AU: Hammel zombie apocalypse [OPEN]

[Lucy Clayton]

It was a nice day, the sun was shining and the weather was already quite warm for the time of the year. No clouds could be seen on the sky and the first birds were already singing again. The first perfect spring day of the year in Pilot Ridge. Wait perfect? Not quite. There was smoke all over the city, some houses were burning, some were destroyed and many others had been abandoned in a rush. Instead of humans, zombies now walked around in the outskirts of Pilot Ridge. The city was under siege by a zombie army. Contact to the rest of the country had broken soon after the first zombies had appeared. No one knew where the zombies had come from or what the wanted. Not that it mattered much. All that mattered for the moment was surviving the next few days. Luckily it hadn’t taken long for the people in Pilot Ridge to realize that something was terribly wrong when the zombies appeared. Together they managed to throw up some barricades around the center and Hammel. Defended by brave men and women – humans and meta-humans alike- the managed to hold the zombies at bay. That had been a week ago and the zombie plague didn’t seem to have an end.

Lucy had been very busy in the last few days, helping out in Hammel, that now housed most of the surviving citizen or Pilot Ridge, with the countless tasks that needed to be done. She had even been on the barricades a few times. The surprise of the zombie attack and the hectic days that followed it hadn’t left her much time to think. But now, after a week things had slowed down, everyone had fallen into some sort of routine. Lucy was on her way to the barricades, carrying a basked with food. She had time to wonder, where had the zombies come from? And was this the end of the world? Lucy new that they wouldn’t been able to hold out forever. Already supplies were running low, and it would only get worse. Something had to happen…

[Walther Ebersbacher]

Walther had a series of bad luck with things that were important. Well, things that he once thought were important.

Returning a book to Temperance and Charity used to be the biggest of his worries. It was something he'd find himself charging down the hall for, narrowly avoiding other students, because he didn't want to be late. He was out of Hammel when this all started. Out at the lake, relaxing. And then the next thing he knew, his very life was in danger.

As he was roaming back, in nothing more than his usual attire, a man missing half of his face came shambling at him, giving off the most sickly groan. Walther retreated in to a house, with the front door ajar, and hid behind it. The man came to the porch, but was distracted when a car came peeling past the road. Safety, the house was, at least temporarily, safe.

And that gave Walther a realization. Sound worked. He'd project a blaring horn or something, farther down the road. And then, with a can of paint he'd managed to scrounge up from the garage, he started to write on the garage door.

"1, Walther E., Age 12, HELP."

Hopefully someone would find him. As far as any sort of defense went, he had his meta ability, which he couldn't just use willy nilly, and a couple of things from the kitchen. At least he could be thankful that the water wasn't shut off, yet. This gave him the opportunity to have possibly his last shower in a long, long while. Nice and hot, to the point where his glasses on the sink were entirely steamed up.

Hopefully Darian would know where he was, and see the sign, this house was just across the lake.

[Joseph Ashley]

Joseph saw the smoke from where he lived, he heard the screams. He knew what was going down, exactly. Metahuman revolt. It was inevitable as hell, and he was glad he was prepared for it. So he got up out of bed, threw on some pants and a shirt, and started to dig through his supplies. Fortunately, he was out in the boonies, so he knew he had a little time. As cans and bottles fell to the ground, his little basset circled him, sniffing each of the objects and wondering what the hell was going on.

He pulled on a jacket, tied his boots and started hauling blankets, boxes, bags into the back of his jeep. The supplies fit perfectly, just as he'd practiced. He brought Waylon in next, seating him in the passenger's seat, and plopped down in the drivers' seat, himself. With him, shotgun, knives, ammunition. He was lucky Carson left that stuff behind on 'accident' the last time they went hunting.

The jeep started up, sputtering, and took off down the road. He'd have to pass through the city to get down the main-road, but not through the center. And worst case scenario if they had to go off-road, he was prepared for that. So he switched on some music, not letting it blare, and kept his eyes on the road.

One thing he noticed as he passed was a garage door, with some words scribbled on it. He slowed to read it, and searched his brain. No metas around, that he could see. Oh, Walther, he remembered that kid. Well, he'd been sympathetic before, why not now? The kid was alright.

So he slammed the horn a couple times, to get his attention, wherever he was.

[Salem Hirch]

A simple trip to the book store was all it had been. Nothing that would have taken to much time, but this was special. That simple trip Salem had decided to take had turned into a week long stay in the upper floor of the store. Zombies had overtaken the town and most others seemed to be stuck in the middle of town and Hammel.  Now the young man's thoughts drifted to his friends. Like it had been been doing since all this started.

When all this started, there had been a small group of survivors in the store, but one by one they had been picked off. Mostly when they ventured out for food or other needs. Salem on the other hand had been lucky, using his powers to distract the creatures when he needed to.

Now, as he looked around the empty space, he sighed. There was no reason to stay with no one left to protect. Standing up he made his way to the door. It had been boarded up days before, but a small hole allowed Salem to peek out. There were several walking corpses very close by, but he had to try. He had to get back to where he felt safe.

Hammel.

The door made a very loud creaking sound when the boy first started to crack it open. Holding his breath, he glanced out to see if any of the things had heard him. No. Not a single creature had even glanced his way. "Now comes the fun part..." Salem spoke out loud to himself as he build up the courage to run in his gut. Grabbing the door handle, he flung the door open and took off at top speed, dodging a few zombies in his way.

Salem had gotten about two blocks away from the store when his legs started to burn. He had to stop. Surveying his surroundings, he spotted and older building with a fire escape.

"Perfect.." He said out loud again and started to run once again. His legs felt like they could fall off at any moment, but somehow he managed to reach the ladder. With a loud clang, he pulled the ladder down enough to climb up. Finally dragging himself onto the landing part, he laid back.

Beneath him he could hear a small crowd of zombies gathering, even if he could run, he didn't have the strength to focus an illusion for them to chase first. Sitting up, Salem stared out at the street and hoped someone would find him before he had to move again.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Zombies.

There should be no such thing as zombies.

Their existence flew in the face of Sean’s knowledge of science, medicine, and natural law. Sadly, the existence of zombies also only further cemented the telepath’s atheism, because the Lord he had loved and revered as a child would not reanimate corpses to terrorize and feast upon the living. It defied medical science, but it was further evidence of the inherent cruelty of the universe and a direct refutation of the Just World Hypothesis.

Pilot Ridge had been turned upside as a result of this zombie invasion. Sean had experienced more death in the short time since the undead had risen than he had in his entire life, even more than when he had done his rounds at the hospital during the height of the AIDS Crisis.

He still refused to touch firearms. Errant bullets could hit the survivors, and everyone around him had suffered enough as it was.

However, the psychiatrist had become quite proficient with melee weapons. Proficient enough to keep himself alive; proficient enough to keep Josh alive. Proficient enough to intervene where he could for search and rescue. Those were his priorities.

Having reinforced the van – now more death-driven than its hippie origins – for the purposes of safety also helped. Which led to his rescue patrols.

Up ahead, he saw a familiar figure about to be engulfed by zombies. The psychiatrist recognized him, and he leaned on his horn to get his attention.

Telepathically, he projected, Salem, come to the blue van. It’s safe in here.

[Deleted]

Where am I? Who am I? What's that smell?

That smell could be either one of two things: the smell of brains moving away at high speeds, or....the smell of it's own rotting carcass. It'd been shot a couple of times....it didn't hurt, at all, but it did make a couple of black oozing holes in it's chest. And it seemed like it's right leg wasn't working properly anymore, but the only indication this undead being had of it was a loss of coordination. Which meant it's already slow movements would be moving slower.

That really sucked. Now how was Zach supposed to catch the brains of that kid who was running away from him?

Him? Zach? Wait, what? Who was that? Seemed like a name that should have been important. And when he thought about it, though the fact that he was actually thinking was confusing in itself, the back of blood and brains that smelled like sweat and tears sparked the slightest glimmer of recognition in his bloodshot eye.

S-a-l-e-m.....

That name should mean something too....but what...?

.....whatever it was, this animated corpse wanted to eat it. Yes, maybe if he ate it's brain it would remember what it was that was so important. It would remember....something other than this molasses un-life it had. Yes, it had to move quickly, even with a gimp leg, to get there first, before any of the others like him consumed the breathing thing first.

Him? Who?

Zach the zombie shuffled along with a mass of other undead creatures at a slow, yet consistent rate, crowding around where the smell had suddenly disappeared to the sky above them. Zach reached his arms up in an effort to grab at boy hiding on the fire escape. It didn't look that far up and if he kept reaching, then maybe it would fall down.

There was a noise behind the horde but Zach paid it no mind. It just smelled like fuel and smoke.

[Salem Hirch]

"Soooo tired..."

It was the only thought that ran through Salem's head as he pressed his back against the brick wall behind him. The disgusting creatures were gathering rather quickly under him and he was getting a bit worried about being able to get away. He started to count them, each rotten corpse looking worse and worse as he did.

Then something caught his eye. It was the sight of one of the creatures in particular, something...familiar. Salem's heart dropped into his stomach as his mind finally made the connection. It was his dear friend Zach. Of all people, why him? As much as he tried to fight it, tears started to flow down his pale cheeks. This wasn't right, it couldn't be. Not Zach, please not him...

By this point the poor boy was sobbing, anyone or anything nearby would have been able to hear him. In fact, he was crying so loudly that he didn't hear a car horn honking nearby. At least at first. It was a bit of a drawn out sound, so his ears finally caught the tail end of it. His now red and watery eyes quickly scanned the area around him, but saw nothing.

Then, in his mind he heard a voice. Not just any voice, but Doc's voice. That feeling of giving up left him entirely and he stood. Now he looked for the blue van that had been mentioned in his head. Once his eyes locked in on it, he knew what he had to do. He gave a nod to Sean in the van and stood on the edge of the fire escape. Nearby there was a dumpster. If he could make it there, he could easily keep running to the van.

Salem took in a deep breath and held it a moment and then...
 
His feet landed loudly on the lid of the dumpster. He made it! There was no time to celebrate the small victory though as the horrid beings and now turned their attention on him again. Legs still weak, Salem slid off his perch and bolted at full speed toward the van. Praying that, just this once, he wouldn't be clumsy. That just this once, he could do what he put his mind to.

Looking up the van was just a few yards away, he could do this. Suddenly, he felt a hand on his back, but he kept running. The flesh ridden fingers tore through the fabric and ripped almost the whole back of his shirt out, before letting him get away.

"YES!" Salem thought, but it was a short lived moment of happiness as he felt one of his feet connect with the back of his other. He started to fall and put his hands out to catch himself. To his surprise, he didn't feel pavement. Instead he felt metal. Opening his eyes, Salem realized he had made it to the van and did not hesitate at all to pull himself inside.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean kept the van idle, wanting to remain steady so that Salem could make his way to the vehicle, and to safety. While the psychiatrist was worried about his own safety in the same way he worried when confronted with any dangerous situation, he had excellent coping skills, and his partner, and the students, took precedence in his focus.

Quietly, he willed the boy to run, to exert the necessary energy to make it to safety. Once Salem was inside, he could crash, and everything would be – not fine – but safer for him than life was outside of this vehicle, in the melee of zombies and surviving flesh.

Then Sean caught sight of Zachary Bishop. Sean had had nothing against the young man in life, had remembered him from his years at Hammel. Inwardly, the psychiatrist mourned that yet another resident, a former student, a young life cut tragically short, had succumbed to the plague of living dead and had become little more than a resurrected corpse with a bottomless appetite. Nobody deserved that fate.

Sean had had nothing against Zachary Bishop in life, but if the young man got in the way, he would mow him down with the van and feel no remorse for his actions.

The psychiatrist breathed a sigh of relief when Salem managed to slip in after the close call. As soon as the boy had closed the door, Sean pressed the button to lock them safely inside. Then he moved the car back into drive, slammed his foot down on the gas, and moved forward as quickly as he could with the zombies around them and the roadblocks.

“I’m going to get you to safety,” he told Salem. “With the other survivors.”