HIDE

Wow - - - I played resident evil4 and S.T.A.L.K.E.R Consecutively for like three hours each in two days (which is a lot considering my horary-strict parents) and i got REALLY REALLY INSPIRED to write the first chapter of a Zombie thriller. Here is what i have done so far...sorry if it's all one massive block of text, the blog window wont let me arrange it into paragraphs.


Jakob swore loudly as he hefted the long metal bar in place.
“That’ll keep ‘em for a while’, he muttered, wiping his brow.
The rest of us ejected spent cartridges and reloaded our weaponry, trembling and bloody.
Travis was ahead with a flashlight strapped to the barrel of his Mossberg 500, scouting the area.
‘We got a sewer up ahead’, he shouted back, ‘and I can see light in the distance’.
A wave of hopeful relief went through the few of us who had made it alive this far. I sidled up to Nikolai, who was busy cleaning his carbon steel army knife.
‘Any chance of us getting to the safehouse before the sun sets tonight?’ I asked, although I already knew the answer.
‘If god wills it’, he replied, without looking up.
Pierre snorted sceptically, and not without a touch of menace, said, ‘God? There is no god! How can there be a god with all this blasted hell on earth wiping humanity off our own planet?’
My hand went instinctively to the crucifix suspended around my neck, and I glanced at Nikolai, who was shaking his head and preparing for the third time-wasting religious debate since we had woken up at six in the morning.
Thankfully someone else was aware of the time, because a badly shaven Travis pushed through the steaming duo and declared that it was time to move on.
Moving in a scattered square formation, we advanced through the dank, smelly underpassages of North London, and as we cautiously made progress, I reviewed our team.
There were seven of us, in all. Jakob and Nikolai were Russian, Pierre was French, Ralf was German, and Travis, George and I were English. Although we had only known each other for a week to the day, a mutual, protective comradeship had established itself among us, and we had learned to cover each other’s backs. We all had military background, having met at a function in the army pub near King’s cross station on the day of the outbreak. We were all members of the JNLC (The Joint Nations’ Liberty coalition) although we were from different divisions and ranks. Jakob was our muscleman, Nikolai our close quarters combat specialist, Pierre the explosives expert (fitting his nature), Ralf our medic, Travis was our scout, George our mechanic, and I was the sharpshooter. I was thinking through all this, scratching the three-day growth on my jaw when my thoughts were disturbed by a familiar cry; ‘infected!’
Out of pure habit, my hands brought up the rifle I carried on my back, and I adjusted the sights. A tortured scream issued from the depths of the tunnel, which encouraged the already frantic readying of armaments. Suddenly, a twisted form emerged and launched it’s flesh-eaten body at George, who was up front with Travis. Quick reactions and a well-greased firing mechanism saved him. The shot rang out with twofold volume because of the enclosed space, echoing along the way. Quickly wiping blood from his face lest any seep into his skin, George ejected the spent shell with a deft pump-action, and turned his maglite torch on. The bright beam lit up five infected, providing easy kills for the rest of the group. I let the guys in front deal with them, preferring to concentrate on the less visible targets that tended to appear only when they were right up your gut with five sharp claws.
As my beacon laser streamed the possibilities, measuring thousands of complicated parameters per second, I picked a nasty-looking zombie out. He was darting around like a dog on fire, and he was heading straight for Ralf. Taking a deep breath and accounting for target movement allowance, I fired a double-tap to the head, achieving a bulls-eye. The beast went down twitching, and Ralf waved a gloved hand in acknowledgment. Then, without warning, a mad thing that must have slipped past the others lashed out at me and hit my shoulder. It wasn’t a forceful blow, but I found myself in a state of shock and confusion as to how this one could have snuck up on me. I rolled aside as the creature dived for me, and took advantage of my semi-prone form to pull out my pistol and cock it.
Re-oriented, The zombie fixed it’s ravaged red eyes on me and snarled.
Grinning at the thought of the power I held, I shot it once in the head, triggering an explosion of gore. Amazingly, it still advanced in it’s throes, dangerously whipping it’s wiry arms to take something down with it. I delivered a powerful roundhouse kick worthy of Bruce Lee, downing it, and moved on, holstering my gun.

The others had finished similar skirmishes, and were replacing old magazines with fresh ones.