Zombie Survival Day 2: don't treat me like potato

Zombie Survival

A gust of wind blew dirt around the town, and a few of the townspeople watched it swirl and disappear into thin air. A few chatted amongst themselves as the day came to a close.

As the sun began to spread it's dying rays of light along the land, the townspeople began to stand. The said their farewells and left, taking to their homes and beds. Once asleep, they knew not of the dangers that lurked in the night.

One villager arose... two, three... They stood and left their homes, heading out into the cold night air. There, they met. The three looked at each other for a while, waiting to see what the other would do. Then they were off.

The three citizens walked down the streets, choosing the house with the red sign on the door. They broke through the door, and when they did so a shot fired. Blood splattered onto the floor and one of the civilians reeled back, but the other two kept going. They jumped on the man who lived in this house, and in seconds he was one of them.

The next day everything seemed normal. No one knew how blood had gotten on the floor of the mans house, or how the door had been broken, or even why the man had bite marks on his neck... But everyone was suspicious. They ate their breakfast, thinking on what could have happened last night, when they turned on the news.

A woman appeared. Blonde hair, glasses, red shirt - the typical news woman. What she said would rock their world. She reported that people all across the world had begun to go missing, and people who had been normal one day acted strange the next. People were reported as having bite marks on their bodies, and these same people disappeared after a couple weeks. They didn't go alone, either.

The woman went on to report that several sightings of a creature most people know as the "zombie" had been reported all across the world. The townspeople turned their television off and went outside, and what they saw was absolute chaos. Members of the town had set things on fire, accusing each other of being infected, and several issued death threats. It was absolute chaos.

Nothing would be the same again, and it seemed that everyone's goal in the world would be one thing: Survival.

~ ~ ~

So, this is going to be our first ever game of Zombie Survival on ZU! The rules of the game are simple; you guys will have specific roles that will be fulfilled at night, and everyone posts by day. Everyone is either trying to get someone killed or have no one killed. It's up to you.

A game day will be finished when everyone comes to a decision on who to kill, or even whether or not they will kill anyone. If a day lasts for more than three irl days, then I will choose the most-voted thing and begin the night stage of the thread.

You guys will be posting everything here; trying to figure out who's a Zombie and who's not. Discussion about the game can be placed here. You can also find game descriptions and whatnot. :>

Now, with that all said....

SURVIVE @__@

I sit in my squeaky, cracked, wooden rocking chair thinking about how much hell I'm about to go through. I've survived the Vietnam War, but this is much worse. I think about who may be the zombie, but I keep all suspicions to myself. Any slight word could turn everyone in this town against each other. I grab my now two-stringed guitar and strum a few chords, when another string pops.

I get up and walk around the Wal-Mart that I reside in. I grab a few leftover pastries and head towards the board game section to entertain myself. I grab a game of Apples to Apples and read the cards to give myself one hell of a laugh. Maybe this zombie apocalypse won't be so bad after all...

I look briefly out the window, wondering what will happen the next night. I turn on the television to see if there is anything else that can help me. Nothing. I look out the window again. It's going to be a hot day.
I make sure my door is locked, and check on my pantry; there's enough food for a few days.

I take out my pen, thinking about what I should write. I've already written everything that I could think of, some even possibly being short novels, so my brain is fresh out of ideas. This gun shop used to be the place that I worked; I knew how to fire a few shots to show the patrons how it was done, but I'd never used any of them on another person until yesterday. The shelves sit empty, having been stripped of their contents by the other survivors that I am with.

But no matter how much that I try to think against it, I can still see the events in a replay; never stopping and always in my head. I can see it now: driving home from work to my house, left in ruins with broken windows and a broken-in door; running inside to search for my family to see if they were okay, to no avail; picking up my iPhone 4S and dialing 911 to wait for the police, who never picked up; screaming threats at the pursuer who didn't cease to continue limping in my direction; running to my stash of weaponry in my kitchen, because I can keep guns from work for defense purposes; aiming my Desert Eagle to threaten the attacker to stop coming, which didn't work; focusing the sights in between his eyes and firing a single round into the ♥♥♥♥er's head.

I didn't even know what I was doing then, I thought that I had killed a civilian just for trespassing on my property. I was driving to the police station to turn myself in until I hit a bystander due to my lack of attention. I don't even know if that person was okay or not, but I just ran. The destruction around me showed that something obviously wasn't right, so I went to the only place where I could be safe: my shop.

For the first few days, I lived off of the rations that I had packed in the safe house in the shop. After that, when supplies were running dry - I hadn't packed for a situation lasting for more than a week - people started walking into my shop, not bursting down the door or anything. I always threatened them to scram, because I didn't know if anyone was one of them. But eventually after a while I was convinced to join their "posse" of survivors.

Those last three paragraphs were straight from my first entry in my journal. I would love to see my wife and son again, just to see if they're okay. But after today, I don't know if they're alive right now. But I think that this disaster has also began for a chance of redemption, or "renewing". I could start a new life, differently than what I had before.

I think there might be a little confusion on this, so I'mma say it now:

Day time will last until everyone agrees/a majority vote is reached/I decide to put it at night.

I'll also make a post announcing Night, and the thread will be locked and the title changed. :]


Also, I have no problem with posting RP-style, but you guys need to start interacting at some point and make votes and shiz.

And if you do use RP-style, post your vote like this:

OoC: I vote for ______ to be killed. (if you don't post RP-style, just bold your vote; no need for OoC).


That should be about it, though. Again, if you guys have any questions take it to me via VM/PM or the discussion thread.

ALSO: Feel free to discuss the game out of character in the discussion thread. :>

Back at the Wal-Mart, I hear a loud crash at the front of the building. Apparently some young 'un at thrown a rock at the glass sliding door and shattered it to pieces. It was twice the size of a regular golf ball. Without a word, I grabbed my pistol and ran after the kid. I jump through the shattered door, and begin firing at the child. After one missed shot, I hit the kid where it hurt - the knee. That'll teach him. At my age, I can't run as well as him; I am 68 years old after all. With my war experience, however, I can gun down a man 500 feet away with a .22 revolver, smack dab in the eye. I reenter the Wal-Mart, but decide that the protection no longer exists. I climb back out and walk down the street, cradling a M16 Assault Rifle in my arms. These are the only guns that I'm used to, since they were first issued to us in the Vietnam War.

As I'm traversing around the destroyed town, I come across a small shop with a small sign that said, "GUNS" in all caps. I see a man walking walking into it, and after slight hesitation, join him.

This would be the first step in creating one of the greatest zombie survival alliances on Earth.

(English, in case you didn't know, the guy is you.)

I vote PK Rockin for trying to make us all friends.
Lol.

I hear a knock on the door and turn around with a quick snap of the gun. What I find is an old man with a M16 that has been polished and obviously well cared for, and my barrel to be pointed in a direction completely not in the area that he's in. I lower my gun as I realize who he is. He was one of the best shooters who ever entered my shop five years ago. I couldn't forget that day because that was when ten guys broke into the store in a robbery, and this guy disarmed all of them down without hardly even having to look at them.

I look into his tired, old face and reply, "I'm sorry for my action, it's instinct. You know how these times are, you don't know who's gone, you know? You... aren't one of them... are you?"

With my remaining energy, I smirk and after lounging in what I'd say one of the most comfy Wal-Marts around, smugly reply, "Nice place you got here." I take a look around at the various guns still laying around, and notice you staring at my M16.

"Ah, this here is a mint condition M16 rifle, and I jest you not, straight outta the War itself. I took great care of it all these years, with no use for it. Looks like I have a hell of a use for it now, eh?!" I chuckle with my last breath and say, "You got any whiskey around here, son? I could use some breath freshener. Listerine ain't got nothing on whiskey in my book!"

I heard a snap. Thinking it was a customer, I did nothing, but then I heard a groan and instantly snapped around, pulling my pistol around, and firing right as I faced the undead figure falling to the ground, with a hole going in and out of its head.

Looks like I still got some soldier in me.

Suddenly not surprised at the man's reaction to that walker, I look back at his gun, trying to figure out his routine inspection for the gun, and if I could take tips from him. Gun inspection, what I've heard, is the biggest and most important part of having your gun, to know if your gun will break down or get clogged with dirt or something. I respond to his question. "I have some mouth wash in my bathroom, but the nearest liquor store is kinda far from here."

I turn around and enter the locked room which leads to the bunker and quickly grab some cinnamon Listerine mouthwash. I come back up the stairs and continue the conversation. "The government, or probably former-government, doesn't like having the two near each other, you know what I mean?" I chuckle a little as I hand him the mouthwash, which has almost all of what it started with, seeing as the world has little or no need for this stuff anymore.

“Tania.”

No answer.

“Tania!”

No answer.

“TANIA!”

No answer.

“Dammit Tania! I want you to go across the street to that Wal-Mart and...oh, that’s right…” There was Tania, exactly where I had left her—dead on the floor in front of my office. My old name plaque was still jutting out of her head after I had impaled it there two days ago. It was an unfortunate sacrifice—I really liked that name plaque—but, when your secretary comes bursting through your door yelling something about “eating your brains,” you’ve got little choice but to terminate her.

Of course, Tania wasn’t the first person to try and break into my office in the last few days. It seemed like all my employees had caught what she had. Every night, the Conman Research and Development Co. building lit up with excitement as every former scientist, engineer, secretary, and mail boy started walloping around in some crazy way straight of Night of the Living Dead. And I, Ernest Conman, the president and C.E.O. of this fine establishment, ended up locking myself in my office—particularly after the “Tania incident.” And now, as I had long since run out of beef jerky and scotch, I was getting hungry.

“Well, if Tania can’t go across the damn street to get me some lunch, I guess I’ll just have to go get some myself!” So, I opened my office door and started my walk across the street to the town’s Wal-Mart. Upon entering the place, I hunted down the one thing I was craving—stale Peeps left over from Easter—and grabbed as many as I could. But, as I prepared to leave ten bucks with the cash register in the check-out line (since only dirty, tree-huggin’ hippies steal food), I saw someone in one of the aisles.

“Hey you! Do work here?!...Cause if you do, I’d like to buy these damn Peeps!”

[I'll let you guys decide who I see and am talking too at the end here. ]

I tell the old guy, "I'm going to go over to the Walmart to get some supplies, since I'm running out. You can stay here, or you can come with me."

The guy just sat there, holding his mouthwash. So I walked out of the door and walked very casually to the Walmart. When I get to the parking lot, I grab a shopping cart that can still move and carry anything worth a damn, because these modern conveniences weren't made just for showmanship. I push the cart to the door, which has been shattered down, so I just walk through the opening. I walk though the food isle, grabbing a few quick-make foods, like corn and green beans, and also some food that would be cooked, like a few pizzas, some rice, and steak.

Then, after grabbing the yums, I head over to the drink section. I have a pretty solid decision on what I'm gonna get: a hole bunch of Gatorade and Aquafina bottles. I stop to ponder if I should grab some Red Bull, but I go against it. There's no need to have a caffeine crash in the most important moment.

On my final stop, I stop by the sweet isle to pick out a few things. I had my eye on a few cookies, cake, and various candy that I picked up, but I had a single destination that I wouldn't let just sit in this supermarket with the risk of someone else taking. I search both sides of the isle until I find the Twinkies, then grab all of them and shove them into my cart. Twinkies are the best dessert ever, and not even the end of the world will change that, despite the over-assumption of Twinkies having no expiration date (it's like 20 years or something).

When I get the Twinkies into my cart, I hear a voice coming from the other side of the store. I turn around and see a guy waving at me and yelling "I'd like to buy these damn Peeps!" I didn't pull out my gun because there was no point in shooting the fool unless he was lunging his ragged body at me. I had seen this guy before all of this madness started happening, but I never found out what happened to him until now. He obviously wasn't accustomed to the chaos that people have to live in now, so he may have been locked up until recently somewhere to survive. I walk toward him, leaving my cart behind in case he takes my Twinkies. I wave back and say "Sorry, I don't work here. In truth, no one does. No one works anywhere anymore, amigo."

(Nice Zombieland reference English. xD)

After the man left, I spat out the mouthwash and threw the bottle on the floor, letting it spill out all over the place.
"I wanted whiskey, not this crap. Well, whaddya gonna do in times like these..."
I sit down in a half-broken chair and await the man's return.

Suddenly, I got the urge to head over to the ol' Wal-Mart. I figured that if we're in a group, we should stick together. I walk over and under to get into the building, and hear a man screaming about wanting to buy some "Peeps".

I don't know why, but when someone yells loudly, I like to overpower their yell for fun. Because of this, I grab my pistol and fire it into the ceiling six times.

That'll get him running. Heh.

As I am about to get within reasonable distance of the man when I hear some gunshots. It could have been some guys protecting this man from any walkers, so I turn around and run to my shopping cart. I grab it, and before I run back out the front door keep going in the direction and run toward the supply garage, where they receive their shipments of stuff.

When I enter the garage, I see a truck, and decide that it would be faster to take this baby for a spin. So I first open the front door of the truck, and I don't see anything inside, but some retard left the keys in the ignition, so I snatch them.

Next, I open the big rolling door in the back of the truck to check for bad contents, like a walker (which I sometimes call "nerds"). But what I see is beyond the will of god, although I don't believe in that stuff anyway. In the unlikeliest of miracles, the back of the truck is full of Twinkies that were just getting shipped to Walmart before the driver abandoned ship.

I close the door and lock it with a lock I carry around with me, because I never knew when I'd have to lock myself inside of anywhere. Then I filled the passenger's seat with what I picked up from the store, then I climb into the driver's seat, and turn the key for the truck to roar to life. I back out of the store and start driving over to my gun store.

On the way, I see the old geez and his M16 walking toward the Walmart. I honk my horn, pull up near him, roll down my window, and lean my hand out of the window in a way that you'd see someone do it in Grease, except without the sunglasses of course. Before I say anything to him, I begin to regret not picking up any shades in the store before leaving. But then I ask the man "Wanna lift?" and start patting the door of the truck very lightly.

You ninja'd me English. -_- Hold on while I re-write this.

I smirk and reply, "Eh, nah, I live longer if I walk. With my skills at gunning down some hooligans, you'll need me to."

I pat the truck and signal you to carry on your way. Before I turned around however, I contemplated what I should do with my free time. I turn towards an old abandoned arcade and head that way.

Little did I know that a large and terrible confrontation of the undead was about to take place there.

(Queue the grouping and zombie fighting; we need to get at least somewhere!)

The man I saw began to say something back to me, but he was too far away for me to hear all of what he said. I did, however, catch him say what sounded like “amigo” at the end of his sentence…and then I realized—‘dammit, he’s a Mexican.’ -_-

I have a hard enough time ordering off the Taco Bell menu, but I thought I would still try to communicate since I really wanted to buy these Peeps.

“Buenos Dios!” I yelled. “I-o want-o to-o buy-o these-o damn-o Peeps-o! Can-o you-o help-o me-o?!” (For a millionaire C.E.O., who normally hires people to do my interpreting for him, I thought I sounded pretty good. )

However, before the man could answer back, I suddenly heard some gunshots go off at the front of the Wal-Mart. “What the hell?!” I cried. I wasn’t looking to get shot up –especially not before I had a chance to eat my Peeps—and so I ran off towards the back of the store. The man I was talking too seemed to run off in the other direction towards the loading dock but, to be honest, I was more worried about number one—me.

Upon escaping out the back door, I made my way to the front parking lot of the Wal-Mart. I figured my best bet would to head back towards my office across the street and so I started walking there. But, just as I was biting the head of my first Peep, I saw a Twinkie truck come roaring around the side of the Wal-Mart with the Mexican guy I was talking to driving it. He almost picked up another man, some old geezer, at the front door too, but the guy started walking off towards the old arcade up the road.

‘Damn,’ I thought. ‘Now I want a Twinkie…‘ Since, the Mexican guy was driving off with the Twinkie truck, I figured that the old guy might know where I could get some. So, I also headed off towards the arcade—finishing off my Peeps as I went.

"Well, it's your loss compadré." I tell the old guy. I ask myself why I'm occasionally ending my sentences with Spanish, because it's kinda weird. Damn you, American private education system. I think to myself, as I drive off to unload my supplies. I'm totally American, and anyone who thinks otherwise is a pendejo. Wait... DAMN IT! I catch a glimpse of that guy I met in Walmart, following the old man. I start to wonder in he's being hunted down, but shake the feeling off with a quick Twinkie that I pulled out of the passenger seat.

I pull in the truck to the back of my shop, and put it in "park". The first thing I do is take the stuff out of the passenger seat and start loading it into the freezer area of my bunker, to keep it cold. Then, I bring each individual box of Twinkies and store them on as many shelves as I can fit them on. I managed to get more than half of the boxes in the truck before I ran out of shelf room. So, logically I start stacking them in the back of the room. No use keeping them in both the truck and the bunker, better to keep them in one place.

After I am done with that, I lock the bunker up with my key, so no one will get them without my permission. Although I DO have enough Twinkies to keep myself alive for MANY years, minus the risk of a heart attack from the major increased weight. While I'm at it, I attach the car keys to my ring of keys that I already have for: the shop, the bunker, my car (now destroyed, so I discard it), my house, my office (which I don't stay in much), and my wife's car. After I'm done with that, I pick up my Desert Eagle and my Python, along with enough ammo to kill probably 100 nerds. After that, I start jogging to get more in-shape.

OoC: Had to ask a few questions first, sorry I am so late posting this...

BiC: I walk cautiously down the shop-lined street. I stumble across a half-eaten corpse and vomit all over the pavement. I realise that it could have been me. Easily. I have no combat training (unless you call watching about pretty much every zombie film you can think of combat training, because I had that kind...), no guns or anything. It's just me and my cricket bat. I walk down towards an arcade. I could probably find some provisions in there.

I see a man jogging up from the other side, turn back and hug the corner. I'd bludgeoned one zombie before and that was a memory I didn't want to re-experience. I consider the fact that all previous geeks I'd seen were limping, I didn't want to take any chances. Was there strength numbers? Or would alliances just get me killed? I knew one thing for sure; if I stayed alone for one more night I was definitely dead meat. Literally

I turn around the corner and shout.

"I'm not going to hurt you. I just know that I won't survive on my own, but I still might be of help to you."

I'm about to step outside of my store until I remember something that I couldn't go without: my iPod. I walk back inside of the store and put on my leather jacket that I had left on the back of my seat. I reach into my right pocket and pull out my iPhone 4S. The bad news is that the screen's been cracked ever since my first zombie incident, and that almost all of the apps don't work anymore. But on the plus side, everything else works. I pull up the music app and select it to shuffle through all of my songs. All of my music is country music, which is my favorite genre of music. The first song that it pulls up is "This" and a smile immediately appears on my face. With Darius Rucker playing in my ears, I merrily walk outside and lock up the shop. If I was in any other shop, I would have no need to lock up the building. But gun stores have an exception of having no windows and steel walls, to prevent break-ins.

As I start walking down the street, I see a kid laying on the ground, motionless. As I look at the body, the song shifts to "The Breath You Take". I walk over to the body to examine it: He's cradling his right knee that has a bullet hole right through the knee cap, and a bite on his abdomen. I shake my head in disgust, as the slow music of George Strait plays through my headphones. The song always stood out to me, because it included some of the wisest words I've ever heard: "Life's not the breaths you take, breathing in and out, what gets you through the say, ain't what it's all about. You just might miss the point trying to win the race. Life's not the breaths you take, but the moments that take your breath away." I reflect on this song's chorus as I examine the crippled body sprawled on the pavement. This poor soul isn't even worth a bullet, so I pick up a pipe near my feet and impale the kid right through the eye socket. As I walk away, I agree with George Strait: What I have just done is life.