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Old 10-31-2012, 10:05 PM   #4451
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Sitting in overwatch, just like Dave I hear and feel the herd coming before I see it. I'd gotten enough of his transcript to understand he'd found another colony, and had been watching silently for a couple of days after informing Whip and ensuring she understood Dave was safe as far as we knew and it was best not to stir the pot. Still not fit for a full-on fight or rescue operation even if he needed it, I still thought it prudent to gather as much intel as possible should it become necessary to head to the bunker and gather the troops.

From my observations so far, it's a well run little redoubt. The guards are disciplined, if predictable - but that's only dangerous when facing someone like me. Against the deadheads, they've been doing better than all right. This herd, though.....

Through my scope, I scan the walls, noting without really thinking about it the disciplined, aimed, measured fire of everyone defending the wall. Nobody is panicking and leaving their spot and, more importantly, nobody is panicking and going to full-auto. Dave was right - this would be a VERY difficult assault. Speaking of Dave....there he is - he's got his AUG, which means at minimum his "hosts" are pragmatic enough to understand this isn't the time he'd turn it on them. Score one more for whoever is in charge inside those walls.

I scan the wall a bit lower, looking for any weak points the deadheads will exploit through sheer numbers. The bus gates look most likely...this town is well fortified. I pick off a few deadheads getting too close to potential seams, then continue scanning. After some thought, I begin to scan behind the herd, remembering Dave's tale. I don't see anything or anyone pushing the herd....interesting. This is a bigger herd than I've ever seen.

I go back to picking off deadheads threatening the bus gates or piling high enough to threaten the top of the wall, glad I brought the H&K 416 rather than the M1A - I need the ammo. Sight....squeeze....breathe....sight.....squeeze....breathe....

I can't mount a rescue even if Dave wanted one, and wading into THIS fray at ground level even at my healthiest would be suicide. Best to pick off the most threatening deadheads from afar, my rifle suppressed and my position ideal, and continue to observe and see what develops.
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Old 11-08-2012, 01:06 AM   #4452
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Well, it's been several days and things have finally quieted down. The debris in front of the town's walls has been removed and burned, the walls have been repaired where they were breached, and the town's tiny hospital is again cleared of all of its patients. The only real casualties in the fray were from blisters from overworked trigger fingers, exhaustion, dehydration, and a broken leg where an ammo carrier slipped in a voluminous pile of spent brass and went down hard on his knee with a five gallon water can on each shoulder.

"Gimpy" is out walking around again and sheepishly grinning at anyone who looks his way. There's no judgment though, they know that he played his role in fending off the massive herd of zombies that threatened the little town.

For my trouble, I've been given access to the whole town without an escort. My rifle has been returned on a permanent basis. And the mayor is clearly trying to recruit me to stay. She knows I can't; she knows that I've got my own responsibilities down in central Florida and my own group of friends that I worry about.

So walking around and watching a society rebuild itself is invigorating. There's a rifle on my arm, a pistol on my belt, and oddly, I now have my own radio.

But the conversation with the mayor was the most interesting part of the day. She de-briefed me after the fight, asked lots of confusing questions (to me anyway), and then led me to a mechanic's garage down the street from her "town hall."

We arrived and there was a grease stained mech working under a car on a lift. I noticed after a moment that it was the Interceptor. "What are you doing...?" I started to ask, but the mayor cut me short.

"Ma'am, the oil's changed, the tank is full--and by the way, there's now capacity for an extra hundred gallons--and the tires are new. She's ready to serve through two more of these end of the world thingies."


I notice that yes, there is new rubber all the way around, the underside seems to have been pressure washed, and that even the body looks quite shiny. The lift releases its pneumatic pressure the Australian Falcon slowly returns to earth, an angry black space shuttle descending to the pad. It is blazingly shiny, washed and waxed to a high sheen. It looks brand new again.

With a snort, I notice the oil change sticker on the driver's side window. There is no date written in, but after the "Service Due" line, the mechanic has written, "3000 miles or the next attack."

Two big tanks dominate the back seat and I notice the color of a new shock absorber in the wheel well. The mechanic sees me looking at it and says, "Those extra gallons are going to add a lot of weight, so I added an extra leaf to the springs and put heavier duty shocks on it. That ought to keep it level and handling decent enough if the driving gets dicey."

The mayor fishes the keys out of her pocket and I decide not to tell her that I had the car rigged to be driven without them if need be. All the same, it's nice to have the actual keys to the car.

The mechanic starts talking again, before I can take the keys. "Your boy up on the ridge picking off the Z's was well placed. You teach him that?"

I reply that no, I couldn't teach him anything. That in fact, I had radioed that nobody should come help, but he did that on his own. "We're a tight bunch," I explain.

"Well, that little jeep he drove must have been really pushing it to make it up here from Orlando. If he wants it serviced, tell him to bring it down to the fenceline and they'll let him in. But really, who still drives around in a MUTT if they don't have to?"

His knowledge of vehicles is impressive so I ask, "Were you a mechanic before the world stopped?"

"Yep, twenty two years in the motor pool of the Big Red One. Fixing tanks and prime movers...so your little wannabe Mustang here and that ancient jeep are child's play."

I thank him for his time and what he's done for the car, and he says, "No, son, the thankings on our part. You helped. And your boy helped. But when things looked their worst and we were rushing reinforcements to that side of town, you called in the cavalry. I'd like to know how you did it."

What he is referring to is the brightest spot in this trip. When the herd of undead was densely packed and pressing forward, the town's spotlights illuminated a horrific sight; there were zombies as far as the eye could see. But help arrived. A roaring noise was heard from the west and undead bodies began falling like cord wood before a tornado. Bullets ripped up the ground and destroyed long lines of dead heads in rows where the lead stitched its deadly tapestry across the ground.

All eyes looked to the sky and saw a flight of two A-10 Thunderbolts coming in low and hot, nose guns expending ammo at an alarming rate, flying parallel to the town's wall. On the other side of that wall, the killing done by those two pilots was unbelievable. The zombies went down by the thousands as pass after pass, the two Warthog drivers used up everything they had. We all cheered.

The sun was just lighting the sky, the pressure of the attack was letting up, and again, here was proof that somewhere out there, there was still some semblance of normalcy. There was a command structure. There was civilization. As the Hogs made their final strafing run, I caught a glimpse of something odd.

On the tail rudder, a symbol--new to my eyes--adorned the plane and hinted at something of who was helping us.

It was an American flag, but in place of the stars on a blue background, there was a maple leaf on a red background. As they turned to climb and head back to the northwest, I noticed something else; it appeared that the stripes, instead of being alternating red and white, were now red, white, blue, red, white, blue, etc. "Have Canadian and American forces united?" I wondered.

The mechanic, mayor, and even Tom were standing watching and waiting for an answer. An answer to a question I'd missed while remembering the scene from the other morning. So the mechanic repeated it.

"Who are they, and how did you call them to help us?"
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Last edited by Chaingun : 11-08-2012 at 09:34 AM.
 

Old 11-29-2012, 08:26 PM   #4453
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It's dark.

After three weeks of recuperating and gathering supplies and making plans and talking--always talking--the little town is about to slip behind me into the rear view mirror.

Suspicions are finally calmed. I did not call in the air attack. I wouldn't have known how to call them in, if I'd even known that they were out there. We at first assumed that they had arrived from "nearby" Tyndall Air Force Base, but a small expedition sent there to find out found it abandoned and empty. Ammo stores were cleared out and I have four new M4 carbines with twenty mags for each in the storage of the car. Nice present, huh?

The mechanic never got to work on the jeep. I assume that when I didn't immediately leave the town, The Animal Within probably limped the MUTT home. Hope everyone is ok back there.

But finally, they understand that I don't have some magical power to call in air strikes. I guess the proof came a few nights later when a C130 dropped--via parachute--several canisters of medical supplies, including much needed penicillin. I was indoors and didn't even know about it until later, so they finally believe me that I had nothing to do with it.


The slow bruise of autumn is spreading across the land as the Ford idles past the outer defenses of the town and I slip it into second. Two hundred gallons of regular fuel in the tanks, I will be able to drive all the way back to the bunker down near Orlando easily.

In fourth gear, I reach 95 miles per hour and the car is absolutely purring. The mechanic that tuned it did a phenomenal job. I'll be back in Orland in roughly four hours assuming I am not attacked or blocked by cars in the road. It's a great day and it's time to go home.
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Old 11-30-2012, 01:45 AM   #4454
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I'm in the tower practicing knots when I hear the low hum of an approaching vehicle. Instantly on guard I grab my pistol and wait for a visual. After a few seconds, a car appears. The driver expertly avoids our trap pits and tripwires, swerving this way and that. Soon enough the car is at the gates, and I'm about to go down to see what's up when the gates screech and begin their slow swing inward. Its Dave, back with us safe and sound. I holster my gun and throw myself down the steps and into his arms as he climbs down.

" You're back! What the heck happened, we were looking for you for like a month before we gave up!"
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Old 12-04-2012, 08:34 AM   #4455
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"Hello, Dear Whip! I have missed you so much. I have so much to tell you, but there are other priorities. Are you ok? Are the others ok? Any problems...God, it's good to see you."

I hold her at arm's length and I couldn't be happier to be home. I have to look her up and down, and oh my, does she look great. My tired mind is instantly on fire with possibilities...and immediately, I force myself to slow my thoughts. I have responsibilities. I have to be careful.

To take advantage of this woman--this delightful, loyal, beautiful, incredible, sexy woman--would be a crime. But God...how I've missed her.

I hug her again as hard and as long as I think I can get away with. Never looking away from her eyes, I see thoughts in there that alternately scare me, yet comfort me.

"I have been on the road for a while...such adventures to tell you about. But I need a shower...and a sandwich."

I start walking further into the bunker, never letting go of her hand.

"Leave the car and my stuff. Let's go see if the hot water is working."
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Old 12-04-2012, 10:08 PM   #4456
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I smile and let him lead me into the bunker, my mind racing with possibilities. At the door that marks the junction between the shower and kitchen areas I pry his hand away from mine. If Dave wants a shower and a sandwich, the least I can do is make him one.

" You go get cleaned up. I'll put something on so it'll be nice and hot for you."

He gives me a look that says he's rather have me in the showers with him, but drops it when I fix him with the look I've developed over the weeks he's been gone, the look that used to make grown men yield.

Soon enough, steam seeps from under the shower door as I toss Alfredo sauce through a handful of spaghetti noodles. There will be plenty of time for stories when he's had a good meal and some rest. Until then, I'm happy to be the woman he needs.
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Old 12-06-2012, 11:52 AM   #4457
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Driving the MUTT back to the bunker, I muse about the events of the last few weeks. The town Dave "found" is interesting, and well run, and they seem like good enough people. What really has my mind spinning is the Warthogs and the C-130 dropping supplies.

There used to be A-10's based at Moody, in Georgia - well within the max range of the bird even allowing for enough attack runs for them to clearly head back rounds complete (empty of all ordnance). I idly wonder if it would be worth a trip north to check it out....but what really has me wondering is the precision of the attack.

Those birds were CALLED in, and given some really excellent ITG (Initial Terminal Guidance - from a ground-based observer). The first run was the exact attack line I would have called, and whoever was talking those birds onto target knew their stuff inside and out, and had a good rapport with the pilots. First pass, danger close, and nobody hesitated.

After watching that transpire, and then the airdrop (also done precisely), I headed back toward the MUTT via a different route than I'd taken to my vantage point. I knew I'd been spotted - there were more than a few telltale flashes of sun on optics pointing in my general direction. Circling around, sure enough I spot a sentry watching the clearing I left the MUTT, awaiting my return.

He was so focused on the MUTT, and on the most obvious avenue of approach, I could almost FEEL the fan of awareness he projected forward. He was good, but untrained - likely an accomplished hunter, but never a soldier. I was able to walk up and stand directly over him, and he only became aware of me when I audibly locked back the slide on my 1911, stepping back to hold it up in his view, clearly indicating no threat.

"No harm meant, friend, I watched your people take my friend in, rearm him, and let him walk. We have no quarrel."

He simply nodded and waited, visibly unsure of my intentions.

"One question - who's your JTAC?" He looked back blankly. "Who called in the birds? They're good."

His continued blank look told me all I needed to know - it wasn't anyone in the town. Interesting.

"OK. It wasn't us either, though I suspect your folks in town know that. I'll be leaving now.......I'd appreciate if you hopped on that radio and told your four friends not to fire on me when I reclaim the vehicle."

"How........no way. No way you spotted all of us." He was visibly shaken.

"Friend, I spotted, located, and decided they were all just like you - focused only on the MUTT. You had the best position for a quiet, uninterrupted chat. You people are good, and are doing well. I appreciate your taking care of and trusting my friend. You've nothing to fear from me or anyone I can convince of it. Take care, and stay careful."

I let him make the call, and reclaimed the MUTT and headed back. All along the drive, I let my subconscious play the events back through over and over, looking for details I might have missed initially, while maintaining awareness of my environment.

Pulling into the garage, I remembered the hybrid flag on the aircraft, chuckling. Men always need their flags, their symbols.........My head snapped up suddenly. Son of a BITCH.

My katana. The kanji on the hilt I'd noted as odd but hadn't examined.

Numbers.

Grid coordinates.

Both katana together give a location. And I know who made them, the quality is unmistakable, the touch unique. He's alive, and told me how to find him, and where.

I rush in, and go to where Ella thinks the katana are safely hidden from my knowledge. I pull them out, and put together the coordinates, then rush to the den for an atlas.

Colorado. I know the area, and if my guess is correct as to what's NOT on the map, I know exactly where he is. Where the rest of my old team possibly are.

I go looking for Dave, and Whip, and Ella and the rest. I need to go on a trip, a long one. If the team is still together (minus Connor, of course), and HE is still alive, I need to rejoin them. He can not only lead us, he can lead hundreds. Thousands. Effectively, justly. We could start to truly rebuild. My team - together, we could clear a small city in a matter of days, and with help from trainable others secure it, quickly and permanently.

We can start over.

That was the fourth kanji - a simple symbol with one of the oldest concepts known to man.

"Rebirth."
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Old 12-09-2012, 10:13 PM   #4458
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Fresh out of the shower, I find a pile of clean clothes. They seem a little loose on me; all this scrounging and doing without must mean that finally, I'm getting in better shape. If we don't pick up some supplies soon, I will be back at the 140 pounds I weighed in high school. At that age, I remember, a girl remarked that a skinny guy like me fit between her legs "very comfortably..."

I realize that I've just donned my favorite shirt. Such consideration from my friends here...to have sewn that rip in it and cleaned it up so that I could wear it again. I have missed this. There is a freedom to being out on the road and forgetting the responsibilities I have here to my friends, but this, this closeness of someone knowing you so well...well, it is missed.

Will I play Mad Max again anytime soon? Am I just driving in search of adventure, making up reasons to roam, satisfying my own wanderlust?

Or am I afraid of the genuine affection shown to me here by so many friends?

Or is it that third thing? That secret that a few have guessed, but none of us have had the courage to voice? My secret, that my physical being harbors? Do I hold the key to our salvation? Or is it worse? Am I the agent of our destruction?

Dare I get close to that lovely woman making such lovely smells come from the kitchen area? Am I needlessly endangering her? She is too precious to hurt in any way. They all are too important to be damaged by my cravings. Cherished, beautiful, wonderful creatures that deserve anything I can provide and none of the harm that I could carelessly unleash.

I make a mental note to call everyone together soon to discuss changes in the world and what they might mean to us. Everyone deserves to know. If there's hope out there, they deserve the chance to go find that safe haven. Join the resistance even. Whatever their hearts desire.

I should be exhausted but am strangely invigorated. I wonder what that first step into the kitchen will bring. I will know soon; my feet carry me swiftly towards the smells of pasta and the sounds of a happily humming girl.

I turn the corner with my heart beating out of my chest--a bad thing if it did happen--and my face actually hurts from the size of the smile that spreads across my face. She is standing and looking right at me and dangers, black cars, bullets, pain, loss, and pasta are all forgotten in a heartbeat.
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Old 12-17-2012, 03:36 PM   #4459
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Days and days later, I am wandering the fields around the bunker. Checking irrigation, observing growth patterns of our vegetables, looking for signs of intrusion...all things that need to be done.

The top of the bunker's observation post is a pillar on the horizon; I've wandered further than I expected but the progress of our community sends me on long walks and into happy daydreams. Happy people--safe, well-fed, happy people--make me happy. Movement to my right is probably just corn stalks swaying in the wind, but I head that way to check it. One can never be too careful.

Several rows into the corn field is a ghastly sight. A woman, long dead but still mobile, is struggling to get back up after toppling over a furrow that is piled high to keep water flowing down the row of corn. What's interesting is that she is not nearly as rotted looking as most of the biters. Her clothing is fairly intact, but her short skirt, snagged nylons, and once shiny black pumps are not appropriate hiking gear, even for someone unable to feel the pain of walking on unsteady ground in such high heels or the sharp stings of nettles dragging across once fine skin.

Her suit jacket is dirty and torn in one or two places and her red silk blouse must have caught on something during her travels because the buttons have all been popped off and a once lacy and ornate Victoria's Secret bra is visible beneath.

She struggles on the ground and can't seem to get back up. When she plants a heel, it simply sinks all the way into the soft earth. And if she tries to pull herself up by a nearby corn stalk, it simply collapses under her weight.

I withdraw a machete to quietly dispatch her and hesitate. Why on earth would I do this? "Kill her now," half of my mind is screaming.

But the other half is saying very calmly, "Save her. You're the only one who can..."
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Old 12-19-2012, 07:53 PM   #4460
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Three days later, as the scratches and bites all over my body are nearly completely healed, I keep an interested eye on the corn field.

And finally, I see it. Careful movement--or is it tentative?--pushes the stalks back. A black haired head peers out and looks around. The woman is trying to gain her bearings. She must be quite confused and wondering about how she got into a corn field in Florida.

Life in the fields around the bunker attracts her eye. "Maybe those people can help. Perhaps they know why I'm so dirty and why my clothes are torn..." she thinks.

Straightening the silk blouse as much as possible, she pulls the suit coat around her tightly and adjusts the skirt. There's nothing to be done for the shoes; the heels are ruined with scratches all over the leather and odd stains making them even more undesirable.

She walks on unsteady legs across the cooling fields of early afternoon. Some greet her, recognizing a cognizant human; others approach cautiously, weapons drawn...always ready for the worst. She is stopped and questioned. She can't say where she has been or why she is here. She can't recall her name or her age. But she needs food and a bath and new clothing (or not!) and a place to stay.

We've got all that.

Ella walks her towards the heavy metal door of the bunker, assuring her that there is hot food and hotter showers inside. I have watched her shaky journey across the fields and her welcome to our abode. So I've stood near the door waiting to meet her again.

As the two women walk up, Ella smiles and says, "Ahhh, here's Dave now. He built all this for us and you'll be safe here." The woman looks at me and a faint hint of recognition shows in her eyes. Ella speaks again: "Dave, this is...um...I don't know what to call her. She doesn't seem to know her name."

I step forward before Ella's awkward explanation goes any further. I hold a woman's wallet out at arms length and scan a dirty driver's license. (Damn, I wish there were some optometrists around with some working equipment.)

I catch her hand in mine and shake it. "Welcome, Jane. We're pleased to have you. Ella will show you around and help you get your bearings. If we can help you in any way, please say so."

The two share a look, both wondering why I'm holding a woman's wallet--Jane's wallet--and further, how much sooner before my eyesight gets so bad that I will need glasses. And without another word, they walk past me and head inside.

Those still outside who have watched her approach and the conversation at the door, look around, scanning the fields. That's a good sign; people still are looking out for each other. Seeing no threat, they exchange looks and some smirk at me, clearly enjoying their suspicions of how Jane has come to be with us. Everyone eventually returns to what they were doing.

I move inside. It's almost dinner time and I could use a bowl of the potato soup that I started making a couple hours ago. It's my first time making it. I hope my friends like it. After dinner, I will have to tell them some things...maybe.
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Old 12-19-2012, 07:58 PM   #4461
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im ready to fight.

ill take a hot shower, then give me my machete (they dont need to be reloaded.)

all i need is a tank top and daisy dukes, minimum clothing for zombies to grab, and im good
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Old 12-19-2012, 08:05 PM   #4462
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Quote:
Originally Posted by hotassbitch12002 View Post
im ready to fight.

ill take a hot shower, then give me my machete (they dont need to be reloaded.)

all i need is a tank top and daisy dukes, minimum clothing for zombies to grab, and im good
We're happy to have you. Besides the machetes, we've got just about every firearm known to man if you'd like.

But yes, zombie fighting protocol calls for at least one large head-cleaving blade since as you say, they do not need reloading.

Dinner's almost ready. Grab a shower and come back to the dining area. Shower's down the hall, near the end of the dormitory wing. It's...uh...co-ed; I hope you don't mind. After the world went to hell, we did away with a lot of the social norms that we used to live with. In fact, if you haven't noticed, we're pretty informal when we're inside. Clothing is not required.

After dinner, we'll watch a couple of old movies, and then the Nighty Naked Dance Party will start. We'll find you a room; there's plenty. Or, by the end of the party--if you'll forgive my frankness--you may have found someone you'd like to bunk with. No pressure. It's up to you.

Glad you're here.
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Old 12-19-2012, 08:15 PM   #4463
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Originally Posted by Chaingun View Post
We're happy to have you. Besides the machetes, we've got just about every firearm known to man if you'd like.

But yes, zombie fighting protocol calls for at least one large head-cleaving blade since as you say, they do not need reloading.

Dinner's almost ready. Grab a shower and come back to the dining area. Shower's down the hall, near the end of the dormitory wing. It's...uh...co-ed; I hope you don't mind. After the world went to hell, we did away with a lot of the social norms that we used to live with. In fact, if you haven't noticed, we're pretty informal when we're inside. Clothing is not required.

After dinner, we'll watch a couple of old movies, and then the Nighty Naked Dance Party will start. We'll find you a room; there's plenty. Or, by the end of the party--if you'll forgive my frankness--you may have found someone you'd like to bunk with. No pressure. It's up to you.

Glad you're here.
sounds perfect to me. ill pick a side arm once i get situated. coed showers dont bother me, it wouldnt be my first. itll just be good to not have to watch my back for once, so if anyone wants to watch my back for me, that would be lovely.
i cant wait for a good nights sleep, but its always good to have bunk mates.... you know... for safety
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Old 12-19-2012, 08:36 PM   #4464
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i head down the hall and reach a large room filled with shower heads. i place the few weapons i have down in a corner, keeping them close, but far enough to not get wet and rusty.

i head over to one of the shower heads on the back wall, turning it into the on position. i stick my hand into the running water, and fiddle with the dial to get it into the right temperature.

once it is, i look around to see if there is anyone around. seeing nobody, i kick off my boots, and slowly strip the sweaty, dirty form fitting tank top off my body. tossing it to the side, i reach back and unhook my bra. letting myself bounce freely. i reach down and unbutton my denim shorts, sliding them over my ass and down my legs, stepping out of them.

i step into the steamy water, letting it run down my body.
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Old 12-19-2012, 08:46 PM   #4465
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sounds perfect to me. ill pick a side arm once i get situated. coed showers dont bother me, it wouldnt be my first. itll just be good to not have to watch my back for once, so if anyone wants to watch my back for me, that would be lovely.
i cant wait for a good nights sleep, but its always good to have bunk mates.... you know... for safety
Well, sure, sure. Safety first, we always say.

Being new here...and female..someone will certainly be watching your back. Have no doubt. But if you turn down someone's advances and they don't get the hint, say something. We don't tolerate that crap here. Consent from both parties is the rule if you decide to play.

This isn't some Mad Max scenario where the women are property or a scene from The Road where women are raped on sight. You have a say here. Don't let anybody try to convince you otherwise. You look like you can handle yourself, but it bears repeating.

You'll notice there aren't a lot of men. The trouble makers were sent out on one too many patrols--zombie bait, I called them.

The workers--those that made a hand instead of laying on our legs while we built this place--are usually doing just that, working.

One other thing; inside we typically go without clothing. Bites from the walkers can't be hidden from the others that way. And when someone new comes along, make sure to check them carefully. We never know what someone is bringing in with them.

What's your poison? We have just about any liquor here you could want.
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Old 12-19-2012, 08:58 PM   #4466
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Well, sure, sure. Safety first, we always say.

Being new here...and female..someone will certainly be watching your back. Have no doubt. But if you turn down someone's advances and they don't get the hint, say something. We don't tolerate that crap here. Consent from both parties is the rule if you decide to play.

This isn't some Mad Max scenario where the women are property or a scene from The Road where women are raped on sight. You have a say here. Don't let anybody try to convince you otherwise. You look like you can handle yourself, but it bears repeating.

You'll notice there aren't a lot of men. The trouble makers were sent out on one too many patrols--zombie bait, I called them.

The workers--those that made a hand instead of laying on our legs while we built this place--are usually doing just that, working.

One other thing; inside we typically go without clothing. Bites from the walkers can't be hidden from the others that way. And when someone new comes along, make sure to check them carefully. We never know what someone is bringing in with them.

What's your poison? We have just about any liquor here you could want.
your conditions seem fair, i hope i could be any assistance to the group if at all possible..

any thing will do. what are you drinking?
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Old 12-19-2012, 09:08 PM   #4467
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your conditions seem fair, i hope i could be any assistance to the group if at all possible..

any thing will do. what are you drinking?
Ma'am, I'm an American. So I always drink bourbon.
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Old 12-19-2012, 10:24 PM   #4468
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Ma'am, I'm an American. So I always drink bourbon.
mmmm, bourbon is always a good choice...

do you have bushmills? the protestant whisky..... delicious
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Old 12-19-2012, 10:40 PM   #4469
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Ten drinks later, I'm hooting and hollering and "pretending" to dance.

Yeah, I'm good at it. What of it?

I walk over to the corner and start unzipping my pants. I start drunkenly laughing as I realize that others are going to think I'm too drunk to go to the bathroom and am about to urinate in the corner.

I have a different plan in mind. I have realized that I am a tad too drunk to be carrying a firearm.

So reaching into my pants, I remove a Glock 27 and set it gently in the corner on the floor. I turn to look back at the other occupants of the dance floor who are all grinning with relief that I'm not relieving myself in the corner. Turning back to the corner, I pull a FN FiveseveN out of the inside waistband holster on my right side and set it down. From a shoulder holster under my left arm, I remove my Colt Government Model 45. I bend down to my ankle holster and take out a Smith & Wesson 38 snubnose revolver. It gets added to the pile.

Looking back at the others, I grin like the drunken idiot I am.

From deep in the left pocket of my shorts, I draw a Glock 33. In the back of my waistband is a Steyr M357-A1. A Ruger LCP slips from inside the sleeve of my left arm. And as I look up from the pile of pistols on the floor at the incredulous faces of the party attendees, I realize that I missed one.

Reaching over my head and down the back of my neck, I draw an eight inch throwing knife and toss it towards the floor where it lands, point buried in the wooden floor.

"What? Don't y'all carry a bunch of pistols?"
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Old 12-19-2012, 10:42 PM   #4470
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mmmm, bourbon is always a good choice...

do you have bushmills? the protestant whisky..... delicious
Ahhh, you're going to get along here nicely.

I'm not a snob about liquor, just prefer that you have a reason for what you drink. "Cause it tastes good" doesn't completely cut it with me or we'd all be drinking peppermint schnapps and holding out our pinky finger as we sipped it from teacups.

We've got lots of Bushmills. Rocks or straight up?
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Old 12-19-2012, 10:46 PM   #4471
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sitting back and seeing our good host drunk, and stock piling weapons, i start laughing.

i finish up my drink.

"were all wondering how the hell you packed all those in there!" i yell, smiling.

placing the glass on the table, i head back to take a shower before the dance party...
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Old 12-19-2012, 10:46 PM   #4472
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Ahhh, you're going to get along here nicely.

I'm not a snob about liquor, just prefer that you have a reason for what you drink. "Cause it tastes good" doesn't completely cut it with me or we'd all be drinking peppermint schnapps and holding out our pinky finger as we sipped it from teacups.

We've got lots of Bushmills. Rocks or straight up?
absolutely straight up.....

were killing zombies, no need for fancy anymore...
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Old 12-20-2012, 12:17 AM   #4473
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I am laughing. For the first time in weeks. Watching Dave do his 'weapon strip-tease' is nothing short of hilarious. I haven't seen him this wrecked in awhile. It's good to see him unwind.

I am enjoying watching him. He looks good. If I had some dollar bills, I would tuck them into his...well, there's really nothing on him now to tuck them into. I glance over at Whip, and see that she is fully appreciating Dave's performance, too. The two of them together make me smile.

I sigh with contentment, savoring the feeling of safety. It lasts all of a minute before my mind starts churning again. What is it about Dave that can cure this...thing? How does it work? Is it permanent?

He brought in another one a few weeks ago. Jane. I don't think he realizes that I know. Either that, or he just trusts me enough not to say anything. I am trying to ease her back into "normalcy." She seems to really be missing her high heels most of all at the moment. She'll get over it.

Something has happened to me since I've been here in this Bunker; I see things. Sometimes in dreams. Sometimes when I touch another person. Sometimes just when I'm on lookout and I let my mind go. It's unnerving. I knew Jane was out there, even before he found her. I have seen some other things, too, and I don't know whether or not I should share it with anyone. I worry about TheAnimal going to Colorado. I've seen some things there, too.

I go to the bar to refill my drink, and out of habit I pick up and wash Hotassbitch's glass. I love having her here. She's capable and confident, a very welcome addition to our group. I make a mental note to ask her what her favorite dishes are so I can plan them into the menus for her.

Dave is trying to climb up onto the bar while he's dancing. Guess I better move...
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Old 12-20-2012, 12:29 AM   #4474
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after my shower, i walk out just wrapped in towel.... surprised to see ella standing near the bar, as our fearless leader dances the night away.

i wonder if i have time to double back, and grab my clothes, but i made sure to give them a quick wash as i bathed, so there was no way they would be dry. i decided to suck it up and walk over, to introduce myself.

"hi, im sabrina" i say smiling at ella
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Old 12-20-2012, 01:08 AM   #4475
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after my shower, i walk out just wrapped in towel.... surprised to see ella standing near the bar, as our fearless leader dances the night away.

i wonder if i have time to double back, and grab my clothes, but i made sure to give them a quick wash as i bathed, so there was no way they would be dry. i decided to suck it up and walk over, to introduce myself.

"hi, im sabrina" i say smiling at ella

I hand Sabrina a bourbon. "Hi, Sabrina! You ready to dance?"
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