NationStates Jolt Archive

Night came swiftly to Europe nowadays. The landscape, dotted with ruined cities and other settlements, was a dust-bowl wasteland. After the nuclear missile strike, this scene could pretty much be any part of the world.

James Trueman sat on the bonnet of a ruined pickup. A beer bottle in his hand, he looked out over the dead Thames river. The water, calm as it appeared, contained disgusting, mutated horrors, lurking in shallows and deep alike.

The sun finally lost its grip on the world, and darkness descended. James looked around, alerted by the change of light. He finished his beer, threw the bottle, and drew a hand to his jacket. He felt reassured already, as he gripped onto the molded handle of his 9mm beretta. checking the gun was cocked and loaded, he jumped down from the car.

It was dangerous to be out even 5 minutes after sundown. James knew this. The things were averted to light, but at night-time they came out in huge numbers, to devour the living. James walked forward, past a house. There was a garage, but the door was locked from the inside. James sighed; partially with exasperation, partially with fear. He kicked down the front door of the house, and entered.

The front room was a mess; furniture was strewn around and the stench of blood permeated the air. James retched. But he continued.
The kitchen was decorated with peeling wallpaper, and a broken tap dripped water. The sound broke the tension, startling James.

He heard it before he saw it; alerted by a low moan to his six. James spun, automatically firing 4 shots in quick succession. The reanimated zombie staggered from the blows, but they all impacted on non- essential areas of the corpse. It stumbled on.

The pistol was jammed, and the zombie was closing in. James, in a single movement, drew his throwing knife and flung it, embedding it deep within the rotting cranium of the zombie. The beast fell to the floor, dead for good. James bent to retrieve the knife, but as he did, he heard footsteps, coming down the creaking stairs. James abandoned the knife, smacking the gun with his fist. The slide fell back to the correct position.

James pointed it at the kitchen door, where the source of the footsteps would appear. Was it a zombie? Or a survivor?

As a shadow lengthened across the doorway, James steeled himself...

bumpity? Anyone can join.

*bump, again*

Sgt. Rook picked his way cautiously down the street. A newspaper piece fluttered past his feet, swept along by the inaudible, dead wind. Intrigued, Rook stopped it with his foot. The headlines were the usual- more cities and countries falling off the radar, religious wackos calling the atrocity Armageddon. This was printed 2 years ago, when the press had still been running.

Rook's eye was drawn to a hastily scribbled, black note in the corner of the paper.

'NE OTHR HMNS IN LONDON, CM 2 NU SCOTLND YRD. SRVIVRS ERE. 21/8/2010.'

'That was yesterday,' Rook realized. 'They're probably still there. Plus, it's only a few minutes away
A squirming, rumbling noise from under his feet distracted him from his thoughts. Rook looked at the bulging ground and realized, too late, what it was. He dived sideways, but he was too late.

The death grub burst through the tarmac of the road with such force, the wind wave from the impact blew Rook backwards. He impacted on a old dustbin at the mouth of an alley, as the grub let out an inhuman, screeching roar. The sound smashed some nearby windows, raining glass like a deadly rain.

Rook was on his feet and running, even as the grub launched its reeking, bloodstained maw at his previous position. The dumpster crumpled and disappeared down the grub's gullet. It let out a scream of annoyance, and slithered after Rook.

Rook's shotgun was holstered to his back, and he found difficulty undoing the clasp that stopped it detaching from his person. Sheer panic forced the clasp open, and he whirled the pump- action gun around. He blind-fired backwards, hearing a shriek and a splattering noise. Grinning, he turned, only to see the hideous thing shaking its head, to shake off the blood leaking out of some flesh wounds on its face.
Rook fired again, still running. The beast reared up, belly glistening, as the minuscule pellets impacted on its fleshy underbelly and the ground around it.

Rook tripped, and hit the ground heavily. Whirling around, he was granted with the sight of the foul mutant slithering down a manhole, shrieking with pain. As the tail disappeared down the gaping hole, the noise subsided.

Rook spent a moment to regain his breath, then looked ahead of him. Scotland yard, a shadow of its former glory, loomed up above him. the doors were flung open, zombies swarming around the entrance. And gunshots could be heard. Rook stood. Someone was in there, and they needed his help...

He loaded his shotgun.

(OOC: someone please post here!)

Brother Lukas Caine of the Crux de Mortis cult kept walking down the stairs, he had heard gunshots, probably another blasphemer against the holy Crux, the muscles on his chest and arms rippled, bare and covered in blood-red cult tatoos, he held his symbol-daubed Glock in his left hand and his blood covered machette in the other.
"at last, another sacrifice" Lukas said, licking his lips

James saw the bloodstained cultist rounding the door's archway. At first he simply mistook him for a survivor from a close encounter with a zombie.

"Hey man, you scared me!" James gasped, an edge of laughter in his voice. "I was gonna blow your brains out, i thought you were a zombie..."

His speech stopped as he saw the look in the man's eyes, the smell of fresh blood on his person. Instantly he figured out that, if he dared go upstairs, freshly slaughtered humans would lie everywhere.

The man raised his heavy pistol, grinned with almost wolf-like teeth. James flew backwards, pulverizing the door to the garage, and neatly preformed an action roll to his feet. Bullets hit the ground where he had been a split- second ago, accompanied by the harsh bark of the glock. James wheeled around, firing wildly with his pistol- many shots impacted on the broken door frame, he couldn't be sure if any hit the demented devil- worshiper himself.

Even so, the lunatic flew round the door, firing yet more shots. James worked around the Camaro SS car he had set eyes on in the garage, and smashed the window. Hearing the Devil worshiper's heavy breath, he tried to start the car. The engine stuttered...

Caine fired several random shots into the camaro before leaping onto the bonnet and smashing his machette through, his target dodged the weapon and it became embedded in the headrest. Lukas swore violently and swung his legs through the windscreen. The engine started and the car sped towards the garage door. Lukas`s torso and head were still exposed and he was slammed through the door, but he hardly noticed, he was in a bloodlust, foam dripped from his mouth and he grabbed at the man in front of him, biting, scratching and strangelling. With no regard for his own safety Caine fired 5 shots from his Glock into the mans chest. He reached for the machette to complete the kill in the proper way, he would slaughter the man and wash himself in his blood- the holy crux would be pleased...

A bullet hit James in the arm- any control he had over the car was now gone.
With sickening realization, he saw that it was late. Zombies stood everywhere, either gormlessly staring into space or chewing a nearby corpse.

The car skidded and bounced. The zombies saw this, as if they knew it was in trouble, and began shambling to the speeding car.

James and the cultist were unaware of this in the car. The cultist raised his machete, but James blocked it with his pistol. A heavy blow saw it clatter off the bonnet and into the steadily growing horde behind the car.

James delivered a savage punch to the cultist, who tumbled out of his field of view. James was going to check he was ok, but as he turned, the car slammed into a heavy lamppost, and James was thrown forward into the dashboard, blood trickling from his mouth.

James woke a few minutes later. The zombies had caught up and were trying to force the door open. James crawled away, disgusted, and his scrabbling hands fell on something- the cultists machete. James wielded it as he broke out of the door, scattering zombies everywhere. He kept running, but couldn't see the cultist anywhere.

James fell to the ground, suddenly aware of the bullet wound in his chest. It was leaking a blood trail, one that the zombies would follow... he needed medical aid fast.

That's really good, guys. I haven't done an RPG in a long time.

That's really good, guys. I haven't done an RPG in a long time.

thanks, wanna join? Just make your character, they can be set anywhere in the world, but currently its all set in London.

I dunno. It's about zombie's, isn't it? I don't know too much about 'em.

I dunno. It's about zombie's, isn't it? I don't know too much about 'em.

all you really have to know is theyre dead, often slow but CAN run, theyre rotten, and they have a tendency for human flesh and BRAIIINS.

Ohhh nasty. *makes face* Okay, give me a minute or two.

Christine ran as fast as she could. Never in her life had she ever come across something so horrible. Every single horror story she had ever encountered had turned out to be a fake. Not this time. The zombie's were real.

Hearing a cry of pain, Christine rushed north. A body lay on the ground surrounded by blood. In the dim light of the moon, Christine could make out a young man. He looked as if he needed help.

The man raised his eyes to Christine as she approached. Bending over him, she looked over his wounds.

Tearing off the sleeve of her shirt, Christine bandaged the wound the best she could. She smiled as helped the young man to his feet.

"Who are you?" he gasped out.

"Christine," she said. "Who are you?"

The question hung in the air as they heard the sound they both dreaded. Zombies.

OOC: I will join in as a Canadian soldier who was bound for Afganistan that got trapped when shit went down...this Rp sounds like 28 weeks later, i seen a bit of that movie it's cool!...i will post in afew minutes...

(OOC: good post)

IC: James whispered to Christine "There's a lot of them there. We need to move."
The woman nodded dumbly. The sight of so many silhouettes shambling towards them must have been terrifying.

"We can hide in that building there." explained James, gesturing to a nearby train station.

"Do you have a weapon? I have this." said James, brandishing the machete. Then he remembered the cultist.

"We'd better move now. I'm James, by the way."

Thanks.

They called themselves the Ever Vigilant Eight, it was a reminder of thier two lost freinds and that they should always be on the alert. As far as they could tell they were the only living people on the planet. Now Sam Mageera, Jason Track, Samantha Atwell, Frankie Lane, Bob Fisher, and Carrie Louis just tried to survive day to day.

Carrie stumbled again... she was feeling weak today; the baby kicked hard in her stomach and she wanted to vomit, "Are you okay?"
It was Jason, twin brother of Jeremy, the baby's father who was now gone. "I'll live, we have 2 hours until dark and we have to find shelter."
Sam turned back, of them he seemed to be the leader. A college football star he had played linebacker in two All American games and was 13th in the Hiesman standing his senior year. He graduated from West Point and served two tours in Afghanistan and Operation Iraqi Freedom but his career ended before he earned a promotion to Captain when he was caught in the blast of an anti personell mine. To everyone, he seemed to be self assured and in charge despite his prosthetic leg.
"We have to keep moving guys; according to this roadmap there is a town about 3 miles out, we can find a place to hide the night in there... IF we move and now."
The ragged group walked down an old paved back road somewhere in the northeastern pennsylvania region; the remains of a trailor court off to thier left and a sheer ravine on tier right.
"Come on Cee." Jason said, in almost the same tone his brothered had used when he had asked her to marry him, "We have to move."

Corporal Craig Howell of the Royal Canadian Regiment carefully made his way through the devestated streets cheaking around every corner before he made his move holding his C7 Assault rifle ready to fire upon contact...

Fuckin' zombies..i can't believe i would think that i would rather be fighting the taliban..

All of a sudden he heard the sound of gunfire and somthing crash, he picked up the pace. Craig moved out into the street to see a bloodied figure limping away and it looked like a zombie,

**Ka-pow** he fired a single shot through the head of the figure, blood shot into the air as the body crumpled to the ground..

"Looks good on you mother fucker.." he wisped..

He then seen a Camaro SS wrapped around a lamp post, he approached carefully and seen blood drops leading around to the other side where he seen to people, one wounded and one assisting,

"Hey!!" He yelled keeping his weapon trained on them as he moved foward..

OOC: Hope you don't mind but that cultist had to go lol...we got enough problems as it is, if the player comes back he can say it wasn't him though..

James halted, and turned. He saw what looked like a soldier, walking towards them, weapon in the air.

James shouted "Into the station!" Then, more urgently, "BEHIND YOU!"

The man turned, James kept going. The mans assault rifle should get him to the station without harm. Anyway, he couldn't help in his current state.

James and Christine flung the doors open, and stood by them, ready to close when the soldier reached their position.

James halted, and turned. He saw what looked like a soldier, walking towards them, weapon in the air.

James shouted "Into the station!" Then, more urgently, "BEHIND YOU!"

The man turned, James kept going. The mans assault rifle should get him to the station without harm. Anyway, he couldn't help in his current state.

James and Christine flung the doors open, and stood by them, ready to close when the soldier reached their position.

Craig turned around once he got the heads up to see zombies moving towards him down the street,

Not this time..

He let off three, three round bursts aimed at the closest undead then broke into a run going all out towards the station that the two people had entered,

"Hold the door!!" he yelled...

Then he ran in right past the two....

The door slammed shut on undead fingers, but the toughened glass held. No zombies got through.

James moved objects to strengthen the barricade, motioning for the others to help him. Suddenly a spasm of pain from his chest forced him to cry out, and he crumpled on the floor, breathing heavily.

Sgt. Rook picked his way cautiously down the street. A newspaper piece fluttered past his feet, swept along by the inaudible, dead wind. Intrigued, Rook stopped it with his foot. The headlines were the usual- more cities and countries falling off the radar, religious wackos calling the atrocity Armageddon. This was printed 2 years ago, when the press had still been running.

Rook's eye was drawn to a hastily scribbled, black note in the corner of the paper.

'NE OTHR HMNS IN LONDON, CM 2 NU SCOTLND YRD. SRVIVRS ERE. 21/8/2010.'

'That was yesterday,' Rook realized. 'They're probably still there. Plus, it's only a few minutes away
A squirming, rumbling noise from under his feet distracted him from his thoughts. Rook looked at the bulging ground and realized, too late, what it was. He dived sideways, but he was too late.

The death grub burst through the tarmac of the road with such force, the wind wave from the impact blew Rook backwards. He impacted on a old dustbin at the mouth of an alley, as the grub let out an inhuman, screeching roar. The sound smashed some nearby windows, raining glass like a deadly rain.

Rook was on his feet and running, even as the grub launched its reeking, bloodstained maw at his previous position. The dumpster crumpled and disappeared down the grub's gullet. It let out a scream of annoyance, and slithered after Rook.

Rook's shotgun was holstered to his back, and he found difficulty undoing the clasp that stopped it detaching from his person. Sheer panic forced the clasp open, and he whirled the pump- action gun around. He blind-fired backwards, hearing a shriek and a splattering noise. Grinning, he turned, only to see the hideous thing shaking its head, to shake off the blood leaking out of some flesh wounds on its face.
Rook fired again, still running. The beast reared up, belly glistening, as the minuscule pellets impacted on its fleshy underbelly and the ground around it.

Rook tripped, and hit the ground heavily. Whirling around, he was granted with the sight of the foul mutant slithering down a manhole, shrieking with pain. As the tail disappeared down the gaping hole, the noise subsided.

Rook spent a moment to regain his breath, then looked ahead of him. Scotland yard, a shadow of its former glory, loomed up above him. the doors were flung open, zombies swarming around the entrance. And gunshots could be heard. Rook stood. Someone was in there, and they needed his help...

He loaded his shotgun.

(OOC: someone please post here!)

Shotgun shots and the roar of a death grub woke Alan Jones out of an uneasy sleep. Then again, sleep hadn't come easy for the past two years, ever since he had been trapped here in London after the zombie outbreak. Luckilly, he had known some friends in the British military, and they were able to sneak him some weapons to the upper room apartment where he had been living. He hadn't heard from his friends in a week though. Something about a mission to the south of Paris to fight off a horde or something.

Rubbing his eyes, Alan got up and walked over to the window, dressed only in boxers. He saw either a police officer or a military person, he couldn't tell which, they all looked the same now, trying to get away from a death grub, firing his shotgun again and again at the beast. Alan shook his head, walking back further into the room. A single shotty wasn't going to do much against a death grub, except make it angrier. Casually, he pulled a cigarette out of the stockpile of boxes he had and lit it with his still-working Zippo. Taking a deep drag, he grabbed a heavy case and slowly walked back towards the window. He could see the man was now on his back, the death grub surveying him for a final time before moving in for the kill.

Alan opened the case, pulling out an old American-made LAW (light anti-tank weapon). The Brits didn't use them anymore, so no one missed the five his friend smuggled out for him as defense. Resting the missile on his left shoulder, Alan flipped open the telescopic sight and peered out at the man. A sergeant, judging by the stripes. Shaking his head, Alan sighted the death grub, pointing the missile at the base of it's head from behind. "Ametuers." He grumbled as he pulled the trigger, sending the missile streaking out before it impacted, showering the entire street with death grub gore.

"That was a good one." Alan smiled as a piece of death grub impacted next to the window. "Oy, Sergeant!" He called down, in an accent that was unmistakably American. "You really should be more careful, walking around these streets at night. You never know what might just 'pop up'." Alan smiled and took another drag on the ciggarette. "Use the fire escape and come on up. The walking dead haven't been smart enough to figure that out yet. There's far too many booby traps left on the stairs." Alan smiled and ducked back into the room, opening the door and tossing the now useless case and launcher into the hallway. Just one more piece of barricade for his little fortress.

All right heres mine......


2 days before the outbreak.....

Cpatain William Lawrence is a United States Marine stationed at the US embassy in london. His current assignement had to do about some kind of instabilty in London after a spate of gruesome murders, the US wanted to protect its property......

2 years later....

He ran as fast as he could through an alley, behind him were several soldiers, or at least, they had been once. He unslung his M4 from his back and turned, his first round caught one of them in the face, the second caught another in the legs, teraing through its knee cap and causing it to curmple on the floor. He turned and looked frantically for a way out, behind him was a low brick wall. He decided to chance it and vaulted over, right into something. What it was wasaman, not infected, but covered in blood. He grinned and raised a glock ornamented with strange designs. William lashed out with his left leg, nocking it away, then incapacitated him with a blow to the temple. he didn't have time to play around, he found a note saying that their were surviovrs in scotland yard....

Shotgun shots and the roar of a death grub woke Alan Jones out of an uneasy sleep. Then again, sleep hadn't come easy for the past two years, ever since he had been trapped here in London after the zombie outbreak. Luckilly, he had known some friends in the British military, and they were able to sneak him some weapons to the upper room apartment where he had been living. He hadn't heard from his friends in a week though. Something about a mission to the south of Paris to fight off a horde or something.

Rubbing his eyes, Alan got up and walked over to the window, dressed only in boxers. He saw either a police officer or a military person, he couldn't tell which, they all looked the same now, trying to get away from a death grub, firing his shotgun again and again at the beast. Alan shook his head, walking back further into the room. A single shotty wasn't going to do much against a death grub, except make it angrier. Casually, he pulled a cigarette out of the stockpile of boxes he had and lit it with his still-working Zippo. Taking a deep drag, he grabbed a heavy case and slowly walked back towards the window. He could see the man was now on his back, the death grub surveying him for a final time before moving in for the kill.

Alan opened the case, pulling out an old American-made LAW (light anti-tank weapon). The Brits didn't use them anymore, so no one missed the five his friend smuggled out for him as defense. Resting the missile on his left shoulder, Alan flipped open the telescopic sight and peered out at the man. A sergeant, judging by the stripes. Shaking his head, Alan sighted the death grub, pointing the missile at the base of it's head from behind. "Ametuers." He grumbled as he pulled the trigger, sending the missile streaking out before it impacted, showering the entire street with death grub gore.

"That was a good one." Alan smiled as a piece of death grub impacted next to the window. "Oy, Sergeant!" He called down, in an accent that was unmistakably American. "You really should be more careful, walking around these streets at night. You never know what might just 'pop up'." Alan smiled and took another drag on the ciggarette. "Use the fire escape and come on up. The walking dead haven't been smart enough to figure that out yet. There's far too many booby traps left on the stairs." Alan smiled and ducked back into the room, opening the door and tossing the now useless case and launcher into the hallway. Just one more piece of barricade for his little fortress.

"What about the survivors?" Shouted Rook, gesticulating at the police station. They're gonna get eaten!"

Then he changed his mind. The gunshots had stopped, so they were either safe, or eaten. Either way, they didnt need his help. Rook ran to the fire exit, smashing a zombie across the face with his shotgun butt, and climbed.

"What about the survivors?" Shouted Rook, gesticulating at the police station. They're gonna get eaten!"

Then he changed his mind. The gunshots had stopped, so they were either safe, or eaten. Either way, they didnt need his help. Rook ran to the fire exit, smashing a zombie across the face with his shotgun butt, and climbed.

Survivors? That was the first Alan had heard about anyone being alive in this sector in weeks. Still, he had heard semi-automatic and automatic gunfire besides the Sergeant's shotgun blasts, so there were other people around.

Great, Alan thought, more activity means more zombies. Blasted, Geroge, why'd you have to take the machine gun? Grabbing an M4 with a 4x ACOG scope, Alan surveyed the street. Nothing moving that he could see, though the zombies would be attracted to that death grub corpse sooner or later.

The door slammed shut on undead fingers, but the toughened glass held. No zombies got through.

James moved objects to strengthen the barricade, motioning for the others to help him. Suddenly a spasm of pain from his chest forced him to cry out, and he crumpled on the floor, breathing heavily.

Craig helped the man barricade the door, the wounded man slid down the wall and fell to the floor crying out in pain, Howell knelt next to him slinging his C7,

"Your shot?..what happened?"

He took a look at the wound, it looked to be a pistol wound..

"I don't have much medical kit on me..but this bullet has to come out of there man..by the way! im Corporal Craig Howell RCR..."

He tore the cloth of the mans shirt away from the wound and looked closer,

"Fuck....yeah..that gotta come out..you'll be ok man, i got you!"

He looked at the woman standing there aswell,

"Craig Howell, Canadian infantry!"

He reached into his rear pack and pulled out a small medical kit and set it on the ground at his feet...

Craig helped the man barricade the door, the wounded man slid down the wall and fell to the floor crying out in pain, Howell knelt next to him slinging his C7,

"Your shot?..what happened?"

He took a look at the wound, it looked to be a pistol wound..

"I don't have much medical kit on me..but this bullet has to come out of there man..by the way! im Corporal Craig Howell RCR..."

He tore the cloth of the mans shirt away from the wound and looked closer,

"Fuck....yeah..that gotta come out..you'll be ok man, i got you!"

He looked at the woman standing there aswell,

"Craig Howell, Canadian infantry!"

He reached into his rear pack and pulled out a small medical kit and set it on the ground at his feet...

James' name passed his lips, he felt very faint.
"The cultist... shot me... shit, where is he?

James' name passed his lips, he felt very faint.
"The cultist... shot me... shit, where is he?

Craig stopped and thought for a moment..then he replyed while getting the things he needed to remove the bullet out of his kit,

"He wouldn't happen to have been near the accident site would he? because if so i blew his fuckin' head off...a creepy lookin' dude, he was wounded himself...but now he's dead probably getting eaten by them un-godly creatures out there...no worries man, just chill out.."

He took his combat knife off his TAC vest,

"Alright man..this is gonna hurt..ALOT..i don't have any morphine..or anything for that matter.."

Howell rubbed some sterilyzer over the blade of his knife then on the mans chest...

"Yeah, that's him, I..."

James screamed in pain as the knife cut the bullet from his chest. A small clank was heard, and the bullet fell to the floor. The sterilizer stung like crazy as it seeped into the wound.

James looked up at the man.

"Thanks?" He suggested weakly.

"Yeah, that's him, I..."

James screamed in pain as the knife cut the bullet from his chest. A small clank was heard, and the bullet fell to the floor. The sterilizer stung like crazy as it seeped into the wound.

James looked up at the man.

"Thanks?" He suggested weakly.

Sweat poured down Craigs forehead as he moved the blade under the bullet but he stayed as steady as he could. Howell had never been hit in combat but shot many enemy and seen good Canadians get hit aswell, he had a rough idea what he was doing although he was no sergeon..he tryed to block out the mans crys of pain then the bullet fell out onto the floor..Craig sighed picking it up,

"Man..no problem, you handled that like a pro..."

He held the flatened slug out for the man to take after rubbing the blood on his combat shirt, he used his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his brow...

"You need to rest as long as possible man, here..water.."

He took his canteen out and held it towards the man,

"I never got your name?"

Alan continued scanning with his M4, wondering where the Sergeant was. He hadn't heard a thing from outside since the Sergeant said he was going to start climbing the fire escape.

Christine sighed with relief as she saw James drinking the water. When he was finished, he handed it to the other man. With a smile she turned to their rescuer.

"Thanks so much," she said.

"No prob," said the man. He shook her offered hand.

"Christine."

"Craig."

"Hey," rasped James. "Can't you two do intros later?" He scowled at Christine. She shrugged and gave him a smile. She smiled too much for his taste.

"What makes you so cheerful?" he asked. "Did you forget I'm hurt here and that we've been chased by zombies?"

Christine frowned.

"No," she said. "But I'd rather focus on the bright side than the dark."

"Armed with any weapons?" asked Craig.

"Just a crucifix," she said, pulling out the beaded rosary from under her shirt. "And a dagger. Never go anywhere without them."

"These are zombies we're talkin' about here," said James. "Not vampires."

Christine shrugged.

"Can't hurt." Suddenly her eyes widened and her shoulders stiffened. "Their coming," she whispered.

Craig swore.

"Don't they ever give up?" he asked.

Captain Lawrence stumbled through the streets, wounded. he had managed to fight his way through a crowd of zombies but found himself being shot t by a sniper! The first round enetered below his lung and went clean through, the other impacted on his shoulder. Now he was slowly bleeding to death, but luckily it was daylight. He stumbled forward and fell, he knew it, he was almost to far gone. He checked his medical kit and deiscovered the only thing he had was a fast acting coagulant and no bandages. "Better than nothing..." He mumbled to himself. he eventually limped to a door and heard voices on the other side, somebodys was asking about weapons, and from what he heard, all somebody had was a crucifix and a dagger. He summoned up the last of his strength and pounded on the door, calling weakly for help. And with this last act, he sank into inky blackness.

United Human Countries, nice piece!

Flinging open the door, Christine gasped at the fallen man. She screamed for Craig to come and help her. Together they managed to get the man inside. Christine knelt beside him.

"This is getting out of hand," she said to Craig, who was standing behind her. "We've got to do something."

"Just what do you suggest?' he asked, frowning at her.

Christine shook her head and turned to her new patient.

"We don't have time to do anything now," she said. "The zombies are coming. Craig, a little help here?"

Craig nodded and helped the man who introduced himself as Captain Lawrence, to his feet.

"Can you manage okay?" Christine asked.

"Yeah. You go help James."

Christine nodded and helped James to his feet.

* * *

The darkness of the night swelled around them as Christine, Craig, James and Capt. Lawrence hurried through the dark ally-ways. The ghostly moon glided across the sky indicating there was no danger at all. But Christine knew better. She hated to admit it, even to herself, but she didn't know what to do at all. She wondered if the men would be better off without her.

Casting her eyes upward, Christine hurried to catch up with the others. She was thankful that James seem to be improving, if only a little. At least he could make it on his own.

Sudden dread swept over her as Christine felt long, bony fingers touched her shoulder. She let out a small cry, not even enough for the others to hear, before she felt the hands of the dead turn her around.

From somewhere inside her, something awoke in Christine as she let out a blood-chilling scream and was pulled into the darkness that surrounded her.

Captain ALwrence heard the scream. Ignoring his injuries, he dashed outside to where it came from. What he saw gave him a flash back to two years ago, a zombie was standing over the screaming Christine, going in for the first bite, or at least he hoped. His hand immidiatly snatched his knife frome its sheath and he dashed twoards it. He went intoa frenzy, screaming in rage as he stabbed it reapeatedly. Somewhere along that time he lost track of it all, he didn't felel the zombies head slide off its ruined neck, didn't feel Chrisitne pull him away from it, all he knew was the rage....

2 years ago....

Captain Lawrence grinned and shaded his eyes, it was a beautiful day and he had just recived a promotion. He had been stationed in London for about two months, and he couldn't wait to tell his wife the good news. His car pulled into the rough driveway of his home, he got out and slammed the door. Everything around seemed earily quiet. He looked around, trying to discern what made alarm bells ring in his head and then looked up at his home. He hadn't noticed it before, but the front door was slightly ajar, he drew his barreta and enetered his house. Even the house was earily quiet. Upstairs, muffled noises emmenated from one of the bedrroms. He clicked off the safety catch and slowly walekd up the stairs. All of the doors looked like they had been ripped off their hinges. The closest door was the door to his daughters bedroom. Throwing catuion to the wind, he dashed in. What he saw horrified him. Blood splattered the walls, and a man was bent over the mangled corpse of hi daughter. He kicked him off her and ooked at his daughter, she was dead, eaten appearently. The....thing, for he was convinced it was not a man, grabbed his shoe and pulled its mouth towards his foot. His combat instincts, honed in years of war, automatically aimed the pistol at its head and fired. It fell, silent and un moving.He heard crashing from his wifes room and turned, only to be smacked by his wife. But it wasn't, at least, not any more. She was covered in blood and bite marks, and was now reaching for his gun arm. His eyes filled with tears, and he knocked her to the floor, chect racked with sobs. He took careful aim, whispered "i'm sorry" and pulled the trigger. Hours later, the infection had spread beyond London.

Christine breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thanks so much!" she exclaimed. Pausing for a minute, she looked at the dazed Lawrence. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah. . .yeah. Come on," he said, grabbing her hand. "We better get back with the rest."

Christine nodded as Lawrence pulled her along.

"Are you okay, Christine?" asked Craig.

"I'm fine," she said, breathing deeply. "But Capt. Lawrence was terrific! You should have seen him!"

Captain Lawrence stumbled through the hideout. He found a dark corner and colapsed into. That battle had brought up painful memories, things he had long suppressed, he had tried his best to forget his familys deaths, convincing himself that they had fled the country. Now that he reembered, he wondered if life was worth fighting for... he placed his pistol agasint his temple and struggled to pull the trigger. He tried as hard as he could but could not pull the trigger, these people needed him, thats what he had to fight for. Determined to test himself to the limits, he dropped all of his gear except for his knife and flashlight and walked to the front door and out it.

He stepped out side and shut the door behind him, sliding a large trash bin in front of the door. The first zombie he saw he dashed up to it, slicing its head off with one swit stroke. The next, he stabbed through the eye, and so on and so forth until he was surrounded by a large group. Day light was coming and he knew it, they were slowly starting to slink away. he had managed to find a smalle canister of petrol, and threw it with his right arm while reaching for a flare. The petrol soaked the zombies, the smell of petrol filled the air. He lit the flare and threw it, instantly the crowd became a wailing funeral pyre, flames streatching and consuming each and every zombies, except one. This one managed to grab him, he felt his rage returning again. he grabbed it around its neck and twisted his hand. Its neck snapped with a sickening snap and he crushed its head on the way down. He looked around at the carnage and smiled, but something warm was trickling down his side. he looked down and his wounds had reopened. Convinced thathe was going to see his wife again, he sank to the ground, but he heard footsteps behind him.....

He stepped out side and shut the door behind him, sliding a large trash bin in front of the door. The first zombie he saw he dashed up to it, slicing its head off with one swit stroke. The next, he stabbed through the eye, and so on and so forth until he was surrounded by a large group. Day light was coming and he knew it, they were slowly starting to slink away. he had managed to find a smalle canister of petrol, and threw it with his right arm while reaching for a flare. The petrol soaked the zombies, the smell of petrol filled the air. He lit the flare and threw it, instantly the crowd became a wailing funeral pyre, flames streatching and consuming each and every zombies, except one. This one managed to grab him, he felt his rage returning again. he grabbed it around its neck and twisted his hand. Its neck snapped with a sickening snap and he crushed its head on the way down. He looked around at the carnage and smiled, but something warm was trickling down his side. he looked down and his wounds had reopened. Convinced thathe was going to see his wife again, he sank to the ground, but he heard footsteps behind him.....

After what had seemed like an hour, Alan finally realized that the Sergeant was not going to be coming up the fire escape... not in human form, anyways. Closing the window and barricading it again, he went and got dressed, smacking his aging television to try and get a station that came through every once in a while. Nothing but static. Sighing, Alan pulled on some worn British combat fatigues and military boots. He grabbed a t-shirt that had at one time been white, gave it the smell test, and threw it on.

As he grabbed another ciggarette, he heard more zombie wailings outside. Rolling his eyes, he went to the window with his M4, and opened it, leaning out and sighting in the direction of the wailing. Might as well pick a few of them off for target practice. As he zoomed in though, he noticed one man standing near the edge, trying to fight off an entire group. "Bloody idiot." Alan muttered, the cig still hanging unlit from his mouth. He then stopped, mentally chastising himself for falling into the British dialogue. "I really need to get back to the states."

Retreating back into the room, he slung the M4 over his shoulder, and attached a belt with a couple extra clips of ammo around his waist. He then grabbed one of the three remaining working shotguns and an extra bandolier of ammo. Lighting the ciggarette from his Zippo quickly, he jumped out the window onto the fire escape. Noticing that the man had set the zombies nearest to him on fire, smart bugger, Alan thought, he grabbed the drain shute that ran beside the fire escape and started shimmying down.

Jumping the last story and landing with a loud thud, Alan got to his feet and started running towards the man, now collapsed on the ground, the zombies not on fire advancing towards him. Pulling up the shotgun and cocking it, Alan sent two random shots at the crowd, not trying to hit anything per se, just trying to cause confusion. Two zombies went down. He skidded to a stop on one knee next to the man and grabbed his collar. Time to go.

Alan started dragging the man with one hand, firing the shotty with the other, just hoping the guy might wake up and be able to help before they got back to the fire escape.

Captain Lawrence managed to wakeup as the man was dragging him away. Not having any weapons except his knife, he hruled it at the nearest zombie. He shook his carrier off and dashed to retrive his knife. He strolled back, his wounds had ceased to bleed. Daylight had come, and those things had slouched back into hiding. Noticing that his recuer had a British Army uniform on, he snapped into A US military salute and told him, "There's a safe house around here, follow me." An hour later after nearly passing out several times, they made it back to the safe house, he slid the trash bin away from the door and Christina tumbled out. "You idiot..." She said, slapping him. "Glad to see you to." He said. And so, life continued in that shelter for the next three days. Supplies running low, they all came to the conclusion that they needed to find another place to hide, and fast. Winter was approaching, and with it longer nights and shorter days, perfect hunting time for zombies.

James felt much better after the surgery of a few days before. He looked around, at the crowd in the station. There were- he did a quick head count- 6 people here, including himself. He looked around, thinking of a way to escape. His eyes were drawn to a large billboard, showcasing the underground of London. James realized.

"Anyone got a torch here?" He questioned, peering down into the darkness of the steps, leading to the blackened tunnel. Someone pushed a torch into his hand, and he took up the machete.

Stepping into the gloom, with only a narrow corridor of light for company, James kept alert. A discarded vending machine lay on its side.

"Theres a few supplies then." Muttered James, grimacing at the thought of possible survival only on crisps and chocolate.

He had let his guard down. A shambling mockery of life stepped into his vision, mouth agape, issuing strange gargling sounds as it closed in on him. James swung the machete, sending the severed arms away from the body. The unholy thing kept on coming, but another swipe to the head removed it. The cadaver fell to the floor, twitching slightly in a grotesque way.

James stepped back into the main lobby, dragging the vending machine.

"There's a few zombies down there, I don' think they're gonna come up here yet, not with the lights on. We can probably make it. could someone help me with this?" He motioned at the vending machine. Craig helped him drag it up the last few steps, and there it lay, glass smashed by the final stair. James spoke again.

"Anyone have a spare shooter? I got pretty close to a rotter down there."

Captain Lawrence withdrew hi Barreta and handed it to James. "Thanks." he said, checking to see if it had ammo. Captain Lwrence handed him two clips, all he had left for it. "We should get moving." He advised. "The US embassy probably has some suplies,and with luck has it, were within about two miles, but we should wia till daylight, I gaurentee theres going to be more than a few barricades on the way their." Several hours later, they were all trudging through lines of burned out cars and APCs, appearently this was the line the bobbies tried to holdas well as units of the military. Judging by the dried blood inside the vehicles and skeltons, it hadn't worked.Up ahead at the gates of the embassy,an M1 Abrams tanksat with two snapped tread and loted parts, it looked like the bandits in the early days of the out break had goten to it. he heaved himself onto the tankand opened the hatch, from inside a soft moan emminated. Disgusted, he dumped waht petrol he had left into it and dropped a flare, the interior lit red befroe it burst into falmes. The door to the embassy looked like it hadn't been forced open, like it had been left open in an evacuation. Putting his M4 against his shoulder he cautiously creeped in, only to be attacked from behind. He rolled with the first blow and doged the second, a pistol shot rang out and he knew James had his back. But isnstead of the soft thunmp and dull recognition of a zombie, he heard an actual Human scream of pain. He quickly scmarbled to his feet and looked at the man. He waswearing the tatters of a US military uniform, either one of the soldiers garrisoned at the embassy or dropped in dring the brief sterilization campaign. From where he stood, the wound didn'took letahl, the round had grazed his uper thigh, leaving a bloddy furrow. Remmeber military protocol, he asked "Name, Rank, Unit" The soldier still whimpering in pain said "Dawson, Frank. Private First Class, 101st airborne." "Private Dawson," he responded, "how long have you been holed up here?" "A couple days, this place has a fallout shelter underneath here!" he helped to his feet. "How well stocked?" "Enough for a couple months, but I doubt we'll need it. I've been in semi-contact with the military, or whats left of it, rumour hs it that the British navy is going to do a sweep of the east coast and the US on the west. How the navy survived, I have no idea." Captain Lawrence sighed, he hadn't been intending on getting shelled by his own people! "How long?" he asked. "Couple of weeks sir, they got transmissions from various survivors and are sending in various Special Forces teamsto get them out." "And what news do you have about the states?" "The US is just gone, after they evacuated some of the population to the various islands and island states it controls, they nuked all of the major infested cities, the eastern seaboard us gone, Midwest is a huge crater, and parts of the west coast got reclaimed by the ocean." "Weapons, how about those?" "Armory is pretty well stocked sir, lots of things to chose from." Captain Lawrence sat back and sighed. "Lets get this door baricaded." He said.

A noise from outside caught Christine’s attenchin. Opening the safe house door that they had just baricaded, she peered into the moon-lighted London street.

“Zombies,” hissed Capt. Lawrence, who had joined her.

The one nearest to the shelter mumbled something.

“What is he saying?” asked Craig.

“Ti Bon Ange. . .Ti Bon Ange. . .Ti Bon Ange. . .” said the zombie.

“He’s saying, Ti Bon Ange,” Christine said.

“Yeah, but what does it mean?” Craig wanted to know.

“The words are in Creole but they come from the French ‘petit bon ange’, or in English, ‘little good angel’ In means their soul has been stolen by supernatural means or shamanic medicine.”

Craig stared at her.

“How do you know so much?” he asked her.

Christine put her hands on her slender hips.

“Haven’t you ever heard of Christine Dawson, the Slayer?” she asked. “I’ve slayed ever horror mystery creature known to man.”

“Including zombies?”

“I’ve never come across them, except once. And even then, I wasn’t known as the Slayer. I was just a kid.”

“So shouldn’t there be a ‘zombie master’ around here somewhere?” asked James.

“Yes,” said Christine. “Look,” she pointed to some zombie’s that stood around something or someone. “I bet that’s him.”

“Oh no you don’t, Chris,” said Craig, pulling her back into the shelter as she tried to sneak towards the living dead. “You could get yourself killed. Better let someone else go with you.”

Christine rolled her eyes.

“I don’t need any help,” she said, scowling at him. “I can handle it just fine.”

“But you already got caught by a zombie the other day,” said Capt. Lawrence. “You better take Craig with you.”

“Fine, fine. But follow my commands,” she said to Craig.

He nodded and followed her into the street.

* * *

Christine and Craig approached the group of zombies quietly. Darting behind a building, Christine watched with a strange fascination as a man gave the group of undead damned commands.

“I believe that man is a bokor,” whispered Christine.

“What do you mean?” asked Craig.

“A bokor, a Voodoo sorcerer.”

“So they’ve been brought back from the dead by someone?”

“Of course and we need to stop it.”

“That crazy.”

“Is it?” Christine asked, coking her head at him. “I’ve heard that people who have been victim’s of zombie’s believe that they are possibly leading to compliance with the attacker’s will, causing psychogenic ("quasi-hysterical") amnesia, catatonia, or other psychological disorders, which are later misinterpreted as a return from the dead. One Scottish psychiatrist believed that in the context of schizophrenia and other mental illness, suggesting that schizogenesis may account for some of the psychological aspects of zombification.”

“You think that’s true?” Craig asked.

“Well you know as well as I know that the dead don’t come back to life.”

“But we’ve seen it! Surly you don’t believe this is all a product of your imagination?”

“Of course not,” said Christine. “But I don’t believe they a corpses either.”

“So what should we do?”

"Find it and Kill it." Said Captain lawrnece, stepping out from the shadows. Startled by hisappearence they whirled around to face him. "Sorry, didn't mean to frighten you." Strpped to his back were several rifles. "You better take these with you, a crucifix isn't going to do much good against some insane fool with a molotov." They both excepted the rifles and continued forward. Up ahead some commotion cuaght their attention, the bokor was intently looking at something, the crowd around had ceased all movement. Down the alley way it was looking was a special forces squad. The radio that he had carried for years started beeping,indicating a message was comign through. He picked up the ear piece and placed it in his ear, blaring over the radio was the star spangled banner. It played for its entirity, the bokor continued to stare at the special forces squad, and they did the same. Suddenly they just ran, along the whole way down the hall shouting 'Give 'em hell!" and the world seemed to explode into fire..... The world seemed to slowly fade back into colour, standing over them were several NATO soldiers. "Sir, he's awake!" Came the cry from one. the commander came over, obviousl an American from his deep souther accent. "welcome back Captain, looks like we got to you in time, those things were set to munch on you." he sat up and looked around, their were signs of combat, most of the bodies in the area were from zobmies. "what happened?" he asked. "Well, shucks, I rellay don't know meself, all I know is when did a bombardement and my squad found you guys surronded by those rotters, soon as we come in, this guy starts shouting gibberish at us then dissapears down a back alley. NATO is trying its best to retake britain, so y'all might want to get to a safe zone." "What...NATO? How?" "The US and several European countries managed to get their populations, or most of it any ways, to islands in the ocean. Most of the US is in the carribean and on Australia, Alot of Euope went elsewhere. But...casualties are still extremly high, estimated at 82% of the earths population is either dead or a rotter." "Where are the people I was with." The NATO commnder jerked his thumb over to a building. " In there, our medics are pathcing them up, say, you got any link to the group that was in the US embassy?" Captain Lawrence looked at him quizically. "Yeah, why?" "Cuz thats one of the safe zones now." He stood up very quickly then felt a sharp pain in his wounds. "Easy there, my medics sowed you up but good." He grabbed his M4 and walked toward the building. "I'll take the group and head to the Embassy, you guys do your job." The NATO commander saluted then gave the move out order to hs men. "Going to be a hell of a week....." He thought to himself.

James had seen the NATO troops arriving a few hours ago, but he still hadn't been sure what had happened there. He went to ask Christine.

"Was there a shaman there?"

"Yeah. He's gone, by a couple of hours."

"Then he can come back. I'm going after him. Anyone coming with me?

He was interrupted by a gunshots and screams from outside. He turned, to see NATO troops grabbed at the ankles by reanimated zombies, freshly dead from a few hours ago. This meant the shaman was close. As the men were dragged down into the writhing, moaning mass, James ran upstairs. He burst into the armory, past more backup heading down the stairs. He grabbed a SPAS12 shotgun, ammo, and a Winchester sniper rifle. Making sure they were loaded, he moved to the roof.

The cold air was a surprise on his face. He realized the sky had a hint of blue, a welcome change after 2 years of dirty brown-grey.

James looked around. A nearby roof caught his attention, there was no way he could get to the Shaman on the ground, the place was swarming with zombies. Luckily, the NATO troops were keeping a peremiter around the building. That should buy some time.

James was interrupted by a noise from the roof behind him. He saw a shadow following him up the stairs. Was it a zombie? Or one of his friends? He tensed...

OOC: Can someone fill me in on whats going on in the rp? we can say Craig went for help or somthing and has returned..? i dunno...

PFC Frank Dawson came up from behind him and pistol whipped him. "you..." he barely had time to mutter. "oh yes, me. It is in my best interest to protect that bokor, he has something very valuable of mine." Behind him, the hammer of a gun clicked. "Like what?" Private Dawson turned and found himslef looking down the barrel og Captain Lawrence's new Barreta. "My....... wife..." Stammered Frank. "Do you honestly believe that?" "YES! He promised he would bring her back from the dead, make her alive again and not as a zombie!" "Really now?" Said Captain Lawrence, pulling a photo out of his pocket. "Is this your wife?" Frank semmed to become enraged at the mention of her. "How did you?!?!" Captain Lawrence grinned. "used to pick pokets when I was growing up, got quite good at it. Oh and you might want to take this." From behind his back he took a head and flung it at him. "You see, that bokor did keep his promise in a small way, she is semi-alive, if thats what you call a zombie." Private Dawsons face showed open rage, with a roar he dashed towards him. "En Pace requisant" He muttered then fired several rounds into Frank. He fell, deisbelife written all over his face. "You all right?" He said, helping James to his feet. "I've had wrose he said. Exlposions from below and a deep rumbling signified that tanks and APCs had entered the area. "Come on, we better help them out."

OOC: Well, our little group escaped the safe house we were in, went to the US embassy, found a survivor, found out that a Bokor was behind it all, NATO forces are attacking the Island intent on securing it in their zombie sterilization campaign.

"You go." said James, brushing off the soreness. "We can't win until that, Bokor, is dead. I'll get to him over the rooftops."

"All right, I'l go out on foot. But you're going to miss out on the chance to ride in a tank..." James shruged and continued to scan the area with a sniper rifle. "Captain Lawrence heaved himself to the top of the abrams tank, the US had more of a presence then the other armed forces. Christine dahsed out from the embassy after him. "Wait! Take me with you!" She shouted. He popped the hatch on the tank and helped her in, "Forgot that you wanted yto hunt him down as well." He said, signaling for a crewman to get on the .50 cal. The radio man turned to him. "Sir, we have a pretty good idea where this thing is, there's a rather large congregation of rotters about ten miles from here. We're heading out that way." Captain Lawrence sighed, he could not wait to put a bullet through the head of the one responsable for th death of his wife and daughter.

Edd Simons buried himself deeper into the pile of rags he was warming himself in, he had been hiding in the cleaners cupboard of the US embassy for some time now for a few days now and lately there had been a lot of noise from the floors below and above him and he was getting worried, gunshots, screams, these werent good signs, but then he thought to himself, if there had been gunshots, there were people, he stood up, brushed down his filthy beard and trenchcoat, picked up a broom handle, checked his penknife was in his pocket, kissed his pocket-sized bible and left the cupboard.

Corporal Craig Howell came out of a group of soldiers he was talking to and ran up to the Abrams tank,

"Hey, Captian Lawrence! i'll ride topside!"

Craig had restocked on 7.62mm ammunition, 9mm ammunition and frag grenades. The group had been through alot these last few days and this Nato spearhead could speed up the process of ending it for good this time.

He waited for a reply from the American locking and loading the C7...

James leapt over rooftops, as fast as he could go. Up until a few minutes ago, the tanks had been his guide. But then the buildings had turned, and he lost sight of the convoy.

An eruption of stone and glass in front of James signaled the arrival of a death grub. It reared, and its full size was shown. It was fully grown, at least 12 meters in length, as it had sprawled itself all over the roof. It lay there, hissing, daring James to move forward. He made no such action. Instead, he looked down. He was standing on a garage, and below him was a half serviced car, bonnet open. James slowly retrieved the sniper, and aimed at the car.

The grub sensed what he was doing. It screamed, and slithered forward. But James had already fired.
The blossom of fire and smoke flew up through the skylight, engulfing the grub. The roof collapsed, but James had already leapt backwards. He saw the grub falling, it landed in the blaze. It lived, but it made no attempt to further chase its quarry. It burrowed underground.

James stood, shook off the slight daze, and continued. He knew that the grub would be back soon, but also he heard cannon shots and machine gun fire ahead. Presumably, the convoy had found the Bokor.

Christine sat back in the seat of the abrams tank. She sighed deeply as she glanced over at Capt. Lawrence. He seemed so bent on getting those zombies. She wondered what it was all about.

Christine had her own reasons for wanting to crack down on the zombie case. She had seen the brokor before. A long time ago when she was just a child. He had a boy not much older then her locked in a cage at his freak show that was touring in London. The man had said the boy was a zombie. Taken straight from the streets of Haiti. She had felt so sorry for the kid that she had let him go. Now Christine wondered if she had done the right thing.

Early into the battle with the Bokor, they had already lost two tanks to the swarming masses of undead. "sir, I'm sorry but we can't stay here, theres to many!" Shouted the tank commander. "All right," Said Captain Lawrence reluctently. "But keep firing. "With pleasure!" Said the gunner. "Can we call in an air strike?" Asked Captain Lawrence. "No sir, we have to any ground troopes opperating in the visinity, maybe in a couple hours though." Captain Lawrence shook his head, in a couple hours it would be gone. Falling back to the embassy, they found James in a pitched battle with a death grub. The tank crews got out and dumped a mine into the hole it left, an explosion and a shard cry of pian emminated from the hole. "Think that go it?" One said. Everybody shrugged, there was really no way to tell. Captain Lawrence!" Shouted the radio man, we have new orders! The US embassy is getting swarmed again!" he looked up at James. "Need a lift?" he asked.

This time James was more than happy to get in to the vehicle.

"We need to drive, now!"

Edd got to the first floor and heard a loud rumbling,
"What in in Gods name...?"
Edd held his broom handle high and left the building, he dropped his weapon and held his hands in the air as a group of soldiers aimed their weapons at him.
"State your name" one of the soldiers demanded
Edd gulped, "Edd, Edd Simons" he replied quietly
"State your business mr Simons"
"Ive been hiding in there," he pointed at the embassy
"Please let me go sir" he stuttered, "Ive been waiting for my friend to, but he hasnt come, I have to find him or..." he trailed off, this wasnt a lie but he had forgotten all about his friend, father Augustus in the terror of the last week, the zombies had seemingly been closing in around him.
"If you must sir," the soldier said after a while "but I would recommend you stayed here- its safer"
"no I must go"
"Some people are already leaving in a tank" said the soldier, "if you run you might catch them. Edd ran and caught sight of the tank, "WAIT FOR ME!!!" he shouted.

At the embassy, the defensive lines had been drawn. APCs Tanks and concrete barricades formed the defensive lines, incindeary grenades and machine gun fire rained upon the undead crowd. With the arrival of the convoy a cheer went up as they ran over almost every single zombie in the crowd, those that escaped getting vrushed under massive treads or wheels were mopped up by various groups. As they hopped down from the tank a inteligence officer ran up behind them and walked with them. "We have new intelligence sir, Satalie photos show that the zombies are congregating on this area here." He pointed on the map, they were all congregatin around the tower of london. "The safe zones in that area have been wiped out, we got a few survivors, but not much." Captain Lawrence frowned, James cringed. Jaes asked if an air strike was possibe. 'Unfortunatly no." Said the intelligence officer. "With te spear head by NATO, this area would be able to become inhabited soon." "Dammit!" Captain Lawrence shouted, smacking his fist into the side of the tank. "Screw inhabitable, we've got to stop these thing!"

At the embassy, the defensive lines had been drawn. APCs Tanks and concrete barricades formed the defensive lines, incindeary grenades and machine gun fire rained upon the undead crowd. With the arrival of the convoy a cheer went up as they ran over almost every single zombie in the crowd, those that escaped getting vrushed under massive treads or wheels were mopped up by various groups. As they hopped down from the tank a inteligence officer ran up behind them and walked with them. "We have new intelligence sir, Satalie photos show that the zombies are congregating on this area here." He pointed on the map, they were all congregatin around the tower of london. "The safe zones in that area have been wiped out, we got a few survivors, but not much." Captain Lawrence frowned, James cringed. Jaes asked if an air strike was possibe. 'Unfortunatly no." Said the intelligence officer. "With te spear head by NATO, this area would be able to become inhabited soon." "Dammit!" Captain Lawrence shouted, smacking his fist into the side of the tank. "Screw inhabitable, we've got to stop these thing!"

OOC: Im kinda afraid this rp has jumped a little to far ahead for me and i think i might withdraw...im confused lol...and there is alot of catch up to be done..

OOC I think i know what you mean, well if youre gonna go you can, also you can jump back in when and if you want.

OOC I think i know what you mean, well if youre gonna go you can, also you can jump back in when and if you want.


OOC: Ok thank you, it's been fun! have a good time guys..sorry but this got too far ahead lol..

Thanks.

Osteia

OOC: What do you mean jumped to far ahead?

OOC: What do you mean jumped to far ahead?

OOC: Ohh, just sence i been offline...i got confused as to where all this is going exactly..alot ot read and understand thats all..but i am cluttering up the thread with all this OOC stuff..Ughh sorry! i will let you continue..

OOC: Anyway, we need to get this thread up again, I'm waiting for somebody else to post.

OOC: Getting this thread started for another day.

How far back should we go with the rpg?

Wqell, he just didn't want to read it all, so maybe we should continue...

yeah, i've been away for the last few days, we should continue where we are at the moment...

Just waiting now....

And still waiting. . .

United Human Countries, maybe you should go ahead?

Doesn't seem like th thread starter is active, so..

So. . .?

havent been active for a LOOONG time, sorry guys. but now we may continue.

Yeah, thats a really long time.