of eliminating as many zombies as possible.
To accomplish that, he reminded himself once again that more fire power was needed. He had been assigned to Central right before retirement, and usually reported there when he was on reserve duty, so knew the layout very well. But the most important thing Harry knew was that this station housed one of the SWAT units, which meant there could be some interesting items still in the armory. Whether anything was left after the heavy April 1st response was unknown but he needed to start somewhere. Harry figured that not enough officers had been able to make it to the station to have taken all of the equipment and weapons.
When Harry left the apartment building, d awn had just began to break, giving just enough light to see the otherwise darkened streets. He immediately saw it was the typical San Francisco morning he had needed, cold and with a heavy high fog. This was not the typical fog most people recognized, covering everything; rather it was a higher, swirling type.
It was m aybe a hundred and fifty feet up from the ground, but with a mist that left a heavy layer of moisture on everything. Exactly the kind he had hoped for. This was the type of morning Harry had worked into his plan, and would use for cover while making his way to the police station.
Harry knew that from his current location on Pine Street, he would need to go west one block and then turn north onto Powell. If he were very lucky he would be able to take Powell the ten or so blocks to where it intersected with Vallejo Street. Then he would turn east on Vallejo, as Central Station was located about half a block down on the left-hand side. Seemed simple enough at first glance, but he knew things were never “that simple”.
As he slipped through the streets , he begin to see zombies roaming the area directly in from of him, although the heavy moisture in the air seemed to be affecting them. They were stumbling around, seemingly disoriented and in a rage, clawing at themselves as if on fire. There were probably thirty to forty that he could make out in the dim morning light.
Thankfully, t hey were spread out, with the closest one to him being almost two hundred yards away. He was sure there had to be more, but he had to focus on what he could see for now. He knew this was going to become a running battle, and he hoped his alliance with Mother Nature would help him out or it was going to be a very short campaign.
With a sardonic smile he knew it was time for Dirty Harry Lancaster to start kicking zombie ass and screw taking the names part. It would only be a matter of moments before Harry Lancaster would embark on an all-new form of police work. He was still serving and protecting, but now he would be doing it with a shoot-first-and-ask-questions-later mentality.
With one fluid motion he withdrew his Glock from the breakfront on his right side, pulling back the first trigger safety, and took aim at the nearest zombie. A famous line that Harry Callahan had said from Sudden Impact popped to mind: “ To me you’re nothin’ but dog shit, you understand? And a lot of things can happen to dog shit. It can be scraped up with a shovel off the ground. It can dry up and blow away in the wind. Or it can be stepped on and squashed. So take my advice and be careful where the dog shits.” With that thought, he completed the finger pull on the trigger and blew the top of the first zombie’s head off.
The Glock is not the easiest weapon to use in an extended firefight due to the safety features built into the trigger pull, and it took practice to master any real accuracy, but once mastered it produced some awesome results. Results Harry was appreciating greatly at the moment.
He cont inued to fire while steadily moving forward, stopping briefly to aim, watching the zombies approach while trying to zero in on his location, and then falling under the impact of the heavy .45 caliber hollow point slug. Advance, aim, discharge
To accomplish that, he reminded himself once again that more fire power was needed. He had been assigned to Central right before retirement, and usually reported there when he was on reserve duty, so knew the layout very well. But the most important thing Harry knew was that this station housed one of the SWAT units, which meant there could be some interesting items still in the armory. Whether anything was left after the heavy April 1st response was unknown but he needed to start somewhere. Harry figured that not enough officers had been able to make it to the station to have taken all of the equipment and weapons.
When Harry left the apartment building, d awn had just began to break, giving just enough light to see the otherwise darkened streets. He immediately saw it was the typical San Francisco morning he had needed, cold and with a heavy high fog. This was not the typical fog most people recognized, covering everything; rather it was a higher, swirling type.
It was m aybe a hundred and fifty feet up from the ground, but with a mist that left a heavy layer of moisture on everything. Exactly the kind he had hoped for. This was the type of morning Harry had worked into his plan, and would use for cover while making his way to the police station.
Harry knew that from his current location on Pine Street, he would need to go west one block and then turn north onto Powell. If he were very lucky he would be able to take Powell the ten or so blocks to where it intersected with Vallejo Street. Then he would turn east on Vallejo, as Central Station was located about half a block down on the left-hand side. Seemed simple enough at first glance, but he knew things were never “that simple”.
As he slipped through the streets , he begin to see zombies roaming the area directly in from of him, although the heavy moisture in the air seemed to be affecting them. They were stumbling around, seemingly disoriented and in a rage, clawing at themselves as if on fire. There were probably thirty to forty that he could make out in the dim morning light.
Thankfully, t hey were spread out, with the closest one to him being almost two hundred yards away. He was sure there had to be more, but he had to focus on what he could see for now. He knew this was going to become a running battle, and he hoped his alliance with Mother Nature would help him out or it was going to be a very short campaign.
With a sardonic smile he knew it was time for Dirty Harry Lancaster to start kicking zombie ass and screw taking the names part. It would only be a matter of moments before Harry Lancaster would embark on an all-new form of police work. He was still serving and protecting, but now he would be doing it with a shoot-first-and-ask-questions-later mentality.
With one fluid motion he withdrew his Glock from the breakfront on his right side, pulling back the first trigger safety, and took aim at the nearest zombie. A famous line that Harry Callahan had said from Sudden Impact popped to mind: “ To me you’re nothin’ but dog shit, you understand? And a lot of things can happen to dog shit. It can be scraped up with a shovel off the ground. It can dry up and blow away in the wind. Or it can be stepped on and squashed. So take my advice and be careful where the dog shits.” With that thought, he completed the finger pull on the trigger and blew the top of the first zombie’s head off.
The Glock is not the easiest weapon to use in an extended firefight due to the safety features built into the trigger pull, and it took practice to master any real accuracy, but once mastered it produced some awesome results. Results Harry was appreciating greatly at the moment.
He cont inued to fire while steadily moving forward, stopping briefly to aim, watching the zombies approach while trying to zero in on his location, and then falling under the impact of the heavy .45 caliber hollow point slug. Advance, aim, discharge
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