Resident Evil Series Fan Fiction ❯ Survival ❯ Act 5: Ferret Style ( Chapter 5 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Kazuki Ferret 
Glory be to Kazuki Ferret, for he wrote this chapter so it wouldn't be a terrible waste of bandwidth!
Non Anime: Resident Evil Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Suspense / Post-apocalyptic / Occult / Horror / Action | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 01.07.2008 | Updated On: 05.01.2008 | Pages: 1 | Words: 2.1K | Visits: 189 | Status: Work In Progress
Glory be to Kazuki Ferret, for he wrote this chapter so it wouldn't be a terrible waste of bandwidth!
Non Anime: Resident Evil Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Suspense / Post-apocalyptic / Occult / Horror / Action | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 01.07.2008 | Updated On: 05.01.2008 | Pages: 1 | Words: 2.1K | Visits: 189 | Status: Work In Progress
The magnum bucked in my hand as I fired off the remaining five rounds, only managing to down three more zombies and cripple another. I opened the cylinder and emptied the spent shell casings out of it, watching as they hit the asphalt in front of me, slowly taking out six more loose rounds from my pocket and inserting them one at a time into the revolver. I was pretty much fucked, I was bleeding, my leg was injured, there were at least fifty more zombies in front of me alone, just in my field of view there was fifty fucking flesh eaters. I snapped the cylinder closed.
“What am I doing?” I forced myself to stand up; I slung the AK over my shoulder. My breathing was labored and harsh, but I took careful aim and blasted another zombie's face to pieces the magnum. I looked lovingly at the barrel stamping `Smith and Wesson Model 29 .44 Magnum'. I stared at it for a short time, remembering to myself. Oh, how I wanted this gun! It was what Dirty Harry used; it looked so cool on the big screen. I was nervous and skeptical the first time I took one out at a gun range, nervous because the first magnum I fired was a stub nosed .357magnum which was nearly uncontrollable and not to mention brutal to fire, and skeptical because of how the gun was shown in the films. But then I fired it, and loved it. I loved how natural it felt in my hand, how balanced it felt, how… it felt as if it was that one perfect gun, that one gun that I could `take on the world' with, and the recoil was surprisingly manageable. How I worked so hard for it, how I begged, and how finally on that wonderful day I got it. I planned to become the first person to take all of the animals on the Boon and Crocket big game list with just this pistol. To do that and silence the argument that a handgun isn't a hunting gun forever. It was to be my mark in the world, that was my dream… my folly, my mission. To do that, so for generations after me people could own their handguns and whenever someone said a pistol wasn't useful for hunting, they could say `Well, Kazuki Ferret took all fifty North American big game animals with just an old Smith and Wesson model 29 revolver'. A grin spread across my face, “Wouldn't that be something… if I could have done that my life…”
A tear ran down my face, I aimed my magnum at the horde, which was closing in on me. I still was unable to hear anything, but I spoke anyway. “Would not have been a waste, a useless vile piece of garbage to be crumpled up and forgotten like yesterday's comics section!”
I fired all six rounds into the horde before me, I could almost count how many where left. There were at least eighty of them, all reaching out for me. I felt something lick my leg wound and looked down to see my dog; the look on his face told me he was whimpering. I dropped the magnum; there was no time to reload it. The zombies' outstretched arms were a mere yard and a half from me, and they'd formed a half circle, blocking any escape attempt on my part. I drew my knife from its sheath and took out a grenade. I looked at my dog.
“Go on, get home boy.” I started crying, for the first time in a long time I cried. I am the kind of person who hides his sorrows and never cries; I try to show a face of indifference to the world. I try to pretend nothing affects me; I lie to myself and to my loved ones that I always see the silver lining. When in truth, I cry. Deep inside my soul those unseen tears fall, they fall as a typhoon of pity and sorrow, a deep rooted sadness flows behind every smiling mask I wear to face the world. I play made believe with toy soldiers, pretend to the world that death is no big deal. I act as the man who opens the door when death is knocking and slaps him for making me wait. But behind my macho façade I fear that dark abyss. I fear not being able to see the world, I lament not being able to see the beauty of nature, and the cruelty of life. To the world I am a cold hearted monster; to myself I am a sniveling child who fears what lay ahead of him.
“Jill, I don't know if you're still here but if you can…” more tears welled up in my eyes, “Take my dog and get out of here, run away as fast as you can. I'll distract them as long as I can, hurry go now.”
“I'm not leaving you!” I could barely hear her, especially with the moans from my eighty strong foes. I grinned as more tears fell to the ground.
“Just go, I'll catch up.” I hooked the grenade to my belt where I could easily reach it and pulled out my Beretta, holding it by the barrel, “I promise you I'll catch up with you and Mr. Parker, no matter what.”
“Don't die!” I heard her voice say in the distance, looked and saw that she was dragging my violently protesting dog with her. I smiled, turning to my attackers.
“I'm not an easy meal; you've picked the wrong person to fuck with.” I jammed my knife through the closest one's eye socket. I didn't even bother to try to retrieve the knife; instead I slammed the butt of my Beretta into another's temple. Then I smashed another's cranium with the Italian pistol, and then I say that he had an equipment belt on with what looked like two magazines for my Beretta. I reached with my left hand and pulled out both mags, falling to a crouching position as I ejected the spent magazine from my pistol. I quickly loaded one of the fresh magazines into the Beretta. Ok, it fit! Please don't be a .40, please, please be a 9mm! I pressed the slid release on my gun, knowing that if it was a .40S&W I was dead…
“FUCK YES!” I howled as the action easily closed, “Thirty rounds baby!”
I fired into a former businessman's temple, then I fired into a meter maid's brain case and I took down three more before I rolled out of my previous spot, not wanting to be overwhelmed. I took down two more, rolled took down another. I was near where I started, I quickly snagged up my revolver, tucking it into my belt. I shot three more, rolled away again. Then I took down four and the clip ran dry. However I'd managed to open up a path that was just enough for me to actually get out of the deadly crowd, I leapt and rolled out. I sprinted a few meters, and then I quickly looked back.
“I've taken down eighteen more of you cock suckers!” I ejected the empty from the Beretta and emptied the fresh magazine into the outer layer of the zombie mass. I was on another plane, my pain long forgotten. I holstered the Beretta and pulled out the .44, using a speed loader I quickly managed to reload it. “Thirty-three so far, I am Kazuki! Hear me roar!”
I tucked the revolver back into my belt, instead un-slinging the AK, I jerked the magazine out and frantically started reloading it, one round at a time as the horde lurched towards me. “SHIT!” I said that word every time I put around in the magazine after digging the rounds out of my dump pouch first. I got twenty-five rounds in before I decided I couldn't wait any longer.
I swung the Kalashnikov into a zombie's skull with all of my might, the steel-backed wood stock made a horrifying crunch when it came into contact with the poor creature's temple, the skull shattered and the zombie fell down weakly. I ran into the park, zombie horde close behind me.
“Try this on for size you fuckers!” I ducked behind a tree; I'd gone down the hill so the truck wasn't visible. I took out the Beretta and ejected the magazine and started frantically thumbing rounds into it, watching for zombies. I'd managed to load up ten rounds before the first ones came over the hill. I slid the magazine into the gun and holstered it, grabbing out another mag and loading it up to ten before pocketing it. The forerunners of the horde were now four and a half meters from me. I aimed the Kalashnikov.
“What am I doing?” I forced myself to stand up; I slung the AK over my shoulder. My breathing was labored and harsh, but I took careful aim and blasted another zombie's face to pieces the magnum. I looked lovingly at the barrel stamping `Smith and Wesson Model 29 .44 Magnum'. I stared at it for a short time, remembering to myself. Oh, how I wanted this gun! It was what Dirty Harry used; it looked so cool on the big screen. I was nervous and skeptical the first time I took one out at a gun range, nervous because the first magnum I fired was a stub nosed .357magnum which was nearly uncontrollable and not to mention brutal to fire, and skeptical because of how the gun was shown in the films. But then I fired it, and loved it. I loved how natural it felt in my hand, how balanced it felt, how… it felt as if it was that one perfect gun, that one gun that I could `take on the world' with, and the recoil was surprisingly manageable. How I worked so hard for it, how I begged, and how finally on that wonderful day I got it. I planned to become the first person to take all of the animals on the Boon and Crocket big game list with just this pistol. To do that and silence the argument that a handgun isn't a hunting gun forever. It was to be my mark in the world, that was my dream… my folly, my mission. To do that, so for generations after me people could own their handguns and whenever someone said a pistol wasn't useful for hunting, they could say `Well, Kazuki Ferret took all fifty North American big game animals with just an old Smith and Wesson model 29 revolver'. A grin spread across my face, “Wouldn't that be something… if I could have done that my life…”
A tear ran down my face, I aimed my magnum at the horde, which was closing in on me. I still was unable to hear anything, but I spoke anyway. “Would not have been a waste, a useless vile piece of garbage to be crumpled up and forgotten like yesterday's comics section!”
I fired all six rounds into the horde before me, I could almost count how many where left. There were at least eighty of them, all reaching out for me. I felt something lick my leg wound and looked down to see my dog; the look on his face told me he was whimpering. I dropped the magnum; there was no time to reload it. The zombies' outstretched arms were a mere yard and a half from me, and they'd formed a half circle, blocking any escape attempt on my part. I drew my knife from its sheath and took out a grenade. I looked at my dog.
“Go on, get home boy.” I started crying, for the first time in a long time I cried. I am the kind of person who hides his sorrows and never cries; I try to show a face of indifference to the world. I try to pretend nothing affects me; I lie to myself and to my loved ones that I always see the silver lining. When in truth, I cry. Deep inside my soul those unseen tears fall, they fall as a typhoon of pity and sorrow, a deep rooted sadness flows behind every smiling mask I wear to face the world. I play made believe with toy soldiers, pretend to the world that death is no big deal. I act as the man who opens the door when death is knocking and slaps him for making me wait. But behind my macho façade I fear that dark abyss. I fear not being able to see the world, I lament not being able to see the beauty of nature, and the cruelty of life. To the world I am a cold hearted monster; to myself I am a sniveling child who fears what lay ahead of him.
“Jill, I don't know if you're still here but if you can…” more tears welled up in my eyes, “Take my dog and get out of here, run away as fast as you can. I'll distract them as long as I can, hurry go now.”
“I'm not leaving you!” I could barely hear her, especially with the moans from my eighty strong foes. I grinned as more tears fell to the ground.
“Just go, I'll catch up.” I hooked the grenade to my belt where I could easily reach it and pulled out my Beretta, holding it by the barrel, “I promise you I'll catch up with you and Mr. Parker, no matter what.”
“Don't die!” I heard her voice say in the distance, looked and saw that she was dragging my violently protesting dog with her. I smiled, turning to my attackers.
“I'm not an easy meal; you've picked the wrong person to fuck with.” I jammed my knife through the closest one's eye socket. I didn't even bother to try to retrieve the knife; instead I slammed the butt of my Beretta into another's temple. Then I smashed another's cranium with the Italian pistol, and then I say that he had an equipment belt on with what looked like two magazines for my Beretta. I reached with my left hand and pulled out both mags, falling to a crouching position as I ejected the spent magazine from my pistol. I quickly loaded one of the fresh magazines into the Beretta. Ok, it fit! Please don't be a .40, please, please be a 9mm! I pressed the slid release on my gun, knowing that if it was a .40S&W I was dead…
“FUCK YES!” I howled as the action easily closed, “Thirty rounds baby!”
I fired into a former businessman's temple, then I fired into a meter maid's brain case and I took down three more before I rolled out of my previous spot, not wanting to be overwhelmed. I took down two more, rolled took down another. I was near where I started, I quickly snagged up my revolver, tucking it into my belt. I shot three more, rolled away again. Then I took down four and the clip ran dry. However I'd managed to open up a path that was just enough for me to actually get out of the deadly crowd, I leapt and rolled out. I sprinted a few meters, and then I quickly looked back.
“I've taken down eighteen more of you cock suckers!” I ejected the empty from the Beretta and emptied the fresh magazine into the outer layer of the zombie mass. I was on another plane, my pain long forgotten. I holstered the Beretta and pulled out the .44, using a speed loader I quickly managed to reload it. “Thirty-three so far, I am Kazuki! Hear me roar!”
I tucked the revolver back into my belt, instead un-slinging the AK, I jerked the magazine out and frantically started reloading it, one round at a time as the horde lurched towards me. “SHIT!” I said that word every time I put around in the magazine after digging the rounds out of my dump pouch first. I got twenty-five rounds in before I decided I couldn't wait any longer.
I swung the Kalashnikov into a zombie's skull with all of my might, the steel-backed wood stock made a horrifying crunch when it came into contact with the poor creature's temple, the skull shattered and the zombie fell down weakly. I ran into the park, zombie horde close behind me.
“Try this on for size you fuckers!” I ducked behind a tree; I'd gone down the hill so the truck wasn't visible. I took out the Beretta and ejected the magazine and started frantically thumbing rounds into it, watching for zombies. I'd managed to load up ten rounds before the first ones came over the hill. I slid the magazine into the gun and holstered it, grabbing out another mag and loading it up to ten before pocketing it. The forerunners of the horde were now four and a half meters from me. I aimed the Kalashnikov.
Calm, wait for them, calm down Kazuki they'll come to you. Just wait for them to get closer, just a little closer now… FIRE!
-BAM! - One down
-BAM! - Another one down.
I continued like that until twenty-five zombies were once again corpses and my Kalashnikov was once again empty.
“I do believe this brings me to fifty nine you bastards!” I let a big stupid grin spread across my face. I grabbed out another Beretta magazine and loaded it to ten again; I pocketed it and took out the Beretta. I stood up the Kalashnikov hung from my shoulder, I shot a quick glance at my left shoulder; the bleeding seemed to have stopped, then to my leg; looked serious, but I guess I'm a lucky bastard.
I sat and waited as the lurching beasts tumbled over the hill, once any of them got within twenty-five feet of me I put a nine millimeter through its skull. Soon the horde was all dead (well no longer walking around while being dead)
Not taking any chances I reloaded the Kalashnikov and all the Beretta magazines I had with me before going over the hill. There were four crippled zombies lying around the street, each one got its own nine millimeter hole through its skull. Once again I grabbed up magazines and reloaded them, now fully laden with AK magazines, the .44 speed loaders, seven fully loaded Beretta mags, and the .50, I grabbed up and M-4 and loaded up its magazine and four others.
“I need bags.” Looking around I saw that one of the dead zombies had a backpack on. I took it off the corpse and unzipped it. Stopping when I saw what was inside the bag. “Oh, that's a good place for this!”
Inside was an Israeli Military Industries Desert Eagle .50 Action Express magnum pistol with a custom ten inch barrel and a shoulder holster rig for it and four spare loaded magazines (for a total of five, the gun was loaded) and two boxes of spare rounds. Now the Desert Eagle tends to jam a lot but with the ten inch barrel, and a rest they're really accurate pistols. Not to mention they pack the punch of a magnum revolver, but fire and reload faster. Plus this one was free, for me at least. Its previous owner had practically delivered it to me gift wrapped with a hundred and thirty spare rounds. I set down the Kalashnikov and slide the shoulder rig on over my jacket and slipped the magazines into my pocket then the two boxes of ammo.
As I reached for the Kalashnikov I froze, behind me something lurked. Something very big was behind me. I gripped the Kalashnikov; I could hear its heavy breath.
“This shit just seems to ooze its way from the woodworks at me doesn't it?” I quickly brought the Kalashnikov to my shoulder and spun to face my stalker, when I saw it I froze in pure terror, “Good God almighty!”
To be continued in act 6.
-BAM! - One down
-BAM! - Another one down.
I continued like that until twenty-five zombies were once again corpses and my Kalashnikov was once again empty.
“I do believe this brings me to fifty nine you bastards!” I let a big stupid grin spread across my face. I grabbed out another Beretta magazine and loaded it to ten again; I pocketed it and took out the Beretta. I stood up the Kalashnikov hung from my shoulder, I shot a quick glance at my left shoulder; the bleeding seemed to have stopped, then to my leg; looked serious, but I guess I'm a lucky bastard.
I sat and waited as the lurching beasts tumbled over the hill, once any of them got within twenty-five feet of me I put a nine millimeter through its skull. Soon the horde was all dead (well no longer walking around while being dead)
Not taking any chances I reloaded the Kalashnikov and all the Beretta magazines I had with me before going over the hill. There were four crippled zombies lying around the street, each one got its own nine millimeter hole through its skull. Once again I grabbed up magazines and reloaded them, now fully laden with AK magazines, the .44 speed loaders, seven fully loaded Beretta mags, and the .50, I grabbed up and M-4 and loaded up its magazine and four others.
“I need bags.” Looking around I saw that one of the dead zombies had a backpack on. I took it off the corpse and unzipped it. Stopping when I saw what was inside the bag. “Oh, that's a good place for this!”
Inside was an Israeli Military Industries Desert Eagle .50 Action Express magnum pistol with a custom ten inch barrel and a shoulder holster rig for it and four spare loaded magazines (for a total of five, the gun was loaded) and two boxes of spare rounds. Now the Desert Eagle tends to jam a lot but with the ten inch barrel, and a rest they're really accurate pistols. Not to mention they pack the punch of a magnum revolver, but fire and reload faster. Plus this one was free, for me at least. Its previous owner had practically delivered it to me gift wrapped with a hundred and thirty spare rounds. I set down the Kalashnikov and slide the shoulder rig on over my jacket and slipped the magazines into my pocket then the two boxes of ammo.
As I reached for the Kalashnikov I froze, behind me something lurked. Something very big was behind me. I gripped the Kalashnikov; I could hear its heavy breath.
“This shit just seems to ooze its way from the woodworks at me doesn't it?” I quickly brought the Kalashnikov to my shoulder and spun to face my stalker, when I saw it I froze in pure terror, “Good God almighty!”
To be continued in act 6.