nadia costa (treta) wrote in remains_rpg, @ 2015-06-27 11:08:00 |
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On a good day, it was a half-hour walk between the library and the medical center. On a great day, one didn’t see anything while making the crossing. This was not a great day. There was a cemetery nearby, which had been Nadia’s mistake—she’d thought the greenery meant it was a park, and hadn’t seen the tombstones until she’d gotten closer. The moment the first shamblers had emerged from behind the weathered stone, she started a headlong run towards a gas station, struggling to clamber onto its roof for a vantage point—only to fall at the very last second, nails scraping and hands scrabbling at the rooftop edge, landing on her ankle with a hiss of indrawn breath and a slurry of curses. “Porra, porra, porra, puta que pariu—” It was a litany of expletives muttered under her breath while she craned her head to look behind her. They were the slow ones. That was good. Nadia tried to stand—her ankle quivered and almost sent her to the ground immediately, so she leaned up and managed to heft herself into the back of a nearby pickup truck (the only bit of height she could muster), and dragged her rifle out from behind her. Her ankle was an electric pain, a pulsing throb on her awareness. She’d came all this way, made it this far alone, finally reached Austin, and now she was getting stopped in her tracks? No. No. She refused. But she could no longer outrun them, and that was a problem. Nadia hunkered down in the back of the truck, rifle balanced against her shoulder, cleanly picking off one, then another, finger only squeezing that trigger when a headshot was guaranteed, bullet digging into rotting brain matter and neatly putting the zombie down. It wasn’t from an urge to be grandiose and impressive; it was efficiency, and the fact that she had a limited number of bullets. Not enough bullets for all of them. They were slow, usually a low threat, but she couldn’t run. Her free hand fluttered towards her belt, and the trusty fold-out knife in her pocket. Not yet. Nadia breathed, realigned, counted her bullets, and pulled the trigger again. The sound was carrying, but it was better than letting the entire group descend upon her. And they were so goddamn slow. |