cards.
Secondary to the mind-fucking notion that Armada was going to be under threat from a very real zombie outbreak of dangerous proportions for Seth was the prime goal of keeping himself and his friends firmly in the land of the living and free of becoming either mindless flesh-munchers or chewed up edibles for the fiends. While there were more than a few questionable things about Black and his entire crew that made them people to give a pretty wide berth under any normal circumstances, Seth had to admit that the chances of he and associates remaining alive were increased in the company of Black and his blade-brandishing companions.
How many times already had that group saved their skins?
It was more than a one off occurrence in a relatively short expanse of time and they were some telling stats.
The only real wielder of any weapons in their group was Dax, with the makeshift implements that were his spiked armbands, and his jumpy demeanour already had him bashing a harmless street bum to death with them. Without Black and his lot, no matter how dangerous, questionable, or disconcerting they might be, Seth and his buddies would be zombie fodder in a shorter duration than the average run time of a Napalm Death song.
So Seth made the choice. Other reasons for doing so came to mind later, but for now he'd made it. He expected more opposition to arise from his circle of friends with his controversial choice, in particular from the two girls, but it didn’t.
Not immediately anyway.
He’d no idea how he’d gotten saddled with the de facto leader tag of the bunch or why Black presumed that he was. If Buck was still with them perhaps things would have been different, but with the mantle of responsibility in picking what they do, he opted for what he'd opted for.
He knew Julietta was far from happy with the outcome, but she wasn’t voicing it; she’d just gone tight-lipped and quiet and Miranda followed suit.
The threesome from the beer garden tagged along as well and now the whole lot of them were assembled around a big black Toyota Tundra Crewmax, a twin cab beast almost twenty feet in length.
This apparently was the 'truck' Black referred to, the vehicle they'd needed to get to.
"Any of you lot come by vehicle at all?" Black directed the question at Seth and co. receiving negative responses.
"And you?" Tempest asked curtly of the trio from the bar.
The volatile drummer of Subversion seemed distinctly unimpressed by the presence of newcomers, slightly less so at the knowledge that Seth and friends were planning to stick around. Seth could see his logic; he could visualise gears churning and working in Tempest's head, the concerns that people outside their dark mysterious circle were going to slow them down, get people killed, get themselves killed.
"Yeah, we came in a car," Sandy Hair said. "But me and Wayne are too pissed to drive; at least I know both of us are over the limit. And well, I'm not sure Heather can drive at all."
"You're worried about getting nailed by the cops for driving under the influence?" Dax snorted. "That's probably the least of anyone’s worries right now, including theirs. Speaking of which, shouldn't they be swarming this place by now?"
"They will be soon enough," Tempest said. "And never mind, what car have you got? One of us can drive."
"Hold up," Wayne put in. "Where are we driving? What's the deal? You taking us home?"
"Here's the deal," Tempest said. "The shit is not just about to hit the fan any more than it already has, it is going to bounce, splatter and explode everywhere all over
Secondary to the mind-fucking notion that Armada was going to be under threat from a very real zombie outbreak of dangerous proportions for Seth was the prime goal of keeping himself and his friends firmly in the land of the living and free of becoming either mindless flesh-munchers or chewed up edibles for the fiends. While there were more than a few questionable things about Black and his entire crew that made them people to give a pretty wide berth under any normal circumstances, Seth had to admit that the chances of he and associates remaining alive were increased in the company of Black and his blade-brandishing companions.
How many times already had that group saved their skins?
It was more than a one off occurrence in a relatively short expanse of time and they were some telling stats.
The only real wielder of any weapons in their group was Dax, with the makeshift implements that were his spiked armbands, and his jumpy demeanour already had him bashing a harmless street bum to death with them. Without Black and his lot, no matter how dangerous, questionable, or disconcerting they might be, Seth and his buddies would be zombie fodder in a shorter duration than the average run time of a Napalm Death song.
So Seth made the choice. Other reasons for doing so came to mind later, but for now he'd made it. He expected more opposition to arise from his circle of friends with his controversial choice, in particular from the two girls, but it didn’t.
Not immediately anyway.
He’d no idea how he’d gotten saddled with the de facto leader tag of the bunch or why Black presumed that he was. If Buck was still with them perhaps things would have been different, but with the mantle of responsibility in picking what they do, he opted for what he'd opted for.
He knew Julietta was far from happy with the outcome, but she wasn’t voicing it; she’d just gone tight-lipped and quiet and Miranda followed suit.
The threesome from the beer garden tagged along as well and now the whole lot of them were assembled around a big black Toyota Tundra Crewmax, a twin cab beast almost twenty feet in length.
This apparently was the 'truck' Black referred to, the vehicle they'd needed to get to.
"Any of you lot come by vehicle at all?" Black directed the question at Seth and co. receiving negative responses.
"And you?" Tempest asked curtly of the trio from the bar.
The volatile drummer of Subversion seemed distinctly unimpressed by the presence of newcomers, slightly less so at the knowledge that Seth and friends were planning to stick around. Seth could see his logic; he could visualise gears churning and working in Tempest's head, the concerns that people outside their dark mysterious circle were going to slow them down, get people killed, get themselves killed.
"Yeah, we came in a car," Sandy Hair said. "But me and Wayne are too pissed to drive; at least I know both of us are over the limit. And well, I'm not sure Heather can drive at all."
"You're worried about getting nailed by the cops for driving under the influence?" Dax snorted. "That's probably the least of anyone’s worries right now, including theirs. Speaking of which, shouldn't they be swarming this place by now?"
"They will be soon enough," Tempest said. "And never mind, what car have you got? One of us can drive."
"Hold up," Wayne put in. "Where are we driving? What's the deal? You taking us home?"
"Here's the deal," Tempest said. "The shit is not just about to hit the fan any more than it already has, it is going to bounce, splatter and explode everywhere all over
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