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?
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
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
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)