MyLittleHellhound

If you were to look from a bird’s eye view onto the tank, it would be modern art. A beige streak rectangle with thousands of black swarming dots, and a large slash of red paint behind the rectangle. Almost artistic in a sense, that is if you weren’t experiencing it. Morton jammed down the triggers of the .50 cal. The machine gun whined as it blasted off chunks of flesh and bone, turning the pavement red and squishy underfoot as flesh came off in pieces. “Hurry the fuck up!!!” Morton shouted, trying to be heard over the growls and moans. The tank’s engine revved, and shot forward with a burst of speed. Squelching sounds sounded under the tank and Morton pushed ear plugs in further, god, that was sick……The .50 cal clicked and stopped firing. With a sigh, it winded down and smoke trailed from the barrel. The zombies, realizing that the gun was out of ammo, attacked with renewed vigor. Morton tugged free his shotgun and shoved the barrel under one drooling chin. The 12 gauge blew out the zombie’s brains in a bright fountain of brain and gristle. Its tongue rolled out of the bottomless head, flopping onto the body of the tank. Morton shoved it away with a grunt and slammed his elbow straight through another freakbag. He felt its eye pop, and the brain give way in the rotten skull as his elbow continued its grisly journey through another head. The creature fell back with a sickening crunch and got caught in one of the bloodstained ropes on the side of the tank. Inside, Carl was struggling to keep the tank going. Keenan shouted at him, “Use a fucking AP Shell!!!!!” Carl fired the tank’s main gun with devastating results. The large shell hurtled through the zombies on a straight trajectory, knocking zombies off their feet or just plain going through the mass of flesh. The explosion rattled the tank and zombie chunks hit the tank on all sides. Keenan hauled himself up with Carl’s sword in hand. Yelling a war cry, he swung and decapitated a zombie climbing steadily towards Morton and his brains. The zombie shuddered and went limp. Again, Keenan struck and the blade went cleanly through an abdomen and came out with a rotten kidney. Carl fired the main gun, accidentally hitting a skyscraper that was barely standing up. It groaned and pieces of concrete and glass shattered in the crowd of zombies. Keenan looked up for a second at the teetering skyscraper. “Tell Carl to get the fuck out. Now. NOW GODDAMNIT!!!!!” he yelled, taking out a large machine gun and mowing down zombies. Morton tapped Carl on the shoulder and soon enough, the skyscraper began to fall. Straight towards them. The three men elbowed, shoved, and blasted their way through the rest of the zombies and stumbled across the street. The horde of zombies looked up at the shadow. And got 500,000 thousand pounds of concrete and glass right up their ass. Glass crunched underfoot as Franco padded down the stairs followed by Smith. An acrid stench filled the air as Franco touched a door, leaping back with a hiss. “It’s fucking hot on the other side.” He cursed. They kept going. A couple of times they encountered zombies, but there didn’t seem to be the normal amount. Soon enough, they arrived at the first floor. The carpet was chewed up and the couches were ripped, but then again, this was a zombie apocalypse. The doorman, or what remained of him, was strewn across the desk and floor. Speakers still faintly played a piano tune. Blood dripped from chairs and a lonely arm, pale and bloody, was hanging onto a doorknob that its owner would never open. Other bodies were there too. Military personnel it would seem. Smith grimaced. “Shit man, this is bad…..” Zombie parts lay all over the place, a heart there, a brain over in that corner. A head was skewered on a metal pole. It was a truly gruesome scene. Franco eased open the door and bright light filled the room. Smith shielded his eyes. An ear-splitting shriek filled the air. Franco dropped to his knees and covered his ears. Overhead, a skyscraper collapsed, sending up a dust cloud like a mushroom. The sound reached them a second later, as well as the shockwave. Glass shattered as an extremely powerful wave hammered the buildings. Smith was thrown back and collapsed into a bookshelf. Through blurry vision, he saw the doorknob open. He remembered this place, when he was little. The grand hotel next to them. Oh god. No….His parents had been killed here, by a raging gunman. His sister, after a few years, worked here as a clerk. He didn’t know what happened to her after the events that led up to this moment. He didn’t know where she was. But the zombies filed into the room, eyes sweeping for brains. They were dressed like clerks. And one of them…no……it looked like his sister…….

You know you can make your own topic right? On New Topic option near the top of the list. Ok then I@!

I love how it's pretty much Finnish Lamb of God but with a fiddle

Welcome to the site and have a good time!

WE SHOULD TOTALLY HAVE A HUGE CELEBRATION WHEN THERE IS THE 10,000th member!!!!!!!!!!!!! Hi hahah welcome to the site---- Find alot of interesting stuff on that Zombie Story section down there....check it out.

If you were to look from a bird’s eye view onto the tank, it would be modern art. A beige streak rectangle with thousands of black swarming dots, and a large slash of red paint behind the rectangle. Almost artistic in a sense, that is if you weren’t experiencing it. Morton jammed down the triggers of the .50 cal. The machine gun whined as it blasted off chunks of flesh and bone, turning the pavement red and squishy underfoot as flesh came off in pieces. “Hurry the fuck up!!!” Morton shouted, trying to be heard over the growls and moans. The tank’s engine revved, and shot forward with a burst of speed. Squelching sounds sounded under the tank and Morton pushed ear plugs in further, god, that was sick……The .50 cal clicked and stopped firing. With a sigh, it winded down and smoke trailed from the barrel. The zombies, realizing that the gun was out of ammo, attacked with renewed vigor. Morton tugged free his shotgun and shoved the barrel under one drooling chin. The 12 gauge blew out the zombie’s brains in a bright fountain of brain and gristle. Its tongue rolled out of the bottomless head, flopping onto the body of the tank. Morton shoved it away with a grunt and slammed his elbow straight through another freakbag. He felt its eye pop, and the brain give way in the rotten skull as his elbow continued its grisly journey through another head. The creature fell back with a sickening crunch and got caught in one of the bloodstained ropes on the side of the tank. Inside, Carl was struggling to keep the tank going. Keenan shouted at him, “Use a fucking AP Shell!!!!!” Carl fired the tank’s main gun with devastating results. The large shell hurtled through the zombies on a straight trajectory, knocking zombies off their feet or just plain going through the mass of flesh. The explosion rattled the tank and zombie chunks hit the tank on all sides. Keenan hauled himself up with Carl’s sword in hand. Yelling a war cry, he swung and decapitated a zombie climbing steadily towards Morton and his brains. The zombie shuddered and went limp. Again, Keenan struck and the blade went cleanly through an abdomen and came out with a rotten kidney. Carl fired the main gun, accidentally hitting a skyscraper that was barely standing up. It groaned and pieces of concrete and glass shattered in the crowd of zombies. Keenan looked up for a second at the teetering skyscraper. “Tell Carl to get the fuck out. Now. NOW GODDAMNIT!!!!!” he yelled, taking out a large machine gun and mowing down zombies. Morton tapped Carl on the shoulder and soon enough, the skyscraper began to fall. Straight towards them. The three men elbowed, shoved, and blasted their way through the rest of the zombies and stumbled across the street. The horde of zombies looked up at the shadow. And got 500,000 pounds of concrete and glass right up their ass. Glass crunched underfoot as Franco padded down the stairs followed by Smith. An acrid stench filled the air as Franco touched a door, leaping back with a hiss. “It’s fucking hot on the other side.” He cursed. They kept going. A couple of times they encountered zombies, but there didn’t seem to be the normal amount. Soon enough, they arrived at the first floor. The carpet was chewed up and the couches were ripped, but then again, this was a zombie apocalypse. The doorman, or what remained of him, was strewn across the desk and floor. Speakers still faintly played a piano tune. Blood dripped from chairs and a lonely arm, pale and bloody, was hanging onto a doorknob that its owner would never open. Other bodies were there too. Military personnel it would seem. Smith grimaced. “Shit man, this is bad…..” Zombie parts lay all over the place, a heart there, a brain over in that corner. A head was skewered on a metal pole. It was a truly gruesome scene. Franco eased open the door and bright light filled the room. Smith shielded his eyes. An ear-splitting shriek filled the air. Franco dropped to his knees and covered his ears. Overhead, a skyscraper collapsed, sending up a dust cloud like a mushroom. The sound reached them a second later, as well as the shockwave. Glass shattered as an extremely powerful wave hammered the buildings. Smith was thrown back and collapsed into a bookshelf. Through blurry vision, he saw the doorknob open. He remembered this place, when he was little. The grand hotel next to them. Oh god. No….His parents had been killed here, by a raging gunman. His sister, after a few years, worked here as a clerk. He didn’t know what happened to her after the events that led up to this moment. He didn’t know where she was. But the zombies filed into the room, eyes sweeping for brains. They were dressed like clerks. And one of them…no……it looked like his sister…….

Hey, welcome to the site. So if yo uhave any questions you can ask in the questions section, or pm someone, (private message). Everyone on here is generally helpful and its good to know that people find this site each day! Have lots of fun! PS. I suck at COTD

True, it is alot of reading for people who dont like to read, so make a youtube video explaining it hahaha it is a tad confusing for me.... Good job though.......I wil lthink through it.

In my opinion, Treyarch even releasin WaW on Remembrance Day was pretty risky. Wiat, it was remembrance day correct? I was like "They probably should have thought this through" Also, it is great that people have ideas, but I believe Auchiwitz has too many memories to be put into a video game especially if you have the gas chambers, and the zombies, as well as it would have to be very accurate. Just my thoughts on this and also off of reading other peoples opinions.

Yo, welcome to the site. Do you play Xbox or PS3 as well as iphone. We do have an Iphone section in this forum I think, so if you need teammates also you can go to Teammate Finder which is right next to this. Or on top. Or something. By the way, does Iphone and Ipad use the same cause then I will play... Have a good time!

Great find now we have a lead

Great find now we have a lead

My favorite part about playing with "noobs" is if they are nice, then im fine with it cause to me I dont care about getting to high rounds unless I want to, but if its casual, then I am all chills!!!! Sometimes I play again with them, sometimes I just go away. So yes we should help noobs is my view

The display was the colour of some sort of green. It barely lit up the cramped interior of the Abrams Tank. Morton licked his lips and settled into a more comfortable position, nevertheless still pretty uncomfortable. Keenan squinted at the display. “Are we in the clear yet?” he asked. The man replied, “They’re still following us,” turning to look at Keenan, “those fuckers are persistent aren’t they-SHIT!” The tank rolled its way across a row of cars that the man failed to notice before. The crunching of glass and screeching metal was torture to Keenan’s ears. The man’s voice was light and easy, but it seemed to carry a dark undertone. He was hiding something. “How many survivors do you think there are?” Keenan asked. “Well, a lot of those bodies were my friends, sorry, I’m Carl. I shut myself in the tank after I knew it was over. I’m not proud of it.” Keenan considered this for a moment, and then pulled out a cigarette. “I don’t judge.” he said as he opened the hatch above. Keenan peered out into the rising sun. Keenan took several slow drags before flicking the cigarette in the general direction of the zombies. Some shelter. Growls came from the left and right and Keenan snapped his gaze to dozens, no hundreds, no THOUSANDS of zombies coming from both directions. “WE GOTTA PROBLEM,” Keenan shouted to Morton and Carl, “There’s about two thousand of them f*ckers that we gotta deal with!” “Yeah we are in the shite boys!” Carl yelled. Keenan got on the .50 cal just in case any of them got any funny ideas. The tank accelerated making Keenan lean forwards and the treads smashed through the zombies, making little thumps and sending some flying over the front of the tank. Arms and legs were stuck in the treads and pinwheeled. Blood pooled and sprayed, intestines spreading like grotesque Christmas ornaments. The tank slowed down as the mashed meat and bones jammed up the treads. Grinding sounds resounded deep in the tank and Morton swore. If they got stuck………. The elevator pinged and Smith stepped out, sweeping his barrel around. The hallway was unlit except for a couple of flickering fluorescents. Franco rolled out with gusto and crouched, eyes flickering this way and that. His ears pricked up at the sound of glass. Smith heard it too. It came from the room directly across from them. Smith kicked down the door and recoiled at the sight before him. A zombie was gnawing on a bone from…….he didn’t know what. The intestines were draped all over, on the floor, on the walls, and on the bookshelf. A still squirming stomach lay on the bloodstained carpet and an eye dangled from the head that was strewn on the floor. The blood made the floor slippery and Smith stumbled. Franco shot the zombie in the head. Rotten brains coated the walls and the zombie slipped in its own victim’s blood, moaning. Franco grabbed a book from the shelf, which just happened to be the Bible, and smashed the zombie sending flesh chunks and bits of teeth and tongues everywhere. Moans and growls traveled from the stairwell and the opposite end of the hallway. Franco swore and his eyes widened. Through the stairwell burst an undead horde of crawlers and zombies. Smith scrambled back and fired an entire magazine into the stumbling undead. The zombies danced in the sheer volume of bullets and crawlers exploded into clouds of flesh and gas which spread. “Don’t breathe that shit in.” Franco yelled. The pair turned down the ruined hallway and made a left turn. A concierge lay on the floor, blood pooling from a ripped off arm. His chest was ripped open and his heart dangled like a bobble. They kept running. “Fire escape!! Roof!!” Smith hollered. His lungs were burning and his head pounded. Franco slammed the steel door with his shoulder and the door buckled. It held. Smith looked behind him and fired off another couple rounds. The gas from the crawlers was spreading towards them like an infection. Franco slammed it again and the door fell away with a ripping noise. The cold night air greeted the two men and the gravel crunched under their boots. A corpse lay chained to an old rusting pipe, the face in an expression of horror. Smith didn’t look back, he only followed Franco. Franco ducked and weaved through the different pipes, heading for the next building. A tremor resonated deep within the building and brought Smith to the ground. The gravel under him vibrated. It sounded like a thousand pounds of that snap crackle pop shit to him. Franco yelled back to Smith. “C’mon! Almost there!” Smith squinted through a red and black haze as the zombies bore down on him, rotten flesh and all. He felt the tug of the fingers, the teeth clacking, and knew that it was over. He would die here. Hell, after all they’d been through, only to die when escape was in sight. Franco rushed back to Smith howling in rage. The guns boomed and zombies were blown off their feet, arms flailing and eyes glowing. A callused hand grasped Smith’s own and hauled him to his feet. A loud *CRACK* split the night air and the building groaned. “Shit, the building is coming down! Jump Smith JUMP!!!!!!!” Franco screamed. The next building was in sight! Smith sprinted with all his might, combat boots churning the gravel, and he leapt. His arms extended towards the lip of the roof and he looked down at a fissure in the pavement, the pathway to death and Hell. Car alarms shrieked and zombie moans punctuated the chaos. Smith hit the roof hard. His fingers slipped and he dangled off the lip, trying to get a grip with sweaty and bleeding hands. Franco leapt and landed with a thud on the roof, rolling to a stop. He cursed and ran back to Smith, “HOLD ON!!!” he cried. Smith clenched his teeth and grabbed the hand. The hotel they had just narrowly escaped from collapsed, bottom floors compressing with distressed metal and splintering wood. Dust clouded the air and the rooftop caved in, sending many zombies to their deaths. The whole building disappeared from view. “It was a fucking earthquake for the love of God!” Franco complained, “Those are all the fucking tremors we’ve been experiencing!!!” “Thanks man, you saved my ass back there. I owe you a couple.” Smith said. The two men clasped hands, and proceeded across the desolate city rooftops.

I dont understand why he would send it to you do you know a mr esven?

If this is a story should it be moved IDK but if its important to zombies which im assuming it is then let it stay cause im no moderator. Is ther a mr seven on the forum?

The cities’ lights were still on, thanks for that. The engine was like a tiger roaring its ass off in Keenan’s head. The flashing neon signs and ads shot Keenan’s vision to sh*t as he drove through the party area of the city. The truck was an old one, that’s for sure. The exterior was chipped, battered, dented, bloodstained, you name it. The upholstery was a horrible shade of yellow, and there was some dried puke in the backseat. “Way to go Keenan, you did it again! You chose the wrong damn car!” Keenan muttered to himself. Morton began to stir in the passenger seat. He rubbed his head and scrambled for his gun. “Whoa! What….what happened…?” he wondered. “Yo, you were out for a couple minutes after that collapse back at the lab.” Keenan explained. He filled Morton in on the zombie horde, and why they were in this car. No. This sh*tty car. “So we are split up then. In this crock-pot city.” Morton concluded. “Yep buddy, we are in the sh*t!” Keenan laughed joyously. To him, it was all a blur now. Endless bloodshed and slaughter. He had come to this damn country for peace and quiet, he remembered. The rolling hills, the bright fields, and the forests. He barely had enough money to move, and buy his cottage in the small town. Then the damn city started to encroach. The newspapers, the forms to fill out, all of that. He was evicted. Then Keenan remembered his jail time. After he spit on a tax collectors boot. They got into a fight. Right hook, uppercut, boy, he popped out one of the son of a b*tche’s eyes. They hauled him away to jail, and that’s when the zombies must have popped out of the lab. Keenan snapped back to the present. He rubbed his eyes. Holy sh*t, he was tired. Morton looked over, “Hey, you want me to drive for a bit? Where are we headed?” Keenan replied, “You sure? Alright, we’re headed for that World War One Monument over there. There’s some good shelter there, easy place to defend.” Morton and Keenan switched seats and Keenan drifted off in the disgusting upholstery…….. The truck wheezed and rattled to a stop. Morton shook Keenan awake. “We’re here, don’t worry, you can rest soon.” Keenan yawned, and stretched his aching limbs. His bones crackled and popped. Keenan hauled himself out of the truck and observed his surroundings. The Monument stood in the center of a field of grass. Trees were dotted in the open space, providing shade. Tall buildings rose up all around them, making it seem like they were in a giant cage. This place used to be magnificent. Now, there were barricades, supply crates, and garbage littering the whole field. Bloodstains and mangled corpses lay strewn around. In the center beside the monument, there was an M1 Abrams. “Alright, let’s move.” Keenan signaled. Morton crept forward and looked down his sights. He shook his head. Not good. Keenan looked in the same direction and let out a small gasp. Zombies swarmed out of the ground from unseen craters and began to stumble about, letting out small moans and growls. A lot of them were civvies Keenan noticed. They must have been infected! Morton crept over and tapped Keenan on the shoulder. “What should we do? There are too many of them for us to kill!” Morton whispered. “Well, the tank……” Keenan thought. If they could just get to that Abrams, then their troubles would be solved. “Look! Something is moving in that tank!” Morton pointed. Keenan squinted. The hatch creaked open and a small man in stature leapt out. He appeared to have a pistol in one hand, along with a…..katana? The zombies gravitated towards him as he stowed his pistol and began to swing the sword. Moans and rotten flesh smell reached Keenan and Morton’s senses as they sprinted forwards towards the man. They had to save him. The man yelled out something unprintable as he sliced off the heads of three zombies in one swing. The zombies collapsed, blood spurting from neck stumps. He was surrounded though, and fast running out of strength. Normally, the sword would kill or maim in one hit, but that was when you’re facing soft and fleshy humans. These were the undead. Totally different. They didn’t mind losing an arm or a leg. Keenan took aim with his assault rifle and made a grim smile as the bullets tore the zombies off their feet. The guns were churning and the zombies were getting slaughtered like fish in a barrel. For every bullet, it probably hit two or three zombies. Morton threw himself into the fight, using an AA-12 to clear the way. The hail of bullets smashed zombies and guts spilled out making the air rotten. The man extracted himself from a zombies grip and uttered a short thank you before slicing a zombie fully in half. It fell apart like a pineapple. Bones flew and Morton grabbed one, using it to club one of the zombies. They growled, they tore, they bit, but Morton and Keenan and the man were too fast. In a matter of seconds, they had killed about 70, 100 at most. Keenan clenched his teeth and smashed the butt of his gun into one attacking zombie. It stumbled back as the rotten flesh beneath gave way to the tubular stock. “F*ck, I’m outta ammo!” Keenan shouted. He ripped a blade out of his leg sheath and proceeded to slash and disable to zombies. “To the tank! To the tank!” Morton yelled. Keenan elbowed and slashed his way to the battered and bloody M1 Abrams. The man was on the turret, blasting away the zombies with a .50 caliber mounted machine gun. The spent shells spat out of the turret and showered the ground. Zombies moaned and grabbed for the flesh within the armoured beast. Morton fired up the engine and the tank growled even louder than the zombie horde. “Get that thing outta here,” Morton said, “I don’t want it biting my ass when I least f*cking expect it.” Keenan hauled the dead marine out of the tank, took his dog tags, and threw the body to the zombies. They fell upon it. A funeral for the damned. A cremation for the insane. A last wish for the sick f*ckers. Keenan watched for a second, and then shut the hatch. “All system’s operational, let’s roll.” Morton checked. The tank smashed through the zombies and they were through, leaving a crimson streak on the already crimson ground.

Like a bunch of others said, perhaps we will switch characters that are on earth at the time, and see the world get completely destroyed (almost) kinda like the Modern Warfare 2 White House battle. Ok sorry need to organize ok here it goes. Your some dude fightning witha bunch of others, US, British, military, idk what ethnicities right now, and then you see this huge missle and it comes and explodes near you. End of cutscene- you wake up and All of your allies are dead and there are crashed helis and stuff everywhere then zombies start coming off the horizon and then you start playing.?

The graphics are amazing compared to the original

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm I saw someone who said that perhaps the blurry animation at the beginning of Nacht could be the pilot or something and he got killed....I really have nothin to add...sorry. :oops:

Hey man I used to watch salad fingers yeah it was creepy sick have a nice time here! if you like reading zombie story fiction we have a wealth of contributing users such as myself so check that out

The sun was setting soon over the infested city. In the quiet streets there were only two men, and a horde of zombies. “C’mon, c’mon!” Keenan muttered. He was carrying Morton on his back, and damn, he was heavy. Keenan felt the sweat rolling down his face as he stumbled towards a large van. The zombies were behind him, he could smell it. The stench of rotting flesh and rancid meat filled the air like a gas. Keenan ripped open the door and stepped back as a corpse fell out onto the street. He got Morton in the passenger seat and tried to hotwire the car as quickly as possible. The zombies were almost on him. The wires finally sparked and the engine roared. Keenan pulled out a pistol and shot the closest zombie. The 9mm rounds punched through the soft and rotten flesh of its head and ripped the face apart. All that remained was a slick spinal column protruding from a ragged neck. Yet the zombie still stumbled. Keenan cursed, and booted it in the chest. He got into the driver’s seat just as the zombies reached him, more vigorous now that fresh brains were in touching distance. Keenan yelled and quickly slammed the door on the horde. A hand was severed and flopped around like a fish on the cube van’s floor. “Mother of God why won’t you f*cking die!!” Keenan screamed. He pressed on the gas pedal and the truck roared off, hitting a few zombies and sucking them under like a vacuum. The van screeched around a corner and they were gone. Just as Franco got to his feet, another explosion detonated with a shriek, which threw Franco off and he hacked away and fell to the ground. His vision was blurry and somehow, he couldn’t hear anything. Franco shook his head and noticed that the building had completely collapsed. The smoke was clouding his senses. A hand grabbed his and hauled him up. It was Smith. “Hey, you okay? We lost Morton and Keenan, can’t find them anywhere.” Smith told him. Franco patted his gun and pointed to the barely distinguishable exit. “There. We can search for them. Maybe they went out already?” he said. Smith agreed and they found their way out of the building through a side door. The sky was growing dark. “If we exited on the East side of the building, then that means if we just go forwards and turn left and we’ll be in front of the building right!?” Franco discovered. “Way to go Einstein, why don’t you try designing something that WON’T get us killed.” Smith said dryly. The pair stalked up the street, encountering a few zombies, but easily avoiding them. Just as they were about to round the corner, they heard a pair of gunshots. “It might be Keenan and Morton!!” Smith hoped. They sprinted around the corner and took in the scene. They saw Keenan, no Morton in sight. The horde of zombies was around the van, clawing and moaning and denting the van. Keenan yelled something and took off in the van. Franco sighted down his battered PSG-1. He lowered the scope slowly. “Let’s go. Right now!!!” he screamed. Franco turned and sprinted back the way they came as the zombie horde charged, ground shuddering under the pure mass of deviated human experiments…… Smith kept running. His legs were burning and his head was pounding. He needed a drink. A large one. The zombie horde behind him growled with the ferocity of a wolf. The cracked pavement vibrated under the sheer weight. Smith primed a grenade and threw it behind his shoulder. Fire and shrapnel blossomed and eliminated no more than 30 zombies, they were so packed together. The explosion rattled Smith’s ears and he could see Franco up ahead, gesturing and yelling frantically in the doorway of a private and exclusive hotel. Smith dived into the lobby’s elevator with Franco as the undead loomed on their doorstep. Franco jammed the button for the top floor, and the elevator buzzed, as if to say, f*ck you, just give up already. “Hurry the f*ck up man!!!” Smith yelled. He raised his machine gun and fired from the hip, knocking zombies off their feet with the sheer mass of bullets. The doors started to close, and Smith breathed a sigh of relief. Suddenly, rotten hands pulled the door apart! “F*CK YOU!!” Franco roared. He levered the barrel of a sub-machine gun into the doors and fired. The flash played hell with Smith’s vision. The doors were clear for a moment and the elevator accelerated upwards. There was a bloodstain on the floor, the blood leading up to an open panel in the wall. The lights in the elevator sparked. The screams and moans echoed in the elevator shaft. But they were safe for now, and that was all that mattered. But where the hell would Keenan go? And if Morton was stuck back there, or with him?

The shrieks and roars rang in Morton's ears as he hurried up the rope. "Sh*t man, hurry up!" Smith yelled. He let out a burst of fire which splattered the crawlers below. Smith pulled Morton up the ledge. Keenan yelled something but it was lost in the sounds of gunfire and crawlers. "Duck!" Franco yelled. He threw himself to the littered floor and covered his ears. Morton took the hint and did the same. A deafening *BOOM* shook the floor and fire roared up from the elevator shaft. The air smelled like cordite and roasted flesh. Franco picked himself up off the ground and dusted off his pants. "There ain't nothing a little explosives can't fix reet?" he joked. Morton was darkly reminded of Johnson. The bastard. "Let's get the f*ck outta this place. I'm sick and tired of it." Smith said. The team moved out with tactical lights shining on the walls. "These shadows and lights are playing hell with my eyes," Franco complained, "we can't turn them off?" "Shut up and keep going" someone said. They passed through the courtyard where Thomas went down. Morton tried to avoid looking at the pile of charred bodies and marks on the concrete. Finally, after about 3 hours of turns, backtracking, and moving up and down stairs, they spotted the exit. Suddenly an explosion shook the ground and forced the group to their feet. Morton looked up. Dust shook free of the cracked ceiling and cracks started to appear. "Oh f*ck, MOVE MOVE MOVE!!!!" Keenan screamed. Morton scrabbled to his feet and dived sideways as a huge chunk of drywall crashed down, sending up a white cloud. He coughed and stumbled like a drunk man. A tactical light pierced the darkness. "Keenan! Thank god! Where is everyone else!?" Morton coughed. "I dunno, but we need to get upstairs! There are zombies, I heard them. Also, the front entrance is blocked!!" Keenan analysed. After some stumbling about, they found the stairwell. Their dusty shoes made no sound as they slowly padded up the stairs. There. A zombie was gnawing on something, its back was turned. Keenan motioned, then sprinted up to the zombie. The zombie turned around, and snapped with its blood smeared jaws. The jaws snapped an inch from his face. Keenan growled and slashed at it with his combat knife. The zombie was cut, but did no damage. It swung at him and hit Keenan, sending him flying across the room into a cabinet. Keenan picked himself up, and could feel his side burning. "F*ck you." Keenan growled. He pulled a shotgun from his back, and pulled the trigger. The zombie was hit full on with the frag shells and was thrown backwards. It slumped, and finally lay still. After some more searching, they found a window from where they could jump out. It was a short distance to the ground. The ground rumbled again. Neither of them said a word. Keenan jumped out first to land on the ground with a thud. He motioned to Morton, and as he prepared to jump, something curious happened. There was a click of ignition, and fire blossomed to pick him up and throw him out onto the street. The explosion blasted the whole building, and it crumbled, sending chunks of brick everywhere. Morton landed with a sickening crack on the pavement, and rolled to a stop. "Sh*t!" Keenan cursed. Just as he rushed over the unconcious Morton, a horde of zombies stumbled around the corner. They had been spotted. Keenan observed that Morton's pulse was weak, but if they could get him somewhere safe...............

Good job yo I know you have some( is it mexican roots?), so good job on using that. Im not sure I cannot remember if you speak it but very intesne start to story looking forward to reading it.

get to the fortififcation because if you try to hold out in the regular place, you will use too much ammo and such but if you use some bullets to get to the fortification, then you can defend easier and use less ammo overall GO TO FORTIFIED HOUSE!!!!