Post by Lt. Sean Fitzpatrick on Jan 7, 2011 1:51:46 GMT -5
Rice Krispies were supposed to go snap, crackle and pop...
...not Sean's bad right shoulder.
Sean went sailing through the window, a few pieces here and there scraping, even slicing his neck and hands a little. And he crashed with a hard thump into the dumpster that he was glad was still positioned just perfectly to provide him with a somewhat safe landing.
Thank god those garbage men did call in after all. While a massive zombie-style outbreak is a stretch, it certainly is a true and damn good reason to take a personal day.
When Sean landed in the dumpster, he heard a pop that was followed by a snap when he was attempting to climb out. Just like he had prayed for the dumpster, he was praying that at some point, he might run into a doctor that could fix his shoulder. For now, Sean was just going to have to fight the pain and keep on moving. He wasn't going to get hung up on the dull pain in his shoulder because these cannibalistic assholes weren't going to give him the luxury.
Having to hold his gun in his left hand, Sean began jogging. He was scanning the parking lot, looking for his 1967 Chevy Impala(he had it long before that Dean Winchester dude). So far, most of the infected were still contained in the building, but Sean wasn't going to rest on his laurels just yet. At any moment those doors could bust wide open and the infected could come pouring out of the place.
And that moment was right... about... now.
The doors to the precinct were literally knocked off of their hinges as a horde of the man-eaters came rushing out, looking for their next meal. Sean wasn't about to stick around and let these fuckers turn him into an all you can eat Irishman buffet, so Sean booked it.
For a man that has a shoulder screaming in pain and a three cigar a day habit, Sean was quick. He didn't have the luxury of time that he needed to locate his Impala. Before he even dug the keys out of his pocket, one of the infected would dig their teeth into his ass.
But alas! Up ahead was a safe haven.. somewhat. A bus. From the looks of it, the former mode of public transportation was completely empty and had a new paint job in the form of fresh blood. Sean figured that the bus driver attempted to make a run for it. If the dude was smart, he would have just kept driving until the state of New York was long gone.
With the horde in route and hot on his heels, Sean picked up the pace a little bit. His body was wanting to just slump down and crash in the nearest soft spot, but Sean wasn't going to allow that to happen. He pushed his legs harder than ever. He pushed himself way past beyond what he thought was his 'limit'. At the moment, Sean could have given Usain Bolt a run for his money as the fastest human in the world.
With the door wide open, Sean leapt into the bus, stretching his legs as he did so. All Sean needed to do was stick his tongue out and he would have looked like Michael Jordan.
With the infected closing in like a heat seeking missile, Sean slammed the door to the bus close, more than likely breaking it in the process.
Okay, so the situation is as follows:
Sean is stuck in a New York City bus completely out of gas in close to wailing in pain from his right shoulder. Outside of this bus are nearly thirty or so infected waiting for the chance to rip Sean limb from limb.
Now what?