Flexo
Avenger
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- Mar 14, 2004
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I figured it'd be an interesting idea to toss out a horror story for Halloween (Yeah, it's a wee bit early.) This is actually just a small chunk from a zombie/WWII story that's been bouncing around my head for a while now.
Long story short, it's a horror tale about a nazi experiment gone wrong that results in flesh eating monsters. Said monsters decide to feed on unsuspecting soldiers. I might add the rest of the story later, or I may use this to host unrelated writings. Either way, enjoy.
They came upon a large, empty room. A room with four doors. In other words, a very bad room. They streamed in, seemingly numbering in the thousands. The walking dead swarmed the squad. Hudson and Watson scrambled to the East door. Jones directed the rest to the North. Watson unloaded his Thompson machine gun into the nearest zombie's skull. Bone chips and gray matter splattered his face, but he continued his bull rush into the next room with Hudson right behind. At that point, both men realized they were doomed. Two personality types became prominent, and the men chose their seperate fates.
Hudson took cover in the nearest room; a broom closet barely large enough to stand in. He locked the door and sank to the floor. He pulled his Colt.45 out of its holster and prepaired it for use.
"Dillain, my dear boy! It's wonderful to see you again! Come and join us, the champaign's all set and everyone's waiting."
"Thanks dad, it's good to be back. Hello everybody. It's great to see you, as well."
"A toast to this brave young lad! No damn Kraut dared harm him!"
"Next we'll have to sic him on the Japs."
"To Dillain!" One and all shouted.
Dillain rised his pistol like a glass and a thin smile crossed his daydreaming face. Then the party members in his head burst into song ( The Battle Hymn of the Republic.) He rocked the gun back and forth to the rythem of the music.
"He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never sound retreat;
He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgement seat.
O be swift, my soul, to answer Him! Be jubilant, my feet!
Our God is marching on"
Dillain Hudson waited for the chorus.
"Glory! Glory, Hallelujah!
Glory! Glory, Hallelujah!
Glory! Glory, Hallelujah!
His truth is marching on!"
Hudson pressed the barrel against his temple. He whimpered the words to the song as tears strolled down his face. The door hinges began to give; the ceaseless pounding of the undead finally taking its toll on the ancient wood. The sound of the bullet was drown out by the clinking of champaign glasses.
Watson charged towards a staircase. It was hopeless; too many of the ****bags stood in his way. He peppered the mob with bullets but their ranks refused to shrink. Unexpectantly, one grabbed the gun's muzzle and yanked it out of Watson's hands. With no backup weapon, he was forced against a wall. All he could do was scream in agony as the undead ripped his flesh apart.
Long story short, it's a horror tale about a nazi experiment gone wrong that results in flesh eating monsters. Said monsters decide to feed on unsuspecting soldiers. I might add the rest of the story later, or I may use this to host unrelated writings. Either way, enjoy.
They came upon a large, empty room. A room with four doors. In other words, a very bad room. They streamed in, seemingly numbering in the thousands. The walking dead swarmed the squad. Hudson and Watson scrambled to the East door. Jones directed the rest to the North. Watson unloaded his Thompson machine gun into the nearest zombie's skull. Bone chips and gray matter splattered his face, but he continued his bull rush into the next room with Hudson right behind. At that point, both men realized they were doomed. Two personality types became prominent, and the men chose their seperate fates.
Hudson took cover in the nearest room; a broom closet barely large enough to stand in. He locked the door and sank to the floor. He pulled his Colt.45 out of its holster and prepaired it for use.
"Dillain, my dear boy! It's wonderful to see you again! Come and join us, the champaign's all set and everyone's waiting."
"Thanks dad, it's good to be back. Hello everybody. It's great to see you, as well."
"A toast to this brave young lad! No damn Kraut dared harm him!"
"Next we'll have to sic him on the Japs."
"To Dillain!" One and all shouted.
Dillain rised his pistol like a glass and a thin smile crossed his daydreaming face. Then the party members in his head burst into song ( The Battle Hymn of the Republic.) He rocked the gun back and forth to the rythem of the music.
"He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never sound retreat;
He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgement seat.
O be swift, my soul, to answer Him! Be jubilant, my feet!
Our God is marching on"
Dillain Hudson waited for the chorus.
"Glory! Glory, Hallelujah!
Glory! Glory, Hallelujah!
Glory! Glory, Hallelujah!
His truth is marching on!"
Hudson pressed the barrel against his temple. He whimpered the words to the song as tears strolled down his face. The door hinges began to give; the ceaseless pounding of the undead finally taking its toll on the ancient wood. The sound of the bullet was drown out by the clinking of champaign glasses.
Watson charged towards a staircase. It was hopeless; too many of the ****bags stood in his way. He peppered the mob with bullets but their ranks refused to shrink. Unexpectantly, one grabbed the gun's muzzle and yanked it out of Watson's hands. With no backup weapon, he was forced against a wall. All he could do was scream in agony as the undead ripped his flesh apart.
wussies!
