David Garcia slammed the butt of his M4 carbine down onto the face of
the rotting creature, feeling the hideous thing's skull give way under the
weight of his gun. David, along with S.T.A.R.S. team leader Dan Barnes and
David's comrade Nick Young, had just somehow managed to fight off five of
the walking corpses that ambled out from the woods that lined one side of
the road just after they had exited their Jeep. Whoever had shot that
rocket at them had either been extremely accurate, hitting the road between
them to make sure they both crashed, or a poor shot, having intended to hit
one or both of the vehicles. From the size of the crater left in the road,
the missile had been anti-tank at the least. David was no explosives
specialist, that was Nick's job, but he guessed that the shooter definitely
meant business. David heard the familiar sound of gunfire from behind him,
the sound of Dan's Desert Eagle claiming yet another victim, and turned
around to face the rest of the St. Louis S.T.A.R.S.
"That's the last of them," Dan said, ejecting the empty clip from his .50 caliber weapon. It had taken the team a while to figure out that the moaning, stumbling figures that came out of the woods were not, in fact, humans. Their first hint was when they noticed the rotting flesh, and the clincher came when the first one refused to go down after Dan had shot it three times in the chest with his high-caliber pistol. "Okay, guys, time for a status check, sound off."
"I'm fine," David said, wiping the blood off of his orange S.T.A.R.S. issue vest with one black-gloved hand. His black under-shirt was splattered with some blood too, but none of it was his, nor was the blood that speckled his camouflage pants or black boots, "I've still got four clips for my M4, plus about half left in this one, and the five clips for my Beretta, so I'm good on ammo," David finished, fitting his S.T.A.R.S issue black ski cap on his head. It was getting pretty cold.
"I'm good too," Nick said, wiping the dirt off of his blue armor-like S.T.A.R.S demolition vest that he wore over his white shirt and blue pants, and paused to adjust his black baseball-style cap, "I've got all of twenty grenades here," Nick patted the duffel bag at his shoulder, "plus all my Beretta ammo, that's five clips there."
"Alright," Dan once more checked the radio headset for any transmissions from Josh, but caught nothing but static, "I've still got ten clips for my Desert Eagle as well, so we're all good on ammo, assuming we don't meet up with some freakish un-killable beast with a rocket launcher or something," Dan noticed that the joke only got slight smiles; after what just happened, they weren't willing to count out the possibility that some sort of monster had been the one to fire on their Jeeps, "Alright, priority one is finding Josh, priority two is getting the hell to that plane our mysterious benefactor mentioned."
"You mean Trent, right Dan?" Nick asked. The enigmatic Trent, who had phoned the St. Louis S.T.A.R.S. office and prompted their drive out to the airport, had provided information on a virus that may have been leaked in the area, as well as struck a negative chord in Nick. Nick didn't like people who held information back, and he had gotten the distinct impression that Trent was doing just that.
"Yeah, I mean Trent. I know you have your misgivings, but right now, we don't have much of a choice, do we now?" Dan said, allowing a trace of annoyance to creep into his voice. Trent might have set them up, but then again, his plane might be the only way out of the grasp of those things, whatever they were.
"No, sir, I guess not."
"Good," Dan said, moving around to the side of the Jeep, "Now, let's get to finding Josh first off." He quickly opened up the door and reached inside, soon pulling out a PSG-1 rifle and strapping it to the custom rifle holster on his back. Don't know if I'll ever get the chance to use this thing, he thought, but if I do, well, like they always say, better safe than sorry. He always kept four extra clips for the rifle, and even now they were strapped in to his waist.
"So, what's the plan, boss?" David asked, propping his M4 up on one shoulder.
"We search for Josh. His Jeep obviously didn't go off on this side of the road, since we'd be able to see it, so he must have rolled into the woods over there," Dan pulled back the top portion of his Desert Eagle, readying the deadly handgun for combat, "We move out, delta formation, towards the woods, take out anything that gets in our way, but don't waste ammo needlessly, got it?" Before Dan's team could nod their assent, the relative silence of the deserted highway was broken by the sounds of gunfire. Dan instantly recognized the weapon in question as a pistol, even from the single shot. It wasn't the sharp crack of a rifle, and wasn't the low boom of a shotgun. The silence returned for a minute, but was then broken, the sounds of handgun fire repeating over and over, easily more than ten shots fired from the darkness.
"Whelp," Nick said, "Guess we found Josh."
"That's the last of them," Dan said, ejecting the empty clip from his .50 caliber weapon. It had taken the team a while to figure out that the moaning, stumbling figures that came out of the woods were not, in fact, humans. Their first hint was when they noticed the rotting flesh, and the clincher came when the first one refused to go down after Dan had shot it three times in the chest with his high-caliber pistol. "Okay, guys, time for a status check, sound off."
"I'm fine," David said, wiping the blood off of his orange S.T.A.R.S. issue vest with one black-gloved hand. His black under-shirt was splattered with some blood too, but none of it was his, nor was the blood that speckled his camouflage pants or black boots, "I've still got four clips for my M4, plus about half left in this one, and the five clips for my Beretta, so I'm good on ammo," David finished, fitting his S.T.A.R.S issue black ski cap on his head. It was getting pretty cold.
"I'm good too," Nick said, wiping the dirt off of his blue armor-like S.T.A.R.S demolition vest that he wore over his white shirt and blue pants, and paused to adjust his black baseball-style cap, "I've got all of twenty grenades here," Nick patted the duffel bag at his shoulder, "plus all my Beretta ammo, that's five clips there."
"Alright," Dan once more checked the radio headset for any transmissions from Josh, but caught nothing but static, "I've still got ten clips for my Desert Eagle as well, so we're all good on ammo, assuming we don't meet up with some freakish un-killable beast with a rocket launcher or something," Dan noticed that the joke only got slight smiles; after what just happened, they weren't willing to count out the possibility that some sort of monster had been the one to fire on their Jeeps, "Alright, priority one is finding Josh, priority two is getting the hell to that plane our mysterious benefactor mentioned."
"You mean Trent, right Dan?" Nick asked. The enigmatic Trent, who had phoned the St. Louis S.T.A.R.S. office and prompted their drive out to the airport, had provided information on a virus that may have been leaked in the area, as well as struck a negative chord in Nick. Nick didn't like people who held information back, and he had gotten the distinct impression that Trent was doing just that.
"Yeah, I mean Trent. I know you have your misgivings, but right now, we don't have much of a choice, do we now?" Dan said, allowing a trace of annoyance to creep into his voice. Trent might have set them up, but then again, his plane might be the only way out of the grasp of those things, whatever they were.
"No, sir, I guess not."
"Good," Dan said, moving around to the side of the Jeep, "Now, let's get to finding Josh first off." He quickly opened up the door and reached inside, soon pulling out a PSG-1 rifle and strapping it to the custom rifle holster on his back. Don't know if I'll ever get the chance to use this thing, he thought, but if I do, well, like they always say, better safe than sorry. He always kept four extra clips for the rifle, and even now they were strapped in to his waist.
"So, what's the plan, boss?" David asked, propping his M4 up on one shoulder.
"We search for Josh. His Jeep obviously didn't go off on this side of the road, since we'd be able to see it, so he must have rolled into the woods over there," Dan pulled back the top portion of his Desert Eagle, readying the deadly handgun for combat, "We move out, delta formation, towards the woods, take out anything that gets in our way, but don't waste ammo needlessly, got it?" Before Dan's team could nod their assent, the relative silence of the deserted highway was broken by the sounds of gunfire. Dan instantly recognized the weapon in question as a pistol, even from the single shot. It wasn't the sharp crack of a rifle, and wasn't the low boom of a shotgun. The silence returned for a minute, but was then broken, the sounds of handgun fire repeating over and over, easily more than ten shots fired from the darkness.
"Whelp," Nick said, "Guess we found Josh."