Another Zombie Apocalypse

[NicTei]

You know the drill:  a virulent plague turns humanity into mindless, flesh-eating monsters, and the survivors have to try and stay alive.  But this isn't just any zombie apocalypse; this is Another Zombie Apocalypse.

Full survival team included; some assembly required.

~~ Table of Contents - Chapters ~~
Click on the blue text to be taken to the chapter/Extra.

Prologue:  There Goes the Neighborhood...
Chapter 1 - Lonely
Chapter 2 - Alma
Chapter 3 - Drifters
Chapter 4 - Momma Dearest
Chapter 5 - Peek-A-Boo
Chapter 6 - The Hunters
Chapter 7 - Water
Chapter 8 - Don't Let the Bedzombies Bite
Chapter 9 - No Rest for the Wicked
Chapter 10 - Andy's Dead!
Chapter 11 - The New New Jersey
Chapter 12 - Office Life
Chapter 13 - (Un)Fortunate Lifestyle Choices
Chapter 14 - Ninjas Versus Kindergarteners
Chapter 15 - This Ain't A Scene
Chapter 16 - Party Crashers
Chapter 17 - Back on Track
Chapter 18 - Goldenrod
Chapter 19 - Arcadian Nights
Chapter 20 - The End of the Road
Chapter 21 - A Crack in the Dam
Chapter 22 - Urban Legends
Chapter 23 - Calling in the Cavalry
Chapter 24 - Underground
Chapter 25 - Zombie en Flambe
Epilogue - On to the Next

~~ Table of Contents - Extras ~~
Interview:  Dan Manson
Interview:  Howie the Zombie
Interview:  Zeke
Extra Chapter:  11.1

[ViP Perry Tratchett]

Wow, you're writing this faster than I can read it almost!  This is good thing I guess. 

I've not read the latest chapter (or three) but I'm catching up during the quiet times at work. 

[NicTei]

   Cautiously, NicTei approaches Zeke, who's currently perched on a rock in the grasslands a small ways from Hunter's current campsite.  A miracle cure was administered to him earlier, so he's no longer zombified.  Howie has been perma-killed for disobedience and turning his creator/master into a brain-chomping undead goon.

NicTei:  I'm very glad you agreed to doing this interview, Zeke.
Zeke:  ~turns around~  Did you bring the package?

NT:  ~stares~
Z:  ~stares~

NT:  ~still staring~
Z:  ...it's like a mirror, but you're a four-eyed butt-chomper with different clothes.

NT:  Well, I did kind of pattern you after myself...  Except for the lunacy.  That's all you.
Z:  Career suicide.  Anyways, I have Vicki, and you don't.  Winning.

NT:  ...right.  Well, let's get on to the questions.  How did you react when the zombie plague first reached you?
Z:  ~face darkens~  I'll eat you alive if you ask idiot questions like that.

NT:  ~checks character sheet~  ...oh.  Probably a bad idea to ask that, in hindsight.
Z:  ~back to normal~  SPOILER ALERT!  GET THE SPOILER GUARDS!!

NT:  This is going to be a long day...  Anyways, how did you...um...also not a good one.
Z:  Hurry up.  My stories are on.

NT:  Stories?  But you don't have a television!
Z:  Bite me.  Like a zombie.  From a butt.

NT:  ...I don't want to know what exactly you're trying to say.  How do you deal with the smell?
Z:  Like a boss.

NT:  I'm starting to wonder why I enjoy writing your character.
Z:  ~cocks Vicki~  Vicki wants to answer the next one.

NT:  Well...shit.
Z:  ~grins~

NT:  If you had packed a zombie bag before the apocalypse, what would you have put in it? ~ducks~
Z:  ~fires Vicki, deafening the interviewer~  I would've brought along zombie spray.  And soap.  Lots of soap.  Maybe a pie or two.  ...now I'm hungry.  Hunter!!

NT:  ~shakes head, holding ears~  Son of a...  Dammit.  Last question:  what do you suggest to the readers in the case of a zombie apocalypse?
Z:  Don't be like this square here and ask questions when the Slender Man is right behind him.

NT:  ~whirls around and stares for a second~  Nothing.  ...it's a trap, isn't it?
Z:  ~cocks Vicki and grins~  Balls!

   A resounding boom signals the end of the interview, with NicTei's head reduced to a red mist.  Zeke nudges the body with his foot before strolling back to the camp site, muttering to 'Lucy' again.

[Chinaren]

!  Nice one Nice.   

[Burningplain]

. I liked that Nic. I liked it alot.

[NicTei]

   Five hours later, they were taking their first break, having walked for four and a half hours.  They would’ve started sooner, but Hunter wanted to make sure everyone knew where they were going and how many people were expected to stay in Arcadia.  Much as Dan had suspected, all of the refugees were intent on staying in the settlement.  To his surprise, however, both Vince and Jack were planning on staying as well.  Both had their reasons:  Vince was getting tired of the endless journeys across the wilderness, and Jack had grown close to one of the refugees after spending only a few hours with her.  Like him, she was missing an arm, a reminder of Momma’s cruelty.

   Despite the fact that he hadn’t slept at all the previous night, and had taken quite the beating the day before, he was feeling alright, though he was grateful for the rest.  Charity had changed the bandage on his nose before they left, and told him it would be roughly two to three weeks before the throbbing subsided and the pain was gone, and at least a month before the cartilage was completely healed.  Unless, of course, he took yet another blow to the face, which would set him back another two weeks or more, depending on the strength of the impact.

   At the moment, everyone was sitting on the dirt, a few of the refugees snacking on some of the provisions that had been passed out to them.  While they weren’t being told when they could or couldn’t eat, they weren’t being given more food; if they ate everything now, they would be in trouble later.  The Drifters weren’t their enemies, but they also weren’t their parents.

   Water, on the other hand, was being more carefully rationed.  Back at the stream, Hunter had dumped out all the canteens and all the water coolers that he’d been carrying along and refilled them from the river, using tablets to purify the water before passing each canteen to one of the refugees.  According to him, he had at least one hundred empty canteens backed in his bag; they were a collapsible design that he’d stumbled across in an abandoned department store soon after he decided to become a Drifter.  Between the Drifters and the refugees, just fewer than thirty were out, so he still had around seventy left.

   Alma was sitting by Dan, though he couldn’t figure out why.  Maybe she thought of him as a friend now, after he’d tried (and failed) to save her from the Drifters in the ghost town.  Or maybe she wanted something from him, like his rations or his canteen.  Regardless, he didn’t mind her presence, but kept a firm grip on the old, beat-up satchel that Hunter had let him use to hold his things.  A few feet away, the leader was talking to Charity, Punk, and Zeke.

“Keep monitoring the refugees, Charity; we don’t want one of them slowing us down further.  Punk, you run on ahead and do some recon.  Zeke, you’re on defense.  If anything undead pops up, I want you to kill it.  Er…again,” he instructed.

“You mean me and Vicki, right?” Zeke asked.

Hunter rolled his eyes.  “Yes, you and Vicki will be on defense.  Just try not to kill anyone that isn’t already half-decayed and trying to eat our brains, alright?”

Zeke saluted.  “Aye, sir!”

As he ran off, Hunter called after him “No maiming, either!”

Punk stepped forward.  “Wait, you wanted me on recon?  Why?  Don’t we already know our route pretty well?”

“Both the detour to take out Momma and the trip to the river have my sense of direction a little thrown off.  Last time I checked a map, there were a few marked Boneyards around here; I don’t want to get too close to one by mistake,” Hunter replied, scanning the horizon.

Punk nodded.  “Good point.  I’ll radio back if I see one.”

Alma looked to Dan, confused.  “A Boneyard?  What’s so bad about walking through a cemetery?  Anything there has been dead a long time,” she asked.

“Hiding out in a bunker for the first years of the apocalypse is starting to seem like a bad idea now, isn’t it?” Dan answered with a grin.  “Anyways, when a city was completely overrun by the virus, it was declared a ‘dead zone’ and quarantined.  After the Nester settlements were set up, active defense of the city borders was abandoned, but everything is still there:  mines, turrets, blockades, and I’ve even seen a few tanks.  People just refer to them as Boneyards now; someone decided that it sounded better than dead zone.”

“So were we hiding out in a Boneyard, then?” Alma asked.

Dan shook his head.  “No.  That wasn’t big enough to warrant a citywide quarantine.  The government only spent the money on larger cities with bigger populations.  More people meant more zombies, and if they escaped to attack another city, there would be problems.”

Alma shrugged.  “I guess I still don’t see what the big deal is,” she said.

“There isn’t one, really; there have just been rumors floating around that the resurrected populations of the Boneyards are still there, waiting for some unlucky bastard to wander in,” he answered.

“That’d be one hell of a horde,” Alma muttered, eyes widening.

“Exactly.  Even if the rumors about the Boneyards are false, they’re still creepy; you keep expecting something to pop out from behind each and every door,” he replied with a nod.

“You’ve been in one?”

Dan hesitated.  “Once.”

   Before Alma could ask him about it, Pixie started blowing an air horn; it was the signal that the rest was over, and they were on the move again.  In almost perfect unison, everyone stood and began to follow after Hunter.  Though only a short amount of time had passed since he left, Punk was already far enough ahead that he couldn’t be seen, even on the wide, grassy plain that they had come to a stop in.  Dan got the distinct impression that he and Zeke had been holding the scout back yesterday; why exactly Hunter sent the three of them out to find water together when Punk by himself would’ve been faster was a mystery.

   Dan had never been fond of walking before the plague struck, but when he realized that finding gas would be difficult after the looters stole most of it and his car was essentially rendered useless, he found that a casual stroll to find a suitable place to hide out for a few days was usually pleasant.  This, however, was completely ridiculous.  Walking between settlements just had to be a sign of insanity, though he knew that at least one of the churches established post-apocalypse forced its members to go on a cross-country pilgrimage, offering their services at each settlement they crossed until they reached their destination.  Few ever made it.

   When Hunter had asked for a show of hands as to who was staying in Arcadia, Dan had kept his arms folded across his chest, mostly because he wanted to see what Alma was doing.  He got her into this mess; he figured he might as well stick with her a while longer.  Unfortunately for him, Hunter had moved along too fast; he’d simply skimmed the crowd and made a mental note of all those that were staying before moving on to explain how they were going to go about getting to Arcadia.  As such, Dan was counted as staying, as was Alma, who hadn’t raised her hand either. 

   Not that he was all broken up about the incident; sure, Zeke was frightening, and the prospect of spending the rest of what was probably going to be a short life around him was daunting, at best, but he had to admit that the Drifters weren’t all that bad.  The lifestyle certainly had an air of romance about it (overshadowed in the eyes of the Nesters by the killing, kidnapping, and general barbarity of most Drifter groups), and if Alma was staying he decided that it wouldn’t be so bad.  Now he was dead set on collapsing onto the first bed he saw in Arcadia and remaining there until someone dragged him away.  Or until he got hungry; whichever came first.

   While they walked, Jack started humming from somewhere in the middle of the crowd of refugees.  His new girlfriend joined with him, and soon everyone was humming, much to Vince’s irritation.  Hunter looked back and grinned despite the slow, almost mournful sound of the tune.  Something about it reminded Dan of the blues music his father used to listen to when he was just a boy, playing on the floor of the home office while his dad worked a few feet away.  He suddenly realized that someone was singing, belting out the words and probably alerting any nearby zombies that they were coming.

“A Drifter’s life ain’t easy
So don’t expect it to be;
Wander out beyond the walls
And maybe then you’ll see.
The living dead don’t give a damn
If you have a kid back home,
So brace yourself, poor Nester child
And join us as we roam.”

   Without warning, Zeke took over the vocals, replacing every word of the proper lyrics with the word ‘balls.’  The humming stopped not soon after he started, but he kept singing anyways, either oblivious to his lack of back up or just not caring.  Regardless, Dan couldn’t help but applaud his spirit.  He didn’t exactly have the worst voice in the world, either, though he could obviously benefit from a more expanded vocabulary.  No one seemed to mind; only when he called “Take it, Vicki!” and started to fire his shotgun in the rhythm of the words did Hunter order him to stop.

   Their march continued on in relative silence for a while; the refugees mostly whispered amongst themselves.  Though Dan couldn’t understand why they didn’t talk at a normal volume, Alma started to talk to him he found himself whispering back.  It couldn’t have been out of fear of the undead; after all, any self-respecting zombie for miles would have heard Zeke (and Vicki) singing.  Being cautious now would be the equivalent of making sure the barn was locked after the horses had run out.

   At the first sign of a figure approaching them, Hunter pulled up his rifle while Zeke started to charge forward.  Ascertaining that it was just Punk returning from reconnaissance, the leader held the madman back, pushing the barrel of his shotgun down.  When the Australian met up with them, it was obvious that there was trouble.  Dan gazed at the horizon and saw a city dead ahead.  Judging by the look on Punk’s face, it wasn’t Arcadia.

“Boneyard, just like you thought,” Punk confirmed to Hunter, pointing at the silhouetted skyscrapers.

Hunter glanced discretely back at the refugees before leaning in close to Punk.  “Any sign of a horde?” he asked as quietly as he could, though Dan still heard him.

Punk shrugged.  “I didn’t actually go too far in; figured you just wanted to know that there was a Boneyard dead ahead.”

“We’ll have to go around it, then,” Hunter decided, but Punk shook his head.

“That river we left behind?  Well, it seems that it curves back this way, and widens out quite a bit.  We’d have to do some serious swimming to get across, and the water was too polluted for me to tell if there were any zombies lurking about,” he explained.  “The only way across and to Arcadia is across that river.”

“That can’t be,” Hunter muttered, staring at the ruins of the city before him.  “The map shows that the river runs straight!”

“Your map is old.  My best guess is that the river was redirected this way to suit some obscure need,” Charity interjected.

“We can’t walk these people through a Boneyard,” Hunter asserted.

“You’d rather they tried to wade through a river?  Hunter, if the undead didn’t kill them, the current would carry them away!” Punk argued.

“Keep your voice down!” the leader hissed, casting a glance back at the refugees.  “If you tell them what’s up ahead, they’ll think we’re leading them straight into a horde!  They’ll riot and scatter, and then they’ll die out here all by themselves, or be captured by Momma or someone worse!”

“Duke would more than likely pick them up; he considers this his territory, after all,” Charity pointed out.

Punk laughed.  “He’s not only dumb enough to escort them to Arcadia through a Boneyard, but he’s lucky enough that he could do it without a scratch!”

Hunter glared at him.  “We’re not talking about Duke, we’re talking about getting these people to Arcadia without dragging through a dead zone!”

A thought crossed Dan’s mind.  “If you don’t mind my interrupting, what were the barricades like on the outside of the city?” he asked Punk.

The Australian thought a moment.  “Let’s see…  Well, I saw a tank and a few turrets outside of a bunker, but they were pretty rusty and beat up.  Other than that, it was pretty much barbed wire and sandbags,” he answered.

It was Dan’s turn to think for a second.  “If we took a rest outside the Boneyard, we could try and clean up the turrets and search the bunker for extra weapons.”

“What about the tank?” Alma asked.

Punk shook his head.  “The tank’s probably long past ‘useless’ by now.  I’d be willing to bet the turrets are, too,” he replied doubtfully.

“Whatever was in the bunker should be good to use,” Dan pointed out.  “Most looters are cautious enough to give Boneyards a wide berth, evidenced by the tank and turrets still being there.”

“Aren’t you forgetting about the barricades?” Hunter interrupted impatiently.  “How are you proposing we get past those and into the city in the first place?”

Dan smirked.  “Hunter, they were built to keep out zombies, for goodness sake.  They didn’t need to be high-tech.  You heard Punk; it’s nothing but sandbags and barbed wire.  Any moron can just move the sandbags aside and cut the wire out of the way.  The only reason it keeps the infected in is because they’re either too dumb or too weak to push it aside.”

   Everyone present looked to Hunter expectantly.  Finally he sighed and threw his arms up in the air.

“Fine.  We’ll go through the stupid Boneyard.  But if there’s a horde waiting for us, it’s on you, not me.”

~

   Roughly an hour and a half later, the Drifters and refugees were gathered on the outskirts of the ruins of the Boneyard, having followed a ruined highway that now resembled a mosaic of grass, weeds, and broken tar right up to the tattered barricade that had obviously seen better days.  As Punk had observed, there was a solitary, rust-encrusted tank stationed just behind the wall of torn sandbags, its treads bracing one particularly haggard section of the wall.  On either side of the tank there were two turrets set up on tripods, aimed down the main road through the city that a sign advertised as ‘Sunfield.’  There were ruined boxes of spare ammo resting beneath the legs, and the belts of bullets that were connected to the guns were still ready to use.  The only problem was the guns themselves.

   A few yards to the right of the tank was a small concrete bunker with barred windows; it had probably served as a temporary barracks for the soldiers that were stationed here to enforce the quarantine.  With luck, they weren’t still in there and had left some supplies behind when they left.  As they approached, Dan could see that the metal door was chained shut with thick, weathered chains, a padlock that seemed almost comically large keeping it closed.  Getting in would be difficult, to say the least.

   As Hunter had guessed, none of the refugees were too eager to go waltzing through a Boneyard.  They’d debated for twenty minutes about the sanity of the decision, and some had threatened to simply leave and try to fend for themselves.  Hunter had finally won them over, though, by outlining his plan for getting through unharmed in the event that there actually was a horde lurking in the heart of the city.  For one, they would stick as close to the outskirts as they could while finding a bridge to cross.  Second, any weapons that they found that were salvageable would go to the most able-bodied refugees.  This included makeshift weapons such as planks with nails or large rocks (the latter had been suggested as a joke, but Dan would rather have a rock than nothing).

“Alright Dan, since this was your bright idea, you’re going to get us into that bunker,” Hunter said while Punk and Charity inspected the turrets.

Before he could reply, Zeke barreled past.  “Breaking and entering is my job!” he cried as he started to kick at the door.

   When it didn’t budge, he leveled Vicki at the padlock and pulled the trigger.  The deafening roar of the shotgun blast drowned out the metallic cracking as the padlock shattered from the point-blank shot, and the door swung open from the force of the blast.  Zeke gave them both a wicked grin over his shoulder before disappearing inside the small building.  Dan looked to Hunter, but the leader simply gestured with his hand in a way that said ‘after you.’  Grumbling, Dan cautiously stepped forward, hoping Zeke wasn’t hiding just around the corner, waiting to blow his head off the minute he poked his head in the door.

   The first thing that struck him was how clean it was inside.  The four sets of bunks set up against the walls were all very tidy, as if no one had slept in them.  Against the far wall of the rectangular structure, a small shrine had been set up, featuring a faded picture of a young man in a military uniform.  Overused candles had bled white wax over a few letters and souvenirs that been left on the small table; a few icicles of wax hung off the edge, and Dan could’ve sworn he felt a quick blast of cold air looking at them and remembering a winter not too long ago where he’d been saved from a persistent zombie by a falling icicle.

   He turned around to check out the rest of the bunker and found exactly what he was looking for:  a weapon rack.  Eight assault rifles were resting neatly on a rack with at least three boxes of ammo beside each of them.  Beside the gun case were a few extra turrets that had been dismantled, the guns stood against the wall beside their collapsed tripods.  As an added bonus, there were also a few grenades clustered in the corner, though he made sure that he blocked them from Zeke’s view.  Not that he seemed to care, really; he was sitting on one of the bottom bunks, bouncing absentmindedly as he looked around.

“What a fitting place to make a last stand,” he remarked, looking out the barred window on the back wall of the structure.

“It seems a little claustrophobic to me,” Dan stated.

Zeke looked at him and grinned.  “I call top bunk!”

“What have we got in here?” Hunter asked, poking his head in and saving Dan from having to think of a response to Zeke’s last remark.

Dan indicated the weapons with his thumb.  “Looks to me like a eight AK-47s, three turrets, and,” he glanced at Zeke and lowered his voice, “seven grenades.”

   Even though he’d tried to say it as quietly as possible, Zeke stopped bouncing and got up, racing over to the corner.  Pushing them out of the way, he crouched down in the corner and started looking through the grenades, as if expecting to find a different one.  Sighing dejectedly, he stood up and returned to the bed, hugging Vicki to his chest in a sulky manner.  Hunter and Dan looked at each other, the latter raising an eyebrow.

“What exactly was that for, Zeke?” Hunter asked carefully.

“Andy’s not here,” Zeke pouted.

Without warning, he stood up.  “Stupid bastard!” he bellowed into the corner before storming out.

“Hunter?”

“Yes, Dan?”

“I think I’m staying in Arcadia.”

“I don’t blame you.”

[Chinaren]

A very good chapter there Nice!  Well written, and full of suspense with the boneyard concept. 

If this were an IT I's suggest that they went into the dead city and didn't find any zombies, until they reached the center and then...

Anyhoo, great stuff!

[Burningplain]

Awesome chapter. Enjoying the way it reads.

[ViP Perry Tratchett]

Not quite caught up yet, but close now!

[NicTei]

Glad to see that I've got another reader!   Anyways, the next chapter is due this coming Monday, so if you're not quite caught up, I'd suggest reading fast. xD

Just last night I finished Chapter 18 and started Chapter 19, and realized just how easily a story can get away from me.  Without really giving too much away, I started to write their journey towards Arcadia, with Zeke messing around as per usual, only to have something rather unexpected befall him (this is around the end of Chapter 18) that I didn't actually see coming, even though I was the one writing it. 

I just had to sit back and kind of wonder "Oh shit.  What am I going to do with this little development?"  Then I saw a glimmer of genius in the unforeseen complication, and I had to celebrate.

Just another perfect example of why I love writing this (and writing in general).

Keep your eyes peeled for Chapter 11 this Monday, and stay sharp; here there be zombies.

[Chinaren]

only to have something rather unexpected befall him

Now that's a teaser!

[NicTei]

   Alma was shocked when Dan stepped out of the bunker with no less than three assault rifles slung around his shoulder, the leather straps a little rough around the edges but otherwise alright.  After the way Zeke had stormed out empty handed, she figured that there were no weapons left in the barracks.  Hunter was right behind him, carrying a very large gun in each hand and a few tripods underneath his arm.  He barked an order at Punk, who disappeared inside and reappeared a moment later with another gun identical to what Hunter was carrying, as well as three more assault rifles.

   As Dan was coming back out with the final two guns, Hunter looked over the refugees and picked out nine of the healthiest-looking men, pulling them out of the crowd to stand by the rest of the Drifters.  Alma was also signaled to join the group, so she stood beside Dan, who was checking out one of the guns he’d brought.  He handed the other one to her, and she took it without question, though she fingered the revolver that was jammed haphazardly into her waistband.

“You three,” Hunter began, pointing to the three largest of the nine, “are going to carry one turret and one tripod each.  I don’t care if one of you thinks he’s strong enough to take two turrets and the tripods; we’re not risking any slow-down.  One man, one gun, one tripod.”

To the remaining six, he passed a rifle.  “This is an AK-47; pretty much your standard assault rifle.  No scope attached to any of them, so you’ll have to make do with the built-on sights.”

He pulled the curved magazine off of one.  “Each clip has all thirty rounds right now, and you each get one extra clip.  Make your shots count; I can’t stress that enough.”

“Do you really expect us to shoot these things in the head without any training?” one of the men asked, looking at the rifle dubiously.

In response, Hunter took the gun and pushed the man back into the crowd, pulling out a different man.  He handed him the assault rifle before addressing all of the armed men.

“Yes, you need a headshot to kill a zombie, but there’s more than one way to slow it down or stop it completely.  Blow out a knee-cap, for instance, and all it can do is crawl after you.  If you can hit the spine just right, you can paralyze it.  I don’t expect pin-point accuracy; anywhere in the ball park is good enough,” he explained.  He indicated the Drifters with his thumb.  “We’ll take care of anything that gets too close.  Do you understand?”

Some of the men nodded, and he growled.  “I asked if you understood, soldiers!” he shouted.

They stood at attention.  “Yes sir!” they responded in unison.

Hunter turned around and grinned.  “I love doing that.”

~

   The first thing Dan noticed as they started their journey into the heart of Sunfield was the smell:  decay.  Though there was no scent on the outskirts near the bunker, after they’d followed the broken highway into the city a few blocks, it became unbearable.  He cursed himself for not being used to it by now, but when he glanced at Hunter he saw that even the leader of the Drifters, who’d probably seen more zombies in one year than Dan had in seven, was wrinkling his nose in disgust.  Only Zeke seemed unaffected, muttering to his invisible companion once more as he ambled down the cracked tar, Vicki resting on his shoulder.

   All of the Drifters, Dan and Alma included, were forming a protective ring around the refugees, spaced evenly apart with Hunter and Charity taking point and Emmanuel and Dan bringing up the rear.  Vince was opposite Zeke, protecting the left side; though he was leaving, he’d agreed to help out one more time, especially since he would have to in order to get to Arcadia.  The armed refugees were placed in between the Drifters, most of them fidgeting nervously and glancing around at the empty shells that once served as office buildings and stores.

   Dan didn’t blame them, of course; every little noise made his finger twitch on the trigger.  More than once, he nearly shot the man in front of him.  Alma, who’d taken up a position behind him, didn’t seem to be faring much better anxiety-wise, so he found himself glancing back at her every so often to make sure that he wasn’t in danger of being shot.  If she caught him looking, he’d offer what he hoped was a reassuring smile.  He didn’t have to read her mind to know that it wasn’t working.

   Hunter suddenly stopped and held up a fist, bringing the group to a halt.  Dan had to glance around the man in front of him to see what was wrong.

“Holy shit,” he breathed.

   Up ahead, the street was littered with bodies and soiled clothes.  None of them were moving, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t suddenly leap to their feet when they heard fresh meat coming close.  Beyond the minefield of the dead, he could see a bridge spanning the river, the gates closed and blocking entry to anyone that didn’t want to use the energy necessary to jump over the waist-high bars.  Strangely, there were no cars on the road, save for the few parked outside some of the apartment complexes.  Hunter and Charity had a quick, hushed discussion before the leader finally called Zeke over and pointed towards the field.

   With an amount of glee that Dan was sure scared everyone in the group, Zeke skipped off towards the bodies.  Hunter muttered something to Pixie, who pulled the handful of children present into the center of the group and distracted them with a story.  Everyone else, however, watched as Zeke indiscriminately stomped on the heads of the corpses, crushing skulls under his boots like a sledgehammer would crush an aluminum can.  Hunter moved the group forward slowly, keeping a safe distance from Zeke.  His caution, though understandable, was unnecessary; none of the bodies stirred despite the considerable noise Zeke was making, calling out the number of skulls that he’d stomped on as if he were playing a game.

   Instead of treading on the bodies, most of the refugees nudged them off to the side with their feet, doing their best to make sure the children couldn’t see the carnage.  They were making good time; they were already halfway to the bridge, and once they were across it would be only a matter of hours until they left the Boneyard far behind.  Unless they did something colossally stupid now, they would be safe.

   As this thought crossed Dan’s mind, he stepped on something slippery and lost his footing.  Falling, he let go of his gun to steady himself, forgetting that if it hit the ground wrong it would go off, possibly injuring one of the refugees and alerting anything hostile in the area, zombie or Drifter, to their position.  He lunged for the gun, but only succeeded in planting his face in the open chest cavity of one of the corpses that Zeke had stomped on.  A few feet away, his weapon clattered harmlessly to the ground; the clip disconnected, but it didn’t discharge.

   Alma held back a laugh and helped him to his feet, handing him his gun and the magazine.  He was red in the face as he reconnected the magazine, and not just because of the blood, but no one seemed to have noticed his fall.  The last thing he needed was to become a laughingstock among the Drifters and rescued slaves alike.  As he fell back into place, he realized that his heart was racing; he could’ve just cost everyone their lives.  From now on, he’d need to be more vigilant and avoid any place with poor footing.

“Not that Zeke made it easy,” he muttered, grimacing as he stepped in yet another bit of gore.

“What did you say?” Alma asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Oh, sorry; just talking to myself,” he answered hastily, confident that he wouldn’t come across as crazy with Zeke as a comparison.

   Hunter saved him from further embarrassing himself by loudly cursing, drawing everyone’s attention to where Zeke was standing.  He was no fewer than ten meters away from the rest of the group, and he was staring at something that was just barely obscured from Dan’s sight by the refugees.  Pushing past, he looked down the street to see a small figure staggering towards him.  It was a little girl in a blood-stained white dress, crimson streaks in her hair and across her cheeks.  She was staring at Zeke with milky, glazed-over eyes, and her jaw was slack.

“It had to be a kid,” he heard Hunter groan.

   Without warning, the little zombie snarled and started to sprint at Zeke.  The grin that had been plastered across his face vanished and was replaced with momentary shock.  Dan was equally stunned; only ‘fresh’ zombies could run, to his knowledge.  Unless she’d just been turned a few hours ago, she shouldn’t be able to sprint towards him.  If she was a relatively new addition to the horde of the undead, that meant there was at least one other zombie nearby.  If she wasn’t the victim of a recent infection, however, that meant the virus, or even the zombies themselves, were evolving.  Either way, Dan found himself lamenting his situation and wondering if there was a putrid green armchair somewhere in this city that he could take a nap in.

   A deafening roar that was becoming very familiar to him by now cut through his thoughts and brought him back to the present, where the situation was about to become even more dangerous.  He looked back to Zeke just in time to see the girl finish a somewhat comical back flip, caused by the shotgun completely removing the top of her head.  Turning back to Hunter and the rest of the Drifters, Zeke gave them a ‘thumbs up’ as he returned Vicki to his shoulder.

“The party vanquished Lil’ Zombie!  Zeke and Vicki gained a level!” he called back, still beaming.

“The son of a bitch just doomed us all,” the man in front of Dan breathed.

“Now now, we don’t know for certain that there are other zombies here,” Alma began, but she was cut off by a scream.

   Dan whirled around in time to see one of the armed refugees go down, bit in the back of the neck by a one-armed zombie that had snuck up behind him while he was watching the spectacle ahead.  As if on cue, more of the walking dead began to emerge from the shadows of the alleys and broken doors, all shuffling towards the still-living group in the middle of the road.  They were as good as dead (or undead, as the case may be).

   Pixie acted quickly, showing off a side that Dan hadn’t yet seen.  In one quick motion, she’d retrieved the assault rifle from the rapidly dying refugee, knocked the zombie over with a quick cuff using the butt of the rifle, and placed a few rounds in the fallen man’s head.  She tore the extra magazine out of his pocket and jammed it into her waistband before turning and taking down another zombie with another blow with the stock.

“Move!” she shouted firmly, running towards the bridge.

   Just like that, the spell was broken.  Barely keeping formation, everyone headed for the bridge at a dead sprint, with Hunter pulling the turret carriers to the head of the group and spurring them on faster.  Up ahead, more of the undead were starting to file out into the street, groaning and gnashing their teeth as they headed towards the first living person they saw:  Zeke.  Keeping perfectly with his character, he simply grinned and lowered Vicki from his shoulder, pumping the cocking mechanism and taking aim at the first one.

   Dan felt something grab onto his leg and turned, firing at the offending undead that had already been shot in the kneecaps by the man in front of him.  The spray severed its arm, the fingers immediately releasing their grip.  Alma finished it off by stomping on its head without breaking stride, wincing at the noise the collapsing skull made.  They were almost at the bridge now, but there was one critical problem:  the street was almost packed with the infected.  Separating them from their goal, no less than forty zombies were moaning almost in perfect unison, shuffling slowly but surely towards them.

   Hunter murmured something to one of the turret carriers before reaching into his bag and pulling out a motorcycle helmet that matched his armor in color.  Fitting it firmly on his head and pulling the visor down, he charged forward, knocking down anything that got between him and the bridge.  The undead followed him, turning to follow him as he barreled past and completely forgetting about the other Drifters.  A path had been cut through the horde, however narrow, and Charity wasn’t keen on losing the opportunity that Hunter had given them.

“Anyone who wants to live, start running!” she barked, pulling out both of her pistols and firing at the nearest undead.  Both went down, one with a bullet in the back of the neck, the other with an exit wound just above its right eye.

   Grabbing onto Alma’s wrist, Dan launched himself forward, sprinting as fast as his legs would carry him through the slim path that the leader of the Drifters had made.  Alma started to slip, but he tugged sharply on her arm as he turned around mid-stride, grabbing her around the waist with his free arm and lifting her.  He was carrying her in an awkward, uncomfortable position, but it was the best he could manage without breaking stride.  Giving only a growl as a warning, she rested her assault rifle on his shoulder and fired on some of the zombies, knocking a few down but otherwise dealing relatively little damage to the horde.

   He collapsed when he reached the bridge, out of breath and wishing he’d exercised more before the end of the world.  Hunter dragged him roughly to his feet, ordering him to fire.  Alma was already reloading her rifle, tearing her empty clip off and jamming the full one back in place in a frenzy as a few of the undead closed in on her.  She wasn’t going to make it.  Dan didn’t bother to take careful aim, but opened fire directly in front of her.

   The first shot was lucky and entered through one zombie’s eye socket, blowing its brain matter out the back of its skull in a spectacular show of gore.  The other rounds thudded uselessly into the chests of the other zombies, but the stunning effect of the rounds gave Alma the time she needed to get her weapon ready again, even if she only succeeded in shooting them in the trunk again.

   As soon as the turret carriers had made it through, Hunter put them to work setting up the turrets at the midway point on the bridge.  By the time they were done, most of the other refugees had made it through; only Pixie remained behind with a handful of refugees.  Zeke was nowhere to be seen, but Dan had a hard time believing that the madman was dead or bitten.  Save for the first man to fall they hadn’t lost anyone else yet, and Hunter seemed determined to keep it that way.

“Pixie, hurry up!  They’re going to swarm you!” he shouted.

“I’m sending them through first!” she called back, pushing the refugees forward.

   They started through, but the undead seemed to finally be catching on to Hunter’s plan; they were starting to close the pathway that he’d opened, staggering closer to each other while closing in on Pixie.  The remaining refugees barely made it.  One was nearly caught, but saved herself by tearing what was left of her shirt away, leaving it in the gnarled hands of the elderly infected that had tried to grab her.  Pixie, however, wasn’t so lucky.  She was left in the middle of the horde, which was still growing as more of the undead staggered into the streets, drawn to the noise.  Zeke was still missing, as well, and Dan noted that he hadn’t heard Vicki firing for a good long while.

   Hunter started forward, but Charity pulled him back, dropping another zombie with a shot to the kneecap.  A loud, piercing scream tore through the countless bodies of the infected, and then everything fell eerily silent, save for the moans of the damned.  Hunter looked away, his face a mask of regret as he retreated to a position behind the turrets.  Without looking back, he raised his hand and gave the signal to fire.  All three turrets opened up, tearing the first few rows of the undead apart and opening a wide clearing extending into the street a ways.

“You almost hit me, you noobs!”

   Dan couldn’t believe his eyes; Zeke had jumped out into the clearing, reloading Vicki as he stepped onto the bridge.  Waving at the group, he rested her on his shoulder again, nonchalantly pulling the trigger and blowing the head off of an infected that had shuffled up behind him.  It fell with a wet thud, half of its face missing.  With an air of boredom, the madman glanced backwards at it, and as a result saw the massive horde coming up behind him as well.

“Hurry, Zeke!” Hunter ordered.

Zeke shrugged.  “I’ll stay here and farm a while!” he answered.

   He reached into his pants, and for a moment Dan thought he was going to do something obscene.  Instead, he withdrew what was quite clearly one of the grenades from the bunker, which didn’t make sense as he’d never gone back in after storming out.  Cackling maniacally, he pulled the pin and tossed it a safe distance onto the bridge.  Cursing, the refugees operating the turrets bolted towards the other side of the bridge, only one of them thinking to bring one of the massive guns with him.  Dan braced himself for the explosion, but nothing happened.  The grenade was a dud.

“Way to fuck it up, Andy!” Zeke snarled, leveling Vicki at it.

“Zeke, don’t!” Hunter cried, but it was too late.

   Vicki’s roar was drowned out by the detonation of the grenade.  Whether the structure of the bridge was weak or the grenade was stronger than they’d thought, the bridge crumbled around the site of the explosion.  It continued to collapse until there was only a few meters left on the side Hunter was standing on; luckily, everyone had run towards land the instant Zeke produced a grenade.  When the dust settled, Zeke was standing on the remains of the bridge, as maliciously gleeful as ever.  Hunter wasn’t amused.

“You idiot!” he roared.

In response, Zeke simply waved again.  “Zeke and Vicki have left the party!”

“You’d better meet up with us later!” Hunter called to him, but he was already pushing his way into the horde, firing Vicki and just reaching for the machete on his back as he was swallowed up.

“Think he’ll survive?” Dan asked Hunter quietly, still a little stunned by the explosion.

Hunter snorted, disgusted with his disobedient psychopath of a comrade.  “He’s too annoying to die now.  He’ll be back screaming in my ear about waffles before you know it,” he grumbled.
He turned to the rest of the group.  “We’re moving out.  We’ll regroup with Zeke when we’re outside the city!” he instructed, if only to convince himself.

“We’ve got a problem,” Charity said quietly.

“And that is?” Hunter asked irritably.

   In response, Charity pointed down the street.  Another horde, bigger than the one they’d just escaped, was gathering on the highway, moving towards them quicker than seemed possible.  Some of them, Dan noticed, were even running.  Punk stepped forward and took the first one down with a headshot; the impact kicked its badly decayed feet right out from under it, and for a moment the dead man was almost horizontal in the air before crashing back down to the ground.  The others were undeterred; zombies had no fear, after all.

   With the undead closing in on them, and ammunition running low, there was only one practical option:  suicide.  Hunter, however, had another plan.  Dropping to one knee on the road, he blew out one of the runners’ kneecaps, and it took down another of the slower infected as it fell to the cracked asphalt.  Calm in spite of the situation, Hunter lined up another shot, this time punching a clean hole between another runner’s eyes.  Charity stepped up beside him and fired both of her pistols in an alternating pattern.  The sprinter that she was aiming at was lucky; most of the shots thudded harmlessly into its chest.  Unfortunately, it was slowed down enough that Punk was able to finish it with a quick shot of his rifle.

“They’re focusing on the runners,” Alma realized.

“Easier to retreat when your pursuer is moving at a snail’s pace,” Hunter answered over his shoulder, squeezing off another shot that grazed one of the closer infected.

“Got it,” Charity called shortly before dropping it with a frenzy of barely accurate shots, only two of which hit it in the head.

“Out of ammo; Dan, take over while I reload,” Hunter ordered, standing up and moving back.

   There were only a few runners left, and they were far too close for Dan’s liking.  Raising his assault rifle he tried to line up a shot as best he could, but the recoil was too much for him to handle and the bullets were essentially wasted.  Cursing, he continued to fire, trying to hit the zombie that was already dangerously close.  When an empty click met his ears, he tore the empty clip off in disgust, throwing it behind him into the river.  With one step forward and a good swing, he planted the stock of his rifle firmly in the zombie’s face, dropping him to the ground before stomping decisively on his head.

   Charity had just finished re-killing the final runner with her final bullet.  Instead of reloading, she simply fit her pistols back into their holsters and looked to Hunter.  He cast one look across the broken bridge before shaking his head.  Pointing down a side-street that looked relatively clear of the undead, he pushed the refugees on, keeping his heavily modified rifle trained on the slowly approaching horde.  Punk took the lead, stalking down the empty street with his hunting rifle ready, moving with the measured, cautious pace only an expert hunter could have.

   They kept formation as best they could, and Dan found himself walking along the river, a relatively safe position considering the walls of the canal prevented anything from crawling out, and the intricately patterned ironwork fence preventing anything from falling into the slowly-moving brown water.  Hunter was bringing up the rear, turning around often to check on the progress of the horde.  By the time the first zombie appeared around the corner, they were already a few blocks away from the crumbled bridge.

“Punk, scout up ahead; I don’t want to be caught off-guard by any more of our living-impaired friends,” Hunter instructed.

   Punk nodded and ran on ahead, leaping onto one of the empty cars and running from car top to car top until he reached the end of the block.  The instant that he did a perfect double-take and dropped to the ground to sprint back, Dan knew that there would be no good news.  He didn’t have to wait long; more runners than anyone should ever have to see rounded the corner, sprinting after Punk as he made his way towards them.

“Yep, it’s official,” Dan muttered, “God hates me.”

“Less pouting, more shooting!” Hunter ordered, dropping quickly to one knee and opening fire on the approaching zombies.

   Two went down, but the rest kept coming.  The others didn’t dare fire; without the accuracy Hunter had, they could hit Punk and doom him to a painful death in the center of the group of running infected.  To make matters worse, when Dan glanced backwards to ask Alma if she had enough ammunition, he saw that the other horde was almost breathing down their necks, despite the snail’s pace they’d been traveling at earlier.

“How the hell did they get so damn close!?” he cried, almost refusing to believe what was happening.

“First rule of zombies, Dan,” Alma answered ruefully.  “You might be able to outrun them, but the minute you stop to rest or fall down, they’re right behind you.”

   A loud shriek from the front of the group drew their attention; one of the refugees had run out of ammo and fallen to the runners, who consequently forgot about the rest of the group and focused on tearing him to shreds.  The others kept coming, regardless of how many Hunter was dropping.  Hunter managed a glance back at Dan as he blew another hole through a runner’s head.

“I consider this your fault,” he said with a grim smile.

“For the record, this is the first Boneyard I’ve been in that lived up to the rumors,” Dan answered defensively.

“If you’re all done jabbering, now would be a good time to escape,” a foreign voice suddenly called from a building to their right.

   Turning, Dan saw that one of the heavy metal overhead doors that lead into the garage of the tall building was open just enough for the Drifters and refugees to get through, though the taller members of the group would have to duck.  A man in a filthy suit was looking at him from underneath the door, one eyebrow arched imperiously.  Hunter had heard him, too, but didn’t look.  Instead, he simply shouted the order.

“Into the building, now!”

   The refugees didn’t need to be told twice, diving through the door as if they’d been wandering through the desert for a few days and there was ice cold water on the other side.  Dan and Alma followed, along with Punk who had finally reached them.  Hunter and Charity kept firing until everyone was safely through, after which the leader threw her in and slid under the gap just as the man in the suit was closing it.  One of the runners managed to get a hand in, and it was severed as the heavy door slammed shut, leaving them in darkness.

   A light clicked on, illuminating the dirty garage.  There were no cars, and the man in the suit was nowhere to be seen, but there were two women standing across the room, both wearing clothes that still had the tags on.  Wordlessly, they motioned towards the door between them, watching the Drifters carefully.  Something about this didn’t seem right to Dan, but he wasn’t going to complain; their lives had just been saved, after all.  Glancing once at Alma and once at Hunter, he shrugged and started forward, hoping that they hadn’t jumped out of the metaphorical frying pan and landed in the metaphorical fire.

~

   Outside, the undead pounded on the steel door for a good long while.  As the smell of warm, fresh meat faded from the air, however, they eventually began to wander away, stepping over their fallen comrades as they shuffled off in pursuit of any other source of food.  Though they no longer possessed human minds, one ‘thought’ ran unconsciously through their rotting brains:  food would come, and they would be ready.

[Chinaren]

Yay!  Great chapter Nice! 

And suspicious new friends too.  If this were interactive I'd suggest these were some secret army survivors who were part of the team that created the virus in the first place, hence the mutations here.

Of course it isn't interactive, so I'll shut up.

[Burningplain]

Awesome chapter Nic. Looking forward to reading more.

[NicTei]

Again, Cren, without giving too much away, you'd be wise to be wary of these people in the Boneyard, though I wouldn't go so far as to say that they're evil.

I guess I'll have to start another Interactive, just so you can get some suggestions in?  Or maybe I should finally get back to Red Death...  Hm, I'll figure that out later.  I may be able to resurrect my last IT, but if not, oh well.  With NaNoWriMo coming up, I don't think it would be wise to try and start an IT now, since come November, I'd just drop it by the wayside anyways.

But, I digress.  Glad you guys like what I've got so far; you'll probably enjoy the rest of the arc with the Boneyard.  As I said elsewhere, they'll be here until Chapter 18, so another seven chapters.  After that, well, I've got ideas, but I don't want to ruin the fun for you.

Keep an eye out for Chapter 12 next week!

[ViP Perry Tratchett]

I caught up with this one finally a few days ago, but didn't get chance to comment. 

Now I've found it again...

Hurrah!

The last chapter ratcheted up the tension nicely.

[NicTei]

   Unlike the warm, oppressive air outside, the atmosphere of the building that the Drifters had escaped into was controlled, cool, and comfortable, a sign that the power grid was still active in the city.  The quiet, steady hum of the fluorescent lights dominated the silence, giving Dan an uneasy feeling about the clean, whitewashed corridor he was walking down now.  For whatever reason, the Drifters and refugees were behind him, the two women on either side of him.  They’d been looking him up and down eagerly, but had since turned their attention to Hunter and other, better examples of manly, zombie-killing Drifters.

   Upon reaching a split in the path, he headed in the direction of the sign that said ‘lobby,’ but was quickly stopped by both women, who stood in front of him and shook their heads.  When he tried to ask why, they pressed their fingers to their lips and stalked cautiously down the hallway towards the main entryway of the building, pulling him along.  When they reached the end, Dan saw that the corridor had been blocked off, barricaded by row upon row of heavy file cabinets and tables.  Just beyond them, he saw that the lobby was teeming with zombies, much like the streets.

   After bringing him back to the group, they pointed him down the only other path, where a sign indicated that there was an elevator.  There wasn’t enough room for everyone in the lift, so they took Dan, Hunter, Charity, Alma, and a handful of refugees up first, stopping on the second floor.  Judging by the names that had been associated with each floor on the board where the buttons were located, Dan guessed that they were in some sort of department store.  That would also explain the tagged clothes that the women were wearing.  The garage they’d come through had probably been where new shipments were unloaded.

“You’re lucky Chad saw you when he did; you would’ve ended up Zack chow,” the first woman, a svelte blonde remarked in a nasal tone as they stepped off the elevator.

“What did you guys do to gather the horde like that?” the other woman asked.  She was a round-faced brunette with amazingly deep blue eyes that seemed to draw Dan in.

“There may have been an incident with a grenade,” Hunter answered, not looking at them.

The blonde looked at her friend.  “He isn’t going to like this,” she murmured.

“Who isn’t?” Dan asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Our leader.  He was going to send someone to check out that last bunker tonight after the sun had gone down,” the brunette answered with an apologetic smile.  “As long as you haven’t lost too much of what was there, he shouldn’t be too upset about it.”

Hunter stepped forward.  “We can give him a full inventory list and what was lost, if that will help at all,” he offered.

“Well, he’ll certainly take a liking to your compliance!” a familiar voice interjected.

   At the other end of the hallway was the same man that Dan had seen under the garage door.  His suit was stained by blood and dirt, but his thick blonde hair was relatively clean, shining under the fluorescent lights.  He looked to be in his mid to late thirties, and was dragging a baseball bat along the ground behind him.  There was an excited shine in his eyes as he looked over the four Drifters, as well as the refugees behind them, though his gaze rested a little longer on Charity and Alma.  Once again, Dan started to get an uneasy feeling about this place.  He realized suddenly that the man was standing in front of him, extending his hand.

“Sorry, I’m Dan; I’m not sure I caught your name,” he apologized, shaking the man’s hand.

“I’m Chad, sort of the second-in-command around here.”  He moved on to Hunter.  “And you must be Hunter?  We may not get out much, but we’ve still managed to hear a great many things about you.”

Hunter nodded.  “I’ve heard that my reputation precedes me.”

Chad looked around, a confused expression on his face.  “Excuse me if I’m mistaken, but isn’t there usually a kid with you?  Long hair, carries a shotgun?”

A dark look passed across Hunter’s face.  “We got separated.  I expect to meet up with him later, outside the city” he answered tersely.

Chad’s face lit up.  “Excellent.  Er…that you’ll be meeting up with him later, of course.  There are a few people here that would have been a little nervous if someone such as him had come barging in, you see,” he added hastily.

“I wouldn’t blame them,” Dan muttered, receiving a discreet jab in the ribs from Alma.

   Chad looked at the two of them strangely but said nothing.  Instead, he pulled the two women aside and had a quiet word with them before sending them back in the elevator, presumably to bring the others up.  Putting on a wide grin, he clapped his hands together before waving them out of the elevator corridor and onto the main floor of the second level.  By the way he was talking animatedly about each floor as he walked them around the rows of sports equipment, Dan predicted that they would be in for a tour of the entire department store later on.

   As they passed a rack of golf clubs and a carefully constructed miniature golf course, Dan couldn’t help but notice that his uneasiness hadn’t subsided in the slightest.  If anything, it had grown.  Maybe he was sick?  After all, he’d spent some time in a dirty stream with a broken nose, so there was a chance he could have some sort of infection.  But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he wasn’t ill.  This sense of discomfort was a product of his intuition.  His common sense was telling him that something was wrong here, though nothing really jumped out at him as being out of line.

   Alma seemed to be having the same thoughts, because she remained close to him for the entire walkthrough of the second floor.  By the time he realized he had wrapped his hand around hers, they’d already been walking side-by-side for ten minutes, so he let it slide.  She was keeping a tight grip on her assault rifle with her free hand, so he did the same; if his instinct turned out to be right and they were in trouble, he didn’t want to be caught off-guard.  However, they seemed to be the only two picking up on the ‘bad vibes.’

Chad jumped and reached into his pocket, pulling out a pager.  “Ah, excellent!  It seems that Mr. DuBois has woken up early; he’ll see you now.  We’ll have to cut the tour short.”

“I take it he’s your leader?” Hunter guessed as they were led towards the elevators once more.

Chad nodded enthusiastically.  “Yes.  It’s thanks to him that this place exists!  He took us all in when the plague hit, brought us all to this place and helped us make it safe.  For us, he may as well be god!”

More red flags went up in Dan’s head.  “Sounds a little like a cult,” he remarked casually.

Chad looked at him, amused.  “I’m sorry; that probably wasn’t the best way to put it.  It’s not a cult at all.  In fact, we’re a lot like you:  we all rally under Mr. DuBois, much like you all rally under Hunter.  We operate like Drifters, but live like Nesters,” he explained.

   Dan wasn’t really convinced, but didn’t say anything else on the matter.  Hunter glanced at him before discreetly removing the safety on his rifle.  He seemed to finally notice that something was off, or maybe he was simply picking up on the fact that Dan was on edge.  Either way, he felt a little better that he was being backed up by the Drifter leader.

   When they reached the elevator, Chad only brought Hunter, Charity, Dan, and Alma in, instructing the refugees to wait outside.  Apparently, Mr. DuBois only wanted to see the Drifters.  When the door closed, he pressed the button for the top floor:  floor fifteen.  On the board, it was marked as ‘conference room’ and ‘penthouse suite.’  Clearly, the man they were going to see thought highly of himself.  Chad’s pager went off again, and he glanced at it before jamming it back in his pocket, a brief smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

   A soft chime accompanied by the feeling of their stomachs rising into their throats as the elevator stopped told them that they had arrived at the top floor.  The first thing that they saw when the doors slid open was a large, wall-covering window showing off the entirety of Sunfield, a virtually unparalleled view of the abandoned skyscrapers and ruined streets.  In the very center of the window was a chair, the man nothing more than a silhouette against the backdrop of the Boneyard.

“Mr. DuBois, I’ve brought the Drifters to see you,” Chad announced with an energetic bow.

The silhouetted man waved a hand.  “Well done.  You are dismissed.”

   Chad stepped back into the elevator, waving at Dan as the door closed.  Or perhaps he was waving at Alma?  Dan didn’t care either way; he simply wanted to know what was going on here, and if they’d be getting any help in leaving or not.  Of course, since no one seemed to want to break the silence that seemed unlikely.  Finally, Mr. DuBois stood, tossing a cigarette onto the floor and grinding it under his heel as he turned to see his guests.

   Dan was a little startled; Mr. DuBois wasn’t exactly what he’d expected.  A thick brown beard covered his chin, completely obscuring his tie from view.  With his weathered skin and hefty build, he looked as though he’d be more at home in Dan’s bike outfit than in the expensive-looking suit that he was wearing.  The dangerous intelligence hiding behind his hazel eyes, however, wasn’t to be underestimated.  He was at the top of this particular chain for a reason, after all.

“Didn’t think we’d be meeting a member of ZZ Top,” Alma muttered, though Dan didn’t understand the reference.

Before he could ask, DuBois spoke.  “Welcome to Sunfield, Hunter.  I believe you’ll find my little sanctuary quite enjoyable,” he began grandly.

“I’m grateful for the hospitality you’ve shown so far,” Hunter replied, nodding, “but I’m afraid we’ve got somewhere we need to be.”

DuBois raised an eyebrow.  “Oh?  You intend to go out and deal with the hordes?  I’d advise against that.  They should dissipate in a few days; you are most certainly welcome to hide out here until they’re gone.”

“I’d rather not be an imposition,” Hunter answered, shaking his head.  “I know that food is probably scarce around here, especially if you’ve all been here since the plague hit.”
DuBois laughed.  “I assure you, we have plenty of food!  We also have plenty of space, so you don’t have to worry about forcing people out of their bunks.”

“How many people are here?” Hunter inquired.  “If you don’t mind me asking, that is,” he added after a brief moment of thought.

“Not as many as when we started out, sadly.  There used to be a good hundred people here, but I’m sure you know all about the mental stresses that came with the virus.  We’ve lost a lot to depression and downright insanity.  Of course, some leave with Drifter groups that pass through on occasion,” DuBois answered, scratching his beard.  “Now there are probably fifty people here, counting the children that were just born down on the seventh floor.”

“I take it the seventh floor serves as your infirmary?” Charity asked.

DuBois nodded.  “Yes.  It used to be the pharmacy and small clinic, so we left it alone, for the most part.  We raided the hospital down the street for more supplies, of course, so it’s better equipped now than it ever had been, but we only have a few doctors on hand; don’t expect a life-saving surgery down there.”

“Speaking of raids,” Hunter interrupted, “I understand you were going to check out the military bunker on the southern side of town?”

DuBois nodded again.  “We’ve been trying to gather supplies, as well as weapons to protect ourselves on other raids.”

“Sorry, but we beat you to it,” Hunter apologized.  “There were eight AK-47s, three turrets, and four or five hand grenades.”

“And?  Do you have them all with you?” DuBois asked eagerly.

Hunter looked to the floor.  “Well, not exactly.  We left the grenades there, most of them anyways, and two of the turrets went down with the bridge,” he explained.

“What do you mean by ‘went down with the bridge’?” DuBois asked, raising a bushy eyebrow.

“If my reputation has preceded me, I’m sure you know enough about Zeke,” Hunter began, but he was stopped by DuBois.

“Say no more.  I can only assume that he was lost as well?” he inquired tersely.

“What?  No!  Well, we can’t say for certain.  He survived the bridge, but dove into the horde after that.  Knowing him, he’s probably on his way up here right now,” Hunter responded, sounding more than a little uncertain.

“For our sakes, I hope not.  But, I digress,” DuBois replied, waving his hand dismissively.  “You must be tired, no?  I’ll have the twelfth floor set up for you and your people immediately.  Stay here for the night; if you really must leave tomorrow, do so in the morning, and I’ll send some of my best men with you to make sure you get out of the city in one piece.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I really think it would be best to leave under the cover of night,” Hunter started, but was again interrupted as DuBois clapped his hands together, grinning.

“Splendid!  You’ll leave tomorrow evening, then?  Good!  You’ll have almost two full days to spend here!  The others will be thrilled to hear you’ll be staying with us!” he exclaimed.  “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have things I must do.  For now, I request that you confine yourselves to either the seventh or third floors.  The other floors are, for all intensive purposes, off-limits to you at this time.”

   At that, he turned around and lit another cigarette, returning to his chair and making it clear that the conversation was over.  Hunter simply rolled his eyes and headed back to the elevator, Charity in tow.  Alma pulled Dan along with her, though he wanted to stay and ask some more questions.  For instance, why weren’t they allowed on the other thirteen floors?  Granted, the first floor was a given, being overrun by zombies and all, but what was so important on the remaining twelve levels that they weren’t allowed to see?

   Something was going on here.

[ViP Perry Tratchett]

First responder!

Interesting fellow this leader.  Very Blofeld. (Blowfelt? I can never spell that).

[Chinaren]

Second responder!   

Well, this is interesting.  I'd be very curious to see those other floors should I be there, which thankfully I'm not.

Another nice chapter Nice, nicer without Jaja, although I thought the second in command was a bit... obvious.  The boss surely wouldn't employ a fool to be his deputy? 

Still, looking forward to the mayhem to come. 

[Burningplain]

Its Blofeld and you are right, it is somewhat sinister.

[NicTei]

Just realized that I forgot to click the 'Chapter Post' box last night when I posted.

@Perry:  ...I have absolutely no idea what you're referencing, sorry.

@Cren:  Don't be mean to Zeke.  He just dove into a horde (well, last chapter), after all.  We don't even know if he'll come out alive, and even if he does he may not be in one piece.

...anyways, I think I'm about due for an Extra tomorrow, or something.  Still can't remember the Chapter/Extra schedule that I'd drawn up.  Oh well.  If I want to post an Extra, I'll do it, and if not, well, tough turds.  Kinda running out of things to do for Extras, anyways.

[Burningplain]

Perry is referencing "The names Bond, James Bond."

[Chinaren]

Yah, the baddy with the white cat.  The classic villain type.

[NicTei]

...and all my chapters are gone.  Friggin' great.  Well, anyways, since there are issues with the chapter posts and the forum in general due to the upgrade, I'm going to refrain from posting another chapter today.  Normal posting schedule will resume after the forum is back to where it was, though I'll probably stop posting during NaNoWriMo as well in order to devote the majority of my time to my writing.

...after I get what idea I'm going to use sorted out.

[NicTei]

Hey-diddly-ho there, readerinos!  Now that we've got a great deal of our functionality back on Tome, I'll be resuming the usual posting schedule here pretty soon.  In fact, I may even post a brand-spanking-new chapter tonight!  ...okay, not brand-spanking-new to me, but brand-spanking-new to you guys.  Now that I've kicked National Novel Writing Month's posterior over the moon and back again, I'm working on this one again.  I finished Chapter 20 very recently, and am just finishing up Chapter 21 (which will be shorter than usual), so I'm roughly four to six chapters away from finishing this little tale.

But don't worry about that now; the end is still a ways away for you, and I do hope you'll enjoy the rest of the ride.  There may even be cake waiting for you at the end.

Lock and load, guys; the zombies are back.

[Chinaren]

Yay, zombie Nice is shuffling again.

[NicTei]

   Punk was confused.  Shortly after Hunter and the other three had left, the women started to separate the remaining Drifters and refugees into separate lines, drawing the men to one side and the women and children to another.  Already he could imagine them sending the women and children off to ‘take a shower.’  Granted, he couldn’t in good conscience equate this to the Holocaust, but the thought was still there.  When everyone was split up neatly, they went through and pulled the remaining Drifters out of the line, himself included.  Jack brought his girl, Leigh, with him, and they didn’t seem to catch on that she was a refugee.

“If you would be so kind as to step into the elevator, you’ll find Hunter on the third floor,” the blonde woman instructed, calling the elevator down for them.

“What about the refugees?” Punk asked cautiously.

The brunette smiled disarmingly.  “We just have to check them over for any bites or scratches.  After all, they’re not used to living as Drifters.  We’ll send them straight up to the infirmary on the seventh floor after we’ve made sure none of them are going to resurrect and eat our faces in the middle of the night,” she explained.

   Before he could ask any more questions, the doors of the elevator had closed and they were heading up towards the third floor.  He was suddenly reminded that he hated elevators, and gripped the railing behind him tight enough that his knuckles turned white.  Jack seemed to notice that he wasn’t doing so well and put a hand on his shoulder.

“You doing alright?” he asked.

“Peachy,” he grumbled miserably.

   As the elevator lurched to a stop, he fought hard to keep his food down and barely succeeded.  The minute the doors opened Emmanuel shoved past him and out into the lobby of the third floor.  Vince was right behind him; only Jack and Leigh bothered to wait for him to step out first.  Collapsing, he kissed the cold tile, spitting out granules of dirt and dust as he rose to his feet. 
Looking around the floor, it was pretty obvious that they had just arrived in what used to be an arcade.  Bright, flashing neon lights blinded him from almost every surface as annoyingly catchy tunes blared from the speakers of dozens of different arcade consoles, blending into a nauseating cacophony of noise.  In short:  it was man-made heaven.

   Dan and Alma were bowling at the far end of the room, though none of the screens were working to keep score for them.  Dan cursed as his bright green ball rolled straight into the gutter; apparently, that wasn’t the first time it had happened.  With a jerky, mechanical motion, a bar swooped down knocked over all of the pins that were still standing (all ten of them), moving out of the way just as another set of pins was placed at the end of the lane.  Alma was ready; she lined up and rolled, knocking down every pin.  Punk turned away before he saw Dan’s reaction, not interested in watching the new Drifter suffer his first massive cardiac event.

   In a corner as far away from the lights and noises as was possible in the arcade, Hunter and Charity were sitting at a small circular table, discussing something quietly.  Judging by the way they were watching the elevators, it wasn’t something they wanted overheard.  Jack and Leigh had joined Dan and Alma on the lanes, and Vince was looking at some future-based shooting game involving giant robots and a gun-shaped controller.  After giving the entire place another glance, he finally decided to sit in with his boss.

   By the time he reached the table, Emmanuel had already joined them, listening intently as they talked.  Punk couldn’t hear much over the noise in the background, but that may also have been because he was leaning back in his chair and their voices were barely louder than a murmur.  With a sigh, he leaned in close to hear what they were talking about, figuring that it had to be better than listening to the same damned game jingles over and over again in a headache-inducing loop.

“I’m not saying we have to leave right this instant,” Hunter was insisting, “but we can’t stay here.  Something isn’t right.”

“What, are you mad because mommy won’t give you enough quarters to play with Vince?” Punk teased.

Hunter glared at him.  “Not the time, Punk.”

“Besides, I already checked; it doesn’t take quarters,” he added, not meeting Punk’s eyes.

Charity ignored their exchange.  “That may be, but your intuition could also be wrong.  Right now, we need to think about getting out of her alive.  If DuBois says that he can’t get his men ready to escort us to the outskirts of town until tomorrow evening, then we have no choice but to remain here.  We can’t fight through that horde on our own.”

“For all we know, DuBois could have his men ready at the snap of his fingers,” Hunter argued.  “And for the record, I was right about this place, wasn’t I?  What with the massive zombie horde, and all?”

“I hate to say it, but Charity’s got a point, Hunter,” Emmanuel interrupted calmly.  “These people have supplies.  We don’t.  Sure, we have enough to get us to Arcadia, but you remember what the traders were like last time we were there.”

Punk snorted.  “Cocky bastards.  Wouldn’t give up a thing without an ID.”

Then he laughed.  “Zeke sure as hell gave them an ‘ID’!”

“Still not the time, Punk,” Hunter warned.

“Sorry boss.”

~

   Evening fell quickly, plunging the Boneyard into a darkness so complete that Dan thought he’d gone blind when he stepped out of the elevator and onto the twelfth floor.  Chad had interrupted their game and told them that their quarters had been prepared, which, as he looked around, simply meant that the cubicles had been tidied up and the broken computers all pushed into the corner.  Obviously, he wouldn’t be sleeping in a tent tonight.

“Punk, I want you, Dan, Emmanuel, and Vince to set up with me in the cubicles closest to the elevator.  The rest of the refugees will be behind the line, with Alma, Charity, and Jack,” Hunter instructed.

Chad laughed.  “I’m sorry, but the refugees won’t be joining you,” he interrupted.

Hunter’s hand crept towards his rifle while as he turned to face Chad.  “Why not?”

“A great deal of them decided to stay here, with us.  We offered them food and shelter, you see; much more than you could offer on the road to Arcadia,” he explained with a shrug.

“You did, did you?” Hunter inquired.

“Oh, don’t give me that!  Can you honestly say that you’d enjoy having the extra baggage slowing you down?” Chad pointed out.  “Besides, you got at least two of them killed today, along with two of your own.  I doubt any more than half of them would get to Arcadia alive, especially pushing through this horde.”

Hunter seemed to relax.  “Alright, alright; you don’t need to rub it in,” he said, stepping back and raising his hands in defeat.

“Glad you see it my way,” Chad said with a smirk before turning around and leaving.

“Punk,” Hunter ordered as soon as the doors of the elevator had closed, “I want you to see if you can find any sign of the refugees.”

“Any pointers on what to say if I run into Cheerful Chad while I’m snooping around?” Punk asked.

“Tell him you’re trying to find the bathroom,” Hunter replied.

“There’s a big sign with an arrow labeled ‘restroom’ over there.”

“They probably assume you’re not that smart; I know I would.  Just shut up and go, will you?”

“Aye aye, cap’n,” Punk replied with an exaggerated salute.

   As he turned to leave, the elevator let out a ping.  The doors opened to reveal DuBois, standing behind two giants clad in Kevlar vests and army-issue helmets.  Compared to the heavily-modified Vicki, the shotguns that they were carrying looked downright tame, almost like toys.  Still, Dan knew they were more than that and took an involuntary step backwards as the trio advanced, stepping into the room.  DuBois’ eyes were locked on Hunter.

   Charity’s hands were on her pistols, but Hunter glanced at her and shook his head.  She wouldn’t be able to do anything against their bulletproof vests; she’d only get herself killed.  Reluctantly, she folded her arms across her chest.  DuBois smirked and stood so close to Hunter that their noses were almost touching.

“We’ll be needing your weapons,” he ordered smugly.

“Emmanuel, get the AKs,” he called over his shoulder.  Then he turned back to DuBois.  “The refugees had the remaining turret and a few rifles on them.  Go talk to them if you want those back.”

   Emmanuel chose that moment to step in, holding all four assault rifles.  DuBois nodded and the man nearest to Emmanuel took the guns, slinging them all around one broad shoulder.  Instead of leaving, however, the other man stepped forward and reached for Hunter’s modified rifle.  In that very instant, Charity had both pistols aimed at his exposed eyes, and he froze.  The other man raised his shotgun, but Hunter slapped the barrel down and pushed Charity’s pistols out of the other goon’s face.

“You have your rifles, so leave,” he warned, staring straight at DuBois.

The leader merely laughed.  “I’m afraid not.  You see, my people don’t feel safe with a strange group of heavily armed Drifters staying in our building.  Don’t worry,” he added, “you can have your guns back tomorrow, when you leave.”

“And if we refuse?” Emmanuel asked dangerously.

“My men here splatter you all across these walls as threats to everyone in our little paradise,” he answered simply.

Hunter glared at him.  “And I have my word that you’ll give back our guns?” he asked.

“Scout’s honor,” DuBois answered with a grin.

   Hunter nodded to the rest of the Drifters.  Punk shook his head, but handed his rifle over anyways, holster and all.  Charity tossed both of her pistols at the man collecting the guns, snorting in disgust.  Alma stepped forward to hand over her revolver and Dan started to reach for the pistol Punk had given him , but the Australian bumped into him, discreetly pushing the gun back into Dan’s waistband, out of DuBois’ sight.  No one seemed to notice, but the brute collecting the guns looked at him expectantly.

“What, Dan?  Hell, the only gun he’s used was one of the rifles you just took.  Crappy shot, too.  Nearly got us all killed on the way here,” Punk laughed, putting on a surprisingly good act.

   Tense silence reigned for a moment as DuBois looked Dan over.  At length, he shrugged.  Taking the bag of guns and zipping it up, he motioned for his two goons to follow him into the elevator.  Before the doors closed, however, Hunter stepped forward and stopped them, looking DuBois in the eyes.

“The refugees aren’t all safe, are they?” he asked.

   There was only a moment of hesitation, but Dan could tell that Hunter knew in that brief instant that his hunch was right.  DuBois forced a smile.

“Why wouldn’t they be safe?  They’re staying here, with us,” he answered, grinning as the doors closed, shutting him off from view.

   Everyone was quiet.  Hunter was still staring at the door, while Punk and the other Drifters scanned the ceiling and walls of the room for any sort of surveillance equipment.  There were no cameras, an oddity for such a large building, but Dan reasoned that this also served as the security center, if his memory of the button labels in the elevator served him correctly, so there was probably very little call for security cameras here.  DuBois either trusted them or was too arrogant to consider watching them, and based on what just happened, Dan would have bet money on the latter.

   At length, Hunter turned around, pulling a rolling chair out from one of the cubicles.  Sitting down, he rested his head in his hands; Dan could almost hear his thoughts racing as he tried to form a plan.  Emmanuel slowly lowered himself to the floor, sitting cross-legged and leaning against the outer wall of one of the cubicles.  Finally, Hunter looked up.

“Well, don’t all speak at once!” he sneered sarcastically.

“What do you expect us to do?  They have guns.  We don’t.  We’re not getting out of here until they let us out,” Charity retorted.

Punk grinned.  “That’s not exactly true.”

Charity glared at him.  “I wasn’t aware you had an invisible rifle.”

In response, Punk gave Dan a knowing look.  “If you wouldn’t mind,” he said.

   Dan reached back into his waistband and pulled out the pistol that Punk had given him.  Hunter looked between the two a few times, finally settling on Punk’s triumphant grin.  Charity rolled her eyes and leaned against the wall, while Emmanuel leaned forward, a smile just beginning to pull at the corners of his lips.  Slowly, Hunter stood and put a hand on Punk’s shoulder, taking the gun from Dan with the other.  A devilish grin played about his lips.

“I can work with this.”

[Burningplain]

Nice Chapter Nic. I like.

[Chinaren]

Good to see another chappy up Nice!   

[ViP Perry Tratchett]

Long chapters, but only two, so I'm all up to date and still enjoying Nic. (Or is it Nice?)

[NicTei]

Um...sorry, guys.  I haven't forgotten about this one, I swear!  I even finished the latest chapter (Chapter 22) last night (technically this morning).

I've also decided that this will be one of the works that gets an 'Alternate Ending' just for Tome City.  Not only that, but because you've all been so patient with this one (I think), it'll also be a gag ending.  Just for the lolz.

Hang in there; next chapter is coming up very soon.