Urban Survival: Chapter 2 (re-writen)

The two brutish looking Ayra walked off towards the ramp to the next level of the parking garage; weapons at the ready.

Fal snatched the rifle out of Max’s hand and threw it to the ground were the metal of the gun clattered on the concrete.

“Fal, why are you sending those two Jokers to take care of it?” The Ayra in the skull armor asked. “Their stupid and clumsy, they’ll probably attract more of those things.”

Max could not help but notice how the Ayra’s voice sounded like he had an Australian accent, which he found… strange. Nevertheless, listening to what the skull armored Ayra had said, Max looked at the two Ayra walking up the ramp. One thing that he noticed first was their rifles. Neither of them was silenced and this worried Max, a lot.

“Fal, or whatever your name is, he’s right,” Max said nodding towards the Ayra who now disappeared through the opening in the ceiling. “They have unsuppressed firearms. If they shoot at that thing, others are bound to hear it. They could attract a murder.”

Fal jabbed the barrel of his gun harder into Max’s chin, “I’m going to murder you if you don’t shut up!”

Max flinched as the cold metal barrel dug into his skin. Aeila appeared as if she was going to say something but she was interrupted by two loud screams and loud bursts of gunfire. The four of them looked around.

The two brutish Ayra fell through a hole in the ceiling where the concrete had given way to the weather and landed in a heap. They quickly scrambled to their feet aiming their rifles up and through the hole. Max could hear their loud and heavy breathing.

“What happened?” Fal asked yelling at the two oafs.

“It just… snuck up on us,” the large one cried.

“How the hell did it sneak up on you in the light?”

They didn’t answer but instead let off a few more rounds through the hole. The shots rang and echoed off the buildings in the city.

Fal only now realized how loud they actually were and yelled, “Stop shooting!”

The two Ayra ceased fire and backed away from the hole. The smaller of the two backed up into the open wall that faced the street. All was quiet, too quiet.

Unexpectedly hands grabbed the Ayra from behind clawing at the Ayra’s armor. The Ayra screamed as a pale and angry head tried to gnaw through his helmet. As the angry and hungry zombie clawed at the Ayra’s chest, it hit something that started beeping.

“Get off of me!” the helpless Ayra cried.

The Ayra finally managed to pull away from the zombies clutches. The zombie however kept hold of the beeping object, which had detached from the Ayra’s armor, and began to gnaw on that instead.

“Get down!” Fal yelled pulling Max to the ground with him.

The Ayra all dove for cover as the beeping continued. Max threw his hands over his head and tensed up. The beeping stopped abruptly and all seemed deathly quiet.

The whole of the parking garage shook as the device in the zombies mouth exploded, sending flames and shrapnel everywhere. What was left of the zombie toppled to the streets below. Pieces of concrete fell scattering on the ground around Max.

He looked at where the explosion had taken place and accessed the damage. Dust hung heavy in the air and caused them all to cough and wheeze. There was now no longer a wall or floor within a six foot radius of where the detonation had taken place.
“Holy crap!”

The female Ayra, Aeila, was the first to get up. She ran over to check on the Ayra who had been attacked by the zombie, but he waved her off pushing himself up off the floor. As everyone slowly got to their feet, a horrible shriek rang out from the streets.

Fal ran over to the wall where Max had originally climbed over and peered out onto the street, “Oh no…”

Zombies were running at the parking garage from every corner of the street, there were hundreds of them.

“Told you so,” the skull armored Ayra mocked.

Fal turned and glared at the Ayra, “Shut up! Let’s get out of here.”

He then began to sprint toward the ramp and towards the upper levels of the garage. The others followed, Max was about to follow until he watched the zombie up in the level above jump out of the hole and attack Aeila.

The momentum of the zombie threw them both over the edge and through the hole in the floor the explosion had made. Aeila barely managed to grab onto the edge of the hole but was able to keep her grip.

Aeila cried out for help but the other Ayra kept running, ignoring her. The zombie that had attacked her clung onto her legs clawing at her armor, trying to find a way to tear at her flesh. Max saw that the other Ayra were just going to leave her there to die.

Although he had, had his differences with the Ayra he would sooner save one, than let those creatures kill one. He ran over to the edge of the hole and stuck out his left hand to offer his help. Aeila gladly took it for she was struggling to keep her grasp on the cold concrete and the thrashing zombie on her legs was making things twice as difficult.

Although her visor was dark and Max could not see her face, he could sense how terrified she was. Pulling her up until her elbow was over the ledge, Max drew his pistol. He pointed it at Aeila and her eyes grew wide with more fear.

“Duck!”

Aeila quickly ducked her head and Max pulled the trigger. The bullet hit its mark; it ripped through the forehead of the zombie assailant. The zombie’s expression went from anger to blank as its limbs went limp and the zombie crashed to floor below.

Max helped Aeila the rest of the way up onto the solid ground.

“Why did you help me?” Aeila asked, breathing heavily.

“Now is not the time, we’ve got to go!”

Aeila looked at out at the street. The zombies were now upon the garage and beginning to climb the walls of the building. “Right sorry, come on!”

She dragged Max towards the ramp to the next level and he followed quickly. They ran through each level until they reached the roof level. As they ran through the opening to the roof Max could feel the rain patter against his helmet again. He had gotten used to the dry shelter of the parking garage, so the rain almost stung as it hit his bare skin.

As they set foot on the roof, the first thing he noticed was that Fal and the other Ayra were not there. Aeila lead Max to one of the sides of the building. The side was facing a twenty-story building, and he noticed that there was a large makeshift bridge. The bridge extended from the twenty-story building to the parking garages roof. Aeila stepped onto it but stopped when Max did.

“Come on!”

“What is this place?” Max asked, hesitant to go into the building.

Aeila turned back and grabbed Max’s arm, pulling him onto the bridge, “It’s a safe house. Now come on!”

Max was still hesitant on whether or not he should follow the Ayra, but a loud screech from the zombies pursuing them made him think again. He decided it was better to live than to be ripped to pieces by the angry zombies, so he followed Aeila.

The bridge was ancored to a room in the building where the windows had been cleared, leading to a single door guarded by two Ayra soldiers. Once Aeila and Max had reach the end of the bridge, and set foot into the room there was a loud creaking noise and the bridge began to rise. It worked like a medieval drawbridge; two large cables reached down from higher up in the building and connected to either side of the bridge at the end. These cables pulled the bridge up and away from the parking garage.

Max could see from around the bridge, as it came to a stop flat against the building, the zombies come sprinting into view. Hundreds of them came pouring out onto the roof of the parking garage and even as they reached the edge of the building, the zombies behind them continued forward shoving the zombies in the front over the edge and flailing to their doom.

Behind him, he heard the only door in the room open and he turned around. An arrogant looking Ayra walked through staring at Max. He wasn’t wearing a helmet and his short brown hair looked ragged. He looked like a human without the helmet and was probably in his late thirties, early forties in human years. The pistol he carried looked rustic and old.

More Ayra soldiers walked past him from behind and went behind Max; two of the soldiers grabbed his arms and restrained him.

“Jaq, he’s alright, he saved my life.” Aeila pleaded with the arrogant looking Ayra.

Jaq shook his head, “Aeila, it doesn’t matter. He’s human, we can’t trust him!”

“Sir, I didn’t come here to fight! I came here to survive!” Max told the so-called Jaq.

Jaq struck Max across the face with his handgun. Starbursts erupted in Max’s skull and his vision began to blur. He would have fallen over if it were not for the two Ayra holding him up from behind.

“Shut up! I don’t want to hear anything you have to say,” Jaq said. Grabbing Max by his cheeks and forcing Max to look him in the eyes and continued, “Lucky for you I can’t afford to let you go. You know where we live.”

Violently letting Max’s cheeks go, he stepped back. Aeila continued to plea for Max but Jaq ignored her. He motioned to the soldiers holding Max, but before Max could peer behind him, more starbursts erupted in his skull and his vision went black.

(sequel to Urban Survival: Chapter 1 (re-writen))

Urban Survival: Chapter 1 (re-writen)

Max stood there in the rain looking up at the third story of a parking garage. There was a dull red orange glow of a fire, only just visible in the dark gloomy light of the sun.

His tattered, urban BDU’s were hardly protection against the heavy onslaught of rain that pelted the destroyed war torn streets. He had traveled light for his mission four days ago so that he would be able to get out faster if things went wrong. More or less things had.

Knowing that he had to get to shelter soon, Max decided he would check out the camp, hoping that it was some friendly human survivors. Unfortunately, a closed, metal security gate blocked off the only entrance. He surveyed the area and saw a low wall that sloped up almost to the second story.

Before he thought about it he began sprinting towards the garage. The assault rifle slung over his back bounced against the Kevlar plating strapped around his torso. His breath was hot in his scarf wrapped around his neck and chin.

He leaped up on to the wall and ran along it, his Kevlar helmet keeping the rain out of his eyes. Diving forward and grabbing the ledge of the wall to the second story. Max pulled himself up and over it. He landed in the empty parking lot and pulled out his silenced pistol. Looking around he saw nothing; a few abandoned cars and some rubble.

Double-checking the gray-lit floor to make sure there was no hostile or dangerous being, he turned around and looked out onto the side of the building. There was a pipe that ran up the wall to the top of the building, holstering his pistol, Max climbed up onto the ledge of the wall and jumped over to the pipe. He climbed hand over hand until he was straight across from the third story parking lot. Max let go with his right hand, shaking it in order to get blood flow into his cold numbing fingers. Doing the same with his other hand, he decided he was ready.

He leapt over to the ledge and pulled himself up just enough so that he could see over it and into the garage. Max ducked down quickly, however, when he saw that there was a small group of four to five Ayra huddled around a small fire eating something that looked like canned food. Although he had only seen the figures for a second that was all he needed to see the blue and gold armor of the Ayra.

Max looked at the ground below and cursed under his breath when he saw a zombie walking across the road past him. The creature’s growls and heavy breathing could be heard through the noise of the rain. He hoped that it would not look up and he knew he could not go down there, even killing the zombie, could cause a murder. He hugged the cold, slick wall until the zombie had turned the corner and disappeared.

Max took a deep breath and decided to deal with the Ayra, rather than try his luck with hundreds of zombies. His wet hands grabbed the rifle in anticipation of conflict.

He placed the rifle on top of the ledge. Twisting his feet for better grip, he hoisted himself up and over. One of the Ayra unfortunately saw him out of the corner of their eye before Max had even made it half way over and yelled, “Human!”

The Ayra got up. Throwing down its food and shutting the visor on its helmet, it raised its rifle and aimed it at Max as the other Ayra scrambled to their feet.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa I’m not here to fight,” Max said in a calm tone, stepping over the wall and holding both arms and his rifle near his head as a sign of surrender. “I just need some shelter. I… I was also hoping that you could spare some food.”

He watched the Ayra’s trigger finger so that at the slightest sign of movement he would have a chance to get out of the path of the bullet. Three of the five Ayra took a few steps closer to Max weapons poised. The other two had lowered their weapons as if they decided Max was not a threat. One of them was still intimidating however. It had used some kind of white paint to draw the rough shape of a skull on its helmet and visor. This made it look like some kind of beast.

“You alone?” a large and bulky Ayra asked.

His voice was deep and strong. Max looked at all the Ayra the back at the one who addressed him, “…Yeah.”

“Let’s kill him.”

“Wait… I don’t believe him,” the first Ayra said putting a hand out, stopping the large Ayra from stepping towards Max.

“What do you mean?”

“He’s lying, that’s what I mean.” The Ayra said with hatred in his voice, “I bet he has a team out there on standby, sent here to take us out.”

Max could not help but think how outrageous the Ayra’s thought was. Why would the humans send a whole squad of soldiers to take out five Ayra, when a team of two snipers could easily do the job quickly and quietly?

Then, as if the Ayra had read Max’s mind, he looked past him and at the surrounding buildings, “I bet he also has snipers ready to take us out!”

The Ayra took a few steps back away from the open wall, his voice got louder and faster with each word.

“Fal, you’re paranoid. Just look at him he looks horrible,” one of the other Ayra said.

The voice was that of a young female. She was one of the Ayra whose weapon was lowered. Max was glad that at least one of the Ayra was taking his side. Maybe they were not all bad. Max was still a little confused though, for he still had three rifle barrels in his face.

“Look at what he’s wearing! He is wearing the uniform of the humans Army. I don’t care if he looks horrible, he’s the enemy!”

“No. you’re wrong…”

“Shut up!” Fal yelled at Max, then continued talking, “and besides, shouldn’t you be paranoid in a wasteland like this?!”

Max unexpectedly, even to himself, answered Fal’s question, “No… you shouldn’t. Paranoia leads to panic. Panic leads to hesitation. That means death on a ‘wasteland’ like this.”

Fal looked at Max with a glare, “I said, Shut. Up.”

All was suddenly quiet except for the constant drumming of the rain. This only lasted for a few seconds though, and then a horrible and terrifying sound could be heard echoing in the parking level above them.

Max’s heart stopped cold when he heard the sound, he knew exactly what it was. Zombies made the noise constantly whenever they stalk their prey. They did this to strike fear into the mind of their quarry.

Every time the creature breathed in or out, it sounded almost like slow purring. The noise always had and still creeped Max out, it sent chills through his body and he could feel goose bumps forming on his skin.

Fal dropped his rifle, letting it hang on the sling around his shoulder. He drew his side arm and stepping towards Max, grabbed the neck of Max’s body armor and stuck the barrel of the gun under Max’s chin.

“You led it right to us!” He yelled.

“Fal. For all you know, you could have led it here with all you yelling…”

It was the female Ayra again. He knew that was Fal was the one that led it to them but he also knew that it was him that taught the zombie how to get to them. Zombies are extremely fast learners, and are very smart. The zombie that Max had seen probably saw him too, however wanted to surprise Max by sneaking up on him but then saw all the Ayra too and decided to scare all of them.

Fal’s constant and very irritating yelling brought Max back to reality, “Shut up Aeila!”

Fal took a last glance at Max and then continued, “Syler, Brale… Go check it out.”

Catharsis

Shaking hands.

He presses the barrel against the side of his head. There’s just the one bullet, and that’s good because he only really needs just one.

His pores sweat; one drop drips onto his shirt and creates the only perfect circle he’s ever really noticed. His pupils dilate for a second; then retract.

He’s left the note on the refrigerator. What will they think?

He shuts his eyes, and sees a marriage, children, a legacy.

He hastily puts the gun away and rushes to the kitchen. He tears the note into pieces and throws it in the trash.

He’d almost gone Hemingway. He chuckles at the thought. And then his shaking knees give way and he vomits.

Quitters!!

Frank Freeman wrote a letter to his boss describing why he didn't feel like his work at Calan Industries was satisfying, in a creative or physical sense. Frank's main complaints were:

First; Frank had obtained a degree in Classical History, not a degree in paper filing. His work was boring and despite having done the same tasks repetitively for ten years, he had seen no raise or variation in duties.

And Secondly; Frank did not much care for the way his boss was running his shift. He felt his boss placed too much emphasis on quantity and not enough emphasis on quality.

And the day came when Frank decided he would present the letter to his boss.

Frank chose his finest suit, gray pinstripe, with a gleaming silver tie. He combed his hair and shaved every follicle from his face. On his way to the office he listened to a classical waltz from the late nineteenth century, which stirred him into a confident mood, so much so that he cut off a white pickup truck that (in his opinion) had taken too long to merge into his lane. Maybe, Frank thought, maybe I look like an asshole now, but that doesn't really matter to me.

He wondered what he would do, if he wasn't working at Calan Industries, and decided perhaps that he'd sign on for a tour of duty and see some action, or maybe he'd try to find a guitar, and start playing again on the side of the street. Anything seemed preferable to his job at Calan Industries.

The glass doors slid open as he approached them, and he walked across the carpeted floor towards the front desk, where he set his briefcase momentarily on the ground to tell the receptionist that, "I'm clocking in, the time is eight fifty three."

The receptionist's monitor burned green and Frank stepped past it (scooping his briefcase from the carpet) into the hallway. There was an open elevator to his left, and he stepped inside it's faux-wood interior. He ordered it to the twenty third story, and stood inside patiently as the box rose.

It opened and the cubicles in front of him were still. A telephone rang, and was promptly picked up, a soft female voice answered. A hundred fingers typed against keyboards and set a quick percussionist beat.

Aside from the woman who had answered the phone, no one was talking. She was telling someone (likely from the military) about the shipments that had been delayed due to an oil spill.

Frank walked down the center aisle of cubicles towards the door where the name emblazoned on the door was that of his boss. He turned the door knob and stepped in.

With his letter held high, he shouted, "Boss, I'm putting in my two weeks!"

His boss did not say a word. Frank saw the pistol that his boss had placed against his temple. Frank saw his boss' eyes, wide and fearful, as though the entire world was staring at him.

Frank watched his boss pull the trigger, as brain and blood scattered into the air. Frank's boss tumbled backwards from his chair, and the pistol fell to the ground.

It was a solid steel kind of pistol, with a spring loaded clip and thick black paint. A yellow stripe ran down the length of its barrel, with the three-pronged Calan Industries logo on its handle. Frank had remembered marketing that pistol to a Private Military Corporation, boasting of its killing ability.

Frank stood open mouthed, not sure what that meant.

A few hours later, the Corporate Manager found Frank sitting at his desk, staring at a blank computer screen. "You know you're going to be moved into that office by the end of the week, right? Someone's got to fill his shoes, and you're the best fit."

Re-Writen: Urban Survival (Notice)

I am re-writing what i have of Urban Survival. Its the same story, same original characters (a few new), same idea. Max is just put through a different situation before he gets into the Ayra safehouse. I should hopefully have the first chapter done soon.