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Page Eight of Walking Dead: Requiem

Page Eight: Bloodlust

She found solace in the sight of their bloody ugly heads popping off of their necks, their flesh popping over the rim of each shoulder bone... the feel from the bullet recoil out of the high powered draganov rifle... the best, most expected pulse she would ever feel all at once.

"FUCK OFF CRAFT!!" shouted Wheeler, his firearm reloading from the last barrage of wasted ammo into a crowd of undead. From the open rooftop, Craft saw way more than she expected of man's revolt against machines than she thought was physically possible. The situation gave her the opinion that she needed to enjoy the otherwise unknown sexual thrill of fucusing in on one mother fucker before blowing his brains out... especially when Wheeler began whining about his own weapon maltreatment, "THIS FUCKING GUN ISN'T CALOBRATED!"

The rooftop was overly fucking perfect, a place where everyone had a shot they could at least make! Craft was only being modest when she replied to cat-call, "THIS THING IS BUILT UP AND READY TO SHOOT!"

The marksmen of her platoon looked to her next with the ; "Show me what you need", "Let me load that up for you" and most infamously, "If your bullets are sticking, send them up so I can loosen them!!" Craft could only laugh.

"WAKE THE FUCK UP CRAFT! AIM DOWN NOW!!!!" shouted Nichols, him and his Staff Sergeant self sounding 'sexier' than usual. "WHAT'S WRONG SARGE?" she began, "GETTING SCARED?!"

"FUCK NO! I'M JUST HOPING YOU GOT ENOUGH BADASS IN YOU TO MAKE ME SAVE YOUR ASS!" he shouted back. The less sense it made in her opinion, the better. Nichols was an incredible soldier and an ideal leader but his double entendre needed much work.

Clearing out downtown Los Angeles had proved to be strenuous as their platoon made a bee-line from the armory to the top of this restraunt in Parsades. Sadly, it also proved fatal for six soldiers of the ten-man unit ordered to secure the doomed blockade. Only Craft, Nichols, Wheeler and the new recruit Layne remained, having finally found a place to rest before continuing towards the coast where a Naval Fleet have been rumored to be. The bar and grill seemed ideal, with the actual bar and restaraunt emptied of survivors while the rooftop access gave the soldiers a decent lay of the land.

Whatever had caused the epidemic that has purged the area of the everyday social events of LA, Craft felt that the outbreak was something far more complicated than anyone could think. She swore up and down that she shot two of shambling freaks in the chest with the draganov but it didn't phase them in the least, as they would proceed to devour one of her commrades. Only when Nichols shot the one bastard in the head did he fall...

From the distance, gunshots rang out, causing the soldiers to cease fire on the freaks swarming the streets below and listen out for more. Wheeler already had out his binoculars as Nichols stormed over in his direction, "Wheeler! What the HELL is it!?"

"About two blocks away... its... a woman! With a--- I can't quite tell..." Wheeler replied.

Nichols snatched the binoculars from the private and peered out into the direction, immediately locating the source of the sounds. Wheeler was right, for it was a woman and she was carrying what appeared to be a sawed-off, double barrel shotgun. Hordes of the cannibalistic freaks began to swarm as she used the blood-red blunt-end of the weapon to crack their skulls. After having cleared herself for a moment, Nichols watched as the woman reloaded the shotgun end with two more rounds of what had to be buckshot before locking them in and using the weapons business backend to annihilate an oncoming business-stiff. I'll be damned...

"SARGE! LOOK AT THIS!" shouted Layne from behind, Nichols already walking his way as he passed the binoculars back over to Wheeler.

From the front end of the bar, Nichols leaned over to watch the hordes of cannibals begin turning away from the front of the bar, as if forgetting all together that anyone was ever inside. Craft was next to join them, "Looks like they follow sounds pretty well." she assumed out loud. "This makes no sense," started Layne, reloading his A-R as he stared down into the streets with a look of sheer horror on his face, "What are we going to do NOW?!"

Craft felt bad, for she had almost been enjoying the entire scenario until remembering that the others were scared as hell throughout their entire journey. It must have been the excitement and unkempt thrill of the outbreak that drove her to these feelings but she should have known better... for the rest of the team.

"We go help that woman out." Nichols ordered, "We take the rooftop accesses to get as close as possible and provide her with cover fire. We get close enough to her, we arrest her."

"WHAT?! Why?!" demanded Craft, seeing the potential in the woman's skills. "We arrest her until we know she's not insane. Get a chance to talk with her formally." replied Nichols. Craft already began to reply, "Sir, that sounds----"

"LIEUTENANT CRAFT! Is that insubordination I'm getting?!?!" interrupted Nichols. Craft muttered in return, "No sir..."

"Good then! We move immediately! LOCK AND LOAD LADIES!" Nichols demanded as he proceeded to head back over to the back of the rooftop. Maybe they could work this out smoothly, maybe not... maybe this woman was some nutjob who was just excited to be killing, or maybe she was a once sane civilian living in Los Angeles until the shit hit the fan and has now lost everything. Regardless of her reasons or background, Staff Sergeant Nichols had to get her on their side as soon as possible.

***

She was lost in ecstasy... every perfect slice of the oak-wood stock pitching into their skulls while the rest were scattered back onto their asses when the buckshot met their skulls. The pure adrenaline coarsing through her body made her ignore the cascade of blood spraying across her body. The only thing that she didn't account for was the impregnable affect of the undead's inability to be shot back. For whatever reason, the buckshot would simply pass through their bodies instead of knock them back as far as before.

After looting Nicolas' house and leaving that end of town, Moreene began her long and treacherous journey to the apartment complex her son Aaron lived at with his bitch wife Autumn. Along the way, she'd found that driving would be impossible and started to fight, thinking that they wouldn't be able to at least take as many of these greasy souls into hell with her.

Finding time to reload had been simple enough, but soon she was unable to even breath without ducking to her knees and hands before crawling through their legs, a desperate attempt at outmatching their overwhelming numbers. Not too mention they were about as smart as a busted light-bulb and couldn't form the opinion needed to begin figuring out how to reach her. Whatever the hell these things were, they were easy targets for anyone with half a mind to outsmart them. Ironically, it wasn't until one of them tripped over it's own feet and fell between the horde and on top of her did she realize that their stupidity is what made them so god damn dangerous...

Fighting for leverage, Moreene could feel the forehead of whatever freak was trying to find a mound of skin to bite into, coarsing along her spine as she whipped her body to avoid it contacting with the undead teeth. The horde surrounding her began going into a frenzy, recognizing the sounds of her breathe giving way under struggle and soon a few began to lean down. Finding her way on top of the undead she grabbed the barrel of her shotgun and used the stock to shatter the dead things brains in after two hard, meaty swipes. This would not only splatter the undead freak's skull into mush, but shatter the stock of the shotgun as well.

As Moreene felt hands upon hands of the swarming dead reaching for her in a fit of hungry rage, she began to give in to their powerful blood lust when all at once...

TATATATATATATATATATATAT!

A piercing sound of an automatic firearm began its deafening effect on her ear drums, continuously pulsing with a series of moans and shattering skulls exploding from flesh. Leaning upward while still straddled on the finally dead undead, Moreene continued to indulge the sound and aura of blood and guts that rained from the sky onto her body.

All at once, the gunfire stopped.

All at once, the undead fell.

All at once, Moreene opened her eyes and looked around to find her saviors, two hidden in an alley while two more of them continued killing the rapidly apporaching hordes from all around.

"THIS WAY!" one yelled, an attractive black male with a southern drawl pitched under his otherwise perfect tone. Clad in military fatigues like the rest of them, Moreene recognized them instantly as the Army Reserves like her father was at one time.

Moreene did not respond, for Moreene was not there but was still lost in ecstasy as the soldier, quite possibly the team's leader, looked to his subordinate and shouted what sounded like cover before making a suicidal dart from the alley. As he reached Moreene, he said, "C'mon m'am! Let's get you outta he---"

Before he could finish, Moreene had the only loaded barrel of the shotgun aimed at his chest as she held it by the remains of its stock, "I didn't need your help."

Moreene was now attentive to the man, who stared at her in confusion for a second before his face changed to one of compassion and what appeared to be understanding. "No kidding," he began, "I was thinking more like we needed YOUR help instead."

As the two paused in the street, awaiting the woman's reply, Nichols understood now why this woman was fighting so hard. The bloody mess coarsing her face as she contemplated his last comment... or request... however it sounded to the untrained ear. Nichols didn't care. Nichols wanted this woman to follow him and his team, to--- "NICHOLS!!!"

The sounds of the team firing away at the ensuing horde had distracted Nichols as he turned back one second too late and was tackled. His attacker, a now rabid priest, sunk his teeth into the Sergeant's shoulder as they both fell opposite of the crazy woman. Craft's warning had come too late, as Nichols began pulling off the monster whose teeth pulled away a clear chunk of his flesh. Reaching for his dropped firearm, Nichols finally new the meaning of panic...

KAH-BLAM!

Blood splattered Nichols face as he flinched to keep it from his eyes just in time, looking up to see his savior... the crazy woman holding the smoking firearm aimed at priest's body as Nichols pushed it off.

"No kidding..." Moreene said with a grin on her face.

  • End Of Page Eight. To Be Continued.

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