Post by Teh Chez on May 8, 2010 9:06:00 GMT -5
A little story I've finally got back to working on. I posted the first chapter back at the old UIF. It's based off a little RP myself and a few other members had back in the good old days. I just changed up a good bit of stuff to make it jive as a story and to help it sit well with me since I'm a little bit of realism whore. Any way... Here it is.
______________________________________________________
As the sun was setting a cool breeze blew through Raccoon City. Standing on a rooftop was a man dressed in black, cold gray eyes staring out across the city. Mark .K Lorrens was his name, and he knew more about what was going on than the inhabitants of the city. Half the population lived in fear of a new terror that stalked the streets during the night hours.
It all started with mutilated corpses turning up along the rivers and disappearances of hikers on the trails winding through the Arklay Mountains. Reports of cannibalism and masked axe wielding figure began leaking to the press. Responding to this a special branch of the Raccoon City Police Department was sent in to investigate. Special Tactics and Rescue Services; also known as S.T.A.R.S.
It might have seemed like a good idea to the average citizen, but it was a grave tactical error. Bravo team was the first sent in. The senior members well aware of the danger, but unknowing of what they would face. Contact was lost after reporting engine trouble and a emergency landing; resulting in Alpha team's deployment. Out of the twelve members only five returned.
With them came tales of zombies, mutants, and other bio weapons created by the pharmaceutical corporation know as Umbrella. Their stories were considered the result of hallucination caused by toxins from mountain vegetation. S.T.A.R.S. was officially disbanded and replaced by the Select Police Force. Three of the survivors remained in the US and two traveled to Europe.
Two months had passed after the Arklay incident. Many more reports of cannibalism and "monsters" drifted through the town. Most of them had been filed away as simple assault, murder, and hysteria. It wasn't that the local police were incompetent. Their hands were tied due to the chief of police who's pockets were filled by the Umbrella Corporation. All of which would lead to Raccoon City's demise.
How did a man such as himself know this? Not only was he employed by Umbrella. He was also head of the Umbrella Security Service, preferring to work alone than be stuck with a platoon of other U.S.S. members. "Never would have happened if it weren't for those two fools." he muttered. The revenge of Marcus was the spark causing the outbreak. Failure of second U.S.S. deployment involving Birkin was gasoline. Both incidents leaving a black mark on the record of his unit.
All that would change though; tonight all hell would break loose. The T-Virus had saturated Raccoon City for nearly a week. U.B.C.S. and U.S. Army activity would be overlooked by his men. While combat data was collected he would report directly to Dr. Thorpe and escort him to the extraction point. Other operatives would dispose of anything tying Umbrella to the outbreak within Raccoon. Although government reprisal wasn't that much of an issue.
Those at the helm of Umbrella were far too intelligent to lose everything they had worked so hard to achieve. Their safety net was a skeleton made up of shell companies, hidden bank accounts, secret trusts, and much more. He knew it would take a thousand lawyers, accountants, and a super computer to sort through all that mess in order to tie everything together. Umbrella might fall, but it would not be finished off.
As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil.
September 26, 1998 7:00 PM
For the past two days Alex Paulson had been holed up inside of his three room apartment. Nothing for company except a police scanner, old TV, and his guns. He had seen no sign of any rescue personnel. The streets outside the building were pretty quiet, but all the other tenants had left for family or remained locked up in their apartments. Luckily the power was still on and no one infected by the mysterious disease had shown up on their door step. Any entrance on the first floor leading outside had been locked up.
Judging by various news stations Raccoon City was placed under quarantine by the United States Government and the army had been sent in to investigate. Due to the intensity of the riots in progress the RPD authorized the use of lethal force by officers. Various radio conversations he heard on the scanner said all attempts to contain the rioting within the city had failed. What struck him as weird was the fact that officers had resorted to using the term zombie. All of which didn't make him feel any more safe.
Food is running out and there isn't any safe water left, he thought. All the leftovers in the refrigerator had been the first to go. Three gallon jugs had been filled with water as soon as the emergency had been declared. All of it filtered and boiled to purify it. He was down to half a gallon. Only option available was to head out on foot and try to make it to a police check point. The police had already started closing off areas they couldn't control. It was possible they had pulled out of the downtown area entirely.
Of course he couldn't just waltz out with a pistol and Rambo mindset. Walking into the bedroom one would immediately notice a rifle lying on the bed. It was a slightly used Ruger Mini-14 semi-automatic rifle. Along with it were four ten round and three forty round detachable magazines. More of the latter would have been preferred except the semi-automatic assault weapon ban had made them a little hard to come by. Not to mention all high capacity magazines sold by Ruger were intended for law enforcement. Each magazine was loaded, two of them with 5.56 steel core ammunition, and the rest with .223 soft point. seven of the cartridges were tracers. Loaded second from last.
Kicking a pile of clothes out of the way he found exactly what he was looking for. From underneath the bed he pulled out an old card board box and dumped it's contents next to the rifle. One patrol belt and three magazine pouches. Picked up from a gun show a few years ago. On top of that a fifty round bandoleer with thirty-eight caliber loops and leather holster. Custom made for his grandfather and then passed onto him. Along with three twenty-round boxes of .357 jacketed-hollow points.
After loading up the bandoleer, strapping on the belt, pocketing the extra .357 cartridges he slung the Mini-14 on his shoulder and walked back into the living room. His grandfather's Ruger GP100 was sitting on the desk. Plastic jug of water sitting nearby. Last of anything safe to drink, he thought filling an empty bottle. Making sure everything was turned off he picked up the revolver and started for the door. Grabbing a jacket on the way out. With October around the corner it was going to be a cold September night.
The hall was devoid of any human activity. Every door closed and probably locked. All that could be heard was the sound of someone coming down the stairs. It was an older man in blue jeans and a dark red jacket. Didn't take long to recognize him. The custodian, he'd seen him around the building a few times. Never talked to him though. "I'd turn around and head back up the stairs if I were you." Alex said. He felt a sick to his stomach when the man turned to look his way. It looked like he had been mauled by a dog. Strips of flesh hung in loose ribbons.
The man looked at him then started down the stairs. A raspy moan escaped his lips. "Don't come any closer" Alex warned. The man kept shambling toward him. What is the matter with that gun, he thought. Last thing he wanted to do was shoot someone, but if he had to he certainly would. Very slowly he started backing away to put more room between him and the man.
"Stop right now! Do not move!" he shouted pulling the hammer back. No sign of his assailant stopping. He took aim at the center of the man's chest and squeezed the trigger. The shot rang out through the building. Though he had flinched the shot was off a five inches to the left. The bullet hit the man, punched through the lung, the liver, and tore through his back. It only caused him to pause for a moment before continuing forward.
Alex didn't know why it didn't stop him. That much trauma to those organs should've put him on the ground. Distance between them was quickly diminishing. He took aim again, dead center just a few inches below the throat. This time he didn't flinch. The bullet hit just an inch higher than intended, tore through the chest cavity hitting the spine, and dropping him on the spot. Very slowly Alex moved forward keeping the muzzle of the gun low enough to see all of the target, but where he could easily bring it up to fire.
Gently he nudged the man's body with his foot. No movement or any sign of life. He couldn't believe he had just killed another human being. He wasn't sad nor disgusted. All he felt was anger. Not that he was angry at himself, but mostly at the man he had just shot. "I told you to stop goddamn! I warned you three fucking times and you didn't listen!" Alex yelled. Shaking his head and holstering his revolver he started pacing. "Why the hell didn't you listen?" he growled before kicking the corpse one time.
Taking a deep breath while running a hand through his hair he started for the stairs. It's done. There's nothing I can do about it now. Let's just focus on getting out of here, he thought. Reaching the bottom of the stairs he unlocked the door and stepped outside. A cool breeze slipped through his open jacket causing him to shiver. Locking the entrance back once more he slipped the keys to his apartment door and the building's entrance underneath the door.
All was quiet outside and the street was empty. Fires raged in the distance, thick black smoke drifted over the horizon, and thousands of infected citizens roamed the city. However his street was quite peaceful in all the chaos. Time to get the hell out of dodge, Alex thought, and god help anything that stands in my way.
8:23 PM
"ETA twenty minutes...." the Pilot said.
Joseph Rainer started loading the last few shells into his shotgun. A Remington 870 heavily modified to meet all of his requirements. He clicked the safety and sat it next to him. Everyone in the helicopter was a bit anxious to get on the ground and get this mission over with. They were all the best of the best and the worst of the worst. Basic infantry to special forces officers. Prisoners for political reasons to convicted war criminals. Americans, Russians, Columbians, Bosnians, and other nationalities.
Looking out the window he looked over the city they have come to so-called save; it looked like a living hell. Fires burned in many parts of the city. Abandoned cars and bodies littered the streets. Occasionally he would see a muzzle flash from someone shooting below. Proved some survivors had escaped the devastation were fighting to stay alive. "Sometimes you've got to kick down the devil's door just to save a life." he muttered, taking his time cleaning his Jericho 491 for the last time to making sure he was ready for anything. It was hard to grasp a fool's hope though. Except he had a gambler's luck and years of combat experience on his side.
"Go! Go! Go!" shouted Khoury the team supervisor. Three UBCS Soldiers were already on the ground securing the perimeter. He holstered the Jericho and slung the shotgun across his back. The supervisor was next out and it was Joseph's turn. Taking a quick look at the surroundings of their area of operations he slid down the rope to the pavement waiting below. Should've picked up a different sling, he thought as his feet hit the pavement. Looking up at a nearby sign it read Aiken Street.
"Where the hell's that smell coming from?" whispered Parker.
"Don't know. It's somewhere to the North." Joseph answered. Sure enough the wind carried the stench of decay and smoke right to them. It had been faint during his descent from the helicopter. Now it was getting stronger. He knew it wasn't a good sign. Without thinking he hit the safety and stared out across the empty streets. No visible signs of life. Streets looked the same as they had from above. The wind picked up blowing a crumpled newspaper away from them. Urban western, he thought with a smile watching it travel down the street like tumbleweed.
A few spent cartridges were lying over on the sidewalk. Dropping to one knee he picked them up with his free hand. Judging by the size they looked to be 5.56 casings. Pretty much what whole platoon carried besides himself and Andy. Minor scratches stood out on the polished brass. Turning them slightly he could see where one of them had been stepped on. The neck area of the case was bent pretty bad. Stamped on the bottom was .223 Rem. Close, he thought gently placing them back on the ground. Only two groups of people to carry that type were police and civilians. The cool metal told him they had cleared out a long time ago.
"Cut that line chatter and get back into formation!" Khoury ordered.
Moments later the sound of automatic rifles filled the night air. "Think its from the North-East, Delta Platoon probably." Joseph stated. A single-shot drowned out their sound causing everyone nearby to find cover. Joseph spotted their designated marksman Andy up on a fire escape. Barrel of a large bolt-action rifle resting on the railing. "Hostiles approaching from the East." Andy replied working the rifle's bolt. Joseph watched the spent case fall ground. The sound of it hitting the concrete seemed to echo.
Off in the middle of the street he could see a body of a civilian. Half of their head was missing though. Pitiful moans could be heard not far from their location. "We got movement! South West!" shouted Parker moving back into formation. Sure enough a group of people shambled toward them. Dressed in tattered clothing, covered in blood, and smelling like road kill.
"Open fire!" shouted Khoury. A hail of copper enclosed steel made contact with the decaying mob. Of those that fell some were killed, but the others continued to crawl toward them with inhuman determination. Things were already looking grim with their only chance for escape slipping away. "Fall back, fall back!" yelled the supervisor. Where to, Joseph thought. Odds were the other teams had failed to set up a secure perimeter.
More of the undead began to file out into the streets. Closing in from behind them cutting off their best option for escape. As the noose tightened three of the UBCS disappeared into the mass of walking corpses. Their screams and the sound of flesh being stripped from bone couldn't be heard over the gunfire and pitiful moans. The dull roar of the shotgun drowned everything else out. Following every shot was a pattern of twelve .33 caliber pellets that caused untold damage after slamming into each target.
In less than thirty seconds part of the crowd had been hammered into submission. Adrenaline surged through his body as he retrieved a few shells from the pouch on his vest. It seemed to take forever to load them. Everything was spinning out of control. "Move!" he shouted chambering another shell. The rest of them got the idea with Khoury leading the way. Parker was the last to go keeping the advancing undead at bay. When the magazine was empty he grinned before disappearing into the alley. Joseph moved back so the walls of the two building would keep him from being surrounded. Once more the riot gun opened up to hold off the ghoulish horde.
Nothing else existed besides himself, his weapon, and the mob in front of him. He paid no attention as to what they looked like. His mind only took time to register the closest target, whether or not the sights were properly aligned, and when to fire. Everything was silent except the sound of the gun's action cycling. Operation of the slide was a reflex after every shot. The scent of burning gun powder was stronger right then than any other time he had fired the shotgun. Seconds turned to hours. When the firing pin clicked on an empty chamber he drew his sidearm.
The only living humans left in the area were Andy and himself. When the big gun fell silent Joseph knew it was time to leave. Eighty-four souls were laid to rest after the battle on Aiken Street. All but three were dead before the conflict ever took place. More than a hundred wandered the area in search of the living. Their appetite not the least bit slated by the warm bodies lying in the street. Of the twelve UBCS that escaped seven were missing. Only two of those seven survived. The rest were added to the growing army within the city.
______________________________________________________
As the sun was setting a cool breeze blew through Raccoon City. Standing on a rooftop was a man dressed in black, cold gray eyes staring out across the city. Mark .K Lorrens was his name, and he knew more about what was going on than the inhabitants of the city. Half the population lived in fear of a new terror that stalked the streets during the night hours.
It all started with mutilated corpses turning up along the rivers and disappearances of hikers on the trails winding through the Arklay Mountains. Reports of cannibalism and masked axe wielding figure began leaking to the press. Responding to this a special branch of the Raccoon City Police Department was sent in to investigate. Special Tactics and Rescue Services; also known as S.T.A.R.S.
It might have seemed like a good idea to the average citizen, but it was a grave tactical error. Bravo team was the first sent in. The senior members well aware of the danger, but unknowing of what they would face. Contact was lost after reporting engine trouble and a emergency landing; resulting in Alpha team's deployment. Out of the twelve members only five returned.
With them came tales of zombies, mutants, and other bio weapons created by the pharmaceutical corporation know as Umbrella. Their stories were considered the result of hallucination caused by toxins from mountain vegetation. S.T.A.R.S. was officially disbanded and replaced by the Select Police Force. Three of the survivors remained in the US and two traveled to Europe.
Two months had passed after the Arklay incident. Many more reports of cannibalism and "monsters" drifted through the town. Most of them had been filed away as simple assault, murder, and hysteria. It wasn't that the local police were incompetent. Their hands were tied due to the chief of police who's pockets were filled by the Umbrella Corporation. All of which would lead to Raccoon City's demise.
How did a man such as himself know this? Not only was he employed by Umbrella. He was also head of the Umbrella Security Service, preferring to work alone than be stuck with a platoon of other U.S.S. members. "Never would have happened if it weren't for those two fools." he muttered. The revenge of Marcus was the spark causing the outbreak. Failure of second U.S.S. deployment involving Birkin was gasoline. Both incidents leaving a black mark on the record of his unit.
All that would change though; tonight all hell would break loose. The T-Virus had saturated Raccoon City for nearly a week. U.B.C.S. and U.S. Army activity would be overlooked by his men. While combat data was collected he would report directly to Dr. Thorpe and escort him to the extraction point. Other operatives would dispose of anything tying Umbrella to the outbreak within Raccoon. Although government reprisal wasn't that much of an issue.
Those at the helm of Umbrella were far too intelligent to lose everything they had worked so hard to achieve. Their safety net was a skeleton made up of shell companies, hidden bank accounts, secret trusts, and much more. He knew it would take a thousand lawyers, accountants, and a super computer to sort through all that mess in order to tie everything together. Umbrella might fall, but it would not be finished off.
As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil.
September 26, 1998 7:00 PM
For the past two days Alex Paulson had been holed up inside of his three room apartment. Nothing for company except a police scanner, old TV, and his guns. He had seen no sign of any rescue personnel. The streets outside the building were pretty quiet, but all the other tenants had left for family or remained locked up in their apartments. Luckily the power was still on and no one infected by the mysterious disease had shown up on their door step. Any entrance on the first floor leading outside had been locked up.
Judging by various news stations Raccoon City was placed under quarantine by the United States Government and the army had been sent in to investigate. Due to the intensity of the riots in progress the RPD authorized the use of lethal force by officers. Various radio conversations he heard on the scanner said all attempts to contain the rioting within the city had failed. What struck him as weird was the fact that officers had resorted to using the term zombie. All of which didn't make him feel any more safe.
Food is running out and there isn't any safe water left, he thought. All the leftovers in the refrigerator had been the first to go. Three gallon jugs had been filled with water as soon as the emergency had been declared. All of it filtered and boiled to purify it. He was down to half a gallon. Only option available was to head out on foot and try to make it to a police check point. The police had already started closing off areas they couldn't control. It was possible they had pulled out of the downtown area entirely.
Of course he couldn't just waltz out with a pistol and Rambo mindset. Walking into the bedroom one would immediately notice a rifle lying on the bed. It was a slightly used Ruger Mini-14 semi-automatic rifle. Along with it were four ten round and three forty round detachable magazines. More of the latter would have been preferred except the semi-automatic assault weapon ban had made them a little hard to come by. Not to mention all high capacity magazines sold by Ruger were intended for law enforcement. Each magazine was loaded, two of them with 5.56 steel core ammunition, and the rest with .223 soft point. seven of the cartridges were tracers. Loaded second from last.
Kicking a pile of clothes out of the way he found exactly what he was looking for. From underneath the bed he pulled out an old card board box and dumped it's contents next to the rifle. One patrol belt and three magazine pouches. Picked up from a gun show a few years ago. On top of that a fifty round bandoleer with thirty-eight caliber loops and leather holster. Custom made for his grandfather and then passed onto him. Along with three twenty-round boxes of .357 jacketed-hollow points.
After loading up the bandoleer, strapping on the belt, pocketing the extra .357 cartridges he slung the Mini-14 on his shoulder and walked back into the living room. His grandfather's Ruger GP100 was sitting on the desk. Plastic jug of water sitting nearby. Last of anything safe to drink, he thought filling an empty bottle. Making sure everything was turned off he picked up the revolver and started for the door. Grabbing a jacket on the way out. With October around the corner it was going to be a cold September night.
The hall was devoid of any human activity. Every door closed and probably locked. All that could be heard was the sound of someone coming down the stairs. It was an older man in blue jeans and a dark red jacket. Didn't take long to recognize him. The custodian, he'd seen him around the building a few times. Never talked to him though. "I'd turn around and head back up the stairs if I were you." Alex said. He felt a sick to his stomach when the man turned to look his way. It looked like he had been mauled by a dog. Strips of flesh hung in loose ribbons.
The man looked at him then started down the stairs. A raspy moan escaped his lips. "Don't come any closer" Alex warned. The man kept shambling toward him. What is the matter with that gun, he thought. Last thing he wanted to do was shoot someone, but if he had to he certainly would. Very slowly he started backing away to put more room between him and the man.
"Stop right now! Do not move!" he shouted pulling the hammer back. No sign of his assailant stopping. He took aim at the center of the man's chest and squeezed the trigger. The shot rang out through the building. Though he had flinched the shot was off a five inches to the left. The bullet hit the man, punched through the lung, the liver, and tore through his back. It only caused him to pause for a moment before continuing forward.
Alex didn't know why it didn't stop him. That much trauma to those organs should've put him on the ground. Distance between them was quickly diminishing. He took aim again, dead center just a few inches below the throat. This time he didn't flinch. The bullet hit just an inch higher than intended, tore through the chest cavity hitting the spine, and dropping him on the spot. Very slowly Alex moved forward keeping the muzzle of the gun low enough to see all of the target, but where he could easily bring it up to fire.
Gently he nudged the man's body with his foot. No movement or any sign of life. He couldn't believe he had just killed another human being. He wasn't sad nor disgusted. All he felt was anger. Not that he was angry at himself, but mostly at the man he had just shot. "I told you to stop goddamn! I warned you three fucking times and you didn't listen!" Alex yelled. Shaking his head and holstering his revolver he started pacing. "Why the hell didn't you listen?" he growled before kicking the corpse one time.
Taking a deep breath while running a hand through his hair he started for the stairs. It's done. There's nothing I can do about it now. Let's just focus on getting out of here, he thought. Reaching the bottom of the stairs he unlocked the door and stepped outside. A cool breeze slipped through his open jacket causing him to shiver. Locking the entrance back once more he slipped the keys to his apartment door and the building's entrance underneath the door.
All was quiet outside and the street was empty. Fires raged in the distance, thick black smoke drifted over the horizon, and thousands of infected citizens roamed the city. However his street was quite peaceful in all the chaos. Time to get the hell out of dodge, Alex thought, and god help anything that stands in my way.
8:23 PM
"ETA twenty minutes...." the Pilot said.
Joseph Rainer started loading the last few shells into his shotgun. A Remington 870 heavily modified to meet all of his requirements. He clicked the safety and sat it next to him. Everyone in the helicopter was a bit anxious to get on the ground and get this mission over with. They were all the best of the best and the worst of the worst. Basic infantry to special forces officers. Prisoners for political reasons to convicted war criminals. Americans, Russians, Columbians, Bosnians, and other nationalities.
Looking out the window he looked over the city they have come to so-called save; it looked like a living hell. Fires burned in many parts of the city. Abandoned cars and bodies littered the streets. Occasionally he would see a muzzle flash from someone shooting below. Proved some survivors had escaped the devastation were fighting to stay alive. "Sometimes you've got to kick down the devil's door just to save a life." he muttered, taking his time cleaning his Jericho 491 for the last time to making sure he was ready for anything. It was hard to grasp a fool's hope though. Except he had a gambler's luck and years of combat experience on his side.
"Go! Go! Go!" shouted Khoury the team supervisor. Three UBCS Soldiers were already on the ground securing the perimeter. He holstered the Jericho and slung the shotgun across his back. The supervisor was next out and it was Joseph's turn. Taking a quick look at the surroundings of their area of operations he slid down the rope to the pavement waiting below. Should've picked up a different sling, he thought as his feet hit the pavement. Looking up at a nearby sign it read Aiken Street.
"Where the hell's that smell coming from?" whispered Parker.
"Don't know. It's somewhere to the North." Joseph answered. Sure enough the wind carried the stench of decay and smoke right to them. It had been faint during his descent from the helicopter. Now it was getting stronger. He knew it wasn't a good sign. Without thinking he hit the safety and stared out across the empty streets. No visible signs of life. Streets looked the same as they had from above. The wind picked up blowing a crumpled newspaper away from them. Urban western, he thought with a smile watching it travel down the street like tumbleweed.
A few spent cartridges were lying over on the sidewalk. Dropping to one knee he picked them up with his free hand. Judging by the size they looked to be 5.56 casings. Pretty much what whole platoon carried besides himself and Andy. Minor scratches stood out on the polished brass. Turning them slightly he could see where one of them had been stepped on. The neck area of the case was bent pretty bad. Stamped on the bottom was .223 Rem. Close, he thought gently placing them back on the ground. Only two groups of people to carry that type were police and civilians. The cool metal told him they had cleared out a long time ago.
"Cut that line chatter and get back into formation!" Khoury ordered.
Moments later the sound of automatic rifles filled the night air. "Think its from the North-East, Delta Platoon probably." Joseph stated. A single-shot drowned out their sound causing everyone nearby to find cover. Joseph spotted their designated marksman Andy up on a fire escape. Barrel of a large bolt-action rifle resting on the railing. "Hostiles approaching from the East." Andy replied working the rifle's bolt. Joseph watched the spent case fall ground. The sound of it hitting the concrete seemed to echo.
Off in the middle of the street he could see a body of a civilian. Half of their head was missing though. Pitiful moans could be heard not far from their location. "We got movement! South West!" shouted Parker moving back into formation. Sure enough a group of people shambled toward them. Dressed in tattered clothing, covered in blood, and smelling like road kill.
"Open fire!" shouted Khoury. A hail of copper enclosed steel made contact with the decaying mob. Of those that fell some were killed, but the others continued to crawl toward them with inhuman determination. Things were already looking grim with their only chance for escape slipping away. "Fall back, fall back!" yelled the supervisor. Where to, Joseph thought. Odds were the other teams had failed to set up a secure perimeter.
More of the undead began to file out into the streets. Closing in from behind them cutting off their best option for escape. As the noose tightened three of the UBCS disappeared into the mass of walking corpses. Their screams and the sound of flesh being stripped from bone couldn't be heard over the gunfire and pitiful moans. The dull roar of the shotgun drowned everything else out. Following every shot was a pattern of twelve .33 caliber pellets that caused untold damage after slamming into each target.
In less than thirty seconds part of the crowd had been hammered into submission. Adrenaline surged through his body as he retrieved a few shells from the pouch on his vest. It seemed to take forever to load them. Everything was spinning out of control. "Move!" he shouted chambering another shell. The rest of them got the idea with Khoury leading the way. Parker was the last to go keeping the advancing undead at bay. When the magazine was empty he grinned before disappearing into the alley. Joseph moved back so the walls of the two building would keep him from being surrounded. Once more the riot gun opened up to hold off the ghoulish horde.
Nothing else existed besides himself, his weapon, and the mob in front of him. He paid no attention as to what they looked like. His mind only took time to register the closest target, whether or not the sights were properly aligned, and when to fire. Everything was silent except the sound of the gun's action cycling. Operation of the slide was a reflex after every shot. The scent of burning gun powder was stronger right then than any other time he had fired the shotgun. Seconds turned to hours. When the firing pin clicked on an empty chamber he drew his sidearm.
The only living humans left in the area were Andy and himself. When the big gun fell silent Joseph knew it was time to leave. Eighty-four souls were laid to rest after the battle on Aiken Street. All but three were dead before the conflict ever took place. More than a hundred wandered the area in search of the living. Their appetite not the least bit slated by the warm bodies lying in the street. Of the twelve UBCS that escaped seven were missing. Only two of those seven survived. The rest were added to the growing army within the city.
