#harvestattack

[ethanecameron]

Advancing Communication

Ethan: Got one and a Walker, I’m moving in with back-up ammo and weapons. Be advised.

[deviouspatrol-blog]

10-1

Lucas: 10-1, and a—ffh five———dha to g——rifle—do you—

[deviouspatrol-blog]

The best part of hearing the beginning of audible gun shots being fired close by and ear-splitting screams, is knowing that someone just had to seriously fuck up. Literally fucking up so bad that now everyone's life was at stake here. And then there's always that need to hunt down the dick who started the predicament in the first place. But either way, there's no time for thoughts like that. No time for thinking at all, especially now. Lucas reminds himself that he has to be quick on his feet while that death-defying rush of adrenaline slams right into his gut. It's about to dominate the stomach, coil around the heart like a god-damn vice and it's going to re-wire that hardware of that fucking brain of his; so now all that can be processed in his mind is telling him to run. Run right into the fucking front lines with blood and metal and the distress and general carnage everywhere around him just so he can have that promised rush bleed from the skin of other men as they die with his bullet.

It's the exact moment when it's known that all of hell will break loose.

Except it's not; when only the first words that come out of Lucas' mouth is "fuck". Because fuck did he forget that he left his rifle in the hands of a Patrol member and fuck, why isn't his walkie-talkie working? All that could be heard were either sounds of distorted or muffled noises and while he still tested the antenna—the piece of shit still wasn't cooperating with him. Words stumbled out of his mouth that were both incoherent and vulgar to a child's discretion as he yelled at the device. Lucas then reached over and pulled out his COLT M1905 from his thigh holster, keeping up with the pace to the designated area. He inserted a magazine, pulled the slide, loading a bullet into the chamber. Lucas raised the radio once more towards his lips, pressing onto the "talk" button. He wasn't even sure if this shit was going to work on him but it was worth the try. "Ten-one, and a absofuckinglutely of a ten-twenty five, Matilda to give me back my fucking rifle. Do you copy?"