Title: What He's Really After
Rating: T for all the crude humor.
Disclaimer: You're lucky I don't own a thing.
Summary: One Hunter shall learn one of the downfalls to falling in love.
A/N: I have no excuses for this. I should be writing my other stuff instead of this trash.
...
Oh well.
Honestly of all the apocalypses in the world to happen (world flood, giant meteor crash, another ice age...) a zombie one had to be the best one yet. Albeit being undead and attempting to eat you out of your house and home, literally, you still got to see your friends and neighbors. And shooting ice bergs that moved inches in years? Not nearly as cool as dropping dead an entire horde about to attack your guys from behind.
Yes the zombie apocalypse was definitely better than being burned to death by the sun, at least in Zoey's ever optimistic opinion. And yet when she shared it so with her comrades, she was met with the ever cynical retorts as per usual.
"I would've rather been burned alive and ended it all quickly!"
"Would've rather had no apocalypse to begin with."
"I hate apocalypses."
Zoey met these comments with only a smile and a loaded pistol as she aimed towards the safe house door and nudged the trigger. The prying hand that had been reaching out to them, albeit as futile as it was, suddenly stopped slapping around the safe house door, and the body it was connected to fell with a heavy thud where it had once stood.
And as she moved to reload it again, the eldest member of her entourage walked forward and looked outside the door. The scent of blood and bile hit his nostrils, the slightest bit of gunpowder, but the bile alerted him the most.
"Boomer's nearby." He muttered, readying the rifle on his side. A slightest croaking solidified the statement. And before they were really ready and everyone tensed up from the tell tale signs of a coming horde, Bill opened the exit door.
He crept out first, veteran eyes at the ready, and trigger not far from the itch of a finger. But his eyes found nothing but rubble and upturned furniture. A hole at the side wall not a few feet off might be where that Boomer was hiding, but other than that, it appeared quiet.
A quick jerk of the head forced the others from the safe house, Zoey to Bill's side and the other two bringing up the rear. All gazed around, looking for the bearer of the grunts. Louis checked the dirty windows, but nothing but common infected stood unwarily outside. He shook his head towards the others.
Again Bill's eyes moved to the hole. It was wide enough for a Boomer, an ideal hiding spot. He snorted and reached for his pocket but halted at once as another sound joined in with the hiding Boomer's belching.
"Hunter's out." Louis whispered, quickly turning his rifle behind him, but found nothing but shadows and a upturned potted plant. The man shivered as another growl echoed nearby. "Real close too, stay together."
The four moved in union, back to back together, and headed for the hole. Beyond it was a lit hall light, and it cast the round shadow of a Boomer. Bill smiled and readied himself for a quick hit and clean kill.
The Boomer, however, had already readied itself as well, and the moment that old man turned to smack it, he was sprayed with the green, foul smelling goo of Boomer vomit. It blinded him, and he fell to his knees, at once shooting in front towards the fast approaching figures of the horde. From behind him Zoey whipped and hit the Boomer quickly before it hurt Bill with a swipe of it's fat arms. It exploded, only to slop more goo upon the remaining survivors.
"Dammit!" She called out, listening to the cries of the fast approaching horde. "Bill are you okay?!"
"Dandy." With a quick sweep of his hand, the old man's vision returned, blurry as it was. He readied the rifle again, spitting out a bile covered cigarette butt out of the corner of his mouth. This time his aim was sharper, deadlier. Infected fell down one by one to his bullets.
Now the apartments filled with the roar and sinew of gore all about it's third level halls. No longer would it house the humble homes of well-to doers and likewise, but their rabid counterparts. Completely bent upon their internal instincts, destructive as they were to outsiders, they pressed on. And on they fell when the weapons of man, the same they had caste aside, proved to be too much for them. It was an array of bullets, a scramble of limbs and battle of cries. It was a dance of death. And it was beautiful.
Now hiding behind the horde, but keeping his stay away as well, the Hunter watched. He had been on the trail for some time now, and had been taking his sweet time in finding the most opportune moment to strike. He saw it now as the survivors and the infected danced in this battle melee, and with a grin that was all teeth and saliva, he crouched back and waited. Through the wails and cries of the downing Horde, they did not hear the Hunter's menacing and every watchful, growl.
The big male was pushed back, colliding down to behind the legs of the dark male. Too close. The elder and the female were the most covered in the vomit, but the elder was protected well between a wall and the female. More lesser infected were coming. Good.
Just as he was about to leave it to chance, and leap upon the old man, a loud slurping noise beside him alerted the Hunter to another choice opportunity. Zoey's cries wailing out, her body being dragged away from the group, gave him all the welcome he needed.
It was indeed a Smoker that held onto the Hunter's prey now, his slimy appendage about her body and pulling her in slowly. And they way she flopped about, trying to set herself free, reminded one of a fish upon a hook. Like one, she gaped and released silent cries, particularly when the Smoker's body was up close, and it's claws were at her back.
"Help!" Zoey cried. "Help me!"
The Hunter took his chance. With the tell tale cry that his kind prided themselves for, he bounded forth in a powerful gusto, landing perfectly above the woman. The Smoker ran off at first sight of the Hunter, fearing the claws that he knew would come should he make attempt to steal his prey back. And he had it no other way, as the woman rocked and shook beneath him, beating his chest with her fists and screaming out profanities that no longer meant anything to his diseased brain.
Yes, all that mattered now, was the kill. The males were fast approaching, so he wanted to get this done with soon. Lifting up a hand, brandishing the blunt claw points, red with old blood and dirtied with grime, he watched as she recoiled, readying for the blow already. A grin flashed just as he let down her attempted doom, only to find it being smacked away by both of her hands. He growled at her futile squirming, made a move to slash yet again, but she slapped at him enough that his wrist give but a flick, and the claw tore not at skin, but fabric.
Then, that was when he saw them.
Two round, fleshy orbs, hidden behind the slightest of lace and dolled with a bow in the center. It was the color of black, and red ribbon, alike to the blood that battered his clothing and skin. The Hunter felt a sudden heat rise to his face, strange enough it was, for his skin had long turned deathly cold with illness.
All desire to rip them asunder were gone now, and instead, now the Hunter moved forth towards these glorious treasures, hands and nostrils wide and flaring, intentions very clear...
"Dammit someone get this thing off of me!" Zoey's cried one last time before a body crashed into his side, and he was sent rolling from the woman and her wonderful assets.
The loud bang of a gun, followed by the shrill pain running up his back side told the Hunter to run, and run fast. And he followed his instincts rather well. With a few simple bounds and leaps, the Hunter was out of sight and, better yet, out of gun shot.
"Did you get him?" Bill called out from his place beside the young lady. She was sitting up now, coughing as her smaller hands kept her shirt bound together.
"I don't think so." Francis scowled from his place before her. He jerked his head to the side, all testosterone, and spit upon the cement where blood from the Hunter's wounds still lay. "Come on out!" The biker roared. "Come on out you sweat shirt wearing wussy!"
But the Hunter did not fall for such ploy, instead, he watched safely from his placement high above, atop a sky scraper. But while his eyes watched warily the Immune and their guns and their weaponry, yes, he watched more intently the woman. Or more specifically, her chest. Salivating at the mere memory of those lovely mountains, he decided it best for now to slink back and heal, heal and recover. Then hunt.
Hunt for her. Her and her delicious treasures.
One good thing about being nearby apartments, was the chance of running water. And being covered up in Boomer bile in the middle of anywhere nowadays was never a good thing, they made way for the closest one they could find. Luck was on their side, as the survivors found a barricaded bathroom still intact, albeit a broken mirror in the sink. Complete with fresh towels and soaps, it was like a heaven sent gift to the four in this wretched hell hole.
"Zoey, you go ahead and clean your wounds up. We'll wait for you outside the door." Bill told her as he checked the ventilation system, which could fit a person, should they be flexible enough to squeeze in through. Nothing wrong there. He turned and ushered the other men out with him.
The girl gratefully accepted, knowing full well that he would, at least, keep the other two from trying anything funny. The other three left and she locked the door behind them, already unzipping the shirt and flinging it from her sore body. Pants followed, and then undies. Her bra, her favorite bra at that, she kept on and admired for a moment in the shards of the mirror that still remained.
Despite all she went through, and that Hunter earlier, it was still intact, which almost made her snort lunacy. Everything else of hers had been ruined, it figured the dolled up undergarments she had only decided to wear that day stayed perfectly fine.
And while the girl admired her reflection, someone else took the time to observe just as much. The Hunter grinned from his placement, cramped as it was, and eagerly scooted forward until his nose pressed up against the open shaft of the ventilation system. From where he was now, he could see perfectly down the girl's collar bone and into the slope of her bosom. It was perfect, and best of all, she had no idea he was there. Genius.
He was content with watching her give idle poses a few times, mimicking some old heroes she watched in her movies before all this happened, but suddenly the girl was doing something strange. She was reaching back, and undoing the black and red thing that held her gorgeous duo in place.
'No!' His mind screamed. He feared that once the black clothing was gone, so would his precious monuments.
But such was not, for as the clothing fell, only more skin appeared. The Hunter's breath halted as a line of drool fell from his slack jaw. He could not help a growl of approval, but it was quickly muffled before the girl had much time to react.
Then as soon as they had appeared, his precious perks were gone too soon. Swept behind the shower curtain, and only the form of a shadow to occupy his fantasies. So indulged in they was he, that he did not take notice until the girl was out of the shower and dressing, that she would be leaving. His focus reconfigured the moment she zipped her sweatshirt up to the neck line, and exited the door way.
"Bathroom's free guys." Zoey announced to her teammates. "Bill," She turned to where he stood, leaning against the wall nearby. "You should go next."
"Yeah Gramps, you stink to high hell of Boomer still." Francis sneered, poking his head out from the kitchen area of the complex. Louis and himself had been busying themselves with food search, mostly coming up fruitless, but managing to scrounge up a can or two still. Zoey went to help and get something to fill her empty belly.
With the woman out of sight, the Hunter was no longer interested in staying here, and began to attempt his journey back to the outside world, and to a proper meal, perhaps. He grunted as he tried to scoot his butt backwards, and his legs as well, but soon found a rather complex problem. He was stuck. Wriggling a bit more, he tried again. No luck, he was still very much stuck.
The door opened again, and the Hunter immediately stood still, not wanting to alert the Survivors and their guns by making much noise. He peered downwards back into the bathroom, and there...there he saw it.
Bill groaned as he ran a bony hand over the slope of his belly. "Well." A click of the tongue. "Time to let ole Willis out for some fresh air."
His fingers made quick work of the belt, which clicked and fell with a silenced thud onto the already fallen pants and underpants pooling about the old man's ankles.
"RAAAARGH!"
Francis' head shot up at the agonized cry of a defeated Hunter. "Sounds like something trapped one of them wusses." He gave his own short cry of victory when a rather stubborn can of peaches finally gave, and held out the can to the other two beside him.
Louis reached over eagerly, fork in hand. Zoey looked worrisome, however, as she followed her friend's actions after. "Do you think Bill is okay?" She asked.
The sound of the older man's humming calmed those fears, and so she returned to take another chunk of fruit from the can. The peaches, though a bit out of date, were still delicious. A bath and a meal; some of the small rewards in a zombie apocalypse.
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FYI, Bill did in fact check the ventilation system after hearing that little outburst. He found nothing and went back to his shower. As to what happened to our peeping tom, I'll leave that to your imagination. ;D
I was given a writing challenge in two words: Boobies. Hunter. At the time I was deprived of sleep and took this challenge with a laugh. Just goes to show you my maturity level. Hurhurhur.
Distasteful and immature? Definitely.
Do I honestly care? Not really.
See ya.