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* @author Jonathan HW Halkett
* @date August 2012
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Read part 1 here
The eyes opened and focus came back on the shores of Chernarus. Washed up on the east coast near a small collection of houses in the shadow of a forest.
“Oooh pretty”, Was my first thought and not a single lens flare in sight.
This would be my second venture into DayZ, my second life for recompense of the tragedy of my first. Just to be sure I glimpsed the shallows behind me for one cannot be too careful the undead did not pursue their meal to troll it’s second attempt at the ‘survival game’.
Up on the hills the same betting snipers camp out, finishing off a leg of cooked meat one gestures to the other toward the shoreline. A double take and cough… “Ahem! Bets gentlemen please”.
I was learning lessons quickly and at this rate I knew not to get too close,;that arousing the appetite of one zombie isn’t a cause to stand upright and high tail it out of there. Mainly due to the mechanic that sprinting at full speed attracts the highest profile.
As I followed the roads edge cautiously in approach to the junction I caught the eye of a crawler, a zombie that has regressed to an ape posture, racing toward me on all fours. Backing off and crossing the road I managed to lose him; a little bit of distance and a few bushes saved me. Of course I couldn’t help running into another one as soon as I got back to the junction, but I’m not adverse to repeating myself.
That’s when I spotted a barn through the valley. Fantastic, a place that should yield decent loot for your average zombie defence kit. Be it shotgun or rifle, I wouldn’t mind so long as I had a weapon in hand.
Over eager and impatient I wasted no time running in and raiding each floor.
And that’s when it hit me. The bullet I mean, right into my back. Seems a romp in the hay was a popular idea growing old fast. Yay! a friend… no, a trigger happy sod who watched an unarmed man rush in, shooting first and forgetting to wonder if he should ask questions.
Dead. The screen went black, dying I saw my killer, still firing his Makarov into a corpse.
Somewhere nearby a conversation went as follows:
“Hey, he’s made it away!”
“Hmm…!?”
“Yeah look, into that barn”
…
*gunshots*
“…Ah.”
Money exchanges hands.
Part 3 here