"Mr. $1,500 AR"
Stizzorm
Mr. $1,500 AR had been eyeing us for a while. At first, it's okay, because
everyone gives every other survivor a careful once-over for signs of
infection. This was different.
"What are you cuties doing in such inhospitable environs?" He asked with
all the tact of a sleazy used car dealer.
"Medicine for our friend," I said, "The herbs aren't keeping the infection
down."
"What's wrong with your friend? If he's been bitten, you know what you're
going to have to do, don't you?" He pointed his index finger and pulled
his thumb back like a pistol's hammer, and made the unmistakable
gesture of blowing his brains out, complete with what sounded like a
duckfart. He looked back at us, and cocked his head, "And what's with all
the commie guns? Couldn't you afford the good stuff?"
Crystal was seething. We'd seen this kind of macho commando asshole
before. Our patience with this type had worn threadbare. She scowled at
him, waiting for any excuse.
He fondled the AR. I have to admit, it was a sweet rifle.
"We need drugs," Anita stated flatly, "antibiotics. Our friend wasn't bitten,
he was scouting and was almost killed by one of your traps."
A self-righteous grin spread across his face, "yes, ma'am, we do make
great traps. It's too bad your friend didn't see. I think we can help you
lovely ladies."
Crystal was nauseous with frustration and helplessness. She shrunk
back to the door. One of these post apocalyptic fratboys started to get
up close to her. There was a call over the jerk's walkie-talkie and he
looked out into the parking lot and then ran up the steps. Something was
going on.
"Marcus, can we help these ladies get medicine for their clumsy friend?"
He was all of a sudden all business, so maybe we would be able to finally
get somewhere. The guy behind the desk disappeared. It occured to me
that the desk was out of place.
"You ladies don't need to be so on edge, here. I mean, you know the
business we're in. We're skilled professionals, and you don't need to be
afraid. I don't keep this baby to impress people," he smiled in what must
have been an attempt at tenderness, unslung the rifle, and started
talking about everything from the telescoping stock to the birdcage
muzzle break.
Marcus appeared uncannily with a charitable smile on his face, "I'll help
you. After all, it's not every day we get cuties dropping in to visit!"
I thought I was going to puke. All we were trying to do was buy antibiotics
off this handful of smug assholes and all they can do is hit on us. Fucking
retards! The world as we knew it is gone and they still can't avoid thinking
with the little head. I'd rather deal with the fucking carriers, at least they
don't try to get uncomfortably friendly with you. Yeah, I'd take the threat
of mortal harm over these shitbags. How the hell did they survive with this
fratboy mentality, anyway?
Mr. $1,500 AR put his arm around me. I sidled away, and he didn't get
the hint. By the time Marcus came back with the drugs, I had almost
decided to scrap this whole plan. Besides, it seemed pretty clear that
they were going to follow us as soon as we left. Oh well, measures could
be taken. We bartered for some food, some fuel, and a few boxes of 5.56
NATO we pulled off a dropped LD. Anita came back from gazing into the
parking lot and verified the drugs in the bottle were right. The creeps
tried to follow us, but luckily a handful of LD's and three carriers had
appeared around the old hotel.
"You girls aren't going out with those monsters out there, are you?"
Marcus was visibly shaking, but Mr. $1,500 AR (plus $1,000 in
accessories) made a ridiculous face like a bulldog taking a dump and
readied his rifle.
I just smiled the way you do when you have to, extended the bayonet on
my SKS, and flipped the safety off. There was enough gas to get back,
the question was getting to the car. Crystal tapped the safety of her
Remington 870, and Anita made sure her Russian M44 was set to go. Mr.
$1500 AR scoffed at our guns.
"Totally inadequate!" He called out. "Don't worry girls," he said in what
seemed to be an attempt at an earnest tone, "the guys and I will cover
you. If you need anything, you know to come to us, and we can always
figure out a way that you can get what you need."
I looked at Crystal, but she was surprisingly calm. Out of all of us, she
smiled widest and sweetest as we left.
A carrier in a tattered business suit bounded across the parking lot, and
Anita brought up her M44 and fired. We're never ready for that
shockwave. The bullet had pierced the carrier's chest and sprayed red
paste into the air behind it. We had seen the mess those soft points
make. I knew why Anita hadn't shot it in the head. It would eventually
come to and give those commando assholes at least some trouble. A pair
of LD's appeared from around the corner. One was that hideous,
sagging gray, and the other was relatively fresh with an arrow sticking out
of its chest. I lined up the gray one in my sights and squeezed the trigger.
Big chunks of skull and brain sprayed from its head. Crystal launched a
load of 12-gauge 00 buckshot into a carrier in full sprint. Before Anita
could deafen us with the M44 again, I blasted the fresher LD right at
nose level. Mr. $1,500 AR just stood and watched inside the door,
playing with his right ear. A carrier got between the car door and me, and
I actually think it was caught off guard when I charged it and drove the
bayonet into its chest. I had learned to sidestep the sprinters if it came to
bayonet work. Just a sidestep, pivot, and you never even lose your
balance. It fell to the ground, sliding off the blade and leaving it smeared
red.
I started the car, and watched in the rearview mirror as the door came off
in Mr. $1500 AR's hands and clattered down the steps. I glanced at
Crystal.
"Hey, fuck him," Crystal said, "he was an asshole and a fucking scumbag
and he fucking deserves having those doors detached from the hunges."
"Well," I smiled, "now I almost feel bad for stuffing gum in the action on
his AR...Almost." I thought back to how when he squeezed up to me, I
stealthily squeezed gum into the action of his rifle.
All the commotion of the steel door going down the concrete steps had
drawn more attention than the car. We could see more carriers and living
dead cresting the hill. Mr. $1,500 AR was screaming at his post
apocalyptic frat brothers and pointing at the unhinged door as he faded
out of sight.
"Well then I guess those cocksuckers are going to have an interesting
time for the rest of their lives," Anita smiled.
"What's that gonna be, five minutes?" Crystal smirked.
"Aw, give 'em some credit, I was thinking fifteen," I said with uncertainty.
It had become a much harsher world, and it was hard enough to survive
with people we knew and trusted. We could not have let those guys find
the house. If they hadn't hidden their traps, this whole fucking mess
would have never happened.
everyone gives every other survivor a careful once-over for signs of
infection. This was different.
"What are you cuties doing in such inhospitable environs?" He asked with
all the tact of a sleazy used car dealer.
"Medicine for our friend," I said, "The herbs aren't keeping the infection
down."
"What's wrong with your friend? If he's been bitten, you know what you're
going to have to do, don't you?" He pointed his index finger and pulled
his thumb back like a pistol's hammer, and made the unmistakable
gesture of blowing his brains out, complete with what sounded like a
duckfart. He looked back at us, and cocked his head, "And what's with all
the commie guns? Couldn't you afford the good stuff?"
Crystal was seething. We'd seen this kind of macho commando asshole
before. Our patience with this type had worn threadbare. She scowled at
him, waiting for any excuse.
He fondled the AR. I have to admit, it was a sweet rifle.
"We need drugs," Anita stated flatly, "antibiotics. Our friend wasn't bitten,
he was scouting and was almost killed by one of your traps."
A self-righteous grin spread across his face, "yes, ma'am, we do make
great traps. It's too bad your friend didn't see. I think we can help you
lovely ladies."
Crystal was nauseous with frustration and helplessness. She shrunk
back to the door. One of these post apocalyptic fratboys started to get
up close to her. There was a call over the jerk's walkie-talkie and he
looked out into the parking lot and then ran up the steps. Something was
going on.
"Marcus, can we help these ladies get medicine for their clumsy friend?"
He was all of a sudden all business, so maybe we would be able to finally
get somewhere. The guy behind the desk disappeared. It occured to me
that the desk was out of place.
"You ladies don't need to be so on edge, here. I mean, you know the
business we're in. We're skilled professionals, and you don't need to be
afraid. I don't keep this baby to impress people," he smiled in what must
have been an attempt at tenderness, unslung the rifle, and started
talking about everything from the telescoping stock to the birdcage
muzzle break.
Marcus appeared uncannily with a charitable smile on his face, "I'll help
you. After all, it's not every day we get cuties dropping in to visit!"
I thought I was going to puke. All we were trying to do was buy antibiotics
off this handful of smug assholes and all they can do is hit on us. Fucking
retards! The world as we knew it is gone and they still can't avoid thinking
with the little head. I'd rather deal with the fucking carriers, at least they
don't try to get uncomfortably friendly with you. Yeah, I'd take the threat
of mortal harm over these shitbags. How the hell did they survive with this
fratboy mentality, anyway?
Mr. $1,500 AR put his arm around me. I sidled away, and he didn't get
the hint. By the time Marcus came back with the drugs, I had almost
decided to scrap this whole plan. Besides, it seemed pretty clear that
they were going to follow us as soon as we left. Oh well, measures could
be taken. We bartered for some food, some fuel, and a few boxes of 5.56
NATO we pulled off a dropped LD. Anita came back from gazing into the
parking lot and verified the drugs in the bottle were right. The creeps
tried to follow us, but luckily a handful of LD's and three carriers had
appeared around the old hotel.
"You girls aren't going out with those monsters out there, are you?"
Marcus was visibly shaking, but Mr. $1,500 AR (plus $1,000 in
accessories) made a ridiculous face like a bulldog taking a dump and
readied his rifle.
I just smiled the way you do when you have to, extended the bayonet on
my SKS, and flipped the safety off. There was enough gas to get back,
the question was getting to the car. Crystal tapped the safety of her
Remington 870, and Anita made sure her Russian M44 was set to go. Mr.
$1500 AR scoffed at our guns.
"Totally inadequate!" He called out. "Don't worry girls," he said in what
seemed to be an attempt at an earnest tone, "the guys and I will cover
you. If you need anything, you know to come to us, and we can always
figure out a way that you can get what you need."
I looked at Crystal, but she was surprisingly calm. Out of all of us, she
smiled widest and sweetest as we left.
A carrier in a tattered business suit bounded across the parking lot, and
Anita brought up her M44 and fired. We're never ready for that
shockwave. The bullet had pierced the carrier's chest and sprayed red
paste into the air behind it. We had seen the mess those soft points
make. I knew why Anita hadn't shot it in the head. It would eventually
come to and give those commando assholes at least some trouble. A pair
of LD's appeared from around the corner. One was that hideous,
sagging gray, and the other was relatively fresh with an arrow sticking out
of its chest. I lined up the gray one in my sights and squeezed the trigger.
Big chunks of skull and brain sprayed from its head. Crystal launched a
load of 12-gauge 00 buckshot into a carrier in full sprint. Before Anita
could deafen us with the M44 again, I blasted the fresher LD right at
nose level. Mr. $1,500 AR just stood and watched inside the door,
playing with his right ear. A carrier got between the car door and me, and
I actually think it was caught off guard when I charged it and drove the
bayonet into its chest. I had learned to sidestep the sprinters if it came to
bayonet work. Just a sidestep, pivot, and you never even lose your
balance. It fell to the ground, sliding off the blade and leaving it smeared
red.
I started the car, and watched in the rearview mirror as the door came off
in Mr. $1500 AR's hands and clattered down the steps. I glanced at
Crystal.
"Hey, fuck him," Crystal said, "he was an asshole and a fucking scumbag
and he fucking deserves having those doors detached from the hunges."
"Well," I smiled, "now I almost feel bad for stuffing gum in the action on
his AR...Almost." I thought back to how when he squeezed up to me, I
stealthily squeezed gum into the action of his rifle.
All the commotion of the steel door going down the concrete steps had
drawn more attention than the car. We could see more carriers and living
dead cresting the hill. Mr. $1,500 AR was screaming at his post
apocalyptic frat brothers and pointing at the unhinged door as he faded
out of sight.
"Well then I guess those cocksuckers are going to have an interesting
time for the rest of their lives," Anita smiled.
"What's that gonna be, five minutes?" Crystal smirked.
"Aw, give 'em some credit, I was thinking fifteen," I said with uncertainty.
It had become a much harsher world, and it was hard enough to survive
with people we knew and trusted. We could not have let those guys find
the house. If they hadn't hidden their traps, this whole fucking mess
would have never happened.