Post by Henry Doberman on Oct 20, 2016 4:33:19 GMT -5
Humanity restored…this was the last memory Henry had with Zephyr. And there would be no excerpt to share, no documentations of their secrets or no well voiced narrator to tell of their story. Such history they had was for their eyes alone to know; it was an intimate devotion they had for one another that could never be undone—they could never truly be separated, not even from the perils of time itself. In fact, Zeph’s scent still lingered on him, and he could smell her little brown hairs in the Dormitory of his Lifeboat. Before she took off into the wilds, on her daring task, he promised to go and check for more survivors on the USS Louisiana. Thus upon arrival, the Navy Battleship was raided and infested with a horde of biters. Henry found none living. He scoped it from 50 feet out on sea, shit was all bad. Louisiana was a dead state and it had no support from the military; just like Panama City, Tallahassee and Tampa Bay Florida; places he had been through before coming here. Everywhere was infested in the southern region’s coast; the naval stations he knew of were depleted and utterly routed.
To make things worse, Zephyr did not return home like she promised. This was not like her. He could feel she was in trouble. It had been two or three nights since she left and he was starting to feel a sense of abandonment. One night he spotted a fire camp and there was a stench of strange smelling meat being cooked. He wanted nothing of it. The stench was so bad, he refused to trace them. Then he seen another group, two young Caucasian women and a stout male. The women were loud, and they seemed to be family the way they argued with each other like children; honestly he did not think they would survive long. Like a panther, Henry searched the wilds; albeit he would be unseen, unless allowed and usually that ended badly for those who saw him.
When the group he’d watched got further away from visibility, he crouched to an area where he had been camping the last few nights; after the first night he had already been on the hunt for Zeph. She was out there alone…but he had trained her well. He had faith in Zeph, even though he was eating himself up inside for losing her. He was not his sharp self, he should have taken better care of her. Flash backs of Sara’s body came to mind and he started to perspire. He shook it off and kept moving. On his shoulder he had his M4A1 Assault Rifle (with compressor), a 13mm Gyrojet pistol on his side holster and a machete strapped on his other shoulder. He dug up a field of camouflaged leaves and picked up his Harley Davidson. Inside his carhartt jacket, he pulled out a little white rabbit. “Easy Lucky…I know.” He fed it some granola that he had been living on from his rations. He still had not touched the organic beans yet in the military life vessel and the wild rice he and Zeph had been eating was a strategy to preserve the can goods. Their Lifeboat was still well stocked. But he decided to bring the fresh granola, plenty of it.
Henry cranked the throttle and eventually moved out once he and his little companion were fed. After miles of driving he came across several bodies; they had that strange meat stench again and he held his nose. It looked like the men took Shotgun slugs, execution style. He kept pushing. Then he came across another spot, more dead bodies. One was hissing with a screwdriver stuck in his throat, partly ran over from massive tire tracks. Henry stepped down and placed the kick stand with poise. He let the engine live. As he approached the undead man, squirming and hissing he pulled out the screwdriver from the creature’s gullet, observing it. It looked familiar, Craftsman slotted like one from his tool set; he smirked and thought to himself that there was a screwdriver missing. The biter kept reaching and Henry crushed its head with the sole of his Redwing boot—blood and brains sprayed his fatigue paints.
He was off again, driving. If this was Zephyr’s doing then surely she left him a sloppy trail. But where did she find the truck, he wondered? Those tire marks were of no compact car. He bypassed the camp site, that looked looted and cleaned out; each door was opened and little kids were put down. He threw up a bit at the thought. He drove for more miles, maybe close to thirty minutes until he came across a truck parked right outside of a tavern. He exhaled a bit, feeling slightly nervous for coming this far. Such a risk. But if this was not her, then he would try to be peaceful and walk away. He would always try and be peaceful…
Henry roughly cranked the throttle again so whoever was inside would be alerted. He pulled up to the entrance of the pub to see if anyone was alive inside....
To make things worse, Zephyr did not return home like she promised. This was not like her. He could feel she was in trouble. It had been two or three nights since she left and he was starting to feel a sense of abandonment. One night he spotted a fire camp and there was a stench of strange smelling meat being cooked. He wanted nothing of it. The stench was so bad, he refused to trace them. Then he seen another group, two young Caucasian women and a stout male. The women were loud, and they seemed to be family the way they argued with each other like children; honestly he did not think they would survive long. Like a panther, Henry searched the wilds; albeit he would be unseen, unless allowed and usually that ended badly for those who saw him.
When the group he’d watched got further away from visibility, he crouched to an area where he had been camping the last few nights; after the first night he had already been on the hunt for Zeph. She was out there alone…but he had trained her well. He had faith in Zeph, even though he was eating himself up inside for losing her. He was not his sharp self, he should have taken better care of her. Flash backs of Sara’s body came to mind and he started to perspire. He shook it off and kept moving. On his shoulder he had his M4A1 Assault Rifle (with compressor), a 13mm Gyrojet pistol on his side holster and a machete strapped on his other shoulder. He dug up a field of camouflaged leaves and picked up his Harley Davidson. Inside his carhartt jacket, he pulled out a little white rabbit. “Easy Lucky…I know.” He fed it some granola that he had been living on from his rations. He still had not touched the organic beans yet in the military life vessel and the wild rice he and Zeph had been eating was a strategy to preserve the can goods. Their Lifeboat was still well stocked. But he decided to bring the fresh granola, plenty of it.
Henry cranked the throttle and eventually moved out once he and his little companion were fed. After miles of driving he came across several bodies; they had that strange meat stench again and he held his nose. It looked like the men took Shotgun slugs, execution style. He kept pushing. Then he came across another spot, more dead bodies. One was hissing with a screwdriver stuck in his throat, partly ran over from massive tire tracks. Henry stepped down and placed the kick stand with poise. He let the engine live. As he approached the undead man, squirming and hissing he pulled out the screwdriver from the creature’s gullet, observing it. It looked familiar, Craftsman slotted like one from his tool set; he smirked and thought to himself that there was a screwdriver missing. The biter kept reaching and Henry crushed its head with the sole of his Redwing boot—blood and brains sprayed his fatigue paints.
He was off again, driving. If this was Zephyr’s doing then surely she left him a sloppy trail. But where did she find the truck, he wondered? Those tire marks were of no compact car. He bypassed the camp site, that looked looted and cleaned out; each door was opened and little kids were put down. He threw up a bit at the thought. He drove for more miles, maybe close to thirty minutes until he came across a truck parked right outside of a tavern. He exhaled a bit, feeling slightly nervous for coming this far. Such a risk. But if this was not her, then he would try to be peaceful and walk away. He would always try and be peaceful…
Henry roughly cranked the throttle again so whoever was inside would be alerted. He pulled up to the entrance of the pub to see if anyone was alive inside....