|
Post by Keith the Great on Aug 24, 2010 22:04:58 GMT -5
After the calm, familiar action of robbing the vending machine, the next minute or so of Keith’s life felt like a crazy action movie on fast-forward. First, Moro went and called out and he was ecstatic. Then there was the Hunter, Mason punching stuff, then Patrick punching stuff (there was a lot of punching, that was for sure), and a whole little boxing match.
Throughout the excitement, Keith nearly forgot that he was in charge of the first-aid-kit bringing. He tore his eyes away from Pat’s Hunter-fight and scurried off on his own little mission. He rushed off for the medkit, snatched a bottle of cola on the way back, and slid to a halt just behind Mason’s shoulder.
“Got it, Mase!” he chirped. Then, leaning around the giant man’s shoulder, he gave Moro a little wave. “Hey, Morrie.”
|
|
|
Post by Moro Ashford on Aug 24, 2010 22:33:01 GMT -5
Though it took mere seconds for Mason to reach her, an eternity of pain seemed to drag by before the Hunter was dragged off of Moro. The last of her strength giving way, the mechanic slumped, her hands falling to her sides and pinpricks of red and black bursting over her vision. Her breath was ragged and close in her ears; she couldn't even turn her head to see the action that was taking place. From what she heard, she was fairly certain that Mason was beating the everliving out of her assailant.
"Glad you ain't dead, Moro." Having not even realized she closed them, the woman opened her eyes and stared blearily up at the Irishman who held her, smiling weakly. The hand resting on her stomach lifted, clenched a section of his shirt tightly in her fist.
Moro's grey eyes slid hazily around the scene; behind Mason, someone was going to town on the Hunter. With his back to her, however, her unsteady eyes could not place a face to a name. A second later, her vision was obscured by the torso of another.
"Got it, Mase!" chimed another familiar voice; Keith's bright eyes peered down at her from over Mason's shoulder.
The southerner waved. "Hey, Morrie."
"Hey, Keith," her voice came in a pained croak. "Mason...Patrick." The second man had stepped into her line of vision. "Thanks for having my back. What'd I miss?"
|
|
|
Post by Mason Breaker on Aug 24, 2010 23:16:24 GMT -5
Letting out a relieved sigh (He hadn't realized that he'd been holding his breath, actually), Mason nodded to Keith before setting Moro down on a nearby bench. Taking a quick glance around before he got to treating Moro's wounds, taking note of two Special Infected darting around a ways off.
"Watch it, we got a Boomer and and Smoker.". Said mutants kept darting behind something everytime they saw him look over at them.
Were they getting smarter? Or were these two just figuring out that standing out in the open was a bad thing?
It didn't matter. As long as someone other than himself was aware of the Infected, they were good.Returning his attention to the woman in front of him, he immediatly set about cleaning the open wounds, carefully tending to the more grevious ones first. As he finished cleaning each wound, he wrapped them up, stopping the bleeding. Not too tight to cause discomfort, but tight enough to stop the bloodloss.
He paused for a moment, taking a quick sip of his drink and grabbing the unopened bottle. He popped the cap off before setting it in Moro's hand, propping her head up a bit.
"It ain't water or juice, but ye' need fluids."
|
|
|
Post by Patrick Schrader on Aug 25, 2010 0:04:34 GMT -5
Patrick also noticed the "stalkers" and gave Mason a rensuring nod. He wondered why they haven't attacked. Were they tracking their movements, waiting for the right moment to strike or was it some other mysterious motive? The rancher wouldn't mind dispatching the unwelcomed guests, but they were out of sight and if they were to scout out for these two mutants, they'll end up in even bigger shit. So, the Texan decided to keep a careful eye; while they were "harmless" for now, he knew something siniser was in the works.
In the meantime, he thought he should also try to help Moro. Mason was already doing fine job tending to her wounds. While he was no field medic, the Irishman seemed to know what to do. He then gave the woman his coke. While the pop was better than nothing, it wasn't really going to rehydrate her. She needed water...or at least some sorta juice like Gatorade.
"Do you think there's any bottled water in that vending machine?" asked Patrick, "Not nip-pick or anything, but soda isn't really going to rehydrate her. Trust me, I know from experience. Hell, I could go for some water after that brawl I had."
|
|
|
Post by Keith the Great on Aug 25, 2010 20:33:01 GMT -5
Keith took a break from making faces at the lurking specials to answer everyone’s request for water. Leaving Mason to the medical stuff (for good reason), the Southerner scurried over to the vending machine and dove behind it once again.
This time, he poked around and, with the additional sidekick of Mr. Bobby Pin, Keith managed to coax the entire front door of the machine open. It hit the floor with a loud clunk (which was answer with a series of coughs from the other side of the tracks). Keith followed it only seconds later, and he snatched two bottles of water from within before springing to his feet.
“Pat, catch!” he said, tossing a bottle Pat’s way as he jogged towards the makeshift cot. He passed the second bottle to Mason, deciding that it wouldn’t be the best time for a long pass.
|
|
|
Post by Patrick Schrader on Aug 25, 2010 21:32:02 GMT -5
The Rancher caught bottled water and said "thanks" to the helpful southerner. Patrick then uncapped the drink and chugged the refreshing liquid. After finishing his refreshment, he proceed to keep a look for an infected. Just so happen, he heard the crackling jackle of a jockey. However, he spotted the hutchback mutate, took aim, and shot it before it could of headhumped anyone.
|
|
|
Post by Lizzie on Aug 25, 2010 22:23:11 GMT -5
Luigi, who was questioning Austin's sudden giddy attitude, didn't catch whatever Rae had to say and didn't reply back to Dahlia. He watched the man approach White Castle saying something along the lines of 'They could all use a snack' or something like that.
I'm not hungry, I just want to get out of here. the teen thought. But...what the hell.
Grabbing onto Dahlia's hand (it was a mere habit), Luigi followed after Austin.
|
|
|
Post by Moro Ashford on Aug 26, 2010 10:01:48 GMT -5
Still only semi-conscious, Moro lay still as Mason went to work on her various wounds, wincing as he brushed areas that were tender to the touch. When he pressed the coke into her hand and gently cradled her head, however, her pride got the best of her.
"I got it," she mumbled, suddenly embarrassed with the vulnerability and helplessness of her situation. Slowly, and with a great deal of pain, the mechanic pushed herself upright, her torn forearm burning beneath her bandages. Her vision flickered as she leaned heavily against the back of the chair; closing her eyes for a moment, she lifted the drink to her mouth. Even though the soda was both warm and flat, to Moro, nothing had ever tasted so refreshing.
Lowering the now half-empty can, the woman looked up and grinned tiredly around at her friends. Patrick had disappeared, but as she glanced around for him she suddenly caught her reflection in a half-shattered window ten yards directly across from where she sat.
At first she flinched, thinking she was staring into the face of some infected. Her eyes were sunken and glazed, heavy-lidded with extreme fatigue. Three small scrapes where the Jockey had clutched at her face traced along her left cheek, the underside of her right jawbone rubbed raw. The brown zip-up she wore was shredded at the shoulders and arms, and her white tank top muddied and indecently torn. Lifting a bandaged hand she uselessly pulled the strap of her shirt back into her shoulder.
"Ouch," she said, unable to tear her eyes from the image. "I'm a mess, huh?"
|
|
|
Post by Mason Breaker on Aug 27, 2010 22:26:00 GMT -5
Mason chuckled at Moro's statement, especially since it was kind of true. She certainly was worse for wear, although they all had their own fair share of bruises, cuts, and scars.
"Lass, it ain't that bad. Least you ain't buried under a wall, eh?' He grimaced at the thought, but shook his head. "Doesn't matter though. You're here and you're alive." He nodded, mostly to himself.
Getting to his feet, he realized that he had left his shotgun over where Moro had been pounced. Mentally chiding himself for leaving it there, he strolled over to it, quickly scanning the area before reaching down and grabbing it. Turning around, he froze when a series of gurgles reached his ears. Coming from behind him.
"Lads... Tell me there isn't a Boomer standing right behind me, ready to puke?"
Another series of gurgles, much closer this time.
"...Dammit."
|
|
|
Post by Keith the Great on Aug 27, 2010 23:08:29 GMT -5
Just like back home, Keith jumped forward with little to no thought about it (probably closer to ‘no’). Mason had mentioned a Boomer, there was a Boomer, and so the team daredevil saw fit to tackle it out of the way and onto the tracks.
The moment it hit the ground, the Boomer flattened out like a water balloon and, moments later, burst into bits of bone and gore that drowned in the splash of bile. Following the explosion, a huge roar from every infected in the area rang out.
“Oh,” Keith said, wiping the puke off his eyes and glancing around for a horde. “I...meant to do that?”
|
|
|
Post by Patrick Schrader on Aug 28, 2010 19:49:33 GMT -5
Upon taking out the jockey, Patrick proceeded to hunt for the other two infected that were getting closer to the group. The Rancher was able to spot the tall, wheasly smoker but couldn't find the pudgy boomer.
"Got you," muttered the Texan as he aimed through his sights.
However, the Smoker had the quicker draw as he wrapped his whip-like tongue around Patrick's rifle and threw it to the side.
"Son of a bitch," were the only words that wrapped around the cowboy's mind as he was disarmed and the tall bastard skillfully lassoed his tongue around his body. With mere seconds to think before being completely ensnared and suffericated by its slimy coil, Patrick drew his revolver and severed the strangler's tongue with a single shot. Freed from Death's grip, the Texan fired another shot at the smoker. However, the crafty infected took cover as a horde was erupted by the smell of the pheromone enhanced vomit from the sneaky boomer which Keith and Mason dealt with.
With a no time to recover his Grandfather's rifle, Patrick decided to make a stand with only the magnum he had. But where? The Ranger saw a book store behind them, which he thought would make a good defensive position. He then made his direction to the group and ordered, "Guys, head to the Book Store! We can keep them at bay using the bookshelfs and hiding behind the counter." He then went over to Moro, started to pick her up and said, "Sorry to be an unconvience to you, ma'am, but we need to move. Can you walk or shoot?"
|
|
|
Post by Moro Ashford on Aug 28, 2010 23:36:30 GMT -5
Moro smiled uncertainly as the Irishman ambled off to retrieve his fallen weapon; she wasn't entirely sure what he meant, being grateful she wasn't buried beneath a wall. She chuckled darkly, imagining the circumstance, and quickly found herself grateful that that was not the situation, either.
Remembering how she remained out of ammo and was, therefor, rather useless, the mechanic had turned her back and was scanning the scene behind, looking for anything that may be used as a weapon, when a series of events happened in quick succession that she heard rather than saw. Tugging at a loose, jagged plastic edge of the bench, she distantly heard Mason call something but missed his words; next second, there was a distinct thump and what sounded like the muffled popping of a balloon. Thick liquid drummed down on the tile and Moro turned in time to see a very bewildered-looking Keith kneeling in the train tracks, dripping in Boomer bile.
"I...meant to do that?" said the southerner; from all around, the infected had begun to howl, the sound of tens of feet pounding down the steps from floors above. Moro flinched, nearly striking out, as she felt a hand on her back.
"Sorry to be an inconvenience to you, ma'am," her startled grey eyes found Patrick, who was moving to lift her, "but we need to move. Can you walk or shoot?"
"I can walk; I don't have a weapon, tho." Though nearly trembling with bloodloss, hunger, and fatigue, Moro forced herself upright, leaning heavily on the Texan's arm to do so. Swaying to her feet, her vision flickering to black for a moment, the mechanic nodded at Patrick and moved as fast as she were able to where Keith knelt in the train tracks, surely half-blinded by the bile.
It occurred to her later that suddenly grabbing the man by the shoulder, in the middle of a horde, while he couldn't see and without any forewarning, was not the wisest idea. But this she did, intending to guide the southerner to remote safety until his vision cleared.
|
|
Luke Shiloh
New Member
"There's a reason I'm still alive."
Posts: 11
|
Post by Luke Shiloh on Aug 29, 2010 0:05:08 GMT -5
When Shiloh had said he was going his separate way after escaping the hospital, he had meant it. He didn't want the responsibility, the baggage, of companions; nor did he trust the spiteful glances they sent his way. It was by complete coincidence, then, that he ended up at the same railroad station that Rae, Austin, Dahlia, and Luigi had stumbled upon.
Or, so he told himself.
In the least desperate-seeming way possible Shiloh had been tracking the four, recognizing the uncanny way they seemed to continually stumble upon stashes of necessities. As far as he could tell he hadn't been discovered and, hell, they were headed the same way he was. South. And while he would go another route the second a more promising path showed itself, the desolate roads and abandoned towns only encouraged him to follow the party to wherever they were headed.
As soon as they reached the train station, however, the southerner's hopes had soared; leaving the kids to do whatever the hell they pleased, he took off in the opposite direction, convinced that the abandoned baggage was surely a trove of undiscovered treasures.
Now knee-deep in half-opened luggage, however, Shiloh's patience was swiftly beginning to take leave. Most of the bags contained clothes, and while he had traded his gore-flecked black shirt for a blue flannel one and pocketed a few dollars he had found, everything else seemed useless. Apparently the owners of these provisions were expecting a happier, less zombie-filled future for themselves, and had brought jewelry, toiletries, even stacks of Playboy. Not ammo, not guns. Not even a damn pipebomb.
"Sonofabitch," the wanderer breathed, removing the flashlight he held between his teeth and rocking back on his heels so that he leaned against the wall. Running his fingers through his hair, he glanced around the compartment, tapping his fingers idly against his gun, before decisively reaching for one of the discarded Playboys. Thumbing quietly through it, he jumped so violently at the collective roar of a horde that he smacked his head against an overhanging shelf. Cursing quietly, Shiloh crept to the car's door, peering out as several of the common infected raced by.
He grunted. "Least it ain't me," he said; nevertheless, his interest was tweaked.
(Don't bother trying to include him, now; I'll bring him in when I have more time to write XD)
|
|
|
Post by Mason Breaker on Aug 29, 2010 0:48:26 GMT -5
Althouh noble of Keith to attempt to get the Boomer away from him, Mason found himself partitally covered in bile. Not enough to completely blind him, but enough to blind him in one eye and attract zombies to him. Moro was trying to steer Keith away from the oncoming horde, despite her current condition, and Patrick was saying that they should take cover in the bookstore. A rather sound idea.
Firing several shots into the crowd, Mason stumbled over to Keith and Moro, assisting them along. As they slowly made their way to the bookstore, the Smoker decided to show it's ugly face once more, wrapping around Masons legs and yanking him to the ground, which he, luckily, collided with his shoulder, rather than his face. Still, the infected were gathering around the Irishman, who was fumbling around for the tounge.
Finding it, he gave it a good yank of his own, pulling he Special Infected to it's knees. Taking advantage if the momentary distraction, Mason clambered to his feet, frantically shoving aside commons that were in his way. The unfortunate Smoker, on the other hand, was dragged along with him.
Grunting, Mason snatched up his gun before unloading a shell right into the Smoker's face, killing it and releasing Mason from it's wrap. Now unhinddred, Mason begin shooting at the Horde, covering Moro and Keith.
|
|
|
Post by Patrick Schrader on Aug 29, 2010 1:44:49 GMT -5
With supporting Moro with one arm and his using the other for his pistol, the two slowly traveled towards the objective. Patrick fired his high-caliber revolver at any infected that were close to the hindered duo. While he wished he had a weapon for Moro to use, he did his best to protect her and have her trucking. Suddening, the Texan witnessed Mason getting snared by that smoker. He pointed his magnum at the ash-emitting monster.
click
Damnit, he used all six shots. The fact that the horde was swarming the group and the ammo capicity for his pistol was small made the Ranger regret that gun in the first. However, Mason was able to kill the smoker before he was completely ensnared by its slimy rope. Still, with only one free hand, reloading the clucky revolver was difficult. Instead, he flipped the pistol over and grabbed the barrel the gun, using it as a club by hitting any infected with the wooden handle. It wasn't enough power to kill them but it was enough to make them stubble. But as the horde got thicker and his arm got tried, he needed a different plan.
By taking advantage of Mason's covering fire, Patrick placed is empty pistol back in his hoster and proceeded to carry Moro fireman style. While he was unarmed, he could sprint to the Book Store.
By making a mad dash, the ex-soldier made it to the Book Store and placed his wounded comrade behind the counter. He then pulled out his magnum, reloaded it, and handed Moro the heavy pistol, along with magnum rounds in his pocket. While this left him unarmed, he knew he could find some sorta weapon to use. Besides, it made Moro capible of defending herself.
"Aim low and make your shots count," advised the Rancher before scattering off to find a temperory weapon.
The Texan sprinted towards the storage room to see what he could find. To his amazement, he found a red fireaxe secured behind the safety glass with the printed words, "In Case of Emergency"
"This was definatly an emergency," remarked Patrick as he broke the glass and attrived the axe. His new weapon felt alright; somewhat heavy but he could swing it, as he did when one scattered zombie rushed towards the Rancher. The blade cut straight through the zombie's neck, seperating it from the rest of its body. He then dashed back to his comrades, to endure the battle ahead.
|
|