Zombi Siege
Props to Mitsur with his help on the action scene.
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Zombi Siege 2
Ver·i·Tas (Vârêtâs), noun: Latin for “Truth”; the only remaining government settlement, created after the downfall of Pre-Mortem civilization, this settlement was created, and is known as the headquarters to the Hostilis.
The ancient streets crushed under the biker’s wheels as he rode into the Slums of Old Las Vegas. The stench of the city consisted of what seemed like the stink you get cooking expired fish on an open flame. Unbearable.
What was once a beautiful yet dizzying array of neon lights and super-sized decorative buildings, is now an empty ruin. Soft groans could be heard in the distance, notifying the rider of the immense city’s new inhabitants.
It wasn’t very far into the city until the rider’s nerves started getting the best of him. He began to look over his shoulders skittishly, expecting something to pop up from no-where and gut him.
He increased the throttle as the groans grew in frequency.
He reached the interior slums, and suddenly began to feel an urge to urinate.
The rider examined the surrounding area. It seemed familiar to him. To his left, a rustic themed building with its top floors completely removed; and to his left, a massive dried fountain which complimented a building that was based off of Greek architecture appeared to be, without a doubt, the Caesar’s Palace.
He rode inward passing what were once great gleaming structures of neon and shimmering metal.
The driver dismounted his bike, walked to the sign, and spat on it. Satisfied, he zipped down his pants, and urinated on it. After finishing, he zipped back up and went back to his motorcycle, and kicked it to life. Suddenly, he paused.
His head cocked, and his eyes went cold. He thumbed the motorcycle’s key off, pushed down the kickstand and let it lean. He drew a Glock-18 automatic pistol from inside his riding jacket, and checked the clip and slide. He cocked the weapon, and held it motionless at the side of his ruffles jeans. Approaching dust winds made his riding jacket rustle.
Within seconds moans became audible in the distance.
“Zeds,” the driver said in his gruff voice that leaked urgency. He slowly raised the gun as figures stumbled towards him out of the rising dust.
The first figure to become more than a blur and silhouette was a teenager, possibly sixteen years old. Gray skin, ridden with bite marks, contrasted with his dark brown hair. His t-shirt hung in tatters, ripped apart from what looked like human hands. His jeans were clean, except for a tear in the knee and gore sprayed around the hole.
The driver tried not the reconstruct what had happened to the boy, but couldn’t help it. The kid had probably gotten grabbed in a field where a zombie had been lying on its broken legs, unable to stand, and bit him in the kneecap. The kid falls screaming, and gets his chest almost ripped open for his carelessness. He gets bit all over as he starts to go into shock.
He raised the Glock-18 with careful aim, and shot what was once a young teen square in its forehead causing a small fountain of coagulated blood and brain matter to spray spasmodically from his limp body. The Zed fell as if he had been lynched, legs first. No blood pooled, it rather scattered due to its coagulated thickness.
He aimed at the next one, which was a blond pregnant female, and finished her with another headshot. The next shot was the same, as was the one after that, and after that, and the same shot over and over until the wave of Zeds were through, pausing occasionally to reload.
The last Zed dropped to its second grave as the rider started the ignition on his bike nonchalantly. He put his gun back home in his jacket, and sped away leaving the corpses to rot further.
His bike lurched as he switched on Turbo. The rider swept passed more and more destruction, all growing worse and worse with each square foot before reaching his destination.
A large black metal wall rested before him at a steep angle. This wall was stainless steel alloy, and lined to the gills with automated turrets. They all alerted to his presence, and faced him. This was the entrance to the Government Settlement know as Veritas.
The rider dismounted his bike, and stepped toward the wall. He stood in front of the monstrous structure with wild eyes. He examined the wall, and took note of a large conveyer-type structure to his left, which seemed out of commission.
He noticed a single massive cable of sorts protruding from somewhere within the compound.
He stepped toward it slowly, examining the turrets that had locked on to his body heat. He got onto his bike, and kept his eyes on the giant chord. The rider ignited his bike, and sped off to his destination.
***
Upon reaching the end o the massive chord, the rider discovered it to be not only one, but a massive collection of wires. It was hooked into what appeared to be a large electrical socket, sucking what little electricity remained in the city’s power supply.
The chord stretched upward into a large tunnel in the wall. Beneath this small wiring route in the wall was another tunnel, which had what appeared to be a grid of thin lasers guarding the entrance.
The rider steered his bike to the tunnel hesitantly. He dismounted yet again with a flashlight in his hand. He walked to the grid, and tossed the flashlight into the tunnel. It passed through the laser grid unmodified, and the rider stepped closer toward it.
He took off his motorcycle gloves, and slowly inched his arm through the grid.
“Heh.” He muttered. “It examines body temperature.”
He jogged back to his bike, and passed through the grid. He stopped once he was on the other side, and picked up his flashlight.
The interior tunnel was damp, dark, and concrete. It reminded him of a subway or metro type of opening. He switched on his flashlight and examined the area. It was a long way to the other side.
He reached into his rucksack he had attached to the bike, and pulled out a set of night vision eyepieces he had strung together to craft makeshift goggles.
The rider pulled them over his head, and upon switching them on examined the tunnel further.
It appeared as if Veritas had its niche for tight security. The tunnel walls had turrets placed every three feet along the length of it. Like the ones on the exterior wall they locked on to the riders heat signature.
Ignoring them, the rider stared up his motorcycle once more, and traversed into the darkness.
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That concludes this chapter. Number 3 will be done quicker than this one was hopefully!
Please remember: Only constructive criticisms. No Flaming, spamming, etc.
THANKS FOR READING!
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infectionform143@hotmail.com, or friend me on MSN with that e-mail.
-IF143
EDIT
Hello? It's been 2 days, any feedback? Yes? No? Was it good? Worth reading? No? Potato Salad? Why am I talking in question?
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Zombi Siege 2
