Biohazard Nation

[Spoony]

Note: I did NOT wrote this, this is from Dead Frontier Forum, a guy named Sergant Barron (My friend IRL) wrote it:

Biohazard Nation

Chapter 1



"Move it, get out of here now!" Private Tom Williams yelled to the crowd of screaming civilians as he ushered them past his checkpoint. Tom had never been more scared in his life. His unit had been deployed to New York City not 24 hours after reports of mass chaos and destruction came flowing in to HQ. The Private had always grown up wanting to serve his country, and when he signed up and was deployed just under two years ago, he would have never thought he'd end up where he was now. His unit had been deployed to help a mass evacuation of the city, but from the screams heard all throughout the city along with multiple pops of gunfire, it wasn't going so well.

The late afternoon sun beat down on the back of his neck as he tried his best to show people in the right direction to safety. It was early July and the heat wave was getting to him as the back of his uniform became damper and damper. His dry mouth was a result of not having a drink in the last five hours. Each breath he took felt like spikes in the back of his dry throat. The rifle in his hands was soaked at the grip from sweat. It wasn't like he was out of shape though. Tom though back a few years to his high school days of wrestling. He thought of the long hours he put into each practice and how, against much disapproval from both his parents and coach, he missed out on college and went into the military.

Tom cringed as he heard the crack gunfire nearby. The seemingly slow moving crowd coming his way suddenly turned into mass hysteria as more gunfire erupted and the moans of the shamblers drifted his way.

"Oh ****..." he breathed. His unit had an encounter with them earlier in the day. Tom didn't quite know what was wrong with the people, but they scared the hell out of him. Three of the guys in the unit were bitten as they tried getting them medical assistance. He wondered what exactly was causing their behavior. Before he could ponder the thought further, a stiff came into view.

The scared Private clutched his standard issued M16A4 in his perspiring hands as he peered through the iron sights at another one of the shamblers that appeared in the large crowd of hysterical people. It was a businessman, or once was. The shambler stumbled forward, the once expensive looking business suit was now torn in various places and had large crimson splotches around a large gash in his neck. Tom aimed his rifle at the shambler and fired off a trio of bullets into its torso. People screamed as the shambler stumbled backwards but continued its relentless pursuit. The Private took a few steps forward, the assault rifle kicking into his shoulder twice more as his finger tightened on the trigger again. Bone and blood stained the concrete of an office building behind the shambler as the rounds penetrated through its deteriorating skin. The shambler moaned in hunger as the distance between it and the soldier rapidly decreased.

"Oof!" The soldier flew back as a frantic man ran by, clutching a bleeding arm. "****!" His rifle slid out of reach, the shambler stepped over it and was almost on top of him. He quickly crab-walked backwards and reached down to his hip holster. Large glops of drool fell out of the shambler's drooling mouth as it cornered the Private against building. Tom's hand wrapped around the butt of the M9 Beretta and yanked it of the holster. He aimed the handgun up and fired as fast as he could pull the trigger at point-blank range, not taking the time to aim out of blind fear. The shambler's gut exploded in a shower of gore as bits and chunks of stomach and intestine flew out; yet the shambler kept coming. Just as the slide to his sidearm locked back on empty, he heard a loud crack and saw the shambler's head cock backwards as a large hole appeared in its head.

"Shoot them in the god damn head, Private!" His Sergeant yelled over the gunfire that could be heard around the temporary checkpoint. Sergeant Tyrell Keyes was the biggest badass he knew, and he was glad to be in his unit. Tom grabbed his Sergeant's hand as he was helped up.

"Y-yes sir." Tom replied finally as he carefully stepped over the bullet riddled corpse and retrieved his rifle.

"Private, regroup with the rest of the unit back at Times Square. Clear out any hostiles on the way and make sure you aim for the head." His Sergeant sighed. Tom could tell something was bothering him but he only nodded his head.

"Yes sir!" Tom abandoned his post and began jogging down the middle of the street as Sergeant Keyes went to relieve any other soldiers that were stationed in the surrounding blocks. The sidewalks were crammed with both New Yorker's and tourists alike, all wanting to get out of the city. As he was about to pass an abandoned cab he stopped. The driver's door was still open and a news reporter's voice could be heard inside, whoever abandoned the taxi had left it still running. The Private looked behind him to make sure Keyes was gone, then propped his rifle against the cab and sat in the driver's seat and lightly cranked up the volume.

"...advised you proceed to the nearest evacuation center. If you have received any wounds from the infected or know of someone infected, please contact the authorities. The virus is highly contagious. Do not engage the infected directly and-" Tom stood up and grabbed his rifle.

"Virus, huh? Keyes failed to mention that." Tom mumbled as he began jogging back to Times Square. He was just a grunt though, why would they tell him anything? As he weaved in and out of abandoned vehicles, he heard a faint scream. His head cocked to the side as he heard a woman calling out for help. His jog slowed to a halt outside of a woman's boutique. Inside he could just make out the outline of a woman pleading for help as she threw handbags and books at two shamblers that had cornered her behind the counter. Outside of the shop about half of dozen of them were pounding on the large glass windows overlooking the store. Dirty smudges and bloody hand prints caked the glass as the carriers relentlessly pounded on it in an eager attempt for another meal. Tom lifted his M16A4 and crouched down on one knee. He was quite the marksman; his father had always taken him shooting since he was in grade school.

He switched his rifle to semi-automatic and aimed at one of the stiffs in the middle of the small mob. The former policewoman was in bad shape. Her left arm was missing, completely torn off at the elbow. She pounded on the window with her remaining arm; the thumb and middle finger had been bitten off. Her back was shredded into ribbons, the Private couldn't believe she was even still standing. A scream from the trapped civilian snapped Tom out of his mesmorization. He fired twice, each shot hitting her square in the back and cracking the large display window. In unison, the six shamblers each slowly turned around to face him, the women inside forgotten.

"Aim for the head." Sergeant Keyes' words replayed through his mind as he slightly tilted the rifle up and fired again. The gunshot seemed oddly loud in the large city, it echoed throughout the block. The former cop's head snapped backwards as her skull split in two and brain matter shot out of the top. She fell to her knees, then slumped down on the pavement face-first, or what was left of it. He quickly turned the rifle towards the next closest shambler, this one seemed a bit faster then the others. Tom aimed at its head and fired, then fired again as the first round was just off, blowing off the shambler's ear. The second bullet hit home. Before the corpse could fall over he fired twice more and took out two more with perfect headshots. The remaining two moaned and reached forward as they greedily clawed at him and stumbled forward.

"Help me!" The women cried. The soldier stepped forward as he took out the remaining two stiffs and slung the rifle over his shoulder, instead opting for his sidearm for the close quarters combat he was about to have. He pushed the glass doors open with the mussel of his M9, taking a shooter's stance in the doorway.

"Get down!" He yelled to the women, she didn't object. The flashes from the handgun lit up the store, the blasts deafening in the enclosed walls. His aim was off, the hot lead shredding their backs. Tom stopped firing, he was starting to run low on ammo and only had one magazine left on backup for the sidearm and one for his rifle.
"Steady now..." He mumbled, leveling the M9 and peering through the iron sights. His nose wrinkled as the smell of death washed over him. As the handgun leveled on one of the shambler's heads he fired. It fell backwards and died on the counter. The second carrier was almost on top of him now. Tom lowered his weapon and delivered a swift kick to its midsection. Ribs cracked as the shambler fell on its ***. Lowering the gun he quickly executed it, looking away as gore splashed against his boots. That didn't matter though, he needed to see if the women was alright. Keeping the gun clenched in both of his hands he crept forward towards the sounds of light sobbing behind the counter, his sidearm pointed slightly down.

Tom stepped over the shambler on the ground, and again the smell of death hit him. As he reached the counter he pear over it and saw a young women in the fetal position. But before he questioned her, he wanted to secure the store, not particularly wanting to be surprised.

"Wait here, I'll be right back. Ok?" Her head bobbed up and down slowly. The store he was in wasn't really that big. Besides the circular racks of expensive looking clothing, there wasn't really any shelves or areas for the enemy to be hidden, which he was grateful for. Keeping the sidearm pointed forward, he walked to the other side of the store towards the dressing rooms. The lights were cut at this part of the store, and there wasn't a switch for them in plain view.

Tom held out the handgun with his right hand as he used his left to retrieve a small flashlight from his vest. He clicked it on and held it under the gun, and what he saw wasn't pretty. A large puddle of blood was directly in front of him, it was still wet. Splotches of blood trailed off in front of it, accompanied by bloody handprints on the way and bits and pieces of flesh he couldn't identify. The line of dressing rooms curves to a sharp left. He quickly checked each room before cautiously approaching. When he rounded the corner he stopped, shocked and about to vomit. Two shamblers were devouring a store clerk. Her intestine was being ripped from her chest cavity and being shoved into the moaning mouths. The clerk was lightly moaning as her arms pathetically swatted at her attackers. He wasted no time in dispatching them, the gunfire blinding in the darkness. As the corpses slumped over he slowly approached the clerk.

The woman looked to be in her early thirties, and she was a mess. Her long blonde hair was drenched in her own blood. Her right arm had been broken and bone was sticking out. Her skirt had been ripped away and large bites could be seen on her thighs. She lifted her arm up to him, her slender hand extended. He lightly took her hand, trembling.

"Close your eyes." He whispered.

"Th...thank...y-you..." She croaked, her eyes fluttering shut. Tom clenched her hand and aimed his handgun down at her head and recited a quick prayer for her before euthanizing her.

"Rest in peace." He said as he lightly put her hand down. A million thoughts raced through his mind as he quickly marched out of the dressing room, the overall atmosphere scaring him. Was he now a murderer? He couldn't just leave her there, suffering and alone in the dark. Hell, he was surprised she was even still alive when he found her. He decided to push the thoughts aside as he went over to the counter and holstered his M9.

"I'm Private Tom Williams with the U.S. Army, I'm going to need you to come with me ma'am." He said. The young women, still huddled on the ground, stood and up wrapped her arms around him crying profusely.

"K-karen... is she..." The woman sobbed. Tom sighed and shook his head as he comforted her.

"She's gone." He said, not knowing how else to put it. "Who are you? why are you still here?" The young woman sniffed and wiped hey wet eyes.

"I'm Katharina... I work here, worked... My boss Karen wanted me to stick around with her for a little to wait until the evacuation cleared up a little to protect the store from being looted. Then those... things came!" She pointed a manicured hand at the corpse on the counter. Tom followed the hand back to her body and just realized how beautiful she was. She looked to be in her mid-twenties, and had a body most men would pay for. Her large chest rose and fell rapidly as she breathed in short breaths, still overcoming the attack. "Excuse me, I'm up here." She said.

"Oh- I uh..." Tom went red, caught in the act. She smiled.

"It's ok, Tom was it?" He nodded as he unslung his rifle and ejected the magazine, placing it on the counter and reaching into his vest for a fresh one. "So anyways... thank you for saving me. I probably wouldn't have made it."

"Just doing my job." He said, slapping a new magazine into the gun and slinging it back over his shoulder. Tom grabbed the magazine he place on the counter and shoved it back into his vest, it still held a few rounds. "We should get moving." As he turned to leave he stopped suddenly.

"Jesus..." He said, stopping. At least two dozen shamblers had gathered in front of the store, they must have been attracted by all the gunfire from earlier. How he didn't see or hear them earlier he had no idea.

"Oh my God! Kill them!" Katharina cried. The assault rifle in his hands suddenly seemed useless in comparison to the large crowd that had gathered outside.
"There's too many of 'em..."

To be continued.

 

[EricFong]

I like that MMO, that adminpwn got skill to get his game from 2D to 3D.

 

[JEmmaB]

Thanks for sharing; nice read!

 

[Spoony]

Thanks for sharing; nice read!

Gotta thank my buddie

 

[Spoony]

Do you guys still wants me to get you more of this?

 

[Merin Redplate]

If there's more, keep 'er coming.

 

[Spoony]

Right..Here's Chapter 2:


"Form a line!" Sergeant Tyrell Keyes' voice boomed over the mass hysteria of citizens behind his platoon evacuating the city. Dozens of the undead were stumbling towards his dwindling team, mouths open wide and moaning for another meal. He had lost two men just this afternoon from the undead bastards, both eaten alive. Two others had suffered wounds but made it out alive. Including himself, only seven people remained of the ten-man squad. How many more would he lose to this epidemic that was sweeping the nation? Tyrell had been on the front lines in both desert storm and the war in Iraq. He thought he'd seen just about all the carnage and decimation that war had to offer, from civilians being used as shields to bombings of innocent people. The Sergeant had killed countless insurgents in battle, always using the mentality of it being him or them. But what was going down in the city now, throughout probably the country, was just unthinkable. The very people he spent the last twenty years of his life fighting for he was now gunning down in cold blood. Race, gender, age, or social class didn't apply. These... things didn't seem to have a specific group.

The sounds of rifles cocking snapped him out of his transfixed mind. His M9 Beretta trembled in his hands as he held up his megaphone once again and ordered his men to fire. The staccato of the rifles rocked the street as his men open fired and the undead were peppered with gunfire. Clothes and flesh exploded in a crimson shower as the hot lead tore them apart. However, only a few went down. His men weren't aiming for the head.

"Aim for the head! Make every shot count!" The Sergeant growled. "Yes sir!" The unit replied in unison. Sergeant Keyes dropped the megaphone on the hood of a police car and raised his sidearm, picking off a few close shamblers. He never let a situation get the better of him. Then again, he was a having a lot of firsts today. As the handgun kicked in his hand and a woman's head was split in two, he began to worry. More and more of the shamblers had begun stumbling out of the dark shadows of alleys and buildings, creeping over broken window displays. Keyes ejected his magazine and quickly slapped in a fresh one, not bothering to pick up the empty as it clattered to the street. He holstered the sidearm and unstrapped his rifle from his back.

"Do not let them break the line!" He ordered over the gunfire as he switched the rifle to fully automatic.


"B-but sir, they're everywhere-" One of the soldiers began.

"That is a direct order, soldier!" Using the police car's hood, he propped his gun up and began firing on full-auto, spraying back a seemingly endless wave of the...

"Go ahead and say it." He mumbled. "Zombies."



Private Mark Jones felt like ****. The rifle in his hands was growing heavy. After each shot fired, the recoil from the stock almost knocked him over. His aim was off, none of his shots seemed to hit home. The private let the rifle fall from his hands as his rifle clicked empty. He left the smoking gun on the ground as he stumbled over to the pavement and collapsed, the bite wound he'd received on his tricep earlier was throbbing and bleeding again. He'd tried helping some ***** up from the ground, only to find out she was a shambler. Before he could take her out, she reached up and ripped a large chunk out of his arm.

"Son of a *****..." He mumbled to himself as he shakily stood up again. He looked down at his arm and saw his uniform becoming soaked with blood. Private Jones grasped the bandage and unwrapped his arm, eyes going wide with shock when he saw what lay beneath the drenched bandages. The skin around the wound had turned gray and rotten. His now purple veins bulged out, yet they seemed dead. He had lost most feeling in the arm, and could barely close his hand.

"Jones! What the **** are you doing?" Sergeant Keyes' voice boomed in the background, it seemed very far away.

"S-Sarge..." Jones said as he stumbled forward, arm outstretched. He collapsed and his knees and threw up blood, the pavement below becoming soaked with a deep red.

"Medic!" He heard somebody cry, but his vision was now blurring and reality as he knew it was rapidly spinning away. He was beginning to see things differently. A thin shade of red seemed to apply to everything he saw. Hunger arose in his stomach as the team's medic Kelsey ran to his side, dropping her rifle and opening up her medical bag.

"Just hang tight Jones, you're going to be fine." She assured him as she tried getting him to lay down again. Mark Jones was not going to be fine. The soldier's head wobbily rolled to look over at her as she said something else that was lost between the gunfire and moans of his new breed. Mark grabbed her by her head and sank his teeth into her neck, welcoming the warm flow of blood that ran down his chin and the warm flesh in his mouth. Kelsey let out a surprised gargled yelp as he bit down again, this time on her throat. He yanked his head back, tearing out her Adam's apple and feasting hungrily. Mark let out a long and mournful moan, losing himself to the insatiable blood lust. Private Mark Jones was no more.


Sergeant Keyes turned his head when he heard the medic scream.

"Jesus..." Private Mark Jones joined the ranks of the undead and was feasting on the medic's cooling corpse. "Take him out!" Keyes barked, turning his attention back to the advancing crowd. The street was littered with bullet-riddled bodies now, the advancing shamblers stumbling over them. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Corporal Styles kick Jones in the face. Jones clumsily fell backwards on his back. His former Private moaned and slowly sat up to a rifle in his face and ate a bullet, finally at rest.

"Oh ****! ****! that's goin' to happen to me too, right?" Private Wallace yelled as he stopped firing. Keyes shifted his attention momentarily to the worried soldier. Wallace was also bitten just over an hour ago. "I don't wanna become one of 'em!" Wallace's eye darted between Keyes and the shamblers.

"Calm down, Private." Keyes took a single step forward with a hand raised before Private Wallace pulled his M9 out of his hip holster and rested it under his chin before pulling the trigger. A shower of brain matter and gore exploded out of the top of his skull, his eyes rolling back into his head as his legs gave out and Wallace collapsed on the street.

"No!" Tyrell Keyes focused his attention back on the shamblers, some of them now pressed up against the construction signs and cars being used as a makeshift barricade. He let loose a long string of fire into the zombies, splattering the city block with blood. As the remainder of his team concentrated their gunfire on the closest shamblers, nobody noticed the dead medic's hand twitch. Corporal Styles was standing right beside her, and he couldn't hear the faint wet moan emit from her throat over his rifle, or see her slowly crawling towards him. Kelsey grabbed a hold of his leg and sunk her teeth into it, the Corporal screamed and fell to the ground. Keyes abandoned his post and ran to his soldier's side, cringing as Kelsey bit down on Wallace's ankle.

Wallace howled as Keyes flipped his rifle around and bashed the stock down on the back of the former medic's head. After a sickening crunch, she moaned again and the Sergeant brought the carbine down once more. This time, her body spasmed and she stopped moving. Knowing that him and his men needed to move and they needed to do it now, he turned his attention to the three remaining soldiers, watching as the shamblers all started tearing apart the barricade.

"Hold them back, do not let them through!" He ordered. As the men open fired once again he crouched next to Corporal Wallace and wrapped an arm around him. "We need to move." The Corporal wearily shook his head.

"Sarge... I'm infected..." Keyes ignored the soldier and helped him up, noting how Wallace had a bad limp but not wanting to admit he was about to lose another man.

"You're coming with us." He turned to the trio of gunmen barely holding the line. Two of them had switched to their M9's, their carbines dry. They were all firing blindly now, desperate to keep the undead back. Wallace grimaced as he hefted his rifle and loaded a fresh magazine into it.

"Fall back, I'll hold them back for as long as I can, sir." The Corporal said, Keyes could see the fear in his eyes as his gaze rested on the seemingly larger mob of shamblers. Keyes was about to object, but the look in Wallace's eyes suggested his mind was set. The Sergeant saluted Wallace before calling out to his men.

"Fall back! I repeat, Fall back!" The three men on the firing line ceased fire and retreated, each slapping the Corporal on the back and wishing him luck. "God bless." Keyes said as Wallace open fired just as the barricade was broken. The zombies poured through like ants, spreading out once through and rapidly approaching the screaming Corporal as he unleashed hell upon them. Keyes turned and ran after his men, only stopping to hop in the back of the unit's Humvee, a Private already behind the wheel and awaiting orders. Keyes gave a swift nod of approval and the Private floored it. Keyes spared a glance back at Wallace as the vehicle sped off. A few shamblers had wrestled him to the ground and were tearing into him, the Corporal's dying screams could be heard as the distanced between them increased. The citizens unlucky enough to be at the back of the evacuation were being dragged to the ground and torn apart, the infection spreading like wildfire. All that could be heard throughout the city were the cries of the dead and dying.

"God help us all..."



"This is Private Tom Williams of the U.S. Army, Bravo team. Stationed in Times Square. I request immediate backup, multiple hostiles inbound. I repeat, if anybody's out there please respond, over." Katharina Ziesmann grunted as she pushed a lounge chair in front of the doors, fear creeping through her body as the doors rocked in their frame. The creatures outside threw themselves against the glass windows and doors, hissing and moaning as they tried getting in. Bloody smears streaked all over the once almost sparking displays. Outside she could only watch helplessly as defenseless people were brought down and ripped apart, their screams of help lost to the undead. Katharina pushed a strand of long brown hair out of her face. Just months ago she thought it was the end of the world, being fired from her position as a secretary of some corporate CEO for not sleeping with him. With her high-paying job gone she had to sell her apartment and move in with her close friend from college. Her friend had introduced her to Karen, who was beginning to open up many clothing stores throughout New York City. Karen had hired her on the spot, being close with her roommate. The work wasn't the most appealing, but it payed the bills. She cringed when the thought of Karen popped into her head, how the undead dragged her away screaming.

Katharina should have known something was wrong this morning when she took her daily morning job. The streets of New York were always crowded, but in the morning they were packed. Yet, she thought nothing of it. As she weaved in and out of people down the sidewalks, she noticed a police struggle with some bum. One of the cops held the snarling man down while the other tried to cuff him. As the handcuffs came on and they let him up, the officer holding him down managed to break free and bite him. Yet again, she thought nothing of it. Just another drunk, right?

The soldier that saved her continued his distress call, although deep down she knew nobody would come, everybody else was probably occupied with saving their own skin. Katharina turned away from the front of the store and looked for anything else that could be used to block them from getting in. They had already pushed all of the sofas and chairs up front, as well as the clothing racks. Once the windows broke though, she knew they were doomed.

 

[Spoony]

Is anyone actually reading this?

 

[=Evanz=]

Is anyone actually reading this?

i read the first post but im not a big reader was ok your friend has skillz

 

[sierra88]

Is anyone actually reading this?

Yes. Please keep posting!

 

[Spoony]

Chapter 3

"****!" Tom cursed as he put his radio away. The large rifle he held shook in his hands as he used his hand to wipe away perspiration on his forehead before turning to her. "Look, the longer we stay in here, the worse our chances are of us getting out. Those... things seem to be drawn to this place, probably from all the gunshots. Is there a back door or something?" Tom asked as he rolled the sleeves up on his uniform. She shook her head.

"There's just a storage room, but we can get to the roof from there." The soldier grinned.

"I'd sure as hell feel a lot safer up there, for the time being." She nodded. Tom slung the rifle over his back and pulled out his sidearm and flashlight. "Lead the way, I'll cover-" There was a loud crack that echoed throughout the store, they both cocked their heads in unison as the front window shattered and the undead came pouring in. "Take this, secure our route to the roof and I'll hold them back." The soldier said, shoving the large handgun and light in her hands. It was heavy, but it made her feel a little confidence.

"But-"

"Go!" His rifle was already out, he open fired as she turned and ran to the back of the store, the moans making her move faster. She let out a curse as she was engulfed in darkness. Her grip tightened on the handgun held out in front of her, guiding the way. The light illuminated various crates and boxes of clothing, purses yet to be displayed, cosmetics still wrapped up. Her heels clicked loudly on the concrete, sending a chill down her spine. She wished she didn't take off her running shoes before she showed up for work. Actually... this store did sell shoes.

Katharina quickly made her way over to the shoe section, sweeping the area with the gun first. She quickly shined the light over different pairs until she came across a pair of black converse. She grabbed the box in her size and made her way over to the stairwell door, amazed she didn't encounter any trouble. The metal knob was unusually cold as she turned it and jogged up the stairs, kicking her heels off at the top.

"Tom! It's all clear!" She yelled down as she opened the door to the roof- and was grabbed by one of the undead. Katharina screamed as it slammed her against a wall, her head cracking against it. The handgun clattered away on the roof as it slipped from her hands. She moaned in pain as the zombie leaned forward for a bite. "No!" She cried, grabbing it by the hair and scratching at its face. Its cheek was ripped off, chunks of rotten flesh ruining her manicured nails. If the zombie felt any pain, it didn't show it as a hiss emitted from its throat and it leaned forward again, taking her to the ground. It clawed at her shirt, ripping it at the shoulder as she struggled and screamed. Katharina turned her head in search of the gun, crying out when she saw it was out of reach. But her heel wasn't.

Her hand gripped the shoe and brought it down on the zombie's skull, the heel piercing through its temple. Blood spritzed out as its body jerked on top of her once before collapsing on her, dead. She quickly pushed the body aside and ran over to the gun, holding it close to her as she quickly looked around the roof, letting out a sigh of relief when she saw it was empty. Turning around she went over to the doorway and peered down into the darkness. All that could be heard was moans, and the gunfire from below had stopped.

"Oh no..." She squinted into the darkness, the light had fallen at some point in the struggle and she wasn't about to go back and look for it. "Tom?" Her voice was lost to the moans of the dead as she called out again. Tears welled up in her eyes, she did not want to be alone. She could hear a commotion coming her way. Katharina took one step down the stairs, ascending into darkness. "Tom?" No answer, she took another step down, shaking with fear. "T- oof!" The air was knocked out of her as Tom slammed into her. She fell back but was caught as Tom grabbed her arm and pulled her onto the roof.

Katharina looked down and saw hordes of the undead just a few feet from the opening. Tom ran forward and slammed into the door, chopping off a few fingers as the horde reached forward. He locked it before sliding back against it, out of breath. He didn't look good. His uniform was covered in gore, his vest had a large tear in it and his rifle was missing, probably lost in the skirmish. Tired eyes looked up at her as he slowly stood up and took the handgun from her, placing it in his hip holster.

"Are you ok?" She asked. He shook as head as he brushed past her and walked over to the edge of the roof, looking down at the chaos in the streets below.

"We're only two stories up, if we jump we could make it." He finally said after a long pause.

"Are you crazy? They'll get us!" She exclaimed.

"How long do you think that door is going to hold?" Tom asked, a hint of annoyance in his voice. "I risked my *** saving yours and went against orders. I'm not about to die up here." He said. Katharina looked away, hurt. Tom stepped forward. "Look, I didn't mean it like that. Let's just get out of here, ok? This place is a hot zone for them, our best bet is to get off this place and regroup with my team. I'll make sure you make it to the evacuation center." She nodded. Tom walked back to the edge and looked down as he unstrapped his torn vest. When it was off he removed a few items then tossed it aside, placing everything else in his utility belt. As he did this, she quickly laced up and put on the sneakers. Tom let out a grunt as he stretched his arms, she noted the camo t-shirt tight against his fit frame, and was wondering why he signed up for the army.

"Hey, look over there!" He pointed down the street. An eighteen wheeler was out of control. Cars were demolished as it smashed them out of the way. The undead and a few people alike were crushed as the semi swerved and slammed into the building across the street, there was a loud crash as debris went flying everywhere. Tom grabbed Katharina and dove to the ground, a large chunk of debris barely missing them. They slammed on the roof, her knees scraping against it hard. A wave of pain shot up her leg, Kathy gritted her teeth. Tom quickly stood up and peered over at the wreck. The zombies that had crowded in front of the store were now stumbling over to the wreck.

"Now's our chance, come on!" He yelled as he helped her up and led her over to the edge. She did not want to jump, she had always been afraid of heights growing up.

"Tom, I don't know-" Before she could protest any more, he grabbed her and jumped. She screamed as they fell onto bags of trash, cushioning the fall. But not completely, her *** hurt.

"Come on, we need to move." She was helped up as Tom pulled out his M9 and slowly jogged down the alley, stopping with his back against the wall. With the gun aimed down, he peered his head over the store to make sure it was clear before motioning her forward. "We need to make it past Times Square, my unit is stationed there." He said. Kathy shakily nodded, goosebumps creeping over her skin. A scream nearby made Tom look back into the street again. "Ok, let's go!" Tom ran out first with the gun aimed forward, only stopping to fire a once and down a lone shambler in front of the store. She followed quickly behind, inwardly thanking herself for her morning runs. They ran by the store and past the wreckage; a man was being pulled from the cab by three creatures that had managed to pry to door open, his throat was torn out but he still looked with it enough to feel the teeth clamping down on him.

She heard Tom's radio garble out something as the dodged over a few shamblers feasting on their victims. The soldier pulled unclipped it mid stride, bringing it to his ear.

"...peat all units fall back!"

"We're almost there!" Tom yelled as they came up on Times Square. Katharina kept close behind, not wanting to end up like the helpless people being devoured. As Tom rounded the corner into the main intersection he quickly stopped, his boots skidding to a halt. "Oh no... no, no, no!" He fell to his knees in anguish. Katharina caught up and looked ahead.

"Oh my god!" Her hands came up to her mouth, knowing very well they were going to die.



Sergeant Tyrell Keyes hopped out of the Humvee when it pulled up to a mass of army and medical tents strewn out across central park.

"At ease." He told his men before he weaved his way in and out of military personnel. The cries of wounded drifted from the medical tents as he came up to a large tent, intent with speaking to his Captain. The Sergeant was pissed, he and his team were sent in with very little information regarding what they were going up against. A single guard stood front of the entrance, looking very bored. As Keyes went to go in, the guard placed an arm out blocking his way.

"Where do you think you're going?" The guard asked. Keyes delivered a swift punch to his face, feeling his nose break when his fist connected.

"**** you." He spat as he entered. His Captain didn't look surprised as he entered, cigar in mouth and hands behind head as he lounged in a chair. Captain Scott Hurdleston didn't say a word as he took a long drag on the cigar and exhaled. Keyes stomped forward as the guard stumbled in the tent, blood dripping down his face, nose bent to the side.

"Sum bisch!" He yelled, aiming the rifle at him.

"At ease." Captain Hurdleston said. His guard looked surprised.

"B-but-"

"At ease, Private!" Hurdleston barked. The guard stomped out of the tent. "Yes, what is it, Sergeant?"

"You informed my team with incorrect intel. We were told this was a medical evac, not a ****ing war!" He yelled. Captain Hurdleston stood up, short in comparison to him but still held an aura of power that seemed to surround him.

"At the time that's what we thought it was. Only minor casualties were expected, but every one of us is trained to handle these sorts of situations, it's what we signed up for, Sergeant."

"Minor casualties? Half my ****ing team is dead! None of us are trained to handle whatever is going on out there!" Keyes yelled. He was very close to each and every member of his team, and he wasn't looking forward to writing the letters to their families. "I refuse to have my team back out there." He said. His Captain took a step forward and took another drag on the cigar before blowing it up in his face.

"Don't worry, they won't. We're all pulling out. New York City has been lost."

 

[Spoony]

Chapter 4




A lone figure stood on the roof of an electronics store, mesmerized by two zombies ripping apart a corpse. He shakily reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, fishing one and lighting it as the due directly below him managed to rip off an arm from the corpse. He had quit smoking for his wife years ago, but today... today was just one of those days. He took a long drag before exhaling a large puff of smoke. Screams came from all directions, making him cringe. Gunshots exploded throughout the city in a battle with an unstoppable army. Looking down at his .303 Sniper Rifle he took another hit, letting the smoke settle deep in his lungs before exhaling. He was one of the NYPD's best marksmen, assigned with covering the swat team as they tried maintaining order. But as more and more people took to the streets, and those... things began attacking anybody in close proximity, he had abandoned his post. Officer Nick Barron sighed as he took another drag on his cig as he recalled the days events.

It had been his day off, yet he'd been called in, all officers were. Nick had been pissed, it was his three year anniversary with his wife and he specifically called off months in advance. Yet, orders were orders and he couldn't do jack **** about them. Nick had kissed his wife goodbye and headed off to the station. Nick gritted his teeth and let out a moan of agony, wishing he'd done things differently; it was the last time he'd seen her alive. By the time he had showed up, the station had been packed with frantic New Yorkers with incredible stories. The chief had ordered the swat team to help the army with evacuations. Barron didn't know what was going on, and this frightened him. Once he witnessed firsthand as most of his team was overrun, he abandoned his post and headed home praying to God he wasn't too late.

A small tear slid down his cheek as he inhaled once more before flicking the cig over the edge. When he arrived at his apartment complex, the place was devoid of life. Feeling somewhat relieved he had jogged up the stairs not bothering with the elevator to his room. Outside the apartment, the door had been slightly open. Nick trembled as he pulled out another cigarette and lit it, wanting to forget what happened but knowing he couldn't. He had called out for his wife as he stepped in, Glock 19 drawn. If the bloody hand print on the fridge wasn't enough of an answer to what had happened or the overturned chair and smashed plate on the ground, a faint sound coming from the bedroom was. Nick had raced past the kitchen, barely noticing the small stove fire.

Officer Barron had stumbled into the room, and screamed in misery as a shambler looked up at him with blood encrusted lips and milky eyes that seemed to stare right through him. The zombie was standing over his wife who was sprawled out on the bed, a look of sheer terror on her face. Her ribcage was torn open, bones sticking up through her chest cavity, the zombie holding a handful of bloody entrails in its hands. He recognized the abomination though, it was someone that lived down the hall, Joseph. Joseph had a large gash in his through, and a kitchen knife lodged in his side. He recognized the knife as his own, realizing his wife had probably put up a fight. Joseph's necktie hung loose around his collar, his white button down soaked with gore. Nick fired once, Joseph's head snapped backwards and towards the open window. Nick had cried out and fired a few more times, causing Joseph to plummet out the window.

"If only I stayed..." Nick whispered as he sat on the ledge of the roof, peering over the edge once more as the zombies continued their feast. Officer Barron decided to see what was on the radio as he finished up the cigarette, having turned it off earlier.


"...ackup! Send backup now!" an officer yelled.

"Dispatch, we need an EMS uni-" another cried.

"They're everywhere! Jesus Christ they're comin' in all-" Nick turned the radio off again, a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. He grabbed the rifle and walked to the other side of the roof, feeling it was time to go. New York City was ****ed, and he wanted to get out while he still could. Reaching the other end, he peered down into the alley, grateful that it was devoid of life.

"Here goes nothin'." Nick tossed his rifle down onto a few bags of junk before hopping over the edge, crouching on impact. He heard a moan behind him. On instinct, Nick pulled out his Glock and spun around into a crouch.

"Freeze!" He said, trying to sound confident. A zombie he didn't see slumped behind a dumpster stood up. In its previous life it had been a hooker; she was dressed in a short leather skirt with a neon pink thong sticking out and spaghetti straps. Her broken heels clicked as she stumbled forward. Nick thought about firing, but then thought against it, not wanting to alert any other undead. They seemed to be attracted to noise. He holstered his weapon and pulled out his nightstick, the cool metal heavy in his hands.

"Wrong day to be workin' the streets, honey." He said as he swung hard. There was a dull thwack as she stumbled aside, jaw hanging loose at the side. "Bring it whore." He spat as he swung again, harder. Her skull caved in as the nightstick connected and sent her sprawling to the ground. Nick put the nightstick away and hopped over her, going into a light jog down the alley. He stopped when he saw a lone squad car in the middle of the street, both doors wide open and lights flashing, illuminating the pile of corpses that surrounded the vehicle. From the looks of things, it looked like whoever was stationed here put up a fight. Over a dozen zombies were sprawled out in the street, riddled with gunshot wounds. He could make out an officer collapsed on the hood of the car, his face torn off.

Nick unstrapped his sniper rifle and peered through the scope, trying to distinguish who it was.

"DeLuca." He said, recognizing the cop from an unforgettable tattoo of a large cross going down his forearm with a psalm written around it. He wasn't exactly friends with the officer, but he'd seen him around the station from time to time. Even had coffee with him once, an overall nice guy. Nick lowered the rifle a little to see various handgun casings and shotgun shells littered around the car, along with an empty handgun and-

 

[Archanghel]

Chapter 5 please...?

 

[Spoony]

Chapter 5

 

[Spoony]

Chapter 6

 

[EricFong]

Nice, more.

 

[Spoony]

'

 

[Spoony]

Chapter 7

 

[Spoony]

Nick floored it down Route 222, the Titan

 

[Nin]

And I thought I was the only one who played DF. <3