Owen; the continuation of a story

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Owen; the continuation of a story

Post by doc66 » Tue Dec 12, 2006 1:18 am

Owen stared out the window at the gently falling snow and pondered what exactly had made him decide that he needed to leave the warmth of the Lodge and trek three days to sit in a cold house outside of Mansfield just so he could gaze at the snow. His reasoning on the surface had been he wanted to look around, to maybe find a general freight hauler with a load of dry goods in the trailer and with the help of Mitch, who had a CDL, they could return to the Lodge with the goods, so to speak. Not that having a CDL mattered nowadays, but his experience at driving a big rig was more extensive than Owen’s, which was on par with none at all. With luck, they might find a tanker as well, and then Hank could put all his bragging about how he could drive anything on the line. So far, they had found nothing that held any items of interest. At the moment, they were holed up in a house on a hill that overlooked the exchange of St Rt 13 and I71. The two gas stations were burned to the ground, the Cracker Barrel was a mere shell, the Applebee’s faired some better, but had no windows, and the Super Wal Mart was the beacon for every undead that could still stagger through the scorched parking lot. That little fact meant that there were still, or had been, people alive inside the huge store.

Staring at the burned hulks of the cars that littered the lot, Owen knew it must have been quite a fire. The roaring ball of flame seemed to have leveled everything between the gas station and the Wal Mart. He pondered how many gallons of gasoline it had taken to achieve such widespread destruction. The house they were in had escaped the fireball, probably the four lanes of 13 had been just enough of a fire break, but several of the windows on the flame side of the house had been shattered. Despite this, they had chosen this structure because it was brick, it had a fireplace and a view of the interchange as well as the highway itself. Owen wondered it there were still a few people left alive in the Wal Mart to attract the attention of the hundred or so Zombies gathered at the sides of the building.

Five months ago it had all started.

Owen had been at work, a factory in a picturesque little town called Loudonville, snug on the banks of the Mohican River, bordering the State Park where the Lodge was located. He had been a shipping clerk, a glorified name for a tow motor driver, and Hank had been one of the line workers, putting piece A on to B until his third shift eyes bled. The undead, the rise of the dead, the coming of the Zombies, call it what you will, had taken place and suddenly, he was running with five other people down the rail road tracks out of town. They made it to a small town called Coulter where he and the others, along with the townspeople, had been existing, repelling the attacks of the ghouls until one day a group of people arrived and turned the whole place on its ear.

Hannah.

He shook his head at her memory. Not so distant at the moment.

Through a series of battles with a militia group and Zombies, the remainder of the people made their home in what had been the resort lodge at the Mohican State Park, sixty-odd people living a pseudo-community style life, complete with a government duly elected by the people. Owen had smiled through it all, wondering just how long he’d be able to stand living with all those people. Hannah had made it much more bearable, but then she’d turned up pregnant and Owen had begged the old Toyota Land Cruiser off the membership to get away.

Hannah.

He heard a noise behind him and turned, the MAC-10 coming around at the same time he turned to look, the suppressor of the weapon a long snout moving to seek out the source of the noise. The knob rattled again and the door opened and shut in a vain effort to keep what heat the little fire in the fireplace was emitting in the living room. Hank saw the MAC and pretended to hold up his hands, which were both full of MRE envelopes.

“Whoa, Cowboy, I bring gifts.”

Owen let the MAC fall. “You know the Indians heard the same thing when the white man stepped off his boat.”

“Yeah, but I’m like, sincere, dude. What’ca doin’ out here in the cold?’

“Watchin’, thinkin’.”

“About a pretty girl maybe?” asked Hank.

“Maybe.”

Grinning, Hank walked over and handed one of the MRE’s to Owen.

“Happy Thanksgiving, dude,” he said.

Owen took the proffered package, finding that Hank had warmed the entrée already. He pulled the envelope out of the main package and read the dark lettering in the fading light. “Thanks. Turkey and Savory Vegetables, wow.”

“You want the Chicken and Rice?” asked Hank.

“This is fine,” decided Owen, setting the package on the window sill so he could dig out the spoon.

“We could be eating like real turkey, you know,” said Hank.

“I know; ya’ll didn’t have to come.”

“Sure I did,” said Hank. “I had to make sure you made it back.”

Owen gave him a laugh. “I’ve seen you shoot, man, how’re you gonna keep me safe.”

“I’ll protect you from yourself, man,” said Hank gravely. “Keep you from second guessin’ life.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Dude, you got to just accept thngs like they are. She’s still there for you, you know?”

Owen changed the subject to something safer than his feelings. “What’s Mitch up to?”

“Besides wondering why he came?” questioned Hank, taking a big spoonful of the white substance in the envelope. “Dude’s complaining about the cold.”

“No shit?” Owen sighed and took a bite of the food. It was awful. He swallowed and had another bite.

“No shit,” said Hank. “I mean, like, I came ‘cause I was hopin’ to find something useful and to take care of you. I’m not sure why he came. He’s like married and stuff, isn’t he?”

“Sounds like a good reason to come along to me,” drawled Owen. He’d been in Ohio for almost ten years, off and on, and still spoke like he was fresh from the hills of West Virginia, where he grew up.

Hank laughed. “Yeah. Well, that dude’s just been really bummin’ me out. When are we headin’ back?”

Shrugging, Owen motioned to the door and they gathered up their food. “I donno. I thought we’d maybe look around down the highway a few miles and see if we can find a truck like I’m lookin’ for.”

Nodding, Hank showed that he had been paying attention to Owen over the last three days. “Right, the box hauler with all the different shit in it we can use. That magical truck that’s got a food and shit in it bound for a Wal Mart or something, right man?”

“Right.”

“Was you hoping that it would be parked in front, man?” asked Hank, nodding at the store across the highway.

Owen gave another small shrug. “Maybe. I was hopin’ that the gas station would have somethin’ to offer.” He nodded out the window. “What do you see out there under the over pass?”

Hank peered where Owen had indicated. He scanned the roadway and the buildings beyond then looked back at Owen. “A Trooper car.”

Owen smiled his agreement. “A Trooper Post.”

“Lemme, guess dude, you wanna go in there.”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“Guns and ammo for one, okay two. Maybe some gas, maybe a couple radios we can charge up, maybe some other stuff,” guessed Owen. “But right next door is a gas station that is still standin’. The nice thing: there’s not a single dead guy walkin’ around that place.”

“How you gonna get there without attracting our buddies at Wal Mart?”

“I thought we’d drive up the off ramp, cut across the median and then down the on ramp on the other side.”

“Let’s look at this in the daytime,” said Hank. “We’ve got a Thanksgiving Day meal to enjoy tonight. Mitch did find a bottle of Bourbon.”

Owen followed Hank back into the inner room and was glad for the heat that the fire gave off. Mitch looked up from his place on the couch. He had already cracked open the bottle and was drinking straight from the neck.

“See anything other than snow?” asked Mitch.

Owen shook his head and sat in a chair. Mitch handed him the bottle. Owen took a short slug and winced. Hank took it from Owen.

“So you got a plan for tomorrow?” asked Mitch, taking the bottle back.

“Yep,” said Owen.

“Gonna let me in on it?”

“Happy Thanksgiving,” said Owen, finishing off the MRE entrée.

Mitch shook his head. “You know, the only reason I like you is you saved my ass once or twice.”

“Makes it all the more worth it, don’t it?”

“I gotta wonder why I follow you around like a puppy,” said Mitch. “Must be a reason.”

“I lead a life of excitement,” drawled Owen. “You need the boost of testosterone I provide.”

“Shit,” returned Mitch. “I could be eating real turkey right now. Be warm, listening to Jesse and Dan argue. Staring at Anne’s boobs.”

Hank gave him a puzzled look. “Aren’t you married?”

“Shit,” said Mitch.

“That would be no, then.”

“Emphatic, no,” agreed Mitch.

“Then why you complain all the time, dude?”

“What can I say,” said Mitch sadly, taking a drink. “I’m a bitch.”

*****

Emma hated the cold. She always knew she should have just moved further south after graduation. But jobs and life had kept her in Ohio. Now, it didn’t matter where she lived; it was all shit. She had pulled her long hair back in a pony tail to keep it out of her eyes, and the cap on her head kept the snow flakes from hitting her in the face, but her glasses were misting with each exhale she made, making her wish that her parents had blessed her with a little better luck in the genetics department. She used to wear contacts, but those things were a part of the past now. Hunching inside her leather jacket, Emma moved along the side of the 24 foot trailer that held the company’s mess kitchen and bunks. The tractor that towed it was silent in the falling snow, shut off to avoid the tell-tail engine rumble that attracted the undead.

On top of the trailer, the Mad Max pill boxes at each end were covered with tarps to keep out the snow and offer some protection from the wind. The gaps where the tarps and the boxes sloped sides ended provided enough looking space for the guards on the top. There were two men up there; each was supposed to move every half hour to the other side to keep the men honest during the four hour watch. She wondered if she was going to have to check up on them to be sure they weren’t huddled in the same box for warmth and companionship. Four hours was a long time to stare out at the snow.

It was the first real snow fall of the season. Fall had clung to the year longer than normal; Emma had to wonder if the same thing that had started the plague that brought the undead were the cause of the unseasonably warm weather as well. The weather had certainly been kind to the ghouls that wandered the face of the Earth, less so for those survivors who were trying to stay on the breathing side of things. She hoped that the tractor trailers would perform as their drivers had boasted they would in the snow. She remembered the big rigs as being monsters that blew her all over the road and jack knifed when the roads became less than perfect.

When it had all started, Emma had been riding her motorcycle from Dayton to Columbus. She remembered the traffic jam, the mad rush of people to escape the first of the Zombies that had attacked, of killing her first one with the .45 she still carried at her side, the people she had escaped with—

“Hey, Emma,” said a voice through the falling snow. “I was just coming out to see where you were.”

“Just making a last circuit, Nick,” she said. Nick was the last one of those she had escaped that traffic jam with. She could see him grin, his mouthful of teeth flashing in the white glow of the snow fall. On his balding head was an Elmer Fudd hat and he wore a Carhart jacket that was too large for him, but he needed it large to fit around his short, round frame. Nick had been trying to grow a beard, but had given up and now had what was once called a Vandyke, a pointy little wedge on his round face. Nick nodded, tucking his MP5 behind his back.

“There’s a reason why they call you General behind your back and Boss to it.”

Emma smiled. “I have little man’s syndrome.”

“If only you were a man,” sighed Nick.

“Down boy,” said Emma, taking his arm and turning him back to the rear of the trailer.

They cleared the back of the trailer and mounted the portable steps to the door. A single person, a young woman, stood in the cold, huddled around her rifle. She belatedly started to swing it at them and then saw who the two were, relaxing and returning to her hunching shape.

“A little slow on the up take,” admonished Emma.

“Sorry, Boss,” she replied. “It’s the fucking cold. I’m just not used to it.”

Emma looked at the plaid skirt the woman wore and shook her head. “If you wore something a little warmer than combat boots you might not be so cold.”

The younger woman straightened up. “I just made the clan, Boss” she said stiffly. “I’ll be keeping this on.”

“Then quit bitching about the cold,” said Emma. “Open the door would you?”

The girl swung the door open enough for Emma and Nick to enter, receiving the scalding protests from the interior of the trailer for her to shut the door. When they all saw who it was, they stopped swearing as much and welcomed Emma and Nick.

About half the occupants wore the plaid skirts, men and women alike. It had started out as a drunken joke when they had found a truck load of the things. One of the original “clansmen” had put it on during a game of truth or dare and then proceeded to act like the idiot he was. The trouble was he said he felt like a warrior when he fought wearing the stupid skirt, and said that all true clansmen should wear the kilt. More drinking, more boasting, and they developed “tests of metal” to earn the right to wear the “clan colors”. The man had been killed holding off an attacking horde of undead so that the two trucks could escape a rather sticky situation and now he was talked about in revered tones, the people forgetting what an ass he had been. The biggest draw back was the ungodly bagpipe music they insisted on playing whenever they started fighting. It was on a CD, and the “piper” had speakers that hung around his neck for when they played the crap in a fight. Emma had wanted to put a stop to it, but Nick told her to let it be; they could have done something worse, but she couldn’t imagine what it might have been.

They were playing a CD of Irish folk tunes. Emma sighed and Nick gave her a tight smile that meant for her to remain calm.

“Emma, lass, have a tough of the spirit?” asked one. That was the other annoying thing; they all thought they could now speak with Irish accents. The man quickly added; “Boss.”

Emma forced a smiled and accepted the offered glass. “Not dipping into the profits are we?”

“Happy Thanksgiving, Boss,” came the reply.

“Thought not,” sighed Emma and Nick accepted his own drink.

The trailer had been set up for the meal with the bunks swung up against the trailer walls and a narrow table running down the middle, the footlockers of each crew member now doing double duty as benches with pillows on the lids for comfort. Emma took her place at the end of the table, Nick sat at her right hand. Both loosened their respective jackets in the relative warmth of the interior of the trailer. At the far end, the end nearest the tractor, was the diminutive kitchen, complete with stove. The two cooks were still rushing to get the food to the table while the others, ten in all, sipped at the booze and laughed, all thankful they were alive. The food smelled very good, and Emma knew that the cooks had been working most of the day to prepare something other than the usual hearty, but monotonous fare of stews, casseroles and two pot meals.

The idea of putting together the crew had not been Emma’s. It had been Paul’s, but Paul was now dead, killed by a group of people who had tried to take their goods rather than sticking to the agreed upon barter. Emma and the others had put the place to the torch and Emma and Nick, the only two original partners left, had filled the void left by Paul’s death. With their well armed group, they roamed the highway and interstates of the new world, going into the Zombie infested cities and getting whatever they could grab before they were overwhelmed by the shear mass of undead. The company consisted of two tractor trailers, one the crew trailer they were sitting in, the other a 40 foot trailer and tractor for the cargo they hauled. They had three chase vehicles as well, all of them diesel powered so they could just haul one type of fuel. Someday they were going to have to start going further to find plunder to trade or find a spot to settle down. Emma wondered if the twenty people under her command would be willing to settle down.

The food began to arrive, cutting through Emma’s reverie. The music was thankfully turned down and one of the crew stood. It was Chris, one of the first nuts to take up the kilt. He, like the others in his brotherhood, wore his hair shaggy and long, with little braids at the temples. Emma found it amazing how long a man’s hair could grow in just three months. His beard was split in a wide grin as he raised his glass.

“Lads and lasses,” he began. “I think that we gathered here have a bunch to be thankful for; the fellowship of our friends, the leadership of the lady at the head of the table and just the fact that we’re alive when so many of them we knew aren’t. So, to our Boss, Emma, to life.”

Emma raised her glass and drank. She stood when Chris sat down.

“Thank you Chris. I just want to thank all of you for the hard work you put in to make this company what it is. A year ago, hell, five months ago, if you had told me that I would be leading a bunch of men wearing skirts around in a convoy that would make Mad Max proud, I’d’ve told you to see a shrink.” That got the laugh she was hoping for. “Tomorrow is another day. Tonight, eat well, drink in moderation, some of you still have watches to takes, and enjoy yourselves. The motel has been cleared and the fire is going in the lobby. Pick out a room and enjoy yourselves. Happy Thanksgiving.”

They all drank again.

Emma sat and accepted the first serving of the food. She took a bite of the meal, hers being a plate without meat since she still tried to stick to her vegetarian ways, and complemented the cooks, who beamed their own thanks. Making small talk with those around her, Emma finished her meal and after a small portion of desert, stood and made her way down the table, once more reminding them that their brethren were still in the cold so they could eat first. Several of the crew bid goodbye and went out into the cold to relieve those still on watch. The watchers came in, complaining about the cold but accepting the plates given to them and toasting with Emma to the day. When she reached the door, Emma slipped out, entering the cold. Once again, she walked the perimeter, speaking with those on duty in the two military Hummers at the far end of the parking lot they were camped in. they had seen nothing but a couple of undead, staggering down the middle of the road. The snow and cold seemed to have dulled the beast’s senses and they took no notice of the crew.

Emma climbed the ladder attached to the side of the trailer and was greeted with a gruff call to identify herself. Emma did so and received the okay to continue up. She saw that she was still faced with the barrels of two rifles and smiled that they were at least paying attention. One of the men, Jay, a calnsmen, invited her out of the snow. She ducked under the tarp and sat on the warm roof, the heat of the kitchen and bodies inside the trailer preventing the snow from collecting.

“Seen anything?”

Jay shook his head. “Two Zeds wandered down the road, but nothing to get excited about. Only the dead and us’ll be moving in this shit, Boss.”

“Think it’ll keep up?” asked Hannah.

“Nope. It’s Ohio. Tomorrow it’ll be 50 degrees and all this will turn to slush and it’ll just be crappy.” Jay looked out at the weather from under the tarp. “Boss, we going to hit Mansfield tomorrow?”

Emma nodded. “We’ll see if that little group is still trying to grow food inside that Wal Mart, then maybe make a run into Ontario. There’s a couple of big grocery stores there and another Wal Mart, a Sam’s Club, and a Meijer’s for starters.”

“You lived up here, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

Sensing that she did not want to say any more, Jay changed the subject. “How’s the food?”

“What I had was good,” admitted Emma. “That new girl, Sarah, she’s stepped in with no problem.”

“Shame we had to lose Flora to get her,” said Jay.

“We can’t live forever.” Emma crawled out of the little fort. “Enjoy your food. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Sure, Boss, in the morning.”

Emma climbed back down the ladder to find Nick waiting for her.

“You following me?’ she asked.

“Yes,” he told her. “Since you seem to think you don’t need to carry anything other than that pistol, someone needs to watch your back with a little more firepower.”

Patting the weapon in question, Emma grinned at Nick. “This little Smith and I have been through a lot. Besides, it holds some sentimental value; my boyfriend gave it to me. Since I have no clue what happened to him, it’s my link to the past.”

“Doll, sometimes the past is best left right back there where it’s safer.”

Emma once more took Nicks arm. “He was The One, Nick.”

“A pretty little thing like you will always have other opportunities at more than one.”

She kissed his cold cheek. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Climbing into a cold bed, dear, wishing for a warm body, but reality will bring me to the realization that none of those boys want anything to do with me.”

“You can cuddle with me,” said Emma.

“You’re hardly my type.”

“We’re both safe then.”

“I suppose,” Nick said. “Why couldn’t you be about six foot?”

“Why couldn’t you?” returned Emma.

“God plays such mean tricks,” sighed Nick, leading her to the dark motel.
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hunter :(
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Post by hunter :( » Tue Dec 12, 2006 1:20 am

Thank you! 20 more weeks of literary crack. :D
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Post by OneManArmy » Tue Dec 12, 2006 1:34 am

I no longer need the drugs. I have replaced them with pure Owen pumping into my bloodstream.

Nice intro. Cool to see a new (very interesting) group.

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Post by AwPhuch » Tue Dec 12, 2006 4:11 am

Sweet!!!

More people for Owen to help rescue

Maybe all this snow will slow down the dang zeds so Owen can just go all gun kata on em and lay waste to a parkinglot full of em...now THAT would be cool!!!

Cant wait for more man...great writing!
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Post by Gun_Nut_2k1 » Tue Dec 12, 2006 4:48 am

Sweet!
Last edited by Gun_Nut_2k1 on Tue Dec 12, 2006 7:53 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Post by jeepinbandtrider » Tue Dec 12, 2006 6:51 pm

Oh yeah now I don't have to shoot up to get a fix :shock:
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Post by doc66 » Wed Dec 13, 2006 3:15 pm

Owen woke to the cold. The fire had died down in the night leaving behind grey ashes and no coals. Mitch was still snoring lightly from his place on the couch, a heavy quilt covered him and the empty bottle was propped next to his head. Wedged in the corner made by the arm and the back of the couch was his rifle in easy reach, although Owen was not sure if it mattered as soundly as the man was sleeping. Rotating his head, Owen could see that Hank was curled up on the loveseat that had been dragged nearer to the fire, his own blankets had been kicked off his legs and were now only covering Hank’s shoulders. Hank was in a tight fetal position, clutching at the blankets and his feet were exposed to the chilly air. The MP5SD was lying on the floor along with the satchel that he carried the spare magazine in. Owen was glad that nothing had happened in the night, none of them would have made it past waking up long enough to realize something was wrong.

From the comfort of the recliner, he took inventory of himself. Slight headache; the result of more booze than he should have imbibed. A little stiff, but otherwise, in fair condition. The blanket over him had kept him mostly warm, he had shed the jacket and all his firearms to fall asleep. At the moment, the pressure of his bladder was urging him to leave the warmth of the blanket and chair and move to take care of business. His boots were next to the chair and so being careful to not wake the other two, Owen slid out from under his blanket and into his boots, moving slowly as he did so. Pulling on his jacket as well, Owen picked up the MAC and headed for the door that would allow him to look out over the highway and the stores beyond. As he moved, Owen wondered absently what time it was, since the sun light seemed to be full and warm coming through the windows. Opening the door and easing though it, Owen was greeted by an inquiring snarl and the muted smell of a ghoul which had wandered into the house through the unsecurable door at the front.

Swearing, Owen stepped back to put distance between himself and the Zombie. The thing was dark in color, with patches of white on its skin. It had no lower jaw, which worked well for Owen, because the thing could not bite, but it could pursue. It did so with a moan that filled the room and shuffled across the ruined carpet at him. Bringing up the MAC, Owen proceeded to put a round into the things head and it fell to the floor without another noise. Other scrapes came to Owen’s ears through the broken window. With the MAC leading, Owen glanced outside and saw that during the night, some of the Zombies from the Wal Mart, or new ones all together, had shuffled through the snow to the house. The carpet of snow showed lines through it where the creatures had been wandering for some time. Even though it was cold and the things senses were dulled, they could still detect movement. Owen’s glance outside attracted more attention than he had hoped. One of the things swung its head at the broken window and gave a short groan that was answered by yet another of the fiends nearby.

The MAC spat a bullet out and the groaning dead fell, but not before the one that had answered it looked over at the shattered window and began to shuffle at the house. Others of the undead sensed the movement and that it was toward something warm and began to follow. Owen shot two more as he backed toward the door that separated him from Mitch and Hank. A groan sounded to his left. Glancing over, Owen found that a ghoul had made its way inside with him. The thing snarled and raised its hands toward him, the blackened fingers clutching at the air as if it hoped that Owen would simply jump into the waiting arms. Two more .45 slugs hit the thing, dropping it to the carpet, but the undead were swarming at the door, fighting each other to get inside the small space. The appearance of the undead was presenting a problem which they had not thought about last night; the garage that the Toyota rested in was on the other side of where the monsters currently gathered.

Feeling the door behind him, Owen turned the knob and moved back into the room, yelling for Hank and Mitch to wake up, since all expectation of not being seen was gone. He slammed the door shut, listening to the bolt catch and pulled a heavy chair in front of the barrier to slow the things down. The hollow cored door would do little more than slow the beasts. Hank snorted awake, his hand automatically reaching for the MP5 on the floor. Blinking away sleep, hank sat up, pointing the subgun at the air, still not sure of what he needed to do. Mitch woke similarly, pulling his AR down to his chest and leveling it at Owen.

“What the fuck?” asked Mitch as the first hammer-like blow fell on the door.

Rushing over to his gear, Owen began to buckle it on. “Zombies, outside. We’re kinda in a tight spot.”

“Kinda?” said Mitch, rolling up to start dressing as well. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t the truck on the other side there?”

“You’re not wrong,” agreed Owen. He looked over to where Hank was standing in a corner. “What are you doin’?”

“Pissing, man,” said Hank. “I ain’t gonna die with piss marks on my jeans.”

Shaking his head, Owen waited until Hank was finished and then took his place. Mitch used the impromptu latrine and they listened as the door began to splinter.

“We haven’t even had breakfast,” muttered Mitch, looking around the room to see what alternatives were available for escape. There were next to none. The windows in the room were small and would require shedding their gear to get through. The room itself was at the back of the house, a family room or rec room at one time, and it had no other door exiting the space. There was a small closet which Hank began to empty.

“What are you doin’ now?”

Hank pulled the junk from the closet and inspected the wall behind. “I used to put up drywall, and sometimes the closets are not spec since they’re not in supporting areas, you know? In most houses they are dead space.”

“Nice choice of words,” said Mitch, training his rifle on the door as it bounced and cracked. The groans of the ghouls on the other side of the door began to sound as they became more excited and heard them talking. Mitch looked over at Owen. “What the hell happened?”

“What are you talkin’ about,” asked Owen, watching as Hank began to press on the wall, testing it for only he knew what.

“A week ago you’d have never gotten caught with your pants down by a lone Zombie, now we’re holed up in a room because you couldn’t kill a dozen of them by yourself?”

“He’s in love,” came Hank’s call from across the room.

Mitch stared at Owen. “You need to pull it together.”

Owen was about to retort when Hank suddenly backed away from the closet and charged back into the small space, hitting the wall with his shoulder. There was a loud, hollow thud and Hank fell back, stumbling to fall on his ass. The man sat for a moment and stared at the place where he had hit, then reached up and rubbed his shoulder.

“Ow.”

“You dumbass,” said Mitch as the pounding on the door ceased for a moment in response to Hank’s charge. Owen peered at the spot Hank had hit.

“I think he made a dent.”

“Soft spot,” agreed Hank.

“Where, on your head?” snapped Mitch.

“Look,” pointed Owen. “There’s a crack on the wall.”

The pounding on the door renewed. A crack appeared in the facing on their side of the door. Mitch pointed his rifle at the spot where the wood was starting to bounce.

“If you’ve got a plan, now is the time to enact it,” informed Mitch.

Owen ran over to the inside of the closet and kicked at the wall board. The place made a hollow thump under his foot. Looking around, Owen searched for something to hit the wall with. He spied a heavy looking iron lamp stand. Picking it up and hefting it, Owen sized up the spot on the wall and brought the wide end of the stand down. The base bit into the drywall and a chunk pulled away. Examining the damage, He saw that if they worked fast and hard, they could beat away enough wall to get into the room behind they one they were in. the problem was what might lay on the other side. Shaking that though away, Owen hit the wall again, breaking enough of the drywall away so the he could get to the wall behind the first. He beat another hole in the partition, breaking away the thin board enough to see that there was a dresser in the way. Dropping the lamp, Owen motioned to Hank to start pulling away more of the drywall as Mitch banged out a shot at the door.

The noise was loud.

“Use your Beretta,” yelled Owen.

Mitch slung his rifle and quickly freed his 92F. While he did so, Mitch reached into a cylindrical pouch on his gunbelt and drew out the homemade silencer they had made from the collection of Berreta’s and Taurus 92’s the community at the Lodge had. With the maintenance shop at the Lodge they had been able to thread the end of the barrels and machine silencers based on the ones that Hannah had shown everyone how to make. They still had not made enough for the various rifles the community owned, but at least Mitch had one for his pistol. The man screwed the thing on the end of the pistol, making sure that the O-ring caught and then fired the thing at the first fist that holed the door itself.

While he did this, Owen and Hank pulled away enough of the dry wall so that they could ease between the wall studs and Owen pushed the dresser over to get it away from the wall. It fell with a crash, making the sound of breaking glass. Calling for Mitch to follow, Owen adjusted his gear; the gunbelt, Bug Out Bag and dump pouch for pistol and subgun magazines, then pushed through into the other room. Hank followed, dragging the duffle bag they had brought from the Toyota which contained food and other “camping” items. Mitch squeezed through the opening in to the room and he and Hank put the dresser back up over the hole in the wall.

The room was a small bedroom with the same sized windows that the other room had. Owen gave it a quick look over, and saw that the door to the hall was open. A zombie was in the doorway, investigating the noise of the falling dresser. Owen took a deep breath and shot the thing in the face. He released the breath, then took and other as he began to move with the MAC up and ready.

Owen barely cleared the door when the next undead, a big woman whose formerly firm flesh was now sagging folds around her bones. Her hair had been dyed a bright red at some point in her life, and it was now a frizzy halo around the hole where her face had once been. The white jaws under what remained of her cheeks opened emitting a moan that was almost a shout. The ghouls trying to batter the rest of the door down stopped their task to turn and see what had attracted her attention. She almost took up the hall as she staggered at Owen.

The MAC spoke two rounds into the mass behind the hole. The big body fell, almost blocking the hall. Owen did not notice as he was already moving, calmly stepping on the misshapen heap and shooting at the next ghoul in line, dropping it and one behind it as he moved, pressing the attack to the things, ignoring as they reached out for him with discolored hands. Shooting another of the things, Owen kicked out, striking it in the chest as he fired, knocking the body back into the others, making the ones in the fore lose their balance and fall back against those behind. The one that fell, Owen continued to walk toward, snapping shots into rotting heads as they fell, while those behind staggered back a few feet, giving the three men room to move.

They were suddenly clear of the hall and Owen stepped sideways so that his back was to a wall. He fired several times in an arc around the room, connecting with Zombies as he did so, the bullets a scythe through the ranks of the undead. Owen was aware of Hank and Mitch firing from the cover of the narrow hallway, their aimed shots not coming as rapid as Owen’s but the slugs added to the demise of the fiends that attempted to press against them.

The MAC was suddenly finished, and Owen let it fall to the end of the sling, grabbing up pistols in each hand from holsters at his side. He remembered his admonishment to Mitch as he began to move again and clear the room, the loud bangs of the weapons sounding distant to his own ears. A ghoul lurched at him, its fingers brushing his leather jacket, and Owen found that the left pistol was empty, he fired the other across his body, almost as a second thought while at the same time he holstered the pistol that was empty. Executing a Border Shift, Owen drew the pistol from the thigh holster and caught the other pistol with his now empty left hand. He continued to shoot, moving to the door of the house, killing the undead as he moved, heedless of Hank and Mitch as they tried to keep up.

Once in the yard, Owen found that he had a moment of relief from the undead. He paused long enough to shove the now empty left hand pistol behind his gunbelt and reload that weapon and other in the holster without removing them and maintaining his stance so that he could shoot with the right hand pistol. After dumping the mags in the pouch for the empties, Owen freed the pistol from behind the belt, fingering the slide lock to chamber the first round, holstered the thigh pistol and with another Border Shift, freed the holstered pistol dropping the slide as it cleared the edge of the holster.

As he caught the pistol in the air, Owen fired and dropped a Zombie that appeared in front of him. He sidestepped the falling body, moving again toward the garage and the Toyota. Banging out several more rounds, Owen found that there were no more threats within easy distance of his pistols. The slide locked back one the right pistol once again, and Owen holstered it so that he could reload the thing. Mitch and Hank eased up to him, both of them shaking their heads.

“What?” asked Owen, still in his combat haze, searching the area for threats as he pulled the mag out of the pistol and inserting another.

“Reload,” said Hank. “We got it from here.”

Owen did so, taking the partial mags from the two remaining firearms and dumping the rounds from one into the other after reloading the weapons including the MAC. Owen topped of a magazine with the bullets, glad that he was carrying all one kind of pistol now, rather than the three different ones he had been toting before they had settled at the Lodge. It made it easier for fast reloads and he only needed to carry two kinds of pistol ammo now. The full magazine went into a carrier and he charged the MAC after he was finished. There were a half dozen or so undead staggering toward them. Hank dropped them with the MP5SD, the subgun making only the noise of the brass exiting as it felled the ghouls.

Mitch cleared the garage, killing two more Zombies as he did so. He announced that the area was clear, and Owen felt himself relax slightly. Mitch came out of the garage and stood beside him.

“That was more the Owen I’m used to,” said Mitch.

“I wasn’t awake yet,” decided Owen, turning away from the man and picking up the duffle bag to toss it into the back of the battered Toyota SUV. He did not want to reopen the discussion of his personal life.

“Hey, Owen,” called Hank.

“Yeah?”

“What’s that?” asked Hank, pointing at the Wal Mart parking lot.

Owen and Mitch looked at each other in confusion, then joined Hank who was staring across the highway.

Two big tractor trailers were pulling into the lot, moving a head of them was a military-looking Hummer with people standing out of the upper hatch. Behind the two trucks was another Hummer mimicking the first. Ahead of the first Hummer was a crew cab dual-wheeled pick-up with a plow blade that cut through the crowd of undead at the front of the Wal Mart. Shots rang out as the Hummer drew abreast of the horde and more gunfire erupted from the tops of the trailers where box-like bumps rested reminding Owen of the truck in the movie Mad Max. The undead began to fall under the concentrated fire and then a group of people jumped from the rear of the first trailer, all of them wearing skirts that swirled around them as they moved, their hair flying behind them while they scrambled to form a skirmish line as the trucks continued to move around the lot, drawing the undead behind them, breaking up the formerly tight mass of ghouls. The skirmish line began to move and Owen could see that they were swinging some kind of blunt weapon, felling the moving corpses with each blow. The scattered undead were made short work of with the skirmish line breaking into smaller groups of three each to hunt the beasts down.

While the lot was being cleared, the trucks moved to the side of the building, backing into the loading docks, the Hummer’s and the Pick-up taking up guard positions nearby.

“Are those women?” wondered Hank as he watched the skirmishers finish off the walking dead which had been scattered by the movement of the trucks, thus lessening the combined threat of the things as a group.

“Don’t know,” admitted Owen, though even from the distance, he doubted they were all women. “What say we find out?”

“We wanted to check out Wal Mart anyway,” agreed Mitch with slow consideration.

“Load up,” said Owen.

They rushed to the Toyota, both apprehensive at the reception they might get and excited to see people other than the small enclave they had come from. Hank backed the Land Cruiser out of the garage and piloted it toward the Wal Mart.

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Post by OneManArmy » Wed Dec 13, 2006 4:59 pm

85
?

Cool chapter, keep it up.

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Post by jeepinbandtrider » Wed Dec 13, 2006 8:03 pm

Alright. Got another good fix.

Sounds like the guys in kilts are going to be somewhat friendly. Not really raiders but I'm not sure where to place them.
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Post by Impus » Wed Dec 13, 2006 11:55 pm

Neo-Psuedo-Scotsmen. ...no. The one thing which might convince me I don't want to survive the PAW. If they start line dancing, I'm putting 7.62s in every last one of 'em.
Let Me Die Not Quietly, But Valiantly And Violently

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Post by AwPhuch » Wed Dec 13, 2006 11:58 pm

Sweet "the "border shift" a move where a gunfighter switches their gun to an uninjured hand"

Owen is double gunning them suckers..heh, thats sweeeeeet!

I sure hope Owen and crew can talk to the trucker people and not get into a big fight...would be cool to have someone be able to help get supplies and stuff for the encampment

keeps on getting better!
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Post by doc66 » Thu Dec 14, 2006 1:01 am

Impus wrote:Neo-Psuedo-Scotsmen. ...no. The one thing which might convince me I don't want to survive the PAW. If they start line dancing, I'm putting 7.62s in every last one of 'em.
I tried to think of the most annoying thing I could... it seems that worked!

:lol:

Short one here, enjoy.

Doc




Emma ignored the distant war whoops of the nuts she employed dressed in skirts. She and Nick dropped out of the Hummer followed by the contingent who were not privy to the honor of wearing the kilts. One of them, a grizzled old man who insisted on being called Top, spat at the dead lying nearby with a curse he reserved for just those beats. He frowned at the antics of the clan and pointed his big M1A at the doors of the store. The glass had been shattered out of the frames, but the doors were covered with stained plywood, the surface of the wood also contained chips and splinters missing from the face. Top scanned the roof line as they walked.

“Shouldn’t these bastards be letting us in by now?” he questioned as they approached.

“Usually,” admitted Emma. She banged on the surface of the door, an uneasy feeling creeping over her as she did so. She motioned to a couple of the company. “Tess, Mike, head over to the Lawn and Garden section and see if you can scout anyone moving. Take some of those other idiots with you when you see them. If they give you any trouble, tell them I told them to go with you.”

“Right Boss,” replied Tess and motioning to Mike, the two of them headed around the far corner to their objective.

Watching them go, Emma wondered about the people inside the big store. The last time they had been here, almost a month ago, there had been a question as to if they would survive. The thirty people inside had managed to raid the restaurants nearby and retrieve all the dry goods they could save. They were also trying to use the well light garden area and it’s chained in outside area to grow edible plants, crops that they could raise in the potting soil and planters. The plants seemed to be doing well, but the people themselves were starting to be dragged down by the constant wear of survival. The explosion that had torn apart the gas station and surrounding buildings worried Emma as well and she wondered the cause of the massive fireball.

She was shaken out of her reverie by the appearance of Jay and the rest of the skirmishers, preceded by the noise of the damn CD and the God-awful bag pipe screeching to announce their arrival. Thankfully, the man toting the portable noise saw Emma's expression and turned it off. Jay was grinning beneath a mask of blood and gore that was spattered over his face and clothing, triumphantly shouldering his long handled 3 pound ball peen hammer. All the skirt wearing company carried these nasty devices; they had found the hammer heads and added the three foot handles. The devices were nearly perfect close range Zombie-killers, providing enough weight to crush through skulls, but not so much that they were uncontrollable to swing. It was the trade mark of the kilt clad members, and one they actually trained in the use of. Jay nodded to the door as he approached.

“No answer, Boss?”

“Not yet.” Emma nodded to the far corner. “Who went with Tess and Mike?”

“I send Jose and Carlos, they be sweet on Tess and wanted to chance to show off to the lass.”

“As long as they don’t get themselves killed in the process,” groused Emma.

“They won’t, Boss,” assured Jay. He handed his hammer to a fellow skirt wearing employee. “Take my Dubh.”

He pronounced it ‘Dub-ah’. Emma had once tried to explain to them that it was really pronounced ‘Doo’, and was supposed to be a small knife, but she was ignored in her correction. It was probably for the better, a real Scottish Highlander would probably stab himself with his Sgian Dubh on seeing the men and women who were trying to copy the traditional costume and manner. The hammer was taken form the man and replaced with a military issue M16.

“Where be your rifle, Boss?” asked Jay to Emma.

Emma felt her shoulder and discovered that the M4 was not there. Nick shook his head and went back to the Hummer for it. She sighed. Even after all this time, she preferred the 4516 at her side over any other weapon. Nick handed her the short machinegun which she took and sling over her shoulder as a second thought. “Jay, spread everyone out a little and have them keep an eye out for anything out of place.”

Jay started to speak and then turned to give the orders. Top eased over as he did so, nodding to the door. “We going in if they don’t answer?”

“Yes.”

“Might be a bad idea, Boss,” said Top. “There was 30 of them in there, and they might all be walking around not caring if we’re knocking, if you know what I mean.”

“I know,” said Emma. “But they are our customers. If we can help even a couple of them, then so be it. Besides, they have tires, and we need tires for that truck.”

“Tires can be got anywhere.”

“She said we’re going in, Top,” cut in Nick.

“So she did,” he finally agreed after giving Nick a sour look. “She is the Boss.”

“Damn straight,” said Nick. Top growled a curse and stalked away. Emma watched him and then turned to Nick.

“He’s certainly cranky today.”

Nick shrugged. “Cold getting to his arthritis, I guess.”

Tess and Mike came back, trailed by the two lovesick kilt wearers. Tess stopped in front of Emma and waved a hand at the far corner. “We checked as much as we could. They’ve got the heavy plastic up for the green house and we can’t see past that, it looks like the doors are closed and nobody’s done anything with the mature plants that are outside. The poor things are starting to wilt in the cold and maybe from no water, Boss.”

Nodding at the report, Emma called Top and Jay over to her. “Get four people and get up on the roof. They had stove pipes set up the last time we were here. See if any of them are smoking or at least warm. There’s a roof hatch up there too, leads into an electrical room, I remember that Norm showed it to me the last time we were here, they were trying to get a couple generators hooked up to pump heat into the sleeping area that used to be the office.”

Both men gave verbal salutes and called to their respective choices. A ladder was released from restraints at the side of the crew trailer and put on top of the trailer to reach the roof. The six employees slung rifles and checked to be sure that ammo pouches were secured then they climbed the ladder up to the roof. Emma watched as they disappeared over the edge, each one freeing their rifles before taking the final steps to the roof. There was the sound of a horn and Emma turned in the direction of the noise. A crew member ran to her, breathing heavily from the exertion.

“Boss, there’s a yellow SUV headed this way,” she said between breaths.

“Shit.” Emma waved a hand at the others. “Form up on the Hummers, drivers take the cabs in case. How much belt ammo we got for that machinegun, Nick?”

“Fuck if I know,” said Nick. “But I’ll find out.”

“Do it, and tell the gun crew to not fire unless we see at least four other vehicles and they make the first move. I hate linking that shit, so don’t fuck up.”

“Got it, Boss,” grinned Nick running to the distant Hummer where the crew was setting up the M240 on the vehicle mount.

Emma ran to the other Hummer, suddenly glad that Nick had brought her the M4 as she watched the yellow SUV approach. As they hunkered behind the wide body of the Hummer, Emma glared at her employees.

“Remember, you shoot when I tell you to, not before.”

“Got it, Boss,” came the staccato replies.

“Right,” muttered Emma. “You better.”

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Post by AwPhuch » Thu Dec 14, 2006 2:34 am

ARRRGH and the tention builds..wonder if they had a runnin with the militia before..seems she knows that there should be more of the vehicles

I sure hope stuff goes for the better..plus if the inside is overrun..Owen can clear it blindfolded with an arm tied behind his back

(ooh I had an appifany...Owen is CHUCK NORRIS!!!!!!!) heh :shock:
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Post by hunter :( » Thu Dec 14, 2006 9:56 am

Nick eased the trigger back on the M240, sending a hail of rounds out of the barrel. The bullets riddled the front of the yellow Hummer and touched off a fire. The Hummer began to swerve to the right then BOOM!!! The occupants writhed in pain, unable to escape their yellow coffin.

Back at the lodge, Hannah wondered if Owen was having a fun time.
Macgyver used bamboo, mud and swamp gas to make bombs. When I tried it, I made a mess.

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Post by jeepinbandtrider » Thu Dec 14, 2006 1:30 pm

WTF :?: :?: :?:
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Post by doc66 » Thu Dec 14, 2006 1:47 pm

Hunter is having a hard time adjusting to the new story line?

Doc
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Post by Gun_Nut_2k1 » Thu Dec 14, 2006 2:13 pm

doc66 wrote: I tried to think of the most annoying thing I could... it seems that worked!

I did not see any senators in the story... 8)
GN
Oneswunk wrote:Interesting idea, but I still prefer the feel of wood in my hands.
tarzan wrote:Not a sound argument for having wood, in my opinion.
Tommy Tran wrote:Before I drop hammer on a 'clear' SG I full finger both tubes!

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Post by Gun_Nut_2k1 » Thu Dec 14, 2006 2:16 pm

OneManArmy wrote:
85
?

Cool chapter, keep it up.
Probably his page numbers if I had to guess.
GN
Oneswunk wrote:Interesting idea, but I still prefer the feel of wood in my hands.
tarzan wrote:Not a sound argument for having wood, in my opinion.
Tommy Tran wrote:Before I drop hammer on a 'clear' SG I full finger both tubes!

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Post by hunter :( » Thu Dec 14, 2006 2:57 pm

doc66 wrote:Hunter is having a hard time adjusting to the new story line?
No way, I like where this is going.
Macgyver used bamboo, mud and swamp gas to make bombs. When I tried it, I made a mess.

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Post by doc66 » Fri Dec 15, 2006 12:11 am

The yellow SUV, an old Toyota Land Cruiser that looked to have been through much more than a vehicle had a right too, stopped a respectful distance away. The company watched as the vehicle idled in the cold sunlight, the glare of the sunlight keeping them from being able to see the occupants and what they were doing. Emma hoped that they were not preparing a fistful of pipe bombs or something similar. There was an undead wandering nearby that had some how escaped the notice of her crew. She watched as it staggered toward the Toyota, attracted to the movement of the vehicle and perhaps the warm blood inside of it. The thing has once been a goth-dressing teen, the black clothing now faded from months of exposure to the sunlight, and hanging in rags off the bony frame. It had a military-style backpack swinging off its shoulders and a ball cap still cockeyed on its head. The thing reached the drivers door of the vehicle and reached inside with a triumphant moan.

Emma heard the loud swearing and suddenly the things head expanded and burst apart. The body fell to the ground as the Toyota lurched forward and stalled. There was a moment of laughter that erupted from the interior of the SUV and the driver’s door swung open, the driver jumping out and slapping at his shoulder, apparently where the ghoul had touched him.

“It’s not funny, dudes,” the bearded man was shouting. “So not cool. You fuckers just watched it walk up to me and let it touch me. Fuck.”

“Boss, do you think they know we’re here?” asked Tess, who had followed Emma.

Emma shook her head. “They certainly don’t seem to care, do they?”

The passenger’s door opened and the man stepped out, still laughing. Emma heard Tess catch her breath at the sight of the man. She had to admit, he was quite attractive, even under the growth of stubble and disheveled clothing. Curly blond hair fell from under his cowboy hat, and even from the distance, she could see that his eyes were very striking. He was wearing a brown leather jacket, cowboy boots, jeans that were stained and well worn and a heavy wool sweater under the jacket. His armament consisted of three pistols, a submachinegun, knives and probably more that she could not see. The man suddenly stopped and saw that they had an audience. He tapped the roof of the Toyota and pointed at the alert company crouched behind the Hummers. The driver swore again and jumped back into the SUV.

The passenger shrugged and started walking to where they pointed rifles at him.

“Boss--,” said Tess.

“Follow me,” ordered Emma, standing and moving to meet the man.

Tess scurried to catch up with her. Emma was aware of the wind cutting across the parking lot, the snow crunching under foot and the weapons pointed not so much at her back, but enough so to make her hope that none of them suddenly felt threatened. The driver stepped back out of the cab with a MP5SD in hand. From the back of the cab, the rear passenger’s door opened and another man stepped out, resting a rifle on the door to watch the progress of the first man.

She reached the mid point, and stopped when the man did as well. Closer, he was just as good looking. Green eyes sparkled under the brim of the hat, and appraised Emma from his height advantage. For the first time in a while, Emma felt short looking up at him. She was just about the shortest person in the company, but her attitude made her seem bigger when dealing with them. Here, facing this man, she suddenly was aware of her petite frame and it made her uncomfortable. Behind her, Tess made an appreciative sound that made the man grin.

“Hey,” he drawled charmingly. “Saw ya’ll drive up, quiet the show.” He looked at Tess and Emma knew without looking that the girl had blushed. “All them in the skirts girls?”

“No,” Emma found herself defending. “It’s a sign of prestige to be able to wear the kilts.”

He turned his gaze to Emma. “You ain’t wearin’ one.”

“I don’t need to,” she said coldly. “Who are you?”

“Owen,” was the reply.

She wasn’t sure what to say next, so she looked back at him, matching his frank gaze with her own.

“Ya’ll just movin’ through?” finally asked Owen.

“I don’t see where it concerns you,” responded Emma.

“Well, it might, might not,” answered Owen agreeably, “but there’s bound to be some over lap in what we want. I might make it easier if we work together is all.”

Emma looked at the number of people she had at her back and then at the two standing behind Owen. “I don’t see that having you along is an advantage--.”

“That’s just ‘cause you don’t know me,” said Owen.

Tess gave a short laugh. Emma gave her a stern look.

“Sorry, Boss.”

“Boss?” picked up Owen. “So I get to meet the person in charge right off?”

“I am the holding partner, yes,” admitted Emma.

“So this is like a business venture?”

“Owen, right?” said Emma to change the tact of the conversation. “What can we do for you?”

“Well, we’re out here lookin’ around,” said Owen. “Seems we want to look inside, and so do you. Mind if we tag along?”

“Don’t need the extra guns,” said Emma. “Might as well just wait your turn.”

Owen was about to reply when Nick came up to Emma and pulled her aside. She held up a finger for Owen to wait and allowed Nick to drag her away.

“What the fuck?”

“Top and Jay found three people holed up in the electrical room. They were dehydrated and near starved,” reported Nick, looking over her shoulder at Owen. “It seems that the rest of the people are either Zombies or food.”

“Shit. Get them to the crew trailer and get Cookie and Doc to see what they can do for them.”

“Done.” Nick glanced at Owen again. “What’s up with them?’

“They want to join us in looking around inside.”

“So?”

“So, we’ve got people to do that.”

“You have a point?”

Emma sighed. “We don’t need perfect strangers following us around, Nick.”

Nick sighed, and then pulled Emma around so that they could both see Owen. “Emma, dearest, what if they are just a part of a larger group that could use our services and goods? They might be just scouting around, did you think of that?”

“It had occurred to me,” stressed Emma. “But I was playing it a little safe until we had everything under control.”

Giving her a friendly laugh, Nick shook his head. “We’ll never have everything under control.” He looked at Owen again. “Besides, he is very attractive. Give him a razor, a bath, a nice suit, I’d take out.”

“You’re just desperate.”

“Yes, and so should you be, honey.” Propelling her back toward Owen, Nick followed her. When they reached the man, Emma forced a smile.

“My partner and I have decided that you can join us for the time being,” said Emma.

Owen laughed. “We just want to tag along, not join up.”

“Not a problem,” took over Nick. “Why don’t you pull your truck into the perimeter and we’ll fill you in on what we have so far.”

Emma shot Nick a dark look that he ignored. She didn’t think that the best way to go about it was to simply hand out information to total strangers. While they had the advantage of numbers at the moment, there as no telling who Owen served and what the intentions of the man were. Owen thanked Nick and walked back to the yellow SUV, speaking to the other two men as he did so, assuring them that it was okay, for the moment. Tess watched the man and then turned to Emma.

“Boss, you taking first dibs on that?” she wanted to know.

“What?” asked Emma not following the woman’s questioning as she had been thinking about things 180 degrees from the younger woman.

“Owen. You going to give him a try? ‘Cause if you aren’t, I’m movin’ as soon as he stops long enough to catch his breath.”

“Go ahead,” permitted Emma, still trying to decide if Nick had been stupid.

“Sweet,” said Tess. She followed Nick and Emma back to the Hummer where Emma waved down the crew and told them to get ready to clear the Wal Mart.

Nick grabbed Emma when the others were out of ear shot. “You should have told her to back off.”

“Nick, we have other things to worry about,” warned Emma.

“Sometimes, Emma,” said Nick, “you need to think about Emma.”

“When this is over, I’ll do more of that,” she promised, pulling the M4 off her shoulder and checking to be sure that she had chambered a round.


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Post by JMalone » Fri Dec 15, 2006 1:35 am

You know, Doc, this is one of the few times I'm glad the character I am writing about is an ugly mofo. i mean, just look at my avatar. I'm not going to have to be worrying too much about people going "OMG lets capture this guy and make sweet, sweet love to him because its the PAW and we have guns."

Waitaminute... FUCK!

Seriously, though, this looks like it is going to be quite the drama for our young Owen.

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AwPhuch
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Post by AwPhuch » Fri Dec 15, 2006 3:00 am

I still say Owen and crew should sneak past em...clean out the Walmart without a hitch..kick open the front doors and bow to thier new friend...heh

But we know Owen ain't that stupid...still will be cool to see the action that ensues...take your time with this next one doc...short n sweet is ok..but a waited read is much much better...make this one a doozie! :twisted:
Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms - Should be a convenience store, not a Governmental entity
"All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing." (Edmund Burke)

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Post by ecpdba » Fri Dec 15, 2006 11:57 am

Doc66,

OMG I can't wait for Owen to go all "gun kata" on the Zombies and impress the hell out of this bunch of kilt wearing dorks. At least they are alive dorks and for the moment that is worth something.

The pacing is good so far. You have tied into the prior story(Hannah) and established this one as well. Characters are clearly defined. What we need now is the action chapter !

I agree with the others, please take your time and make the next Owen action sequence a bada@@ combination of Marion(Undead) and Preston (Equilibrium).

KEEP IT COMING!!! AND THANKS!

og46
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Post by og46 » Fri Dec 15, 2006 2:26 pm

doc66 wrote:

I tried to think of the most annoying thing I could... it seems that worked!
Gun_Nut_2k1 wrote:

I did not see any senators in the story... Cool
Doc did have a 'Senator' in his 'Alive Inside: State of Grace' series.
You can listen to the Audio Plays at
http://www.darkerprojects.com/aliveinside.html

The webpage has the last story at the top of the page.
Start with the story at the bottom of the page.
nemo curant
og46

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