Lots of blood. All four whirled around when I came out of the woods.
There was a cabin cruiser at the marina's gas pumps, with the nozzle still in the tank. No power, so it wasn't still pumping. Still, it was my first choice. It was about a thirty foot boat. First I had to deal with the zombies.
The women were closest, so I shot them first. One tripped at the last second, so missed her. The bloody old guy ran past her, so I turned toward him. He was the fastest running I'd seen so far. He was also coming at me downhill. And then the zombie I didn't kill in the woods came stumbling out behind me.
I ducked and dodge out from between them. The female surged off the ground remarkably fast. I shot her seven times before I lucked out and killed her. By that time the old black zombie was on me. Thrusting the barrel of my M-4 straight into his neck, I knocked him back a step. He didn't even grab his throat, though I could hear his breathing became loud and difficult.
"I crushed is god-damned windpipe and he's still coming at me?"
Pressing the barrel to his chest, I blew his heart into a million pieces with five shots. Then I shot the last one three times, without killing him. And I was out of ammo.
"It's a lot easier to kill them in the movies!" I cried, and butt-stroked him in the face.
Ejecting the empty, I put in a full magazine, racked it, and shot him twice in the head as he struggled to his feet. I was shaking like a leaf with adrenaline, looking all around for more to kill. I was thankfully all alone.
Avoiding looking at any of the corpses in the parking lot, I hurried onto the marina's docks. I went straight to the big cabin cruiser. Thankfully there were no dead bodies or undead monsters on it. I climbed up to the wheel and tried to crank it.
I got nothing.
It was a pretty new boat, so the EMP probably got it. Still, I checked it a bit to see if I was just doing something wrong. I'd never been on anything bigger than a bass boat. I knew how to start one of them, but the yacht might've had a procedure I didn't understand. Unlike military vehicles, it didn't have starting instructions posted on the dash.
So I abandoned it. I started looking for a boat with an older motor, but big enough to carry three men and our gear and ammo. I tried an older ski boat, that wouldn't start, and then found a pontoon boat that would. It had a motor so old I had to pull start it.
Perfect.
The five-gallon red gas tank was full, but it only had one. I thought about looking for some more tanks, but the sound of gunfire back at the Humvee wouldn't let me waste any more time. I headed back into the fray.
The boat had a 50-hp motor, but it still wasn't very fast. Either the propeller was pitched wrong, or the boat was too heavy and thus underpowered. Or maybe I was just impatient.
I stood at the wheel in the center, steering with one hand and holding my rifle with the other. At the last second I killed the engine to coast up to shore.
"Move everything over!" I shouted above the din. "I'll cover you!"
The bikers were all behind trees. I didn't know where they all were, so just shot at anyone who shot at us. After a moment I figured it all out. Mike and Charlie started moving our stuff over. They just threw it on deck. Things were going everywhere, but the railing was low enough to keep anything from going overboard. It seemed to take forever to transfer everything over.
The bikers got frustrated or something. They really didn't want us to
There was a cabin cruiser at the marina's gas pumps, with the nozzle still in the tank. No power, so it wasn't still pumping. Still, it was my first choice. It was about a thirty foot boat. First I had to deal with the zombies.
The women were closest, so I shot them first. One tripped at the last second, so missed her. The bloody old guy ran past her, so I turned toward him. He was the fastest running I'd seen so far. He was also coming at me downhill. And then the zombie I didn't kill in the woods came stumbling out behind me.
I ducked and dodge out from between them. The female surged off the ground remarkably fast. I shot her seven times before I lucked out and killed her. By that time the old black zombie was on me. Thrusting the barrel of my M-4 straight into his neck, I knocked him back a step. He didn't even grab his throat, though I could hear his breathing became loud and difficult.
"I crushed is god-damned windpipe and he's still coming at me?"
Pressing the barrel to his chest, I blew his heart into a million pieces with five shots. Then I shot the last one three times, without killing him. And I was out of ammo.
"It's a lot easier to kill them in the movies!" I cried, and butt-stroked him in the face.
Ejecting the empty, I put in a full magazine, racked it, and shot him twice in the head as he struggled to his feet. I was shaking like a leaf with adrenaline, looking all around for more to kill. I was thankfully all alone.
Avoiding looking at any of the corpses in the parking lot, I hurried onto the marina's docks. I went straight to the big cabin cruiser. Thankfully there were no dead bodies or undead monsters on it. I climbed up to the wheel and tried to crank it.
I got nothing.
It was a pretty new boat, so the EMP probably got it. Still, I checked it a bit to see if I was just doing something wrong. I'd never been on anything bigger than a bass boat. I knew how to start one of them, but the yacht might've had a procedure I didn't understand. Unlike military vehicles, it didn't have starting instructions posted on the dash.
So I abandoned it. I started looking for a boat with an older motor, but big enough to carry three men and our gear and ammo. I tried an older ski boat, that wouldn't start, and then found a pontoon boat that would. It had a motor so old I had to pull start it.
Perfect.
The five-gallon red gas tank was full, but it only had one. I thought about looking for some more tanks, but the sound of gunfire back at the Humvee wouldn't let me waste any more time. I headed back into the fray.
The boat had a 50-hp motor, but it still wasn't very fast. Either the propeller was pitched wrong, or the boat was too heavy and thus underpowered. Or maybe I was just impatient.
I stood at the wheel in the center, steering with one hand and holding my rifle with the other. At the last second I killed the engine to coast up to shore.
"Move everything over!" I shouted above the din. "I'll cover you!"
The bikers were all behind trees. I didn't know where they all were, so just shot at anyone who shot at us. After a moment I figured it all out. Mike and Charlie started moving our stuff over. They just threw it on deck. Things were going everywhere, but the railing was low enough to keep anything from going overboard. It seemed to take forever to transfer everything over.
The bikers got frustrated or something. They really didn't want us to
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