My first zombie play

[slaad11]

Is it ironic that I’m a dork who’s always been fascinated by zombie movies and games, and yesterday I woke to bloodcurdling screams and mayhem as actual walking corpses began to feast on anything with a heartbeat? Of course it is!

My rational mind keeps telling me that this is not possible, but I stopped listing to reason when my next-door neighbor tied to eat my face off until I smashed hers in with a large conch shell. A small twisted part of me is actually excited… Finally, all the useless survival tips I’ve picked up from so many movies and games will actually come in handy! The other ninety percent of me is ready crawl into a closet and crap my pants while I say goodbye to my sanity. I’m still alive because I’ve managed to cling to that ten percent.

After spending the day, fighting for my life and running my ass off, I’ve met a small pocket of survivors. Now I find myself saddled with a mission of sorts...

Alert survivors at the blood-caked restaurant.

Apparently they were split off from their main group when the throng of flesh-eating corpses surrounded their broken-down bus. They ran for the elementary school and the others ran for a Denny's two blocks down.

The group here has decided that I'm the fastest runner with the meanest swing, so they've recruited me to warn the poor saps holed-up at Denny's that the zombies have been crashing through large windows. The windows at the school are reinforced, but the big panoramic windows at Denny's are as good as a buffet line when the growing throng shambles it's way up to that end of town.

I shake my head in disbelief and say "Sure, no problem. Anything else I can do for you?"

Fight your way into the disinfected supermarket.

Dammit! They must have missed the sarcasm in my tone! Fine, I'll also try to get to the Winn Dixie and grab whatever food and medicine I can carry!

Rather than risk anymore attempts at sarcasm, I look for a decent weapon and prepare to leave...

Old matches.

I pocket the matches, in case I happen upon something truly useful - like a can of Gasoline - and look around for something bigger...

Magnifying glass.

I can't imagine taking the time to light that hypothetical Gasoline with a magnifying glass, even if I do run out of matches, so I thank the little kid for his kind offer and continue looking...

Worn-out hiking boots.

They're not in the best condition, but they are a size ten and they sure beat the dress shoes I'm wearing! I put them on and continue looking for a weapon...

Pen.

Even though they say 'it's mightier than the sword', I put it in my pocket for scribbling notes and still continue to look for an actual weapon...

Cheap bowie knife.

Now we're talking! Of course I would have preferred something with a little more reach, like say a samurai sword, but I'm lucky to find a knife this big in an elementary school, so I take a deep breath, tell them to pray for me, look out the little window to make sure the coast is clear, and bolt out through the door...

Unusually strong zombie.

Just like a bad horror movie, there's not a zombie in site until make a run for it and nearly run smack dab into a hulking flesh-eater. Frick, this guy must have been a body builder or something!

I reflexively swing my bowie knife as I try to halt my forward momentum...

(do I hit?)

(5_[d10]) No, but...

My blade bites air, but at least I manage to keep from jumping into his arms like he was my long lost lover! I stagger back and try to avoid the ravenous grasping powered by his bulging biceps...

(do I evade?)

No, and...

Not only does he tear a now-potentially-infected gash into my forearm, but he also sends my knife flying out of my weakened grip. CRAP! I turn around and haul ass...

(do I lose him?)

Yes, and...

I run like the wind and managed to enter a...

Hard-to-reach parking garage.

As I hurtle the cement wall, I see that the metal lattice gate is closed and there is no sign of my pursuer. I try to catch my breath and check my new surroundings. With any luck, this parking garage will be zombie-free, and with more luck I'll find a weapon here before I have to climb over the far wall near the street leading to the Denny's and Winn Dixie. I frown as I look at the dirty wound on my arm, tearing a piece of my stained t-shirt and wrapping it tightly to stop the bleeding.

Last week, I would have considered extreme luck to be something like winning the lottery. Right now, I'd happily settle for a break, a weapon, and the off-chance that I wasn't infected. Luck be a lady tonight!

(to be continued...)

[slaad11]

Well, now my arm is...

Negligible: Nick/Scratch/Bruise.

Only scratched, with the bleeding now stopped. If I don't run a high fever in a few hours, followed by the uncontrollable craving for raw people meat, I might just live to see another day. I keep my ears peeled for any signs of moaning, shuffling, or gnashing of teeth while I start peeking into the windows of the few parked cars in the closed parking garage, hoping to find a weapon...

Above average ammo (.38 cal).

Holy cow, there's a box of bullets in the open glove compartment of this Mercedes! I try to kick the window in with my newly acquired hiking boots...

(do I succeed?)

No, and...

The glass is stronger than I thought, but the car alarm is quite sensitive - fantastic. If there are any zombies in this parking lot, I just rang the freakin dinner bell! I look around frantically, making sure I still see no movement, and I give the window another kick (this time with extra adrenalin)...

(do I succeed now?)

No, but...

The passenger window of the Mercedes spider-webs this time. With just a few more kicks...

(please tell me that I'm still alone!)

No.

Dammit! With all the BEEP BEEP BEEP NEENER NEENER NEENER NEENER WHOOOP WHOOOP WHOOOP, I don't here the approaching...

Fly-infested zombie.

My only warning is the sudden appearance of flies and that God-awful SMELL! I whirl around just in time to see a face that only the hitchhiking pile of maggots could love. I duck and try to slide across the hood of the Mercedes...

(do I evade it's attack?)

No, and...

Minor Injury: Largely superficial; painful and distracting, but not life threatening.

The fly-infested fiend grabs my leg, digging its blackened nails painfully through my jeans and into my calf! I roll over on the hood and kick at the zombie's face with my other foot...

(do I dislodge the calf-craving creep?)

No.

This damn corpse is as strong and hungry as I am scared and desperate. My flailing hands find the nearest purchase - the antenna - which I snap off and try to stab my hungry assailant with...

(do I put its eye out?)

Yes, but...

Bullseye! (Or should I say Zombieseye?) Only it doesn't seem to miss its left eye as much as I'd hoped it would. It tries to take a bite out of my grappled leg with its maggot-dripping maw...

(does it sink its teeth?)

No.

My desperate kicking and squirming is pathetic, but effective. I grab the antenna and jab it deeper, stirring the zombies brain with it...

(do I find the off switch?)

No.

Holy crap this thing is persistant!

(does it bite into my leg now?)

Yes.

AAAAAOOOOWWW!

Negligible: Nick/Scratch/Bruise.

I manage to wrench my leg free before it does more than tear my jeans and scrap my calf, but it still hurts like a bitch. I start thrusting the antenna like I'm churning butter...

(NOW do I find the off switch?)

No, and...

The antenna breaks and cuts my hand. I scream like a baby in a wood chipper and launch one last desperate kick at the zombie's face...

(do I -pant- -pant- dislodge it this time?)

No.

For no reason that can be explained by a sane man, I begin to laugh histerically. It always looks so much easier in the movies - either the guy fights the zombie off or he gets eaten - so simple...

(do I get eaten?)

No.

I kick again...

(do I finally disloge this stubborn-ass-tick?)

No, and...

Its teeth sink into my calf. I desperately try changing tactics, pushing off the hood and throwing myself toward the zombie to try to knock it off balance and dislodge its teeth. We tumble to the pavement and I roll away with...

Negligible: Nick/Scratch/Bruise.

Another scratch - well, I'm not much of a fighter, but at least I'm thick-skinned! I scramble, limping quickly to the driver's side of the car, with the fly-infested zombie scrambling up and limping after me. I have a sudden sickening thought and try the driver's side door.

(is the car locked?)

No.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! If only I'd tried the stupid freakin door before I assumed and tried to kick the window in! Why the hell did the blasted alarm go off if the damn thing was unlocked? So much for 'German Engineering!' I dive into the seat and pull the door shut behind me, leaving the mindless man-muncher sliding its nails harmlessly against the glass (good thing its not smart enough to go back around to the passenger's side where the window is on the verge of caving!)

I grab the box of bullets and search for anything else of use...

Below average poncho.

Wow, a woodland camouflage pancho. Looks like Army issue - I wonder if the owner of the Mercedies is a vet - Heck, for all I know, the zombie trying to claw its way through the driver's side window is the car owner!

I check if there's anything else, like a loaded assault rifle under the seat, or an anti-personnel mine that's labeled 'FRONT TOWARD ZOMBIES'...

Narcotics.

Huh... Maybe this guy was a vet with a prescription for 'medicinal marijuana'. What the hell, I'd never smoked pot, but after today, I just might start. I tuck my knees and pull the driver's side handle, kicking with both feet to slam the door into the zombie...

(do I knock it down?)

Yes.

Fan-freakin-tastic. I jump out of the car and haul ass to the cement wall at the opposite end of the parking lot...

(do any other fly-infested butt-munchers get in my way?)

Yes, but...

Virulent zombie.

Oh goody - maggots-for-brains has a little friend, and this one looks... juicier... YIKES! At least it's not as close to me as the last close call, though it seems to be closing fast...

(do I make it over the wall without any new injuries and/or love bites?)

Yes.

WHEW! Sayonara you rotten bastards! I run with a slight limp down the street and duck into an alley to catch my breath and tend to my wounds...

(am I alone?)

Yes.

Okay... I wrap my injured leg with the nylon poncho, panting for breath and frowning at the bite-mark. The wound doesn't look so bad, but now I'm fairly certain that my time as a non-cannibalistic-walking-dead member of the human race is limited. I look at the big bag of weed in my hand and remember that I have matches...

No, not yet. Not while my head is still crystal clear and my heart is still pumping adrenalin. If I'm going out, I'm taking some of them with me first... AFTER I warn the survivors hiding in the Denny's AND get some supplies from the Winn Dixie back to the school!

I peer cautiously out from the alleyway. There are only a handful of zombies aimlessly wondering this end of the street, but I still need a damn weapon!

I sneak quietly toward the back end of the alley, checking a sidedoor and finding...

Gutted strip mall.

A mostly empty shoe store at the end of a strip mall. Okay people... It's zombie Armageddon, so mass looting is both understandable and expected, but... SHOES??

Oh, what the hell, who am I to judge?

(do I find something in my size?)

Yes, and...

Wooden pole.

Happy day, some size ten running shoes and a push broom! I kick off the boots and try the Nikes on. Now those slow shambling zombies will have a really hard time keeping up! I break the handle off the push broom and give it a few whooshing swings. Still not an assault rifle or samurai sword, but it will do. I glance out the front door of the store...

(is the coast clear?)

No.

Unusually fast zombie.

I stare through the glass door and a surprisingly in-tact zombie, wearing the same running shoes I just put on my own two feet, stares back at me like I'm the choice lobster in the tank.

Hello mister zombie dude... I'll just be exiting through the back door...

(is that coast still clear?)

Yes.

I run around the back of the strip mall, pausing briefly along the way to peek into dumpsters and back doors for anything interesting...

(anything in the dumpsters?)

No, but...

Reinforced campground.

"Go away or I'll blow your f'ing head off!" a man yells from the inside of a sporting goods store when I peek into the small window in the back door.

"Hey, umm... I'm not one of them... see, I can talk!" I yell back lamely.

(does he let me in?)

Yes, but...

"Are ya bit?" he asks, sticking the barrel of a 12-gauge shotgun under my chin as soon as he opens the door.

"Ummm... yes sir I am, but it only happened minutes ago and I don't plan on staying, so please don't shoot."

"Are ya sure? I can put you outta yer misery right here. You won't feel a thing."

"I'm sure... look, I plan to take as many of those things with me as possible, before I go, and I was looking for weapons... plus I need to warn some people holed up at the Denny's that they aren't safe there and that they need to get to the elementary school, plus I'm hoping to get some supplies from the Winn Dixie back to the survivors at the school."

"All before you turn, huh?"

"That's the plan." I try to smile with the cold black barrel slill pressed uncomfortably under my chin.

"I like yer 'can do' attitude, boy. Only problem is, I'm quite fond of the weapons in this store and I'm not sure why I should part with any of them."

"I uh... I might have something for trade..." I hold up the ziplock bag of weed for him to inspect.

"Whoa! Open that up!"

I pull the bag open and we both get an immediate whiff of the pungent pot.

"Well shit boy, why didn't you say so?" The man lowers his shotgun and grabs the bag, taking another hearty whiff. "Help yerself to ONE WEAPON, then get the hell out before you start moanin and I gotta blow yer dang ol' head off."

"Thank you very much sir!" I breathe and slip into the store, looking around quickly, not wanting to wait for him to change his mind and get trigger happy...

Hunting rifle.

Ooooh, I spot a Remington Model 7600 pump action .308 and a box of ammo. No scope, but I prefer iron sites anyway. I point at it like a hopeful kid spotting a shiny new toy...

(does he let me take the rifle)

No.

"Sorry, any weapon but THAT one." he shakes his head.

I sigh and keep looking...

Damaged smoke canister.

Cheap hunting rifle.

My perusing seems to make him nervous, as if he was worried that I'll spot another weapon he isn't willing to part with.

"Here, take that .30-30 Winchester and I'll throw in two boxes of ammo and one of them 5 minute smoke canisters," he suggested in a hurry.

What the hell, it sure beats my broomstick! "Thank you sir."

"Thank YOU for the bowl! I'll be lighten some of this bad boy up tonight!"

"I do hope you enjoy it," I smiled as I headed for the door.

"Save the last bullet for yerself, buddy!"

"That's the plan!"

I make sure it's still clear and leave the store, hearing the door lock behind me.

(to be continued...)

---

---

* Side note...

This system is a freakin blast and I'm hooked - way to go Mark!

I'm not used to writing stories in the present tense, so I had to go back and fix several errors where I slipped to past. Anyone see anything else wrong with it. Is it a fun read or would you rather be trying to outrun zombies?

Gimme feedback please :]

[TrollSlayer]

Nope, I like it. The pacing's good, the story flows quickly, plenty of tension... I'm not an ultramassive fan of zombie-apocalypse role-playing, but I think I might just try one, maybe. That, or Jerry and Xandria from my new campaign attempt will CREATE a zombie apocalypse. Who knows?

One question: to find those weapons at the end, how many times did you have to hit "Get Item"?

[smw]

I can take or leave most Zombie stories but this was a blast! Most enjoyable read, i look forward to the rest of his final moments, do you intend to continue once/if he turns, from the Zombie point of view...?

[slaad11]

One question: to find those weapons at the end, how many times did you have to hit "Get Item"?

All my Get Item rolls are actual. There was only one time I fudged a result in the game and hit the Clear Last... It was at the end of that battle with the zombie on the Mercedes - I couldn't catch a break and finally got fed up and did one re-roll.

It's funny, though - I was thinking that as long as it took for me to get a weapon before the sporting good store (and there are a LOT of weapons in the Z.A. item list), I should have sent Mark a word list for Z.A. items that looked something like this:
assault rifle
assault rifle
assault rifle
samurai sword
assault rifle

I can take or leave most Zombie stories but this was a blast! Most enjoyable read, i look forward to the rest of his final moments, do you intend to continue once/if he turns, from the Zombie point of view...?

If I continue from the zombie's perspective, it'll be one paragraph - I don't see the character doing as much introspective contemplation at that point- that is if he doesn't manage to blow his brains out with his last bullet.

Thanks for the feedback guys - I'll check your stories out as soon as my hero either shoots himself or starts moaning and chasing survivors through the elementary school :]

[mark]

Fun read! Just keep doin' what yer doin'.

[slaad11]

I check the rest of the dumpsters and backdoors before I reach the far end of the strip mall...

(anything interesting?)

No.

I'm only a block away from the Denny's, but I don't want to tangle with any more zombies than I have to, at least not yet. I cautiously peek around the corner...

(is the coast clear?)

No.

Moaning zombie.

Eyeless zombie.

"Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuugh"

I can hear moaning as I peek around the side of the building, so I expect to see a zombie, but I don't expect to see two of them and I don't expect for them to be standing right fricken there!

I reflexively try to butt stroke the moaning zombie in the teeth - he can't hurt me as bad if he's missing all his teeth, right?

(do I knock his teeth out?)

Yes, but...

I bash his dirty chiclets down his throat with the butt of my rifle, but that doesn't seem to curb his appetite, because he grabs hold of me. I don't think I ever remember seeing a movie or playing a game where zombies actually worked together, but right now, is seems like the moaning toothless zombie is holding onto me just so his friend, who's eyes seem to be missing from their desiccated sockets, can chow down on my face. What the hell, are you his seeing eye zombie? I try to use the rifle as a lever to wrench myself from the zombie's grip...

(do I break free?)

No.

The other zombie, the blind one, is nearly on me. Time for plan B. I shove the barrel between the bloody gums of Mr. helpful and pull the trigger.

(do I blow his helpful brain out the back of his helpful head? -very likely-)

Yes.

Mr. helpful's days as a moaning seeing-eye zombie are over...

(does his eyeless friend get a hold of me?)

Yes.

(does he sink his teeth into me?)

Yes.

Moderate Injury: Hampers action significantly; will require first aid/medical attention.

I scream like a girl as the blind bastard bites the pinky and ring finger off my right hand. I let loose a stream of obscenities as I cock the lever-action rifle with my bloody thumb to chamber another round and try to stick the barrel into my attacker's empty eye socket...

(do his brains go boom?)

Yes, and...

His swallowing my prescious fingers gives me just enough of a delay...

BOOM!

As the second de-brained zombie hits the ground, I look around frantically, waiting for the hoard to come charging in after hearing my rifle's double discharge, but it's clear and quiet. I slump down, pulling my shirt off with my left hand and try to wrap my right hand up tightly to stop the bleeding. I cry a little... Okay, I cry a lot. I consider going back to the sporting goods store to see if that shotgun-carrying pot-smoking redneck would mind parting with a first aid kit, but I don't want to press my luck with that loon.

I clench my jaw and stand back up. I've only got a few hours left anyway, so I stagger forward, cocking my rifle again. At least I'm left-handed...

(can I slip unnoticed across the street to get to the Denny's on the other side?)

No.

(how many?)

5 = 5_[d6]

Putrid zombie.

Skinless zombie.

Moaning zombie.

Compound-fractured zombie.

Emaciated zombie.

"AHH FUUUUUU..." I cry as I try to outrun the group of zombies that limp and run faster than their mangled decomposing bodies should allow...

(do I outrun them?)

No.

The lead zombie is right on my heels and lunges at me. I aim the rifle one-handed and try to stop his pursuit with a slug...

(do I evade his attack and blow his head off?)

No, but...

I miss his head, but the bullet blows a hole through his neck, slowing him down and causing the next closest zombie to trip over him...

(can I outrun them now?)

Yes, and...

I leave my biggest fans in the dust and see that my path looks clear all the way to the Denny's. I breath through a cramp as I sprint to the restaurant. "Let me in!" I scream, charging at the entrance...

(do they open the door for me?)

Yes, but...

I'd like to think that the man opening the door is doing so because of his benovolence and humanity, but it's clear by the look on his face and the terrified cries from the others in the restaurant that he thinks I'm about to crash through the glass and blow his head off.

"Look," I pant, heaving for breath as he shuts the door and locks it behind me, then cowers in fear with the others, "I'm on your side!"

"Then why..." a woman started to cry.

"Sorry," I apologize, putting the rifle down. "I didn't mean to scare you like that, but I had five of them right on my tail."

As if that part of my story needed collaboration, the group of zombies chasing me slammed into the glass door...

(does it break? -very unlikely-)

No.

"Yeah, those zombies! Anyway, I came to warn you. I met a group hiding in the elementary school that said they got split off from you at the bus. They said they saw the throng breaking through windows when they all pressed in on some of the other buildings. The throng is slow, but it's headed this way and you guys aren't safe here! You need to try and make it to the school, or anywhere that's reinforced!"

"Oh my God, have you been bitten?" one of them asks, pointing at my injuries.

I nod reluctantly "Yes, but it wasn't long ago and I don't think I have a fever yet. I'm not staying with you guys anyway. I plan to head over to the Winn Dixie and grab whatever food and supplies I can and try to get them to the school before I turn."

"That's really brave of you, but... If you've been bitten, wouldn't it make more sense for us to go the the Winn Dixie for supplies and then head to the school? You could stay here until... you know. I just fried up a bunch of eggs, so you could get something to eat while you wait."

"Oh that sounds so good," I start crying, my stomach rumbling its agreement and adding another rumble to remind me that I hadn't eaten anything since the dinner rolls I'd scarfed down this morning from the school cafeteria.

The six survivors make sure I'm comfortable and prepare to leave. I take careful aim and try to clear a path through the group of groaners pressed against the glass door...

(am I able to take them all out?)

Yes, but...

I blow every last one of the five zombies away, but I can see more in the distance coming fast. "Run, I'll try to keep them off you!"

(do the six survivors make it away in one piece?)

No.

Maybe that old lady should have just stayed here with me. Well, at least the screaming senior citizen makes a very effective speed bump! The others pause, as if they can pull her half-eaten cadaver away from the frenzy and somehow save her. I fire a shot at the pavement between the group and the feast, screaming "RUN YOU FOOLS!"

They run and I retreat with my plate piled high with fried eggs to the kitchen. I gobble my dinner down like the zombies gobbled up that old lady outside. I wash it down with a long drink of water from the kitchen sink, and then relieve my aching bladder in that same sink. Finally, I collapse on the cool floor, listening to the zombies shamble and moan through the restaurant, just outside the kitchen door.

I still have another box of ammo, but I'm too tired to play Rambo now. I just sit there and wait, watching the sun set through the high kitchen window...

(do I miraculously make it through the night without turning? -very unlikely-)

No.

Once the fever and shakes set in, I know it won't be long. I let out a deep ragged whimpering sigh and check to see that a round is chambered. I manage to get the carbon-scented barrel into my mouth and reach the trigger with my thumb. The only question now is, do I have the guts to pull it...

(the end?)

Yes.

---

That was sad, but a ton of fun! I'll write some reviews before I post my next story - probably in the sci-fi genre. I'll also try to get the word lists done for the superheroes genre this weekend. Thanks for reading :]

[smw]

A very enjoyable read, I really shouldn't have read this at work as it would be hard to explain sudden bouts of laughter....

[TrollSlayer]

I fire a shot at the pavement between the group and the feast, screaming "RUN YOU FOOLS!"

You were so close to an awesome Lord of the Rings reference there. SO CLOSE.

Good story. The ending felt a bit abrupt; I'd have liked to see a bit more description of the PC's death, after all that he/she went through, but I liked it nonetheless.

[La Long Carabine]

Great story. Thanks for sharing. Your writing make the events quite the story.