*Snow-Fallen Zombies* 2.0

M

Ming - Ladd Russo

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Original poster
*Snow-Fallen Zombies*
2.0
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Deep with in the montains of France, lays the city of Neigeflacon, a small town that has one of the longist winters in the world outside of Siberia. The town has limited communicasion to the outside world and only one way out to civilizasion. On all sides it is boardered by a very large mountain range and a thick forrest of giant pines, where exspreincedmen have either died or became lost in the thicket. On this dreadful day, something happned to one unexspected trucker delivering supplies into the city from outside the mountain range, he was attacked. His wounds were miner, only a few scratches, so after dispatching the assalint, he contiued in his rout, not knowing that from that, he would cause doom to fall down apon the city of Neineflacon. It's been three days since the Outbreack, and the 6 mounth winter is slowly creeping apon them.

Inside the medical building, our survivers have found refuge behind the boarded up windows and doors of the clinic. The town docter, a Dr. Philips J. Gilbertson, tried his best to protect the people under his care. But alast, his old heart couldn't take the stress of the undead as well as the cold, and he died from a heart attack on the second night. Issac, the local butcher, took apart a few of the chairs in the waiting room with the help of Ib, the 14 year old who was under apprenticeship of the local smithy, for the materials they needed to barracaide them selves in. Mark took residence on the second floor of the small, house like hospital. It would appear that the stress was getting to him. It was his first day on the force 4 days ago.

From their time in the city, three days have past and they managed to get as meny survivers as they possibly could. Their numbers are now at 12 and are slowly declining from the stress and the infection. For a city with a populasion of under 1,250 people, this has to be one of the worce things that could of happned to Neigeflacon.

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This is the third night with the undead roaming the streets abroad. Food is getting scarse and there is talk going around the other survivers that they might leave, to fend for them selves out in the wilderness. They fear the banging on the windows, the wanting hands outstreatching through any holes they can push their rotted arms through. No one enters the lobby anymore in fear that they might breack in, so who ever has a plan to exit the clinic, has to find another way out.​
 
Issac is pacing back and forth on the second level of the medical building. The monotonous sounds of his shuffling feet is what he's trying to listen to, it drowns out the sound of the dead rising from the grave. It helps keeps his sanity. Breaking the silence Issac says, "what the hell? why is this happening? please let this be a really bad dream." He starts to break down and starts whispering to himself while heading into a corner with no windows on the walls and crouches down curling up into a ball. The sound of the Zombies were clearly getting to him.

Curling up into a ball not only served the purpose of blocking out the sounds and feeling protected, he did that also to warm himself up as the air got colder and colder by each passing minute. He slid his hands in his jacket to warm up his chest and buried his face into his knees showing only his snow white hair.
 
Desiree hadn't been in the town for particularly long before the outbreak started, and she'd been working for an even shorter amount of time. The first day of the outbreak had been a bit hectic, but nothing she couldn't handle as a girl from a big city. The second night had seen the death of her superior and she had, in truth, panicked for a while that night. Tonight she was running round the little medical centre and working with a fiery vengeance on anyone that needed attention, as though it would bring back the others that had been lost thus far.

She stopped in a corridor on the second floor, leaned against a wall and let herself pause for breath for the first time in hours. She was running mostly on adrenaline, not having slept more than 3 solid hours in as many days, but couldn't afford to sleep yet. She cast a glance down the corridor as the shuffling sound that had filled it stopped abruptly. In the gloom at the far end she could see a shock of white hair, though the person attached to it had seemingly turned in on himself. She considered him for a minute or two and then strode purposefully down the corridor to meet him.

"Hey." She crouched down next to Issac, loose strands of her hair falling into her face as she did. "How're you holding up?" Generally it was considered good bedside manner to touch your patient on the hand or shoulder, to connect somehow, but given the state of affairs right now it would probably only panic him more if she did.
 
Issac Looked up in shock. Sheer terror ran across his face for a faint second thinking a zombie had gotten to him in his panic. Though it was there for a faint second the terror was noticeable as he looked at Desiree. Issac knew she saw the panic on his faced and tried to relax his muscles and look nonchalant, but knew it was futile. She would already be asking questions.

He decided to respond with a vague answer, "I'm good as I'll ever be."
It wasn't enough and would probably warrant lots more questions but he couldn't bring himself to say anymore. Issac buried his face in his knees once more trying to think of something to take his mind off of the zombies.

One word rang through his. Freedom. It was the only way to truly escape the zombies. He had to get out of Neige. It was no easy task and in fact it was probably down right impossible but he held on to that one idea. He realized that this is the one word, one idea that will keep him going. If he could escape he could escape, just maybe, he could bury this zombie thing behind him. This one idea had somewhat cheered him up and he looked back up with a neutral look on his face.

By no means was he happy, but he was inspired and could actually carry out normal actions.
He finally got up and gave a more straight answer, "look, I'm fine, no need to worry about me at all. Excuse me a minute I have to go do something."
Issac went off into the building to find something to burn and something to cook with.
 
Mark kept his eyes peering through the fogged windows of the bedroom where Dr. Phillips once slept. He's dead now, so he has no need for it. Ever since that night, the second night the infection spread across Neigeflacon house by house, Mark felt uneased at the situasion. he didn't know how to feel about his town's men dieing, reserecting, and attacking others who still lived their lives. 'Why can't the dead stay dead?' is the thought that has been present in his head for a while now.

Right now, he didn't have much use of carrying his gun or wearing his uniforms dress shirt, so he took them off and placed them lightly on the desk of the late Dr. Gilbertson. On his desk was a polished brass picture fraim. It held a picture of him and his wife he lost in a blizzard a few years ago. He would remember the headlines that day, "Women found under 30 ft. of Snow: Died on impact." That was the day it all went down hill for that poor old man. Mark could remember when he was just a little child how Dr. Gilbertson allways gave him a loli-pop after every physical he went through. He loved the Docter as if he was his father, the one he never had.

Mark turned to face the closed door, earing rustling of the other survivers around the house like clinic. It was small, yes. But, it could hold a small gorrila force if threatned by foes. The building was at a good place, close to the outskirts but not to far out of the city to be called a 'woods' home. It was a nice little shack built for a retiared man, he must of had a good time building it. He. could tell it was built by hand, by an exsperienced hand.

Mark sat apon the bed and lowered his shoulderd, hunching him self over as he held his head with his hands. He was on the verge of tears from what he saw that first night from that very window. The Docter saw what he did too, but no one else as far as Mark knew. It was total chaos, life long friends eating one another, their innerds removed from their bodies to be showcased for everyone to see. He's thankful that the snow had fallen in when it did, or else they would have the terrible sight of awakening to their neighbors bodies on their front lawns with missing limbs. His diaphram begins to buck as he holds onto his mouth. He berts through the door and tried to run twards the lavitory. He pushed the door open and closed it behind him where he unleashed his sickness into the toilet. He voided him self clean with clear liquid evacuating from his mouth. Back arched, he voided once again, and again entill he couldn't any more.

He became very weak and layed there next to the cold linoliam toilet after he flushed his mess.
 
ib.pngIb sat cross-legged on the cold tile floor. The flickering lights and numbing cold did little to distract her from what she was working on. Her small, ivory white hands never seemed to stop moving. This time, the goal was a knife. The only tools she had were a small hammer, an ice pick, and a knife used for carving. That knife could carve stone even, it not lacking in quality.

Not the most varied arsenal, but it would do. The raw materials consisted of a lump of rock and a piece of wood. Not the kind used in the kitchen, but rather the sharp kind one would need for hunting. She was the kind of person who took obstacles head on, instead of avoiding them. It was a useful trait sometimes, but at other times fatal.

Small beads of sweat dripped off her forehead as she, ever so carefully, carved out every little detail it would have in the end result. After a little while, she decided to abandon her task for now and see how the patient was doing. Making little to no noise, she quickly located him in the kitchen" ...." she stared intently at him, noting his horrible condition.
 
The small peaceful town of Neineflacon, in which EJ had been born and raised, had turned into the definition of hell on earth over night.

He'd tried to save his family, he really did. He had thought Scooter had somehow contracted rabies at first, despite the shots and despite the recent visit to the vet. Just a few days ago his ten year old sister, Lilith, had let the dog in. The dog promptly came in and attacked her. They had brought her to the very same clinic that EJ currently sat in. The doctors had stitched her up and sent her home and Dad went out back, where they had caged Scooter, and shot him right in between the eyes. EJ remembered the moment when it had dawned on him. The night right after the attack, as Dad went to go check on Lilith, she snatched his arm right up and bit his hand and as the medics strapped her down to the gurney as she writhed and groaned, Dad, beyond concerned for his daughter, looked right at his his wife, and kissed her on the lips. And just with that one kiss, Elias realized he had just lost his whole family.

It was hard to kill his mother and father. He didn't like them, but he didn't hate them either and never wish them dead, or anyone else for that matter. When he took the gun from his father's closet, they told him he was being foolish and when he apologized for what he had to do they were too weak to tell him he was being silly, and just before he pulled the trigger they groaned and drooled, unable to make words, unable to be aware of what was about to happen. He didn't hesitate. He wasn't afraid. After the four shots (Two extra just to be sure), he'd packed a bag with a few clothes, his box of knives, another gun and some ammo, and sent out to find survivors.

He went to the clinic, and told them all what was happening, and what they needed to do. The staff ignored and told him to get lost, but he made his way to the doctor's office where Dr. Gilbertson sat at his desk, out of breath, head in hands. He told him what was going on and he told him what needed to be done. The Doctor looked Elias right in the eyes and sighed a hopeless "I know," but it was too late. The Doctor was one of the few who didn't die from this epidemic. He fell victim to a heart attack and soon after it fell quiet.

EJ decided to stay with the others in the clinic. He had found a small "nook" in a room on the first floor and cushioned the hard wood flooring of the spot with a few blankets and an old sweatshirt. Now he sat in the door-less closet with his legs crossed, clutching his father's hunting rifle to his chest. He had counted his bullets twice over and sharpened all of his knives. It wasn't hard to see that he was gearing to go out, but he wasn't going to go out by himself. Not that he couldn't, but he needed to be careful and that's what he was going to do. They needed supplies and those boards on the windows and doors wouldn't hold forever. Those things were hungry, and they'd do anything to live.
 
Issac roamed the clinic trying t find the food pile and decided what he would cook for the other survivors. Issac knew he was going to leave and decided that he might as well do one good turn for the other survivors and cook them a gourmet meal. Issac may have only been a butcher, but he knew much about gourmet food and is able to whip up a filling and hearty meal no matter how meager the supplies and no matter how low in quality the ingredients were in, he'd always find a way to make the ingredients he had into a masterpiece.

Issac, after wandering around for a bit, found the room where the supplies were kept. He was shot some mean glances. Who knows what he was going to do with those supplies, especially when they were running low. After some quick talking and agreeing that one of the survivors would watch Issac, he walked away happily with some ingredients followed by one other survivor that watched him closely just in case he was going to try anything. He assured him that he wasn't going to do anything and walked into the kitchen.

The butcher took a look at the ingredients he had gathered and was happy with them. He immediately set to work, putting the pan on the stove, readying the spices, and even preparing drinks. An hour later he had already prepared a gourmet meal for the discerning zombie apocalypse survivor, guaranteed to please even the pickiest of them all. He made the meal for 15 which was a bit more than the survivors that had been there. He was prepared that people were going to take seconds.


(Just tell me if I'm going to fast, this is my first rp here so I can't really tell but I feel like I'm moving too fast)
 
Desiree sighed when Issac left her crouching in the gloom and wandered off in search of his vague something. She stood slowly, smoothing the loose strands of hair back out of her face and deciding she'd try not to worry about him for now. The sound of retching hit her ears and she groaned softly before making her way off in the direction of the sound.

Upon reaching the bathroom her nose scrunched up more through reflex than actual disgust as the smell hit her sinuses. She'd been smelling much worse for the last few days, after all. She stepped carefully round the man on the floor, then crouched down next to him and gently tugged at his arms, shifting him into a position where he was less likely to choke on his own vomit should he have to do it again before she could move him properly.

"You should really be in bed if you're feeling that bad. I'm sure we could find a bedpan or a wastebasket or something for you." She tilted his head with her fingertips, checking his eyes. Not unconscious. Not yet anyway. "Do you think you can move, or should I give you a hand?" Her fingers fluttered round his shoulders.

Poor guy. I guess it really is worse if you're not good at being clinically detached from everything...
 
"..." Mark remained silent. He knew that she did what she did because it was her job to take care of people who are ill. But right now, all he wanted to be was along for the time being. We wanted desprately to escape this prision the survivers call refuge, it's not safe here and by every passing minute, it was getting more dangerous to be here. Everyone knew it, the berracades are wearing down to the strength of the undead constantly bashing against them. They weren't strong to begin with but it was all they could do.

He looked up at the women, wipping his mouth as he sat him self up alittle more. He pressed his back straight, flat against the wall as he asked her, "Do you find it safe here?" He wanted her truthful awenser. Based on what she says will be what he goes by, he was surtin of it. If she felt safe, he'd stay, if not...
 
She observed Mark for a long moment, lips pressed together in something close to a pout.
"Not gonna lie... The situation could be better but I feel far more secure here than I would elsewhere right now." She sighed and stretched, then flashed him a smile. "Truth be told, I'd be scared to leave. I can make myself useful in here since there's a supply of medical stuff. As soon as we move I wouldn't be reliable for much other than moral support." Her smile faded a little. She stood up, extending a hand down to him.

"As both a nurse and a normal girl, I can't allow you to stay on the floor in the bathroom. It's unhygienic, and you're far too cute for me to leave you here and let the germs molest you." The customary bounce was back in her voice and her eyes twinkled at him. It wasn't exactly professional, but if it made either of them feel better then she would throw the rules to the wind for a while.
 
Issac was delivering his meals to the other survivors. He made his rounds and walked all over the clinic looking for people that had yet to be served. From some diners reactions he can tell that he did a good job since most survivors had a pleased look on their face. He was glad that they enjoyed it but was worried since it was more than surviving and took quite a lot of supplies. He has taken to not telling them that.

He made his way to the bathroom where Mark had previously been vomiting. He had heard their rather brief conversation about the safety of this place. Issac would have to disagree with both of them. Sure you can help with medical treatment but what good is that going to do when all of them are eaten by the zombies. Staying here is like digging your own grave.

He also thought a bit about Desiree's last remark. It seems that she's taken a liking to the young cop. Issac was conflicted about whether to barge in and serve them their meal potentially killing the moment or walk away and have more for me. It was a hard decision but in the end Issac opted to walk in on them. He knocked on the wall letting them know I was coming to serve them. "room service," Issac shouted into the room.
 
Mark smelt the food walking up the stairs and his stumech gurgled. When Issac opened the door, Mark looked at him with distaste and hunched over the toilet again, voiding a clear liquid. The thought of eating food gave him a raw knott in his stumech but, it did smell good. Better then what was in the toilet. Mark staired at it and grew distaistful of it's apperance. he flushed it and looked apon Issac and told him, "... Sorry, It isn't you or your cooking... I'm just very stressed is all." He would begin to smile and perk up with the new ariving smell of the food. He wipped his mouth, stood and told him, "Keep a plate researved for me, I need to brush my teath."

He looked apon Desiree and told her, "Don't worry, no type of germs will molest me. Not ever." chuckling to him self alittle, he mosioned them out the door and turned to the sink where he proseeded to brush his mouth clean. It took him a while to do so, to get the taist of vomit out of his mouth.

He was starting to feel hungery, and that food looked pritty good. After he was finished, he left the bathroom and went off to look for Issac to see if there was any left.
 
Desiree moved out of the room when Mark hustled her out, at least satisfied for now that he wouldn't be passing out on the floor any time soon. She took her portion of food from Issac, grinning broadly as the aroma hit her.
"Smells good, thanks!" She gave him a thumbs-up and moved off quickly to the doctor's room, intending to at least take a break from her duties while she ate.
 
After being ushered out by Mark and handing a plate to Desiree I lay down a plate on a nearby table and leave a note that says "for the cop in the bathroom." Satisfied I would walk around giving out what little seconds I could. Not everyone would be getting a second helping. Happy that he had done some good he went into his poor excuse for a room to plot his escape. His so called room was a very small walk in closet. It was so small that he had to break a desk in half and lay it against a wall have a desk fit in there.

To escape he would probably need some help from the other survivors. There's no way someone could survive out there in the town without back up. He needed someone with combat skills to get around. Someone willing to scout ahead. And maybe even the Nurse...she was pretty cute and could be there for medical help. besides every team needs a girl, but that's beside the point. He needed a squad willing to get out there and escape.

Issac just sat there for a couple minutes planning and figuring out who could fit the roles.
 
The room was decent. There were lights, and electricity. Enough for construction and such things. Sadly, her goal today was not to create something new. Today, she had to observe a fellow survivor. Because it would be fun. Once she started doing something, she would work at it like a labor until she was done. She had even skipped dinner just to see what he was doing.

She watched issac as he busied himself with whatever it is that adults do. Seeing that he was thinking, she peered over his shoulder to see what he was looking at. Nothing, it would appear. Wouldn't it be fun to scare him a little bit? Two cold and pale hands gripped his shoulders, trying to get his attention. Heck, she even added a realistic sounding moan.
 
Mark consumed the food made by Issac as if it were air to his lungs. The plate didnt need to be washed afterwards due to how much he cleaned it him self. He took each step down the stairs easily and slowly, holding onto his stumech with satisfaction on his face. He observed that everyone else was pritty much like him as well, well satisfied with the meal they had just ate. Mark couldn't help but smile.

Over twards the medical wing of the house, where Ib was watching a pasient in critical. He's been like that a few days before the outbreack started and because of the late Docters massing, there isn't much that they could do for him. Mark stood at the door, observing what Ib was doing. He could see that she fasioned one of her home made knifes. They were sturdy for a couple uses but crap out on you after a while. They are good to use as last resort weapons, it's a good idea to have disposable tools like these. Ib was a bright young women.

Mark smiled at her and took a step into the room, "How's the old man holding up, Ib?" he would ask with consern. He put his hands in his pockets and didn't notice the vomit stains on his white t-shirt. Of course Mark wasnt talking about Issac, he was talking about the old man in the other room. He gave alittle chuckle at what she did. Scareing Issac and seeing his reacsion was alittle funny to him.
 
He was in the middle of thinking when Ib grabbed his shoulders. Issac was scared shitless, feeling the hands grips his shoulders. That added with the moaning sound mad for a terrifying three seconds as Issac whipped around to see probably the last sight of his life.He held his breath thinking for those three seconds seeing his life flashed before his eyes, thinking if he should have asked his high school crush out, should he have left this place earlier, could he have done more to keep his parents together? these memories and questions kept flashing at breakneck speed as he rotated his head just to see Ib. He even let out a little yelp.

Seeing that it was clearly not a zombie but just Ib playing a prank Issac let go of his breath and breathed heavily. Clutching at his chest he says, "My god! you scared me! Please, don't ever do that again," very panicked. He tried to regain his composure but couldn't, so he resorted to slumping in his chair thinking what he would have done if she really was a zombie.
 
Another one of the survivors, a white haired man not too much older than him, had come around offering food to the others. Of course, EJ had to decline, but his stomach protested with a loud gurgle. He knew the man heard, so he quickly spoke up. "It's one of my rules,"he says, continuing quickly as the man's face fell, "It's not your food, I swear. I just... I just need to be really overcautious. Sorry." With that, the guy turns and leaves and EJ's stomach continues to moan. He sighs and decides that he needs to go eat something. EJ checks to see if his gun is loaded (for the third time in the last hour), and steps out of his little cranny. His slings the gun over a shoulder, only to go out to the kitchen to make a PB&J sandwich. Upon arrival he finds that there's no peanut butter, so he just slathers some jelly on the wheat bread he found, and slaps another slice of bread on top.

On his way back he sees the nurse that had checked his vitals earlier, by herself in a room. Half a sandwich in hand, His pace slows down quite a bit, and eventually stops. He stands there, staring. His already rosy cheeks turning beet red as he remembers their first encounter: The nurse had found him in his nook and greeted him with a smile (this alone was the most contact he had ever gotten from a girl, let alone a hot one). She had gotten closer and put a hand on his shoulder asking questions that he assumed most nurses would if there was a zombie outbreak, and he answered, sputtering out and stumbling over every word. He was nervous, and his heart thumped hard against his chest. Then as she kneeled down to check his blood pressure, his heart beat ringing in his ears. But as the nurse put the stethoscope in her ears and reached out her hand to listen to his heart, he didn't even notice the concerned face she made because he was way too focused on those things on her chest and how close they were to him and his face. He forced himself to pry his eyes away before she even finished, but he folded his hands on his lap to hopefully hide the inevitable. Finally, as if nothing had ever happened, she had thanked him and left. Just like that. He had sighed, half thankful, half rueful, and after a moment he continued, a bit difficultly, sharpening his knives.

EJ now stood there not realizing how long he'd been there, staring at her like a creep, his head pounding against his ears once again. A strained almost painful noise fell from his lips, but the strange sound brought him to his senses and he tried to play it off as a cough. He fake coughed a few more times, but the wad of chewed up sandwich he forgot about caught in his throat and sent him into a coughing fit.
 
"..."her thin lips curled into a small smile at his reaction. She pulled back her hands, stuffing them in her trousers. Noting that he was probably desperate for some kind of distraction, she took out an old, worn out pack of poker cards. They were a bit yellowed from age, but was quite decent considering the situation right now.

" Poker?" she cracked a small grin, showing him the poker cards. Maybe this would help, at least a little. At that time her ears alerted her of mark's prescence. He seemed to be asking how the patient was doing. " I wouldn't know." she replied, waiting for Issac to accept the cards.
 
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