Napalm Riot

Just need a quick place to put this so I can get it at my home com, as my emails not working right now. Thanks. Its most of what i've typed for Survivalism. Just need a way to transfer, but feel free to read it if you want. You wont get the second part though.

Survivalisms: The Story of Marcus Bueller.
The night is a dangerous time. It hides that which society denies exists. I've seen that which wanders the darkness. I've seen what is not supposed to exist. My name is Marcus Bueller. I've seen the dead rise to eat the bodies of the living. I've seen men turn to wolves and women drain a person of blood. I've seen what the darkness truly holds, in all it's horrific detail.
My knowledge is not the result of being in some super secret underground organization, nor am I a hunter of such beings. I am simply a magnet, if you will, for all creatures of this sort. I've always been that way, even as a kid. Although while this attraction seems to affect all that walk the night, I seem to be dominantly attractive to zombies. For something that isn't supposed to exist, I've seen an awful lot of them in my lifetime. I seem to always be in the midst of outbreaks. I have no idea of the exact number, mainly because of the fact that I stopped counting after the 12th one. Despite the obvious negatives of my situation, there are some bonuses. For starters, I'm not dead. I've learned from first hand experience how to keep myself and those around me (usually) from being eaten. My experience isn't the only thing working in my favor, however, as I'm unique in another extraordinary way. I don't like to brag, but I'm gigantic. At 9'7", I make Professional body builders look minuscule in comparison. I'd even make Arnold look like a pansy. By 14 I had been taller than most full-grown adults. I'm 500 lbs. of pure muscle and tendon. As I said, it's probably a large contributing factor as to why I'm still alive. The down side of it is that nothing fits. My clothes are made by a tailor dedicated to me, and works for no one else...because he doesn't have time to do anything else. The only restaurants I can eat at are ones that have a chair custom made for me, which as should be apparent are few in number. Even my house had to be custom built to my dimensions. Within the walls of this house is a great deal of furniture, all of which was hand built by myself. It was in one of those pieces, an overstuffed, oversized green recliner, which I sat when the package I had been waiting for arrived. In my most recent excursion with the undead, I was able to save a few people, and one of them contacted me after word and said that he had connections in the military and could get me a gun suited for my size. His name was Rochester Churchill. I was happy to accept as, in my previous escapades, I'd never had a weapon right of the start that I was familiar with. Rochester had told me that he believed that if I had had I decent weapon, then I might have been able to save his brother, who had died during one of the food raids early on. He promised that the weapon would be suited to me "unique capabilities". It was to arrive via armored convoy today with him driving the lead. Rochester and I had become good and loyal friends in the time since the outbreak, and we enjoyed each other’s company. A knock came from the front door, so I set down the knife I'd been polishing, and went to answer it. When I opened up the door Rochester was right there as expected with a big grin on his face. He had the look of a boxer that had just won the world championship. Rather, he would have if he had looked anything like a boxer. Rochester was a portly shorter-than-average guy with red hair.
"Hello, Marcus." He said, the giant grin never leaving his face. If I hadn't known him I'd of thought it was creepy.
"Hey Rochester, Come on in." As he entered I realized that there were 2 soldiers behind him carrying an enormous box between them.
"Can we put this here?" Rochester said, pointing to the carpet near the door.
"Sure, go ahead." Honestly I wanted to see what was inside so bad, he could have put it on 3000-dollar china and I wouldn't have care a bit. The two men set it down and stretched. It was apparently very heavy for them. That didn't surprise me as the box was more a steel briefcase than a box, and it was 6 feet long.
"Go ahead and open it, pal." Rochester looked as excited as I felt. I walked over to the case and kneeled down to unclip the clasps that held the top down. Inside was a weapon unlike anything I'd ever seen before, or ever even heard of. It was nearly 5 1/2 feet long, barrel to stock. The barrel had a wicked looking bayonet, or maybe blade would be better suited, mounted on it. It was serrated on one of the edges, and looked very much like an axe. The rest of the weapon was covered in holy symbols that were ornate and coated in silver. In the case was also an object that looked similar to a shell for a normal gun. By that I mean that it long, thin and brass covered, but that's as far as the similarities went. It was 5-7 inches long and resembled something a tank would expel rather than a rifle. I looked to Rochester to confirm that I could hold it.
"Go ahead, it's yours now anyway."

...Lots of skippage...

Chapter 2

I Stood up and backed away from Rochester. As worried as I was about him, I was more worried about the soldiers shooting us over a misunderstanding. My size wasn't paired up with bulletproof flesh, so I'm still quite vulnerable to a gunshot to the chest. When the soldiers reached my unconsious compainion and I they took no time in getting organized and splitting off into teams of two or three, and getting to work with there tasks. one pair ran off toward the center of the base, prusumably to get help... or more soldiers. Two others asessed the condition of Rochester and the soldier under him. Three more came my way. The one in the center seemed to be respected by the other two. He was likely the ranking soldier of the group. I saw one of the pair examining the downed two start to try to flip rochester off the soldier.
"Ey, Dun' do dat. 'E was in a car crash, 'e cou'd have a broken neck f'r allz ya know." I had decided to play up a bit of a accent, a horrible one, but my hope was that they would underestimate my intelligence. Some times the stereotype that all big people are dumb comes in handy. If they think I'm dumb, they won't think I'm clever enough to manipulate the situation.
"Who are you and why did you just drive a monster truck into one of my men?" He screamed. So I'd been right he was head honco of these guys. I had a feeling he was just being full of himself when he called the soldier 'one of my men', as I doubted he had any significant rank. I drew this from the simple fact that he was wearing the reguler desert camo uniform everyone else in the group wore. Marjor officers would be wearing much more decrotive uniforms. On the off chance I was wrong, however, I decided to play nice and not spook him to much. When he reached me, I immediatly realized I had failed that objective completely. Either he had misjudged my size from a distance or simply had not believed his eyes, he was plainly shocked by my size. When he spoke again he had dropped his I'm-such-a-badass tone and stammered a bit.
"I-I-I Asked y-you a que-question?" At this point I'd pretty much blown any chance of making this quick and easy. Still I wanted to try one more thing. I had been in the military for a term and had even been made lieutenant. I doubted that mattered now, but I figured Id try it anyway.
"Lt. Marcus Bueller, Sir!" I said all military-like. The guy almost fell over in shock. He Quickly recovered and Saluted me.
"Sorry, Sir,I had no idea. If I had know you were 'THE' Marcus bueller, I-I, I'm sorry sir." He said with blatent awe. Now it was my turn to be shocked.
"What do you mean by 'The' Marcus Bueller?"
"Your a big deal around here. We've all heard the stories of your survival skills. You've got a lot of fans 'round here. Two or Three are totally obsessed." He pause for a second. "Well, If your are who you say you are, and judging by your apperance, you are, then this must be Churchill." He said pointing toward Rochester.