LetUsWrite
Experienced
- Joined
- Aug 18, 2013
- Posts
- 77
"Rebuild"
A Zombie Survival RP
For information about joining,
see the note at the bottom of this post.
A Zombie Survival RP
For information about joining,
see the note at the bottom of this post.
9 September 2017
(Note for readers: This date was changed from 2013 to 2017)
Max Taylor couldn't typically be found on Campus on a Saturday. He spent enough time here during the week as it was, cleaning the Knight Library during the evenings and hitting the books for his Environmental Studies classes in the hours before that.
But Terry, the weekend janitor, had landed a pair of 50 yard line tickets for Oregon's game against his own Alma Mater, the University of Virginia, and he was desperate to take his 8 year old son to the game. While he himself had no use for the sport that seemed to dominate all activity in the Emerald City these past years, Max wasn't above assisting a die hard football fan in going to see such an important game.
Now, of course, Max was sorry he'd done the man the favor. Terry and his little boy were out there, in the mayhem. Lord knew whether or not they'd been swept up in the madness, or whether they were even still alive at this point.
Here in the basement of the Knight, Max watched the live pictures of the riot taking place in and around Autzen Stadium. ESPN had brought in the Fuji blimp for the game between the #1 Ducks and the #11 Huskeys; all three local broadcast news stations had helicopters in the air; and -- now, an hour after it all had begun -- the Lane County Sheriff's Department, State of Oregon Police, and even the Oregon National Guard had helicopters buzzing the area between and around Leo Harris Parkway and Martin Luther King Jr Blvd.
Max had found the live footage -- from the air and the ground both -- on at least 12 different stations, and regardless of which one you watched, you saw the same thing: people were eating people!
It was simply unbelievable.
Max didn't see how it all began: he had had no interest in watching the game and only turned on the television after students in the library became very animated about what they were hearing and seeing in Tweets, emails, texts, and voice calls. Just a few minutes earlier, Security ordered everyone out, telling them to go straight home and avoid the riot.
Max went downstairs, turning on the little television in his basement "office" -- a utility closet, actually -- and he'd been here ever since, amazed and appalled by what he was seeing.
The rioting was spreading rapidly. Autzen stadium sat on the opposite side of the Willamette River from the main campus, but crowds of fleeing fans were crossing the foot and bike bridges that connected the sports center to the rest of the University.
The mayhem was coming this way!
A loud bang caught Max's attention. He clicked off the sound and listened, hearing it again. It was the library's front door slamming violently shut. He wasn't sure exactly what was going on two floors above him, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know. But the images of the people coming his way -- and the images of madmen attacking those people -- scared him into needing to know.
He ascended the stairs and emerged from behind a "Staff Only" door just in time to see a man and woman trying desperately to close the heavy, tall doors against the pressure being born by a woman just outside.
"Let her in!" Max hollered, making his way quickly toward the door. "Let her in! It's safe here!"
But just as he reached the door, ready to help force it open, the woman in the opening slashed a hand out at him and snarled with bared teeth like a rabid dog. As Max backed away quickly, his heart in his throat, the woman clawed at the pair holding the door closed, digging her nails through the arms of both of them, eliciting screams of pain.
They can't hold her! a voice hollered inside his brain. Stop her!
He turned away, instinctively looking for a weapon. He found the velvet ropes and brass poles that created lines to the check out desks. Quickly, he unhooked the ropes, jerked the pole out of its base, and headed for the opening in the door. With as mighty a chop as the 62 year old could muster, he brought the steel tube down upon the woman's skull. It cracked open eerily, splashing blood all over Max and the others, as well as upon the crazies who were just reaching the door behind the now silent woman.
As the now dead lunatic dropped to the concrete, the people at the door slammed it shut, locking it. Someone hollered, "We need to block it!"
"There!" Max said, pointing to the walls. "Fire doors! Just slide them in place."
He backed up, dropping into the nearest chair, his heart pounding with fright at what he'd seen and shock at what he'd done. Max had killed her, surely. He hadn't killed anyone in over 40 years, not since Cambodia and Laos in the 1970s.
No, no ... that isn't true, his brain reminded him. He'd spent seven years in prison for manslaughter, back in the 80s and 90s. But, blinding by alcohol, he'd never remember that bar fight, so Viet Nam was the last time he remembered performing an act of violence against another person that was so ... permanent.
"Max!"
The old janitor looked up into the face of the stranger hovering before him. How does he know my name? I don't recognize... Max glanced down at his uniform -- at his name tag -- then back up, asking, "What?"
"Are there other ways that they can get inside? Are there other doors that are unlocked?"
Max's mind was racing, his eyes and ears still full of the sight and sound of the metal tube coming down upon that woman's skull, splitting it open. He looked to his uniform again, this time seeing the blood that was splattered across him.
"Max!"
"No," he muttered. He thought about it for a moment, questioning himself, then clarified, "No. Saturday. Only the main entrance is open this time of the day on Saturday. Emergency exits ... open from inside. The rest are alarmed ... no alarms ... they're closed--"
A man hurried up, saying, "We need to check the whole building and make sure none of those ... those crazy people are in here."
After a moment, Max looked up from his bloodied hands and realized he was all alone. He could here heavy, fast moving footfalls coming from every direction as the normal people performed their search of the building. He flinched as a body slammed against the Library's outside door. The inner fire doors didn't even budge, as they were intended.
A pair of women hurrying by Max slowed, asking him if he was okay.
He nodded, ignoring their concern as he said, "Every door in the building has an inner fire door. They need to be closed."
The women asked him about his condition again, but Max stressed the need to check the doors. They told him they'd check on it and, splitting up, heading off in opposite directions.
Another man hurried by, slowing as Max called, "How many are here? How many people made it inside?"
"I don't know," the man said, walking away backwards as he finished, "A couple of dozen, I think. Others might be hiding."
After a couple of minutes of being alone yet again, Max stood slowly, stuck his key into the lock of the "Staff Only" door, descended the two flights of stairs, stripped, and showered in the Employee bathroom. He emerged, changed into a fresh pair of coveralls and one of the many pair of Size 10 shoes he'd taken from lost and found over the years, then sat at his desk...
...and wept.
OOOOOOOOOOOO
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