Dave's Zombie Proof Bunker and Refuge for Unattached Wimmens

[WhipLuvr]

Lol

* lurches up, smiling wildly, and totters over to Dave*

Dance with me?

* giggles and pushes the IV pole out of the way, holding arms out to him*

 

[Chaingun]

* lurches up, smiling wildly, and totters over to Dave*

Dance with me?

* giggles and pushes the IV pole out of the way, holding arms out to him*

You won't last long. Let me just carry you in my arms while I dance for the two of us.

 

[WhipLuvr]

You won't last long. Let me just carry you in my arms while I dance for the two of us.

Okay....
*cuddles happily in his arms, smiling dreamily up at him*
Thank you. For getting me out.

 

[Chaingun]

"And I'm sorry I keep pissing you off. I don't mean to do that, you know?"

 

[WhipLuvr]

"And I'm sorry I keep pissing you off. I don't mean to do that, you know?"

Its okay.... I don't mind....

* promptly falls asleep*

 

[Chaingun]

Its okay.... I don't mind....

* promptly falls asleep*

*carefully carries you back to your room, tucks you into a nice warm set of clean sheets, and pulls the covers up to your neck before kissing you on the forehead.*


"Sweet dreams..."

 

[Chaingun]

"Whip...? Whip...? You've been sleeping a long time. Can you hear me?

Wow...you should see your leg. No...stay there. Don't move. You're healing nicely though. A few more days and you'll be up walking around again."

 

[WhipLuvr]

"Whip...? Whip...? You've been sleeping a long time. Can you hear me?

Wow...you should see your leg. No...stay there. Don't move. You're healing nicely though. A few more days and you'll be up walking around again."

* slowly drifts back to consciousness* No.... I don't wanna go......

Dave? What's wrong? Why can't I feel anything?

* raises one arm and pokes the bedrail, marveling at the utter lack of sensation*

You look... different. Are you okay?

 

[Chaingun]

You look... different. Are you okay?

Yes, Whip. I'm fine. I was worried about you though. You tend to thrash around in your sleep while you've been recovering. So I...uh...sedated you. And your ankles and wrists are bound to the bedrails. I'm sorry. I know you don't want to be confined, at least in this manner.

But I was afraid you'd hurt yourself. Now that you're awake, I'll undo the restraints.

Oh...and I brought you some food. There's grilled cheese, a vegetable medley that one of the ladies made, and some fresh cornbread. Can you believe that we're able to make cornbread!?!!? The corn is growing nicely.

I think if you can get up and walk around a bit, you'll start to get stronger faster. So after you've eaten and rested a bit, I want to walk you around the bunker a little later. And you and I are going to discuss our plan to recover that new tank for you. I think you'll be well enough to go with me to get it soon.

I think we're going to need Brad to help. He's an expert with the heavy trucks so if he can drive, I can operate the boom and the recovery winch so that we can bring that beast here where it belongs. You however, are going to ride in the passenger side and keep an eye out for danger. Otherwise, all we'll need from you is to see your smiling face as you get to breathe fresh air on the way to get your new toy.

Eat up. I hope you enjoy it.

 

[WhipLuvr]

* lies still as he undoes the thick padded cuffs*

Its okay.... I guess moving around wouldn't help my healing much. I'm not mad. Mmmm, that cornbread smells delicious. Has it really been that long since we planted the corn? I'm surprised its yielding already. And the soup is delicious.

You go do what you need to. Come back for me when you want me to walk with you.

* once he leaves I slowly lean forwards and undo the bandages around my legs. Because of the wound, I'm only dressed below the waist in a pair of thin cotton panties. My cheeks burn. They're not the ones I was wearing during the attack. below them, my leg is wrapped up in layers of gauze. Curiosity pushes me to unwind the bandages at the very top. What I see makes my blood run cold. My poor leg looks like a crazy quilt, stitched together higgeldy-piggeldy. The skin is tight, so whoever fixed me must have had a lot of destroyed flesh to remove. The meal in my belly threatens to come up again. I hastily rewrap my leg and lie down, breathing in oxygen and the peace of the infirmary.*

 

[Chaingun]

*Watches through binoculars as a lone zombie shambles across the space between the field of corn and the soybeans. The poor bastard is dressed in what's left of a three piece suit, a briefcase still clutched in its left hand. Papers continually fall out of the bottom of the case because apparently, being dragged has finally worn it through on the bottom.

Increasing the magnification on the binocs, I notice the text at the top of the pages that fall out. In big black letters, they say, "TPS Reports".

"Hmmm, wonder what that poor soul did before...?"

In any case, he shan't remain a danger to others for much longer. I can't see him being left to wander and infect others. He'll be better as fertilizer.

As I watch him drag himself along, I notice that in his right hand is a broken coffee mug that says, "World's Best Boss."

"Yeah right."

I take a deep breath, let it halfway out, and hold it. The trigger pull is taken up smoothly...until it breaks and the bullet goes down range.

The former businessman will lie still now. His suffering is over.

And speaking of suffering, I need to go check on Whip. She's been through a lot and it's almost time to change her bandages and feed her something tasty. I actually like taking care of her, but I hope she recovers quickly. I can't imagine this place without her.

Reloads the rifle and leaves it ready for whoever comes to relieve me.*

 

[WhipLuvr]

I'm sitting up reading when Dave comes in. He's obviously been on patrol, or watch duty, judging by the scent of mud and fresh air he brings with him. There's something else too. Something bitter and acidic clinging to his clothes. After a few seconds, I realize its gunpowder. It appears watch duty did not pass quietly today. He strip off his coat and goes to wash his hands at the sink.

"How'd it go?"

Now that my head's clear, I think there's something up. Dave was hurt as bad, if not worse, than I was, yet he's up and walking around, even being well enough to take on a watch duty. In fact, he looks almost unharmed. His gait is normal, I can't see any bulky bandages on under his pants... He was even strong enough to carry me back to bed last night.

" There's something you're not telling me."

 

[Chaingun]

" There's something you're not telling me."

"You're right. But...I thought you knew. Or at least had an inkling.

If you want to know the story, you'd better be prepared. This might be a long story. Here, have some soup while I talk.

I was with the Marines as part of an advanced scouting party that was checking out something. They wouldn't tell us what it was we were looking for, but we were told to "go in, check it out, and make sure it was safe" before a team of scientists were sent in to investigate further. We were heavily armed; each man had a full load out of ammo and for only fifteen of us, there were two squad automatic weapons. That made a few of us nervous that they thought we needed two heavy weapons like that.

Two helos inserted us on the edge of a large avocado grove. We spread out and moved in, quietly advancing through the rows of trees. The smell reminded me how much I hate guacamole.

We reached a spot where 'something' had happened. There, on the edge of the grove, which was separated from a pasture by a ruined barbed wire fence, was a burned area. The trees on our side were oddly scorched and on the pasture side, there were dead and mangled cows everywhere. In the middle of the scorched area--roughly five hundred feet across--was a small hole, maybe ten feet across. Light emanated from it, a golden-green light. Source unknown.

Some equipment was scattered about. Shovels, shipping crates, and a ruined truck. What was disturbing was that there were shredded clothes--uniforms most likely--lying oddly around the area.

Lieutenant Fallon moved towards the center of the clearing, followed by our Gunnery Sergeant about forty feet behind. They moved forward to investigate. I'll remember this for the rest of my life. Just as he got close enough to look into the hole, he turned to look back at us as if to warn us; the look on his face was of someone who has fucked up and realized it too late. He was grabbed by--something--and dragged into the hole and the gunny moved to help him. Arriving at the edge of the hole, the gunny paused. I'd never imagined that that salty son of a bitch could ever be shaken by anything. Two wars and more medals on his chest than all of us put together and he looked genuinely afraid. He pulled his pistol and started firing and emptied the magazine. He reloaded, while backpedaling, and emptied another magazine.

Whatever it was that had been following him stopped and lay still. Gunny Mitchell turned and looked at us. Words failed him. Then, he jerked his head around and stared into the darkened grove as if he heard something.

My instincts took over. I yelled 'Face outboard! NOW!' and the men moved to form a perimeter for mutual protection. Private Zalmon with the SAW opened up first and the weapon lit up the trees behinds us as he fired at something. The men on either side of him took up flanking positions and began firing. Controlled bursts of fire felled large groups of whatever that was moving out there in the shadows.

The intensity of the firing increased and men moved forward, reloading and covering each other. Unholy noises came from the grove; unearthly movements swirled around the trees and approached. I began to wonder what we were firing at. Nobody was firing at us. Nothing that I could see was threatening us, but then, I was on the far side of our perimeter.

I kept watch on my side of the perimeter, but saw nothing but dead cows. I moved towards the other side where men were firing and prepared to relieve those doing the work with fresh men. My foot caught on something and I looked down. In the low light, I couldn't see what it was so I picked up what felt like a swatch of cloth. In the flash of gunfire, I saw a square patch with diagonal blue and white stripes sewn onto a torn uniform sleeve.

The patch was from the 3rd Infantry Division. The "Rock of the Marne" had earned its name protecting Paris from invading Germans during WWI. Apparently, 3rd ID had been sent in here first to contain whatever had gone wrong. And from the looks of it, had failed. Damn.

Eventually, I got a look at what we were fighting. It was a mob of men. They were filthy, bloody, ruined, and some had horrible wounds. Remnants of uniforms hung on their bodies and the horrible noises coming from their mouths were not anything that human ears should hear. The came at us in such a rush that I knew we didn't have enough firepower or ammo for this fight.

Lance Corporal Larson opened up with the other SAW and started mowing them down on our left. Everyone was engaged and picking targets, firing, and reloading. It was hell. No matter how many we killed, there were more.

Had they lost the 3rd ID's entire 1st Brigade Combat Team?

Discipline eventually broke down as each man realized we were fighting our own army. But...not our own army. These men were different, wild, and uncaring for their safety. Each Marine seemed horrified as he realized what we were doing. It just got worse. We...were overrun.




I was bitten early in the 'war'. Apparently, long before the strain of zombie-ism mutated into the highly dangerous form it quickly became. I fought it for weeks. In and out of a coma, feverish, sweating like a pig...and I--and the doctor--thought I was going to die. It lasted for a lot longer than I thought I could stand.

And then one day, the fever broke. The temperature started going down. My doctor wrote a lot on the chart at the end of my bed. Doctors came and looked at the chart. More doctors came and looked at the chart. Then officers came and stood just out of earshot and spoke with the doctors. Grave faced nurses took blood. I could see the writing on the wall. I was about to become a test subject.

I got out.

Never mind how. I just did. I was the only one that had survived and better yet--for me, anyway--I didn't die. So they were going to try to figure out how. I got the hell out.


There was a new hell on the outside. There was a full scale war on. People were dying.

And I moved as far away from it as I could get. The outbreak started in southern California, so I got myself to central Florida to get in front of it and buy time to build this place. It took three months before things got bad here, and by then, I had the place built and the defenses set up.

So...here we are, underground in a concrete bunker, safe from...them. Holding out, scavenging the remains of our society for food, shelter, and medical supplies. And me...I've got an odd mix of blood in me that makes me not only heal faster than normal, but also makes me impervious to their virus. And perhaps you remember this from a few months ago...but I can cure it as well.

 

[WhipLuvr]

I swallow hard on the soup and try not to look at him. I knew, I think I always knew, that there was something up with this man. But this... this changes everything. He's not only a soldier, which as a general rule I hate, but infected as well. Maybe its the meds, the cool of the infirmary, or something else but my skin begins to crawl. In the truck, after my rescue, we both had open wounds. And if zombie-ism can be transmitted by a bite... What would happen with blood transfer?

Does this explain why I'm always hungry now?

But he's got a more archaic strain... not the modern one. What the hell? Under the blankets I can feel my legs begin to shake. Did I manage to come into contact with some zombie remains outside? It could have happened. My arm and leg were shredded, and with the amount of undead out there... Christ.

 

[Dramaticflare]

Stumbling into the main area and kitchen with a large sack of potatoes over his shoulder, Dramatic proceeds to flop down on the couch and begin quietly snoozing. Yet still, the tension in the room rises unbearably, like there is now a constantly tightened spring waiting to uncoil.

 

[Chaingun]

But he's got a more archaic strain... not the modern one. What the hell? Under the blankets I can feel my legs begin to shake. Did I manage to come into contact with some zombie remains outside? It could have happened. My arm and leg were shredded, and with the amount of undead out there... Christ.

I believe you're safe. I don't believe I'm infectious. And my own testing in the lab--long before I invited any of you to join me here--seemed to show that it couldn't be transmitted by anything other than a bite. Something in the saliva mixed with the virus...

If I thought I was endangering any of you, I would not have invited anyone to be near me. I've been, shall we say, "stable", for quite a while now. The only thing I seemed to have gained from it is my quick healing and my ability to rescue women who have been recently infected.

Stumbling into the main area and kitchen with a large sack of potatoes over his shoulder, Dramatic proceeds to flop down on the couch and begin quietly snoozing. Yet still, the tension in the room rises unbearably, like there is now a constantly tightened spring waiting to uncoil.

Glad you're back. You don't seem any the worse for wear. Been out kicking ass?

I think I'll make mashed potatoes tonight. Good find.

 

[Dramaticflare]

A knife, thrown with nary a sound, hits the floor at Chain's feet and bounces away harmlessly. Dramatic, looking up angry, then surprised, sighs. "Sorry, too many sleepless, undead infested nights. I'm glad I at least remembered I was in the bunker and threw down, rather than out. Perhaps it would be better if I rested in my little room, if it still untouched." Dramatic pulled himself out of the couch, trailing dust and dirt without even noticing. He picked up the knife, nodded to Chain, and then moved off to his room. It was still untouched, but it was as sparse as it had been. He again dropped down onto the mattress and began dozing. The tension followed him.

 

[WhipLuvr]

I believe you're safe. I don't believe I'm infectious. And my own testing in the lab--long before I invited any of you to join me here--seemed to show that it couldn't be transmitted by anything other than a bite. Something in the saliva mixed with the virus...

If I thought I was endangering any of you, I would not have invited anyone to be near me. I've been, shall we say, "stable", for quite a while now. The only thing I seemed to have gained from it is my quick healing and my ability to rescue women who have been recently infected.





Glad you're back. You don't seem any the worse for wear. Been out kicking ass?

I think I'll make mashed potatoes tonight. Good find.

Dave......

* sighs and rolls over as he merrily barges out to greet whoever just came in.*

Fine, leave me here. Don't blame me if I get a hankering for brains for dinner.

 

[Chaingun]

Dave......

* sighs and rolls over as he merrily barges out to greet whoever just came in.*

Fine, leave me here. Don't blame me if I get a hankering for brains for dinner.

You've already got more brains than three women, Dear.

But dinner will be mashed potatoes and pork chops.

 

[WhipLuvr]

Fine fine.....

* sleeps for a few hours, then wakes and decides to head to the common room and see what's up*

Huh... Whose stuff is this?

* follows the smell of dirt and fresh mud to Dramatic's bedroom. He's in bed, still dressed but sound asleep.*

Where have you been? we missed you....

* softly crosses over and sits on the edge of his bed and begins gently loosening his bootlaces, easing them off his feet*

 

[Chaingun]

*Sits atop the bunker in a lawn chair, enjoying the sun, and sipping a Jim Beam and Coke.

An AR-10, chambered in .308 sits next to me, which every once in a while, I pick up and look through the sight and look around the fields.

The Jim Beam must be messing with me because a scarecrow in the western cornfield seems to be moving. Every time I look at it, it is in a different place.

"It can't possibly be walking around. They don't do that."

My vigilance increases as I start to realize something is afoot. I swear that damned thing is moving. In twenty minutes, I swear that the scarecrow has moved two hundred yards closer.

Picking the rifle back up, I watch the scarecrow through the scope on the rifle. Ruined straw hat, red plaid shirt, old trousers held up with bailing twine, and a face drawn onto a burlap bag filled with stuffing. His oddly shaped eyes mock me. The lopsided grin taunts. His hands are old gardening gloves and one of them points accusingly.

Fuck it. I'll have no more of his shenanigans. His taunting, snide, accusing look is not to be tolerated.

I snap the bolt closed on the rifle and take aim. The first shot is useless. I hear the round snapping as it passes through stalks of corn.

"Meh, warning shot..."

A second shot hits closer. The scarecrow--if he notices--doesn't move.

"Cool as a cucumber, eh?"

I take another drink to try to steady my nerves. Or whatever the fuck is causing me to miss.

"Man, I love bourbon..."

The rifle seems to be heavy in my hands.

Another shot, followed by another, and another.

Misses. All of them.

"Fucking scarecrow..."

I switch to burst fire and start sending three round bursts towards the scarecrow. The big difference is that it's noisier but no more effective.

"Shit. Perhaps I am drunk."

I turn the crystal rocks glass up and drain the last of my drink.

Carefully, I hold the rifle as steady as I can. My head is swimming and that fucking scarecrow is taunting me. The rifle slams against my shoulder, its recoil a firm reminder of the power of the round. I'm reminded of a shirt I saw at a gun show years ago. "308 Winchester--Turning cover into concealment since 1952"

The round destroys the head of the scarecrow and the whole mannequin falls over.

"Damn right," I mutter. That was satisfying. I put the rifle down and pour another drink.*

 

[Chaingun]

*Wakes up sweating. There's a bright light in my eyes and my skin is in pain.

I've fallen asleep, possibly slept up here after passing out drunk after trying to shoot the scarecrow.

It appears that is is after noon. WELL past afternoon.

"Geez, I must have been asleep for eighteen hours or more..."


My sunburn makes my skin feel like an old catcher's mitt that hasn't been oiled lately and is in danger of cracking from use. I struggle to my feet, knocking over the empty Jim Beam bottle. Spent brass lies around, evidence of my drunken shooting spree.

My face is imprinted from the concrete floor it's been lying against. My mouth feels like it's full of cotton balls. And my tongue feels like a lukewarm piece of rusty steel. I look around, trying to focus.

Carrion birds float on the thermals and I notice that there are hundreds of turkey vultures circling overhead.

"Wonder what that's about..." I mutter to myself.

There's a note taped to my belt.

"Why are you sleeping up here, Dumbass?" There's a smiley face drawn under the incriminating sentence so I know one of the ladies is making fun of me and not really being mean about it.



I wonder which one wrote it. I turn to head back downstairs to see if I can make a pimento cheese sandwich and some Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. (Post apocalypse food!!!)

Something catches my eye as I turn and I stop. The scavenger birds are all over the ground about a hundred yards out. They are eating something.


"They only eat stuff that is dead..." I say half out loud.


And I realize with a cold chill that they are eating the scarecrow.

"But...."*

 

[Chaingun]

"You'll be up and around in one more day, Whip. Like it or not, you're going to go for a ride with us tomorrow."

Have another sandwich and drink your juice. I need you nice and strong. The rifle in the corner is the new one I built for you. It's an AR-15 chambered in 300 Blackout. Familiarize yourself with it. Tomorrow you'll be riding while we go to get the tank."

*Checks the bandages on WhipLuvr's leg and is satisfied with the healing.*

"Looks great. It was a pretty leg before...and it'll be pretty again soon."

*Kisses Whip on the forehead and wipes the corner of her mouth with a napkin where there is a small crumb of sandwich.*

 

[WhipLuvr]

"You'll be up and around in one more day, Whip. Like it or not, you're going to go for a ride with us tomorrow."

Have another sandwich and drink your juice. I need you nice and strong. The rifle in the corner is the new one I built for you. It's an AR-15 chambered in 300 Blackout. Familiarize yourself with it. Tomorrow you'll be riding while we go to get the tank."

*Checks the bandages on WhipLuvr's leg and is satisfied with the healing.*

"Looks great. It was a pretty leg before...and it'll be pretty again soon."

*Kisses Whip on the forehead and wipes the corner of her mouth with a napkin where there is a small crumb of sandwich.*

* blushes at the touch*

Thanks Dave, the gun looks great. And I can't wait to go get the new tank... But I think you need to get something on that sunburn. Crikey, what did you do, take a nap at midday?

 

[Chaingun]

* blushes at the touch*

Thanks Dave, the gun looks great. And I can't wait to go get the new tank... But I think you need to get something on that sunburn. Crikey, what did you do, take a nap at midday?

That rifle shoots like a champ.

Um, yeah, the sunburn. Weirdest thing. I was drinking and I think I was hallucinating that one of the scarecrows in the corn field was actually moving. So I got a little annoyed at that and wasted some ammo "killing" it.

So today, I woke up all sunburned...and hung over. And when I was fairly certain that I knew what had happened--that I'd blown a hole in a giant rag doll--I discovered that perhaps it was alive since the vultures were eating it. I'm confused.

So, I just went back up to go see if I had really seen that monstrosity. And, confound it, the scarecrow, the birds, everything...it was gone.

In any case, you're looking well, Dear. We're leaving at first light, Get out your fighting clothes. The truck already has ammo and fuel in it.