LugosiLIVESS
08-12-2009, 05:49 PM
1.
Four grueling Months. This war has been waging, tearing the World to shreds. It started as a flu-like virus, fever, vomitting, etc. but it soon turned took a toll for the worse. One report, two reports, a dozen, hundreds were reported, though it just continued to unwind towards the destruction of mankind.
The Infected, as they were referred to as, weren't your common, run-of-the-mill fleash-eating ghoul. The monsters that the human population, ninety-five percent at least, had become were vicious, territorial, rotting corpse. Ready to rip your fucking throat out. The other five percent of the population, fought back, surviving the nightmare they could not escape. Scattered across the world, they fought for their lives, day-in and day-out. Life had simply become a living hell, itself. So, won't you say; "hello to the end of the world."
Johnathan Elijiah Burke. He was a man in his mid-thirties, dark brown hair and a scruffy beard you'd see an Alaskan sporting on his cold face in a snowstorm. Before the epidemic occured, Burke was single, divorced with one kid, Michael, age nine. He hadn't seen Michael or his ex-wife in about a year or two, they picked up and moved with no notice to Johnathan. Though, really none of this mattered now. He was a tired looking man, though always full of energy, knowing a wrong move could end his life with the living.
He'd been surviving alone in a deserted Midwestern town, he hadn't seen a living person in at least two months. Burke was alone, and had been since it started, with the exception of Paul Smith. Though he didn't like to talk about that, it stirred up things that needed to be put to the back of his mind. He was reminded of it, surely, and it wasn't a good time. Johnathan, brushing the thought away, then pressed his hand to the mirror, wiping the steam from it.
"Yet another day lived," he whispered as he turned to the mirror in front of him. It was cracked in the right, veering off towards the center. He rubbed his thick beard, moving his hand up, pulling his eyelids down. He hadn't slept well in the
past few days and he knew it was getting to him. He turned his attention to his arm, he'd just bandaged, he sighed. "I'm beginning to lose it," he chuckled. He'd been fixing the exterior early in the day when he fell off the ladder, landing on some barbedwire, slicing his arm up pretty good. Though, he was fine now; physically not mentally. These long summer days took their toll on a man who was used to be alone, yet these days, it was just a bit colder to him then usual.
Burke turned towards the door, grabbing the shotgun as he passed the door way, turning left down a well-lit hall way, the windows reinforced with tough steel bars and barbed wire, he was taking any chances at all. He came to an open room, the living room, where there was one couch, a 42" LCD television, a hefty pile of dvds and an X-Box 360. He had a few other older consoles, but he enjoyed the 360 the most thoroughly. He continued into bright room, heading for the couch, where he slid in between it and the coffee table.
He laid the shotgun down on the coffee table, grabbing the television remote. He then proceeded to turn on the television and then the X-Box 360. But something, everyone well aware of, occurred... the dreaded red ring of death.
"Fuck." he exclaimed, tossing the 360 controller into the TV, knocking it down off of it stand. His temper flared as he knew what had just happened. He'd have to venture to the local Wal-Mart to grab another one and a new 42"
He leaned forward, grabbing the shotgun and sitting in his lap. He then reached out for three shotgun shells, he'd fired the other three this morning, making use of the previous three. He pushed the shell into the shotgun chamber, then the second and then third. He pumped the shotgun and stood. Johnathan turned towards the hallway, placing the shotgun on his shoulder. As he walked down the white-walled hall he thought to himself; "this could be fun. I haven't been out in out in a while. Maybe I'll find someone surviving like me..." He doubted that last bit. He hadn't seen a living person in at least two months. He turned left at the end of the hallway, flipping the light switch on with his left hand. This was his workshop. When not occupied by the outside work, he was usually in here, putting stuff together, thinking of new ways to safeguard himself.
Wal-Mart was about a mile in a half from where he was living, so he didn't think it'd be much of a hassle in the way of danger. He grabbed the shotgun with his left hand, the strap with his right, fitting it over his shoulder as Burke entered his domain. He stopped at the near wall of the door, he slightly turned looking at the wall. an array of things for weaponry hung; Aluminum Baseball Bats, a couple Fire Axes, a Crowbar, three Medieval Swords, etc. He grabbed an Aluminum Bat and a Fire Axe, turning toward a beaten wooden table. He placed them both on the table as he turned to another wall with sheaths and holsters hung. He grabbed two holsters, one appropriate for the bat and one for the axe.
He then turned back towards the table, laying the sheaths on it along with the bat and axe. Johnathan removed the Shotgun from his shoulder, placing it on the table, and grabbed up the sheaths, He slung what seemed to be a pool stick case, over his back, attaching it to his chest by way of the belt clip. He grabbed the bat, sliding it into the case, pushing it snugly into it. Burke then reached for the Fire Axe sheath, clipping it to his utility belt.
"Hmm, a Fire Axe, Baseball Bat and 12-Gauge... I think that should be appropriate enough for this outing," he said as grabbed the shotgun with his right hand and the axe with his left. He slid the Fire Axe into it's sheath and shouldered the 12-Gauge and turned towards the doorway. He flipped the switch off as he exited through the door way, turning down the hallway once again, turning right as he left the workshop. His boots echoed on the hardwood floor in the hall as he entered the living room. He stopped, looked around, he could hear them outside, but it didn't seem like there were many near.
He took a deep breath and passed through, entering the kitchen and then into the garage, where his armored Lincoln sat. Burke closed the door behind him as he descended the steps into the garage. He looked around the customized Lincoln and smirked. He thought he was pretty clever with his additions to the car, razor sharp wings were welded to the back doors, extending a few feet, the sheet metal armor that it was also clad in, blood stained and, of course, a homemade cowcatcher on the front.
He walked around the hood, grabbing the drivers door, opening it. He placed the shotgun inside, along with the axe and baseball bat. He turned to a refrigerator, opening it. It lit up, revealing a plethora of bottled waters, he grabbed three and put them in his utility belt pouch then closed it. He swept around the car swiftly as he headed for the trunk. He reached for his keys on his hip and grabbed a particular one. He inserted it into the trunk, as it unlatched. Johnathan lifted the hood as it lit up much like the refrigerator. He looked inside, there was quite a few items inside. A few in particular was a compact bike, a case of shotgun shells, emergency rations, flashlights and many other gadgets. He grabbed up a few shotgun shells dropping them into one of his side pouches and a flashlight that he clipped to his belt.
He closed the trunk heading for the garage door, he peered outside to see what the situation was outside. There were a few out there, it wouldn't be difficult at first, but it could get even worse the further his journey took him. He made his way back around the Lincoln, sitting and closing the door. He checked the glove box for his Handgun, it was still there. Johnathan Burke took a deep breath and turned the ignition. This seemingly easily trip could turn bad quickly.
Four grueling Months. This war has been waging, tearing the World to shreds. It started as a flu-like virus, fever, vomitting, etc. but it soon turned took a toll for the worse. One report, two reports, a dozen, hundreds were reported, though it just continued to unwind towards the destruction of mankind.
The Infected, as they were referred to as, weren't your common, run-of-the-mill fleash-eating ghoul. The monsters that the human population, ninety-five percent at least, had become were vicious, territorial, rotting corpse. Ready to rip your fucking throat out. The other five percent of the population, fought back, surviving the nightmare they could not escape. Scattered across the world, they fought for their lives, day-in and day-out. Life had simply become a living hell, itself. So, won't you say; "hello to the end of the world."
Johnathan Elijiah Burke. He was a man in his mid-thirties, dark brown hair and a scruffy beard you'd see an Alaskan sporting on his cold face in a snowstorm. Before the epidemic occured, Burke was single, divorced with one kid, Michael, age nine. He hadn't seen Michael or his ex-wife in about a year or two, they picked up and moved with no notice to Johnathan. Though, really none of this mattered now. He was a tired looking man, though always full of energy, knowing a wrong move could end his life with the living.
He'd been surviving alone in a deserted Midwestern town, he hadn't seen a living person in at least two months. Burke was alone, and had been since it started, with the exception of Paul Smith. Though he didn't like to talk about that, it stirred up things that needed to be put to the back of his mind. He was reminded of it, surely, and it wasn't a good time. Johnathan, brushing the thought away, then pressed his hand to the mirror, wiping the steam from it.
"Yet another day lived," he whispered as he turned to the mirror in front of him. It was cracked in the right, veering off towards the center. He rubbed his thick beard, moving his hand up, pulling his eyelids down. He hadn't slept well in the
past few days and he knew it was getting to him. He turned his attention to his arm, he'd just bandaged, he sighed. "I'm beginning to lose it," he chuckled. He'd been fixing the exterior early in the day when he fell off the ladder, landing on some barbedwire, slicing his arm up pretty good. Though, he was fine now; physically not mentally. These long summer days took their toll on a man who was used to be alone, yet these days, it was just a bit colder to him then usual.
Burke turned towards the door, grabbing the shotgun as he passed the door way, turning left down a well-lit hall way, the windows reinforced with tough steel bars and barbed wire, he was taking any chances at all. He came to an open room, the living room, where there was one couch, a 42" LCD television, a hefty pile of dvds and an X-Box 360. He had a few other older consoles, but he enjoyed the 360 the most thoroughly. He continued into bright room, heading for the couch, where he slid in between it and the coffee table.
He laid the shotgun down on the coffee table, grabbing the television remote. He then proceeded to turn on the television and then the X-Box 360. But something, everyone well aware of, occurred... the dreaded red ring of death.
"Fuck." he exclaimed, tossing the 360 controller into the TV, knocking it down off of it stand. His temper flared as he knew what had just happened. He'd have to venture to the local Wal-Mart to grab another one and a new 42"
He leaned forward, grabbing the shotgun and sitting in his lap. He then reached out for three shotgun shells, he'd fired the other three this morning, making use of the previous three. He pushed the shell into the shotgun chamber, then the second and then third. He pumped the shotgun and stood. Johnathan turned towards the hallway, placing the shotgun on his shoulder. As he walked down the white-walled hall he thought to himself; "this could be fun. I haven't been out in out in a while. Maybe I'll find someone surviving like me..." He doubted that last bit. He hadn't seen a living person in at least two months. He turned left at the end of the hallway, flipping the light switch on with his left hand. This was his workshop. When not occupied by the outside work, he was usually in here, putting stuff together, thinking of new ways to safeguard himself.
Wal-Mart was about a mile in a half from where he was living, so he didn't think it'd be much of a hassle in the way of danger. He grabbed the shotgun with his left hand, the strap with his right, fitting it over his shoulder as Burke entered his domain. He stopped at the near wall of the door, he slightly turned looking at the wall. an array of things for weaponry hung; Aluminum Baseball Bats, a couple Fire Axes, a Crowbar, three Medieval Swords, etc. He grabbed an Aluminum Bat and a Fire Axe, turning toward a beaten wooden table. He placed them both on the table as he turned to another wall with sheaths and holsters hung. He grabbed two holsters, one appropriate for the bat and one for the axe.
He then turned back towards the table, laying the sheaths on it along with the bat and axe. Johnathan removed the Shotgun from his shoulder, placing it on the table, and grabbed up the sheaths, He slung what seemed to be a pool stick case, over his back, attaching it to his chest by way of the belt clip. He grabbed the bat, sliding it into the case, pushing it snugly into it. Burke then reached for the Fire Axe sheath, clipping it to his utility belt.
"Hmm, a Fire Axe, Baseball Bat and 12-Gauge... I think that should be appropriate enough for this outing," he said as grabbed the shotgun with his right hand and the axe with his left. He slid the Fire Axe into it's sheath and shouldered the 12-Gauge and turned towards the doorway. He flipped the switch off as he exited through the door way, turning down the hallway once again, turning right as he left the workshop. His boots echoed on the hardwood floor in the hall as he entered the living room. He stopped, looked around, he could hear them outside, but it didn't seem like there were many near.
He took a deep breath and passed through, entering the kitchen and then into the garage, where his armored Lincoln sat. Burke closed the door behind him as he descended the steps into the garage. He looked around the customized Lincoln and smirked. He thought he was pretty clever with his additions to the car, razor sharp wings were welded to the back doors, extending a few feet, the sheet metal armor that it was also clad in, blood stained and, of course, a homemade cowcatcher on the front.
He walked around the hood, grabbing the drivers door, opening it. He placed the shotgun inside, along with the axe and baseball bat. He turned to a refrigerator, opening it. It lit up, revealing a plethora of bottled waters, he grabbed three and put them in his utility belt pouch then closed it. He swept around the car swiftly as he headed for the trunk. He reached for his keys on his hip and grabbed a particular one. He inserted it into the trunk, as it unlatched. Johnathan lifted the hood as it lit up much like the refrigerator. He looked inside, there was quite a few items inside. A few in particular was a compact bike, a case of shotgun shells, emergency rations, flashlights and many other gadgets. He grabbed up a few shotgun shells dropping them into one of his side pouches and a flashlight that he clipped to his belt.
He closed the trunk heading for the garage door, he peered outside to see what the situation was outside. There were a few out there, it wouldn't be difficult at first, but it could get even worse the further his journey took him. He made his way back around the Lincoln, sitting and closing the door. He checked the glove box for his Handgun, it was still there. Johnathan Burke took a deep breath and turned the ignition. This seemingly easily trip could turn bad quickly.