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Jul. 31st, 2008 12:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
acts_of_gordThe darkness closed in behind him as Gordon clambered up the ladder, headed for Ravenholm. He should've asked Alyx why they didn't come here any more, he thought ruefully. If the Combine had invaded, it would be nice to know what sort of forces they-
No. No, it couldn't be a Combine holding now. It was supposed to be his only chance to get away without being-
( if the radiance of a thousand suns were to burst at once into the sky )
seen.
( before you decide to do anything too rash, Gordon, you should see what happened next )
Involuntarily, he glanced down at his suit. There was no ticking from the Geiger counter. That didn't mean anything, though, not really. Fuel-air bombs didn't leave behind radiation, after all.
( Cedar Creek, site of the viral infection )
... of course, it could've been biological warfare, now that he thought about it. But wouldn't that necessitate a better airlock? Or some kind of seal? Or-
-was that fresh air up ahead?
He stepped out of the tunnel and into the moonlit night. The buildings looked... badly done by, to say the least, but still standing. So much for the nuke and fuel-air bomb hypotheses. Maybe-
Something dinged against his booted foot. He looked down; it was a sign, twisted and bent where it had been ripped from its moorings. It took him a moment to puzzle out what it said. The name RAVENHOLM was obscured by dark paint, graffiti scrawled by a desperate hand and worn away by time:
y u s u dn t come here
He stared at it a moment, then shook his head and looked around more cautiously. In the shadows nearby there looked to be a darker spot, a form of metal... one of the rockets that'd devastated the shantytown of rebels who'd given him the airboat. One of the headcrab rockets. Up ahead there was a winter-killed tree; something that might've been a person once- or rather, part of a person- dangled from one of the limbs. He averted his eyes as he moved carefully past it, not wanting his guess to turn out to be right.
There was no way out from the plaza with the tree in it except through one of the nearby buildings. With considerable trepidation, he eased the first likely door he could find open. The room had belonged to a ... carpenter? Craftsman of some kind, certainly; there were enough saw blades and edged tools hanging in the place to cut up a whole building's worth of furniture. Gordon bent over to peer at one of them just as something punched through the nearby wall, its clawed fist streaking through the air over his head. He twisted sideways, grabbed for his nearest gun-
Well, he tried, anyway. What he got was the gravity gun, which was too bulky and awkward to stash much of anywhere at the moment. The headcrab zombie that had punched through the wall didn't appear to notice when he started frantically pulling the punt trigger; he suppressed a curse and darted backwards. And the thought occurred to him: Wait. Why am I spazzing out about this when I'm in a ROOM FULL OF SHARP OBJECTS?
The gun yanked one of the sawblades off the wall quite nicely. It did a splendid job of firing it at the undead horror's midsection; the zombie fell to the ground, making two wet, squelchy noises. Gordon hopped away from the nearer of the pieces, which might not have been the best strategic move; there was another zombie's corpse in the room already, blackened and burned by something, and it tripped his footing up. He lost his balance-
And fell through.
No. No, it couldn't be a Combine holding now. It was supposed to be his only chance to get away without being-
( if the radiance of a thousand suns were to burst at once into the sky )
seen.
( before you decide to do anything too rash, Gordon, you should see what happened next )
Involuntarily, he glanced down at his suit. There was no ticking from the Geiger counter. That didn't mean anything, though, not really. Fuel-air bombs didn't leave behind radiation, after all.
( Cedar Creek, site of the viral infection )
... of course, it could've been biological warfare, now that he thought about it. But wouldn't that necessitate a better airlock? Or some kind of seal? Or-
-was that fresh air up ahead?
He stepped out of the tunnel and into the moonlit night. The buildings looked... badly done by, to say the least, but still standing. So much for the nuke and fuel-air bomb hypotheses. Maybe-
Something dinged against his booted foot. He looked down; it was a sign, twisted and bent where it had been ripped from its moorings. It took him a moment to puzzle out what it said. The name RAVENHOLM was obscured by dark paint, graffiti scrawled by a desperate hand and worn away by time:
y u s u dn t come here
He stared at it a moment, then shook his head and looked around more cautiously. In the shadows nearby there looked to be a darker spot, a form of metal... one of the rockets that'd devastated the shantytown of rebels who'd given him the airboat. One of the headcrab rockets. Up ahead there was a winter-killed tree; something that might've been a person once- or rather, part of a person- dangled from one of the limbs. He averted his eyes as he moved carefully past it, not wanting his guess to turn out to be right.
There was no way out from the plaza with the tree in it except through one of the nearby buildings. With considerable trepidation, he eased the first likely door he could find open. The room had belonged to a ... carpenter? Craftsman of some kind, certainly; there were enough saw blades and edged tools hanging in the place to cut up a whole building's worth of furniture. Gordon bent over to peer at one of them just as something punched through the nearby wall, its clawed fist streaking through the air over his head. He twisted sideways, grabbed for his nearest gun-
Well, he tried, anyway. What he got was the gravity gun, which was too bulky and awkward to stash much of anywhere at the moment. The headcrab zombie that had punched through the wall didn't appear to notice when he started frantically pulling the punt trigger; he suppressed a curse and darted backwards. And the thought occurred to him: Wait. Why am I spazzing out about this when I'm in a ROOM FULL OF SHARP OBJECTS?
The gun yanked one of the sawblades off the wall quite nicely. It did a splendid job of firing it at the undead horror's midsection; the zombie fell to the ground, making two wet, squelchy noises. Gordon hopped away from the nearer of the pieces, which might not have been the best strategic move; there was another zombie's corpse in the room already, blackened and burned by something, and it tripped his footing up. He lost his balance-
And fell through.
