Snippet #1981000

David had worked quickly when the Infected started to roam the streets. He had taken refuge in Old Bridge Tavern on mainstreet. It wasn't hard to make the owner give him the place, when someone bleeds out of their eyes everything they own is for grabs. That was how David saw it and he made sure the owner didn't bother him any more.

The pub was easy to make into a safe haven. With only two ways out, one in the kitchen and the entry door. He barricaded the kitchen door and made sure it would never open again. The windows were covered with planks and other debris and nailed shut. Only way in was the door. And when you came in, a drunk pissed of biker called Razor sat on a chair next to a table and blew their heads off. His trusted shotgun did the job and from time to time he'd take a swing with the bat if he felt like ''keeping in shape''.

He locked the pub during the day to scavenge for food and other toys and then spent the rest of the day shooting infected who came close, and locked it again during the night. Wasn't too bad. He had something to take out his anger on and when the silly ''Survivors'' came to ''Team up'' he could just shoot them too and grab their gear. You got to take care of yourself.

I can hear you... I hear you out there. Poke your ugly face in and I'll feed you to the dogs. You know you want to come in you scum.. I'm waiting

The one outside was alone and probably wounded by the heavy breathing and moaning. It could be a very injured survivor. That meant more gear or food. He took a sip from the whiskey bottle and lit his cigarette, letting the smoke sip out from between his lips slowly. Razor knew he was either joining those savages or dying soon. His last rounds were on the table and every night he could hear the protection he had made in the front crumble. But he was going out on his own terms. He was going out like a Raven...