Stadt Der Untoten (City Of The Undead)

[MyLittleHellhound]

The shrieks and roars rang in Morton's ears as he hurried up the rope. "Sh*t man, hurry up!" Smith yelled. He let out a burst of fire which splattered the crawlers below. Smith pulled Morton up the ledge. Keenan yelled something but it was lost in the sounds of gunfire and crawlers. "Duck!" Franco yelled. He threw himself to the littered floor and covered his ears. Morton took the hint and did the same. A deafening *BOOM* shook the floor and fire roared up from the elevator shaft. The air smelled like cordite and roasted flesh. Franco picked himself up off the ground and dusted off his pants. "There ain't nothing a little explosives can't fix reet?" he joked. Morton was darkly reminded of Johnson. The bastard. "Let's get the f*ck outta this place. I'm sick and tired of it." Smith said. The team moved out with tactical lights shining on the walls.

"These shadows and lights are playing hell with my eyes," Franco complained, "we can't turn them off?" "Shut up and keep going" someone said. They passed through the courtyard where Thomas went down. Morton tried to avoid looking at the pile of charred bodies and marks on the concrete. Finally, after about 3 hours of turns, backtracking, and moving up and down stairs, they spotted the exit. Suddenly an explosion shook the ground and forced the group to their feet. Morton looked up. Dust shook free of the cracked ceiling and cracks started to appear. "Oh f*ck, MOVE MOVE MOVE!!!!" Keenan screamed. Morton scrabbled to his feet and dived sideways as a huge chunk of drywall crashed down, sending up a white cloud. He coughed and stumbled like a drunk man. A tactical light pierced the darkness. "Keenan! Thank god! Where is everyone else!?" Morton coughed. "I dunno, but we need to get upstairs! There are zombies, I heard them. Also, the front entrance is blocked!!" Keenan analysed.

After some stumbling about, they found the stairwell. Their dusty shoes made no sound as they slowly padded up the stairs. There. A zombie was gnawing on something, its back was turned. Keenan motioned, then sprinted up to the zombie. The zombie turned around, and snapped with its blood smeared jaws. The jaws snapped an inch from his face. Keenan growled and slashed at it with his combat knife. The zombie was cut, but did no damage. It swung at him and hit Keenan, sending him flying across the room into a cabinet. Keenan picked himself up, and could feel his side burning. "F*ck you." Keenan growled. He pulled a shotgun from his back, and pulled the trigger. The zombie was hit full on with the frag shells and was thrown backwards. It slumped, and finally lay still. After some more searching, they found a window from where they could jump out. It was a short distance to the ground. The ground rumbled again. Neither of them said a word. Keenan jumped out first to land on the ground with a thud. He motioned to Morton, and as he prepared to jump, something curious happened. There was a click of ignition, and fire blossomed to pick him up and throw him out onto the street. The explosion blasted the whole building, and it crumbled, sending chunks of brick everywhere. Morton landed with a sickening crack on the pavement, and rolled to a stop. "Sh*t!" Keenan cursed. Just as he rushed over the unconcious Morton, a horde of zombies stumbled around the corner. They had been spotted. Keenan observed that Morton's pulse was weak, but if they could get him somewhere safe...............

[MyLittleHellhound]

The sun was setting soon over the infested city. In the quiet streets there were only two men, and a horde of zombies. “C’mon, c’mon!” Keenan muttered. He was carrying Morton on his back, and damn, he was heavy. Keenan felt the sweat rolling down his face as he stumbled towards a large van. The zombies were behind him, he could smell it. The stench of rotting flesh and rancid meat filled the air like a gas. Keenan ripped open the door and stepped back as a corpse fell out onto the street. He got Morton in the passenger seat and tried to hotwire the car as quickly as possible. The zombies were almost on him. The wires finally sparked and the engine roared. Keenan pulled out a pistol and shot the closest zombie. The 9mm rounds punched through the soft and rotten flesh of its head and ripped the face apart. All that remained was a slick spinal column protruding from a ragged neck. Yet the zombie still stumbled. Keenan cursed, and booted it in the chest. He got into the driver’s seat just as the zombies reached him, more vigorous now that fresh brains were in touching distance. Keenan yelled and quickly slammed the door on the horde. A hand was severed and flopped around like a fish on the cube van’s floor. “Mother of God why won’t you f*cking die!!” Keenan screamed. He pressed on the gas pedal and the truck roared off, hitting a few zombies and sucking them under like a vacuum. The van screeched around a corner and they were gone.

Just as Franco got to his feet, another explosion detonated with a shriek, which threw Franco off and he hacked away and fell to the ground. His vision was blurry and somehow, he couldn’t hear anything. Franco shook his head and noticed that the building had completely collapsed. The smoke was clouding his senses. A hand grabbed his and hauled him up. It was Smith. “Hey, you okay? We lost Morton and Keenan, can’t find them anywhere.” Smith told him. Franco patted his gun and pointed to the barely distinguishable exit. “There. We can search for them. Maybe they went out already?” he said. Smith agreed and they found their way out of the building through a side door. The sky was growing dark. “If we exited on the East side of the building, then that means if we just go forwards and turn left and we’ll be in front of the building right!?” Franco discovered. “Way to go Einstein, why don’t you try designing something that WON’T get us killed.” Smith said dryly. The pair stalked up the street, encountering a few zombies, but easily avoiding them. Just as they were about to round the corner, they heard a pair of gunshots. “It might be Keenan and Morton!!” Smith hoped. They sprinted around the corner and took in the scene. They saw Keenan, no Morton in sight. The horde of zombies was around the van, clawing and moaning and denting the van. Keenan yelled something and took off in the van. Franco sighted down his battered PSG-1. He lowered the scope slowly. “Let’s go. Right now!!!” he screamed. Franco turned and sprinted back the way they came as the zombie horde charged, ground shuddering under the pure mass of deviated human experiments……

Smith kept running. His legs were burning and his head was pounding. He needed a drink. A large one. The zombie horde behind him growled with the ferocity of a wolf. The cracked pavement vibrated under the sheer weight. Smith primed a grenade and threw it behind his shoulder. Fire and shrapnel blossomed and eliminated no more than 30 zombies, they were so packed together. The explosion rattled Smith’s ears and he could see Franco up ahead, gesturing and yelling frantically in the doorway of a private and exclusive hotel. Smith dived into the lobby’s elevator with Franco as the undead loomed on their doorstep. Franco jammed the button for the top floor, and the elevator buzzed, as if to say, f*ck you, just give up already. “Hurry the f*ck up man!!!” Smith yelled. He raised his machine gun and fired from the hip, knocking zombies off their feet with the sheer mass of bullets. The doors started to close, and Smith breathed a sigh of relief. Suddenly, rotten hands pulled the door apart! “F*CK YOU!!” Franco roared. He levered the barrel of a sub-machine gun into the doors and fired. The flash played hell with Smith’s vision. The doors were clear for a moment and the elevator accelerated upwards. There was a bloodstain on the floor, the blood leading up to an open panel in the wall. The lights in the elevator sparked. The screams and moans echoed in the elevator shaft. But they were safe for now, and that was all that mattered. But where the hell would Keenan go? And if Morton was stuck back there, or with him?

[SaLaD_FiNgErS_HD]

if your still having problems with the end a have a pretty good idea that fits. Pm me if your interested but anyways brains for all of your work its been a great read [brains]

[MyLittleHellhound]

The cities’ lights were still on, thanks for that. The engine was like a tiger roaring its ass off in Keenan’s head. The flashing neon signs and ads shot Keenan’s vision to sh*t as he drove through the party area of the city. The truck was an old one, that’s for sure. The exterior was chipped, battered, dented, bloodstained, you name it. The upholstery was a horrible shade of yellow, and there was some dried puke in the backseat. “Way to go Keenan, you did it again! You chose the wrong damn car!” Keenan muttered to himself. Morton began to stir in the passenger seat. He rubbed his head and scrambled for his gun. “Whoa! What….what happened…?” he wondered. “Yo, you were out for a couple minutes after that collapse back at the lab.” Keenan explained. He filled Morton in on the zombie horde, and why they were in this car. No. This sh*tty car. “So we are split up then. In this crock-pot city.” Morton concluded. “Yep buddy, we are in the sh*t!” Keenan laughed joyously. To him, it was all a blur now. Endless bloodshed and slaughter. He had come to this damn country for peace and quiet, he remembered. The rolling hills, the bright fields, and the forests. He barely had enough money to move, and buy his cottage in the small town. Then the damn city started to encroach. The newspapers, the forms to fill out, all of that. He was evicted. Then Keenan remembered his jail time. After he spit on a tax collectors boot. They got into a fight. Right hook, uppercut, boy, he popped out one of the son of a b*tche’s eyes. They hauled him away to jail, and that’s when the zombies must have popped out of the lab. Keenan snapped back to the present. He rubbed his eyes. Holy sh*t, he was tired. Morton looked over, “Hey, you want me to drive for a bit? Where are we headed?” Keenan replied, “You sure? Alright, we’re headed for that World War One Monument over there. There’s some good shelter there, easy place to defend.” Morton and Keenan switched seats and Keenan drifted off in the disgusting upholstery……..

The truck wheezed and rattled to a stop. Morton shook Keenan awake. “We’re here, don’t worry, you can rest soon.” Keenan yawned, and stretched his aching limbs. His bones crackled and popped. Keenan hauled himself out of the truck and observed his surroundings. The Monument stood in the center of a field of grass. Trees were dotted in the open space, providing shade. Tall buildings rose up all around them, making it seem like they were in a giant cage. This place used to be magnificent. Now, there were barricades, supply crates, and garbage littering the whole field. Bloodstains and mangled corpses lay strewn around. In the center beside the monument, there was an M1 Abrams. “Alright, let’s move.” Keenan signaled. Morton crept forward and looked down his sights. He shook his head. Not good. Keenan looked in the same direction and let out a small gasp. Zombies swarmed out of the ground from unseen craters and began to stumble about, letting out small moans and growls. A lot of them were civvies Keenan noticed. They must have been infected! Morton crept over and tapped Keenan on the shoulder. “What should we do? There are too many of them for us to kill!” Morton whispered. “Well, the tank……” Keenan thought. If they could just get to that Abrams, then their troubles would be solved. “Look! Something is moving in that tank!” Morton pointed. Keenan squinted. The hatch creaked open and a small man in stature leapt out. He appeared to have a pistol in one hand, along with a…..katana? The zombies gravitated towards him as he stowed his pistol and began to swing the sword. Moans and rotten flesh smell reached Keenan and Morton’s senses as they sprinted forwards towards the man. They had to save him. The man yelled out something unprintable as he sliced off the heads of three zombies in one swing. The zombies collapsed, blood spurting from neck stumps. He was surrounded though, and fast running out of strength. Normally, the sword would kill or maim in one hit, but that was when you’re facing soft and fleshy humans. These were the undead. Totally different. They didn’t mind losing an arm or a leg. Keenan took aim with his assault rifle and made a grim smile as the bullets tore the zombies off their feet. The guns were churning and the zombies were getting slaughtered like fish in a barrel. For every bullet, it probably hit two or three zombies. Morton threw himself into the fight, using an AA-12 to clear the way. The hail of bullets smashed zombies and guts spilled out making the air rotten. The man extracted himself from a zombies grip and uttered a short thank you before slicing a zombie fully in half. It fell apart like a pineapple. Bones flew and Morton grabbed one, using it to club one of the zombies. They growled, they tore, they bit, but Morton and Keenan and the man were too fast. In a matter of seconds, they had killed about 70, 100 at most. Keenan clenched his teeth and smashed the butt of his gun into one attacking zombie. It stumbled back as the rotten flesh beneath gave way to the tubular stock. “F*ck, I’m outta ammo!” Keenan shouted. He ripped a blade out of his leg sheath and proceeded to slash and disable to zombies. “To the tank! To the tank!” Morton yelled. Keenan elbowed and slashed his way to the battered and bloody M1 Abrams. The man was on the turret, blasting away the zombies with a .50 caliber mounted machine gun. The spent shells spat out of the turret and showered the ground. Zombies moaned and grabbed for the flesh within the armoured beast. Morton fired up the engine and the tank growled even louder than the zombie horde. “Get that thing outta here,” Morton said, “I don’t want it biting my ass when I least f*cking expect it.” Keenan hauled the dead marine out of the tank, took his dog tags, and threw the body to the zombies. They fell upon it. A funeral for the damned. A cremation for the insane. A last wish for the sick f*ckers. Keenan watched for a second, and then shut the hatch. “All system’s operational, let’s roll.” Morton checked. The tank smashed through the zombies and they were through, leaving a crimson streak on the already crimson ground.

[MyLittleHellhound]

The display was the colour of some sort of green. It barely lit up the cramped interior of the Abrams Tank. Morton licked his lips and settled into a more comfortable position, nevertheless still pretty uncomfortable. Keenan squinted at the display. “Are we in the clear yet?” he asked. The man replied, “They’re still following us,” turning to look at Keenan, “those fuckers are persistent aren’t they-SHIT!” The tank rolled its way across a row of cars that the man failed to notice before. The crunching of glass and screeching metal was torture to Keenan’s ears. The man’s voice was light and easy, but it seemed to carry a dark undertone. He was hiding something. “How many survivors do you think there are?” Keenan asked. “Well, a lot of those bodies were my friends, sorry, I’m Carl. I shut myself in the tank after I knew it was over. I’m not proud of it.” Keenan considered this for a moment, and then pulled out a cigarette. “I don’t judge.” he said as he opened the hatch above. Keenan peered out into the rising sun. Keenan took several slow drags before flicking the cigarette in the general direction of the zombies. Some shelter. Growls came from the left and right and Keenan snapped his gaze to dozens, no hundreds, no THOUSANDS of zombies coming from both directions. “WE GOTTA PROBLEM,” Keenan shouted to Morton and Carl, “There’s about two thousand of them f*ckers that we gotta deal with!” “Yeah we are in the shite boys!” Carl yelled. Keenan got on the .50 cal just in case any of them got any funny ideas. The tank accelerated making Keenan lean forwards and the treads smashed through the zombies, making little thumps and sending some flying over the front of the tank. Arms and legs were stuck in the treads and pinwheeled. Blood pooled and sprayed, intestines spreading like grotesque Christmas ornaments. The tank slowed down as the mashed meat and bones jammed up the treads. Grinding sounds resounded deep in the tank and Morton swore. If they got stuck……….

The elevator pinged and Smith stepped out, sweeping his barrel around. The hallway was unlit except for a couple of flickering fluorescents. Franco rolled out with gusto and crouched, eyes flickering this way and that. His ears pricked up at the sound of glass. Smith heard it too. It came from the room directly across from them. Smith kicked down the door and recoiled at the sight before him. A zombie was gnawing on a bone from…….he didn’t know what. The intestines were draped all over, on the floor, on the walls, and on the bookshelf. A still squirming stomach lay on the bloodstained carpet and an eye dangled from the head that was strewn on the floor. The blood made the floor slippery and Smith stumbled. Franco shot the zombie in the head. Rotten brains coated the walls and the zombie slipped in its own victim’s blood, moaning. Franco grabbed a book from the shelf, which just happened to be the Bible, and smashed the zombie sending flesh chunks and bits of teeth and tongues everywhere. Moans and growls traveled from the stairwell and the opposite end of the hallway. Franco swore and his eyes widened. Through the stairwell burst an undead horde of crawlers and zombies. Smith scrambled back and fired an entire magazine into the stumbling undead. The zombies danced in the sheer volume of bullets and crawlers exploded into clouds of flesh and gas which spread. “Don’t breathe that shit in.” Franco yelled. The pair turned down the ruined hallway and made a left turn. A concierge lay on the floor, blood pooling from a ripped off arm. His chest was ripped open and his heart dangled like a bobble. They kept running. “Fire escape!! Roof!!” Smith hollered. His lungs were burning and his head pounded. Franco slammed the steel door with his shoulder and the door buckled. It held. Smith looked behind him and fired off another couple rounds. The gas from the crawlers was spreading towards them like an infection. Franco slammed it again and the door fell away with a ripping noise. The cold night air greeted the two men and the gravel crunched under their boots. A corpse lay chained to an old rusting pipe, the face in an expression of horror. Smith didn’t look back, he only followed Franco. Franco ducked and weaved through the different pipes, heading for the next building. A tremor resonated deep within the building and brought Smith to the ground. The gravel under him vibrated. It sounded like a thousand pounds of that snap crackle pop shit to him. Franco yelled back to Smith. “C’mon! Almost there!” Smith squinted through a red and black haze as the zombies bore down on him, rotten flesh and all. He felt the tug of the fingers, the teeth clacking, and knew that it was over. He would die here. Hell, after all they’d been through, only to die when escape was in sight. Franco rushed back to Smith howling in rage. The guns boomed and zombies were blown off their feet, arms flailing and eyes glowing. A callused hand grasped Smith’s own and hauled him to his feet. A loud *CRACK* split the night air and the building groaned. “Shit, the building is coming down! Jump Smith JUMP!!!!!!!” Franco screamed. The next building was in sight! Smith sprinted with all his might, combat boots churning the gravel, and he leapt. His arms extended towards the lip of the roof and he looked down at a fissure in the pavement, the pathway to death and Hell. Car alarms shrieked and zombie moans punctuated the chaos. Smith hit the roof hard. His fingers slipped and he dangled off the lip, trying to get a grip with sweaty and bleeding hands. Franco leapt and landed with a thud on the roof, rolling to a stop. He cursed and ran back to Smith, “HOLD ON!!!” he cried. Smith clenched his teeth and grabbed the hand. The hotel they had just narrowly escaped from collapsed, bottom floors compressing with distressed metal and splintering wood. Dust clouded the air and the rooftop caved in, sending many zombies to their deaths. The whole building disappeared from view. “It was a fucking earthquake for the love of God!” Franco complained, “Those are all the fucking tremors we’ve been experiencing!!!” “Thanks man, you saved my ass back there. I owe you a couple.” Smith said. The two men clasped hands, and proceeded across the desolate city rooftops.

[MyLittleHellhound]

If you were to look from a bird’s eye view onto the tank, it would be modern art. A beige streak rectangle with thousands of black swarming dots, and a large slash of red paint behind the rectangle. Almost artistic in a sense, that is if you weren’t experiencing it. Morton jammed down the triggers of the .50 cal. The machine gun whined as it blasted off chunks of flesh and bone, turning the pavement red and squishy underfoot as flesh came off in pieces. “Hurry the fuck up!!!” Morton shouted, trying to be heard over the growls and moans. The tank’s engine revved, and shot forward with a burst of speed. Squelching sounds sounded under the tank and Morton pushed ear plugs in further, god, that was sick……The .50 cal clicked and stopped firing. With a sigh, it winded down and smoke trailed from the barrel. The zombies, realizing that the gun was out of ammo, attacked with renewed vigor. Morton tugged free his shotgun and shoved the barrel under one drooling chin. The 12 gauge blew out the zombie’s brains in a bright fountain of brain and gristle. Its tongue rolled out of the bottomless head, flopping onto the body of the tank. Morton shoved it away with a grunt and slammed his elbow straight through another freakbag. He felt its eye pop, and the brain give way in the rotten skull as his elbow continued its grisly journey through another head. The creature fell back with a sickening crunch and got caught in one of the bloodstained ropes on the side of the tank. Inside, Carl was struggling to keep the tank going. Keenan shouted at him, “Use a fucking AP Shell!!!!!” Carl fired the tank’s main gun with devastating results. The large shell hurtled through the zombies on a straight trajectory, knocking zombies off their feet or just plain going through the mass of flesh. The explosion rattled the tank and zombie chunks hit the tank on all sides. Keenan hauled himself up with Carl’s sword in hand. Yelling a war cry, he swung and decapitated a zombie climbing steadily towards Morton and his brains. The zombie shuddered and went limp. Again, Keenan struck and the blade went cleanly through an abdomen and came out with a rotten kidney. Carl fired the main gun, accidentally hitting a skyscraper that was barely standing up. It groaned and pieces of concrete and glass shattered in the crowd of zombies. Keenan looked up for a second at the teetering skyscraper. “Tell Carl to get the fuck out. Now. NOW GODDAMNIT!!!!!” he yelled, taking out a large machine gun and mowing down zombies. Morton tapped Carl on the shoulder and soon enough, the skyscraper began to fall. Straight towards them. The three men elbowed, shoved, and blasted their way through the rest of the zombies and stumbled across the street. The horde of zombies looked up at the shadow. And got 500,000 pounds of concrete and glass right up their ass.

Glass crunched underfoot as Franco padded down the stairs followed by Smith. An acrid stench filled the air as Franco touched a door, leaping back with a hiss. “It’s fucking hot on the other side.” He cursed. They kept going. A couple of times they encountered zombies, but there didn’t seem to be the normal amount. Soon enough, they arrived at the first floor. The carpet was chewed up and the couches were ripped, but then again, this was a zombie apocalypse. The doorman, or what remained of him, was strewn across the desk and floor. Speakers still faintly played a piano tune. Blood dripped from chairs and a lonely arm, pale and bloody, was hanging onto a doorknob that its owner would never open. Other bodies were there too. Military personnel it would seem. Smith grimaced. “Shit man, this is bad…..” Zombie parts lay all over the place, a heart there, a brain over in that corner. A head was skewered on a metal pole. It was a truly gruesome scene. Franco eased open the door and bright light filled the room. Smith shielded his eyes. An ear-splitting shriek filled the air. Franco dropped to his knees and covered his ears. Overhead, a skyscraper collapsed, sending up a dust cloud like a mushroom. The sound reached them a second later, as well as the shockwave. Glass shattered as an extremely powerful wave hammered the buildings. Smith was thrown back and collapsed into a bookshelf. Through blurry vision, he saw the doorknob open. He remembered this place, when he was little. The grand hotel next to them. Oh god. No….His parents had been killed here, by a raging gunman. His sister, after a few years, worked here as a clerk. He didn’t know what happened to her after the events that led up to this moment. He didn’t know where she was. But the zombies filed into the room, eyes sweeping for brains. They were dressed like clerks. And one of them…no……it looked like his sister…….

[Wunder Waffle]

good story titles a bit meh

[MyLittleHellhound]

If you were to look from a bird’s eye view onto the tank, it would be modern art. A beige streak rectangle with thousands of black swarming dots, and a large slash of red paint behind the rectangle. Almost artistic in a sense, that is if you weren’t experiencing it. Morton jammed down the triggers of the .50 cal. The machine gun whined as it blasted off chunks of flesh and bone, turning the pavement red and squishy underfoot as flesh came off in pieces. “Hurry the fuck up!!!” Morton shouted, trying to be heard over the growls and moans. The tank’s engine revved, and shot forward with a burst of speed. Squelching sounds sounded under the tank and Morton pushed ear plugs in further, god, that was sick……The .50 cal clicked and stopped firing. With a sigh, it winded down and smoke trailed from the barrel. The zombies, realizing that the gun was out of ammo, attacked with renewed vigor. Morton tugged free his shotgun and shoved the barrel under one drooling chin. The 12 gauge blew out the zombie’s brains in a bright fountain of brain and gristle. Its tongue rolled out of the bottomless head, flopping onto the body of the tank. Morton shoved it away with a grunt and slammed his elbow straight through another freakbag. He felt its eye pop, and the brain give way in the rotten skull as his elbow continued its grisly journey through another head. The creature fell back with a sickening crunch and got caught in one of the bloodstained ropes on the side of the tank. Inside, Carl was struggling to keep the tank going. Keenan shouted at him, “Use a fucking AP Shell!!!!!” Carl fired the tank’s main gun with devastating results. The large shell hurtled through the zombies on a straight trajectory, knocking zombies off their feet or just plain going through the mass of flesh. The explosion rattled the tank and zombie chunks hit the tank on all sides. Keenan hauled himself up with Carl’s sword in hand. Yelling a war cry, he swung and decapitated a zombie climbing steadily towards Morton and his brains. The zombie shuddered and went limp. Again, Keenan struck and the blade went cleanly through an abdomen and came out with a rotten kidney. Carl fired the main gun, accidentally hitting a skyscraper that was barely standing up. It groaned and pieces of concrete and glass shattered in the crowd of zombies. Keenan looked up for a second at the teetering skyscraper. “Tell Carl to get the fuck out. Now. NOW GODDAMNIT!!!!!” he yelled, taking out a large machine gun and mowing down zombies. Morton tapped Carl on the shoulder and soon enough, the skyscraper began to fall. Straight towards them. The three men elbowed, shoved, and blasted their way through the rest of the zombies and stumbled across the street. The horde of zombies looked up at the shadow. And got 500,000 thousand pounds of concrete and glass right up their ass.

Glass crunched underfoot as Franco padded down the stairs followed by Smith. An acrid stench filled the air as Franco touched a door, leaping back with a hiss. “It’s fucking hot on the other side.” He cursed. They kept going. A couple of times they encountered zombies, but there didn’t seem to be the normal amount. Soon enough, they arrived at the first floor. The carpet was chewed up and the couches were ripped, but then again, this was a zombie apocalypse. The doorman, or what remained of him, was strewn across the desk and floor. Speakers still faintly played a piano tune. Blood dripped from chairs and a lonely arm, pale and bloody, was hanging onto a doorknob that its owner would never open. Other bodies were there too. Military personnel it would seem. Smith grimaced. “Shit man, this is bad…..” Zombie parts lay all over the place, a heart there, a brain over in that corner. A head was skewered on a metal pole. It was a truly gruesome scene. Franco eased open the door and bright light filled the room. Smith shielded his eyes. An ear-splitting shriek filled the air. Franco dropped to his knees and covered his ears. Overhead, a skyscraper collapsed, sending up a dust cloud like a mushroom. The sound reached them a second later, as well as the shockwave. Glass shattered as an extremely powerful wave hammered the buildings. Smith was thrown back and collapsed into a bookshelf. Through blurry vision, he saw the doorknob open. He remembered this place, when he was little. The grand hotel next to them. Oh god. No….His parents had been killed here, by a raging gunman. His sister, after a few years, worked here as a clerk. He didn’t know what happened to her after the events that led up to this moment. He didn’t know where she was. But the zombies filed into the room, eyes sweeping for brains. They were dressed like clerks. And one of them…no……it looked like his sister…….

[MyLittleHellhound]

Sorry for the double post!

The barrel wavered in between each zombie as Smith was struck senseless. The zombie, once his sister, was shuffling towards him, a slow and repetitive movement. Her dark hair hung in lanky strands and an eye was missing. The face was rotted away, jaw showing through the hole in her lower mouth area. The gums of her mouth were black and the teeth, bloodstained with chunks of god knows what. Smith squeezed his eyes shut, and fired at his zombified sister. The bullet whizzed past her rotting flesh, and slammed into a rotten desk clerk’s skull with a solid *thwack*. The zombie flailed backwards and tipped over a desk and chair, crashing to the ground. Franco barreled in, firing with one hand and the other, holding a crowbar. He slammed the metal into the zombified girl with a *crunch* and sent her back to the grave. He then aimed and fired three successive shots with the USP, sending three zombies with mashed heads to sink to their knees and die, the light fading from their eyes. “C’mon! Get the fuck up, there’s a good lad,” Franco encouraged, grinning as he whirled and ripped a zombie head off with the crowbar, “don’t let me have all the fun!” Smith hauled himself up with stiff joints. A zombie swung at him and he ducked, the force ruffling his hair. Smith rolled and put a vicious uppercut to the zombie, cracking the jaw and splintering teeth. He then kicked it and ripped off a wooden leg of a chair, stabbing the zombie through the chest and pinning it to the debris-strewn ground. Smith turned and roundhouse kicked another zombie, this one dressed like a businessman, through the window. Glass shattered as the body sailed into a meeting room. “Let’s bust this popsicle stand!” yelled Smith as he narrowly dodged a bite, the infected jaws snapping only inches from his ear. Franco sprinted out of the hotel with Smith and got into a nearby vehicle, not overturned by the shockwave. “Not anything could have collapsed a skyscraper, we should check it out.” said Franco. Smith nodded and they drove through the streets still echoing of childhood memories.

Morton’s feet clattered against the cobblestone and pavement, running for his life. He could hear the skyscraper, and see the shadow catching up with him. He looked up through teary eyes and saw Keenan and Carl swerve into a nearby restaurant. Morton pushed his legs further, lungs panting for air. “DOWN HERE!!!” Keenan screamed. He motioned towards the stairs leading down. Morton vaulted himself into the stairwell and slid across the dirty floor with his back against the hallway. Carl and Keenan joined him a second later, all gasping for air. A moment later, the skyscraper collapsed with a crash and thunderclap. They heard glass and concrete tumble, thousands of pounds of concrete crushing and smashing their way through everything with pure momentum. It seemed like an eternity before the sounds stopped. Morton crept up the stairs and eased open the door with a dirty hand. He squinted and coughed as dust flooded in. The restaurant was unrecognizable. Concrete chunks and glass shards littered the floor, and all of the tables were overturned or smashed. Carl lifted his SMG and motioned towards a pile of concrete. A zombie lay, emitting soft moaning sounds as it sensed the three beings. Its eyes were gone, replaced with shards of glass and concrete. A large beam of steel impaled it through the stomach, spreading black blood across the tiled floor. “Shit” Keenan breathed. He knelt down next to the struggling zombie, and drew his knife. With a vicious slash, the zombie’s head rolled away and the body went limp. “Nothing deserves to suffer like that fucker did…” Keenan glared at them. Morton and Carl nodded with understanding. They couldn’t help but remember that these were once human beings who had normal lives, who were social, who didn’t eat other fucking people’s brains for a living. Keenan tried to move some of the rubble blocking the entrance, but to no avail. “We have to search for a way out the back then.” he reasoned. Morton took point, attaching a flashlight to his underslung rail. In these dirty and unlit hallways, graffiti was rampant. But not all of it was art, Carl realized. Some of it conveyed messages for help, for rescue, for locations of extraction. He saw one of them, the War Memorial. As the group went on, Carl couldn’t block the flood of brutality that had led him to this moment in time, the battle at the War Memorial……

“Let’s MOVE it people, I want a full perimeter by the time the sun starts to set!!!” the general roared. Carl scurried about, laying down barbed wire, sandbags, and mounting MGL MK1s. Other soldiers took positions in foxholes, and in bunkers hastily constructed with fast drying concrete. They were ready for the assault. Or as ready as anyone would be with an army of fucking undead at your doorstep. The General wielded his M-243 and sat at the top of the M1 Abrams tank they had managed to get away with. He hoisted a speaker, and bellowed his prayers. “Alright you bunch of girls! Time for us to kick some zombie ass! I want all of you to HOLD YOUR POSITIONS NO MATTER WHAT! DO YOU HEAR ME???HOLD YOUR POSITIONS!!!!” The platoon roared, infused with the adrenaline of an oncoming battle. Carl adjusted his helmet and crouched behind the sandbags next to his friend, Pvt. Yu. The tall Asian man grinned at him and released his safety catch. The M16 was ready to kill, to maim, to slaughter. But then again, so were the zombies. The cold sunset air brought the stench of a million rotting bodies, and the moans echoed across the city. Carl hoisted his XM8, feeling the cold metal press against his cheek. “Here they come!!!” his Sergeant shouted to his squad. A short burst of fire opened up on the right of Carl. The light flashed from the barrel and a trio of zombie went down, punctured by the heavy rounds. Carl raised his scope to his eye, seeking out targets. He decided on a bloated zombie, dressed in a bright yellow shirt. Carl squeezed the trigger twice, and grimaced as he saw the bloated man explode and collapse like a marionette. By this time, all of the soldiers were firing at targets. Ultimately, the General knew they were doomed. How could one platoon hold off this many zombies? Yu switched his M16 to full auto and laughed as the bullets ripped and sliced their way through a quartet. “IS THAT ALL YOU SHITHEADS CAN DO!!?” Yu roared. He dropped the empty magazine with a clatter and inserted one with a clack. Carl switched his to full auto also, and fired away. His heart lifted as the zombies toppled like toy soldiers blood spurting and gristle leaking. All around him, soldiers were switching mags, calling out to each other, guns yammering away at the army. Time passed slowly as the zombies gained ground over hundreds of fallen brethren and bloodstained craters. The soldiers could not stem the tide, on every side. Carl was on his last magazine of the XM8, and Yu was using his sidearm. The zombies were only a hundred meters away now. The General called out, “FIX BAYONETS!!!” Carl was surprised the General would give such an order. Why use bayonets when you could gather all the ammo and blow a path outta here? Yu smiled, “Looks like the grunts have to obey.” he said. Carl nodded and shook Yu’s hand, then attached his knife to the XM8. All around them, soldiers patted each other on the back and made amends as they prepared to go to their deaths. A whistle pierced the moans and the soldiers yelled, knives glinting in the dying light. The wall of men charged the zombies, who were eager for the soft and supple flesh of the enemy. Carl screamed a war cry as he rammed a zombie with the bayonet, eager to end his fear and suffering. The zombie collapsed and Carl slashed at it again, slitting its head open. Yu cracked another head open with his gun, denting it. The zombies soon were on all sides of the soldiers. A huge explosion blew Carl off his feet and he realized that the General was shooting the fucking tank. He scrabbled on the ground and used his last magazine to clear the way back to the tank. Carl ran for it, not caring if all of his friends died, he just wanted to get away. Yu was in the middle of a pack of zombies, furiously fighting them off with his knife and broken gun. Carl looked on in horror as Yu was overwhelmed and dragged to the ground, rotten fingers pulling the skin off of his face. Yu’s face muscles were frozen in pain and horror, intestines spilling out like glistening spaghetti. Blood poured like a river across the grass. His mouth was open in an eternal scream and Carl forced himself to keep running. Again, he saw his Sergeant go down, being pulled in half by insane mad fucker tug of war. His uniform tattered and blood red. There was Pvt. Shoreman. Screaming as his leg was torn off and he was clubbed to death with it by an enraged zombie with a knife sticking out of its left eye. It was a death sentence for the soldiers. They didn’t stand a chance against the zombies. Carl sprinted back to the tank just as the zombies finished with all of the soldiers. Soldiers at the bunkers and barricades blasted them with machine guns, hot shards of metal puncturing faces, tearing limbs, but it was not enough. The zombies swarmed over the bunkers, and they were no more. Carl climbed into the tank unseen, and punched the General straight in the jaw. The General reeled back and collapsed, blood pouring from his mouth. Carl told the loader, “Hold them off. I need to deal with this son of a bitch.” The loader nodded and hoisted himself up. Carl grabbed the man’s shirt. “Why the fuck are you in command!?” Carl yelled. The General growled and slammed his fist into Carl’s nose, blood spattering his shirt. “Who the fuck are you to say that I shouldn’t be in command, GRUNT!?” Carl was about to reply with a pistol to the head when the loader on the turret was pulled over the tank, screaming, into the mass of zombies. “You’re outta time my friend!” Carl laughed, and pushed the General’s head out the hatch. Carl looked away as grasping claws and hands found their target, and the body jerked away and out the tank. Carl gulped and nearly vomited as a half eaten marine crawled through the hatch. Carl clenched the trigger and shot it propped it in the corner, then closed the hatch just as a hand reached in, severing it. He could hear them outside, clawing and banging the exterior. I should wait for help. There will be help. And I will get out of here.

[MyLittleHellhound]

The story shall be ending soon I’m afraid.

A tap on the shoulder brought Carl back to the present. “Pssst Carl,” Morton whispered, “we’re almost out onto the street”. Carl nodded and peered through the rubble. He eased his SMG out and prepared to kill. Keenan and Morton sprinted out, packs bouncing against their backs. They slid to a halt on the far side of the street. Keenan signaled. Clear. Carl hoisted himself up, ready to fire just in case. He half limped, half sprinted, looking like some bizarre creature in the distance. “Shit, we got Tangos down the street. About 200 give or take.” Keenan squinted. Morton looked through his binoculars, battered and scratched. “We are low on ammo from our previous engagement. We can’t take all of these guys at once.” Carl whispered. “We might find some at the nearby FOB, do you think?” Morton asked. Keenan nodded, and the group crept south.

The truck screeched to a halt, engine settling with a cough and wheeze. Franco stepped out onto a cracked zombie skull, leaking pus and brain juice. The air was dusty and a mist hung over the buildings. “I have zee-ro visibility out here boss.” Smith said. Franco crunched his way up the pile of rubble. Every so often he would come across a dead zombie and/or a body part. “Shit, will you look at this!?” Smith yelled over to him. Franco jogged over gun at the ready. Smith had moved some concrete, revealing a battered, dented, and most certainly used M1-Abrams. He felt the barrel of the MG. “Still hot, probably been about an hour, or two since the people last used it”. “Then there are survivors….perhaps Morton, and Keenan?” Franco asked. “For sure brother”.

Glass crunched underfoot as Keenan walked past a wrecked Humvee. Fire crackled in the distance. He peered inside. Two dead in the back. Driver dead most likely. He reached in to take the man’s ammunition for his gun. And the driver awoke. He stirred, ever so slightly, the seatbelt making a soft rasping noise on the damaged and raw skin. His burned fingers twitched, jaws moving minutely in a clacking motion. A soft growl emitted from his throat and Morton whirled, taking the shot. The bullet whizzed and buried itself in the zombie’s head, spraying Keenan with bright red. “Thanks…….” Keenan grinned at him. Carl knelt down and rolled over a body. The Marine stared up with glass eyes. Carl gently prized the magazines from the cold dead hands, and took his dog tags as well. Zombie moans split the hazy air and Keenan knew it was time to go. They had enough ammo, acquired a couple guns, and got what they needed. Time to get out. The men ran through the abandoned buildings, through strategy rooms, through weapons lockers. All trashed and broken. Suddenly Morton slid to a halt. “Woah….hold up there.” He said. Carl peered over his shoulder and grimaced. The double doors, once bolted, were hanging open. A corpse, half eaten, lay by the entrance. Several more, draped over desks, chairs, impaled on wood, steel, you name it. It was a mad house. Blood dripped somewhere and a gurgling sound was the only thing besides the survivor’s heavy breathing. “Shit. Last stand do you think?” Keenan whispered. Morton shook his head and walked into the room. It stank of death and decay. A glinting object took his eye. The metal felt smooth to his hand. “What the hell is this?” Keenan asked. Morton squinted. “Military Molecule Stripper”. MMS. “That isn’t standard issue is it?” Carl asked. “No smartass, I’ve never even heard of one of these.” Keenan joked. Morton put it to his shoulder. The gun was roughly the size of a Barrett .50 cal. Carl looked over his shoulder. “Guys, the zombies are coming!!!”. He raised his SMG and fired a burst. Zombies fell beneath the oncoming horde. The zombies were crowded in a tight hallway, allowing maybe three or 4 to come at them any one time. Morton turned the safety off the MMS. “Time to see what this baby does!” he howled. The gun whined like a caged animal and let loose a flickering beam of…..god knows what. The zombies were sliced in half and quarts of blood and bone poured out like punctured cans of Campbell’s Chicken Noodle Soup. The MMS went straight through the zombies in its way and Morton eased on the trigger. Blood and fluid swirled around their boots as well as intestines. Carl leaned over and was sick. “That’s one hell of a weapon sarge.” Keenan whistled. “Just don’t point it at my balls alright?”

[MyLittleHellhound]

The Last Chapter- Dedicated to all the people who helped me along the road, and special thanks to Ehjookayted and xAvengedLullabyx for their continued support on and off the forum!

5 kilometers from the city, a noise unheard of for a long time split the air. It was the roar of a chopper. The wandering dead in the streets paid no attention as the chopper continued its path into the city, searching for survivors. The dying sun cast an eerie light onto the city, basking it in blood. The pilot, identified as Macdonald, broadcast on the national emergency channel. “If there is anyone out there, there will be evacuation at 1200 hours at the Royalty Gardens. There will be no waiting. Out.” he spoke into the microphone. There were 4 other people on the chopper. 3 were soldiers and the other was the copilot. They cradled submachine guns and the turrets, watching for survivors that could hear them. One of the soldiers murmured, “Let’s just hope there is someone out there to evacuate….”

Smith and Franco slogged through the mud in their combat boots, muddy water swirling. The rain was relentless; it filled their eyes, ears, and soaked their skin. The matte black guns glistened in the horrible weather. Every corner seemed to hold a shadow, and it was starting to get on Franco’s nerves. Hell, it was starting to get on Smith’s too. Now was the time he could really think, when they weren’t on the run from some horde of zombies. God, they had lost so many good men. Was it lives wasted? Or lives spent. That was the question. Suddenly, a click of ignition. Smith was thrown backwards, and slammed into a concrete wall. The rain spattered his face, and blood ran from a cut above his left eye.

“Fucking shit Franco! Franco!?” he yelled. Smith groggily felt the grip of his pistol safely holstered. He eased it slightly out. Somehow he knew he was going to need it. Also, the explosion would bring down a fucking horde on them. Great. Just what they needed. Smith hauled himself up, slipping on the wet pavement. There was a completely trashed and burning wreck of a car from where he had been. A detonation? Or a mine? Perhaps a trap. Smith saw Franco, lying in the street. He stumbled over to him, eyes half closed through rain water. Franco was out, eyes closed. Fuck. Smith heard a moan, scrabbling to pull his pistol out from the rain soaked holster. The zombie was a citizen, hideously contorted beyond recognition. Strips of flesh hung like hair from its body. Smith tugged at his pistol again, but it was caught. The zombie seemed to move faster, sensing helpless prey, and free brains. Smith gave up, and pulled out his combat knife. So it was going to die the hard way. Franco stirred, fingers twitching. “Die you bastard!” Smith yelled. The zombie lunged for him, and Smith sidestepped, plunging the knife into its neck. The zombie moaned, but Smith held it in place. He then sawed his way through tendons and veins, cutting the zombie’s head off. The body slumped, blood spurting from the severed arteries. Smith suddenly had a horrible feeling as he kicked the head down the street, bouncing off a bench 300 feet far. He turned around with his bloodied knife, and saw a massive group of zombies stumbling his way. Shit. Franco climbed to his feet, rubbing his eyes with dirty hands. “Smith wha-“ Franco slowly turned around. He raised an eyebrow at Smith, who shrugged in reply. “Fuck you mate.” Franco yelled, and they both ran for their lives, with zombies on their tail.

Morton held up his hand, the signal to halt. He cocked an ear, a distant explosion echoing off the tall city buildings. It was raining, and hard. Water pooled on the floor and reflected the lights of their guns. “Northeast, about one kilometer away.” Keenan said. He stretched his aching legs, the lines on his face reflected in the dying light. “Let’s move!” Morton ordered. “An explosion may mean survivors!” Carl whispered excitedly. The group sloshed through the rain and sprinted on the pavement past wrecked cars and garbage. Morton held up his hand again. They were at the intersection. Suddenly, two blurry figures stumbled past, with no weapons so it seemed. Morton peered around the corner from where they came, and ducked, eyes wide. “Run. FUCKING RUN!!!!” he belted as he dug his heels in and shot off towards the two people that just passed. Carl frowned, and peered around the corner. He choked, and shot off after Morton. Keenan just stood in the rain, wondering why the hell they were running. Then he checked around the corner. A massive crowd of the undead clogged the streets, shoving and moaning and reaching for his flesh. So THAT’S why they were running. “Get with the fucking program.” Keenan said to himself as the horde spotted him. He fired off a couple of shots, sending some zombies down minus their heads. He then gave them the finger as he ran after Morton and Carl.

Morton’s heart pounded as he dashed after the two men. They looked strangely familiar…..but who were they? Names didn’t come to mind. “Hey! Wait up!” Morton shouted. The two figures stopped and turned. It was getting dark and fast. He couldn’t see their faces. He slowly walked up to them, and then realized. It was Franco and Smith! He shook both their hands, smiling. “Boy are we glad to see you guys! We have a whole horde behind us and no weapons!” Smith said, grinning. “That can be fixed.” Morton said, pumping his shotgun. Behind them, the two others caught up, priming their guns. Everyone greeted each other. “We can hold them off at the narrow bridge here. It extends over a river.” Franco pointed east. The group rushed over to the bridge, which was only as wide as a car. They piled rubble into a short wall to hold off the zombies. “I want charges down under the bridge, you got that Franco?” Keenan ordered. He tossed Franco a sack of C4. “Be careful with that shit.” Keenan warned. “Yessir!” Franco saluted sarcastically. Morton pointed to the sides of the bridge. “Smith, Carl, you guys take up position there, and throw grenades. But not on the bridge. Got it?” “On it Sarge!” they said in unison. Keenan and Morton brushed the rain and hair out of their faces. They saw the approaching horde, a dark blotch on the city. For the first time in days, the group had time to think. The city was in ruins. Was this happening all over the world? Probably. Morton sighed, and put aside his sadness and grief. He would honor his squad’s deaths by killing the zombies. He would get his squad, Keenan, Carl, and Franco included, out of this………crockpot. Keenan tapped his shoulder. “1000 meters and closing Morton. Good luck. If things go sour, Smith picked up a transmission. There’s evac at the Royalty Gardens later tonight. That’s our chance.” he told Morton. Morton contemplated this, rolling it around in his head. “So there are survivors. Royalty Gardens is right behind us isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.”

“So if we can’t hold this position, we fall back for evacuation.”

“Yes.”

“Get ready then, cause the party is about to start.”

Morton checked that his guns were fully loaded and that they worked properly. The rest of the men uttered their final prayers. The zombie horde was now 300 meters away. The group had grown over time, probably tripling to 3000 or so. Their moans and growls filled the night air, and Morton swallowed his fear. “Grenades on my mark.” Keenan yelled. Smith and Carl primed theirs. Morton took aim with his shotgun, turning it to the fully automatic setting. The horde shifted and revealed something deadly. The crawlers were here. A snag in their simple mission. “Mark!” Keenan roared. Grenades sailed through the air, incendiaries. They landed behind the front lines, and screamed fire. Tendrils of flame engulfed the horde and crawlers, turning skin to liquid, and bodies to burning husks of flesh. The zombies milled about, confused. More frag grenades exploded in their lines, sending hundreds of body parts into the air. Arms and legs splashed into the dark water. Blood ran in rivulets, soaking the stone. Morton popped up with his shotgun and jammed down on the trigger. Shells flew across the bridge and decimated their ranks. Zombies danced and jigged as they were torn apart by the rounds. Eyes, brains, gristle, and intestines covered the ground like a slaughterhouse. Morton laughed a crazy light in his eyes. “Light ‘em up boys!” Smith yelled. He fired his gun, bullets spraying like a fire hose. Within seconds, dozens of zombies were dead. But they kept on coming. Morton changed mags, dropping the spent one with a clatter against the white stone. The eyes of the zombies reflected in the light, a terrifying sight. The muzzle flash blinded him, but who has to aim when you got millions of targets on your doorstep? Soon, after a bloody advance, the zombies reached the wall. Carl knocked a couple back, and then used his sword to slice off their arms. Franco shoved his pistol in a zombie’s mouth, knocking out half of the blackened teeth. He pulled the trigger with a BANG and the zombie had a plate sized hole in its head. Smith emptied his gun, realized it was out of ammunition. He used it like a club, bashing in zombie heads. Blood spattered his face and it tasted disgusting. He spit it out with a growl and smashed his fist into its forehead, which gave a resounding crack. Keenan threw his knife into a zombie, and shot its face apart as it struggled to reach him. “We cannot hold them!” Franco yelled as he emptied his pistol. “There are too many!” The zombies were breaching the walls now, piles of their dead comrades assisting them. The smell of the dead was overpowering. “Fall back! Fall back! FUCK!” Keenan screamed. The zombies surrounded him, crowding him. He squeezed his eyes shut, and charged towards the edge of the circle of zombies. They shattered under his shoulder as he rammed them. The flailing zombie smashed into the wooden railing of the bridge, then flipped over the side. A splash came shortly after.

“Retreat! Fall back! The evac should be here soon!” Morton thundered. The squad pulled back, still firing. Dozens more of the undead were shredded under the onslaught of metal. Hundreds more tore down the barrier, and flooded the bridge. The survivors ran and slid behind the building. “Do it.” Morton nodded. Franco clutched the detonator and pressed it. A sound like thunder tore through the air and white light blinded Morton. Smoke drifted down the street. Franco checked around the corner and whistled. “Holy shit guys.” he whispered. Morton peered around, gun at the ready. All that was left of the horde and bridge was a smoldering crater, splinters, and charred flesh. Smoke rose in curls from the breach. About a quarter of the undead stood on the other side, dumbfounded. The rest floated in the water and lay about on the street, utterly decimated. The zombies were regrouping for another assault; sooner or later they would find a way across for the fresh brains. But for now, they were safe. The Royalty Gardens burned with oily black smoke. Many of the shrubs and grass that once decorated the open field was burnt, and dead. It still made for a good LZ though. Morton and the others did an ammo check. “It’s gonna be at least 20 minutes before the pickup gets here, so I suggest we dig in.” Keenan told them. Morton calculated. “We have enough ammo for 10 minutes of sustained fire, and six grenades. The zombies won’t be easily killed this time. They will surround us…..”

5 minutes later, the group still huddled around in the burnt field. A couple stray zombies had wandered their way, and naturally, the bodies were strewn around, with missing body parts. The worst was yet to come. Morton tossed flares to light up the landing zone. “My senses indicate that there are thousands of hostiles moving in. When is that evac going to get here?” Franco wondered. He clutched his pistol in a death grip, knuckles white. Keenan smoked, perhaps his last cigarette ever. He puffed thoughtfully. “It has been an honor guys.” he said, looking at Morton. Morton nodded and rechecked his ammunition. He had one more mag for the shotgun, and two for his submachine gun. The MMS had long run out of battery, needing a huge power source for charging. Smith shifted nervously, LMG in his hands. It was battered and dented and scuffed, results of days of fighting the undead. The radio crackled on Smith’s jacket. “*static* chopper 168 we are 10 minutes out. I repeat, we are 10 minutes out. Can you *static* that long?” Smith sighed, and clicked the radio. “It’ll be a challenge, you better haul ass over here.”

“*static* Affirmative, Macdonald *static* good luck.”

A blood curdling shriek went up around in the darkness. The group sprang to their feet, eyes searching the shadows. It was nearly pitch black except for the fires and flares. They glowed and pulsed in Morton’s vision. He was on the breaking point. But weren’t they all? There. The might of the undead. “I got a force of estimated 3000 on my side, how bout you?” Franco yelled. “Same here.” Smith yelled back. Morton looked over the force that he had to face. 3000. A big number. Hell, the whole city and more was probably here as the undead. “The odds are not in our fuckin’ favor for once guys.” Smith whispered. He could barely be heard over the crackle of the fires and the zombie moans. “You son of a bitch, it has been good working with you.” Keenan said, patting his shoulder. The silence was drawn out, only punctuated by the zombies. “*static* 6 minutes. Do you *static*.” the radio crackled. Not that 6 minutes mattered anyways, they could all be dead or run out of ammo by then. Morton emptied his shotgun into the horde as they got close. Bullets pierced more than three zombies deep as the slugs tore through flesh and bone. Blood poured like tears. One hundred zombies went down like puppets, holes in their rotten flesh. Morton hurled his empty shotgun at a zombie like a boomerang, smacking its head and burying itself in the eye socket. There it hung like a grotesque add on. Behind him, Morton could hear the others firing. He didn’t look behind him. The submachine gun emptied next, bullets chattering. The barrel grew red as Morton changed magazines in a second. Hundreds more went down, missing heads and large chunks of flesh. The gun smoked as the magazine clicked empty. Morton pulled out his sidearm without pause and emptied that too. He had downed about 250 zombies so far. The bodies were trampled by thousands more, grass and garbage crunching under rotten feet. Smith did the same, emptying all of his guns. His sidearm kicked in his palm from the recoil as the high caliber bullets smacked into flesh and shattered on impact. A grenade went off, taking down dozens. Pieces of flesh rained down on the battlefield. Legless zombies moaned and crawlers hissed as their prey decimated the undead. Keenan hissed as a hot empty fell on to his exposed ankle. The pain angered him, and he screamed, determined to wipe out as many zombies as he could. They screamed back, it was prey versus predator. Keenan smiled in satisfaction as an obese zombie exploded, red mist coating every zombie around it. Intestines churned and organs were plentiful. Keenan’s gun clacked empty, all of them. “Where’s that fucking evac! We need it NOW!” Franco screamed. He was out of ammo, and chucked a grenade which hit a zombie. It exploded, shrapnel impaling many of the others. A chopper roared into view, the spotlight blinding the zombies. They growled and covered their eyes. Heavy machine guns boomed, and fire ripped through the zombies like rock through wet paper. The smell of blood and rotten flesh was overwhelming. A single man dropped from a ladder, rocket launcher in hand. He fired it with a WHOOSH, and it streaked towards a crowd. The missile exploded, taking a hundred zombies with it. Fire roiled through the crowds, igniting oily rags and clothes. Zombies ran in circles, on fire. They sank to the ground as a charred corpse. The chopper’s auto cannon started its lazy circle, charging up. The hail of bullets suppressed a side of zombies, decimating them by the hundreds. Bullets slammed and screeched and smashed their paths and the zombies continued to charge at the men. The grass was dark red with blood, and the entire garden looked like one big compost bin for spare zombie parts. The chopper couldn’t hold back the thousands more that streamed towards them. “GET THE FUCK ON!” the copilot screamed. He watched as the five men climbed the ladder, with thousands of zombies milling below. They roared, hungry for the brains that lay tantalizingly close. Suddenly, one of the men lost his grip. “Shit! Get him!” the copilot yelled. The next man up tried to grab him, and missed. The soldier fell beneath the grasping hands, and was consumed in an instant. “Get the fuck on! We have no more time!” Macdonald shouted over the chopper. The weary group of four soldiers hauled themselves up on to the seats. They were shaken by grief. They had come this far. They were SO CLOSE to being saved. Tears leaked from one’s eyes as he stared at the ground. Smoke filled the air as the chopper churned above the horde. “Get us out of here. Get us the fuck out now.” the copilot signaled. His eyes gleamed with sadness. Macdonald obliged, and the chopper arced over and away the skyscrapers, the condos, the offices, and the houses. Away from the City Of The Dead.

[unlawfully inacurate]

amazing story! brainz for you! [brains] quick question though, who died in the end?

[MyLittleHellhound]

amazing story! brainz for you! [brains] quick question though, who died in the end?

That my friend, shall never be answered

Its part of the mystery

[AceClouds]

WOW. This story is just amazing. You've blown my mind with this tale and you deserve applause and [brains].

[CorporalTankDempsey]

So Freaking cool! Do you take requests?

If You Do...

Regards, Tank

[MyLittleHellhound]

Thanks Corporal, also, I don't know if I will be taking requests as I am working on about two-three fics at a time right now, having some writers block and all that. I might give it a shot though :)

[CorporalTankDempsey]

[brains] Whenever they come back! :D