The 99th Platoon – Escape from Batula's Castle


(A/N It's been a long time since the last time I sat down to write a chapter for this fic…A lot has been happening in both the real world and with the Platoon. Still, in the life of an author, at least an aspiring one, there come moments of inspiration when he must sit down and vent his pent up energy and emotion into his story. With out further delay…)

Chapter 5: Dead man walkin'


At first they thought they were looking at a wounded Squirrel.

It kept its head bowed, looking down at its shoe-less feet. The feet were twisted at unnatural angles and as a result caused it to trudge rather than walk. Tufts of fur were missing in various places and showed a sickly-pale white skin underneath that was riddled with sores and wounds. Its arms hung limp, too heavy for it to lift them. In one hand it dragged along a rusted fire-axe. Clothes, typical to those the locals might have worn…thirty years ago…hung loosely off its torso.
With a soft, spine-tingling hiss it raised its head.
Its eyes had neither irises nor pupils. Its eyes were a dead white, like those of a cooked fish. As the Platoon looked on fascinated they saw one of the eyeballs pop out of its socket and land with a *squish* on the floor. Rotted, yet still sharp teeth were visible from its slightly opened mouth. A black-blue tongue ran over the top of them. With each breath it gave off a small noxious looking cloud, caused by the decomposition of its stomach acids.
They had seen enough.

It shrieked and swung the axe clumsily over its shoulder. RedStorm quickly raised one end of his staff to block and carried through, impaling the zombie on the other end. He struggled slightly as he pushed it off with his foot. It fell to the ground.
"Well," he said turning to the others, "That wasn't so difficult."
"Behind you!" Sarge yelled.

It was back up and had grabbed RedStorm from behind. It reared its head backwards…

*ka-FWING!*

The zombie fell backwards, its head cleaved in two. Deja tugged her knife free from the wall behind her well-struck target.
"Thanks," Red stammered.
"Don't mention it."

More unholy shrieks were heard, and this time from all around them.
"We can't get out!" someone screamed.
"They're coming!"
They could smell their prey. Their shrieks became higher pitched as they grew feverish with excitement.
"SILENCE!" Sarge shouted. "Stay focused! Side arms!"
"We had to leave them with our coats and stuff!"
Twisted ran out to the hallway in front of them. Seconds later he ran back in.
"This one's full!"
CoolGuy and ILZ checked those on the side.
"It's no good mon!"
"We're going to be overrun!"
The first zombies walked in behind them. RedStorm leapt at the first three, swinging his staff in an arc. As they fell to the ground he would leap on top of them and impale their heads. More replaced them. He 'felt' rather than saw Dark flip over him and heard the sound of his trench coat rippling through the air. Dark's combat boots flattened the next two to the floor.
"We can't hold them for much longer!"
Any second now the other three entrances would begin flooding with zombies. Deja looked at the north and the west exit, unsure of which to aim at.

"I've got an idea!" shouted Squeaky. He spun round to face Chael. "You've got a good memory! Where's the entrance?!" Confused Chael point towards the east exit. Squeaky nodded. He ran over to the fallen table and hoisted one side up.
"A little help?!" he yelled. Mon, Pyst, FlatFeet, Stealth and CoolGuy helped hoist the table into the air. Carried in front of them like that it would be the best way they had of pushing their way through.

"FALL BACK! WE HAVE TO PUSH OUR WAY THROUGH!" Oreos yelled, catching on to Squeaky's plan.
The north and west sides began their wave of invasion. The Platoon sunk back to the east side of the room. The room was quickly filling with the UnDead. Deja, Dark and RedStorm kept the wave at bay as the party holding the table stepped into the corridor.

Outside it wasn't any better. It would mean a long hard push down the hallway before they made it to the entrance hall. In front of them teemed a mass of zombies. Behind them those armed and those not did their best to fend off the other waves. But they were being squeezed tighter…

Stealth laughed. "It's like American Football gone wrong!"
"MOVE IT!"

Mon screamed, a vein bulging out of his neck as Pyst stood beside him laughing manically. The five of them ploughed into the zombies ahead of them. They met a surprisingly strong resistance. ILZ and Twisted threw their weight against the table and kept on pushing…
"All at once!" Twisted screamed, "PUSH!"
A large section of the zombies hit the deck and the Platoon forced its way down another piece of the corridor. The troops behind them made sure the zombies that were pushed under stayed that way.
Their feet scrambled to gain traction on the carpeted hallway…they pushed again, their growls of frustration mixing as one voice. Some zombies smartened up and tried to attack through the hole in the centre of the table. Pyst bit down on the hand savagely as they all heaved once more.
Another section gained…

Sarge was in full sweat. He could hear the boys at the table struggling to gain every inch that they could, but back here they were starting to fight in an increasingly smaller space…
"Sarge!" Squeaky yelled. Sarge's head whipped round searching for his pyrotechnic expert. His eyes went wide.
Squeaky had tripped and the mass they were fighting off had grabbed his leg. Cherry had a firm grip under his armpits and was pulling back…but it wasn't enough. Oreos stamped on the hand and it recoiled in pain. Cherry and Squeaky toppled backward into the team pushing with the table…they gained another inch!
Sarge raised an eyebrow. Oreos shrugged.
They turned back to the black tide behind them.

The space they were fighting in was hardly enough to accommodate them any more. They had tried to keep the zombies back but to no avail. When one fell there was always another to take its place. They were pressed back to back now. RedStorm could no longer swing, only jab with his staff and try and keep them at bay.
"We can't fight them any more!" Dark roared. "Get us out of here!"
"We is tryin'! Keep ya wig on!" ILZ yelled back.

"Dark, Deja, Red hold them! The rest: put your backs into it!"
Taking his own advice Sarge wiped his hands on his shirt and pushed against the table with all his might. Everyone now had a paw on the wood. Behind them the blades jabbed…but they were faltering.
"THIS HAS GOT TO BE IT!" Sarge yelled. "EVERYBODY ON MY WORD AND NOT A MOMENT SOONER!"
"ONE!"

"TWO!"

"THREE!"

Pain, anger, anguish, terror, angst! All melded into one cry, one plea, one outburst for survival!

They burst into the entrance hall and instantly dashed for the cupboard their things had been stashed in. The zombies followed along at their slow trudge.

"Go! Go! Go! Hustle!" Chael yelled as he tore open the cupboard. Reaching into everyone's side holsters he withdrew the weapons he knew people had brought, in spite of what Sarge had said. He tossed them to each Platoon member. They turned.

Fifteen nine-millimetre pistols turned, fully armed, to face the zombies in front of them.
"Aim for the heads," Dark snarled.

*BAM!* *BAM!* *BAM!* *fz-ING!* *fz-ING!* *Blam-kl-BLAM-kl-BLAM!* *di-pwing!* *kl-klan-BLAM!*

A cloud floated upwards. Oreos could feel the heat emanating from the various pistols. With his free hand he wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead.
Shells littered the ground around the Platoon. A couple of feet ahead of them…corpses littered the ground, most of them missing their heads.
Motion!

*fz-ING!* *BAM!* *BAM!* *di-pwing!* *fz-ING!* *kl-klan-BLAM!* *Blam-kl-BLAM-kl-BLAM!* *BAM!*

The pistols smoked once more. An eerie silence filled the air, save for the sizzling sound given off by the pistols' barrels.

"I think," Sarge said, his mouth parched, "we can go to the car now…"