Week 3 Monday
"Hey, Salem, can you give me a hand? Hold this plank across the doorway." Rios motioned to the plank and scooped up a handful of nails.
Salem hefted the plank to the frame of the door. He looked back at the void floorspace where the pile of planks and boards were normally stockpiled.
"Hey, where's the rest of the materials?" Salem inquired, glancing around the dishevelled hallway for any more neglected resources.
"Elliot, this plank is the rest of the materials." Tyson replied darkly, pounding the nails into the wood.
Tyson finished securing the final nail and stepped back, grimly admiring his handiwork.
"Well, that should hopefully hold the rest of those freaks out. How much ammo do we have left?" Rios asked, slipping the clip from his MKII Elite Pistol and counting a full head count.
"I have twelve rounds loaded, one chambered, and-" Tyson tapped the side of his ammunition belt and continued. "Eight magazines remaining. How about you?"
Elliot ran his left hand across his ammunition pouches as he checked his MKIIE pistol's clip.
"Only seven mags and half a clip loaded, one chambered." He replied.
"You did realise that the crowbar would have took the thing's head off effectivly enough, without wasting half a clip on taking the limbs down?" Tyson jokingly mocked.
"Hey, this jacket cost me seventy-five pounds! I'm not risking ripping it or getting blood stains all over it!" Elliot retorted.
"Then why wear it over the Kevlar BDU? It's a Level IIIA! You might get the Jacket scratched if they aim for the gaps on your armpits!"
"Yeah, just try getting some new kevlar nano-fibre weave and a respray for the OTC-83 DCC series for under five grand..." Elliot said accusedly.
"You just had to go for the crotch plate..."
Elliot and Tyson had been trapped in Tyson's house for three weeks now. The only preparations they had were the weapons and supplies that Tyson had stashed away in his basement. For the first five days, things were rather heated. The brunt of the infected "Townies" as Tyson referred to them, had been wiped out in the first week. On the first weekend, however, only a lone straggler wandered past their house ("Ha, they must only operate during the working week!" Elliot laughed), groaning and mumbling. The duo had dubbed the infected townsmen "Zombies", due to the sole fact that Salem had only been at Tyson's House to watch Dawn of the Dead 2: The Second Rising. The irony of the whole event was, that the ony things that Elliot and Rios had to retain their sanity were the stash of cider in the basement, a twelve pack of Stella Artois, a DS with Nintendogs ("I swear, it's my ex-wife's!" Tyson pleaded unnervingly quickly.), two X360 magizines and a movie about the things they were fighting in the first place.
Week 4 Wednesday
"OK, first priority. FOOD! HUNGRY!" Elliot shouted, banging his fist and pistol into the kitchen table.
"SHUT UP! Tyson shouted, quick drawing his MKIIE and firing a point-blank round into Elliot's chest.
Elliot was blown backwards off the chair he was sitting on, and impacted forcefully on the floor.
"Now, some peace..." Tyson muttered, holding his face in his hands.
Elliot lay on the floor silently for a few seconds, until he coughed loudly, spluttering and wheezing, rolling over and clutching his chest.
"Oh...god...my...armour... it needs a five grand respray now...owww..." Salem groaned, rolled slowly around on the floor.
"How many times do you have do be reminded of what happens when you annoy me..." Tyson growled, reloading his MKIIE.
"Well, we are..." Elliot groaned painfully as he shifted himself back onto his chair- "-running low on food.. we need to find more rations, and fast." Elliot reminded Tyson.
"Oh, yeah, because eight boxes of pop tarts could never last very long, could they?"
"Hey, you're just so annoyed because you're hungover from not being half-drunk the whole time."
Elliot riposted.
"Makes it all the more possible to live with you..." Tyson said subtly.
"See? I told you to at least share out the drink a little. Well, at any rate, we will need to make a push back to the shopping centre to restock on the Magners and Pop Tarts, because eight boxes of Pop Tarts have five pouches of two Pop Tarts between them, making... FIVE POP TARTS! WE NEED TO GO RIGHT NOW-" A loud crack resonated throughout the kitchen as Elliot slumped over onto the floor, groaning in pain.
"Thank the inventor of Ballistics-Retardant Armour, because it makes shooting people over and over more fun..." Tyson smiled, running his hands across his face in a hungover daze.
Week 5 Saturday
Elliot was laid back on the sofa in the living room with many empty Pop Tart pouches and boxes strewn around him, his extra weight aiding the sofa in its defense against a lone zombie trying to enter through a low window that the sofa was blockading.
He was half way through his sixteenth when a voice called him loudly from the back door in the kitchen, along with... groaning? No, it couldn't be, Elliot thought, dismissing it from his mind and returned to his Pop Tart, when Tyson's voice rung out again
"Elliot, you know when you said you would be careful when you went to get more Pop Tarts?"
Hmm. Yes, I did.
"and, you also made a good job of avoiding the zombies, and even took the time to clear the one that got its head stuck in the postbox?"
Ah, Yes. Salem recalled proudly, the image of the Crowbar of Fate raining down judgement on the poor Zombie's spine.
"Of course, this would also mean that you can recall returning through the back door?"
Oh.OH.OH.BACK DOOR.
"And HOW YOU FORGOT TO CLOSE AND LOCK IT??"
Hmm. Perhaps it might be time to find a way into the attic and hide for a few days...