The Zombie Warehouse

Admin Posts : 50 Join date : 2013-03-01

"Fuck!" Harold screeched, scrambling across the concrete ground with all his might. His heart raced with adrenaline and threatened to fly out of his mouth, if it could get past his clentched jaw and gritting teeth. He never thought that he'd be in such a panic like this before, but now that he was he couldn't think of what to do but run for his life. As soon as he had enough space between him and his followers he scrampered up to his feet and shot off in a sprint down the concrete hall of the warehouse he foolishly trapped himself in. His heavy footsteps echoed down the tight halls, drowning out his breaths and the schuffling behind him. With a squeak he turned the on coming corner, where a door waited for him. Slamming against the door, he took hold of the knob with shaking hands the jiggled it till he heard a click and the door flew open. Tripping into the room he slammed the door shut with a kick of his legs, looking around the room franatically. From what he could see he was on a catwalk that lead to the other side of the large open room that he could only guess had large industrial shelves stacked high with various crates strewn about. He could only imagine the swarming terror that swam through the aisle bellow. A loud thumping at the door behind him made him jump quickly to his feet. Glancing at the door for a moment he took a deep breath. "There's no way to get around these fuck'rs, huh?" he said to himself, smirking at the challenge - clearly forgetting how terrifying it was to not have them in the same room clawing at his ankles. Strutting up to the door he puntted it with his foot, jumping backwards onto his back when a louder thump and a creaking sound came from the other end. Rubbing the back of his head and giving an awkward laugh he got back up to his feet, turned, and ran towards the other end of the catwalk, where he hoped to find a way out.

Nearing the end of the walk, Harold felt despiration seep into his heart as the door behind him burst open, allowing a flood of zombies to come rolling through - some falling into the sea of its own kind below - and began to stagger their ways towards him. Even more to his dispare the catwalk gave him no hope for at the end he was met with a wall much like all the others surrounding him; a prison. "There are more sections," he said to himself, voice wavering as he looked over to the nearest shelf and readying himself to jump to it, "Maybe there are other survivors... Maybe there's an exit and some food..." He leaped forward, his arms just barely able to grab hold of the edge to suspend him about the groping sea below. With a grunt he pulled himself up and began jumping a path through the room and towards another section of the warehouse where he hoped to find... well... hope.

Subject: Re: The Zombie Warehouse November 26th 2013, 5:00 pm

Far across in the other section of the warehouse, Quirina fires a shot from her rifle into a hoard of approaching zombies. "Merde! How did I manage to get myself trapped in 'ere?!" she curses mentally, backing up several more paces. With another curse, her left foot catches on a loose board, sending the Swiss girl onto her back. With a groan and a snarl she struggles back to her feet, quickly firing her gun straight into the chest of a zombie that was less than a foot away from her. She watches as the entire chest cavity caves inward, and the bullet buries itself in the next zombie back. Smirking with satisfaction, Qui spins around on her left foot and runs away from the zombies. She skids around a corner, nearly slamming into the opposite wall before she spots a door several feet in front of her. Narrowing her eyes, she increases he pace and makes it to the door, opening it, ducking through, and slamming it shut. With a sigh of relief, Qui sags against the door, only to groan when she sees more zombies before her. "Merde, more zombies. Wait, is that...another person?" She squints at the figure leaping from catwalk to catwalk. "Oui, c'est une autre personne," she says, slipping into French. She takes a few steps away from the door, stops, turns around and secures the door, then spins around again and hurries up to the edge of the pit. She raises her hands above her head, right hand still holding her rifle, and waves them at the figure, barley conscious of the zombie blood and gore that is covering her clothing, rifle, and hair. With a faint shrug, she continues gesturing, knowing that she could always clean her clothing and hair if...no when...she and this other person escaped this warehouse.

Subject: Re: The Zombie Warehouse November 26th 2013, 9:51 pm

Al had been a prisoner near here before the world had gone to hell. Locked in a tiny cell for years, sentenced to life after his killing spree several years ago. He'd been released from his cell for the first time in over a year a few days ago cause the warden had released all the prisoners in order to save himself from the hoards of the undead, it hadn't worked of course he was eaten by some of the inmates he'd released, Al found much irony in that. Since being freed of his cell he'd found the clothes he was processed in his bomber jacket, white wife beater, American flag boxers, and his ripped jeans. He'd found a metal pipe that he'd been using to jam through the zombies' heads, it wasn't much but it was better nothing. He'd left the prison as soon as he could and wandered into this place looking for food and shelter, he found out real quick that this place wasn't safe and all he really wanted was a way out. After all the aisles he was quite turned around and lost.

He heard shots coming from nearby. Someone else is here? Things just got interesting... Al thought as he decided to ignore his hunger and follow the sound of the shots and hurried in that direction. He went through a nearby door and saw a woman with a rifle waving at someone. "Who are you?" Al asked as he stepped closer to woman carefully. "How did you get here?"

Subject: Re: The Zombie Warehouse November 26th 2013, 10:00 pm

Quirina spins around, rifle at the ready at the sound of a voice in her ear. Upon seeing that it was another person, she relaxed slightly. "Je m'appelle Quirina et I was looking for somewhere to do some targeting practice and I managed to find this building. After searching around for what felt like forever I ran into a couple of zombies and well..." she shrugs, "things have gone down hill from there. I can't even find an exit. And just who are you?"

Subject: Re: The Zombie Warehouse November 26th 2013, 10:55 pm

Al tapped his pipe against the ground as he listens to her words, deciding what to do with her. Help her, kill her.... He decided that she would solve his need of backup and from all accounts she seemed good with a rifle. Al looked her up and down finding her to be in much the same condition as him, bloody, dirty, sweaty, and most likely hungry and tired.

"Al... Al Jones.... I former inmate near here. This place is big and dangerous... We should stick together if we want to survive. How much ammo do you have on you?" Al asked as he watched the man hopping to stay away from the zombies. "That dude is fucked." Al started looking for a way to distract the zombie hoard away from the man so they would have a better chance to meet up later.

Subject: Re: The Zombie Warehouse November 26th 2013, 11:04 pm

Qui quickly checked her supply. "Quite a lot. Grabbed most of my supply before I left this morning and never got to target practice until the zombies hit," She follows his line of sight to the other person. "Oui, he is mad. There must be some way to distract those zombies...draw them away from him..." she trails off, thinking. She starts to pace, her gaze sweeping the terrain in front of them. "Deux of us...god knows how many zombies...someone to help save...but how? How?" She shakes her head to clear it. "Direct assault is the only think I can think of. Other than...oh!" Qui stops and starts to dig through her bag, muttering things to herself. "Ah, here we go. One of these babies down there," she points to the ground below the catwalks, "And we'll have their attention," She holds up a strange looking bullet. "It's an explosive bullet of my own design," she explains, "It won't hurt that guy, but it will hurt the zombies,"

Admin Posts : 50 Join date : 2013-03-01

When Harold cross half way from where he started he was met with another catwalk. He pulled himself over the railing, falling flat on his back with a grunt. He had almost given up on to top of one of the shelves from exhaustion. Who knew jumping could take so much work? The movies he saw and the video games he played made this seem so much easier. "I guess doing all this on an empty stomach isn't helping all that much." He mumbled to himself as he sat up, looking at the progress he made.
He noticed two people across the way. The way he had came from. Further. They seemed well off, so well off that it tempted him to cross the sea again. He knew better than that however. He knew that even with his cat-like agility exhaustion would get the better of him while crossing from above, so he sat and thought while looking across at the two strangers.

"They just had to show up now," he groaned. "Maybe they came to see my killer skills."
He smirked at his musing as he gripped the railing tightly, pulling himself to his feet. He wobbled on his numbing legs, exhausted from all the work he accomplished. His head pounded and his stomach turned with nausea: dehydration began to settle in. But he kept moving, heading unsteadily towards the door on his right. He lifted his glasses with his hand, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly in hopes his dull headache will leave him be.

Harold reached the door quickly, leaning his ear against its surface. He couldnt hear a sound beyond the door, but if there were zombies beyond it he wouldnt be capable of fighting back... Even with his mad skills.

((I'm on my phone for awhile so replies will be slow apologies))

Subject: Re: The Zombie Warehouse November 27th 2013, 2:33 pm

Distinct groans and wails could be heard in the distance, and Mathias found himself smirking at the noises despite himself. Truthfully, trapped here in an almost desolate warehouse with a hoard of flesh-eating beasts hot on his tail was not something he had planned on his agenda that day. It was an interesting change of plans, at least, and who knows how much work it had spared him from doing in there, sorting boxes and filing certain documents in the office room. Not that he would've done it, anyway.

The room he had just stepped foot into was packed high with various crates and boxes, subjecting him to a limit of what he could see in the near area. To his uttermost delight, it was evident that entire structure of the room was in a way similar to that of a maze. It was possible it would take him quite some time to weave out of there; even more so with such alarming creatures lurking about, as if they'd arrived straight out of a video game.

He paced himself as he slunk around corners of crates, alert and ready for an oncoming surprises that could spring out from the very next bend. From here, he could get a better gist of the size of the room better than he could before, and what he'd pictured was an incredible underestimate to it's actual proportions. While he was careful, he had ignored the obvious course of action to take light steps. Stomping about could bring potential zombies to the vicinity. That alone would surely seal his fate, mousetrapped in a place like this.

Despite such dejecting musings, he couldn't help feeling a flicker of curiosity as he heard the wonderful sound of human voices from the next room over the noise of groans and mumbles from the deceased. Even more to his delight, those distant voices sounded vaguely familiar to his ears. Gulping for a moment, he began to jog through the maze of boxes, and came to a halt at the main room, pressing his hands to the corners of his mouth and taking a moderately deep breath. "Hey? Can ya hear me in there?" He called, waiting a moment for a reply. It was when a particularly loud growl was heard from inside the next room that the Dane retreated back to the safety of the first corner of shipping objects, clambering up one length of shelves propped against the corrugated wall, before scrambling up onto a pile of crates, glad to finally have a perch to observe the entirety of the room from.

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