So, this is the last chapter in my Calm Before the Storm story. Its the beginning of a longer story that i hope to hash out and explore as time goes on and i continue to let events unfold. So much has happened already, i just need to stop being a lazy ass and write it all down. I just am so detail oriented i worry myself that i’ll forget little details that will end up leaving me with a gaping big hole in the plot or character development. But, i’m past worrying at this point, and the most important thing i can do, i have come to realize, is write, so, here i am, posting the ending of my first story in the series of stories, Calm Before the Storm. Chapter Eleven: Out of the Fire…
Please enjoy.
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(if you’re just starting on this story, please swing by page four, http://heroreturns.tumblr.com/page/4
and scroll down about 1/3 to 1/2 way down and find the beginning. There might be posts in between chapters but if you have any problems, just ask me, and ill link you whatever you’re missing. Thanks again everyone.)
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Walking past the corpses had been quite unnerving for Clark; he had known a lot of the men stationed here, and had even ordered them to man their posts at all costs. Clark knew, now, as soon as the first alarms started going off, these guys should have evacuated as soon as possible. But instead they stayed, and fought, and paid the ultimate price. At that moment, he could feel his eyes piercing through the back of Criggs’ skull. He didn’t trust this bastard anymore, and couldn’t wait to get in contact with someone at BDA to inform them of his betrayal and combat behavior. If there was any justice in this world, Clark Taggart would see Jonathon Criggs court marshaled and tried for his crimes against Stan Rise. But first, he had to get out of here, and to get out of here, he had to navigate this corridor full of his dead comrades and get to the security terminal in the room up ahead. Criggs got to the door first, and turned around to look at Taggart, as if to ask for instructions. Taggart brought his left hand off his pistol, put it out before him, made a fast, and gently started turning it clockwise till it went ninety degrees, at which point he stopped, and put his hand back on the pistol. Criggs, looking a little embarrassed, nodded, placed his hand on the door handle, and turned it, opening the way up into the room. Criggs stepped in first with Taggart right behind him. They scanned the room: it had a few cots, lockers, and weapon racks, along with a slouched over security personnel member whose face and chest currently rested on the terminal in front of him. Taggart motioned for Criggs to step aside, and approached the stationery individual. Clark placed a hand underneath his shoulder, and pulled his body backwards and upwards into his chair, jumping back a foot or two as the blood from the man’s wound on his forehead arced out from the desk to his forehead as he was pushed back. The face had been so badly damaged there was no way that Taggart could tell who it was besides looking at the nametag, which he didn’t even feel a need to do at the moment. The terminal, a puddle of blood resting on top of it, flashed a dialogue window: Begin Evacuation Protocol? Y/N. Taggart looked at Criggs, “Y. Definetely Y. Start the process up, and then let’s get the hell out of here.” Criggs didn’t need to be told twice as he manned the terminal and pressed ‘Y’ on the keyboard; immediately, Criggs could tell something was wrong, feeling a gut reaction to drop or dive out of the way. At that exact moment, a giant, spiked tentacle lanced through the wall and darted through the space that Criggs had just occupied a split second ago. The screen flashed, and the lights in the room started to flicker, eventually turning off completely; the two watched as the tentacle slithered back through the hole in the wall, leaving a hole the size of a beach ball. “Let’s go! I opened the door to the wine cellar! Before that thing breaks through the wall!” Criggs was saying, as he turned to look at Taggart, and from the crouched position, looked surprised to see a slow moving BDA security agent moving towards them, hands outstretched, blood stained all up and down his uniform. Clark, gun out from witnessing the monster’s arm or tentacle break through the wall and also reading Criggs’ reaction, turned around, and without hesitating, blasted a hole through the slow moving target’s skull, turning his face away as the blowback from the impact splattered brain matter, skull fragments, and all kinds of gore around the room as the man’s head exploded from Clark’s bullet. The body sunk back to the ground, twitching, but not getting back up. Taggart looked back at Criggs, eyeing his shotgun. “Move! Now! Before that thing comes back!”
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Back at the wine cellar door, Winters had begun to look anxious. She paced back and forth, checking the cartridges in her weapons several times. The blast at Fort Hope had knocked out their communication frequency, so they were unable to talk to Criggs and Taggart as soon as they were out of earshot, and Winters didn’t like knowing her man was in the sole presence of that cowardly betrayer. It drove her wild imagination crazy, as she envisioned Criggs watching Taggart man the terminal before placing a shotgun shell in the back of his head, and fleeing the mansion to maybe escape into the forest. It didn’t seem logical but neither did abandoning one of your own members to die on a rooftop. She gritted her teeth, holstering her pistol with her right hand, and gripping at her assault rifle tightly with her left hand. At least she knew they weren’t going to be gone long, and Clark was a survivalist if nothing else; he wouldn’t put that weasel in a position to take a pop shot at him like that. She smiled briefly, thinking about Clark anticipating Criggs’ betrayal, and placing a round in his forehead, just above the right eye… And that’s when the lights flickered before going out completely. Winters cocked her assault rifle, and turned back to look at Stewart, Claire, and Stan. “Get up; put that thing away, I think they might need—“ and that’s when they heard the large caliber pistol round go off. Winters turned her attention back down the hallway, and sprinted off in the direction that Criggs and Taggart had gone. That left Stan alone to watch after the sick Stewart, delirious and difficult Del, as well as the crippled Claire. He sighed, taking the safety off, and preparing for anything. “You three stay behind me, at all times, ok?” Claire and Stewart looked up, nodding a very serious nod as Stan looked down at them. Del, on the other hand, offered a staunch, “Fuck off, man,” before un-slinging his assault rifle from his back and pacing a few steps ahead of Stan. Stan sweetly smiled back at Claire and Stewart, turning his attention down the hallway where all the gunfire was coming from.
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Clark had fired all of the shots in his revolver at the undead in the room and directly outside in the corridor. Criggs seemed to be dealing with the ones approaching from behind. Taggart was facing down the corridor when a zombie he thought that had already been killed, slouched against the wall, sprung up at him, lunging at his throat and shoulders. Clark brought his arms up, deflecting his attacker’s arms and pushing back at its throat with his forearm. This zombie was strong, and without its helmet and mask on, he could recognize it as Arthur, one of the strongest men on the force, even stronger after death, Taggart decided. He didn’t think he was going to win the fight, and was about to be pitched over when something caught Arthur in the side of his head as his head and body jerked away and to the right of Taggart, smashing against the ground with a dull thud. Taggart looked up to see his savior, seeing Winters in the distance waving him and Criggs on, as the sound of Criggs shotgun going off snapped Taggart into it, sprinting towards Winters at full speed. Winters and Taggart rounded the corner, not caring if Criggs was behind them or not, while they pushed their way towards Stan, Del, Claire, and Stewart, afraid of what might be coming for them.
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Del was the first through the door and into the wine cellar but instead of continuing to push forward, he waited until Criggs came running through the door, and immediately followed right after him. Earlier, there had been a booming, thud as one of the walls in the mansion collapsed, and unsure if it was from the fire in the stairways, a grenade that Stan or Winters might have had, or something else entirely, the group had no choice but to push on. Now, however, the crushing and wet slurping noise was coming from the corridor they were exiting from and echoing into the wine cellar. No one stayed behind to see what it was, and Del, the last to flee down the narrow wine cellar space, was now following Criggs very closely, anxious to get away from whatever was heading towards them. The wine cellar itself was just a windy passage way that went from one side of the room, up a little bit, and then back across the other side of the room. On either side of the passageway was a giant mahogany cabinet kept for chilling all the various chardonnays and merlots that occupied the walls around them. No one stopped to so much as grab a bottle, let alone look at them, and sprinted ahead at full speed towards the elevator they knew to be waiting for them in the back. Whatever was chasing them, and it was clearly now chasing them as it smashed through the opening and knocked the first wall of wine over, eliciting a loud smashing crash as the wood and glass bottles came crashing down to the stone floors. Del was only two walls separated from the first one, and fearing the monster’s strength and size, continued to push himself as fast as he could. Criggs didn’t even turn around or raise his shotgun as the sound of the second wall being crashed through pierced through the chilly room, amplifying the decibel level the already deafening crash produced. Criggs and Del were just round the final corner and eyed Taggart and the rest of the group waving them as the monster crashed into the wall nearest them, sending more than a few bottles at Criggs and Del. Jonathon was able to crouch out of the way of the bottles, ducking under them, and turning his face to the side to avoid the glass fragments and alcohol from getting on his face and eyes. Del wasn’t so lucky and felt the full force of a bottle connect on his forehead, without shattering, as he stumbled forward and landed in the arms of Taggart. Winters quickly shut the elevator door, and the elevator slowly started its descent downwards. Above them, something pounding against the elevator door was getting louder, and simultaneously quieter as they lowered into the lower lair of the mansion, every one of them panting heavily, trying to catch their breaths. They were almost there.
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Criggs wasted no time herding the group off the elevator and down the corridor into the main chamber. The hallway they passed through contained several doors on each side; the hallway itself was made of concrete. None of the doors were opened, and all seemed to be secured by a magnetic reader that no one had a card or pass for. Just wanting to get to the tunnel, and escape, the group pressed on, walking onto the cat walk that overlooked the main chamber, with the computer console smack in the center. Equidistant to the center was a door in the center of each of the room’s six walls. Criggs immediately scrambled to the console, plugging in his laptop, and starting the process of wiping the computer clean of everything. It was his job to make sure no company secrets got out, and he was going to see it through, even if it was the last thing he was going to do. Another loud crashing sound echoed through the hallway they just came out of, and whatever was chasing them must have finally gotten through the elevator door and down the elevator shaft. Criggs wiped some sweat off his brow, relieved to know he was twenty five percent done with wiping this place out. Taggart looked at Winters and Del, motioning for them to ready their weapons. They agreed to hold up here while Criggs finished him task, watching guard over him as lights around the room flickered on and off, and Criggs influence in the network started to pay off: he was able to unlock some prototypical mechanical weapons from the weapons testing site in a room just down the hallway. The mech came online, along with some weapons diagnostics and ammo readings. Criggs was able to navigate the weapon out of the room, blowing a hole through the door, and stepping out into the hallway to meet the creature. Small arms fire, explosions, and the bright glow from the flamethrower reached out from just inside the hallway, Criggs face live with excitement as he was able to push back the creature long enough to advance his ‘system format’ to fifty percent. No way whoever was out there was going to stop them. And that’s when two bullets hit the ground just next to Criggs, sending him backwards onto his ass, as he panicked and tipped away from the shooting noise. The woman with the pony tail and black prototypical armor had jumped through the hallway, somehow passing by Criggs’ mechanized weapon, and gotten some shots off at him. Taggart, watching the doorway the whole time with his magnum-caliber revolver out and ready to fire, took sight of the flying target, and following her as she sailed through the room, fired a shot when she was just a bit over-head and behind them. The shot connected with her facemask, and a large amount of blowback and blood spatter shot against the wall behind her, registering a hit. Her body sailed through the air, and crashed into the door on the other side of the room, breaking clean through it, and tumbling well into the next room. Stan was now on the walkway, hand out, eyes closed, face dripping with sweat, looking like he was trying to lay an egg, or move the whole world with the power of his mind. What the group didn’t see, was Stan making a connection with the creature in the elevator, and forcing it back, away from them, and into the shaft. He pushed it just far away enough to break the link, and follow the group through the exit the woman’s body had created on the other side of the catwalk. Criggs had finished up awhile ago, and had also managed to steal a couple of interesting looking files in the process, keeping them on his laptop, just in case. On the other side of the main chamber, there was a large blood smear along with the crumpled in door that slid across the ground into what looked to be a reception area for a subway or some kind of underground transit system. There were still two cars left, each of which could fit about four people. Not seeing the body of the woman around them, and not too interested to search for it, the group sent Del and Criggs into the first car, while Stewart, Claire, Winters, and Taggart took the back one. The railway cars with no rooftop or openings had a simple on button that Criggs pressed, and then Taggart pressed, in their respective cars. A couple of lights came on, the doors came up on either side, and the cars started lurching forward at about fifteen miles an hour. They picked up a little bit of speed. In front of them, all they could see was a tunnel way with a small light or opening that was slowly getting bigger and bigger. Finally, they could see the way out.
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The cars travelled for a mere few minutes before coming to rest just outside of a clearing. Looking back into the tunnel from where they came, it looked like a sewer pipe entrance, and was disguised as such even after they passed through it. At the end of the railway was a helicopter pad with two helicopters, both baring the marks of the Bio Defense Agency. Del practically leapt for joy at the sight of the helicopters, sprinting to the one closest to him. Taggart ushered Winters, Stewart, and Claire into the helicopter nearest them, as well, smiling warmly at Winters as he sat down next to her, pressing his hand against the bite wound on his shoulder/collarbone. Criggs, eagerly watching where they all went, managed to hop in the lone helicopter that no one else jumped into, grinning ear from ear as he buckled himself into the seat. “Come on, let’s go! Take off!” he said to the pilot, after he put his headset on. Turning around in the pilot’s seat was a man dressed in a pilot’s uniform, but looking identical to the man Criggs knew as Stan Rise. “Yes sir!” he said back to Criggs, as Criggs watched the “real” Stan Rise get into the helicopter with Taggart, Del, Claire, Winters, and Stewart.
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End.
-SJD
I had some workplace drama that finally got dealt with in a most unusual manner. But, nevertheless, the feeling of hopelessness, helplessness, and despair have all left me, and i’m feeling more free and focused lately than ever, which is good. I finally feel like i’m able to confront my problems head on and assert myself, when i have too. In any case, without further adieu, I present, with great joy, Chapter Ten from Calm Before the Storm: The Return of Rise
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Clark went ahead of the rest of the group, unsure whether the person claiming to be Stan Rise: a) actually was Stan Rise, and b) if he was Stan, would he be out for bloodshed, having been left for dead? Taggart was unsure, but kept his reservations to himself as he stepped through the door and surveyed the scene before him. Stan was standing off to the side of the lavish and dressed table, curiously eyeing the group as they walked in. “I found her like that; she’s dead.” Taggart, Winters, and Claire immediately rushed to Melissa’s aid, surprised to see all the gore and blood around her head. While Taggart was scanning the room, Criggs and Del were approaching Stan from the left side of the table, while everyone else was on Melissa’s side or the right side of the table. There was an awkward silence in the room as people processed the visual image of Melissa’s corpse, but also the presence of a pleasantly forgetful Stan Rise. Taggart picked up a shell casing from the floor; he eyed the pistol on Stan’s waist. It was a forty-five shell casing which was the same caliber Stan had used. Clark supposed none of it really mattered; it was impossible for Stan to be here, let alone alive and talking. “Look, Stan—“ Taggart had turned around to face the group, and face Stan, when his gaze shifted to a rifle being raised. Del, the pilot, had raised his assault rifle, and was now pointing it at the back of Jonathon Criggs’ head. “Everybody take it easy. Any quick movements, and I waste this mother fucker, understand?” Criggs was now starting to piece together why everyone, including Stan, was starring at him with some horror on their face. Slowly, Criggs turned around, facing the pilot and his rifle. “What the hell are you doing?” Del gritted his death, “You’re a piece of shit! We should have done this the moment you stranded Stan on that rooftop!” Suddenly, like a bright flash that washed over his brain, Stan remembered the events of the afternoon; he remembered running into the quarantine building when the smoke started to fill the base, and the people on the floor who had died got back up. Stan remembered travelling through the sky bridge to the hospital, the horror that ran through him when he discovered, like the rest of the group, the zombies’ special affections towards Stan. He remembered the poor scientists who had survived just long enough to get killed by helicopter fuel that had caught fire and burned a hole in the roof, the same helicopter that Criggs had shot down when he couldn’t manage the turrets properly. Now, Stan was speaking out loud, “The same Jonathon Criggs who stranded me on that building to die with an innocent woman,” Criggs took his chance to cut in, “Which you seemed to take care of quite nicely,” turning his head in the direction of the now-deceased-Melissa-Hutchinson. Seeing Criggs turn his head, and feeling the rage from betrayed by an ally, Stan tackled Criggs to the floor. He brought his fist up, with his pistol in it, to smash down onto Criggs’ face, but Criggs, seeing the pistol go up, dodged to the side, and narrowly avoided Stan as the hand with the pistol in it crashed into the floor. Stan grunted loudly, and brought his left fist down across Criggs nose, making contact and and jerking Criggs face to the side. Taggart had seen enough and raced over to break up the fighting, wrapping his arms around Stan to lift him off Criggs. “Enough! Goddammit if I haven’t seen it all today! You two can go ahead and just kill eachother, and get it over with, because for fuck’s sake, this will be the last time that anyone in this group raises a hand against another person, do you understand me?” He was looking at Criggs with a fierce face unfamiliar to Jonathon up until this point. “We’ve all been put in a real shit situation here. There’s absolutely no guarantee that we’ll make it out of here; none at all. But, I swear to Christ, if we keep this up, and continue to fight, and bicker, and strike one another, I can guarantee you we won’t make it another twenty minutes. This is all we got left, and we need every one of us to get out of here.” Now Clark was looking at Stan. “I’ll be the first to admit mistakes were made. Terrible, unforgivable actions that I am ashamed to have witnessed and take part in. But, I aim to make it up. I aim to survive. And get out of here, and find out who did this, and make them pay!” Taggart turned, glaring a hard look at Jonathon who was just picking himself up off the floor. “Do we understand each other? We’re in this together; no more in fighting. I have no idea what is waiting for us past these doors,” using his rather large revolved to point in the direction of the single door to the room, “But I do know it’s going to require every last one of us to deal with it.” Taggart was now making eye contact with each person in the room. When he got to Stewart, he recognized the kid didn’t look too hot. “Son, are you ok?” Stewart stammered a bit before saying, “My throat itches,” and falling backwards onto the floor. Claire called out his name and rushed to his side, digging medical supplies and fresh water out of her bag. Taggart looked at Winters and motioned to Stewart as if to say, ‘see what’s going on with him,’ and Winters did just that, running over to Stewart’s side and assisting Claire.
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While the group digested Taggart’s words and tended to their fallen messenger boy, a large creature in the forest bellowed an angry, hungry growl deep into the air. The growl, upon reaching the mansion, was powerful enough to rattle the windows and doors deep in their frames.
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“Everyone. Out. Now! Double time!” Taggart was ushering everyone out of the room, and pushing them towards the other side of the mansion, sure of where he was going, and how he was going to get out of here, but unsure of what ungodly creature might have made that noise. He was hoping it was the storm manifesting outside and not the behemoth that was in the lake chasing after them.
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A quick run through the main hall and into the hallway on the opposite side of the mansion, Taggart and company stumbled upon a gruesome scene: BDA security soldiers’ corpses were all over the place. Directly in front of them, the man’s torso and chest had been slashed open, and his insides as well as virtually all of his blood were spilled out onto the floor in front of him, his body slouched back into the corner. The group went left, along the hallway, following the corpses’ path as they discovered them. At least some of the agents in here had gotten some shots off before being decapitated or gored through the body. They counted ten bodies, one security room that was bypassed, for now, and a door at the end of the hallway with no detectable opening mechanism. There was a handle, but the heavy, steel door didn’t even budge when Taggart gripped the handle and put his best effort into shoving his shoulder through it. It was a good thing there was some padding on his uniform because he felt like he would have had a sizable bruise otherwise, but none of his efforts were rewarded, and he decided they would have to go into the security room, after all. “But who should go?” Criggs asked, seeming a bit concerned, as he looked at Del and Stan, both of whom were eagerly standing behind him waiting for him to make the wrong move. Clark eyed Stan and Del, stepping in closer to the trio. “Me and you. Don’t worry, boys, I’ll keep an eye out on him. You first, Criggs.” Taggart motioned back down the hallway with his larger-than-life revolver out before him. Criggs cleared his throat, cocked his shotgun, and started back down the hallway with Taggart a couple yards behind him, keeping Criggs’ pace.
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Jonathon knew how close they were to getting to his objective, and close they were to getting out of here. Once through the wine cellar and down the elevator, Criggs had to travel down another corridor and into the main chamber where the console he needed awaited him. He was so close, he could anticipate the feeling of another finished mission and the instant warmth and comfort that comes with success in the face of adversity. That having been said, he didn’t like being in front of Clark Taggart, and he didn’t like knowing the whole group wanted to kill him. But Taggart DID stand up for him and save him in the dining room, only letting Stan get in a punch or two instead of a round or two. Either way, Criggs would play along with it now and do as he was told, but the first moment he saw daylight, he was going to make a break for it. After he completed his mission, of course.
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Stewart began coughing heavily, clutching at his throat with his hand. Claire immediately rushed over to him and draped an arm over his shoulder, comforting him as he fought through another fit of coughs. Even Stewart thought this batch was worse than the initial wave of coughing that had overtaken him after they entered the mansion. While they were waiting for Criggs and Taggart to come back, Stan approached Stewart and Claire with a grim look on his face. “Everything alright?” He asked, concern overtaking his face. Stewart looked up from his kneeling position, Claire on his side, and managed a weak, “Yeah, I’m ok. Just feeling under the weather all of a sudden.” Stan looked down at his wrist, eyes narrowing on something of interest. Stan bent down, and showed Stewart his wrist device. “See that indicator? That funky little colored dot? That’s you. Notice how your dot is different from everyone else’s in this room, alive or dead? That’s not good.” Stewart seemed legitimately concerned. “I was looking at this,” he stumbled for a second, “Erm, packet of information that I recovered, and I think it might be able to help you, and Clark, who’s that dot way over there with Criggs, who is the normal looking dot next to him. We have some time, and we have some medical supplies that we might be able to use…” Stan started rifling around in Claire’s bag, which was full of supplies and medicines. Stewart had also recovered something that he hadn’t told anyone about: the scientist that was murdered on the docks before they even arrived had something on his body that Stewart had taken. When no one was looking, he pulled a digital device the size of an iPad out from the man’s things, and kept it in his carrier satchel until know. He pulled it out in front of Stan and Claire, explaining himself quickly, and attempted to interface with Stan’s wrist device. To both of their surprise, Stan’s device had an attachment that plugged right into Stewart’s new computer, and transferred all the files and information Stan had stolen off the monster’s body before… “Before I got blown up,” he said, explaining how he got the information to Stewart and Claire. Now he looked somewhat sullen and confused, getting up, and walking away, as Stewart and Claire peered over the device in Stewart’s hands, eager to uncover its secrets.
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There were things I wanted to do in this part that I felt like I could have executed better. I wanted the suspense to build from seeing all the fallen allies scattered throughout the hallways, but i also wanted to allude to the fact that maybe they weren’t quite out of the picture yet either. Part of the problem was at this point, the group was so on edge from the “betrayal” that everyone was rushing to enact justice on Criggs, which lead to basically a lot of running around and not a lot of asking questions. They had already tried, judged, and executed Jonathon Criggs in their own mind. So, for me, the next part of the story was, how do I get the group to NEED Jonathon Criggs? And boy did it take them quite awhile to realize it, practically til thirty minutes before the story was over, when i brazenly informed the group through Captain Winters that Criggs had done nothing wrong since Fort Hope. But, that scene, is far away, and for now, the group continues to rush out of harms way. Will they escape? Will Criggs manage to get away? Stay tuned for more coming up next. Again, I thank you for reading and taking your time to give my story a look over. Any feedback or criticisms you can give are greatly appreciated.
-SJD
With the same mouth that got me sent home early tonight, no less. You’re welcome.
Chapter Nine in Calm Before the Storm: “Criggs Cig”
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Clark came to after Stewart, Claire, and Criggs had already unlatched themselves. He unbuckled himself and fell tumbling out of the back of the boat, which was now high in the air while the front of the boat was smashed into the ground. Taggart hit the seat by the control’s, bounced off it, hit a metal divider separating the first half of the boat from the second, and then crashed to the ground with a thud, landing squarely on his chest. Knocking all the wind out of him, Clark gasped in exasperation when he made contact with the floor. Pushing himself up to his knees, he barely even noticed Winters gracefully land no more than three feet away from him, landing squarely on her feet with almost perfect balance. She smiled down at him, and helped him up, observing the wound on his arm. “Sir, are you alright?” Clark was trying to play it off like he was fine, “Of course, Captain. Why wouldn’t I be? I’m better off than that… Son of a bitch. Where is the helicopter pilot?” Criggs and the others were looking around the wreckage of the boat for Del or any useful supplies or gear. Unable to find either, the group travelled south along the shoreline, moving swiftly as they searched for their missing ally. Along the way, Taggart discovered a crate full of different types of rounds that fit his pistol perfectly; they were large caliber bullets with different colored tips. Drawing back on some briefings he had read, Clark deduced these were new prototype bullets designed to fight against different bio weapons. Red tipped were flame rounds, green tipped were acid rounds, red and orange tipped were explosive, and black tipped… “Clark, are you coming?” Winters grabbed his forearm, and stepped closer to him, scanning his face and body language for any subtle changes. She didn’t notice any, which made her smile, for now. Taggart smiled back and followed her lead. “We think we found him,” Taggart stopped, and turned to look at her, “But?” She pulled out her pistol and cocked it. “But he’s surrounded by those weird fish” Clark smiled, “Perfect. I got just the thing…”
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Upon finding the helicopter pilot’s unconscious body, Taggart immediately opened fire, shooting at the little creatures surrounding him. A couple shotgun rounds, before Taggart had even got there, from Criggs eliminated the creatures coming from around the now-depleted shoreline, and it was up to Taggart to take out the ones approaching him from the tree line. Luckily, they had been knocked out of water, and were staggered and slow from the disorienting dislocation. Stewart would later inform the group the creatures were nowhere near as powerful on land as they were in the water, due to their fishy origins. None of that seemed to matter as the first round connected with the fish monster closest to Taggart, catching on fire as soon as the bullet penetrated through it. Because of the powerful nature of the gun and the prototypical bullet, the flame effect engulfed two fishes with slow moving limbs, eliciting a high pitched squeal from both. Even when these monsters were on fire, they did not seem to move fast. The next shot out of Taggart’s gun was the green tipped bullet, and this bullet sent a splash of acid on the fish, causing it to dissolve, in place, leaving a pair of smoking legs in the grass and nothing else. Taggart moved his gun to the next target, pulling the trigger and switching targets at a dizzying speed. His third and fourth shot took care of the remaining fishes, exploding one, and sending another deep, deep into the earth as the dense bullet caught it, and opened a hole the size of a football at least twenty feet in the direction that Clark had shot. Cautiously reminding himself not to use that particular ammunition in doors or around his friends, Taggart emptied the contents of his old chamber and put in some new rounds. “Someone wake him up,” he said, looking at Stewart and Winters as he pulled the black bullet’s shell casing out of the chamber and placed in a new one.
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The mansion was a short walk away. Del, a little shaken up from being knocked unconscious and then flung from the boat, was being tended to by Captain Winters and Claire. Criggs had been fumbling around with the Cigarette in his pocket for quite some time, unsure of who would end up receiving it. But, now, at this moment, he was sure of it. He walked up to his victim, casually taking a cigarette out for himself and placing it in his mouth. Without looking, he extended the box with a cigarette out to the person next to him, who graciously accepted it, and placed it in their mouth. Jonathon nodded as if to say, “Not a problem,” and then sparked his lighter, bringing it up to his victim’s face before touching the flame to his own smoke. Patting the individual on the side, Criggs took a deep drag and began to walk away, leaving a, “Great job, kid,” as everyone heard the messenger boy start to cough from his first cigarette in a long time.
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Stewart noticed his throat was starting to feel a little itchy as they walked up to the mansion, bringing a hand up to his neck to scratch at it absent mindedly. Even Taggart was a little paranoid, having been bitten by the fish monster on the boat; he was being tended to by Winters and Claire at the moment, who were giving him some kind of herbal remedy that compromised of a green, red, and blue herb, mixed together evenly for maximum healing acceleration as well as pausing any infection, if only for a couple hours. Behind them, the water level was clearly below normal, and all kinds of debris, wreckage, and bio material lay around them, on fire, smoldering, or twitching, respectively, as they walked past the driveway and onto the front porch. The walk up was menacing; the clouds were growing steadily overhead, and the forest directly behind the mansion seemed to have caught fire, although the rain seemed to be putting it out. It amazed Taggart, nonetheless, to see wreckage from their boat reach almost a couple miles away. Taggart, now leading the way, was the first to step up onto the porch and approach the double doors barring their way.
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Stan’s eyes shot open. He could hear static in his ear piece, and it was slowly getting louder and louder. Despite feeling groggy, he felt alright. A sharp pang of panic shot through his spine and he quickly moved his right hand over to the top of his left arm, touching his left triceps and upper arm, surprised to find something actually there. He looked down and saw his arm, still there. Actually, he appeared to be wearing exactly everything he was wearing before he got killed, up to the weapon and bio-scanner on his right wrist, which was now indicating multiple individuals closing in on his location, eliciting a subtle vibration as they got closer and closer to his position on the screen. Not really sure what was going on, and also not aware of where he was, Stan decided to look around the room. It was a very lavish dining room, complete with fireplace already lit and the table before him set with a bounty of food and drink, although he could tell it was starting to get cold. Directly across the table from him was Melissa Hutchinson, the reporter, which he vaguely remembered but couldn’t remember why, where, or how. She was slumped over in her seat, and Stan got up to check on her. Melissa was wearing an elegant silk dress which appeared rouge in the dim candle light. Her hair cascaded down to her shoulders and across her upper back. Stan placed his hand on her shoulder, trying to shake her. Her skin felt warm, but when he pushed her back, he could tell her face and forehead were smeared with blood from a single bullet wound that exited out the back of her head. Shocked to find her deceased, Stan jumped back, bumping into the table slightly, causing the dinner ware and candles to shake. Now he could more distinctly hear what was going on in his ear piece as someone said, “We don’t have any choice. We’re going on. Move out of the way,” followed by the sound of nearby wood splintering as someone either kicked or very forcefully opened the doors to the building Stan was in. Unable to look outside of the high windows, or tell who it was, Stan reached for his pistol, cocking a round into the chamber, surprised to see another bullet around in there.
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The doors had been a little trouble to open, until Taggart had realized he had access to the door’s security clearance. He swiped his key across the scanner, the indicator read green, and the handle gave way this time, allowing Taggart to push the double doors in and enter the mansion. Directly in front of him was a wide staircase leading to the second floor. It reached about half way up to the second level before splitting and continuing upwards in either direction to Clark’s left and right. Upstairs were a couple of doors and hallways, but unfortunately the center of the staircase was collapsed by a piece of a boat that had fallen through the rooftop and come crashing down onto the stairs. It was still on fire, but the rain now pouring in from the hole in the roof was causing the flame to flick and die down; nothing seemed to be in danger of catching on fire and burning the whole damned mansion down. Nevertheless, the group agreed it should move quickly when something surprising came over the radio. A familiar voice said, “Hello?” instantly sending chills up Criggs’ and Taggart’s spines. It was Stan Rise, who should have been vaporized in the near-atomic blast at Fort Hope. Clark looked at Criggs, who offered a confused but intrigued look back. “Hello, is anyone there? This is Stan Rise, and I appear to be trapped in some kind of room. Can anyone help me?” Taggart spoke up after a brief silence, and no one else rushed to answer the man’s questions: “Stan, yes, hello, this is Chief of Security Clark Taggart. Could you confirm your ID please?” The man stammered on the other end, “Chief Taggart! Oh Thank God! Yes, its me, Stan Rise, Bio Defense Agency Specialist 6724-Delta-Echo-Victor, assigned to special investigations and tactics at Fort Hope.” Taggart gasped, “Jesus Christ. Where are you?” A door several feet away banged against its foundations, startling the group, some of whom turned and raised their weapons at said door. “Did you hear that pounding?” Stan asked, giving Criggs a chance to speak up, “Don’t worry Stan; we won’t leave you hanging,” grinning and looking at Taggart as he said it.
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Im about to go to bed so i can get up and go to a job that puts food on the table, but, in Chapter Nine, we see Del’s character Criggs give a very important object, a cigarette with a special infectant in it, to Stewart, one of our newer players, at the time. All game long, Del was toying with who to give this cigarette too. I think he held onto it for so long because he thought the group was going to turn on him and shoot him, and he wanted a way to go down in a blaze of glory. Kind of a self-destruct button, if you will. But, he was careful enough, and the group stupid enough, that he never received much of their ire into way later in the series, and decided he was going to disrupt the group in order to create a getaway distraction for himself, and this would be the start of it. However, i also had told Del before the game, the effects of the cigarette aren’t finite, aren’t definitely good OR bad, and that i would not only roll a percentile dice to see how it affected Kris’ character, but also allow Kris to roll Stamina checks to see how his bad was handling the resistance/mutation. Luckily for Kris, i think he rolled his lucky number, and so the cigarette, while infecting him and forever changing his DNA, also would later benefit him and increase his capabilities. In that instant, however, Del thought he had won a decisive blow against the group, and Kris, along with the rest of the group, feared the worst. Its funny how we always do that, isnt it? Good night, and THANK YOU for reading. It means the world to me.
-SJD
Watched a video earlier today and i feel pretty inspired to pursue this whole being a writer/creator/author thing, even if it terrifies the hell out of me, and i always feel like there’s something else more respectable i should be doing, i always feel at the end of the day, me sitting here, writing, is the RIGHT thing to do. And so, for now, i must continue to be a better writer, which means i have to keep writing, and i have to keep reading, and i have to keep pushing myself to be better. I don’t care if this is a moneyless pursuit; I ENJOY IT. If you do too, then that is the best news i could have ever received. If you don’t, maybe you can tell me what you have read of mine that you enjoy, or if you enjoy anything at all (i’m not gonna waste my time on you if all you have is negativity and criticism. Nothing will ever be good enough for you, so why should i try to be the one thing that please you? If i’m gonna do something impossible, i’d rather try to be a writer instead). That having been said, I am going to be more active in pursuing these aspirations of mine to one day publish something, one day write something that gets turned into a movie, one day act, or do an interview, or give an interview, or read aloud a poem, or have one of my stories turned into an audiobook… There is just SO much that i want to do, and sometimes i get overwhelmed by it all, but not anymore. Not for now. I’m feeling this rush and i’m gonna ride it until my legs give out underneath me and i collapse to the floor in another defeated mess of shame and despair (there’s been a lot of that lately. so much has been me moving away from that mountain. i need to move towards it.) So, without further adieu, i present Chapter Eight in Calm Before the Storm: “The Escape from Hope”… Enjoy:
Stan, minus a left arm, sailed through the air, and fell five stories, before landing on a group of undead with their arms mostly out stretched. His body crushed a good dozen or so of them, and also softened his fall. He rolled on his side, off the group of zombies that braced his fall, and made his way to his feet. Staggering slowly at first, Stan was able to summon some of his strength and tap into the adrenaline flowing through his veins, pushing his body to move faster. He ran north up the street, past the hospital. Feeling the zombies stumbling after him, he pushed himself to run faster, picking up the pace from a jog to a run.
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They had only been travelling for half a minute, but every one on board could feel the boat wasn’t going fast enough. It accelerated out of a lurch, and from behind the wheel, Criggs couldn’t figure out what was wrong. It was punched into maximum speed; but he could tell from the speedometer reading they were only achieving about two thirds maximum speed. That didn’t seem right, he turned around and shrugged to Taggart, who was at the back of the boat with Stewart, Claire, and Del, and Winters was ahead of them all, manning the front turret, as instructed by Chief Taggart. Clark called out to Criggs, “Hey! Punch it! We don’t have time for this!” Criggs shouted back, “I’m trying! I think… That’s it! We’re too heavy!” Taggart stumbled back a bit as the boat hit a wave, and hit the back of his knees against something bulky and boxy. It was a trunk. He opened it,
*I had the players roll a chance die to see if the containers were going to be easy to throw over, or full of heavy but difficult to discard items. Unfortunately the player rolled a poor percentile, and as a result, there were a few chests, and they were full of very heavy, awkward things to move, like tons of Kevlar vests, a box full of ammunition and assault rifle rounds, as well as assault rifles, and both chest towards the back were practically bolted to the floor*
and sighed as he saw all the heavy armored vests lying there. He couldn’t even count how many he saw, all probably weighing sixty pounds, as they were, fully loaded with gear and equipment, and armored plates. His let go of the handle, and watched the lid slam shit. As soon as it did shut, his eyes caught something else behind them. This was bigger than anything they’d encountered yet, and it was heading right for them. “Stewart, man that gun.” Taggart pointed to the mounted machine gun on the aft side of the boat. Stewart immediately dropped the lid he was looking into, and jumped onto the platform holding the gun up. He cocked the firing pin back, loading the first of many rounds into the high caliber machine gun. Drawing back on his time spent at the shooting range when he was bored and too broke to do anything else on base, he let out a slow, even breath, and began to open fire.
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Stan rounded the corner of the market, and was eager to see if there was a boat remaining. Instead of being greeted by a welcome sight, as soon as he rounded the corner, he instead saw a hulking armored beast standing before him. The creature was missing its shiny, polished helmet-like-head, but it had a slithery, slim, rope of tissue spouting out of its neck, with a single, vulnerable red growth that beat in sync with its over-grown, in-human heart. Stan eyed the creature; something was different. He could feel it close to him, as if he reached out his hand, he might be able to touch it. Stan lanced his arm out, and assumed the Vader-like choke grip, focusing all his attention on the creature in front of him. Now he could feel it resisting his touch, squirming underneath it. This fiend clearly did not like being manipulated, and stomped in place, displaying its frustration. Unaffected by the exhibit, Stan continued to focus and stopped the tentacle-like-protrusion growing out if its neck to stop squirming and thriving. All of a sudden, Stan realized his right hand was free, and he was reaching out with his left hand/arm, even though that didn’t exist right now. Nevertheless, he focused, and took aim with his .45. His first shot went wide, distracted from the pain and intense focus needed to hold this thing in place. His second shot, however, struck the creature just below its red tumor-like growth. This time, the black chitinous beast roared, and moved forward a few feet, appearing to Stan as if it was pushing against an invisible wall to get him. Now it was only ten feet away. Stan steadied his gun, closed his left eye, briefly letting go control of the beast, and squeezed off two rounds, placing them directly in the creature’s pulsating tumor. The top of the tentacle snapped off, and flopped on the ground before coming to a rest; the rest of the body got real rigid, slacked at the knees, and fell backward, sending up a stall and all its contents up into the air around it. Stan holstered his pistol and approached it, recognizing the device it had on one of its arms to be almost identical to the one he was wearing on his own right wrist. He took out a chord and connected their two devices, telling his computer to steal information of the new computer. A dialogue box popped up displaying a transfer rate. Stan’s eyes followed the progress bar as it grew ever so slowly.
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Stewart had been firing the automatic rifle attached to the back of the boat for almost a good couple minutes now. The base, behind them, was no longer within sight; however, a giant armored monster was clearly following in their wake, getting closer and closer with each passing second. At first, unsure where to fire, Stewart had just began spraying the damned thing anywhere he could. It wasn’t until a few rounds went wide and struck at the creature’s eye/growth in the middle of its forehead that he heard it scream or respond at all to the force of the live rounds. Now sure of what he was supposed to hit, Stewart held down on the trigger, unleashing a vicious volley at the thing the size of a football field as it gained more distance between itself and the boat. With the stream of steady fire connecting directly with the monster’s vulnerable spot, it sent out a loud, shrill shriek, diving its head underwater to do so, and then backed off quite a bit, decelerating to barely a crawl. While Stewart was fighting tooth and nail to save the boat from the deadly creature chasing them, Taggart and Winters had been tossing life jackets out of the chests while Criggs and Del tried to force the boat into going faster. “This is taking too long!” Winters called out to Taggart over the roaring gun fire; although, Taggart still was able to hear her, and looked up. “We’re almost there. Just a little bit further,” and a grey one-foot-long fish with a vicious row of teeth and four legs with claws jumped out of the water and clamped down on Taggart’s shoulder, eliciting a grimace as he sent his hands up to his shoulders to grab at the fish-monster. Winter’s eyes went wide with fear and shock, as she watched the man she secretly loved get bitten by what she knew to be an infected bio-weapon. About the same time Taggart got attacked, another group of fish jumped from one side of the boat, over the boat, and into the water on the other side; those who saw Taggart get attacked first ducked to the floor, but Del, unfortunately, didn’t and had one of the disgusting creatures flop against his face, landing on the floor next to him, and biting onto his shoe but now through it. He swore loudly, grabbing for his rifle, as his other foot tried stomping or prying it off to no avail. The fish attacking Taggart had its body carried up and away when Taggart placed his barrel to its side and pulled the trigger, actually hearing the monster cry out as it was struck. Criggs, while he had been ducking out of the way of the flying fish, accidentally killed the engine and knocked the key on the floor. Del pumped a short burst into his attacker, turning the immediate floor around him a disgusting reddish-brown color, and also emphasizing the newfound quiet with the engine dead and Stewart reloading the machine gun. Coasting for a few feet, the boat was now at a virtual standstill, rocking back and forth as the waves rolled against its side.
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Stan was getting impatient, and woozy, now. He had lost quite a bit of blood, and the pace of this transfer bar was making him angry. His device had downloaded and deciphered the information, but he had to upload it to the central computer before it would be of any use to him. Standard protocol. Seventy Five percent, and he could have sworn to hearing gun fire moments ago…
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“Goddammit! I did not come this far to die now!” Taggart screamed back at Criggs, who was still fidgeting with the controls on the boat’s console. Del, next to Criggs, was disposing of the fish monster attached to his boot with its fangs piercing the boot’s material but not touching his flesh. Jonathon was starting to look stressed, for the first time, and saw a button glowing a solid red color. He decided that was the button that was going to get them out of here, and decided to hit it. Nothing happened. Del shoved Jonathon out of the way, “Get out of the way, Smooth Jazz!” cursing at him as he handled the boat’s controls. Taggart turned to look back at the water behind them; he could make out a large dorsal fin coming at them, picking up speed blindingly quick for its size. “Now, dammit, now!” Taggart was pounding on the side of the boat, as if it hitting it, like a horse, would make it gallop faster. Del turned the key, and pulled back at the throttle. The boat roared to life, and darted forward, away from the monster, even though the monster had more time to pick up speed, and was going to catch up to them in probably half a minute, Clark guessed. “Del, I need your help moving these supplies off the boat!” Stewart, standing a few feet off to the side, still manning the machine gun, was receiving assistance from Claire, and expediting the already long and complicated process of reloading a mounted machine gun for the first time. Del sprinted to Clark, and along with Winters and Clark’s help, the three of them hoisted the heavy equipment chest over the rear end of the boat. The object splashed in the water, and the monster, fearing it was some kind of weapon or explosive, dodged out if its way, and approached the boat at a different angle: it struck the boat from the back corner side that Del had just run to. Upon impact, everyone was attached to something or grabbing something, except for Del; the poor helicopter pilot had lost his footing, and was unable to grab anything like the seat and flag pole that Winters and Taggart had grabbed, respectively. Taggart saw this unfold before his eyes, and reached out with his hand, but was unable to grip at the helicopter pilot as be pitched backwards and sailed into the air. A flag with the Fort Hope logo on it connected with Del’s forehead as he flew through the air, and fortunately for him, he crashed back to the boat’s deck, unconscious, instead of taking a tumble over the side and into the monster’s waiting jaws.
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Real Del: So the precedent has been set, huh?
Me: What do you mean?
Real Del: Well, he botched, and James botched, and he was going to die, but fifteen experience points prevented his character from falling off the boat and dying.
Me: That is correct.
Real Del: Right, so, the precedent has been set.
****GM’s note: at that point, Scott’s character ‘Del’ SHOULD HAVE died, but I gave him the option, if he wanted to continue playing the story with that character, to pay a heavy fee of fifteen experience points (I think we gave out five experience points a game session, and this was game session number four)
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Ninety Eight Percent… Ninety Nine Percent… Stan groaned, his eyelids getting heavier by the moment.
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Criggs was manning the steering wheel. He could just make out the mansion; they were so close. That’s when an object in the sky caught his eye. A streaming blue object flew from over the mansion, heading their way, but quite high above them. Stewart was opening fire on the monster again, keeping it from coming back for another pass at the boat. But when the piercing noise of the missile reached their ears, and the bright blue streak shown across the sky, everyone in that boat that was conscious watched its path closely.
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Transfer complete. Stan sighed, “Finally,” and the rocket connected with the material of the Quarantine building’s infrastructure. Immediately a bright blue ball engulfed Stan Rise, and his body was evaporated into practically nothing.
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The explosion seemed small at first, but then the group realized that explosion, was growing, and growing, and everyone looked away when both Taggart and Criggs shouted, “Don’t look!” With everyone looking at the ground or pinching their eyes shut, no one got to see the giant ball of light connect with the water, turning a good half of it out against them. A wave the size of a skyscraper would catch up with them, and the monster, and throw them out of the lake and onto shore, just a minute’s walk from the mansion. Crashing into soft land, the boat didn’t tumble or explode upon impact, and mostly everyone was conscious and on board. Mostly.
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No one had thought to secure poor Del to the boat or hold onto him, and as such, when the boat was flung out of the water and into the air, Del’s body was sent reeling as well, and tumbled a good distance away from the rest of the crew and the boat. His body came to a rest just a ways up the shore in an open field. Surrounding him from all sides, but moving quite slowly on their newfound limbs were the fish with legs, also growling and snarling as they clumsily crept forward.
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Scott’s character, whose name is Del the Helicopter pilot, should have died in the boat, after he was rolling to hang on as the boat was being launched from the lake, and proceeded to roll his unlucky number (i had every player at the beginning of the game give me a lucky number and an unlucky number, so that when that number came up in the heat of the moment i could tell if something really good or really bad was going to happen; dramatic events tend to be the best way to transition from scene or setting into another, whether good or bad…) But instead of just killing his character and making him watch for the rest of the game, i offered him a chance to stay alive if he gave me like 25xp that he had earned through the course of the four games i had run him through. He obliged, and his character ended up being saved by a flying locker that bounced him back into the boat. Ultimately, his character was just putting a little more sand in the hourglass ticking away, though…
-SJD
In continuing with Calm Before the Storm, I happily present to you Chapter Seven: “Stan the Man”:
Stan was standing on the hospital roof, Melissa directly behind him. He saw the line go slack, and fall against the side of the hospital. His blood froze, and a sharp panic ran through his body. The sound of a shotgun blast carried over in the wind, and he only knew one man with them who had a shotgun: Criggs. “Goddamn you Criggs…” Melissa grabbed his shoulder. “Is everything alright?” Stan turned around, holding the slack line in his hand. Melissa raised both hands to her mouth, shocked and stunned at the sight. He let the line drop from his hand, letting it dangle off the side of the building. “What are we going to do?” She was speaking to his back, because at the moment, Stan was leaning over the side of the building. “There. I see it.” “What?” Stan turned around to face her again. “I think we may have a way out of here, but its going to take some work, and it wont be easy. We have to move quickly, do you understand me?” Melissa nodded sharply, as if to say yes I understand and let’s get this moving. Kevin placed the line in her hand, and told her she was going to have to go down to about the 5th floor, and find the window that had been blown out. She peered over the ledge and thought she could make out a window with some smoke and debris billowing out of it. Gripping the line, and not entirely used to having to move like this covered in an armored suit, Melissa slid her way down to just below the fifth floor. She stopped, planted her feet, and tried walking towards the window. Then stopped, and turned, and walked back the way she came, gaining momentum. Melissa, despite never doing this before, seemed to show a great amount of natural ability and finesse. Stan smiled; they just might get out of this yet. And that’s when he heard the sound of someone stepping on gravel; Stan spun around and saw the female with the pony tail slowly sauntering her way towards him, moving with very little purpose, as if she didn’t care when she got to him because she knew he wasn’t going anywhere. The woman was a good forty feet away; Stan turned around to watch Melissa. She was getting a lot of air and momentum now, and she was on her last approach – when three or four tentacles burst out of the window directly to her side, and pulled her into the hospital. Melissa screamed and let go of the line, Stan reached his hand out and called her name as he watched her body get yanked inside the building. He turned around, and now the female was right on top of him. He reached into his pocket, grabbed something, pressed a button, and dropped it at his feet. Then, Stan jumped backwards, facing the woman, watching her frame vanish before him as he went sailing off the building. Stan reached out in front of him, gripping at the slack line. He was falling quickly, and even with gloves on, he still felt a considerable amount of pain from using his hands to soften his fall, eventually stopping himself at about the fifth floor. Stan squatted, pushing his butt against the window, and then sprang backwards as hard as possible. The rope, along with his body, swung out, and away from the building. After he hit the apex of the swing, his body began travelling towards the window, and right before the impact of the grenade he left for the female chasing him, he straightened his legs and sprung through the window directly in front of him, letting go of the line as he landed on his feet, watching the other end of the rope go sailing past the window, falling out of sight, and then taking the rest of the line with it, snaking its way out of the window he jumped through. Stan pulled out his .45 and cocked a round in the chamber, moving towards where he thought he saw Melissa go.
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The group had heard the explosion, but now that they were on the ground level and moving along the southern edge of the market area, they had no idea what caused it or really where it came from other than the general direction. They agreed it could have been anything and continued on. Criggs was still leading the group, and the distance between him and the group was growing by the second. Claire and Stewart looked at him with palpable fear in their eyes. Del looked upon him with disgust and distrust. Taggart and Winters maintained their cool, and focused on getting as far away from the base as possible. With no more Stan, the zombies were no longer an issue, and the group was free to travel along the water until Criggs raised his hand, a signal for them to all stop. They were near the water, with the docks fifty yards away and a boat clearly within sight. One of the two boats that had been left there was on fire, and on its way to sinking towards the bottom of the lake. Upon seeing the boat, the group’s instinct had been to make a break for it, but now something was between them and the boat. A brownish green creature with an elongated jaw and rows of teeth stood idly before them, sniffing around at the air. Another monster similar to the one before them sprung out of the water, flew eight feet through the air, and landed next to its look alike. Criggs looked at the group, and brought his index finger to his lips, without making a single noise. Del looked at Criggs, muttered, “Ah, fuck this!” and opened fire with his assault rifle. The rounds sliced through the air, and connected with the creatures before them. Any of the shots that hit their chest or mid section didn’t seem to do much. As soon as the gunfire opened up, the creatures put their heads down, and started charging at the group. Taggart drew his pistol out faster than anyone Winter’s had ever seen, and discharged several rounds, catching the monster on the left with a critical head shot, causing the beast’s head to cave in, and its body to come to a sliding halt. The other beast, which closed an inhumane amount of distance in such a short amount of time, was now throwing itself through the air at Del. Criggs saw this, lowered his shotgun, and placed a spread right at the creature’s neck and chest region. The force of the shotgun blast sent the monster screaming and flailing into the lake, causing a huge splash as its body made impact with the water. Del, standing close to the edge of the water but not near enough to peer over, looked at Criggs, shrugged his shoulders, and then walked over to the lake’s edge. Del looked into the water, trying to see if he could make out any movement. Something looked to be swimming or snaking its way—and a long, pink tongue reached up, and wrapped itself around Del’s ankle. This elicited a cry out of the helicopter pilot, and immediately Criggs came running over. He saw the monster in the water, and used his off hand to grip onto Del. The pilot, slowly being pulled into the lake, gripped Criggs’ forearm and tried pulling himself away from the monster. Criggs extended his right arm, closed his left eye, and squeezed the trigger. Half the monsters face, and all of its upper jaw were removed from the blast. Its body lurched backwards, crashed onto the water, and slowly sank to the bottom, leaving a messy brownish red color in the water where it had been shot. Del grimaced, shook his leg repeatedly trying to get the attached tongue to slide off, but it was still wrapped around his leg. With the help of Criggs, he was able to untangle it from his ankle, and kicked it off into the lake. “Jesus! Fuck!” Criggs looked a little dejected. “Yeah, yeah, thank me later. Let’s go,” and gently pushed the man in the direction of the boat. The rest of the group followed, gently stepping to the side of the body, away from the water. They wasted no time getting into the boat, starting it up, and punching the throttle.
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Stan got to the window Melissa was snatched from. There was a bloody smear all the way from the window to around the corner and in what appeared to be the cafeteria. Peering through the small window on the door, Stan couldn’t detect anything, although he thought he saw Melissa unconscious in the middle of the room towards the back wall. It felt like a trap, and he knew he probably shouldn’t go in there, but he had no choice anymore, and he’d be damned before he let Criggs strand them to die and not do anything about it. He kicked down the door with the sole of his boot, and scanned the room with his pistol out before him. Nothing moved. Some of the tables before him still had food trays with food on them; a lot of the chairs were overturned. He spotted one area in the back that was messy and bloody but could not detect a single body. Deciding maybe he finally caught a break, he rushed over to Melissa and shook her, trying to rouse her. It didn’t take much, and eventually she groggily came to. “Come on. We’re getting out of here.” She blinked her eyes in somewhat of a daze, but also nodded slowly, standing on her own strength after Stan helped her off the seat. Through the other door, a group of tentacles came slithering in, wrapping around the tables and chairs dragging them back through the door way. Stan grabbed Melissa’s wrist with his right hand, and then ran for the exit on the other side of the room. His right hand connected with the handle, he heard a swooshing sound, and then he couldn’t feel the handle anymore. Or his wrist. Or his forearm. Or his elbow, or bicep or any other part of his left arm. Blood shot forth from the wound, spraying the door and ground in front of him with his fresh vitae. The woman stood before him, licking the tip of a blade attached to her forearm, before rearing her head round to look at Stan and Melissa. She was grinning ear to ear, eyeing Stan’s arm on the ground, a pool of blood forming around it. When she looked up, however, her smile faded quickly. Stan was holding a grenade out; he had hit the fuse/button some time ago. The woman snarled meanly at Stan, before striking out at him with her right arm, sending him sailing through the air and towards a nearby
window. As soon as he was struck, the grenade dropped from his hand, and fell to the ground between Melissa and the female invader. An explosion erupted behind Stan, accelerating the speed and force that he shot out of the window.
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Taggart was watching the backside of the boat. They didn’t have much time to get out of here, and luckily, he didn’t see anything pursuing them or acknowledging their existence. He looked up at the hospital, which he could still make out, and was shocked to see something fly out of the window, followed by a brilliant explosion.
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*Cut to the group sitting around the table*
Real-life Del: “Really, Jason? Really?”
Jason: “I didn’t have any choice. My arm was gone.”
RLD: “So you pull out a grenade and blow you AND your girlfriend up?”
Jason: “What else was I going to do?”
RLD: “I don’t know; not give up and be a bitch and murder your girlfriend?”
Jason: “Whatever.”
*Cut back to the story*
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Hope you enjoyed Chapter Seven. I added that part in to remind everyone that its a story that we’re all creating together, and that while i may be responsible for a lot of the content and settings, ultimately what makes the story entertaining is the decision the characters/players make, and then the results consequences/reactions. At this point in the story, the players were just trying to survive. So much had happen, so much had gone wrong; all they knew was they had to get out. Jason’s character had been stuck with a device that attracted all the zombies to him and ONLY him. Both James and Del looked at eachother and knew they had to do something, but it was a question of who would make the first move. Neither one discussed with me options or plans, but, after deciding they needed to get off this building and move to the other one, Jason volunteered to go last. This left his character, and his girlfriend’s character (she played in the first game, and only the first game… so i just made her character more or less irrelevant. wink, wink) stranded on a rooftop surrounded by flesh-eating, mindless zombies and an approaching super monster that wanted to kill him. Del did what he thought to be the selfless choice, but ended up presenting it as a dick, selfish, asshole move, so the rest of the group was STUNNED at this point. I think even i was stunned, as i was intending for them to go across the zipline and just roll percentile dice to see if they could land okay and make sure nothing happened, like someone rolling a critical botch or failing hardcore at bringing too much weight onto the zipline. But, after everyone went, and I thought nothing of the order, Del texted me, “I shoot the line. Now. With my shotgun.” And so it was done, and the group was never the same since.
Chapter 8 Next.
-SJD
People are gonna tell you all your life that you’re no good. You have no place doing what you’re doing. You’re not good enough for “that person” or “that school” or “that job”. You’re too fat. Too skinny. Too slow. Too tall. Too big. Not quick enough. Not smart enough. Your hair is too dark, too oily. They’ll tell you everything you cannot do. And then, when you proceed to do in your heart what you’ve known you were always meant to do, you’ll hear… Nothing. As the mouths stay open, and the air is sucked out of the room, and because you’ve just done what “could not be done”, in that moment, you will know what it means to be successful. It doesn’t start with applause… It starts with silence, and disbelief.
No one will tell you how hard it is to climb that mountain, but so long as you’re there to tell yourself that you can do it, then NO mountain is too high for your aspirations. The secret to success in my opinion is believing in yourself. Everything else will fall into place after that. Also, i kissed your mother ;)
(Source: geekroom)
Hmm, that’s tough… Fictional literary, so not like a comic book but like JR Holden or some such. Hmm… Well, i guess if its ONLY for a day, i’d choose Roland of Gilead. I’d want to know what it felt like to be the last gunslinger alive, and know that feeling of being steadfast in my actions and resolve. People are always telling me i lack confidence, and Roland of Gilead seems to be the most confident character i’ve ever encountered. I want to know what that confidence felt like, baring in mind i’d also have to feel his sadness, his loneliness, and his torment from past failures, but i think it’d be worth it, for a day, just to feel SURE about everything i was doing.
