Forums → The Tavern → The Zombie Survival Club (READ OP)

Goliath is still alive, they're just lobotomized. So a fly and stuff would be attracted to it after a few days due to the sweat n' stuff that happens.

Think of them as a puppet with only the brain and lungs working.

Goliath does infect BIRDS, but not bugs.

They don't need blood circulation?

ell what i would do is get an AA-12 automatic shotgun and 2 G-18 machine gun pistols and take some instant lunch and if your father is a weapons seller too the army you might have some robotic sentry guns too help you out on your defenses + in a mansion you have guards that can defend you so if your like me your going too have some crowds wanting too come in for safety and since we have some green houses we can produce our own food but water will be limited

+ i would save you guys 2 but bring your own water (-_-) i'm serious

do sentry guns even exist? and would the guards abandon you?and i highly doubt there even is an army weapons seller, as the army/military makes their own. plus an 11-12 has limited rangeand a g-18 sufferds for accuracy, so ou dont have much chance of killing anything until their relatively close to you.

kinda true -_- bout the weapons they can even hit your buds hehehe

Dark troop. I'm pretty sure you don't have a mansion, you don't have either of the guns, you don't have guards, you don't know how to get those guns......your not being realistic at all. If your knowledge of guns dosn't go past playing call of duty, you might wanna shut up a little.

i agree with skater this time!

this time? I'm right most of the time.

Guess whos back =D

Sorry, i went to oklahoma (and currently am still here) with my gf, whos sleeping atm. il be heading home next week sadly, but for now im once again back on the forums =D

and yes, skater is right most the time

WOA wtf just happened???

being a relic of a time 'long past'; dare i say, why not revive this??? last real 'club' on here i heard.

being a relic of a time 'long past'; dare i say, why not revive this???

"And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him."
Revelation 6:8

Soft tapping on the window beside me. My eyes snap open, a sharp intake of breath as panic instantly grips me, wrapping around my chest like a cold vice. Frozen, quickly waking from the recesses of my troubled sleep, my mind assesses the danger. Rain..soft rain tilted just so, pattering on the pane like eager fingers. The vice slowly melts, allowing me to breathe once again, to recognise my surroundings as familiar. My hand steals slowly off of the mattress pad I'm lying on, wheelframe long ago discarded for silence, and rests on the familiar grip of my pistol. Wrapping my fingers around it, I pull it to me and hold it to my chest, its coolness comforting me. My eyes adjust to the darkness, identifying the dusty props of the ceiling fan above me. I think about how long it's remained motionless; stilled since the power died....since everything died.
With a soft sigh, I pull myself upright, my pistol still cradled against me, then falling into my lap as I run my hands over my face. My face feels old, the skin rough and dingy, like a coal miner. So much for my youthful 20s, I think with a wry smile. Water is a precious commodity, the rain buckets on the roof providing only a little relief from bodily odors and greasy skin. Not thats there's any need to bathe, I think. I stand, gripping the pistol now, quietly moving across the bedroom and into the bathroom. Laying the gun in the sink, I slide a plastic bucket under me, squatting with one hand propped on the bathtub ledge and relieve myself with practiced indignity. Hitching my trousers back up, I slide the bucket back behind the toilet and sit on the ledge, feeling into the tub for the water level. Just under half full, the wetted tips of my fingers reveal. Enough for a few more weeks, with caution. Dunking my hand briefly, I retract it and run it over my face, releshing the moisture. I look about the dark room briefly, wondering what time it might be, if time mattered. Light equals day, Night equals darkness and both don't belong to me anymore. All I own now is my life, survival my unwanted hobby, a forced occupation. God, how did it come to this, I wonder? I've forced my mind over that question, over and over, the broken record turning the possibilities inside and out like a scratchy sweater.
I think back to the days before the darkness, before they came. No one paid attention to the rumors, isolated reports showing up first in the tabloids, then on the footnotes of internet news blurbs. A virus, some sort of bird flu named Goliath of all things,that made its victims mad with fever, blood boiling in their heads, a large lump finally building on the brain, cracking their skulls like eggshells. A new fever, we all thought, so bloody what? American media was predictably efficient at silencing international reports of people collapsing in the streets, convulsing in their offices, homes, projectile vomiting blood and mucus in churches, police stations and hospitals. The CDC reassuring the public that the grainy, bootleg videos streaming out of Bangkok, Baghdad and Johannesburg showing shaky images of people clawing open their shirts, blood and sputum spewing out of mouths, noses and eyes were fabrications. Youtube shorts going viral, blogs springing up casting theories and conspiracies, "vaccines" needled into crying children in front of lines of anxious parents and yet....yet we dismissed it all, every ****ed word of it, and why? We buried it because of what was said about its inevitable conclusion, the apex of infection. Not the reports of a horrific death, mind you. That was actually sensationalized, eagerly snatched up by media dogs and regurgitated in the form of International on-the-scene journalists, tearing at one another like rabid beasts for photos of bloodstained gurneys, trucks piled with trussed corpses, the oily smoke of the bonfires. It wasn't until they started capturing video of the aftermath of Goliaths terrible hold that the censoring began. Journalists cut off as their cameras swung toward the shrieks of bystanders, the gunshots of police and military, the twitching in the piles of the dead. We were assured that increasingly frequent reports of American casualties staggering to their unsteady feet, slack-jawed and shuddering, were fabrications of internet-addicted conspiracy theorists. I remember the Secretary of Defense laughing out loud during a press conference at the very notion that said corpses were turning on the living, biting and consuming their flesh. We, on our armchairs, the AC blowing in our faces and lights on in every room, ate our microwaveable popcorn and nodded in relief. Everything would be alright, we were assured. The military and local law enforcement were handling the situation. We were in control,they said, and we swallowed that pill without even asking for a glass of water...
I get up from the bathtubs edge, the numbness in my bum slowly receeding as I reclaim my pistol and softly make my way out of the bedroom, through the dark halls of my home. Rooms seem enormous in the gloom, devoid of the furniture that now lies piled up in front of the doors. I step into the living room, the grimy carpeting masking my steps as I head to a window, the sprinkle of rain outside still patting small blots on its surface. I tenatively pull back the thin curtains and peer through the boards, nailed securely onto the windowframe, into the night. The street is dark, barely visible without moonlight, the carnage of my neighborhood hidden gratefully from view. Then, just barely within the limits of my vision, I hitch my breath as a form slowly shambles into my view, out of the blanket of light rain. First simply the frame outlined, shoulders slumped as if in defeat. Head jutting forward, then moving sharply from left to right as if bieng pulled, neck bones popping from the effort. It moves closer into my vision on legs stiff, the occasional twitch causing it to stagger, then regain balance as it moves methodically closer. I can now see the clothes, drenched through with rain, shirt completely dark with the blood of its first demise. Sweat bottoms torn and sagging, stained also from the blood that oozed from its anus in the final convulsive deathstruggle it inevitably lost. Arms twitch, hands clench and claw at its sides as it moves even closer. My mind races with anxiety as I watch its lumbering approach. I know that though its eyes, white and bulging impossibly out of the sockets, cannot see, its hearing is excellent, even in white noise blanket of rainfall. I look, breath in short gasps, at the slack jaws, the chin hidden in old blood, the strings of sinew and flesh caught in broken teeth and the bulging forehead, incredibly large, jutting over the eyebrows like a giant grapefruit. The skin is split, festering, skull showing the fractures that appeared as the lump forced the skull to house its substantial mass, killing the victim and ensuring its reanimation. I watch as it stands, grey skinned body occasionally convulsing as if shocked, head still quickly jerking to the left, then right, as though its bieng twisted off by unseen hands. I imagine its soft moans and hisses, the milky eyes rolling about, on the verge of escape, the jaw that moves in a constant chewing motion. It lingers in my vision for a moment longer, then unsteadily and slowly lurches away.
I stare after it as it leaves toward the darkness of the street. This is what they didn't want us to see. This was what we were in control of. We believed..we had no reason not to, until they came crashing into our fragile lives and shattered every security pipedream we had. We believed, even through the gunshots and explosions merely blocks away. We had faith in our safety even through the screams of our neighbors and the startled wails of car alarms. I believed even when Rex was barking madly outside and my husband walked into the room with his pistol, usually locked up in the closet. I even believed when John told me to board up the windows and move the furniture to lock us in. I believed..until I saw Mrs. Tentlach tackled on the lawn by it, by them. They dragged her down, biting into her neck, her arms, her shrieks reaching a crescendo I thought impossible coming from a human bieng. I watched as they feasted...watched as my world changed before my eyes with gnashing teeth and clawed hands.
I move away from the window, wiping the blur of tears from my eyes. I steal into the kitchen, sitting slowly on the floor in the midst of discarded cans and wrappers. I peer into some of the cans, then probe them with my fingers, knowing that their contents have long since gone. I sigh, hoping to force my hunger away. Lately, it's been getting harder to stay fed. John, braveheart but not Mr. Survival, had at least known to fill the tub, bottle the toilet tank and fill every container with water, before the power went out. He compiled our food and taught me to ration it. He situated the buckets on the roof. He re-enforced the windows, doors and pulled guard as I slept. I watched him take less in the weeks following the end, always conserving, always keeping me fed while he became weak. He was the one who left me alone after he died on the roof, the single gunshot to his temple waking me from sleep and stripping away my last shred of security. Now I wander the house, eating a little, sleeping a little and watching them a lot. I see neighbors long turned, wandering the neighborhood. I see the bones of Rex in the backyard, (my mouth waters.) I see the water slowly receeding from my stores, the buckets on the roof gathering little. I see John....his bones in the kitchen where I gathered him in my desperation, his remains keeping me fed a little longer. I look down at the pistol in my hand and see my eventual salvation, should I find Johns courage/cowardice.

I see the world. It is pale....

Strongbow 11/03/10

Very very good !

hhmm maybe just the right type of thing to get htis thread up and runnin again....

Now I feel obligated to truck something out....


Alright kids, well here's how it is. Strongbow here, was one of the first members along with me and thoad. She is a phenomanal writer, and doesn't use impossible things like most people.

Eh, here we go.

The sun hits my face, warming the dirt and grim into a sweat, and dirt soup. Rolling my head from my shoulder, I can see the world beneath me. Cars burning, people screaming, the world failing. The leather jacket wrapped around my thin frame was all that had help me make it to my roof top perch. The night before was a blur, grabbing the guns grandfather had left for me, he was lucky enough to come to the end, before he was dragged there by his wife. I know this, as grandma was the one who had tried to bite me. It started no diffrently then everyother day. Laughing off the news of people getting sick. "Another swine flu, eh Grandma?" My grandmother was staying with my while my mother was away. She chuckled, and continued her sewing. Reports where coing from closer each day, yet the voice on the radio assured us we where fine. Just lock your doors, and get some sleep, thats all I thought of. If I got nervous I had a smoke, and a drink, and was fine. I payed it no mind, untill she woke me up on night. I heard the window break first. Almsot by instinct I pulled the shotgun from under the bed "Ken, my hero" etched into the side, my my own doing. Emptying a box of shells into my pajama trousers, I Put presure on the door knob, to keep it form squeking, and creept down the hall. The kitchen window was broken. Perhaps it was a vandal? No, the whole was to large for a single hit, and besides, there was nothing laying anywhere other then glass. I flicked the safty off the gun and walked down stairs, I saw grandma struggling with a man, I fired two shots, and quickly reloaded. He was knocked off, and now stood up, and looked at me, arm dangling by a muscle, and blood pouring from his chest. Renching his feet from the ground he lumbered toward me. I backed up the stiars, and fired again. A nice red fountain emerged from his skull, and he crumpled. grandmother was, I thought, dead. I called 911, and got no reply. thats when the alarms started. Sirens, car alarms, warning sirens, all of them eploding. I walked out side, chaos. Gun shots, crying, dogs barking, I walked towards the house next to mine, almsot foolishly. There in the front yard, of her white picket fence life, lay Mrs.trandler, blood on the back of her neck, a bump pulsing on her head. I kicked her with my toe, and she sitrred. I knelt down to help her, rolling her over ready to preform CPR, not knowing the cause of he injury. As I started the chest compressions her arm jerked and her hand caught my wrist. Her mouth opened, and pulled my close, Laying back, I kicked at her face, her grip didn't lossen. I crawled forward, my life lay a few inches in either direction. Death at the hands of Mrs.trandler, a women who had always been nice enough to make me cookies on christmas, was close to being my end. then there lay life, hidden in the grass, the barrel glistening in the moon light, three shots ready to fire, safty already turned off. Inching forward ever so slightly, I reached the gun, and swung it down onto her skull. A hiss rang out and I was let go, as she rolled over and started to stand. Pressing the barrle against her head, I fired, srpaying blood into my face and onto my body. I vomitted. Nothing had ever been hard for me to take, but blood in my mouth and eyes was to much. I ran towards the house, entering the way I left, and bloting the door. I turned the corner in the darkness, and saw a twitching figure laying on the floor, "Grandmother?" I whispered, to which I violent end to the jerking followed, then a moan, as it stood up. I turned on my heel, and fired over my shoulder. I couldn't bring my self to shoot her. At least, not while I was looking. Up stairs would be safe, already forgetting the broken window, meaning something else could get in. I ran into my room, and got dressed. Pulling two pairs of jeans onto my body, as well as a belt, with three of the ebst knives I own. Pulling the rifle from under my bed, I rigged it to my back pack, which was filled with camping supplies, including a camping bad, lighter, first aid kit, water purification tablets, and other esentials. the leather jacket went on next, it was supposed to be a presnt this year, but I figured it would be more use for me now, then on the christmas that would never come. racing into the bathroom, I washed the blood from my face, and plugged the drain. doing the same with the bathtub, and pulling every container capable of holding water from the kitchen, filled those as well. When the chore was done I went into kitchen, there was grandma, and another zombie. grandmas head was reaching the top of the stairs she now crawled up, and the other zombies, torso was clambering into my window.
I took the window. Slamming the heel of my boot into it's temple, with a satisfing crunch it slumped back onto the ground below, I slid out, and ran down towards the tool shed. I pulled back the door, yelling in protest as the rust was rubbed against it's self. I looked around, throwing things as I went, searching from my crowbar, I had written "zombies nightmare" across, I was well prepared for this at least, I knew what to do. Though I never expected it to happen. I heard a thud and was grabbed around the waist. A head hit mine, and teeth sunk into the leather on my shoulder, luckily there was leather there, or else my life would have ended, though I tell my self It did anyways, though the point is mute. Swinging the crow bar over my shoulder, I felt a thud, and the grip lossen. I swung again, and it fell off. I grabbed the ladder I used to clean the gutters, and set it agisnt the building. the crow bar now through my belt with the knives, I climmbed onto the roof, leaned back against the chimney, and passed out. Thats where I lay now, shotgun lay beside me, and the world lay in ruins around me. This was the life I now had to life. the day before I was worried what cloths to wear, how my hair looked, what girl was prettier, who to vote for. Foolish now, I had wasted all I had on a few happy memories, a few fair weather frineds, never accomplishing anything. Maybe I could accomplish this for my self, to welcome my self death, or a least, to postpone what would happen in the end. Seeing the water reflecting off the calm waters of the lake, thoughts of living there filled my head. once water ran out, I would go there, though while I had water, and some food lef, I wouild go no where. And for the time being, fright held me in place, mixed with thought and insecurity, I wondered if anyone was left? If I evey felt alone, it was now.