Having been a Milliways patron for quite a while, Nicholas has gotten rather used to rather unusual disturbances of the peace. Fortunately, he had target practice on his schedule for the day.
"Get down!"
The zombie in the lead gets a few well-aimed shots to the neck.
That's two bodies blocking the doorway now -- no, make that three, as Tom gets the one Nicholas grazed. The rest of the shamble is still pushing forward, but the pile is at least slowing them down.
Tom flinches, covering his face; he still gets a lot of the splatter.
"Aw, Christ," he moans.
No time to panic about how many potentially-infected zombie bits this guy is flinging all over, though. He shakes it off and drops a zombified runner with a headshot.
She's off the couch in the same instant, diving over the back into a roll and scramble, hand clenching shut on the rungs of a nearby chair. It's all fluid with the kind of controlled grace that only comes unconsciously -- and then she falters, stumbling mid-motion into an instant's poised crouch.
"They're all made of hunger," she whispers, wide eyes fixed on Tom. "Killed them once."
And then the first zombie makes it through the doorway, more shambling at its heels, and River's moving again.
Tom fires clumsily at the first zombie -- a big guy in a Cowboys T-shirt -- and succeeds in blowing the side of its head away. It staggers but keeps coming; behind it, a zombie in a tracksuit pulls itself past the doorframe.
People are starting to notice, starting to flee or pull out weapons; it means fewer bystanders, and none in the danger zone right now. River's up on a table, firing shot after shot with her borrowed gun. It takes her a couple of shots to adjust to this particular weapon, but the relatively close range helps.
Which is to say: there are a lot of headshots happening.
Tom whirls when he feels someone going for his gun, but by the time he turns River is already firing, and since she's not firing at him he's not inclined to complain about her stealing his weaponry at the moment.
"You really shouldn't let your things out of sight like that," comments Bob, from the store. "Waste of resources, you know?"
"Would you shut up!" Tom snarls, taking out a zombie standing just past Bob. Shooting at Bob never does any good.
Of all the things that might happen, Fynn isn't exactly mentally prepared for this.
But it doesn't take him long. Zombies are rather a bad thing, one could imagine. And it seems like this poor fellow needs some help.
Fynn places his glasses on a table.
No time to remove clothing. Sigh.
Thirty seconds after Tom screams at the zombies, a vaguely-polite and (is that an Irish accent?) gruff voice that is rather far above Tom's head tells him "Out of the way, lad."
Fynn really wouldn't want to hurt Tom when he loses most of his control. He's got the barest bit of it right now anyway.
But Fynn has engaged and really, all he understands is that they are a threat and in front of him, and they need to not be in the building.
Rotten teeth and broken fingernails slide relatively harmlessly off his coat. Even healthy human bones and tissue are no match for a swipe of normal bear paws, and nothing about this situation matches those details. Zombie heads are at just the level of his paws, and make rather satisfying squish sounds. Mind the splatter, folks. Apparently it's infectious. Feel free to shoot something if you feel like it, Tom! Camaraderie, and all that.
Between the claws and the paws and the almost-tonne of angry bear pushing against them, there is no longer a welcome for the zombies inside Milliways. If Tom was smart, he'd shut the door before Fynn goes through it looking for more.
Comments 309
"Get down!"
The zombie in the lead gets a few well-aimed shots to the neck.
Reply
The zombie makes some pretty horrible sounds, but doesn't stop coming forward. Tom turns, staying low, and hits the zombie in the forehead.
"Headshots!" he barks at -- Shaun? No, one of those Shaun lookalikes. Whatever.
Reply
( ... )
Reply
Reply
"Look, I'll bring them back, I promise, but--
Seriously. I'm going to be the least of your problems in a minute.
Thank you."
Which is how Doll comes charging for the front door with a meat cleaver in one hand and a chef's knife in the other.
She lets her feet go out from under her and slides the last few feet. The meat cleaver hits the first zombie in the shin.
Reply
Tom scrambles out of the way, staring.
Reply
She wrenches the cleaver free as she gets to her feet, driving the knife up through the zombie's jaw and into his brain.
"You okay there, honey?"
Reply
The next zombie is reaching for Doll's hair; Tom aims and fires, hitting it in the chest and knocking it backwards.
Reply
Ash knows that. They're not demons - they're much more slow.
...Usually.
holy shit...
He gets up, aims the gun and lets out a high pitched whistle to draw the attention of one of the zombies.
And promptly makes paste of its brains with a blast of buckshot.
Sometimes there's no time for a clever quip until you've in the middle of the battle.
Reply
Well, except the one Ash just shot in the face. That certainly stopped it in its tracks.
Tom ducks instinctively at the blast, then turns and starts firing to help.
"On your left," he yells, as a zombie leans past the door frame and reaches for Ash.
Reply
Ash gets that one by socking it right in the face with his gauntlet hand. The skull sort of...explodes. All over the place. And them.
"Jelly. Faced. Bastard. I. Just. Washed. THAT!" He hates laundry. And monsters.
Reply
"Aw, Christ," he moans.
No time to panic about how many potentially-infected zombie bits this guy is flinging all over, though. He shakes it off and drops a zombified runner with a headshot.
Reply
She's off the couch in the same instant, diving over the back into a roll and scramble, hand clenching shut on the rungs of a nearby chair. It's all fluid with the kind of controlled grace that only comes unconsciously -- and then she falters, stumbling mid-motion into an instant's poised crouch.
"They're all made of hunger," she whispers, wide eyes fixed on Tom. "Killed them once."
And then the first zombie makes it through the doorway, more shambling at its heels, and River's moving again.
Reply
Tom fires clumsily at the first zombie -- a big guy in a Cowboys T-shirt -- and succeeds in blowing the side of its head away. It staggers but keeps coming; behind it, a zombie in a tracksuit pulls itself past the doorframe.
Reply
Now there's not.
People are starting to notice, starting to flee or pull out weapons; it means fewer bystanders, and none in the danger zone right now. River's up on a table, firing shot after shot with her borrowed gun. It takes her a couple of shots to adjust to this particular weapon, but the relatively close range helps.
Which is to say: there are a lot of headshots happening.
Reply
Tom whirls when he feels someone going for his gun, but by the time he turns River is already firing, and since she's not firing at him he's not inclined to complain about her stealing his weaponry at the moment.
"You really shouldn't let your things out of sight like that," comments Bob, from the store. "Waste of resources, you know?"
"Would you shut up!" Tom snarls, taking out a zombie standing just past Bob. Shooting at Bob never does any good.
Reply
Are those.
Of all the things that might happen, Fynn isn't exactly mentally prepared for this.
But it doesn't take him long. Zombies are rather a bad thing, one could imagine. And it seems like this poor fellow needs some help.
Fynn places his glasses on a table.
No time to remove clothing. Sigh.
Thirty seconds after Tom screams at the zombies, a vaguely-polite and (is that an Irish accent?) gruff voice that is rather far above Tom's head tells him "Out of the way, lad."
Fynn really wouldn't want to hurt Tom when he loses most of his control. He's got the barest bit of it right now anyway.
Zombies, meet giant manbear.
Reply
Let's blame the slowness of his response on the fact that he hasn't eaten much in the last few months, shall we?
"--Oh my God," he says, "I'm in Milliways oh thank Christ don't eat them they're infectious" and now he's getting out of the way.
Reply
But Fynn has engaged and really, all he understands is that they are a threat and in front of him, and they need to not be in the building.
Rotten teeth and broken fingernails slide relatively harmlessly off his coat. Even healthy human bones and tissue are no match for a swipe of normal bear paws, and nothing about this situation matches those details. Zombie heads are at just the level of his paws, and make rather satisfying squish sounds. Mind the splatter, folks. Apparently it's infectious. Feel free to shoot something if you feel like it, Tom! Camaraderie, and all that.
Between the claws and the paws and the almost-tonne of angry bear pushing against them, there is no longer a welcome for the zombies inside Milliways. If Tom was smart, he'd shut the door before Fynn goes through it looking for more.
Reply
Once there are more corpses than zombies, though, he moves forward to start closing the door.
"Hey, uh--"
You're kind of in the way of closing the door, giant manbear!
Reply
Leave a comment