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Author Topic: Walking Far  (Read 8076 times)
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« 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.
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{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.
« Last Edit: January 23, 2011, 10:12:42 pm by Historian » Logged

"Fear not the man who practices one thousand guns one time, but fear the one who practices one gun one thousand times."
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« Reply #1 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.

« Last Edit: January 16, 2011, 10:11:46 pm by Historian » Logged

"Fear not the man who practices one thousand guns one time, but fear the one who practices one gun one thousand times."
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« Reply #2 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.
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"Fear not the man who practices one thousand guns one time, but fear the one who practices one gun one thousand times."
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« Reply #3 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.
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« Reply #4 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.
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« Reply #5 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.
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« Reply #6 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.
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« Reply #7 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"
"minuet"
"herd"
"fallowed"
Some hard-to-miss errors in the start of the text.
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« Reply #8 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.
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« Reply #9 on: January 23, 2011, 05:49:48 pm »

"never did bothered"
"wondering dead"
"minuet"
"herd"
"fallowed"
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?
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« Reply #10 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.
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« Reply #11 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.
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« Reply #12 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.
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« Reply #13 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).


{(*=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TeQ8bZ820Ho)}
« Last Edit: January 23, 2011, 11:17:52 pm by Historian » Logged

"Fear not the man who practices one thousand guns one time, but fear the one who practices one gun one thousand times."
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« Reply #14 on: January 23, 2011, 11:15:39 pm »

Kick ass man Grin

Waiting for me with gustavo. Patience.
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