yup. you had guessed so. Well, new job, (which I hope I will like and be good at) new schedule and so forth and so on. I hope to be able to finish wrighting chapter 25 soon. take care folks.
Guy Matte
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Chapter 24: Wanderer
Mat was in trouble and he knew it. While he felt quite comfortable on his tree branch, the share amount of Z’s surrounding him was astonishing. When he had first started to shoot, the lion pride had runoff somewhere. Since then, he was alone surrounded by the groaning and moaning monsters who were trying to reach him.
In the tree, Mat was using the butt of his riffle to crack heads open and thus kill Z’s. It was an efficient and ammo saving way of doing thing. It was only tiring. On the comlink, he heard about the chopper getting shot at and that’s when he knew he was in trouble. Not only him but his team too. Mat took his weapon bag out and started to put his riffle, guns and other “tool of the trade” away as fast as he could. Being a captain, he knew what was likely to come: an air strike using either: a small nuclear war head bomb using the Nikawa-Okmankov technology which allowed for a limited radius of action but for a more powerful explosion. It also prevented high degree of radioactive contamination. That was protocol Alpha. It was unlikely though since, there was about between 700 and 1200 Z’s only. Protocol Beta and Charlie were around the same degree of destruction but used chemicals that destroyed human tissues and bone structure. No, the most probable was Delta.
Delta was a high particle beam explosion, not unlike a microwave oven. It accelerated particles in such a way that it could be directed on an area and it would generate a pressure equivalent to 10 times earth pressure in 0.04 second for 1 second. It was enough to crush almost anything man made that had not been built to withstand this kind of pressure. And with pressure comes heat. A wave off heat would roll off burning and incinerating almost everything on its way for almost 1.5 km. which meant him too. Mat figured he had about 10 minutes before they called the Protocol. So, he transformed himself and started running. Mat was almost out of the area of effect of the bomb when it hit. The explosion sent hum tumbling and severely hit his head on a rock.
It opened its eyes and looked around. There was no light. No direct light at least. The moon was up and some stars were showing. That was plenty for it to see his way around. It got on shaky legs and sat back on the ground, feeling nauseous. It saw the bag and remembered that it was Important. Why? It did not know but he had to keep it. It was hungry and thirsty. Maybe it could find something to eat? It struggled upward again and then, decided to use all four limbs and life was better.
It moved around in the cold searching for something to eat or drink when it smelled food. It came from around the grass dune and he heard a strange sound. Something that made his hair stands on his body. Then, the smell hit him: dark, pungent, repulsive. It growled and moved faster, there was no way it would let the Enemy alive. It ran to the source of the disgusting smell and attacked without delay, severing its head and crushing it against the ground. Then, looking around, he noticed several enemy around … humans!
It screamed a challenge and attacked the Enemy, killing all of them in almost no time. But it was too late. The Humans were dead. It was sad. It tried to nudge one of them awake but they were dead and it knew what it had to do. After crushing their heads, it prepared to move along when a small cry stopped it. Something was still alive here. The smell was almost to feeble for it to catch but there, on the nights wind it was. A human. A LIVE human. It made a strange sound between a purr and a bark and ran to the human. There it stopped short in his track. A strange contraption of tissue was in its way and the human was inside it. It made itself known but no one came out. Finally, impatient to receive its pat on the head for a job nicely done, it pocked its head inside. There was no one. Puzzled, it gave a great sniff and there it was; the human smell.
Looking around, it finally found the source of the smell: a tiny human was lying on its back sleeping soundly. It rocked its world. Human could be small? It carefully took the human it it’s paws and brought it to its eyes. The human was so small that it fitted in one of its great paws. The human awoke and started crying. It almost dropped it from fright but kept it in its paws wondering what to do whit it. It did not smell bad, and did not look hurt. Maybe it was hungry too? Searching for food, it found many things that could partially feed him but its instincts told it that it would not be good for the mini human. Then, it stumbled on a collection of bottles. One of them had a weird cap. The same instinct told it that it had found FOOD for the human. It brought the bottle to its mouth and the human feed hungrily. Then went back to sleep.
It was puzzled. What to do now? The sun would be up soon and it did not believe the human protected enough to withstand the heat. What to do?
In the tree, Mat was using the butt of his riffle to crack heads open and thus kill Z’s. It was an efficient and ammo saving way of doing thing. It was only tiring. On the comlink, he heard about the chopper getting shot at and that’s when he knew he was in trouble. Not only him but his team too. Mat took his weapon bag out and started to put his riffle, guns and other “tool of the trade” away as fast as he could. Being a captain, he knew what was likely to come: an air strike using either: a small nuclear war head bomb using the Nikawa-Okmankov technology which allowed for a limited radius of action but for a more powerful explosion. It also prevented high degree of radioactive contamination. That was protocol Alpha. It was unlikely though since, there was about between 700 and 1200 Z’s only. Protocol Beta and Charlie were around the same degree of destruction but used chemicals that destroyed human tissues and bone structure. No, the most probable was Delta.
Delta was a high particle beam explosion, not unlike a microwave oven. It accelerated particles in such a way that it could be directed on an area and it would generate a pressure equivalent to 10 times earth pressure in 0.04 second for 1 second. It was enough to crush almost anything man made that had not been built to withstand this kind of pressure. And with pressure comes heat. A wave off heat would roll off burning and incinerating almost everything on its way for almost 1.5 km. which meant him too. Mat figured he had about 10 minutes before they called the Protocol. So, he transformed himself and started running. Mat was almost out of the area of effect of the bomb when it hit. The explosion sent hum tumbling and severely hit his head on a rock.
It opened its eyes and looked around. There was no light. No direct light at least. The moon was up and some stars were showing. That was plenty for it to see his way around. It got on shaky legs and sat back on the ground, feeling nauseous. It saw the bag and remembered that it was Important. Why? It did not know but he had to keep it. It was hungry and thirsty. Maybe it could find something to eat? It struggled upward again and then, decided to use all four limbs and life was better.
It moved around in the cold searching for something to eat or drink when it smelled food. It came from around the grass dune and he heard a strange sound. Something that made his hair stands on his body. Then, the smell hit him: dark, pungent, repulsive. It growled and moved faster, there was no way it would let the Enemy alive. It ran to the source of the disgusting smell and attacked without delay, severing its head and crushing it against the ground. Then, looking around, he noticed several enemy around … humans!
It screamed a challenge and attacked the Enemy, killing all of them in almost no time. But it was too late. The Humans were dead. It was sad. It tried to nudge one of them awake but they were dead and it knew what it had to do. After crushing their heads, it prepared to move along when a small cry stopped it. Something was still alive here. The smell was almost to feeble for it to catch but there, on the nights wind it was. A human. A LIVE human. It made a strange sound between a purr and a bark and ran to the human. There it stopped short in his track. A strange contraption of tissue was in its way and the human was inside it. It made itself known but no one came out. Finally, impatient to receive its pat on the head for a job nicely done, it pocked its head inside. There was no one. Puzzled, it gave a great sniff and there it was; the human smell.
Looking around, it finally found the source of the smell: a tiny human was lying on its back sleeping soundly. It rocked its world. Human could be small? It carefully took the human it it’s paws and brought it to its eyes. The human was so small that it fitted in one of its great paws. The human awoke and started crying. It almost dropped it from fright but kept it in its paws wondering what to do whit it. It did not smell bad, and did not look hurt. Maybe it was hungry too? Searching for food, it found many things that could partially feed him but its instincts told it that it would not be good for the mini human. Then, it stumbled on a collection of bottles. One of them had a weird cap. The same instinct told it that it had found FOOD for the human. It brought the bottle to its mouth and the human feed hungrily. Then went back to sleep.
It was puzzled. What to do now? The sun would be up soon and it did not believe the human protected enough to withstand the heat. What to do?
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Chapter 23 - Africa part 2
2 choppers were moving toward the 10th rendezvous point when their proximity alert rang: they were targeted by SAM’s missiles. Using every trick in their arsenal, they avoided the hit and signaled the base that hostiles were using SAM against them meaning that they could not go directly to the 10th help.
Mat, being encircled by Z’s took his time to make a fast inventory of what he had on him: his riffle with enough ammo to shoot around 30 of the monsters, his desert eagles with roughly the same amount of bullets, his sword and his two batons. Ok, so he could kill around 60 Z’s before having to turn to close combat. Not a good perspective. And since he had gotten back to the Agency, he had learned a lot more on his condition: each time he changed, he put such a strain on his body that it took 1 week of healing for each 10 minutes of being a Dark Blood Hunter. Well, Mat thought, the worst that can happen is that I die. Big deal. Let’s kill Z’s!
Back at camp, Parkson spread the news about the choppers. They would have to go for a survival position while help was on its way. Mat called on the com link to tell them of his sweet position and everyone groaned. More trouble there than was needed. And their beloved leader was out of the game. RedTail, Smith and Brown were put inside the Humvee despite their protest. Thompson had to pull rank on them to make them obey.
Thompson Took the sniper position while Parkson and Lee raised the special side plate designed for this type of situation: survival. They were 7 feet high once deployed and created an impenetrable fortress from where they could shoot while their friends inside were safe.
Safe but far from impotent. They had access to the weapon of the humvee itself: 2 turret guns in front and one in the back. The problem with these guns was that they were way too powerful to deal with Z’s. It shredded them and pulverized them, but rarely did it kill any. A cleaning crew was needed after their use and it took time and money to make certain that the area was safe. But in survival mode, everything was allowed.
Once the walls were in place, Parkson gave the signal to anchor the Humvee. 6 titanium/steel spikes were driven in the soil. Once they had reached a depth of 5 feet, they opened to form X and spun half a turn making the Humvee impervious to anything trying to tilt it short of an heavier truck or a missile. Thanks to the Humvee high and the addition of the plates on top, the Z’s could not reach them. But they could kill them easily. Thompson, using his great claymore was splitting skulls with an almost maniacal glee. Parkson, using a shoaling spade did the same while Lee used a weird contraption of he design that upon touching the top of a head triggered a piston activated spike that went inside the head, shot a 50 000 volt charge and fried the Z where it stood. It had to be powered by the powerful batteries of the Humvee but it did its work.
Inside, the 3 humans opened fire and started shredding zombies. They took great care to only shoot in small burst so they could try to control the damage and devastation on the other side. Having a bullet ricochet on some stone and coming back at them was not a good idea. Soon though, they had finished their ammo supply and stood there, in shadow, listening to the groans of the Z’s outside and their friends calling each other and doing their very best to keep them inside alive. Then, the trap on the top of the Humvee opened and their friends rushed inside, closed it, and Lee ran to the command center to activate the Delta protocol.
Delta protocol called for a vehicle to be air tight, pressurized and radiation safe. It meant a lot of fire power was going to be released on their location in a very short time. It took around 5 minutes to achieve Delta protocol. First, the plates were lowered automatically and placed on the four side of the Humvee, in this case. Then, the wheels were retracted inside the truck and they were lowered on ground level. The spikes went to 10 feet deep and every electrical system was shot down. All the while, the people inside put on special suites: they were a mix between bio hazard suites, armor and firefighter outfit. It had to be done in 4 minutes or less because once Delta was called, it fell exactly five minutes after being called.
The X team was ready in the allowed time and exactly 1 minute later, the world exploded. The pressure was so great that the top of the Humvee caved in, the windows cracked and only afterward did the heat struck. The automated defense mechanism activated and a cool foam filled the Humvee preventing its occupants’ from being boiled in their own juice. A good 15 minutes later, when things had cooled outside, Lee asked a disturbing question: What about Mat?
Mat, being encircled by Z’s took his time to make a fast inventory of what he had on him: his riffle with enough ammo to shoot around 30 of the monsters, his desert eagles with roughly the same amount of bullets, his sword and his two batons. Ok, so he could kill around 60 Z’s before having to turn to close combat. Not a good perspective. And since he had gotten back to the Agency, he had learned a lot more on his condition: each time he changed, he put such a strain on his body that it took 1 week of healing for each 10 minutes of being a Dark Blood Hunter. Well, Mat thought, the worst that can happen is that I die. Big deal. Let’s kill Z’s!
Back at camp, Parkson spread the news about the choppers. They would have to go for a survival position while help was on its way. Mat called on the com link to tell them of his sweet position and everyone groaned. More trouble there than was needed. And their beloved leader was out of the game. RedTail, Smith and Brown were put inside the Humvee despite their protest. Thompson had to pull rank on them to make them obey.
Thompson Took the sniper position while Parkson and Lee raised the special side plate designed for this type of situation: survival. They were 7 feet high once deployed and created an impenetrable fortress from where they could shoot while their friends inside were safe.
Safe but far from impotent. They had access to the weapon of the humvee itself: 2 turret guns in front and one in the back. The problem with these guns was that they were way too powerful to deal with Z’s. It shredded them and pulverized them, but rarely did it kill any. A cleaning crew was needed after their use and it took time and money to make certain that the area was safe. But in survival mode, everything was allowed.
Once the walls were in place, Parkson gave the signal to anchor the Humvee. 6 titanium/steel spikes were driven in the soil. Once they had reached a depth of 5 feet, they opened to form X and spun half a turn making the Humvee impervious to anything trying to tilt it short of an heavier truck or a missile. Thanks to the Humvee high and the addition of the plates on top, the Z’s could not reach them. But they could kill them easily. Thompson, using his great claymore was splitting skulls with an almost maniacal glee. Parkson, using a shoaling spade did the same while Lee used a weird contraption of he design that upon touching the top of a head triggered a piston activated spike that went inside the head, shot a 50 000 volt charge and fried the Z where it stood. It had to be powered by the powerful batteries of the Humvee but it did its work.
Inside, the 3 humans opened fire and started shredding zombies. They took great care to only shoot in small burst so they could try to control the damage and devastation on the other side. Having a bullet ricochet on some stone and coming back at them was not a good idea. Soon though, they had finished their ammo supply and stood there, in shadow, listening to the groans of the Z’s outside and their friends calling each other and doing their very best to keep them inside alive. Then, the trap on the top of the Humvee opened and their friends rushed inside, closed it, and Lee ran to the command center to activate the Delta protocol.
Delta protocol called for a vehicle to be air tight, pressurized and radiation safe. It meant a lot of fire power was going to be released on their location in a very short time. It took around 5 minutes to achieve Delta protocol. First, the plates were lowered automatically and placed on the four side of the Humvee, in this case. Then, the wheels were retracted inside the truck and they were lowered on ground level. The spikes went to 10 feet deep and every electrical system was shot down. All the while, the people inside put on special suites: they were a mix between bio hazard suites, armor and firefighter outfit. It had to be done in 4 minutes or less because once Delta was called, it fell exactly five minutes after being called.
The X team was ready in the allowed time and exactly 1 minute later, the world exploded. The pressure was so great that the top of the Humvee caved in, the windows cracked and only afterward did the heat struck. The automated defense mechanism activated and a cool foam filled the Humvee preventing its occupants’ from being boiled in their own juice. A good 15 minutes later, when things had cooled outside, Lee asked a disturbing question: What about Mat?
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Changement à la formule
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
Désolé pour ceux qui ne lises qu'en français.
Guy Matte
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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Chapter 17 : New moon/Nouvelle lune
Matthiew Andrews was slouched on his side, his scope in his hand and looking around. His vantage point was excellent. He was on the roof of a 2 story high house and he was looking down on the memorial park. No movements, no moon, no detection risk. That made him quite happy. Well, there were movements but not the kind associated with zombies. There was a “party” going on and a bunch of teenagers were drinking and wasting their time. Nothing that concerned him.
Mat was relaxing more and more. After nearly 2 weeks, not a single incidents. He had watched the river from afar and nothing. There had been a report in the news paper of 4 dead bodies found by locals taking a walk, but they had been burned on the spot. And since Mat took every precaution he could think to avoid detection, like staying in the right direction of the wind and other things like that, he felt quite safe.
There had not been a single Z occurrence anywhere he had looked: The river side, the various parks, the country side and more places that he could think of. Now, he was looking at places unlikely to have a zombie infestation. Places were lot of people walked in, by or around. And other less...trendy places. His next stop for tomorrow night was the neighbourhood near the dump, a place where only the destitute lived. It would not be a pleasant ride. He would have to find a way to hide himself and his weapons while still keeping an eye on things. Maybe he could... something caught his eye. There, something that moved like a Z. Nop... only a drunk teen. Sighing with relieve, Mat went back to his small apartment and started planning the next trip. He had only 2 or at best 3 hours before dawn after his night shift to do his survey of the land and make certain that nothing threaten the people. He knew that the agency was better equipped than him to do this job, but he knew the place pretty well by now. So...why did he put himself at risk every night? It brought some disturbing answers that he preferred not to think about for now.
The day went by slowly. He did his training and eat some ambrosia but it was about it. His night shift seamed even longer! But eventually, he was walking toward the dump. When he got near his chosen point, he hid himself in an alley and undressed. He placed his cloth in a back pack and transformed. Once transformed, he jumped and escalated the walls around him until he was on the roof. There, he moved to his position and changed back. He took his cloth back and opened the enormous Mexican guitar case he carried. Inside was a guitar. He removed her from the case and under it, placed in foam was his riffle, his scope, his 5 clips and 1 box of ammo. The guitar’s bottom had been cut and the neck hollowed to allow for the hiding of his weapons. That way, in the worst case scenario of a law enforcement agent asking to look, he had a guitar in his case.
Mat started take his scope out to look around when he heard screams and some gun shots. Moving vast, he looked through the device and saw a small crowd running away and screaming. Hot in pursuit were at least 15 zombies. Swearing, Mat took his riffle and added the scope on it. He had to move vast or there would be a true swarm in not too long.
Taking aim, Mat started taking the zombies down one by one all the while trying to mark who had been bitten so he could find them later and clean them up. It sickened him, but they were already dead and a menace to society. He killed all of the zombies in less than 1 minute. Without taking time to take his weapon apart, he removed his clots and transformed. Then, he jumped down and ran toward the crowd of frantic people. Near them, he transformed back, took a mask from his bag and running, started shooting the bitten people as fast as he could before anyone could really understand what had happened. He was out of the crowd before the first screams were heard.
Hiding in the shadow, Mat accessed the situation:
1- There was a small band of zombies’ right in the middle of the town.
2- The agency had not done anything about it.
3- People were hurt and would die in less than 24 hours and transform in zombies themselves.
4- The risk of a “situation” grew heavily every hours that passed by.
Mat ran back to his building, climbed it and put his weapons and cloth away. Then, he transformed again and used his speed and agility to get to a park, transform back and go home. He had to do something, but what?
Mat went out at day light and back to the mall. Then, he changed his mind and went to a library and called Michelle again: “It’s me again. 15 zombies near the dump, many wounded. High risk of the contagion spreading. DO something!!!!!”.
Mat was not felling so light anymore. Something was wrong...deadly wrong.
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Chapitre 17
Matthiew Andrews était couché sur le côté, son scope à la main et observait les alentours. Son point de vue était parfait. Il était sur le toit d’une maison à 2 étages et il regardait le parc du souvenir plus bas. Un ciel sans lune, aucuns mouvements repérables, aucun risque de détection. La situation lui plaisait. En fait, il y avait du mouvement dans le parc, mais rien typiquement « zombiesesque ». Il y avait une « fête » et plusieurs adolescents buvaient et perdaient leurs temps. Rien qui ne le concernait.
Mat se détendais de plus en plus. Après pratiquement 2 semaines sans le moindre incident, il se sentait bien. Il avait gardé un oeuil sur la rivière de loin mais rien n’avait élevé ses soupçons. Il y avait eu un article dans le journal sur les 4 corps retrouvés par des habitants du coin qui prenaient une marche, mais les corps avaient été brûlés par les autorités pour des raisons d’hygiène. Mat avait prit toutes les précautions pour éviter d’être repéré, comme de se placer dans le sens du vent et par conséquent, se sentait très en sécurité.
Il n’y avait pas eu la moindre trace de Zed peu importe où il avait fait ses recherches : la rivière, les multiples parcs, la banlieue et plusieurs autres places où il avait cherché des zombies. À présent, il observait des endroits plus inusités ou moins à risque : des endroits où il y avait beaucoup de gens, ou encore qui avaient un haut débit de fréquentation. Et d’autres places moins…tendances. Son prochain arrêt prévu pour demain soir était un quartier défavorisé près du dépotoir municipal. Ce ne serait pas un arrêt de tout repos. Il devrait trouver une place pour se cacher et où ses armes passeraient inaperçu tout en offrant un bon point de vue. Peut-être qu’il pourrait…quelque chose attira son regard. Là, une créature qui bougeait comme un Zed. Ha, non… juste un ado saoul. Soupirant de soulagement, Mat retourna à son petit appartement et commença les préparations pour le prochain voyage. Il n’avait que 2 ou au mieux 3 heures avant l’aube, suivant la fin de son quart de travail, pour faire le tour de la zone à surveiller et être certain que rien ne menaçait la population. Il savait que l’Agence était mieux équipée que lui pour ce genre de boulots, mais il connaissait mieux la ville qu’eux. Mais…pourquoi se plaçait-il en situation dangereuses à tous les soirs? La question apportait avec elle des réponses vraiment trop troublantes qu’il préférait éviter pour l’instant.
La journée passa lentement. Il alla à ses cours, mangea de l’ambroisie mais ce fut tout. Son quart de travail sembla encore plus long! Mais éventuellement, il prit la direction du dépotoir. Lorsqu’il arriva à destination, il se cacha dans une petite ruelle et enleva ses vêtements. Il les plaça dans un sac à dos et se métamorphosa. Une fois transformé, il sauta et escalada le long des murs pour se rendre sur le toit. Une fois rendu, il prit sa position et retourna à la normale. Il sortit ses vêtements et ouvrit un énorme étui à guitare espagnole. À l’intérieur se trouvait une guitare. Il la sortit de l’étui et sous la guitare, dans de la styromousse se trouvait sa carabine, son scope, ses 5 chargeurs et une boite de munitions. Le fond de la guitare avait été coupé et le manche vidé pour permettre de cacher toutes ses armes. De cette manière, dans le pire des cas où un agent de la paix demanderait à explorer l’étui, une guitare s’y trouvait véritablement.
Mat prit son scope et commença à regarder autour de lui lorsqu’il entendit des hurlements et quelques coups de feu. Il se dépêcha à regarder au travers de l’appareil et vit une petite foule courant et hurlant, se dirigeant dans une direction en panique. Les poursuivants de près se trouvaient au moins 15 zombies. Jurant, Mat prit sa carabine et installa le scope à sa place. Il devait faire vit car il y aurait bientôt une véritable nuée de monstres!
Visant la première cible, Mat commença à descendre les zombies un par un tout en gardant un œil sur ceux qui avaient été mordus pour qu’il puisse les retrouver plus tard et les « nettoyer ». L’idée de le faire le répugnait, mais ils étaient déjà morts et une menace pour la société. Mat tua tous les zombies en moins d’une minute. Sans prendre le temps de ranger son arme, il enleva ses vêtements et se transforma. Puis, il sauta de l’immeuble et courra vers la foule en panique. Près d’eux, il se retransforma en forme humaine, sortit un masque de son sac et courant, commença à tirer les gens mordus aussi vite qu’il pouvait, espérant avoir terminé avant que quiconque puis comprendre ce qui s’était passé. Il était sorti de la foule avant que les premiers cris se fassent entendre.
Se cachant dans l’ombre, Mat fit le point de la situation :
1- Il y avait un petit group de zombies en plein milieu de la ville.
2- L’agence n’avait rien fait à leur sujet.
3- Des gens avaient été blessés et serait décédé dans moins de 24 heures et se transformeraient en zombies.
4- Le risque d’une « situation » grandissait exponentiellement à chaque heur qui passait.
Mat courut jusqu’à son building, l’escalada et rangea ses armes et vêtements. Puis, il se transforma à nouveau et utilisant sa vitesse et son agilité supérieur pour se rendre à un parc, reprit forme humaine et rentra à la maison. Il devait faire quelque chose, mais quoi?
Mat sortit lorsque le soleil fut haut dans le ciel et retourna au centre commercial. Puis, changeant d’idée, il se rendit à une librairie et appela Michelle à nouveau : « C’est encore moi. 15 zombies près du dépotoir, plusieurs blessés. Haut risque que la contamination se propage. FAITES QUELQUE CHOSE!!!! ».
Mat ne se sentait plus détendu du tout à présent. Quelque chose n’allait pas…n’allait vraiment pas.
Mat was relaxing more and more. After nearly 2 weeks, not a single incidents. He had watched the river from afar and nothing. There had been a report in the news paper of 4 dead bodies found by locals taking a walk, but they had been burned on the spot. And since Mat took every precaution he could think to avoid detection, like staying in the right direction of the wind and other things like that, he felt quite safe.
There had not been a single Z occurrence anywhere he had looked: The river side, the various parks, the country side and more places that he could think of. Now, he was looking at places unlikely to have a zombie infestation. Places were lot of people walked in, by or around. And other less...trendy places. His next stop for tomorrow night was the neighbourhood near the dump, a place where only the destitute lived. It would not be a pleasant ride. He would have to find a way to hide himself and his weapons while still keeping an eye on things. Maybe he could... something caught his eye. There, something that moved like a Z. Nop... only a drunk teen. Sighing with relieve, Mat went back to his small apartment and started planning the next trip. He had only 2 or at best 3 hours before dawn after his night shift to do his survey of the land and make certain that nothing threaten the people. He knew that the agency was better equipped than him to do this job, but he knew the place pretty well by now. So...why did he put himself at risk every night? It brought some disturbing answers that he preferred not to think about for now.
The day went by slowly. He did his training and eat some ambrosia but it was about it. His night shift seamed even longer! But eventually, he was walking toward the dump. When he got near his chosen point, he hid himself in an alley and undressed. He placed his cloth in a back pack and transformed. Once transformed, he jumped and escalated the walls around him until he was on the roof. There, he moved to his position and changed back. He took his cloth back and opened the enormous Mexican guitar case he carried. Inside was a guitar. He removed her from the case and under it, placed in foam was his riffle, his scope, his 5 clips and 1 box of ammo. The guitar’s bottom had been cut and the neck hollowed to allow for the hiding of his weapons. That way, in the worst case scenario of a law enforcement agent asking to look, he had a guitar in his case.
Mat started take his scope out to look around when he heard screams and some gun shots. Moving vast, he looked through the device and saw a small crowd running away and screaming. Hot in pursuit were at least 15 zombies. Swearing, Mat took his riffle and added the scope on it. He had to move vast or there would be a true swarm in not too long.
Taking aim, Mat started taking the zombies down one by one all the while trying to mark who had been bitten so he could find them later and clean them up. It sickened him, but they were already dead and a menace to society. He killed all of the zombies in less than 1 minute. Without taking time to take his weapon apart, he removed his clots and transformed. Then, he jumped down and ran toward the crowd of frantic people. Near them, he transformed back, took a mask from his bag and running, started shooting the bitten people as fast as he could before anyone could really understand what had happened. He was out of the crowd before the first screams were heard.
Hiding in the shadow, Mat accessed the situation:
1- There was a small band of zombies’ right in the middle of the town.
2- The agency had not done anything about it.
3- People were hurt and would die in less than 24 hours and transform in zombies themselves.
4- The risk of a “situation” grew heavily every hours that passed by.
Mat ran back to his building, climbed it and put his weapons and cloth away. Then, he transformed again and used his speed and agility to get to a park, transform back and go home. He had to do something, but what?
Mat went out at day light and back to the mall. Then, he changed his mind and went to a library and called Michelle again: “It’s me again. 15 zombies near the dump, many wounded. High risk of the contagion spreading. DO something!!!!!”.
Mat was not felling so light anymore. Something was wrong...deadly wrong.
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Chapitre 17
Matthiew Andrews était couché sur le côté, son scope à la main et observait les alentours. Son point de vue était parfait. Il était sur le toit d’une maison à 2 étages et il regardait le parc du souvenir plus bas. Un ciel sans lune, aucuns mouvements repérables, aucun risque de détection. La situation lui plaisait. En fait, il y avait du mouvement dans le parc, mais rien typiquement « zombiesesque ». Il y avait une « fête » et plusieurs adolescents buvaient et perdaient leurs temps. Rien qui ne le concernait.
Mat se détendais de plus en plus. Après pratiquement 2 semaines sans le moindre incident, il se sentait bien. Il avait gardé un oeuil sur la rivière de loin mais rien n’avait élevé ses soupçons. Il y avait eu un article dans le journal sur les 4 corps retrouvés par des habitants du coin qui prenaient une marche, mais les corps avaient été brûlés par les autorités pour des raisons d’hygiène. Mat avait prit toutes les précautions pour éviter d’être repéré, comme de se placer dans le sens du vent et par conséquent, se sentait très en sécurité.
Il n’y avait pas eu la moindre trace de Zed peu importe où il avait fait ses recherches : la rivière, les multiples parcs, la banlieue et plusieurs autres places où il avait cherché des zombies. À présent, il observait des endroits plus inusités ou moins à risque : des endroits où il y avait beaucoup de gens, ou encore qui avaient un haut débit de fréquentation. Et d’autres places moins…tendances. Son prochain arrêt prévu pour demain soir était un quartier défavorisé près du dépotoir municipal. Ce ne serait pas un arrêt de tout repos. Il devrait trouver une place pour se cacher et où ses armes passeraient inaperçu tout en offrant un bon point de vue. Peut-être qu’il pourrait…quelque chose attira son regard. Là, une créature qui bougeait comme un Zed. Ha, non… juste un ado saoul. Soupirant de soulagement, Mat retourna à son petit appartement et commença les préparations pour le prochain voyage. Il n’avait que 2 ou au mieux 3 heures avant l’aube, suivant la fin de son quart de travail, pour faire le tour de la zone à surveiller et être certain que rien ne menaçait la population. Il savait que l’Agence était mieux équipée que lui pour ce genre de boulots, mais il connaissait mieux la ville qu’eux. Mais…pourquoi se plaçait-il en situation dangereuses à tous les soirs? La question apportait avec elle des réponses vraiment trop troublantes qu’il préférait éviter pour l’instant.
La journée passa lentement. Il alla à ses cours, mangea de l’ambroisie mais ce fut tout. Son quart de travail sembla encore plus long! Mais éventuellement, il prit la direction du dépotoir. Lorsqu’il arriva à destination, il se cacha dans une petite ruelle et enleva ses vêtements. Il les plaça dans un sac à dos et se métamorphosa. Une fois transformé, il sauta et escalada le long des murs pour se rendre sur le toit. Une fois rendu, il prit sa position et retourna à la normale. Il sortit ses vêtements et ouvrit un énorme étui à guitare espagnole. À l’intérieur se trouvait une guitare. Il la sortit de l’étui et sous la guitare, dans de la styromousse se trouvait sa carabine, son scope, ses 5 chargeurs et une boite de munitions. Le fond de la guitare avait été coupé et le manche vidé pour permettre de cacher toutes ses armes. De cette manière, dans le pire des cas où un agent de la paix demanderait à explorer l’étui, une guitare s’y trouvait véritablement.
Mat prit son scope et commença à regarder autour de lui lorsqu’il entendit des hurlements et quelques coups de feu. Il se dépêcha à regarder au travers de l’appareil et vit une petite foule courant et hurlant, se dirigeant dans une direction en panique. Les poursuivants de près se trouvaient au moins 15 zombies. Jurant, Mat prit sa carabine et installa le scope à sa place. Il devait faire vit car il y aurait bientôt une véritable nuée de monstres!
Visant la première cible, Mat commença à descendre les zombies un par un tout en gardant un œil sur ceux qui avaient été mordus pour qu’il puisse les retrouver plus tard et les « nettoyer ». L’idée de le faire le répugnait, mais ils étaient déjà morts et une menace pour la société. Mat tua tous les zombies en moins d’une minute. Sans prendre le temps de ranger son arme, il enleva ses vêtements et se transforma. Puis, il sauta de l’immeuble et courra vers la foule en panique. Près d’eux, il se retransforma en forme humaine, sortit un masque de son sac et courant, commença à tirer les gens mordus aussi vite qu’il pouvait, espérant avoir terminé avant que quiconque puis comprendre ce qui s’était passé. Il était sorti de la foule avant que les premiers cris se fassent entendre.
Se cachant dans l’ombre, Mat fit le point de la situation :
1- Il y avait un petit group de zombies en plein milieu de la ville.
2- L’agence n’avait rien fait à leur sujet.
3- Des gens avaient été blessés et serait décédé dans moins de 24 heures et se transformeraient en zombies.
4- Le risque d’une « situation » grandissait exponentiellement à chaque heur qui passait.
Mat courut jusqu’à son building, l’escalada et rangea ses armes et vêtements. Puis, il se transforma à nouveau et utilisant sa vitesse et son agilité supérieur pour se rendre à un parc, reprit forme humaine et rentra à la maison. Il devait faire quelque chose, mais quoi?
Mat sortit lorsque le soleil fut haut dans le ciel et retourna au centre commercial. Puis, changeant d’idée, il se rendit à une librairie et appela Michelle à nouveau : « C’est encore moi. 15 zombies près du dépotoir, plusieurs blessés. Haut risque que la contamination se propage. FAITES QUELQUE CHOSE!!!! ».
Mat ne se sentait plus détendu du tout à présent. Quelque chose n’allait pas…n’allait vraiment pas.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Chapter 16: Panic at the train station/ Panique à la station de train
Matthiew stood there paralyzed with fear. They had found him. They were here to take him back with them. Well, he would NOT go back. No way! Hu hu! Not this Zombie. He would fight, he would run he would take a deep breath and start thinking before he attracted too much attention. Much better. Now, he could not start shooting randomly in the train station and he could not transform himself. So, what were his options?
Mat moved to a bench and sat there to think. If they had sent an agent to find him, this agent would not have made the mistake of leaving his smell anywhere for him to find. So, maybe, just maybe, this agent was not after him. It might be the mind control type, not the smelling type. In that case, he was safe for now. He had better find all he could about this person so that he could avoid him or her and avoid situation where he would reveal himself. He would also change his pattern, changing route to go to work and to his training and classes. For now, he had to get to work.
During his shift, Mat tried to think of all the options available to him and contingency plans and other things useful. When he got home, he packed his things, weapons and prepared to flee his apartment. Then, he went to his training which he kept short and to the point. Afterward, he walked all the way to the train station and sat there on a bench reading a book. When a security guard came to ask questions, Mat pretended that he wanted to work in the train station as a janitor and wanted to get the feel of the place. He even gave the guy a resume so he would be credible. He waited for the sent to come back to him.
Mat had chosen his bench with care. Near the news stand and half way to the main bathroom. That way, nearly everyone passed near him so eventually; he would smell “it”. After 4 days of this strategy, the people working in the station knew him and the fact that he wanted to work there. He had made “friends” with most of them and was now treated like an honorary member of the work force. He would sometime help someone during the lull between the rushes. It was during one of these lulls that he smelled it, this cold smell. He turned his head trying to pinpoint the location and THERE! A tall blond woman wearing a gray business suit. She was gorgeous! Long blond hair, very long legs and a slim figure. Mat thought that she looked a bit Swedish. Or maybe Russian? Anyway, he had found her.
Mat tailed her. He followed her in the train and got down to her station. That’s when he raised suspicion. They were the only one getting off the train there. So he took his cell phone and while following her, started “talking” to his girl friend, pretending to be lost and searching her parent’s house. That seemed to calm her and after a while, he turned left in a street and tailed her from afar. Once he had found her house, yes a house! And an expensive one at that, he went back to the train station and back home.
That’s when he called his “friends” and asked for Intel on the girl. They did not ask questions, but mentioned a parcel to be delivered. He agreed and moved away for 4 days. He had to get a sick leave from work, but with his contacts, he had “doctor’s order” to help. When he got back from his delivery, the information was waiting on the table in his 2 room apartments.
Name: Michelle Simons
Occupation: Marketing Director for New Castle Marketing firm.
Age: 27
Phone number: 111-123-4567
Residence: 907 Helmstreet
Recently bought large quantity of pork blood and anticoagulant.
Lives alone and has no pets. Goes to work and then back home.
She likes to jog.
Never go to a restaurant nor do the grocery.
End.
Mat blinked in surprise. Had they notices something? If so, he had to at least warn her. But that would give him away. What to do? For now, he would keep a low profile. She obviously did not know he was around and maybe things could stay that way. He had taken every precaution possible to avoid detection and that was it.
Mat was walking near a river when the familiar black smell of the Z’s came to his nostril. Good lord no! By the smell, they were at least 4 of them! Mat made a quick survey of the area and swore. There was still daylight and any action he took would reveal him. Shooting them was out of the question so he had to get to them up close and personal. Mat called a taxi, gave the amazed guy a 100$ bill to get him to his apartment 4 blocks away from the river as fast as he could and wait for him. There, Mat grabbed his baton and his desert eagles just in case, checking that the silencers were on and the clips full. He ran back downstairs where the cab waited, gave another 100$ to be brought back 1 block farther away from the Z’s.
Mat took position in a crook near the bank of the river and waited, baton firmly in hands. While he waited, Mat revised his Escrima lessons and flexed his arms and legs making certain that his muscles were warms before exercising. And then, there was no more time. The first Z appeared in front of him, groaning and stretching his arms toward his prey. Mat blocked both arms using his left baton and used the right one to hit the head straight at the temple and breaking the skull in one fluid motion. He stepped away from the now dead zombie to the next one. This one did not hat arms so Mat hit him with two consecutive hits from his batons, both angled to break the skull of the undead. This one had a harder skull and only the neck broke. He kept moving on. Mat poked him in the eye with the end of the baton and forced it in the skull. The baton was to firmly in and there was no time for Mat to take it out. The third Zed was almost upon him. Mat moved under the swipe of the arms of the monster and used a Karate Kick to move him backward so he would have some breathing space. Sighing, he sheeted his remaining baton and took his desert eagle out and shot the 2 remaining monsters in the head in 2 fast almost silent shots. He pried the stuck baton from the eye socket of the second Z he had dispatched. He cleaned it completely and took another cab to the local mal. There he called Michelle and left her a message on her answering machine: “4 Z’s near the river, dispatched. Call the agency, there is a risk of more coming soon.” And he and up, convinced that everything would be fine.
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Chapitre 16: Panic at the train station/ Panique à la station de train
Matthiew figea sur place, paralysé par la peur. Ils l’avaient retrouvé! Ils étaient ici pour le ramener avec eux. Hé bien, il ne retournerait pas! Pas question ! hu hu! Pas CE Zombie. Il se battrait, il se sauverait, il allait prendre un bon respire et recommencer à réfléchir avant d’attirer l’attention sur lui. Voilà, beaucoup mieux. Bon, il était calme maintenant et visiblement, il ne pouvait pas commencer à tirer au hasard dans la station de train et il ne pouvait pas se transformer. Alors, quelles étaient ses options?
Mat se rendit à un banc et y prit place pour réfléchir. S’ils avaient envoyé en agent pour le retrouver, cet agent n’aurait pas fait l’erreur de laisser son odeur partout en espérant que Mat ne la détecte pas. Dans tout les cas, il était certain que cet agent était du genre à contrôler les zombies et non à les sentir sinon, il l’aurait déjà découvert. Alors, peut-être, juste une possibilité, il était en sécurité pour l’instant. Le mieux était pour lui de découvrir tout ce qu’il pouvait sur cette personne et ensuite tout faire pour éviter une situation où il se révélerait. Il devrait changer sa routine habituelle, son chemin pour aller travailler et pour aller à ses cours. Mais pour l’instant, il devait se rendre au travail.
Durant son quart de travail, Mat essaya de trouver toutes les options possibles et les plans de contre mesure inimaginable. Lorsqu’il rentra à la maison, il prépara son sac et ses armes au cas où il aurait à fuir son appartement. Puis, il se rendit à ses entrainements et garda ses sessions courtes. Après, il marcha jusqu’à la station de train et prit place sur un banc et commença à lire un livre. Lorsqu’un agent de sécurité vint finalement lui poser quelques questions, Mat prétendit qu’il voulait travailler à la station comme concierge et souhaitait se faire une idée de la place avant de postuler pour un poste. Il donna même son C.V au garde pour être plus crédible. Puis, il attendit de retrouver l’odeur.
Mat avait choisit son banc avec soins. Près du kiosque à journaux et à mi chemin avec les toilettes centrales. Ainsi, pratiquement tous les voyageurs passeraient près de lui; il pourrait alors sentir et suivre l’odeur. Après quatre jours d’attente, les gens qui travaillaient dans la station le connaissaient et savaient qu’il voulait travailler là. Il s’était fait « ami » avec la plus part d’entre eux et était maintenant traité comme un membre honoraire de la force de travail de la station. Il aidait parfois les gens durant les pauses entre les périodes les plus achalandées. C’est durant une de ces pauses qu’il sentit cette odeur « froide » à nouveau. Il tourna la tête, essayant d’identifier la source et LÀ! Une grande femme blonde portant un tailleur gris. Elle était superbe! Ses cheveux blonds étaient longs, ses jambes tout aussi longues et elle avait une silhouette de mannequin. Mat se fit la réflexion qu’elle avait les traits suédois ou possiblement russe. Peu importe, il l’avait retrouvé!
Mat la suivit. Il monta dans le même train qu’elle et descendit à sa station. C’est à ce moment qu’il souleva sa suspicion. Ils étaient les seuls à sortir du train à cette station. Il prit son téléphone mobile et tout en la suivant, commença une « discussion » avec sa petite amie, prétendant s’être perdu et cherchant à retrouver la maison de ses parents. Cela sembla calmer sa proie et après un moment, il prit une autre rue et la suivit de loin. Une fois qu’il eut trouvé sa maison, oui, une maison! Une bâtisse de goût qui devait coûter très cher, il reprit la direction de la station de train et rentra dans son appartement.
Il appela ses « amis » et leur demanda de lui fournir de l’information sur cette femme. Ils ne posèrent pas de questions mais mentionnèrent un paquet à livrer. Il accepta et prit congé pour 4 jours. Heureusement, ses contactes lui fournirent un papier du « médecin » pour l’aider. Lorsqu’il fut de retour de sa livraison, l’information l’attendait sur la table de la cuisine.
Nom : Michelle Simons
Âge : 27
Numéro de téléphone : 111-123-4567
Résidence : 907 rue de l’Horme
A récemment acheté une grande quantité de sang de porc et d’anticoagulant.
Vie seule et n’a pas d’animaux. Va travailler et rentre à la maison.
Elle aime faire du jogging.
Ne va jamais au restaurent et ne fait pas les courses.
Fin.
Mat cligna des yeux surpris. Avaient-ils remarqué quelque chose? Si c’était le cas, il devait l’avertir. Mais cela le révélerait Quoi faire? Pour l’instant, il garderait un profil bas. Elle ne savait visiblement pas qu’il tait dans la région et peut-être que les choses pouvaient en rester là. Il avait pris toutes les précautions pour ne pas être détecté et les choses en resteraient là.
Mat marchait le long de la rivière lorsqu’il sentit l’odeur familière et sombre d’un Zed. Mon dieu, non! À odeur, il y en avait au moins 4! Mat fit une analyse rapide des lieux et jura. Il faisait encore jours et le soleil ne se coucherait pas avant au moins 2 heurs. Peu importe sa réaction, il y avait un risque énorme de découverte. Utiliser un fusil était hors de question il devait donc y aller au corps à corps. Mat héla un taxi et donna un billet de 100$ au conducteur surpris pour qu’il l’amène à son appartement le plus rapidement possible et qu’il l’attende là. Une fois rendu, Mat attrapa ses bâtons et ses desert eagles au cas où. Il vérifia que les silencieux étaient bien placés et que les chargeurs étaient pleins. Il courut rejoindre le taxi et lui donna un autre 100$ pour qu’il le conduise 1 block plus loin que son point d’origine.
Mat prit position dans une crique près de l’eau et attendit, ses bâtons bien en mains. Pendant qu’il attendait, Mat révisa ses leçons d’Escrima et fit des exercices d’assouplissements, préparant les muscles de ses jambes et de ses bras avant l’action. Puis, il était déjà temps de passer à l’attaque. Le premier Zed apparut face à lui, gémissant et tendant ses bras pour agripper sa proie. Mat bloqua les deux bras utilisant son bâton de gauche et utilisant celui de droit pour le frapper directement à la tête, visant la tempe et brisant le crâne d’un mouvement fluide. Il fit un pas de côté pour s’éloigner du zombie mort et s’attaquer au prochain. Celui là n’avait plus de bras alors Mat le frappa de deux coups de bâtons consécutifs, les deux parfaitement alignés pour briser le crâne du mort-vivant. Ce dernier avait le crâne plus solide et seul son cou brisa. Il continua d’avancer vers Mat. Ce dernier lui enfonça le bout de son bâton droit dans l’œil jusqu’au fond du crâne. Il n’avait pas le temps de le récupérer car le troisième zombie était déjà sur lui! Mat évita la tentative de l’agripper de son ennemi et le fit reculer d’un coup de pied de Karaté pour avoir un peu d’espace pour souffler. Soupirant, il rangea son bâton rétractable restant dans son étuis et sortit ses desert eagles et tira les deux Zed’s restants. 2 coups presque silencieux directement au centre du front et tout était terminé. Il récupéra son bâton qui était resté pris dans l’orbite du monstre et le nettoya avec soins avant de le ranger. Puis, il prit un autre taxi pour se rendre au centre commercial du coin et appela Michelle. Il laissa un message sur son répondeur : « 4 Zed’s près de la rivière, éliminés. Appelle l’agence, il y a un risque qu’il y en ait plus bientôt. » Il raccrocha, convaincu que tout irait bien maintenant.
Mat moved to a bench and sat there to think. If they had sent an agent to find him, this agent would not have made the mistake of leaving his smell anywhere for him to find. So, maybe, just maybe, this agent was not after him. It might be the mind control type, not the smelling type. In that case, he was safe for now. He had better find all he could about this person so that he could avoid him or her and avoid situation where he would reveal himself. He would also change his pattern, changing route to go to work and to his training and classes. For now, he had to get to work.
During his shift, Mat tried to think of all the options available to him and contingency plans and other things useful. When he got home, he packed his things, weapons and prepared to flee his apartment. Then, he went to his training which he kept short and to the point. Afterward, he walked all the way to the train station and sat there on a bench reading a book. When a security guard came to ask questions, Mat pretended that he wanted to work in the train station as a janitor and wanted to get the feel of the place. He even gave the guy a resume so he would be credible. He waited for the sent to come back to him.
Mat had chosen his bench with care. Near the news stand and half way to the main bathroom. That way, nearly everyone passed near him so eventually; he would smell “it”. After 4 days of this strategy, the people working in the station knew him and the fact that he wanted to work there. He had made “friends” with most of them and was now treated like an honorary member of the work force. He would sometime help someone during the lull between the rushes. It was during one of these lulls that he smelled it, this cold smell. He turned his head trying to pinpoint the location and THERE! A tall blond woman wearing a gray business suit. She was gorgeous! Long blond hair, very long legs and a slim figure. Mat thought that she looked a bit Swedish. Or maybe Russian? Anyway, he had found her.
Mat tailed her. He followed her in the train and got down to her station. That’s when he raised suspicion. They were the only one getting off the train there. So he took his cell phone and while following her, started “talking” to his girl friend, pretending to be lost and searching her parent’s house. That seemed to calm her and after a while, he turned left in a street and tailed her from afar. Once he had found her house, yes a house! And an expensive one at that, he went back to the train station and back home.
That’s when he called his “friends” and asked for Intel on the girl. They did not ask questions, but mentioned a parcel to be delivered. He agreed and moved away for 4 days. He had to get a sick leave from work, but with his contacts, he had “doctor’s order” to help. When he got back from his delivery, the information was waiting on the table in his 2 room apartments.
Name: Michelle Simons
Occupation: Marketing Director for New Castle Marketing firm.
Age: 27
Phone number: 111-123-4567
Residence: 907 Helmstreet
Recently bought large quantity of pork blood and anticoagulant.
Lives alone and has no pets. Goes to work and then back home.
She likes to jog.
Never go to a restaurant nor do the grocery.
End.
Mat blinked in surprise. Had they notices something? If so, he had to at least warn her. But that would give him away. What to do? For now, he would keep a low profile. She obviously did not know he was around and maybe things could stay that way. He had taken every precaution possible to avoid detection and that was it.
Mat was walking near a river when the familiar black smell of the Z’s came to his nostril. Good lord no! By the smell, they were at least 4 of them! Mat made a quick survey of the area and swore. There was still daylight and any action he took would reveal him. Shooting them was out of the question so he had to get to them up close and personal. Mat called a taxi, gave the amazed guy a 100$ bill to get him to his apartment 4 blocks away from the river as fast as he could and wait for him. There, Mat grabbed his baton and his desert eagles just in case, checking that the silencers were on and the clips full. He ran back downstairs where the cab waited, gave another 100$ to be brought back 1 block farther away from the Z’s.
Mat took position in a crook near the bank of the river and waited, baton firmly in hands. While he waited, Mat revised his Escrima lessons and flexed his arms and legs making certain that his muscles were warms before exercising. And then, there was no more time. The first Z appeared in front of him, groaning and stretching his arms toward his prey. Mat blocked both arms using his left baton and used the right one to hit the head straight at the temple and breaking the skull in one fluid motion. He stepped away from the now dead zombie to the next one. This one did not hat arms so Mat hit him with two consecutive hits from his batons, both angled to break the skull of the undead. This one had a harder skull and only the neck broke. He kept moving on. Mat poked him in the eye with the end of the baton and forced it in the skull. The baton was to firmly in and there was no time for Mat to take it out. The third Zed was almost upon him. Mat moved under the swipe of the arms of the monster and used a Karate Kick to move him backward so he would have some breathing space. Sighing, he sheeted his remaining baton and took his desert eagle out and shot the 2 remaining monsters in the head in 2 fast almost silent shots. He pried the stuck baton from the eye socket of the second Z he had dispatched. He cleaned it completely and took another cab to the local mal. There he called Michelle and left her a message on her answering machine: “4 Z’s near the river, dispatched. Call the agency, there is a risk of more coming soon.” And he and up, convinced that everything would be fine.
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Chapitre 16: Panic at the train station/ Panique à la station de train
Matthiew figea sur place, paralysé par la peur. Ils l’avaient retrouvé! Ils étaient ici pour le ramener avec eux. Hé bien, il ne retournerait pas! Pas question ! hu hu! Pas CE Zombie. Il se battrait, il se sauverait, il allait prendre un bon respire et recommencer à réfléchir avant d’attirer l’attention sur lui. Voilà, beaucoup mieux. Bon, il était calme maintenant et visiblement, il ne pouvait pas commencer à tirer au hasard dans la station de train et il ne pouvait pas se transformer. Alors, quelles étaient ses options?
Mat se rendit à un banc et y prit place pour réfléchir. S’ils avaient envoyé en agent pour le retrouver, cet agent n’aurait pas fait l’erreur de laisser son odeur partout en espérant que Mat ne la détecte pas. Dans tout les cas, il était certain que cet agent était du genre à contrôler les zombies et non à les sentir sinon, il l’aurait déjà découvert. Alors, peut-être, juste une possibilité, il était en sécurité pour l’instant. Le mieux était pour lui de découvrir tout ce qu’il pouvait sur cette personne et ensuite tout faire pour éviter une situation où il se révélerait. Il devrait changer sa routine habituelle, son chemin pour aller travailler et pour aller à ses cours. Mais pour l’instant, il devait se rendre au travail.
Durant son quart de travail, Mat essaya de trouver toutes les options possibles et les plans de contre mesure inimaginable. Lorsqu’il rentra à la maison, il prépara son sac et ses armes au cas où il aurait à fuir son appartement. Puis, il se rendit à ses entrainements et garda ses sessions courtes. Après, il marcha jusqu’à la station de train et prit place sur un banc et commença à lire un livre. Lorsqu’un agent de sécurité vint finalement lui poser quelques questions, Mat prétendit qu’il voulait travailler à la station comme concierge et souhaitait se faire une idée de la place avant de postuler pour un poste. Il donna même son C.V au garde pour être plus crédible. Puis, il attendit de retrouver l’odeur.
Mat avait choisit son banc avec soins. Près du kiosque à journaux et à mi chemin avec les toilettes centrales. Ainsi, pratiquement tous les voyageurs passeraient près de lui; il pourrait alors sentir et suivre l’odeur. Après quatre jours d’attente, les gens qui travaillaient dans la station le connaissaient et savaient qu’il voulait travailler là. Il s’était fait « ami » avec la plus part d’entre eux et était maintenant traité comme un membre honoraire de la force de travail de la station. Il aidait parfois les gens durant les pauses entre les périodes les plus achalandées. C’est durant une de ces pauses qu’il sentit cette odeur « froide » à nouveau. Il tourna la tête, essayant d’identifier la source et LÀ! Une grande femme blonde portant un tailleur gris. Elle était superbe! Ses cheveux blonds étaient longs, ses jambes tout aussi longues et elle avait une silhouette de mannequin. Mat se fit la réflexion qu’elle avait les traits suédois ou possiblement russe. Peu importe, il l’avait retrouvé!
Mat la suivit. Il monta dans le même train qu’elle et descendit à sa station. C’est à ce moment qu’il souleva sa suspicion. Ils étaient les seuls à sortir du train à cette station. Il prit son téléphone mobile et tout en la suivant, commença une « discussion » avec sa petite amie, prétendant s’être perdu et cherchant à retrouver la maison de ses parents. Cela sembla calmer sa proie et après un moment, il prit une autre rue et la suivit de loin. Une fois qu’il eut trouvé sa maison, oui, une maison! Une bâtisse de goût qui devait coûter très cher, il reprit la direction de la station de train et rentra dans son appartement.
Il appela ses « amis » et leur demanda de lui fournir de l’information sur cette femme. Ils ne posèrent pas de questions mais mentionnèrent un paquet à livrer. Il accepta et prit congé pour 4 jours. Heureusement, ses contactes lui fournirent un papier du « médecin » pour l’aider. Lorsqu’il fut de retour de sa livraison, l’information l’attendait sur la table de la cuisine.
Nom : Michelle Simons
Âge : 27
Numéro de téléphone : 111-123-4567
Résidence : 907 rue de l’Horme
A récemment acheté une grande quantité de sang de porc et d’anticoagulant.
Vie seule et n’a pas d’animaux. Va travailler et rentre à la maison.
Elle aime faire du jogging.
Ne va jamais au restaurent et ne fait pas les courses.
Fin.
Mat cligna des yeux surpris. Avaient-ils remarqué quelque chose? Si c’était le cas, il devait l’avertir. Mais cela le révélerait Quoi faire? Pour l’instant, il garderait un profil bas. Elle ne savait visiblement pas qu’il tait dans la région et peut-être que les choses pouvaient en rester là. Il avait pris toutes les précautions pour ne pas être détecté et les choses en resteraient là.
Mat marchait le long de la rivière lorsqu’il sentit l’odeur familière et sombre d’un Zed. Mon dieu, non! À odeur, il y en avait au moins 4! Mat fit une analyse rapide des lieux et jura. Il faisait encore jours et le soleil ne se coucherait pas avant au moins 2 heurs. Peu importe sa réaction, il y avait un risque énorme de découverte. Utiliser un fusil était hors de question il devait donc y aller au corps à corps. Mat héla un taxi et donna un billet de 100$ au conducteur surpris pour qu’il l’amène à son appartement le plus rapidement possible et qu’il l’attende là. Une fois rendu, Mat attrapa ses bâtons et ses desert eagles au cas où. Il vérifia que les silencieux étaient bien placés et que les chargeurs étaient pleins. Il courut rejoindre le taxi et lui donna un autre 100$ pour qu’il le conduise 1 block plus loin que son point d’origine.
Mat prit position dans une crique près de l’eau et attendit, ses bâtons bien en mains. Pendant qu’il attendait, Mat révisa ses leçons d’Escrima et fit des exercices d’assouplissements, préparant les muscles de ses jambes et de ses bras avant l’action. Puis, il était déjà temps de passer à l’attaque. Le premier Zed apparut face à lui, gémissant et tendant ses bras pour agripper sa proie. Mat bloqua les deux bras utilisant son bâton de gauche et utilisant celui de droit pour le frapper directement à la tête, visant la tempe et brisant le crâne d’un mouvement fluide. Il fit un pas de côté pour s’éloigner du zombie mort et s’attaquer au prochain. Celui là n’avait plus de bras alors Mat le frappa de deux coups de bâtons consécutifs, les deux parfaitement alignés pour briser le crâne du mort-vivant. Ce dernier avait le crâne plus solide et seul son cou brisa. Il continua d’avancer vers Mat. Ce dernier lui enfonça le bout de son bâton droit dans l’œil jusqu’au fond du crâne. Il n’avait pas le temps de le récupérer car le troisième zombie était déjà sur lui! Mat évita la tentative de l’agripper de son ennemi et le fit reculer d’un coup de pied de Karaté pour avoir un peu d’espace pour souffler. Soupirant, il rangea son bâton rétractable restant dans son étuis et sortit ses desert eagles et tira les deux Zed’s restants. 2 coups presque silencieux directement au centre du front et tout était terminé. Il récupéra son bâton qui était resté pris dans l’orbite du monstre et le nettoya avec soins avant de le ranger. Puis, il prit un autre taxi pour se rendre au centre commercial du coin et appela Michelle. Il laissa un message sur son répondeur : « 4 Zed’s près de la rivière, éliminés. Appelle l’agence, il y a un risque qu’il y en ait plus bientôt. » Il raccrocha, convaincu que tout irait bien maintenant.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Chapter 15: Normal life/ Chapitre 15, Une vie normale
Matthiew Andrews was in deep shit. Really really deep shit. And the worst part was that he knew it. Oh, everything had started ok. He had walked or floated in the US, then, had moved to L.A. Glendale to be more precise. He worked there during the night at a high school. He was one of the 3 janitors there. But to get there he had had to do some shady dealings with the local mafia. He had had to move large quantity of drugs and other stuff to Mexico and take other stuff back to L.A. To do so, he had walked underwater more often than not and had achieved quite a reputation and enough cash to pay for a new identity and then some. Afterwards, he had simply stopped doing regular business with them. It worked as long as he was willing to do the odd job there and then.
So here he was, living a peaceful job, working during the night and doing nothing during the day when he noticed something: he was getting slightly depressed. So, to entertain himself since he did not need sleep, he started filling his days with various classes. First, they were art and music classes but he felt restless. After a week, he walked by a Wing Chun kung-fu school and stopped. That was the style that the famous Bruce Lee had studied before creating Jet Kune Do. He entered the school and was greeted by a small Hispanic girl who smiled at him. Matthiew was so surprised that he stayed for her speech. She was the Sifu of this particular school and demonstrated her style to him. After two hours, he signed up for 3 month. Then went outside. There, he saw publicity for the NRA. Without really knowing why, he went to the nearest branch and payed for shooting lessons for the next 3 months. Afterwards, he went home on the train to start his night work.
Matthiew was puzzled. Why had he done these things? Did he not wish for a peaceful life far from these life and death situation? But a little voice in his head seamed to whisper: “and what if?” The next day, he signed up for some archery but proved so ineffective at it that they gave him his money back. They suggested the crossbow which was perfect for him. He was even better with it than with a riffle. As the week progressed, Matthiew signed up for some kenjutsu, Shotokan Karate, Brazilian Jujitsu, Escrima and Shaolin weapon classes. After his 3 months, he dropped the kenjutsu felling that the katana was not his weapon. When compared to the Chinese Dao, it felt awkward in his hands. Conversely, the Dao felt like an extension of himself. And having added the escrima sticks to his arsenal, he was feeling quite good. Slowly but surely, Matthiew was becoming a true warrior. That’s when he got scared.
By night, he was cleaning the school and by day, he was learning fighting techniques from all over the world, sharp shooting skills both with riffles, semi automatic riffles and even the crossbow. His instructors’ were surprised at Mat’s dedication to perfect his head shots over anything else but since he was paying they didn’t argue. But Mat was growing more and more agitated. Why did he feel the need for all this training? Did he miss his days at the Canadian training camp? Surly not. He was only trying to stay fit…did he not? And he had been told that a Zombie needed to keep his mind occupied during his rest hours or he would go mad. You could not work 24 hours but since he did not sleep, he distracted himself with martial arts and such. It was perfectly normal. Finally, he bought 2 crossbow, 1 for hunting big games with steel headed bolts, the other one one handed with smaller bullet bolts for greater perforation strength. He bought a Bellini R1 30.06 cartridge semi automatic riffle with a manual scope that started 3 times bigger and ended at 12 times bigger. Then, falling in love with a beautiful sword ordered a Paul Chen Song (Yanling) Dao and never regretted it. He tried it against bamboo mats and much more and never dented it. He also bought 2 desert eagles using the 0.50AE cartridges, and finally, 2 telescopic batons that were perfectly illegal in California. But when he asked for them with his “special friends”, they did not ask questions. Neither when he asked to have his riffle modified to allow for 20 round magazine and 5 of those plus 500 rounds and have his desert eagles modified to allow 10 rounds clips instead of the 7 initially planned for nor for four of the special clips, please. And let’s not forget the silencer for the riffle and the desert eagles.
After 4 months, he was felling finally happy. He had stock of homemade ambrosia, enough weapons and ammo to face any circumstances and he knew how to use them. His daily training made certain that he progressed at an amazing speed and felt quite at peace with himself. He had the crossbows for silent kills, his handguns for emergency killing (he was glad for the silencer even if they were illegal in CA), his riffle in case of a bigger treat, his sword for mid range killing and batons for close quarter fighting. From a small encounter with 1 or 3 zombies to a bigger menace of 20 Z’s, he felt quite confident. That’s when reality hit him, and it hit him hard.
Why was he preparing to repeal Zombies? What the fuck was he thinking? He was not a fucking hero he was a charted accountant working in a school cleaning the mess made by kids during the day. Why was he doing it? The saddest part was that he could not talk to it to anyone because he would be declared insane or worst, sent back to Canada. So, felling a little foolish, Matthiew hid his weapons but kept training.
Nothing had happened for almost 6 months and he was quite happy with his life when it hit him like a hammer on the head: the smell of a conscious zombie right in the middle of L.A main train station.
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Matthiew Andrews était dans la merde. Dans la merde jusqu’au cou. Et le pire dans tout ça c’est qu’il le savait. Pourtant, tout avait bien commencé. Il avait marché ou flotté en utilisant les courants jusqu’au USA, et une fois arrivé s’était rendu à L.A. En fait, il habitait Glendale pour être précis. Il travaillait de nuit dans une école secondaire comme homme à tout faire avec deux collègues. Mais pour se rendre jusque là, il avait du faire affaire avec des gens peu recommandables. Il avait eu à voyager de grandes quantités de drogues et autres choses entre le Mexique et L.A., rapportant avec lui des paquets qu’il n’avait jamais ouverts. Pour y arriver, il avait marché sous l’eau et grâce à ça, avait acquis une réputation comme « passeur » de première qualité. Grâce à cette réputation, il avait amassé suffisamment d’argent pour se payer une nouvelle identité et il en était même resté une surprenante quantité. Après, il avait simplement refusé de faire affaire de manière courante avec ses nouveaux « amis ». Le principe était sécuritaire tant qu’il acceptait de leur faire une « faveur » de temps en temps.
Alors il avait une vie paisible, un emploi calme qu’il faisait de nuit et toute la journée pour se détendre et relaxer. C’est à ce moment qu’il avait remarqué un début de dépression. Pour y remédier, il avait décidé de se divertir. Et comme il n’avait pas besoins de dormir, il pouvait remplir ses journées. Il avait donc commencé à remplir ses jours avec des classes sur toute sorte de sujets. Au début, il avait suivit des cours de musique et d’art mais il restait quand-même insatisfait. Après une semaine de ce régime, alors qu’il marchait dans la rue, il passa près d’une école de Wing chun kung-fu et s’arrêta. C’était le style que le célèbre Bruce Lee avait étudié avant de créer le Jet Kune Do. Il entra dans l’école et fut accueillis par une petite femme hispanique tout souriante. Matthiew était si surpris qu’il lui laissa le temps de faire son petit discours. Elle était le Sifu de cette école et lui fit une démonstration de son style. Après deux heures, il signa pour une période de 3 mois. De retour à l’extérieur, il vit une publicité pour le NRA. Sans vraiment savoir pourquoi, il se rendit au local le plus près et s’inscrit pour des cours de tirs pour les 3 prochains mois. Par la suite, il prit le train, rentra à la maison et se prépara pour sa nuit de travail.
Matthiew était intrigué. Pourquoi avait-il fait ces choses? Ne voulait-il pas une vie paisible, loin des situations où l’espérance de vie se trouvait grandement réduite proportionnellement aux possibilités d’excitement? Malgré tout ça, une petite voix dans sa tête murmurais : « et si jamais? ». Le jour d’après, il prit des cours de tirs à l’arc mais s’avéra si mauvais qu’ils lui rendirent son argent. Ils lui suggérèrent de s’essayer avec l’arbalète ce qui fut une révélation pour Mat, il était excellent avec une arbalète. Il était encore meilleur qu’avec une carabine. Tout au long de la semaine, Matthiew s’inscrit à des cours de Kenjutsu, de Karaté Shotokan, de Jujitsu Brésilien, d’Escrima et à une classe de maniement d’armes donné par des moines Shaolin. Après 3 mois, il quitta le Kenjutsu. Le Katana n’était pas tout a fait l’arme pour lui. Elle ne résonnait pas comme le Dao chinois. Lorsqu’il comparait les deux, il se sentait maladroit avec le Katana alors que le Dao était une extension de son bras. Ajouté aux techniques de bâton d’Escrima, son arsenal de mouvements d’attaque et de défense devenait intéressant. Lentement mais surement, Matthiew devenait un véritable guerrier et il se sentait bien dans ça. C’est à ce moment qu’il devint effrayé.
La nuit, il nettoyait l’école et de jour, il apprenait des techniques de combat provenant des quatre coins du monde. Il prenait des cours de tireurs d’élite avec des armes automatique, semi automatique et même l’arbalète. Ses professeurs étaient intrigués par la passion que Mat avait pour les tirs à la tête mais comme il payait, ils ne posaient pas trop de questions. Surtout lorsqu’il leur expliqua qu’il visait un record du monde. Mais Mat devenait de plus en plus agité. Pourquoi ressentait-il le besoins de faire tout cet entrainement? Est-ce qu’il s’ennuyait de la base d’entrainement Canadienne? Surement pas, il n’essayait que de rester en forme…voilà, c’était tout. N’est-ce pas? Et il s’était fait dire que les Zombies avaient besoins de se garder occupé durant leurs heurs de repos où il deviendrait fou. Il pouvait travailler 24 heures de suite puisqu’il n’avait pas besoins de dormir, mais il se tannerait rapidement de cette situation. Il se distrayait donc avec les arts martiaux et ses autres classes. C’était tout à fait légitime et normal. Mat en vint finalement à acheter 2 arbalètes, 1 pour chasser le gros gibier avec des carreaux à tête d’acier, la seconde plus petite et se tenant à une main avec des carreaux plus petits en forme de balles pour une plus grande force de pénétration. Il acheta aussi une carabine semi automatique Bellini R1 avec des cartouches de format 30.06 et une visée télescopique manuelle avec une force de rapprochement de plus 3 à plus 12. Puis, il tomba en amour avec une épée magnifique des forges de Paul Chen, le Song (Yanling) Dao, un achat qu’il ne regretta jamais. Il l’utilisa contre des assemblages de bambou et plusieurs autres types d’assemblages faits pour pratiquer la coupe à l’épée et il n’y fit jamais une coche. Il acheta aussi 2 Desert Eagles utilisant des cartouches de format 0.50AE et finalement deux bâtons télescopiques complètement illégaux en Californie. Toutefois, il passa par ses amis spéciaux et ils ne posèrent aucune question. Pas plus lorsqu’il demanda qu’on modifie sa carabine pour accueillir des chargeurs de 20 balles, 5 de ces chargeurs et une boîte de 500 munitions. Il fit aussi modifier ses Desert Eagles pour qu’ils acceptent des chargeurs de 10 balles au lieu de 7 sans oublier les silencieux qui allaient avec les révolvers et la carabine, merci beaucoup.
Après 4 mois, il se sentit finalement heureux. Il avait une quantité suffisante d’Ambroisie maison, des armes et des munitions amplement suffisante pour faire face à n’importe quelle situation et surtout le savoir pour les utiliser efficacement. Son entrainement quotidien faisait en sorte qu’il progressait à une vitesse stupéfiante et grâce à ça, il se sentait en paix avec lui-même. Il avait l’arbalète pour les attaques silencieuses, ses armes de poings pour les cas d’urgence (et vive les silencieux malgré le fait qu’ils soient eux aussi illégaux en C.A), sa carabine en cas de menace sérieuse, son épée pour les combats à moyenne distance et ses bâtons pour le combat rapproché. D’une menace partant à 2 ou 3 Zed’s jusqu’à une attaque par une vingtaine de monstres, il se sentait confiant. C’est à ce moment que la réalité le rattrapa et le frappa avec vigueur au visage.
Pourquoi se préparait-il à repousser des vagues de zombies? C’était quoi son putin de problème? Il n’était pas un bordel d’héro mais un comptable agréé qui travaillait dans une école à nettoyer la merde laissé par les enfants durant le jour. Pourquoi alors le fait-il? Le plus triste dans sa situation s’était qu’il ne pouvait pas en parler à personne car on le prendrait pour un fou ou pire encore, on le renverrait au Canada. Alors, se sentant ridicule, Matthiew cacha ses armes mais continua à s’entrainer.
Rien ne s’était produit depuis près de 6 mois et il en était tout à fait content. Sa vie était calme mais stimulante et c’est à ce moment que l’univers le frappa comme un coup de masse sur la tête : l’odeur d’un zombie conscient ici directement au centre de la station de train de L.A.
So here he was, living a peaceful job, working during the night and doing nothing during the day when he noticed something: he was getting slightly depressed. So, to entertain himself since he did not need sleep, he started filling his days with various classes. First, they were art and music classes but he felt restless. After a week, he walked by a Wing Chun kung-fu school and stopped. That was the style that the famous Bruce Lee had studied before creating Jet Kune Do. He entered the school and was greeted by a small Hispanic girl who smiled at him. Matthiew was so surprised that he stayed for her speech. She was the Sifu of this particular school and demonstrated her style to him. After two hours, he signed up for 3 month. Then went outside. There, he saw publicity for the NRA. Without really knowing why, he went to the nearest branch and payed for shooting lessons for the next 3 months. Afterwards, he went home on the train to start his night work.
Matthiew was puzzled. Why had he done these things? Did he not wish for a peaceful life far from these life and death situation? But a little voice in his head seamed to whisper: “and what if?” The next day, he signed up for some archery but proved so ineffective at it that they gave him his money back. They suggested the crossbow which was perfect for him. He was even better with it than with a riffle. As the week progressed, Matthiew signed up for some kenjutsu, Shotokan Karate, Brazilian Jujitsu, Escrima and Shaolin weapon classes. After his 3 months, he dropped the kenjutsu felling that the katana was not his weapon. When compared to the Chinese Dao, it felt awkward in his hands. Conversely, the Dao felt like an extension of himself. And having added the escrima sticks to his arsenal, he was feeling quite good. Slowly but surely, Matthiew was becoming a true warrior. That’s when he got scared.
By night, he was cleaning the school and by day, he was learning fighting techniques from all over the world, sharp shooting skills both with riffles, semi automatic riffles and even the crossbow. His instructors’ were surprised at Mat’s dedication to perfect his head shots over anything else but since he was paying they didn’t argue. But Mat was growing more and more agitated. Why did he feel the need for all this training? Did he miss his days at the Canadian training camp? Surly not. He was only trying to stay fit…did he not? And he had been told that a Zombie needed to keep his mind occupied during his rest hours or he would go mad. You could not work 24 hours but since he did not sleep, he distracted himself with martial arts and such. It was perfectly normal. Finally, he bought 2 crossbow, 1 for hunting big games with steel headed bolts, the other one one handed with smaller bullet bolts for greater perforation strength. He bought a Bellini R1 30.06 cartridge semi automatic riffle with a manual scope that started 3 times bigger and ended at 12 times bigger. Then, falling in love with a beautiful sword ordered a Paul Chen Song (Yanling) Dao and never regretted it. He tried it against bamboo mats and much more and never dented it. He also bought 2 desert eagles using the 0.50AE cartridges, and finally, 2 telescopic batons that were perfectly illegal in California. But when he asked for them with his “special friends”, they did not ask questions. Neither when he asked to have his riffle modified to allow for 20 round magazine and 5 of those plus 500 rounds and have his desert eagles modified to allow 10 rounds clips instead of the 7 initially planned for nor for four of the special clips, please. And let’s not forget the silencer for the riffle and the desert eagles.
After 4 months, he was felling finally happy. He had stock of homemade ambrosia, enough weapons and ammo to face any circumstances and he knew how to use them. His daily training made certain that he progressed at an amazing speed and felt quite at peace with himself. He had the crossbows for silent kills, his handguns for emergency killing (he was glad for the silencer even if they were illegal in CA), his riffle in case of a bigger treat, his sword for mid range killing and batons for close quarter fighting. From a small encounter with 1 or 3 zombies to a bigger menace of 20 Z’s, he felt quite confident. That’s when reality hit him, and it hit him hard.
Why was he preparing to repeal Zombies? What the fuck was he thinking? He was not a fucking hero he was a charted accountant working in a school cleaning the mess made by kids during the day. Why was he doing it? The saddest part was that he could not talk to it to anyone because he would be declared insane or worst, sent back to Canada. So, felling a little foolish, Matthiew hid his weapons but kept training.
Nothing had happened for almost 6 months and he was quite happy with his life when it hit him like a hammer on the head: the smell of a conscious zombie right in the middle of L.A main train station.
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Matthiew Andrews était dans la merde. Dans la merde jusqu’au cou. Et le pire dans tout ça c’est qu’il le savait. Pourtant, tout avait bien commencé. Il avait marché ou flotté en utilisant les courants jusqu’au USA, et une fois arrivé s’était rendu à L.A. En fait, il habitait Glendale pour être précis. Il travaillait de nuit dans une école secondaire comme homme à tout faire avec deux collègues. Mais pour se rendre jusque là, il avait du faire affaire avec des gens peu recommandables. Il avait eu à voyager de grandes quantités de drogues et autres choses entre le Mexique et L.A., rapportant avec lui des paquets qu’il n’avait jamais ouverts. Pour y arriver, il avait marché sous l’eau et grâce à ça, avait acquis une réputation comme « passeur » de première qualité. Grâce à cette réputation, il avait amassé suffisamment d’argent pour se payer une nouvelle identité et il en était même resté une surprenante quantité. Après, il avait simplement refusé de faire affaire de manière courante avec ses nouveaux « amis ». Le principe était sécuritaire tant qu’il acceptait de leur faire une « faveur » de temps en temps.
Alors il avait une vie paisible, un emploi calme qu’il faisait de nuit et toute la journée pour se détendre et relaxer. C’est à ce moment qu’il avait remarqué un début de dépression. Pour y remédier, il avait décidé de se divertir. Et comme il n’avait pas besoins de dormir, il pouvait remplir ses journées. Il avait donc commencé à remplir ses jours avec des classes sur toute sorte de sujets. Au début, il avait suivit des cours de musique et d’art mais il restait quand-même insatisfait. Après une semaine de ce régime, alors qu’il marchait dans la rue, il passa près d’une école de Wing chun kung-fu et s’arrêta. C’était le style que le célèbre Bruce Lee avait étudié avant de créer le Jet Kune Do. Il entra dans l’école et fut accueillis par une petite femme hispanique tout souriante. Matthiew était si surpris qu’il lui laissa le temps de faire son petit discours. Elle était le Sifu de cette école et lui fit une démonstration de son style. Après deux heures, il signa pour une période de 3 mois. De retour à l’extérieur, il vit une publicité pour le NRA. Sans vraiment savoir pourquoi, il se rendit au local le plus près et s’inscrit pour des cours de tirs pour les 3 prochains mois. Par la suite, il prit le train, rentra à la maison et se prépara pour sa nuit de travail.
Matthiew était intrigué. Pourquoi avait-il fait ces choses? Ne voulait-il pas une vie paisible, loin des situations où l’espérance de vie se trouvait grandement réduite proportionnellement aux possibilités d’excitement? Malgré tout ça, une petite voix dans sa tête murmurais : « et si jamais? ». Le jour d’après, il prit des cours de tirs à l’arc mais s’avéra si mauvais qu’ils lui rendirent son argent. Ils lui suggérèrent de s’essayer avec l’arbalète ce qui fut une révélation pour Mat, il était excellent avec une arbalète. Il était encore meilleur qu’avec une carabine. Tout au long de la semaine, Matthiew s’inscrit à des cours de Kenjutsu, de Karaté Shotokan, de Jujitsu Brésilien, d’Escrima et à une classe de maniement d’armes donné par des moines Shaolin. Après 3 mois, il quitta le Kenjutsu. Le Katana n’était pas tout a fait l’arme pour lui. Elle ne résonnait pas comme le Dao chinois. Lorsqu’il comparait les deux, il se sentait maladroit avec le Katana alors que le Dao était une extension de son bras. Ajouté aux techniques de bâton d’Escrima, son arsenal de mouvements d’attaque et de défense devenait intéressant. Lentement mais surement, Matthiew devenait un véritable guerrier et il se sentait bien dans ça. C’est à ce moment qu’il devint effrayé.
La nuit, il nettoyait l’école et de jour, il apprenait des techniques de combat provenant des quatre coins du monde. Il prenait des cours de tireurs d’élite avec des armes automatique, semi automatique et même l’arbalète. Ses professeurs étaient intrigués par la passion que Mat avait pour les tirs à la tête mais comme il payait, ils ne posaient pas trop de questions. Surtout lorsqu’il leur expliqua qu’il visait un record du monde. Mais Mat devenait de plus en plus agité. Pourquoi ressentait-il le besoins de faire tout cet entrainement? Est-ce qu’il s’ennuyait de la base d’entrainement Canadienne? Surement pas, il n’essayait que de rester en forme…voilà, c’était tout. N’est-ce pas? Et il s’était fait dire que les Zombies avaient besoins de se garder occupé durant leurs heurs de repos où il deviendrait fou. Il pouvait travailler 24 heures de suite puisqu’il n’avait pas besoins de dormir, mais il se tannerait rapidement de cette situation. Il se distrayait donc avec les arts martiaux et ses autres classes. C’était tout à fait légitime et normal. Mat en vint finalement à acheter 2 arbalètes, 1 pour chasser le gros gibier avec des carreaux à tête d’acier, la seconde plus petite et se tenant à une main avec des carreaux plus petits en forme de balles pour une plus grande force de pénétration. Il acheta aussi une carabine semi automatique Bellini R1 avec des cartouches de format 30.06 et une visée télescopique manuelle avec une force de rapprochement de plus 3 à plus 12. Puis, il tomba en amour avec une épée magnifique des forges de Paul Chen, le Song (Yanling) Dao, un achat qu’il ne regretta jamais. Il l’utilisa contre des assemblages de bambou et plusieurs autres types d’assemblages faits pour pratiquer la coupe à l’épée et il n’y fit jamais une coche. Il acheta aussi 2 Desert Eagles utilisant des cartouches de format 0.50AE et finalement deux bâtons télescopiques complètement illégaux en Californie. Toutefois, il passa par ses amis spéciaux et ils ne posèrent aucune question. Pas plus lorsqu’il demanda qu’on modifie sa carabine pour accueillir des chargeurs de 20 balles, 5 de ces chargeurs et une boîte de 500 munitions. Il fit aussi modifier ses Desert Eagles pour qu’ils acceptent des chargeurs de 10 balles au lieu de 7 sans oublier les silencieux qui allaient avec les révolvers et la carabine, merci beaucoup.
Après 4 mois, il se sentit finalement heureux. Il avait une quantité suffisante d’Ambroisie maison, des armes et des munitions amplement suffisante pour faire face à n’importe quelle situation et surtout le savoir pour les utiliser efficacement. Son entrainement quotidien faisait en sorte qu’il progressait à une vitesse stupéfiante et grâce à ça, il se sentait en paix avec lui-même. Il avait l’arbalète pour les attaques silencieuses, ses armes de poings pour les cas d’urgence (et vive les silencieux malgré le fait qu’ils soient eux aussi illégaux en C.A), sa carabine en cas de menace sérieuse, son épée pour les combats à moyenne distance et ses bâtons pour le combat rapproché. D’une menace partant à 2 ou 3 Zed’s jusqu’à une attaque par une vingtaine de monstres, il se sentait confiant. C’est à ce moment que la réalité le rattrapa et le frappa avec vigueur au visage.
Pourquoi se préparait-il à repousser des vagues de zombies? C’était quoi son putin de problème? Il n’était pas un bordel d’héro mais un comptable agréé qui travaillait dans une école à nettoyer la merde laissé par les enfants durant le jour. Pourquoi alors le fait-il? Le plus triste dans sa situation s’était qu’il ne pouvait pas en parler à personne car on le prendrait pour un fou ou pire encore, on le renverrait au Canada. Alors, se sentant ridicule, Matthiew cacha ses armes mais continua à s’entrainer.
Rien ne s’était produit depuis près de 6 mois et il en était tout à fait content. Sa vie était calme mais stimulante et c’est à ce moment que l’univers le frappa comme un coup de masse sur la tête : l’odeur d’un zombie conscient ici directement au centre de la station de train de L.A.
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