Hello, due à mon nouvel emploi, les résultantes de tout ça sont que l'histoire ne progresse pas à mon goût et surtout, je n'ai plus l'énergie de la traduire en français à chaque fois. ce qui fait que je n'écrirai que la version anglaise pour un temps. Lorsque je serai instalé dans ma novuelle routine, je traduirai les chapitres manquants.
Désolé pour ceux qui ne lises qu'en français.
Guy Matte
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Chapter 22 : Africa – Afrique
Mat took his position to the west of the swarm and took a steadying breath. This was not something new either for him or his team. His trusted riffle was clean; his desert eagles were ready, his sword oiled and his new batons more than strong enough to take care of any close menace. Looking in his scope, we silently whistled. From the back, there was more than about fifty Z’; more like three time this amount. Pride could not play any part when dealing with Z’s so he called backup and informed his team to switch to a defensive formation. No sense in risking anyone’s safety.
Mat looked around to get to a vantage point where he could start evening the odds while the 12th platoon was on its way to help them. In the last year, every recon mission was a failure. Where there was only 2 or 3 Z’s, one could be certain that there would be at least 24. When over thousands were expected, only 6 or 10 showed up. But the worst part of it is that these “mistakes” were chaotic! For a month, everything would be perfect, than nothing made sense anymore. Now, the higher ups did not take any chances: there was always at least 1 unit in backup.
Mat analyzed the situation. Their current position was good, but not the best. He checked his map and found a slight rise with a shear drop at the north of it. It would do for a fall back position. Calling the order, Mat started to shoot at the swarm, effectively getting their attention. The majority of the Z’s turned toward him and started to walk, crawl and limp in his direction. Mat shot a few more time to make certain that they would continue in his direction and started to retreat to the rendezvous point.
Walking at a brisk paste, Mat noticed a Pride of Lions shadowing the monsters. Obviously, they recognized the danger but since the Z’s never attacked animals, it was more as a safety measure, or so he thought. But he had more things to think of than a dozen lions. The fact that behind the first swarm, half a mile away, at least the double of what was in front was converging toward him. Mathiew Andrews, he thought, you have the damnest luck to get in the worst problems!!!! And or situation. Now, get moving before they get to you!
Mat sat in a tree all the while earring the Z’S getting closer and closer. Finally, they were ready and motivated. His orders were quite simple: kill Z, avoid danger, and retreat if needed. He would get out of there on his own term. And then, there was no more time for talk, only for action.
Back at “camp”, the other Hunters looked at each other and sighed. There was nothing to do. They had their own menace to face even though the odds were better than earlier. But Z was coming faster now and it was hungry for flesh.
Ok lads, lock and load, called Thompson, we have company and it would be nice of us to give a hand to our captain who obviously think of himself as a hero. So start shooting when in range and don’t forget to pick our targets. We don’t have an unlimited supply of ammo and we have to avoid close combat at all cost!
Lee turned toward Thompson has he walked toward them and showed him the screen of the area. More than 700 Z’s were on their way. Thompson looked at the tall black woman almost in the eyes and raised an eyebrow in question. She simply sighed and refreshed the screen for the tall Scottish. Nothing changed. There was a lot of THEM and not enough of us. ETA before reinforcement was 25 minutes. Until them, they had to hold the fort. Parkson helped Brown to put everything back in the Humvee all the while earring the Z’S getting closer and closer. Finally, they were ready and moved out.
After what seemed like an eternity, they got to the place where their back would be protected and where the terrain would make certain that the Z’s could only get to them not to many at the time. Having about five minutes to spare, Thompson and Brown installed sand bag to create a funnel to further help them. And then, it was shooting time.
Brown got back in position at the top of the Humvee’s shooting turret, Thompson took the left side and Parkson the right. Smith went inside the Humvee to offer support and ammo whenever needed and Lee protected the center of their formation.
Halfblooded decaying masses of putrid flesh came in view. The smell was overpowering. And Brown gagged, almost barfing her last meal on the head of his comrades. Instead, the little blond hair girl concentrated on killing the one nearest them and making certain that any Z not going for the “funnel” was killed. She called ammo as fast as he killed. 1 hit, one kill was her motto.
Asking for their ammo status, Parkson winced when she heard the bad news: there was enough ammo to kill around 55 Z’s more. After that it was close combat. And no one wanted that but…what had to be done had to be done. The humans would be kept in the Humvee and the others would do their best.
Their only hope was for their reinforcement to come and fast…
Mat looked around to get to a vantage point where he could start evening the odds while the 12th platoon was on its way to help them. In the last year, every recon mission was a failure. Where there was only 2 or 3 Z’s, one could be certain that there would be at least 24. When over thousands were expected, only 6 or 10 showed up. But the worst part of it is that these “mistakes” were chaotic! For a month, everything would be perfect, than nothing made sense anymore. Now, the higher ups did not take any chances: there was always at least 1 unit in backup.
Mat analyzed the situation. Their current position was good, but not the best. He checked his map and found a slight rise with a shear drop at the north of it. It would do for a fall back position. Calling the order, Mat started to shoot at the swarm, effectively getting their attention. The majority of the Z’s turned toward him and started to walk, crawl and limp in his direction. Mat shot a few more time to make certain that they would continue in his direction and started to retreat to the rendezvous point.
Walking at a brisk paste, Mat noticed a Pride of Lions shadowing the monsters. Obviously, they recognized the danger but since the Z’s never attacked animals, it was more as a safety measure, or so he thought. But he had more things to think of than a dozen lions. The fact that behind the first swarm, half a mile away, at least the double of what was in front was converging toward him. Mathiew Andrews, he thought, you have the damnest luck to get in the worst problems!!!! And or situation. Now, get moving before they get to you!
Mat sat in a tree all the while earring the Z’S getting closer and closer. Finally, they were ready and motivated. His orders were quite simple: kill Z, avoid danger, and retreat if needed. He would get out of there on his own term. And then, there was no more time for talk, only for action.
Back at “camp”, the other Hunters looked at each other and sighed. There was nothing to do. They had their own menace to face even though the odds were better than earlier. But Z was coming faster now and it was hungry for flesh.
Ok lads, lock and load, called Thompson, we have company and it would be nice of us to give a hand to our captain who obviously think of himself as a hero. So start shooting when in range and don’t forget to pick our targets. We don’t have an unlimited supply of ammo and we have to avoid close combat at all cost!
Lee turned toward Thompson has he walked toward them and showed him the screen of the area. More than 700 Z’s were on their way. Thompson looked at the tall black woman almost in the eyes and raised an eyebrow in question. She simply sighed and refreshed the screen for the tall Scottish. Nothing changed. There was a lot of THEM and not enough of us. ETA before reinforcement was 25 minutes. Until them, they had to hold the fort. Parkson helped Brown to put everything back in the Humvee all the while earring the Z’S getting closer and closer. Finally, they were ready and moved out.
After what seemed like an eternity, they got to the place where their back would be protected and where the terrain would make certain that the Z’s could only get to them not to many at the time. Having about five minutes to spare, Thompson and Brown installed sand bag to create a funnel to further help them. And then, it was shooting time.
Brown got back in position at the top of the Humvee’s shooting turret, Thompson took the left side and Parkson the right. Smith went inside the Humvee to offer support and ammo whenever needed and Lee protected the center of their formation.
Halfblooded decaying masses of putrid flesh came in view. The smell was overpowering. And Brown gagged, almost barfing her last meal on the head of his comrades. Instead, the little blond hair girl concentrated on killing the one nearest them and making certain that any Z not going for the “funnel” was killed. She called ammo as fast as he killed. 1 hit, one kill was her motto.
Asking for their ammo status, Parkson winced when she heard the bad news: there was enough ammo to kill around 55 Z’s more. After that it was close combat. And no one wanted that but…what had to be done had to be done. The humans would be kept in the Humvee and the others would do their best.
Their only hope was for their reinforcement to come and fast…
Friday, September 3, 2010
Chapter 21 : Part 2 - Partie 2
Mat was sitting in the tall grass under a tree. The sun was quite hot and he was glad for his light colored clothing. Beige, light brown and something akin to gold but not quite. He was waiting in silence for the report of his scouts. Almost dreamily, he thought of the last three years. His welcome at the Agency had been cold. Very cold. Thompson had been a bit more understanding than Parkson. But the worst had been RedTail. He had been so angry that it had taken over a year until he was finally convinced that Mat was here to stay.
Mat had trained almost everywhere: Japan, under a school from the legendary Miyamoto Musashi, learning strategy from the famous Five Ring Rolls. Then, to China where he had studied Sun Tzu. Rome with the conquest of Julius Caesar, Greece with Alexander the Great, South Africa with Shaka Zulu’s descendents and many more. He had learned to ride with the Apache, shooting in Texas, SWAT training in New-York and many more. Then, he had had to prove himself.
That had been the hard part. Matthiew was not the type to order people around and preferred to do things his way. But to gain a command, he had to prove that he could keep his man alive and that he could follow a plan until it stop being in the predetermined parameter. Then, improvisation and success were the factor analyzed to determine if he had failed or succeeded. Killing Z’s was not enough. He had to be more than a killing machine.
The very first thing that Mat had done after begging forgiveness had been to ask for better weapons. Most of what he had was ok: the desert eagles, the riffle and the sword. But his Escrima sticks were not good enough. On a normal person, they would perfect because even if the blow to the head did not kill him, he would loose consciousness due to the concussion. A Z did not suffer from such things. About two weeks in his training, the weapon smith one Whelan Smith had brought him a pair of retractable sticks. They were unlike anything he had ever seen: The material was so light that they seemed impossible to use. But once at their full length, they had a very nice weight. The alloy was so hard that it was said to be 57 time the hardness of steel but thanks to the multiple parts of the batons, they kept the suppleness of the original Escrima Sticks. And upon impact, the tip would generate 254 pounds, enough to crush the hardest skull. Mat had practices with these but only with simulators and real Z’s. Anyone else would have been at risk of having his bones destroyed to dust.
All the while, Mat went on mission everywhere on the globe. Zombies were popping so fast that they had not enough time to get on site before things got out of hands. The general populace was getting hints of the problem. A new motion had been voted and the member of the Agency had now free access to any country in the world, could get on planes armed to the teeth, did not have to wait for custom and overruled any law enforcement, army regiment or other forces on the territory they were on.
A lot of brass had screamed that they would not stand for it. But they only tried to deal with the Z’s once. Usually, they lost between 1/3 to 3/4 of their man and never argued afterward. Mat was desperate: how could anyone be dumb enough to sacrifice his own man like this when the enemy was so obviously superior to regular forces? Most soldiers had been trained to shoot the center mass of the body. That was perfect for regular Joe’s, but irrelevant for Z’s. And you could not ask of man who had spent years of their life training to hit the heart to suddenly make head shots every time. You just couldn’t.
So here was Mat, 3 years later, with his own unit waiting in the African savanna. He had recruited Thompson, Parkson, RedTail and 3 other grunts named Smith, Brown and Lee. Mat smiled at the names. Had he been in a story, he would have bet that these guys and girls with generic names would be the first to die but Smith was an expert in demolition, Brown was a sniper so good that Thompson had gave up his position to the little woman. Lee was their tech expert. She was able to create the most amazing things with a wrist watch, copper wire and a pair of glasses.
Here was his team: Team X. Ten in roman numbers. The X’s where one of the best in a force that only had the best. They were 4 zombies: Andrews, Thompson, Parkson and Lee. The other 3 were obviously humans. They had had the hardest missions and had not lost a man in 2 years since Mat had built his team. Part of their efficiency was due to the harsh training that Mat had insisted they underwent. Everyone was SEAL certified (Sea, Air and Land) they were all able snipers, expert in had to hand combat with emphasis on join breaks and hold evasion (thanks God for Jujitsu, Judo and Pankration), they had learned to use heavy and light fire arms and so much more that only the fact that they had humans on the team prevented Mat to try to have them learn everything out there.
So here he was, after two years of destroying zombies everywhere and not a single clue on where was Michelle was she alone? Was she part of an organization that wanted to destroy humanity? THAT brought a smile on his face. Here he was again, thinking of himself as the here of a bad movie. Still, his life was so extravagant that if he had told himself what would happen 4 years ago, he would have laughed and laughed again.
Mat’s radio clicked and he heard Brown’s voice: “We have them sir. Eastern quadrant, they are at least 50 strong with more coming in.”
- Wait for backup. We will be there in 5 minutes max.
- Ok, Brown out.
- X Team, Meet with Brown. We have a positive on a small swarm: around 50 individuals. The Humvee will be along shortly with the sniper platform. I want Brown on top, Thompson south and giving support. Parkson, Lee and Smith make for the first rank. I will be west and hit them from the back.
Mat waited for everyone’s confirmation and then smiled: It was time to lock and load.
------------
Mat était assit dans les herbes hautes sous un arbre. Le soleil était chaud et il était content de porter des vêtements de couleur claire : Beige, brun pâle et un doré qui rappelais les herbes de la savane Africaine. Pendent qu’il attendait en silence le rapport de ses éclaireurs, il repensa aux trois dernières années. Son accueil à l’Agence avait été froid. Très froid. Thompson avait été plus compréhensif que Parkson. Mais RedTail avait été intraitable. Il avait été si fâché qu’un an avait passé avant qu’il ne pardonne à Mat et qu’il soit convaincu qu’il était là pour rester.
Mat avait été entraîné pratiquement partout : Au Japon dans une école continuant la tradition commencé par le légendaire Miyamoto Musashi où il avait appris la stratégie grâce aux Rouleaux des Cinq Anneaux. Puis, en chine où il avait étudié Sun Tzu, Rome avec les conquêtes de Jules César, la Grèce avec Alexandre le Grand, l’Afrique du sud avec les descendants de Shaka Zulu et plusieurs autres places. Il avait apprit à chevaucher avec les Apaches, tirer au Texas, suivit l’entraînement requis pour l’unité SWAT à New York et beaucoup plus. Puis, il avait eu à prouver sa valeur.
Ça avait été la partie la plus difficile pour Mat. Il n’était pas du genre à donner des ordres et à diriger des équipes. Il préférait faire les choses à son rythme et à sa manière. Mais pour obtenir un commandement, il avait du prouver qu’il était capable de suivre un plan jusqu’à ce que les paramètres changes pour ensuite improviser tout en gardant ses hommes en vie. Tuer des Zed’s n’était pas suffisant. Toutes ses actions étaient analysées et scrutées à la loupe. C’est uniquement lorsque tout avait été décortiqué qu’il savait s’il avait réussit ou non. Il se devait d’être plus qu’une machine à tuer.
La première chose que Mathiew avait fait après avoir demandé humblement pardon avait été de meilleures armes. Ses pistolets Desrt Eagles, sa carabine et son épée étaient ok, mais les bâtons rétractables qu’il utilisait pour l’Escrima s’étaient avéré hautement déficient. Ils étaient parfaits pour un humain normal. Un coup à la tête, même s’il ne le tuait pas causait une commotion cérébrale pour ensuite leur faire perdre conscience. Un zombie ne souffrait pas de commotion. Après environ deux semaines suivant le retour à l’entraînement, l’armurier, un certain Whelan Smith s’était présenté avec deux bâtons rétractables. Ils dépassaient tout ce que Mat avait jamais vu : le matériel était tellement léger qu’il n’était pas convaincu de pouvoir les utiliser. Toutefois, lorsqu’à pleine grandeur, ils avaient un poids très agréable. L’alliage les composant était si résistant qu’il était théoriquement 57 fois plus résistant que l’acier mais heureusement, grâce aux multiples sections qui les composaient, ils gardaient la souplesse des bâtons d’Escrima originaux. Au point d’impacte, ses armes généraient 257 livres de pression; assez pour briser le crâne le plus solide. Mat s’était entraîné longuement avec ses nouveaux bâtons mais uniquement sur des programmes de simulation et sur de véritables zombies. Le risque pour les autres était trop élevé. Le moindre coup risquait de réduire leur os à néant.
En même temps, Mat participait à des missions partout dans le monde. Les zombies apparaissaient à une telle fréquence qu’il était impossible de se rendre sur place avant que l’infestation devienne incontrôlable. La population générale commençait à se douter que quelque chose clochait. Le problème était si grave qu’une nouvelle motion avait été voté et tous les membres de l’Agence avaient maintenant un accès illimité à tous les pays, le droit d’embarquer en avion armé jusqu’au dents et juridiction sur tous les corps armés où ils intervenaient.
Plusieurs hauts gradés avaient hurlé de voir leur précieux commandement glisser de leur poigne et avaient décidé de ne pas accepter ces ordres. Généralement, ils n’essayaient de s’occuper de la menace Zed par eux-mêmes qu’une seule fois. Après avoir perdu entre le tiers et le trois quart de leurs forces, ils acceptaient les ordres sans rechigner. Mat était découragé par cette attitude : Qui pouvait être assez idiot pour sacrifier ses propres troupes alors qu’il était évident que l’ennemi était hors des compétences des forces standards? La majorité des soldats avaient été entraînés pour toucher le corps de l’ennemi. La tactique était parfaite pour un gars ordinaire, mais contre les Zed’s, c’était inutile. Il était impossible de demander à des hommes et des femmes qui s’entraînaient depuis des années de subitement réussir des tirs à la tête à tout coups. C’était simplement impossible.
3 ans plus tard, Mat se trouvait assit dans la superbe savane Africaine avec son unité. Il avait recruté Thompson, Parkson, RedTail et 3 autres soldats nommés Smith, Brown et Lee. Mat sourit en repensant à leurs noms. S’il avait été le héro d’une histoire, il aurait été prêt à parier que ces soldats, avec leurs noms génériques seraient les premiers à mourir. Toutefois, Smith était un expert en démolition, Brown un sniper tellement exceptionnel que Thompson lui avait cédé sa place et Lee était leur experte en technologie. Elle pouvait faire n’importe quoi avec une montre, du fil de cuivre et une paire de lunettes.
Ces gens composaient son unité : l’unité X, dix en chiffre romain. Les X’s étaient parmi les meilleurs d’une force qui n’acceptaient que les meilleurs. Elle était composé de quatre zombies : Andrews, Thompson, Parkson et Lee. Les autres étaient évidements humains. Ils avaient eu les missions les plus difficiles et en deux ans, depuis que Mat avait bâtis son équipe, ils n’avaient pas perdu un seul homme. Une bonne partie de leur efficacité venait de l’entraînement draconien que Mat leur avait fait subir. Tout le monde était certifié SEAL (de l’anglais Sea, Air and Land, Océan, air et terre), ils étaient tous des tireurs d’élite, des experts en combat à main nue avec une emphase mise sur les clef de bras et l’évasion des prises de soumissions (merci seigneur pour le Jujitsu, le judo et le Pankration), ils avaient appris à utiliser des armes à feu lourdes et légères et tellement plus que seul le fait qu’il y avait des humains avait restreint Mat dans son désirs que tous apprennent un maximum de connaissances.
Il se trouvait là, 2 ans plus tard, à avoir détruit des zombies partout dans le monde et malgré tous ses voyages, aucun indice de Michelle. Était-elle seule, faisait-elle parti d’une organisation qui voulait détruire l’humanité? L’idée mit un sourire sur ses lèvres. ÇA c’était ridicule. Il était encore entrain de s’imaginer le héro d’un mauvais film. Malgré tout, sa vie était si extravagante que si quelqu’un lui avait décrit ce qui allait lui arriver, il lui aurait rie au nez, et encore, et encore.
Le radio de Mat cliqua et la voix de Brown se fit entendre : « On les as Monsieur. Le cadrant Est, ils sont au moins 50 et il y en a plus qui suivent. »
- Ok, attendez pour les renforts. Nous serons là dans 5 minutes.
- Ok, Brown terminé.
- Équipe X, rendez-vous avec Brown d’ici cinq minutes. Nous avons un visuel sur une petite nuée d’environ cinquante individus. Le Humvee sera là sous peu avec la plateforme pour les tireurs d’élite. Je veux Brown sur celle-ci, Thompson au sud en support. Smith, Lee et Parkson, vous êtes le premier rang. Moi je vais être à l’ouest et les frapper par en arrière.
Mat attendit la confirmation des membres de son équipe et sourit. Il était temps de passer à l’action.
Mat had trained almost everywhere: Japan, under a school from the legendary Miyamoto Musashi, learning strategy from the famous Five Ring Rolls. Then, to China where he had studied Sun Tzu. Rome with the conquest of Julius Caesar, Greece with Alexander the Great, South Africa with Shaka Zulu’s descendents and many more. He had learned to ride with the Apache, shooting in Texas, SWAT training in New-York and many more. Then, he had had to prove himself.
That had been the hard part. Matthiew was not the type to order people around and preferred to do things his way. But to gain a command, he had to prove that he could keep his man alive and that he could follow a plan until it stop being in the predetermined parameter. Then, improvisation and success were the factor analyzed to determine if he had failed or succeeded. Killing Z’s was not enough. He had to be more than a killing machine.
The very first thing that Mat had done after begging forgiveness had been to ask for better weapons. Most of what he had was ok: the desert eagles, the riffle and the sword. But his Escrima sticks were not good enough. On a normal person, they would perfect because even if the blow to the head did not kill him, he would loose consciousness due to the concussion. A Z did not suffer from such things. About two weeks in his training, the weapon smith one Whelan Smith had brought him a pair of retractable sticks. They were unlike anything he had ever seen: The material was so light that they seemed impossible to use. But once at their full length, they had a very nice weight. The alloy was so hard that it was said to be 57 time the hardness of steel but thanks to the multiple parts of the batons, they kept the suppleness of the original Escrima Sticks. And upon impact, the tip would generate 254 pounds, enough to crush the hardest skull. Mat had practices with these but only with simulators and real Z’s. Anyone else would have been at risk of having his bones destroyed to dust.
All the while, Mat went on mission everywhere on the globe. Zombies were popping so fast that they had not enough time to get on site before things got out of hands. The general populace was getting hints of the problem. A new motion had been voted and the member of the Agency had now free access to any country in the world, could get on planes armed to the teeth, did not have to wait for custom and overruled any law enforcement, army regiment or other forces on the territory they were on.
A lot of brass had screamed that they would not stand for it. But they only tried to deal with the Z’s once. Usually, they lost between 1/3 to 3/4 of their man and never argued afterward. Mat was desperate: how could anyone be dumb enough to sacrifice his own man like this when the enemy was so obviously superior to regular forces? Most soldiers had been trained to shoot the center mass of the body. That was perfect for regular Joe’s, but irrelevant for Z’s. And you could not ask of man who had spent years of their life training to hit the heart to suddenly make head shots every time. You just couldn’t.
So here was Mat, 3 years later, with his own unit waiting in the African savanna. He had recruited Thompson, Parkson, RedTail and 3 other grunts named Smith, Brown and Lee. Mat smiled at the names. Had he been in a story, he would have bet that these guys and girls with generic names would be the first to die but Smith was an expert in demolition, Brown was a sniper so good that Thompson had gave up his position to the little woman. Lee was their tech expert. She was able to create the most amazing things with a wrist watch, copper wire and a pair of glasses.
Here was his team: Team X. Ten in roman numbers. The X’s where one of the best in a force that only had the best. They were 4 zombies: Andrews, Thompson, Parkson and Lee. The other 3 were obviously humans. They had had the hardest missions and had not lost a man in 2 years since Mat had built his team. Part of their efficiency was due to the harsh training that Mat had insisted they underwent. Everyone was SEAL certified (Sea, Air and Land) they were all able snipers, expert in had to hand combat with emphasis on join breaks and hold evasion (thanks God for Jujitsu, Judo and Pankration), they had learned to use heavy and light fire arms and so much more that only the fact that they had humans on the team prevented Mat to try to have them learn everything out there.
So here he was, after two years of destroying zombies everywhere and not a single clue on where was Michelle was she alone? Was she part of an organization that wanted to destroy humanity? THAT brought a smile on his face. Here he was again, thinking of himself as the here of a bad movie. Still, his life was so extravagant that if he had told himself what would happen 4 years ago, he would have laughed and laughed again.
Mat’s radio clicked and he heard Brown’s voice: “We have them sir. Eastern quadrant, they are at least 50 strong with more coming in.”
- Wait for backup. We will be there in 5 minutes max.
- Ok, Brown out.
- X Team, Meet with Brown. We have a positive on a small swarm: around 50 individuals. The Humvee will be along shortly with the sniper platform. I want Brown on top, Thompson south and giving support. Parkson, Lee and Smith make for the first rank. I will be west and hit them from the back.
Mat waited for everyone’s confirmation and then smiled: It was time to lock and load.
------------
Mat était assit dans les herbes hautes sous un arbre. Le soleil était chaud et il était content de porter des vêtements de couleur claire : Beige, brun pâle et un doré qui rappelais les herbes de la savane Africaine. Pendent qu’il attendait en silence le rapport de ses éclaireurs, il repensa aux trois dernières années. Son accueil à l’Agence avait été froid. Très froid. Thompson avait été plus compréhensif que Parkson. Mais RedTail avait été intraitable. Il avait été si fâché qu’un an avait passé avant qu’il ne pardonne à Mat et qu’il soit convaincu qu’il était là pour rester.
Mat avait été entraîné pratiquement partout : Au Japon dans une école continuant la tradition commencé par le légendaire Miyamoto Musashi où il avait appris la stratégie grâce aux Rouleaux des Cinq Anneaux. Puis, en chine où il avait étudié Sun Tzu, Rome avec les conquêtes de Jules César, la Grèce avec Alexandre le Grand, l’Afrique du sud avec les descendants de Shaka Zulu et plusieurs autres places. Il avait apprit à chevaucher avec les Apaches, tirer au Texas, suivit l’entraînement requis pour l’unité SWAT à New York et beaucoup plus. Puis, il avait eu à prouver sa valeur.
Ça avait été la partie la plus difficile pour Mat. Il n’était pas du genre à donner des ordres et à diriger des équipes. Il préférait faire les choses à son rythme et à sa manière. Mais pour obtenir un commandement, il avait du prouver qu’il était capable de suivre un plan jusqu’à ce que les paramètres changes pour ensuite improviser tout en gardant ses hommes en vie. Tuer des Zed’s n’était pas suffisant. Toutes ses actions étaient analysées et scrutées à la loupe. C’est uniquement lorsque tout avait été décortiqué qu’il savait s’il avait réussit ou non. Il se devait d’être plus qu’une machine à tuer.
La première chose que Mathiew avait fait après avoir demandé humblement pardon avait été de meilleures armes. Ses pistolets Desrt Eagles, sa carabine et son épée étaient ok, mais les bâtons rétractables qu’il utilisait pour l’Escrima s’étaient avéré hautement déficient. Ils étaient parfaits pour un humain normal. Un coup à la tête, même s’il ne le tuait pas causait une commotion cérébrale pour ensuite leur faire perdre conscience. Un zombie ne souffrait pas de commotion. Après environ deux semaines suivant le retour à l’entraînement, l’armurier, un certain Whelan Smith s’était présenté avec deux bâtons rétractables. Ils dépassaient tout ce que Mat avait jamais vu : le matériel était tellement léger qu’il n’était pas convaincu de pouvoir les utiliser. Toutefois, lorsqu’à pleine grandeur, ils avaient un poids très agréable. L’alliage les composant était si résistant qu’il était théoriquement 57 fois plus résistant que l’acier mais heureusement, grâce aux multiples sections qui les composaient, ils gardaient la souplesse des bâtons d’Escrima originaux. Au point d’impacte, ses armes généraient 257 livres de pression; assez pour briser le crâne le plus solide. Mat s’était entraîné longuement avec ses nouveaux bâtons mais uniquement sur des programmes de simulation et sur de véritables zombies. Le risque pour les autres était trop élevé. Le moindre coup risquait de réduire leur os à néant.
En même temps, Mat participait à des missions partout dans le monde. Les zombies apparaissaient à une telle fréquence qu’il était impossible de se rendre sur place avant que l’infestation devienne incontrôlable. La population générale commençait à se douter que quelque chose clochait. Le problème était si grave qu’une nouvelle motion avait été voté et tous les membres de l’Agence avaient maintenant un accès illimité à tous les pays, le droit d’embarquer en avion armé jusqu’au dents et juridiction sur tous les corps armés où ils intervenaient.
Plusieurs hauts gradés avaient hurlé de voir leur précieux commandement glisser de leur poigne et avaient décidé de ne pas accepter ces ordres. Généralement, ils n’essayaient de s’occuper de la menace Zed par eux-mêmes qu’une seule fois. Après avoir perdu entre le tiers et le trois quart de leurs forces, ils acceptaient les ordres sans rechigner. Mat était découragé par cette attitude : Qui pouvait être assez idiot pour sacrifier ses propres troupes alors qu’il était évident que l’ennemi était hors des compétences des forces standards? La majorité des soldats avaient été entraînés pour toucher le corps de l’ennemi. La tactique était parfaite pour un gars ordinaire, mais contre les Zed’s, c’était inutile. Il était impossible de demander à des hommes et des femmes qui s’entraînaient depuis des années de subitement réussir des tirs à la tête à tout coups. C’était simplement impossible.
3 ans plus tard, Mat se trouvait assit dans la superbe savane Africaine avec son unité. Il avait recruté Thompson, Parkson, RedTail et 3 autres soldats nommés Smith, Brown et Lee. Mat sourit en repensant à leurs noms. S’il avait été le héro d’une histoire, il aurait été prêt à parier que ces soldats, avec leurs noms génériques seraient les premiers à mourir. Toutefois, Smith était un expert en démolition, Brown un sniper tellement exceptionnel que Thompson lui avait cédé sa place et Lee était leur experte en technologie. Elle pouvait faire n’importe quoi avec une montre, du fil de cuivre et une paire de lunettes.
Ces gens composaient son unité : l’unité X, dix en chiffre romain. Les X’s étaient parmi les meilleurs d’une force qui n’acceptaient que les meilleurs. Elle était composé de quatre zombies : Andrews, Thompson, Parkson et Lee. Les autres étaient évidements humains. Ils avaient eu les missions les plus difficiles et en deux ans, depuis que Mat avait bâtis son équipe, ils n’avaient pas perdu un seul homme. Une bonne partie de leur efficacité venait de l’entraînement draconien que Mat leur avait fait subir. Tout le monde était certifié SEAL (de l’anglais Sea, Air and Land, Océan, air et terre), ils étaient tous des tireurs d’élite, des experts en combat à main nue avec une emphase mise sur les clef de bras et l’évasion des prises de soumissions (merci seigneur pour le Jujitsu, le judo et le Pankration), ils avaient appris à utiliser des armes à feu lourdes et légères et tellement plus que seul le fait qu’il y avait des humains avait restreint Mat dans son désirs que tous apprennent un maximum de connaissances.
Il se trouvait là, 2 ans plus tard, à avoir détruit des zombies partout dans le monde et malgré tous ses voyages, aucun indice de Michelle. Était-elle seule, faisait-elle parti d’une organisation qui voulait détruire l’humanité? L’idée mit un sourire sur ses lèvres. ÇA c’était ridicule. Il était encore entrain de s’imaginer le héro d’un mauvais film. Malgré tout, sa vie était si extravagante que si quelqu’un lui avait décrit ce qui allait lui arriver, il lui aurait rie au nez, et encore, et encore.
Le radio de Mat cliqua et la voix de Brown se fit entendre : « On les as Monsieur. Le cadrant Est, ils sont au moins 50 et il y en a plus qui suivent. »
- Ok, attendez pour les renforts. Nous serons là dans 5 minutes.
- Ok, Brown terminé.
- Équipe X, rendez-vous avec Brown d’ici cinq minutes. Nous avons un visuel sur une petite nuée d’environ cinquante individus. Le Humvee sera là sous peu avec la plateforme pour les tireurs d’élite. Je veux Brown sur celle-ci, Thompson au sud en support. Smith, Lee et Parkson, vous êtes le premier rang. Moi je vais être à l’ouest et les frapper par en arrière.
Mat attendit la confirmation des membres de son équipe et sourit. Il était temps de passer à l’action.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Chapter 20 – Choices – Choisir
Mat stood there, unable to move while paramedics and police officers moved in. Strangely, they ignored him and went about their business as if it was everyday that they found a young man, half naked on a site of blood and carnage. Matthiew put his sword in his scabbard, found his discarded desert eagles and went to fetch his riffle and backpack and followed the stranger outside. There, he was met with pandemonium: police cars everywhere, ambulances in greater numbers and at least 25 SWAT team members. And in all this organized chaos, the stranger was talking with the various officers and giving orders that were followed to the letter.
When Mat stepped out of the building, he was directed to the man who threw him some cloth and a wet towel so he could clean himself. Once Mat was dressed, the guy guided him to a brand new blue Mustang GT. When they were both seated, he introduced himself: “I’m called Lance. I’m the second eldest of our kind that we know of. I was born in France 562 A.D. I’m one of the 9 other captain charged with the protection of humanity. Each one of us has his own working method, troops and resources. We have free reign on how we do things. Our only duty is to help the Agency in case of need. Now, where is our enemy and how could this shit happen. Oh, and by the way, I’m the one who saved you the day you got bitten. Now, tell me everything starting with where are we going?”
Mat gave the address of Michelle and explained to Lance what had transpired in the last month or so. How he had found a sentient zombie, how he had assumed that it was with the agency and as they got to the street where the tall blond lived, he was telling Lance how he had blown the staircase when another huge explosion rocked their car. The house where Michelle lived was now a flaming pile of tinder, steel and melting glass. Mat was shocked but lance only smiled and shrugged. Clearly, he was not surprised at all.
- Now What? Asked Mat.
- Now my young friend, we discuss your future, after you finish your story.
So Mat concluded his story and waited while Lance thought in silence. Then, the older man asked many questions regarding the whereabouts of Mat in the last six months. Mat ended up telling his whole story and how he had trained, associated with unsavory peoples and everything. Then, Lance told him everything that had happened at the agency, the intervention at Gaza, the almost death trap in Russia and the heavy toll it had taken on the troops.
It was Mat’s turn to think about the events that had occurred. He came to the conclusion that everything was linked: Gaza, Russia and the attack he had prevent here in California. In his opinion, only a completely insane person could think of something like this and try to pull it off. And now what? That was the eternal question was it not? What would he do of this fine mess? Visibly, ha had been offered a golden opportunity: join the ranks of captains and lead his own crew. Or he could try to disappear again but…Mat knew in his heart that he could never go back to being “normal”. His behavior had spoken for him: he was a zombie hunter. A Dark Blood Hunter, and nothing he tried would never change that. And since he had not accepted the offer of Michelle, it left him with only one option: The Agency. Mat sighed: he would have a lot of answering to do and would have to ask for forgiveness from Thompson, Parkson and RedTail. To name but a few. Still, it had been worth it. For the first time in what seemed an eternity, Matthiew Andrews smiled a true smile. He was going home.
END OF PART 1.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 20 – Choices – Choisir
Mat stood there, unable to move while paramedics and police officers moved in. Strangely, they ignored him and went about their business as if it was everyday that they found a young man, half naked on a site of blood and carnage. Matthiew put his sword in his scabbard, found his discarded desert eagles and went to fetch his riffle and backpack and followed the stranger outside. There, he was met with pandemonium: police cars everywhere, ambulances in greater numbers and at least 25 SWAT team members. And in all this organized chaos, the stranger was talking with the various officers and giving orders that were followed to the letter.
When Mat stepped out of the building, he was directed to the man who threw him some cloth and a wet towel so he could clean himself. Once Mat was dressed, the guy guided him to a brand new blue Mustang GT. When they were both seated, he introduced himself: “I’m called Lance. I’m the second eldest of our kind that we know of. I was born in France 562 A.D. I’m one of the 9 other captain charged with the protection of humanity. Each one of us has his own working method, troops and resources. We have free reign on how we do things. Our only duty is to help the Agency in case of need. Now, where is our enemy and how could this shit happen. Oh, and by the way, I’m the one who saved you the day you got bitten. Now, tell me everything starting with where are we going?”
Mat gave the address of Michelle and explained to Lance what had transpired in the last month or so. How he had found a sentient zombie, how he had assumed that it was with the agency and as they got to the street where the tall blond lived, he was telling Lance how he had blown the staircase when another huge explosion rocked their car. The house where Michelle lived was now a flaming pile of tinder, steel and melting glass. Mat was shocked but Lance only smiled and shrugged. Clearly, he was not surprised at all.
- Now What? Asked Mat.
- Now my young friend, we discuss your future, after you finish your story.
So Mat concluded his story and waited while Lance thought in silence. Then, the older man asked many questions regarding the whereabouts of Mat in the last six months. Mat ended up telling his whole story: how he had trained, associated with unsavory peoples and everything. Then, Lance told him everything that had happened at the agency, the intervention at Gaza, the almost death trap in Russia and the heavy toll it had taken on the troops.
It was Mat’s turn to think about the events that had occurred. He came to the conclusion that everything was linked: Gaza, Russia and the attack he had prevent here in California. In his opinion, only a completely insane person could think of something like this and try to pull it off. And now what? That was the eternal question was it not? What would he do of this fine mess? Visibly, ha had been offered a golden opportunity: join the ranks of captains and lead his own crew. Or he could try to disappear again but…Mat knew in his heart that he could never go back to being “normal”. His behavior had spoken for him: he was a zombie hunter. A Dark Blood Hunter, and nothing he tried would never change that. And since he had not accepted the offer of Michelle, it left him with only one option: The Agency. Mat sighed: he would have a lot of answering to do and would have to ask for forgiveness from Thompson, Parkson and RedTail. To name but a few. Still, it had been worth it. For the first time in what seemed an eternity, Matthiew Andrews smiled a true smile. He was going home.
END OF PART 1.
---------
Mat resta figé de stupeur pendent que les policiers et les ambulanciers entraient dans l’édifice. Ils l’ignorèrent étrangement et se concentrèrent sur leur tâche avec aplomb comme s’ils arrivaient tous les jours sur les lieux d’un carnage avec un jeune homme à moitié nu couvert de sang et de viscères. Mat rangea son épée dans son fourreau, récupéra ses desert eagles et sortit sa carabine de sa cachette et son sac à dos puis, sortit pour rejoindre l’inconnu à l’extérieur. À l’extérieur, Mat fut frappé par le pandémonium qui régnait : des voitures de polices partout, des ambulances en nombre plus élevé et au moins 25 membres du SWAT étaient là. Et au milieu de ce chaos organisé, l’étranger parlait avec les différents officiers, leur donnant des ordres qui étaient exécutées sur le champ et suivit à la lettre.
Une fois à l’extérieur, Mat fut guidé jusqu’à l’inconnus qui lui lança une serviette humide et des vêtements. Une fois nettoyé et habillé, l’homme l’amena jusqu’à une Ford Mustang Gt Bleu de l’année. Une fois assit, il se présenta : « Je me nome Lance. Je suis le second plus vieux de notre bande que l’on connaisse. Je suis né en France en 562. Je suis un des 9 capitaines chargé de la protection de l’humanité. Chacun d’entre nous a ses propres méthodes, ressources et troupes. On a carte blanche tant qu’on obtient des résultats. Notre seul devoir est envers l’Agence. Bon, assez bavardé. Où se trouve notre ennemi et comment on s’est retrouvé dans cette merde? En passant, je suis celui qui t’a sauvé quand tu t’es fait mordre. Bon, raconte-moi tout et dit moi où aller.
Mat lui donna l’adresse de Michelle et profita du voyage pour lui raconter tous les événements des derniers mois. Sa découverte d’un zombie conscient, sa conviction erronée qu’il faisait partis de l’agence etc. Comme ils arrivaient dans la rue où se trouvait la grande blonde, Mat était à expliquer comment il avait fait sauter l’escalier lorsqu’une énorme explosion retentit. Là ou la demeure de la femme se tenait quelques instants plus tôt se trouvait un tas de bois fumant, d’acier tordus et de verre fondu. Mat était sous le choque mais Lance se contenta de sourire.
- Et maintenant, on fait quoi? Demanda Mat
- Maintenant mon jeune ami, tu termines ton histoire et on discute de ton futur.
Mat termina son histoire et attendit en silence pendant que Lance réfléchissait. Puis, ce dernier lui posa une myriade de questions sur ses agissements des derniers mois. Mat en vint à lui raconter toute ses aventures : de sa fuite du centre, à son entrainement personnel, à son association avec des gens peu recommandable et tout le reste. Lance, de son côté, lui raconta ce qui s’était passé à l’Agence : les troubles à Gaza et le presque échec en Russie avec son piège qui avait demandé une dîme énorme en vie humaines.
Ce fut au tour de Mat de réfléchir. Il arriva à la conclusion que tout était lié : Gaza, la Russie et l’attaque qu’il avait déjouée ici en Californie. Il était d’avis que seule une personne complètement cinglé avait pu penser pouvoir réussir ce genre de plan. Et maintenant quoi? C’était son éternelle question n’est-ce pas? Qu’allait-il faire de ce sympathique bordel? Il s’était fait offrir une opportunité en or : rejoindre les rangs des Capitaines et diriger sa propre équipe. Ou il pouvait tenter de disparaître à nouveau…Mat savait en son fort intérieur qu’il ne pourrait jamais retrouver une vie normal. Ses réactions avaient parlées d’elles-mêmes : Il était un chasseur de zombies. Un Chasseur de sombre sang et peu importe ce qu’il tenterait, ce fait ne changerais jamais.
Et comme il n’avait pas accepté l’offre de Michelle, il ne se trouvait vraiment face qu’à une seule option : l’Agence. Mat soupira. Il aurait beaucoup de comptes à rendre et il devrait demander humblement pardon à plusieurs personnes dont Thompson, Pakrson, RedTail pour n’en nommer que quelques uns. Malgré tout, ça avait valut la peine. Pour la première fois en ce qui semblait être une éternité, Matthiew Andrews sourit d’un véritable sourire. Il rentrait à la maison.
Fin de la partie 1
When Mat stepped out of the building, he was directed to the man who threw him some cloth and a wet towel so he could clean himself. Once Mat was dressed, the guy guided him to a brand new blue Mustang GT. When they were both seated, he introduced himself: “I’m called Lance. I’m the second eldest of our kind that we know of. I was born in France 562 A.D. I’m one of the 9 other captain charged with the protection of humanity. Each one of us has his own working method, troops and resources. We have free reign on how we do things. Our only duty is to help the Agency in case of need. Now, where is our enemy and how could this shit happen. Oh, and by the way, I’m the one who saved you the day you got bitten. Now, tell me everything starting with where are we going?”
Mat gave the address of Michelle and explained to Lance what had transpired in the last month or so. How he had found a sentient zombie, how he had assumed that it was with the agency and as they got to the street where the tall blond lived, he was telling Lance how he had blown the staircase when another huge explosion rocked their car. The house where Michelle lived was now a flaming pile of tinder, steel and melting glass. Mat was shocked but lance only smiled and shrugged. Clearly, he was not surprised at all.
- Now What? Asked Mat.
- Now my young friend, we discuss your future, after you finish your story.
So Mat concluded his story and waited while Lance thought in silence. Then, the older man asked many questions regarding the whereabouts of Mat in the last six months. Mat ended up telling his whole story and how he had trained, associated with unsavory peoples and everything. Then, Lance told him everything that had happened at the agency, the intervention at Gaza, the almost death trap in Russia and the heavy toll it had taken on the troops.
It was Mat’s turn to think about the events that had occurred. He came to the conclusion that everything was linked: Gaza, Russia and the attack he had prevent here in California. In his opinion, only a completely insane person could think of something like this and try to pull it off. And now what? That was the eternal question was it not? What would he do of this fine mess? Visibly, ha had been offered a golden opportunity: join the ranks of captains and lead his own crew. Or he could try to disappear again but…Mat knew in his heart that he could never go back to being “normal”. His behavior had spoken for him: he was a zombie hunter. A Dark Blood Hunter, and nothing he tried would never change that. And since he had not accepted the offer of Michelle, it left him with only one option: The Agency. Mat sighed: he would have a lot of answering to do and would have to ask for forgiveness from Thompson, Parkson and RedTail. To name but a few. Still, it had been worth it. For the first time in what seemed an eternity, Matthiew Andrews smiled a true smile. He was going home.
END OF PART 1.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 20 – Choices – Choisir
Mat stood there, unable to move while paramedics and police officers moved in. Strangely, they ignored him and went about their business as if it was everyday that they found a young man, half naked on a site of blood and carnage. Matthiew put his sword in his scabbard, found his discarded desert eagles and went to fetch his riffle and backpack and followed the stranger outside. There, he was met with pandemonium: police cars everywhere, ambulances in greater numbers and at least 25 SWAT team members. And in all this organized chaos, the stranger was talking with the various officers and giving orders that were followed to the letter.
When Mat stepped out of the building, he was directed to the man who threw him some cloth and a wet towel so he could clean himself. Once Mat was dressed, the guy guided him to a brand new blue Mustang GT. When they were both seated, he introduced himself: “I’m called Lance. I’m the second eldest of our kind that we know of. I was born in France 562 A.D. I’m one of the 9 other captain charged with the protection of humanity. Each one of us has his own working method, troops and resources. We have free reign on how we do things. Our only duty is to help the Agency in case of need. Now, where is our enemy and how could this shit happen. Oh, and by the way, I’m the one who saved you the day you got bitten. Now, tell me everything starting with where are we going?”
Mat gave the address of Michelle and explained to Lance what had transpired in the last month or so. How he had found a sentient zombie, how he had assumed that it was with the agency and as they got to the street where the tall blond lived, he was telling Lance how he had blown the staircase when another huge explosion rocked their car. The house where Michelle lived was now a flaming pile of tinder, steel and melting glass. Mat was shocked but Lance only smiled and shrugged. Clearly, he was not surprised at all.
- Now What? Asked Mat.
- Now my young friend, we discuss your future, after you finish your story.
So Mat concluded his story and waited while Lance thought in silence. Then, the older man asked many questions regarding the whereabouts of Mat in the last six months. Mat ended up telling his whole story: how he had trained, associated with unsavory peoples and everything. Then, Lance told him everything that had happened at the agency, the intervention at Gaza, the almost death trap in Russia and the heavy toll it had taken on the troops.
It was Mat’s turn to think about the events that had occurred. He came to the conclusion that everything was linked: Gaza, Russia and the attack he had prevent here in California. In his opinion, only a completely insane person could think of something like this and try to pull it off. And now what? That was the eternal question was it not? What would he do of this fine mess? Visibly, ha had been offered a golden opportunity: join the ranks of captains and lead his own crew. Or he could try to disappear again but…Mat knew in his heart that he could never go back to being “normal”. His behavior had spoken for him: he was a zombie hunter. A Dark Blood Hunter, and nothing he tried would never change that. And since he had not accepted the offer of Michelle, it left him with only one option: The Agency. Mat sighed: he would have a lot of answering to do and would have to ask for forgiveness from Thompson, Parkson and RedTail. To name but a few. Still, it had been worth it. For the first time in what seemed an eternity, Matthiew Andrews smiled a true smile. He was going home.
END OF PART 1.
---------
Mat resta figé de stupeur pendent que les policiers et les ambulanciers entraient dans l’édifice. Ils l’ignorèrent étrangement et se concentrèrent sur leur tâche avec aplomb comme s’ils arrivaient tous les jours sur les lieux d’un carnage avec un jeune homme à moitié nu couvert de sang et de viscères. Mat rangea son épée dans son fourreau, récupéra ses desert eagles et sortit sa carabine de sa cachette et son sac à dos puis, sortit pour rejoindre l’inconnu à l’extérieur. À l’extérieur, Mat fut frappé par le pandémonium qui régnait : des voitures de polices partout, des ambulances en nombre plus élevé et au moins 25 membres du SWAT étaient là. Et au milieu de ce chaos organisé, l’étranger parlait avec les différents officiers, leur donnant des ordres qui étaient exécutées sur le champ et suivit à la lettre.
Une fois à l’extérieur, Mat fut guidé jusqu’à l’inconnus qui lui lança une serviette humide et des vêtements. Une fois nettoyé et habillé, l’homme l’amena jusqu’à une Ford Mustang Gt Bleu de l’année. Une fois assit, il se présenta : « Je me nome Lance. Je suis le second plus vieux de notre bande que l’on connaisse. Je suis né en France en 562. Je suis un des 9 capitaines chargé de la protection de l’humanité. Chacun d’entre nous a ses propres méthodes, ressources et troupes. On a carte blanche tant qu’on obtient des résultats. Notre seul devoir est envers l’Agence. Bon, assez bavardé. Où se trouve notre ennemi et comment on s’est retrouvé dans cette merde? En passant, je suis celui qui t’a sauvé quand tu t’es fait mordre. Bon, raconte-moi tout et dit moi où aller.
Mat lui donna l’adresse de Michelle et profita du voyage pour lui raconter tous les événements des derniers mois. Sa découverte d’un zombie conscient, sa conviction erronée qu’il faisait partis de l’agence etc. Comme ils arrivaient dans la rue où se trouvait la grande blonde, Mat était à expliquer comment il avait fait sauter l’escalier lorsqu’une énorme explosion retentit. Là ou la demeure de la femme se tenait quelques instants plus tôt se trouvait un tas de bois fumant, d’acier tordus et de verre fondu. Mat était sous le choque mais Lance se contenta de sourire.
- Et maintenant, on fait quoi? Demanda Mat
- Maintenant mon jeune ami, tu termines ton histoire et on discute de ton futur.
Mat termina son histoire et attendit en silence pendant que Lance réfléchissait. Puis, ce dernier lui posa une myriade de questions sur ses agissements des derniers mois. Mat en vint à lui raconter toute ses aventures : de sa fuite du centre, à son entrainement personnel, à son association avec des gens peu recommandable et tout le reste. Lance, de son côté, lui raconta ce qui s’était passé à l’Agence : les troubles à Gaza et le presque échec en Russie avec son piège qui avait demandé une dîme énorme en vie humaines.
Ce fut au tour de Mat de réfléchir. Il arriva à la conclusion que tout était lié : Gaza, la Russie et l’attaque qu’il avait déjouée ici en Californie. Il était d’avis que seule une personne complètement cinglé avait pu penser pouvoir réussir ce genre de plan. Et maintenant quoi? C’était son éternelle question n’est-ce pas? Qu’allait-il faire de ce sympathique bordel? Il s’était fait offrir une opportunité en or : rejoindre les rangs des Capitaines et diriger sa propre équipe. Ou il pouvait tenter de disparaître à nouveau…Mat savait en son fort intérieur qu’il ne pourrait jamais retrouver une vie normal. Ses réactions avaient parlées d’elles-mêmes : Il était un chasseur de zombies. Un Chasseur de sombre sang et peu importe ce qu’il tenterait, ce fait ne changerais jamais.
Et comme il n’avait pas accepté l’offre de Michelle, il ne se trouvait vraiment face qu’à une seule option : l’Agence. Mat soupira. Il aurait beaucoup de comptes à rendre et il devrait demander humblement pardon à plusieurs personnes dont Thompson, Pakrson, RedTail pour n’en nommer que quelques uns. Malgré tout, ça avait valut la peine. Pour la première fois en ce qui semblait être une éternité, Matthiew Andrews sourit d’un véritable sourire. Il rentrait à la maison.
Fin de la partie 1
Sunday, August 15, 2010
no post this week
Yeah, I know. It sucks... but hey, I did managed to do a chapter almost every week no? So this week, no chapter as you noticed and no french part to the last one (#19) but I will do better this week... hopefully
Bon, je n'ai pas écrit le dernier chapitre. Je sais, c'est poche, mais j'ai quand même réussit à écrire un chapitre par semaine non? Je vais essayer de me reprendre cette semaine... si tout va bien.
Guy Matte
Bon, je n'ai pas écrit le dernier chapitre. Je sais, c'est poche, mais j'ai quand même réussit à écrire un chapitre par semaine non? Je vais essayer de me reprendre cette semaine... si tout va bien.
Guy Matte
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Chapter 19: Traped- Piègé
Mat, his sword in his right hand went to the first door on his floor and knocked. A man opened it and pointed his S.W 0.35mm in Matthiew’s face. Moving faster than the man holding the gun could believe, he turned the gun away from him and in the same movement, took his desert eagle and placed the cannon under his chin: “I’m from the CIA. You and your family will move to the roof. Take enough water to last 6 hours and food to last 4. Take as much ammo as you can and wait for other survivors. You will hear a loud sound: the stair case collapsing. After that, if you hear moaning and groaning, kill the people coming through. Aim for the head.” Mat repeated the message throughout the 4th floor than moved to the third and second floor. The first was lost with over 40 Z’s around.
The bodies were in good condition. Recently dead mostly with only one or two dead for longer and in a more advanced state of decay. In a corner, a small boy cried silently while the zombies feasted on the remains of this floor habitants. Mat understood the plan: if he went in to save the ignored boy, the Z’s would kill him and then kill the boy. If he did not show himself, they would kill the boy anyway. Mat thought about it for about 20 seconds. Then, something one of his math teachers once said came back to his mind: “in an equation, when there is a variable that doesn’t make any sense appears, simply remove it. Then, the problem should make sense and once he is resolved, you will be able to put the variable in it again and solve it for good.” Putting his sword back in his scabbard, Mat took his riffle and carefully aimed at the child and shoot him right through his heart. The voice was back in his head, sounding somewhat surprised: “Well, I never thought that you would kill the child instead of trying to save him. From what I had heard, you, agency people are supposed to be big softies. That’s a surprise…”.
Mat thought his answer carefully: “I I’m not with the agency. And I will come for you. Wait for me, Michelle.” Then, he aimed his riffle at the staircase which was rigged with everything from lighter gas to propane tanks and shot. The resulting explosion was enough to completely destroy the staircase and send shrapnel of molten metal everywhere. Mat, having taken refuge behind a sturdy wall was quite safe. But the small swarm was badly hit. Most of the Z’s took heavy damage but none was hit in a meaningful way. Mat, sighing, started to aim for their head with more or less success. The Z’s ere avoiding him, bending or hiding behind walls, doors and furniture. Obviously, Michelle was doing her job. At least, the explosion and the sound of gun fight would be enough to alert the police that something serious was going on.
Mat took a steadying breath and hid his riffle. Taking his sword in his hand, he calmly moved toward the mass of walking cadavers. Using everything he knew from his training in martial arts, he became a whirling blade and limbs, hacking and crushing everything that came near him. At the same time, he did his best to behead as many Z’s as he could, knowing that the one he did not get right away would be back to “bite him in the ass” as Thompson would have said. Things got confused at that point. Mat would later describe what followed as: “A blur of images from Dante’s worst nightmare meet Romero’s Day of the dead remakes.” It was brutal, fast, and messy. Mat received more than one blow and surprisingly felt them. Which did not make any sense since he was dead! But he did not have the time to think about it since there were still too many of “them” for only one “him”. During the melee, he had lost his sword, both his guns were useless since he had shoot every cartridge he had, his batons had been stripped from him, buried in 2 Z’s skulls and his riffle was too far away to be of any good. Mat was left with only his hands and feet as weapons. They were excellent weapons but there were at least half of the zombies still capable of attacking and harming him.
He had no more choices. It was time for him to change. Mat used a break in the attacks to remove most of his cloths. Then, he changed himself and became the Dark Blood Hunter. Mat, relishing in the sensation of being this being started to rip heads from their necks as fast as he could. Moving an arm there, he simply snapped his fingers at the neck severing the head in the same move. There, kicking upward, he sent the head toward the wall where it exploded. Here, he squished the neck of the Z so hard, the head simply popped like a champagne cork. Laughing at this last one, he started to squash the remaining heads and kept this one for the end, still laughing out loud.
That’s how he found him, half naked, laughing hysterically at a squashed head, discarded weapons everywhere, blood and gore on the walls and a small boy slowly coming back to himself. His cry for help calmed Mat who went to him. Without touching the kid, he made certain that the bullet had gone through his shoulder and had not done any more damage than the one intended. Then, hearing noise behind him, he turned on his left leg and aimed a heel kick at the head of his attacker. His intended target simply moved back a step and avoided the kick then, he threw a bottle off antiseptic to Mat and moved to check and patch the kid. Once he was finished, he rose and looked at Mat from under his hat.
“Well kid, that was one hell of a fight. Remind me to never get on your bad side. Now, I knew you would turn out O.K., but the boss said you would not. Thanks to you, I just won a lot of money. How about we find the one responsible for this mess you and I and after we have dealt with it, we discuss your future?” Without waiting for Mat’s answer, he walked away from the mess, dropping the kid in the hands of paramedics just coming through the door. Mat looked puzzled at the man’s retreating back and his long trench coat.
Chapter 19: Traped- Piègé
Mat, his sword in his right hand went to the first door on his floor and knocked. A man opened it and pointed his S.W 0.35mm in Matthiew’s face. Moving faster than the man holding the gun could believe, he turned the gun away from him and in the same movement, took his desert eagle and placed the cannon under his chin: “I’m from the CIA. You and your family will move to the roof. Take enough water to last 6 hours and food to last 4. Take as much ammo as you can and wait for other survivors. You will hear a loud sound: the stair case collapsing. After that, if you hear moaning and groaning, kill the people coming through. Aim for the head.” Mat repeated the message throughout the 4th floor than moved to the third and second floor. The first was lost with over 40 Z’s around.
The bodies were in good condition. Recently dead mostly with only one or two dead for longer and in a more advanced state of decay. In a corner, a small boy cried silently while the zombies feasted on the remains of this floor habitants. Mat understood the plan: if he went in to save the ignored boy, the Z’s would kill him and then kill the boy. If he did not show himself, they would kill the boy anyway. Mat thought about it for about 20 seconds. Then, something one of his math teachers once said came back to his mind: “in an equation, when there is a variable that doesn’t make any sense appears, simply remove it. Then, the problem should make sense and once he is resolved, you will be able to put the variable in it again and solve it for good.” Putting his sword back in his scabbard, Mat took his riffle and carefully aimed at the child and shoot him right through his heart. The voice was back in his head, sounding somewhat surprised: “Well, I never thought that you would kill the child instead of trying to save him. From what I had heard, you, agency people are supposed to be big softies. That’s a surprise…”.
Mat thought his answer carefully: “I I’m not with the agency. And I will come for you. Wait for me, Michelle.” Then, he aimed his riffle at the staircase which was rigged with everything from lighter gas to propane tanks and shot. The resulting explosion was enough to completely destroy the staircase and send shrapnel of molten metal everywhere. Mat, having taken refuge behind a sturdy wall was quite safe. But the small swarm was badly hit. Most of the Z’s took heavy damage but none was hit in a meaningful way. Mat, sighing, started to aim for their head with more or less success. The Z’s ere avoiding him, bending or hiding behind walls, doors and furniture. Obviously, Michelle was doing her job. At least, the explosion and the sound of gun fight would be enough to alert the police that something serious was going on.
Mat took a steadying breath and hid his riffle. Taking his sword in his hand, he calmly moved toward the mass of walking cadavers. Using everything he knew from his training in martial arts, he became a whirling blade and limbs, hacking and crushing everything that came near him. At the same time, he did his best to behead as many Z’s as he could, knowing that the one he did not get right away would be back to “bite him in the ass” as Thompson would have said. Things got confused at that point. Mat would later describe what followed as: “A blur of images from Dante’s worst nightmare meet Romero’s Day of the dead remakes.” It was brutal, fast, and messy. Mat received more than one blow and surprisingly felt them. Which did not make any sense since he was dead! But he did not have the time to think about it since there were still too many of “them” for only one “him”. During the melee, he had lost his sword, both his guns were useless since he had shoot every cartridge he had, his batons had been stripped from him, buried in 2 Z’s skulls and his riffle was too far away to be of any good. Mat was left with only his hands and feet as weapons. They were excellent weapons but there were at least half of the zombies still capable of attacking and harming him.
He had no more choices. It was time for him to change. Mat used a break in the attacks to remove most of his cloths. Then, he changed himself and became the Dark Blood Hunter. Mat, relishing in the sensation of being this being started to rip heads from their necks as fast as he could. Moving an arm there, he simply snapped his fingers at the neck severing the head in the same move. There, kicking upward, he sent the head toward the wall where it exploded. Here, he squished the neck of the Z so hard, the head simply popped like a champagne cork. Laughing at this last one, he started to squash the remaining heads and kept this one for the end, still laughing out loud.
That’s how he found him, half naked, laughing hysterically at a squashed head, discarded weapons everywhere, blood and gore on the walls and a small boy slowly coming back to himself. His cry for help calmed Mat who went to him. Without touching the kid, he made certain that the bullet had gone through his shoulder and had not done any more damage than the one intended. Then, hearing noise behind him, he turned on his left leg and aimed a heel kick at the head of his attacker. His intended target simply moved back a step and avoided the kick then, he threw a bottle off antiseptic to Mat and moved to check and patch the kid. Once he was finished, he rose and looked at Mat from under his hat.
“Well kid, that was one hell of a fight. Remind me to never get on your bad side. Now, I knew you would turn out O.K., but the boss said you would not. Thanks to you, I just won a lot of money. How about we find the one responsible for this mess you and I and after we have dealt with it, we discuss your future?” Without waiting for Mat’s answer, he walked away from the mess, dropping the kid in the hands of paramedics just coming through the door. Mat looked puzzled at the man’s retreating back and his long trench coat.
------------------------------------------------------------
Mat, son épée à la main droite se rendit à la première porte sur son étage et frappa. Un homme l’ouvrit et lui pointa son S.W 0.35mm en plein visage. Bougeant plus vite que l’oeuil, Mat détourna l’arme de l’homme, sorti un desert eagle et le plaça sous le menton de l’homme stupéfié : « Je suis de la C.I.A. Votre famille et vous allez vous rendre sur le toit. Prenez assez d’eau pour survivre 6 heures et de la nourriture pour 4. Apportez autant de munitions que vous pouvez et attendez les autres survivants. Vous allez entendre l’escalier s’effondrer dans un énorme fracas. Par la suite, si vous entendez des grognements et des gémissements, tuez tout ce qui fera se son. Visez la tête. » Mat répéta son message tout au long des étages jusqu’à ce qu’il soit rendu au premier. Il vit que le premier étage était perdu. Près de 40 Zed’s se promenaient sur cet étage dévorant tout sur leur passage.
Les corps étaient en bon état, la plupart étaient mort depuis quelques temps seulement. Il y avait un ou deux corps plus décomposés. Dans un coin, un petit garçon pleurait silencieusement pendant que les zombies mangeaient les habitants de cet étage. Mat comprit immédiatement l’idée : s’il fonçait pour sauver le jeune garçon, il se ferait tuer et l’enfant serait la prochaine cible. S’il n’y allait pas, l’enfant se ferait manger de toute manière. Mat réfléchit un bon 20 secondes. Puis, une phrase qu’un de ses prof de math disait lui revient en mémoire : dans une équation mathématique, lorsqu’une variable apparaît qui ne fait aucun sens, simplement la retirer. Le problème ferait alors du sens et pourrait être résout. Une fois la réponse trouvé, simplement replacer la variable dans l’équation et on trouvait immédiatement la réponse. » Rangeant son épée, Mat prit sa carabine, visa soigneusement l’enfant et lui tira une balle en plein cœur. La voix était de retour dans sa tête, sonnant surprise : « Hé bien, je n’aurais jamais cru que tu tuerais l’enfant au lieux de tenter de le sauver. Ce que j’avais entendu concernant les gens de l’Agence, vous seriez des mous. C’est toute une surprise. »
Mat formula sa réponse soigneusement : « Je ne suis pas avec l’Agence. Je viens te chercher, Michelle. Attends-moi. » Puis, il visa l’escalier qu’il avait piégé avec des bombonnes de propane pour BBQ, de briquets et tout ce qu’il pouvait trouver d’explosif. Il se cacha derrière un solide mur et tira. L’explosion qui s’en suivit fit valser des morceaux de métaux brûlant et détruisit l’escalier. Mat s’en tira indemne mais l’essaim de Zed’s fut gravement touché. Malheureusement, aucun ne fut touché mortellement. Soupirant, Mat commença à tirer les Zed’s à la tête avec plus ou moins de succès. Les Zed’s l’évitait! Ils se penchaient, se cachaient derrière les murs et les meubles. Visiblement, Michelle était à l’œuvre. Au moins, le son de l’explosion et les coups de feu seraient suffisants pour attirer la police et leur faire comprendre que c’était sérieux.
Mat prix une respiration pour se calmer et cacha sa carabine. Il sortit son épée marcha calmement vers la masse de morts vivants déterminés à le tuer. Utilisant toutes les techniques apprises dans ses études d’arts martiaux il devint une véritable tornade de lame et de membres coupant et détruisant tout sur son passage. Il tentait de décapiter le plus de Zed’s possible sachant que chaque monstre reviendrait le « mordre au derrière » comme dirait Thompson. Les choses devinrent confuses après ça. Mat utiliserait ces mots pour décrire la scène : « C’était un mélange flou entre les pires cauchemars de Dante et un film de Romero ». C’était brutal, salissant et rapide. Mat reçut plus d’un coup et à sa grande surprise, il sentit chacun d’entre eux. Ça ne faisait aucun sens puisqu’il était mort!!! Il n’avait pas le temps d’y réfléchir puisqu’il y avait trop d’ « eux » et un seul « lui ». Pendant la mêlée, il perdit son épée, ses pistolets étaient inutiles depuis qu’il avait utilisé toutes ses munitions, ses bâtons étaient enfoncés dans les crânes de deux zombies et sa carabine était trop loin pour être d’une quelconque utilité. Il ne lui restait que ses membres comme armes. C’étaient d’excellentes armes mais il restait près de la moitié des Zed’s encore en état de le blesser.
Il n’avait plus le choix : il était temps de se métamorphoser. Ma profita d’une accalmie dans les attaques des Zed’s pour enlever la plupart de ses vêtements et se métamorphosa pour devenir le Chasseur de sombre sang. Mat, jouissant d’être sous cette forme entreprit d’arracher des têtes aussi rapidement qu’il le pouvait. Bougeant son bras, il fit un rapide mouvement de la main et décapita une tête. Puis, frappant du pied, il envoya une tête vers le mur où elle éclata. Puis, il attrapa un cou qu’il serra si fort que la tête s’envola comme un bouchon de champagne. Éclatant de rire à cette image, il piétina les têtes restantes sur le sol mais gardant cette dernière pour la fin, rigolant toujours.
C’est ainsi qu’il fut trouvé, riant hystériquement en regardant les têtes éclatées, des armes laissées éparses un peu partout, du sang et des viscères partout sur les murs et un petit garçon qui revenait lentement à lui. Son cri de douleur calma Mat et il se dirigea vers lui. Sans toucher l’enfant, il s’assura que la balle avait bien traversé l’épaule et n’avait pas fait plus de dommages que prévu. Puis, entendant du bruit derrière lui, il se retourna et envoya un coup de talon à la tête de son agresseur. Sa victime fit simplement un pas de côté, évitant le pied et lançant une bouteille d’antiseptique à Mat se dirigea vers l’enfant pour l’examiner et le panser. Lorsqu’il eu terminé, il se redressa et jeta un oeuil à Mat de sous son chapeau.
« Alors le jeune, ça a été toute une bataille. Rappelle-moi de ne jamais être dans une bataille contre toi. Bon, je savais que tu t’en sortirais indemne mais le patron disait que tu aurais besoins d’aide. Grâce à toi, j’ai gagné une bonne somme d’argent. Qu’est-ce que tu dirais qu’on trouve ceux responsable de ce gâchis, qu’on s’en occupe et qu’on discute de ton avenir après? Sans attendre pour la réponse, il se dirigea vers la sortie, laissant l’enfant aux bons soins d’un paramédic qui entrait par la porte à ce moment. Mat regarda surpris l’homme au manteau long s’éloigner.
The bodies were in good condition. Recently dead mostly with only one or two dead for longer and in a more advanced state of decay. In a corner, a small boy cried silently while the zombies feasted on the remains of this floor habitants. Mat understood the plan: if he went in to save the ignored boy, the Z’s would kill him and then kill the boy. If he did not show himself, they would kill the boy anyway. Mat thought about it for about 20 seconds. Then, something one of his math teachers once said came back to his mind: “in an equation, when there is a variable that doesn’t make any sense appears, simply remove it. Then, the problem should make sense and once he is resolved, you will be able to put the variable in it again and solve it for good.” Putting his sword back in his scabbard, Mat took his riffle and carefully aimed at the child and shoot him right through his heart. The voice was back in his head, sounding somewhat surprised: “Well, I never thought that you would kill the child instead of trying to save him. From what I had heard, you, agency people are supposed to be big softies. That’s a surprise…”.
Mat thought his answer carefully: “I I’m not with the agency. And I will come for you. Wait for me, Michelle.” Then, he aimed his riffle at the staircase which was rigged with everything from lighter gas to propane tanks and shot. The resulting explosion was enough to completely destroy the staircase and send shrapnel of molten metal everywhere. Mat, having taken refuge behind a sturdy wall was quite safe. But the small swarm was badly hit. Most of the Z’s took heavy damage but none was hit in a meaningful way. Mat, sighing, started to aim for their head with more or less success. The Z’s ere avoiding him, bending or hiding behind walls, doors and furniture. Obviously, Michelle was doing her job. At least, the explosion and the sound of gun fight would be enough to alert the police that something serious was going on.
Mat took a steadying breath and hid his riffle. Taking his sword in his hand, he calmly moved toward the mass of walking cadavers. Using everything he knew from his training in martial arts, he became a whirling blade and limbs, hacking and crushing everything that came near him. At the same time, he did his best to behead as many Z’s as he could, knowing that the one he did not get right away would be back to “bite him in the ass” as Thompson would have said. Things got confused at that point. Mat would later describe what followed as: “A blur of images from Dante’s worst nightmare meet Romero’s Day of the dead remakes.” It was brutal, fast, and messy. Mat received more than one blow and surprisingly felt them. Which did not make any sense since he was dead! But he did not have the time to think about it since there were still too many of “them” for only one “him”. During the melee, he had lost his sword, both his guns were useless since he had shoot every cartridge he had, his batons had been stripped from him, buried in 2 Z’s skulls and his riffle was too far away to be of any good. Mat was left with only his hands and feet as weapons. They were excellent weapons but there were at least half of the zombies still capable of attacking and harming him.
He had no more choices. It was time for him to change. Mat used a break in the attacks to remove most of his cloths. Then, he changed himself and became the Dark Blood Hunter. Mat, relishing in the sensation of being this being started to rip heads from their necks as fast as he could. Moving an arm there, he simply snapped his fingers at the neck severing the head in the same move. There, kicking upward, he sent the head toward the wall where it exploded. Here, he squished the neck of the Z so hard, the head simply popped like a champagne cork. Laughing at this last one, he started to squash the remaining heads and kept this one for the end, still laughing out loud.
That’s how he found him, half naked, laughing hysterically at a squashed head, discarded weapons everywhere, blood and gore on the walls and a small boy slowly coming back to himself. His cry for help calmed Mat who went to him. Without touching the kid, he made certain that the bullet had gone through his shoulder and had not done any more damage than the one intended. Then, hearing noise behind him, he turned on his left leg and aimed a heel kick at the head of his attacker. His intended target simply moved back a step and avoided the kick then, he threw a bottle off antiseptic to Mat and moved to check and patch the kid. Once he was finished, he rose and looked at Mat from under his hat.
“Well kid, that was one hell of a fight. Remind me to never get on your bad side. Now, I knew you would turn out O.K., but the boss said you would not. Thanks to you, I just won a lot of money. How about we find the one responsible for this mess you and I and after we have dealt with it, we discuss your future?” Without waiting for Mat’s answer, he walked away from the mess, dropping the kid in the hands of paramedics just coming through the door. Mat looked puzzled at the man’s retreating back and his long trench coat.
Chapter 19: Traped- Piègé
Mat, his sword in his right hand went to the first door on his floor and knocked. A man opened it and pointed his S.W 0.35mm in Matthiew’s face. Moving faster than the man holding the gun could believe, he turned the gun away from him and in the same movement, took his desert eagle and placed the cannon under his chin: “I’m from the CIA. You and your family will move to the roof. Take enough water to last 6 hours and food to last 4. Take as much ammo as you can and wait for other survivors. You will hear a loud sound: the stair case collapsing. After that, if you hear moaning and groaning, kill the people coming through. Aim for the head.” Mat repeated the message throughout the 4th floor than moved to the third and second floor. The first was lost with over 40 Z’s around.
The bodies were in good condition. Recently dead mostly with only one or two dead for longer and in a more advanced state of decay. In a corner, a small boy cried silently while the zombies feasted on the remains of this floor habitants. Mat understood the plan: if he went in to save the ignored boy, the Z’s would kill him and then kill the boy. If he did not show himself, they would kill the boy anyway. Mat thought about it for about 20 seconds. Then, something one of his math teachers once said came back to his mind: “in an equation, when there is a variable that doesn’t make any sense appears, simply remove it. Then, the problem should make sense and once he is resolved, you will be able to put the variable in it again and solve it for good.” Putting his sword back in his scabbard, Mat took his riffle and carefully aimed at the child and shoot him right through his heart. The voice was back in his head, sounding somewhat surprised: “Well, I never thought that you would kill the child instead of trying to save him. From what I had heard, you, agency people are supposed to be big softies. That’s a surprise…”.
Mat thought his answer carefully: “I I’m not with the agency. And I will come for you. Wait for me, Michelle.” Then, he aimed his riffle at the staircase which was rigged with everything from lighter gas to propane tanks and shot. The resulting explosion was enough to completely destroy the staircase and send shrapnel of molten metal everywhere. Mat, having taken refuge behind a sturdy wall was quite safe. But the small swarm was badly hit. Most of the Z’s took heavy damage but none was hit in a meaningful way. Mat, sighing, started to aim for their head with more or less success. The Z’s ere avoiding him, bending or hiding behind walls, doors and furniture. Obviously, Michelle was doing her job. At least, the explosion and the sound of gun fight would be enough to alert the police that something serious was going on.
Mat took a steadying breath and hid his riffle. Taking his sword in his hand, he calmly moved toward the mass of walking cadavers. Using everything he knew from his training in martial arts, he became a whirling blade and limbs, hacking and crushing everything that came near him. At the same time, he did his best to behead as many Z’s as he could, knowing that the one he did not get right away would be back to “bite him in the ass” as Thompson would have said. Things got confused at that point. Mat would later describe what followed as: “A blur of images from Dante’s worst nightmare meet Romero’s Day of the dead remakes.” It was brutal, fast, and messy. Mat received more than one blow and surprisingly felt them. Which did not make any sense since he was dead! But he did not have the time to think about it since there were still too many of “them” for only one “him”. During the melee, he had lost his sword, both his guns were useless since he had shoot every cartridge he had, his batons had been stripped from him, buried in 2 Z’s skulls and his riffle was too far away to be of any good. Mat was left with only his hands and feet as weapons. They were excellent weapons but there were at least half of the zombies still capable of attacking and harming him.
He had no more choices. It was time for him to change. Mat used a break in the attacks to remove most of his cloths. Then, he changed himself and became the Dark Blood Hunter. Mat, relishing in the sensation of being this being started to rip heads from their necks as fast as he could. Moving an arm there, he simply snapped his fingers at the neck severing the head in the same move. There, kicking upward, he sent the head toward the wall where it exploded. Here, he squished the neck of the Z so hard, the head simply popped like a champagne cork. Laughing at this last one, he started to squash the remaining heads and kept this one for the end, still laughing out loud.
That’s how he found him, half naked, laughing hysterically at a squashed head, discarded weapons everywhere, blood and gore on the walls and a small boy slowly coming back to himself. His cry for help calmed Mat who went to him. Without touching the kid, he made certain that the bullet had gone through his shoulder and had not done any more damage than the one intended. Then, hearing noise behind him, he turned on his left leg and aimed a heel kick at the head of his attacker. His intended target simply moved back a step and avoided the kick then, he threw a bottle off antiseptic to Mat and moved to check and patch the kid. Once he was finished, he rose and looked at Mat from under his hat.
“Well kid, that was one hell of a fight. Remind me to never get on your bad side. Now, I knew you would turn out O.K., but the boss said you would not. Thanks to you, I just won a lot of money. How about we find the one responsible for this mess you and I and after we have dealt with it, we discuss your future?” Without waiting for Mat’s answer, he walked away from the mess, dropping the kid in the hands of paramedics just coming through the door. Mat looked puzzled at the man’s retreating back and his long trench coat.
------------------------------------------------------------
Mat, son épée à la main droite se rendit à la première porte sur son étage et frappa. Un homme l’ouvrit et lui pointa son S.W 0.35mm en plein visage. Bougeant plus vite que l’oeuil, Mat détourna l’arme de l’homme, sorti un desert eagle et le plaça sous le menton de l’homme stupéfié : « Je suis de la C.I.A. Votre famille et vous allez vous rendre sur le toit. Prenez assez d’eau pour survivre 6 heures et de la nourriture pour 4. Apportez autant de munitions que vous pouvez et attendez les autres survivants. Vous allez entendre l’escalier s’effondrer dans un énorme fracas. Par la suite, si vous entendez des grognements et des gémissements, tuez tout ce qui fera se son. Visez la tête. » Mat répéta son message tout au long des étages jusqu’à ce qu’il soit rendu au premier. Il vit que le premier étage était perdu. Près de 40 Zed’s se promenaient sur cet étage dévorant tout sur leur passage.
Les corps étaient en bon état, la plupart étaient mort depuis quelques temps seulement. Il y avait un ou deux corps plus décomposés. Dans un coin, un petit garçon pleurait silencieusement pendant que les zombies mangeaient les habitants de cet étage. Mat comprit immédiatement l’idée : s’il fonçait pour sauver le jeune garçon, il se ferait tuer et l’enfant serait la prochaine cible. S’il n’y allait pas, l’enfant se ferait manger de toute manière. Mat réfléchit un bon 20 secondes. Puis, une phrase qu’un de ses prof de math disait lui revient en mémoire : dans une équation mathématique, lorsqu’une variable apparaît qui ne fait aucun sens, simplement la retirer. Le problème ferait alors du sens et pourrait être résout. Une fois la réponse trouvé, simplement replacer la variable dans l’équation et on trouvait immédiatement la réponse. » Rangeant son épée, Mat prit sa carabine, visa soigneusement l’enfant et lui tira une balle en plein cœur. La voix était de retour dans sa tête, sonnant surprise : « Hé bien, je n’aurais jamais cru que tu tuerais l’enfant au lieux de tenter de le sauver. Ce que j’avais entendu concernant les gens de l’Agence, vous seriez des mous. C’est toute une surprise. »
Mat formula sa réponse soigneusement : « Je ne suis pas avec l’Agence. Je viens te chercher, Michelle. Attends-moi. » Puis, il visa l’escalier qu’il avait piégé avec des bombonnes de propane pour BBQ, de briquets et tout ce qu’il pouvait trouver d’explosif. Il se cacha derrière un solide mur et tira. L’explosion qui s’en suivit fit valser des morceaux de métaux brûlant et détruisit l’escalier. Mat s’en tira indemne mais l’essaim de Zed’s fut gravement touché. Malheureusement, aucun ne fut touché mortellement. Soupirant, Mat commença à tirer les Zed’s à la tête avec plus ou moins de succès. Les Zed’s l’évitait! Ils se penchaient, se cachaient derrière les murs et les meubles. Visiblement, Michelle était à l’œuvre. Au moins, le son de l’explosion et les coups de feu seraient suffisants pour attirer la police et leur faire comprendre que c’était sérieux.
Mat prix une respiration pour se calmer et cacha sa carabine. Il sortit son épée marcha calmement vers la masse de morts vivants déterminés à le tuer. Utilisant toutes les techniques apprises dans ses études d’arts martiaux il devint une véritable tornade de lame et de membres coupant et détruisant tout sur son passage. Il tentait de décapiter le plus de Zed’s possible sachant que chaque monstre reviendrait le « mordre au derrière » comme dirait Thompson. Les choses devinrent confuses après ça. Mat utiliserait ces mots pour décrire la scène : « C’était un mélange flou entre les pires cauchemars de Dante et un film de Romero ». C’était brutal, salissant et rapide. Mat reçut plus d’un coup et à sa grande surprise, il sentit chacun d’entre eux. Ça ne faisait aucun sens puisqu’il était mort!!! Il n’avait pas le temps d’y réfléchir puisqu’il y avait trop d’ « eux » et un seul « lui ». Pendant la mêlée, il perdit son épée, ses pistolets étaient inutiles depuis qu’il avait utilisé toutes ses munitions, ses bâtons étaient enfoncés dans les crânes de deux zombies et sa carabine était trop loin pour être d’une quelconque utilité. Il ne lui restait que ses membres comme armes. C’étaient d’excellentes armes mais il restait près de la moitié des Zed’s encore en état de le blesser.
Il n’avait plus le choix : il était temps de se métamorphoser. Ma profita d’une accalmie dans les attaques des Zed’s pour enlever la plupart de ses vêtements et se métamorphosa pour devenir le Chasseur de sombre sang. Mat, jouissant d’être sous cette forme entreprit d’arracher des têtes aussi rapidement qu’il le pouvait. Bougeant son bras, il fit un rapide mouvement de la main et décapita une tête. Puis, frappant du pied, il envoya une tête vers le mur où elle éclata. Puis, il attrapa un cou qu’il serra si fort que la tête s’envola comme un bouchon de champagne. Éclatant de rire à cette image, il piétina les têtes restantes sur le sol mais gardant cette dernière pour la fin, rigolant toujours.
C’est ainsi qu’il fut trouvé, riant hystériquement en regardant les têtes éclatées, des armes laissées éparses un peu partout, du sang et des viscères partout sur les murs et un petit garçon qui revenait lentement à lui. Son cri de douleur calma Mat et il se dirigea vers lui. Sans toucher l’enfant, il s’assura que la balle avait bien traversé l’épaule et n’avait pas fait plus de dommages que prévu. Puis, entendant du bruit derrière lui, il se retourna et envoya un coup de talon à la tête de son agresseur. Sa victime fit simplement un pas de côté, évitant le pied et lançant une bouteille d’antiseptique à Mat se dirigea vers l’enfant pour l’examiner et le panser. Lorsqu’il eu terminé, il se redressa et jeta un oeuil à Mat de sous son chapeau.
« Alors le jeune, ça a été toute une bataille. Rappelle-moi de ne jamais être dans une bataille contre toi. Bon, je savais que tu t’en sortirais indemne mais le patron disait que tu aurais besoins d’aide. Grâce à toi, j’ai gagné une bonne somme d’argent. Qu’est-ce que tu dirais qu’on trouve ceux responsable de ce gâchis, qu’on s’en occupe et qu’on discute de ton avenir après? Sans attendre pour la réponse, il se dirigea vers la sortie, laissant l’enfant aux bons soins d’un paramédic qui entrait par la porte à ce moment. Mat regarda surpris l’homme au manteau long s’éloigner.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Chapter 18 : Reflexion / Réflexion
Matthiew Andrews sat on a chair in his damp, hot and small 2 room apartment. He was thinking of everything that had happened to him in the last 8 month, almost a year now. He had been attacked, almost killed, kidnapped, force to train, escaped, befriend the underground organizations, entered in the US illegally even though it was his home, trained on his own because that was what he had become, killed zombies and now, he had killed humans. Doomed humans, dead humans still walking, but humans still. And he did not like it. Thinking back on what had happened, Mat wasn’t so sure that the Agency was involved. Maybe it was another party.
What did Mat know about the Z’s? Not much that was certain. You had to kill the brain otherwise they still attacked. A severed head had to be destroyed because it would still try to bite. Where had the virus originated from? For how long had it been around? What was the virus? Why did the Zombies crave human flesh and disregarded animals? A dog, placed in the same room as a zombie would be perfectly safe. Why? The poor beast would go mad from fear though. Why? And why had Mat trained so hard? Had some secret sense he possessed but did not know about “told him to”? A “spydersense”? And what were Dark blood Hunters?
Was he a super protector of the weak? A freakish mutation of the virus? The natural evolution of the zombie? That thought was scary. So he tried to focus on something else. What was he supposed to do know? He was a zombie hunter and he did not like it either. He could not hide the truth from himself anymore: he had trained himself so he would be able to protect people from the monsters out there. And as he had seen last night, he had become unknowingly, quite good at it.
His eyes unfocused, Mat replayed the last night in his mind, trying to see if he could have done something else to prevent what was coming fast. In his mid eye, he saw himself taking the scope, looking through it and saw the panicked crowd, running away from the Z’s, shooting them to no avail. He saw the gapping mouths, the reaching arms, the decomposed flesh, he saw DEATH walking that night. Unstoppable, merciless, ravishing flesh and bones. Now that he had the time to think about it, he saw one of the monsters, his tongue rolling out from his mouth like a dead snake, his maws biting it and finally, cutting it loose, the useless piece of flesh flopping on the ground and being trodden on. Another one, his torso spotting holes where he had been shoot 6 times, dark brown liquor slowly leaking from the holes. His misty brown eyes unfocused but his instincts guiding “it” toward his prey who was still shooting his empty gun at him. So many distorted version of the human body that it was not even funny anymore.
Mat’s alarm buzzed and, without looking at it, he stopped it. Then, he rose and turned on the radio. On the air, an almost panicking reporter was describing the panic of the night, the 27 corpses all shot in the head, some from afar some from point blank. 5 of these corpses had been reported as missing person’s last month, 7 had been reported 2 weeks ago and the rest had all died on the spot that night. Several injuries had occurred during the panic in what the media were starting to refer as: The Night of the Living Dead. G.R Romero had been interviewed and he had refused to comment the events. Other film makers had made comments along the lines of: Mass hysteria, zombies don’t exist, and his favorite: The watched to many horror movies. But one thing was clear: no one took the situation seriously except to treat the injured. There was no government agency on the terrain except the local police.
Something the commentator said startled Mat: someone had taken a video of the whole incident with his cell phone. They even had captured the shooter who had killed most of the wounded. He was naked and his face was so distorted by rage and something else that he was not recognizable. But he police hoped to be able to identify him eventually. Mat sighed, reassured that his secret was safe for now.
So, he was back to square one: what to do now. That’s when the most peculiar sensation came to him. It was like ants crawling inside his brain. He shook it off with, for lack of a better word, flicker of his mind. Then, a voice was whispering in his ears: “You were quite hard to find sir. I was shocked when you called me to tell me you had killed my zombies and to “warn the agency”. That scared me. Then, the way you dispatched my other batch was quite instructive. So was your phone call. But this time, I was ready. I followed you and prepared a welcome comity. Now, you have 2 choices. Well, one really: you can either join me in my crusade against this corrupted world, or face death at the hand of 40 or so zombies. If you join me, we can use your abilities to create small swarms. I control them, like I did yesterday and you capture anyone who survives the metamorphosis. And we dispatch the rest. Soon, there will only be US. Gaia will be free of the human infestation. Pure water, blue sky and black fertile earth will be the norm. No more skyscrapers, no more swages in the rivers and oceans. Finally, the earth will be free. So my friend, what do you say?”.
During the exchange, Mat had dressed, prepared his weapons and readied his backpack. Now, that he was ready, he tried to answer her: “How about: FUCK YOU?”. “No need to scream. Well, it was nice to have this chat. Now, die well”. And there was silence. Well, almost silence. The morning air was filled with moans and groans and people starting to scream. Mat took his cell phone, dialed 911 and said in a very calm voice: “this is Matthiew Andrews. Call the Agency. We have a Z controller on the loose.” He hanged up the phone, unsheathed his sword and opened the door to hell.
-------------------------------------------------
Matthiew Andrews était assit dans son petit appartement humide de deux pièces. Il réfléchissait à tout ce qui s’était passé dans sa vie depuis les 8 derniers mois, pratiquement un an déjà. Il avait été attaqué, presque tué, forcé de suivre un entraînement barbare, s’était échappé, avait rejoint les rangs des organisations criminelles environnantes, entré sur le territoire américain illégalement malgré que ce soit sa terre d’origine, entreprit de terminé son entraînement par lui-même parce que c’était ce qu’il était devenu, tués des zombies et maintenant, il avait tué des humains. Des humains condamnés, des humains morts mais qui l’ignoraient encore, mais malgré tout, des humains. Et il n’aimait pas cela du tout. En réfléchissant sur les événements des dernières semaines, Mat n’était plus certain que l’Agence était impliqué. Peut-être qu’il s’agissait d’un autre groupe?
Que savait-il au sujet des Zed’s? Pas grand-chose en fait. Le cerveau devait être détruit sinon ils continuaient à attaquer. La décapitation n’était pas suffisante vu que la tête continuait à tenter de mordre et était donc encore dangereuse. D’où venait le virus? De puis combien de temps faisait-il des ravages? Quelle était sa nature à ce damné virus? Pourquoi les infectés cherchaient-ils à manger la chaire humaine mais ignoraient les animaux? Un chien, enfermé dans la même pièce qu’un zombie était en parfaite sécurité. La pauvre bête était paniqué et si laissé trop longtemps, virait complètement folle, mais elle était en sécurité. Mais…pourquoi? Et pourquoi est-ce que Mat s’était entraîné si fort? Est-ce qu’un genre de sixième sens qu’il possédait mais dont il ignorait tout du fonctionnement l’avait « avertis » qu’une situation se préparait? Un « Spyder sense »? Et qu’étais les Chasseurs de sombre sang?
Est-ce qu’il était un super héro protégeant les plus faibles? Une mutation du virus? La prochaine étape dans l’évolution des Zombies? L’idée lui donnait des frissons d’horreur. Il força son esprit sur une autre voie. Quel était son prochain plan d’action? Il était un chasseur de zombies mais n’aimait pas cette conclusion non plus. Ni la direction où ça le menait. D’un autre coté, il s’était entraîné pour pouvoir protéger la population des monstres qui rampaient dans la nuit. Et comme il l’avait découvert hier soir, il était devenu, sans s’en rendre compte, extrêmement talentueux pour éliminer des zombies.
Les yeux dans le vide, Mat revisita la soirée précédente, essayant de voir s’il n’aurait pas pu faire quelque chose pour éviter la situation qui se développait rapidement, au sus de tous. Il se revit prendre son scope, regarder au travers et voir la foule paniquée courir pour tenter d’échapper aux Zed’s qui avançaient, leurs tirent dessus sans résultats. Il revit les bouches avides et béantes, les bras qui se tendaient vers leurs proies, la chaire décomposée, il vit la MORT avancer dans la nuit. Sans pitié, sans remords, avançant mécaniquement, dévorant la chaire et les os. Maintenant qu’il était calme, il vit des détailles qu’il avait volontairement ignoré pour se concentrer sur sa mission. Il revit un des monstres, sa langue noire et gonflée sortant de sa bouche comme un long serpent mort, ses mâchoires mordant sa propre chaire anticipant celle de ses proies, les dents finissant par couper l’appendice inutile, ce dernier tombant sur le sol et étant piétiné par ses congénères insensibles. Un autre, son torse criblé de 6 trous de balles, un liquide brun s’écoulant lentement des blessures. Ses yeux bruns fixaient le vide mais son instinct le guidait vers sa proie qui tirait encore de son pistolet malgré le fait que ce dernier n’avait plus de munitions. Tant de versions grotesques du corps humain que l’humour noir qui l’aidait à passer pardessus n’était plus si comique.
Le réveil matin de Mat sonna et, sans même le regarder, il l’éteignit. Puis, il se leva et mit la radio en marche. Sur les ondes, un reporter presque hystérique décrivait la panique de la nuit précédente, les 27 corps tous tués d’une balle à la tête, certains à bout portants. 5 de ces cadavres avaient été reportés à la police comme disparut plus d’un mois plus tôt, 7 depuis 2 semaines et le reste étaient morts la nuit même. Plusieurs personnes avaient été blessées durant la nuit. Les médiats l’avait déjà baptisé : La nuit des morts vivants. G.R Romero avait été questionné mais s’était abstenu de tout commentaires. D’autres réalisateurs de films ne s’étaient pas gênés. D’hystérie de masse à « les zombies n’existent pas », tous avaient faits des commentaires dans ce genre. Son préféré demeurait : « Ils ont écoutés trop de films d’horreur! ». Une chose était claire toutefois : personne ne prenait la situation au sérieux sauf pour traiter les blessés. L’Agence n’était pas sur place et seule les forces de police locale était présentes. Le reporter dit quelque chose qui surprit Mat : un témoins de la scène avait filmé le tout sur son cellulaire. Il avait même filmé le tireur fou qui avait tué la majorité des blessés. Il était nu et son visage était tellement défiguré par la rage et la haine qu’il en était méconnaissable. Toutefois, la police avait bon espoir de le retrouver. Mat soupira de soulagement, son secret était encore en sécurité pour l’instant.
Il était donc de retour à la case dépars : quoi faire à présent? C’est à ce moment que la plus étrange des sensations se fit ressentir. Il avait la sensation que des insectes marchaient dans son cerveau. Il s’en « débarrassa » d’un haussement mental, faute de meilleure expression. Puis une voix murmura à son oreille : « Vous monsieur, avez été très difficile à trouver. J’ai été très surprise lorsque vous m’avez laissé ce message me disant que vous aviez tuer mes zombies et d’appeler « l’Agence ». Ça m’a effrayé. Puis, il y a eu la façon dont vous vous êtes débarrassé de l’autre groupe, ce fut fort…instructif. Tout comme votre second appel. Toutefois, j’étais prête et je vous aie suivit. Je vous aie aussi préparé un comité de bienvenus. Maintenant, vous avez deux choix. Un vraiment, si on est honnête. Vous pouvez vous joindre à moi dans ma croisade contre ce monde corompu, ou vous faire éliminer par mes 40 zombies qui vous attendent patiemment. Si vous vous joignez à moi, j’utiliserai vos habiletés pour créer une petite nuée de zombies. Je les contrôlerai comme je les aie contrôlés hier et vous capturerez ceux qui survivront à la métamorphose. Puis, on détruit le reste. Bientôt, il n’y aura plus que nous. Gaia se libéré de cette infestation, cette pollution, cette tare qu’est l’humanité. De l’eau pure, un ciel bleu et une terre noire et fertile seront bientôt la norme. Plus de gratte-ciels, plus d’égouts qui s’écoulent dans les rivières et les océans. Finalement, la terre sera libre. Qu’en dites vous mon ami?
Durant le monologue, Matthiew s’était habillé, avait préparé ses armes et son sac à dos. Maintenant qu’il était prêt, il essaya de lui répondre : « Que dirais-tu de : VA TE FAIRE FOUTRE! » « Pas besoins de hurler vous savez. Hé bien, ce fut un plaisir de discuter avec vous. J’espère que vous mourrez bien. » Puis, ce fut le silence. Enfin, presque le silence. Le calme du matin fut rapidement envahi par les gémissements et les grognements caractéristiques des zombies suivits par les cris d’horreurs et de panique des habitants de l’appartement. Mat pris son téléphone cellulaire, composa le 911 et dit d’une voix calme : « Ici Matthiew Andrews, avertissez l’Agence que nous avons un contrôleur de Zed au large. ». Il raccrocha le téléphone, sortit son épée de son étui et ouvrit la porte de l’enfer.
What did Mat know about the Z’s? Not much that was certain. You had to kill the brain otherwise they still attacked. A severed head had to be destroyed because it would still try to bite. Where had the virus originated from? For how long had it been around? What was the virus? Why did the Zombies crave human flesh and disregarded animals? A dog, placed in the same room as a zombie would be perfectly safe. Why? The poor beast would go mad from fear though. Why? And why had Mat trained so hard? Had some secret sense he possessed but did not know about “told him to”? A “spydersense”? And what were Dark blood Hunters?
Was he a super protector of the weak? A freakish mutation of the virus? The natural evolution of the zombie? That thought was scary. So he tried to focus on something else. What was he supposed to do know? He was a zombie hunter and he did not like it either. He could not hide the truth from himself anymore: he had trained himself so he would be able to protect people from the monsters out there. And as he had seen last night, he had become unknowingly, quite good at it.
His eyes unfocused, Mat replayed the last night in his mind, trying to see if he could have done something else to prevent what was coming fast. In his mid eye, he saw himself taking the scope, looking through it and saw the panicked crowd, running away from the Z’s, shooting them to no avail. He saw the gapping mouths, the reaching arms, the decomposed flesh, he saw DEATH walking that night. Unstoppable, merciless, ravishing flesh and bones. Now that he had the time to think about it, he saw one of the monsters, his tongue rolling out from his mouth like a dead snake, his maws biting it and finally, cutting it loose, the useless piece of flesh flopping on the ground and being trodden on. Another one, his torso spotting holes where he had been shoot 6 times, dark brown liquor slowly leaking from the holes. His misty brown eyes unfocused but his instincts guiding “it” toward his prey who was still shooting his empty gun at him. So many distorted version of the human body that it was not even funny anymore.
Mat’s alarm buzzed and, without looking at it, he stopped it. Then, he rose and turned on the radio. On the air, an almost panicking reporter was describing the panic of the night, the 27 corpses all shot in the head, some from afar some from point blank. 5 of these corpses had been reported as missing person’s last month, 7 had been reported 2 weeks ago and the rest had all died on the spot that night. Several injuries had occurred during the panic in what the media were starting to refer as: The Night of the Living Dead. G.R Romero had been interviewed and he had refused to comment the events. Other film makers had made comments along the lines of: Mass hysteria, zombies don’t exist, and his favorite: The watched to many horror movies. But one thing was clear: no one took the situation seriously except to treat the injured. There was no government agency on the terrain except the local police.
Something the commentator said startled Mat: someone had taken a video of the whole incident with his cell phone. They even had captured the shooter who had killed most of the wounded. He was naked and his face was so distorted by rage and something else that he was not recognizable. But he police hoped to be able to identify him eventually. Mat sighed, reassured that his secret was safe for now.
So, he was back to square one: what to do now. That’s when the most peculiar sensation came to him. It was like ants crawling inside his brain. He shook it off with, for lack of a better word, flicker of his mind. Then, a voice was whispering in his ears: “You were quite hard to find sir. I was shocked when you called me to tell me you had killed my zombies and to “warn the agency”. That scared me. Then, the way you dispatched my other batch was quite instructive. So was your phone call. But this time, I was ready. I followed you and prepared a welcome comity. Now, you have 2 choices. Well, one really: you can either join me in my crusade against this corrupted world, or face death at the hand of 40 or so zombies. If you join me, we can use your abilities to create small swarms. I control them, like I did yesterday and you capture anyone who survives the metamorphosis. And we dispatch the rest. Soon, there will only be US. Gaia will be free of the human infestation. Pure water, blue sky and black fertile earth will be the norm. No more skyscrapers, no more swages in the rivers and oceans. Finally, the earth will be free. So my friend, what do you say?”.
During the exchange, Mat had dressed, prepared his weapons and readied his backpack. Now, that he was ready, he tried to answer her: “How about: FUCK YOU?”. “No need to scream. Well, it was nice to have this chat. Now, die well”. And there was silence. Well, almost silence. The morning air was filled with moans and groans and people starting to scream. Mat took his cell phone, dialed 911 and said in a very calm voice: “this is Matthiew Andrews. Call the Agency. We have a Z controller on the loose.” He hanged up the phone, unsheathed his sword and opened the door to hell.
-------------------------------------------------
Matthiew Andrews était assit dans son petit appartement humide de deux pièces. Il réfléchissait à tout ce qui s’était passé dans sa vie depuis les 8 derniers mois, pratiquement un an déjà. Il avait été attaqué, presque tué, forcé de suivre un entraînement barbare, s’était échappé, avait rejoint les rangs des organisations criminelles environnantes, entré sur le territoire américain illégalement malgré que ce soit sa terre d’origine, entreprit de terminé son entraînement par lui-même parce que c’était ce qu’il était devenu, tués des zombies et maintenant, il avait tué des humains. Des humains condamnés, des humains morts mais qui l’ignoraient encore, mais malgré tout, des humains. Et il n’aimait pas cela du tout. En réfléchissant sur les événements des dernières semaines, Mat n’était plus certain que l’Agence était impliqué. Peut-être qu’il s’agissait d’un autre groupe?
Que savait-il au sujet des Zed’s? Pas grand-chose en fait. Le cerveau devait être détruit sinon ils continuaient à attaquer. La décapitation n’était pas suffisante vu que la tête continuait à tenter de mordre et était donc encore dangereuse. D’où venait le virus? De puis combien de temps faisait-il des ravages? Quelle était sa nature à ce damné virus? Pourquoi les infectés cherchaient-ils à manger la chaire humaine mais ignoraient les animaux? Un chien, enfermé dans la même pièce qu’un zombie était en parfaite sécurité. La pauvre bête était paniqué et si laissé trop longtemps, virait complètement folle, mais elle était en sécurité. Mais…pourquoi? Et pourquoi est-ce que Mat s’était entraîné si fort? Est-ce qu’un genre de sixième sens qu’il possédait mais dont il ignorait tout du fonctionnement l’avait « avertis » qu’une situation se préparait? Un « Spyder sense »? Et qu’étais les Chasseurs de sombre sang?
Est-ce qu’il était un super héro protégeant les plus faibles? Une mutation du virus? La prochaine étape dans l’évolution des Zombies? L’idée lui donnait des frissons d’horreur. Il força son esprit sur une autre voie. Quel était son prochain plan d’action? Il était un chasseur de zombies mais n’aimait pas cette conclusion non plus. Ni la direction où ça le menait. D’un autre coté, il s’était entraîné pour pouvoir protéger la population des monstres qui rampaient dans la nuit. Et comme il l’avait découvert hier soir, il était devenu, sans s’en rendre compte, extrêmement talentueux pour éliminer des zombies.
Les yeux dans le vide, Mat revisita la soirée précédente, essayant de voir s’il n’aurait pas pu faire quelque chose pour éviter la situation qui se développait rapidement, au sus de tous. Il se revit prendre son scope, regarder au travers et voir la foule paniquée courir pour tenter d’échapper aux Zed’s qui avançaient, leurs tirent dessus sans résultats. Il revit les bouches avides et béantes, les bras qui se tendaient vers leurs proies, la chaire décomposée, il vit la MORT avancer dans la nuit. Sans pitié, sans remords, avançant mécaniquement, dévorant la chaire et les os. Maintenant qu’il était calme, il vit des détailles qu’il avait volontairement ignoré pour se concentrer sur sa mission. Il revit un des monstres, sa langue noire et gonflée sortant de sa bouche comme un long serpent mort, ses mâchoires mordant sa propre chaire anticipant celle de ses proies, les dents finissant par couper l’appendice inutile, ce dernier tombant sur le sol et étant piétiné par ses congénères insensibles. Un autre, son torse criblé de 6 trous de balles, un liquide brun s’écoulant lentement des blessures. Ses yeux bruns fixaient le vide mais son instinct le guidait vers sa proie qui tirait encore de son pistolet malgré le fait que ce dernier n’avait plus de munitions. Tant de versions grotesques du corps humain que l’humour noir qui l’aidait à passer pardessus n’était plus si comique.
Le réveil matin de Mat sonna et, sans même le regarder, il l’éteignit. Puis, il se leva et mit la radio en marche. Sur les ondes, un reporter presque hystérique décrivait la panique de la nuit précédente, les 27 corps tous tués d’une balle à la tête, certains à bout portants. 5 de ces cadavres avaient été reportés à la police comme disparut plus d’un mois plus tôt, 7 depuis 2 semaines et le reste étaient morts la nuit même. Plusieurs personnes avaient été blessées durant la nuit. Les médiats l’avait déjà baptisé : La nuit des morts vivants. G.R Romero avait été questionné mais s’était abstenu de tout commentaires. D’autres réalisateurs de films ne s’étaient pas gênés. D’hystérie de masse à « les zombies n’existent pas », tous avaient faits des commentaires dans ce genre. Son préféré demeurait : « Ils ont écoutés trop de films d’horreur! ». Une chose était claire toutefois : personne ne prenait la situation au sérieux sauf pour traiter les blessés. L’Agence n’était pas sur place et seule les forces de police locale était présentes. Le reporter dit quelque chose qui surprit Mat : un témoins de la scène avait filmé le tout sur son cellulaire. Il avait même filmé le tireur fou qui avait tué la majorité des blessés. Il était nu et son visage était tellement défiguré par la rage et la haine qu’il en était méconnaissable. Toutefois, la police avait bon espoir de le retrouver. Mat soupira de soulagement, son secret était encore en sécurité pour l’instant.
Il était donc de retour à la case dépars : quoi faire à présent? C’est à ce moment que la plus étrange des sensations se fit ressentir. Il avait la sensation que des insectes marchaient dans son cerveau. Il s’en « débarrassa » d’un haussement mental, faute de meilleure expression. Puis une voix murmura à son oreille : « Vous monsieur, avez été très difficile à trouver. J’ai été très surprise lorsque vous m’avez laissé ce message me disant que vous aviez tuer mes zombies et d’appeler « l’Agence ». Ça m’a effrayé. Puis, il y a eu la façon dont vous vous êtes débarrassé de l’autre groupe, ce fut fort…instructif. Tout comme votre second appel. Toutefois, j’étais prête et je vous aie suivit. Je vous aie aussi préparé un comité de bienvenus. Maintenant, vous avez deux choix. Un vraiment, si on est honnête. Vous pouvez vous joindre à moi dans ma croisade contre ce monde corompu, ou vous faire éliminer par mes 40 zombies qui vous attendent patiemment. Si vous vous joignez à moi, j’utiliserai vos habiletés pour créer une petite nuée de zombies. Je les contrôlerai comme je les aie contrôlés hier et vous capturerez ceux qui survivront à la métamorphose. Puis, on détruit le reste. Bientôt, il n’y aura plus que nous. Gaia se libéré de cette infestation, cette pollution, cette tare qu’est l’humanité. De l’eau pure, un ciel bleu et une terre noire et fertile seront bientôt la norme. Plus de gratte-ciels, plus d’égouts qui s’écoulent dans les rivières et les océans. Finalement, la terre sera libre. Qu’en dites vous mon ami?
Durant le monologue, Matthiew s’était habillé, avait préparé ses armes et son sac à dos. Maintenant qu’il était prêt, il essaya de lui répondre : « Que dirais-tu de : VA TE FAIRE FOUTRE! » « Pas besoins de hurler vous savez. Hé bien, ce fut un plaisir de discuter avec vous. J’espère que vous mourrez bien. » Puis, ce fut le silence. Enfin, presque le silence. Le calme du matin fut rapidement envahi par les gémissements et les grognements caractéristiques des zombies suivits par les cris d’horreurs et de panique des habitants de l’appartement. Mat pris son téléphone cellulaire, composa le 911 et dit d’une voix calme : « Ici Matthiew Andrews, avertissez l’Agence que nous avons un contrôleur de Zed au large. ». Il raccrocha le téléphone, sortit son épée de son étui et ouvrit la porte de l’enfer.
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