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 "Infamy" Story: Part 2: Chapter 19 & 20 (Updated 3/20)

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Post"Infamy" Story: Part 2: Chapter 19 & 20 (Updated 3/20)

Infamy: Part 2
A continuation to the Infamy story. To read part 1, see: http://codzombies.forumotion.net/zombie-story-line-blog-f15/infamy-story-part-1-chapters-1-16-t1589.htm

Chapter 17

Back at the crash,
5:01 pm.

The first thing Wesley noticed was the smell. As he inched nearer to the twisted heap of metal that was once his B-17, the stench of rotting flesh filled the air. The next thing he saw was the amount of damage the plane had taken. The left wing was bent and twisted from digging into the ground and cart wheeling. The front of the plane had plowed into the ground and folding inward, sandwiching the pilot’s body, leaving him dangling out of the windshield like a grotess hood ornament. Most of the upper half of the body was hanging on to the waist by only a few tendrils and intestines, for it had been cut in half by the crushed metal. Wesley asked himself one more time whether or not he wanted to go in there. Yes, he thought, I have to see what happened.
As he approached the loading door, he ran his hand along the outside of the hull. When he pulled it back, a thick layer of blood and oil cover his hand. It was as if secreting in oil. The ship was bleeding.
With a loud clank the hatch swung open. The stench at this point was almost intolerable. He looked down and saw scraps of raw flesh and fresh blood collect on the floor. He looked into the airborne troopers benches and found not a body, but random meat in the shape of a man. At this point Wesley was trying heavily to control his gag reflex. Wesley then saw the tiny tooth and claw marks that seemed to have picked the pile of meat clean of all innards. That was the last straw for him. He bent down, fell to his knees and vomited the very little food left in his stomach. He got back up and continued to search the plane. Wesley knew about the mess in the cockpit he didn’t need to see that again. As he made his way to the back, a tiny crunch rung out from beneath his boot. He looked down to see a picture of Ox, him, Peter, Doyel, and the rest of the crew in one frame. They had taken that picture only a few days before they set off to Berlin. The frame under it read “To may friends”. Nudged in the corner of the frame was a picture of a young woman holding hands with a young pilot. Wesley notice the pilot in the picture was the same as the one in the other. What was that man’s name? Cole? He folded up the picture and placed both in him pocket. Don’t worry Cole, he thought, I’ll make this up to you.
As Wesley walked down the aisle, he gathered supplies from ammunition that they where suppose to transport to large first-aid kits containing dehydrated food. Eventually, he passed the bathroom.
Within it Wesley heard something stirring. He couldn't distinguish whether it was a chewing, crunching or slurping, but something was feeding within the stall. The door was only cracked open, so Wesley couldn’t quiet see what was happening in there. Through the crack he could see something hunch over a large red mass. The thing was feeding on the mass, shoveling large loads of liquid and meat into its mouth. The door had to be open via a door knob, maybe the creatures hadn’t figured out doors yet. In just a few split-seconds, Wesley screamed, slammed the door shut, and tuned the knob shut. He retreated to the other end of the plane, expecting to hear a deep throated wail. Instead, Wesley only heard the ever methodical, “slurp, crunch, slurp, crunch, slurp, crunch”.
Wesley’s own heart raced in his head. The thing hadn’t seen him. He was going to be okay.
The back of the B-17 held nothing, only a twisted 50 cal. That was too damaged to be used. Fortunately, Wesley did find some ammo clips, water, an M2 Flamethrower, and one bazooka with two rockets. He’d return after he brought back everything he currently had. With the M2 strapped to his back, a fully loaded pack strapped to his front, and a few canteens dangling off his belt, Wesley looked as if he was ready to take on the entire undead threat single handedly.
That’s when things started going bad. The restroom the creature was trapped in seemed to shake in anticipation. As Wesley passed the door to escape, he heard a low gnawing sound, in addition to a haunting scrape, scrape, scrape. Wesley panicked. As he stormed outside and head back to the bunker and over to his friends, something was out of place, yes, it had gotten dark fast, as it looked as if it was late at night, yes the same eerie fog had rolled in, but some else was out of place. Of course, he thought as he looked at the front of the aircraft. The pilot’s body. It was gone. Where did it go?
Almost on cue, a lone zombie shambled over a hill. This one had fresh flesh, a new glow in its eyes and was more determined. But something else was different. This creature’s body was torn in half, and wore a US Airman’s uniform. He pulled out the old picture of the young woman and the pilot. The man in the picture, the man in the uniform, the creature with the man’s face… it was Cole. Wesley didn’t remember running or when he regained consciences, he just remember thinking that he needed to get out of there, and that when he got back, he was gonna burn it to the ground.

Chapter 18

Wesley didn’t remember dogging the outstretched hand reaching for him from the ground, nor the large horde of undead emerging from the tree line. In a hop, skip, and a jump, Wesley had darted to the bunker and flung himself in via a gap in the window.
When Wesley reentered the bunker he found Doyel and Ox sitting around a pot of Military Rations that resembled something like pea soup. Both of the me sat around the pot with their bowls empty in and, except for Doyel’s half empty bowl laying on the floor with the spoon laying in it as though he’d stopped eating. Oxford got up at the sight of a shell-shocked Wesley running in covered with bandoliers and explosives. Wesley dropped ammo at Oxfords feet and picked up Doyel’s bowl, franticly shoving the “food” into his mouth. He almost vomited at the taste, but he quickly forced it back down. The cold soup sat like a lump in his stomach. He coughed a bit as some of it went down the wrong tube. He quickly got up and started surveying the windows.
“Captain!” yelled Oxford. “What the hell is going on!?”
Wesley simply handed him a BAR, some ammo clips and shushed him up.
Oxford looked inside the pack. Loaded in it was Thompsons, BAR clips, satchel charges, and grenades, along with a few M1A1 clip. It made him wonder why the hell they where transporting this stuff in the first place. The war in Europe was over; all of this should have gone to the Pacific front. He walked over to the window to see what Wesley was looking at and darn near soiled himself. In front of him was a small army of the dead, much larger than the last one they’d fought before.
“Oh shit….”
Wesley hesitated for a few seconds.
“Alright,” he said, opening the valve on the M2, “Let’s show these bastards what happens when you fuck with the US Marines!”
He expected a ‘hooya!’, but all he got in return was a “How the hell are we going to do that?”
Wesley licked his lips at the though. He had a plan. It was suicidal.
“Easy,” he said, handing Doyel a Bazooka, “I’ll go in with the flamethrower and set a Zack fire, kill a few zombies in the process. If I get swarmed Doyel,” he points the bazooka toward his head, “Don’t hesitate.”
“You want me to blow you up!”
“Only if I get swarmed. God knows how many zombies you’ll take with me.”
Oxford wanted to protest, but before he could Wesley was crawling outside the window.

As Wesley stormed straight into the horde, multiple hands outstretched from the ground out of the mud to reach him. On occasion, he’d kick the outstretched waterlogged hand and punt it a good hundred yards. The ghouls weren’t intimidated by this; they simply crept closer to meet the Marines, holding their ranks. One moment in particular a full zombie hoisted himself out of the mud, tackled Wesley, and threatened to devourer him before Wesley summoned his strength, flipped the zombies to one side, and rip the zombies arm off. The zombies stumbled a few feet and fell back to the ground. Wesley looked at the severed arm in his hand, still squirming in the air in an attempt to strangle him. He had no idea how he managed to do that. The adrenalin, Wesley thought. It felt good.
“Alright freaks,” he said to the writhing horde in front of him. “Bring it on.”

Oxford couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Adrenalin powered Wesley was single handedly taking on the zombies in hand-to-hand combat. As one zombie charged, Wesley ripped off it’s arm and used it as a club to beat the owner back into the ground. Another time, he lifted a large boulder and though it into the crowd with great effect, smashing the heads of two or three Gs. After another zombie charged, he picked up another rock smashed the runner’s face in, and continued to beat down the body wail yelling something that sounded like “Die freak!” Afterwards, he opened fire into the crowd with a burst of his M2. In just a few short seconds, one man had destroyed one third of the attackers.
“Wow,” Oxford said to Doyel, “Wesley looks pissed.”
At that very moment, Wesley stopped in his tracks. Oh no, thought Oxford. Wesley was looking wildly at his feet. Other zombies started to surround him. No. No. No, no, no, no, no. It couldn’t end like this. Doyel had the bazooka pointed at the ground crying and shivering violently, Doyel took aim at his friend. It’s easy, Doyel thought, Take a breath, count to three and- Doyel stopped. Oxford was pushing down on the bazooka, preventing it from firing.
“We can’t,” he said.
“We have to, or the zombies will, which is worse?”
“No,” Oxford said, picking up his M1A1. “Get on the MG, take aim, and when we come back aim high. The zombies will be their.”
“I’m not going to let you-”

Well, Wesley thought, this is the end. He didn’t mean to stop. One of the hands had grabbed him. The most have been survivors from the first two attacks. This was it, he thought as the figure hauled itself out of the ground, using Wesley’s leg as its means of escape. Slowly, a face lifted from the mud. Sure hope the bazooka kills me before these guys. The M2 was useless surrounded. It would only make a firestorm that would incinerate Wesley as well. That was the plan. He’d be live bait, and the exploding fuel tank would burn the zombies. This was a one way trip.
He paused for a second. No bazooka. Figures.
Wesley pulled out his grenade as three zombies around him fell dead.
“What the hell?”
It was Ox!
“Though I told you to kill me.”
“We have plenty time to die, but I’m not going to let you live though a war to die now.”
Wesley just smiled, pulled the pin, and through his grenade into the zombies. The explosion sent chunks of flesh and shrapnel flying.
“Alright, let’s get going.”
“Look out!”
From beneath Wesley, the face buried its teeth into his. Wesley recoiled and felt. Nothing. Years of rot had rotten away its teeth and gave its gums the texture of rice pudding ageist his leg. Wesley let out a bellowing laugh and curb stomped the creature, smashing its head open like a ripe pumpkin.
“Go, go, go!” yelled Oxford, “And keep your head down!”
On cue a burst of MG fire ripped out from the bunker, mowing down the zombies. Ox and Wesley leaped in through an opened window to fin Doyel manning the MG.
“How do you man an MG with one arm?” asked Wesley.
“Very carefully.”

A large zombie howled as if alerting the undead army. The undead moaned back in a sort of mass consciousness. A large majority of zombies disappeared into the woods.
“What are they doing?”
Just then a fireball lit up the night sky. Wesley paused and said “… Get on the radio.”
As Ox manned the MG, finishing off the rest of the ghouls, Doyel and Wesley listened in on the radio. Eventual they came across a message:

“Oh God, oh God. This is recon flight 217, searching for the B-17 “Wild Wessel”. I crash landed way outside of Berlin somewhere in the Black Forrest. I… I don’t know where I am, there was… a fog. I got lost in it. I can see figures getting closer to my crash site. Are they friendly? No. They…what the hell…………… AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Oh God, what the hell are those things! Please! Is anyone out there! Please! THEY’RE GETTING CLOSER! HELP! AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!




>Moan! <


The message cut out. Oxford at this point temporarily stopped mopping up and was standing in the corner. He shook his head before murmuring “God help us.”
As Wesley left the room, Doyel could have sworn he heard Wesley say “God help us all.”

Chapter 19

Wesley couldn’t sleep. How could he? Those creatures were out there. Watching. Waiting. He’d been trying to sleep for, what was it? Two, three hours?
He looked down at his broken watch on his wrist. The crash had put a huge spider crack in the middle of the face, obscuring the numbers six and nine. It was about 3 o’clock at night. Wesley gave a loud sigh and stair at the ceiling, counting the splatters of blood the way a child would count sheep.
He’d come very close to sleeping before. After the battle he just crashed on the floor, not asleep, but in a primitive state of mind where the conscience mind in turned off, but his eyes where left awake, surveying the landscape for an occasional zombie. Once he fell asleep only to awake to a crawling zombie pulling itself into the room across from Wesley, grunting as it did so. Wesley found he was carrying no weapon, he was defenseless. He forgot about Doyel, about Oxford, about Peter, and for a few choice seconds Wesley felt calm. He was entranced in an ancient form of fear. It felt as if nothing mattered, that everything will be okay, perhaps the same form of ignorance an animal feels before it is killed in a slaughterhouse. As the creature pulled itself nearer, he was broken from this trance by a gunshot, exploding the creature’s head. He looked up to find Doyel with his M1919 pistol in hand. At other times he awoke to a loud bark of static and a storm of foul language as Oxford fiddled with the radio. Both times he fell back asleep, but this time was different.
Wesley wiped cold sweat from his forehead and hoisted himself up off the ground. He hobbled over to the stair case and looked at the writing on the wall.
“‘You must ascend from darkness’,” he said, roughing up his dirty red hair, “And ‘Salvation lies above’. What the hell does it mean!?”
He stared across the field and on the horizon. Doyel hobbled over with his bandaged arm and a M1A1 in hand. He looked worse than before and now he was hovelling along on an old salvaged Kar98k as a makeshift braise.
“How’s it going?” Doyel asked with as much vigor as he could despite the fact he was clearly sick.
“Oh, well, good I guess. I’ve been trying to decode this writing; I think it’s a tip on how to kill these things.”
“How do you figure that?”
“Well, it says ‘You must ascend from darkness’. Did you ever notice how the zombies only attack at night? Then you must lift yourself from the night, from darkness, to find salvation, and it lies above. And what lies above? The sun! One way or another, sunlight weakens these things.”
“That… or the night makes them stronger.”
Wesley hadn’t thought of this. What could make these thinks stronger? Like a flash the teddy bear Wesley found was brought to mind. With anther flash, the rock he’d given to Peter ran though his head. The little, evil thoughts Wesley had heard jingled in the back of his mind. He though t of the box. He thought of the box floating in front of him, whispering “Let me out.”
He brushed off the thought and looked over to Doyel. His pale face held what Wesley though he could recognize as a warning, as if he where telling him “Don’t do it, don’t open the box.” The quick shift on Doyel’s face from pale to green made him forget the idea. As quickly as his face had changed, Doyel vomited on the steps. There was no deigning it; Doyel was sick.
“How are you holding up?”
“Bad. The bite got infected and now it’s crippling everything in my system. I’m sick to my stomach, can’t keep food down, have the runs like nobody's business--”
“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”
“No. I won’t. Even if we get out of here, even if I don’t have whatever these freaks do… I’m sunk.”
Doyel tried to lighten the mood with a nasally laugh. He pulled out his sleeve and wiped a long trail of snot down it. Wesley never really knew Doyel before this. He always though he was a nascence a draftee that thought he was hot stuff. Doyel never had any friends but—
“Hey Doyel, I think you should see this.”
Wesley felt a lump grow in his through as he handed Doyel Cole’s picture.
“I found this in the wreck.”
A tear rolled down Doyel’s cheek as he handed him the photo.
“We where both drafted together. Thank you.”
“Your friend?”
“No. My brother.”
Doyel shutter for a bit before clinging to Wesley and sobbing.
Wesley let out a dry sigh.
Whether it was coming to them or if they were going to it, Doyel needed help. He got up and walked into the other room to grab some shovels.
“Where are you going?” Doyel asked.
“First I’m going to go squeeze the weasel; I’ve really got to go. Then I’m going to fortify the building for tonight. I we need to book it tonight, we’ll need any booby traps we can make to get the hell out of here.”

Chapter 20

The following message was transmitted from Berlin that night as the Marines where bunkering down for the night. It is unknown to me if Wesley and his men managed access and decode this signal:


Marine 1: Get some fucking fire on those things!


Marine 3: What the hell went wrong!? Where the fuck is our Shermans!


Marine 1: Flamethrower, moving up!


>Torch ignites, scream of zombies and men alike are heard<


Radio Officer: Command wants you to retrieve a high priority target within the asylum!

Marine 5: Are you fucking nuts!

Marine 4: Not ‘till we get some damn Shermans!


Marine 3: I think I killed it!


Marine 3: It’s not fucking dead! AHHHHHHHHH!

>Five continuess minutes of gunshots and screams, until it falls sillent and sounds as if the radio shifts and is carried off<

Marine 1: Looks like Thomas died with the radio. Poor bastard.

Marine 2: Him? What about us?

Marine 1: Shut up Riley… can’t find a comm link to command. Looks like we're on our own.

>Radio shuts off<

To be continued...

Last edited by srm-trpr78 on Mon Mar 22, 2010 1:38 am; edited 4 times in total
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"Infamy" Story: Part 2: Chapter 19 & 20 (Updated 3/20) :: Comments

Re: "Infamy" Story: Part 2: Chapter 19 & 20 (Updated 3/20)
Post on Thu Feb 25, 2010 2:31 am by srm-trpr78
I'll work on the story in a few minutes. Just got to get inspired. Bobba Fett
Re: "Infamy" Story: Part 2: Chapter 19 & 20 (Updated 3/20)
Post on Sun Feb 28, 2010 5:10 am by srm-trpr78
>slams head on keyboard< all done on chapter 18.
If there is any spelling issues, please tell me.
Re: "Infamy" Story: Part 2: Chapter 19 & 20 (Updated 3/20)
Post on Sun Mar 21, 2010 5:54 am by srm-trpr78
Sorry for the long amout of time for this update. Once again, if there's any spelling issues, feel free to alert me.
Re: "Infamy" Story: Part 2: Chapter 19 & 20 (Updated 3/20)
Post on Mon Mar 22, 2010 1:40 am by srm-trpr78
I added a pole to keep track of who's reading this. Don't pick the third option or you're a butt-munch
Re: "Infamy" Story: Part 2: Chapter 19 & 20 (Updated 3/20)
Post on Mon Mar 22, 2010 2:58 am by jackyboy1384
Loving this story!
Are you ever planning to take the characters to Verruckt or anywere else? How many chapters do you have in mind?
Best story on the site, by far.
Keep at it!
-Jackyboy Wink
Re: "Infamy" Story: Part 2: Chapter 19 & 20 (Updated 3/20)
Post on Mon Mar 22, 2010 3:57 am by srm-trpr78
jackyboy1384 wrote:
Loving this story!
Are you ever planning to take the characters to Verruckt or anywere else? How many chapters do you have in mind?
Best story on the site, by far.
Keep at it!
-Jackyboy Wink
Glad you like the story!
I don't want to give anything major away here, but I will say this: remember the name Riley! Very Happy

"Infamy" Story: Part 2: Chapter 19 & 20 (Updated 3/20)

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