The Zombie Hunters Forum: WE GO THERE.

TZH Discussion => TZH Fan Fiction => Topic started by: Historian on January 12, 2011, 09:36:13 pm

Title: Walking Far
Post by: Historian on January 12, 2011, 09:36:13 pm
The start of mentioned project.  I decided to post it in chunks as to not leave a mess of errors and what not as there are other distractions from completing this piece.

Hope you enjoy what comes up every now and then.

{modifed by a friend}

        A warm breeze blew across the desert landscape, kicking up dust and decaying chunks of paper. It was a hot day on this plain but the heat never bothered the wondering dead as they aimlessly crowded an abandoned freeway gas station. Roughly fifteen of them either stood still, bumped into broken down vehicles, meandered and/or leaned against the wall; each of these things where hunting for a meal but none of their senses could pick nothing up. However, they all came to action when they herd a sudden PUNK! as something slammed into the colorless metal sign.

   This sound repeated again three times before the undead where surrounding the sign above them, drawn out by the noise. Among the fifteen one of them had a pair of glowing red eyes, it turn its gaze upward to glare at the sign, perfect. A minute passed, then a whiz fallowed by a sudden fleshy impact, the red eyed zombie’s head snapped forward before falling to the ground face down with a lifeless thud, split second later a rifle report was heard.  None of them stirred from the sign for the sound was still to distant from their sensitive ears.

   A quick hiss and another undead collapsed to the ground, the distant report echoed across the plains again. Up the decaying road laying on top of a burned out rusty car, the shooter worked the bolt of the model seventy Winchester, before fixing another target down the scope. Gently squeezing the trigger, the thirty ought six boomed, a split second later another zombie fell forward against a pillar before sliding down onto it’s back.  Working the bolt again he sighted a shadow to the right as he peered down the scope.  Panning right, he saw the familiar unreal smile on the face of what was the gas attendant, it’s scalp, long eaten into, exposed a black rotten mush inside, the torn grease suit stained in black;  apparently, it caught wind of his sent and noise and charged after him.

   “Shit!” the shooter snapped as he fallowed the smiling runner as it bolted across the desert towards him, “Not today meat sack…” he followed the runner with the scope and he squeezed the trigger.  The rifle roared and the runner fell forward, hitting the ground as it’s leg snapped out backwards from under it; even though it tumbled from it’s own momentum it scrambled to it’s feet to only be sent back down again with another shot from the shooter, blowing chunks out the back of the head.

   Opening the bolt he rests the gun down and peers down a pair of binoculars, looking down at the dwindling cluster of zeds, he counted silently before he lowered them, “that makes four out of sixteen down, didn’t see you there inside friend.” he thought aloud commenting on the sudden appearance of the smiling runner. Setting the benocs aside he brought the rifle up to shoulder, closed the chamber on the last round in the internal magazine.

   Peering down the scope one more time he pans his scope on the dispersing group of zombies, “Target, Three inches to your right.” A calm voice spoke from nowhere, “Four inches down” the shooter pans the scope according to the directions, his crosshair sit on the mug of a female zombie, “Confirm target.” the voice, now sounding as if on a radio ear piece, the zombie suddenly mouthed the words. “Confirmed, Zack standing out in front of the group.” The shooter spoke quietly, “Copy, Halsey, you are clear to eliminate Zack.” the zombie mouthed again as the shooter followed it with his scope, “Fire, Fire, Fire-” the calm female voice spoke sounding both close to him and on the invisible radio, each word spoken fit an on-off pattern; “-Fire, Fir-” the rifle boomed and the zombie dropped, “Target down, team is clear to move in.” Halsey spoke before lowering the rifle, he laid there listening to only silence that fallowed the rifle shot.

   Propping himself up on an elbow he rubbed his eyes, “Fuck, I need sleep.” he thought aloud to himself, he then looked to his right, his mind somehow thought someone was laying there next to him but only an empty space of the car roof was there. Lowering his head, he closed his eyes, clearing his mind as he laid there. Opening his eyes again before dozing off he finally got up.

   Working the bolt, the spent casing spilled out and landed on the roof then bounced onto the road below. Digging into his book bag, he fished up several rounds from the bottom, he fitted them into the magazine well one at a time before closing the bolt over the fifth round. Folding the tri pod back, capping the scope lenses, he slung the rifle across his back before putting the binoculars into the bag.

   He then picked up his hat and Ruger rifle, the black battered, wide brimmed, river hat fitted snugly on his head. he checked the rifle before getting up and walking off the derelict car. His worn boots clapped onto the pavement as hopped down off the hood, he took on last glance to where he once had laid, still seeing nothing. He shook his head and he walked onward, heading down the hill towards the station.

   Closing in, he brought the carbine to shoulder, hurrying across the open desert for it wasn’t that far of job. Clearing ground, he came to a stop to kneel down beside the runner he killed, “Sorry for the head ache friend.” he spoke to the corpse as he padded the pockets for anything useful, nothing was felt, “But I didn’t want to be today’s lunch.” he folded back onto his feet and moved forward.  He raised the rifle as he got close.  “Yo Zack!” he called to the remaining zombies. “Lunch time!”

   The zombies heard his voice and stared shuffling towards him while he stepped backwards. He pulled the trigger and the Ruger rifle popped, a walker collapsed to the deck with a small side section of it’s skull missing;  Another shot, another fell to the ground with  a blown out knee cap, it started crawling towards him.  He then came to a stop as he started laying rounds into them, out of the several round he sent before he started side stepping around the little cluster:  one took three, one in the stomach, chest then the head, two others where neck and nose shots, the rest took stray hits over their bodies.   As he made a slow circle around them he plinked away on the trigger,  slowly, one after another dropped, A luckless zed slipped on the body of one it’s killed zombies and fumbled to the ground.

   Two stray shots went out before the action locked back over the empty magazine. Stopping his circle pattern he started backing up again this time he pressed the release lever to loosen the mag before drawing a loaded from a pouch, tapped the empty free, then slid the new mag in till it locked in place.

   A quick yank on the slide handle and the action slammed shut, ready for more. This time, since he made some distance away from them, he steadied himself to take proper shots; before he was not only ten or so paces from the walkers as they tried to get him, he simply used their grouping ability to his advantage.  The rifle fallowed a rhythm of one shot, body fall, one shot, body fall;  He panned the rifle slightly side to side as he fitted the emotionless faces in his sights, yet, his shots didn’t make the same mark as he was free standing this time.

   A nose flew off, an eye hole burned through, a skull made like a banana and split open out the back, and a jaw fell free from the joints; each of the zombies feared nothing as indivisible death pierced their flimsy rotting bodies, they all were only fixed on the human target that was picking them off one at a time.  After the vertical hail stopped, one was left stumbling over the bodies towards Halsey who simple watched it for a minuet before he raised up again.  He aimed low and blew out the legs from underneath the crawler, it fell forward.

   He watched it crawl towards him, a clumsy effort of the zed’s usage of it’s already damaged arms which Halsey found this pathetic display amusing.  As it reached out with a hand when it got close, He drew his sidearm to plant a single round into the forehead, the faded green eyes staring back at him as it finally died. As the pale hand landed harmlessly on his boot he simply stepped over the body.

   After sweeping through, putting a bullet into the ones he missed, he took a total head count, “sixteen more for nature.” he thought aloud as he holstered the colt and brought the rifle around to his shoulder. He raised up as he moved close towards the door way into the station.

Title: Re: Walking Far
Post by: Historian on January 16, 2011, 10:09:15 pm
Slowing to a cautious stalk, he eyed the long damaged front windows of the station, not activity as far as he could see but he stayed on guard as he stacked up near the open doorway.   He then turned to step inside, he then stopped to sling the rifle and switch to a mag light and his sidearm. Clicking the light on he looked around, heard nothing nor saw anything, yet, something was plucking at his senses, something was still around, but what?  He swept through the mini-market’s isles, looking for something.

   Yet nothing was in sight or in hearing range.  Holstering the colt he suddenly herd a noise coming form one of the restrooms which caused him to turn, quick draw and aimed both light and gun into the direction of the noise. Listing to it again, he moved forward, he locked onto the door (men’s room).  Stepping closer he reached up and knocked on the door, no instant response came from the other side.  He then pushed the door open, he was greeted by a strong smelling wave of death and decay;  breathing shallow to handle the pungent stink he moved in with the light leading the way.  Getting inside he saw the back of a walker, “Damn it man!” he took aim to shoot the zed in the skull,  the black room lit up briefly from the muzzle flash.  As his ears faintly rung from the close quarters acoustics, “I thought I smelled a zack crapping in here!” he commented as he looked to his right, he shined the light into each of the stalls, finding nothing.

   He looked around the bathroom, taking note of the drying mess on the walls and floor, it looked like there was more than- A sudden sound interrupted Halsey’s thinking as he snapped back into focus.  The noise came from the last stall he had yet to check, keeping the handgun close and the light in front of him, Halsey moved wide as he stayed focused on the stall.  Looking into it he noticed someone had their back turned to him, “Hey, turn around so I don’t hav-” before he could finished the zombie lunged forward in a blur of flesh and dirty clothing, the blur slammed into him, making them both sprawl onto the floor.

   The flashlight clinked to the floor and the colt clattered across the floor under the sinks. The walker, or now leaper as he recognized it, Had him pinned to the floor straddling his torso, with out thinking Halsey had his hands out gripping the leaper’s hands, he held it back far enough to see the faint figure’s face clapping it’s hungry mouth inches from his face. “You son of a bitch!” Halsey managed as he threw one hand away to reach for his belt, however, the leaper brought the freed hand down to slash at the face, Halsey rolled his head to the side.  The middle finger of the leaper’s hand left a small cut on his face.  He managed to unlatch and pull his trench knife free, “Get-”he punched the leaper in the cheek with the solid knuckle guard, “-the-” he slammed his fist again against the leaper’s face, “-Fuck-” he slammed again, “Off me!” he swung one last punch to knock it off balance.

   Letting go with his other hand he shoved the thing off him, the leaper stumbled off of him and he slid himself across the floor to reach for his pistol, he was about to reach for it until the leaper grabbed his ankle, pulling him backwards, a hand was reaching out but only managed to grip his coat, tearing into it with it‘s nails as well ripping the Winchester off his back with a snap of the sling strap; Halsey kicked to knock the hand off of him and he threw himself forward.  His hand clapped onto the grip of the 1911 and he rolled over onto his back, he took quick aim and fired the pistol till it was empty.

   Each round sounded like a bomb in his ears shooting from underneath the sinks, but each muzzle flash exposed the leaper as it took every hit.  The last shot fired ripped a hole through the eye out the top of the head, the body collapsed to the floor, falling onto his feet.  As his eyes regain focus from the blinding muzzle flashes and his ear rang from the shots, he pulled himself away from the body and crawled out from underneath the sink.  He picked up the flashlight and looked at the body, it wasn’t moving and that, was all he cared about as he picked up the dropped ruger, his hurting back reminded him of the rifle that was torn away.  Picking the rifle off the floor he instantly took off the lenses one at a time, the viewing lenses was okay but as he took the front lens cover off, glass fell out, the scope was useless now.

   He cussed up a storm as he threw the rifle down, “You son of a bitch!” he shouted at the dead leaper, “You broke my god damn rifle!!” his hand reminded him of the trench knife that was in his grip still and he started pounding the knuckles into the skull, his knuckle guard vibrated with each punch against the skull as he went mad on the swings.  His hand finally became numb when the skull finally collapsed from each pound of the knuckles.

   Feeling only mush now, he stopped, used the leaper’s tattered shirt to clean the knife and his hand before returning the knife to it’s sheath.  Picking up the Winchester again he looked at it, the scope was damaged as far as he saw it, the rifle itself was still in shape but it’s sling was snapped at the middle. Clicking the light off and putting the flashlight into a pocket, he grabbed both rifles and walked out of the bathroom.

Title: Re: Walking Far
Post by: Historian on January 22, 2011, 05:23:23 pm
      Walking through the lobby of the mini-mart of the gas station, he took a seat at the register counter, laying both rifles onto the counter he examined the sling on the Winchester.  Seeing it was still long enough for him, he tied the sling back together as he reached into a bag for a small roll-up tool kit.  After removing the scope and mounts off he laid it on the counter as he took off his coat to look at the marks cut into it,  He felt around his back to feel fro any scratches or cuts, thankfully, nothing, but his Kevlar vest took most of the damage; however, since it didn’t fall off of him yet he kept it on for the pouches but he needed a new coat…

   Putting the thought aside, he removed his bag and set it onto the counter as he began to set dig through it.  Pulling out a thick book, a rag and a first aid kit; he started going about his personal tasks for when he can actually stop to rest:  striping his torso to check for any deep scratches (with the help of a shaving mirror he had in the kit),  Checking munitions and cleaning weapons.  After fitting his colt back together he grabbed his flashlight to explore the station, looking for any supplies.

   He didn’t find much on the shelves or counter but he did find useful items among the supplies left behind of the previous survivors that he had to put down outside and inside.  He came across few full mags that would fit the ruger, spare .45, a few unused M.R.Es, a damaged sniper rifle that was fitted with a battle scope, and some air chilled canteens full of water.  Taking the rifle remains and supplies back to his spot at the counter he began sorting through his gear for roughly a long while.

   Once done, he set the chair closer to the wall behind him with the book in hand and the handgun hanging from his hip.  Opening the battered book, he took the cracked mechanical pencil and began writing into it…

Day 121

   As I had thought, he began, the station was crawling with more than I had estimated, but the fucking specials were laying in wait for at least one human (yours truly for example)  to come out and strike, who‘d of thought that many would have been here.  Thankfully the thirty ought, made up for its travel weight. he paused to look on at the mess he made on the floor around the mart, thinking for a minuet before returning to the book, Sadly, the zacks I had to put down were originally other survivors that tried to hold out in here. God knows how big the horde that took them was. Had They stayed here and not of moved on to more live prey I wouldn’t be sitting here in the gas station writing this. he quickly scooted back to the counter, setting the open book down, he grabbed the flash light and shaving mirror.  Shining the light at his face he looked into the mirror to check his eyes.  Looking at them both for a minuet he set them both aside to write into the book more, The wastes are sure getting to me, for some reason, I have been noticing changes about my person over the course of several days. didn’t think of it at first and didn’t record it. Yet, the most recent change was my eyes are fading from the solid green to a grayish silver, the previous changes was my ability to maneuver improved a lot.

   he clicked the pencil for more lead, A few days ago I had to find a way around an abandoned check point as I had mentioned but I kept the real details on how I got over it out for I didn’t think of it. he pasued to listen to the wind picking up outside, metal rattled, dust turned the light into dusk. I still can’t belive that I haven’t became one of them yet, nor is it a surprise that they still attack me. Of course, the men of this fabled ARC will no doubt find this out when (or if) I get there.  Still, this worries me not as I still got a stat-n-half to cross before I have to signal to them; yet, I can not shake the fact of what some of their stray dogs had did to my people. Their cocky voices still echo in my head to this very moment. he gently rubbed his forehead before turning a page to write more.

   During my search of the station, I have came across a few state maps, in better condition compared to what I had previously, and managed to lay out a route to the coast; The signal came from the marine channels before I lost my scanner, Channels that only freighters, cutters and even navy ships use, and one of those channels buzzed with faint noise. he dug through his mind mentally, trying to remember the noise, Putting two an two together, I simply plotted a destination to the Carolinas for stories have told that carpet bombing was used on the north eastern corner of the old US; So, New York and Boston are out of the question.

   He nodded as he looked at the page, As far as I’m concerned, the noise was nothing more than a recording that was running on solar out at sea, only way to find out is to get there and try to reconnect with that signal. Well, I’m going to die somewhere, might as well be there at the coast.

Sergeant Adam Halsey
Last of the Old Utah Jaegers

   He closed the book and stuffed both pen and book into the bag before closing it up.  Before he turned in for the night, he noticed something among the killed dead in the dusking light, A pack, in decent condition.

   I’ll get it in the morning, he thought to himself as he moved back against the wall. tilting his hat forward, he leaned back against the wall.  His mind drifted into absent darkness as he dosed off finally.

Title: Re: Walking Far
Post by: Jetraymongoose on January 22, 2011, 07:23:21 pm
I haven't had a chance to read it all yet, but from what I've read, it seems pretty interesting. Good job Historian! It's been a while since people have posted writing in here.

Title: Re: Walking Far
Post by: KingOfDerpness on January 23, 2011, 01:05:49 am
I haven't had a chance to read it all yet, but from what I've read, it seems pretty interesting. Good job Historian! It's been a while since people have posted writing in here.

I'll have to keep this area in mind for any future Fanfics.

Title: Re: Walking Far
Post by: BrainBlow on January 23, 2011, 02:34:35 am
I find it interesting, though there are some spelling mistakes that are a bit hard to "overlook" that you probably should correct.

Title: Re: Walking Far
Post by: KingOfDerpness on January 23, 2011, 06:25:57 am
I find it interesting, though there are some spelling mistakes that are a bit hard to "overlook" that you probably should correct.

What are you talking about? I have a good guy and can spot a mistake even when I'm typing fast.

Title: Re: Walking Far
Post by: BrainBlow on January 23, 2011, 06:37:16 am
What are you talking about? I have a good guy and can spot a mistake even when I'm typing fast.
"never did bothered"
"wondering dead"
Some hard-to-miss errors in the start of the text.

Title: Re: Walking Far
Post by: Jetraymongoose on January 23, 2011, 09:17:58 am
We used to have a old forumite who used to rule over the written works sections of the forum, funnily enough his name was Grammar and if you weren't a dick to him he used to help you with your writing. I miss him, and I tried to take over his spot, but I'm not nearly as awesome as he was.

Title: Re: Walking Far
Post by: KingOfDerpness on January 23, 2011, 05:49:48 pm
"never did bothered"
"wondering dead"
Some hard-to-miss errors in the start of the text.

Whoa whoa whoa. I KNOW I put eye on their. Is somebody f-ing with me?

Title: Re: Walking Far
Post by: Historian on January 23, 2011, 10:11:16 pm
Thank you for pointing those out, I tend to not read over anything while I'm typing this up. my eyes tend to space out when creating works like this so I do miss errors like that... of course, when I let a friend of mind read what I had made so far he went ahead and edited it with out saying anything to me and questioned some visuals that make sense to me but not to him...

It's a pet peeve of mine for others to edit my works while not letting me know before hand.

and I am surprised that I got a lot of positive feed back for this fan fic so far.

hm...since you guys are reading this I could use some help getting some ideas incorporate into this piece for I tend to go long with this work (series maybe?).  It has been a bane of my works for the lack of ideas to keep things flowing and smooth.  If you think you got something that'll fit in somewhere, feel free to PM me.

Thanks again guys.

Title: Re: Walking Far
Post by: Dethklok on January 23, 2011, 10:50:22 pm
It's a pet peeve of mine for others to edit my works while not letting me know before hand.
Would you like constructive criticism? I chair a bi-weekly fiction writers' group where we read each others' submissions and make suggestions.

Title: Re: Walking Far
Post by: Historian on January 23, 2011, 10:52:19 pm
Would you like constructive criticism? I chair a bi-weekly fiction writers' group where we read each others' submissions and make suggestions.

the CC depends on how its worded, but that's me being picky.  If coming from folks like you? yes, it would be nice.

Title: Re: Walking Far
Post by: Historian on January 23, 2011, 11:08:19 pm
When the sun dawned the next day, he snapped awake from a nightmare, falling from his chair of course.  Swearing as he got to his feet, he checked the station around him for any movement or any visitors; Yet, there was no one there only his rattled mind and himself.  Gathering his senses, he packed up his gear and supplies after he had fitted the new (yet smaller) scope onto the Winchester.

   Before putting everything on he walked outside to collect the back pack he seen on one of the killed undead.  Stripping it off, he brought it back inside with him to reorganize his supplies, fitting what he can’t have on his person inside it as well whatever else he could scavenge from the store one last time before putting everything on.

   Slinging the Winchester last, he dug into his book bag and pulled up a rare commodity in the new world.  His Nano. The Ipod still had half a bar of power when he last looked at it. Since the way was clear, might as well play some background noise right?  Fitting the nubs into his ears he scrolled through the play lists and selected one of his favorites from the list.

   Walking out of the station, leaving bodies where they fell among the dried blood and discarded shells; the well mixed acoustic and wind interments greeted  his ears as he walked up the road, his first destination was to get back onto the freeway,  East he had to go and east he’ll walk.

   A voice sung into his ears as he tucked the Ipod into his vest pocket.

*After our days, and the fall of man
One day this will heal again.

Beasts crawl forth over desert clay,
And mankind will be nature's prey.

Ruined towns spring forth in vines;
Trees, leaves, fleet combine.

Humankind will have lost its sway,
The world again will be theirs one day!

   He walked by the long trail of abandoned or burned out vehicles, fallowing them towards the on ramp. Mangled, mummified corpses decorated some of the cars, a faint image of passengers and drivers, some had doors open with no body inside others had burnt bodies in them.

       All familiar sights to him as death became a common being in his eyes, nothing was out of the ordinary nor was unique. The sun rose into the sky as he worked his boots along the road.

Skeletons of rust reach for the sky,
Ruined empires of days gone by.

Dreams and lives buried in the sand.
The end of days will have been long planned.

Our children's children have passed away,
Their auspicious lives lost in the fray.

Carrion birds are all at play--
The world again will be theirs one day!

   As he smiled faintly, Adam listened to the music as he adjusted the rifles hanging from his shoulders, sharing room on his back with the pack. He caught sight of the on ramp some distance away.

   Not wanting to try to walk around them or to squeeze through, he climbed onto the top of a van and started vehicle hopping towards his destination. Gauging and estimating each car, truck, van, and semi as he went onward.

Nomadic tribes of the last of man
Pull their caravans across the sand.

Gypsy wives hold their children tight
As the new superpower howls through the night.

Gods watch from above and wonder what went wrong;
The entropy of what once was strong.

The survivors of man stay up late to pray,
That the world will again be theirs one day!*

   He cleared a decent sized gab as the song was coming to a close, he paused ontop of a van to hit back to play the song again. Keeping the thoughts, worries and doubts out of his mind until he had his feet onto the cracking pavement of the old freeway.

        When his boots finally clapped onto the pavement from a jump from the top of a pick-up, he made a quick adjustment to the ipod to go to shuffle, cutting the need to make anymore adjustments as he concentrated on clearing ground before the sun went down for the night; which however was still morning by the time he had reached the freeway (or interstate according to the road map he had on him).

{(*= (}

Title: Re: Walking Far
Post by: KingOfDerpness on January 23, 2011, 11:15:39 pm
Kick ass man ;D

Waiting for me with gustavo. Patience.

Title: Re: Walking Far
Post by: Dethklok on January 26, 2011, 10:56:36 pm

A warm breeze blew across the desert landscape, kicking up dust and decaying chunks of paper. It was a hot day on this plain but the heat never bothered the wondering dead as they aimlessly crowded an abandoned freeway gas station. Roughly fifteen of them either stood still, bumped into broken down vehicles, meandered and/or leaned against the wall; each of these things where hunting for a meal but none of their senses could pick nothing up. However, they all came to action when they herd a sudden PUNK! as something slammed into the colorless metal sign.

Your first sentence is strong, rapidly setting the scene with good imagery and movement.

The first part of the second sentence undoes the work of the first - you already established that it was hot on the plain. The rest of the sentence is good, but it piles adjectives together (which can work, but is usually bad form). Better: "The heat never bothered the wandering dead as they crowded an abandoned gas station by the freeway."

The third sentence also doesn't give new information. One may argue that it does give us a number (about fifteen) but even here the number is unnecessary, since we can already about that number when we think of zombies crowding around in a gas station. Although some authors like to restate things for the sake of the poetry, this sentence reports what's happening matter-of-factly and thus merely slows the progression of the story.

The fourth sentence is better, but it starts off with "however," which is usually not a good word for narrative passages and doesn't work well here. Also, I've come across authors (like Jim Butcher) who say that action should be reported in terms of stimulus -> response. So you might try "Something slammed into the colorless metal sign, breaking the silence with a sudden PUNK!" and then have the zombies jerk into motion in the following paragraph.

This sound repeated again three times before the undead were surrounding the sign above them, drawn out by the noise. Among the fifteencomma one of them had a pair of glowing red eyesperiod It turned its gaze upward to glare at the signperiod Perfect. A minute passed, then a whiz followed by a sudden fleshy impact, and the red eyed zombie’s head snapped forward. The zombie fell face down with a lifeless thud. A split second latercomma a rifle report was heard.  None of the zombies stirred from the sign **for the sound was still too distant from their sensitive ears.
Mostly grammatical errors here, which I've corrected and bolded. You've also got passive voice where I underlined it; you can get away with it, but it's usually better to pick a stronger verb and reword it. Also, check the asterisks in the last sentence - it's usually better to allow the reader to make inferences to begin with without explaining in terms of "X, for Y..." In addition, you just told us that the rifle report "was heard" and then say "the sound was too distant from their sensitive ears." So I'd just cut everything after "the sign."

Reading further in, it looks like you have good action, and the ability to generate questions that draw the reader in. (Why is the shooter here? What is the calm voice from nowhere?) And you have a rudimentary sense of the dramatic that really helps. But, there are a lot of spelling and grammatical errors that make me flinch. A spell & grammar checker should fix most of the problems.

Hope that helps!

Title: Re: Walking Far
Post by: Historian on January 27, 2011, 09:47:13 pm
[shrugs] I type with microsoft word with it's spell checker on and there are some things that I missed... [reads the other notes] but I'll keep everything noted as I keep pushing on the story.  thank you for bringing the misses to my attention.

edit: and see, I like getting CC like that because not only did you point out what is wrong but also explain what is wrong and how to fix it in a more simple way. sure it's a little bothersome because your plucking my work, but, I'll read it over a few times anyways so I don't make them again.

Title: Re: Walking Far
Post by: Historian on January 28, 2011, 12:25:08 am
Weaving his way around wreckage, he checked the ipod’s power before resetting the music to another play list.  Replacing the aging player into the vest pocket, he walked on with the music only fading into the background as his mind runs through tasks and needs he’ll need to take care after or during this hike across this stretch of ground.

   A muffled sound caused Adam to stop the music, pull out the nubs and stop in step.  He let his ears regain sound of the surroundings as his eyes scanned the derelicts for any movement. Pocketing the ipod quickly after hearing another noise, he flipped the ruger from the sling and filled his hands in seconds, the butt stock touching his shoulder as he stood still.

   As the music before had almost made him lose the fact that the world around him is dead and reanimated, he shifted forward with weapon raised as his lax body snapped to work. The boots going silent, his eyes gracefully glanced around in front of him as he searched for any possible zeds; his breathing slowed to improve his hearing.

   Moving into another cluster of vehicles, an ancient pileup from months long gone, He herd the noise again, a shuffle coming from among one of the abandons near the pile. Snapping his aim into the direction of the sound as it emitted again, he moved towards a faded black SUV with it’s sun roof open; The shuffle became a faint tapping now.

   Side stepping to the right while keeping aim locked onto the car, he approached one of the doors.  The heavy tinted windows masked what was inside.  Hugging the side he reached with an open hand to open the door.  After the door handle clicked and barely shifted open, it shot open, black blurs shot out and a body slid out of the seat sideways into the road.

   Adam jumped back, nearly loosing his footing as his back slammed into the side of a van behind him.  With the ruger now raised and aimed at the body, he waited for it to move.  His heart was thumping in his chest from the surprise; Seeing no movement yet, he glanced up to see that the tapping he herd was made by crows picking away at the bodies inside the car. Snapping his attention back to the body, he noticed that it was another mummified body; a large exit wound coming from the back of the head indicated how the poor soul died.

   Relaxing finally, he slid down the van to sit for a moment. He obviously wasn’t ready for the shock of surprise today, he stared at the corpse for a few minuets before his nerves calmed themselves. Getting up, he stepped up to the body and knelt beside it. On impulse he padded the body all over for anything useful. A few more minuets of searching pockets he only found items of the before days:  a dead cell phone, a wallet with money and credit cards and an ID card which wasn’t read for Adam didn’t care who the stupid bastard was.

   However, Something did catch his eye on the corpse, the over coat the body wore was only scratched up by the crows by nothing severe. “Nice coat you got there friend.” he muttered to the body as he lifted an arm to slip the sleeve off.  He spent the following minuet to strip the coat from the body, as well tossing out the useless items found in the pockets.

Title: Re: Walking Far
Post by: Dethklok on January 28, 2011, 10:42:35 pm
sure it's a little bothersome because your plucking my work, but, I'll read it over a few times anyways so I don't make them again.
That's what we always do in our critique group. I've critiqued a lot of people's work and seen a lot of people improve dramatically. Bad critiques can be really harmful, either because they make people stop trusting criticism, or because people listen to them and screw up their manuscripts. So you should always try to take critiques you get with a grain of salt, and seek out second opinions if you can. It's also really good to criticize other people's work and see what you would fix about things. When you hear enough discussion of your own work and really start analyzing other people's stuff, things open up dramatically.

...Yeah so anyway I really believe in the idea of discussing art and fiction to improve it. In conclusion here are a bunch of smilies!

 :humpingparrot: :slowpoke: :monocle:

Title: Re: Walking Far
Post by: Historian on February 01, 2011, 03:17:32 pm
yay smileys!  :laugh:

thanks for telling me that, I'll keep note of that.

 :slowpoke: as soon as I can get home from the college, I'll post at least one section today.  :slowpoke:

Title: Re: Walking Far
Post by: Historian on February 02, 2011, 08:37:55 am
       After stripping his gear off, he slipped the coat on.  He was really lucky that the coat was a decent fit, not snug but it still fit him.  Looking it over, he noticed that it was a thin leather trench coat, which isn’t much but to his mind it was breathable, maneuverable and just thick enough to withstand decaying bites along the arms and most of the body.

   Fitting his gear back on, he peeked into the car to check what was the gun used in the suicide.  Picking it off the floor board, he examined the gun.  It was a python snub nose, he scoffed at the thought of how retarded the man was for having a high recoil weapon as he checked the cylinder, only one round was spent, no duh…

   Flicking it closed, he checked the ground for rounds (as well stripping the body of the shoulder rig). Pocking the rounds and tucking the new gun into it’s holster, he closed the door and carried on with his hike, remembering how sometimes people where idiots during the outbreak.

   As the sun reached it’s peak, He guessed it was around noon. The heat was bearable and his hat blocked the bright light, his new coat breathed well so only the vest and packs where causing the sweat.

   An hour passed and the familiar blue sign came into sight.  He didn’t have to guess that there was a rest stop two more miles away, he thought to himself that he’ll stop there for lunch or dinner, whenever the time was…never could tell time by the sun.

Title: Re: Walking Far
Post by: Historian on February 07, 2011, 11:25:05 pm
He was tempted to bring the ipod back out, for today being a day with out running into a zed of any kind. However, his cheery mood changed with the wind. The familiar rot filled his nostrils as he suddenly stopped in mid step.

   His mind registered the strength of the sent, he determined that there were roughly fifteen or more up ahead. “Fuckin’ A man!” he swore as he spun the ruger from his shoulder, the carbine filling his hands, “No rest for the wicked is there?” he asked the breeze as he clicked the safety forward; he said no more as he walked onward.

   The rest stop sign came into view and the smell grew in strength, he could eye the park like details from where he stood.  He knelt down near a lifted pick-up as he eyed the rest stop ahead.  His mind going over the details as he thought over a question a few times, is it worth it?.   He gauged the numbers on a bullet to zed scale, gauged the possibility of running into another unique, his mind turned into a biological battle computer as he looked up at the cab of the truck.  “perfect spot…” he thought aloud as he proceeded to climb the truck from the rear up.

   Dropping his pack and bag into the bed of the truck (after dropping back to quickly grab the binoculars of course), he laid himself atop of the cab with both rifles at his side (the revolver made it uncomfortable to ware in prone). Removing the revolver from the holster and laying it near him, He unfolded the bipod of the Winchester.

   Peering through new scope, he could make out that the place was occupied for sure.  The hole rest stop was full of them, “Not quiet the lively bunch are they?” he commented aloud as he panned the scope side to side, getting a better look of the location.  He noticed a few cars parked among the mob, “Lets bring everyone out.” he flipped the safety, steadied himself for the shot and fired.

   The shot roared from the rifle and into the side window of a sedan, triggering the hidden car alarm. Working the bolt, he peeked up from the scope, “The odds of that happening I didn’t think about…” he then peered through the scope as the blaring electronic alarm drew the infected towards it.  As he watched them gather, he took a head count.  A few minuets later, “Jesus!” he lowered the scope, “That has to of been an entire encampment there.” he closed his eyes, he suddenly felt sympathy for the lost in there.

   He could only imagine how that camp fell to the infection, “Don’t tell me your planning on sneaking by are you?” the female’s voice came back, “I thought you stayed out of my head after the gas station.” Adam spoke not even opening his eyes, “Well, you don’t really have a choice now do you? Didn’t we promise we’ll get there together or not?
“I’m miles away from my rescue and I’m stuck talking to a fucking ghost…” he commented as he opened his eyes and slid back down into the bed of the truck.

Title: Re: Walking Far
Post by: Historian on February 08, 2011, 12:11:16 am

Now, now, is that not a way to talk to someone you knew?” the voice spoke as he sat down, digging through the pack and bag. He looked up to see a woman sitting crisscross from him.  She looked healthy; her light brown, shoulder length hair pulled back into a tail; her dark brown eyes looking at him. She wore similar gear as he did, her jacket matched the color of the one he had to discard.

   Adam wasn’t disturbed by the woman sitting there, “Your lucky I don’t have the pills anymore.” he frowned as he shuffled through the book bag, “If I did, you’d be back out of my mind-”
Only for a short time though.
“heh, Even in death you are still persistent, but-” he paused for a moment, “-yet that’s what kept me in line since Utah.” he looked back up to her; “Of course!” the hallucination smiled cheerfully.  “But listen, you know that you can just walk around it all, yet, you don’t want to lose the chance of more salvage.” Adam listened as he pulled out ten thirty-ought from the back, tucked them into a vest pocket then went on to count the .357 rounds he had.

   “As I risk the chance of being killed Eloise.”
Yet, you still collect rounds to pop’em.” Adam’s heart chilled at Eloise’s voice, “Why now of all times you show up, accent an all?” he questioned, “Your dead El, you should be at rest!”
Christ Addy, your going to run on again about this?! I’m trying to help you here!
“Oh yeah, Haunting me is sure as hell of a way in helping’ me!” Adam snapped, Elly quickly waved her hands down, trying to keep him quiet. He stopped himself and rubbed his forehead, “Sorry to snap like that, the wastes are getting to me.”
Obviously.” El commented with a smug on her face, “listen, I believe you can do this. Like at the station, you moved like as how Sarge trained you to.” she said now appearing closer in front of him, her expression normal. "I remember the old bastard, thankfully the rest was learned on my own before that fight long time ago." Adam counted up two cylinder’s worth of rounds before putting them in another vest pocket.  "I'm surprised that loud mouth ain't here to bug me too."
"very funny addy."
"I know right? back over there." he thumbed over his shoulder, "I belive there are about three sets of ten and maybe one set of five zacks in that stop, going to be a long ass fight ahead if I decide to go int here."
"If? You checking ammo and supplies, you are going in!" El stated gesturing to him, "Of course, I'm still thinking about it. more or less likely to go in, make a mad dash into some boxes for supplies, then dash out before they could surround me. Or simply go in there, make a mess of them, then back off till morning to finish the job." Adam shrugged, "Hell might as well Molotov a few of those cars for some cheap fireworks before I...oh hell, might as well just kill'em all I guess." Adam wasn't sure what he was saying, his mind was all over the place at the moment.  El Could only chuckle, or giggle, at him as he made a fool of himself.

   “Still, I can see doubt in you Addy, you haven’t forgotten that-
“-you can read me like a Pent house forum.”
was going to say Tolkien Novel, but that works too!” she laughed, Adam couldn’t only help but chuckle himself, he reached into the pistol magazine pouches to check how many loaded mags he had. As he drew the first, he saw a hand reach for his.  The touch was warm, he finished bringing his hand up, passing through the hand. He tried to blot out the ghost before him as he counted the loaded mags, after counting only three full, he drew up the empties.

Title: Re: Walking Far
Post by: Historian on February 08, 2011, 12:34:56 am
After a few moment of silence, “Adam?” El asked as she tilted her head to the side looking at him, “yeah?” he reached into the bag to pull up rounds for the .45; “You okay?” she asked calmly, “You seem a little tense.
“Oh sure, got a ghost sitting in front of me and a ton of zacks in my next stopping place, Just outstanding, out-fucking-standing!” he replied giving her the okay gesture, his voice cracking a little. “I’m going to win the prized jacket after they find me I bet.” he commented as he loaded rounds into a magazine. “Not to mention, I could be marked as infected and they’ll want to figure out how I didn’t turn! And, and-” he drifted off, letting his hands and head hang low.

   “Adam?” El asked looking concerned.  Adam took off his hat, He started quivering gently, “You okay?
“I miss you El.” he looked up at her, his eyes reddening, a hot tear leaked from an eye as he stared at her. “If only you were, you were-” he drifted off as he started to cry, Sadness overwhelming him.   Dropping the mag he laid over on the back pack, he was too stiff to move from the walk here to curl up, But he just let himself go, his self trained instincts forced him to try to keep it quiet for being so close to the undead, but his body couldn‘t hold back.

   He closed his eyes as they stung from the salty water pouring from them, he clenched his teeth as to try to keep himself from sounding off. He reopened his eyes, El laying beside him, her eyes locked with his, “I’m sorry.” she could only say as she gently placed an ethereal hand on his cheek, He reached up to touch it but only felt his own cheek. “Damn this infection, Damn this apocalypse!” he sobbed quietly.

   “If, only if…if-”
shhh, just give your self a minuet.” the hallucination could only watch as the human cried till he managed to regain control of himself. He laid there for some time, looking at the ghost before closing his eyes.  “I, I just want to qu-”
oh no, no, no, You just can’t quit because you lost me mister!” She frowned finally, “You can only but keep moving on,” El urged, her voice sounding solid finally. “IF you quit now, everyone that died would all be for nothing!” Adam was only but taken back by the sudden change of things.  He reached out to her, “Your, Your alive?”  His hand touched her face.

   Adam could feel the flesh of her warm cheek, She could only smile kindly at him as he shifted towards her. He couldn’t say anything, however, before he could get only inches from her face, “Wake up.” she said simply.
“Wha-?” he looked at her with a sudden surprised shock on his face.

Suddenly, he herd a point blank roar of a rifle.

Title: Re: Walking Far
Post by: Historian on February 08, 2011, 12:53:56 am
The echo in his head awoke him from the surprise sleep, making him jump up, making him tumble backwards, the ruger and revolver slid down with him.  As he landed on the bed with a clatter, he simply blinked as he stared up at the orange tinted sky. “What…the fuck…was that?!” he only managed from the sudden panic attack.

   He lost track of how far he had traveled to this point, he could only remember that the on ramp must have been miles away.  The SUV was only three miles from the first rest stop sign…He suddenly blamed the heat for that insane dream.

   Regaining his composer, he sat up hearing the faint whine of the car alarm in the distance.  He looked around the bed of the truck, only guns, gear and himself sat in the bed while the Winchester remained propped up on the top of the cab. His face felt hot, checking himself, he must of cried in his sleep, At least the only good thing about being alone was not being seen.

   Wiping up the mess on his face, he began to go through his gear like he had done in the dream.  This time, no ghost to talk to.  He quietly and quickly shuffled through everything, recounted bullets, filled mags and double checked everything before going back up to the top of the cab with the ten rounds in hand.  “All right zeds…time to go pop.” he peered through the scope.

   He fixed his sight on a head before pulling the trigger, the rifle roared and rotten gray matter sprayed out the back of the skull. Working the bolt, he repeated the steps and dropped another.  He had to shoot quickly for there are more of them as well the alarm’s power was dying off. Fire, bolt, scope, fire, bolt, scope, fire-was the pattern that ran through his mind as he went through rounds with ease.  The rhythm of the thirty ought six brought music to his ringing ears, only pausing as he had to reload a five twice.

   Every round scored a body as he went through the fifteen rounds like candy. Five in the internal magazine and ten on hand he started with before he unleashed the thirty caliber hell on the zombies. His mind stayed blank as he quickly folded up the rifle, gathered everything and moved forward.   His heart was beating with a sudden rush as he quickly moved further and further closer to the mob who’s numbers weren’t even dented by the rounds he put into it. Stopping at the off ramp to the rest stop he did on last check before he dropped the bags off and the Winchester leaning against them.  Keeping only the handguns and ruger on him, he moved forward.

   He mentally spoke a prayer before he raised up to fire the first shot.

Title: Re: Walking Far
Post by: Historian on February 13, 2011, 05:52:56 am
The first round out knocked a zombie, closest to him, sideways as the rifle round tore into it’s cheek. As it fumbled to the ground, he Paned right, he popped two rounds, one miss, one hit, a body buckled from the sudden lose of mental function.  He kept moving forward as he fired away. Knocking two down while putting a third out of it’s misery.

   By the time he neared the car he had set off, the entire rest stop was alive with activity, undead pouring from every direction; the car’s battery had died from age and usage not minuets before.  Adam broke stance, turned and bolted off to his right, passing the middle gazebo that separated the two large block restroom buildings. His rifle barked as he quickly snapped sights from target to target.

   Bodies fell, half clumsily and slowly got to their feet while the rest stayed down. Turning around, Adam looked on as walkers had picked up their pace, he wouldn’t of believed it himself but they were coming at him with pale arms raised, their shuffle became a clumsy walk or something along the lines of them becoming fast, dear god! he thought, Pray that they don‘t start running. “Serves up zacks!” he shouted to them as the ruger shouted along with him. Bullets pounded away as rotten flesh caved in, tore or flew from the bodies of the undead as they nearly closed in on him.

   As they fell forward with a hole in their head, their bodies started to build a corpse trail.  Of course, they being dead have not need to fear nothing; they carried on their slow charge while the human pour rounds into them. Among the gunshots, their groans, moans and other inhuman noises vented from their decaying mouths as they  fixed their glazed pale eyes upon their long needed meal.

   Something tugged at his mind that caused him to look behind him, two of them were sneaking up from behind.  On instinct, he spun on heel, drew the colt and fired rounds.  A chest collapsed and a head exploded out the back of the skull. Avoiding being surrounded, Adam fled off to his left. Running along side the gapped tree wall that made up the perimeter of the rest stop, he waved through the makeshift campsite. Returning the 1911 to his holster, Adam turned around. He brought the carbine to his shoulder, firing with both eyes open.

   The rifle’s last bullet scored a nose shot caving the face inward, the zombie collapsed into a tent, making the thin aluminum poles buckle and break under the sudden dead weight. The action locked back, his arms worked out of memory, in seconds, the rifle was singing again. Breaking aim, he jumped over a blackened fire pit before turning to fire again.  An elderly looking zed buckled from a knee shot then tripped over an ammo can, falling face first into a lawn chair.  Another, more faceless blond zombie stopped dead as it was shot trying to climb over one of the picnic tables.

   During the semiautomatic barrage, he eyed a small propane tank meant for a camp stove on another table. He took quick careful aim at the tiny tank. A shot punched through the tank’s metal wall, knocking it over before it pinned itself against the box next to it,  gas gushed from the hole.  Snapping over to pop a skull open, he panned back to the tank as six more undead trudged their way toward him.  The ruger barked and the gas ignited, seconds before the tank exploded, Adam caught a near glimpse of what the box was.

The side contained digits, letters and wording indicating that it was a munitions supply box.

Title: Re: Walking Far
Post by: Historian on February 13, 2011, 05:59:55 am
Eyes widening, he could only managed to turned on heel, shoved his way passed a zombie and dove to the ground as both tank and box went off in a sudden blast of propane.  As he hit the ground, he could hear the box going off like a crazed army firing off all at once. A blind hiss and spurt of dirt next to him told him to start crawling.  He suddenly realized that he probably made a mistake triggering the bullet explosion.

   Crawling towards a thicker table, he could hear the rattle of heated brass burned the powder inside them.  He dared not to stop to look to see if the zombies were caught in the blast. He had an idea that some of them weren’t getting back up.  Reaching the cover of the tick wooded table he, stayed low, his body hugging the ground, he covered his with a hand out of human reaction to incoming fire while his other hand clung to the little rifle for dear life.

   He couldn’t tell how long the chaotic, aimless barrage lasted as there was another explosion that temporary took the sound from his ears, replacing the noise with a loud persistent ring in his ears. He uncovered his head, turned his body around to peek out from underneath the table, he could only see blue sky, smoke, and the occasional tracer flying in every direction.

   His mind was as chaotic as the mess going on outside his little hiding spot, he didn’t know if he should move out to finish the job or stay put until the self shooting bullets stopped. He laid there thinking among the adrenalin and breathing as he then internally convinced himself to pull himself out from underneath the table and kill the rest of the zombies.

   He picked a direction, then held the rifle in both his arms as he crawled outward.

Clearing the table, he sat up on knee, looking around to see that the bullets had or are doing their nasty work with out the help of a gun.  Bullet holes riddled the near by tents and some undead were sprawling about from the stray hits. He couldn’t ear much as he could only hear faint pops as he could hear the ring, his racing pulse and his working lungs. Keeping to a crouch, he moved onward, trying to get as far away from the explosion of his own making.

   Nearing the trees, he quickly got to his feet but something ripped at him.

Title: Re: Walking Far
Post by: Historian on February 21, 2011, 02:15:02 pm
A stray bullet ripped a hole through a cargo pocket on his pants, grazing the skin as it slammed into a tree in front of him. Falling to the ground from the stray shot, Adam was quick to scramble to his feet ignoring the hit. He got around the tree line.  Hugging his back to a tree, he looked around to see that the burning box had splintered and was on fire from the rounds that were left inside it.

   A snap took a branch inches from his head, he reacted by ducking his head; He looked on to see some undead had vanished from view as others were getting to their feet. The camp site around the box was totaled, bullet holes decorated the tents, chairs and everything else; shrapnel from the can and box embedded in every surface or was scattered in every direction. The only thought running through Adam’s mind was the hope that the box wasn’t  holding rounds he’ll need later.

   As the burst of bullets died down to a random popping every so often, Adam broke cover and dashed towards the parking lot of the rest stop. As he ran, he glanced to his right, taking a vague head count of how many are left. He lost count at thirteen when his body responded to dive as something sizzling flew clear over head.

   Hitting the ground, he looked off to his left as he herd a watery splatter. A greenish brownish ooze blanket the already bullet damaged bark, the unknown substance eating away at the bark;  The zombie that was shuffling through the tree line had also caught a splash from the glob.  It’s arm fell from the middle of the left bicep, a section of melted skin and muscle ran down the leg of the same side.

   As the zombie buckled and fell from the lost of leg bone, Adam quickly looked into his right to see where the glob came from.  A lone zed, that had probably walked from one of the opened rest room houses, had the same ooze dribbling from it’s mouth. “You shitting me…” Adam thought aloud as he looked on for a split moment before he noticed the zed’s body quivering, then it went into a bodily motion; like as if a ghost is giving it a Heimlich maneuver, “oh hell no!” Adam shoved himself off the ground to pitch himself onto a knee.

   At the same moment, the zombie’s mouth opened, emitting a harsh hacking and gargling noise; Adam brought the Ruger to his shoulder; The undead puke filled it’s mouth; Adam fired rounds into the zed.  Adam’s reaction was faster than the spitters.

   Three rounds pierced the body, it ignored the impact as it tried to finish bringing it’s stomach to it’s mouth. However, the third round tore open a hole between the acid worn skin between the exposed chin and neck, creating a hole for the hazardous vomit to drain all over the body of the spitter. The special finished it’s movement but only managed to force the leftovers to dribble from the mouth and onto it’s own body.

   The acid finished the job.

Title: Re: Walking Far
Post by: Historian on April 04, 2011, 10:35:11 pm
As the body collapsed, the last of it’s nerves twitching among the puddle of sizzling acid, Adam got to his feet.  When he looked behind him, he could notice some of the zeds had staggered too close to him.  Ignoring them for the moment, he took off back into the parking lot. The feeling for the warm day and the blue skies he had once before the fight long gone, he turned to back stepping, his rifle plinking the five-fifty-six away at three of the zombies that staggered from the bathrooms, two tripped, one put back to sleep.

   However, after the third shot, the rifle didn’t click, didn’t fire, just stopped.  Breaking aim, Adam looked down at the action, a round had miss-fed and jutted upward towards the roof of the action. Glancing up, he noticed that it would be a minuet or two before the zombies will form back in their rotten pursuit for their human prey. Turning back to the gun, he attempted to remove the magazine;  the bullet, wanting to slide forward with pressure from the slide while it wants to jump up into the action, caused the magazine to stick in it’s magazine well.

   “Oh god, not now!” he grumbled to the gun a hint of panic in his voice as he pulled on the mag. Glancing up again, he noticed that the zeds where now closing in on him.  Thinking quickly, the survivor threw down his rifle and drew his handgun. Thumbing the hammer on the 1911.  Gripping with both hands, he raised up and fired off two rounds at two other zombies, they both collapsed with the sudden lose of brain function; the forty-five pounded a heavy bang that assisted in increasing the volume of the ringing in his ears; the gunshots dulling down to a muffled pop with each trigger pull.

   Dropping six more, he pressed the release, drew up a fresh mag, and reloaded in a short time span. As the slide snapped forward, the pistol sang once more. Four more ate a piece of history before Adam stopped to reassess the situation. They were everywhere at this point, but their numbers started to diminish as well the bullets on his person.  “Looks like your going to need help Lucy!” he spoke to the pistol as he drew the magnum with his left.

   With both hands filled,  if I have to die here, he thought, Might as well go down swinging…

   He thumbed the hammer on the revolver and aimed with both pistols, a killer’s smile cracked across his face as he looked on at the mob inching close to him.       His fingers twitched and both pistols went off one beat after another, the magnum kicking harder (and barking louder) than the colt.  Two targets went down, one staggered back to its feet.  Thumbing the hammer on the magnum, he squeezed off rounds with the colt, pausing after the third shot to cave in a chest with the magnum.

   The rhythm of the pounds became muffled thuds in his ears with each shot, each shot found their marks.  One after another, the rotting bodies collapsed to the ground, some not moving, others getting back to their feet to continue their pursuit of their  well-trained (yet ballsy) killer.  Adam fired the 1911 till the slide locked back; every shot took a shoulder, a jaw or took part of a skull away.

   Flicking a thumb and his hand on the release, the slide snapped forward into place before the pistol was returned to it’s holster. Switching the magnum between hands, he fanned the hammer with his left hand before taking a shot at another zed; the fragile thing was knocked backwards from the impact, doubling over two others.  He thumbed the last shot before his feet began to work automatically, moving him backwards as worked the cylinder release.

   The now warm cylinder swung open, a quick tap and the spent shells spilled silently to the ground.  The survivor’s hand went to the vest pocket that carried the spare rounds.  He dug then out, loaded six then flicked his hand to make the cylinder click shut. Thumbing the hammer, he stopped in his track to take a careful shot.

   Two shots later he lost count but as far as he could tell that the mob was dwindling but not fast enough. However, when he fired the magnum empty, his vision blurred by the muzzle flashes; his mind began to lose focus.  While his hands worked, stinging faintly against the hot cylinder as he loaded more rounds, his eyes began to go dark.  His mind remained blank and no more thoughts as his vision turned to total darkness as his hands began to work the gun automatically.

   Everything was silent for what seemed felt like hours. Thuds echoed into his ears, he felt every shock of the gun at first then soon, he felt his legs move, slow at first, then they picked up speed.  His mind registered briefly that he was sprinting, which way he was going was lost to him.  Adam felt his own body move on his own, his conscious locked in a blackened shell of his own mind.

   His legs then sprung, he felt air, them he felt a fist land into something hard. A solid slam, he felt the shock vibrate up the hole arm.  Another hand griped  something cold, a foot kicked against something then his hands worked their magic of reloading on their own.  Seconds later, his hand felt the familiar jolting of the colt.  He also felt his other hand grab something then swung it hard.

   His hole body began to work as one absent minded machine while Adam sat in the dark black seat of his mind.  The shooting, reloading, swinging, hitting, kicking and even jumping lasted for god knows how long.  Suddenly, the fighting seemed to of stopped.
   He felt nothing, he herd nothing, he didn’t even think of anything.  Like as if sleeping, he began to drift until he felt hands touch something cold.  His vision, mind and conscious began to recover the body.  When he blinked, he at first saw the darkness fade from his vision.  Then the blurring clear up slowly.

   Finally clearing up, he was staring at the bottom of a sink, he was in the bathroom of the rest stop. He felt cold, his hand sore and bloody as he slowly inched his eyes to look at them. One still gripped the now empty colt handgun.  His breathing as his mind reconnected with the body was a slow and deep, his trained pattern to calm his body after a near miss with shaking hands with the reaper.

   He forced his neck to life his head, it moved slowly as his body was numb. His eyes met the mirror, his face and hair was plastered with drying blood.  His eyes, he must have been seeing a result of the black out but he could of seen his had changed, the white replaced with a solid oil black, the color a solid white and the iris, a black dot.  Yet with a single, the eyes cleared, returning to their more familiar  paper white and marble gray colors. He was freaked by it but something else stood in fear’s place.

   A stomach movement.  He jolted from it and immediately spun around to dash for an open stall, the pistol fell free from the loosened hand.  He lost what little he previously eaten before walking all the way here.  A few bursts of vomit into the toilet and he flushed after wiping his mouth with toilet paper. Yet he hung over the bowl for a few minuets as his body settled finally.

Title: Re: Walking Far
Post by: Historian on July 05, 2011, 09:29:28 pm
{(yes, yes, I understand the rules behind Necro bumping but I felt like coming back to this after a long creativity coma*)}

Slowly getting to his feet, he grabbed a clump of toilet paper to wipe left over stomach matter from his mouth, walking back to a sink, he twisted a handle, a groan emitted from the pipes before a cough of water splattered the sink bowl. A few more coughs and rust colored water flowed from the tap.  A few seconds later, clear water replaced the colored water. Tossing the wad of paper aside, he leaned into the sink to dip his dirtied hands to splash to wash them first of the dried blood and to cup a handful to splash his face.

   As cold water greeted his gritty face, he stood leaning over the sink in silence, the running water, powered by the sun (at least he came to think it was panels on the roof), making the only sound in the room.  He looked up at the mirror, he stared at himself for a long while.  He wondered what happened to him, what has become of him and wondered if this already costly trip is worth it?  His mind slowly lit up with questions.

   Almost losing himself in thought, he suddenly remembered something, “What the hell happened out there?” he asked himself looking at his own eyes. He then turned his gaze from the mirror to his left at the door that was jammed open. Silence came from outside.  He questioned himself it is worth walking out there to see what became of all the undead out there.  Either way, he wasn’t going to stay in here.

   Shutting the water off, he reached to the floor to collect his empty pistol; flicking the slide release he holstered the gun before walking outside. What greeted him when he walked outside made him stop in mid step in awe.  Bodies littered the entire parking lot, yet there was only confusion as he looked upon the carnage that he must have caused.  He remembers starting the fight by shooting at the zeds, yet after his gun jammed things got crazy after that.

    He couldn’t remember what happened to the rest of the mob that was about to run him down and make chow out of him.  Yet, there they were, bodies everywhere.  “What did I do?!” he could only manage as he walked into the mess.  He gazed upon bodies that looked more bloodied than the ones shot.  Faces, mangled and nearly unrecognizable; some faces were caved in, others missing, one head seemed to have been removed. He stopped in his walk and looked at his hands as they started to throb with pain.  Examining them, he could pin point bruises forming across the knuckles and other parts of his hands.

   “Shit…I went ape shit on these things.” He commented to himself

{(*=a form of writer's block that lasts longer than two to three weeks)}

Title: Re: Walking Far
Post by: Historian on July 05, 2011, 09:37:44 pm

Walking on, he mentally counted up the number of kills, he came to terms that whatever happened to him, he knew that he had blacked out.  Yet, he still couldn’t grasp why or how.  Last he knew he was perfectly sane, but that was months ago before taking this long trip.

   As he lost count as some of the bodies started to appear with missing limps, he came across a killed zed with its foot inside its skull; the boot on the foot must have been a steel toe, so it could explain how it got in there.  He took another step and his foot stepped on something.  clink! and he looked down as he moved his foot,  it was the magnum he carried during the battle.  Kneeling down, he picked it up,  Examining it, there was some dents and nicks up-n-down the action and barrel; Adam had some clue that he must of used it as a club during his rage moment before discarding it.  Checking the cylinder, there were only spent shells inside. Bumping them out, they tinged on the concrete as Adam flicked the cylinder closed.

   Returning it to the shoulder holster, He stood up and looked around to find his Ruger.  He looked out into the distance and found it right where he had left it.  After heading off to retrieve it, he tinkered with the jammed action as he walked back to the camp site.  He remembers the Bullet explosion and prayed that there was something worth salvaging after that screw up.

   There were a few crippled stragglers that nosily tried to avenge their defeat, but Adam drove a pick, which he had found in the bed of a pickup, into their skulls, snuffing them for good.  Leaving the pick in the last of three he came across, he examined the table that the box had sat on.  Sadly, the box was an ammunition crate, but the good part about it was, that it was a caliber that didn’t want to begin with, how convenient… he thought to himself.  Scavenging around, a skill all too well versed, he noticed that only a few ammo cans were knocked to the ground while some stayed on the table just pushed in every direction by debris, shrapnel, and the blast itself; a few of the empties where obvious as they were pitched far in every direction.  Few other things, like a camp stove, and a burned out box of MREs sat on the table.

   As he searched and picked up a half can of thirty cal, he heard a creaking noise then a clatter of snapping wood, clanging metal and various objects falling.  Turning around, he looked on to see that the table had collapsed from being weakened from the blast, fire and weight of objects.  Turning his attention to the sky, he took note of lost time; taking the scene another look, he wondered why he didn’t look before he shot that propane can earlier today.

Title: Re: Walking Far
Post by: Historian on May 01, 2012, 01:14:18 am
(This section will be a little longer because weapons are in this one)

   Pushing his mistake out of his head, he simply walked on to look for anything more to salvage from the camp before finding a more suitable place to clean up, rearrange supplies, and above of all, rest!

   After what felt like several hours of picking through the carnage, he managed to find several items of interest, half a first aid kit (missing only one bandage roll, a couple of gauze pads and several packets of wipes and painkillers), several abandoned weapons, a few intact cans of ammo, a handful of canned food and a shit load of M.R.Es, as well a few watches off the bodies as well some extra miscellaneous items (batteries, glow sticks, lighters, etc.).

   Finding a bench that wasn’t toasted to perfection, he laid his findings, laid his own gear down, and proceeded to pick through the loot on what he’ll take with him tomorrow.  Before he started he took a glance to the sky, as he determined what time it was, he silently thanked the good lord for not making him zed chow.

   Turning back to the loot table, he first started with the munitions.

There laid before him were two revolvers, four pistols, three shotguns and five rifles. 

The Newer model M1911 was only salvaged for magazines and internal parts, He didn’t find any interest in the P99 because “it’s a nine…”  The luger looked well used but Adam didn’t think he’ll want to use it for it could break on him (a quick look at the numbers, dings and scratches that it was carried through World war one and there for no, certainly no); The Nagant and webley revolvers he found where decent but power and loading speed came to mind when he remembered the magnum he ditched somewhere in this parking lot.

Then he found the battered Tokarev lying there, picking it up he could feel the weight and fit of the handgun.  Rummaging through the ammo he collected he could make out about six or so magazines loads of the small but potent round, however there where only four mags that could be found, five if you can count the one in the gun already.

Looking at the handgun he nodded then set it aside.

He found no intrest in the Ithica or the Benelli but the “bitch grip” mossburg caught his eye, setting it aside too he then picked through the rifles.
He gazed upon the old war carbine but he had to pass it up for he knew the thirty cal carbine would be perfect for him but ammo was nearly nonexistent when he checked the ammo pile.

The M4 didn’t look like it’ll last long under his ownership however, the hybrid sight attached was prefect to squeeze onto his Winchester but work like that will have to wait till morning, the SKS was too long, the FAL was too clunky but the AK 74U was scratched up to hell and back but it still worked, two Russians in one day, what a find… he thought as he slung the rifle.

Sadly, thinking about weight, he ditched the Mossburg for he only wanted to keep just one compact rifle and an extra pistol along with his snipe and his colt.  With that thought in mind, he went through the food supplies and decided to keep the MREs for the sake that he had been living off them for a while and it would be hell to switch to something other than that.

He filled his nearly-empty first aid kit from his pack with what he could stuff from the more-larger kit before returning it to his pack. He organized the several MREs into his pack then rummaged through the rest of the items.  The two watches that still worked both counted the time, 7:23 they both read.  He looked at the sinking sun and agreed that the time was right.

Strapping on the sports watch, he took the time to load magazines and rearrange his vest and locate a different holster for the TT.  Reffiting and reloading any/all magainze he will be taking with him; exchanging the ruger magazines with the AK mags and tinkered with the ACOG mounts then made a difficult fitting the hybrid sight onto the Winchester.  With the dual purpose of the sight, he can make long rang shots as well quick close quarters shots.  The set up looked awkward as it sits above the action, but it will work for where he will be going.

After refilling on thirty-aught and grabbing an extra MRE for the night, he went back inside the stone restroom building.

Title: Re: Walking Far
Post by: Historian on May 01, 2012, 01:15:01 am
He walked into the women’s room for the men’s room had the bloody mess he supposedly made during the fighting.  He found a stall, closed the door, bolted it and took a seat on the Toilet.  Opening the extra MRE, he read the entrée that was inside, “Chicken with buffalo styled sauce…”  He didn’t mind much of the flavors each one came in. Food is food right?  He thought that opened the box to start eating, everything as decent, minding the fact that there is no way to heat it, well, there is, but he didn’t want to risk any drawn attention to jump him in the dark.

   Upon finishing, he had just discarded the empties right as it hit him. He felt a strange pull in his gut, “shit…” and that’s what he ran off to do fallowing the clatter of a stall door.
   Nearly a half hour later, he reemerged, and moved to the other end of the stalls. Now, bolting the door, he sat on the lid and pulled out his book.

Day 122

   I’m currently sitting in a bathroom stall, He simply began, he smirked at the thought of starting off with that. But outside this roadside stop restroom, is a bloody mess, caused by my hand.  What was originally going to be a gun battle between me and a mob of those things, turned into another black out.  I’m not sure what is causing these black outs, but I can honestly say that I have won the fight.  Found a small supply dump left behind the original occupants of this makeshift campground. He paused to think, he memory flashed back to the canister bursting from a stray shot and his Rugger jamming on him, My trusty ruger jammed on me finally, right as I had drawn their attention out into the parking lot. Thankfully I ditched it for a 74U, more reliable and can clean it- who’d to think that I can finally clean a weapon without having to spend hours to run a thin rod down the barrel while I can just clean with a string and some oil. he laughed at himself at the thought, Either way, I managed to find some decent supplies to hold me over till I can find either another dump like this one or reach the next town. I can honestly say that I’m going to need to find a new map or at least search around for one that has been written on so I can update mine. Let’s hope I’m close to the coast.  Yet, I have to keep in mind that it won’t be no picnic for the coastal cities will be the most crowded.
   Crazed humans, banshees, spitters, runners, and god knows’ what else will be in that city whichever one I enter.  All I can say is that I’ll hopefully- the lead snapped and he clicked the mechanical pen to continue, -I can contact whoever that is on the other end of that radio signal and get the hell off this continent.
with all stress aside, I’m try and sleep and hopfully not get torn up in my sleep

Sergeant Adam Halsey

   He closed the book, tucked it back into his pack, laid it down. He took off his jacket and laid himself down.  He laid his head on his pack to use it as a pillow, then covered himself with his coat, all the while keeping his colt, now had been reloaded, close to his head.  It took him a little bit to drift off.

Title: Re: Walking Far
Post by: Historian on May 01, 2012, 01:16:40 am
The nightmares invaded his mind over night and he woke once but didn’t budge from his sleep, though he was briefly puzzled on why a toilet was right next to him before he remembered what happened before dozing off again.
   When he woke again, he checked his newly found watch, 8:23 it read. He felt stiff as he sat up, his ears felt slightly muffed as the gunfire from yesterday fight deafened him. Tucking the colt away, he got up, collected his pack and coat and was out the door.  He slung his rifles over each shoulder as he checked surrounding cars for anything useable.  He did find a few pieces of gold:  a hand held scanner that still worked a flashlight that would be fitted with double A’s, which there are plenty to grab and go.
Also, a map that was marked up with someone else’s hand writing, sadly it was done by a surgeon’s hand.  The fancy long hand was difficult to read the legend that defined the markings.
Taking his own map out, he took the pen from his journal and wrote on the map and translated everything he could decipher.
From what he could tell, he isn’t not only maybe a week’s travel from the nearest city, that has a large harbor but he is in luck to read an abandoned convoy about a few hours away.  He translated miles into time and estimated it into walking time for taking a car would not only be cumbersome, it also made noise and managing gas is always a bitch considering his past with driving.
Finishing his sketching, he folded up his own map, tucked it away, and let the old one blow away with the breeze.
   Stocking a little more on food, he searched around for water. He found a few gallons worth of water and filled his canteens, stuff four more extra water bottles on his pack and searched around for more mags to fit the colt and his 74.  He only managed to find two more mags for the 74 to add onto the four mags he already had in his vest pouches.
Keeping weight and enough for everything is always been a tricky balancing act, one can never expect what will happen next further down the road. However, he tried his best before moving on.
   As he walked away from the campsite, he stopped to take a knee. He clasped his hands together and bowed his head slightly, he said nothing but his mind was praying for safety on his travel and to bring him to the door step of the survivor’s colony.  He stood up dug into his coat pocket for his Ipod, put on the earphones and turned it on, not really paying attention to the words he simply wanted some background noise at least for a several tracks before putting it up before it dies. When he did took it off, it only had a quarter bar of power left.

   Time later, after passing abandoned cars, mummified bodies and taking out a few walking rotters, he caught sight of a few Humvees in the distance.  Bringing his Winchester around, he peeked through the cope.  From the distance he could cover with his eye, he could tell that it was the convoy that was described to him on his map. Slinging the rifle he jumped roof to roof of the short bumper-to-bumper chain of cars. When his boots touched the pavement, he had the 74 out with the stock folded out.
   Ducked behind a truck as he peeked around to see the abandoned convoy, he then leaned back to check the time, it was 12:45 when he got here. Taking a deep breath he went around the truck with carbine raised, It may be abandoned, but it didn’t mean that someone or something was hanging around.
Keeping it cautious he made his way up to the front Humvee of the six vehicle convoy.  No one was home, the CB made nothing but static, a constant hum of buzzing. With nothing to notice other than open doors, he went down the line, the second Humvee was the same, only the duce that was attached to the roof pointed at no one but the sky above.
   Inside were one rifle and a scattered mess of fifty cal brass. Apparently they sprayed into some of them on their way here or blasted their way through the hordes. The half tons where empty aside some discarded magazines.  The second to last of the vehicles had nothing until he came to the end Humvee where there were two stretchers in the bed of the shelless Humvee.  Both where covered by a tarp but boots stuck out of the bottom and glimpses of hair stuck out the top.
He didn’t need to lift them up to tell that they both where wounded that were euthanized before the rest of the unit abandoned the convoy to escape on foot.  He still did uncover the bodies to check what gear he could pull off them; both had a familiar mark, a blackened hole in the forehead that dotted the now pale faces, bandages covered bites, one of them had their vest, fatigues torn by claws.
Two of four canteens he took, he managed to pull off the undamaged elbow and knee pads off both of them to make a complete set for him; a pair of gloves he pulled off the hands of one of them, the frags and ammo where stripped from the corpses but a single concussion grenade he found, he picked it up and looked at it for a moment to think. The blast wasn’t enough to kill but enough to knock zeds down. Thinking with a nod, he tucked the grenade into a pouch on his vest.
   He would have been glad to have found a helmet with the gear attached but it looked like they both where mobbed, so a good portion of both soldier’s gear is missing. A shrug of oh well before he looked at the boots, he could tell that they wouldn’t fit him so he simply recovered the bodies, “Rest well boys, you’ve earned it.” He got off the Humvee before he carried on.
   He walked a few paces before he stopped to fit on the new items, the pads and gloves where a good fit.  He had to loot from the fallen before, so he didn’t feel bad as he stripped the gear from them. Folding the stock and tucking the 74 under shoulder, he carried on.