Dave's Zombie Proof Bunker and Refuge for Unattached Wimmens

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i couldnt help but smile at her warmness, and the silly fun of a dance party. so i sipped the bourbon, and answered with a simple "Yes."

"ive been killing zombies since forever it seems. maybe some dancing will cheer me up."
 
Walking through the multipurpose room, chuckling softly to myself at the bodies strewn about in post-dancing slumber, I head to the kitchen to fix a fast breakfast, likely my last hot meal for a very long time. I've made all of my preparations, and said no goodbyes - it's not my style. I simply stayed quiet in my room while the NNDP went on, finalizing my prep and checking my gear, optimizing for weight vs utility. It's going to be a long haul.

I stop by Dave's door, noting the sounds of at least two separate people breathing deeply, fully into REM sleep. I wonder who's in there with him - I'd like to assume Whip, but I also noted the arrival of Jane and Sabrina, and know a bit of Dave's......."talent" as well as his proclivities. I leave the twin Les Baer 1911's at the door, along with a short note.

"Dave,

Thank you for your hospitality. I have taken far more than I've given, and I'm continuing that by stocking up for my walkabout on my way out the door. I can't leave payment in kind, but I can leave these. They drive tacks, and will never fail to cycle. I trust you'll use them as efficiently as they're intended.

I'll try to send word back in whatever way is possible, but if all works out well we'll be reunited sometime in the future. Until then, stay safe and continue providing these good people the shelter and community they need so much - stay HUMAN.

TAW"

I head out the door, stomach full and gear set up as well as it can be. Florida to Colorado.....it's going to be a long, and I suspect interesting, trip.

***RL NOTE***

Life is picking up the pace lately, and I don't have a lot of time to be on lit nowadays with no signs of it abating. I'll lurk here and there, and hopefully find my way back more regularly in the future.
 
There's something about the bunker now that makes my skin crawl. All of a sudden it seems too tiny, too overheated, too full of people and their STUFF. Like all the things that were meant to nestle comfortably into a 12 by 12 room are now being forced into a space the size of a shoe box. Last night I had trouble getting into my room because someone had decided to move a gun rack half in front of it. Did they not notice my door? Did they care that someone could run into it in the event of an attack and just not care?

I do a lot of sentry shifts now. Sitting up in the highest tower with only my gun and the breeze for company seems to help. I'm beginning to wonder if the close confines of the bunker are beginning to mess with my head. I don't do well with enclosed spaces, that's for sure. A few times I've gotten dangerously close to losing my head when weather, danger or ornery locals have put me, literally, into a tight spot. I don't like to think about those times.

That new chick Chain's dragged in looks .. interesting. A little too Tank Girl punkish for my tastes. But hell, who knows? she might end up being good when we need her.

My thermos bottle of coffee's running low. For a few minutes I debate going down to get more. It means going back into the heat of the bunker, and who knows where they've moved the coffeemaker to. There may not even be coffee. But it has to e done sometime, so I clamber down the metal ladder and cross the compound in search of hot drinks and respite from the wind.
 
It's late at night...or early morning. I can't tell.

But I need to go to the head. I'm still a little tight and stumble to the door. Trying to be as quiet as possible, I open the door very carefully and look out. The low glow of the hallway's lights on their night setting is reassuring and it seems very quiet. Somehow, I've made it back to my room and into my bed.

And here it is, many hours later and damn, I've got to pee.

The door comes open as slowly as possible; my door tends to squeak so to insure that I don't disturb others, I move as slowly as I can.

One tentative step into the hallway and there is a thud and I lose my balance. The wall on the opposite side of the hallway from my door rushes at my face at a rate that I calculate will cause damage. My face strikes the concrete and I almost black out. I slide down the wall, leaving a bloody stripe from my nose all the way down it. Conscious and worried that it won't last long, I try to stay quiet. Slumped in the hallway, I hold my nose and try to stop the bleeding without making any more noise.

I crawl across the hall to figure out what I tripped on. In front of the door, I find two Government Model 45's. And a note.

Holding one of the pistols up in the low light, I admire the finish and hope that I have not scratched it. These are too nice to damage carelessly. But why are they here? I find the note under the second handgun and stand to read it.

"He can't be serious..."

I think a second.

"No, maybe I can catch him...."

Running down a long corridor, I arrive at the heavy steel door of the bunker and disarm the system, step out into the dark, and scan the area to the north.

"He most likely went north, right?"

I start moving that way.

I freeze, realizing that I am not alone. A woman, a small woman, is moving quietly, possibly lost in thought. I begin moving towards her and I don't think she's seen me. As I come within fifty yards of her, I see the threat. She doesn't see it.

"I hope these pistols are loaded," I think as I begin running towards her. Thumbing the safety off on the one in my right hand, I aim past her at the walker quietly shambling towards my friend.

"Whip!!!! Get down!"


She turns towards me, shocked out of her quiet reverie. Then, seeing that I have a pistol pointed right at her head, her eyes widen in surprise...or fear. Her rifle comes up, aimed right at my middle. There's no time. I have to fire.

The heavy pistol roars in my hand. One, two, three, four shots ring out and I keep running at her. Five, six, seven, and eight deafen us both further. Empty, I drop the useless lump of metal and switch the other pistol to my strong, right hand.

I'm still closing the distance. Twenty feet away. Crashing explosions and angry fire spits from the front of the long barrel of the pistol. Three more shot, three more dead. She is beginning to realize that I'm not shooting at her. Ten feet, two more shots, two more dead. Five feet. One more. I'm almost out. I grab her and sweep her up and begin running. Two rounds left in my pistol and whatever she's got in her rifle.

Loud groans of the frustrated dead follow us. The small herd that approached her unheard are suddenly very vocal about having their prey taken from them. And they're on the move.

Hopefully, the sound of gunshots will have alerted those in the bunker to rush to defend our home.
 
I am awakened by the sound of gunfire close by. Not normal. I am wide awake and out the door of my room in a heartbeat, a small handgun in my hand (all that carry, since I'm not usually on patrol). I cautiously make my way to the exterior door, heart pounding, anxious to see what the hell is happening.

I sense...intense and immediate danger. Not even a part of the sight I have gained. Just pure instinct. I can hear the sickening sound of the undead. I turn back into the bunker and scream "Help! Need Firepower!" at the top of my lungs while I run through the hall, knowing that will awaken people faster than anything else. Doors open; the community responds.

Adrenaline fuels my movements as I grab a larger weapon from the aresenal in the hall outside Whip's room...who the hell moved this here? And thank goodness they did...

Whip's door is open; she's out there. Oh, fuck. I need to be out there helping her NOW. I run out the door, ready to defend her no matter what.
 
Within forty feet of the main door, Whip is struggling in my arms. She's quite able to run for herself and has been telling me so for several hundred yards. Finally, I relent and set her down and she hits the ground running.

She moves off to the side of me on a parallel course and turns and begins firing. She touches off a three round burst, turns and runs. I continue retreating as she covers me. I see her turn and fire again. Her tactic looks sound; drop a couple every few feet so that the zombies will trip over their own dead. I have two shots left and I cap the closest two and begin running towards the door. Someone has to get that heavy barrier open before she gets there.

A giant flashing neon sign in my head keeps lighting up: "Save her, protect her!" But she seems to be protecting me.

I have my doubts about getting that door open in time. There are just too many of them. And this bunch seems particularly hell bent on having both of us for dinner.

Just as I get close to the door, it begins to open--to my immense relief.

Ella is standing there holding the controls that move the massive piece of steel. Smiling calmly, she is holding two items. In her right hand is her tiny Beretta Cougar. (At least it's chambered in a real round; 357 SIG.) In her left is my favorite rifle; my AUG Para with the underbarrel flamethrower.

"Hey, Boss," she jokingly says, "need help?"

And then her eyes become two giant circles when she sees the size of the herd of undead chasing us.

She tosses the rifle to me, I catch it and turn, and check the charging handle; excellent, it is loaded. I begin firing while yelling back to her, "Hold the door for Whip!"

Whip is still firing and maneuvering, working her way to the door. They are right on her and their heads just keep exploding as she expertly pumps round after round into them. I begin picking off the closest to her while Ella screams at her to hurry.

She turns and runs past me into the bunker, Ella holds the button that begins closing the door, and I ignite the flamethrower in the direction of the walkers (runners?) closest to us. As the gap gets smaller, there is a disgusting, shambling mess of burning former humans, oblivious to their situation, still fighting to get into the bunker. I grab the control from her and tell Ella to get back.

The gap keeps getting smaller, but more hands keep dragging at it, slowing it down. Fire and smoke fill the hallway as I set them all afire, but the zombies don't feel the pain. Time to switch to lead.

The polymer rifle in my hand begins flashing nicely as it delivers little leaden love letters to the horrors trying to get into the hallway. Finally, the door slams shut and the only noise is my own heavy breathing in the hallway and the strikes of their hands on the door that they cannot get through.

And then a new sound is heard. Above me, atop the bunker, the miniguns are opening up. Someone has heard Ella's call to arms and is using the electrically powered gattling guns to hopefully mow down the undead herd. It sounds like everyone is up there shooting.

I make sure of the connectivity of the circuit holding the door closed and once positive that it will not open, I move down the hall. The stink and smoke in here is noxious.

I check the remaining rounds in the rifle and decide I need more ammo before heading upstairs. Sounds like the group has things well in hand.

With a bag of extra magazines, I step out onto the rooftop where my friends are doing their grim work. Apparently, they have the situation well in hand, because they are laughing and shouting to each other as they fire their weapons.

"Got three more!"

"You've got plenty of work to do to catch up with me!!!"

"Hey, can I get some more ammo over here...?"

"Only if you promise to quit wasting it and start hitting something with it!"

OK, so this has become gruesome work and the only way to survive it, mentally, is to make it about us. Celebrate the fact that friends are doing something together, for each other.

The herd is huge; there are several thousand zombies in the light of our spots. All very close to the moat. We're just wasting ammo.

I've got a better way to shut them down.

I ignite the flamethrower's "pilot light" on the bottom of the rifle. This little flame sets alight the fuel mixture that pours from the front of the weapon when I am using that setting. That pilot light will have to be enough. That moat around the bunker is still filled with several hundred thousand gallons of Rumplemintz Peppermint Schnapps. And the Zeds are crowded around it pretty closely. The ones that fall in are killed instantly, but they don't often fall in. The crowd is close.

I toss the rifle down from the top of the bunker. The flame will have to be enough to do the job.

"Cover your eyes!" I yell to my friends.

The flame hits the liquid and there is a "Whumpf!!!" as the liquor ignites. Instantly, it is daytime around the bunker as the explosion sets alight all the zombies and they begin burning and falling all around. It is alternately mesmerizing and disgusting. The threat is dissipating as our attackers literally burn to death...well to their second deaths anyway.

Gunfire lets up as everyone stops to watch. Sporadic shots take out the ones that aren't on fire, but it is clear that the majority of the threat has passed and that further, we will have a massive cleanup job on our hands tomorrow.

Everyone looks relieved.

Except me, of course. Now I need to figure out how to get more liquor for the moat that will also serve as a medium for turning the Zeds into biodiesel to power this place.

"Go back to bed, everyone. The sun will be up in a few hours and we've got a big day ahead of us. I'll make breakfast at ten, so sleep in, ok?"
 
"Ahhhh, two days of respite from zombie attacks. Isn't it nice?"

I push myself away from the table after announcing to my friends that they should finish their meals. I'm going out to make sure the cleanup of the scorched area around the bunker is complete. It looked just fine when I parked the bulldozer a few hours ago. But we've been working so hard and trying to deal with the gruesome mess, that I might have missed something.

"Really, stay here and finish your meals. I'll be ok. I just want to walk around out there and think for a little bit. I'm sure it's clear. And for those of you who gave up on calendars and clocks when the shit hit the fan, I wonder if you know...tomorrow is Christmas Eve.

Tomorrow, I'm going hunting and either coming back with turkey...or a Christmas goose. I know the woods are full of turkeys, or they were until the world fell apart. And I know where to find geese close by. Our gardens are full of potatoes and carrots so I'll be making mashed potatoes and glazed carrots for our Christmas Eve dinner.

Anyone that doesn't want to do their part by pulling feathers out of birds tomorrow can do their part by going hunting with me.

I leave at six...as in six AM. Grab a decent rifle and lots of rounds. We may have to kill more than poultry."

I wink at those still at the dinner table and walk over to the bar to fix my first drink of the evening.
 
Back from our outing, I'm dirty and need a shower. The two turkeys and one goose that I have ought to make quite a feast for the folks who live here. It's Christmas tomorrow and these big birds need to cook for a long time before they're ready.

The hunting party jokes and tells stories about the fun had stalking and shooting the birds. And the reason I'm dirty is that I fell right as I got close to taking the shot at the goose. I tripped over a limb hidden in the pine needles and got my finger out of the trigger guard of my shotgun before hitting the ground. Safety first, right?

Whip is still at her post atop the bunker watching and keeping a sharp eye out for threats. But there's something else. She's very introspective and I am sad that I haven't had the time to talk to her lately. Perhaps new people coming in and filling up our home are what's coming between us, but she has to know how I feel about her...doesn't she?

I wave before setting foot on the narrow passageway across the moat. She looks at me; no reaction. I shrug and hope she's not mad at me and begin walking in. The control for the heavy metal door is still finicky from the scorching that the wiring received the other night and despite the bleach used to clean the walls and floor just inside the entrance, there is the faint aroma of burnt flesh...and death. Otherwise, there is no trace of what happened the other night.

It's been quiet. Not only has the bunker not been troubled with the pesky walkers approaching, we saw none on our hunting trip and we've been out since 6 AM. Not a single undead bothering us in three days? Is that possible?

Did they all mass for the attack on the bunker the other night, and therefore die in the flames?

Is that even possible?


Why question it? It's a good day; the sky is relatively clear and the temperature is about forty degrees above what it probably is in Buffalo, or Cleveland or any other dreary state that begins with a vowel up north. Are there people sheltering like us up there? In that cold? Can they make it through a winter?

The last of the party is inside and I begin to reach for the button that will close the door. Pressing it several times, it doesn't move. The wiring must really be fubar. As I begin to think I'm going to need to lock out the controls and bypass the internal locks so that I can try to move the heavy door by hand, I hear a high pitched whining noise.

As I step out into the bright light of the day, I look for the source of the noise. Instinct from the world before this one makes me look up at the sky in thoughts that it is an airplane and as I start to chide myself for my foolishness, I catch a glint of light in the sky.

"Son of a bitch! It is a plane!" I yell down the hallway to anyone who isn't far enough along that they might hear me.

I run out into the field due east of the bunker and watch it. The plane grows larger and larger and is clearly on a course that will take it directly over the bunker. Clearly, they know we're here.

And as it flies directly over us, a pair of large crates fall out of the back, triple parachutes deploy on each, and the large cargo boxes sway gently under the canopies as they drift down to land in clearings near us.

One lands literally one hundred fifty feet from the bunker's front door. The other tangles in some trees due east of here and tumbles though the branches and lands out of sight.

As the big cargo plane turns to the north, I see that same insignia on its tail rudder. The odd juxtaposition of the American and Canadian flags. Red, white, and blue alternating stripes with a field of red in the upper left corner instead of blue. And on that field, the Canadian maple leaf. Clearly, United States and Canadian forces have united in an effort to stave off the zombie onslaught. Or perhaps they are the only ones left and joining together was the last, best hope.

I need to start carrying a radio. I wonder if I could talk to them when they come back. If they come back...

Others are outside now and looking at the giant crates on the field east of us. A couple of people are heading out to go look for and retrieve the one that landed in the woods. Wonder what they brought us...?
 
Thank you my dear friend. I'm all about killing the undead whether they're zombies, vampires, or mummies.

Dead stuff should stay dead.

Are you in for Christmas dinner in the bunker?

i'm there - may i bring my litster lady friends?
 

Hello. Come on in. Welcome. Make yourself at home. If you haven't read the entire thread, there are very few rules here. And if you have, then I'm sorry. I hope your life gets better soon. ;)

Mainly, I'd say look around, get used to living in safety and amongst friends, try to adjust from the daily grind of searching for food and avoiding being bitten by the undead. Things are better here.

And when you feel like contributing, join in at anything. Whatever you're good at, we probably need.

Lots of booze in the party room, by the way. We have a Nightly Naked Dance Party. Sort of a way to celebrate the fact that we're alive and forget all those who aren't.
 
Hello. Come on in. Welcome. Make yourself at home. If you haven't read the entire thread, there are very few rules here. And if you have, then I'm sorry. I hope your life gets better soon. ;)

Mainly, I'd say look around, get used to living in safety and amongst friends, try to adjust from the daily grind of searching for food and avoiding being bitten by the undead. Things are better here.

And when you feel like contributing, join in at anything. Whatever you're good at, we probably need.

Lots of booze in the party room, by the way. We have a Nightly Naked Dance Party. Sort of a way to celebrate the fact that we're alive and forget all those who aren't.

Thank you. :D
 
Thank you. :D

You're most welcome. I know it's been hard out there. Get cleaned up and grab something warm from the stores of ladies clothes we have stockpiled...or don't. You'll notice that many of us go around naked inside since that is the only way to be sure that nobody is hiding a zombie bite.

It also seems to facilitate the post dance party festivities as people pair up (or triple up) and head to the dormitory rooms.

:cool:
 
I crawl in through a hole I found in the back. The sweat on my back had cooled off in the night air, and I'm cold. I see a fire and people talking. I strain my eyes and notice these People are alive!!

I scramble to my feet and practically fall over myself as I make my way closer to the warmth....the warmth of both the fire and from human contact.

I need to find the leader.


P.s. Told ya I sucked.lol
 
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I crawl in through a hole I found in the back. The sweat on my back had cooked off in the night air, and I'm cold. I see a fire and people talking. I strain my eyes and notice these People are alive!!

I scramble to my feet and practically fall over myself as I make my way closer to the warmth....the warmth of both the fire and from human contact.

I need to find the leader.

Here I am. (Yes, the naked guy with the rifle.)


Come on in. There's still some warm left overs from dinner. Eat all you want. What's ours is yours.

And if you need medical care, a shower, clothes, a place to sleep, ammo, or simply the warmth of someone else who understands what it is like out there, we've got all that.

Hope you aren't alarmed by naked people dancing. We do this every night. What do you drink? Let's get you warmed up.
 
As I make my way closer, I am startled by the lack of clothing on many who are here. Chain seems friendly enough, but between the rifle and the absurdity of it all, I am rendered speechless.

I take the bowl of soup, and sit down to eat. I nervously look around and wonder if I'm losing my mind.
 
As I make my way closer, I am startled by the lack of clothing on many who are here. Chain seems friendly enough, but between the rifle and the absurdity of it all, I am rendered speechless.

I take the bowl of soup, and sit down to eat. I nervously look around and wonder if I'm losing my mind.

[Violet Beauregard voice]"What is this, some kind of freakout?"[/Violet Beauregard voice]
 
You can't do that to me.

You know if you get within arm's reach, your hug will last for several minutes, possibly hours.

You need it as much as I do, My Friend. Come back.

But then, I would not be a warrior princess, would I?

:p

*succumbs to you and stays for that hug*
 
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