I had the gun in my hand..or rather tucked under my arm..and was looking frantically through the shelves and cabinets for boxes of bullets to go with it. Surely there had to be some left at least. I had my hands on the only gun I could find without wasting too much time as the two zombies approached the store from behind. I could hear their feet shuffling across the gravel, their hungry cries. And I was the prey--that is if I didn't find the right ammunition first. 'C'mon damn it, 410 shotgun rounds--AHA!" The 410 was one of the five guns I was familiar with, along with the 9mm Beretta, .22 Rifle, .38 Revolver and .33 Winchester. It was a type of gun that my uncle that lived in Texas owned, and gave me the chance to shoot cinder blocks and milk jugs as targets with. I could have used a better gun for the situation but as I said before, it's all I could manage to find in the hurry I was in.
I grabbed the box of shells out of the upper cabinet and slapped it on top of the counter, or rather inside the counter on the velvet surface where I figured a wide supply of handguns was once available but it seemed all of it was gone now. I lowered myself to one knee and removed the slot of shells from the box. Then, struggling some, as I was never really a strong person, I bent the rifle open to reveal the bullet opening and pulled a shell from the box, slipped it in, and struggling again, closed it with a loud CLICK. A hopeful, relieved grin played across my lips. Cocking the gun wasn't needed as it was a single shot, and needed reloading after every single round spent -- the only real downfall of the gun I could think of when you need quick thinking and fast responses.
"Grruungh..."
I looked up finally. My two "amigos" finally decided to show their ugly, rotten, decaying faces and stepped inside the gun shop -- one through the already shattered window, and the other clumsily busting through the glass door like it was nothing, both coming at me with outstretched hands and hungry expressions, ready to turn me into their next meal. 'But that isn't going to happen,' said I, 'not now, but hopefully not ever.' I raised the rifle, bracing the end of it against my shoulder and curled my finger around the trigger. One of the zombies had closed the distance between us to just a few feet, reaching out his pale, smelly, rotten fingers towards me. Gritting my teeth, I braced myself for the familiar sound of thunder this weapon I had was going to make.
I squeezed the trigger slowly, and BOOM! All sound was drowned out for a split second from the sound of the gun and the shot hit the ugly bastard right in the chest, throwing him back, causing him to lose his footing after our distance became wider, and fell to the floor off balance. I turned my attention to the other one who was at the same distance the first one had been when I fired on him. Keeping my gaze locked on him, actually locking my blue eyes with his pale green ones that showed a deep, blood thirsty hunger, I bent the rifle open again and plucked out the spent shell, tossing it aside and slipped in a fresh one, then bent it back in place and raised it again in the same fashion I had before. I bit my lip, bracing myself again for the loud sound. I fired again, and the loud clap of thunder from the weapon sounded again
Square in the heart that time, and he was thrown back and to the floor. I slapped the counter with a grin beginning to play on my face, and I felt a laugh of relief coming but never reached that far, as my mood changed to shock. The first zombie, followed by a few second interval with the second one, sat up, seemingly unphased. And now, also sitting up, was the more fresher mangled corpse of the gun shop owner, who turned towards me and started rising to his feet to join his two new dinner partners in their persuit towards me. 'How the hell can they be standing?! I-i-I shot them! With a damn shotgun!" I gave a cry of disbelief and grabbed my box of shells, having eighteen now, as one box held twenty. I wasn't going to stay and fight these three with my inexperience and how this firearm had to be prepared. Rising quickly to my feet I dodged to the side just as the first zombie I shot lunged over the low counter between us and reached for me. His decaying nails scraped across the wooden cabinet behind me and cracked at their brittleness. The other two turned towards me and groaned as I made way for the back door to the shop. Wasting no time, I tucked the gun under my arm and twisted the door knob, hurrying out and slammed it behind me, shifted the gun back to my hand, holding it in between the base of the barrel and the handle and ran as fast as I could from the back of the shop. My mind gradually drifted back to why I came this way -- the survivor -- I need to find him..or her..I assumed it was a 'him' as I thought I'd heard a male's voice when I first arrived. I cut down the alley, through a basketball court, in which I briefly got a glimpse of two dead nasties. Next was a trip up some stairs, across a walkway and down another flight of metal stairs, my shoes causing gradual paced 'dunk dunk dunk' with each step I took. This lead me to a dumpster in which I hopped over and wound up in another alley, with yet three more, dead corpses that once walked and searched for living flesh. I stepped through a metal gate door, and out into a destroyed parking lot, and across the way was another threat to me.
Four dead zombies lay sprawled between two crashed cars, dressed in formal wear, or at least I assumed they were zombies, and that the now walking, mauled, police man making his way towards me about thirty feet away was once their victim. I was alerted to the lone corpses's prescence by a hungry moan. I kept my gaze on him and bent the rifle open, emptying out the useless round and dug through my right pocket for one of the six shells I stuffed in there, once I thought it was safe to stop running from my attackers in the gun shop. I'd stuffed six in each side pocket and three each in my back pockets. I know it seems a complicated way to store bullets but they aren't exactly small and I didn't want my movement hindered. I slipped it into the weapon and snapped it shut, getting use to it's resistance now and aimed the rifle at my new opposer. I didn't want to miss him and waste the shot, so keeping my aim, I approached him, until I was only a few feet away. Then I stopped, braced myself, and fired. His chest was speckled with new, coagulated blood, and he fell against one of the cars into a sitting position, growling hungrily at me. I didn't waste another minute, and ran passed him, feeling his filthy hands brush against my leg but that was all. The only way to continue was through a wrecked bus. The door was open. I went in and my eyes widened at the inside. A horrific sight of blood and bodies everywhere, in the seats, in the aisle, blood on the windows. I heard movement and the now familiar snarling of a zombie. My heart skipped a beat as I turned towards the source and began to fumble in reloading the rifle but stopped as I noticed the zombie was simply thrashing around violently trying to get out of her seat, yes it was a female. She actually had only been a few years younger than me and I could tell in her time of being alive, she was a pretty young woman with dark brown hair in a purple blouse and a pair of black shorts. As a zombie, she was a rotting corpse, trying her best to get up but couldn't seem to get her seat belt off. She acted as if she didn't even know it was restraining her. Her pale, veiny arms thrashed about, banging against the walls and seat. I felt my panick go away and calmly reloaded my rifle and made my way out the other side of the bus, ignoring her hisses and snarls. As I stepped out, I sighed and wiped the sweat from my face, and took a moment to buckle my cap on one of my belt rings of my pants. It was becoming a hassle for my vision. From where I stood then, there wasn't much to look at. A wall on my left, a wrecked firetruck to my right, burning away with flames that slowly ate away the red paint and on the street, several dead firemen zombies. I felt I was on the right trail of that survivor, so I walked passed the bodies and stepped through a green, metal gate and looked up at the building, and the letters that caught my eye. Fear rushed back into my system as the not so old memory of Brad, running into another entrance of this place and being killed, came back to me. I thought of what made that terrible sound, and what also killed him. I didn't know if the creature was still there or not, and I didn't want to find out, yet there was nowhere else to run. The survivor, I thought, had to be there. But there I was, all alone, in the court yard...of the Racoon City Police Department.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------- End of chapter 4. I hope everyone likes where this story is going. Please R/R! I like the reviews I'm getting so far, they're really inspiring me to write with the nice comments. If anyone has anymore suggestions, as I said, I'm open to hear them.
I grabbed the box of shells out of the upper cabinet and slapped it on top of the counter, or rather inside the counter on the velvet surface where I figured a wide supply of handguns was once available but it seemed all of it was gone now. I lowered myself to one knee and removed the slot of shells from the box. Then, struggling some, as I was never really a strong person, I bent the rifle open to reveal the bullet opening and pulled a shell from the box, slipped it in, and struggling again, closed it with a loud CLICK. A hopeful, relieved grin played across my lips. Cocking the gun wasn't needed as it was a single shot, and needed reloading after every single round spent -- the only real downfall of the gun I could think of when you need quick thinking and fast responses.
"Grruungh..."
I looked up finally. My two "amigos" finally decided to show their ugly, rotten, decaying faces and stepped inside the gun shop -- one through the already shattered window, and the other clumsily busting through the glass door like it was nothing, both coming at me with outstretched hands and hungry expressions, ready to turn me into their next meal. 'But that isn't going to happen,' said I, 'not now, but hopefully not ever.' I raised the rifle, bracing the end of it against my shoulder and curled my finger around the trigger. One of the zombies had closed the distance between us to just a few feet, reaching out his pale, smelly, rotten fingers towards me. Gritting my teeth, I braced myself for the familiar sound of thunder this weapon I had was going to make.
I squeezed the trigger slowly, and BOOM! All sound was drowned out for a split second from the sound of the gun and the shot hit the ugly bastard right in the chest, throwing him back, causing him to lose his footing after our distance became wider, and fell to the floor off balance. I turned my attention to the other one who was at the same distance the first one had been when I fired on him. Keeping my gaze locked on him, actually locking my blue eyes with his pale green ones that showed a deep, blood thirsty hunger, I bent the rifle open again and plucked out the spent shell, tossing it aside and slipped in a fresh one, then bent it back in place and raised it again in the same fashion I had before. I bit my lip, bracing myself again for the loud sound. I fired again, and the loud clap of thunder from the weapon sounded again
Square in the heart that time, and he was thrown back and to the floor. I slapped the counter with a grin beginning to play on my face, and I felt a laugh of relief coming but never reached that far, as my mood changed to shock. The first zombie, followed by a few second interval with the second one, sat up, seemingly unphased. And now, also sitting up, was the more fresher mangled corpse of the gun shop owner, who turned towards me and started rising to his feet to join his two new dinner partners in their persuit towards me. 'How the hell can they be standing?! I-i-I shot them! With a damn shotgun!" I gave a cry of disbelief and grabbed my box of shells, having eighteen now, as one box held twenty. I wasn't going to stay and fight these three with my inexperience and how this firearm had to be prepared. Rising quickly to my feet I dodged to the side just as the first zombie I shot lunged over the low counter between us and reached for me. His decaying nails scraped across the wooden cabinet behind me and cracked at their brittleness. The other two turned towards me and groaned as I made way for the back door to the shop. Wasting no time, I tucked the gun under my arm and twisted the door knob, hurrying out and slammed it behind me, shifted the gun back to my hand, holding it in between the base of the barrel and the handle and ran as fast as I could from the back of the shop. My mind gradually drifted back to why I came this way -- the survivor -- I need to find him..or her..I assumed it was a 'him' as I thought I'd heard a male's voice when I first arrived. I cut down the alley, through a basketball court, in which I briefly got a glimpse of two dead nasties. Next was a trip up some stairs, across a walkway and down another flight of metal stairs, my shoes causing gradual paced 'dunk dunk dunk' with each step I took. This lead me to a dumpster in which I hopped over and wound up in another alley, with yet three more, dead corpses that once walked and searched for living flesh. I stepped through a metal gate door, and out into a destroyed parking lot, and across the way was another threat to me.
Four dead zombies lay sprawled between two crashed cars, dressed in formal wear, or at least I assumed they were zombies, and that the now walking, mauled, police man making his way towards me about thirty feet away was once their victim. I was alerted to the lone corpses's prescence by a hungry moan. I kept my gaze on him and bent the rifle open, emptying out the useless round and dug through my right pocket for one of the six shells I stuffed in there, once I thought it was safe to stop running from my attackers in the gun shop. I'd stuffed six in each side pocket and three each in my back pockets. I know it seems a complicated way to store bullets but they aren't exactly small and I didn't want my movement hindered. I slipped it into the weapon and snapped it shut, getting use to it's resistance now and aimed the rifle at my new opposer. I didn't want to miss him and waste the shot, so keeping my aim, I approached him, until I was only a few feet away. Then I stopped, braced myself, and fired. His chest was speckled with new, coagulated blood, and he fell against one of the cars into a sitting position, growling hungrily at me. I didn't waste another minute, and ran passed him, feeling his filthy hands brush against my leg but that was all. The only way to continue was through a wrecked bus. The door was open. I went in and my eyes widened at the inside. A horrific sight of blood and bodies everywhere, in the seats, in the aisle, blood on the windows. I heard movement and the now familiar snarling of a zombie. My heart skipped a beat as I turned towards the source and began to fumble in reloading the rifle but stopped as I noticed the zombie was simply thrashing around violently trying to get out of her seat, yes it was a female. She actually had only been a few years younger than me and I could tell in her time of being alive, she was a pretty young woman with dark brown hair in a purple blouse and a pair of black shorts. As a zombie, she was a rotting corpse, trying her best to get up but couldn't seem to get her seat belt off. She acted as if she didn't even know it was restraining her. Her pale, veiny arms thrashed about, banging against the walls and seat. I felt my panick go away and calmly reloaded my rifle and made my way out the other side of the bus, ignoring her hisses and snarls. As I stepped out, I sighed and wiped the sweat from my face, and took a moment to buckle my cap on one of my belt rings of my pants. It was becoming a hassle for my vision. From where I stood then, there wasn't much to look at. A wall on my left, a wrecked firetruck to my right, burning away with flames that slowly ate away the red paint and on the street, several dead firemen zombies. I felt I was on the right trail of that survivor, so I walked passed the bodies and stepped through a green, metal gate and looked up at the building, and the letters that caught my eye. Fear rushed back into my system as the not so old memory of Brad, running into another entrance of this place and being killed, came back to me. I thought of what made that terrible sound, and what also killed him. I didn't know if the creature was still there or not, and I didn't want to find out, yet there was nowhere else to run. The survivor, I thought, had to be there. But there I was, all alone, in the court yard...of the Racoon City Police Department.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------- End of chapter 4. I hope everyone likes where this story is going. Please R/R! I like the reviews I'm getting so far, they're really inspiring me to write with the nice comments. If anyone has anymore suggestions, as I said, I'm open to hear them.