'Le Paradis' - World War 2 Short Story

[SoAdCrAzY]

Well, I've posted a very old version of this story a while ago on these forums and completely improved it.

This should hopefully waste time before the release of ROOST.

Please comment here on the story. I will post it chapter by chapter.

Enjoy.


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[FONT=Verdana]Mort: death *[noun-feminine][/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana]n 1.[/FONT][FONT=Verdana]The act of dying; termination of life[/FONT][FONT=Verdana].[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana]2. The state of being dead.[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana]Vie: life *[noun-feminine] [/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana]n 1. The property or quality that distinguishes living organisms from dead organisms and inanimate matter, manifested in functions such as metabolism, growth, reproduction, and response to stimuli or adaptation to the environment originating from within the organism. [/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana]2. The characteristic state or condition of a living organism.


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[FONT=Verdana]Le Paradis [/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana]By Matt Wilde[/FONT]

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Chapter 1:

[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]The sky flashed brightly, from a far off explosion as Wilson scanned the dark, rainy landscape known as France. Another explosion turned night to day, as he watched, lost in concentration. He could see no signs of peace, no signs of hope. No signs that he would ever make it out of this goddamned mess. A ricochet broke his chain of thought, as a machine gun sprayed a hail of bullets towards him - each bullet searching for blood. Anyone's would do. Blood of a Father. A Brother. A Son. Each one coming closer to finding him.[/FONT][FONT=Verdana]

[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]He realised that this was his job. His job was to murder. No excuses. Just kill. He looked back down at the ground, discovering himself. Staring at the instrument of death in his hand. A Lee-Enfield No 4 Mk1. His rifle was his dragon. The only purpose of this dragon was to demolish fellow human beings and maybe, hopefully, inflict some throbbing pain into the last moments of the krauts’ lives. He tamed the dragon so it became part of him. The trigger connected to his dirty finger. The tail rested on his shoulder. He was ready to kill. He aimed at his enemy and his mind went blank. The only thing he was thinking of was going home. Murder was the only key to his home. His finger pressed down on the trigger causing the beast to roar stridently, blowing fire out of its flaring nostrils. The tail whipped back fiercely each time preparing for the next burst of fire and smoke to depart it. The roar stopped. He tried to grasp the thought that this little burst of terror has caused the death of a dirty kraut. [/FONT][FONT=Verdana]

[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]"Alright, men! Let’s cause some suppressing fire! Fire at will!" A musky voice called out over the beastly sounds coming from all over the area. [/FONT][FONT=Verdana]

[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]All of the sudden, green, dirty helmets popped up from the mud infested ground and red, yellow and white bursting flashes appeared next to them accompanied by loud thunderous sounds. These were his comrades. Aiming to kill. Aiming to win. Yells surrounded Wilson.[/FONT][FONT=Verdana]

[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]"Die you krauts! You bastard Nazis!”[/FONT][FONT=Verdana]

[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Wilson[/FONT][FONT=Verdana], lying down, slowly raised his head from the muddy ground and stared at the scene once again. It was pushing night time and the sun was collapsing into the horizon. A magnificent bright pink shone throughout the battle zone and added beauty and depth to the soldiers. Each face became highlighted by the sunset and their helmets gleamed and bounced the light onto one another. The bright colour mixed with the blood and the stained bones digging out of the recently corrupted corpses. Dull, grey smoke developed from the hills and left gaping craters which soil, rocks and grass flew hundreds of feet in the air and came crashing down like rain.[/FONT][FONT=Verdana]

[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Wilson[/FONT][FONT=Verdana] looked around to distinguish who was around him. Youths in uniform were gathered near him with their weapons to their chests. Their expressions were totally perceptible to Wilson. The pinkness of the sun made any imperfection and wrinkle in their skin stand out to haunt Wilson. The innocent tears trickling down their faces grew luminous by the radiance of the sun. Their weapons were shaking and gleaming with colour.[/FONT][FONT=Verdana]

[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“COVERING FIRE!”[/FONT][FONT=Verdana]

[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“I’m bloody trying!”[/FONT][FONT=Verdana]

[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Shoot the ****ting Nazis!”[/FONT][FONT=Verdana]

[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Go! Go! Go!”[/FONT][FONT=Verdana]

[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Four of the men rose from the ground and ran for the nearest group of malformed carcasses to be provided cover. As they ran, Wilson stared on. He stared at the, now, dark figures running and getting smaller and smaller by the distance. Lots of splashes of dried mud rose around the figures due to enemy fire. The sun shone through their bodies making them go further and further out of focus and were almost overcome by the brightness. Wilson suddenly saw one soldier fall down as quickly as a flash. It was like his legs stopped working. A large spatter of blood showed itself from the soldier’s groin before floating to the ground as the soldier lay helpless on the ground. The soldiers kept running and tried to ignore the soldier’s pleads for help as he fidgeted, brandishing his wound. The noise didn’t stop. Muffled gunfire could be heard from every direction. Mortar explosions across the landscape mixed the yellowy orange colour with the pink beauty of the sunset creating a lightning effect that almost blinded Wilson and caused him to guard his eyes and turn away. A few more explosions caused the fire to start to slow down. The agonising moans that echoed across the picture became clearer.[/FONT][FONT=Verdana]

[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]"Cease fire! Cease fire! I think that's the last of them!" the musky voice yelled out.[/FONT][FONT=Verdana]

[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Silence. Something in the atmosphere didn’t seem right. The slight swift of air blowing into the trees was all that can be heard and the feeling of guilt and emptiness suddenly filled inside Wilson's head. The flashes had stopped, the thunder had stopped. All that was visible were large amounts of smoke rising from the squad's weapons and gathering together creating fog and totally engulfing the view. Nothing could be seen. But then again, Wilson didn’t want to see the carnage twisted around him.[/FONT][FONT=Verdana]

[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Hey, Lieutenant! Get the hell over here!” the musky voice greeted him.[/FONT][FONT=Verdana]

[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]He ran over to investigate what was happening. The smoky fog guarded his view. He was running into the unknown. Safe in the knowledge that the krauts were dead and this was over. He eventually saw eight figures lying down on the muddy ground. He smiled and walked closer.[/FONT][FONT=Verdana]

[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Hey, Lieutenant Wilson! Glad to see you made it” a figure said.[/FONT][FONT=Verdana]

[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Captain Edwards. You too, you too mate,” Wilson replied with a relieved expression on his dirty, bruised face, “any casualties?”[/FONT][FONT=Verdana]

[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Only a squad of krauts that don’t have a bloody clue what hit them!” Edwards laughed.[/FONT][FONT=Verdana]

[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Well, good thing no humans got harmed in the process, aye?” the lieutenant laughed with him whilst still looking around, viewing the chaos that has just been created by his men with his expression suddenly turning to disbelief and deep sorrow.[/FONT][FONT=Verdana]

[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Edwards was a well built man with a bald head and a very podgy, mean looking face. He looked like the kind of person you would expect stealing your wireless or trashing your street. He held his rifle like you would hold a beautiful woman. He gave it respect and held it close to him to show that he would never leave it. He had a voice like he had swallowed fifty frogs and three gallons of whiskey.[/FONT][FONT=Verdana]

[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Who’s going to clean this mess up?” a gentle voice said in the background.[/FONT][FONT=Verdana]

[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]A black, skinny figure showed itself to the group. He had a very skinny face and his legs looked like they could snap with the slightest of forces. He was very fragile looking and looked far too young to be part of this war. He looked far too young to kill. He looked far too young to be killed.[/FONT][FONT=Verdana]

[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Shut it Private Goody! No one’s going to clean this **** up. This place will never get cleaned up. We live in a world of **** in need of cleaning up, but no one will. No one cares. Now, shut the hell up!” shouted Edwards with a look of hatred and disgust.[/FONT][FONT=Verdana]

[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Right, men!” Edwards shouted getting ready to issue orders to the squad, “Search this ****-hole for weapons and ammo. We are running short. Make sure, you bayonet every damn kraut you see in the head. No matter how dead they look. We can’t be too careful. What’s dead can’t hurt you!”[/FONT][FONT=Verdana]

[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“B-Bayonet them?” Private Goody quivered.[/FONT][FONT=Verdana]

[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Yes! Bayonet them! You don’t understand? Here, give me your weapon and allow me to demonstrate!” Edwards giggled mockingly whilst grabbing Goody’s rifle and stabbing the bayonet furiously into the ground below him, “Stab! Stab! Stab! Stab! – Hey, how come your safety is on?! You know the safety is supposed to be off to win this war! Did you even shoot anyone to help your squad? To help your King? To help Britain?!” [/FONT][FONT=Verdana]

[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Goody didn’t answer. His eyebrows were almost touching his hairline. He knew that he couldn’t talk back. He gently took his gun off of Edwards’ grasp and turned the safety off with his trembling finger.[/FONT][FONT=Verdana]

[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]The soldiers looked at Edwards with disgust. Like he was some kind of monster. They thought that this whole situation was inhumane but chose not to question the Captain’s orders. The squad staggered into the battle zone slowly, with their bayonets stroking their chest.[/FONT][FONT=Verdana]

[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Later, the squad were ready to set off to Le Paradis. They checked that they had enough ammo and all their men. The men began to take off into the night. They knew that when they get to the French village of Le Paradis, they will be greeted with the friendly community, hot food and lots of drink.[/FONT][FONT=Verdana]

[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]It wasn’t long until they saw thick, red veins pumping out grey matter which seemed to be consuming the atmosphere over the horizon. The houses which these were connected to were small. They didn’t look big enough to create a habitat for a hamster. The closer they walked, the more of the village became visible. Around the village were huge fields which seemed to be filled with green, slimy entrails which looked as though it was slowly consuming the village. [/FONT][FONT=Verdana]

[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Oh, God! What the hell is that smell?!” Goody complained with his hands guarding his nose from the engulfing stench surrounding him.[/FONT][FONT=Verdana]

[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“I don’t know. I’ve never been to a farm before. Will you ever shut up, Private?” Edwards yelled back at him.[/FONT][FONT=Verdana]

[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Private Goody, once again, knew his place and didn’t reply. The squad carried on walking down the road towards Le Paradis. The squad found the silence rather disturbing but thought not to ask questions until they arrive to the village.[/FONT][FONT=Verdana]




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[/FONT] [FONT=&quot][FONT=Verdana]Chapter 2 will be posted after I get a few comments on it so far. Thanks.[/FONT]
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[Ska Wars]

Not too bad mate, at first I thought it sounded a little cliched (opening internal monologue), but it got alot better.

Where about are you from tho fella? Some of the dialogue doesn't quite flow right. Are British yourself?

Pretty good draft so far tho, look forward to reading the next installment.

[SoAdCrAzY]

Originally Posted by Ska Wars

Not too bad mate, at first I thought it sounded a little cliched (opening internal monologue), but it got alot better.

Where about are you from tho fella? Some of the dialogue doesn't quite flow right. Are British yourself?

Pretty good draft so far tho, look forward to reading the next installment.

I'm from London.

This is my first go at writing a novel and I am currently studying ALevel English so I have a lot to learn.

Thanks for the reply. I will post the second chapter later. I'm not sure if the twist will go down well.

[emery_]

Originally Posted by SoAdCrAzY

I'm from London.

This is my first go at writing a novel and I am currently studying ALevel English so I have a lot to learn.

Thanks for the reply. I will post the second chapter later. I'm not sure if the twist will go down well.

Lol I might have an idea of what it involves. I don't wanna spoil it so SoAd could you tell me if you are registered at any HL2 mod forums?

[SoAdCrAzY]

Originally Posted by emery_

Lol I might have an idea of what it involves. I don't wanna spoil it so SoAd could you tell me if you are registered at any HL2 mod forums?

Hehe, yep. No More Room in Hell and Zombie Panic (OMG SPOILER) have the story posted there (they got deleted though).


Don't worry, I have really edited it and took on every comment so far.

[SoAdCrAzY]

Are there any other comments before I post the second chapter? I don't want to rush through it.

[emery_]

Originally Posted by SoAdCrAzY

Hehe, yep. No More Room in Hell and Zombie Panic (OMG SPOILER) have the story posted there (they got deleted though).


Don't worry, I have really edited it and took on every comment so far.

Ah I thought I'd seen it. Almost forgot to comment I really like the story(s) Maybe some cliche's but the technique is good and they way you describe the scenery is nice. Btw I'm also studying optional A-level english although it's not my first language

[SoAdCrAzY]

[FONT=Verdana]Chapter 2:

[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]"I made it fifteen times in the cell. You name it, I've done it. I have quite a reputation at home. The police are sick of me. The pigs told me to go to this war. They wanted me out of their community. They told me to stop wasting their time and do something useful for once. Of course I agreed. I mean, I could do well by doing bad!" laughed Edwards with his men.

"Jesus, what the hell is that smell?" Private Goody interrupted the laughter. The squad stared in awe at Goody as he cowered in fear. They chose not to make a scene and didn't even give him the benefit of acknowledging his question.

The squad noticed that it was still silent as they approached Le Paradis. The atmosphere was so tense they could sense that they would be attacked at any moment. It was quiet. Too quiet.

"Okay squad. I don't like this silence. Let's stick together and inspect these houses!" Edwards ordered his men with a confident expression looming on his rugged, podgy face.

One by one, they stormed into each small, delicate looking house. They all looked the same. They all looked like home. The flower-filled curtains shone light into the dull, cream-coloured interiors. The sun gleamed through the window and bumped onto the walls showing any imperfection in the paintwork. There seemed to be no form of entertainment in any of the houses. No radio, no pictures, no books but, most importantly, no life. Each house they entered was empty. Was this some kind of ghost village? Had the krauts got here already and done, well, God knows what? All these thoughts haunted the soldiers' minds.

Eventually, they got to the last house in the village. They saw life. Unfortunately. There were probably about thirty people all together in, what seemed to be, the living room. Their eyes looked about the same size of that of a golf ball causing their eyebrows to blend in with the greasy hair on the top of their heads. The delicate lines were visible on their grubby, bruised foreheads showing distress and panic and fear. At least there is sound, the thought that the soldiers had gone deaf due to some kind of weird kraut weapon of warfare was able to escape Goody's mind. The women were weeping immensely and uncontrollably, grabbing onto their skinny, muddy, scared-looking children like their lives depended on it. The male villagers bombarded the squad with pleads and yells of hopelessness. They looked like they were trying to tell them something. It was no use. No one understood a word that they were saying.

"Food! Food! Where is the FOOD?" Edwards asked frantically. Of course, he got no answer so he decided to repeat what he said louder and in a slower tempo. "Where! Is! The! Food!" It was no use. The hand gestures were not helping either. All the villagers were in a state of shock. The men didn't pause to listen to what Edwards had to say. What was the point, anyway? They didn't understand English. So they kept on yelling, clinging to the squads uniforms on their bony knees and pleading for them to do something.

The men gave up trying to understand what the weirdoes were trying to say and Edwards ordered everyone to follow him upstairs to examine the rest of the 'home'. Upstairs, it looked empty. Not much difference to the other houses. Apart from one looming figure standing in the corner silhouetted by the sunset outside the window but his features could not be figured out. The figure stepped closer. He had a face like he had never smiled before. It was dirty, skinny, and scar infested. He took a step further. The squad, not knowing what to do, looked at each other with fear and confusion and took a step back.

"Help us!" the man yelled softly.

"Well - that’s why we are here. Where is the- Hey, you speak English?" Edwards inquired with a hint of confusion.

"Yes, well, I used to live there. That's not important. You have to help us!" the man replied looking helpless and heartbroken, "My name is Mr. Morvie. We need help. You see, m-my brother. He is dead- I-I-I think."

The squad looked at each other and laughed.
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“Alright, let’s get this crazy man out of here. God, he must be really ill. I suppose we better get-" Edwards was interrupted by loud, repeated banging coming from the small door to the left of the room, "What? Right, Wilson, check who’s behind that door."

"NO! Don't go anywhere near that door! You are making a huge mistake!" Mr. Morvie yelled whilst sprinting in front of Wilson.

The squad grabbed Mr. Morvie and restrained him while they watched Wilson head towards the door. Each footstep created another bang and scratch to screech on the door. The soft creaking of the floorboards got louder and louder the closer Wilson edged towards the door. Suddenly, the commotion stopped. Wilson didn't move a muscle. He turned around to the squad and tried getting reassurance from the Captain to carry on walking. When he got this reassurance, he slowly turned around and began once again on his tense journey towards the door. He had made it. He slowly took his hand away from the trigger of his gun and raised it in the air towards the door knob. When he reached the door knob, he twisted his hand clockwise. An ongoing squeak filled the room as a consequence of this. Finally, the door swung open. Wilson quickly took a step back and observed the view with his finger back home, safely on the trigger of his dragon.

"You monster! What have you done? I bet this is your brother, right?" Edwards pointed to the body on the floor. It is still breathing, albeit heavily, "What the hell is up with his face? Look how decayed it is and... Green!"

Goody heaved at the sight and turned away.

"***** how long do you think he has gone without food?" asked Wilson, staring at the corpse.

"I would guess, a long time. I haven't seen many people that look this rough! Take Mr. Morvie downstairs to the rest of the group. Private Johnson, stay with this poor bastard. We'll be back in a minute. We will just look for some food. If he starts talking give us a shout." Edwards ordered to the squad.

The squad did as he said and took Mr. Morvie with them. Private Johnson sat down next to the victim. He stared at the victim's face. The victim's eyes were filled with red veins invading all the whiteness it can see. His face was pale apart from big, green veins raising the skin surrounding them up and down. Blood was dripping out of his ears and nose like acid rain out of a cloud. Vomit started drooling out of his mouth and onto his chin slowly working its way to the neck like a stream to the sea. The victim silently but speedily sat up like when a lion smells its prey. His scab festered head slowly turned towards the private. Johnson found it surprising that he could see anything through his bloodshot eyes but somehow this and the fact that he had blood and vomit flowing through his hair and head didn't seem to bother him.

"Wow, are you okay, mate? What the hell is that guy's problem? Is he your brother?" Private Johnson asked so many questions in such a short space of time it must've been impossible to understand, especially if he was French and couldn't speak a word of English, "I just guessed that if that man is your brother, you may speak English too?"
The victim growled at Johnson and never took his eyes off of him. The victim never spoke a word. He only spoke in murmurs and grunts.

"What the-?!"




---

Comments?

Thanks.
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[[-project.rattus-]]

Nice read. The larger, white standard font setting is much friendlier to ym eyes though

EDIT: I see it fixed thx

[SoAdCrAzY]

Hehe, yeah, thanks.

When I copy and paste it from Word it appears white in this but when I submit it goes to black Times New Roman. Ah well.

Any more comments before the next chapter goes up?

[SoAdCrAzY]

Please give me some feedback. I need to know if I'm doing a good job or not. Any feedback is welcome. Thanks.
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[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Chapter 3:

[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]The squad had gathered together inside a homely looking cafe.

"Alright men, gather up as much food and drink as you can. I'm not walking all the way here again. Don't pig out yet!" Edwards shouted whilst picking up some chocolate bars and stuffing them in his pockets.

The men thought of this place like heaven. Objects of desire were the only thing surrounding them. Crisps, chocolate, candy, drinks and much more were all covered in French packaging with French writing printed on them that no one could understand. Just the occasional "Bon Bon" written on sweet wrappers assured that the men were in fact gathering candy and not anything else.

From nowhere that could be seen, a groan echoed through the cafe. Goody jumped and quivered in fear as usual.

"W-What the hell was that?" he asked fearfully.

The squad, once again, did not acknowledge Goody's question and carried on walking, satisfied that they have carried all that they can.

Eventually, they returned to the house only to discover that, in the living room, there were far less people inside than there was when they left. The squad tried asking the ones remaining where everyone had gone but, again, they got no answer. Edwards ordered the squad to follow him upstairs to see how the victim was doing. Empty. Not a person in sight. Blood soaked the flowery, beautiful curtains and the red liquid had begun to drip down onto the wooden, uneven, rough floor creating a pool of death which slowly swallowed up the ground. Vomit stained the walls combined with entrails and indescribable, unimaginable things mixing together and causing a sludge type of matter which stuck to the wall like a leech to a child. The sun was no longer present to shine light into this hell-hole. Flashback. Wilson was back in the battlefield. Back to hell. Wilson prayed for the smoke from the weapons to build up in the air and guard him from this view. But life is not that kind.

He studied the scenery, the blood, the pain. He could hear, once again, the yells and taunts of his friends and the dragons roaring furiously. He could see the bullets whiz past his head and the sound was like bumble bees flying past. He could feel the hope, once again, that one of these things wouldn't sting him. Suddenly, something grabbed his attention. A beautiful flower shone in the middle of the field. The bumble bees must've got its scent for pollen. But, he knew they weren’t really bumblebees. It was a beautiful blue colour as compared to the grey, dull surroundings. What was it doing there? It didn't care about the environment it was living in. It looked innocent and peaceful. It didn't even shiver in the wind but it stood tall and magnificent. Wilson stood in admiration for this wonderful wild flower.

"Well, this doesn't look too good." Wilson returned back to the house when interrupted by Edwards.
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Goody rested his hand on the wall and leaned over. He released vomit all over the floor. It didn't really do much to the scenery. This place couldn't get any worse. The stench was significantly worse and the view didn't help it either.

"I warned you! I told not to open that door! I hope you are happy!" A painful voice was heard from the corner.
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It was Mr. Morvie. He was lying down with his hand covering his left arm whilst streams of blood spilt over his torn clothes. His face was pale white with veins pulsing in and out. The squad moved closer towards him with their guns aiming at his head.

"What have you done?!" Edwards shouted in a very panicky fashion.

You could hear the man breathing from a mile away. Each breath he took seemed to take the same amount of effort as climbing a mountain.

“We heard a scream coming from upstairs. Some people went upstairs to check it out. I warned them to stay there. They didn’t listen. After a few minutes, I followed them. The window was smashed. There was blood and guts and God knows what else surrounding me. My brother was gone. That solder of yours was gone. Everyone I saw go up. Gone. Apart from one man. He was lying down. I felt his pulse. He was dead. All of the sudden he jumped out and bit my arm and started ripping away at my flesh. He was suddenly distracted and he jumped out of the window. There are lots of them. You cannot kill them... since they are already dead.”

Morvie slowly passed away. Goody walked up to him and felt his pulse.

"He's dead. This - This can't be true can it?" Goody asked with a look of fear conquering his face.

“What? About the dead coming alive and attacking him?” Edwards laughed, “No. We have a murderer on our hands. We have to find him before he causes any more damage.” Edwards claimed confidently stroking his weapon.

Without warning, a soft murmur was heard and Mr. Morvie leapt up and onto Wilson. The squad reacted fast and pulled him off of him. Edwards pressed his foot securely on Mr. Morvie's decaying neck as the squad positioned their guns so that they are once again aiming at the mad man. The squad looked at each other in a very confused manner. Goody found it hard to aim properly. He wiped the orange, chunky vomit off his chin with the butt of his gun and tried to aim without shaking violently. Mr. Morvie started to cough up blood which went all over his face and started to leak into all the holes in his pale, vein filled face. He didn't even swathe his eyeballs with the aid of his pale, flaky eyelids when the dark, red stuff started pushing its way into them. He kept squirming around and screaming incredibly loudly.

"Oh my God! He was dead! I felt his pulse!" Goody screamed at the top of his voice.

"He wasn't dead. He's just very ill and …disordered." answered Edwards staring at the thing under his boot.

"The last time I checked, ‘disordered’ people don’t always throw up blood and try ripping off people’s heads. Why would he do that? He knows he is outnumbered. He knows nothing good would’ve come out with freaking out and going for the Lieutenant! And I know for sure people don't slip in and out of mortality like what he just displayed!" Goody had gathered the courage to answer back.

"Shut up Goody before I smack you to the ground! What’s dead can’t hurt you!" yelled a red, furious looking Edwards.

"Edwards! He’s right! You know he’s right. I know it sounds like bull**** and, hell, it probably is. But we cannot rule it out. Let’s stop arguing and think of a way to get out of this mess. There are probably more of these people that are like Mr. Morvie around this place. We have to stick together and survive against these... Crazy things'" Wilson interrupted the argument with a very concerned look on his face.

Edwards didn't take his eyes off of Goody. He had that face where you can tell he was about to go crazy and kill someone.

"LOOK AT ME!" shouted Wilson with all his might.

Edwards turned and faced a very serious, sympathetic looking Wilson. Edwards suddenly gave in and returned the look of hopelessness to Wilson. He grabbed his bayonet and violently pushed it further and further into the mouth of the 'crazy thing’ until its scream faded away and it slowly stopped moving. He thrusted it in further and further to make sure that it was dead. He wouldn't be satisfied if he couldn't see the chunks of skull sticking to the bayonet with the help of its blood and mucus. Edwards sharply pulled it out with a slurping noise filling the room and opened his mouth.

"...So, what do we do?"[/FONT]

[SoAdCrAzY]

Please, I need some comments. Any will do.

[FONT=Verdana]Chapter 4:[/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana] [/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana]The squad marched back down into the main living area with the few remaining survivors.

"How do we tell them what's going on?" Goody inquired.

"Looks like we are going to have to use a language known worldwide. Force." a very concerned voice suggested not so far behind Goody.

This voice came from Private Jenkins. Private Jenkins was a small man with a very muscular physique. He was very shy and didn’t like speaking up or being noticed. A sense of mystery was created by his squad mates. Jenkins was a lone ranger.

"Okay, Private Jenkins is right. Let’s move these people into the cafe where we can stock up on food. None of them is to leave our sight." ordered Wilson.

Captain Edwards stared at Wilson with disbelief. Why was he giving the orders? Edwards was the Captain. He was in charge. Edwards chose not to cause a scene given the situation they are in and followed Wilson's orders with the rest of the squad. Edwards felt very insecure and tried to regain control of the situation:

"...Alright men! Let's move!"

Each member of the squad walked towards the crowd of lost souls. They grabbed a few people fiercely and dragged them violently away and out of the door. The villagers didn't know what to think. They started yelling and hitting the soldiers, trying to escape and find out what was happening to them. The soldiers ignored their pleads and struggles as they had no choice. There was no reasoning with these people.

Later on, Edwards yelled to his troops whilst walking down the dirty silent streets of Le Paradis with a tender looking woman and two children steady in his grip.

"We need to use the radio and call for backup. We have to get out of this crazy place"

"What? And leave these poor, defenceless villagers here to be slaughtered by these things?" Wilson answered back in a state of disbelief.

"...Well, Okay then." Edwards gasped almost speechless with Wilson's direct response to his orders. "Let’s go to the cafe with them, check how much ammo we have and call for backup to evacuate everyone and just hold out there and take out any of these things that try to come in, if there are any that is."

"But how long would it take them to come? What if they take ages? What if they don't even come?" Goody asked frantically with his gun placed in one hand and a gentle, soft hand of a child in the other.

"Shut up Goody! There is enough food in that cafe to feed the whole British army for fifty years!" Edwards exaggerated smugly.

Private Jenkins trailed behind the rest of the squad. He quickly picked up speed so that he could walk next to Lieutenant Wilson.

"So what do you think caused this **** to happen?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's a disease. Maybe it's something to do with their cattle?" Wilson answered back shocked that Jenkins had even sparked up a conversation with him.

"Well, whatever it is, I hope it stops quickly and everything goes back to normal. I have a feeling that there isn’t even a problem. We are just letting this **** get to our heads and becoming paranoid. We are making a mountain out of a mole hill. But, damn, if this is true... I mean, this war is hard enough with them damn krauts."

"I hear you, mate. But this doesn't have to be hard. If we stick together we will be out of here in no time. Look at it like this: When crazy Mr. Morvie went all...Well...crazy and stuff, he didn't give a damn if he survived or not. If all these 'Crazy things' are similar, they don't have any weapons, no reasoning power, no ability to analyse situations. This will be a piece of piss, trust me. You'll be fine. You'll be fine." Wilson answered Jenkins reassuringly.

From the darkness, a man screamed and leapt out at the group. He jumped onto Private Jenkins and stuck his face into his neck. No one could see what was going on. All that could be heard was the growls of the crazy man and the screams of unbelievable pain from Jenkins. The man moved his head away from Jenkins’ neck making it visible to the rest of the squad. They could see a huge chunk of white flesh in between the crazy man's yellow, crumbling teeth and the blood sprayed all over his face. Wilson quickly dropped the child in his arms, whipped out his dragon and launched a bullet right into the man's chest causing him to fall down violently and cease to exist. The villagers saw this as a chance to escape this evil, oppressing force and ran as fast as they could down the street.

"Oh, God! Are you Okay?" Wilson shouted whilst running over to aid Jenkins.

"I think I'm fine. That bastard just bit me. Nothing fatal." Jenkins managed to answer back. This statement was barely recognisable due to the blood spilling from his mouth, causing him to gargle. Wilson pulled out a tissue from his ripped pocket and wiped it over Jenkins’s blood soaked mouth.

"***** that was close. These bastards are fast so look alive men. Let’s get mov-" Wilson was interrupted by the noise of grunting and howling as the thing once again rose to his feet. The thing's red eyes were fixated on Wilson as it begun to pounce for him. The 'crazy thing' was quickly stopped in its tracks. A huge spurt of blood was created from the inside of its head by Robert's bumblebee-like bullet. As the beast fell down to the ground smoke gathered in the air, rising up from the barrel of Edwards’ gun.

"What the hell? I shot him. No one could've survived that!" screamed Wilson in disbelief.

The squad were as shocked as he was but this moment soon passed.

"Come on, men! We are almost there!" ordered Edwards as he continued walking towards their destination.

"Wait! The villagers! They are getting away!" a soldier screamed whilst running after them but was then held back by Edwards.

"No. Let them go. They are in too far."

Wilson and Goody walked over to Jenkins who was lying on the ground covered in blood. They picked him up and placed his arms over their shoulders and acted as his legs and continued to follow the rest of the squad to the cafe for food and drink and hope.

Later on, on their journey to the cafe, Jenkins began to develop a very husky cough. He fell to the ground and tried to regain his strength. He couldn't. He spewed vomit and blood all over his knees and uniform. He fell helplessly to the ground and collapsed. In the process of this action, his neck became visible to the squad. Instead of it being red and soaking with blood like it was, it was now a greenish yellow, dry scab. The veins around his neck and face suddenly grew about four times larger what they should've been like he had been doing weight lifting for ages. But he hadn’t. They were green coloured instead of the usual colour. The squad could only watch as the colour drained from his face. His breathing became hard to bare. It sounded like he was being suffocated by an invisible force. The squad just stared at this view in awe and helplessness.

"Step back, men!" ordered Edwards getting his gun ready to attack.

"What?!" Wilson interrupted as quickly as a flash, in shock and horror, "Jenkins is dying! We have to help him!"

"Stop being a hypocrite! Are you blind? This exact same thing happened with Mr. Morvie before he tried ripping your head off. They both have one thing in common. They were bitten by these ‘disordered things’. Now, step back. He has to be dealt with." yelled Edwards aiming his gun securely at Jenkins’ head.

"No! For all we know that could've just been a coincidence!"

"Well, there's only one way to find out. Men, restrain Wilson and step back!"

The squad felt the same as Wilson. They didn't want to let this happen but the look on the Captain's face made them grab Wilson and violently pull him back.

"W-W-What's going on?" Jenkins mumbled but then had to go back to trying his hardest to remain breathing.

Wilson stopped fidgeting and trying to get to Jenkins. He knew what had to be done. He raised his head from his chest and slowly wiped the tear dripping down his cheek.

"...You'll be fine."

The squad watched as the life of a friend slowly disintegrated in front of their eyes. When he finally passed away and the pain and torture stopped, the squad all removed their helmets and positioned them onto their chests as a sign of respect. Not soon after, Edwards placed the helmet back on his fat head and once again positioned his gun towards the thing that was Jenkins. The squad stared at Edwards in disbelief. Why wouldn't he show respect for one of his men for one more minute? The reason for this soon became apparent. Jenkins quickly jumped to his feet. His blood stained teeth were gleaming at the squad. He gave a short growl and leapt for blood. Edwards unexpectedly panicked. This situation had finally sunk into him, it would seem. Edwards couldn't take his eyes away off of this thing that used to be a kind, noble soldier. The thunderous sound once again echoed through the streets as Jenkins fell to the ground. A pool of blood grew larger and larger around Jenkins' head. A confused Edwards looked around his squad to find out exactly what just happened. Slowly, the smoke rose from Wilson's gun and disappeared into the atmosphere.

"You'll be fine, Jenkins. You'll be fine."

The squad chose not to make conversation about this event and slowly began walking, once again, towards the cafe. When they reached their destination, all was not well. The windows were non-existent and shards of glass surrounded the ground around it. Goody had a peek through a hole which used to be a window. Everything was in ruins. What seemed to be food, tables, chairs, and liquid was spilled all over the cafe floor.

"Erm, you better take a look at this, Captain."[/FONT][FONT=Verdana][/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana][/FONT]

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Please post your comments. I really need them

Thanks.

[SoAdCrAzY]

Could I have some comments before I continue, please?

Thanks.

[SoAdCrAzY]

Please can I have some replies before I continue so I know how it's getting along and reader's feelinga and opinions about events and characters to help me learn.

Thanks.

[emery_]

Can't really think of any constructive criticism, it's a fun read imo

[SoAdCrAzY]

[FONT=Verdana]Chapter 5:

[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]"Well, I suppose this is better than nothing, men." Edwards brought an end to the awkward silence. "Everyone gather all the food you can get and put it all together. Goody, get on the radio and call for immediate backup. And for God's sake don't tell them the reason or they won't come. Wilson and I will search this building for any crazy people. Go! Go! Go!"

The squad began to get on all fours and picked up little extracts of what was supposed to be food. Wilson and Edwards stood next to each other with their guns in their hands.

"Are you ready for this, Wilson?"

"Ha, I didn't manage to get much ‘Crazy thing slaughtering training’ at boot camp. I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

"Okay, let’s go. Aim for the head!"

The two men walked off together with their backs pressed against each others like two peas in a pod. These men had each others backs. They weren't going to let anyone mess with them. They were a team.

As the two men were strolling along the landing they showed immense disgust for the view they were witnessing. Vomit stains plagued the curtains and scratch marks screeched along the wooden floor and walls. Wilson and Edwards kept walking down the corridor, stepping over the tables and chairs that were scattered along the floor with ease. Eventually, they got to a door.

"Okay, let's storm this room. You go in first. I got your back" Wilson ordered.

"You know what? I'm getting sick of you giving the orders. Who is Captain here? Who? Yes, that's right, ME. I give the orders so just stop acting like you are a big man and in charge of things." answered Edwards furiously with his face, once again, turning red with anger.

"Hey, come on. I'm not trying to take your place. In this situation, we need all the help we can get. You didn't get trained in 'Crazy thing assault’ either. We don't know the way they act, what or even IF they think-"

"So who the hell made you king of the Crazy things?" Edwards interrupted smugly.

"I'm not! I'm just saying that we should all get a say in what happens. This is far more serious. If we get shot by a dirty kraut, we don't go crazy and attack each other, do we? Now, listen. All I am saying is that in a situation where we don't know the enemy or what will happen to us, there should be no hierarchy."

"You know what? I don't need you giving me damn lectures. Get the hell out of my face. Go gather more food with the rest of the squad. I will be down in a second. And THAT is an order!"

The couple exchanged evil glances for a while and eventually Wilson turned around and headed towards the rest of the squad.

There was now a reasonably large pile of all kinds of goods. There were half empty packets of crisps (In this case, not half full), chocolate soaked pieces of paper where the chocolate had melted and engulfed everything around it. The smell was heavenly. They could smell the freshly baked bread and the sweet, delicate splendour of rippling chocolate enlivening their senses. It almost made them forget the stench of the village. But the nice smell was soon conquered by the overwhelming, festering stench of dead organic matter.

"Did you catch any of them crazy things?" asked Goody to Wilson.

"No idea, Captain ‘Hitler’ told me to piss off over here to get some food." Wilson answered angrily with a look of irritation and frustration boiling on his face.

"Why would he do that?"

"Don't ask."

"Did he seem mad? This isn't really the time to get pissed off at each other"

Wilson carried on gathering food and pretended to have not heard Goody. Goody also continued to gather food and didn't even check to ask if Wilson had just heard what he just said. He knew that he heard what he said perfectly. Another awkward silence arose. Goody needed to get rid of this quietness.

"Hey, check out these." Goody said excitedly whilst holding up a gold packet of candy, "FRUITY SNACKS! I used to get these at the shop down my road every day on the way to school. They taste like heaven. You want some?"

"...No, better save them for later. There isn’t that much food left." Wilson answered, still gathering food. He didn't even look at Goody; he just kept his eyes on the job.

"Okay, sure. You're the boss" Goody answered whilst stuffing the candy bar in his pocket.

"No, no I'm not... I think we got about everything. Let’s put these behind the counter and have a rest."

The squad acknowledged what Wilson had said and quickly done as he wished.

"I wonder how long the Captain will be," Goody asked anxiously, "Oh, wait. There he is."

Goody pointed to a figure stumbling across in the distance heading towards them. The squad stared intently at this figure as it became more and more visible to them. His head was covered in blood and he didn't blink once. He had cuts all over his face of which dark, red blood was spilling out. His uniform was ripped and guts were hanging out of it and sticking to the material.

"That isn't the Captain," Wilson whispered softly whilst removing his helmet, "It's one of them."[/FONT]

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Comments?

Thanks.

[SoAdCrAzY]

[FONT=Verdana]Chapter 6:

[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“What? Are you sure?” Goody asked when not soon after the Captain let out a loud moan, “Yep, he’s one of them”.

Wilson stared sorrowfully at what used to be a Captain. Edwards’ face was pale, and had a look in his eyes displaying a hint of sadness and depression. As Wilson prepared his weapon he got interrupted by Goody:

“Do you think he knows what he is doing? Do you think that he does but he has no control over his body anymore? Do you think that all he can do is study the view whilst he attacks other peo-“

"That’s enough Goody. The truth is I don't know and I don't want to know." Wilson irritably interrupted.

The squad gave Edwards a last salute as Wilson, once again, got into position to exterminate. He gathered his Lee-Enfield No 4 Mk1. Now a sweet, womb of death and lifted it up to free Wilson from this torment.

“Wait, Wilson. Edwards said to not waste ammo. You know what to do.” Goody interrupted.

Wilson arched his head in heartbreaking harmony and turned over the womb of death to display the sharp welcoming claw of the bayonet. He slowly stalked closer to the thing with his bayonet raised high above his head. He aggressively tackled the crazy thing to the ground and shoved the bayonet into its crimson eye. He sharply pulled the blade out of the senseless eye of the dim-witted creature and began digging rapidly at the rest of his face. He would only be satisfied once Edwards’ miserable face became unrecognisable. He screamed for Edwards’ pain and started stabbing faster and harder, trying to cover up his distressing mug with blood and the small bits of brain and skull descending his cranium. The large slurping noise caused the rest of the squad to turn away in disgust. Not Wilson, he welcomed this noise. The thud and the swishing of blood reminded him of freedom. The sound reminded him of helping out a friend. When he realised that he was just stabbing dark red and white mush into the ground, he slowly stepped back, wiped the sweat and blood from his face and viewed his weapon. It was once again a dragon. His face was neutral, no emotion could be found if you looked at his expression. It was like he was dead inside.

“…So I guess… You’re the boss now, Wilson. Sir” Goody answered trying his hardest to dismiss the disarray on the floor and the odour now engulfing them.

“No! No, I’m not” Wilson snapped back whilst walking out of the room.

Later, when the squad were feasting on the food they had gathered in pure, awkward silence, Goody tried his hardest to break this stillness.

"So, where is everyone from?" Goody asked curiously realising that he hardly knows anything about his fellow squad mates.

“Aye, I’m a builder. I’m from Scotland. Not too much to tell. Life was boring. I have a wife and two little kids. The wife, obviously didn’t want me to join this war but, aye, like I’m going to stay there and put bricks on top of other bricks and clean up my offspring’s puke.” Private McNeil shared with the squad.

“Yes, I am a professional drunk. The truth is I have nothing good to say about my life. I get drunk. And then get drunk. And then get drunk some more. Although, I do have a huge house. Well, if you can count the streets as a house. I lie down on the street for days and beg. Beg. BEG for money. But do I get any? Bollocks to that, mate! When I heard that we could sign up to leave crappy England and get some damn money, I thought ‘Why the hell not?’” another private stood up and discussed his disturbingly sad life story.

Goody didn’t know what to say after this. He didn’t want to comment on either story.

"Well… I’m a teacher at a primary school. I still live with my mother. I know, I know. It’s embarrassing. I love working with the children and I think they love working with me. I’m not your usual teacher, you see. I’m fun. I think. I felt this war was my duty to attend as did my mum. I had to do something good with my life! “ Goody’s patriotic speech did not cause the applause and salutes he thought he would receive so he sat back down.

"I live in the East end of London. Dodgy deals are my speciality. Hiding from the coppers whenever they walk past my stool. I loved the market. So many good deals. I remember my wife went up to see me once and told me that she bought a necklace.” Wilson gently pulled out a shiny gold necklace from his top pocket and handed it to Goody who tenderly held it and inspected it. “She said 'Whenever you need to remember my face when you are fighting, you take this out and I will be there, fighting with you'"

"'REMEMBER!' Cute." Goody read the engraved message on the necklace and handed it back to Wilson.

"It was a good life. There are a lot of friendly people down where I lived. Going to the pub every night, getting hammered and joking about. I guess it won't be the same after this. Hell, the pub may have been bombed by the krauts." said Wilson furiously, "PIGS!"

Without warning, loud bangs were heard from outside accompanied by yells and shouts.

“Uh oh, looks like we got some more dead things to kill. Let’s get ready." Wilson ordered gathering his equipment with the rest of his squad.

The squad lined up against the rough wall next to the main door ready to attack whatever comes in. The door flung open and the squad pounced on this unsuspected creature and restrained it on the blood soaked ground. This creature wasn’t pale white, with veins popping violently on his face. There were no signs of visible damage on his face apart from the fear spreading across his clean-shaven visage. The squad looked at each other confused.

“Oh my God! It’s a kraut!“

“DROP YOUR VEAPONS!” A group of German soldiers surrounded the squad with their weapons pressed against their fresh uniforms aiming their weapons at them.


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Keep it here if you want to know what happens next...
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