The Zombie Hunters Forum: WE GO THERE.
November 24, 2014, 04:42:20 pm *
Welcome, Guest. Please login or register.

Login with username, password and session length
News: "God invented Corona and limes just to see drunk people use sharp knives."

Chat logs claim I said this Saturday night.
 
   Home   Help Search Calendar Login Register  
Pages: 1 2 [3]   Go Down
  Print  
Author Topic: Walking Far  (Read 10991 times)
Historian
Zombie
*
Offline Offline

Gender: Male
Posts: 44

Riftshadow2004
View Profile Email
« Reply #30 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.
Logged

"Fear not the man who practices one thousand guns one time, but fear the one who practices one gun one thousand times."
                                                               -J.S.
Historian
Zombie
*
Offline Offline

Gender: Male
Posts: 44

Riftshadow2004
View Profile Email
« Reply #31 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.
Logged

"Fear not the man who practices one thousand guns one time, but fear the one who practices one gun one thousand times."
                                                               -J.S.
Historian
Zombie
*
Offline Offline

Gender: Male
Posts: 44

Riftshadow2004
View Profile Email
« Reply #32 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.
« Last Edit: May 01, 2012, 01:18:26 am 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."
                                                               -J.S.
Historian
Zombie
*
Offline Offline

Gender: Male
Posts: 44

Riftshadow2004
View Profile Email
« Reply #33 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.
Logged

"Fear not the man who practices one thousand guns one time, but fear the one who practices one gun one thousand times."
                                                               -J.S.
Pages: 1 2 [3]   Go Up
  Print  
 
Jump to:  

Powered by MySQL Powered by PHP Powered by SMF 1.1.19 | SMF © 2013, Simple Machines Valid XHTML 1.0! Valid CSS!