B
Broomhandle45
Guest
Fuck
It was cold, not the normal kind of cold either. It was a biting, deep cold that was normal in this part of winter. But that was when you could find yourself in your house, nice and warm. Without any bogeymen to paw at your window..heh, he missed those times. Go rural, he thought..it'd be so much safer, he thought! Yeah, look at him now..turns out infected were everywhere. He didn't know if they migrated like birds or something..but it was impossible to go anywhere without finding packs of them.
His boots crunched against the snow, his breath coming in heavy puffs of steam. He was running, running as fast as his long since fit legs would take him. His only solace was that the snow was ankle deep, but the mass of pissed off people behind him made this less than a winter jog. You had to give people immense credit, they reinforced houses and doors in the most ramshackle way for any sort of safety. But it was these safehouses that kept people safe..one single house outside of a heavily walled town that was probably overrun from the inside out.
The man turned mid run, his well worn 1911 drawn and took aim. Two shots rang out as the .45's splattered across the chest and leg of two infected, sending the others stumbling over their bodies to buy him some time. What little time he had left, he was so close..but still so far away from his goal, even more so when he heard the high pitched shriek that made his blood run cold. As soon as his feet hit the patio, he turned to his right with a curse. That high pitched wail came right at him and he brought up his .45, the shot slamming into the side of the Hunter's face as they crashed together, the railing on the patio shattered against his back as he hit the ground ten feet below him.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
The pain in his back was kind of hard to feel when you had some psychotic creature on top of you. He snarled in pain as his fists slammed into his chest, the 1911 pressed against the Hunter's chin and he pulled the trigger, blood splattered across his face as the bullet tore through his face and splattered out the top of his head. He pushed the Hunter off with a heavy pant, rising up as fast as the throb in his back would let him. He didn't have a lot of time, he already heard them screaming around the corner as he rose up his pistol, putting three more down as he ran around the house. It made sense that there wouldn't be another place to get in. Everything was boarded up!
He almost thought he got it until the Infected that never chased him were waiting. Son of a BITCH! They had pinned him! The last round in his 1911 splattered the brain of a rushing infected, the slide of his .45 snapped back and he smoothly reached back for his knife with a grit of his teeth. The next infected had it buried in the side of his throat in a reverse grip, ripping it out in a spray of blood the third one from his safety had the hunting knife rammed into her gut and shoved towards the rushing mass. What little time it could buy as he opened the iron latch on the door and slid in, slamming it shut and barring it down with the heavy iron grating as the infected pounded ceaselessly on the door.
Matthew Ivey finally relaxed when he realized he was truly safe for the night, dropping the empty magazine in his 1911 and replacing it with a fresh one as he racked the slide back and holstered it with a heavy sigh. He was a younger man in his twenties, settled around 5'6 with dark hair and dark eyes..generally unassuming to look at as he took stock of the first floor of the boarded up house. Tables forced into equipment racks, ammo crates and weapons that were given by the Army for everyone to use from the incoming Hordes..maps that splayed out hundreds of different escape routes, some x'd out with scribblings of rumors why it was unwise or inaccessible.
At least this place was somewhat warm, that was a small mercy indeed. Call it bitterness, or maybe just the thought that he might not be the only one who wasn't dead...he called out into the second story:
"Hello?" His voice carried so well it made his ears ring, he almost winced. But who was he kidding? He hadn't seen anyone since everything went to hell.
It was cold, not the normal kind of cold either. It was a biting, deep cold that was normal in this part of winter. But that was when you could find yourself in your house, nice and warm. Without any bogeymen to paw at your window..heh, he missed those times. Go rural, he thought..it'd be so much safer, he thought! Yeah, look at him now..turns out infected were everywhere. He didn't know if they migrated like birds or something..but it was impossible to go anywhere without finding packs of them.
His boots crunched against the snow, his breath coming in heavy puffs of steam. He was running, running as fast as his long since fit legs would take him. His only solace was that the snow was ankle deep, but the mass of pissed off people behind him made this less than a winter jog. You had to give people immense credit, they reinforced houses and doors in the most ramshackle way for any sort of safety. But it was these safehouses that kept people safe..one single house outside of a heavily walled town that was probably overrun from the inside out.
The man turned mid run, his well worn 1911 drawn and took aim. Two shots rang out as the .45's splattered across the chest and leg of two infected, sending the others stumbling over their bodies to buy him some time. What little time he had left, he was so close..but still so far away from his goal, even more so when he heard the high pitched shriek that made his blood run cold. As soon as his feet hit the patio, he turned to his right with a curse. That high pitched wail came right at him and he brought up his .45, the shot slamming into the side of the Hunter's face as they crashed together, the railing on the patio shattered against his back as he hit the ground ten feet below him.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
The pain in his back was kind of hard to feel when you had some psychotic creature on top of you. He snarled in pain as his fists slammed into his chest, the 1911 pressed against the Hunter's chin and he pulled the trigger, blood splattered across his face as the bullet tore through his face and splattered out the top of his head. He pushed the Hunter off with a heavy pant, rising up as fast as the throb in his back would let him. He didn't have a lot of time, he already heard them screaming around the corner as he rose up his pistol, putting three more down as he ran around the house. It made sense that there wouldn't be another place to get in. Everything was boarded up!
He almost thought he got it until the Infected that never chased him were waiting. Son of a BITCH! They had pinned him! The last round in his 1911 splattered the brain of a rushing infected, the slide of his .45 snapped back and he smoothly reached back for his knife with a grit of his teeth. The next infected had it buried in the side of his throat in a reverse grip, ripping it out in a spray of blood the third one from his safety had the hunting knife rammed into her gut and shoved towards the rushing mass. What little time it could buy as he opened the iron latch on the door and slid in, slamming it shut and barring it down with the heavy iron grating as the infected pounded ceaselessly on the door.
Matthew Ivey finally relaxed when he realized he was truly safe for the night, dropping the empty magazine in his 1911 and replacing it with a fresh one as he racked the slide back and holstered it with a heavy sigh. He was a younger man in his twenties, settled around 5'6 with dark hair and dark eyes..generally unassuming to look at as he took stock of the first floor of the boarded up house. Tables forced into equipment racks, ammo crates and weapons that were given by the Army for everyone to use from the incoming Hordes..maps that splayed out hundreds of different escape routes, some x'd out with scribblings of rumors why it was unwise or inaccessible.
At least this place was somewhat warm, that was a small mercy indeed. Call it bitterness, or maybe just the thought that he might not be the only one who wasn't dead...he called out into the second story:
"Hello?" His voice carried so well it made his ears ring, he almost winced. But who was he kidding? He hadn't seen anyone since everything went to hell.