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Dead Men Walking
Topic Started: Nov 28 2014, 02:20 AM (71,031 Views)
Make-7-Up-Yours
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Is that so?
"Th-thanks..." Maxwell accepted the weapon hesitantly.

He wanted to make a quip about them trusting him with a weapon for once, but he decided it was probably wise to accept this extension of trust and just leave it at that.

"I will ensure that this place remains secure in your absence."
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Strompy
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More posts, more Busey.
"I'm going to go finish this up." Brandon said raising his mostly bandaged hand.

He excused hinself and made his way downstairs to the office. Once he had closed thd door behind him he leaned heavily against the wall. Fixing his hand up wasn't hard, eventually one of his cuts would need stitching but time was short and that could wait. His abdominal wound couldn't though. He undid his jacket and noted that he'd bled through his bandages and shirt a little. He slowly peeled his shirt off and gingerly pulled back the bloodied bandage to survey the damage. The front stitches needed to be completely redone.

He was about to get the work pulling them out when it struck him that he didn't need to do this himself. He wasn't sure why he even thought to do it himself in the first place. Was it just him being to macho to ask for help? Was he punishing himself some more? He knew he could do it if he had to, so he didn't have anything to prove. Shaking his head in reproah he got to his feet, kit and clothes in hand and joined the others at the bar.

"Could I get a hand with this?" he asked with a wry smile.
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Make-7-Up-Yours
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Is that so?
Maxwell cocked his head at Brandon and tucked the glock away in his jeans.

"Certainly, certainly. I need to earn my keep somehow." Maxwell volunteered; he knew nobody else was going to.

He took the kit and started going to work on Brandon's new wound. He had to remove the old stitching, which only took a few moments. He then cauterized a new needle and went back to work on re-threading the wound and making it as quick as he safely could. Time was of the essence after all. Thankfully, this was a lot easier to do a second time than it had been the first.

"I did warn you about the dangers of exertion though." Maxwell let out an annoyed sigh and lectured Brandon as he finished sealing the wound again and started to wipe off the blood. "If it is your desire for this thing to properly heal, you are going to need to stop jumping around. I can redo stitching, but if you make this even worse for yourself, I don't know how much more I will be able to do."

He leaned in close to Brandon's ear as he helped him up. "That means sex too."

He tilted his head towards Willow, who was trying to stare at the topless Brandon without looking like she was actually staring.

"Trust me, having those things burst during some excited hip gyrations would be decided unsexy."
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Strompy
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Brandon gave Max an uncofortable nod of acknowledgment, even though he decided he'd completely ignore the advice given the chance. He put his shirt and jacket back on, feeling a little bit more sturdy.

"Okay. So I think we make our way there, I get out halfway and head south-east and the approach the place from the east. You give me a few minutes headstart so that we arrive as close together as possible." he said checking his magazines and otherwise fidgeting to disperse some of his nervous energy.
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DoctorYerishi
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Dude, wake up! We've got a world to save.
Eli rubbed his eyes as he waited for Maxwell to get through with stitching Brandon back up. He also kept shooting nervous glances at the clock on the wall, growing tenser with every minute that ticked away. When Brandon was finally ready, Eli grabbed the keys from where he left them on the bar and passed them to Glenda.

“Glenda, you’re driving,” he said. “Willow, you’re holding me hostage. Brandon, you’re in the back.”

He headed for the door, then held it open for the others to pass through.

“Good luck. Bring her – hers – bring ‘em back safe.”

Eli glanced over at Jeff. He wasn’t sure when he had woken up – or maybe he hadn’t and he was just talking his sleep. He was still bent over the bar, at least.

“We’re on it,” Eli assured him anyway, before shooting a meaningful look to Maxwell.

Then he left the building and walked back towards the SUV. This time, he was a lot more hopeful he’d be returning with the girls.

* * *

Perched on the seat motorcycle, Emmett stared through the lens of his binoculars once again. This time, it was human beings he was seeing fade from view, not roamers. Four of them in particular – the older blonde lady, the younger pink-haired one, the clean cut young man, and Eli. The one he had worked tirelessly the last day and night to confront. The one he had taken two people in order to draw out.

That meeting would have to wait, however. He would have to be patient for a little while yet.

A minute after the SUV disappeared behind some trees, Emmett put the binoculars away once again, then hopped off his bike. He made sure it was secure on its kickstand and out of sight from the street, before starting his brisk walk east.

In his head, he remembered the headcount he had received a day ago, and later confirmed with his own eyes. He subcontracted four from it. That gave him a good idea what to expect.

He stayed out of sight, in the yard of the approaching houses, under the towering trees. When he was here earlier, he was able to do some quality surveillance. He was confident there were no sightlines from the house this group had made their base.

When he reached it, he circled around it, staying tight to its walls. If someone was on the second floor and looking out the window, he made sure they wouldn’t see him – not unless they opened it up and leaned out.

As he strafed around the side of the house, he balled his fist and knocked on it loudly. When he reached the side window, he got as low as he could, walking under it. He knocked it as he passed.

If someone was on the ground floor, that should have gotten their attention. If he was lucky, they might think it was a roamer stumbling along. Even if he wasn’t, he would make it work.

He hugged the corner and arrived beside the front door. He pressed his back to the wall beside it. With his left hand, he reached out and scratched it with his gloved fingers, loud enough to hear, hopefully. With his right hand, he gripped the handle of his Mac-10.

He waited and listened for movement.

* * *

The grocery store the kidnapper referred to came into view only a short time after departing, and Eli frowned. There wasn’t much surrounding it besides a massive parking lot and an empty field. The grass looked to be about knee-high, but even that would only provide so much cover. If the kidnapper truly was waiting for them, like he said he would, and he had a good vantage point, he would almost certainly see them coming.

A big part of this plan was depending on the almost. It wasn't ideal, but Eli didn’t see any other way. He shimmied up in his seat and prepared to adapt.

Currently, he sat in the front passenger chair, Glenda in the drivers. His police belt and his assault rifle lay in the back. He felt kind of naked without them and his backpack. Willow, meanwhile, was armed in the middle seat behind him. Brandon was behind Glenda.

“Shit, he may already be watching us,” Eli said. “Willow, get your gun out, put it to the back of my head – and no offense, but keep your finger way off the trigger. Glenda, get us real slow. Brandon, slight change of plans. We're mostly doing it your way, just tweaking the timing. You see that car there on the side of the road?”

He nodded to it, and assumed Brandon did. Maybe he even knew where he was going with this.

“When Glenda gets us close to it, get out, stay behind it. If someone’s watching, give ‘em a second to keep watching the car, then start moving. And if you’re gonna find that alternate entrance, you better do it quick.”

He craned his neck to look back at Willow and Brandon. He was looking to psych himself up as much as them.

“You guys good?” he asked.
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Strompy
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"Solid." Brandon affirmed simply.

In reality he was more than a little nervous. Rotters, even a horde of them, were terrifying, but this tension was an entirely different beast. Brandon wondered if the others shared his apprehension. Willow and Eli had both willingly walked into a fort full of hostile people, after something like that how could this situation compare?

Fake it.

"Let's fuckin' do this." he said getying himself ready to make his move.
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Is that so?
No sooner had they left than did Maxwell get himself comfortable in the bar. He felt a new, strange sensation after being handed the glock by Eli. Someone was actually... trusting him. It felt odd, but it also felt... good. It was something he always argued about, but never actually expected to happen, and now that it was, he was stricken with an almost honorable sense to do his job and do it well.

Heh, honorable... me? Who knew?

After a few moments of peace, something banged on the wall and knocked on the window and made it's way to the door. Scratching sounds? Zombies? That was his first reaction, but something felt a little off about it. No, it was moving too fast. There was a single bang, a single knock, and a single scratch at distances that would be too fast for a single zombie to cover in that time and no repeated offenses that suggests the zombies did not stay put. And immediately after everyone else left? No matter which way you cut it, this felt very suspicious. Lure Eli and the others out and then strike at the heart. It was a classic stratagem; but something didn't make sense. He couldn't piece together a motive. If they wanted the supplies from the truck, they could have just taken them when they kidnapped the girls earlier.

As the ideas raced around in Maxwell's head, he quickly brought himself back to reality. Jeff was barely conscious and Randall could barely stand. Right now, it was all up to him. They still thought they had the initiative, so maybe he could use that to his advantage. He approached the door, grabbed the handle, then pulled the door open. As he did that, he twisted his body and planted it against the interior wall opposite the door's hinge.

He was going to feel really stupid if it actually was just a zombie.

**********

"I'm good, but you know, I'm feeling a little better now." Willow justified herself to Eli. "I just can't really control my body very well is a- oh- ooohhhhhh... yeah I get it, I'll keep my finger off the trigger. Although the HK doesn't have any bullets in it anyway, so..."

"I thought he didn't want any guns." Glenda furled her brow in confusion. "I'll go with your plan if you think it is necessary, though..."

Glenda slowed the car down as per Eli's instructions without trying to make it look too suspicious, but there was only so much that she could do. She made sure the SUV was movingslowly enough that someone could safely jump out by the time they approached Brandon's exit point near the car.

"Be safe out there kiddo. Get our girls backs." Glenda wished him luck.

"Yeah. Be safe. And kick some ass for the rest of us if you can." Willow wished him off with a nudge and a nod.
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Dude, wake up! We've got a world to save.
There was a flash of movement as the door opened, but no one appeared behind it. Emmett remained steady and controlled his breathing. He quietly removed his Mac 10 from the shoulder holster under his jacket. He waited, his back still pressed against the wall.

“Wha – wuz goin’ on?” a voice slurred from inside.

Two in the bar, he deduced in his head. One to open the door, and another one – maybe drunk – to question it. Subcontracting the group that left, and the girls in his trailer, that left just one more to account for.

He let a few tense moments pass, then realized the man on the other side wasn’t going to budge. Maybe he was onto him.

New tactic, he decided.

Emmett pulled back his left elbow, and then slammed it into the closed and blinded window beside him. There was a good chance whoever opened the door was waiting there. Hopefully it would alarm him, distract him just long enough.

Emmett’s leather jacket protected him from damage. Once the glass shattered, he spun around the door frame and inside. He moved quickly, especially for his size, and his eyes immediately found his target – the tall bespectacled man.

He was the one with the butterfly knife, Emmett recalled. And now a handgun, too.

Without even the slightest hint of hesitation, his left arm shot out and pushed the man’s gun-arm out of the way, then pinned it above the broken window-sill. He slammed it there again, hard, causing him to drop the pistol to the hardwood floor. Then he released his grip, only to slam his forearm into the man’s neck a moment later, pinning him against the wall by the window.

With his right arm, Emmett raised the Mac-10 in one hand, aiming it directly between the subdued man’s dark eyes.

In only a couple brief instants, Emmett had the first man to dead to rights. Out of the corner of his eye, though, he saw another man – a bearded one, with heavy-lidded eyes – slide off a barstool and reach into his pants. While still pinning the man with glasses, Emmett re-aimed his SMG, holding it remarkably steadily in the direction of the bar.

“Drop it,” he said coldly.

He said it before the bearded man could even fish the gun all the way out of his belt. By the time he did, he seemed to recognise he was defeated.

“Okay, oh, uh—okay!” he stammered, lowering his handgun – a Ruger 22, it looked like – to the ground.

“Slide it over,” Emmett instructed, just as cold.

He almost lost his balance in the process, but the bearded man managed to do what he said, kicking it across the floor in Emmett’s direction. It made it halfway to him. He glanced down at it, mildly annoyed. It distracted him from the first man.

* * *

Eli heard the side door open as Brandon made his exit, but didn’t look back. He was highly concerned that the mysterious kidnapper was already watching, and that their plan had already been spotted from a mile off.

Of course, there was no turning back now. If they didn’t meet the man before the one hour he had given them had passed, Eli was not eager to find out the consequences.

“Remember, I’m your hostage, I’m doing this against my will,” he said. “So when we see him, you’re gonna have to do some acting. Willow, let Glenda do the talking. Just… look tough.”

Glenda kept driving down the road for a while yet, before turning left and into a gas station that fed into the store’s parking lot. As they passed it, Eli eyed his surroundings carefully, looking for any sign of life or any indicator of surveillance. He found none.

A minute later, and Glenda pulled the Explorer up in front of the long white building with the ‘lower food prices’ sign. They waited there for a minute to see if the kidnapper would reveal himself, or issue any more instructions over their transceiver. Again, nothing.

“I guess we go inside,” Eli said, and took a deep breath. “Again, acting caps on.”

He didn’t like the feel of this at all. But then again, what should it feel like? He’d never made a hostage exchange before.

As the three of them exited the SUV, they also saw no sign of Brandon – which was itself a good sign. Eli dared to hope he had found another way in, or was about to. Maybe by the time the kidnapper revealed himself, Brandon would already have him locked in the sights of his FN FAL.

The glass doors to the supermarket were shattered to pieces. Eli walked through them first, keeping his hands on his head, as if Willow and Glenda had ordered him to. He couldn’t help but break the glass more under his feet as he did.

He frowned deeper with every step, and also tried to curl his lips into a scowl. It wasn’t terribly hard to do. He was angry and scared, especially since he had to leave his weapons back in the car. All he had was the SIG that was making his upper back itch.

Inside, the overhead fluorescent lighting was dead, but the store was lit dimly by the morning sun through the windows. Beyond the check-out lanes, Eli could instantly make the rows of shelves behind yellow signs with bold numbers advertising percentages off.

There was more produce on the linoleum floor than on the shelves. The place had been ransacked, and probably pretty quickly after the dawn of the outbreak too.

Eli remained quiet as his uneasy feeling grew. His eyes darted left and right as he walked a little farther inside, approaching one of the counters.

Then he heard a moan, and a rotter in a winter coat appeared in between one of the aisles. It kicked aside empty cardboard packaging as it walked. When its milky yellow eyes found Eli and his friends, he groaned louder and started shuffling in their direction.

More moans followed. Several more rotters appeared behind the first one. Several more after that appeared between others rows of empty shelving, as if energised by the sudden activity.

Eli’s scowl turned as genuine as it could get.
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Is that so?
He's big!

Maxwell was so caught off guard by the man's brazen new tactic that he allowed himself to get disarmed and pinned against the wall before he could properly react. The man was big and he was definitely strong. His movements were quick and precise. All in all, Maxwell wasn't sure he could win in a straight up fight. But this also gave him an excuse to do something he hadn't allowed himself to do in front of his new hosts. Go all out. Maxwell could not help but grin as the big man made his first mistake; he took his eyes off his opponent.

Opening up his right hand, he jabbed his fingers as hard as he could into the man's armpit into a fairly overlooked pressure point. The strike weakened his arm just enough for Maxwell to then dart his right arm up, wrap it around the big man's left and twist it off of him. As the big man brought his gun arm back around, Maxwell stretched his left hand out and grabbed him by the wrist as he brought his head forward and slammed it into the face of his attacker. Headbutts, he had found historically, were crude but effective.

Maxwell brought his body back, rammed his shoulder into the big man's stomach and, using every ounce of strength he could possibly muster, surged forward, picked the man up off the ground, and powerbombed him onto the nearest table.

**********

"Is this the right supermarket?" Willow frowned.

She was keeping her empty HK trained on Eli as she was requested to do, but she couldn't help but feel like this place was pretty empty. Abandoned, actually, would be the word she used.

"Hey, Eli..." Glenda started with a stern look on her face. "You don't think that...?"
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DoctorYerishi
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Dude, wake up! We've got a world to save.
“I don’t know,” Eli answered.

It was the truth. His growing suspicion was that the kidnapper wasn’t here and was never here. That he had headed blindly in the direction of another dead end, or that they been the victim of some kind of ruse. He couldn’t be positive, though. A nagging part of him worried that if he turned around, he’d be signing Julie and Kelsey’s death warrants.

A rail-thin rotter in a tattered black blazer appeared from the bakery section to their left. He collided with a railing, then recovered and started stumbling unevenly towards the group. He got close enough to interrupt Eli’s train of thought.

* * *

Emmett reacted with surprise when the scrawnier man squirmed free, and with even more surprised when he felt his face get flattened against the man’s forehead. A bolt of pain burned through him, and he had enough time to worry that his nose had been fractured before the man was driving him forward unexpectedly.

The next thing he heard was the splintering of a table as it gave way under their weight. The Mac-10 fell from his grasp. Then his back landed on the ground with a thud, and the thinner man on top of him. His mind snapped into focus.

He wanted to avoid this situation. He wanted to get in, make his point, and get out. He didn’t want to get hurt and he didn’t want to hurt anybody but Eli.

That choice had been taken away from him, however. Now his only option was to fight back and make it painful.

He didn’t try to push the man off of him. Instead, he wrapped his left hand around the back of his neck this time, and hugged him close. With his right hand, he made a fist, and then struck the man in the ribs. Once, twice, then three times, all in quick succession.

He saw movement in the upper corner of his eyes. The bearded man was on the move, running – or wobbling, rather – towards the Ruger he had just surrendered. Emmett rolled his eyes. Now he would have to deal with that.

The thinner man seemed softened up by the blows, and Emmett was able to roll out from under him relatively easily. Once he was on his stomach, he reached out, just in time to grab the bearded man by the pant leg and send him falling onto his face.

Shitgoddamnit!” the man cried after he hit the ground.
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Is that so?
Maxwell cringed from the shots to his ribs; it hurt about as much as he expected. Nothing felt broken, but it could also just be the adrenaline pumping through his body. He was sure he would have some bruises at the very least though. But he could very well be dead if he didn't stop fighting now.

After the big man rolled off him to trip Jeff, Maxwell pushed through the pain and rolled after him. Thankfully, the intruder had tripped Jeff from his stomach, which allowed Maxwell to get on top of his back. He looped an arm around his neck and pulled him into a headlock, using his right arm to secure the left one. He then started to tighten the pressure on his neck.

**********

Upstairs, the sounds of something big happening below him startled Randall. A breaking window, a breaking table; there was obviously some sort of struggle going on. It wasn't rotters either. It sounded like a bar brawl.

"Dammit, we've been fucking had!" Randall roared in anger.

He grabbed his M9 and sluggishly checked the magazine with one hand as best he could. Fully loaded. He knew he couldn't stand, so all he could do now was wait. And hope that Jeff and Maxwell were okay down there.
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Strompy
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Brandon kept low as he circled around the building. There were no shots, no angry demands. Nothing to indicate that they'd been made. He allowed himself a small bit of pride as he reached the rear of the building. Now locating a way in would be the callenge.

The obvious pick was the rear staff entrance which he passed. The next was the loading bay. The roller door was already open a crack. He wouldn't use it as it would make too much noise but he could at least check it out. Using the mirror in the compact he looked inside carefully. As expected it was dark but still, sheltered from direct sunlight he wasn't blinded and the ambient light that spilt in from the small opening gave a little illumination. Nobody was there.

He frowned as he considered his options. His answer came when he spotted a window on the second floor. Probably an office. The window was broken, from the inside he deduced from the glass on the ground. Anyone using this building would recognise that as a way in so there was a chance they'd also have it covered. No choice though, it was his best option. All he had to do was get to the roof and then swing himself in.

Fuck. Brandon thought anxiously as he considered his still aching wound.

No choice. He located a drainpipe and began his painful climb, the brick work making good grip for his feet. Once on the roof Brandon rolled on his back and took a few moments to breathe. The others had approached slowly in order to give him time to move but they would have made it inside by that point. He leaned over the roof to lower his mirror down and check the room. Clear again as far as he could see. With a sigh of apprehension he began to swing himself over. There was a moment of instinctive panic as he dangled over the edge, but soon his feet touched the window sill. A small bit of glass left crunched lightly under his feet and he gently brough one hand down to brace himself as he completely let go of the roof. He hopped down into the room, again sparing a moment for a little self pity as he put a hand on his abdomen.

He was in.
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Emmett’s eyes bulged a little as he struggled to breathe. After a beat, however, he successfully forced himself to stay calm. He knew he had a few moves in this situation, especially against an opponent he had a strength advantage on. Not all of them accounted for the drunken fool in front of him, though. Whatever he did, he would have to do fast.

He tried to cry out as he rolled his body with all his might, but the cry was muffled by the arm around his throat. The roll was successful, though, and the thinner man was now under his weight. His arms were now also free. Quickly, he grabbed the man’s foot and twisted it up with all his might. Before he had to break any bones, the man released his grip and Emmett was able to sit up and climb to his feet in the same fluid motion.

Emmett was upright at almost the same time as the bearded man. As he was breathing ragged breaths, he was able to reach out and grab the drunk by his shirt before he could make another lunge for his gun. When he got a good grip, he pulled him back hard and released him, sending him spinning and falling backwards towards the bar and away from his gun.

He redirected his attention immediately to his scrawny opponent, who was still on his back. Emmett was on him before he could recover, pressing his knee to his chest. Then he winded back and delivered a powerful blow with his fist to the man’s solar plexus.

As the man struggled for breath below him, Emmett felt his nose bleeding. He wiped it clean with his sleeve, then quickly dug into one of his four big pockets. He clicked it open, and then produced a pair of zip tie handcuffs he brought with him. He grabbed one of his opponent’s arms and forced one of the holes around his wrist. Then he grabbed him by the shoulder and started to roll him over.
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Is that so?
Keeping with their facade, Glenda decided to wait until the rotter got close before unsheathing her knife. As it stumbled close, she kicked a nearby box in front of it. When it stumbled over the obstacle, she swiftly moved and grabbed the rotter by its hair and executed it with a swift stab to the temple.

This place looked abandoned. Maybe that was why he had chosen it as a hideout? Assuming it was even that to begin with and they weren't being played. On the one hand, she didn't want to turn around now and risk him killing the girls; but on the other, they left an intoxicated man and a crippled one alone with someone who barely seemed competent.

"Are we still going in there?" Willow asked.

"We have to. We can't risk not going." Glenda sighed with defeat.

**********

Zip ties? Maxwell thought for sure he was going to be killed by this man, but it felt like he was trying to take him prisoner? Was he trying to take everyone prisoner?

"Not again." Maxwell growled as he was being flipped over.

He still had some fight left and he wasn't going to go down quite so easily. But he could still barely breathe after the shot to the solar plexus and his leg hurt now too. It was like that guy knew which leg to twist too; it was the same one that he had cauterized a gunshot wound to the other day, and now it was in searing pain. But he didn't want to be captured by this guy either. As he he tried to flip him over, Maxwell brought both his feet into his chest and then kicked them both out directly into the man's stomach.

Unfortunately, the leg lock and full force impact ended up being the last straw for his already injured leg. The entire leg went numb in an eruption of pain and fell limp.

"Gaaah, god dammit!" He screeched.
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Dude, wake up! We've got a world to save.
Emmett doubled over at the impact, and had to gasp for breath once again. He wasn’t slowed down for long, though. After his opponent screamed out, he recovered fast enough to pick up where he left off, flipping him onto his stomach, then manhandling his second arm into the wrist ties. Gritting his teeth, he pulled the knot tighter than he had to. They would probably leave a mark for a while.

He rose to his feet finally, then quickly found his balance. Without wasting another second, he scooped his Mac-10 from the floor, then scooped up the dropped Ruger, and the dropped Glock, shoving them in his belt. When he was done, he marched over to the bar, where the bearded man was recovering.

“Stay down,” he instructed with a grunt.

“Uhhh…” the drunken man sounded like he was groaning. “Uuuuuuuhhhhh-ck you!

When Emmett got close, the man spun around, wielding a glass bottle he had picked up from the counter. Emmett ducked and raised his arms in self-defence. The bottle shattered on the shoulder of his leather jacket, sending shards of glass past him, but otherwise doing no harm.

When Emmett looked up at the man, he looked wide-eyed and alarmed. He looked even more wide-eyed when Emmett launched a left hook into his stomach.

Oof! He went limp as a fist slammed into his gut.

With his free hand, Emmett lifted him upright and leaned into his ear. Quietly but intensely, he repeated him the same instruction. “Stay. Down.”

The drunken man coughed in response, and Emmett took that as assent. He grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt and turned him around. With one hand, he held the back of his neck. With the other, he pointed the barrel of the Mac-10 at his skull.

“Do you feel that?”

The man coughed again in response. Emmett sighed. His patience was really being tested here.

“Do you feel that?!" he repeated, more harshly.

“Yuh – yes,” his prisoner managed.

“Then move,” Emmett said, and started leading him towards the stairs.

There was one left, he reminded himself. It had to be the eldest man in the group. The one who was talking about the radio, in all likelihood. Emmett figured he better have a hostage, in case he was lying in wait.

As fast as he could get that hostage to move, he ascended the stairs. At the top, he identified a room with its door open, and led him in that direction, stopping under the frame.

Sure enough, over his captive’s shoulder, Emmett could make out a middle-aged man sitting on a bed, unsteadily aiming a gun at the door with his left hand. His right looked like it been severed clean off. That was unexpected, but unimportant.

“Put it down,” Emmett said softly.

* * *

Eli nodded at Glenda’s logic to no one in particular. He felt the same way, so he moved forward, towards the approaching rotters.

He got to the one in the winter coat first, and launched a powerful kick at its knee. He bent it backwards, and the rotter collapsed forward. Eli sidestepped its fall, then brought his foot down as hard as he could on the back of its skull, crushing it.

He shook as much gore as he could off his foot before reaching another rotter that had been close behind. When that one lunged at him, he sidestepped again, then held his leg out and pushed it. He used its own momentum to trip it, and when it was on its stomach, he brought his foot down again.

Goddamn, I wish I had my knife, my Supergrade, my something, he thought, as he turned to fight a third one.

This one was an elderly woman before she turned. She had long gray hair, and her black drool-stained outfit consisted of a purple sweater over a flower dress. Eli used his superior reach to shove it in the shoulder. When it spun around he grabbed it by its hair, then dipped it, almost like it was his dancing partner. He held it down with the forehead exposed, waiting for Glenda to make the final blow.

If someone was watching them, they might have found the cooperation suspicious. Eli was distressingly confident, however, that no one was watching them.
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