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Author Topic: Don\'t Listen to the Movies  (Read 1026 times)

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Offline Kysis

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Don\'t Listen to the Movies
« on: October 15, 2010, 04:07:33 AM »
Zombies were a thing of movies, right?  That\'s what Lance had believed growing up, at least, but now at the age of 22, he actually had faith-- in zombies.

The first one he encountered was before the panic, in a seemingly normal day.  The air was clear, sun filtering down through the skyscrapers, providing a patch of warmth here and there.  Lance was waiting for the bus, already running late, but not having his own car to speed the process (who needed one in a big city, anyway?).

The man next to him groaned, sagging heavily against the painted metal mesh enclosing the bus stop.  His skin was ashen, eyes sunken in.  There was a burst open sore on his mouth, not tended to.  Lance tried not to breathe, but had to, the rancid smell of the man hitting his nose.

He thought it was just another homeless man.  Every year, the homeless were looking scarier and scarier with every year.

Suddenly, the man turned, leaning precariously towards Lance.  Lance scooted as far away as he could on the bench, fishing in his pocket frantically for some spare change.  Maybe that would distract the man?

With a hissed moan, the man opened his mouth.

Lance jumped, watching in horror as the man lurched to his feet, walking in shambling steps towards him.  Lance ran away that day.

Since then, he had found out that you couldn\'t run away from all the zombies, not with the numbers of them around, and how they came out of the strangest places-- however, running did help in most cases.

Lance swung his school bag-now survival kit, over his shoulder, tightening the straps.  It was warm out, but he still wore a long sleeved jacket, that extra layer of protection crucial.  He had yet to hear anything about how long it took for the infection to hit, nor had he had much time to listen.

From everything he had read about zombies, from every zombie movie he had seen growing up, he knew that one place to go was the mall.  The mall, however, was far away and the bottom level was open air, so that was not an option.  The other was the superstore.  There would be sporting good items (like basic shotguns, and if not those, then baseball bats) for the taking, as well as food, medical supplies, and new clothing.

Lance grabbed his skateboard from the corner of the small, run-down apartment, heading out into the daylight.  He did not know he used to live there, only that the place was abandoned now, and his own apartment complex had a few too many zombies for his liking.

It was time to go to the superstore, and get ready for the long-haul.
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Offline Harlequin

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Re: Don\'t Listen to the Movies
« Reply #1 on: October 16, 2010, 04:05:23 AM »
Ami had always known it was going to happen. Everybody had hobbies; some people kept tropical fish, some people crocheted. Ami obsessively prepared for The Outbreak. Others laughed at her; called her nuts – but while they tended to their fish and made their sweaters, she was preparing. And while they were being eaten, she was running.

She watched the news everyday, noting occurrences of people \'snapping\', \'psychotic episodes\', \'animal attacks\', and for rising instances of \'disappearance\' and \'negligence\' on the part of local coroners. As such reports began to increase in late 2009, Ami began to put her plan into action. Her fellow Z-day forum members agreed: it was happening.

She spread the word as best she could, but most people laughed her off, as they always did. She wasn\'t phased. Each sneer was simply another pullet she\'d have to expend. She stepped up her training routine. She was down at the range every day with her Glock, and she practiced daily with her handheld axe – a weapon with a single, curved blade of black, tempered steel and topped with a 4-inch steel spike for impaling – and her trademark machete.

She sold her bike, and bought a sturdy-but-lightweight touring bicycle. As reports of strange occurrences continued to pour in, she shaved her head and took to the streets, killing in the daytime when she could, honing her skills when she couldn\'t.

The day soon came, however, when she could no longer stay within the city limits. Soon the floodwaters would break, and the undead would overwhelm the city\'s ability to cope with them, and widespread panic would break out.

So she took her bike and her well-stocked bug-out kit and headed for the suburbs. This is where she ran into Lance, coming upon him as she rounded a corner, heading for the nearest easily-defensible mecca of capitalism. It would seem they had a similar destination. She noticed him, and slowed her pace. He was the first person she\'d seen in days who seemed to have the first clue about what he was doing.

She certainly looked like she had a grip on things, with her shaved head, lean musculature and purposeful pace on her bike; not to mention the weapons strapped to her backpack and at her hand, in easy reach.
You are the  hole in my head
You are the space in my bed
You are the silence in between
What I thought
and what I said
You are the nighttime fear
You are the morning when it’s clear
When it’s over, you're the start
You're my head, you’re my heart
Florence + the Machine, "No Light, No Light"