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| Dead Men Walking | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Nov 28 2014, 02:20 AM (70,851 Views) | |
| DoctorYerishi | Nov 21 2015, 04:02 AM Post #3376 |
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Dude, wake up! We've got a world to save.
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“Start again,” Alma said. Noah closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He was exasperated for a lot of reasons, and hearing the route spelled out over and over again made it all worse. Every time he heard it, it reminded him of how he never wanted to go there in the first place. “We’ve already gone through it twice,” he complained. “It’s a lot of letters and numbers,” Alma said. “One more time, so I remember.” They had already escaped the urban landscape of Salt Lake City. To the left and right was grass and trees, not a building in sight. They had yet to come to a stop for fear of being followed and attacked. Though if they were being followed, Noah hadn’t seen any sign of it – and that seemed too good to be true. It was just another thing that was putting him on edge. Lowell had found a map in the glove compartment. He found several maps, actually, depicting everything from Salt Lake City to the state to the country. He selected a road map that featured all the major highways from Utah to Mexico, and spread it out on the dashboard. He was still bleary-eyed from his hangover, but he was fighting through it and helping them choose a route to Sinaloa. Sinaloa, Noah thought unhappily. Our destination. “We’ll take the crossing in Nogales,” Lowell said, cringing through his headache. “First we gotta find the I-55 South,” Noah said with a sigh. “Right, yeah,” Lowell said. “Then route 15 in Burnside, then 1-40 West, exit at Holbrook, then left on AZ-77 South…” He squinted at the map and traced his finger along the route they agreed on. They figured it’d be the quickest way, and hopefully the path of least resistance when it came to both biters and people. “Right on US-60,” he continued. “It’s gonna get twisty, but after a while we’ll get on US-70, then take a right on 77. That goes right into Tuscon. Nogales is, like, right below it. Just gotta find a way onto the I-19 South and we’re golden.” Words like just and golden made Noah scoff. With him, nothing was just a matter of anything, and nothing had ever ended up golden. Not since he was a kid. Not since his mom died and he was left in the care of his bitter father, who dragged him around the country with him as he jumped from job to job, keeping him fed and sheltered not out of love, but obligation. There was a time, not long ago in the grand scheme of things, when Noah thought that meeting Lowell and Alma was an example of his luck changing. A best friend. A girlfriend. It seemed like his life had taken a turn for the better. And now look at us… he thought, feeling as bitter as his father must have been to have been saddled with him. He was hit by a pang of despair, as he realized he’d rather be anywhere else, but that he had nowhere else to go. “Yeah, sure,” he said. “Then we’ll be golden.” * * * The sun had started to dim, but Eli was afraid of turning on the headlights. Not that he even knew how to turn on the headlights. He probably could have figured it out, but he was worried if he did, then Lowell and his friends would see him coming. It was probably a silly worry, he knew. The sound would probably do that first, and there was nothing he could do about that. As far as worries went, it probably should have been near the bottom of his list. His very long list, which also included falling off the bike, or running into something, like an animal or a rotter. Also on the list was slowing down. He knew he couldn’t afford it, as much as his nerves screamed at him to do so. He told himself it would be better to wipe out than to give Lowell and his friends the distance they needed to disappear forever. Because at the top of the list – his most nagging, haunting worry – was not catching up to Kelsey at all. He knew the truck she was in was going in this direction. A couple times, he thought he heard its engine in the distance, and when he looked at the ground, he thought he saw the treads of the truck’s all-terrain tires. He could have been imagining it, he knew. But he hoped he wasn’t. He couldn’t let Randall down. Not again. * * * Holding an assault rifle, wearing a bulletproof vest, Connor felt even more ready for war. The gore-smeared bandanas and ponchos only added to the feeling. War probably smells bad, Connor figured. War probably smells like this. Besides, after escaping the warehouse in Chicago, and painting the cabin walls the rotter guts, he was used to it. More than used to it. He didn’t need Kelsey or anybody else to give him a pep talk this time. This time, he was going to prove himself once and for all. He blinked after the initial explosion, but quickly recovered. Now it really felt like war, he figured. He stuck close to Brandon and followed him to the upper floor of the office, then watched and waited as rotters began to swarm the RV. * * * Hank and Emmett sat up in the house. Hank, at least, tried to keep his dismay tempered as the fire from the nearby bush licked at his Winnebago. A minute ago, he and Emmett had finished stuffing Leonora’s slight frame into a closet, as per Brandon’s instructions. Afterwards, Emmett looked like he was ready to fall over. Still, he tried to retrieve a gun. Hank decided it was time to finally step in. “You need to lay down,” he said. “I’m good,” Emmett tried to argue. “Emmett – lay down,” Hank said. “You dying right now would be the opposite of helpful.” Emmett must have felt as bad as he looked, because he grudgingly nodded. Before he moved to take a spot on a nearby couch, however, he handed him a bottle of booze he had found in the back of the Winnebago’s fridge, while everyone was looting it in preparation for the fireworks. “Here,” he said simply. The bottle had a cloth stuffed into it. Emmett passed him a lighter next. Hank got the picture. “Make it count,” Emmett added, before taking a seat. It was getting dark out there, but in the firelight, Hank could see the growing number of biters clearly. They were starting to block out the RV. Then Hank heard the tell-tale sound of cars pulling up. He found himself holding his breath as they came into view. There were three of them. A gray sedan flanked by two black convertibles with their tops down. Hank counted heads – there were three in each convertible, and when the sedan stopped, four more got out. The guy with the scratchy voice, the one who threatened Brandon before letting him go was leading the way. Hank had never caught his name, but he was bald, bearded, and had murder in his eyes. “Get rid of them, but watch your fire,” he heard him say faintly. “Mother might be nearby.” Hank flinched as the men – 10 of them in total – obeyed that order. They started casually clearing the way of biters, who snarled back and tried to meet their attackers, but who couldn’t even get close. Hank’s heart started beating through his chest once again. His fingers trembled as he held the Molotov cocktail in one hand and a lighter in the other. Here it comes, the point of no return, Hank thought. He stared uneasily through the window he was hiding behind, over the couch he had dragged there for extra cover, like Brandon suggested. On my shot, let ‘em have it, he remembered Brandon saying. He waited for Brandon’s shot. |
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| Make-7-Up-Yours | Nov 21 2015, 05:03 AM Post #3377 |
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Is that so?
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Willow leaned her head forward and buried it in her hands. She heard Gregory's answer and followup question, but she didn't have much of a desire to answer him. She was hit with a wave of drowsiness. Not that she had emptied her stomach, her body started to blank out Gregory and anything he might have said and tired to shut itself down. It was only thanks to the constant nausea that she couldn't do just that. The whole experience was not unlike trying to sleep with a fever. Despite that, the next thing she knew, Willow was laying on the ground on her side, the right side of her head covered in the vomit she had left on the ground before. It took her brain a few seconds to catch up to what had just happened. Gross. She cringed. I'm a fucking mess... if he wasn't a backstabbing douchecanoe, he might have a point... about something? I think? How long was I out again? Gregory was still sitting nearby, looking at her and sitting in the same place he had been before. She couldn't have been out long in that case -- maybe she had only been out for a minute or two then. Either that, or he had absolutely nothing better to do with his time. They were still on the train and she was sure as hell still tired, so it obviously hadn't been long! But at least she was somewhat coherent now, even if she was still fighting off the sleepiness. She groaned and pulled her face out of her own puke as she sat back up. Then started trying to wipe her face and hair off with her hand. "I'm awake... I'm awake..." She tried to play everything off as cool but her glazed over expression would fail spectacularly at convincing anyone. "So, where were we? Oh, right, this place... no, this new dawn... the one you're leading humanity toward, or something..." Willow paused and took another couple of seconds to collect her still disjointed thoughts. She was trying to pick up the conversation where it left off; though she couldn't exactly remember where that had been. She had to wrack at her clouded brain for a few seconds before she could continue. "Is it worth becoming worse than the rotters for? Is it worth the lying? And the betrayal?" * * * * * The truck had been rumbling about for quite some time now. Normally, it would have given Kelsey time to think. Think about her brother. Think about what she was doing or where she was going. Think about how she had willingly separated herself from all the people she knew and cared about on a whim. But she didn't allow herself that luxury. Inside of her head, she was still blocking out everything. She kept them at bay with her own strategizing. The rifle she had found was an AR-15. It was a single shot, semi-automatic rifle that she had seen quite a few times before -- most prominently she knew it as the rifle Eli had used. Brandon had told her about it -- he really liked guns and had taught her a lot. Now was the time that his lessons were really going to come in handy. She wished Brandon was here. Or Nolan. The little girl shook her head violently; No! She could overhear Nolan's murderers talking in the cabin. They were planning out their route. There were a lot of numbered highways and routes that she had, understandably, never heard of before. But she tried committing as much of it to memory as she could. If she somehow managed to avenge her brother and survive, it might be good to know where she was. Then maybe she could make it back to the others. Like, maybe she could find a car and just drive back the way they came? Assuming they were still at Salt Lake City with those weird people. I hope they're all okay. No, of course they're okay! They're fine! A shudder quickly ran through Kelsey's body. She froze and held the gun tightly across her chest. She felt tears welling up in the back of her eyes. She grit her teeth and tried to bear through it all. Yeah... they're all just fine. Even Nolan. * * * * * Antonio inhaled sharply and tightened the grip on his pump action shotgun. The cultists had caught up to them. Of course they would follow them. And now he was finding himself at an impasse. Normally, he would never shoot to kill anyone. It was a line he had crossed only a few times, and those times were along ago. He regretted them. He had spent his entire life tempering that particular part of himself. And now here he was, hiding behind a concrete divider and waiting for a signal. If he didn't fire, his friends might die and the cure would truly be lost. Humanity would be lost. But if he did join in the firefight, he would be shooting to kill. He would be embracing a part of himself he had spent half his life trying to suppress. To run away from. Not only that, he would be betraying God by committing the grievous sin of murder. But was it truly murder to murder a murderer in self defense? Was this even self defense? The morals and logistics, the black and the white, it was blending together into a sickly gray. Antonio did not know what to do with gray. While the moral dilemma played out in his head, his heart already knew what he was going to do. His hands were on the shotgun. His finger was on the trigger. If it came down to his friends and the cure or a group of crazed cultists... the decision was an easy one to make. |
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| DoctorYerishi | Nov 21 2015, 05:32 AM Post #3378 |
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Dude, wake up! We've got a world to save.
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Gregory handed Willow a towel. Brother Luis had returned with several of them a while ago, and Greg had already used one to clean up the puddle of bile on the floor. All that remained was the mess Willow still had on her face. Greg had opted against cleaning that, since it served as such a potent reminder of her state, and the choices that had led her there. “It is,” he answered her query with a nod, and without hesitation. “The Church of the New Dawn is worth that and more.” * * * “I’m pretty hungry,” Alma said. “There’s food in the back,” Noah said. “Tons of it,” Lowell said. “I told you – this thing is stacked.” Noah frowned. He thought about the lives they had to take to get the truck. “Cool,” Alma said. “Then pull over, I’ll go get some.” Noah frowned a bit deeper. She was actually a little too casually for his taste. After all the bloodshed, he thought the mood deserved to be a bit heavier. “We shouldn’t stop just yet,” he said. “They could still be following us.” “Fuck, dude, we’ve already left the city,” Lowell said. “If they were on us, we’d know it by now. Alma’s right, let’s eat.” “Not yet,” Noah stared forward from behind the wheel. Alma leaned over the divider between the two seats. “It’ll just take a second,” she promised. “I’ll be quick. Plus, I need to pee.” “Not now,” Noah repeated. “You want me to go back here?” Alma raised an eyebrow. Lowell groaned. He had closed his eyes and was massaging his forehead. “Just fuckin’ pull over,” he said. “She said she’ll be quick.” The nagging had its intended effect, and Noah bitterly switched gears. Alma leaned back happily as the heavy truck came to a lumbering stop. “Thank you,” Alma said. “Hurry up,” Noah responded, not looking back. He heard the door open, then watched in the side view as his ex-girlfriend climbed out of the backseat, landed awkwardly, and held out the arm that wasn’t in a cast for balance. Eventually, she started moving. Noah looked away when she disappeared behind the trailer. He listened to the metal clanking of the doors being swung open. * * * Where are you Kelsey? For Eli, that thought was the only thing louder thought than the wind in his ears, and the pounding of his heart as he struggled valiantly to stay balanced on the speeding bike. He was moving fast now. Far faster than he was comfortable with. One wrong move and he would be road kill. It’s a good thing he was invincible. Where the fuck are you? |
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| Make-7-Up-Yours | Nov 21 2015, 05:52 AM Post #3379 |
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Is that so?
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Now armed with something more sufficient than her hand, Willow was able to clean off her face. It wasn't much, but even this small activity helped keep her awake and focused. Of course, what she really wanted was some cold water and a dose of the painkillers that Gregory had thrown out the window. Thankfully she had some more in her bag -- she was well prepared for something like this. The bag that was back at Salt Lake City with the crazy cultists. God fucking dammit. "The Church of the New Dawn? Sounds like something out of World of Warcraft. Or your pick of whatever other generic fantasy universe is out there." Willow rolled her eyes and mused flatly. "Look... I think you guys would have plenty of success without resorting to kidnapping and brainwashing people. You're just setting yourselves up for failure in the long run with that business plan." * * * * * Kelsey did not need to force back her emotions for long. Shortly after, the truck rolled to a quick stop following a heated discussion in the cabin. Instinctively, she dropped everything on her mind and pointed the gun toward the back door. And then she waited in a silence so heavy, she wasn't even sure if she was breathing or not. After the world's shortest eternity passed by, the door of the trailer was open and the dim evening light flowed inside. She couldn't see who the figure at the back was, but based off their words, it should be Alma. The girl that pointed the gun at Emily. BANG! BANG! BANG! Three times she pulled the trigger at the shadow. |
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| Strompy | Nov 21 2015, 06:37 AM Post #3380 |
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More posts, more Busey.
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Brandon had awkwardly managed to move some filing cabinets under the windows they were using to shoots from. He had broken out in a cold sweat. As he prepared to take his shot. It wasn't the first time he'd killed somebody, and it wouldn't be the last he was sure. He also wasn't afraid he'd be killed, though of course he didn't want that to happen. He'd been in a lot of fights now, he wasn't nervous for his own safety anymore. It was Connor and the danger he was in that had him on edge. Just one stray bullet and... the idea was too painful to even allow in his head. He looked to his side at the kid. He looked determined, maybe even a little nervous, but obviously determined. "I'm taking out baldy. Find your target, keep on him and then when I fire don't hesitate. He's your enemy, he took your mom, he wants you dead, he has to die." Brandon said, though he felt he didn't really need to remind him. He let out a slow steady breath, lined baldy's head up and put a bullet between his eyes. BANG |
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| DoctorYerishi | Nov 21 2015, 06:40 AM Post #3381 |
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Dude, wake up! We've got a world to save.
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“Got it,” Connor said, his voice firm. He narrowed his eyes and took a deep breath. He braced his arm against a filing cabinet for stability, and wrapped his fingers around the foregrip, just like Brandon advised. He found his target. One of baldy’s many friends. He blinked when Brandon fired, but then opened his eyes real wide. BANG! Brandon didn’t lie. The AR15 had a bigger kick than he was used to. His shot still tore through his target’s upper chest. Brandon, meanwhile, had felled the bald, bearded guy in one. The bad guy’s count was two less. Connor kept firing, eager to make the count zero. * * * Hank heard the first shot, and saw the first one of Leonora’s men go down. That was the point of no return he was waiting for. He lit the cocktail and cringed one last time, before aiming and tossing it out the window. He played baseball in high school, and used to help Ruby practice her softball pitch, back when life was normal. He called on those skills now. They answered. The flaming bottle landed near his RV and fire burst out in all directions. The closest of Leonora’s men to the vehicle cried out in surprised anguish as they felt the heat. Hank watched them long enough to feel sick, and then retrieved his firearm. As soon as he could, he took aim and made himself even sicker. * * * Greg again smiled patiently at Willow’s barbs. He held out another clean towel from the pile Luis had provided. “Again, do you really think yourself the best person to judge?” he asked. “And take this – you’re sweating.” Again, he figured that proved his point. “There was a time I would have thought it was silly too,” he continued. “The notion of a God, of a prophet. At first glance, I admit, it seems, uh…” It took him a second to think of the word. “Ludicrous,” he said, finally. “But the evidence is all around you. The Bishop saw all this coming. He formed the New Dawn years ago. He found me and redeemed my soul, like he has so many others. The brothers that you have already met – they’re just the tip of the, uh, the proverbial iceberg. There are more of us, and as I told you before, our numbers are growing all the time. And they will keep growing.” He smiled again, a little wider. “Because like I’ve been telling you, the Bishop was ready for this. He had food, and fuel, and arms to spare. We were growing, finding it, taking it from those less deserving even before the first fallen rose from his grave. With our stockpile, we can keep these trains running for months. We will keep finding people, or they will keep finding us. We’ll welcome the believers. And when it comes to non-believers like yourself, we will change your minds.” He stood up, excited by his own words. “Don’t you see, everyone has a purpose? Everyone has a role to play in the new future. Women too – women especially. In their wombs, they will bear the fruit of the next generation. The better generation. You may not understand now, but you will. You will be proud. You’ll help build a better future.” He stood tall over her, his excitement not diminishing. “It will require sacrifice, of course,” he said. “I understand your friends killed some of my brothers back in the city. That’s regrettable, but I know it is all part of the Lord’s plan. As are the souls that refuse to be redeemed. You say we should only recruit the eager, but that would be cruel. It’s our duty to save every soul we can. When the great war comes, and we truly claim the new dawn for the church, those yet unsaved will be consigned to a fiery lake of burning sulphur. Wouldn’t you rather you be spared that fate, if you could?” * * * Eli heard what sounded like gunshots. They were coming from the south, from the direction he was already headed. He didn’t think his heart could beat any harder than it already was, but there it went. This was it. He had no proof, but he knew it in his gut. This was what he’d been waiting for. The wind howled even louder as he zoomed forward. * * * Noah was tapping his fingers on the steering wheel when the shots rang out. The sound made him freeze. He forgot his impatience and annoyance. Suddenly, all he felt was terror. “Alma?!” he yelled. He reached for his gun and jumped out the front seat. Beside him, Lowell’s eyes had bolted open, and he was doing the same thing. When he hit the ground, Noah looked back. He saw Alma stumbling into sight. She was bent over and clutching her stomach with her good hand. Noah’s own stomach dropped when he saw the blood, spilling too fast for her hand to contain it. He drew his stolen gun and ran forward. A feeling of desperation overtook him. She has to be okay, he thought. After everything we’ve been though, she has to be okay. He reached her, then looked up and pointed his gun in the direction she had stumbled from. There was nothing there. “The… the back…” Alma murmured. She was staring down into her stomach. She looked more confused than pained. Noah didn't understand. “She’s… she’s in the back…” Alma said. Noah looked at her. He wrapped a hand around her back, keeping her standing. He blinked in confusion. Wait, he thought. 'She…?' |
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| Make-7-Up-Yours | Nov 21 2015, 07:03 AM Post #3382 |
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Is that so?
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Willow narrowed her eyes and glared daggers at Gregory. The very idea that they thought were doing her a favor was enough to light the fire up in her again. He legitimately thought that all of this was doing her a favor!? "No, cruel is kidnapping people and trying to kill them after they save your life." She reminded him of their initial meeting. "Cruel is drugging them and forcing them to be your sex slaves. Your bullshit religion and your con artist cult leader are more cruel than any of the rotters I've ever seen. I'd take the lake of sulfur any day of the week." * * * * * This is it. Antonio consoled himself solemnly. He was not looking forward to this. But he couldn't back down from the responsibility he had to his friends to carry through with this. When the gunshots rang out, he poked his head above the concrete divider, readied his shotgun in the direction of the first cultist he saw, and then pulled the trigger. The resounding boom was followed by the man blown off his feet. Antonio's heart ached at the sight. * * * * * "YOU KILLED NOLAN!" Kelsey screamed as loudly as she could. Don't stop! A small voice in the back of her head reminded her to keep going. These people shot Nolan -- that was undeniable fact. And they didn't even seem to care. BANG! BANG! BANG! |
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| Strompy | Nov 21 2015, 11:05 AM Post #3383 |
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More posts, more Busey.
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It was a massacre. Within only a few seconds several of their number were dead or dying. With gunfire coming at them from multiple angles they had no cover. To compound the terror of the situation their leadership was dead and one of them was on fire. It was absolute chaos. For them. From the opposite side of the encounter things were coldly calculated. Emily poured it on them from the opposite side of the street from Antonio. There were so many different threats to process they couldn't provide much more in return than a panicked spray in any direction. Being the first to fire, it was Brandon and Connors position that got the attention of two of them. Bullets tore into the ceiling as they fired up at their position, shattering lights and peppering the office with holes. Brandon grabbed Connor as pulled him firmly back and toward the ground. He didn't need to really as Connor's own instincts naturally told him to avoid getting shot. "Next position, stay low." Brandon said pointing to another window. He kept a hand on Connor's back and followed him as the both scurried away to their next firing position. He knew Connor didn't need to be physically guided around like that, but for some reason it made Brandon feel better. |
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| DoctorYerishi | Nov 21 2015, 05:35 PM Post #3384 |
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Dude, wake up! We've got a world to save.
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Gregory’s smile faded just a tiny bit. Willow’s ‘bullshit religion’ and ‘con artist cult leader’ comments had hacked just a little chink in Gregory’s armour. It was enough that, for a moment, he couldn’t mask his tinge of annoyance. “I suppose that’s what makes us holy,” he said. “We try to save even those who don’t want saving.” He summoned his smile again to full force and took a seat. “You should try to get some sleep,” he advised. “Your symptoms will get worse before they get better.” * * * Kelsey’s scream sent Noah’s mind spinning. Nolan’s little sister was standing right in front of him. She had a rifle. She had shot Alma. She seemed crazed. Noah raised his pistol. He wasn’t sure if he was going to pull the trigger. Before he could decide, Kelsey decided for him. She fired first. Her rifle barked ferociously three times, and he felt a bullet dig into the outside of his shoulder. He dropped his gun and cried out in pain. His instincts turned from flight to fight. With the hand around Alma’s waist, he dragged her away, around the corner of the truck, and back towards the cabin. He needed to get Alma inside. He needed to get her out of here. * * * Lowell’s head hurt. It hurt a lot. It even hurt to think. Did those gunshots come from those cultists back in Salt Lake? Had they been followed without realizing it? Was this a new threat, maybe someone hiding in the tree-line? Maybe something else? As unlikely as it seemed, was someone waiting in the back of the truck? He thought he heard noises, but this truck made a lot of noises, so it didn’t seem concerning. Was it? Had he fucked up – any more than he already had, that is? Lowell didn’t have the answer to any of those questions, and every time he asked himself one, he flinched. He stopped asking. It didn’t matter what the problem was. It just needed to die. He rounded the corner of the truck and raised his pistol, ready to make that happen. He found himself aiming over her head. Her? he asked, and the question came with another ache in his head. She had a big gun, and she was firing at Alma and Noah. It looked like she had drawn some blood. Maybe a lot of blood. Kelsey, Lowell realized, and even the realization aggravated his hangover. She was Nolan’s younger sister. She must have been close when he revealed himself out the jail. She must have hopped into the back of the truck before they took off. That was a mistake. Lowell lowered his pistol – the same one he had used earlier that day to kill her brother. He aimed for the back of her head. VROOOOM! He heard a motorcycle coming, and the roar of its engine sent more shockwaves in his head. He cringed and turned to look for it. His eyes found it just a little farther down the street. The fact that it was coming for him was confusing. The rider was downright inexplicable. Lowell recognised his bald head. Eli!? * * * Eli gripped the handles of the bike with one hand. With the other, he drew and raised his new pistol. Both hands squeezed. One the handbrake, the other the trigger. BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! The scene in front of him had materialized suddenly, and was still unclear. At first glance, the most he could make out was that the truck had stopped for some reason, gunfire had been exchanged, and now Lowell was aiming down his barrel at Kelsey’s back. That was more than enough context for him. He let loose in Lowell’s direction. His shots went wide – far wide – but they startled Lowell into backing off. He pivoted around the truck and aimed his pistol at Eli instead. BLAM! BLAM! BLAM Lowell’s shots went just as wide. Eli squeezed harder on the brakes, trying to slow down, trying to make it a fairer fight. That turned out to be a mistake. His sudden attempt at braking led him into a wobble. First, to the right. He tried to compensate by leaning to the left. Suddenly, he was rewarded with a weightless feeling. Then the world started spinning. He heard the bike hit the ground, saw sparks fly from the road. Then he saw the sky, then the ground, then the sky, then the ground. He didn’t know how many times he rolled over, total, before he stopped on his stomach. He didn’t know how injured he was. All he knew was that he was still alive, and Kelsey was still in danger. He pushed himself up and onto his knees. The rifle he stole was still slung over his shoulders. It had dug into his side the couple times he hit the ground and hadn’t fell off. Dizzily, he grabbed the grip and raised the barrel. He found he was aiming forward, at the back of the truck and the people gathered around it. Lowell was staring back at him. Eli didn’t have a lot of time to study his expression, but if he had to describe it at first glance, he would say Lowell looked shocked. And maybe a little bit amazed. BANGBANGBANGBANG! Eli started firing, and Lowell’s expression turned to fear. The kid ducked and started scurrying back towards the cabin of his stolen truck. Eli raised a knee, got a foot on the ground. He tried to lift himself up and stand. Somehow, he succeeded. He was on his feet. BANGBANGBANG! He fired from the hip and started walking. Lowell fumbled for the passenger’s side door with one hand. With his other, he fired back blindly. BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! Eli was high on adrenaline. He didn’t even flinch. He just kept walking forward and squeezing the trigger. BANGBANGBANG! His shots obliterated the rear view mirror on Lowell’s side of the truck, but missed Lowell himself. Then Lowell had the door open, and could use it as cover. BANGBANGBANG! Eli’s shot’s thudded into the door. He saw and heard the metal absorb them. As soon as he let up, Lowell appeared from behind cover, only to disappear again by diving into the seat. Eli squeezed the trigger with renewed fury, making up for the lapse. BANGBANGBANG! * * * Leonora awoke from her nightmare to the sound of gunshots, and the sight of nothing. All around her was black. Her head was beating like it was a drum. It felt as bad as her shoulder. It felt like she had been drinking all night, and was waking up in the morning to the consequences – which was impossible, because she hadn’t had a sip, not since she had met the Bishop and he had shown her she didn’t need it. More concerning was the black. She didn’t know why she couldn’t see. She tried looking around, then she tried moving around, and found she couldn’t – not really, anyway, not without hitting something. A wall maybe? Then she remembered the gunshots, which was equally concerning. They sounded close. Who is shooting? Are they shooting at me? Where am I? She had so many questions. The faded memories of the nightmare she had interrupted made it hard to find answers. Her arms were behind her back. She tried again to move them, and this time she heard the clink of metal as her handcuffs refused to let her. With that sound, it all came rushing back. The chaos back at the depot, the failed collections, her kidnapping… I wasn’t dreaming, she realized. She remembered that the bolts of pain striking her head weren’t from a hangover. They were from Brandon. She had threatened him, he had hit her suddenly. And then… and then? She didn’t know, but she needed to find out. Panic threatened to overwhelm her, but she thought back to the Bishop, and the lessons he had taught her and his men. It took all the resolve she had, but she was able to slow down her heart and control her breathing. She focused. With the return of her senses, she realized she was in a closet. Her eyes adjusted and she could just barely see the hems of the jackets and shirts hanging from the rack above her. Around her, she identified which three sides were walls, and which was the door. The gunshots kept coming. When she listened close, she could hear the screams that went with them. Her panic flared and she had to wrestle it back under control. She struggled onto her feet – and it was a struggle, since she didn’t have the use of her hands. She braced herself, mentally and physically, then threw her shoulder – the uninjured one – into the door. It bent, but sent her rebounding into the closet. She recovered, then tried again, flinging herself at the door even harder. It bent a little more, but threw her back a little more violently. Again, she resolved, and then she went for it. She got the same result. She realized the gunshots were disguising the noise she was making – a blessing from the Lord, if there ever was one. She prayed to Him that neither Brandon nor his men be waiting outside the door for her. She prayed for a chance. Just a chance. She vowed to make the most of it. She told God if she escaped with her life, she would make amends for how badly she had failed overseeing the depot. She would rebuild, she promised. She would do everything in her power to make the Church of the New Dawn even stronger. She would whatever it takes. All she needed to do was make it back. There were medics at the depot, and a fully furnished clinic set up in what used to be a meditation centre. They would not have joined in the fighting. They would still be there, busily tending to the wounded Brandon and his cadre of damned souls had left in their wake. They could tend to her, too. They could give her the second chance she needed to set things right. She gritted her teeth, readied her bruising shoulder, and tried once more. * * * The fire spread to the RV, growing hotter and more intense as it went on. It lit Leonora’s men in shades of red, yellow, and orange – making them easy targets for Brandon and his makeshift army to pick off. Hank was part of that army. He had to do his part. He didn’t like it, but that was how it was. He aimed his Beretta out the window and at the cultists. He reminded himself that they had come to do the same thing to them. He reminded himself that they might do the same thing to his family, unless he could get to them first. One of the men’s sleeves had caught fire. He was waving it wildly, trying to put it out. Hank put him out instead, with a lucky shot to the head, the kind that would have downed a biter. Then there was another fierce volley of fire from Brandon and Connor’s position, and the remainder of the men were cut down. The return fire stopped. The fight was pretty much over, if you could call it a fight. All that was left, that Hank could see, were the cultists that failed to die right away. The ones rolling on the ground, on fire or gut-shot, or both. He felt his sickness rising through his throat. He couldn’t hold it back any more and didn’t have to. He turned away from the window and heaved. |
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| Strompy | Nov 21 2015, 11:00 PM Post #3385 |
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More posts, more Busey.
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It was done. Between them all in matter of seconds ten men were dead or dying. Brandon lowered his carbine and let himself breathe for a few moments, then gave Connor a checking over. He was fine, physically at least. He carefully removed his poncho and bandanna and let them fall to the ground with a squelch. "Time to clean up." he declared as he shouldered his carbine again. He walked out amongst the litter of dead rotters. He came across three men who were still hanging onto life. Each met him with a different expression. The first was understandably angry, even as he struggled to breath through the blood in his lungs that choked whatever he mouthed at Brandon he tried to raise his weapon. Brandon drew the Supergrade and like doing a chore put a bullet through his head. The next one was severely wounded, but he might have made it with medical attention. He raised his hand as if to ask for more time, just a few more moments of agonizing life. Brandon would have allowed it, maybe even felt compared to save him, to give him another chance if only the situation were different. Instead he shot him in the head. The third had no hate or plea in his eyes for him. He just looked at Brandon for a moment and then up at the sky as if in total acceptance. Brandon wondered why, then shot him in the head. Afterward he began going through their belongings, finding a few extra reloads for their weapons as well as two AKMs with a couple reloads. More guns were always good. Brandon also found a pack of cigarettes and wondered if Leonora and her Bishop would approve of that little vice. He helped himself to them and lit one, it helped take a bit of the edge off his stress. This is a bad example to set for Connor. he thought and felt a pang of guilt, which seemed strange considering Connor had just killed somebody. That was all he felt. He didn't feel anything for the men he killed either before or the ones he just put down. There was no satisfaction in any of it. No guilt, or anger or remorse. It felt like killing rotters. He had become completely used to killing people now. Was that even a problem anymore? |
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| Make-7-Up-Yours | Nov 22 2015, 12:37 AM Post #3386 |
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Is that so?
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When the gunfire finally ceased and all of Leonora's men lay dead or dying, Antonio merely lowered his weapon and hid back behind the divider he had used as cover. Brandon and some of the others were already starting to clear out any survivors and look for supplies. But Antonio did not feel like joining them. * * * * * "Heh... you're so delusional." Willow remarked with pained amusement. She knew she was playing with fire right now. It was a dangerous game. But if what he said was true, then a lot of her friends might really be dead. Even Brandon might be dead, as much as she hated to even consider the thought. A part of her was actually okay with being shot right now. If he lost his temper and ended her, that would probably be okay with her. It wasn't like she was in any condition to keep fighting anymore. Not without her drugs. * * * * * She clipped Noah with one of her shots, but her aim for the second volley had been off. The gun had a lot more kick than anything she was used to. She was able to secure the gun for the first shots against Alma and score some good hits on her, but when Noah appeared she didn't have the same luxury. That and her shoulder was killing her since it had been taking the full force of the recoil while being supported by a heavy box. Just when she was preparing for someone else to attack, gunfire rang out all over the place. Eli had shown up randomly on a motorcycle and shots were being fired back and forth. Unsure of what was going on, she hid behind another nearby box and squeezed herself close to the ground. |
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| DoctorYerishi | Nov 22 2015, 08:09 AM Post #3387 |
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Dude, wake up! We've got a world to save.
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“So you’ve said,” Gregory replied, maintaining his normal smile that time. “You should rest. At least stay hydrated. You’re in for a rough ride. You know I’m not delusional about that, at least.” He gestured to the water bottle near her seat, which Luis had fetched with the towels, and which Willow had been sipping at since she woke up. Then he started to stand, but stopped. The urge to continue the argument nagged at his mind. He wanted to make Willow understand. A high-pitched whistle interrupted his thinking, followed by an even higher pitched screaming of metal. He knew what it meant. The train was coming to a stop. But it was far too soon, and far too sudden. It didn’t make sense. He stood for real and exited the booth, his eyes alight. He pointed to Brother Luis. “Watch her,” he instructed. He moved past Luis and up the aisle urgently. Soon he transitioned into the next compartment. He kept going, stopping only when the sudden braking caused him to trip and grab a nearby chair for balance. When he recovered, he hastily continued along his journey to the front, where the controls were. He needed to know why they were stopping. He knew the news could only be bad. * * * Noah arrived at the driver’s side door. He had to quickly rest Alma against the wheel to get it open – with the bullet in his shoulder, it hurt too much to reach that high with his good arm. He managed it with his other one instead, and then leaned over to help Alma inside first. More gunshots were ringing out, and a moment ago, Noah heard a motorcycle. A few moments later, he recognized the staccato barking of another assault rifle. He knew it wasn’t good news. Alma was mumbling. Noah couldn’t make out what she was saying, so he concentrated on helping her up and into the cabin. By the time he got her into the middle seat, his hands were damp with blood, almost none of it his own. He wasn’t doing great himself. His new wound screamed in agony from the effort it took to grab the wheel. He cringed, and when he opened his eyes, finally, he took a beat to regard his wet fingers with horror. It was a beat he didn’t have, and Lowell was quick to remind him. “Drive!” his friend urged, moments after diving into his seat. “Drive, drive, drive!” So Noah did. He turned the keys and slammed down on the pedal. The wheels spun in place for a moment before finding traction, and the truck surged forward, burning rubber onto the street below it. Gunfire continued to rattle into the truck as they drove off. * * * Eli kept firing, even as the truck started moving, swerving unsteadily at first before bolting forward in a straight line. His bullets bounced harmlessly off the armoured trailer, but he didn’t dare lay off the pressure. Lowell and his friends dead would be best, but Lowell and his friends gone would work just as well in a pinch. As long as Kelsey was safe. Soon after, the truck disappeared down the road, and Eli’s trigger squeezing was rewarded with an impotent click, signalling the end of his magazine. At that point, Eli was finally able to exhale – to really exhale. He savoured the breath in his lungs and peered down at himself to study the damage. There was barely any. His pants were ripped up, his arms were scratched to shit, but that was about the sum of it. He rolled his shoulders, lifted both his feet, feeling for the tell-tale pain that came with broken bones. The pain never materialized. Bruised? Definitely. Broken? Nope. He couldn’t help but smile. There wasn’t a whole lot to feel happy about right now, but he couldn’t help it. He had made it through that wipe out in one piece. He couldn’t say he had made it through without a scratch, but he could say he made it through without much more. I really am invincible, he thought. His next thought was of Kelsey – and where the hell did she run off to? Foolishly, he had taken his eyes off her in the scuffle. Had she hitched another ride? Did he just lose her again? “Kelsey?” he yelled, looking around desperately. “Kelsey!?” * * * Hank wiped his mouth clean with his sleeve and forced himself to look up. He found himself staring past the dead bodies, and instead at his trailer. It had been shot to hell in the crossfire, just like Andy’s Jeep had been back at the Swett ranch. And now the wreckage was on fire. There was definitely no going back. I hope Brandon was right about this, he thought. After half a minute, Hank sighed and looked away. He hauled himself back to his feet, holstered his pistol, and returned to Emmett. He was still lying on the couch. He was awake, but his eyes were closed and his breath was shallow. “Is it… is it done?” he asked, opening his eyes as if sensing Hank’s presence. “It’s over,” Hank confirmed. “I made it count.” “...good,” Emmett said, after a pause. “Hang in there,” Hank said. “We’re gonna get Annie back. She’s gonna know what to do. Just... I’ll get Leonora.” Emmett gave him a small nod, and Hank headed back to the closet they had stashed the vile woman – the one ultimately responsible for the hell that he was living through right now. He thought if anybody deserved to die today, it was her. Now he had already crossed that line. He wondered if he could bring himself to cross it again for her. He was ashamed to feel like he wanted to. He stopped in place when he arrived at the closet. The door was open, she was no longer inside. It took Hank a moment to absorb that information. He had to ask himself how that was possible. She was knocked out, after all. She was handcuffed. How?! He started running around. He quickly found a backdoor to the house, and found that it was unlocked. He opened it and looked around, his vision obscured by the setting sun. There was no sign of her. He ran a little down the street, looking left and right frantically. He didn’t think a woman with handcuffs should be hard to spot. But he didn’t know how long she was gone, and there were a lot of places she could hide if that’s what she was doing. “Fuck,” he cursed out loud. He had to turn around. He re-approached Brandon and some of the others out in the middle of the street. They were standing around a street full of bodies, including the rotters Leonora’s men had cut down before the ambush. Despite their victory, Hank was frowning. “Leonora’s gone,” he announced, not bothering with the preamble. “She got out somehow… I don’t know.” |
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| Make-7-Up-Yours | Nov 22 2015, 04:45 PM Post #3388 |
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Is that so?
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Willow furled her brow, but did nothing else as Gregory left. The train is stopping? Are we already there? * * * * * "I'm here." Kelsey emerged from a nearby brush off the side of the road. During the exchange, she had slipped out of the back of the truck to find a better position. Unfortunately, it was quickly proven to be a bad idea. Rather than take the fight, Lowell and Noah opted to run and drove off before she could get any good shots off. That left Eli in the middle of the road alone. He was her only shot of catching up. "Lowell is getting away." She told him flatly. "We can't lose him now." |
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| Strompy | Nov 22 2015, 10:15 PM Post #3389 |
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More posts, more Busey.
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Panic gripped Brandon as Hank's worss echoed in his head. The cigarette fell from his hand. His stomach churned and his heart beat thundered as he stared at Hank for a moment. The stunned moment passed and Brandon could act again. "Shit!" he screamed. Immediately he started making his way to the cars Leonora's men had arrived in. "Hank you're with me. Emily and Andy you take the other convertible, we're the search party. Antonio, Emmett and Connor are in the sedan, you go to the gas station we passed a couple miles back and wait for us there. If you see her shoot her again if you have to but don't let her get away. We look for half an hour, if we can't find her then I'll think of something else." he said as he limped his way to one of the convertibles. Think of something else. That simple? You should have sedated her. You stupid fuck. You've fucked us! You've killed them! he cursed himself. |
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| DoctorYerishi | Nov 23 2015, 02:43 AM Post #3390 |
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Dude, wake up! We've got a world to save.
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“I just saved our asses,” Brother Jesse said, pointing forward. “More importantly, I just saved this train’s ass. You know the kind of manpower it would have taken to clean up that kind of mess, if I didn’t get that bad feeling I just got?” Jesse was a railroad engineer before the fall. The Bishop, as prophetic as he was, foresaw the need for people with his kind of skills. When he was touring, he had made sure to get flyers for his church into the hands of a great many of his colleagues from all over the country. Gregory had personally gotten the word out to a few in Jesse’s position back in those days. Of course, not many of their targets attended, and even fewer joined the congregation. But the Bishop only needed a couple to see the light, because he knew they could train the others. And his plot had worked. Jesse was one of the originals. He was older than most of the Bishop’s army, and less devout. Gregory strongly suspected he was more excited by the training and doomsday preparation than he was by their faith. He was also probably attracted by the food and protection that came along with being part of “the winning team,” as he sometimes called the New Dawn. “Language, brother,” Gregory chastised him anyway. The Bishop kept him around because he was useful and obedient, even if he wasn’t a true believer. Gregory would still prefer if he acted like it, however, at least around him. “Okay, sure, sorry,” Jesse said. “But look.” He pointed forward again. Gregory’s gaze followed his finger, and then frowned when he reached the end of it. He found himself staring at the front of another train. It was one of theirs, he recognized the branding. But he didn’t know what it was doing there. “How did this happen?” he asked. Jesse scratched at his graying hair. “Beats me,” he said. “It shouldn’t have. We own this track all day today. That’s the schedule we worked out.” “We should check it out,” Gregory said. “Uh-huh, I think that’s the next natural step,” Jesse remarked. “But I should probably wait here, right?” Jesse was technically in charge of him – as the engineer on the train, his word was supposed to be final, at least while they were in transit. Gregory wanted to reprimand him for his cowardice and insist he come along. Instead, Gregory just frowned. “I’ll get the others,” he said. “Signal if there’s a problem.” Jesse raised an eyebrow. “If there’s another problem, you mean?” Gregory resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes, brother. That’s what I mean.” * * * Luis remained in his passenger compartment, guarding Willow. Jesse remained in the power car. The rest of the men aboard the train – four total, including Gregory – double-checked their weapons before disembarking. They moved in rehearsed formation, one of them aware of every angle, as they carefully made their way to the other train ahead of them. It was dark out now, and the temperature was below freezing. To counteract those natural forces, Gregory and his team wore coats and carried flashlights. They approached the train with trepidation. Gregory, at least, kept his finger near the trigger of his rifle. Something was very off about this scenario, and until he understood what, he would remain ready for anything. On his last mission in the field, he had gotten stranded and trapped in a home surrounded by fallen. He wasn’t going to let himself make a similar mistake this time. They approached the front of the car first, shining their flashlight through the window. They couldn’t see through the glass. They tested the door, found it unlocked. They entered like a SWAT team, quick and methodical, making sure to account for all their blind spots. The power car was empty. Gregory shined his flashlight on all four corners of the room and found nothing and nobody, living or fallen. “Clear,” one of his men said. “Look,” said another. Everyone did. He was shining his flashlight on the dashboard, on a smear of dried blood that went across the screen full of dials. Gregory frowned. If he wasn’t’ sure there was a problem here before, he was now. The air suddenly felt heavier and harder to swallow. “Keep going,” he said. They did. The baggage cart was next; they entered and scanned it just as efficiently. They found it empty. “Clear,” someone said. Empty wasn’t good. The train’s supplies should have been in here – all the crew’s food, water, bedding and other essentials they’d need for the trip should be piled high, along with all the extras they’d need if there was an emergency. A dark feeling was cast over Gregory’s mind. An unwelcome sense of what might have happened here started nagging at the back of his head. He didn’t want to go on, but did anyway. “Go,” he said. When they opened the next door, the one leading into the sleeper compartment, where the crew would have bunked, he had to fight back the urge to vomit. There were times he thought the Bishop had taught him to master his fear. Then there were times like this. There was more blood – so much of it, as much as Gregory had ever seen in one place. It stained the floor and the walls alike. It was like they had come in with buckets of plasma and just started flinging them around. The smell of copper was overwhelming, even more noxious than the smell of decay that came with all the bodies. And there were a lot of bodies. All of them brothers. Gregory couldn’t count how many, however, among the tangle of arms and legs. They hadn’t just been killed, they had been slaughtered. They had been hacked to pieces, their arms and legs severed and thrown around at random. Now, it meant most of them couldn’t stand. The ones that could move at all – stirred by Gregory’s appearance into action – simply crawled along the red-brown floor in their direction. Gregory knew who did this. There was only one possible explanation, and the notion striked terror and hate into his heart. “Ghosts,” Gregory said, his voice low and dry. He had to look away. The carnage was too much to bear. Around him, his four men shuffled in place, just as disturbed, just as devastated by the loss. Gregory steeled himself – it wasn’t easy, but he ran through the Bishop’s sermons into his head until they inspired the necessary resolve and courage. He looked up. “Their souls need liberation,” he said. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and drew a knife. He said a silent prayer, held his breath, and then waded forward. * * * Andy followed Brandon to the three cars they had won in the ambush. He hesitated before climbing in, though. Half an hour seemed to him like too long a time. It seemed to him half an hour too long. “Woah, Brandon, Brandon, Brandon,” he said, holding up a meaty hand, trying to calm him. “What’s the issue? It sucks that she got out, but she’s alone, she’s handcuffed, she’s probably disoriented. What's she gonna do?” He followed Brandon to one of the two black convertibles that had been left behind. He kept pleading his case. “Seems to me like a problem the biters are just as likely to solve for us,” he added. “And even if she beats the odds, so what? It’s gonna take her more’n an hour to get back from here. By the time she does, we’ll be long gone. Thanks to these beauties…” He pointed to the convertible they were standing beside. “And thanks to you,” he added, giving Brandon his due. Andy had been sceptical of the ambush idea beforehand, but he couldn’t deny the results. Standing over one of the cars, he could see it was nearly fully fuelled. He guessed the others would indicate the same thing. Leonora’s men probably didn’t want to risk running out of gas on their precious rescue mission. “Ambush first, then rescue, remember?” he prompted. “Leave her. We got a train to catch.” With that, he looked around the area for support, including at Antonio. * * * Eli smiled again in relief when Kelsey revealed herself. So no, she didn’t hitch another ride, he thought. She was safe. I’m alive, and she’s safe. It was the best result he could have hoped for. “You scared the shit out of me – and everyone else,” Eli said, approaching her. “What were you even thinking?” |
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7:27 PM Jul 10