Post by dragon on Oct 30, 2009 18:05:02 GMT -5
“Sit the hell down!”
(Click click…. BOOM)
“Is that all you got?”
(Click click… BOOOOOOOOOM!)
Over and over I fire my rifle at these damn zombies. I feel like I am playing some sort of sick demented video game as they rush at me, hungering for my blood. As they continue their assault with a never ending determination, I enjoy it. It’s not every day that you get to shoot the first thing that moves without looking at the target.
Wait, I am getting ahead of myself, aren’t I? Let’s see, it has been thirty days since the outbreak. Humans beings that once roamed the earth in search of either wisdom or taco bell have become nothing more than a walking husk. Cities that were once bustling with activity now make way to barren waste lands. Hell, you can’t even take a damn shit without some zombie looking monstrosity disturbing you.
My family as well as my whole damn neighborhood is toast. All I am left with is my truck and my shot gun, a present form my older brother a few years ago. When he had purchased it for me, I laughed it off. I am not the hunting type and living smack dab in the middle of San Francisco doesn’t help either as far as gun use. (Though I was tempted on a few occasions to unload a few shells into my neighbors fence a few times. Their homosexual parties get a bit on the disturbing side at times.)
Leaving my life behind, I drove full steam to my uncle’s house, Terry Jones. His mansion lied on the out skirts of town so chance were that he would be free of the growing scourge. I was right. The blood stained tires of my truck squealed into the drive way as I entered the Jones Estate. Flinging the door open, I rushed to the front door and bang away at it’s over polished exterior. There was no sound. I try a few more times with the same results. Realizing that my efforts were futile, I run around to the back of his house and grab a nearby patio chair. It’s time for a bit of breaking and..
“Don’t even do it.”
A voice speaks behind me. Still holding the chair, I spin around and see Terry Jones looking right at me. He is dressed in black silk bed pants and a white silk shirt. (Even in times of crisis, Terry is a fucking blowhard.)
“You didn’t answer your door” I respond. I am hardly joking either. Though the area remained safe, it was only a matter of time until the place became lifestyles of the rich and the dead.
“Yeah, I was relaxing in the hot tub. What is the problem, kid?” He responds.
I can hardly believe what I am hearing. Hell has opened it’s flood gates and Terry is taking a fucking dip in the hot tub? “Have you been watching the news?”
“Of course. That doesn’t mean that life has come to a stop, now has it?"
I walk around his pool, annoyed to high hell. Originally, I had planned on driving to the Asylum Headquarters to help form a resistance to this shit, along the way casually shooting Warrior in his fat ass head. Now, it seemed that Terry would not be making the trip, either. Turning around, I start heading to my car.
“Where you going?” He asks.
“I am out of here…. While there is a here.” I respond. I am not angry, just in a hurry. As I head around the side of the house, I notice something out of the ordinary…. Blood stains.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“One of those suckers managed to get in here. Let’s just say that he had a bad day.” Terry responds with a laugh.
I turn around, not quite sure why he kept it a secret. As I scan the area, I find my point of interest. Terry’s left arm, hidden under his white shirt, is stained in blood.
“Yeah, it got in and bit the shit out of me. I made sure that he never bites anyone again. Care for a drink?”
I stare at Terry a bit. Christmas had just come early for him. Santa Clause had delivered two hollow tips to the center of his forehead, courtesy of Xplode. After unloading far too many bullets into Terry’s head, I turn around only to find out that I am no longer alone. An army of the dead has come my way. With teeth showing and fingers outstretched, the zombies break into a sprint upon seeing me!
I rush to my truck, foregoing entering it and climbing on top of the roof instead. My black shirt gets yanked as I climb, ripping right off my body as I reach my destination. I begin to fire and pump away with my weapon, everyone once in awhile kicking out at whatever hell spawn gets near me. I hold nothing back, knowing that as soon as the bullets run out that I am a dead man. If I am going to die, it will be on my terms. My ammo begins to grow light as I fire away. Hope has begun to leave my mind. Until I see the one man that inspires fear in anyone… even the undead.
2 wheels come screaming to a halt as Oblivion dismounts his Harley. His black leathers are blood stained, ripped and seen better days. In his hand is a 44 magnum that he uses in extreme accuracy. The army of the dead begins to disperse as they turn their attention to him and yet, he never blinks an eye. I decide to join in on the fun… not letting him become the hero of the day. It is only a matter of minutes until the last few zombies are mopped up.
“Let’s go.” says Oblivion as he mounts back on his bike.
“I don’t ride bitch.” I reply, as I look at the back seat of his hog.
“That’s ok… I don’t ride with bitches.” replies Obi with a smile. I hop on the back seat anyway, 12 gauge shot gun armed and ready. I opt to ride backwards, giving myself a better point of view to fire at whatever comes our way. As the motorcycle kicks to a mighty roar, we begin to leave Terry’s house until I notice something.
“Stop the bike” I say as Obi does exactly that. Running through the bushes is Terry Jones. His eyes are glazed, his hands reaching out to us. I aim my shotgun at the fuel tank of my truck, resting just in front of him…
(BANG!)
A towering inferno of flames covers the sky as my truck explodes! Terry Jones is never seen again as his whole estate become embroiled in flames. “Ok, all set.” I say.
“Show off.” replies Obi. The bike kicks on again as we pull away and head out towards the Asylum. The disease is out of hand, time is running out… and I am running out of patience.
(Click click…. BOOM)
“Is that all you got?”
(Click click… BOOOOOOOOOM!)
Over and over I fire my rifle at these damn zombies. I feel like I am playing some sort of sick demented video game as they rush at me, hungering for my blood. As they continue their assault with a never ending determination, I enjoy it. It’s not every day that you get to shoot the first thing that moves without looking at the target.
Wait, I am getting ahead of myself, aren’t I? Let’s see, it has been thirty days since the outbreak. Humans beings that once roamed the earth in search of either wisdom or taco bell have become nothing more than a walking husk. Cities that were once bustling with activity now make way to barren waste lands. Hell, you can’t even take a damn shit without some zombie looking monstrosity disturbing you.
My family as well as my whole damn neighborhood is toast. All I am left with is my truck and my shot gun, a present form my older brother a few years ago. When he had purchased it for me, I laughed it off. I am not the hunting type and living smack dab in the middle of San Francisco doesn’t help either as far as gun use. (Though I was tempted on a few occasions to unload a few shells into my neighbors fence a few times. Their homosexual parties get a bit on the disturbing side at times.)
Leaving my life behind, I drove full steam to my uncle’s house, Terry Jones. His mansion lied on the out skirts of town so chance were that he would be free of the growing scourge. I was right. The blood stained tires of my truck squealed into the drive way as I entered the Jones Estate. Flinging the door open, I rushed to the front door and bang away at it’s over polished exterior. There was no sound. I try a few more times with the same results. Realizing that my efforts were futile, I run around to the back of his house and grab a nearby patio chair. It’s time for a bit of breaking and..
“Don’t even do it.”
A voice speaks behind me. Still holding the chair, I spin around and see Terry Jones looking right at me. He is dressed in black silk bed pants and a white silk shirt. (Even in times of crisis, Terry is a fucking blowhard.)
“You didn’t answer your door” I respond. I am hardly joking either. Though the area remained safe, it was only a matter of time until the place became lifestyles of the rich and the dead.
“Yeah, I was relaxing in the hot tub. What is the problem, kid?” He responds.
I can hardly believe what I am hearing. Hell has opened it’s flood gates and Terry is taking a fucking dip in the hot tub? “Have you been watching the news?”
“Of course. That doesn’t mean that life has come to a stop, now has it?"
I walk around his pool, annoyed to high hell. Originally, I had planned on driving to the Asylum Headquarters to help form a resistance to this shit, along the way casually shooting Warrior in his fat ass head. Now, it seemed that Terry would not be making the trip, either. Turning around, I start heading to my car.
“Where you going?” He asks.
“I am out of here…. While there is a here.” I respond. I am not angry, just in a hurry. As I head around the side of the house, I notice something out of the ordinary…. Blood stains.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“One of those suckers managed to get in here. Let’s just say that he had a bad day.” Terry responds with a laugh.
I turn around, not quite sure why he kept it a secret. As I scan the area, I find my point of interest. Terry’s left arm, hidden under his white shirt, is stained in blood.
“Yeah, it got in and bit the shit out of me. I made sure that he never bites anyone again. Care for a drink?”
I stare at Terry a bit. Christmas had just come early for him. Santa Clause had delivered two hollow tips to the center of his forehead, courtesy of Xplode. After unloading far too many bullets into Terry’s head, I turn around only to find out that I am no longer alone. An army of the dead has come my way. With teeth showing and fingers outstretched, the zombies break into a sprint upon seeing me!
I rush to my truck, foregoing entering it and climbing on top of the roof instead. My black shirt gets yanked as I climb, ripping right off my body as I reach my destination. I begin to fire and pump away with my weapon, everyone once in awhile kicking out at whatever hell spawn gets near me. I hold nothing back, knowing that as soon as the bullets run out that I am a dead man. If I am going to die, it will be on my terms. My ammo begins to grow light as I fire away. Hope has begun to leave my mind. Until I see the one man that inspires fear in anyone… even the undead.
2 wheels come screaming to a halt as Oblivion dismounts his Harley. His black leathers are blood stained, ripped and seen better days. In his hand is a 44 magnum that he uses in extreme accuracy. The army of the dead begins to disperse as they turn their attention to him and yet, he never blinks an eye. I decide to join in on the fun… not letting him become the hero of the day. It is only a matter of minutes until the last few zombies are mopped up.
“Let’s go.” says Oblivion as he mounts back on his bike.
“I don’t ride bitch.” I reply, as I look at the back seat of his hog.
“That’s ok… I don’t ride with bitches.” replies Obi with a smile. I hop on the back seat anyway, 12 gauge shot gun armed and ready. I opt to ride backwards, giving myself a better point of view to fire at whatever comes our way. As the motorcycle kicks to a mighty roar, we begin to leave Terry’s house until I notice something.
“Stop the bike” I say as Obi does exactly that. Running through the bushes is Terry Jones. His eyes are glazed, his hands reaching out to us. I aim my shotgun at the fuel tank of my truck, resting just in front of him…
(BANG!)
A towering inferno of flames covers the sky as my truck explodes! Terry Jones is never seen again as his whole estate become embroiled in flames. “Ok, all set.” I say.
“Show off.” replies Obi. The bike kicks on again as we pull away and head out towards the Asylum. The disease is out of hand, time is running out… and I am running out of patience.