Tom (
re_mybrains) wrote2008-04-25 09:12 pm
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[MW] Pennsylvania
It's a pleasant March afternoon in downtown Harrisburg, Pennsylvania -- sunny, partly cloudy.
In the courtyard of Pennsylvania Apartments, the bang of the front door slamming is still echoing when it opens again.
Two dozen zombies, in varying states of decay, are staggering towards it.
A human lighting generator, a superhero, a geek, and two regular schmoes are coming out the door to face them.
Ladies and gentlemen, place your bets.
In the courtyard of Pennsylvania Apartments, the bang of the front door slamming is still echoing when it opens again.
Two dozen zombies, in varying states of decay, are staggering towards it.
A human lighting generator, a superhero, a geek, and two regular schmoes are coming out the door to face them.
Ladies and gentlemen, place your bets.
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He's good at this.
Later, they can talk about how sad it all is. It is sad, this pretty Earth of Tom's that's been overrun with the dead, with nothing home in the faces of all of these people that used to eat, laugh, make love, weep, walk the dog, buy milk at the store, and simply live.
Kendra's taken the opportunity to put some horizontal distance between herself and the shamble, angling for an approach that doesn't get her in the line of fire of anyone else. That would be, after all, a bit louche. Nothing humiliates like going to the hospital and explaining that you went down due to overzealously getting in the way of friendly fire.
Then she's circling back, shoving her mace into the loop at her right hip so she can free up a hand, aiming again for the back of the shamble, flying in fast just feet above the ground, snatching at the leather collar of a jacket being worn by a sadly decrepit teenage girl.
Or what used to be a girl.
"C'mere, you."
And they're in the air, rushing upwards.
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His aim isn't flawless, but with targets packed this close together it doesn't have to be.
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"Sorry," she says, curtly, but with feeling. "You have to go now."
They're still airborne, going higher and higher, until Kendra judges that it'll do.
Then she lets go, watching the girl tumble and pinwheel in the air. If there's anything left after she hits the ground, Kendra will chop it up later.
She's glad she's in the air when zombie meets ground. She hates that sound of a human body being spread out into a thin paste of biomass.
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God, this is so much messier than vampires.
(If not as messy as, say, slime demons. But much more human-looking, and that doesn't help.)
He sets his jaw, and keeps firing.
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One of the zombies, stuck behind one of its downed fellows, overbalances and tips forward. It hits the pavement with an unpleasant thwk noise and lies still.
For a second.
Then it apparently re-evaluates the situation and reaches for Andrew's ankle.
"--Andrew on your left--!"
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Close enough to get splattered.
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His shoes and pant legs are sticky with it, though.
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"You boys all right? Who's next?" she queries, unlooping her morning star mace and hefting it again in her right hand, poised and ready.
"Your body count is making me smile," she adds. To both of them.
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"We're fine!" he yells up to her, barely looking away from the shamble. "Get the edges!"
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That's about half of them down now.
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The shamble's slowing down, partly blocked by the growing pile of bodies, partly distracted by Hawkgirl's aerial harrying. And, of course, partly deterred by the simple fact that this food is annoyingly hard to get at. Seriously, what's its problem? All they want is--
"On your left!" Tom barks.
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"Looks like we're almost in the behind you," he shouts.
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He spins and fires several times, hitting the zombie square in the face twice. It staggers backwards a few steps and falls.
"Jesus fuck thanks Andrew--"
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"Watch yourselves, guys!"
Kendra has learned over the last few thousand years to be ambidextrous.
This comes in handy.
"Fuck this," she mutters. Her trusty morning star is retrieved from her hip as she gains altitude, twists in the air, and rockets downwards at a favorable angle.
Sometimes, it's best to go to the melee rather than have the melee come to you.
When she hits the shamble doing sixty per, thanks to Nth metal, zombies are suddenly horizontal. Her sword works with brutal economy, taking off a head in a lefthanded stroke, neatly avoiding getting hitched in any cervical obstruction.
There's less blood than she expected. She knows she can't get bitten, which is why her morning star is playing a game of Connect the Skulls.
CRUNCH crunch crunch.
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"Wow."
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Beat.
Muttered: "Dude, I totally kissed her."
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Andrew grins.
"Dude."
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Finally, after being satisifed that anything cerebral that might possibly be able to animate said zombie's body is now rendered inert, she stops.
She's festively blood splattered, but it's all in a day's work, right?
"That was quick."
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Way quicker -- and way easier -- than it would've been on his own.
He takes a deep breath and says, louder, "Everyone okay?"