|
Post by God Mike on Jun 21, 2011 20:07:47 GMT -7
"And I'm the one who jinxes us all the time?" Joe asked as they stopped at the town entrance. Mike looked around, and knew then and there that surely enough, a lot was wrong... That was just annoying, when that happened...
Mike grabbed a flashlight in the glove compartment and pocketed it, then grabbed his bag as Joe did the same. "You ready to go, mate?" Joe asked, and Mike nodded as he got out of the truck, stretching lazily. He really didn't want to do this. He just wanted to, like, got straight to London, or Paris, or something.
"Alright, let's see if we can't find a hardware store somewhere," Mike said, fishing his shotgun out of his bag and holding it at the ready. "I need oxy-gas, I need propane, and a shitload of tools," he said as he walked up to Joe, then glanced back at the Zombie Wrecker.
"Hey, is the Wrecker gonna be safe there? I mean, if we're attacked, it'll be a long way to the car..." Even though he said that, Mike didn't care about escape routes. He had, after all, lived all his life on his feet, since he'd never gotten a license, and he hadn't bothered stealing a vehicle after the Outbreak.
Joe didn't need to know that he'd never been properly instructed in driving, however... "Ah well," Mike said, clapping his hands together softly, so as to not attract any Deadheads. "Let's go, shall we? Daddy needs some new tools."
|
|
|
Post by Generalfoley on Jun 22, 2011 1:06:04 GMT -7
"Alright, let's see if we can't find a hardware store somewhere. I need oxy-gas, I need propane, and a shitload of tools." Joe nodded, pocketing his flashlight. He looked around, nervous. This conflict had taken place a few days ago, at the most. The fires wouldn't be still burning if it had happened before then.
"Hey, is the Wrecker gonna be safe there? I mean, if we're attacked, it'll be a long way to the car..." Joe looked at Mike, his eyebrow raised.
"It'll be fine," Joe said, looking back around. He had lowered his pistol, but he was still on edge. "Besides, if anything happens, we can sprint, or use a smoke grenade if it's marauders." Marauders were the best bet as to who attacked the town. Zombies didn't cause this much damage, they usually only concerned with getting at their next meal, not causing collateral damage.
Joe looked over at a building, and saw a corpse slouched against the wall. It was wearing an SAS uniform, along with a gas mask. Joe hurriedly put on his own mask, breathing in the filtered air.
He walked over to the corpse, and took off the gas mask. He was about to leave the body until he spotted a worn down but hopefully functional MP5K sub-machine gun. He picked up the gun, and checked the magazine. Empty. He checked the cycling assembly. Shot to hell. Joe growled in frustration as he put it back on the ground softly. He turned around, and threw the gas mask to Mike.
"It's not your old one, but we might as well be careful." He pointed his thumb back at the corpse. "They had gas masks on for something, and he's only a day old, he hasn't started rotting yet. Rigor is in full swing, though." Joe paused, the chuckled.
"Let's go, shall we? Daddy needs some new tools." Joe chuckled as he nodded. He looked around, before his eyes stopped on a hardware store and what looked to be a gun smith's workshop. He motioned to Mike.
"Let's go check out the hardware store for what you need first, then we'll head over to the gun smith shop." Joe smiled. "I gotta get me some supplies."
|
|
|
Post by God Mike on Jun 22, 2011 1:17:21 GMT -7
"It'll be fine. Besides, if anything happens, we can sprint, or use a smoke grenade if it's marauders." Mike nodded as he looked over the empty street while Joe looked over the corpse. His face was feeling exposed. He was so used to his gas mask, which hid his facial expressions from view. Now, however, everyone could see his face, including that dead SAS soldier.
He caught the gas mask Joe threw at him and raised an eyebrow. "It's not your old one, but we might as well be careful." A muscle under Mike's left eye twitched. Was he being serious? "They had gas masks on for something, and he's only a day old, he hasn't started rotting yet. Rigor is in full swing, though."
"You gotta be fucking shitting me..." Mike muttered, dropping the gas mask to the ground. "Hey, Joe, I know some might call me crazy, or insane, or, since we're in England, a nutter, but I'm not gonna wear a gas mask that's been on a dead guy for God knows how long... So, thanks, but no thanks..."
Mike took off his backpack and reached into it. He'd packed something in case of sudden face-exposure. He liked to be prepared, after all. Grinning, he pulled out a balaclava and put it on, immediately giving off a sigh of relief. "I doubt there's gonna be any gasses here. That dude probably just wore it just in case."
"Let's go check out the hardware store for what you need first, then we'll head over to the gun smith shop." Mike nodded at that, pulling up his hood and cocking his shotgun. "I gotta get me some supplies."
"Yeah, I..." Mike trailed off as his ears picked up on some noise. He hummed and looked up. The noise was getting louder and louder, a very familiar sound. Then, he saw it. "Uh... Hey, Joe?" he voice, clearing his throat and pointing up at the sky. "Isn't that, er, our plane?"
|
|
|
Post by Generalfoley on Jun 22, 2011 5:37:21 GMT -7
"Uh... Hey, Joe?"
Joe looked at Mike, having walked up to the door. "Yes, Mike?" But then he heard the sound. That eerily familiar sound. Joe shut his eyes, and took a deep breath. That couldn't be what he thought it was, that couldn't be-
"Isn't that, er, our plane?" Goddammit, could nothing go right with them? Joe looked up, and saw the plane. His fury grew quietly. This wasn't the place for an outrage.
"Why yes, Mike," Joe said with barely restrained fury. "Yes it is." Joe looked back at the door, and looked back at Mike. "If we see him again... I call dibs on blowing his brains out of his porra cranio. Tā mā de jìnǚ de érzi!" Joe yelled. Then he sighed, trying to regain his calm. Anger wasn't going to do anything for them right now. It would make him feel so good right now.
Joe looked over at the door, and kicked it in. The door hinges ripped from the wood they were screwed into and the door landed on the floor with a loud bang. He motioned to the now open door. "Shall we?" Joe turned on his flashlight and headed inside.
|
|
|
Post by God Mike on Jun 22, 2011 5:54:06 GMT -7
"Why yes, Mike," Joe said, and Mike tilted his head to the side, clicking his tongue. This was not good... "Yes it is. If we see him again... I call dibs on blowing his brains out of his porra cranio. Tā mā de jìnǚ de érzi!"
Mike blinked as he looked over at Joe. What the hell had he just said? Well, it was better not to ask. After all, it probably wasn't anything nice. Instead, he just sighed and put one hand on his hip, leaning his shotgun against his shoulder with the other.
"Hm... We're nice and proper fucked, aren't we? I mean, what are the odds that we'll find enough gas to get us to the next town?" he asked, scratching his head. "Then again, I'm not really bothered, so why the hell am I even asking? Better yet, why am I just standing here? Or-"
Mike was interrupted by a large bang as Joe kicked down the door to the hardware store. He blinked at Joe, who gestured for the doorway. "Shall we?" he asked as he took out his flashlight, and Mike did the same, taking out his own flashlight and holding it in his left hand.
"Oh, yes, this will do nicely," Mike said as he entered the hardware store and looked around, a large grin appearing on his face, hidden by his balaclava. So many people looked over the hardware stores in their search for weapons, all of them going for the weapons shops, so this place was largely untouched.
"Alright, since this is my territory, you do as I say. Grab a basket," Mike said gleefully as he grabbed one of the shopping baskets stacked near the door. "And then, go for the tools. I'll find some other shit, and then I'll find fuels for my torches." With that, Mike headed off down an aisle, humming to himself.
He grabbed masking tape, electric tape, duct tape, screws, bolts, nuts, anything he could get his hands on, and pretty soon, he found that his basket was completely full. Sighing, he headed out of the store and set the basket down on the sidewalk, before heading inside and grabbing another shopping basket, filling that one up with everything he could grab as well.
"Hey, Joe!" Mike called from one of the corners of the store. "Gimme a holler if you find any gas, alright? I can't find any oxy-gas. Only butane!" he said, filling his basket up with small canisters of butane gas, which his portable torch would fit on.
|
|
|
Post by Generalfoley on Jun 23, 2011 13:24:45 GMT -7
"Alright, since this is my territory, you do as I say. Grab a basket, and then, go for the tools. I'll find some other shit, and then I'll find fuels for my torches." Joe nodded as he grabbed a basket, heading over to the other side of the store. Normally, he wasn't one for taking orders, but Mike was telling the truth with this; hardware stores were practically his backyard.
As Joe walked down the isles of tools, grabbing as many tools, nails, screws, and anything else, a song came into his head, one that he hadn't heard for a long, long time. And he decided to slowly sing the lyrics.
"Whiskey whiskey, Nancy whiskey, Whiskey whiskey, Nancy-O! Whiskey whiskey, Nancy whiskey, Whiskey whiskey, Nancy-O!" His singing pace soon sped up, picking up tempo with the original song.
"I am a weaver, a Calton weaver, I am a brash and a roving blade. I got silver in my britches, And I follow the roving trade! Whiskey whiskey, Nancy whiskey, Whiskey whiskey, Nancy-O! Whiskey whiskey, Nancy whiskey, Whiskey whiskey, Nancy-O!"
"I went into Glasgow city, Nancy whiskey I did smell, I walked in, sat down beside her, Seven long years; I loved her well! Whiskey whiskey, Nancy whiskey, Whiskey whiskey, Nancy-O! Whiskey whiskey, Nancy whiskey, Whiskey whiskey, Nancy-O! The more I kissed her, the more I knew her, The more I loved her, the more she smiled! I forgot my mother’s teaching, Nancy soon had me beguiled!"
"Whiskey whiskey, Nancy whiskey, Whiskey whiskey, Nancy-O! Whiskey whiskey, Nancy whiskey, Whiskey whiskey, Nancy-O! Woke up early in the morning, Lying halfway off the bed, Tried to rise, but I was not able, Nancy damn near knocked me dead! Whiskey whiskey, Nancy whiskey, Whiskey whiskey, Nancy-O! Whiskey whiskey, Nancy whiskey, Whiskey whiskey, Nancy-O!" Joe doubted Mike would get this song, but he didn't really care. He found a nail gun, and almost threw it into his basket when he saw that it was full. In a more jovial mood now, he sang to himself as he walked outside, seeing Mike, and set his basket down beside his. He walked back inside, grabbing two more baskets to give him more stuff to take.
"I’ll get back to the Calton weaving; Surely make those shuttles fly, I’ll make more at the Carlton weaving, Than ever I did at the roving way. Whiskey whiskey, Nancy whiskey, Whiskey whiskey, Nancy-O! Whiskey whiskey, Nancy whiskey, Whiskey whiskey, Nancy-O!"
"All you weavers, you Calton weavers, All you weavers where e’er you be, Beware of whiskey, Nancy Whiskey, She’ll ruin you, she ruined me! Whiskey whiskey, Nancy whiskey, Whiskey whiskey, Nancy-O! Whiskey whiskey, Nancy whiskey, Whiskey whiskey, Nancy-O!"
The song finished, Joe sighed in relief. That felt good, he felt better. But he never wanted to sing ever again. To many words, to much air wasted.
"Hey, Joe!" Joe listened as he looked at the pneumatic-driven tools that he absolutely loved. At least when they worked. Of course, these ones required air canisters, which were there in various sizes below them, so they didn't need to lug a giant air compressor everywhere they went. Good. Joe had managed to find a rather nicely sized nail gun, with nail-packs below that, when Mike spoke up again. "Gimme a holler if you find any gas, alright? I can't find any oxy-gas. Only butane!"
Joe looked down the isle, and walked over, taking his empty basket to fill up on Mike's oxy-gas. And man, there was a lot of it. Joe took the now full basket, and walked outside, setting the basket on the sidewalk.
"Found the oxy-gas!" He said as walked back in. He walked back to his other basket, which was rather empty. He pulled out a rivet gun, a few packs of rivets, and a few air canisters before he walked down to another isle. He put everything he could into the basket, not knowing what they'd need. His forte was guns and gunsmithing, not metal working.
He walked outside and put the basket down, taking out a smoke and lighting it. He took a drag, blowing smoke out of his nose, before he went back inside.
"Oi, Mike. I'm gonna run to the Jeep, bring her in so that we can load the tools. That cool?"
|
|
|
Post by God Mike on Jun 23, 2011 13:45:25 GMT -7
Mike smirked behind his balaclava as he heard Joe sing. It was a song sung obnoxiously Irishly, if that was even a word, but it was nonetheless catchy, and after ten seconds, he started humming to the tune, tapping his foot as he filled up his basket. Welcome to the realm of insanity, my friend, he thought, giving a quiet cackle.
"Found the oxy-gas!" Awesome! Mike grinned widely as Joe came back inside. He flashed his friend a thumbs up. It was a good thing, too, because he was starting to run out of oxy-gas, and he couldn't use his trusty torch without oxy-gas, damn it! "Oi, Mike. I'm gonna run to the Jeep, bring her in so that we can load the tools. That cool?"
"Hm?" Mike looked up from the welding wires he'd started packing into his basket. "Go for it," he said, giving Joe another thumbs up. He picked up his full basket and left the store, kneeling next to Joe's basket of oxy-gas. "The fuck is this?" he muttered, picking up the small canisters. These would only be good for a handheld oxy-gas torch. When you want something, go big, Mike always said. He sighed as he walked back into the store, searching.
Soon enough he found the shelf with oxy-gas canister, and leaned against the wall across from it was more oxy-gas, the larger canisters. Grunting, Mike picked up two large canisters that reached up to his knees, and did a strange little frog-walk out of the store to set them down next to the full baskets. This would last for quite some time.
Stretching lazily, he sat down next to the full shopping baskets and looked over the things Joe had taken. He had to admit, he had the Devil's luck. There was not a single useless thing in those baskets, except for the small oxy-gas canisters, but Mike was sure that he could find a use for them.
Now, all he had to do was wait for the Wrecker to arrive, so they could load the shit onto it.
|
|
|
Post by Generalfoley on Jun 26, 2011 6:22:35 GMT -7
Joe took a drag as he walked to the Jeep, thinking. He really needed a new rifle. His M1A1 was a great rifle, but he needed to get something new, now that it was... well, now that it was a Jumper chew toy. Maybe he would take a dead soldier's M4... Nah, those were terribly ineffective in the environments that he and Mike were going in, so that was out. Maybe an old fashioned double-barreled shot-
Joe's thoughts were interrupted when he bumped into the Jeep.Too lost in thought, Joe thought. He paused, then shook his head. He was thinking about thinking too much... Yep, it was an affirmation. He'd totally lost his mind. Joe pulled out his keys, and jumped into the driver's side of the Jeep, smiling as he shut his doors. Felt like home. As he started the Jeep, Joe looked around, to see if there was anything out of the ordinary. Nothing. And that's what worried him the most.
Joe drove the Jeep forward as he assessed their situation. Small town, with wide open plains, probably all the way up to London herself. Joe nodded as he pulled up to the hardware store. They could get out of town if things went bad in a hurry. Joe turned off the Jeep, putting it in park, and leaned his head against his seat. He felt so... tired. Shaking his head, he looked around, and lo and behold, an abandoned coffee shop was right across from them. Joe smiled as if God had given him a cup himself.
"Hey, Mike," He started, looking over at the store. "I'ma gonna run over to that coffee shop across the street, see if I can't get a hot cup a coffee."
|
|
|
Post by God Mike on Jun 26, 2011 7:53:38 GMT -7
Mike grinned as the Jeep arrived, and he'd already loaded the first canister of oxy-gas onto the bed before it had even stopped fully. He just wanted to do what they needed to do and get to London. He was sure things would be a lot more exciting there.
Once he'd loaded all the goodies onto the Jeep, Mike stopped for a moment, taking a few deep breaths. "Hey, Mike," he heard Joe say, getting out of the car. "I'ma gonna run over to that coffee shop across the street, see if I can't get a hot cup a coffee." Mike just hummed in response.
"Yeah..." he muttered, though he was sure Joe hadn't heard him. He hadn't spoken very loudly, if at all. He wasn't really sure. He felt heavy... He'd noticed in the last few minutes how his limbs just felt heavier and heavier. By now, he could hardly even lift his arms.
"Oh boy..." Mike mumbled as he slowly sat down, leaning against the Wrecker's right front tire. "What... What's happening...?" Movement was heard from inside the hardware store... but Joe went to the coffee shop... That didn't really add up, did it? "Did he take the wrong- oh great... zombie..."
Mike watched, unmoving, as a zombie made its way out of the hardware store. It was strange. It looked like any other zombie, only this zombie was crawling on all fours slowly. It didn't show the same mindless bloodlust of the others. It was approaching Mike cautiously, looking from side to side, and Mike could see some kind of white gas rising steadily from behind the zombie's head.
"Paralyzing gas?" Mike asked, reaching for his right revolver. "You gotta be fucking shitting me... Yay for... zombie... evolution..." It took him a while, but he managed to pull his revolver out of its holster, and tried to raise it to aim at the zombie, which was still approaching. It seemed like it was taunting him. It would crawl a short distance toward him, then look around and back up a little, and then repeat...
"Joe..." Mike mumbled. He could hardly move now, let alone shout. He really couldn't shoot the zombie, since he couldn't lift his arm, but he could at least warn Joe. The revolver in his hand was pointed away from him, and after a few seconds of struggling, he finally managed to pull the trigger. Without his muscles working, the revolver was thrown back, almost breaking his finger as the shot tang out loudly. The zombie jumped and dashed back into the hardware store, giving off a strange hiss.
|
|
|
Post by Generalfoley on Jun 26, 2011 8:26:12 GMT -7
Joe had walked into the coffee shop, but something was wrong. Blood was splattered all over the place. Most of it was from gunfire, but some of the markings in the bodies were...
"Shit." Joe said as he quickly drew his pistol. He bent over to look at a body, seeing that it was in full rigor, but from the temperature, it couldn't have been a few hours since their death. He looked over to another body, another SAS commando, with an M4 in his hands. Grenade launcher, too. He grabbed the rifle and examined it. It was good to fire, but a quick search of the body revealed that the magazine in the gun was the only one left, but there was a grenade in the chamber, so that was good. But the commando's body, it was in half rigor. This one was wearing a face mask as well. That would mean a contagion was in the air, but wouldn't the gas mask protect him? Joe then noticed the bite mark on the body's arm. Joe sighed as he blew the commando's brains out with his pistol.
But then he heard another shot, one from Mike's gun. He looked back, and ran over to the Jeep. Mike was leaning against the Jeep, and Joe looked inside the shop. A shadow was crawling slowly. Something was in the air. Joe being tired, it wasn't something to do with his body. It was the air. Joe quickly put on his gas mask and goggles, and saw the other gas mask lying on the ground. Seeing a flashlight on the rifle, he turned it on and peered inside the store. He saw what seemed to be some kind of... crawling zombie, slow, but it had some kind of cloud coming out of the back of it's head.
"Gas..." Joe muttered. He checked the magazine within the gun. Half full. Shit. Joe slammed the magazine into the gun, but that seemed to make the thing hiss. He grabbed Mike's body, and pulled him behind the Jeep, making the zombie move towards them with curiosity.
"Well... Gasser..." He really didn't have a better name for it. "I think it's time you met Mr. Forty Millimeter." Joe's hand moved to the grenade launcher trigger. As Joe moved to pull the trigger, he saw the zombie's rotting and decomposing mouth, seeing a rather grotesque smile. "Eat this, you smiling son-of-a-bitch!" And Joe fired.
Apparently, the gas was, for all intents and purposes, flammable.
And not in the good way.
As the fireball engulfed the remains of the store, Joe ducked behind the Jeep, taking cover from the flying metal, glass, and occasional plastic kid's tool set. As the fire receded, Joe pulled Mike around and into the passenger seat, before running to the other side, jumping into the driver's seat, and stomping on the pedal. He was intent on getting them out of there as fast as he could. Fuck the gunsmith, he could pick those tools up anywhere else in this god forsaken country, maybe an abandoned military base or something. He looked over at Mike, and checked his eyes with a flashlight. Pupils were reactive, that was good, and his pulse was normal, if slightly elevated. Breathing was alright.
Joe laughed as he smacked Mike lightly in the face, "Mike, you're one tough son of a bitch, you know that?" Joe stopped a little bit outside the town, and took out a small bottle of smelling salts, and waved it under Mike's nose. Not the cure to the gas, but it seemed to be natural, and it would run out of his body in time. Joe thought about his, for lack of a better term, diagnosis, and thought to himself, 'Maybe I should've been a doctor.'
|
|
|
Post by God Mike on Jun 26, 2011 8:40:30 GMT -7
Mike lost consciousness. He didn't know when, exactly, he'd lost consciousness, but it was some time after Joe showed up. His eyes had been closed by then, but he could hear Joe say something, though it sounded kinda like as if he was speaking from the other side of a wall.
Then came the explosion, and Mike hoped to whatever Gods were out there that the Wrecker hadn't been exploded. That would've truly pissed him off. Did Joe get the zombie? Didn't matter, really, as Mike lost consciousness soon after that.
Next thing he knew, Mike felt himself getting slapped in the face, and got that smelling salt Joe always carried with him shoved under his nose, clearing his head right up. He still couldn't move a muscle from his neck down. "Mike, you're one tough son of a bitch, you know that?"
Mike grunted in response as his eyes shot up and down and left and right. They were in the Wrecker. So it hadn't exploded, then. "Can't move a muscle, though. Joe, check my hand, is my gun still there? I've kinda lost my sense of touch at the moment... Christ, now I know how rigor mortis feels..." He glanced at Joe out of the corner of his eye.
"It's not pleasant... Not pleasant at all... And what the fuck was that thing? I, uh, I don't like it... That thing was fucking crazy..." If he could, he would've shuddered. "It was like a fucking snail, as if he wanted to prolong my suffering, waiting for him to just come and get it over with..."
Mike clicked his tongue. It was surprising that his tongue and everything fixed themselves so soon. That thing seemed afraid of noise, after all. Wouldn't do to have your prey start screaming when... "Holy shit!" Mike exclaimed suddenly, coming to a realization. "The whole fucking town is murdered to shit... How many of those fuckers do you think there are here?!"
|
|
|
Post by Generalfoley on Jun 26, 2011 9:02:21 GMT -7
"Can't move a muscle, though. Joe, check my hand, is my gun still there? I've kinda lost my sense of touch at the moment... Christ, now I know how rigor mortis feels..." Joe checked Mike's hand, and sure enough, the Swede's revolver was still in his hand. "Aye, buddy, it's still there." Joe pried the gun from his fingers, and put it on the dash. He pulled out the first aid kit, and took out a needle and a small bottle of muscle relaxant.
"Here, ya go, pal. This should help lessen the effects of rigor." Joe filled up the needle as Mike talked about the new zombie that had appeared. Joe nodded. "Messed up wánglíng bèndàn, if I ever saw one." Joe had noticed that he was using his languages more and more frequently. Joe was just about to inject Mike with the relaxant when he shouted, "Holy shit!" Joe jumped, then smacked Mike's arm. "Don't scare the Irish fucker with a needle in his hand!" Joe shook his head as he proceeded to clean Mike's arm again.
"The whole fucking town is murdered to shit... How many of those fuckers do you think there are here?!" Joe shrugged before he injected Mike with the relaxant, folding his arm to keep a cotton ball there. "I think it was just the one. Maybe two or three more, but definitely the one. From what I saw, the thing could've paralyzed the town on it's own, and eaten everyone at it's leisure. The entire town was dead, and the worst of the carnage was inside the buildings with the most activity. You should've seen the coffee shop, practically covered in blood. But the victims, they were in rigor only for a few hours." Joe took the needle out of the syringe, and tossed it out the window.
"Apparently, it's not just a gas." Joe said. "SAS commandos were in rigor because they were bitten." Joe thought for a moment before he turned on the Jeep again. "They were probably alive, too. The victims. Horrible way to die. Stay alive while the virus takes over your system before you flatline, then you rise up as a corpse. It's gotta suck beyond anything we've ever imagined."
|
|
|
Post by God Mike on Jun 26, 2011 9:49:55 GMT -7
"Don't scare the Irish fucker with a needle in his hand!" Joe yelled. His outburst had apparently startled him when he was about to inject something in Mike's arm. Hey... was that even safe? What was that shit, anyway?
Mike felt something warm entering his bloodstream, even if he never felt the sting of the needle. "I think it was just the one. Maybe two or three more, but definitely the one. From what I saw, the thing could've paralyzed the town on it's own, and eaten everyone at it's leisure. The entire town was dead, and the worst of the carnage was inside the buildings with the most activity. You should've seen the coffee shop, practically covered in blood. But the victims, they were in rigor only for a few hours."
"Apparently, it's not just a gas." Joe said, and Mike felt his muscles begin to relax. He still couldn't move, but at least he wasn't stiff anymore. As Joe spoke, Mike could detect a flaw in Joe's plan. The plan had been to help, but with relaxed muscles, and no control of said muscles... This was kinda bad. "...gotta suck beyond anything we've ever imagined."
"Agreed," Mike said quickly. "Uh, Joe, I think we have a- OW!" Mike had slumped forward as he spoke, and his forehead impacted rather hard with the dashboard. "...problem... Prop me up, please, or lean me against the door, or something, 'cause I feel myself slipping..."
True to his word, Mike's head slid off the dashboard, and he slumped down even further. Now, Mike was a very agile individual, so when he slumped, he slumped so far that his head his the mat under his feet. "Help..."
|
|
|
Post by Generalfoley on Jun 27, 2011 4:45:58 GMT -7
"Agreed. Uh, Joe, I think we have a- OW!" Joe looked over, and saw the comical sight of Mike's head hitting the dashboard. "...problem... Prop me up, please, or lean me against the door, or something, 'cause I feel myself slipping..." Joe chuckled as Mike's head slid off the dash, and slumped down to the floor.
"Help..." Joe couldn't take it as he started laughing. He continued laughing as he pulled Mike up, and pulled on his seat belt. His laughter died down into chuckles in the time that he had started driving around in the country side. The roads were too risky, in their current condition. With Mike out of the fight for, at most, three hours more, and him with half a clip in his newly acquired rifle, they were practically ripe for the picking.
After a few hours of driving around, Joe a large oak tree. Cliche, yes, but it would serve their purposes. Joe pulled up to the tree, and put the Jeep in park. He looked over at Mike, who was still slumped against the door from the seat belt. Must've been sleeping. He nudged the Swede and said, "Come on man, up and at 'em. We gotta set up camp." Joe hopped out of the Jeep, taking his new rifle with him. He might not have had the right tools, but he would get by with what they had gotten at the store.
Taking out some rope from the bed, Joe make a makeshift sling for the rifle as he pulled out a bag filled with cooking supplies.
|
|
|
Post by God Mike on Jun 27, 2011 4:56:17 GMT -7
Mike felt like a kid, needing Joe to prop him up and put on his seatbelt for him... It was humiliating, yet kind of satisfying, not having to move. Though his nose was itchy, and he had no way of scratching it... This was going to-
"Ow..." Mike muttered as he slumped to the side, his head bumping against the window. Hey, this position was good. Very comfortable. "I'm going to sleep now..." he muttered. Hopefully, the paralyzing agent would be out of his system by the time he woke up.
Mike fell asleep immediately. He usually needed a few minutes to relax his body and shut down the thinking part of his brain, the latter being the easiest. Now, that was all he had to do, so it was pretty easy to sleep. After a strange dream involving himself, Joe, a zombie, and three top hats, Mike felt himself get shaken awake. "Come on man, up and at 'em. We gotta set up camp."
Mike gave off a groan as he slowly opened his eyes. He reached up and rubbed his eyes, yawning. "How long have I been out?" he asked calmly. Then, he noticed what he was doing. He brought his hand back, holding them up in front of him, and wiggled his fingers. "Hey! I can move again!" Looking down, he wiggled his toes inside his shoes, grinning. "I'm back!"
Mike looked at Joe, an excited look in his eyes. "Let's go running! No, swimming! No, mountain climbing! Yes! I want to move!" Giving a whoop, he took off his seat belt, grabbed the gun on the dashboard and holstered it, before getting out of the car, running around, doing flips and generally being a very happy boy.
|
|