Response to scottmatthew
For reference.
“So, talk to me about the quarantine zone. Where do you have checkpoints?”
“We shut down the Interstate in both directions, and we were able to get the bridges secured before they crossed over, and we have rolling patrols along the Turnpike in case any of them try and make a break out of the neighborhoods. So we think we’ve got it pretty well contained to the city limits.”
“Good,” the Mohawk-sporting man replied. “That sounds pretty solid.”
The police chief looked the young man over and asked, “What’d you say your name was again?”
“I didn’t. It’s Carter.”
“Uh-huh,” the chief replied. “And what is it that you think you’re doing here?”
Carter smirked and said, “I’m in your town, saving it.”
“Okay, that’s enough.” The police chief stepped towards him. “I don’t know if you have your belts on too tight, but you’re not a police officer, National Guardsman, or someone I need. You’re going to get back in your car and go home to Virginia, understand?”
“Oh, I understand,” Carter replied. “I understand perfectly. You’re dealing with a Class Three zombie outbreak a stone’s throw from the East Coast’s largest metropolis. Those security checkpoints you have on those bridges are going to be overrun as soon as the Zack finish off the food supply in the town and start looking for more victims, and then one-hundred forty thousand zombies are going to be loose. Does that sound fun, officer?”
The police chief stuttered, so Carter continued.
“Now, I’ve seen just about every zombie movie available in the Western world at least four times over, memorized the Zombie Survival Guide, was an epic-level True Necromancer in my DnD adventurer group, and am a veteran of four zombie crawls. If you think for one second you’ve got a man on your force who is more experienced in fighting the undead, I’ll go back to Arlington.”
The chief did not respond immediately, allowing enough time for a bloodcurdling scream to penetrate the night. “That’s one more zombie you have to deal with,” Carter said. “Make a decision.”
“All right!” The chief turned to one of his officers, “Deputy McCarren, take him up to the Interstate blockade.”
Carter got into the deputy’s vehicle and made the short trip from the shopping mall command post to the police blockade on the Squirrelwood Road exit overpass. Once out of the car, Carter took notice of a building to the east. “What’s that?”
“That’s the PNC Bank.” Deputy McCarren gave Carter a confused look. “Why?”
“You can’t see shit from this overpass,” Carter said. “But that bank’s the tallest thing around. It’s a perfect forward operating base. Put a few teams of snipers up there with plenty of ammunition, funnel the zombies down the Interstate, and win back Paterson.”
“Okay, but how do we ‘funnel’ the - I don’t want to call them zombies. I know some of those people.”
“Fine, but I don’t,” Carter replied. “I’m calling a spade a spade and a zombie a zombie.” He took a deep breath. “Now, about that funneling: We’re going to need a lot of equipment.”
A few hours later, several helicopters were circling the rapidly deteriorating city of Paterson as checkpoints came under increasing attack. Teams of snipers had taken over the PNC Bank’s roof, and all the sound equipment that could be gathered in a ten mile radius had been patched together on the overpass.
Deputy McCarren approached Carter and said, “The chopper crews are reporting that the - mobs - are starting to follow. The ones that aren’t engaging the other checkpoints, anyway.”
“Good,” Carter replied. “Are the speakers set up?”
“Yeah, the engineer says we’ll be able to get noise complaints from Long Island with that setup.”
“Perfect.” Carter reached into his pocket and withdrew a mini-CD, then walked over to the engineer. “Play this, and they will come.”
The engineer took the CD and inserted it into the audio deck. A few seconds later, the music - a popping dance-pop beat from the 1980s - came to life.
We’re no strangers to love. / You know the rules, and so do I. / A full commitment’s what I’m thinking of. / You wouldn’t get this from any other guy.
The deputy looked over at Carter and, shouting above the noise, asked, “What the fuck is this?!”
“Your salvation!” Carter shouted back.
By the time Rick Astley got to the last chorus, the zombie horde could be seen advancing at a crawl down the Interstate. The snipers engaged just as a fast, electronic beat took over for the British has-been.
Vi undrarar ni redo alt vara med. / Armarna upp nu ska ni fa se. / Kom igjen. / Hvem som helst kan vara med.
Once again the deputy looked over at Carter, but had no words - only a confused expression. Carter smiled and shouted, “Engage, Deputy. Engage and save Paterson!”
“So, talk to me about the quarantine zone. Where do you have checkpoints?”
“We shut down the Interstate in both directions, and we were able to get the bridges secured before they crossed over, and we have rolling patrols along the Turnpike in case any of them try and make a break out of the neighborhoods. So we think we’ve got it pretty well contained to the city limits.”
“Good,” the Mohawk-sporting man replied. “That sounds pretty solid.”
The police chief looked the young man over and asked, “What’d you say your name was again?”
“I didn’t. It’s Carter.”
“Uh-huh,” the chief replied. “And what is it that you think you’re doing here?”
Carter smirked and said, “I’m in your town, saving it.”
“Okay, that’s enough.” The police chief stepped towards him. “I don’t know if you have your belts on too tight, but you’re not a police officer, National Guardsman, or someone I need. You’re going to get back in your car and go home to Virginia, understand?”
“Oh, I understand,” Carter replied. “I understand perfectly. You’re dealing with a Class Three zombie outbreak a stone’s throw from the East Coast’s largest metropolis. Those security checkpoints you have on those bridges are going to be overrun as soon as the Zack finish off the food supply in the town and start looking for more victims, and then one-hundred forty thousand zombies are going to be loose. Does that sound fun, officer?”
The police chief stuttered, so Carter continued.
“Now, I’ve seen just about every zombie movie available in the Western world at least four times over, memorized the Zombie Survival Guide, was an epic-level True Necromancer in my DnD adventurer group, and am a veteran of four zombie crawls. If you think for one second you’ve got a man on your force who is more experienced in fighting the undead, I’ll go back to Arlington.”
The chief did not respond immediately, allowing enough time for a bloodcurdling scream to penetrate the night. “That’s one more zombie you have to deal with,” Carter said. “Make a decision.”
“All right!” The chief turned to one of his officers, “Deputy McCarren, take him up to the Interstate blockade.”
Carter got into the deputy’s vehicle and made the short trip from the shopping mall command post to the police blockade on the Squirrelwood Road exit overpass. Once out of the car, Carter took notice of a building to the east. “What’s that?”
“That’s the PNC Bank.” Deputy McCarren gave Carter a confused look. “Why?”
“You can’t see shit from this overpass,” Carter said. “But that bank’s the tallest thing around. It’s a perfect forward operating base. Put a few teams of snipers up there with plenty of ammunition, funnel the zombies down the Interstate, and win back Paterson.”
“Okay, but how do we ‘funnel’ the - I don’t want to call them zombies. I know some of those people.”
“Fine, but I don’t,” Carter replied. “I’m calling a spade a spade and a zombie a zombie.” He took a deep breath. “Now, about that funneling: We’re going to need a lot of equipment.”
A few hours later, several helicopters were circling the rapidly deteriorating city of Paterson as checkpoints came under increasing attack. Teams of snipers had taken over the PNC Bank’s roof, and all the sound equipment that could be gathered in a ten mile radius had been patched together on the overpass.
Deputy McCarren approached Carter and said, “The chopper crews are reporting that the - mobs - are starting to follow. The ones that aren’t engaging the other checkpoints, anyway.”
“Good,” Carter replied. “Are the speakers set up?”
“Yeah, the engineer says we’ll be able to get noise complaints from Long Island with that setup.”
“Perfect.” Carter reached into his pocket and withdrew a mini-CD, then walked over to the engineer. “Play this, and they will come.”
The engineer took the CD and inserted it into the audio deck. A few seconds later, the music - a popping dance-pop beat from the 1980s - came to life.
We’re no strangers to love. / You know the rules, and so do I. / A full commitment’s what I’m thinking of. / You wouldn’t get this from any other guy.
The deputy looked over at Carter and, shouting above the noise, asked, “What the fuck is this?!”
“Your salvation!” Carter shouted back.
By the time Rick Astley got to the last chorus, the zombie horde could be seen advancing at a crawl down the Interstate. The snipers engaged just as a fast, electronic beat took over for the British has-been.
Vi undrarar ni redo alt vara med. / Armarna upp nu ska ni fa se. / Kom igjen. / Hvem som helst kan vara med.
Once again the deputy looked over at Carter, but had no words - only a confused expression. Carter smiled and shouted, “Engage, Deputy. Engage and save Paterson!”