pheliskougra | The Last Stand

The Last Stand

It's a dark stormy night might be a cliché in story-telling, but it's also stark reality now: the patter of heavy rain and the crack of thunder rousing you to conscience.

You are inside your sedan, face-first into the deployed airbag. Your chest hurts a little from the yanking of the seatbelt, but besides that minimal discomfort you seem uninjured.

The car is halfway into a ditch beside the road, the left-side light still on. The engine is stopped, and the whole of the car is askew, stuck in an odd angle. There's a crack on the windshield, passenger side, and the rain is washing off what seems to be blood.

You remember... a person, running into the road right in front of you. No time to stop, and you only had a glimpse before hitting the person, losing control of the car and crashing.

Probably you should do something about your current situation.

Who are you?

Why were you going to Union City?

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"Maybe we can finally get some answers as to what the hell is going on, then," Annabelle says with a small smile.

Kelly nods. "Never imagined that having a crazy, gun-toting survivalist uncle would be good for something." Right, she's a fairly good shot, remember?

Monica sighs. "I just want to find Roger. If we keep a good pace, we can get to the hospital in a couple hours."

Annabelle grins at Kelly's comment, but is more serious when Monica speaks. "We'll find him," she reassures her.

Time to head out?

Time to head out, indeed.

As they make their way down and out of the building, Kelly recounts how her uncle wanted to take her shooting, around her 15th b-day, and how her father made a fuss... until her mom asked her dad, if she were a boy, would he be opposed too?

"Dad shut up then, and Uncle Darnell took me shooting by the lake." The rest is history, of course.

Once they gain the street again, Monica takes lead, guiding the trio towards Canal Park. The city is again eerie silent in daylight, ominously.

"Good for your mom and your uncle," Annabelle replies with a chuckle. "They sound like my kind of folks."

It is eerily quiet, isn't it? "Damn, this quiet is making me twitchy."

Kelly nods, walking along them for a bit in silence... then... "Where are the choppers?"

The question makes Monica raise a brow. "What?"

"Choppers. Your husband's note said they were evacuated by helicopter, so... where are them? There should be a couple watching the city, looking for survivors and so on, right?"

".....unless they've decided to bug out," Annabelle growls.

"Or... nevermind." Kelly shakes head, Monica just beckons them to hurry up.

They do make good time across the park, and spot the hospital near lunchtime, but the large building also seems too quiet. Closer still, they can see the grounds were secured with sandbag walls, concrete barriers and barbed wire... but some sections of it are down, and there are shamblers inside.

Well, crap.

Please excuse Annabelle's language at the sight of shamblers INSIDE the hospital area.

She is not a happy camper right now, is all we're saying.

Please excuse Monica while she shoulders the shotgun and blasts a zombie's head off. And starts into the hospital area.

Go in guns blazing sounds like Annabelle's kind of plan.

One zombie, two zombie, red zombie, blue zombie....who says children's books can't come in handy?

Well, they better organize the blazing, because zombies seem to equate gunfire to the dinner bell, and are starting to show up in higher numbers. "Inside!" Monica yells. "We can barricade a whole wing, or upstairs."

Ah, right, she knows the building.

Organized is good! Although Annabelle is wishing she'd brought some hand grenades to this party.

"Right. You first!" Annabelle shouts as she clears yet more zombies.

Monica does take point... and gestures to the wall, surprised at something: the drawing marking 'safehouse', with an arrow and '#5' beside it.

Kelly follows along, coordinating her shooting with Annabelle so she can reload without being jumped.

Between Kelly and Annabelle, the area should remain clear enough for their purposes. Damn it, how many people were even IN this city, anyway?

A lot? really, they downed at most... fifty, maybe sixty shamblers since the mess started. Rest assured, there are plenty more where those came from.

Monica leads the way upstairs, looking for the safe area, cursing with each flight of stairs. At least the stairwell seems to be fairly zombie-clear but for the occasional shambler bumping a door open attracted to the noise.

It feels like a lot more than that, is all we're saying. Annabelle shoots the curious zombies, taking advantage of the doorways to slow the shambling corpses even further.

Well, gunfire draws the attention of more than zombies: as they reach the 4th floor landing, a male voice calls from above. "Whoever's there, hurry up. The racket you're making is like the dinner bell to those things!"

Monica puzzles at the voice. "Steven? Is that you?" The man peers down. "What the hell are you doing here, Monica? Nevermind, hurry!" He beckons them urgently, holding the door into the 5th floor open.

Stephen appears to be neither dead nor a zombie, today is looking up! Annabelle hurries through the door, hoping that this encounter will lead to finding out what the hell is going on.

The young man (blonde, athletic build) quickly leads them down a hallway, with the groaning and lurching sounds of zombies not far behind. Soon they find the now, familiar reinforced doors, and can slip inside for safety.

Monica reacts with all the composure someone might expect. "Where the hell is Roger?" Yes, nearly hysterical.

Steven visibly cringes before answering. "HERC took him and all the doctors along with the wounded to the stadium. They made it into a quarantine camp, for the wounded to be sorted... you know, who's turning into a zombie or not."

Monica's reply to the news is a long string of curses.

Hmm, the safehouse seems to be one infirmary ward along with the associated facilities, restrooms and showers, a couple offices. Likely they have running water, and surely, no shortage of beds, only a dozen people having taken refuge there.

Annabelle gently bangs her head against the wall, just once.

It just FIGURES, doesn't it?

Monica shrugs off her backpack, sets down the shotgun and falls on her face into a bed. She'll just be there cursing into the pillow for a while, okay?

Steven rubs his head sheepishly. "Hm... sorry?" Not much he can say or do, right?

"Probably not your fault," Annabelle says with a sigh. "Damn bureaucrats."

Steven shakes head. "They're trying to find a treatment of some kind... its seems to be a disease, a virus or bacteria."

He will also introduce the others, nurses, orderlies, and a couple paramedics, including himself.

"That's something, I suppose. People have got experience dealing with diseases, even if they were nothing as bizarre as this."

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