Marineking

((Sorry for the half-assed description of your character Folion, but to be honest, I have no idea what he's wearing.))

Well, at least they hadn't shot him on sight, and for that, James breathed a small sigh of relief. Slowly, with his gun still over his head, he stepped close until he was within ten feet of the man, clearly visible but hopefully nonthreatening. He put on a diplomatic smile, reserved enough to hopefully not come off as insane.

He took a moment to take in the man in front of him before speaking, but only taking the time to check the important bits; the face and the gun. The gun was was looked to be a pretty good rifle, even if it deep seem to be mostly a hunting weapon, flesh was flesh to a bullet. His face though was the real interesting part though; he looked resolved, yet a little anxious; suspicious, but obviously not jumpy enough to kill anything on sight. All in all, it was enough to tell James he'd probably made the right decision, and so he began talking instead of leaping down an alleyway.

"Hi there, buddy, my name's James, and we seem to be in a similar predicament. I know you've got no reason to trust me or give a shit if I live or die, and I respect that, but I've got quite a bit of food in my backpack here and I'm not a terrible shot, and we'd probably do better in this hell together."

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Derek Dwyre

Logain grinned slightly to himself as the pair moved into position. 'Seems they have a sense of professionalism. ... Brave amateurs. Logain crouched low and duck-walked behind Ruben, still grasping his FN P90. 'Before this is all over, before I leave, I should make they have the proper training. If they won't leave New York, maybe I can make sure they don't become part of the problem here.'

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shadowsworn

OOC: from the time catherine screams to when she runs away, only about 30-45 seconds pass. With the short amount of time, combined with the difficulty of navigating a ruined house, I'm assuming the others wouldn't be able to get there in time to help, and would find Helena as she is described at the end of my post.

IC: Catherine gripped Helena's arm in excitement.

"There are voices! I told you there were survivors here!" she whispered.

Helena stood still, trying to listen. The house was pretty big, and all the destruction and decay made it difficult to hear where sounds were coming from.

"We don't want to sneak up on whoever it is," she said, frowning, "Even if they're not thugs, I don't want to surprise them and get shot ourselves..."

The sound of breaking glass behind her made her turn. A ragged, grey arm had punched through one of the ground floor windows, and in a moment it had seized Catherine's arm.

The girl screamed and tried to pull away, half-falling as she did so, but the zombie's rotting, four fingered hand was gripped firmly around her arm.

Helena swore, and pulled out her gun, but by this time Catherine had been pulled in front of the window. Behind her, Helena could see a second and third zombie reaching for the girl.

"Adam!" Helena screamed, "They've got Catherine! Do something, you asshole!"

She ran towards the window, narrowly dodging one of the grasping arms, and hacked at one of the limbs with the sharp end of the sword. The hand's grip loosened, and Helena reached over, intending to wrench Catherine backwards, but at that moment she felt one of the cold, foul hands grappling at her own arm, and she fell backwards just in time.

By this time, Catherine was half in, half out of the window, and there was blood on the floor and spattering the frame of the window where the shards of glass had pierced her flesh.

She saw the girl, her face twisted by pain, kick back, catching one of the zombies in the face as it bent forward with it's mouth open, forcing it back. Then Helena raised her gun, and began firing.

Her first shot hit the wooden frame, in an explosion of rotten wood. The second shot went over Catherine's shoulder, striking the shoulder of the other zombie holding Catherine, blowing it's upper arm apart.

With no one holding her, Catherine fell with a cry of pain from the window, and lay for a moment on the ground.

Helena ran to the window. There were still at least ten zombies out there, and she could see more closing in.

Shit... she fired the Desert Eagle again, hitting one zombie near to Catherine in the face. Too many.

She felt her eyes blur slightly with tears of frustration and fear. She forced them back with an angry shake of her head.

"Run!" she screamed, firing as quickly as she could now, just trying to keep them away from Catherine. And, to her surprise, Catherine raised herself, one bloody hand clutching the frame of the window, not feeling the sharp glass that cut her.

"No time," Helena said, as Catherine opened her mouth to speak, "You need to go, I'll meet up with you later..."

and Catherine nodded, and turned, ducking and weaving, Helena's shots driving back the zombies closing around her. Then, suddenly, she was free, and she ran down the street.

Helena stood watching her for a moment, and then forced herself to turn away, pushing fresh bullets into the Desert Eagle with an aggressive absentmindedness. Several of the bullets fell on the floor, and she stood looking at them for several seconds, before bending down to pick them up.

Finally, she snapped the barrel into place, and fell more than sat against what remained of a cabinet, looking expressionless as the moans of the zombies and the voices of the other people in the house came nearer. One tear rolled down her cheek, then another, and, silently, she put her head in her leather glove clad hands, her purple hair falling over her face as she did so.

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Derek Dwyre

Logain started to laugh at make a crack when the unmistakable report of a Desert Eagle reached his ears. Reflex and instinct kicked in at once. Without a word to Ruben or the new guy, Logain turned on the spot and bolted back in the ruined house.

As he turned one corner, Logain came face to face with the rotting zombie figure of a woman, her shirt ripped to shreds, revealing mounds of rotting gray flesh, bite wounds all along her torso, and a bone stick out at an odd angle from her left arm.

Taking only the time to aim at the woman's head, Logain pulled the trigger, put a bullet in her head, shoved his way past the falling corpse, and continued on his way. More shots rang out, keeping that flame that someone who needed help was still alive.

"Hang on!" Logain called out as he vaulted over a fallen filing cabinet and turned another corner to see a group of zombies closing in on a woman, who seemed to just give up.

"Get up! Don't quit shooting now!" Logain commanded as he shoved his P90 in it's holster, pulled out the Beretta, emptied it's clip, reloaded it, all in record time, then started shooting blindly, for a Marine. Some shots went to a head, most however hit a zombie's shoulder or back. Hopefully, it was enough to give the girl a chance.

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Marineking

He was standing there, uncomfortably open to attack, waiting for a a reply when when he heard the gunshots. His instinct kicked in and he was right on the other big man's heels before he could even get a thought in about being shot. Instead of charging into the fray - even when operating without he wasn't that foolhardy - he dropped down on a knee once he came within sixty or so feet of the strangely haired girl and her aggressors. Up came his pistol, in both hands, and he carefully took double-shots at the heads of anything near the girl or the guy, his puny revolver doing little damage otherwise.

Damned woman, whats her problem?, he allowed himself to think. The annoyingly familiar clicking sounds of his empty gun soon reach his ears - too soon, much too soon - and he swore vehemently. Instead of bothering to take the time to reload, he shoved it into his pant-pocket. Rushing to his feet, he ran a few yards, then leaped into a well-practiced roll over to his big friend (not officially yet, but anyone with that amount of firearms was bound to be his friend eventually, one way or another), knelt again, and yanked out a pistol he'd spotted on his ankle. Spinning around, he began spraying the enemy with bullets, aiming for the knee's because he didn't have time for head-shots.

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Folion

(Sorry if you're wondering, 'Just where the fuck is Folion?' but I PROMISE that I will post tomorrow night. I've to finish this English essay I procrastinated on today. DX)

(Alright, sorry for the delays. Here I go...)

Ruben and James stood in tension-choking silence. James, hopefully willing to be their new party member introduced himself with a friendly tone. He told Ruben that he had food in his backpack and that he wasn't a bad shot - both were traits in dire demand these days. For once in a rare chance, Ruben grinned. It wasn't often that things like this happened, but his luck seemed to be in the hole.

Before gunshots exploded. He watched in stupefied surprise as Logain and James both vaulted and ran to the origin of the gunshots. He picked his jaw up off the floor before he called to Mark who appeared in the window and scrambled out. Ruben shook his head, frantically, and shoved Mark back in, as he raced into the house with his rifle. Mark tripped over himself and followed suit.

It appeared their luck was being put to the test.

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Marineking

((Ah, sorry for the late post. I didn't even realize you edited your post Folion, since I expected you to bump it. And just for reference, since my post doesn't make much sense in light of Shadow's new info, I'm going to start this post from where I borrowed Derek's gun, but before I started shooting. And finally, last note, I'm assuming the Glock has a 17-bullet magazine? Or is it 33? Not too important, just wouldn't mind knowing.))

Ripping the Glock from the man's ankle, James lifted himself to his knee in front of the window, shouldering the woman unkindly to the side to give himself room to aim. Taking a moment to find the safety, he flicked it to single-fire mode and began emptying cases into decaying heads. The gun handled a lot differently then his little six-shooter, but it felt good to be able to fire indiscriminately and not have to worry about running out of ammo for a little while.

But even while most of his mind concentrated on saving his life, the pesky male part in the corner of his head took notice of other things. The woman he'd rudely shoved aside was not unattractive, and she was close enough that he could make out vague details even out of the side of his eye. He made a mental note to be a little more polite in the future, just in case, and then put his all into aiming and shooting.

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Folion

(Teabagging reference below, warning. )

The bastards were streaming in now, lurching and grabbing thin air only to 'say hello and goodbye' to a bullet through the mouth. Ruben was not a violent man. But there was a certain sense of overwhelming satisfaction in blowing the head off of the death of his family. This subtle complacency that lurked just beneath his lips threatening to contort his lips into a wicked, gleaming smile. Strange? Perhaps not. In a way, although killing zombies did risk death and transformation, going on a killing spree actually helped with the stress and coping with the insanity that threatened to take over an individual's mind.

But Ruben knew he was better than that. He kept the fire up alongside the other three - Logain, James, and Mark - blasting heads off and tripping up some. He noticed the pale-faced, purple-dyed girl cowering off to the side. He sniffed. Lotta' weird people in New Yawk. But company, no matter what the person anymore, was welcome. Nowadays, you just didn't give a fuck. Let's face it. Like the Avenue Q song, everyone is a little bit racist. Culture has taught us to judge anyone by their appearance these days, no matter what your moral values tell you to think.

It was different now. People Ruben probably would have shunned at the door he would welcome with open arms and a gleaming smile. It was different.

Meeting Mark though... that was an interesting experience.

- - -

Chilly day. Snowing. Ruben treaded softly through the crystallic blanket that peppered the urban landscape. His pistol at the ready, he stalked back home. He had just raided the ammo shop a couple of blocks down the street and he was not returning to base. Home. He shivered and zipped up his jacket. Christ, it was freezing. Ruben took comfort in the fact that zombies seemed to be a little slower in the snow compared to anywhere else. But he had to watch his step, and carefully. Zombies could be taking refuge just beneath this somewhat innocent and serene blanket of multi-layered white.

He heard a soft thumping sound.

'What the?' Ruben's heart beat faster. It was barely noticeable, that soft thumping sound. But it was there. Just around the corner in fact. Ruben nearly smiled, but he stopped himself. Fought off the urge. 'You don't know what it is yet.' He told himself. Carefully, edging around the corner, he breathed as the thumping became louder, more fierce.

He whipped around the corner.

'What the fuck?' Ruben hacked, in disgust. The young man, barely in his 20s, before him looked angry. Very angry. His brows furrowed, his fists tightly gripping the rifle in his hands, he repeatedly crouched into the zombie's face below him. A nice, bloody hole was carved in its forehead.

'Eat this, you son of a bitch!' He roared.

'What the fuck are you doing?' Ruben asked.

The man stopped. Looked up. Turned red. 'Oh, shit.' He stood up shame-facedly. 'Oh shit.' He held his hands up, and he seemed to be at a loss. Didn't look like he wanted to be held accountable for his reputable actions. 'Um...' He laughed. 'You know, I was...'

'Save it.' Ruben sighed, shaking his head. 'Just save it.'

- - -

It was amazing what people would do in uncontrollable anger these days. Later, Mark told him that he was teabagging that zombie. Some sort of videogame ritual. Ruben didn't get it. And he probably never would.

(I couldn't help myself.)

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shadowsworn

Helena's eyes opened in surprise as she was pushed to the floor. She opened her mouth to swear at whoever it was automatically, then decided against it.

I'm having a moment here, if you don't mind. she thought resentfully, with a sniff. My best friend is gone, maybe dead, and it's all my fucking fault... and I don't even have a moment before some asshole comes and attacks me out of nowhere...

She settled for sticking out her tongue at him behind his back, because, she realized, he probably wouldn't be able to hear her anyway over all the gunshots... and besides, he was kinda cute.

Helena shook her head. There were a bunch of other guys in the room too, she realized, all shooting at the zombies, desperately trying to hold them back. She picked up her Desert Eagle in one hand, and looked around the room.

One of the men, a big tough military guy with a brown pony tail and a vest, was cut off from the other two, and, although several zombies had already fallen around him, blown apart by his almost berserker attack, he was slowly being surrounded by them.

She fired, hitting one of the zombies, a man in a janitor's uniform with a tatoo on one arm under his torn sleeve, in the back, knocking him into another zombie, and sending them both falling onto the floor. She fired a second time, trying to hit a zombie that appeared to be approaching from the man's blind side, a woman with short blond hair and an oversized purse held in the mangled remains of one hand. As she was pulling the trigger though, the man suddenly turned and shot the zombie almost point blank in the face. Helena winced, as her shot flew by the man's face, just missing him.

Well he can obviously handle himself.

Helena stood up, and made her way over to where the young guy who had pushed her aside was standing, almost back to back with another guy, shooting zombies as she did so.

Suddenly, Helena felt her leg being grabbed, and almost fell, dropping her gun on the ground in surprise. The janitor zombie she had shot before had crawled over here while she wasn't looking, Helena saw. From close up, his face was absolutely hideous, she thought. The teeth were caked in black dried blood and dirt, and ribbons of flesh hung across his dessicated left cheek. It looked like the same attack that had destroyed that half of his face had taken part of his nose as well.

Raising her other boot, Helena smashed it into the zombie's face, grimacing slightly at the crunching sound of bone and cartilage snapping, and wrenched her trapped foot away from the zombie's weakened grip.

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Derek Dwyre

Logain grunted as he dropped one clip, kicked a zombie in the chest, slammed a fresh clip in, and shoved the muzzle in the mouth of the undead man before he blew his brains out; Literally.

The number of corpses surrounding him only vaguely registered in Logain's mind. 'Protect... Protect civillians. Headshots... Eliminate zombies. Neutralize possible live infected.' He barely even noticed James taking one of his Glock 17's from his ankle holster. One reaction he did have, thanks to military training, was he reached into his vest and dropped four additional clips on the ground for James to use.

And sudden growl from behind him caused Logain to spin around a spray a woman in the face. A sudden bullet shot zipped past his nose, causing Logain to blink suddenly. Only military training kept him shooting.

After putting down another man, Logain holstered one P90 and reloaded the other before snapping it up and scanning the room. It was quiet now. The only sound that came was the crunching of bone. Logain turned and stared at the woman who seemed to have recovered from her 'bout of depression.

"Welcome back to the land of the Living. Mind if I ask ya what you think you were doin', just sittin' there, waitin' for some zombies to come take a bite at ya?" Logain asked after reloading all his ammo. He made a mental note to head back the military base for more ammo, and to perhaps get this group properly fitted. If the base was still up.

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