GreyWorld by JaySlay – Chapter 1


We were out looking for decent gear.  Shoes, canned meat, anything that would help us.   Some stores were bound to have something useful left, and damned if we wouldn’t take it. Usually, we go out in larger groups of five to ten, to make sure we always have the upper hand.  Survival in numbers was the only reason we had made it this far.  Last week we had to gun down two men trying to take the last bit of food from the warehouse of Safeway.  They drew first, and we finished the fight. Good thing they were being noisy about it or we might not have heard them as we cruised by.  The streets were littered in paper, abandoned vehicles, and the stench of bodies.  Most of these smells were deceased citizens, while others were the unkempt bodies of those eking out survival among the ruins of the city.  While some birds sung out their songs, the rest of the city was silent.  Only the wind and the objects it moved made any sounds.  It was an eerie, grey world.  An ear to the wind could pick up the sound of gunfire, off in the distance. We try to listen as much as we can nowadays. People are ignorant, and are out scrambling around half the time. We don’t even have to kill them half the time either. Usually our guns scare the pants off them, and a few rounds around their feet get them to listen up. Robbing people out and about isn’t really giving us what we need though.  Mostly the people that scuttle around the dangerous streets are urchins, homeless and the mentally ill.  Without the systems in place to help, many people lost their humanity.  Some starved on the streets, picking through cars and demolished shops for bits of sustenance.  Others went insane, unable to cope with the rapid changes that our world went through.  Some families lost fathers, mothers and other caregivers.  The first week I called “The Test”.  It was a test for everyone to see if they truly had what it took, to live through this new era of lethality.  Many failed the test.  While many people struggled to come together, just as many took their chance at evil when society was at its weakest.  My choice to join the week and feeble masses in the central city shelters, or go it on the streets, was made easily enough.

We’ve decided today to raid a mansion in the “Estates”. This one was obviously occupied.  We were cruising the city last night looking for some fun, and you could see the lights from fifteen minutes away! Too good to be true, and my boys and I haven’t had a bottle of anything, or half decent grub in awhile. Better yet, the house seems to have just a single family living there. I see smoke from the chimney. The power has been out forever, so that guy must have a generator or some auxiliary power.  I’m sure there will be all sorts of wonderful things inside, maybe even a woman to bed with.  I’m getting sick of the drawn out shootouts, so I think this time we are just going to call them out with firebombs, from cover. … A shame to burn the house down, but most people are willing to live if they have a choice, and can’t say no! It would be a better idea then just prying at the boarded windows like the last few times to get in. One of the gang bought a hole through his head ala 12-guage last time, poking his face into a window he just ripped open. Fire will be our best weapon from now on…just hope we don’t need to make too many molotovs…we are living on siphoned gas at this point.

Yesterday we tried the same thing, but we fucked it up. We were too gung-ho on this one house. Tried to get whoever we saw inside to come out and give us their shit. One of our boys lit up the molotov and we told buddy he was about to die. Fucked if the guy didn’t take a quick shot, and pop the glass bottle all over my dumb ass buddy. One less mouth to feed, but damn his screams were sick… That’s the last time we move in without some coverage on the windows. We didn’t notice anything, but that homeowner or whoever must have had a scope on us the whole time.  The ride was full of holes and Johnny had a bullet through his shoulder. He won’t be making it far for long, and soon he might be receiving the deadly lullaby of the pistol.  We are going to start being smarter about this, or we won’t have many left to get us the shit we need to rock.  No more mistakes. No more walking into booby traps. The people have learned too much, and it’s getting fucking hard to earn a buck or a fuck nowadays… I’m thinking of moving the whole lot to the mall, and just live off the crap that’s left there. I’m thinking a few well set ambushes on these scavengers that come out every now and then… Maybe they can lead us back to their places.  We are running out of bullets… and need other ways to get what we need. All the shops with any sort of ammo are looted and a mess. I’m tired of picking through Canadian Tire looking for bullets that may, or may not have fallen on the ground.  The stashes of ammo that people are hoarding are even harder to find.  I’m going to try some chemical stuff against the next house we need access to. One of my raiders let me in on something.  Similar strategy to the molotov; He said we will make some jars of bleach and fill them with smaller jars of ammonia. Chuck a few through the windows, and wait for the occupants to come out choking. That chlorine gas is a bitch boys! Some of us only have a few rounds for our heat left and I’m starting to get worried about that.  I hope this saves us some wasted lead. Hate to get all axe and sword on the poor yuppies.  I love a good raid.

We lost another one of us today though, poking around this building that was boarded up. Some sort of a hardware store I guess. We were trying to get into the main doors, but they had some sort of shelving brackets screwed in the back bracing them shut. The back had a staff access, and he was checking it out. All I heard was the BOOM! He was kicking on the ground, missing a knee and had a few holes all through his legs. I guess some bastards rigged up some buckshot shells hidden under some little bushes by the door. He must have stepped on a trip wire or something. We are down another guy, from another stupid mistake. Better him then me though! Next time we will be looking for wires and other crap. We left that store for the time being, and our downed guy, but we will be back. I just don’t have time for triage anymore, and need a drink.
For dinner we ate a dog. Not my first time since this shit all happened, but it just isn’t right. I’ve heard of foreign people eating them, but damn, ain’t chicken. I should count my blessings that we even found that Sheppard running around. It must have been someone’s guard dog or something. We relaxed with dreams of beef, belly of dog, and the sounds of gunfire in the distance.  We aren’t the only gang trying to run this city.  We drank heavily on multiple bottles of old whiskey.  It was the loot of our raids into the rich areas of town.  A cellar full of whisky isn’t food, but it can keep the group happy.

Who ever thought our best weapon available would be a woman! We “adopted” this lass we met rummaging downtown last raid. It wasn’t so much we wanted her, and we did, as she wouldn’t take no for an answer.  She liked the idea of guns, fun and being on the run. This girl was hard, and when I tried to get cute she had a snub-nosed revolver pressed into my crotch. She was a naughty girl, and that’s when I started thinking. We could have a lot of fun with this one.  Women had it hard at first, at least the ones who weren’t smart enough to defend themselves when society started killing itself.  This one was obviously not one to be fucked with.  But I saw something more useful in the innocent twinkle in her eye.

She stumbled up to the door of the tall house at the top of the street. Her clothing was tattered, and her face smudged with dirt and dried blood. She sat sobbing on the steps. Within ten minutes, a slot opened among some boards over the window of the door. A man quickly opened the door. He said something to her, and offered her an arm up.  The words were lost to me over the distance. Slowly she gathered herself, winced a smile to the man, and together they hobbled inside. The silhouette of another tall person in front of dim candlelight was seen inside as they closed the door. We watched, and we waited.

It was three in the morning, and we awaited the penlight flash that would act as our signal. One two-man team hidden down the road, the other three of us were hidden in the alleyway. Three quick flashes from a main floor window and we knew it was time. We locked and loaded what we had left. Most of us were carrying our machetes at this point, our ammunition becoming our most valuable commodity. The alleyway team made its way to the gate, and quickly scaled it. We dodged up to the house and hugged the wall. A small squeak and the back door opened ever so slightly. Now was our chance! I pushed the door in, and my team followed me in. She was waiting for us, her .38 drawn and she was ready. She is so sneaky! She pointed upstairs, and motioned for silence with a finger over her lips. I whispered for silence, and crept up the stairs. At the top was a hall, with three doors. The farthest had the faintest glow of some form of light. Again, she pointed towards the room and followed it with a stifled shhh. I slid my recently acquired saw-ed off from its makeshift holster, and crept closer to the doorway. The remaining rooms were dark and shadowy, and I couldn’t make out any shapes. Keeping the shotgun up, I turned the corner into the room. A man, asleep on the chair, was unaware of my entry. “Get on the ground!” I screamed and jammed the barrel into the side of his head. Shouts and screams from the hallway alerted me that my following team had found occupants in the other rooms.

Tied up, the household looked a filthy, pathetic bunch. An older, obviously worn down man was the one who failed his watch duty out the front windows. Another two teenage boys, a seventy something grandmother and a nasty looking lady were also lined up beside each other, tied to kitchen chairs. The lady had the evilest stare, directed at The Girl. I would be pissed too. We had sacked the house, and started carting cans and bottled water out. I checked out the rifle that was sitting beside the watch-duty geezer while he was asleep. It was an older lever-action Savage.  It was a decent rifle, but almost a century old. He had eight rounds of .303 sitting on the ground. This guy never would have made it far anyway!  One rifle with obsolete ammunition… We finished moving the stuff to the van we were using, and milled about in the kitchen, pondering what to do with these disheveled whelps. I decided, and began spilling their lamp oil up and down the halls.  Something inside me hesitated, and then I continued.  I soaked their clothing too, and reddened their eyes while pouring it over their heads. I motioned for the rest of the team to get ready to depart, and lit my smoke. They agreed silently and trudged back to our waiting getaway van. It isn’t my fault the world turned out the way it did.  If things were different, it wouldn’t have to be this way.  But god isn’t here helping people like they think he is.  I took another slow drag and sighed. Oh well, its bbq time.. I began walking slowly towards the kitchen again, towards the crying muffled noises of the family. Suddenly all chaos turned loose! A door burst open to my right, and I was struck with something hard, sending me flying into another room. Before I could get up I was tackled by some dark figure. I felt cold, sharp pain in my ribs and remembered what the feeling of a shank felt like. Once, twice, three times the blade jutted in past my skin between my ribs. I shouted, screamed, kicked and struggled. I threw the assailant off me and bolted for the front door. The darkness of the house made it impossible to navigate in the panicked state I was in. Reaching to my hip, I realized I had dropped the shotgun in the hall. Shit! The burning pain in my ribs stung as I stumbled down towards the entryway, silhouetted in the light of dusk. Fuck! As I reached the front door and pulled it open, I saw the face of the girl standing in my way, responding to the sounds of gunfire. Kaboom! The doorframe burst into shards of wood to the right of me.  The shouts of men from behind let me know we had underestimated their numbers. Another blast of shot from behind , and a viscous liquid covered my eyes. I stumbled, tripped and fell over the girl, and down the steps. Trying to wipe my eyes, I heard more gunfire zipping overhead.  Crawling past the driveway, I focused on the shape of the getaway van. Crack crack crack crack. Boom, boom! Crack crack crack! Another pain ripped through my leg as I felt a bullet burning into my flesh. I looked up to one of my boys, who reached for me, and dragged me into the van. Snow exploded around me, as rounds from the house rained down on the street near us. Thuds and the sound of shattering glass were all I could hear as bullets perforated the van.  As I looked back, I saw the lifeless bloodied corpse of the girl, crumpled in the doorway. She had taken a blast in the face before I bowled her over in my escape. Muzzle flash from a basement and main floor window lit up the house’s exterior, as the van peeled away. My vision faded into crimson as I stared at the pool of blood leaking from my body, onto the floor of the van…….

The boss was convulsing. I think he had got stuck in the liver or something.  The fool. We had stopped at an abandoned gas station and laid him on the floor. We tried to Krazy Glue his knife wounds shut, but his leg was beyond repair. One bullet stopped in his thigh, the other passing through the flesh of his calf. His head was bleeding, and he was in and out of consciousness. This is hopeless.

The boys passed around a joint and tried to get the boss to drink some liquor to calm him down. The booze trickled out of the side of his mouth. He all gave each other a long look, and we knew it was too late.  He was not a good person, and I had no problems letting him slip into the afterlife.  The murders the man had committed had sealed his fate in the book of Karma.   It was time to get back to our hideaway in the department store. We needed to think things out and take inventory. It was time we started doing things differently. Too much violence had gotten us killed, and half of it was for nothing. We had enough food now for the week or two to come. We were now down to six.  A case of soup, a bag of flour, a case of pepperoni sticks and about two dozen water bottles.  This would be our food until we found something edible.

We drove our van along the back of the Sears, to the bay door. We had everything secured down, with only one real way in.  It was a stroke of luck that we had found a way in.  We had clambered up the access ladder one night, to the roof of the mall, for a look at our surroundings.  We were surprised to see an access door, and kicked it in easily.    We had left this door on the roof unlocked, with which to get inside and open the bay door.  Removing a lower section of the access ladder, we blocked any attempt to follow our route.  Once inside and the bay door was opened, we drove the van in and parked it beside the dock. Once unloaded, we took stock of what we had and sat. Some cleaned their weapons, some kicked around the store looking for anything useful. We had just about everything we could need, excepting an everlasting supply of food.  In the months to come I knew our ammunition was not going to last.  The sustainability of our raids was just not possible, and the wasteful attitude of our past leader had used up the bulk of our supplies.  Extended gun battles across suburban streets had eaten hundreds of our bullets.

I decided to set about making improvised weapons. I had played around with concussion bombs in my youth, and decided to put a few together. A few bottles filled with water, a pill of scrunched up foil and a few bottles of drain cleaner. These bad boys have about a five second delay if mixed right, and in the right bottle burst with extreme force and noise. I personally almost blinded myself once in an accident doing just this. To the water I added my own special formula. Hot chili oil. In the event of a proximity explosion, the intended victim would be covered in corrosive foam, and the air would be thick with irritating particles. It was tear gas in a makeshift grenade.

After rigging up my grenades and setting them off to the side, we geared up, and I decided we would open the door to the mall promenade, in the back of the department store. We had never ventured in there yet, as we concentrated on keeping people OUT of our special “fort”. The mall was loosely dotted with clothing stores, jewelry stores, banks and other useless things. Most of these things are useless at this point. We knew the mall had not been secured, and I remembered seeing smoke from one side of the complex weeks ago.  It was one of the many fires that filled our air with smoke in the initial weeks of devastation. The looters had been through here heavily too, the first three weeks.  I remember the mobs of people, kicking, screaming trying to find there loved ones amid the mass of elbows and feet.  The broken bodies of those who had fallen still littered the grounds, untouched.  The glasses of the outer shops of the mall were all shattered, littering the perimeter ground like evil diamonds.  It looked like a scene from a war-torn country in Africa.  I guess I would give the kudos to Sears for shutting their storm gate doors early.  The thick metal and bolts secured the store from the throngs of looters with bolt cutters, pry bars and hammers. Thanks Sears. If it wasn’t for the weaker roof door, we would probably never have made it in either.

We took turns with some bolt cutters on the gate’s bolt. It was thick, but eventually we weakened it enough that it snapped off in a lump of slashed metal. We slid the gate open and stared at the wreckage that was once a tidy little mall. There was debris littering the floor, of every possible origin. Blood, glass, shopping carts and useless junk was strewn in a never ending carpet down the promenade. The Best buy looked like a trash heap, with TV’s and stereos half missing, half smashed, and covering their isles like obstacles in a hurdle race.  Bodies of those unfortunate enough to meet their end, were strung about down the hard tile floor.  We secured bandanas and balaclavas over our mouths, and the stench was unforgettable.

I knew there was a small food court, though I was certain it was completely empty. The boys grumbled about eating soup for weeks, and we decided to check it out anyway. We drudged down through the debris to the far end of the mall. We poked through some stores along the way, checking staff fridges and other such places of food. Some of us found water bottles, and filled up our packs. Walking around a corner, I see the body of security guards on the ground. His head was bloodied, and several bullet holes center mass gave evidence of his demise. We continued on, un fazed. Another minute and we neared the food court entrance. The boys quickened their pace when they saw the familiar establishment signs.

Immediately shouts from across the hall rang out. What the fuck! Figures dashed around in the back of some food shops, and more garbled discussion was heard.  We heard the actions of weapons sounding out. The boys and I backed away to the corner, and drew our firearms. Come the fuck out, I bellowed across the plaza. Bang, bang, bang, and three rounds ricocheted off the cement wall as a reply. I gave the signal to open fire, and the boys let off some rounds towards their targets. One of them popped off copious rounds from his smaller caliber .22 rifle, forcing our assailants to drop to cover.  The glass of a cake shop front shattered as a few of the small rounds pinned down their targets. I dashed and jumped across the entrance to the far side, to gain a second perspective on the opposite side of the court. We didn’t have the upper hand. I hurriedly whipped off my pack, and grabbed the box of shells that sat inside the front pocket. I stuffed my pockets, loaded my tube magazine of my 870 and peered out from my cover. I saw a few figures, behind several counters, and at least a couple handguns. I knew there was trouble when I heard the distinctive “cracka-cracka-cracka” of an automatic handgun. Looking across, I could see my crew was in a bad position, taking fire from several directions.   They were unable to return fire, staying unexposed behind the heavy cement wall. I made an impulse decision and leaped from my cover, over the counter of the adjacent food shop. I breathed heavily, quickly, and forgot what I was doing. Sitting on the floor I realized this must be a Taco bell, as a few moldy potato bites scattered the floor. I glanced up at the smiling face of the mascot Chihuahua. The ridiculous things of the past, before everything went to shit.

I knew from where I was I could sneak along the back service hallway and flank our attackers. I questioned whether this would all be worth it, and then dashed to the back door and opened it slowly into the hallway. Muzzle up front, I quickly and silently dashed down the hallway, nearing the sounds of handgun fire. Approaching the first open door, I cornered and let off a quick blast from my shotgun. Buck burst forth, exploding the scene in front of me with a boom. I saw a figure dip behind a counter, and as if on cue I slapped the trigger just as he rose to return fire. My blast caught him dead center, and he fell backwards against the cooking oven. I tried to regain composure and identify my next target, when bullets sprayed across the restaurants. Chinese food containers and paper cups flew everywhere, and I retreated back to the hall. Looking down the hallway towards the attackers, I knew they might flank me soon. I bolted back towards my comrades, and kicked the door down that lead straight into the promenade, away from the line of fire. I shouted for a retreat, and we sprinted back down through the mall. A few rounds ricocheted down the mall’s main drag, but we were too far, and out of their line of sight.

We were not prepared for opposition. As most of our weapons were long guns, we only packed a few out, leaving the rest of our stash safe, in our corner of Sears. It was time for war, and we would not be driven away from our only refuge. I could tell from the garb of the man I dropped, these were gangsters. Not new age gangsters like us, but one of the gangs that ran things in this city before all hell broke loose. I expected that automatic pistol was not their only trump card. It was time for war. We found a padlock, and locked ourselves back into Sears. We reloaded, prepared our weapons, and had a single drink each. One of the boys taped phone books into a vest with duct tape. I didn’t need the weight holding me down. It was time for war and I needed to be swift and deadly.

I had not stopped to think about things for quite some time. As I looked at the faces of the young men I had come to lead, I wondered at what emotions they were chewing on. Fear, loss, desperation. A few of the gang actually seemed to be enjoying the events of the past few weeks. A little adrenaline can sure feel great when hunger and boredom overwhelm us.

After the initial chaos that rocked our cities, the supplies of the populace started to dwindle. Surprisingly, it was the violence that was the worst part. People started shooting each other, even before food had mostly run out. It was far worse then anyone had thought it would be. Instead of one thing to fear, our world had been bombarded by several.

The comets striking Europe was the very first indication things were changing. After that a chain of economic collapses, followed by governments scrambling to regain order, began the social disarray. Military coups in many eastern and African nations destabilized those regions, while social protest over giving aid struck North America. It was right before civil war that the power went out in the States. Some say it was the government, removing the weapons of its opponents. Following the blackout of the States, Canada was also cut from its electricity. Early rumors were that Mexico lost its power as well, and the drug gangs quickly started to attack government targets. Some looked to science and the study of the sun for answers. There was talk of flares or EMPs of some sort, but the technical talk was lost on me. The actual cause was never televised, as the power remained off. That’s when the murders started.

Most of us had experienced loss in our families in the weeks after the disaster. One of the boys survived a near execution, fleeing his lifelong home that held the corpses of his family. Hell, I had no clue where my father was, and cared even less. This was a new life, and I was going to life it up until I died. Finally my own choices are the only ones I have to account for. Everyone else was now just a gnat to me, and I could finally swat whomever I wanted. I had made it this far, better then most, and I won’t let myself die like the rest.

All suited up for combat, we looked quite the bunch. We were fairly well armed from the start, everything considered. Between the six of us, we had eight firearms. We carried the ancient pilfered .303 Savage, a Ruger .22, A Mossberg 590A 12 gauge, two Glocks in 9mm, an old Mauser, my Remington 870 12-guage shotgun and a scoped Remington 700 rifle in .308. Divided among us we had a handful of prepared concussion bottles, some makeshift chlorine gas jars, two flare guns. I opted to leave the pile of flammable liquids gleaned from the Sears shelves.  No point making this easy for them. For ammunition we had a few hundred rounds of various centre fire, and a couple thousand rounds of .22LR.  In the sporting goods section, we acquired two crossbows and a huge pile of bolts. These would be our backups, just in case, and we left them behind. Two of the boys made their phonebook vests, and the rest of us started making shopping carts into armored, mobile firing positions. We loaded them with various items, and draped some sheet metal over the edges. If caught out in the open, these would help us get back to cover. We had machetes strapped to our belts or legs, some of us also carried extra knives on our limbs.  We were certainly outgunned, and probably outnumbered.  They had no chance, I laughed.  I only hope my confidence was not my undoing.  One of the boys vomited fiercely into a pile of refuse.  His face and body language made it blatantly obvious something was wrong.  Most likely it was food poisoning.  He tried his best to join us, but I told him to stay behind.  I noticed the paleness of his cheeks.  He would just get himself killed, I told him.  The young man agreed, grimacing, and said he would keep the gate locked until we returned.  He didn’t talk much, least of all about himself.

We had heard some commotion in the mall overnight. Voices, some smashing around the gate, but nothing came of it. Either they didn’t know where we were, or they had another plan to get at us. Either way, we were prepared for something nasty. We knew these guys were eating something. I wanted to know what it was, we all did, and I wanted it for my own.  I wasn’t afraid anymore.  I had killed, and known what it was to live.  This time wasn’t going to be any different. We sat for awhile and started discussing strategy.  A pincer style ambush, I proposed.  Some of the team would stay on the western side, using cover, and draw fire.  Like before, I would backtrack and take the eastern service hallway to the back of the restaurants.  At that point I told them to start throwing the jars of chemicals, far into the back corners of the food court.  Anything to even our odds was acceptable.  I knew this would be risky, but what wasn’t risky nowadays?   We would be dead in two weeks if we didn’t find something to eat.  With six of us, we needed a lot of something.  Drunken nights imbibing on the whisky in hiding were not going to cut it for long.  Most of the boys were nervous. Boys! Most of them were older then myself by a couple years, and had hardy beards. This was excepting the younger one, who had to be at least twenty.  Now, slumped against a wall rocked by nausea, he looked like he might be the weakest link.

Ready, fueled by adrenaline, we unlocked the gate, and slid it aside slowly. Side by side, we pushed the carts out slowly, readied our weapons and prepared to do battle. I realized the only way to get there without revealing our position would be to move down a parallel service hallway with the carts.  They were simply too loud to push through the mall. The gate clanked shut behind us, and the bolt locking sent a sharp sound echoing down the hall.  I silenced the group with an indicative gesture. Fuck.  Noise like that will get us killed.  We moved slowly down the first leg of the mall, and took the first service access door we came to.  We couldn’t hear anything, and continued cautiously, stopping to move the bodies of the trampled from our path.  Eventually we came to the end of the hallway, and a large white and black sign marked the door to the cafeteria.  Plan in place, my compatriot and I reversed direction for our side of the assault.  The others awaited my arrival across the entrance.

We darted back down the hall for a leg, entered into and across the main promenade, and across to the opposing service door.  This hallway was clear, unlike the other, and the aroma of burning was heavy in the air.  The fire on this corner of the mall must have been contained to a single store.  Reaching the corner near the cafeteria, we stopped.  I edged close to the corner, and peered across the court.  In the back of the tables and chairs sat a large man, holding what looked to be an assault rifle.  He was focused on something in front of him, and was not able to see us at the angle he was sitting.  On the opposite side of the court, the rest of our crew waited behind the corner.  They had the items in hand to activate the concussion bottles, and were locking eyes with me.  I held the plastic water bottles tight, hands sweating.  I mixed the ingredients, capped the bottle, and primed it for detonation. On “go”, my right hand man had fired his round into the back of the man’s head.  I lobbed the bottle.  Instantly shouts and action commenced.  The enemy poured out from seemingly nowhere, shooting everything wildly.  Bullets pummeled the chairs and tables as they strafed the entire entrance from side to side.  Avoiding fire, I grabbed a jar from my backpack and slung it blindly around the corner.  They had seen me and now were focusing fire towards my corner.  More shouting and gunfire filled the cafeteria with bedlam.  I heard a huge bang and had only hoped my weapon had hit a target.  The crash of lead pounding into the makeshift battle carts mingled with explosions, shouting and heavy fire.  Coughing and more zipping of bullets; I knew we were pinned.  After awhile, things seemed to settle down, and the noise tapered off.  The occasional pop was heard, and I hazarded a glance from around my haven of cover.  The moans of agony could be heard from behind some of the counters.  The acrid stench of chlorine filled the large room.    I tightened the bandanna around my nose, and un-shouldered the .303.  The patter of footsteps rang out and I caught a movement in a far restaurant.  The figure fired several shots at our guys behind the carts, and I discharged the round I was aiming towards him.  Another loud shot rang out as I saw my shot fall wide.  The opponent dropped rapidly with a hole under his nose.  They had pinned him with the scoped rifle.  The far rear exit door burst open and we all focused our fire on the two men who erupted forth.  They were each hit multiple times and met the same fate as the last.  I chambered another round with a snap of the lever, and the shell chimed as it hit the hard tile floor.  We quickly jumped over the counter of the Taco Bell and made our way into the rear hallway.  Automatic gunfire erupted from back in the cafeteria, but for this to work they would have to hold for themselves.  I squinted into the darkness as we ran.  We were just thirty yards down the blackened hallway when we heard the clamor of several people in an unknown language, closing quickly on the same corner we were approaching.  I dropped the rifle hastily and was just racking my shotgun’s action, when they surged around the corner.

Keep Reading: GreyWorld Chapter 2