|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Jan 28, 2010 8:17 am
|
|
|
|
NoLifeKing66 ZombieApocalypseSurvivor "Well, it ai't exactly Olive Garden, but it ain't prison food either," Richie said as he took a bite of the food, "I don't think it's prison food anyway," he said, trying to lighten the mood. he watched Maryse shift in her seat, and felt her accidentally kick him. "What d'ya think is gonna happen to us now?" Richie asked, trying to make conversation. (Wow, you don't respond to much, do you? Is Richie dead from the waist down? He's got a beautiful, nearly naked woman sitting across from him, and he doesn't seem to care. Remember also that his leg is injured. I'm sure the military has treated it, but it's still going to hurt if someone touches it.) Maryse shrugged. "I don't know," she said, "I was told that we'd be free to go when they were done processing us, but that as long as we live here, we live by their rules." She wasn't sure she liked that idea, but she didn't see much choice in the matter. It was either live in here or die out there. Maryse was a very opinionated woman, but she wasn't willing to die for her opinions. She'd rather live than die any day of the week, she was sure of that. "I don't know about you," she said, "but I'd like to find some new clothes as soon as possible." She looked down at her hospital gown. It was almost the same icy green color as her eyes, but more pastel. She hated that. And it was thin. She hated that, too. She was cold. She needed something to keep her warm, and her hospital gown wasn't it. She didn't know what kinds of clothes would be available under these circumstances, but anything would be better than this. "So, Richie," she said, "what was your life like before the apocalypse?" She smiled as she said it. It was just funny to hear. ((he actually does reply a fair bit, but his main work is in the new zone he spearheaded and in Russia, we have several zones now, so if he can't reply to a specific one, one that i might add has had a very high density of posts, its possible he was busy and didn't have time to write something long))
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Jan 28, 2010 10:30 am
|
|
|
|
N for Notorious NoLifeKing66 ZombieApocalypseSurvivor "Well, it ai't exactly Olive Garden, but it ain't prison food either," Richie said as he took a bite of the food, "I don't think it's prison food anyway," he said, trying to lighten the mood. he watched Maryse shift in her seat, and felt her accidentally kick him. "What d'ya think is gonna happen to us now?" Richie asked, trying to make conversation. (Wow, you don't respond to much, do you? Is Richie dead from the waist down? He's got a beautiful, nearly naked woman sitting across from him, and he doesn't seem to care. Remember also that his leg is injured. I'm sure the military has treated it, but it's still going to hurt if someone touches it.) Maryse shrugged. "I don't know," she said, "I was told that we'd be free to go when they were done processing us, but that as long as we live here, we live by their rules." She wasn't sure she liked that idea, but she didn't see much choice in the matter. It was either live in here or die out there. Maryse was a very opinionated woman, but she wasn't willing to die for her opinions. She'd rather live than die any day of the week, she was sure of that. "I don't know about you," she said, "but I'd like to find some new clothes as soon as possible." She looked down at her hospital gown. It was almost the same icy green color as her eyes, but more pastel. She hated that. And it was thin. She hated that, too. She was cold. She needed something to keep her warm, and her hospital gown wasn't it. She didn't know what kinds of clothes would be available under these circumstances, but anything would be better than this. "So, Richie," she said, "what was your life like before the apocalypse?" She smiled as she said it. It was just funny to hear. ((he actually does reply a fair bit, but his main work is in the new zone he spearheaded and in Russia, we have several zones now, so if he can't reply to a specific one, one that i might add has had a very high density of posts, its possible he was busy and didn't have time to write something long))
(Thanks, lol. It was very late and during Finals week at school, so I was exhausted.) "I was nothing special. I was part of the Civil Air Patrol and the Red Cross, so that's how I know how to both shoot a gun and first aid. I had just graduated college, majoring in Emergency Management, when everything happened. I was at Yonkers, trying to evacuate people while the military was digging in. When the line was broken, I knew thigns were going to get bad. I was in a humvee when I heard word of Hammerdown or something along those lines. I remembered both from the movie Cloverfield and from the Civil Air Patrol, and common sense, that Hammerdown wasn't something you wanted to hear. Especially when the coordinates the radio operator says is yours. I Ran to the nearest Stryker vehicle and got in jsut as the hatch closed. I woke up as someone was pulling me out of the nearly destroyed Stryker. I was dazed for a bit, and the people that had survived were amazed at the sight before them. The entire landscape was barren, all burned down. Not even the ruble of the buildings were there. It turns out that the Stryker had landed several miles away from the front line. We all started walking North, hoping that we could hook up with a unit. We did eventually, and alot of stuff happened, I got to the Ontario base, and was there for about a year. Then it was compromised and I met you," Richie paused, reminiscing, "So, how about you? What's your story?"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Jan 28, 2010 11:29 am
|
|
|
|
ZombieApocalypseSurvivor N for Notorious NoLifeKing66 ZombieApocalypseSurvivor "Well, it ai't exactly Olive Garden, but it ain't prison food either," Richie said as he took a bite of the food, "I don't think it's prison food anyway," he said, trying to lighten the mood. he watched Maryse shift in her seat, and felt her accidentally kick him. "What d'ya think is gonna happen to us now?" Richie asked, trying to make conversation. (Wow, you don't respond to much, do you? Is Richie dead from the waist down? He's got a beautiful, nearly naked woman sitting across from him, and he doesn't seem to care. Remember also that his leg is injured. I'm sure the military has treated it, but it's still going to hurt if someone touches it.) ((he actually does reply a fair bit, but his main work is in the new zone he spearheaded and in Russia, we have several zones now, so if he can't reply to a specific one, one that i might add has had a very high density of posts, its possible he was busy and didn't have time to write something long)) (Thanks, lol. It was very late and during Finals week at school, so I was exhausted.)
(I was wondering why you weren't responding to my prompts. If you're too tired or too pressed for time to write, that's perfectly alright. Just say so.)
Maryse shifted uncomfortable in her seat. She wasn't quite sure how to react to Richie's story. Normally, Maryse couldn't possibly care less about other people or their stories. Now, however, she wanted nothing more than to be around other people, to sit with them and talk with them and laugh with them. She hoped it would bring some normality back to her life. She didn't think it would, but she hoped.
When Richie was done, he asked about her. She wasn't sure where to begin, so she just began at the beginning.
"My mother was killed in a car accident when I was 12 years old," she said, "My good-for-nothing douchebag of a father sent me to live with my uncle, my mother's older brother, in New Brunswick. My uncle was a retired military man with an insane moral compass. He punished me by forcing me to sleep out in the yard or by making me take a bath in ice water." Maryse stopped suddenly. She just realized that she'd never actually told anyone about her uncle's punishments. And here she was talking to Richie about them. She swallowed and continued as if it were nothing.
"I was the only girl in my class in high school, so I didn't have any friends she could talk to. After I graduated, I moved out. I got a room above an automotive repair shop. I had to listen to metal screaming and tearing all day long, but the rent was next to nothing. I also landed a job as a bartender. The bar I worked at had a reputation as being a real tough joint, but for the three female bartenders, myself included, there was no safer place in the world. They kept a bouncer at the table next to the door all night, big, strong, muscular men who drank for free, but never very much. If anything went wrong, the bartenders would slip out back and share a smoke while the bouncer took care of it. When I started, I didn't know how well one guy, no matter how big, could keep a lid on so many rowdy customers. I learned. Good bouncers don't wait for a fight to break out. They watch the crowd, and they can see right away who is going to be trouble—the ones who laugh too loud at dumb jokes, the ones who look like they want to prove something—and, just as trouble is about to begin, the bouncer jumps in, grabs the idiot's arm, and hauls him outside. It was truly rare that a punch ever got thrown. Things usually ended well before that point."
Maryse was smiling as she talked about working at the bar. It was one of the few things in her life that had made her happy. Her face grew grim, however, as her story did. "When the epidemic began," she said, "I sought refuge at the bar. The other two bartenders were there, and a bouncer, and a bunch of regulars, as well. It seemed like a good idea, because the bar was secure. It had big metal doors, and we boarded up all the windows. But we spent a lot of time barricaded in that bar, and it began to wear on our nerves after a while. We started to turn on each other. Eventually, the zombies found a way in. We had to find a way out. As far as I know, I'm the only one that made it. I'm the only survivor."
She sat in silence for a moment before deciding to skip to the end of her story. "I heard that the military had established a stronghold in the Greater Toronto Area," she said, "so I wandered off in that direction. And that's when I met you."
Maryse looked at Richie's eyes, but she didn't know what she was looking for. Approval, perhaps? Or rejection. She really didn't know. She'd never told her story to anyone before, not even her co-workers, the only people she'd ever felt comfortable with.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Jan 28, 2010 7:13 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Jan 29, 2010 2:19 am
|
|
|
|
Richie looked into Maryse's eyes as her story ended. Somehow he knew that had been hard for her to say. He just sat there, lookingat ehr for a minute or so, trying to think of what to say. He looked down at his food, poking at it with his fork. He heard the heavy sound of footsteps behind him. He looked up to see an armed guard walking in his direction. As the guard neared, Riche tried to stand, but put too much weight on his bad foot as he was almost standing straight up. He caught himself on the table with his hands, wincing in pain, trying to collect himself. He opened his eyes just as the guard was right next to them.
"Hey, Private," Richie addressed his, seeing the rank on his shoulder, "Do you know anywhere we can get some clothes? I don't usually walk around like this when I'm sober,"" Richie tried to joke, but still trying to ask a serious question.
"There's a Class Six a block to the east, and there is a thrift store two blocks down from that. If you have money, or something to trade, you can go to those places. The Class Six has Military clothing, and the thrift store just has whatever people bring in to sell or trade," the Private said, stopping next to Riche before he spoke.
"Alright, thank you," Richie said, struggling to sit down while causing as little pain as possible as the soldier walked off, "So, what do you want to do? Class Six or Thrift store? Don't worry if you don't have anything to trade. I have some stuff that are high valued these days that people would give anything for," Richie asked Maryse, smiling a little.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Jan 29, 2010 10:03 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Jan 29, 2010 9:04 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Jan 30, 2010 4:04 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Jan 31, 2010 9:34 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Jan 31, 2010 11:32 am
|
|
|
|
Richie hobbled through the door, and him and Maryse made their way to a holding area, where Richie grabbed his back pack. He searched through it and realized that his BDU's weren't in ther. He was about to ask the person in the booth where they were, but then realized he had given them to Maryse. "Excuse me, but where are our clothes?" Richie asked the lady behind the counter. "I'm sorry, we had to destroy them. They were covered in infected material. It's amazing that, after all it looks like your bag has been through, it is uninfected," The lady said. Richie turned away from the counter, and continued down the block to the Class Six. At the Class Six, Richie immediatley walked over to the undergarments section. "Grab what you want, I'm buyin,'" He said to Maryse, grabbing some undergarments, then walked over and found a pair of Arctic-cammo BDU's, grabbing those, some boot socks, and some boots. He then walked over to the counter, which had a male cashier and a soldier in combat-dress standing next to him. Richie set his selections down on the couter, waiting for Maryse to make her selections.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Feb 01, 2010 4:18 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Feb 01, 2010 4:36 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Feb 01, 2010 4:43 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Feb 01, 2010 4:51 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Feb 01, 2010 4:54 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|