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Dave's Zombie Proof Bunker and Refuge for Unattached Wimmens

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Ellafun said:
Wondering how long it will be before the end. Takes another sleeping pill and goes back to sleep.
Click to expand...

Wait, the end is nigh? So you believe the madman with the sign?

Wake up, you!
 
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Chaingun said:
You're outfit is fine for outside, but inside, we go without. Zombie bites can't be hidden on a naked body. Holsters, shoes, maybe a piece or two of jewelry, but that's it.

Welcome.
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You dont havt to tell me, Chain. I know the rules.

* smiles as I strip off my battered and scarred leathers, grubby jeans, still-lacy black panties, and a very faded red bra, the only one I could find that fits.*

Well, I've been out and around, but nowhere I've found is the same as the Bunker. Now someone put a drink in my hand and crank the music loud, because I'm ready for a good time!
 
WhipLuvr said:
You dont havt to tell me, Chain. I know the rules.

* smiles as I strip off my battered and scarred leathers, grubby jeans, still-lacy black panties, and a very faded red bra, the only one I could find that fits.*

Well, I've been out and around, but nowhere I've found is the same as the Bunker. Now someone put a drink in my hand and crank the music loud, because I'm ready for a good time!
Click to expand...

I've been wondering where you might be. Are you ok? Did you see any more of the living out there? I'm very happy you're back.

You look like you've seen action. I am very interested in getting you cleaned up and checked out. Full medical examination. Hungry?
 
Chaingun said:
I've been wondering where you might be. Are you ok? Did you see any more of the living out there? I'm very happy you're back.

You look like you've seen action. I am very interested in getting you cleaned up and checked out. Full medical examination. Hungry?
Click to expand...
Hi Dave. No, no living , though there seem to be less undead now. And yes, I have seen action, thou Ive come out of it mostly unscathed. Nothing you need to worry your adorable head about. I am hungry though. Every fire I lit to cook also attracted the undead, and by the time I had fought them off the food was either burned or knocked over and trampled.I wouldnt say no to a sandwich.
 
Would you care for turkey, roast beef, or chicken?

I'll make you whatever you like, Dear.
 
Chicken please.

* playfully hip-nudges him out of the way as I bend to pull pickles, mayo, lettuce and cheese from the fridge, and pretending not notice how his eyes drift down to my skinny ass as I pull lettuce from the crisper. It seems someone has a garden patch somewhere. *

You want yours toasted?

( mind you, my ass is not exactly attractive right now. An unfortunate fall while fighting said zombies has resulted in a rather interesting bruise which I could only see in my tiny powder mirror. It looks something like a cartoony padlock, which is odd beacuse I searched all through the grass after I fell and could not find anything to leave a bruise on. Anyways, I doubt Dave cares about the quality of my bum. )
 
Walking back into the yard, covered in gore and chattel, my blade a streaked mess, my eyes still wild, I enter the bunker and head straight for the shower. I clean off, and discard the pants I was wearing - there's no saving them. I tend to the blade, and place it in its holder. I'm going back out, but this time it's going to be loud. I load up: M4 carbine with a dozen magazines, twin Sig P226 pistols with extended mags and plenty of spares, and just in case it gets up close and very personal a Brooklyn Crusher polymer baseball bat. I haven't come CLOSE to satisfying whatever hunger or rage is boiling in me yet. Best to head back out into deadhead land and keep clearing the region of threats.

I exit, having successfully avoided (or been avoided by, my appearance and demeanor couldn't have been pleasant or inviting) everyone. I pause at the edge of the clearing and fire three rounds into the air, then let out a ragged bellow of primal rage. I WANT them to hear me, and to come looking for a meal. They'll meet their final end instead.
 
TheAnimalWithin said:
Walking back into the yard, covered in gore and chattel, my blade a streaked mess, my eyes still wild, I enter the bunker and head straight for the shower. I clean off, and discard the pants I was wearing - there's no saving them. I tend to the blade, and place it in its holder. I'm going back out, but this time it's going to be loud. I load up: M4 carbine with a dozen magazines, twin Sig P226 pistols with extended mags and plenty of spares, and just in case it gets up close and very personal a Brooklyn Crusher polymer baseball bat. I haven't come CLOSE to satisfying whatever hunger or rage is boiling in me yet. Best to head back out into deadhead land and keep clearing the region of threats.

I exit, having successfully avoided (or been avoided by, my appearance and demeanor couldn't have been pleasant or inviting) everyone. I pause at the edge of the clearing and fire three rounds into the air, then let out a ragged bellow of primal rage. I WANT them to hear me, and to come looking for a meal. They'll meet their final end instead.
Click to expand...

*peers over the edge of the roof where I was hiding, watching my dear friend wrestle with his demons...
 
Ellafun said:
*peers over the edge of the roof where I was hiding, watching my dear friend wrestle with his demons...
Click to expand...

Moving to a clearing, making as much noise as I can, ignoring every training impulse to move through the land as a wraith, deliberately making a spectacle to bring my prey, the blood roaring in my ears, every other sense razor sharp as I stand and wait.

They come.

They come in numbers, shambling and grasping, and I cut them down. Wave after wave, until all of my magazines are empty, and I'm swinging the bat in tight, controlled but almost orgiastic sweeps, taking them down one or two at a time, laughing wildly, my eyes empty, knowing only the white hot pure heat of battle, not caring why, knowing if I survive this I'll have to examine my reasons for leaving the bunker so minimally equipped.

Fuck it, I'm here, and now is battle. Strike, move, strike, move.....this is what I am.

I finally stand immobile in a ring of carnage, breathing heavily but far from exhausted, and nowhere near sated. I briefly consider wading further into the wasteland we stubbornly persist in calling America, then something pulls me back. It isn't self-preservation, that left me long ago - a warrior thinks only of death, and prepares accordingly. As I trudge back toward the bunker, unconsciously going through the motions that will allow me through the coded and watched door, I briefly wonder what it is that keeps me coming back.

It can't be...community. It can't be....civilization. I have none of either left. So why do I keep returning, even at my darkest, most self-destructive times?

The door opens. Someone has been watching, and waiting. Despite all my failings, despite all my walls, someone has cared, and watched, and waited. This confuses me, and almost drives me back out into the dark armed only with a plastic bat, I am so nonplussed.

I choose safety, and enter the bunker. The door closes behind me. I clean and reload all weapons and magazines and head for the shower, more confused than ever.
 
I silently make my way into the kitchen to prepare a simple meal of meat and potatoes. I grab two bottles of dark ale out of the cooler in the party room and head toward the room that TheAnimal used to sleep in when he was still...him. I know better than to try to reach him right now, but perhaps this simple offering will remind him that there is someone who cares about him.

I leave the meal on a table in the room and quietly retreat to my own room. Maybe he'll find a way to sleep and find some real rest.
 
I retreat to to a store room and see about finding some masks and gloves before making my way back to the motor pool. Someone has to clean this up, after all. It smells bad enough as it is, we can't have it getting any WORSE.

I have to detatch myself a little as I work to drag the twice-dead corpses onto a plastic tarp. It is positively grotesque work, and my stomach churns a little. I don't want....I CAN'T let myself think of the people these used to be.

I work up a sweat as I lean my whole body into the work, my legs straining as I pull the loaded tarp through the heavy metal door and out into the sunshine. I can't let myself stop, I continue dragging it down the drive as far as I can, glad that there is no sound but the birds and the breeze.

I wander about the grounds gathering branches and sticks until I've covered the corpses, and then walk slowly around it, lighting fire every foot or so. I continue feeding the stinking pyre for an hour or so, keeping watch for more lively corpses in the distance, and letting my thoughts drift up with the smoke.
 
Life does go on, doesn't it?


The dead roam the earth, the crops keep growing, we keep living. What's the purpose?

And can we see a reason to keep on? I'm starting to need one. This hell on earth is filled with the damned and such a small group of friends. Where is our heaven?
 
Chaingun said:
Life does go on, doesn't it?


The dead roam the earth, the crops keep growing, we keep living. What's the purpose?

And can we see a reason to keep on? I'm starting to need one. This hell on earth is filled with the damned and such a small group of friends. Where is our heaven?
Click to expand...
* slips up behind him and lays a kiss on the back of his neck, wrapping my arms around his chest*

Right here darling. Let's go to bed.
 
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