Snippet #2497382

Isaac fingered the release mechanism on the pistol once again, allowing the clip to fall into his hand. He inspected the single bullet that he had yet to chamber into the pistol, for fear that, even with his expertise and the safety being on, he would accidentally fire the shot, and ruin his chance for a quick death, if need be. More than likely, someday he would have to, but until he found some more ammunition, he would take no chances. He slapped the clip back into the gun once more, as he had so many times that night. He lost count at around forty times.

Cold sweat poured down his face, cooling him from the humid island air outside, but it came far from comforting him. Sitting with his back against a grand-father clock, with his knees up at chest height, and his arms wrapped around them, he slowly rocked back and forth. Fuck, I could use some juice... He hadn't shot up in four days, and his sense were being dulled by the undying need for a needle piercing his vein. His glock hung loosely from the trigger, against his trigger finger, and it swayed along with Isaac's monotonous motion. He released the clip again, to make sure the bullet was still there, and it was.

The small, half-built summer home he now rested in was being built for a client of his. A former drug kingpin, who Isaac had came here to deal with. The place was in shambles, as it must have been raided before he got here, but the undead rarely came by the place, since there was no light or movement inside to attract them. A small, battery powered fan droned on a few feet in front of him, keeping his body from practically bursting into heat spasms, despite his cold sweat. Time slowly passed by, and was being documented by the black-wooded grandfather clock that he rested against. Luckily, the bell was broken on the inside, so when an hour passed, the clock only made soft knocking noises. The clock began it's hourly ritual, and knocked. Click. Click. Click. it kept going, and stopped at seven. It was seven in the morning, and only now did Isaac notice the sun was up. He checked his gun again, making sure the bullet was still there.

"Another night..." He said aloud, to no one in particular. Not that there was anyone around to hear him. He wondered if anyone else was alive at this point. He wondered if there were others, locked up tight in their fortifications, waiting out their demise. He wondered if anyone outside of the island and the military actually knew what the hell was going on in Bohmia. Another droning noise was slowly breaching his ears. It sounded familiar... like he had heard it many times before, but couldn't place it. Isaac looked up, and out of the small window that allowed a small amount of sunlight into the room. The sunrise loomed ahead, piercing the lightly clouded sky, as well as a figure in the distance. It grew as it approached the city. The noise he heard before became more prominent... and he now knew what it was. Standing up, allowing his legs but a moment to catch up with his shaky body, he half-jogged to the window. It was a plane. The supply plane.

"This could be it..." Isaac said, again, to no one. He checked his clip one last time, allowed his shaky hands to push it back into place, and put the pistol into the back part of the waist-band of his pants. "I can do this shit..." He said aloud. He snatched up the nailed 2x4 that he had fashioned together the day before, and slipped it into a makeshift carrying cloth that looped around his belt loop. Running on pure adrenaline, he knew that today he would go to the city, and take some supplies to allow him to survive another few nights alone, or he would die trying.

Stepping outside of the half-erected home, Isaac noted three shamblers, and the tail end of a stalker running into one of the nearby homes to avoid the sunlight. The slow ones were easy to get by alone, but he didn't want to stick around to see if they had any friends nearby, so he began his half-jog down the street. His head was pounding from withdrawal, and he knew he had to avoid eye contact with the sun, or it would all but blind him, and he couldn't have his migraine stopping him. Two more shamblers stumbled outside from a nearby home, and began to growl and gape their jaws as Isaac made his way past. He knew the city would have many more of the bastards, but he couldn't stop now.

The first of the larger skyscrapers came up on his left as he slow jogged into the city. He turned past it, and began to head into the city, when suddenly, a bustling group of shamblers began pounding on a door that must have only recently been closed. It didn't hold them very well, and they flowed in quickly. By now, Isaac was planted in a ducking position, behind a public mailbox. Whoever had ran inside attracted quite the horde, but gave Isaac a free block or two to keep moving. As he moved down the recently emptied street, he heard the sound of shattering glass, and a thump. It seems that some of the shamblers must have saw him jogging, and smashed their way through a window. He picked up the pace a bit, trying to shake off his sleep deprivation, and shakes. As he came to another blocked off roadway, covered in car wreckage and bloody bodies, he checked his corners. His heart sank as he looked around the building. A huge horde of the undead were idly limping about the roadway. An over-turned Humvee was scattered with discarded clips of ammunition, probably for a rifle, and a half-eaten body seemed to have been flung about, as half the vehicle was doused in blood.

"Fuck..." Isaac muttered, seeing that he would now have to make his way stealthily across. He wasn't in good condition, but he prepared himself to sneak across, hoping to use the wreckage as cover from the shamblers... "Alright... here we go..."