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Fairfax Underground
Welcome to Fairfax Underground, a project site designed to improve communication among residents of Fairfax County, VA. Feel free to post anything Northern Virginia residents would find interesting.
edit: added html-friendly quote marks and apostrophes
Edited 2 time(s). Last edit at 08/10/2010 10:07PM by Mr Misery.
edit: added html-friendly quote marks and apostrophes
Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 08/10/2010 09:34PM by Mr Misery.
edit: added html-friendly quote marks and apostrophes
Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 08/10/2010 09:55PM by Mr Misery.
edit: added html-friendly quote marks and apostrophes
Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 08/10/2010 09:46PM by Harry TuttIe.
edit: added html-friendly quote marks and apostrophes
Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 08/10/2010 10:00PM by Mr Misery.
Edited 3 time(s). Last edit at 08/10/2010 11:19PM by Mr Misery.
Welcome to Fairfax Underground, a project site designed to improve communication among residents of Fairfax County, VA. Feel free to post anything Northern Virginia residents would find interesting.
Meat Truck 4: Zombie Apocalypse (or How Harry Tuttle Stopped Living and Became a Fairfax Zombie)
Posted by:
Mr Misery
()
Date: August 07, 2010 07:35PM
Stately, plump Harry Tuttle never realized that he was the first witness to the end
of the world.
He had gotten up for work two hours earlier than usual. It had still been dark
as he walked to the Metro, the streets practically deserted. Frowning irritably
he squeezed the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb. He could feel a
headache coming on. At least it was Friday. During the long-lost creative frenzy
of his college years he had vowed that he would never get stuck in a job that had
him longing for the weekend. He had studied art, but followed the money into
advertising. He looked at the posters on the train. They told him he needed to
exercise, he needed to learn better English, he needed to see the Nationals. He
closed his eyes; he didn't want to think about advertising.
The train jolted and he snapped his eyes open. Harry looked at his reflection in
the dark train window. He was tall with dark hair, peppered with a few flecks of
grey he had been surprised to discover recently. He looked around the car. The
faded orange upholstery on the chairs had once been fashionable; now it was
stained by years of use and abuse. He was in the last car, half-full; the train
would be packed an hour from now.
He looked out of the window into the dark. The lights flickered. Harry sensed his
headache taking root behind his eyes. He could just make out a small unlit platform,
and a corridor stretching back into the dusty black.
Something was moving in the darkness. Engineers, he guessed. He pressed his face
against the glass; it was cool against his brow.
The train hissed, ready to move on. Suddenly the shape Harry had been staring at
moved sharply, spinning round. He instinctively moved his head back as the shape
headed straight towards him at speed.
Two large grimy hands were reaching towards him, and as the train started to roll the
hands smacked into the window with a sickening crunch. Everyone in the car jumped.
"Shit!" Harry shouted, "What the fuck?"
As the train pulled away he glimpsed a face, smeared with blood; the eyes wild, teeth
bared.
Harry stared as the image receded into the darkness.
Several of the passengers in Harry's train carriage muttered about reporting the mysterious
figure between stations. Harry wondered if it was a joker trying to frighten the travelers,
or maybe some poor suicidal wretch off his head on drugs. He didn't report it; he had a
presentation at nine a.m. and would need every minute to have it ready on time.
It was a ten-minute walk from the station to his office. He was listening to his iPod, full
volume, whistling along tunelessly to "American Idiot" by Green Day. He looked around.
He thought for a moment that he heard screaming. The streets were curiously empty.
Then a car skidded around the corner, moving far too fast for the intersection. As it sped
past, Harry caught sight of the occupants, a man and a woman sitting hunched forward
on their seats; they looked wide-eyed and terrified. Harry was a little rattled by the
irresponsible driving, but something in the faces of the driver and passenger made him
wonder what had made them drive so manically. They didn't look like joy riders, and early
morning was not the normal time for a joy ride. However, as he continued to walk towards
his office, thoughts of his current project started to fill his mind. He was advertising insurance,
and the gimmick of the new policy was that "even acts of God are covered." The TV and
poster campaign featured tidal waves, airplane crashes, meteor strikes, and an alien invasion
(that was Harry's special contribution).
His walk took him across a wide boulevard; he was surprised to notice that there was no
traffic. When he was halfway across he noticed another pedestrian, also in the middle of
the road.
The figure was a hundred yards away, and the moment it turned to face Harry, it started running
towards him.
Harry balked. He looked behind him to see if the figure, now he could see it was a man, was
running towards someone else.
The figure had halved the distance between them. As it came closer Harry could see something
was wrong.
The lower half of the man's body was drenched in blood. The clothes, a grey suit under a black coat,
were ripped at the chest, the source of the blood. He ran open mouthed, hands forwards, reaching
for Harry, "Whoa, fella!" Harry shouted, panic rising from the depths of his stomach, "slow down!"
All of Harry's previous life experience told him to stop and reason with the stranger. The man running
wildly towards him probably just wanted help with his injury. This could not possibly be a "homicidal
maniac" running towards him. Not in this dull neighborhood. Not on a Friday morning. That sort of
thing didn't happen.
size>face>
TO BE CONTINUEDof the world.
He had gotten up for work two hours earlier than usual. It had still been dark
as he walked to the Metro, the streets practically deserted. Frowning irritably
he squeezed the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb. He could feel a
headache coming on. At least it was Friday. During the long-lost creative frenzy
of his college years he had vowed that he would never get stuck in a job that had
him longing for the weekend. He had studied art, but followed the money into
advertising. He looked at the posters on the train. They told him he needed to
exercise, he needed to learn better English, he needed to see the Nationals. He
closed his eyes; he didn't want to think about advertising.
The train jolted and he snapped his eyes open. Harry looked at his reflection in
the dark train window. He was tall with dark hair, peppered with a few flecks of
grey he had been surprised to discover recently. He looked around the car. The
faded orange upholstery on the chairs had once been fashionable; now it was
stained by years of use and abuse. He was in the last car, half-full; the train
would be packed an hour from now.
He looked out of the window into the dark. The lights flickered. Harry sensed his
headache taking root behind his eyes. He could just make out a small unlit platform,
and a corridor stretching back into the dusty black.
Something was moving in the darkness. Engineers, he guessed. He pressed his face
against the glass; it was cool against his brow.
The train hissed, ready to move on. Suddenly the shape Harry had been staring at
moved sharply, spinning round. He instinctively moved his head back as the shape
headed straight towards him at speed.
Two large grimy hands were reaching towards him, and as the train started to roll the
hands smacked into the window with a sickening crunch. Everyone in the car jumped.
"Shit!" Harry shouted, "What the fuck?"
As the train pulled away he glimpsed a face, smeared with blood; the eyes wild, teeth
bared.
Harry stared as the image receded into the darkness.
Several of the passengers in Harry's train carriage muttered about reporting the mysterious
figure between stations. Harry wondered if it was a joker trying to frighten the travelers,
or maybe some poor suicidal wretch off his head on drugs. He didn't report it; he had a
presentation at nine a.m. and would need every minute to have it ready on time.
It was a ten-minute walk from the station to his office. He was listening to his iPod, full
volume, whistling along tunelessly to "American Idiot" by Green Day. He looked around.
He thought for a moment that he heard screaming. The streets were curiously empty.
Then a car skidded around the corner, moving far too fast for the intersection. As it sped
past, Harry caught sight of the occupants, a man and a woman sitting hunched forward
on their seats; they looked wide-eyed and terrified. Harry was a little rattled by the
irresponsible driving, but something in the faces of the driver and passenger made him
wonder what had made them drive so manically. They didn't look like joy riders, and early
morning was not the normal time for a joy ride. However, as he continued to walk towards
his office, thoughts of his current project started to fill his mind. He was advertising insurance,
and the gimmick of the new policy was that "even acts of God are covered." The TV and
poster campaign featured tidal waves, airplane crashes, meteor strikes, and an alien invasion
(that was Harry's special contribution).
His walk took him across a wide boulevard; he was surprised to notice that there was no
traffic. When he was halfway across he noticed another pedestrian, also in the middle of
the road.
The figure was a hundred yards away, and the moment it turned to face Harry, it started running
towards him.
Harry balked. He looked behind him to see if the figure, now he could see it was a man, was
running towards someone else.
The figure had halved the distance between them. As it came closer Harry could see something
was wrong.
The lower half of the man's body was drenched in blood. The clothes, a grey suit under a black coat,
were ripped at the chest, the source of the blood. He ran open mouthed, hands forwards, reaching
for Harry, "Whoa, fella!" Harry shouted, panic rising from the depths of his stomach, "slow down!"
All of Harry's previous life experience told him to stop and reason with the stranger. The man running
wildly towards him probably just wanted help with his injury. This could not possibly be a "homicidal
maniac" running towards him. Not in this dull neighborhood. Not on a Friday morning. That sort of
thing didn't happen.
size>face>
edit: added html-friendly quote marks and apostrophes
Edited 2 time(s). Last edit at 08/10/2010 10:07PM by Mr Misery.
Re: Meat Truck 4: Zombie Apocalypse (or How Harry Tuttle Stopped Living and Became a Fairfax Zombie)
Posted by:
Harry TuttIe
()
Date: August 07, 2010 07:37PM
So much for our little truce, eh Miz?
I guess you didn't count on the fact that two can play this game.
edit: added html-friendly quote marks and apostrophes
Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 08/10/2010 09:42PM by Harry TuttIe.
I guess you didn't count on the fact that two can play this game.
Mr. Misery was a ninja. A slightly overweight, wispy-bearded, bespectacled ninja,
but a ninja nonetheless. He had longed for this day, and it had finally come. Not
only did he not have to return to his deeply unsatisfying job working at Kinko's,
but now he lived in a world that would appreciate his skills.
The end of the world had come. Only the prepared would survive and Miz was
prepared.
He had canned food and bottled water stocked in his spare room. He was ready
for a long wait, but he really didn't want to have to sit out a siege. He wanted
to be a "zombie hunter" cleaning up his neighborhood, and bringing a new
civilization back to the world.
He inspected his stock of weapons. He had two samurai swords. One was an exact
replica of the weapon carried by Uma Thurman in Kill Bill; the other he had found
on sale in his favorite comic.
He also had a two-handed sword, as used by Viggo Mortenson in Lord of the
Rings: the Return of the King. This was one of his favorites, but he suspected
that it was more of a movie prop than a real weapon; he did not think it would
last long against the flesh of the undead.
He had a composite longbow. He had taken a few lessons, and was not a bad shot.
He was, however, worried about the number of arrows he owned. Four dozen seemed
like a lot when he'd bought them, but in the face of a zombie apocalypse he knew
they would not last long.
He had an air rifle and air pistol, but these would only be good for distraction,
they were incapable of anything more damaging than a nasty sting. He had hundreds
of pellets for these guns and felt that it would be an enormous shame not to use
them at some point.
His real treasure, however, was a shotgun. He only had fifteen cartridges, and he
had to reload after each shot, but he felt a whole lot safer with a shotgun in
his hands.
He had other weapons: nunchucks, throwing stars, and a whip, but these would be
less useful against zombie opponents.
He sat looking out of the window of his apartment in McLean. He could see four
zombies milling about on the street. He had been watching, and he knew that if a
living person or moving vehicle appeared the monsters would descend on it in
the hundreds.
The electricity had failed but he saw an occasional light in the neighboring blocks.
There were still people alive in his neighborhood: People who needed a savior.
Days like these called for a hero and Mr. Misery was ready to answer the call.
He swung his window open silently and took aim with his air rifle. It made a gentle
"thumping" noise and Miz imagined the zombie's face exploding like an over-ripe
melon.
He hit; and the creature spun round looking for whatever had struck it. Miz
dropped to the floor feeling exhilarated and slightly sick. He had shot one!
He looked up again when he heard the sound of a car engine, and saw a yellow
hatchback with a creature sliding over its front. The car swerved and suddenly
braked, and the monster carried on forwards, clutching one of the wipers. The car
reversed but struck a parked vehicle. These people would need help. He picked up
his bow, plucked an arrow from the quiver he had set up under the window and
slotted it to the string.
The undead were converging on the car.
Mr. Misery drew back the string, aiming for one of the creatures that had already
reached the car, and shot. The arrow sailed through the air, narrowly missed the
zombie and pierced the car's roof. He cursed and aimed another.
The second arrow lodged in the back of a zombie that was trying to smash the
passenger side window.
A third hit one in the head, its point lodged deep in its skull. To Miz's dismay
it still fought on.
"But you're supposed to die now!" he muttered.
There was now a small hill of the undead on top of the car, and with the sound of
the windows breaking Miz knew it was hopeless.
He fired a few more shots with his air rifle and watched with nauseated
fascination as the inhabitants of the car were ripped apart. He had lost three
arrows and no one had hailed him as a hero. He was going to have to be more
careful in the future.
size>face>
TO BE CONTINUEDbut a ninja nonetheless. He had longed for this day, and it had finally come. Not
only did he not have to return to his deeply unsatisfying job working at Kinko's,
but now he lived in a world that would appreciate his skills.
The end of the world had come. Only the prepared would survive and Miz was
prepared.
He had canned food and bottled water stocked in his spare room. He was ready
for a long wait, but he really didn't want to have to sit out a siege. He wanted
to be a "zombie hunter" cleaning up his neighborhood, and bringing a new
civilization back to the world.
He inspected his stock of weapons. He had two samurai swords. One was an exact
replica of the weapon carried by Uma Thurman in Kill Bill; the other he had found
on sale in his favorite comic.
He also had a two-handed sword, as used by Viggo Mortenson in Lord of the
Rings: the Return of the King. This was one of his favorites, but he suspected
that it was more of a movie prop than a real weapon; he did not think it would
last long against the flesh of the undead.
He had a composite longbow. He had taken a few lessons, and was not a bad shot.
He was, however, worried about the number of arrows he owned. Four dozen seemed
like a lot when he'd bought them, but in the face of a zombie apocalypse he knew
they would not last long.
He had an air rifle and air pistol, but these would only be good for distraction,
they were incapable of anything more damaging than a nasty sting. He had hundreds
of pellets for these guns and felt that it would be an enormous shame not to use
them at some point.
His real treasure, however, was a shotgun. He only had fifteen cartridges, and he
had to reload after each shot, but he felt a whole lot safer with a shotgun in
his hands.
He had other weapons: nunchucks, throwing stars, and a whip, but these would be
less useful against zombie opponents.
He sat looking out of the window of his apartment in McLean. He could see four
zombies milling about on the street. He had been watching, and he knew that if a
living person or moving vehicle appeared the monsters would descend on it in
the hundreds.
The electricity had failed but he saw an occasional light in the neighboring blocks.
There were still people alive in his neighborhood: People who needed a savior.
Days like these called for a hero and Mr. Misery was ready to answer the call.
He swung his window open silently and took aim with his air rifle. It made a gentle
"thumping" noise and Miz imagined the zombie's face exploding like an over-ripe
melon.
He hit; and the creature spun round looking for whatever had struck it. Miz
dropped to the floor feeling exhilarated and slightly sick. He had shot one!
He looked up again when he heard the sound of a car engine, and saw a yellow
hatchback with a creature sliding over its front. The car swerved and suddenly
braked, and the monster carried on forwards, clutching one of the wipers. The car
reversed but struck a parked vehicle. These people would need help. He picked up
his bow, plucked an arrow from the quiver he had set up under the window and
slotted it to the string.
The undead were converging on the car.
Mr. Misery drew back the string, aiming for one of the creatures that had already
reached the car, and shot. The arrow sailed through the air, narrowly missed the
zombie and pierced the car's roof. He cursed and aimed another.
The second arrow lodged in the back of a zombie that was trying to smash the
passenger side window.
A third hit one in the head, its point lodged deep in its skull. To Miz's dismay
it still fought on.
"But you're supposed to die now!" he muttered.
There was now a small hill of the undead on top of the car, and with the sound of
the windows breaking Miz knew it was hopeless.
He fired a few more shots with his air rifle and watched with nauseated
fascination as the inhabitants of the car were ripped apart. He had lost three
arrows and no one had hailed him as a hero. He was going to have to be more
careful in the future.
size>face>
edit: added html-friendly quote marks and apostrophes
Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 08/10/2010 09:42PM by Harry TuttIe.
Re: Meat Truck 4: Zombie Apocalypse (or How Harry Tuttle Stopped Living and Became a Fairfax Zombie)
Posted by:
eesh
()
Date: August 07, 2010 10:26PM
No one is going to read this shit.
Blessed are the murderous.
Blessed are the murderous.
Re: Meat Truck 4: Zombie Apocalypse (or How Harry Tuttle Stopped Living and Became a Fairfax Zombie)
Posted by:
496
()
Date: August 07, 2010 10:35PM
FAGS
Re: Meat Truck 4: Zombie Apocalypse (or How Harry Tuttle Stopped Living and Became a Fairfax Zombie)
Posted by:
Troll@AOL
()
Date: August 07, 2010 11:04PM
I red it.
Interesting.
==================================================================================
"Why don't you LOSERS just pack your flower print DOUCHE BAGS
and get your stoopid @$$#$ THE FUCK OFF MY INTERNETZ!"
- 'philscamms' (the YT Watchdog) ; internet & YouTube® extraordinaire.
Interesting.
==================================================================================
"Why don't you LOSERS just pack your flower print DOUCHE BAGS
and get your stoopid @$$#$ THE FUCK OFF MY INTERNETZ!"
- 'philscamms' (the YT Watchdog) ; internet & YouTube® extraordinaire.
Re: Meat Truck 4: Zombie Apocalypse (or How Harry Tuttle Stopped Living and Became a Fairfax Zombie)
Posted by:
Mr Misery
()
Date: August 08, 2010 12:23AM
Harry's brain was still reassuring him that everything was alright
when he found himself turning, running, and shouting for someone
to call the police.
By the time he started to move, the blood-drenched man was almost
on him.
Just before he turned Harry could see the wide crazed eyes, and he
realized the man was deranged.
Harry turned and ran towards the corner stores, hoping to find some
more people.
His brain was still trying to tell him that he was definitely not running
away. It was not possible that he was being chased. He hadn't been chased
since grammar school. No, this was not a chase, he was running to find
help for the injured man.
Harry was relatively fit. He was an occasional jogger, but now he ran
with all the speed he could manage, the kind of running he hadn't done
since the playground.
He glanced back over his shoulder. The man was close behind him. He ran
down the middle of the street as it started to bend downhill. The slope
gave a certain uncontrollable wildness to his sprint. As he approached
his parade of local shops he saw a small crowd gathered around the door
of Starbucks.
"Help!" He called as he ran towards the huddled group, "There's a man
behind me!"
The crowd's reaction was instant. They turned as one towards Harry and
started to run towards him with the same insane look in their eyes.
For a moment Harry thought they were running to help or stop the man
behind him; it took him a few seconds to realize that they too were
after him. By the time he understood his mistake it was almost too late.
The creature in front looked like a young woman, but half of her face,
including one eye, was missing. Her mouth was torn into a snarl as half
of her lower lip had been ripped away. Behind the frontrunner there was
a motley assortment of other creatures following, each with its own
bloodstains and horrific injuries.
Harry almost collided with the half-faced girl, but he ducked under her
outstretched arm and kept running.
"This cannot be fucking happening!" He shouted out loud, "Where's the
hidden camera?"
He passed the shops and two more came after him from an alleyway. He
veered away towards the opposite sidewalk and kept running.
He was straining for each breath, his lungs were agony but he could
not stop. There were now at least a dozen people chasing him. He didn't
want to think about what would happen if they caught up.
Harry's mind raced almost as fast as his legs. He wondered what was
happening. Mass hysteria? Rabies?
Whatever it was, these people were crazed and he wanted to get as far
away from them as possible.
"Just fucking calm down guys!" he shouted over his shoulder, "What the
fuck is all this about?"
He looked back and saw one of his pursuers, a horribly mauled bald man
in a tracksuit, trip over coils of his own pink entrails which poured out
from his torn midsection.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!"
What was this? These people were so out of their minds that they would
keep on running despite the most appalling injuries. Was it drugs? Some
contaminated pills passed round at a party? He dismissed this idea
because the group of people were so mixed in age, wealth and dress; he
couldn't imagine them all sharing the same drug dealer.
If not leisure drugs then maybe some other form of mind-altering contamination?
His head was swimming as he ran.
He had to do something. He considered turning off to the right to loop
around the block and get back to the station. But the thought of having
to stand waiting on the platform for next train seemed like madness.
At the next intersection four more of these deranged creatures joined
the chase. He tried to rationalize what was going on but fear, adrenaline,
and the sheer improbability of being chased by mutilated madmen pushed
sensible thought from his mind.
He was running uphill now. When he had gone through a fad of cycling
everywhere he always tried to avoid this hill; and if his route did
take him this way he usually ended up getting off his bike and pushing
it before the end.
His legs felt that familiar sense of imminent defeat and his lungs felt
as though they would tear apart at any moment. Harry realized that he
was near the end of his strength.
Turning the corner he nearly stumbled and fell. The street was full of them!
"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!" He cursed in the rhythm of his breathing.
size>face>
TO BE CONTINUEDwhen he found himself turning, running, and shouting for someone
to call the police.
By the time he started to move, the blood-drenched man was almost
on him.
Just before he turned Harry could see the wide crazed eyes, and he
realized the man was deranged.
Harry turned and ran towards the corner stores, hoping to find some
more people.
His brain was still trying to tell him that he was definitely not running
away. It was not possible that he was being chased. He hadn't been chased
since grammar school. No, this was not a chase, he was running to find
help for the injured man.
Harry was relatively fit. He was an occasional jogger, but now he ran
with all the speed he could manage, the kind of running he hadn't done
since the playground.
He glanced back over his shoulder. The man was close behind him. He ran
down the middle of the street as it started to bend downhill. The slope
gave a certain uncontrollable wildness to his sprint. As he approached
his parade of local shops he saw a small crowd gathered around the door
of Starbucks.
"Help!" He called as he ran towards the huddled group, "There's a man
behind me!"
The crowd's reaction was instant. They turned as one towards Harry and
started to run towards him with the same insane look in their eyes.
For a moment Harry thought they were running to help or stop the man
behind him; it took him a few seconds to realize that they too were
after him. By the time he understood his mistake it was almost too late.
The creature in front looked like a young woman, but half of her face,
including one eye, was missing. Her mouth was torn into a snarl as half
of her lower lip had been ripped away. Behind the frontrunner there was
a motley assortment of other creatures following, each with its own
bloodstains and horrific injuries.
Harry almost collided with the half-faced girl, but he ducked under her
outstretched arm and kept running.
"This cannot be fucking happening!" He shouted out loud, "Where's the
hidden camera?"
He passed the shops and two more came after him from an alleyway. He
veered away towards the opposite sidewalk and kept running.
He was straining for each breath, his lungs were agony but he could
not stop. There were now at least a dozen people chasing him. He didn't
want to think about what would happen if they caught up.
Harry's mind raced almost as fast as his legs. He wondered what was
happening. Mass hysteria? Rabies?
Whatever it was, these people were crazed and he wanted to get as far
away from them as possible.
"Just fucking calm down guys!" he shouted over his shoulder, "What the
fuck is all this about?"
He looked back and saw one of his pursuers, a horribly mauled bald man
in a tracksuit, trip over coils of his own pink entrails which poured out
from his torn midsection.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!"
What was this? These people were so out of their minds that they would
keep on running despite the most appalling injuries. Was it drugs? Some
contaminated pills passed round at a party? He dismissed this idea
because the group of people were so mixed in age, wealth and dress; he
couldn't imagine them all sharing the same drug dealer.
If not leisure drugs then maybe some other form of mind-altering contamination?
His head was swimming as he ran.
He had to do something. He considered turning off to the right to loop
around the block and get back to the station. But the thought of having
to stand waiting on the platform for next train seemed like madness.
At the next intersection four more of these deranged creatures joined
the chase. He tried to rationalize what was going on but fear, adrenaline,
and the sheer improbability of being chased by mutilated madmen pushed
sensible thought from his mind.
He was running uphill now. When he had gone through a fad of cycling
everywhere he always tried to avoid this hill; and if his route did
take him this way he usually ended up getting off his bike and pushing
it before the end.
His legs felt that familiar sense of imminent defeat and his lungs felt
as though they would tear apart at any moment. Harry realized that he
was near the end of his strength.
Turning the corner he nearly stumbled and fell. The street was full of them!
"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!" He cursed in the rhythm of his breathing.
size>face>
edit: added html-friendly quote marks and apostrophes
Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 08/10/2010 09:34PM by Mr Misery.
Re: Meat Truck 4: Zombie Apocalypse (or How Harry Tuttle Stopped Living and Became a Fairfax Zombie)
Posted by:
Mr Misery
()
Date: August 08, 2010 12:24AM
The WashingTone-Locian family consisted of Tone and Erica and their two sons Joel
(six years old) and Nathan (ten).
When the first reports of the living dead appeared Tone's sister, Rachel, had
phoned in the late evening to say she was going to sit this out in a bunker that
she had access to through her work. Tone thought his sister was overreacting, but
he had promised her he would be careful. Tone felt faintly foolish as he secured
the house, making sure every window was double locked, and using the old paint-
encrusted bolt as well as the Yale on front door. Tone and Erica stayed up to
watch the news all night. The situation grew worse. They wondered if this was
some elaborate practical joke; as unlikely as that sounded, surely it was more
likely than a plague of "zombies."
The News made grim viewing. Any "on the scene" reporters ended up dead or running
for their life; only the helicopter reports gave a sustained image of what was
going on.
It had started in McLean and spread at the speed of someone running. Then a train
arrived in D.C. full of the infected, and an airplane to New York.
The plague was a global disaster. The WashingTone-Locian family realized that
this was the end.
While Joel and Nathan were sleeping, the adults packed suitcases and loaded their
canned food into boxes.
They packed these into the back of their SUV. While it was still dark they went
around the house collecting a selection of the children's favorite toys.
Each trip to the car was furtive, with them glancing up and down the road.
The only other people they saw were a family three houses down the road who were
also packing. They did not speak, but each time they saw each other they nodded
meaningfully.
Once the car was ready they sat back on the sofa holding hands. Tone and Erica
had not sat like that since before they were married. They were still in love,
but these days they had their own chairs, their own territory for watching the TV
or reading books.
They must have fallen asleep, because the next thing they remembered, Joel and
Nathan were waking them up and asking for breakfast.
The news showed reports of the nearby suburb of Bethesda being overrun. It
was time to move. "Joel! Nathan!" Their father tried to look excited, his voice
animated, but his eyes telling a different story.
"We are going to go on an adventure!"
size>face>
TO BE CONTINUED(six years old) and Nathan (ten).
When the first reports of the living dead appeared Tone's sister, Rachel, had
phoned in the late evening to say she was going to sit this out in a bunker that
she had access to through her work. Tone thought his sister was overreacting, but
he had promised her he would be careful. Tone felt faintly foolish as he secured
the house, making sure every window was double locked, and using the old paint-
encrusted bolt as well as the Yale on front door. Tone and Erica stayed up to
watch the news all night. The situation grew worse. They wondered if this was
some elaborate practical joke; as unlikely as that sounded, surely it was more
likely than a plague of "zombies."
The News made grim viewing. Any "on the scene" reporters ended up dead or running
for their life; only the helicopter reports gave a sustained image of what was
going on.
It had started in McLean and spread at the speed of someone running. Then a train
arrived in D.C. full of the infected, and an airplane to New York.
The plague was a global disaster. The WashingTone-Locian family realized that
this was the end.
While Joel and Nathan were sleeping, the adults packed suitcases and loaded their
canned food into boxes.
They packed these into the back of their SUV. While it was still dark they went
around the house collecting a selection of the children's favorite toys.
Each trip to the car was furtive, with them glancing up and down the road.
The only other people they saw were a family three houses down the road who were
also packing. They did not speak, but each time they saw each other they nodded
meaningfully.
Once the car was ready they sat back on the sofa holding hands. Tone and Erica
had not sat like that since before they were married. They were still in love,
but these days they had their own chairs, their own territory for watching the TV
or reading books.
They must have fallen asleep, because the next thing they remembered, Joel and
Nathan were waking them up and asking for breakfast.
The news showed reports of the nearby suburb of Bethesda being overrun. It
was time to move. "Joel! Nathan!" Their father tried to look excited, his voice
animated, but his eyes telling a different story.
"We are going to go on an adventure!"
size>face>
edit: added html-friendly quote marks and apostrophes
Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 08/10/2010 09:55PM by Mr Misery.
Re: Meat Truck 4: Zombie Apocalypse (or How Harry Tuttle Stopped Living and Became a Fairfax Zombie)
Posted by:
issues
()
Date: August 08, 2010 12:26AM
you guys are really, really, really, sad..or should I say guy since everyone knows you're [1] person :(
Re: Meat Truck 4: Zombie Apocalypse (or How Harry Tuttle Stopped Living and Became a Fairfax Zombie)
Posted by:
Troll@AOL
()
Date: August 08, 2010 01:14AM
No no no. You've got it all wrong. Everyone knows they are one person, that's the charm of it.
What is the craziest thing here is the fact YOU are here watching him talk to himself.
Shame on you, don't you have a life?
==================================================================================
"Why don't you LOSERS just pack your flower print DOUCHE BAGS
and get your stoopid @$$#$ THE FUCK OFF MY INTERNETZ!"
- 'philscamms' (the YT Watchdog) ; internet & YouTube® extraordinaire.
What is the craziest thing here is the fact YOU are here watching him talk to himself.
Shame on you, don't you have a life?
==================================================================================
"Why don't you LOSERS just pack your flower print DOUCHE BAGS
and get your stoopid @$$#$ THE FUCK OFF MY INTERNETZ!"
- 'philscamms' (the YT Watchdog) ; internet & YouTube® extraordinaire.
Re: Meat Truck 4: Zombie Apocalypse (or How Harry Tuttle Stopped Living and Became a Fairfax Zombie)
Posted by:
Alias
()
Date: August 08, 2010 01:34AM
Harry assessing the situation:
Was it drugs? Some contaminated pills passed round at a party? He dismissed this idea because the group of people were so mixed in age, wealth and dress; he
couldn’t imagine them all sharing the same drug dealer.
haha!
Was it drugs? Some contaminated pills passed round at a party? He dismissed this idea because the group of people were so mixed in age, wealth and dress; he
couldn’t imagine them all sharing the same drug dealer.
haha!
Re: Meat Truck 4: Zombie Apocalypse (or How Harry Tuttle Stopped Living and Became a Fairfax Zombie)
Posted by:
Harry TuttIe
()
Date: August 08, 2010 03:34PM
Mr. Misery the ninja's desire to "kick some zombie ass" had declined ever
since he had watched the slaughter on his street, but his love for his weapons
was undiminished. Every day he polished or sharpened his swords and knives
and practiced his moves in his living room. The furniture had several gashes
and chips of wood were missing where his "training" had been over-exuberant.
He still took daily pot shots at the zombies below him with his air rifle. Once he
even got one in the eye. This was so exciting that from that moment onwards,
blinding a zombie became his primary aim when shooting. However, his equipment
was so inaccurate that success was very rare. There were fewer and fewer signs
of life in the neighborhood. It was days since he had seen a car.
Lights in windows were also much less common now. He suspected that he was
the only person in the area to have had the wisdom to stockpile batteries and candles.
He listened to the radio. The government was still broadcasting from an unspecified
location. It had the latest advice playing on a loop, with "news" every hour. The loop
told the public that the dead had returned to life (there could be no one left on the
planet unaware of this now); that the only way to stop them was to remove or destroy
their heads; that the bites of the undead were highly infectious, and anyone bitten
must be quarantined. The news was always about how government scientists were
working on a cure, and that a breakthrough was now imminent. It advised people of
safe locations for survivors to gather, and reassured them that the army would soon
arrive to liberate them.
There were also pirate radio stations that told the stories of the broadcasters' fight for life.
The news from these pirate stations was very different: Government scientists had been
responsible for this nightmare, and had been the first to die; there was no army, the troops
had been eaten or had fled; that the infection had spread across Europe, and reports were
coming out of Japan and Australia that it had spread there too.
This was the end. No help was coming.
Miz had listened to a pirate broadcaster named Don Geronimo talk about how he had been
bitten. Over the next day he had described the wound, and how he was feeling weaker and
weaker, until all that was being broadcast was his labored breathing. Miz, and several hundred
others were glued to their radios; they used up their precious batteries listening to hear if the
broadcaster would recover. Eventually the rattling breathing stopped. A few moments later
there was a low guttural moan and the sound of furniture being toppled over. Across the city
people turned their radios off and wept.
Even Miz, who had been enjoying the end of the world, shed a tear that night, and went to sleep
clutching his Buffy the Vampire Slayer action figures.
size>face>
TO BE CONTINUEDsince he had watched the slaughter on his street, but his love for his weapons
was undiminished. Every day he polished or sharpened his swords and knives
and practiced his moves in his living room. The furniture had several gashes
and chips of wood were missing where his "training" had been over-exuberant.
He still took daily pot shots at the zombies below him with his air rifle. Once he
even got one in the eye. This was so exciting that from that moment onwards,
blinding a zombie became his primary aim when shooting. However, his equipment
was so inaccurate that success was very rare. There were fewer and fewer signs
of life in the neighborhood. It was days since he had seen a car.
Lights in windows were also much less common now. He suspected that he was
the only person in the area to have had the wisdom to stockpile batteries and candles.
He listened to the radio. The government was still broadcasting from an unspecified
location. It had the latest advice playing on a loop, with "news" every hour. The loop
told the public that the dead had returned to life (there could be no one left on the
planet unaware of this now); that the only way to stop them was to remove or destroy
their heads; that the bites of the undead were highly infectious, and anyone bitten
must be quarantined. The news was always about how government scientists were
working on a cure, and that a breakthrough was now imminent. It advised people of
safe locations for survivors to gather, and reassured them that the army would soon
arrive to liberate them.
There were also pirate radio stations that told the stories of the broadcasters' fight for life.
The news from these pirate stations was very different: Government scientists had been
responsible for this nightmare, and had been the first to die; there was no army, the troops
had been eaten or had fled; that the infection had spread across Europe, and reports were
coming out of Japan and Australia that it had spread there too.
This was the end. No help was coming.
Miz had listened to a pirate broadcaster named Don Geronimo talk about how he had been
bitten. Over the next day he had described the wound, and how he was feeling weaker and
weaker, until all that was being broadcast was his labored breathing. Miz, and several hundred
others were glued to their radios; they used up their precious batteries listening to hear if the
broadcaster would recover. Eventually the rattling breathing stopped. A few moments later
there was a low guttural moan and the sound of furniture being toppled over. Across the city
people turned their radios off and wept.
Even Miz, who had been enjoying the end of the world, shed a tear that night, and went to sleep
clutching his Buffy the Vampire Slayer action figures.
size>face>
edit: added html-friendly quote marks and apostrophes
Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 08/10/2010 09:46PM by Harry TuttIe.
Re: Meat Truck 4: Zombie Apocalypse (or How Harry Tuttle Stopped Living and Became a Fairfax Zombie)
Posted by:
Mr Misery
()
Date: August 08, 2010 03:35PM
Fuck you. I do not, NOT have ANY Buffy the Vampire Slayer action figures.
Sometimes you are such a dick.
edit: added html-friendly quote marks and apostrophes
Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 08/10/2010 09:37PM by Mr Misery.
Sometimes you are such a dick.
Harry turned another corner: in this street the driveways were longer and
houses bigger. He saw a car crashed into a lamp post. Swarming around
the car were another dozen rabid monstrosities. They looked up at once.
Harry was horrified to see their hands and faces were all slick with blood.
They seemed to be eating whatever, or whoever, was in the car.
"This is completely fucked!" The creatures behind him were only a few feet
away. One slip and he would be caught.
Ahead of him were more, springing away from the smashed vehicle and
starting towards him at a sprint. He had seconds in which to decide what
to do.
Harry's legs seemed to act on their own, as he was faintly surprised to find
himself turning left into one of the large driveways. He briefly toyed with the
idea of knocking on the door. It was a childish thought, wanting to summon
a "grown-up" to chase the bad people away. It would be no use; they would
be on him in seconds. Even if the door were answered immediately he would
only succeed in getting the homeowner killed too.
Harry ran to the side of the house, pushing the garbage bins over behind him
as he ran. He heard his pursuers crash into the rubbish but he didn't dare look
back. A small iron gate separated the front garden from the back. He vaulted
it with an athleticism that surprised himself and risked a backward glance.
The girl with half a face was still at the front of the pack; she was shoving her
way through the toppled bins and scattered rubbish. When she reached the gate,
she was unable to clamber over, as the creatures behind her pushed her forward,
pinning her against the metal. With his pursuers too closely packed, the brief log
jam gave him a few moments' respite. He ran on into the back garden of the house
and looked around desperately. He saw a grey faced elderly couple dressed in their
pajamas staring at him through their bay windows. Harry desperately waved at them
to go away from the window and hide. They understood and Harry guessed they had
heard what was going on from the news. They moved back in the room and Harry
hoped they were going deeper into the house.
He saw a shed with a half-open door. Behind the shed, the kitchen had been extended,
and he thought he could clamber onto the low roof without too much trouble.
Shed or roof? Roof or shed?
He had seconds to choose, his life could depend on it.
He thought both ways could be useless; but he decided on the roof and leapt to get his foot
onto the kitchen windowsill. He clutched onto the gutter; it groaned under his weight, but he
was able to pull himself onto the low roof as the mob reached him.
He was relieved that they did not start to climb straight away. Their rabid fury seemed to
hamper their ability to scale the wall behind him.
He looked back at them for a moment and almost lost his footing. Until now he hadn't been
aware of some of the injuries that these people had. Most had chunks of flesh torn out of
them. Harry reflected that these injuries were about the size of a bite from a human mouth.
Some seemed to have been half eaten. The girl with half a face was there, her hair matted
with blood, her eyes wild. But others had throats ripped out. A creature with a foot ripped
off stumbled along behind the others, heedless of the intense pain that putting weight on
the wound must have inflicted. These injures were surely fatal?
Harry felt his head spin.
The outstretched arms were getting higher as they clambered over one another to reach him.
size>face>
TO BE CONTINUEDhouses bigger. He saw a car crashed into a lamp post. Swarming around
the car were another dozen rabid monstrosities. They looked up at once.
Harry was horrified to see their hands and faces were all slick with blood.
They seemed to be eating whatever, or whoever, was in the car.
"This is completely fucked!" The creatures behind him were only a few feet
away. One slip and he would be caught.
Ahead of him were more, springing away from the smashed vehicle and
starting towards him at a sprint. He had seconds in which to decide what
to do.
Harry's legs seemed to act on their own, as he was faintly surprised to find
himself turning left into one of the large driveways. He briefly toyed with the
idea of knocking on the door. It was a childish thought, wanting to summon
a "grown-up" to chase the bad people away. It would be no use; they would
be on him in seconds. Even if the door were answered immediately he would
only succeed in getting the homeowner killed too.
Harry ran to the side of the house, pushing the garbage bins over behind him
as he ran. He heard his pursuers crash into the rubbish but he didn't dare look
back. A small iron gate separated the front garden from the back. He vaulted
it with an athleticism that surprised himself and risked a backward glance.
The girl with half a face was still at the front of the pack; she was shoving her
way through the toppled bins and scattered rubbish. When she reached the gate,
she was unable to clamber over, as the creatures behind her pushed her forward,
pinning her against the metal. With his pursuers too closely packed, the brief log
jam gave him a few moments' respite. He ran on into the back garden of the house
and looked around desperately. He saw a grey faced elderly couple dressed in their
pajamas staring at him through their bay windows. Harry desperately waved at them
to go away from the window and hide. They understood and Harry guessed they had
heard what was going on from the news. They moved back in the room and Harry
hoped they were going deeper into the house.
He saw a shed with a half-open door. Behind the shed, the kitchen had been extended,
and he thought he could clamber onto the low roof without too much trouble.
Shed or roof? Roof or shed?
He had seconds to choose, his life could depend on it.
He thought both ways could be useless; but he decided on the roof and leapt to get his foot
onto the kitchen windowsill. He clutched onto the gutter; it groaned under his weight, but he
was able to pull himself onto the low roof as the mob reached him.
He was relieved that they did not start to climb straight away. Their rabid fury seemed to
hamper their ability to scale the wall behind him.
He looked back at them for a moment and almost lost his footing. Until now he hadn't been
aware of some of the injuries that these people had. Most had chunks of flesh torn out of
them. Harry reflected that these injuries were about the size of a bite from a human mouth.
Some seemed to have been half eaten. The girl with half a face was there, her hair matted
with blood, her eyes wild. But others had throats ripped out. A creature with a foot ripped
off stumbled along behind the others, heedless of the intense pain that putting weight on
the wound must have inflicted. These injures were surely fatal?
Harry felt his head spin.
The outstretched arms were getting higher as they clambered over one another to reach him.
size>face>
edit: added html-friendly quote marks and apostrophes
Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 08/10/2010 09:37PM by Mr Misery.
Re: Meat Truck 4: Zombie Apocalypse (or How Harry Tuttle Stopped Living and Became a Fairfax Zombie)
Posted by:
Mr Misery
()
Date: August 08, 2010 03:35PM
WashingTone-Locian's six-year old son Joel clapped his hands, "I'm gonna be a
Ninja!"
Nathan poked him with his elbow. He realized something was wrong, and,
with his ten years of maturity, he realized this was no time for messing around.
Tone crouched down, and put a hand on each son's shoulder. "We're going
to stay with Aunt Rachel and Uncle Mephisto for a few days in a bunker."
Nathan was excited for a few seconds, but that mood vanished as he wondered,
"Why? Is it a nuclear bomb?"
Tone hesitated, he did not know what to say. He didn't understand what was
going on; how could he hope to explain it to his young children. "No, it's not
a bomb, but there is a kind of sickness, and we want to hide from it."
Nobody spoke for a moment and everybody's attention drifted towards the
television. A helicopter was flying low over a church that was under siege by
hundreds of the creatures.
"Zombies!" Nathan whispered.
"It's not..." Tone wanted to say that it wasn't "zombies. Zombies are just
make-believe." But the evidence on the TV silenced him.
No one responded.
Eventually Erica broke the silence. She turned off the television, and addressed
her family. "We've got sandwiches, juice, and chips. Let's all get in the car. Now."
They grabbed a few more possessions, rushed down the drive and strapped
themselves into the car.
Tone had just turned the key in the ignition when a bloody hand slapped messily
against the back window.
The children screamed.
Erica hissed, "Just fucking go, go, go!"
The car shot forward and the creature ran after it. It ran with frightening speed and
did not tire.
size>face>
TO BE CONTINUEDNinja!"
Nathan poked him with his elbow. He realized something was wrong, and,
with his ten years of maturity, he realized this was no time for messing around.
Tone crouched down, and put a hand on each son's shoulder. "We're going
to stay with Aunt Rachel and Uncle Mephisto for a few days in a bunker."
Nathan was excited for a few seconds, but that mood vanished as he wondered,
"Why? Is it a nuclear bomb?"
Tone hesitated, he did not know what to say. He didn't understand what was
going on; how could he hope to explain it to his young children. "No, it's not
a bomb, but there is a kind of sickness, and we want to hide from it."
Nobody spoke for a moment and everybody's attention drifted towards the
television. A helicopter was flying low over a church that was under siege by
hundreds of the creatures.
"Zombies!" Nathan whispered.
"It's not..." Tone wanted to say that it wasn't "zombies. Zombies are just
make-believe." But the evidence on the TV silenced him.
No one responded.
Eventually Erica broke the silence. She turned off the television, and addressed
her family. "We've got sandwiches, juice, and chips. Let's all get in the car. Now."
They grabbed a few more possessions, rushed down the drive and strapped
themselves into the car.
Tone had just turned the key in the ignition when a bloody hand slapped messily
against the back window.
The children screamed.
Erica hissed, "Just fucking go, go, go!"
The car shot forward and the creature ran after it. It ran with frightening speed and
did not tire.
size>face>
edit: added html-friendly quote marks and apostrophes
Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 08/10/2010 10:00PM by Mr Misery.
Re: Meat Truck 4: Zombie Apocalypse (or How Harry Tuttle Stopped Living and Became a Fairfax Zombie)
Posted by:
Harry Tuttle
()
Date: August 08, 2010 04:50PM
Excellent... Truly excellent work... I have read every word and I am riveted. Thank you for selecting me to be in this sapling of an epic. I can't help but smell traces of metaphor... Especially in the Don Geronimo portion...
I have recurring dreams of a zombie apocalypse. I wonder if your work shares the same cryptic message from my dreams...
I am also dying to know if these characters will ever meet each other...
Please continue posting your story.
Signatures are for fags
I have recurring dreams of a zombie apocalypse. I wonder if your work shares the same cryptic message from my dreams...
I am also dying to know if these characters will ever meet each other...
Please continue posting your story.
Signatures are for fags
Re: Meat Truck 4: Zombie Apocalypse (or How Harry Tuttle Stopped Living and Became a Fairfax Zombie)
Posted by:
Mr Misery
()
Date: August 08, 2010 08:13PM
The WashingTone-Locians had not gone far when Joel shouted out "Look there's a
man on the roof!"
"Look below," Erica said solemnly, "that's why he's up there."
She pointed to the crowd of zombies scratching at the brickwork.
Tone slowed down and slid his window down.
"Tone, there's nothing we can do," Erica spoke the harsh truth, "keep going!"
Tone shouted to the man, "We see you, we'll send help!" He didn't believe there
would be any help, but he couldn't leave the man without some recognition, without
some hope.
"They're coming!" Erica shook her husband's shoulder.
"Okay," he pressed on the accelerator as the dead lumbered close to the car.
"Tone," said Erica urgently, "we can't afford to take any chances. This is serious."
"I know, I know, Erica, but it was serious for that poor guy too."
Erica sucked her teeth, "You're not just risking your life. What about Joel and
Nathan? And me?"
Tone had to slow down to take a tight corner at the bottom of the hill.
They seemed to come from nowhere.
Five or six creatures slammed into the passenger side of the car.
The windshield cracked and the passenger window shattered.
Pale hands were grabbing at Erica. One had ahold of her hair, and used the grip
to haul its head and shoulders through the window and into the car.
The children were hysterical. Erica was screaming. Tone struggled to keep control
of the car. He had never felt so helpless in his life; he could not help Erica
and he could not stop or they would be overwhelmed. A zombie ran straight at the
car, head on and crunched into the grill. It stuck there for a few moments, its
hands reaching forward for the occupants, then it was sucked underneath, and
bumped under the wheels.
Erica's screams reached a crescendo as the zombie bit into her cheek, just below
her right eye.
Tone held on to the steering wheel with his left hand and tried to push the
creature off with his right. The car swerved wildly.
The creature was momentarily pushed backwards, taking a chunk of Erica's face
with it.
The smell of blood filled the car, metallic and sickening. Tone felt bile rise in
his throat. His head was pounding in rhythm with his furious heartbeat.
The creature snapped at Tone's hand and caught the skin between his thumb and
index finger. He tore his hand free, but in doing so pulled the creature further
into the car.
He steered the car onto the sidewalk then deliberately scraped along the side of
a wall. The creature was sheared in two at the waist; the passenger seat filled
with its spilling entrails.
The zombie was now able to maneuver itself into a sick parody of an embrace with
Erica. She managed to use one hand to open the car door and tried to push with
the other.
Joel crouched back in his seat crying pitifully. Nathan was pummeling the creature's
head with his small hands.
The zombie found Erica's neck, and tore into it ravenously.
Blood sprayed over the inside of the windshield. Tone had to lean low over the
steering wheel in order to see where he was going.
With a last, desperate burst of strength Erica pushed the thing off her and in
one motion it slipped out of the flapping door.
Erica clutched her neck as hot blood pumped rhythmically between her fingers. Her
voice was a gurgling whisper, "Take care of the kids." Her breathing was labored,
"I love you. I love all three of you."
Her hand slumped as the last of her blood trickled away.
Everyone was sobbing. Tone had to use his sleeve to clear a patch of windshield
to see through. It smeared and smudged; his wife's blood did not want to come off.
He had just cleared enough to gain a better idea of where he was going when Erica
started to move again.
"Mommy!" the boys cried in unison from the back seat.
"Erica?" Tone's voice was disbelieving.
Then her seatbelt locked as she jerked forward to try and bite her husband.
Her eyes were dead, but her mouth was a snarl of hunger and rage.
The car skidded to a halt.
Half a block away, two zombies looked up from the still warm body they were
devouring and started towards fresher meat in the stopped car.
Tone raised his feet and started to kick wildly at the woman he loved. She caught
him by the left ankle and took a chunk out of the flesh of his calf. He screamed
and kicked with redoubled urgency.
He felt her neck snap.
The children were beyond hysterical, as he unbuckled their mother's seatbelt and
pushed her out of the car.
He had no time to say anything to them as two more creatures approached the open
door.
He ground the gears into reverse and shot backwards down the street.
One of the zombies had the door in his grip, and the door was twisted clean off
as Tone clipped into a parked car. Through his rear window he could see the whole
street filling up with the undead. He crunched the gears again and came to a
brief stop, wheels spinning, before shooting forward at as fast as he could.
Tone's brain did not have the capacity to take in what had happened to Erica. It
was too horrible to allow in. He just thought about getting away to safety.
There were creatures coming towards him from everywhere. The road behind was a
sea of bloodstained monsters. He accelerated.
His hand was bleeding freely. He did not want to look at the wound Erica had made
in his leg but he could feel its dull ache as he pressed the accelerator.
He felt light headed. He was aware that he was going into shock. He couldn't
afford to be unfocused now. His children's lives depended on it.
A speed camera flashed. He already had eight points on his license he could get
a suspension. He laughed, hysteria rising to the surface. He had meant to avoid
any major towns, but he found his frantic escape had taken him to Silver Spring.
He tore down the road, zombies still visible through the rear window; then as he
skidded through a traffic circle, he saw the road ahead was blocked by a jack-
knifed eighteen-wheeler that was burnt-out and smoldering.
Tone hardly slowed as he spun the car in a screeching U-turn, the right-side
tires smashing into the curb and up onto the sidewalk before thumping back onto
the road. The street was full of creatures running towards him with inhuman
determination and hunger.
With the passenger door missing he felt twice as vulnerable, and he knew he had
no chance to get through them. The only escape was up the ramp into a multi-story
parking lot. He twisted the steering wheel and headed upwards, praying the way
was not blocked.
He knew it was a dead end, he knew it was hopeless, but he couldn't give up the
fight just yet.
The lot was almost empty. No one was going to work today.
He smashed through the barrier; he had always wanted to do this, but he could
feel no emotion, as the plastic arm twisted and fell limply to the ground.
Looking back he could see the zombies starting up the ramp. He drove up and up,
full speed to the top floor, scraping his car against the walls.
He reached the top. He hoped that being out of sight might distract the creatures.
WashingTone-Locian got out of the car, and gently and tenderly urged Joel and
Nathan out. They were both quiet now, but tears were flowing freely down their
ashen faces.
"Okay, now, boys, we are going to try a new adventure." He tried to make his
voice sound enthusiastic, but he was shaking. "At times like this daddies have a
very special magic, that we can't use normally."
Joel's eyes were wide; he believed his daddy could find a way out for them.
Nathan stood hugging himself, his face blank.
"Sometimes, when everything seems lost daddies can fly, and they can make their
children fly too."
Nathan opened his mouth, he looked like he was about to be sick, but he made no
noise.
"Okay, if these bad people come up here I want us to jump off."
Nathan whimpered, "No daddy."
Tone looked deliberately from Nathan to Joel. Nathan realized that his dad was
telling him to be quiet for the sake of his little brother. Fresh tears poured
down Nathan's cheeks.
"If the magic is enough, we will fly, maybe we will fly to heaven." He looked to
Nathan as he spoke the word. A mature understanding passed between them. It was
the first time they had really dealt with each other as "man to man."
Joel was smart for his age. "Are you telling me to kill myself, Daddy? I don't
believe in real magic."
Nathan let out a quiet whimper.
Tone took his sons in his arms. "Sometimes a father who is in real life-or-death
trouble has magic for the people he loves. Believe it boys. Close your eyes when
you jump. Keep them closed tight." Tone's voice cracked. His next words were lost
as he tried to swallow his sobs, "Don't die in despair."
They heard the sound of approaching feet, and the hungry snarls of the approaching
zombies.
Tone helped his sons up to stand on the ledge that surrounded the car park. He
looked down over the dying city.
Nathan tried to look back at the approaching crowd, but his father pulled him in
tight.
"Close your eyes my beautiful boys. I love you so very much."
And pulling his children with him he jumped.
size>face>
edit: added html-friendly quote marks and apostrophesman on the roof!"
"Look below," Erica said solemnly, "that's why he's up there."
She pointed to the crowd of zombies scratching at the brickwork.
Tone slowed down and slid his window down.
"Tone, there's nothing we can do," Erica spoke the harsh truth, "keep going!"
Tone shouted to the man, "We see you, we'll send help!" He didn't believe there
would be any help, but he couldn't leave the man without some recognition, without
some hope.
"They're coming!" Erica shook her husband's shoulder.
"Okay," he pressed on the accelerator as the dead lumbered close to the car.
"Tone," said Erica urgently, "we can't afford to take any chances. This is serious."
"I know, I know, Erica, but it was serious for that poor guy too."
Erica sucked her teeth, "You're not just risking your life. What about Joel and
Nathan? And me?"
Tone had to slow down to take a tight corner at the bottom of the hill.
They seemed to come from nowhere.
Five or six creatures slammed into the passenger side of the car.
The windshield cracked and the passenger window shattered.
Pale hands were grabbing at Erica. One had ahold of her hair, and used the grip
to haul its head and shoulders through the window and into the car.
The children were hysterical. Erica was screaming. Tone struggled to keep control
of the car. He had never felt so helpless in his life; he could not help Erica
and he could not stop or they would be overwhelmed. A zombie ran straight at the
car, head on and crunched into the grill. It stuck there for a few moments, its
hands reaching forward for the occupants, then it was sucked underneath, and
bumped under the wheels.
Erica's screams reached a crescendo as the zombie bit into her cheek, just below
her right eye.
Tone held on to the steering wheel with his left hand and tried to push the
creature off with his right. The car swerved wildly.
The creature was momentarily pushed backwards, taking a chunk of Erica's face
with it.
The smell of blood filled the car, metallic and sickening. Tone felt bile rise in
his throat. His head was pounding in rhythm with his furious heartbeat.
The creature snapped at Tone's hand and caught the skin between his thumb and
index finger. He tore his hand free, but in doing so pulled the creature further
into the car.
He steered the car onto the sidewalk then deliberately scraped along the side of
a wall. The creature was sheared in two at the waist; the passenger seat filled
with its spilling entrails.
The zombie was now able to maneuver itself into a sick parody of an embrace with
Erica. She managed to use one hand to open the car door and tried to push with
the other.
Joel crouched back in his seat crying pitifully. Nathan was pummeling the creature's
head with his small hands.
The zombie found Erica's neck, and tore into it ravenously.
Blood sprayed over the inside of the windshield. Tone had to lean low over the
steering wheel in order to see where he was going.
With a last, desperate burst of strength Erica pushed the thing off her and in
one motion it slipped out of the flapping door.
Erica clutched her neck as hot blood pumped rhythmically between her fingers. Her
voice was a gurgling whisper, "Take care of the kids." Her breathing was labored,
"I love you. I love all three of you."
Her hand slumped as the last of her blood trickled away.
Everyone was sobbing. Tone had to use his sleeve to clear a patch of windshield
to see through. It smeared and smudged; his wife's blood did not want to come off.
He had just cleared enough to gain a better idea of where he was going when Erica
started to move again.
"Mommy!" the boys cried in unison from the back seat.
"Erica?" Tone's voice was disbelieving.
Then her seatbelt locked as she jerked forward to try and bite her husband.
Her eyes were dead, but her mouth was a snarl of hunger and rage.
The car skidded to a halt.
Half a block away, two zombies looked up from the still warm body they were
devouring and started towards fresher meat in the stopped car.
Tone raised his feet and started to kick wildly at the woman he loved. She caught
him by the left ankle and took a chunk out of the flesh of his calf. He screamed
and kicked with redoubled urgency.
He felt her neck snap.
The children were beyond hysterical, as he unbuckled their mother's seatbelt and
pushed her out of the car.
He had no time to say anything to them as two more creatures approached the open
door.
He ground the gears into reverse and shot backwards down the street.
One of the zombies had the door in his grip, and the door was twisted clean off
as Tone clipped into a parked car. Through his rear window he could see the whole
street filling up with the undead. He crunched the gears again and came to a
brief stop, wheels spinning, before shooting forward at as fast as he could.
Tone's brain did not have the capacity to take in what had happened to Erica. It
was too horrible to allow in. He just thought about getting away to safety.
There were creatures coming towards him from everywhere. The road behind was a
sea of bloodstained monsters. He accelerated.
His hand was bleeding freely. He did not want to look at the wound Erica had made
in his leg but he could feel its dull ache as he pressed the accelerator.
He felt light headed. He was aware that he was going into shock. He couldn't
afford to be unfocused now. His children's lives depended on it.
A speed camera flashed. He already had eight points on his license he could get
a suspension. He laughed, hysteria rising to the surface. He had meant to avoid
any major towns, but he found his frantic escape had taken him to Silver Spring.
He tore down the road, zombies still visible through the rear window; then as he
skidded through a traffic circle, he saw the road ahead was blocked by a jack-
knifed eighteen-wheeler that was burnt-out and smoldering.
Tone hardly slowed as he spun the car in a screeching U-turn, the right-side
tires smashing into the curb and up onto the sidewalk before thumping back onto
the road. The street was full of creatures running towards him with inhuman
determination and hunger.
With the passenger door missing he felt twice as vulnerable, and he knew he had
no chance to get through them. The only escape was up the ramp into a multi-story
parking lot. He twisted the steering wheel and headed upwards, praying the way
was not blocked.
He knew it was a dead end, he knew it was hopeless, but he couldn't give up the
fight just yet.
The lot was almost empty. No one was going to work today.
He smashed through the barrier; he had always wanted to do this, but he could
feel no emotion, as the plastic arm twisted and fell limply to the ground.
Looking back he could see the zombies starting up the ramp. He drove up and up,
full speed to the top floor, scraping his car against the walls.
He reached the top. He hoped that being out of sight might distract the creatures.
WashingTone-Locian got out of the car, and gently and tenderly urged Joel and
Nathan out. They were both quiet now, but tears were flowing freely down their
ashen faces.
"Okay, now, boys, we are going to try a new adventure." He tried to make his
voice sound enthusiastic, but he was shaking. "At times like this daddies have a
very special magic, that we can't use normally."
Joel's eyes were wide; he believed his daddy could find a way out for them.
Nathan stood hugging himself, his face blank.
"Sometimes, when everything seems lost daddies can fly, and they can make their
children fly too."
Nathan opened his mouth, he looked like he was about to be sick, but he made no
noise.
"Okay, if these bad people come up here I want us to jump off."
Nathan whimpered, "No daddy."
Tone looked deliberately from Nathan to Joel. Nathan realized that his dad was
telling him to be quiet for the sake of his little brother. Fresh tears poured
down Nathan's cheeks.
"If the magic is enough, we will fly, maybe we will fly to heaven." He looked to
Nathan as he spoke the word. A mature understanding passed between them. It was
the first time they had really dealt with each other as "man to man."
Joel was smart for his age. "Are you telling me to kill myself, Daddy? I don't
believe in real magic."
Nathan let out a quiet whimper.
Tone took his sons in his arms. "Sometimes a father who is in real life-or-death
trouble has magic for the people he loves. Believe it boys. Close your eyes when
you jump. Keep them closed tight." Tone's voice cracked. His next words were lost
as he tried to swallow his sobs, "Don't die in despair."
They heard the sound of approaching feet, and the hungry snarls of the approaching
zombies.
Tone helped his sons up to stand on the ledge that surrounded the car park. He
looked down over the dying city.
Nathan tried to look back at the approaching crowd, but his father pulled him in
tight.
"Close your eyes my beautiful boys. I love you so very much."
And pulling his children with him he jumped.
size>face>
Edited 3 time(s). Last edit at 08/10/2010 11:19PM by Mr Misery.
Re: Meat Truck 4: Zombie Apocalypse (or How Harry Tuttle Stopped Living and Became a Fairfax Zombie)
Posted by:
Alias
()
Date: August 09, 2010 01:41AM
I cried at the part where Erica dies.
Re: Meat Truck 4: Zombie Apocalypse (or How Harry Tuttle Stopped Living and Became a Fairfax Zombie)
Posted by:
Troll@AOL
()
Date: August 09, 2010 02:17AM
An EXCELLENT read.
Great ending.
==================================================================================
"Why don't you LOSERS just pack your flower print DOUCHE BAGS
and get your stoopid @$$#$ THE FUCK OFF MY INTERNETZ!"
- 'philscamms' (the YT Watchdog) ; internet & YouTube® extraordinaire.
Great ending.
==================================================================================
"Why don't you LOSERS just pack your flower print DOUCHE BAGS
and get your stoopid @$$#$ THE FUCK OFF MY INTERNETZ!"
- 'philscamms' (the YT Watchdog) ; internet & YouTube® extraordinaire.
Re: Meat Truck 4: Zombie Apocalypse (or How Harry Tuttle Stopped Living and Became a Fairfax Zombie)
Posted by:
Harry TuttIe
()
Date: August 10, 2010 10:41PM
It took a week for the smell to kick in. It was winter, which slowed the rot
down, but the rank smell of death seeped into Miz's apartment. It would not be
denied.
The smell rose from the streets, insinuating itself through the joints in the
resolutely closed window frames. The stench also seeped under his front door.
There were dead bodies in his block of apartments. Whether they were walking or
not he could not tell.
He had all these weapons, he had planned for this for years, and yet he was stuck
in his apartment, in hiding, under siege.
Thoughts were buzzing round his head: dreams of fighting moves that looked like a
ballet of slaughter, flashing blades, zombies scattering, heads rolling.
He lay on his bed, unaware if he were awake or asleep. He was drenched in sweat,
every muscle clenched and tight.
It was three in the morning when something finally snapped.
He was a ninja. He was a hero.
It was time that he started acting like one.
He stood up, got dressed, all in black. He had a choice of armor. He toyed with
the replica plate mail he had bought in sections from a mail order company. It
was strong but noisy, ill-fitting, and cumbersome. In the absence of an easier
meal he was sure the undead would settle for tinned food. He had homemade leather
armor, sewn together from biker jackets he had bought in a second hand shop. He
used it for his "live action role playing games." It could easily be used for a
fantasyworld battle or a cyberpunk biker. He felt a pang of loss for his gaming
buddies. He was sure none of them would have been so well organized for the end
of the world.
He strapped on his leather armor, piece by piece, and placed his assortment of
knives and (air)guns into the holsters he had incorporated.
His two swords were strapped to his back; his shotgun was strapped to his leg. He
wore his genuine replica orc helmet from the Lord of the Rings: the Two Towers.
He felt it didn't quite match the rest of his armor, but felt safer with some
protection for his head.
He carried his bow and had an arrow notched and ready to shoot. He knew from many
games of Dungeons and Dragons that it was good to have a long-range weapon
ready in your hands for first contact, and then a sword ready to unsheathe for
when it was time to get "up close and personal."
He was ready. He stood by his door, breathing deeply.
He spoke to himself in a whisper, "I am a ninja, the night belongs to me." And he
opened the front door.
The corridor that led to the elevator and stairs had glass on one side, which let
in the pale moonlight; on the other side were the neighbors' front doors.
The corridor was empty. There was one dark handprint on the wall. Miz guessed
that it was blood but in the darkness it looked black.
The penultimate door was open.
Miz walked the corridor, stalking like a panther.
His bow was ready; he pulled the string back as he approached the open door.
His shotgun caught against the fire extinguisher in the corridor, and a
resounding, ringing noise shattered the silence.
"Fucking bastard extinguisher!" He cursed.
Seconds later he heard banging from the door behind him. It was the frenzied
sound of the undead.
Suddenly Miz didn't feel like a ninja any more.
He was scared and alone.
He was about to return to his apartment when a small zombie skittered out from
the open door. It was one of his neighbor's children, a boy of about ten years
old, its jaws snapping, and its eyes wild. It was wearing a school uniform and
one arm was ripped and bloody.
Miz struggled with his bow, getting into a tangle as the child sprang for his
throat. He was assailed by the stench of rotten meat as its tiny hands clutched
at his face. He pushed it off, and it went skidding backwards on its shiny black
school shoes before falling onto its back. In a moment it was back on its feet.
Miz tried to draw his samurai swords but there was not enough room; they
clattered against the walls and roof. He had not thought about the limited
fighting space.
He was walking backwards as the zombie started towards him again. He dropped the
swords and drew the shotgun.
He fired and the child's face disintegrated.
The eyes were bloody, gaping sockets; the nose was little more than a hole in the
middle of the face; the jaw hung slack, its bones shattered; most of the teeth
were shot out.
But the creature was not dead. It blindly ran about the corridor bashing off
walls, its frenzied hands searching for its prey.
The knocking had intensified from inside the neighbor's door, and glancing out of
the corridor windows, he could see that the noise of the gunshot had attracted
the entire neighborhood's population of zombies. They were running towards his
building. He raced back to his door. Looking back as he closed it, he saw the
faceless child collide with the zombie that had once been its mother.
He slammed his door and started to stack furniture against it. "Fuck!"face>size>
down, but the rank smell of death seeped into Miz's apartment. It would not be
denied.
The smell rose from the streets, insinuating itself through the joints in the
resolutely closed window frames. The stench also seeped under his front door.
There were dead bodies in his block of apartments. Whether they were walking or
not he could not tell.
He had all these weapons, he had planned for this for years, and yet he was stuck
in his apartment, in hiding, under siege.
Thoughts were buzzing round his head: dreams of fighting moves that looked like a
ballet of slaughter, flashing blades, zombies scattering, heads rolling.
He lay on his bed, unaware if he were awake or asleep. He was drenched in sweat,
every muscle clenched and tight.
It was three in the morning when something finally snapped.
He was a ninja. He was a hero.
It was time that he started acting like one.
He stood up, got dressed, all in black. He had a choice of armor. He toyed with
the replica plate mail he had bought in sections from a mail order company. It
was strong but noisy, ill-fitting, and cumbersome. In the absence of an easier
meal he was sure the undead would settle for tinned food. He had homemade leather
armor, sewn together from biker jackets he had bought in a second hand shop. He
used it for his "live action role playing games." It could easily be used for a
fantasyworld battle or a cyberpunk biker. He felt a pang of loss for his gaming
buddies. He was sure none of them would have been so well organized for the end
of the world.
He strapped on his leather armor, piece by piece, and placed his assortment of
knives and (air)guns into the holsters he had incorporated.
His two swords were strapped to his back; his shotgun was strapped to his leg. He
wore his genuine replica orc helmet from the Lord of the Rings: the Two Towers.
He felt it didn't quite match the rest of his armor, but felt safer with some
protection for his head.
He carried his bow and had an arrow notched and ready to shoot. He knew from many
games of Dungeons and Dragons that it was good to have a long-range weapon
ready in your hands for first contact, and then a sword ready to unsheathe for
when it was time to get "up close and personal."
He was ready. He stood by his door, breathing deeply.
He spoke to himself in a whisper, "I am a ninja, the night belongs to me." And he
opened the front door.
The corridor that led to the elevator and stairs had glass on one side, which let
in the pale moonlight; on the other side were the neighbors' front doors.
The corridor was empty. There was one dark handprint on the wall. Miz guessed
that it was blood but in the darkness it looked black.
The penultimate door was open.
Miz walked the corridor, stalking like a panther.
His bow was ready; he pulled the string back as he approached the open door.
His shotgun caught against the fire extinguisher in the corridor, and a
resounding, ringing noise shattered the silence.
"Fucking bastard extinguisher!" He cursed.
Seconds later he heard banging from the door behind him. It was the frenzied
sound of the undead.
Suddenly Miz didn't feel like a ninja any more.
He was scared and alone.
He was about to return to his apartment when a small zombie skittered out from
the open door. It was one of his neighbor's children, a boy of about ten years
old, its jaws snapping, and its eyes wild. It was wearing a school uniform and
one arm was ripped and bloody.
Miz struggled with his bow, getting into a tangle as the child sprang for his
throat. He was assailed by the stench of rotten meat as its tiny hands clutched
at his face. He pushed it off, and it went skidding backwards on its shiny black
school shoes before falling onto its back. In a moment it was back on its feet.
Miz tried to draw his samurai swords but there was not enough room; they
clattered against the walls and roof. He had not thought about the limited
fighting space.
He was walking backwards as the zombie started towards him again. He dropped the
swords and drew the shotgun.
He fired and the child's face disintegrated.
The eyes were bloody, gaping sockets; the nose was little more than a hole in the
middle of the face; the jaw hung slack, its bones shattered; most of the teeth
were shot out.
But the creature was not dead. It blindly ran about the corridor bashing off
walls, its frenzied hands searching for its prey.
The knocking had intensified from inside the neighbor's door, and glancing out of
the corridor windows, he could see that the noise of the gunshot had attracted
the entire neighborhood's population of zombies. They were running towards his
building. He raced back to his door. Looking back as he closed it, he saw the
faceless child collide with the zombie that had once been its mother.
He slammed his door and started to stack furniture against it. "Fuck!"face>size>
Re: Meat Truck 4: Zombie Apocalypse (or How Harry Tuttle Stopped Living and Became a Fairfax Zombie)
Posted by:
Harry TuttIe
()
Date: August 14, 2010 10:06PM
What's taking you so long, Miz? Writer's block? You're really dragging this thing out..
Mr. Misery had not slept for two days.
The dead were at his door, and maintaining the barricades took constant
work.
He was disappointed by how easily his door had smashed in, just by the
power of bare fists and aggression.
All of his furniture was now stacked in his small hallway.
As arms came through he hacked at them. He was disappointed that none
of his expensive swords really proved to be up for the job. It was his
kitchen knife that had been most useful against the dead. Several dead
hands lay at his feet, yet the zombies still tried to reach through the
barricade with their stumps.
The sheer weight of their numbers was slowly pushing his barricade back,
as he pressed his shoulder against a chest of drawers wedged against the
bathroom doorframe.
He was a ninja. He would not give up hope.
But he was so tired.
He remembered staying awake for a thirty-hour session of Dungeons and
Dragons (a sponsored event for Comic Relief). He was tired then, but this
was an all-consuming tiredness, that allowed him only to think about how
nice it would be to give up and get into bed.
He seriously considered jumping behind his couch and praying they didn't
find him. Maybe hiding was the answer. He couldn't hold the barricade
forever. His enemies did not get tired, but he did. Oh how he did!
How about under the bed?
As a child he had nightmares about creatures under his bed. Could under the
bed be the only safe place?
He realized that dream logic was beginning to replace the good stuff, but
there was no resistance left in his spinning head. When he found his head
nodding, even when he was pushing against the barricades, he knew it was
time to act.
He could hear teeth gnashing against the wood of his door and furniture.
Hands were reaching for him through the gaps.
How long would the barricade hold without him? He hoped it would be long
enough to grab some food, water and his shotgun.
Under the bed? Was that really such a good idea? It wasn't much of a plan,
but his apartment was four floors up, so the window wasn't an option.
The window! Could he climb along the outside of the building?
He was a ninja for heaven's sake, why hadn't he thought of that.
It's true that he wasn't great with heights, but he had seen many films
where a window provided the means of escape.
He finally gathered his courage and left the barricade. He grabbed his gun
and headed for the window. As he opened it he saw a herd of the dead heading
towards his building. The noise of the others scratching and smashing at his
door was attracting every zombie in the neighborhood.
"Not fucking fair!" He moaned as his hope disappeared.
There was nothing else for it; he would have to hide under the bed.
He ran back; the barricade was starting to tip forward. He slid under the bed,
shuffled as near to the center as he could and waited.
In less than three minutes the barricade had given way completely. The living
dead pushed and stumbled their way into his apartment.
He watched in horror as one of the creatures stumbled against his limited
edition "Judge Death" figurine on the bookshelf. He almost cried out as it
toppled over and smashed on the floor.
From where he lay he could see Judge Death's head (his body had been crushed
under the feet of the dead). The face of the figurine seemed to be looking at
him. He could imagine it saying, "You are nexsssssd!"
Miz did not realize that he had fallen asleep until he woke himself up with a
sudden, snorting snore.
"Fuck!" He mouthed the word silently to the bedsprings above him.
Had he been snoring? Had he been heard?
Were the dead still in his aparment, or had they wandered off once they had
failed to find him?
His answer came when he found a cold hand grasp him around the ankle. He
hoped against hope that this was a human rescuer come to save him. He
realized his hopes were in vain as he felt the zombie's teeth tear at his
shin. He was being pulled out from under the bed, by more and more hands,
and more and more mouths were biting into the flesh of his legs. Miz let
out a loud scream. "Choke on them you dead mother-fucking bastards!"
He twisted onto his side to get a better angle with the shotgun. He felt
the heat of his blood in stark contrast to the icy hands and mouths that
were on him. The blood was flowing faster. He was sure that they had
bitten an artery.
There was not long to act to prevent himself from becoming one of them.
As he lay on his side under the bed, he put the barrel of the shotgun into
his mouth.
His hands were shaking so much he was sure that he had chipped a tooth.
Chipped a tooth; why was he thinking about that at a time like this?
His sweaty, trembling hands made one attempt to pull the trigger, but
his fingers failed to get a grip.
One more try he thought, if I don't get it this time I'll -
The trigger was frozen; it wouldn't move. Ah, the safety, he realized,
and tried to shift his thumb to unlatch it. Too late. Other, cold hands
were clawing at his arms, pulling them away. He felt faint, confused.
The last thing he saw before he blacked out was a grinning, broken-
toothed mouth moving towards his face.
But Mr. Misery need not have worried about coming back as a zombie.
By the time the creatures had finished feeding there was not much
left of him, except for a few bones and a dark stain on the bedroom
carpet.face>size>
The dead were at his door, and maintaining the barricades took constant
work.
He was disappointed by how easily his door had smashed in, just by the
power of bare fists and aggression.
All of his furniture was now stacked in his small hallway.
As arms came through he hacked at them. He was disappointed that none
of his expensive swords really proved to be up for the job. It was his
kitchen knife that had been most useful against the dead. Several dead
hands lay at his feet, yet the zombies still tried to reach through the
barricade with their stumps.
The sheer weight of their numbers was slowly pushing his barricade back,
as he pressed his shoulder against a chest of drawers wedged against the
bathroom doorframe.
He was a ninja. He would not give up hope.
But he was so tired.
He remembered staying awake for a thirty-hour session of Dungeons and
Dragons (a sponsored event for Comic Relief). He was tired then, but this
was an all-consuming tiredness, that allowed him only to think about how
nice it would be to give up and get into bed.
He seriously considered jumping behind his couch and praying they didn't
find him. Maybe hiding was the answer. He couldn't hold the barricade
forever. His enemies did not get tired, but he did. Oh how he did!
How about under the bed?
As a child he had nightmares about creatures under his bed. Could under the
bed be the only safe place?
He realized that dream logic was beginning to replace the good stuff, but
there was no resistance left in his spinning head. When he found his head
nodding, even when he was pushing against the barricades, he knew it was
time to act.
He could hear teeth gnashing against the wood of his door and furniture.
Hands were reaching for him through the gaps.
How long would the barricade hold without him? He hoped it would be long
enough to grab some food, water and his shotgun.
Under the bed? Was that really such a good idea? It wasn't much of a plan,
but his apartment was four floors up, so the window wasn't an option.
The window! Could he climb along the outside of the building?
He was a ninja for heaven's sake, why hadn't he thought of that.
It's true that he wasn't great with heights, but he had seen many films
where a window provided the means of escape.
He finally gathered his courage and left the barricade. He grabbed his gun
and headed for the window. As he opened it he saw a herd of the dead heading
towards his building. The noise of the others scratching and smashing at his
door was attracting every zombie in the neighborhood.
"Not fucking fair!" He moaned as his hope disappeared.
There was nothing else for it; he would have to hide under the bed.
He ran back; the barricade was starting to tip forward. He slid under the bed,
shuffled as near to the center as he could and waited.
In less than three minutes the barricade had given way completely. The living
dead pushed and stumbled their way into his apartment.
He watched in horror as one of the creatures stumbled against his limited
edition "Judge Death" figurine on the bookshelf. He almost cried out as it
toppled over and smashed on the floor.
From where he lay he could see Judge Death's head (his body had been crushed
under the feet of the dead). The face of the figurine seemed to be looking at
him. He could imagine it saying, "You are nexsssssd!"
Miz did not realize that he had fallen asleep until he woke himself up with a
sudden, snorting snore.
"Fuck!" He mouthed the word silently to the bedsprings above him.
Had he been snoring? Had he been heard?
Were the dead still in his aparment, or had they wandered off once they had
failed to find him?
His answer came when he found a cold hand grasp him around the ankle. He
hoped against hope that this was a human rescuer come to save him. He
realized his hopes were in vain as he felt the zombie's teeth tear at his
shin. He was being pulled out from under the bed, by more and more hands,
and more and more mouths were biting into the flesh of his legs. Miz let
out a loud scream. "Choke on them you dead mother-fucking bastards!"
He twisted onto his side to get a better angle with the shotgun. He felt
the heat of his blood in stark contrast to the icy hands and mouths that
were on him. The blood was flowing faster. He was sure that they had
bitten an artery.
There was not long to act to prevent himself from becoming one of them.
As he lay on his side under the bed, he put the barrel of the shotgun into
his mouth.
His hands were shaking so much he was sure that he had chipped a tooth.
Chipped a tooth; why was he thinking about that at a time like this?
His sweaty, trembling hands made one attempt to pull the trigger, but
his fingers failed to get a grip.
One more try he thought, if I don't get it this time I'll -
The trigger was frozen; it wouldn't move. Ah, the safety, he realized,
and tried to shift his thumb to unlatch it. Too late. Other, cold hands
were clawing at his arms, pulling them away. He felt faint, confused.
The last thing he saw before he blacked out was a grinning, broken-
toothed mouth moving towards his face.
But Mr. Misery need not have worried about coming back as a zombie.
By the time the creatures had finished feeding there was not much
left of him, except for a few bones and a dark stain on the bedroom
carpet.face>size>
Re: Meat Truck 4: Zombie Apocalypse (or How Harry Tuttle Stopped Living and Became a Fairfax Zombie)
Posted by:
Harry Tuttle
()
Date: September 06, 2010 04:29PM
What about Harry Tuttle, Mr Misery? What gruesome conclusion do you have in store for his saga?
Signatures are for fags
Signatures are for fags
Re: Meat Truck 4: Zombie Apocalypse (or How Harry Tuttle Stopped Living and Became a Fairfax Zombie)
Posted by:
eesh
()
Date: September 06, 2010 04:30PM
eesh Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> No one is going to read this shit.
+1
-------------------------------------------------------
> No one is going to read this shit.
+1
Re: Meat Truck 4: Zombie Apocalypse (or How Harry Tuttle Stopped Living and Became a Fairfax Zombie)
Posted by:
Harry Tuttle
()
Date: September 06, 2010 05:20PM
The critics have spoken...
MT4: Zombie Apocalypse
is...
"An EXCELLENT read. Great ending."
- Troll@AOL
"you guys...really...should [write a sequel]... everyone knows you're [number][1]..."
- issues(Devil's Reject)
"haha! I cried at the part where [spoiler alert] dies."
- Alias
"No one is going to [be the same after they] read this... +1"
- eesh
"...Truly excellent work... I am... in this..."
"I can't... smell...Don Geronimo..."
"I have recurring dreams of... your story."
- TuttleBlog
READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!
Signatures are for fags
Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 09/06/2010 05:44PM by Harry Tuttle.
is...
"An EXCELLENT read. Great ending."
- Troll@AOL
"you guys...really...should [write a sequel]... everyone knows you're [number][1]..."
- issues(Devil's Reject)
"haha! I cried at the part where [spoiler alert] dies."
- Alias
"No one is going to [be the same after they] read this... +1"
- eesh
"...Truly excellent work... I am... in this..."
"I can't... smell...Don Geronimo..."
"I have recurring dreams of... your story."
- TuttleBlog
READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!
Signatures are for fags
Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 09/06/2010 05:44PM by Harry Tuttle.
Re: Meat Truck 4: Zombie Apocalypse (or How Harry Tuttle Stopped Living and Became a Fairfax Zombie)
Posted by:
PULP_ZOMBIE
()
Date: September 21, 2010 05:10PM
As the world became more and more infected the only choice was to kill or be killed. So slowly, as James brought the handgun to his head, he slowly pulled the trigger thinking to himself this was the end. As the he pulled the trigger he closed his eyes and thought about how much he missed his whiskey...
Re: Meat Truck 4: Zombie Apocalypse (or How Harry Tuttle Stopped Living and Became a Fairfax Zombie)
Posted by:
Mr. Misery
()
Date: October 16, 2010 01:05AM
I'm in awe. Best thing I read since Charles Dickens' "Little Dorrit".
Re: Meat Truck 4: Zombie Apocalypse (or How Harry Tuttle Stopped Living and Became a Fairfax Zombie)
Posted by:
Maggie
()
Date: October 16, 2010 01:07AM
ChuckHoffmann wrote this story and posted it under imposter names.
Posted by:
chuckhoffmann
()
Date: October 16, 2010 01:26AM
Edited 2 time(s). Last edit at 12/06/2014 09:25PM by chuckhoffmann.
Edited 2 time(s). Last edit at 12/06/2014 09:25PM by chuckhoffmann.
Re: Meat Truck 4: Zombie Apocalypse (or How Harry Tuttle Stopped Living and Became a Fairfax Zombie)
Posted by:
bloody blisters
()
Date: October 16, 2010 01:31AM
chuckhoffmann Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
>
> No, this wasn't me. Any stories I've written and
> posted here I have subsequently removed.
why? its not like anyone ever read them anyway.
-------------------------------------------------------
>
> No, this wasn't me. Any stories I've written and
> posted here I have subsequently removed.
why? its not like anyone ever read them anyway.
Re: Meat Truck 4: Zombie Apocalypse (or How Harry Tuttle Stopped Living and Became a Fairfax Zombie)
Posted by:
fag_it
()
Date: October 16, 2010 01:32AM
eesh Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> eesh Wrote:
> --------------------------------------------------
> -----
> > No one is going to read this shit.
>
>
> +1
douchenozzle plus oneing himself
-------------------------------------------------------
> eesh Wrote:
> --------------------------------------------------
> -----
> > No one is going to read this shit.
>
>
> +1
douchenozzle plus oneing himself
Posted by:
chuckhoffmann
()
Date: October 16, 2010 01:37AM
Edited 2 time(s). Last edit at 12/06/2014 09:26PM by chuckhoffmann.
Edited 2 time(s). Last edit at 12/06/2014 09:26PM by chuckhoffmann.
Re: Meat Truck 4: Zombie Apocalypse (or How Harry Tuttle Stopped Living and Became a Fairfax Zombie)
Posted by:
bloody blisters
()
Date: October 16, 2010 01:39AM
chuckhoffmann Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> bloody blisters Wrote:
> --------------------------------------------------
> -----
> > why? its not like anyone ever read them anyway.
>
> Exactly! That's also why I stopped promoting my
> blog and writing articles for the Wiki.
dont agree with me dammit, im trying to fight you.
-------------------------------------------------------
> bloody blisters Wrote:
> --------------------------------------------------
> -----
> > why? its not like anyone ever read them anyway.
>
> Exactly! That's also why I stopped promoting my
> blog and writing articles for the Wiki.
dont agree with me dammit, im trying to fight you.
Re: Meat Truck 4: Zombie Apocalypse (or How Harry Tuttle Stopped Living and Became a Fairfax Zombie)
Posted by:
Mr. Misery
()
Date: October 16, 2010 01:47AM
he hates it when you do that, Chuck.
Re: Meat Truck 4: Zombie Apocalypse (or How Harry Tuttle Stopped Living and Became a Fairfax Zombie)
Posted by:
Harry Tuttle
()
Date: December 18, 2010 06:16AM
My plagiarism detector hasn't detected any... but p-p-p-please tell me this story isn't the result of plagiarism...
Signatures are for fags
Signatures are for fags
Re: Meat Truck 4: Zombie Apocalypse (or How Harry Tuttle Stopped Living and Became a Fairfax Zombie)
Posted by:
lameskis
()
Date: December 18, 2010 10:22AM
eesh Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> eesh Wrote:
> --------------------------------------------------
> -----
> > No one is going to read this shit.
>
>
> +1
eesh has resorted to plus oneing himself?
loser.
-------------------------------------------------------
> eesh Wrote:
> --------------------------------------------------
> -----
> > No one is going to read this shit.
>
>
> +1
eesh has resorted to plus oneing himself?
loser.
Re: Meat Truck 4: Zombie Apocalypse (or How Harry Tuttle Stopped Living and Became a Fairfax Zombie)
Posted by:
Stillwater VI
()
Date: January 01, 2012 05:05PM
Mr Misery Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> ...
> Harry felt his head spin.
>
> The outstretched arms were getting higher as they
> clambered over one another to reach him.
>
> TO BE CONTINUED
Did the maimed zombies ever seize Harry?
-------------------------------------------------------
> ...
> Harry felt his head spin.
>
> The outstretched arms were getting higher as they
> clambered over one another to reach him.
>
> TO BE CONTINUED
Did the maimed zombies ever seize Harry?
Re: Meat Truck 4: Zombie Apocalypse (or How Harry Tuttle Stopped Living and Became a Fairfax Zombie)
Posted by:
Long story short
()
Date: January 01, 2012 07:12PM
Harry gets a cellphone call from his Mom. He tells her to stay inside, be careful, I love you, blah blah blah.
He drops the cellphone when he's putting it back in his pocket. When he bends over to pick it up, he slips, and find himself sliding perilously close to the edge of the roof, just above a horde of ravenous zombies, now driven into a frenzy.
He manages to grab the gutter and keep from falling off, barely. He drags himself back onto the roof, losing a shoe that a zombie pulls off when his leg is dangling down.
Just when he's managed to regain a standing position at the top of the roof, a flock of birds swoops by from out of nowhere. Harry is startled, loses his balance, and falls off the *other* side of the roof, away from the zombies. He falls into a little alley on the side of the house, and is knocked unconscious when he lands. He appears to have fallen in a safe place. There are no zombies around.
Cut to: a new subplot involving Mephisto (the only surviving character from Meat Truck 1) and Genevieve seeking shelter from the zombies at the Mount Weather underground bunker ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mount_Weather_Emergency_Operations_Center ). A lot of head-smashing zombie action here (plus they learn the zombie plague is the result of a mutation of the Reston Ebola virus). Cut to:
The Cary subplot. He's on the 23rd floor of an office building, just finishing up the graveyard shift when everything goes to hell. He appears to have lucked into a safe location, but alas, not quite. After a long, terrible battle with a particularly tenacious zed, he gets bitten, a fatal wound. He lights up a joint in the conference room, and sits back to watch the end of the world through a wide, panoramic window. Cut to:
The eesh subplot. You wouldn't believe what happens (even I'm shocked) so I'm not going to try to explain it to you. Cut to:
Fade in. It's night time. Harry "wakes up," or at least his eyes open. He is disoriented. He looks down and sees that his stomach is ripped open, with various body parts hanging out of the bloody cavity. He clumsily grabs the end of one of his intestines, lifts it to his mouth, and starts chewing on it. It doesn't taste very good; dead flesh never does. He manages to stand up and stagger off into the night, seeking fresh victuals.
And that, in brief, is how Harry Tuttle stopped living and became a Fairfax zombie.
Meat Truck 5 (not coming soon): Homeland Security builds an immense wall around Fairfax/NOVA, in an attempt to quarantine "ground zero" of the zombie outbreak. Many uninfected people are trapped inside. Redneck survivors (including FAIRFAX COUNTYS MASTER OF METAL \m/) vs. IT/govt contractor survivors vs. many, many zombies. Mayhem, brains, and blood. And it's all Gravis and Mephisto's fault for selling "meat" (human flesh, actually) tainted with the Reston Ebola virus. (See Meat Truck 1-3.)
He drops the cellphone when he's putting it back in his pocket. When he bends over to pick it up, he slips, and find himself sliding perilously close to the edge of the roof, just above a horde of ravenous zombies, now driven into a frenzy.
He manages to grab the gutter and keep from falling off, barely. He drags himself back onto the roof, losing a shoe that a zombie pulls off when his leg is dangling down.
Just when he's managed to regain a standing position at the top of the roof, a flock of birds swoops by from out of nowhere. Harry is startled, loses his balance, and falls off the *other* side of the roof, away from the zombies. He falls into a little alley on the side of the house, and is knocked unconscious when he lands. He appears to have fallen in a safe place. There are no zombies around.
Cut to: a new subplot involving Mephisto (the only surviving character from Meat Truck 1) and Genevieve seeking shelter from the zombies at the Mount Weather underground bunker ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mount_Weather_Emergency_Operations_Center ). A lot of head-smashing zombie action here (plus they learn the zombie plague is the result of a mutation of the Reston Ebola virus). Cut to:
The Cary subplot. He's on the 23rd floor of an office building, just finishing up the graveyard shift when everything goes to hell. He appears to have lucked into a safe location, but alas, not quite. After a long, terrible battle with a particularly tenacious zed, he gets bitten, a fatal wound. He lights up a joint in the conference room, and sits back to watch the end of the world through a wide, panoramic window. Cut to:
The eesh subplot. You wouldn't believe what happens (even I'm shocked) so I'm not going to try to explain it to you. Cut to:
Fade in. It's night time. Harry "wakes up," or at least his eyes open. He is disoriented. He looks down and sees that his stomach is ripped open, with various body parts hanging out of the bloody cavity. He clumsily grabs the end of one of his intestines, lifts it to his mouth, and starts chewing on it. It doesn't taste very good; dead flesh never does. He manages to stand up and stagger off into the night, seeking fresh victuals.
And that, in brief, is how Harry Tuttle stopped living and became a Fairfax zombie.
Meat Truck 5 (not coming soon): Homeland Security builds an immense wall around Fairfax/NOVA, in an attempt to quarantine "ground zero" of the zombie outbreak. Many uninfected people are trapped inside. Redneck survivors (including FAIRFAX COUNTYS MASTER OF METAL \m/) vs. IT/govt contractor survivors vs. many, many zombies. Mayhem, brains, and blood. And it's all Gravis and Mephisto's fault for selling "meat" (human flesh, actually) tainted with the Reston Ebola virus. (See Meat Truck 1-3.)
Re: Meat Truck 4: Zombie Apocalypse (or How Harry Tuttle Stopped Living and Became a Fairfax Zombie)
Posted by:
Harry Tuttle
()
Date: January 02, 2012 12:56AM
Re: Meat Truck 4: Zombie Apocalypse (or How Harry Tuttle Stopped Living and Became a Fairfax Zombie)
Posted by:
friskydingo
()
Date: January 02, 2012 12:56AM
Harry Tuttle is a man's man, he ain't no lil bitch.
Re: Meat Truck 4: Zombie Apocalypse (or How Harry Tuttle Stopped Living and Became a Fairfax Zombie)
Posted by:
Fehc
()
Date: April 04, 2018 12:33PM
Wish harry would come back.