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Post by Scotland on Mar 20, 2012 8:06:03 GMT -5
The ride out was exhilarating, if not a little rough. They were only occassionally on a road, the rest of the time was spent off-roading to stay clear of getting too close to cities and towns before they were ready. Scotland kept watching behind and beside him, making sure Canada was keeping up and hadn't taken any spills. It wouldn't do to get injured before they even reached their destination. They had to move fast, but not so fast they became reckless.
Down South (England) hadn't looked too good when they'd departed, and Scotland hoped they'd get back in time before it was too late. As much as he antagonized his brother, England was holding not only the United Kingdom together, at this point he was close to holding the world together. Scotland doubted he could do that by himself should they lose England.
He slowed to a stop as they neared the target city. Sitting back and lifting his riding goggles up onto his forehead, he pulled out his map and compass to verify they were at the right place. When Canada pulled up next to him, he leaned over and showed them to the younger nation, asking "looks like we're here, eh?"
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Post by [x] Canada on Mar 22, 2012 9:37:48 GMT -5
Even with the cold, biting wind threading through his hair and harshly caressing his face from time to time, as well as the occasionally rough terrain, Canada found it hard not to enjoy the motorcycle journey from the warehouse to one of his decrepit cities. Back in the old days, he rarely just went out for a spin along the road, preferring to stay comfortably at home. But times have changed pretty obviously now, though at least there was still something to do to partially relax your mind (even though the situation wasn't as carefree) and let your worries briefly vanish with the passing wind.
There was one thing that just wouldn't leave Canada's mind, however: England's condition. He had been about ready to tear his hair out by the roots when he discovered that his second father (of sorts) had been bitten. What made it maddeningly worse was that there was practically nothing he could do about it, because he knew nothing. And that was why he was out here in the first place, anyways. He absolutely had to cure him.
He cast his eyes over to the red-headed nation as they both slowed to a stop, Canada doing so a bit shakily. Scotland, who was, in a sense, really Uncle Scotland. The notion of the fierce-spirited country being called 'Uncle' brought a soft giggle to Canada's lips.
"Looks like we're here, eh?" Hefting his light pack securely on his shoulders, he pushed his goggles back and replaced them with his glasses, which he drew out from his coat pocket. Squinting, he examined the map and looked at the scenery before them. It wasn't what he was used to seeing, but this was the place, alright. "Mmm, yeah, we're here. You want to go in and find the documents now, um, Unc-" He stopped himself in time, flushing. "I mean, Scotland?"
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Post by Scotland on Mar 22, 2012 10:29:18 GMT -5
Scotland stared at Canada for an extra moment when he cut himself off in mid-word. Had he been about to say what it sounded like? Then he glanced at his watch and blinked up into the wind, the cold wind drawing unbidden tears into the outer corners of his eyes.
"Aye, we nae 'ave much time," he finally said, looking up at the cloudy sky. "Be dark soon."
He put down the kickstand on the motorbike and put the map and compass back into a pocket, exchanging them for a black cloth. Since this mission called for a fast in and out, he'd already removed the white straps from his uniform. Now he tied the black cloth onto his head, covering his far too easily seen red hair. Checking that he can easily reach for his sword and then placing his hands briefly on the handles of the two hand axes at his hips, he stepped off the motorbike.
"On foot th' rest o'th' way," he said as he adjusted the strap on his last weapon, a semi-automatic uzi slung around his upper body. It was attached to his body in such a way to hug close, and be fired at stomach level. He could always unclip it from the straps if necessary. Scotland slapped the bottom of the magazine to ensure it was securely seated, and gave Canada a thumbs up. There was no such thing as too many weapons.
"Check th' radio, an' then turn it off." Scotland started to stride towards the ruined city, heading into the wind. Scotland tried not to let his concern for the younger nation show. Canada might be young, but he was war-tried and tested already. And he was Scotland's favorite of England's ex-colonies. Scotland had to keep and display faith the kid could keep up.
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Post by [x] Canada on Mar 24, 2012 11:10:01 GMT -5
Nodding in agreement to his uncle's words (and secretly relieved that he was able to stop himself in time), Canada watched the older nation for awhile and then disembarked from his own ride and secured the kickstand. He stomped on the rocky ground a bit to get rid of the numb feeling that accumulated in his legs, crunching on the small bits of gravel.
After stretching his other limbs, he checked his coat to make sure that it wouldn't flap around in times of trouble and get in the way. He then bent down to refasten his boots. Satisfied, he replied with an energetic "Ok!" to Scotland and brought a hand to his left side where his sheathed dagger was half-hidden, snug on a thick, black, specialized several-string holder. He returned the thumbs up with both hands and offered a grin.
As for his assault rifle, it was held on a loose black strap on his right shoulder, over the thin straps of his pack. He had practiced the maneuver of swiftly slinging the gun to his front and getting his arms, hands and keen violet eye in the right place many times, so he could probably pull it off if he needed to (and he probably would have to).
Sure he was nervous, sure he was trembling beneath his warm coat and inner shirt, but he had great confidence in the red-haired (now hidden) nation. He was a warrior, with the genuine blood of the fierce Scots flowing through his veins. Through that reasoning, some of that also ran in his veins, too. So he held his head high despite what his body told him, tested his radio for the tell-tale sound of reception, and strode forward as steadily as he could, following the tall fighter.
However, the sight of one of his cities so dilapidated, and the musty sweet-sick smell tore at his heart and he swallowed hoarsely. These streets used to be filled with people, my people. And now...the ones who roam here are no longer mine. Neither is this city, not until I can wrench it back.
"We have to look through the entire city? Maybe we should split up or something...no, that wouldn't be good," He frowned, wondering how they could find 'papers' in such a large area, with such a vague description. Keeping his voice low he continued, "I would guess that they'd be in some sort of medical or experimental facility, non?
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Post by Scotland on Mar 24, 2012 14:27:23 GMT -5
Scotland paused at overhearing Canada talking to himself and waited for the other to catch up. When Canada was at his side, he placed a hand on the blonde head, bringing their heads closer together so they could speak quietly.
"We're nae splittin' up," he said calmly, hoping it would calm the other as well. "And ye be right. We be lookin' fer a science lab. Nae hospital can help Down South (England) now. Yer people were lookin' fer a cure too, y'ken?"
He looked ahead at the start of the buildings, checking for any sign of movement and seeing none. "We nae be lettin' their work go tae waste."
He removed his hand then, turning it into a beckoning wave and pointing at the nearest building before breaking into a run towards it. The sensation he has inside is of wrongness, the same sensation he always got when England was in trouble. In the past he used to run to watch and curse or point and laugh, depending on the situation. Now he just had a sense of urgency.
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Post by Zombies on Mar 24, 2012 22:46:13 GMT -5
The roads were clogged with cars. People obviously had tried to flee the city, but had never made it in time. The most terrifying instances were the people that were infected, died in their car, and then reanimated, still strapped in their seatbelts.
To say the least, the city was absolutely crawling with zombies. From the lowest point of the sewers to the roof of the highest skyscraper, moans arose as the living dead searched for prey that existed no longer.
Hunger never quelled, the monsters patrolled the streets and buildings incessantly. Their instincts on high alert, they hunted for the vulnerable being that had dared venture into their domain and that would become their next meal.
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Post by [x] Canada on Mar 25, 2012 0:32:45 GMT -5
Kind of startled by Scotland's impromptu mini-conference and the warm hand on his head, Canada nevertheless listened intently to the heavily accented words, feeling better but still not the best. Some dormant instinct was telling him that bad things would happen very, very soon. He had to keep his head on straight and focus.
Following the redhead's beck, he jogged over to the building, hoping that they might strike lucky and be able to go back to HQ before anyone got hurt. And before England got worse. Then his bones chilled and his legs froze up as his ears heard what he absolutely did not want to hear: lowly, monotonous moans from rotten and half-formed jaws. Heartbeat quickening, he scanned the scenery that had seemed still, but now since he was made forcibly aware of the threat lingering the shadows, Canada could pick out movement. He himself, though, could not move.
By the Lord, they were everywhere, just coming out. Right towards them. Nowhere to hide now. They had walked right into the hornet's nest. Well, at least the hornet's had buzzed before they came out. "S-S-Scotland...Uncle Scotland!" Might as well let the older nation know of the oncoming threat, though he probably knew it already.
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Post by Scotland on Mar 25, 2012 13:12:44 GMT -5
Scotland also heard the moans and shuffling as he hit the side of the building, pressing flat against it. It was a small building, the last convenience store before leaving town. At the edge of its parking lot was a sign declaring the edge of the city, and to come back soon. Yeah right. Someone should change that sign to read Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.
When Canada reached his side, hissing his name, Scotland reached out his hand to try and cover the other’s mouth, letting the gesture speak for him. In his experience back home, the afflicted weren’t too smart, and these seemed to be no exception. Peering around the corner, he could see some of the afflicted still trapped in cars. If they couldn’t figure out how to get out of the cars, then they were a non-issue. But the afflicted that roamed and still had ears could hear just fine. Once the eyes dried out, sight wasn’t too dependable for them. They shouldn’t have the ability to smell past normal human scenting abilities, and neither of the two nations were wearing perfume. Sound was the big thing they had to avoid.
They just had to find a path with as few of the afflicted in it as possible. They could clear the path as long as they did it quietly. Scotland pulled his hand back away from Canada’s face to point at his own eyes with his fingers, then point back the other way behind them, asking Canada to watch that direction. Then Scotland shuffled over to check the back side of the store. There were a couple of the afflicted wandering aimlessly in the empty lot on the other side of the store, but the real gem was spotting the large drainage grate in the ground that would lead to the sewers. He couldn’t see a lock, so that meant it could be lifted with leverage or brute strength. Sure, there may be afflicted down there too, but the tunnel system worked in their favor. The afflicted could only come from behind or ahead, and no matter the sound they made, the afflicted above would take time to figure out how to get to them.
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Post by Zombies on Mar 28, 2012 21:42:54 GMT -5
Water sloshed around their ankles as the zombies stalked the sewers. None of them became conscious of the fact that they most probably would never leave the dirty, sinewy underground tunels. Most of them had just fallen through manholes and had kept wandering. Others had halfway decomposed and were now left crawling on the grimy stone walkways, or floating and moaning in the dirty waters.
Just like every other zombie, these ones were hungry. They moaned their desperation for fresh meat loudly, trying to find a scent, a hint of food around them. A lot of them decomposed and turned to goo in the sewer. The tunnels smelled of rot, disease and death, death of the one that would dare enter the area where the zombies dominated.
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Post by [x] Canada on Mar 28, 2012 23:49:38 GMT -5
Trying hard not to panic, Canada nodded silently at Scotland's directions and stayed with his back pressed up against the cool wall of the store. As he strained his eyes to catch every sign of motion that he could, he felt the other nation's presence leave his side and a jolt of worry tinged with fear went through his body. No, don't worry about Scotland, he's got himself covered, literally. Just focus on making sure none of the zombies get too close here, and you'll be fine.
...Is what he thought to himself, but he hardly believed the latter statement. He considered getting his gun ready, but then decided against it. One shot might bring tons of the infected swarming to the source of the sound, and thus destroy their advantage of having all five senses working. The smell was suffocating, though, and Canada burrowed his head into the high collar of his coat, attempting to hide his nose away.
After staying still for a few tense moments, he broke into a wallflower walk, moving along the wall to where Scotland had gone, feeling more secure knowing that nothing could suddenly pop up behind him. Noticing some zombies somewhat close to his position, he gulped and slowed down, trying to step as quietly as possible.
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Post by Scotland on Mar 31, 2012 5:49:52 GMT -5
Scotland glanced back at Canada and moved his head in a sharp, jerky manner at the corner of the building, indicating he was heading that way. Then he darted around the corner and for the grate, planting his feet on either side of a corner of it, and sliding his fingers into the grating. With a good grip, he hauled up on the grate, hearing it scrape and groan as it lifted up out of its bed. He could hear the faint groans from below, indicating there were indeed afflicted down below. He clenched his teeth as he strained to drag the heavy grate to the side and leave an opening large enough to slip through. No matter if there were afflicted down below. Sound would echo through the tunnels and make pinpointing the source that much more difficult. If the afflicted were hunting by scent, well, the sewers smelt like...sewers, making their own scents harder to pick out. Plus with the snow starting to swirl about in the air, the tunnels would be warmer.
Finally he let the grate drop with a heavy metallic clang that would undoubtedly alert the zombies close enough to hear it. He looked back to Canada and waved him over before dropping into the darkness below. Better he go first and clear the way than risk letting the younger nation go first. They would leave the grate open to allow for a quick exit if needed, and any zombies that dropped in after them were that many less zombies on the surface.
The moment he hit the walkway below, he felt something brush against his ankle and he kicked a half-decayed zombie into the stagnant sewage. The hand that had grasped his ankle remained attached, and he had to pull it off his boot and toss it into the water after its owner. He stepped aside to allow room for Canada to drop in after him and pulled his sword off his back as he scanned their surroundings. His sword was meant for hacking limbs and heads off living men. Zombies were ideal prey. He wrinkled his nose a bit at the smell, but a battlefield could smell just as bad. Nothing he couldn't handle.
Being in such a state of battle-readiness took him back to the days of his youth when he was Pictland, and the picts would charge into battle nearly nude, painted heavily in the symbols of their gods as their armor. If he hadn't taken into account that he may be on the receiving end of teeth at some point, he would have worn a kilt instead of pants. Zombies bites wouldn't be really dangerous until they penetrated the cloth of his uniform, which would take some really gnarly beast-like teeth to do right away. So he had tucked his pants into his boots and kept his sleeves unrolled, down to his wrists.
He refused to move until Canada dropped down with him, then they would have to be on their way in a hurry in case any zombies dropped in after them. Should that zombie climb back out of the sewage, he had something for it.
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Post by [x] Canada on Apr 2, 2012 4:08:32 GMT -5
Canada gnawed on his lip as he readied himself to follow his uncle down into the sewer. The noise of the grate hitting the concrete had resounded a good distance in the still air, he was willing to bet, and had probably acted as a clear beacon to the zombies to their location. Not that they could have stayed hidden for long. A pellet of worry for Scotland grew in his heart, as the faint sound of moans arose from the hole in the ground and reached his chilled ears. How brave the red-headed country was, going down first like that! There must be a plethora of the inflicted in the rotten waste, just waiting for someone to drop down by.
Well, it's now or never. Snow was falling faster by the second, and soon visibility up on the surface would be close to nil. He took in a cold, stinging breath and jogged self-consciously to the sewer entrance, looking left, right, and behind for any threatening signs. His glasses were stiff with the cold, and the lenses fogged up when he bent over the hole. Nose wrinkling up in disgust at the damp smell, Canada straightened his equipment, checked himself for bare skin, and jumped.
His boots squished something squishy, and in reflex he kicked out, stifling a cry. The sound of something splashing into water followed. Fortunately (or not), there were still very, very dim orange lights along the tunnel ceiling, letting him see what had spawned in the sewer. There was grime and sick-looking water and zombies. Some decayed, some decaying, some still moderately humanoid. Bile rose in his throat and he gagged on sight and smell. Thankfully his coat was zipped all the way up, so he could duck his nose in for a clean breather if need be. He did then.
Gunfire would be dangerous, so with a sinking heart he drew out his dagger, the double-edged blade dully reflecting the light. He'd practiced and practiced; now would be the chance to see whether anything came of it. He could see a Scotland-esque outline in front of him, sword apparently drawn. So. A sword to clear the way and a knife to make sure things stay cleared. That was quite agreeable to him.
It would be asking for your arm to be cut off if Canada were to tap the other's shoulder in his adrenaline-laced state. Thus he settled for a quiet word. "An-seo" Gaelic, not even sure if the pronunciation was right, heck if the word for here was right, but it was Gaelic nonetheless.
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Post by Zombies on Apr 2, 2012 17:47:24 GMT -5
The zombies had heard. The clanking of metal against the pavement was a new noise to them, unheard before, considering none of them had the cognitive abilities to lift a grate and drop it. Thus, it could only signify one thing: the presence of prey to hunt.
The group of zombies closest to the sound immediately diverted its wandering course and stumbled towards the source of the noise. Once on site, they didn't find anything that looked edible, and without ever relenting, kept walking, their instincts leading them further.
As they passed by the open manhole, many of them were not lucky enough to have their straight-line course out of the manhole's way, and promptly fell in. They landed at the bottom in a heap of moans, cracking bones and splattering flesh, but quickly arose as their sense of smell picked it up.
Among the smell of decay and sewage, there was the smell of prey. Moaning, noses up into the air, they stumbled through the quasi-total darkness, letting their guts lead them towards their next meal.
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Post by Scotland on Apr 3, 2012 9:10:52 GMT -5
Scotland heard Canada land behind him with a sense of relief, still afraid the afflicted up top had somehow gotten to him before he could come down. As his own eyes had slowly adjusted to the dim lighting of the tunnels, he finally spotted the afflicted in the sewer water making their way over. The echoing of sound also worked against him, as he couldn't be sure if the water sploshing sound was right by him or some distance from him. He stepped back closer to the young nation to keep him out of the sword's backswing, even as the blonde announced his presence in Gaelic spoken well enough to be understood. He had a moment to be impressed the boy's speech hadn't been totally corrupted by Francy-pants and Down South, and then swung the blade out into the first few afflicted approaching.
He heard bones crack and at least one large object, probably a head, splash into the water a few feet away. Another swipe separated arms from shoulders and heads from necks of the remaining afflicted in the water near them. It was then he heard the crunch of gravel overhead and he freed one hand to grab for the first part of Canada's jacket he can get a good handful of, intending to jerk the younger nation into the space behind Scotland's back and the wall.
The first zombie fell down from above, through the opening left by the moved grate, and steadied itself before Scotland's sword took it in the neck hard enough the blade rebounded off the stone wall of the tunnel next to it. The sword swung back to turn a zombie's face into a deep gouge as it approached from the sewage. He had every intention of keeping Canada between the wall and himself while he hacked everything that approached them in great sweeping swings of his blade. Until everything stopped moving.
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Post by [x] Canada on Apr 5, 2012 10:45:20 GMT -5
A surprised squeak left Canada's mouth as he got swung by the front of his coat into the space between the gritty wall (which he promptly pressed onto) and Scotland, who was starting his killing frenzy, apparently. He still held his knife at the ready, but doubted that he would use it today, since it was pretty likely that England's brother could handle it without his amateurish help. He couldn't prevent choking silently at the sight of zombies getting hacked and beheaded, however, but didn't want to turn his eyes away in case...well, just in case. Oh, look at that. It was raining re-animated corpses, lots of them. Canada berated himself for not attempting to close the manhole cover, even thought there really hadn't been anything he could've done about it. Turning his thoughts away to more pressing matters, he frowned in thought, trying to trace the sewer map that he believed this particular city possessed, as they'd have to get moving after all the zombies in this area were K.O.-ed. I suppose we'll just follow the lights until we reach another opening, take a peek outside, and decide from then. I hope it hasn't snowed so much so that we can't see anymore, 'cause that'd be a problem. Boy, did he wish Kumarafa was with him right now; he needed something to hug. He was turning out to be pretty useless to this mission, wasn't he now? Only being a hindrance that Scotland had to protect. With a sad tone, he wished that he had been replaced with someone else, and that he could just disappear. Wait a second...disappear...his eyes lit up with a lively glint. A lot of the times nations didn't even see him, and only vaguely sensed his presence, much less smell him, gosh no. What if that was the same for the zombies? Maybe he could just strike them down without them noticing anything, and thus lessening the load for his uncle? He had to test his theory out first, but in his head, at least, it made clear sense. [[@england...Which leads to my question: would the zombies be able to sense a faded Canada?]] [[England's answer: First of all, how did you even know I stalked read your thread with every update you guys made? And to answer to your question, I would be inclined to say that the zombies would feel Canada's presence by instinct, but if he stood right next to them, they wouldn't spot him, turn around, and target him. They'd know something would be there but they wouldn't know where exactly. Hope it helps!]]
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