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Author Topic: ARC Interviews with Survivors  (Read 17100 times)
IronBrig4
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« on: July 13, 2017, 11:14:54 pm »

I doubt many people will read this. I just felt like doing some creative writing. This is a transcript from the ARC processing department as they evaluate new arrivals.

ARC Processing Transcript

One of our scavenging teams contacted a group of five individuals in the Wasteland last week. After making arrangements with the scavenging team, the group arrived at a rendezvous yesterday for pickup. Each of the five will be interviewed separately, after which they are to be processed.

Applicant Name: Adam Horton
Age: 40
Origin: Sandusky, OH
Occupation: Cook (insists on being called a saucier)
Status: Uninfected

ARC Officer: We want you to understand that this is not an interrogation. We just want to hear your experiences.

Horton: Yeah, I get it.

ARC: Your group is relatively healthy compared to most people who arrive here. Did you prepare for the outbreak?

Horton: Not really. Like most everyone else in the US, I was convinced that the virus was a Third World problem like ebola. I saw the tearjerker human interest stories of decimated villages in Liberia or Bangladesh. The newspapers showed photos but always cut out the more gruesome ones so they'd avoid angry letters to the editor. I just shook my head and turned the page.

ARC: So did your community fortify itself when the outbreak started?

Horton: No. Sandusky pretty much emptied out when the outbreak came to Ohio. We evacuated to Cleveland because it was supposed to be safe.

ARC: Cleveland?

Horton: Yup. And whatever you heard, it was even worse. I was lucky to have a friend there who had a sailboat on the lake. We got out the day before the Air Force dropped fuel-air bombs over the camps.

ARC: And what happened after that?

Horton: We mostly just drifted from island to island, trying to scrounge or fish what we could.

ARC: That sounds like many other stories we get, and those people are usually in terrible shape. What do you think you did differently?

Horton: Police tape.

ARC: What?

Horton: Yellow police tape. Early on, the authorities treated zombie attacks like any violent crime. Witness statements, CSI, blood spatter analysis, the works. Not that it mattered because things went to shit before the first zombie was arraigned. To be fair, it looked like a lot of attacks were domestic situations or burglaries gone horribly wrong. Or maybe someone under the influence of a scary new drug. The cops would show up at a house thinking they were going to tase a wife beater. Instead they found themselves face to face with a zombie, when they didn't even know what a zombie was. They'd try to talk it down, then subdue it by non-lethal means. Pepper spray did jack shit. Tasers slowed them down a little. Eventually the cops wrestled it down and cuffed it, but not before it bit who knows how many of them. If you want to see one of the original zombies, find an abandoned police car and check the back seat. Chances are there's a cuffed zombie that's been stuck there since the first days. As the attacks became more frequent and we finally knew what we were dealing with, the cops stopped caring about a zombie's Miranda rights. Eventually they just shot it, bagged it, and carted it off. No investigation. When things started to get worse and everything broke down, the cops stopped responding to calls. Then the phones went dead and you know the rest.

ARC: So what's the point?

Horton: Oh yeah, the police tape. If we could find a taped building, we went in. Cops guarded crime scenes until the neighborhood evacuated to a "safe zone." The mass looting just didn't happen in policed areas. And since those folks evacuated on the understanding that emergency services would provide food and shelter, they left a lot of necessaries behind. Afterward scavengers mostly targeted the big box stores and shopping malls. Seriously, who tries to hole up in a shopping mall? A single apartment or house was beneath notice. So yeah, it's that magical sweet spot of decent, untapped loot. Aside from the chalk outlines and the old blood smears, it's like there was no outbreak. There's still toothpaste and soap by the sink. There's usually several days' worth of canned food in the pantries. And let me tell you, there's nothing like finding a place that still has clean sheets and charged batteries. Heh, and sometimes we find condoms in the sock drawer. There was this one time-

ARC: We don't need to know that.

Horton: Okay.

ARC: We've heard enough. We will now give you over to another officer who will work out the specifics.

ARC Note - Entry: Granted. Assignment and living quarters to be assigned later.
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« Reply #1 on: July 14, 2017, 08:20:50 am »

Good one.  I liked it.
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« Reply #2 on: March 04, 2018, 04:57:32 pm »

Applicant Name: Devontah Winslow
Age: 23
Origin: Morgan City, LA
Occupation: College student
Status: Uninfected

ARC: How did you survive the initial outbreak?

Winslow: I was lucky to be studying at Franklin Pierce when the whole thing went down. I had time to gather supplies and find a group. I also fired off one last email to my folks before the system went offline. They could be dead or they could be in Cuba or Trinidad for all I know, but the last they heard from me, I was safe. My group stayed where it was cold because the chill slowed down the zombies somewhat. We eventually holed up in an Elks Lodge in the White Mountains, and stayed there until you found us. We started off with ten students and eventually ended up with thirty-five people from all walks of life. Carpenters, mechanics, and even one of the starting Boston Bruins. Seriously, ask him. Every one of us had a role to play, and a say in how things went, but we were organized by committee. People used to hate on us and called us Social Justice Warriors before the outbreak, but we're still standing. A group with common purpose can make the outbreak a lot less frightening.

ARC: What was your most frightening experience?

Winslow: It wasn't really an experience. More like a collection of similar fucked up shit.

ARC: Go on.

Winslow: It was the pets.

ARC: Not the zombies?

Winslow: First let me say that the zombies were definitely terrifying. Anyone who said they weren't scared of the zombies, especially during the first days, was either lying or needed to see a shrink. You don't know sheer terror until one of those howlers sounds the alarm and brings in every zombie within earshot. I'm talking about the stuff that wasn't really scary, but kept me up at night because it was seriously fucked up.

ARC: How do the pets factor in?

Winslow: They weren't dangerous, except for the dogs that turned wild. You had to watch out for those. We didn't mind killing them, and dog meat isn't that bad. We knew that killing stray pets was necessary for survival. My group and I would sometimes enter a house and see a pet that had been left behind. When the first evacuations happened, people left with just a weekend bag because they thought the whole thing would be over in a day or two. They just topped off their pets' food and water bowls and headed to the evacuation centers. Of course that evacuation stayed permanent and so all those cats and dogs had to fend for themselves.

ARC: What did you find?

Winslow: We'd find dead birds in their cages, and goldfish and hamsters in their tanks. If the house had a dog door or cat flap, we just found some empty bowls. Cats had the good sense to leave. People never quite domesticated cats, you know? They were always half-wild. Dogs would eventually dig under the fence and leave to find their people. But if there was no way for the animal to get out, that's when things got messed up. We'd see cat and dog carcasses lying right behind the front door or curled up in the master bedroom. They had clearly died of thirst or starvation, just waiting for their owners to get back. Some had broken into the pantry and got into the food and water, but that only prolonged the inevitable. We even found a cat that had probably climbed into a cupboard and knocked some canned tuna out. Looking at its broken teeth, it had tried to chew through the can.

ARC: Jesus...

Winslow: Yeah. Thing is, I hated pets before all this. I wasn't allergic or anything. I just didn't like the critters asking for attention when I wanted to play video games. But then my group found Bofur. That's what his collar said. He was a juvenile beagle. We found a nearby cabin that had just been overrun, so his people had probably holed up there since the outbreak. We didn't find any zombies there, so those folks had probably killed each other over some dispute. We took Bofur in and he eventually became one of us. Beagles are a working breed so we'd bring him hunting. They also don't just bark, they baaaaaaaAAAAAAaaaark. He'd instantly rouse the whole group if a zombie got close at night. Bofur made our lives better, and not just by the rabbits he brought us. We had to take care of another living thing. Whenever we fed him, brushed him, or just rubbed his belly, we felt a little more human. The world didn't seem too bad when he was around. We didn't even get mad at him when he stole a day's worth of dehydrated rations and scarfed them down. It was the kind of fancy survival food that expanded when you added water to it. *laughs* That fatass swelled up, waddled, and farted non-stop for the next two days.

ARC: The Wastelander patrol didn't say anything about a dog when they found you.

Winslow: I was getting to that. About three months back, one of our patrols met a passing group. Those meetings were usually peaceful for us. We exchanged news and traded what we could. This group was interested in Bofur because working breeds had become extremely valuable. We just didn't see him as a thing. He was family. We traded some other things and thought the moment had passed. About a week later, Bofur was out hunting with two of us. The two guys returned with no weapons and they were beaten bloody. Bofur was nowhere to be found. That other group had jumped them in the woods, beaten up our two friends, and kidnapped Bofur.

ARC: And what did you do?

Winslow: What do you think we did? We wanted to get our friend back! We tracked him all the way to the assholes' camp. It was one of those temporary camps surrounding several vehicles. They'd stay until they could siphon off enough gas to move on. Not much in the way of protection but better than nothing. We broke out all the weapons for this. We had serious military-grade shit including M4s, sniper rifles, grenades, and an old M60 machine gun. We surrounded the camp but I was the spokesman who approached. I'd hoped to give them one last chance at diplomacy. Instead they put one in my leg and my friends lit them up. This was our first and only major firefight. Shooting zombies is different because you generally get up to point blank range in order to save ammo. We'd fought individual looters before but those were over in seconds. We thought this would be like Commando, with Arnold Schwarzenegger walking into a compound and then spraying bullets until he found his daughter. We sprayed bullets all right and suppressed the enemy. But we hadn't counted on our weapons being so powerful. One of us had an M2010 ESR looted from a wrecked Army truck. She had been aiming for one of the bandits and took the guy's head off. Then that bullet went through both sides of the Honda behind him and right into Bofur's abdomen. It wasn't my friend's fault. She couldn't have known.

ARC: What happened after?

Winslow: We cleared the rest of the camp. That entire crew was dead or wounded and we didn't take a scratch. That's when we saw Bofur with his guts out. He was still alive and begging us to please fix him. We had a veterinarian in our group but all he could do was get a syringe and some chemicals out of his bag. He petted Bofur one last time and then put him to sleep. There was still work to be done. Some of the wounded were still conscious. We're not cruel, but their deaths were VERY cruel. We left them tied to some trees and sounded an air horn for a few minutes, then left just as the first zombies showed up. I saw it all happen through binoculars. There were a few of the really nasty zombies. Berserkers, you call them? Yeah, they had their way with the bandits while I watched and ate a candy bar. I still think those assholes got what they deserved. Anyways, we got back to our camp and buried Bofur near the kitchen. He always liked to hang out there and beg for food. We covered his body and had a good cry.

ARC: *sniffle*

Winslow: Yeah, poor dog. You were expecting a Lassie ending?

ARC Note - Leadership skills. Also displays signs of sociopathy and sadism. Recommend as recruit to Red Halos.
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« Reply #3 on: March 27, 2019, 08:16:25 pm »

Solid writing.  I got into the flow of it.  Well done.
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« Reply #4 on: December 15, 2020, 05:27:01 pm »

Applicant Name: Ethan Carlton
Age: 25
Origin: Utica, NY
Occupation: College student, cashier
Status: Uninfected

Carlton: I grew up in Utica. Forget the nostalgic imagery of General Electric factories and stoic men in hard hats. Utica was just another one of those rusted out hellholes with broken homes, shuttered storefronts, and meth labs. Naturally, most of my neighbors voted for the orange baboon twice. I just wanted out. The only reason I didn't go into Navy was because I didn't want to be away from family. My folks were going insane from juggling multiple low-wage jobs just to make ends meet. I had two kid sisters and didn't want them to fall in with a bad crowd. There were already too many unwed, pill-popping teen moms in the neighborhood.

ARC: That sounds-

Carlton: Awful? Yeah. But I wanted to eventually get out and go to college, and so I decided on the National Guard. I figured that one weekend a month was a small price to pay. I was in the 108th Infantry Regiment as an Indirect Fire Infantryman. You know, mortars. It was a pretty sweet deal for me. The extra money let me take community college classes and helped my parents out. I was about halfway through my eight-year enlistment when the world ended. First the governor called us up, and then we were federalized. That was my first and only deployment.

ARC: At what point did you realize this wasn't just an emergency?

Carlton: We knew things were bad when we mustered in at the armory. Only three-quarters of us showed up. There was non-stop TV coverage of refugees from New York City, Boston, and Newark. A bunch of the guys must have figured they would beat the exodus. They packed up their cars and took their families to Canada, Pennsylvania, or anywhere they felt was safer. And I know some others were already dead and shuffling around by that point.

The Navy and Marines were doing their best to hold Long Island. My battalion was part of the Hudson Valley Campaign. We were supposed to relieve pressure on Long Island by keeping our sectors clear and attracting some of the zekes that might be coming in from New England. It was easy for the first month. We just found a few solitary zombies at first, and then small groups. My mortar platoon didn't see much action at first. Every once in a while we'd be called in to take out a cluster. And it was satisfying to see an 81mm round make them go pop. But those small groups got larger as time went on. We were careful to take them out at range, and we hadn't taken any losses, but we saw increasingly gruesome carnage. Individual families reanimated and still stuck in their tents, refugee caravans slaughtered, and small towns burned to the ground. And things were even worse in the cities.

The news feeds just showed a situation getting out of hand, and all those social media "influencers" didn't help by broadcasting the situation in Manhattan. There was that one influencer, I can't remember her name. Pretty blonde girl who got famous from her recorded reactions to TV finales. She had millions of viewers and they saw the whole spectacle as a bunch of zombies broke through her door and ripped into her. It was horrific when she reanimated a few minutes later. She had those glowy red eyes. A bunch of my friends deserted right after that. They took their weapons and headed right on home. The MPs didn't stop them. Hell, some of them even left with the deserters. The next morning we were at half-strength.

About two months into the campaign, the brass decided it was time to make a stand because those search and destroy missions weren't doing anything for morale. All of the units in our campaign combined forces and set up defenses on the north bank of the Mohawk River, right by the Thaddeus Kosciusko Bridge. It was a good idea, don't get me wrong. After constant patrolling it was nice to take a breather. The river current meant that zombies couldn't just walk underwater and surprise us. There was just a handful of bridges the zombies could use in that area so they'd shuffle into a meat grinder. My platoon zeroed in just past the far span. I was about three hundred yards behind the front line with some of the ordnance units. We sent out some recon units to make some noise and attract the zombies, and that worked. One of our Kiowas reported zombies heading our way in the tens of thousands.

There were individual zombies first, of course. Our snipers picked them off. Then those solitaries were replaced by small groups. They congregated around the far end of the twin bridges as they navigated their way around abandoned cars. That's when I got the order to fire one round. And let me tell you that round was perfectly placed because it turned ten zekes into chopped meat. There was a cheer from the front line. More of the dead showed up. By that point the streets leading to the bridge were about as crowded as the San Diego Comic-Con. And that's when the artillery let them have it. We didn't have any of the fancy Paladins or MLRS batteries, but we did have some 155mm batteries and they turned thousands of zekes into chili that day. My mortar fired off a round every ten seconds or so, just enough time to let another group fill up that kill zone. And we had 60mm mortars to target some of the side streets. It was working! We stopped them cold for two days, rotating weapon crews and pieces so we could keep up the fire. And all the time our grunts up front egged us on. It seemed like the big guns were going to do all the work. Then flights of Apaches swooped in and strafed the roads. We had cleaned out the armories so there plenty of ammo. We blasted the zekes all along the river. It was glorious.

That's when we were informed that we were hosting a larger party than expected. The tens of thousands turned into hundreds of thousands. The zombies kept coming. Pretty soon my piece fired continuously because there were so many. On that third day a few got through to the bridges, and then more. That wasn't a problem for our rifle teams. And then there were these really spry zekes. They crawled up onto the suspension and practically swung across like a bunch of monkeys. We'd seen them on the news but never up close. Our sharpshooters dropped them but boy those were freaky.

The rest kept coming, and pretty soon our machine guns and Bushmasters opened up. The grunts just shredded everything that funneled onto the bridges. It looked like a truckload of chunky salsa had spilled onto the pavement. Sure, they kept coming and we just kept chopping them up!

ARC: I heard about that battle. What happened?

Carlton: The problem with fighting zombies is that no place is ever secure. They have no morale. Cap nine out of ten, even ninety-nine out of a hundred, and that last one lurches forward like nothing happened. And anything can start a new zombie herd. One hidden bite is all it takes. We had a field hospital in our rest area a couple miles back to process refugees we came across. I heard that one of the refugees had been admitted with a gunshot wound, and that wound must have covered up a minor bite. Pretty soon that poor sap reanimated and bit some other people, and they bit others. And those panicky radio calls got to us. We thought we were surrounded. And it didn't help that other zombies showed up in our rear and on our flanks. They were just solitary walkers who wandered in but that added to the sense of confusion. Some New York Guard reserves were detached to defend the rest area. Others saw that redeployment and thought it was a retreat. So they ran to the rear, and others peeled off with them. That created gaps in the line and the zekes made a beeline for those openings. Thousands got in close and that's when panic set in. Close-quarters combat with a zombie is a terrible thing. The guys fighting hand to hand always look bloody, and it's hard to tell if they're just covered in blood or bitten. There was a lot of friendly fire. All available guns concentrated on the breakthrough and took out a lot of our buddies along with the zombies. The officers tried to restore the line but by that point it was hopeless. Rumors spread that we were facing over a million zombies and about to be completely trapped.

I was a few hundred yards back so I had a perfect view of everything. Not everyone ran, you know. I saw a few companies stage a fighting retreat. Some squads displaced to the rooftops and formed islands of resistance. They bought everyone else time. I saw engineers set up a line of Claymores. That worked to good effect for a while but some dumbass didn't understand what "front toward enemy" meant. He took himself out along with his squad. Then we heard a bigger explosion as our brass finally decided to throw in the towel and blow the bridges. They had rigged it with demolition charges just in case something like that happened. The sheer force of the blast sent zombies hundreds of yards into the air, in little bits and pieces. The noise also stopped the rout as everyone turned around to see what had happened. The infantry rallied and mopped up whatever zombies were left on our side of the river. Then we kind of just collapsed in place and slept.

Technically, it was a win because we held the field. We also eased some pressure on New York City and Long Island. So we did what we were supposed to do. I heard we put down at least two hundred thousand zombies over those three days. Whoopee. But the fact was we couldn't win. We had fought a perfect defensive battle and just survived. The fight was out of our sails. As the days went by we got more bad news. New York City held out for another week. Long Island lasted another month. We had more desertions and suicides every day. My entire weapons platoon picked up our carbines and MREs and walked off just before our company CO blew his brains out.

ARC: What happened after?

Carlton: We made it back to Utica and saw that things weren't better. My family was gone. Not from zombies. There were some alt-right groups there who had been a problem even before the outbreak. Everybody knew they would cause problems if there was a disruption. They tried to become the hauptsturmfuhrers of Rustyville, USA. And they started with my neighborhood. But that's another story. So, you got anything to drink around here?
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« Reply #5 on: December 17, 2020, 10:38:16 pm »

Again, solid work.  The city fears me... I've seen it's true face...
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« Reply #6 on: January 14, 2021, 05:34:01 pm »

Carlton: Where was I? Oh yeah, the closet Klansmen. The scary thing is most of those bums weren't hicks from the Adirondacks. They came from neighborhoods like mine. I paid attention in my poly sci classes and knew something about how these alt-right groups got started. A bunch of insecure young men who felt isolated and enraged that being white no longer gave them a free pass. And the Internet came along so they found each other on social media and got worse. They blamed minorities and women for the fact that girls wouldn't talk to them. It never occurred to these dweebs that they were just assholes. I'm pretty sure some of them were part of that torchlit rampage in front of that Confederate statue. They used the disruption to squat in an abandoned GE factory on the outskirts of town and used it as the seat of their new reich. Wait, you don't have any people like that here, do you?

ARC: Of course not. We have standards.

Carlton: My group started splitting off in ones and twos, with promises to link up later. At every block someone went to check on their family. Some of them were happy reunions. Others just found a note explaining that the family had packed up and were here or there, and to please come for them. And a few, like me, came home to murder scenes. I knew something was wrong when I saw the busted windows and bullet holes all across the front. And my worst fears were confirmed when I saw the body bags lying in a row. The cops had just bagged and tagged the bodies after making sure they were fully dead. The county morgue was full anyways.

One of my neighbors filled me in. Three weeks before, so just after the cell networks went down, the militia had rolled in asking for "tribute." They wanted cash - it was still worth something - or whatever goods people had. The cops were spread thin at that point and were focused only on killing zombies and guarding vital public utilities. They kept Utica clear of the dead but wouldn't show up to a regular emergency until after people got robbed or worse. Two militiamen saw my sisters on the porch and decided they could force some other kind of payment out of them. Those two wannabe Rambos strolled up to our porch and grabbed them. That's when my Dad stepped in. He had been on disability for the past five years because of a workplace injury, but I guess twenty years lugging crates on the loading dock gives you a permanent strength. He walked up to the fuckers with two bottles of beer, acting like he was welcoming them. Then he smashed the bottles across their heads and, while they were still stunned, picked up a garden gnome and caved their skulls in.

ARC: Daaaaamn...

Carlton: Exactly. The rest of the neighborhood rose up and took out the rest of that foraging party with hunting rifles and whatever hand tools they could reach. Militia types never expect their victims to shoot back. Things were peaceful for the next week and the cops even stationed a couple of cruisers on our street. But one evening, the cops mysteriously vanished. The official explanation was there was a scheduling error but come on. Some of the cops had friends in the militia. Everybody knew the Utica Police Department was riddled with racist cops before the outbreak. There was no way they were going to oppose a white supremacist group. My family was white, but my neighborhood was diverse. We had black neighbors who had been living on the same street since the 1960s. The militia rolled up to our house at dinnertime and lit it up like an Afghan wedding. My entire family was dead within ten seconds. I'd hoped that my sisters would get out of the neighborhood one day. Heather was a senior. She was a theater kid and was so excited to be accepted into Julliard. The youngest, Elaine, really had a love for astronomy. She had posters of Neil deGrasse Tyson everywhere in her room. Hey, it was better than that Jonas Brothers poster on the ceiling above her bed. I'd been saving up to send her to space camp.

I stood there like a dummy for a good ten minutes. Then I asked my friends for spare ammo because I was going to walk straight to that factory and murder everyone in there. I'm glad the rest of my team held me down while I struggled, screamed, and then cried my eyes out. They said I needed a plan, and they'd help me. But first we needed to refit. And so we headed to the Utica Armory.

It was a perfect spot. The larger bases like Fort Bragg and Fort Hood got overrun because they depended on barbed wire fences and sentries for security. Refugees fled to those bases and attracted swarms of zombies. It wasn't like that with the Utica Armory. It was designed like a Tudor castle, complete with curtain walls and parapets. The Guardsmen there knew what they were doing. They used it like a fortress and sent out regular patrols to the city center so people there would feel safe at home and not cram into the armory. My group still had a 60 mortar. That crew treated it like their baby and so they lugged it all the way from the Mohawk. We were welcomed and put on strength right away.

There was about a company-sized force in the armory. They were a mix of office staff, instructors, and stragglers from other units. The building had originally been intended for a cavalry troop so there was plenty of room to spread out. We had the strength to hold the position, send out patrols, and not much else. That's why they never went after the militia. But my group added another twenty rifles and so we were given permission. The captain in charge even lent us an old M60 machine gun.

Over the month we gathered intel. There were about eighty of them. They sent out their goon squads every week. They also had some captives. Hostages to make sure the communities paid up. There were also some women they forced into sexual servitude. Nasty business. Anyways, one night we set out with a patrol, and they dropped us off a couple miles away from the factory. Then we went on foot and surrounded the place. Nobody spotted us. The plan went off without a hitch. We used suppressed weapons to neutralize the lookouts while two of our smallest and sneakiest guys got in and freed the hostages. They had just exited the building when we heard the screams. We didn't know that infected people came back as zombies when they died. Some of the militia were infected. They came to a few minutes later and started attacking their former friends. I'm thinking that one of them came back as a howler. That's what you call them? Good name. It knocked everyone in the militia out while the other zombies killed them. We just waited through the morning as their foraging parties came back. They landed straight into one zombie ambush after another. In just one night, we took out a major threat with zero casualties. Taking out the zombies was easy enough, and then we found out what kind of loot they had. There was plenty of weapons and even body armor. But we had to scrub their gear like hell to remove the swastikas and Confederate flag symbols.

While we were gone, one of my friends at the armory did me a huge favor. His name was Ramon and he and I had been friends since third grade. He was always at my house, especially when his Dad had been drinking. We were on the high school football team together. I was the place kicker and he was the second-string quarterback. I think Heather even had a massive crush on him a few years back. He wanted to get into the business world and so I got into a combat arm while he became an Army Administrative Specialist and spent his days answering phones and making coffee. That let him make connections. He knew some cops, and they were good police who hated their racist colleagues. They told us who was responsible for letting my family die. It wasn't two cops who vacated the scene beforehand. They didn't have a clue. It was the scheduling sergeant who had had many complaints filed against him before. He was dirty as hell, and someone had once filmed him beating an unarmed black teenager and calling him the n-word. That's why he was always at a desk. Ramon knew when that sergeant was going to get off duty, and his route home. Ramon had "borrowed" a 60 mortar round and waited in an upstairs window overlooking the route. The people in that building knew what was going to happen but they didn't care for that sergeant. There was no traffic; the city only allowed emergency and military vehicles on the road. As the cruiser passed Ramon pulled the safety pin and chucked the mortar round like a football, right into the open driver side window. It was the perfect murder, and the cops didn't even bother investigating because zombie herds from New York City began to arrive soon after.

Things became a blur after that. We cultivated whatever fields we could, dug wells, and barely fought off the zombies. What more is there to say? We're still in that armory. We know the government is gone and can't help us, but we could sure use some assistance. They sent me to look for help in Canada. I found this group and here I am. We're all prepared to evacuate. Just... please give us a hand.

ARC Note - Tactical awareness and combat leadership. Highly recommend to Red Halos.
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« Reply #7 on: January 27, 2021, 05:13:43 pm »

You have a talent.
-Doch
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The reward for work well-done is more work.
Or sometimes, a return to the kitchen.
IronBrig4
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« Reply #8 on: January 28, 2021, 03:56:38 pm »

Thanks. I can count the remaining posters here with the fingers on one hand but it's fun to do creative writing.
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