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Post by Generalfoley on May 15, 2011 23:35:52 GMT -7
Joe pulled the J-10 turned down a road toward dock that his informant had told him had an abandoned yacht. The catch was that there was a group of marauders that had taken up residence within the harbor where it was. Nothing huge like the Sons of Anarchy, but enough to scare away anyone looking for some free loot. Joe parked a couple of blocks away from the harbor, parking the Jeep inside a garage. He turned off the engine and looked at Mike.
"This is it. The last stop before we set off. You know what we're getting into, you were there with the communication." Joe shook his head. "You know we could still go with the plane idea, keep the Jeep. Shred ghouls and baddies with the fifty cal in the back in Europe. It'd be like doing it here. Only, you know, with much more colorful language in tongues we don't understand." Joe pulled out his pistols and checked his mags. Full clips, plus a round in each chamber. He looked back at Mike.
"It's your call. Right here, right now. We either risk life and limb taking back a harbor completely, and go through with our original plan, or we go to a nearby military airstrip and steal a C-130 that we'll just jump out of with the Jeep and let crash in a glorious explosion." Joe pulled out his rifle and checked it's magazine as well. Full magazine, plus a round chambered. He slammed his magazine back as he looked at his Swedish friend once more.
"Again, it's your call."
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Post by God Mike on May 15, 2011 23:50:12 GMT -7
"This is it. The last stop before we set off. You know what we're getting into, you were there with the communication." Joe said as they stopped some distance from the harbor. Mike was ready to take on the whole fucking world right now. He was pumped!
"You know we could still go with the plane idea, keep the Jeep. Shred ghouls and baddies with the fifty cal in the back in Europe. It'd be like doing it here. Only, you know, with much more colorful language in tongues we don't understand."
"Hey, why do you say that?" Mike asked as he crossed his arms. "I mean, ghouls? Sounds more like some voodoo shit than zombies. The politically correct term is living-impaired. But I prefer motherfuckin' flesh eating zombies. Ghoul sounds too badass for those freaks."
"It's your call. Right here, right now. We either risk life and limb taking back a harbor completely, and go through with our original plan, or we go to a nearby military airstrip and steal a C-130 that we'll just jump out of with the Jeep and let crash in a glorious explosion."
Mike let out a "Hurmm" sound and he put a hand on his chin, thinking hard. What to do, what to do? He really did want to fly, but he was really afraid of flying, and he sure as hell didn't trust Joe behind the controls... "Again, it's your call."
"Dude, the only way you'll get me on a plane would be if I was allowed to fly it. Of the two of us, I have more flying experience. I know it was just one lesson, and was a helicopter, but it's still more than you. Dude, I hate flying, and the only way I'd get on a plane would be if someone I was 100% sure was competent was flying it. And the only person in the world who I'm 100% sure about is me. Or Erik."
Mike turned to Joe with a grin. "Now it's your call. Vanquish Marauders here, or let me fly."
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Post by Generalfoley on May 16, 2011 0:45:49 GMT -7
"Hey, why do you say that? I mean, ghouls? Sounds more like some voodoo shit than zombies. The politically correct term is living-impaired. But I prefer motherfuckin' flesh eating zombies. Ghoul sounds too badass for those freaks." Joe rolled his eyes.
"I call them 'ghouls' because it's different than the norm of calling them 'zombies'. I mean, really, don't you get tired of saying zombie all the time? Zombie zombie zombie, it's horridly boring after four or five years of saying it." Joe sighed. He heard Mike hum to himself before the Swede looked at him.
"Dude, the only way you'll get me on a plane would be if I was allowed to fly it. Of the two of us, I have more flying experience. I know it was just one lesson, and was a helicopter, but it's still more than you. Dude, I hate flying, and the only way I'd get on a plane would be if someone I was 100% sure was competent was flying it. And the only person in the world who I'm 100% sure about is me. Or Erik." Joe shivered.
His decision was to either let a madman, or rather, a madman's bloodthirsty alter ego fly a C-130 Cargo plane across the Atlantic and keep the Jeep, or take on a hundred strong Marauder stronghold for a yacht, a battle that will probably lead a dozen hundred or so zombies towards their location within a half hour. If his calculations were correct, anyway.
Joe looked over at Mike. "I think I've got a compromise. You get to fly the plane, but I'm co-pilot so I'm there if anything goes wrong, or if Erik decides he wants to crash the plane into the ocean. Then I take over, and knock you out for the rest of the trip. That way, you get to fly, and I'm still safe from harm. That, and we get to keep the Jeep to mow down Euro baddies." Joe looked through the back window, open so that Mike could man the gun quickly. Joe glanced up at the turret wheel that they had installed up by the roll cage, looted from a broken down Hummer. Fixed their problem of being limited to one firing arc, it did. Joe looked back at Mike.
"So... we go with the compromise? Or do we kill needlessly and probably die faster?"
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Post by God Mike on May 16, 2011 0:56:35 GMT -7
"I call them 'ghouls' because it's different than the norm of calling them 'zombies'. I mean, really, don't you get tired of saying zombie all the time? Zombie zombie zombie, it's horridly boring after four or five years of saying it."
Mike laughed. "Yeah, right! It's got a Z in it. It'll never get old. I love that sound. Zee... Zeeeeeeeeee. Zzzzzzombie vs Ghoul. Easy win. Zombie wins, 'cause a Z is kickass, and will win every time!" After all, Mike's old nickname was Zeno, so it was only natural that the Z would always triumph.
"I think I've got a compromise. You get to fly the plane, but I'm co-pilot so I'm there if anything goes wrong, or if Erik decides he wants to crash the plane into the ocean. Then I take over, and knock you out for the rest of the trip. That way, you get to fly, and I'm still safe from harm. That, and we get to keep the Jeep to mow down Euro baddies."
Mike hummed at that. He already knew what he was going to answer, but he wanted Joe to sweat a little. He was pretty sure Joe was nervous about both options. "So... we go with the compromise? Or do we kill needlessly and probably die faster?"
"Hm... Well, I do enjoy needlessly killing and getting into life-threatening situations, but flying that thing would be pretty fucking boss... Wait," Mike blinked and looked at Joe again. "Of course you're gonna co-pilot! Do you think I'd really let Erik fly on his own in case he decided to take over? Heeeeell no! I have confidence in his flying skills, but absolutely no confidence in the man himself. Yeah, let's get to an airstrip."
Mike grinned brightly as he struck a victory pose. "Oh yeah! Howlin' Mad Mike is gonna be piloting a motherfucking plane!"
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Post by Generalfoley on May 16, 2011 1:46:09 GMT -7
"Yeah, right! It's got a Z in it. It'll never get old. I love that sound. Zee... Zeeeeeeeeee. Zzzzzzombie vs Ghoul. Easy win. Zombie wins, 'cause a Z is kickass, and will win every time!" Joe rolled his eyes as he smiled slightly. Mike was still a kid in every way. The new world just allowed him to act as such without repercussions. It's why madmen always triumphed in this new world; because they could adapt to any situation faster than anyone alive.
Joe look in his driver side mirror. He thought he saw movement for a moment. He nodded at what Mike said, not really paying attention.
"Of course you're gonna co-pilot! Do you think I'd really let Erik fly on his own in case he decided to take over? Heeeeell no! I have confidence in his flying skills, but absolutely no confidence in the man himself. Yeah, let's get to an airstrip."
Joe nodded as he turned the ignition. He turned around and pulled out the driveway quickly. He was almost positive that he saw something. Joe turned the wheel left as he switched the gear to 'Drive' and drove forward. He looked in the center mirror.
"Hey, uh, Mike," Joe began, returning his eyes back to the road. "Keep an eye out, will ya? Something's not right here." Joe unbuttoned one of his holsters for his pistol. This didn't add up. Joe looked back at the center mirror.
Well shit.
Joe looked back and saw several sedans and trucks following them. "Fuck." Joe muttered. He looked over at Mike quickly as he accelerated, jabbing his thumb at the general direction of the gun. "Mike, I need you to bring the rain." Joe quickly turned a corner, drifting across the cracked asphalt road, dust rolling from the wheels.
"I think you'd like to finally use the fifty cal, right?"
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Post by God Mike on May 16, 2011 2:01:40 GMT -7
Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy, oh boy, oh boy! Mike was gonna get to fly! Fuckin' aye! This was gonna be so fucking boss! Hah! Time to see if he actually could fly that plane. He never flew before. But hey, it was never too late to try! He knew the basics, probably. How hard could it be?
"Hey, uh, Mike," Joe said, pulling Mike out of his dreamworld, where he was flying an awesome fighter jet, murdering zombie Nazis while getting blown by a Swedish-born purebred blond. Fantasies were awesome. "Keep an eye out, will ya? Something's not right here."
"Yeah, yeah," Mike said, not really caring, as he went back to his fantasies, a big grin spreading on his face. When he heard Joe use the word fuck, he raised and eyebrow and looked in the center mirror, his eyes widening as he saw the cars.
"Mike, I need you to bring the rain. I think you'd like to finally use the fifty cal, right?"
"'I have a bad feeling,' 'Something's not right!'" Mike whined in a very poor, very high-pitched imitation of Joe's voice, which didn't even sound remotely similar Joe's voice. "Every time you say something like that, we get attacked! You're a fucking Marauder magnet!" he hissed. "It can't be me, since I'm the zombie magnet."
Grunting, Mike got out of the back window and popped up in the turret wheel, grabbing the fifty cal and whipping it around, grinning widely. "WELCOME TO THE LAND OF FREEDOM, BITCHES!" he roared, mimicking that dude from the radio in GTA: Vice City. That dude was funny. Shaking his head, as he noticed that his thoughts were straying, he opened fire on the cars, noticing a distinct difference in recoil, as after only a few seconds, he'd lost feeling in his arms from the vibrations.
The .50 caliber bullets tore through the truck closest to them, and it whipped to the right, trying to avoid getting hit. Unfortunately for the driver, it smashed right into a sedan, which was trying to pass it. The bullets tore through the windshield, splattering it with blood as the driver was hit. The sedan was given the same treatment, making short work of the driver.
The truck and the sedan swerved to the sides, crashing into buildings as Mike laughed, aiming at the next truck and opening fire.
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Post by Generalfoley on May 16, 2011 3:09:11 GMT -7
"WELCOME TO THE LAND OF FREEDOM, BITCHES!"
Joe shook his head, the roar from the M2 deafening. He looked up as he saw the clouds that had gathered, lightening dancing through the sky. Goddammit. Joe turned another corner, a frown on his face. Looked like rain. God, how he hated driving in rain. Joe switched on the headlights as he navigated around another corner. Three SUV's joined in the pursuit. He heard the truck and the sedan crash, and glanced back to see Mike's handiwork.
Joe turned another corner, down the road that he knew led to an airfield. He just didn't know if it was the right one. Joe looked in the mirror again and saw an old military Humvee, a gunner on the turret. Joe's eyes widened as he sped up, swerving on the road.
"Mike!" Joe yelled. "Take out that fuckin' gunner! It'll tear us apart!" Rain started to drizzle on the Jeep. Joe turned on the windshield wipers, switching on the floodlights on top of the Jeep's cabin. Joe saw a zombie stumbling by, and as it turned to watch the Jeep with it's dead eyes, it started to scream. Shit, a shrieker. Joe sped up a bit more and ran over the ghoul, the scream ending with the sound of sliced flesh as the blades underneath did their job.
The rain started to pour. Joe sped up the windshield wipers, cursing under his breath. He hated driving in the rain. Joe looked over at a small opening that most likely led to the dead corn fields that occupied the space that had been looted for food so long ago. Joe picked up the CB, knowing that Mike took his radio.
"Mike, hang on! We're gonna try and lose 'em in the old cornfields!" Joe turned on the radio, blaring it through the Jeep's speaker system. Dragonforce's "Through the Fire and Flames" played loudly enough to be heard by the Marauders in their pursuit.
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Post by God Mike on May 16, 2011 8:23:24 GMT -7
"O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-oH, ShI-i-I-i-I-i-I-i-I-iT, I-i-I-i-I-i-I-i-I Ca-A-a-An'T Fe-E-e-E-e-E-e-Ll My-Y-y A-a-A-a-A-a-RmS..." Mike said, though it was drowned out by the deafening M2 as he tore apart yet another sedan with the .50 cal.
"Mike!" He managed to hear Joe yell over the gunfire. "Take out that fuckin' gunner! It'll tear us apart!" Mike looked over at the Humvee that had joined the chance. Turning the .50 cal to the left, he opened fire, tearing apart the gunner who managed to squeeze off only one shot, which whizzed right past Mike's head.
Another burst from the M2 tore apart the Humvee, as a shriek was heard, which almost made Mike jump out of his skin. He hated that noise. Shaking his head, he opened fire on the rest of the cars behind them. The cars were swerving, and he missed most of the shots, only opening up a few holes in the vehicles.
"Mike, hang on! We're gonna try and lose 'em in the old cornfields!" Mike's eyes widened as he heard Joe's voice through the radio. Not the fucking cornfield! Hadn't Joe ever watched The Lost World?! Long grass, or in this case cornfields, were a favorite for raptors! And the equivalent of raptors in Zombie-Land was...
A thud was heard, and Mike whipped the Browning around, to see that a Jumper had landed on the hood of the Jeep. "SHIT!" he yelled as he opened fire. The Jumper was torn to pieces, showering the hood, windshield, and Mike in blood. "STEP ON IT!"
Seeing something to his left, Mike turned the Browning to see another Jumper flying through the air toward him. He opened fire, stopping the Jumper in the air as it was shredded by the .50 cal. Grabbing his radio and bringing it to his mouth, he cleared his throat. "Joe, I know it's safe for you, being inside and all, but I don't reallywannafightFUCKINGJUMPERSOUTHERE!!"
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Post by Generalfoley on May 16, 2011 18:36:03 GMT -7
Joe jumped when the Jumper leaped onto the hood of the Jeep, and swore only seconds after it exploded into a giant heap of gore. Joe turned the wheel, his heart racing. He needed to get out of the cornfields, Jumpers were everywhere!
"STEP ON IT!" Joe couldn't agree more as he pushed the pedal down even more so, clocking their speed at around ninety miles an hour. Joe saw a Jumper leap at them from the side, only to exploded into a shower of gore. Mike was almost too good with that M2.
Joe looked in the mirror, seeing that a group of the zombies that he feared had latched onto a couple of trucks and a sedan that had tried to follow them. They pried the armored windows and doors open with their legs as they dove inside. The two trucks and sedan started swerving, screams from their occupants reaching his ears, and probably Mike's as well. The sedan swerved in front of a truck, flipping the large vehicle. The other truck swerved and started to roll before it was stopped by a nearby tree.
A few seconds later, it exploded in a glorious ball of flame, which had ignited the dead corn's more... flammable properties. Flames started bursting forth into life as the other two infected vehicles were consumed by the fire, their gas tanks igniting and exploding like the first one. The marauders chasing them sped up, no longer concerned with catching Joe and Mike, but with surviving the inferno that was racing to consume them.
The rain started pounding on them now.
Joe could hear Mike yell into the radio, "Joe, I know it's safe for you, being inside and all, but I don't reallywannafightFUCKINGJUMPERSOUTHERE!!" Joe looked around, seeing almost nothing but corn. But then his vision cleared of the cursed starch product, and they exploded out of the burning field, flying through the air as they drove over a hill, fire following them in their escape. Joe's stomach started doing little flips as he yelled, "SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!"
The Jeep landed roughly onto the ground, and Joe looked up. He saw no more corn fields, nor any other tall plants. Just meadow-like fields for another thirty or forty miles. Joe sighed in relief before he pounded on the back window.
"Mike!" Joe yelled out the window. He want to bother with the radio right now. "We're clear! Now get the fuck back in here before you freeze to death!" Joe looked in his mirrors again, then around what he could see from the cabin. Nothing. Joe sighed in true relief as he turned the Jeep towards what used to be a major road.
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Post by God Mike on May 16, 2011 18:58:19 GMT -7
Zombies, fire, bullets, Marauders, everything was exploding around him, passing in a blur as they drove through the cornfield in the pouring rain. The Marauders seemed to abandon their chase as they instead focused on their own survival. Self-preservation was a beautiful thing.
Mike felt the Jeep bump, and the next second, their flew through the air, for reasons unknown to Mike. All he knew was that his feet left the bed of the truck. He was close to flying off the Jeep, but he grabbed a hold of the M2 in the last second, keeping him from doing so.
As the Jeep landed on the road, Mike was roughly through the the bed of the Jeep, hitting his head hard. The blow knocked him unconscious for a second or two, and he was sure it was damn close to giving him a concussion.
"Mike!" he heard Joe yell and he sat up, rubbing his head. "We're clear! Now get the fuck back in here before you freeze to death!" Now get the fuck back in here? That son of a...! Grunting, Mike crawled back into the Jeep, sitting down in the passenger seat as he clutched his head.
"Whose fault was it that I was out there in the first place?" he hissed with a glare. "Damn, I get no respect around here. I mowed down the Marauders, prevented a Jumper from turning you into a Shish Ka-Joe, also showering me in its fucking blood in the process, and what do I get? A 'get the fuck back in here...'"
Pouting childishly, Mike crossed his arms, making a "Tch" sound. "No respect, man... Did you not see me own those guys back there? I think I deserve a thank you..."
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Post by Generalfoley on May 16, 2011 19:52:50 GMT -7
Joe shut the window behind Mike as he crawled through, soaked to the bone. Joe handed him a towel as he glanced at him. Joe pulled onto the nearby road, the feeling of asphalt under their wheels a welcoming comfort.
"Whose fault was it that I was out there in the first place?" Joe glanced over at Mike, slightly guilty at his choice of wording. Goddammit, guilt was back? Son of a bitch, he hated guilt.
"Damn, I get no respect around here. I mowed down the Marauders, prevented a Jumper from turning you into a Shish Ka-Joe, also showering me in its fucking blood in the process, and what do I get? A 'get the fuck back in here...'. No respect, man... Did you not see me own those guys back there? I think I deserve a thank you..."
Joe glanced at Mike apologetically before he looked back out the windshield. The blood gave it a slightly red tint as the rain washed it away.
"You're right, man," Joe began. "Thank you, for manning the gun, and saving my life." Joe opened up the sunglasses compartment on the top of the cabin, pulling out two authentic Pre-Outbreak Cuban cigars, along with a box of wooden matches, and handed one to Mike.
"Here's a gift, mate, for appreciation. But don't smoke it until the Fat Lady Sings, alright? These are my last two." Joe still had the Cuban between his fingers as he turned turned the radio down. Static gave him a headache. Joe turned the knob until an he found a channel devoid of static, but there wasn't music either. Must be in intermission. It was good for his headache.
"So, how did the M2 handle?" Joe asked as he stuffed his cigarette in his coat pocket. He didn't want to smoke it too early.
The radio finally came back to life, playing "What is Love?" by Haddaway. Slowly but surely, Joe started to rock his head to one side, an homage to the long dead "Roxbury Guys". He checked his watch and sighed.
"We got five more minutes until we reach the airfield. I know a guy who lives there that can give us a hand with the plane." Joe shook his head. He hoped Paul was still there.
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Post by God Mike on May 16, 2011 20:01:28 GMT -7
"You're right, man," Joe said, looking apologetic. "Thank you, for manning the gun, and saving my life." That made Mike feel good. It felt good to be appreciated. He grinned when Joe handed over the cigar. How long had it been since Mike last smoked a cigar? It was a long, long, long, loooong time ago, in a galaxy far, far away.
"Here's a gift, mate, for appreciation. But don't smoke it until the Fat Lady Sings, alright? These are my last two." Mike took the cigar, grinning. It was gonna taste so good when he finally lit it up. Nom nom nom, as he always said. "So, how did the M2 handle?"
"Great," Mike said, wiping his face and hands with a rag that he pulled from the glove compartment. "Just great. The only downside is that I still have trouble feeling my arms. That thing shakes like crazy when you fire! Did you know that?"
'What is Love?' started playing, which made Mike smile brightly as he started bobbing his head to the beat, just like the Roxbury Guys' SNL sketch. "We got five more minutes until we reach the airfield. I know a guy who lives there that can give us a hand with the plane."
"You know a lot of guys, don't you?" Mike asked, staring at Joe suspiciously. "And the only girl you know is someone you consider a sister..." Mike hummed as he stared hard at Joe. "Do I have to start sleeping on my back from now on?"
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Post by Generalfoley on May 16, 2011 20:42:10 GMT -7
"Great, just great! The only downside is that I still have trouble feeling my arms. That thing shakes like crazy when you fire! Did you know that?" Joe nodded. He could feel the vibrations from within the cabin. Say what you wanted, the M2 was one strong son of a bitch.
"You know a lot of guys, don't you?" Joe shrugged.
"It comes with the territory, since I traveled a lot before I met you."
"And the only girl you know is someone you consider a sister..."
"She's my genetic sibling, Mike. That's why she's my sister." Joe could see where Mike was heading with this. He wasn't stupid, far from it.
"Do I have to start sleeping on my back from now on?" Joe's eye twitched. He knew this would happen. Joe's lips twitched as he glanced at Mike.
"I'm sorry to dash your hopes, Mike, but I'm just not your type." Joe chuckled. Joe turned and went into the field on their right, with a road running adjacent to their left. The asphalt on the road was too rough for the Jeep, even with it's new suspension and the Humvee wheels they had acquired. The ride was rather smooth until the road next to them smoothed out, allowing them to drive on the road once more.
Joe turned another corner, and saw the airstrip. Several hangers lined the side, and a small camp seemed to be made in one of them. Joe frowned as he pulled onto the airstrip, driving across to see the open hanger. Joe parked the truck just outside the open hanger and jumped out the truck, slamming the door behind him.
"Paul!" Joe yelled. "You in there?"
"Joe!" A man yelled, his arms open to greet the Irishman. But Joe unholstered his right pistol with almost lightning-like instinctual reflexes.
"What the fuck are you doing here, Vincent?" Vincent wore a mock expression of hurt.
"What, I can't say hi to my good friend Joseph McManus and his... acquaintance?" Vincent leaned over to the side to get a look at Mike, and waved. Joe shook his head.
"I don't exactly trust you after the last four times you've tried to kill me." Vincent wore a look of confusion and calculation.
"Four, that seems a little high..." Realization dawned on his face before it shifted to disbelief. "Oh, you're counting the time I went after you with the chair!" Joe nodded.
"Tell me why I shouldn't shoot you right now." Joe said in a dangerous sounding voice.
"Because I can help you get set up with the plane!" Vincent said. Joe raised an eyebrow, but didn't lower his pistol.
"Go on."
Vincent took a deep breath before saying, "I was a pilot for the Air Force before the outbreak, and I mainly piloted C-130's! We can get your truck inside, we can probably make a deal, right sport? I help you fly back and forth between countries, and in turn I get to leave this godforsaken rock of a country!" Joe shrugged.
"Well, we kinda planned on crashing it into the ground when we parachuted over Europe, so that's a bit of a mute point." Joe glanced at Mike before aiming back at Vincent.
"Mike, what do you think?"
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Post by God Mike on May 16, 2011 21:06:18 GMT -7
"I'm sorry to dash your hopes, Mike, but I'm just not your type."
Mike gave a grin, laughing. "Of course you're not. If I was ever to turn to that path in life, I'm pretty sure I could do much, much better than you," he said with a grin as he leaned back, closing his eyes. Hm... How long would it take to get to the airfield?
After Mike didn't know how long, the airstrip finally came into view, and in a flash, Mike was pressed up against the passenger side window, staring at it in glee. "AIR PLANES!" he yelled happily. He was finally gonna be allowed to fly!
They pulled into a hangar, and Mike got out along with Joe, stretching as he looked himself over. He was really gonna have to wash the blood out of his clothes later. Or maybe not... Red kinda suited him... Then again... it was zombie blood... Shrugging, Mike blinked as he realized that a man had appeared, and it apparently wasn't the guy Joe wanted to meet, as he had his guns out immediately. Mike followed suit, aiming at the man.
"What the fuck are you doing here, Vincent?" Joe asked the man. Mike's Sherlock senses told him that Joe didn't like this guy. He was almost 98% sure that Joe didn't like him. Vincent, Vince, Vinnie, Vin, Vine... Vial... Nickname invented...
"What, I can't say hi to my good friend Joseph McManus and his... acquaintance?"
"I'm Mike," Mike greeted, nodding. "It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Viagra!" he said enthusiastically, a happy smile on his face. It was nice to insult someone other than Joe every once in a while, and the fact that Joe actually didn't like this guy was a good thing.
Mike, never one to pay attention to a lot for too long, tuned out the ensuing conversation in favor of mentally laughing his ass off at the nickname Mr. Viagra. However, one of Viagra's statements was picked up by Mike's ears.
"I was a pilot for the Air Force before the outbreak, and I mainly piloted C-130's! We can get your truck inside, we can probably make a deal, right sport? I help you fly back and forth between countries, and in turn I get to leave this godforsaken rock of a country!"
"Well, we kinda planned on crashing it into the ground when we parachuted over Europe, so that's a bit of a mute point." Joe said as Mike twitched in irritation. Seriously? There was no way Joe could agree to this! "Mike, what do you think?"
"What do I think?" Mike asked as he kept his guns trained on Mr. Viagra. "I think that if Mr. Viagra here is allowed to fly the plane, I'm letting Erik out, and none of us wants that. Trust me."
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Post by Generalfoley on May 16, 2011 21:43:57 GMT -7
"I'm Mike. It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Viagra!" Joe tried to resist the smile, tried to push down the laughter bubbling forth. But to no avail. Joe almost choked on air he was laughing so hard. Vincent wasn't exactly pleased with the nickname, glaring at Mike.
"Why you little-"
"Vincent!" Joe had gained most of his seriousness back as he aimed his pistol at the man. The smile stayed on his face though. Joe looked over at Mike to hear his answer.
"What do I think? I think that if Mr. Viagra here is allowed to fly the plane, I'm letting Erik out, and none of us wants that. Trust me." Joe winced before reluctantly nodding.
"He has a point there, Vincent. And while I hate Erik with a passion, you rank up higher on the list." Joe pulled the hammer back on his pistol before Vincent shouted, "Wait!"
Joe raised an eyebrow as Vincent tried to calm himself down. "I don't even have to fly." The man said as he started to slow his breathing. "I can be co-pilot while your friend Mike here does all the flying. I'll just be there to do the system checks and make sure everything goes right. You don't even have to set me up with supplies afterwards, I'll just up and leave! You'll never see me again unless our paths cross without our knowing!" He looked at Joe with pleading eyes.
"You know me, Joe. You know why I have to get out of here," He looked between Mike and Joe. "You guys can't fly that plane by yourselves! A C-130 needs at least a three man crew to make a successful trip, even if it is one way." Vincent looked back at Joe.
"I know of a lot of airstrips over in Europe that are safe to land on, and I know where to avoid and what codes to use for those automated air defenses they have over there that haven't been deactivated." Vincent was starting to make a point. Neither Joe nor Mike knew the lay of the land over in Europe, other than parts of Ireland or Sweden, respectively. And Vincent was a former pilot trained by the military to fly those things. Joe motioned Mike over to him, while Vincent slowly walked backward toward the metal sheet wall, sliding down it while trying to regain his breath.
"He has a point, Mike." Joe said. "Neither one of us knows how to properly fly a plane as big as that, and he's been trained by the government to do so under far more stressful situations." Joe looked back at Vincent, who smiled slightly and waved. Joe turned back to Mike. "We can't do everything ourselves, Mike. Especially since you've only had one experience flying a helicopter, probably much, much smaller than a C-130, and you crashed said helicopter. Me, I only know the theory behind it. But Mr. Viagra over there," Joe pointed at Vincent. "Knows these beasts like the back of his hand. He can get us across the Atlantic, onto a safe airstrip, past flak and missiles, and then we never have to see him again."
"And the deal is there; you still fly, he makes sure the plane doesn't malfunction, and if he tries something, we can still slice his throat." Joe stared at Mike. "I hate it as much as you do, but the facts are there. We can't refuse them, we can't pretend they aren't there like we always try to do. I would personally put two in the back of his head and be done with it, but I want to get over to the Atlantic in one piece and without any new scars."
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