Looking up from the golden panel, both Jenny and Whiskey wore expressions of concern.
"They've never spawned this close to the village before." Jenny says, her hushed voice filled with nervousness as everyone rises out of their chairs onto their feet. The three of men at the table who I assume are Whiskey's closest men are the first t move, grabbing their guns and weapons rushing out of the office. Whiskey frantically rummages through his drawers, placing my revolver onto his desk and pointing toward a wardrobe in the corner of the office. "The rest of your gear is in there, grab it and follow Jenny."
I nod, deciding to participate in the defense of the village. If anything, this situation is perfect. I needed more info and better allies anyway.
With that, Whiskey turns and hurries after his men, disappearing through the office's doorway.
Following Whiskey's instructions, I open the wardrobe and find my backpack, body gear, bow, quiver and the rest of my gear.
"Perfect," I smile, grabbing my vest.
Jenny steps in to help me put it on. I secure my backpack on my upper back, slinging my bow across my shoulder, and fastening the quiver to my waist.
"Here," she says, kneeling and pulling open a drawer at the bottom of the wardrobe. Inside is a box of ammunition—the exact thing I needed. I lean over her to reach it, her brown hair brushing against my face as I grab a handful of bullets and load them carefully into my revolver's cylinder.
Bang, bang
I can hear the gunshots ring out from outside, loud and sudden. The ground continues to rumble beneath us, the rise of the infected continuing to make the ground tremble like an earthquake.
"You ready?" Jenny asks, getting up from the ground.
"Yeah, but what about you, don't you need something?" I ask, glancing over at her. She is dressed in a white buttoned up and a pair of kaki pants that she probably found inside the village, yet she carries no weapon.
"We'll need to stop by my room to grab my gear" she says, leading me out the office with a rushed pace.
Gunshots continue to sound outside, making me wonder if we can even defend the village from a large swarm like the ones that spawned on the first night at the beach. Hell, do we even have enough ammo?
I am pulled back from my thoughts as Jenny grabs me by the collar of my shirt, dragging me through the hallway, making my injured arm sting in pain.
She turns left into her room near the other side of the hallway, room 3, dragging me in with her.
Inside, the room is dark. I hear movement as jenny walks around.
Click
a small and dim lightbulb in the middle of the room lights on, revealing nothing but a small desk, chair, bed, and a loset door.
Jenny rushes toward her bed, grabbing a holster and some combination of straps, and belts, manifested together in order to create some sort of harness.
"Can you help me?" she asks, attempted to connect the harness onto her back.
I nod, sitting on her bed strapping the belts and leather together on her back as she attaches her holster to her thigh. The gunshots continue to ring out, but less of them now.
Getting off her bed, she opens her closet door.
I have no idea what she is doing, but she needs to hurry up.
She pulls out a small, bulky handheld pistol, similar to mine but different. It had four rotating barrels instead of a cylinder, like a less advanced revolver, yet still took metal bullets.
Stuffing it in the holster on her thigh, she then proceeds to take out a massive weapon with a long hilt and even longer and bulkier metal blade at the end. It was like a large 2 handed cleaver, its blade being larger than my arm. Despite being small, Jenny seemed to be able to easily pick up the heavy weapon and wield it with ease, attaching it to the harness on her back.
Finally ready, she leads me out her room, not bothering to close the door behind her and leading me out of the hall back into the large living room area at the entrance of the building.
The once populated room was now empty. The entrance was wide open with gunshots still ringing out in the distance.
Following Jenny's lead, I rush out the door.
All around me I hear the chaos of a battlefield. The sound of bullets, gunfire, and even the guttural screeches of the infected assault my ears.
The streets are dark, lit only by the pale light of the moon and the weak yellow glow spilling from the tall windows of the town hall behind us. That faint illumination stretches across the dirt road ahead, casting long, warped shadows that flicker and twist with each muzzle flash. The air is thick with smoke and dust, the ground littered with empty shell casings and bloodied footprints. Every few seconds, the night is broken by the sharp crack of gunfire, followed by the shrill, gurgling shrieks of the infected as they fall.
Yet, unlike what I had feared, Whiskey's men seemed to be holding.
The infected were launching their assault down the main street, funneling through the street like a wave. Yet, the renaissance era houses acted as a chokepoint, funneling the horde into one place, allowing us to easily concentrate our fire.
Luckily, it seems that the infected are only attacking from the south side of the village. It sees that they are to stupid to attack from our flank.
Jenny and I pause at the steps, watching the concentrated killing.
Those like me with guns and ranged weapons stayed far behind, back near the town hall while those with machette's, blades, and other melleee weapons seemed to be trying to kite the horde and hold them back.
Them charging in would certainly be suicide, and luckily it seemed like they knew that, making sure to be on a sort of constant retreat.
I draw my bow from my shoulder, stepping out onto the street. The gutteral screeches and moans of the infected grow ever louder as I steadily move toward the horde.
Flashes of lights and the sound of gunfire come from behind me as Whiskey's gunman continue to spam fire into the blob.
Taking an arrow, I knock it onto my bow.
Growing up the son of a vicar, archery was one of the many luxuries I was forced to learn about. Who knew it would become so useful?
Pulling back on the string, I clench my teeth. My right arm burns with pain as I continue to exert my strength, pulling back on the string.
With an injured arm, aiming is difficult. My shots are obviously be weaker, too, meaning I have to be pretty close for them to do any real damage
I take a deep breath, once again taking in my surroundings.
The bow begins to crack under the strain, my injured arm protests, my muscles scream, yet I hold firm. My dominant eye narrows, lining the arrowhead with my target, a shambling infected that seems to have lost an arm, making it past those using their melee weapons in the front.
There is a heartbeat of stillness.
TWAANG!