Dead Walk (Open)

[Adam Byron]

Talk about a way to start the job....

It was the last thing Adam Byron expected after being elected Chief of Police for the City of New Orleans. Then again with a long history of voodoo superstition, paranormal activity, and open practice of necromancy it should not have been a surprise. He didn't know how it started or who was responsible. All that concerned him was the fact that a quarter of the Lafayette cemetery was up and walking around. They were also hungry according to the last few reports coming in. With no special response team at the ready thirty officers had been dispatched to cordon off the area to prevent further casualties from bystanders straying into the area. Equipped with riot armor and lethal weaponry they were also on the scene to prevent anything from spilling out of the burial ground. Orders were to keep the incident contained until the undead blight could be put to rest. With the body count at eight victims he intended to handle this matter personally.

He didn't have the exact number of resurrected cadavers. Nor did he know exactly what type he would be dealing with. More than likely it consisted of a lot of zombies and skeletons. Maybe a few ghouls. Highly unlikely that anything else would be out. There was no reason to believe anything nefarious was taking place. Although with the sun sinking beneath the horizon off in the distance he wasn't about to be taking any chances. The Mossberg 590 he normally kept in the corner at the office happened to be more than enough zombie medicine. Loaded properly it would easily tame the meanest supernatural being with minimal effort. If nine rounds wasn't enough it wouldn't take much to swap over the 10mm Mac-10 could mop up what was left of the resistance. A couple fragmentation and incendiary grenades for the heck of it. A few high intensity flash lights (weapon and one helmet mounted) and large push dagger completed the assembly of mayhem.

While he didn't really have to worry that much about physical injury it didn't mean he enjoyed it. Getting a hold of body parts and a surgeon willing to assist him during the procedure was becoming rather difficult. He did not enjoy all the hassle that went with it either. So investing in body armor was top priority. Even though he was very picky on the subject he managed to find a plate carrier with a DAPS system that actually managed to be comfortable. A sturdy low cut helmet was next. With a ceramic face shield that bolted to the mounting brackets. The last piece of protective gear was an excellent pair of flame and cut resistant gloves with ceramic plating along the knuckle area. This was as close as you could get to an armored knight in the modern age while still being effective. Bristling with weaponry and ammunition you would wondered why he wasn't off on some far away battlefield rather than in the cemetery.

A low fog started to gather within the cemetery as the temperature dropped. Giving the few lights around an eerie glow. With all the trees, hedge rows, grave markers, statues, decorative fencing, and outlandish mausoleums the place was a maze. Hundreds of places for someone or something to hide. Pausing for a moment the wind picked up carrying the putrid stench of death and restless moans of the long deceased. Something that could not have been human let out an ear piercing shriek off in the distance. It was followed by a few low roars. Something odd about all this, he thought. After checking over his weaponry he did a quick inventory of the rest of his gear. Miscellaneous medical supplies, chem lights food, and water. Two radios with an extra battery for each completed the list. After loading the new encryption onto both he calmly walked into the fog without looking back. No matter how big or complicated the problem was it would end tonight.

[Lord Xavier]

Chaining his black, monstrous mount up on Fourth Street (out of sight and safe), a tall, lean figure stepped back onto the pavement, twisting his head sharply South-West, putting his nose to the air. The eyes of death closed behind large black sunglasses, allowing him to concentrate more readily on the night, pinpointing the living creatures around him, separating the lower mammals with the larger ones, the humans, the werewolves and the vampires.

Concentrating on the rhythm of many hearts, building up a grand symphony of beats in his consciousness, his large white nostrils flared as he soaked up the scent of the living and the dead, hungrily grabbing it up with his heightened olfactory abilities, sucking it up, gorging on it until he had every single creature’s scent coiled tightly up inside him… and once he had had his fill, his eyes flashed open once more, unseen to the world.

Knowing exactly how many creatures were out there, all he had to do now was figure out which ones needed killing. In a swift motion, the man in the black suit grabbed a holster for his shotgun, slipped it over his head, pushing his right arm up and through it, allowing it to settle on his left shoulder and come down across the front of his torso, a bandolier made up the strap allowing him to carry more ammunition than he really needed, loose enough not to constrict him, nor bother his knee length black leather coat. Selecting his shotgun of choice, the M1014 (already fully loaded, one chambered… you can’t be too careful nowadays), he knew he wasn’t going to need anything special to take out the regular freaks, but guns weren't enough to take down the game he was aiming to prize that night, he had been on its trail for weeks.

Placing one of his big, fleshy hands on the front of his bike, the man patted it almost affectionately before taking off in the next breath, heavy boots falling silently on the hard grass as he ran towards the cemetery. Grabbing onto a tall white fence he hitched himself up and in a smooth movement was over, standing in a stranger’s back garden, completely unaware somebody was trespassing on their property as he carried on with his journey. Jumping over obstacles, the creature passed in total silence, completely camouflaged and entirely focused.

Coming up to a house, he clambered up the back of it till he reached the roof, stealthily creeping to the front to observe the cemetery from above; dead eyes watched out from behind black shades, studying the law enforcement that was already on the scene. The humans could amass themselves quite quickly but what they made up for in numbers, they lacked in actual skill or power. The hunter had no quarrel with these people, but they were preventing him from getting to those of whom he did. He’d counted thirty heartbeats surrounding the cemetery, could see the humans were protecting themselves with their armour and their guns, but it wasn’t nearly enough to cope with the sheer amount of evil amassing in the cemetery, building, seething, bulging… it was only a matter of time before the floodgates opened and the streets of New Orleans were swamped.

Now that he was on Washington Street, it was a straight dash into the cemetery once he was back on the ground; he just needed to deal with the two cops guarding the entrance. He spent a few seconds weighing up his options as he always did before acting: there were no prominent streetlights to shoot out to give him the cover of dark, and he didn’t want to kill the two cops, they were just trying to do his job but a lot more ineffectively, but he couldn’t incapacitate them with an M84 in risk of attracting the undead masses right to the exit… the monster waited, taking in an unnecessarily deep breath, feeling time almost slow around him as a shriek and thunderous roaring came from within the cemetery.

Without a second to lose, he leapt from the roof, falling some thirty feet, the split back of his coat flapping up like two great black wings as he fell, hitting the floor in a crouch, deathly white hands splaying to absorb the impact, he pushed off on his right leg and started running at the response unit while they were distracted, turning their attention slowly back to the street.

What little they saw before it met them head on was something akin to an Olympic athlete spliced with a civil servant from the early 1900s, something sprinting at them at an inhuman speed whilst wearing a full three-piece black suit, with black shirt, black tie, black shades, black jackboots, black coat, and black wide brim fedora, he would be a shadow were in not for his porcelain skin. As the man passed between the two of them, he carried with him no decaying scent but a definite feeling, essence, aura of death, as if a grey-blue smoke should follow in his wake, the two of them were transfixed as he passed, hypnotised and shivering as they came in close proximity to his deathly cold skin.

It was only once he was out of sight, turned down a corner and lost himself among the ubiquitous tombs, that they suddenly started shouting down radios, the spell broken. So what if the others knew he was inside the cemetery? Were they really going to come in after him?

Walking slowly, still allowing not a sound to be made by his footfall, the monster moved with care and caution, keeping his senses open to pick up on any movement and signs of life… well, not exactly life. There was quite a mixture of “life signs” coming from deeper within the maze, some he recognised easily, and others which were more difficult to pinpoint as a species.

Keeping low enough so that the top of his head couldn’t be seen above the tombs, the being repositioned his wide brim black fedora, bringing it closer down to his glasses, granting him a form of makeshift camouflage. Knee-deep in fog, he crept carefully and still quietly, hands curled slightly, muscles and fingers ready to act at the first sign of danger, he carried on further yet… brave Theseus submerging himself deeper into the labyrinth, inevitability drawing himself closer and closer to the Minotaur with every step, closer to the ungodly abominations that do swarm upon him.

[Adam Byron]

The infestation had turned out to be larger than reported. However there was a fixed number of bodies in the cemetery. So if the cause of the resurrection wasn't taken care of he would kill everything buried here again. There was little chance of being resupplied, and he did have a limited amount of ammunition. That forced him to resort to hand to hand whenever possible. Which was more often than he liked. No stranger to that brutal aspect of combat. Came down to it many times during the first world war. It was the first resort during trench sweeping operations. Where you couldn't risk a gunshot without the enemy coming down on you before the mission was complete. The human waves during the Korean War pushed you to it with the enemy overwhelming your positions in an attempt to silence heavy weapons and wreak havoc.

He tucked his chin low and took a step back to avoid a swipe made to his throat by a skeleton. The gnarled razor sharp stump where it's hand had been grazed his face shield. It tried to stab at him with it's other lethal twin appendage. Reaching out he seized the limb with his free hand snapping it like a dry twig. Stepping within the foul creature's guard he quickly snagged it's shoulder before hurling it into the side of a mausoleum. The ghastly sinew holding it together tore and it's form shattered. The animated skull rolled to his feet still snapping. Raising one heavy boot he smashed it into dust before turning and letting loose a blast of buckshot. The mass of nickel plated pellets hit like a solid projectile popping the zombie's head like an over ripe melon before spreading out like a swarm of angry wasps. The undead were group so close together each projectile found a skull to bury itself into.

Something slammed into his back almost causing him to stumble. Taking a single step to steady himself the foul stench hit him and felt whatever it was sink it's teeth into his shoulder. Without a second thought he propelled himself into the wall with tremendous force. Bone splintered and flesh pulped. The creature let go of him and sank to the ground. Turning he looked down into black soulless eyes and maw of razor sharp needle like teeth. The ghoul hissed and snapped trying to will it's ruined body toward him. Lowering the muzzle of the shotgun to it's face he pulled the trigger watching it's entire head vaporize.

What in God's name caused this, he thought. Ducking around the mausoleum he ran down the shadowy path before cutting across a row of graves. Weaving in and out of head stones. A necromancer was unlikely. There were few this powerful nor willing to cause this much chaos intentionally. If there was odds were they were dead or had long bailed after whatever they were doing went wrong. Could also be the result of a long dormant or recently placed curse on the area. Whatever the cause there had to be a source for the power which caused the resurrection. If he could destroy whatever it happened to be that might put a stop to the undead horde. Either that or prevent more from being raised.

He started toward the pathway to the cemetery, but came to a halt. The way was blocked by the dead. They were not ordinary mindless automatons of decomposing flesh and bone. Their eyes might have been empty and without thought. Only their stance along with many of them having a weapon of some sort indicated that they had a purpose. Some carried grounds keeping tools. Some held sticks and stones. A few had actually torn up sections of wrought iron fencing intent on use as crude spears. Some emerged from the shadows on his flanks. Ah hell, he thought thumbing a few more shells into his shotgun. The noise behind him hinted that the mindless flesh hungry rabble had caught up effectively blocking his retreat. Guess I've got no choice but to go through them.

Without a second thought he surged forward firing off the entire magazine tube to break up the front ranks. Slinging the shotgun on his back he transitioned to the MAC-10 before crashing into the group. They stood their ground and struck at him. Hoping to wear him down. It was a hopeless battle for them. He shoved them off clearing a space of at least five feet where ever he turned. He fired off burst after burst putting those he pushed back down permanently. Each shot that didn't destroy heavily impaired. He winced as a blow from a carpenter's hammer struck his helmet. Snatching the weapon away he buried it into the attacker's skull before pushing forward. A piece of fencing slipped off one of his armored side plates and buried itself in his kidney. That's going to be expensive, he thought pulling it from his body. He fired a short burst disintegrating the skeleton on the other end. A brick struck his face shield before he could reload. The shock caused him to stumble a little. A shovel blade glanced off his front plate but the tip of a pair of pruning sheers stabbed into the unarmored section under his arm. Thankfully it did not penetrate very far.

"You cannot kill me!" With a renewed ferocity he fought to escape their ranks. With fist, elbow, and vicious headbutt he thinned out the crowd enough to maneuver. He plowed through them with his shoulder like they were straw. A swift kick finally created enough of an opening for him to slip free of the horde. With the enemy to his front and his flanks clear he slapped a fresh magazine into the sub-machine gun. He fired off a long burst ranking up and down their lines. Moving backwards into the wealthier section of the graveyard. Forcing them into a bottle neck formed by the mausoleums. Reloading again he let the MAC-10 dangle on it's sling while he pulled his shotgun back around. His fingers were a blur as feed shell after shell back into it's magazine. Racking a fresh round into the chamber he hammered the mass of corpses back as he withdrew deeper into the cemetery. His mind had become one with the weapon for now. It only functioned to register the closest or most cost effective target, line up the weapon, fire, and chamber a new round. After every third shot he quickly fed shells into the magazine. Keeping it topped off.