Zombie Apocalypse

[Wensleydale]

A bell tolled somewhere in the heights of the Sanctum, and Sister-Guardian Elizabeth sighed as she came off duty. She hadn't been posted on a journey for two months now, and guarding the Sanctum was becoming... tedious. She heard they'd brought in a new Victim today. Satan's disease would be cured, by the love of God. One day. Until then, she would serve the Trinity with mind, soul and body.

She placed her sword against the bed and removed her black kevlar jacket with the red cross of the Knights Hospitaller marked across it, placing it carefully over a rack. Underneath, she wore the standard Guardian garb - a black tunic with the templar insignia. She had only been promoted from woman-at-arms recently, and she knew that if she worked hard, she could make Knight or even Templar within three years. As always, she strapped her submachinegun, pistol and ammunition into the lockers and clamped it shut. She hadn't always been 'Elizabeth', once she'd been Anna Harper - before she joined the Hospitallers. She hadn't really had any choice, though - it was either join them, or succumb to the waves of victims, possibly even end up as one of them. She shuddered and moved over to the shrine that occupied one corner of her cramped cell. As a Sister-Guardian, she had her own sleeping-chamber, but it was only twelve feet by twelve feet - hardly large. But, then again, Men-at-Arms had to sleep in dormitories, so she supposed this was better. In a way.

She knelt before the shrine, made the sign of the cross and spoke her midday devotions. Then it was time to eat. She left her rooms, giving a passing nod to Brother-Guardian Michael, taking her sword with her. The sword was an important part of any Hospitaller's garb - ranking somewhere on the same level as the insignia. She carried hers at her side, where it was easy to reach. If trouble called, Guardians were expected to form the first line of defence - or attack, come to that. She didn't take her pistol, however - training with the sword, unlike with the pistol, was compulsory, and she had been lax in her visits to the Firing Range of late. If trouble called, she would rather decapitate it.

She left the accomodation blocks and travelled down the elevator to the dining chamber. This place was huge, high-roofed with huge pillars and arches, built in the style of an ancient cathedral hall. Men-at-Arms and Initiates were expected to remain silent during meals, but she was allowed to talk due to her rank. After being given food, she sat down at the Guardian table. Those here that weren't on duty were talking quietly, drinking water and eating the 'EYN' bread provided by the Hospitallers - EYN standing for everything you need. Of course, EYN bread was a disgusting, tasteless brown mass, but it contained everything you required for a healthy diet. None of her friends were there.

Once the Midday Hour ended, she returned to duty, retrieving her equipment from her cell. Today was likely to be a hard day, if the rumours she had heard were true - bringing in a Victim from the Dead District? Unwise, she would have said, if she did not know her superiors better. She joined her Hand - one other Guardian and six Men-at-Arms - and they began patrolling the streets. Many of the survivors within the city knew of these armed men and women in uniforms, but they generally had more pressing concerns - unless they wanted to reach the Holy Land, of course, or join as an Initiate or Man-at-Arms.

Of course, the Holy Land sounded grand, but it wasn't actually Israel in this case. It was the code for the Hospitaller Enclave far beyond the city, in the wilderness. Of course, the outer reaches of the city were filled with Victims, and the Hospitallers specialised in smuggling people through here - for a small contribution to the church, generally, or something along those lines. Helicopters were hard to find, nowadays - the Hospitallers didn't have even one - but they smuggled different ways. Generally they went on foot, as working vehicles were difficult to find too, or if necessary they would take the Subway to convenient points. The Enclave itself was a town, defended and run by the Hospitallers. At the moment its population wasn't sparse, but it wasn't dense, either.

She sighed again. Hopefully she'd be put on another journey soon.

[the_taken]

This is a very nice thread, filled with interesting stories.

But I'm not a writer. I'm a story teller.

[Wensleydale]

I do that voodoo that I do so well, y'all.

Watch ma thread-necromancy-moves! They call me doctor thread! Etc!

Pting. Perhaps more Hospitaller stuff later.

[Kaptn'Lath]

Of all the threads i come across looking for something to Necro...

Rise Zombies...

Anyone got any new Zombie with or without the Apocalypse Material? Or any references for good Zombie Literature?  

[Loch Belthadd]

read the zombie survival guide. It's a pretty good zombie book.

[Loch Belthadd]

re-thread necromanced

[SDragon]

DeeL hasn't posted in forever, but it seems as if Wensleydale has taken up quite a bit of the fiction, too. He still posts.

Of course, why limit this thread to only his zombie stories? Why not let everybody who wants to add something to this whole mythos?

[limetom]

Bumping, as this was (and can still be) awesome, as everyone loves zombies.  

Some people just express their love with a 12-gauge Remington 870.

[Loch Belthadd]

I think I'm going to try to run this in my next game using AFMBE.

[limetom]

[ic]Cousin, I heard a story about a fella who caged a zombie a few years back.  The fella fed that there zombie his dead buddy.  Supposedly, the zombie talked to him, told him things.  Then that zombie escaped.  After that, people started telling all kinds of stories about it; calling it "the Doc" and such.  You know, 'cause it was a 'smart' zombie.  Cousin, both you and me know zombies ain't smart.  They just got a head full of hungry and a stomach full of empty.  Now I know all y'all say they're rightly called "Revenants," but I couldn't give two hoots.  A zombie is a zombie is a zombie.

Now let me tell you something, cousin.  I met that there fella.  Now I know, people went and said that the zombie ate him , but all that's right crap.  That fella ain't dead.  And he ain't no zombie neither.  Ain't no truth behind his story.  Any part of it.  Zombies ain't got enough brains to do much more than eat, let alone talk.  'Sides, ain't like you, me, or anyone else's got nothing to say to them.  I know the only thing I have for a zombie is a shovel to the face.  Or a 12-gauge Remington 870.  Whichever I fancy.

Now who you gonna believe?  Some fella who's shit-piled-high story makes him a zombie?  Cousin, if I were you I'd know which horse my money's on.[/ic]
This is a short piece of flash fiction, to get the ball rolling again.  And to thicken the plot; you know, like week-old rice pudding.  My narrator here is called Ray.

Perhaps I'll do something longer soonish.

[Nomadic]

Hicks vs Zombies... the omega edition

[limetom]

I'm in the zombie killing business. And cousin, business is a-boomin![/ic]
But really, one of the things I was shooting for, and I'm not sure how well this really short piece pulled it off, was introducing a bit of unreliable narration into the mix.  The question, of course, would be is Ray the unreliable one, or was the original narrator.  I thought it was important to keep in mind that the characters, unlike us readers and writers, are not omniscient.

[Drizztrocks]

If no one minds could I give this a shot? I'll just do a short story, and you guys can see how it is.

[Drizztrocks]

Okay, i'm just going to give this a shot I hope no one minds.


  The door exploded inwards, dirt and dust filling the air of the small room. In the entrance stood a middle aged man, clean shaven with short dark hair. In his hands he held a .38 millimeter pistol with a flashlight ducktaped on the side. "All clear," He said, and his three companions came in behind him.
   "Did you have to kick the door in?" The woman said, coughing as she came into the entry way, a titanium baseball bat in her hands.

 "I'm getting damn sick of pop ups, and I figured if one of them was next to the door, I would have gotten it." He explained in a grim voice.

   Standing next to the woman was an older black man with a shotgun slung over his shoulder. He said nothing, and as always kept a passive look on his face. The last to come in was a kid, barely fifteen. He wore a dark hoodie sweatshirt, and stuck close to the older man. The kid's small, dark eyes darted around cautiously.

  It was clear this was a system they were used to, as they went through their routine without saying a word. The two in the front stepped into the room, while the old man and the kid remained behind in the hallway.
  As the dust in the small room cleared, their surrounding became apparent. Moldy wallpaper lined the room, showing pictures of children playing on the beach. Two small beds sat in the center of the room, divided by a bedstand with a lamp sitting on it. A broken mirror lay across one of the beds, the shards spread out everywhere. Dark red, dried blood was splattered across the far wall. A small window sat halfway up the wall north of the beds, the glass shattered. Chilly sea air blew in, salty and moist.

"Mike..." The woman said to the other man in the room.
"Yes?" He answered.
"You should see this..." She said, lifting a book from the ground. Originally the word "Journal" was imprinted across the top in uppercase gold font, but the phrase "God is dead" was smeared across it in blood. The man called Mike took the book out of her hands.

"Just don't show Arthur." The woman whispered to him while motioning to the old black man in the hallway. "He's sensititive about those things." He nodded, then holstered his gun. Mike's fingers ran across the cover slowly, feeling the dried blood, chills running down his spine. He then flipped the book open.

        [ic]Day 1
 I don't turn on the TV anymore. Or the radio. Only a few stations broadcast anymore anyway. All they talk about are the dead, and it gives me nightmares. On some news stations religious preachers have taken over the broadcasting studio after the original newscasters are gone, saying that we have "sewn the seeds of sin, and this is our punishment". On some channels they say a solar flare came and the intense radiation mutated dead cells to bring them back to partial life. Some channels say that everything is under control, that it will all stop soon and the goverment can handle it. Some even deny it happening.

 To me, the solar flare radiation idea makes the most sense. I don't know. It just does. It would explain that big white light a few days back. And it did seem to give a good explanation of why the dead are walking. But I don't really care how it happened anymore. I am just scared.

  Yes, this is my first journal entry. I was here in Sea Isle City, New Jersey with all of my college friends. When it first happened, they all left, went back to their families. I was going to go with them, but I got a call from my family to stay put, stockpile food and stay safe. So I did that. I raided those vending machines down by the mini golf course. I got a shovel and busted them open. I've never been one for vandalism or anything, but it was the best thing I could think of at the time. And now I have a rubbermaid full of pretzels, potato chips and bottles of water and pepsi, plus all the food everyone else left here. They left plenty of real food. I figure I have enough for about a month, maby two if I ration.
  Yesterday I saw a big group of people go into the Wawa down the street ready to rob the place. Ha! There wasn't anybody even there to stop them. I should've been there. They got so much food for free.

 The house i'm staying in right now is a two story house. My friends and I rented out the top half for the summer, some young couple rented the bottom half. It worked fine, because we both made lots of noise and neither of us minded. They left two days ago. I got lucky, and they didn't bother taking their food with them.
  Yesterday, while some people robbed the Wawa, alot of others and I blocked off the bridge to the mainland. If the rumors were true, the dead couldn't swim. So we got anything we could and blocked off the bridge, even destroying some parts. It looks great, a huge barrier of cars and boxes, trashcans and life guard stands piled up about twenty feet high in some places. While I was doing that with the others, some guys my age busted into the police station. No one there.

 That really scared me. The police left? Is this that bad? No one else seemed that alarmed. Back to talking about the barrier on the bridge. What used to be toll booths are now guard posts. The police left lots of guns and ammo, and now we have sentries posted all over our barrier. I don't really think anything's going to get past that. But i've been talking. Talking to other people, and no one else seems to be thinking about what i'm thinking. I see the problems. What if bitten people come in on boats? What if there's another way on the island? What if a plane full of the dead crashes here? What if they can just walk strait through the water?

  Anyway, I have to go to bed tonight. I think this helped, getting some of my thoughts out on paper. I'm glad I did it. I'm just scared all this thinking about the dead will give me nightmares. Tommorow i'll have another entry about how my first day on guard duty went.
 [/ic]

[Drizztrocks]

So if anybody read any of that, how is it?