Worse Than Zombies

Datcher's aim was now following the trio of trucks, actively following them, trying to get a look at the occupants of each. "Definetly Scavengers. Nomads too? A migratory convoy would be bigger. More Women, and Children. This group is all men. All armed, from what I can see. It sure ain't Jahova's witness." He thought to himself.
Taking in a breath, he scooted his legs a bit, not letting them fall asleep. It was hot. It was always hot. What he wouldn't give for another deep freeze.
That was his Weatherly element, after all, being from a cold land. It was then that he noticed something.. Despite the heat, each of the trucks had their windows up, and none of the riders looked sweaty. "Well I'll be damned. Those Joker's have AC." He muttered. With a shade of jealousy, he moved his aim back to the Miner's shack, noting the spike strip that'd been deployed, as well as what looked like a barrel peeking out of one of the windows. He was tempted to get involved, but still unsure. "One day of food left.. Two of water." He mumbled out.
He'd been following a Compass bearing West, but only that. Sheer luck had brought him here. He'd no idea when he might find another trace of people, let alone what passed for Civilization these days. No. He couldn't risk it.

His aim slid back to the nearing trucks, pausing for just a moment as Datcher's eyes closed.. An inhale, and then they were open again.
"Spike strip in place. Truck one will be disabled. Truck two... And their sniper? Targeting Two's driver? Likely. Leaving..."
The crosshairs slowed down their tracking movemnt, letting the final truck 'catch up'. Once it's driver's chest was in view, the Old-World Marksman's rifle would click, it's safety being released. A half second passed, and within it, Dathcer's breath was held, his trigger finger slowly curled. When the 7.62 calibur round went off, it'd echo throughout the valley below, sending it's lead projectile of death straight towards the unaware Driver.

While Datcher imagined the round, and where it'd likely hit, he thought about the big 'What if'. Say they -were- just Migratory Nomads? Well, that was the beauty of living in a Moral Grey area. He'd do whatever became necessary.

(((As a note, if anyone feels I'm trying to outshine them with my posts, I apologize, as that's not the case. Being a long-time Role-Player, I've got quite a passion for detail, and length. I don't expect it form others. I just like putting alot of time into my posts, and I've got plenty to put into it, in the evenings. :) )))
 
((hey, I got no problem with it. It makes an interesting read))
As his bullet went through the head of the second driver, he sighed. He raveled in the half second of calm before everything went loud. The car swerved to the side of the road, the first car hit the spikes, causing it to hit a large rock on the side of the road. Then something that was not part of his calculations. A second gunshot. The third driver was going pretty fast and hit the second car before stopping. The guys in the first car got out with guns. 'Lay waste' He thought as he pulled the trigger and adjusted his aim to the passenger. When he stopped at a child. He slid his hand off the trigger and lowered his rifle.
"No..." He grabbed his binoculars again and looked at the child. "No..."

He grabs a hand gun off a barrel and slides down the slope of the nest and to the ground. 'Did I kill his parents?' The question was bitter on his tongue as he approached the terrified child.
 
The report of Datcher's rifle had not faded before his right hand left the trigger, gripped the bolt, drew it back, and then forward once more, driving a new round into the chamber, with his hand returning to it's position. He didn't need his scope to know his round had hit it's mark, as the 3rd truck rammed into the back of number 2, with a distinct, metal crunch. The results weren't as clean as he'd hoped.
The round was an almost instant kill. A non-fatal shot would've caused the driver to spasm, lurch, or jerk, bringing the vehicle off the road, and out from behind the other two, preventing a collision. But what happened, happened. He couldn't simply undo his actions.

Pressing his eye back to his optic, he scanned the remains of the three vehicles, as well as their occupants. "Four dead.. Truck One, flat tires. Truck Two, shattered windshield, mangled rear bumper, possible frame, and fuel system damage. Truck Three, shattered driver window, mangled front bumper, likely radiator, engine, and fuel system damage." He'd been speaking aloud, again. Shot narration, as it was once called.. Old habbits died hard, he knew.

With a final scan, he sought for any survivors, or potential combatants, finding none in the latter two vehicles. In the first however, his scan was frozen when he saw a child getting out of the vehicle. "Well.. Shit.." It'd come out as soft as a sigh. A child was never a good thing to see, on his side of the Rifle. Never. It never mattered what Country he was in, or for what Flag he'd pledged servitude to... A child was always a troubling sight.. But there wasn't much he could do at this point.

His position might've been compromised. Maybe. Maybe not. His rounds did not have phosphorus, so were not tracers, and the acoustics of the valley had skewed the origin of his shot, and sent it echoing in various directions.. But luck, and fate were both very fickle things. He'd seen something as random as a sneeze change where a person was looking at the very moment that a rifle was fired, allowing them to see the muzzle blast. 'Shit happens', as the saying went. Indeed it did. But Datcher was not about to remain idle.

Flipping his rifle to 'Safe', he pushed himself back away from the crest of the ridge, removing the valley below from view. Once he'd pushed back far enough, he rose to a crouch, slipped on his Rucksack, and gripped his rifle, before moving into a crouched-walk, working his way closer to the Mines, without rendering himself visible.
 
He walks up to the child who was laying on the ground. As Claus approached the child, he noticed blood seeping out from under the body. His hand covers his mouth. 'was this my doing?' He gently pushes the body onto the back. The child could not have been older than 10. What he had thought was a child cowering in fear was the body of a kid who was stabbed. He was horrifyingly relieved that he didnt do it. The body stirs. Not the kind of just a muscle spasm, but his arm lifted a bit. 'He is still alive!' He pulls medical supplies out of a box near the shack and runs to cover the wound. 'I can fix this'
 
Hell had erupted , but just like that it was over. Claus rushing out to a short body swearing under his breath. Standing up from behind the rust covored barrel he checked himself, no holes, patting down his security vest lined with shotgun shell bondaleirs.

"Good news and bad news man, bad news first, there is definitly a sniper aiming at us, good news he is probably friendly as we are still alive, and the third driver came down with a case of ' seriously fucking dead'." zane said, scanning the horizon with the goggles. Right when he thought he might have saw movement the battery died. he could tell said movement aproaching though.

" I say we wait and meet our invisible man while i scavange everything off these guys and get the gas from the tanks and the freeon from the A/C , only thing my truck needs." already prying guns from hands, mags from webbing, and making sure the bodies lie with dignity and not in unsavory positions.
 
"You get on that. Im going to see if I can fix this boy up.. I might just be able to."
He wraps up a temporary bandage around the child. "Once we get to the city, the hospital will be our priority. We might be able to get some medical supplies from there.
 
"While I am all for a humanitarian approach, a kid his age is gonna need triple the nutrition and all my remaining med supplies. and telling by our plans it would be more merciful just to slot the little bastard in the head and bury him." Zane said, in full crazy survivalist mindset. Claus whipping around and giving a stare that a few years ago coulda turned Zane to figuritive stone.

Zane threw up his hands in the universal sign of FINE GEEZ. and went back to collecting guns and putting down all the alive but unconscious and mortally wounded caraveneers using a quick twist of the neck. Finding a few oddities in the weapons he put whatever he did not want but a sniper would in a pile with "YOUR SHIT" next to it drawn in the sand. he kept a sawn-off double barrel side-by-side shotgun he found amoung the dead and slid it into the universal holster on his thigh , after removing the empty broken POS 9mm he had there before.

A few moments later he heard coughing, leaping to his feet he located the source, a young hispanic male with a gold and gem encrusted .45 in his hand and gang tattoos, but no wounds. Kicking the gun out of his hand and sitting his heavy frame on the awakening mans chest, he called out to claus.

" OI WE GOT US A LIVE ONE!!!"
 
Last edited by a moderator:
Datcher had made good ground, in a short amount of time, the group, and goings-on below now less than 100 Meters away. He'd run out of hill to traverse, and because it's opposite side gave such good cover, he wasn't about to abandon it, simply to get closer. Scooting closer to the ridge, he realized he was now at the merging point, from where his hill turned into the very mountain that their Mine was carved into, which put the dilapidated shack to his right, by about 45 degrees.

Already in the prone, he brought his M-24 into position, and reaquired the folks below him. They had to know there was someone else in the area. He was sure of it. And yet, they weren't searching for him. "Either they think I'm a Friendly, or they don't give a shit." He thought to himself.
Aside from oppurtunistic, he was Neutral, at best. For the time being, at least.

His thoughts went silent, yielding to the raw data his scope-mounted eye was sending to his brain. It all quickly unfolded, his mind sliding the new pieces into the puzzle that'd already been started. The injured child, the scavenging operations, the serperate pile of gear, along with it's sand-drawn note.

The child wasn't his problem. At least he now knew he'd not had a hand in making him an Orphan.. Unless his parents really -did- stab him. Either way. He'd been done a favor, with those people being killed. As for the noted pile that'd been made, he had to assume that was for him. Without really realizing it, he'd grined as he saw it. "Why, thank you..." He commedically uttered. He'd not reject the gift, but he wasn't going to rush down to grab it pick through it all, either.

The Shot-Gunner's(As he'd labled him for the time being) exclamation made him shift his aim, seeing what he'd yelled about. The tattoos told him all he needed to know, as well as shedding a bit more light onto who exactly he'd helped take down. He'd dealt with his fair share of Latin gangs. La Eme, and Mara Salvatrucha, once arguebly two of the worst Latin gangs in the U.S. Their tattoos were distinct, however, and Datcher knew the ink styles of each, but saw neither on this guy.
He'd despised gangs, years ago. And he still did, but as time changed, he knew that people could change with it. The man's fate wouldn't be decided by the tattoos he had. Not now, at least. Datcher's thumb decended back down, and off of the safety, having been about to flip it off, and line up his shot. "Mark my words, Gentlemen, if you lose your cool, you WILL lose your head? Think I'm fuckin' jokin'?! A signifigant emotional response will elevate your heart rate, and make your body tense. That'll be all it takes for you to miss your shot, blow your cover, or slip during an egress. Head in, heart out. Keep your cool." His Chief Instructor's words still clung to Datcher's memory. That man really did know what he was talking about.

Taking in a breath, he re-focused on the exposed group, standing by for the moment, curious as to how this would play out.
 
A shadow comes over Datcher. "What are you doing?"A new figure is hanging near him. He had approached silently. "I had been watching them for a few days now. Sloppy kill back there. you could have seen that flash from across the valley."
 
Datcher's mind froze as the Sun's light quickly ebbed away. He'd known what it was before the voice had even spoke. His right hand, which had been tucked close to his body, and therefore not visible to anyone above, much less behind his prone form, quickly, yet smoothly bent down, pressing it's finger's against Datcher's chest, touching the Load Bearing Vest concealed beneath his worn Trench Coat. His hand wrapped around one of the two cylindrical objects hanging there, his thumb lacing itself through a metal ring at it's top. It'd been quick. Quick enough to be done before the Voice had finished it's Statement, as illogical as it was. Knowing a rash action would be utterly asinine, here, and now, Datcher simply remained still, making no drastic, or even visible movements.

Without even looking behind him, he spoke, his voice as calm, and controlled as ever, as if he was explaining his methods to an untrained Spotter.
"That shot was nominal. It was both what I needed, and demanded. Physically, and physcologically. Had I wanted to remain entirely undectected, I would've not fired, or used a suppresor. I could've set up a Ghillie blind, or a dug-in. You see one aspect, and one alone, and it has blinded you."

With no knowledge of who he was dealing with, or how they would respond, Datcher's thumb pulled outwards, applying as much lateral tension as he dared.
A quick thought played through the man's mind. "Will they see it, at their range? Are they even mobile, yet?"
 
If you are worried about dying or your position being compromised, dont. Im not here for your life. Just theirs.
 
"Life is a consideration. My position is a variable. I worry over neither. As to the group below, you are free to do as you wish. They have no impact on my being out here."
 
"Good.my goal is to have them die within a fortnight"
 
Datcher perked an eyebrow at that particular utterance. This person, whoever they were, their plans had very little to do with him. Whatever they were, they had plenty of time for execution. Fourteen nights, or two weeks, was a long time, these days. He then said "Your plans are yours, and yours alone." pausing to adjust his aim, moreso, his view, ensuring the living below had not drasticly changed their behavior. It was a dificult movement, having to use his foregrip-welded hand, and the crook of his elbow and shoulder in order to turn the rifle, but ultimately managed it. "If you are going for the element of surprise, I strongly advise you go prone, or at least crouch."
 
"Who the fuck are you." Zane asked the man
After a while of him listening to the Spanish babbling of the gang member he drew the sawn-0ff.
"Wrong answer." * BRAKOOM* the twin barrels rearranged the outlaws brain matter.

"Well it's getting dark. Lets get back inside and get some rest. Ill take watch." Zane said ushering Claus and his new charge inside and down 3 floors to the metal walled medical room.

Climbing back up to the bunk room he reloaded his shotgun. Finding a hidden spot in the bunkhouse to watch the entrance of he slumped down and relaxed, not falling asleep , but getting rest.
 
The night passed without event on Zane's end

Walking down to the medical room he went to check on Claus and the child
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Top Bottom
Back