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cabbitzillaAnd just like that, the warehouse suddenly wasn't safe.
Half of the back wall collapsed in, spilling two dozen or so shufflers into the the main level. Frank grabbed the piggy cages and bolted for the end of the catwalk; the window there opened out just a bit above the reefer in bay 3. Sandra and I pulled back slowly, leaving a grisly trail as we kept the fscking monsters off the rest. Truth to be told, she did more damage than I did; the rate of fire from her .38's was faster than the Wildey. Clearly calibre isn't everything. Sandra got hung up on the window frame and shoved me bodily out onto the roof of the reefer. Last thing I heard from her was 'shoot me now!', and a pistol report from Phil's (the other trucker) piece.
As we fled down the roof of the trailer, Jack bolted forward to try and secure the cab. Frank and Phil and I hunkered down around the rooftop condenser and kept the bastiches from following us out the window. After what seemed like forever the green and white Pete fired over and we were off. Damned near right off the top of the trailer, too. Frank hauled me back when I lunged after Wink's cage, catching it just before the edge before being reeled back in by the Priest. I swear I'll never say another unkind word about the Catholic Priesthood; I understand now what Ro was talking about now, and it's a pity she's not around to nod knowingly at me. Jesuit? Sign me up.
There was a steady crunching noise audible over the roar of the diesel engine. I found out after that Jack was screaming profanities at the zombies and driving over every damned shuffler he could. We left a wide swathe of squished bits behind us. But that left us out on the road with dusk approaching, which was NOT a good thing. Why the hell can't we catch a break on this?! Jack found us a flat and clear spot we could pause and figure out where the fsck we were going.
Another warehouse would just be repeating the problem. Most of the stores in the area had big glass windows. The Columbia mall was a glass and aluminum monstrosity, and the Mills over in Odenton was just as bad. About that point one of us (and I honestly forget who, but I know it wasn't me) remembered the State Police barracks just up US 1. Jack backtracked us and rolled us in. The place was deserted, but securable, thankfully. We unpacked everyone into the barracks and set the truck up just beyond the front doors. Then we barricaded the hell out of the place and busted our way into the armory. Ah, blessed ammunition. As expected, the phones were out, cells are still getting 'all circuits are busy', but the cable modem works just fine. We're going to bed down for the night; I'll post in the morning, provided we're still intact. Frank's tinkering with the radio transmitter, so maybe we can get a signal that way. First watch is mine.
And if we're not heard from again, via con Dios.
Half of the back wall collapsed in, spilling two dozen or so shufflers into the the main level. Frank grabbed the piggy cages and bolted for the end of the catwalk; the window there opened out just a bit above the reefer in bay 3. Sandra and I pulled back slowly, leaving a grisly trail as we kept the fscking monsters off the rest. Truth to be told, she did more damage than I did; the rate of fire from her .38's was faster than the Wildey. Clearly calibre isn't everything. Sandra got hung up on the window frame and shoved me bodily out onto the roof of the reefer. Last thing I heard from her was 'shoot me now!', and a pistol report from Phil's (the other trucker) piece.
As we fled down the roof of the trailer, Jack bolted forward to try and secure the cab. Frank and Phil and I hunkered down around the rooftop condenser and kept the bastiches from following us out the window. After what seemed like forever the green and white Pete fired over and we were off. Damned near right off the top of the trailer, too. Frank hauled me back when I lunged after Wink's cage, catching it just before the edge before being reeled back in by the Priest. I swear I'll never say another unkind word about the Catholic Priesthood; I understand now what Ro was talking about now, and it's a pity she's not around to nod knowingly at me. Jesuit? Sign me up.
There was a steady crunching noise audible over the roar of the diesel engine. I found out after that Jack was screaming profanities at the zombies and driving over every damned shuffler he could. We left a wide swathe of squished bits behind us. But that left us out on the road with dusk approaching, which was NOT a good thing. Why the hell can't we catch a break on this?! Jack found us a flat and clear spot we could pause and figure out where the fsck we were going.
Another warehouse would just be repeating the problem. Most of the stores in the area had big glass windows. The Columbia mall was a glass and aluminum monstrosity, and the Mills over in Odenton was just as bad. About that point one of us (and I honestly forget who, but I know it wasn't me) remembered the State Police barracks just up US 1. Jack backtracked us and rolled us in. The place was deserted, but securable, thankfully. We unpacked everyone into the barracks and set the truck up just beyond the front doors. Then we barricaded the hell out of the place and busted our way into the armory. Ah, blessed ammunition. As expected, the phones were out, cells are still getting 'all circuits are busy', but the cable modem works just fine. We're going to bed down for the night; I'll post in the morning, provided we're still intact. Frank's tinkering with the radio transmitter, so maybe we can get a signal that way. First watch is mine.
And if we're not heard from again, via con Dios.
