Dave's Zombie Proof Bunker and Refuge for Unattached Wimmens

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Alright, between bullets and blades, I think I'm done with berries. I'll be in the vehicle. Trying not to eat them all before we get back.

...the berries.


...ahem.
 
Let's haul ass!!! They're coming!!!

That herd of zedheads that just appeared out of the treeline is too big to fight. Let's get the hell out of here. Everyone in the jeep!!!!
 
Hey, I know you!

You're the one that sends the same exact erotic story to all the women while fooling them into thinking it is only for them.

How are they hangin' today, Mr. Gun?

:rolleyes:

Let's haul ass!!! They're coming!!!

That herd of zedheads that just appeared out of the treeline is too big to fight. Let's get the hell out of here. Everyone in the jeep!!!!
 
* blinking off the flash from Animal's katana (thanks for that, buddy...) my vision is dimmed as the deadheads surround my tree. I aim nearly straight down and pick a few off before a sharp nap runs my blood cold. The highest branch was only 4 feet off the ground... Would that be an easy climb for a deadhead like it was for me? I put the rifle over my shoulder, climb a few more feet up. Another snap. Are they TRYING to climb up and get me, or are they CLIMBING up, and only snapping off the odd branch? I'm too high up to see them clearly by now, but when I can I fire at what moving dead I can see. Shit, this is NOT going to end well.

Then I hear it. The rumble of the jeep. Goddamn it they're leaving me here! Ripping my attention from the dead below me, I fire a shot into the ground in front of the jeep to remind them I'm still stuck up a tree. From the looks of it, Dave's the one driving. Aw, fuck. I can't see into the woods, I have no idea the number of dead approaching my tree....

I dont know if Ill have enough bullets.

Fuck.

Fuckity fuckity fuck.
 
Hey, I know you!

You're the one that sends the same exact erotic story to all the women while fooling them into thinking it is only for them.

How are they hangin' today, Mr. Gun?

:rolleyes:

Just how many psychiatrists are you currently seeing?
 
Driving across the field at a breakneck pace, I am avoiding irrigation ditches and the odd corpse in my attempt at getting to where the tree is that Whip is hiding in. As I finally am able to turn toward her, a bullet kicks up the dust. She must be frightened if she is wasting bullets let alone thinking that she needs to remind me of her absence beside me in the jeep.

Gunning the engine, I approach the tree and the horde of undead surrounding it, pawing at her as she climbs. The grill of the jeep plows through the mass of bodies and makes sickening crunching noises as it mows them down. We careen past the trunk and spin around, the back end of the jeep slams into several more. I down shift and accelerate again, running down those on the other side of the tree. Animal is leaning out and slicing bodies in half almost as quickly as I can run them down.

"Whip! We are leaving!!! Jump now!"

I position the jeep under her and open on the crowd with a Glock 18 set to full auto. Thirty three rounds are discharged in under two seconds and another magazine appears in my hand as if by its own volition and I slam it into the hot pistol. More rounds are dispatched and the dead are dying again in droves. Animal is howling in rage as his katana swings, dealing death in a bloody arc around the back of the jeep.

"It's time, Whip! It has to be now!"
 
Finally, miraculously, the jeep turns and comes towards the base of the tree. The undead are madly trying to climb up, but their hasty efforts have only managed to snap off branches , leaving the tree bare the last 10 feet to the ground. Slinging the rifle over my shoulder I climb down, fighting the urge to vomit at the stench of so much rotting, starving flesh. They're all moaning now, soft and low as if trying to coax me down among them.

" Not today"

The jeep's roof does NOT look like a soft landing, but I've got little other choice. The key will be to avoid the roof rack on the way down, then to grab and hang on to it as Dave drives away. At least there is a rack to hang on to. Without one I'd be even further screwed. I gather my wits and jump, aiming to tuck and roll away some of my momentum. As the jeep rolls under me I slam into with my feet, then my left arm, the top of my head and finishing with a agonizing, crashing landing on my back. The rifle savagely gouges my spine, but I'm too shocked by the pain to move. The jeep eases away, building speed as we cross the clearing. When we're on a straightaway I struggle to push the rifle out from under me and hold the butt end out by one of the windows. Hands quickly take it and pull it inside.

When Dave stops to let me down only then does the pain really hit. Pins stab at my ankles when I try to stand, my left shoulder feels though its been dislocated, I'm sure my back will be black and blue tomorrow, and a considerable lump is rising on my head. Nothing's broken, thank god, but I have certainly sprained my ankles.

" Next time.... Next time I'm stayin' with you...."
 
About as many women as you send the same story to, Mr. Gun. Perhaps your mind is still stuck up in the Highlands and you are just suffering from a short state of amnesia.

:rolleyes:

Just how many psychiatrists are you currently seeing?
 
Jumping out as soon as the jeep pulls in and rushing up to the kitchen to grab ice and lidocaine patches. I can deal with the berries later, but judging by Whip's expression, which was even more stoic than usual, she was hurting and I wanted to be able to help. By the time I got back, Dave has already helped her as much as she'll let him, out of the jeep and I set to work trying to fuss as little as possible, but trying to make sure she gets some relief.
 
Playful rushes over with ice packs as I find a old lawn chair someone's set up in the motorpool. Trust her to figure out exactly what I needed. I tuck a pack between my back and the chair, then loosely wrap two over my ankles with elastic bandages.

"Thank you Playful, that feels a lot better already...."

She offers a hand and we slowly hobble inside into the bunker.
 
I tear open the lidocain patches and gently affix them to Whip's spine where angry welts and bruises are springing up. "The adhesive is light, they'll come off gently when it's time to change them, but they'll help, and the quicker the better."
 
I nearly scream when Playful nudges me bellydown on the bar, pulls up my shirt and presses the patches to my back. I know its supposed to help but.... ow. She gets me set up in bed before the relief kicks in.

"ahhhhh... that's feeling better...."

She smiles and tucks fresh ice packs around my ankles before turning to leave. I catch her hand, wincing at the stabbing pain her slight tug gives.

"Please... Sleep with me tonight?"
 
I stand by her bedside for a moment, my concern etched clearly on my face. She's tough as nails this girl, far tougher than I could ever be, but laying there she looked so small.

I press my lips together and give a quick nod. "I will stay. At least until you fall asleep, but if I think you're in any less comfortable because of having someone next to you I'm going to leave you here to heal, but I'll be close by, okay?" It was the least I could do...

I grab a spare pillow and climb from the end of the bed up along the wall, leaving her as much space as possible, trying not to jostle her tender frame. She closes her eyes and I lay on my side watching her try to drift off. I wonder what sorts of dreams she'll have tonight... I thread my fingers through those on her closest hand and give a reassuring squeeze... and then try to drift off to my own sleep.
 
Seeing Whip is well attended to, and noting the annoyed glance she shot my way (must've been on the scope when I flashed), I head in to perform the standard post fight maintenance: weapons, body, chow. In that order, every time. I clean, hone and polish the katana, strip down and clean the HK, and reload all of my magazines. Once my gear is ready for the next fight, I take care of my body - I head to the shower and clean up thoroughly, checking any sore spots carefully for bites. I've been lucky again, considering the size of the horde and the ...... INTIMATE range of that fight.

Now clean, and not yet hungry with the stench of long-dead yet still walking flesh still in my nose, I head back to the motor pool and retrieve Whip's gear. I clean and oil the rifle, plus up her ammo, and make sure it's staged for whenever she's ready to pick it up again. A small bit of penance.

I head to the exercise room, intending to go through a light workout, just a few calisthenics and kata, more to clear my mind of the recent violence than anything else. It was a long day, and those fucking strawberries almost cost far more than they could ever be worth, even in this new reality.
 
Heading over to the infirmary, I retrieve some antiseptic, bandages and some painkillers, along with a couple of fresh lidocaine patches and quietly deliver them to Whip's room. Playful glances up at me from her perch on the bed...ever the watchful kitty...and then settles back down next to Whip. Whip couldn't have a better guardian angel.

Back in the kitchen, I look at the incredible mess. The red berries have been smashed and crushed together, and the liquid oozing out of the baskets looks like blood. It's dripping everywhere. My stomach flips, recalling every frightening moment we just encountered. As I reach for a dishcloth to start cleaning up the mess, I see my hand shaking uncontrollably. The "fight or flight" response is leaving my body, and I feel like I am watching myself unravel. Tears start falling down my face as I try, ineffectually, to wipe up the red stains from the counter and floor. All I can see is a blur of red, and I slide to the floor, unable to move.
 
About as many women as you send the same story to, Mr. Gun. Perhaps your mind is still stuck up in the Highlands and you are just suffering from a short state of amnesia.

:rolleyes:

I have no amnesia nor any of the confusion you do about what happened with that story.
 
Sitting outside the room where Whip rests (and Playful watches), I vow never to allow her to be endangered again; I've failed her.

I won't leave this spot by her door until she is well. And if possible, I will try to keep her near me every second I can manage it. Never again. Never again, never again.
 
My back hurts too much to sleep, and I havent eaten since breakfast anyways, so I wander into the kitchen looking for something to eat. Dave's asleep in a chair outside my room. When I get to the kitchen, Ella's standing with her back to me, swaying slightly. A rag soaked in red slips from her fingers and I step forward to catch her, only to be stopped my a flash of pain when my back rebels. She topples to the floor, white as a sheet.

What strawberries we have managed to gather are in a smushed mess on the counter, dripping brilliant red juice all over the counter. I suspect this is what has triggered Ellas fainting spell. As much as I can without bending down or using my hands, I prod her onto her side and move one of her legs back to brace herself. That done, I scrape the mushed berries into a large mixing bowl and put a little water on the stove. Mushed berries arent much good for fancy eatin' , but they sure are good in jam.

While the strawberries are stewing nice and slow on the stove, I notice faint thuds and creaks coming from the gym. I assume it to be Animal, and grabbing two bottles of water from the drinks fridge I go to give him one. Odd man really. He shows so little regard for everyone else, but takes care of himself almost religiously. When everyone else in the bunker rallies around an injured member, you're most likely to find Animal off in a corner somewhere, quietly tending to the needs that keep all of us safe.

At the gym door I drop one of the bottles and kick it inside.

"There ya go buddy. See? You're not the only one at this abysmal hour" I think as I head back to the kitchen to check on Ella.
 
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Upon opening my eyes I'm immediately frustrated and a little angry. I climb quickly out of Whip's bed, tears stinging but unfallen. Goddamnit, there's not a person in this whole forsaken bunker who knows how to let themselves be taken care of and heal!

I storm around, though in bare feet on concrete there's not much noise to be made.

I do finally spy Whip.. I spend a moment in the doorway, silently considering ordering her back to bed. It'll do no good, I know. I retreat, unseen, and head back to the kitchen, where I find Ella.

My negative thoughts turn again to caring and concern and I manage to rouse her enough to get her to her feet and to her own bed, covering her with blankets and humming softly.

Some days.... *sigh*
 
After stirring pectin into the jam and placing it in the fridge, I go back to my bedroom to find poor Playful sitting on my bed, clearly struggling to hold back tears. I slide in beside her, pulling a light sheet over our legs.

" What's wrong, darling? You look pretty upset. "

Ignoring the ache of discomfort, I tentatively slide an arm around her shoulders.

" Its not good for you to keep this stuff inside."
 
I chuckle mirthlessly and wipe a hand across my eyes. "Why not inside? That's where it's safe..."

I shake my head. "Sorry. Long couple days. I have some things I should get done that I've been putting off. Please try and rest, sweety. And let me know when you think you need new patches. You're pretty self-sufficient, but I don't need you pulling something trying to reach them and pull them off yourself. Please?"

She nods, but I know better than to believe she'll listen. Bullheaded the whole lot of them. Loveable... but bullheaded. I sigh, smile, and walk out. It's time for me to start putting a few things right.

The door to my room latches behind me, followed by the soft click of the lock.
 
Done with my workout, showered and rested, I'm now restLESS, knowing full well why. Ella's minor spell, play's tears, these are things I've never been good at dealing with. I'm a problem solver, always have been in both my personal and professional life, but the problems I excel at are of a more pragmatic type. Matters of emotion, of relationships......not so much.

It's no time for introspection, and I'm damn sure not about to make some fumbling attempt at connecting when both ladies are in a state far beyond my limited capabilities. I can, however, do what I do we'll and hope it serves our small community. I pull a handwritten list of addresses out of my pack, matching it against local road maps. Seeing what I'm looking for, I grin a hard, darkly amused grin.

"I knew I could count on you. Good old Florida."

I head silently to the motor pool, my weapons and kit at the ready, and select an old Jeep Cherokee. I'll need to storage space if my hunch plays out.

The door lifts, and I move into the predawn stillness in low gear, lights out and letting my awareness project out for threats.
 
Pulling back into the motor pool, I shut the Cherokee down and allow myself a small smile of satisfaction. My hunch paid out, and paid big. One thing Florida had always been good for - the gun culture. With an old list of manufacturers and some of the best "home based" custom gunsmiths in the world handy, I've stocked up on replacement parts, specialty tools and upgraded components aplenty. Add to that some new presses, molds, and enough powder I was forced to keep the vehicle in low gear for the entire return trip, and we'll all be well armed for the foreseeable future.

Taking my spoils to the workroom, I quickly and efficiently set up three reloading stations and a work area for gun repair and tuning. I take a dry erase board and hang it outside the door - "Animal's custom gunworx: leave your gun and requests, check back in a day."

Before I set to reloading (I've noticed we're starting to run low on .45ACP so that's first), I head back to the SUV and unload the last bit of salvage, taking it to he kitchen and setting it up, hoping it'll bring a smile to someone's face. I lay out ingredients and make sure there's fresh milk in the cooler, chuckling as I imagine the reaction to the commercial-grade ice cream maker now resident in the bunker.

I head to the workshop and begin measuring powder and sorting brass.
 
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