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Dead Men Walking
Topic Started: Nov 28 2014, 02:20 AM (71,072 Views)
Strompy
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More posts, more Busey.
Brandon had to think for a moment. He hadn't actually thought about how he could help out aside from handing over his excess supplies. It occurred to him that a community this size would need people cleaning clothes, dishes, cooking. They'd need people on watch. They may have some miscellaneous repairs in need of taking care of. Thanks to his father's eclectic skill set, Brandon knew a little bit of lots of things.

"I can shoot, okay. I can cook a little, and cleaning is simple. I'm no tradesman or contractor but I'm fairly handy I guess. Thought I should start with this though." he said taking his bag off and opening it to reveal his stash of food.

"I was going house to house for about a week collecting what I could. Just waiting for somewhere to stop and hole up I guess." he explained.
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The Last Melon
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The Last Melon. Duh.
Roland looked over the stash and nodded. "That looks like good stuff, son. Randall's gonna be looking for more people to join the scavenging parties, you'll do good there. Not sure where he is right now but somebody can point you towards him. We need everybody pulling their weight around here." He smiled wryly. "Welcome to Mount Kisco."
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DoctorYerishi
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Dude, wake up! We've got a world to save.
Eli wandered through the interior of the club for a little, looking for a place to sleep in relative privacy. He was finding it difficult. The floor of cart storage area – the biggest room in the place – was nearly jam-packed with cots and sleeping bags. There were also a few too many sickly looking people for his taste, coughing and sweating and looking uncomfortable. Roland had mentioned a tuberculosis epidemic earlier, and Eli could tell the sufferers were being treated here. If this was how bad it had gotten, then this place was in more trouble than Eli thought.

He started to feel better about his decision to move on. He planned to go north into Canada, hopefully find a settlement there. When winter hit in a couple months, the snow would likely slow the undead down, making things a bit safer. It wasn’t exactly a solid plan, but it was the best he could come up with, given the dire circumstances.

After wandering around a bit more, and enduring a few wary glances from some passing residents, Eli found the door to a coat room off the banquet area. He opened it to find that it was being used for storage, but that it was expansive enough to work. By moving around a few suitcases, he was able to clear enough space to lie down. By using some coats as cushioning, and a soft gym bag – filled with socks and underwear, he briefly confirmed – as a pillow, he even made himself pretty comfortable.

He closed the door before committing to lying down. He also removed his pack, as well as his two guns, carefully placing them beside his intended resting spot. When he was on his back, his feet ended up pressed against it. There really was just enough room.

“Ain’t the comfiest I’ve been, but it’s probably the safest,” he mused out loud. He immediately reminded himself to stop doing that.

He closed his eyes, and it didn’t take him long to fall asleep. He really needed the rest.

* * *

He awoke from a half-remembered nightmare to a knock on the door. In the darkness of the room, it was impossible to know what time it is.

“Yo,” he said groggily, as he slowly climbed to his feet.

Someone must have wanted in – they must have needed something from one of the bags or cases in here.

There was a pause, then the sound of a shuffle of feet. Like whoever had knocked had moved on, but had reconsidered upon hearing Eli’s voice. Then there was another knock.

“Sorry, one second,” he said again, steadying himself. “I hear you. I’m opening up.”

Another knock. Then another.

Eli squinted, a little annoyed. “Hey, I heard you. I said—“

He opened the door and the color drained from his face. His sudden fear dominated his sleepiness, and he reached for the gun in his pants – but found nothing there. Oh shit.

The dead man in front of Eli was thin, with jagged facial features and sunken yellow eyes – unlike some of the others he encountered on the road, he didn’t look to be dead long. He snarled at Eli and made the same low, unnerving moan they all did. Then he extended his two arms and his jaw snapped forward.

Eli leaned back in time to avoid the zombie’s teeth, but he couldn’t help but fall backwards under its weight. He landed softly on his bed of clothes, and immediately pushed the zombie up and away from him by his shoulders.

Almost instantly, he felt a dribble of black spit fall from the zombie’s thrashing mouth onto his cheek. He was revolted, and it was preventing him from thinking straight.

The dead man was flailing his head, desperately trying to reach Eli’s flesh. Eli held him at bay long enough to remember what he did with his guns. He looked around, finding them laying there where he left them.

Thinking quickly, Eli pulled back one of his hands. His other supported the zombie’s weight long enough for Eli to wind up and slam his elbow into the zombie’s cheek. He rolled into the blow with enough force to knock him off him, sending his dead form onto a pile of luggage beside him.

With the same arm he hit the zombie, Eli reached for a gun. His fingers found the newly-familiar grip of the Supergrade, and he quickly aimed it across his chest. The zombie was starting to recover. Eli flipped the safety just in time to fire.

POP! He winced at the sharp and sudden sound, and then winced even harder as he felt gore land on his feet and chest.

When he opened his eyes, the zombie was dead – or deader, as may be the case. His forehead had been cleaved open. He was laying still, leaking blood, only inches away from Eli.

When he could finally hear over the sound his panicked breathing, Eli heard more moans in the distance. A lot more. Something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.
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Make-7-Up-Yours
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Is that so?
Colin yawned and rubbed his eyes. The candle next to the table he was sitting at was beginning to get low. All around him, quite a few people were sleeping, but the bar and grill area had a lot of surfaces that he liked to use for reading. Had this been any other situation, he would have taken it as an omen to finally go to sleep like the others. But he couldn't. He turned the page in the medical journal he had borrowed from Dr. Tu.

The doctor worked hard. For everyone's sake. Colin didn't have a medical degree, he didn't have any medical experience, and he sure as hell couldn't do the things that Dr. Tu was doing on a daily basis. There was no place in the world now for a social worker; Colin knew this better than anyone. All he had to his name now was his black belt in karate, but he couldn't save lives with karate. Not in the same way that a doctor could. And while he would never be a doctor, Colin told himself that if he kept reading and kept learning, maybe he could help Dr. Tu enough to save more lives. To be useful.

Still, the strain of all this studying was taking it's toll. Colin unconsciously looked at the watch around his wrist; it read 2:10 AM. There weren't any scheduled supply runs tomorrow, so he could afford another 20 minutes or so. Studying late at night like this almost made him feel like he was in college again. He chuckled; he would have given anything to be out of college while he was in it. Now he found himself wishing that he was back in college like that more than anything in the world right now. The irony was not lost on him.

His train of thought was interrupted as a familiar face took a seat across from him and placed a bottle of beer on the table.

"Aren't you a little young to be drinking, Aaron?" Colin quietly asked.

The high school football player cocked an eyebrow upward; "Really?"

Colin sighed. It really was a stupid thing to get hung up on. He hadn't even thought before speaking. They could all be dead tomorrow; what did it really matter? Of course, that didn't answer the question of where Aaron got the beer, but Colin didn't feel much like inquiring. Maybe it was better that he didn't know. But as he looked at Colin, he noticed his eyes were red and he didn't have the same confident look on his face that he usually wore. He looked... tired.

"Is everything alright?"

Aaron shook his head. "My aunt died about an hour ago."

Colin's jaw dropped. He didn't know what to say. Nobody had died from it yet, and everyone was hoping that the meds would keep it that way. Perhaps it had been foolish to think everyone would pull through from the start, especially with the medicine getting in so late.

"Oh shit, I-I'm so sorry man." Colin stammered.

"We can't do anything with her right now, but we're gonna bury her first thing in the morning."

Colin covered his face with a hand. Now he couldn't study or sleep. He and Aaron were different in a lot of ways, but he had started to think of him like a little brother. Something like this... it felt like he was suffering the same loss as Aaron right now. A blow straight to the heart, and he didn't know what he could do.

Then came the screams - first in one room, then another.The gunshots followed almost immediately afterwards. Both young men got to their feet in time to see a handful of recently dead corpses come shambling into the room.

*****

"So fucking cold..." Willow muttered to herself.

There wasn't really such a thing as a good outhouse, but ever since the water shut down, these were the best they had. They pretty much provided only the bare minimums of comfort; a private place to do your private business. She wished they still had running water; the indoor toilets were infinitely better. Now that it was getting cold, Willow could make a very long list of things she would rather be doing that sitting outside in the middle of the night with her pants at her ankles. Even if it was inside of an outhouse.

As she reached for the toilet paper and ripped a wad off, she heard a scratching at the door.

"Who's there?" She quickly shouted back, the tendrils of fear quickly gripping at her mind.

It wasn't that she didn't trust anyone here but in situations like this, one could never be sure when somebody might just snap and start murdering and raping others. It was anxiety driven fears like that which had driven her to weed in the first place; weed that she hadn't smoked in almost 4 hours. And now her heart was pounding in her chest as she sat there frozen, waiting for a sound. Or anything, really.

But nothing happened. Not a sound or a peep. After a minute or two, she let out a heavy sigh.

"Can't even take a shit in peace anymore, can I?" She whispered quietly to herself. "I'm gonna need a smoke after this."

She took another minute or two to clean herself off. As she was buckling her belt back up, there was a loud grunt as something slammed into the door hard. Without even thinking she screamed and jumped away from the door. Whatever it was, it wasn't letting up now, it was pounding and scratching at the door, wheezing like... like one of those things.

Willow's mind kicked into overdrive as a thousand thoughts assailed her at once - How did it get in? Where did it come from? Where there more of them? Is everyone else okay? Is this the end?

But one question rose above the rest of them.

What do I do?

There was nothing in here to use as a weapon, and she was defenseless now. She wasn't allowed to keep a weapon with her like Randall and the officers. But if she stayed here she knew she was dead. Willow unlocked the door, sat back down on the toilet seat, and kicked both her feet out with every ounce of strength in her body. As the outhouse door burst open, she saw a rotter, the one that had been slamming on the door, tumble backwards. But she had miscalculated; there were two! And the other one, an older woman (who looked very recently dead) in a bloodied dress, came rushing in. Willow screamed again, and kicked her back out as she entered. As both the rotters lay on the ground, her heart sank into the pit of her stomach when she heard screams and gunshots resonating from the lodge.

She jumped to her feet and sprinted past the both of them, on her way back towards the lodge, chanting a panicked mantra of fuck under her breath.

*****

"How did this happen!?" Old man Bob whimpered.

"I don't know!" Randall snapped back, unloading the last of his clip into two of the walking dead as they broke through one of the windows. "And now is a really bad time to ask!"

A handful of people were sleeping in the golf shop, and now all of them had their backs against the back wall, Randall, his wife Elaine, and Glenda were all in the center of the room defending them; Randall with his 9mm, Glenda with her knife, and Elaine with a 9-iron she had pilfered from the shop. Bob, along with Randall's own daughter, Kelsey, were among the small handful backed up against the wall, shaking in fear.

"Looks like they are coming out of the cart storage!" Elaine yelled as she clubbed one of the undead across the head with her golf club.

Separated from the rest of the facility by an outdoor walkway, that was where the sick were being tended. If they were all infected, then they could be pouring into the yard and main building both! And judging from the screams, there was more than just a handful already in the building. To make matters worse, nobody in here save for a few were even armed. Around ten corpses now laid still on the ground around them, and no more were showing up. There were at least 50 people in their makeshift infirmary, not even counting the caretakers and doctor. Worst case scenario, that meant there were 40 rotters running loose in this building right this moment. That was far more than they could handle right now.

"Everyone, grab a weapon in case you need to defend yourself!" Randall barked. "Elaine, Glenda, keep an eye on things here for me! I'm going out there!"

"Dammit Randall!" Elaine grabbed his wrist as he moved to leave. "Don't do this to me!"

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I can't leave them all out there to die." Randall gently kissed her on the lips and pulled away from her grip. "I'll come back, I promise!"

It was a promise he intended to keep. He was coming back, but he was going to save as many lives as he could before he had to. It was why he was entrusted with this gun.
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Strompy
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More posts, more Busey.
Gunfire and screams woke Brandon from the first peaceful sleep he'd had in over a week. It was happening again. The chill that ran up his spine was more than fear. Fear elicits a response, for Brandon it was to run, but he stood there outside his tent watching as rotters poured out of cart storage and into everwhere else. This was true dread and he was paralyzed.

His right hand gripped his screwdriver with white knuckles. Every nerve in his body wanted him to run but his horror and dismay were overwhelming. How could this happen? They had patrolling guards, lookouts, so many people here, how the fuck did they get in unnoticed? There was somebody next to him saying something but he couldn't hear what. He could only stare.

"Hey! Brandon! We need to run right now!" Kyle said, standing in front of him and shaking him by the shoulders.

There was movement behind Kyle, one of them reaching out for him, its teeth black with that disgusting stuff. It really was happening again. The gunshots the screaming, Brandon frozen and Kyle there keeping him safe. Then the bite. It wasn't fair. He hadn't even been there a single day. It wasn't going to go that way again. Pushing past Kyle he lunged at the rotter, sticking his screwdriver in its eye. It fell backwards under his weight, the screw driver not going deep enough to kill. In a frenzy Brandon stabbed at it again and again. The cheek, the nose, everywhere making holes. With his left hand he pushed its face to the side and with a crunch pushed the screw driver through its temple. It was dead.

"What the fuck, kid!?" came the voice.

Brandon looked back. Not Kyle. Kyle died a week ago. It was Geoff, one of the guys he shared a tent with. Geoff looked up past Brandon and then towards the lodge before running with the others inside.

"You're welcome." Brandon said under his breath.

They were still coming. They didn't fill him with dread anymore, something else had taken over, something useful. Anger. He hadn't even been there onr day. It wasn't fair! Brandon scrambled back into the tent and opened his sleeping bag. Inside, next to him while he slept was his 870. A bunk buddy you get used to surprisingly easily. He grabbed his bag too before making his way out the other side. He pumped a shell into the chamber and leveled the gun at the closest biter. It was dead. Five in the tube now. Pump, fire, another one dead, four in the tube. Pump.

He wasn't going to run this time. Things would go differently this time.
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DoctorYerishi
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Dude, wake up! We've got a world to save.
Eli collected both his handguns and climbed to his feet. He tried to calm his nerves and come up with a plan. There had been several outbreaks in the q-zone before he left New York. They had been brutally put down every time, but their increasing frequency was why he decided to leave. And now he was right back in the same situation, only this time there wasn’t a unit of trained and armed soldiers ready to swoop in.

He stepped out of the closet and into the banquet dining area. He found it empty of the living. The door to the private dining area on one side was closed shut. So was the door to the gallery off the lobby. There were several doors that connected the large room to the main dining area, however, and they were all wide open. Several zombies shambled in through the arches, likely responding to the sound of his gunshot. They crushed any hope Eli may have harboured that the one he killed was an unfortunate fluke.

No, this is an outbreak, he realized sadly.

He considered his options. He looked to the windows that overlooked the terrace. He thought about maybe throwing a chair through them and then taking off. And then just running away, leaving the camp to its fate.

Then a zombie appeared, pressing his sunken face to the glass, staring glassy-eyed at Eli. That clearly wasn’t the way out.

Then he remembered the canister back in Roland’s office. He remembered that if this camp truly fell, and if Roland and Randall died with it, then there would be no one to deliver the cure to Chicago. That wasn’t a trip Eli wanted to make himself, but he did want someone to make it. He didn’t want to abandon all hope.

There were three zombies in the banquet area now, all of them making a stumbling bee-line for Eli. He was going to have to deal with them first, so he steeled himself.

One of them – a woman, with long blonde hair – stumbled into a chair on the way to him. She collapsed in a heap, putting her out of commission briefly. Eli ignored her for the time being, and raised his revolver at the zombie closest to him. He held his fire until the zombie was within batting distance and then –

BLAM! He pulled the trigger. The bullet punched through the zombie’s brain and fanned blood out the back of his skull. He collapsed instantly.

Eli took a deep breath, and then aimed at the next closest zombie. Again, he waited until he was close enough that he couldn’t miss and –

BANG! He spent another round of ammo, taking the creature down.

The lady zombie was clumsily rising back to her feet now. Eli took a few deliberate steps in her direction, and when her comfortable shoes found purchase on the dining room floor, he fired. BANG!

Eli’s heart pounded, but his breathing was calm. So far, so good.

He activated the safety on the revolver, and then tucked it back into his pants. The zombie at the window pounded on the glass, and he could hear knocking on the closed doors, but no more of the dead filtered in through the dining area – at least not immediately.

He used the moment of peace to grab a chair by one of the dining tables. He flipped it over, held it in place, and with all his strength he kicked at the leg. He was rewarded with a satisfying snap sound, as the wood splintered and the leg split off. He grabbed the broken piece, and found the heft satisfying. This would help him clear a path, at least.

Next step: better assess the situation. He knew the dead were both outside and in. Now he needed to know how bad it truly was.

He gripped the makeshift weapon tight with both hands, and then headed into the dining room.
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Make-7-Up-Yours
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Is that so?
Colin wanted to get to his feet. He wanted to organize some sort of resistance, or at least an escape. This could be his moment to save every life in this room. Maybe then he would feel okay about surviving this long while everyone else from his life before had perished. But as he watched the dead attack people who couldn't get out of their sleeping bags and those who were not fully awake, he froze. He could only sit in his chair and watch the carnage unfold, coming ever closer to where he sat. It was one thing to encounter them outside; but it was something else entirely to see a horde of them rampaging through the only place you could call home and killing everyone. It wasn't terror that made him freeze; it was despair.

"I'll kill them all." He heard Aaron grunt.

The high school student threw the now empty bottle of beer at the nearest rotter and hit her directly in the face. She stumbled, but he had her attention now. Aaron then stood up, picked up his chair, walked up to her, and slammed the entire thing against her as hard as he could. He finished her off by driving his foot into her skull several times, eventually crushing it. Aaron then grabbed a screwdriver that had been left on the bar and lunged towards the next rotter with a drunken war cry.

"Colin!" He heard a familiar voice call to him suddenly.

He turned back around to see Randall in front of him. The look in his eyes; Randall was still fighting too.

"I need your help!"

Colin nodded. He couldn't stop fighting now. There was chaos all around them, but he couldn't give up. "What do you need?"

"I need to get to Roland's office!"

"What about the people here!?" Colin protested.

"This is bigger than the people here!" Randall snapped back at him. "It's bigger than all of us!"

What did he mean by that? Was he abandoning everyone? No... not Randall. Randall had worked harder than anyone else. Colin trusted him. And now was not the time to fight; if Randall said that it was important, it was important. Colin got to his feet and accepted the dagger that Randall offered to him.

"Everyone!" Randall bellowed at the top of his lungs. "Get to the golf shop! It's safe there for now!"

It was difficult to know if anyone heard him over the sounds of the screaming and gunshots. But Randall quickly darted for the lobby. He killed two of the rotters that got too close with clean head shots on the way. Colin was perplexed and a little disturbed that Randall was passing over so many of them, but maybe it made sense. There were a lot, and his gun only had so many shots. But was that really an excuse? Had he given up on this place already? What was in Roland's office that was more important than the lives of these people? Colin tried not to think about it and simply followed after him. Hopefully Aaron would be able to help the people still in here. He just kept telling himself that.

**********

"I can't believe he would just leave like that!" Elaine was venting her frustration. "What about me? What about Kelsey? What if something happens to him out there and I-"

Glenda placed a hand on the woman's shoulder. "He will be fine."

Elaine never liked seeing her husband run off like that. She worried about him a lot; she knew how bad it was out there. Randall never talked to her about it, probably to avoid worrying her, but Elaine was no fool. But his sense of duty to not just his family, but the community as a whole, was something she did love about him. Even if she wouldn't admit it. She just hoped that same sense of duty didn't get him killed. He was capable though.

"Hey, it's Willow!" Elaine heard her daughter yell and point towards the door that led outside.

After the rotters had broken through it, they barricaded it shut with whatever they could. Now, there was a skinny, pink-haired woman slamming on the door.

"Oh shit, what is she doing out there!?" Elaine started towards the door with the intention of moving the shelving unit out of the way.

As she made her move, she saw Willow turn her head to her left, her eyes widen further, and she took off towards the front of the lodge. Elaine cussed again, but had little time to worry about Willow; the rotters she had been running from decided that the people in the shop were easier targets and had just barreled through the large windows.

Everyone in the back of the room screamed as a small group of zombies came tumbling into their ranks amid a rain of shattered glass.

"KELSEY!" Elaine shrieked as she and Glenda rushed into fray.
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Strompy
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More posts, more Busey.
Two in the tube. The sound of breaking glass caught Brandon's attention. Some people had holedup in the golf shop and the biters had broken through. Killing these things ddidn't mean anything if everyone was dead, so he began making his way there, using his gun as a club to down another biter along the way.

He grabbed a zombie as it began stumbling through the window, throwing it down on the ground and caving the back of its head in with his stock. Inside people were keeping them at bay with golf clubs and knives. It was chaos, he couldn't tell how many if any were bitten who was alive and who was dead. A mess of flailing limbs and gnashing teeth. He spotted the woman from the front gate earlier.

"These people need to get outside, we can avoid them out here in the open! I'll keep them away from the windows!" He shouted turning his attention to the rotters now approaching him.

He swung at the closest sending it toppling sideways before pumping another shell into the chamber and dispatching one further behind it. The one he struck moved on the ground, reaching for his leg, with two strikes to its head it went limp.
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Is that so?
A frown crossed Glenda's middle-aged face. This boy was suggesting that everyone rally outside, in the dark, against this swarm of undead humans. And yet, he was not necessarily wrong. Their plan to hold out inside the golf shop had been flawed from the beginning because of the windows. And from the sounds, the rotters were swarming the entire complex. There was no way to keep all these people safe by going further in.

Glenda brought her knife down on top of one as it clawed at Kelsey, which gave Elaine enough time to grab her daughter by the arm and pull her out of the chaos. She then stepped away from another biter and thrust her knife under its jaw and into its brain from below. It convulsed only briefly before falling backwards.

"NO! NO! NO!" She heard Bob shriek, but could do nothing as the rotter that had tumbled on top of him dug it's gnashing teeth viciously into his shoulder and started tearing off the flesh like a possessed animal. Indeed, a little less than half the people she had been trying to protect were already dead or bitten; nothing could be done for them.

From the corner of her eye, she could already see a few people push the last of the blockade away from the door and force it open, running from the room in a frenzied panic that would likely get them killed. It was no use trying to control everyone here anymore, there was nothing left but chaos now.

In a situation like this, Glenda was forced into something she rarely ever did; she raised her voice.

"GET OUT!"
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DoctorYerishi
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Dude, wake up! We've got a world to save.
Eli swung the leg chair like a baseball bat, connecting with the head of a zombie like it was a fastball down the middle. He dented its skull and the zombie fell down. Then he moved on, swinging again and heading for the door to the lobby.

The dining room had about half a dozen of them -- not a lot, relatively, but more than enough to take him down if he let them swarm him. Instead, he just had to clear his mind, focus on his breathing. Like he was on a job, almost. He just needed to let instinct take over.

He swung for the legs of another rotter, downing it from its unsteady feet. Then he made it through the door to the lobby, and closed it behind him, trapping a few in the dining room.

He looked around, his makeshift weapon at the ready.

"Randall!" Eli recognized him and called his name.

Randall and Colin were moving through the room as well, taking down zombies as they went. Eli was glad to see someone alive, especially someone who knew about the package. That's probably why he was here, even.

There were a group of dead things shambling in from the door, tripping over themselves to do it. Eli leaped forward, swinging the chair leg at the closest one, then launching a powerful kick into the chest of the one behind it. He successfully disrupted the balance of both the rotters he hit, and they even took a few more of their kind down with them as they fell.

Adrenaline pulsed through Eli as he recovered, and then sprinted towards the door to reception.

"In here!" he yelled again, wrapping his hand around the knob to the reception room. He twisted it and rammed the door open.

"Hurry!" he said on the other side, holding the door for Randall and Colin, ready to slam it closed behind them.
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Is that so?
Randall didn't think twice about following Eli at this point. Any anger that he had towards the man was far in the back of his mind, displaced by the slightly more pressing matter of rotters running loose in the lodge. The most important thing right now was getting all the help he could get.

Randall rushed towards the open door, Colin hot on his heels. He slammed the butt of his handgun against the head of a rotter, stunning it long enough for both of them to slip into the door, with Eli slamming it behind them. Randall took a deep breath, relieved to find that they hadn't managed to get into the reception area yet, but unable to relax his body entirely. It was like being outside the lodge in the city; it looked safe, but there was never a guarantee that was the case.

"Thanks, Eli." Randall nodded. "The front door is nearby. If you're quick, you can probably still get out of here."
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DoctorYerishi
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Dude, wake up! We've got a world to save.
Eli took a few long breaths and leaned against the closed door. As he did, he gave Randall a sidelong look and furrowed his brow. He tried to ignore the constant knocking of the zombies outside.

"If I wanted to go for the front door, I woulda gone for the front door," he said, sounding a little incredulous.

He leaned off the door and looked around the sparse reception area, which Roland and his team must have stripped clean long ago. There was a long desk, a chair behind it, and not much else.

He started heading towards the adjoining office he had visited earlier in the day. The room where he met Roland and delivered all that bad news.

"I didn't give you guys that package just so you could lose it the very first night," he said. "It's still here, right? You didn't move it?"

He continued ignoring the knocking on the door, and the chorus of groans he could make out from outside.
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Is that so?
"We don't have anywhere safer to put it than Roland's office. Every other piece of available real estate is being used for something." Randall told him. "It's gotta be in here somewhere."

He was still sour about their argument from earlier, despite his thoughts to the contrary. But he was glad that Eli was sticking around now, at least. Even when, by all rights, he shouldn't be here. Even if this place survived this encounter, it would never be the same. But Randall already knew the truth in his heart; this place was finished. That was why he was here now. To make it worth something.

"What are you guys looking for? The package...?" Colin furled his brow.

"... when we get out of here, we'll tell you everything, okay?" Randall sighed from inside the office. "For now, just trust me."

"It..." Colin paused, a concerned look crossing his face. "It has nothing to do with how these things got in here, does it?"

"That is completely unrelated." Randall admitted. "Something must have happened in our hospital. That's where they seemed to be coming from."

"Our... hospital..." Colin suddenly remembered what Aaron had mentioned about his aunt. A disturbing thought entered his mind, but he quickly purged the idea. It was impossible. "R-right... so what should I be doing?"

"Just keep on watching our backs." The community leader assured him.

"Then what?"

Randall didn't answer him.
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Strompy
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More posts, more Busey.
Brandon couldn't keep this up. His adrenaline rush was over and the grim reality of the situation was sinking in; if he didn't run with the others he was probably going to die here. He took a moment when he wasn't being attacked or helping somebody out of the window. He reached into the pocket of his bag where he kept his ammo. There were another six shells in there. He chambered the last shell in the tube before loading it again.

He could still hear the sounds of a struggle inside. There were probably people barricading themselves in closets and offices. Almost everyone else who wasn't dead seemed to have scattered with this horde of rotters splintering after them. That left less for those left behind to deal with at least. He looked out into the darkness and contemplated bailing with the others. An all too familiar urge to run came over him, and the shame that came with it decided the issue. He'd stay and fight. He could at least get a few more people out.

Swinging a loaded shotgun around wasn't an option, and even if it were he was too tired to fight like that. Frankly he was lucky he hadn't been bitten yet, which he put down to pure adrenaline high taking over. What he could do was stay quiet and stay low. He slung the shotgun and took the screwdriver out of his boot. He could take a few more of those things out by sneaking up on them. They had terrible hearing and eyesight he'd come to realise, but they could smell you easy enough. There were so many people and so much noise that those things would never hear or smell him coming, he could get the drop on them if he avoided being seen.

Climbing into the golf shop he noticed the rotters inside were mostly preoccupied with eating the few unlucky souls that didn't get out, while others continued on into the bar and grill. Three of them were pounding on a door in the corner of the room, which meant there was somebody alive behind there. It was most likely an employee bathroom or store room since it was behind the service counter. Brandon could take out the one in the rear without the other two noticing, but if he took a second out the other would probably notice and that would mean a fight, which meant noise, which meant the whole room would be on him. It was strange but it was like they could just tell what noises were being made by people and which were made by their own.

He used the counter as cover and made his way to the rotters. With the confidence of purpose he placed his left hand beside the rotters head and stabbed at it's right temple. His left hand braced against the force and made sure the screwdriver went deep. Brandon lowered the rotter as quietly and quickly as possible behind the counter. He peeked over to see if he'd been made. All good. That was one. He approached the rotter on the left next, repeating his method. He killed the thing as he had the last, but as he feared its buddy noticed. Brandon didn't even have time to panic as he noticed the rotter open its blackened maw. A huge knife came down right on its head, silencing it before it could let out a snarl to alert the others. For a split second he stood dumbstruck in relief. He looked up to see the scary woman from the gate. Where the hell did she even come from? He gave her a silent nod of appreciation before turning his attention toward the door again.
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DoctorYerishi
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Dude, wake up! We've got a world to save.
"Found it," Eli said, interrupting.

It hadn't been a long search. Roland had left the thermas-sized canister in the top drawer of his desk, laying on a soft pillow of paper.

Eli picked it up, rolled it over in his hands. He read the large, bolded DO NOT OPEN text that had been printed vertically down one side. He exhaled from his nose and wrinkled his forehead, and thought hard about his next move.

He sighed and blinked hard, then put the canister down where he found it and closed the drawer.

He looked up at Randall and Colin, frowning a bit at the sight of the younger man, who seemed to be cracking just a little bit. Not that Eli could blame him.

"If this is the safest place, then so be it," he said.

He gestured towards the office's clear window. Outside, the once-manicured lawn had grown a little shaggy, but seemed to be free of rotters -- at least at first sight. Instead, Eli could make out living people, running for their lives. They gave him an idea that scared and frustrated him.

"Is there anyway to open that window without breaking it? I don't want any of these dead assholes getting in here after. College boy, get on it."

He immediately turned to Randall, leaving Colin to look into opening the window. His frown deepened.

"Say you took the package and ran. Hell, say I did. How far would we get? No supplies, no help, no nothing? I say we'd be dead by next week. We can't let it go down like that."

He took another deep breath. Taking this kind of leadership stance didn't come naturally to him.

"We can't abandon this place," he continued. "We need to take it back. I dunno where Roland is, but I've gotten the feeling people respect you. When we get out there, you're gonna need to do your best George Patton impression. Get ready."

He looked over his shoulder. Colin had solved the window problem, opening it up large enough for all three of them to step through. The sounds of chaos hit their ears with renewed force. Eli led the way.

When he made it to the grass, he jogged a little bit away from the window. He recognized one of the people running -- Willow, the pink-haired pot smoker from the gate. He wasn't sure if she was fleeing or looking for someone to help, and he didn't care.

"Hold up, chica," he said.

He intercepted her and grabbed her arm, a little too forcefully, maybe. He kept holding it as he swivelled around, trying to earn the notice of the other survivors.

"Everybody stop running!" he yelled. "Hold up!"

He hated making the noise, given the situation, but that ship had long since sailed. Now he needed everybody's attention. He seemed to get it. A few people kept running for the outside gates, but at least a dozen haggard-looking stragglers stopped to hear what he had to say.

Eli turned to Randall, who had followed him out. "Let's hear it, 'mano."
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