix. He struggled pulling his hoodie and shirt over his head. Jeff helped him with it. "Thanks, man." he said, lowering his hands to keep applying pressure to both the entry and exit wounds. He looked at the jacket again and a peculiar thought came to him. Dad would be pissed if he saw what I'd done to his jacket. He thought about them again. Back home, waiting for him. He promised to come back, and now he might not. Bitter determination set in his expression as his eyes began stinging with the threat of tears. As if willing it so were enough he resolved not to die. I'm not done. |
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| Make-7-Up-Yours | Feb 24 2015, 01:53 PM Post #328 |
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Is that so?
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Randall had decided to finish looping around the hospital. They were already halfway around it, and it didn't hurt to make sure. A few more rotters had stood in their way, but Randall killed them while Maxwell visibly cringed at the sight. All together it was relatively uneventful, even his new associate had very little to say about much. Which Randall was entirely fine with. As they turned the final corner of the hospital, Randall took a good look at Maxwell and it became clear why he had hid in the dumpster. He was walking, but he had a very visible limp on his left foot. He wouldn't be able to escape from a wide open area like this very quickly in his current state. It was then that he heard a familiar voice call his name. "Randall!" He perked to attention, spinning his body towards the source of it. And sure enough, he saw a very familiar figure running toward him. A little bit of the despair and guilt he felt before was lifted from him. Eli was alive! Randall ran over to greet him. "Eli!? Thank God you're alive!" |
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| DoctorYerishi | Feb 24 2015, 07:52 PM Post #329 |
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Dude, wake up! We've got a world to save.
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Eli didn't smile -- there was still too much on his mind, and too much he blamed himself for -- but he did stop frowning when Randall got close. "Lucky for me, those guys got terrible aim," he said, before his eyes settled on the newcomer suspiciously. "Who's this?" |
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| Make-7-Up-Yours | Feb 24 2015, 11:32 PM Post #330 |
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Is that so?
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"Professor Maxwell J. Eastwood, at your service." The man introduced himself before Randall could answer. Randall rolled his eyes a little. "I found him hiding in a dumpster at the hospital. Apparently he was part of a group before they were killed by the same assholes we ran across. I checked him out already; all he had was a knife." "I would be quite appreciative if you- er... gentlemen, would return my weapon to me." Randall turned his head and the professor took a step back, waiting his arms innocently. "When you trust me, of course! I would never do anything so rash as to put a stain on our newly founded friendship!" |
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7:31 PM Jul 10