A big zombie in a Cowboys T-shirt come through the door and pauses briefly, as if confused by all the new scents and sounds.
Tom's shot hits it in the shoulder, making it stumble backwards a little but not noticeably deterring it. Behind it, two more zombies -- one in a ragged, stained pants suit, one in a track suit and missing most of one of his arms -- are pushing, trying to get in.
Other patrons near the door seem to have decided on 'scream and run' as the appropriate response; Sherlock takes his hands out of the pockets of his coat and remains just where he is.
"Easy enough, then. Don't shoot me while I evict them, please."
With that polite request, he steps in front of Tom and kicks the leading zombie in the chest hard enough to send it crashing back into the rest of them.
The zombie in the pants suit was too far off to the side to get hit; it lurches forward unimpeded. Sherlock closes on it, rips its head from its body, and tosses the former back through the door aimed to knock down another zombie who is beginning to rise from the pile. Headless, the body seems to lose its animation; he shoves it out just in case and slams the door on the lot of them.
Total elapsed time: four and a half seconds.
"I need a shower," he announces. "That was disgusting. I may be a functional corpse but at least I don't rot."
Sherlock raises his eyebrows. First at Tom, then at the zombies, then at Tom again.
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A big zombie in a Cowboys T-shirt come through the door and pauses briefly, as if confused by all the new scents and sounds.
Tom's shot hits it in the shoulder, making it stumble backwards a little but not noticeably deterring it. Behind it, two more zombies -- one in a ragged, stained pants suit, one in a track suit and missing most of one of his arms -- are pushing, trying to get in.
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Other patrons near the door seem to have decided on 'scream and run' as the appropriate response; Sherlock takes his hands out of the pockets of his coat and remains just where he is.
"How contagious are they?" he asks.
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BLAM -- backwards it goes.
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With that polite request, he steps in front of Tom and kicks the leading zombie in the chest hard enough to send it crashing back into the rest of them.
Humans can't move that fast.
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Tom pulls the gun back against his shoulder, watching.
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Total elapsed time: four and a half seconds.
"I need a shower," he announces. "That was disgusting. I may be a functional corpse but at least I don't rot."
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"Thank you."
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". . . I -- Milliways?"
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