Blue Mountain Storehouse

September 24th, 1998...
Nightfall...

"Okay, that should do it..." Evan said out loud, grabbing the last of the beer kegs for the club, the rest were in the bed of the red truck outside.



Evan Mackinnon works for Brett 'Broman' Pryce, the owner of a rather upscale strip club in Central Raccoon District. They got their liquor and beer imported and it was delivered to Blue Mountain Storehouse where it was Evan's job to pick the shipment up and bring it back to the Club.


The place was huge, but thankfully not a maze. It was simply tall and wide. Thankfully he was also pretty fit, lugging these giant aluminum kegs out to the truck without a loading ramp, dolly. He ascended the stairs, looking outside the warehouse's windows. The streets seemed pretty empty, which was weird for Thursday, though not too uncommon given what he's seen in the past two or so years. Upon opening the doors warm air brushed past him as he stepped out into the street. "Indian Summer... fall's not here just yet." He mumbled as he made his way to the truck. He could hear sirens in the distance, which he supposed would be a thing for a while. With the riot at the football stadium, the power going out everywhere, the radio towers being on the fritz, I guess its not too surprising to see the streets somewhat vacant... He mentally noted, when he heard movement down the alley to his right.

"Hunh?" He grunted, turning when he heard the faint moan and shuffling movement. It sounded like someone was hurt. "Hello?" he says, peering into the alley, aluminum keg full of pale ale still on his shoulder. The alley was dark, thanks to the power outages today. He could just make out a faint shape of someone, a woman? Walking towards him. He could also hear something dripping...

His pager was beeping, and he snapped out of his vivid imagination for a moment to check the number on the tiny thing hooked to his belt. It was Brett, who sent two simple words: 'CLUB. ASAP.' "Jeeze man, I just got finished here..." Evan grumbled at this, thinking his boss was impatient. From this momentary distraction, his eyes returned to the person in the alley-

-and they were gone!

He blinked, and looked around. There wasn't anywhere a person could run off to in that short alley. "Hello?" he called out, shifting the weight on his shoulder. Nothing. Sighing, he returned to his truck, sliding the keg into the bed and slamming up the tailgate. His beeper continuing to vibrate and beep as he was putting it away. Okay, best get back before 'Broman' gets too testy. God, hope he hasn't been dipping into Tiger Testosterone or whatever that shit from Thailand was...

There was a shuffling from behind him as he was about to enter the driver's side seat, the 6'2 man turned to face the cause of the excitement, ignoring the beeping of the pager. He didn't say a thing, only observed as a young, pretty woman shuffled his way up to him. She looked... really off. Blood dripping down her legs and forearms. She looked like she had been ejected from a car...



"Holy shit..." The red haired man says under his breath, pale green eyes wide as he began to approach the clearly injured woman. "Yo, miss, are you okay? I mean, what the hell happened to ya?" He asked, approaching her swiftly before pausing. Something about her eyes made him stop dead in his tracks. Her eyes were pale, dead looking. He'd seen that well enough, the look of one's eyes long dead. Not only that, her forehead had a huge gash in it- he could see bone underneath the flesh... dried blood on her pale white flesh. He didn't know what to think, as what he was seeing was an oxymoron. He didn't say anything else, slowly shuffling backwards to his vehicle as he took in her awkward gait and twitchy movements. She looks...dead. How can she be walking with such injuries?? He asked himself, as Brett continued to page him. Growing anxious, he snapped up the pager and saw a new line of text. 'MANEATRSONSTREET' without spaces, and as Evan was trying to segment the letters into proper words, the woman moaned.

"Oooooooooohhhhhh!" The sound was painful, a low to high wail of pain and misery which forced his head up to hers. She was closer now, arms outstretched, and it was then he noticed her fingernails were simply caked in blood- bits of flesh hanging off them!

Evan took a step back, waving his arm at her. "Hey, get back!" He threatened, getting more freaked out by this woman's gnarly appearance. It was then he saw the shape of a cop standing in another alleyway heading towards Jack Street. "Hey! Officer! Call for some help, something's totally fucked up with this woman!" He called out to the man, and began to back step to keep his distance from the woman. "Get away, crazy bitch..! Hey, you hear me man??" He shouted to the officer again, who finally turned and began to shamble into the light...



"Uhhhhh ughhhhh...." The officer moaned, half of his face... was gone! His arms were covered in blood, and he shambled in a similar gait to the woman- blood splattered his blue uniform all over the place as he shambled with an arm outstretched for him now too!

"Holy shit!!" He reiterated, and found himself now being crowded against the side of his truck! The woman was closest, and was grabbing onto his left forearm-

Her hand... its cold as ice! What the fuck?!

-and was bringing her face down when he lunged forwards! "Fuck off!" He spat, palming the woman hard in the forehead, knocking her back, her fingers slipping away from his forearm as she stumbled back, hitting the side of the truck as she did! He backed away, quickly pulling himself into the truck for safety, slamming the door shut! He looked out the window, and watched the cop make his approach! He looked like he had guzzled a bag of blood, as crimson ran down his neck and stained his uniform vibrantly.



All the while, Brett continued to page him, but Evan simply tossed the thing into the passenger seat as he leaned over for the glovebox. Inside, was one of Brett's Ruger Blackhawk revolvers, and a box of .45 ACP ammunition:





He grabbed both, and began the task of unhitching the loading gate, sliding the .45 ACP cartridges one at a time, turning the cylinder as he did so. What the fuck is going on? He asked himself, when he felt pounding on the windows. Glancing over, the zombies, both the woman and the cop, were pressing their faces against the glass and were beating on it and the door furiously! "Shit!" He spat, and loaded the last three shells when he slid the gate back up:



SMASH! Glass flew around the interior of the truck as the cops arms burst through along with the woman's! Both were moaning hungrily, and Evan leaned into the passenger seat to avoid being grabbed and or bitten! "Sonofabitch...!" He spat, thumbing back the hammer of the Single-Action-Army revolver training its sights on the first of the zombies. This is gonna hurt my ears- he thought, as he pulled back the trigger. A loud explosion of light erupted from the barrel of the gun, the sound of the revolver carried throughout the interior of the truck! Evan grits his teeth as his ears ringed and sounds got muffled. The cop's head snapped back, before Evan turned the gun on the woman. Another loud bang, muffled by his temporary deafness. The woman fell shortly after.

Evan continued leaning there, blinking, waiting for his hearing to return. When it did, the beeping of the beeper was audible once more, as were the sound of sirens and even distant screams and cries. Gunshots. He didn't know what was going on, but he had to check up on Brett and the girls! If this was happening, everywhere, then it meant none of them were safe! He sat into the seat, turned the ignition and began to speed down towards central street, hoping he wasn't too late...

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