Zombieland: Isolation
<h1 id="title">Elliquiy Role Playing Forums</h1>
		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Extreme =&gt; Extreme Small Groups =&gt; Topic started by: DreamlandDenizen on 23-07-2010, 01:47:40</h2>
		<dl id="posts">
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Zombieland: Isolation</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>DreamlandDenizen</strong> on <strong>23-07-2010, 01:47:40</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				When he was young, he had liked to wake up to the feel of sunlight, and a warm summer's breeze on his face, but those days were long gone. He now lived in a windowless bunker somewhere under California.<br><br>All the little comforts of life had been stripped away as the Zombie infection spread. First it was quiet walks in the park: everyone stayed inside with their doors locked and bolted. Then, as the infection spread and people died or turned, phone service was gone and then electricity, and then running water in most areas. Now the world was baron, and as far as he knew, he was the very last survivor.<br><br>Nathan yawned, stretched, and opened his eyes. He was greeted, as always, by the four dull metal walls that made up his home. He lived in the basement of a house that had once been owned by a christian family. He had known them before the outbreak. They had this bunker to protect themselves from the Apocalypse. It was a shame that they were so into bible prophecies that they didn't even see the real one coming. The family, the Millers, was the nicest bunch you'd ever want to meet and they were the first Zombies that Nathan had wasted. The first of many.<br><br>They may have been wrong about when and how the Apocalypse would occur but they damn sure guessed right on how to survive it. The bunker was crammed with weapons, ammo, and non-perishable food and water. There were solar panels on the surface that fed into a battery below ground. One person could hold up there for years before running out of supplies. It even had a small portable two way radio, but from down there, the signal couldn't reach far into the outside world.<br><br>Nathan would spend many days and nights surfing the frequencies hoping to pick up a message although he knew it was unlikely. He was just so lonely. It had been so long sense he had seen or spoken with another human being. At night he would masturbate, but lately he found it difficult to picture a girl without discolored rotting skin and blood and gore dripping from her mouth. Sometimes when he got desperate enough he would leave the bunker and scout the surrounding areas. This was one of those times. <br><br>Nathan got out of bed and pulled on the cargo pants that lay in a heap on the floor, sliding the suspender straps over his bare shoulders. He grabbed a shotgun and a TEC-9 from the gun rack nearby. He stuffed two of his pockets with with extra ammo. On his way to the pantry he grabbed the hunting knife from his desk and slid it into the holder attached to the waist of his pants. He took a can of peaches and a bottle of water from the pantry, doubled back for the radio, and found pockets for them all. Lastly he pulled on a tight fitting black shirt that wouldn't snag or be grabbed if he was in a tight situation. <br><br>Now, ready for a foray into the outside world, Nathan climbed the metal ladder that led up to the access hatch.<br><br>The hatch led to the house above. He entered cautiously, shotgun in hand, and checked the premises. He carefully worked his way to the front door and walked out. That warm morning breeze that he had been missing hit his face. He cringed at the smell of rotting, festering, flesh, and switched off the safety on his shotgun. With his free hand he pulled the radio out of his pocket and started scanning the frequencies as he walked down the deserted streets.<br><br>Suddenly the static on his radio spiked, and he could sworn the meaningless fuzz had, for a moment, tried to make out a word. Excitedly he tried to tune in on the frequency in question. He he heard the word 'survivors' clearly before the static drowned it out again. He extended the antenna and continued tinkering with the dial 'New York' he heard the voice say. As quickly as it had come, the signal was lost. Nathan stood there in shock trying to find the frequency again. It was the first time he had heard a voice in years. The words played again and again in his head. He now knew for sure that he wasn't the only one left.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Zombieland: Isolation</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dracoat</strong> on <strong>01-08-2010, 03:48:47</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				*Ray had been doing this for a good while now. Rekilling the dead and giving them proper burials out in a field that had belonged to one of the farmers. He felt it was the right thing to do. He would kill all the ones that drifted by and then later in the day travel about a mile with his truck loaded with the bodies in bags and spend the later part burying the dead. He didn't take any kind of joy in killing them, only in the fact that they were finally resting. He has stayed in his little town so far only for this purpose, but as each day passed and no survivors responded to his broadcast, via loudspeaker, he became more and more ready to move on. Then one day he saw it. A vehicle traveling on the road that ran by his town. He shot a flare, but only succeeded in attracting more zombies. The vehicle kept on rolling past. He sighed and dealt with this new batch of undead and waited a couple more days. After not seeing anymore vehicles or survivors he made his decision.*<br><br>*Day one consisted of preparation. Day two was the actual implementation. He set out on foot as his fuel supply in the neighborhood had long been exhausted by the fleeing refugees and the siphoning from other vehicles he had managed. He walked past all the dried blood that was the only remnant of his work. As he passed the local grocery store, he stepped in an began looking for supplies. Most of his time was uneventful, as he HAD spent time clearing each house and locking it down or burning it so nothing could hide within. Nevertheless, when he was sufficiently loaded up he stepped outside and was greeted with a bloodied face. He pulled up his pistol and fired without hesitation as the zombie charged. He locked the store behind him and proceeded to bury the new victim.*<br><br>*Day three. He managed to get a couple miles out of the town and down the road when another vehicle passed by without even slowing down. He wondered why there was suddenly people on the roads again, but wasn't too sure. Had a worldwide broadcast come over the airwaves? Had the military or government survived and was trying to attract people to a new safe haven? Whatever it was, he was determined to find out and began following the direction the vehicle had taken.*<br><br>*Day seven. He had fought his way into the store and locked it down, he had passed through a town and greeted by people. Living people! Sadly, these people were a bunch of ragtag survivors that had decided his weapons were of more use than he. He tried to reason with them at first, then they had shot him. It was only a grazing shot, but that was all the reply he needed to shoot them back. Not without personal injury mind you. He managed to take down three before he was shot in the left forearm and once in the chest. The chest shot was blocked by his armor, the forearm shot went clean through. For that he was lucky, but what happened next was not. As he hid behind a wall for cover he heard the screams. He peeked back around and he was greeted by a bloody battle that the two were losing, er... actually lost. He quickly killed the zombies that were coming his way and ran off to a gas station. He hoped to find something to stop the bleeding and maybe safety too. As he locked down the store by barricading the doors, he rummaged behind the counter. Finding an emergency medical kit he managed to stop the bleeding. Content that the store was safe against the zombie's assault he slept.*<br><br>*Day eight. The morning had been rough. Killing was never fun. But he managed to dispatch all the undead that had come his way. He even had managed to bury them. He also managed to find a working vehicle. A nice old mustang that roared to life. He was now on the road. He passed a few zombies on the road and even a few vehicles. He had even passed a woman with a rolling backpack, but she had seemed to be more of a burden than anything. He didn't even see that she had a weapon. So he went on by, as bad as it felt to do that, but karma is a bitch and not two miles down the road, he plowed into one of the abandoned vehicles on the road as his tire went out. He stayed conscious long enough to ensure nothing was broken and that the doors and windows were intact, then he blacked out.*<br>&nbsp;
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Zombieland: Isolation</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Coldorchestra</strong> on <strong>01-08-2010, 17:50:44</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Biking was dangerous, and Roger knew it, he stopped at the edge of this new town just off the highway, hesistating. This place looked rundown, and unkept. It had to be chock full of deadheads, he looked for a way around and spit seeing nothing but woods of both sides of it. <br><br>"Shit" was all he could muster to say, taking the bike down roads filled with stopped vehicles was not a smart plan, and while the buildings looked close enough together on the right hand side of the main road to move along the roofs, he wasn't so sure. He heard a deep thump about a mile back and jumped a little startled. <br><br>He stopped torn between venturing on the highway towards the sound, and heading into town. He paused trying to reason it out. Anyone he could cause an explosion that big is either dead, soon to be dead, or in control of the situation. He wouldn't be much help with one baseball bat, and in the worse case scenario he could well be caught on the freeway.<br><br>He turned heading into town cautiously, and waited any second for a mob to come devour him&nbsp; but nothing happened. Just as he thought the fronts to almost all the stores were nothing more than shattered glass, though the hardware store held some promise, the glass was shattered true, but it had one of the thick metal fences that slid open and shut in front of the glass and door. I walked over parking my bike in front of the store kicking the kickstand down and looking at the fence, a thick padlock held the gate in place, it looked plenty battered but still held. I climbed the fence and pulled myself onto the roof, smiling when I saw the closed blue door presumebly leading below, I walked to the door and started beating on it with my bat, spending a few minutes, trying to break it down realizing there was just no way, I sighed slumping in defeat sweat trickling down my face before half heartedly turning the knob. The door slid open easily and I sat panting in disbelief a laugh leaving my throat. <br><br>I wandered down below, bat held tightly in my hands.
			</dd>
		</dl>
		<div id="footer" class="smalltext">
			
			<span class="smalltext" style="display: inline; visibility: visible; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif;"><a href="https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?action=credits" title="Simple Machines Forum" target="_blank" class="new_win">SMF 2.0.19</a> |
 <a href="https://www.simplemachines.org/about/smf/license.php" title="License" target="_blank" class="new_win">SMF © 2021</a>, <a href="https://www.simplemachines.org" title="Simple Machines" target="_blank" class="new_win">Simple Machines</a>
			</span>
		</div>