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'Taking The Piste'

This report is written by decorated British ex SAS soldier and zombie hunter: Captain 'Hawk' Heath.

I'm not the greatest skier. I'll admit it. Ever since a nasty accidet involving a tree stump and a 30 mph sudden stop, I like to hoof it from now on. So when I got the call to clean out a ski resort at the Saint-Martin-de-Belleville, in the French Alps I wasn't as thrilled as I might have been. Still, after a seven day slog in Afghanistan, it was certainly a change of scenery.

The owner had contacted us. Apparently, his night shift Manager was hiding up in the resort, high in the mountains. Just him, an un determined number of staff and guests (those who had not fled) and at least three confirmed reanimates..

There were only two viable methods of entry to the resort. Either the cable car, or a Heli pad. Well, the Heli pad was out. See, apparently, the whole trouble started, when a man stumbled into the resort. Bloody and confused. The staff thought there had been a skiing accident. So the well meaning Manager called an air ambulance to land on the Heli pad. It did so. But it never took off again. well, you can guess what happened next.

So Big Al and myself rode the cable car up the slope. Those damn things are pretty bloody slow at the best of times, but It was the longest cable ride I have ever taken. I imagined a horde of them ready to welcome us. as we were served up to them in this little unstoppable car. Like a can of dog food.

But fortunately, there was no sign of anyone or anything. Night was starting to draw in. But the resort lights flooded the grounds. We stayed close together. None of that "Lets split up. you go this way, and I'll go that way" Friday 13th bollocks. We covered each other.

We came upon a practice toboggan run. The ice track stretched like a contorted snake down the hill. There was blood. Streaking down the track. Lots of it. But none leading up to the run. We couldn't figure out what happened here. But knew it must be bad. Then Al stooped down observing small tracks in the snow. They looked like a ladies foot prints. Small but a wide stride. She must have panicked and ran from the resort. Down towards the run. Probably did not see the gully and fell right into it. I tried not to imagine the terror she must have been in. Scrambling to hold onto something, anything. Desperately clinging, trying to stop her descent as her speed increased on the cold, hard ice. I radioed to Operation Control. Hoping they would find her at the end of the slope in one piece.*

From the outside, the lodge looked very inviting. A warm glow emitted from the windows and surrounding lights. After a recon., of the peripheral area, we entered. It's not hard to track a Zombie down. They are not very subtle. We could either follow the deep moaning from down the corridor, or the relentless thudding from same corridor, or simply let our noses lead the way. This is the part where I gross you out. Ready? ...Zombies have NO control over their bowels. Think about it. They eat relentlessly. But their internal organs are redundant. They just let it all flow out again. It's that simple to follow a Zombie. Anyway, It's not the following part that I get paid for. It's the knowing what to do with them when I find them.


So these two Necro's are pounding on this big double wooden door. Fortunately it's oak. They were shoulder charging it. Body slamming it. Head butting it. I'm just glad they don't remember what a door handle does. Now here's the thing. They were facing the door. We didn't want to risk shooting them in the back of the head with a cranium shot. One stray bullet would have gone through that door, oak or not. We didn't know where the people were. We assumed they would be pilled up on the other side of the door keeping it closed if they were smart. Anyway, Big Al had to shout at the two of them. Then whistle them like you would a dog. Anything to get them to come away from the door. It worked. We lined them up in our sites and popped them in the head a few times till they dropped.

Behind the doors, we found a dozen frightened guests and staff . They did mention that there was, to their knowledge, at least one other necro roaming around outside. So we followed the trail again. We circled round the main lodge. And leaning against a post was Zombie number three. Yes, leaning against a post! Seems like it had gotten stuck on an ice covered metal 4 by 4 beam. You know how it is when you stick your tongue on ice? (well, at least that's what I have heard). It was trying to pull itself off. It was tearing skin, ripping flesh, but the more it ripped, the more blood oozed and it welded itself on more. So we surrounded this Zombie popsicle and took it down.

Maybe it's just something you pick up. Perhaps just an intuition you get. But I knew there was more. I could see Big Al thought so too. We didn't even need to say anything to each other. I just signaled for him to circle round with me for one final sweep. Glad we did. Al picked up a track. Spotted blood in the snow. Zombie tracks are noticeable. Dragging feet and all that. We followed gingerly. All the way to a large snow drift. Seems this necro went for a wander right into the snow bank. Like the Energizer Bunny. Just a straight line. Well, I had to follow it of course. Both barrels at the ready. Into the snow drift I went. After about 20 feet into this Zombie made tunnel, I saw it. I didn't want to risk blasting it though. It would have meant snow spraying everywhere and the tunnel collapsing. So I withdrew. Then with Al on one side and me on the other, we peppered the drift. I mean, just like that scene in Predator where they spray the jungle hoping to hit something. Well, we did. Believe me we did. That snow was running red afterwards.

So there you are. Another day, another dollar. So next time you find yourselves in the French Alps, thank Captain Hawk and Big Al for the snow being white and not red.



*Footnote: The lady was found, but sadly died three days later from friction burn wounds and concussion.

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