[M] OT's Dawn of the Living Dead

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by OutlawTorn, Jan 17, 2012.

  1. OT's
    Dawn of the Living Dead

    Inspired by George A. Romero's Night of the Living Dead

    Created by OutlawTorn

    Special Thanks To
    Iwaku Roleplay
    RPA

    Introduction


    These streets are empty. Rittled with cars, garbage and bodies. Most of the buildings have been boarded up or abandoned. It would have seemed the entire city just, up and evacuated, leaving life as it were here at a stand still. But no war was faught here. No natural disaster or riots took place here. Something far worse happened here. Something that up until a few months ago, only happened in our wildest dreams.

    Those days following that night when the undead rose from the ashes of life to roam the earth, seeking human flesh to devouer, were the longest of our lives. They came at us from behind, guard down. One day you're driving home after a long day at work, stressed about the simple, mundane problems of your life. The next, you're holed up in a strange house covered with your wife's blood, clinging to a pump-action shotgun, completely fractured from reality.

    But hope, and the strength of a man's will to survive are funny things. Even when all seems lost, when swallowing the barrel of a shotgun seems like the only logical course of action, men will cling to any distant hope... No matter how impossible.


    *****​


    The stench of rotting corpses was something you learned to handle, but you couldn't get used to it. The smell gave away the hordes shorty before they arrived when the wind was right, but it wasn't much of a help most of the time. There are more of them than there are of us now, and there are more of those fucking things turning up every day.

    The military continued to broadcast radio and satellite transmissions for survivors, giving bullshit instructions, talking about some stronghold in Washington D.C.. A so-called undead-free zone. I could only ask myself what happened to the rest of the fucking country. But Arizona was a long way from the capitol.

    Still it bothered me that D.C. was the only stronghold they had managed to create. But if this thing was viral, it wasn't exactly the kind of problem the army could shoot it's way out of. Whispers among survivors I had met in Hope suggested a carrier or two were safely fortified at sea, but they wouldn't take on any survivors for fear of infection, but whispers they remained.

    Truth was, we were alone out here. No band of good 'ol boys was going to roll through on tanks and trucks to save us. We were all alone, left to fend for ourselves and find refuge, or die, feeding, strengthening the undead hordes. And I wasn't going to let that happen. I couldn't.
     
  2. Re: [M] OT's Night of the Living Dead

    A young man made his way through the streets of an abondoned city slowly. It looked as though a war, or disaster of some kind had taken place here. The roads and open spaces were clustered with the wreckage from automobiles, garbage and debrise from looters, and corpses. He wouldn't call them dead bodies, because they died once already, and came back from hell to hunt and mutilate the living. It was just a corpse in his eyes. A mass of rotting cells. Not a man, woman, or child. That kind of thinking drove people insane, or got them killed. They were corpses; just meatsacks!

    He was hansom, of average height with brown eyes and short, light brown hair. He wore a faded, dirty green T-shirt under a hooded navy sweater and a black jacket with a high collar. His stained blue jeans were comfortabley loose around his waist and legs, and the cuffs rested around a pair of worn tan boots.

    He held a pump-action shotgun at his waist. A Mossberg. A pistol rested at his right hip, and a hiking pack full of ammo around his shoulders. He was well prepared to search in daylight for supplies to raid before dark, or survivors to help.

    He had left the only thing he could call home now to find whatever chance of survival, or civilization that might be left in America. The others said it was a suicide mission, that Hope was our chance for survival, but he disagreed. He believed Hope, a poorly built village in the middle of the goddamn desert, wouldn't hold for a night if it were presented with but one decent sized horde. If the military, with all of it's weapons, tanks, jets and trained soldiers was having trouble, a village in the desert with acceptable defenses, wouldn't last the night. He had seen some large hordes in the past few weeks, and they drove him south every time, prolonging his journey north every so often. Time was the real enemy, it was getting harder to expose yourself, and he was getting farther from Hope.

    He glanced around cautiously, examining the wreckage and corpses. He had grown used to it, but the more of it he saw, the more it took him aback. Every time he crossed a town or city abandonded and broken, he began to lose a little more faith. Something inside of him longed so desperately to find hope, in any shape or form. A survivor, or maybe a stronghold of some kind, big and able enough to help the people of Hope evacuate to more suitable defenses. He had friends, and loved ones there. People he would rather kill himself than let down.


    *****​


    He came to an old hospital, beat up and run down. But a nice, new looking car was parked out front. Not one of the windows was broken or stained with blood, and all of the doors were shut neatly. It was completely out of place in this ghost town, and that drew his attention to the hospital.

    The glass doors were shattered or wide open, and it looked and smelled like a place you didn't want to be after dark. But if there were people holed up in there, he had to search the shithole.

    He pulled a flashlight from his back pocket, fastening it to the end of his shotgun with two zipcuffs under the barrel. Going forth into the building, he was cautious, and thorough in his movements and search. He passed by rooms and hallways carefully, illuminating each corner slowly. He wanted to call out to make things easier, but it could also make things worse. Or give other survivors who might be sitting on supplies and weapons, protecting loved ones the wrong idea. Looters could be a bigger threat than the undead.

    He came to a door in the middle of a long hallway on the second floor. A dull light peeked out from under the door. He approached it quietly, breathing faster and heavier. He tried to open the door slowly, turning the handle gently, but it was locked. After a moment of debating it with himself, he kicked the door with all his might, weakening the frame, and again, snapping the frame and opening the door.

    Two young women were in the room. One of them was a young redhead, and she yelped as the door exploded open. The other was a blonde to her right. She held a semi-automatic pistol at him. "Stay the fuck back!" she yelled.

    He entered the room aggressively. "Drop the gun, now!" he commanded sternly. "Drop the fuckin' gun!" he shouted again, raising his voice this time. She dropped the handgun putting her arm around the redhead. They looked similar in the face and build, and he could tell they were sisters.

    "Who the fuck are you, what the fuck do you want?" the blonde asked emotionally. He knew what she was worried about, and he lowered his weapon slowly. "My name's Owen," he replied, "I only want to help. Are you two alone here?"

    She looked him over now that his flashlight was out of her face. He looked like hell, but then again, he made hell look pretty good, holding that shotgun. She nodded. "We're alone. This is my sister, Becky, and I'm Katie."

    Becky remained silent, staying close to Katie. She was terrified, and didn't trust him at all. They had been through horrors they would never speak of again. It was a miracle that they had even survived this long. They had eachother, and Katie clearly loved and protected Becky like a mother.

    Owen's heart stirred about as he gazed into Becky's beautiful brown eyes. He imagined all they must have been through to have survived this long, just the two of them. The car outside had a Tennessee license plate on the front bumper, meaning they had traveled a good distance, if it was their automobile.

    "That your car out front?" Owen asked the girls.

    "Our brother's," Kate replied, "but it's almost out of gas. That's how we ended up here."

    "Grab what you can, 'cause we gotta get the fuck outta here before nightfall," Owen commanded looking around the room at what little the girls had with them.

    Katie was furious. She stood toe to toe with him. "You kick the fucking door in, screaming and waving a shotgun in our faces, and now you want us to go with you?" she asked him with condecsending fury.

    Owen knew she had a point, but he didn't know what was behind that door. He looked them both over, his heart sinking again at the sight of Becky.

    "It's like this," Owen explained, "I'm going back to my friends, where we have food, weapons, warmth, and protection... from those fuckin' things that killed your brother!"*Both Katie and Becky were affected by his words.*"You can either come with me, or stay here alone, waiting to be rescued."

    He turned around, walking out the door slowly. Leaving the girls standing there alone. Becky wipped the tears from her eyes, taking a deep breath. She picked the handgun up off of the floor, walking out the door behind Owen, and Kate followed her seconds later.



    Have you ever waken from a nightmare in your cozy, warm bed, thankful and relieved that it was just a dream? I've been living in a nightmare for months now. One that I pray I'll wake up from every single day. But I know that's not going to happen. This is our reality now.

    We've been alone for weeks now, my sister and I. Days seem to get longer, and nights darker. Nothing is as it was, not even ourselves. Everything took a turn for the worse that night, which looking back now, seems like years ago. But in reality, it has only been a few months. No more than seventy days.

    Wondering how you could survive? It's easier said than done for most of us, but when you are faced with the option of survival, or death... I'm willing to bet you would lean toward survival, at any cost.


    *****​


    Kate and Becky followed Owen through the vacant streets of the city as the sun set to the west. They were nervous, stayed close to eachother, and crossed their arms for warmth as the temprature began to cool off. 

    Katie wore tight blue jeans like Becky's, with suade boots and a purple T-shirt that fit her lean, tight frame perfectly. Becky, to her right, wore white and pink sneakers with a black Arizona State hoody she likely picked up for warmth along her way. 


    Becky was the beauty, with long, silky red hair, beautiful green eyes and a smile that could stop time. Katie was no ugly duckling, with her blonde hair, striking blue eyes and perfect jaw and cheek bones. They looked so much alike, taking after their mother
    Molly. All the boys went crazy for Kate, she was that kind of girl. But when they got an eyefull of Becky, things always changed fast. You see, Becky was the younger one, and the prettier one. But Katie didn't care. No boy could come between the Foster sisters. They were thicker than thieves, and everyone knew it. 

    Owen stopped at a large building on the corner of a run down neighborhood. They had reached the outter area of the city, and entered a heavy residential sector of the north east end. He held up his free hand to stop them, holding the Mossberg in his other hand. 

    "Ben!" he called out timidly, pounding on the door. Moments passed with no response, and he glanced at the girls nervously. He walked over to a window on the side of the building, peering in through a crack in the boards nailed over the frame from the inside. He couldn't see anything, and made his way back to the door slowly, lifting his fist for another knock. 

    That's when a man crashed into the the door, scaring the three of them half to death. "What the fuck are you doing?!" the man whispered out the door with frustrated rage.

    "Open the fuckin' door, Eddie!" Owen yelled at him, smacking it with the palm of his right hand. "Now!"

    "Who the fuck are they?" Eddie asked him, peering out for a better look. 

    Inside the house, Ben pulled Eddie, a skinny white man out of the way, unlocking and opening the door. Ben was a tall, older black man holding an assault rifle. He gave Eddie a look of annoyance and anger as Owen barreled through the door glaring at Eddie with rage. Ben smiled, gesturing for the girls to join them. "It's gonna get aweful cold out there girls."

    They slowly made their way in, and Eddie, who was arguing under his breath with Owen fell speachless at the sight of them. He walked down the hallway of the building, and into another room, where Owen followed to make sure he was clear with Eddie about what was going on. They were one of them now, like it or not.

    Ben closed the door and locked it, setting his rifle down against the wall as the sisters glanced around nervously. "Make yourselves at home," Ben said with his soft, gentle voice, "nothing can hurt you here sweet heart," he finished, looking into Becky's eyes. She tried to smile, but could only look down at her feet as he passed by them.

    Kate and Becky sat against the wall of an empty room, huddled close together. Katie took a deep breath and began to sob gently. Becky slowly took her hand in her own, and rested her head on Katie's shoulder, sobbing softly too.