abruptly oor Kornies
abruptly
en
In an abrupt manner; without giving notice, or without the usual forms; suddenly.
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The North gate was much as I had imagined it: a squad of soldiers positioned behind and beside an APC (armoured personnel carrier) that had brought them there – and a well-constructed sandbag emplacement for a heavy machine gun. The machine gun was continuing to pour deadly metal into the dozens of zombies who streamed through the university gate into College Crescent. The squad members, lying prone on the footpath, added to this toll by directing their comparatively puny rifles at the same targets. It seemed that none of the zombies was getting more than a few feet past the gate before being felled. The pile of corpses had grown to an alarming height within a very short time. I guessed that, at its highest point, it was around seven feet high. But still the terrified – and often smouldering – undead came, climbing over the now-dead undead. And they, too, were shredded by the gunfire and fell just as quickly on those whose bodies they were climbing. What were my feelings as I watched this carnage? Could I put my emotions to one side merely because these creatures were no longer truly human? No, not really. Some of those fallen had been classmates of mine a few days previously. More than that, my own brother crouched beside me, watching the spectacle intently – and he, too, was one of these less-than-human beasts. And still I felt David’s pain – whether I wanted it or not. We both watched for, maybe, twenty minutes or more – and then a most unexpected thing happened: the clatter of the heavy machine gun abruptly ceased. Was it out of ammunition? Surely not, the APC must have been loaded with boxfuls of belts of machine-gun bullets. However, after firing continuously for so long, the barrel of the gun would have been red hot. So, perhaps, ...? I saw the commander leap into the gun emplacement and desperately try to manipulate parts of the silent weapon – with no obvious success. The gun had definitely jammed.
Gwreg Alan yw.langbot langbot
The doors to the main entrance of the Baillieu Library were glass, thick sliding doors. They were still intact – which was a little surprising – but reinforced by bookshelves, cupboards and now-redundant vending machines. The zombies were not going to gain entrance any time soon – though they loitered outside constantly – waiting and watching. Given the desperate situation of those inside the library – no food, no outside contact – I had recently come to believe that the zombies’ waiting would not be in vain. I stood in the barricaded foyer: my brother was unseen on the other side of the glass doors, a thing abandoned – but not by me. “Let me see him,” I snarled. Silently, one of my fellow survivors moved forward and removed a box from the barricade to reveal an observation hole. He stepped back and allowed me to view the prone form of David. He was unmoving – just as I thought, not yet reanimated. Good – it was not too late. I nodded to myself and turned slowly to the others who eyed me with suspicion: “Please leave me alone with him,” I whispered. “I need a moment alone with him.” They shuffled their feet uneasily and looked at one another. Was I now worth that risk? “I’ll not try and retrieve him,” I said reassuringly. “He is, as you say, ‘gone’ now. There would be no purpose in trying to get him back.” Jude locked eyes with me for a long moment. She saw no deception. “Come on,” she said to the others. “Let the guy have some dignity. David was his brother, after all.” And with that, she abruptly turned on her heel and left the barricaded foyer, the others reluctantly trailing behind her. Good.
Nyns yw boghosek.langbot langbot
He seemed offended. He walked with me back to the front of the office. When we reached the reception area, he passed his eyes over the numerous zombies which were seated there. “Mr Tremelling?” he called. An elderly zombie stood and walked towards his office. But I caught his arm before he left the area himself. “But, sir, all your staff are dead. They’re rotting on the floor.” “Nonsense!” he retorted. “Staff morale in this office has never been higher.” “And, as I’ve said, all your clients are zombies.” He was incensed. “Young man, please leave. You’re upsetting my clients.” I looked towards the other zombies, still seated. Were they upset? Difficult to say. Certainly, David seemed very happy. The solicitor left, walked along the corridor with his client and closed his office door behind him. I decided to leave as well and called David to come with me. He was reluctant to go. Why would we leave all these lovely people? Then, I heard singing from the rear of building. Another survivor. The singing was loud and out of tune. The words were poorly enunciated. I decided to go back down the corridor to investigate – and to leave David to his new friends for the moment. The singing stopped and a racist tirade began. The subjects of the tirade seemed to be anyone who was not white. Australian aboriginals were especially ‘favoured’ by the speaker. I arrived at this other survivor’s office. He sat amongst huge piles of legal files and empty wine bottles. He saw me and started singing again. Then he stopped abruptly. “Are you Jewish?” he shouted. “No,” I answered quietly.
Ny gonvedhas Tom tra vyth.langbot langbot
abruptly (adv.)
Kas yw genev an traow ma.langbot langbot
As we walked down the stairs into what had become a fetid pit, a cat greeted us. When I say ‘greeted’, that is a relative term. Actually, it hissed loudly at me and then growled deeply, with real menace. I was definitely not welcome down there as far as it was concerned. Apparently, it could tell the difference between me and the other residents. It liked them. It didn’t like me. How curious. As I tried to ease my way down the stairs, passing the small, hissing fury, its eyes suddenly widened to the size of saucers and its ears flattened back onto its head. It repeated its hiss of warning. “Fuck off, puss!” I said, in a friendly tone. Apparently, it didn’t like bad language because, with that, it reared up on its hind legs and made a standing vertical leap for my face. I weaved backwards and, in any event, it didn’t quite reach the height of my face but, as it dropped back to the ground, it caught its claws in my thigh and clung there. Naturally, it also sank its teeth into my flesh as hard as it could and, muffled by its mouthful, growled menacingly. There was pain, considerable pain. One or two of the assembled zombies made noises that sounded suspiciously like laughter. (Do zombies have a sense of humour? If so, I didn’t think much of it.) I grabbed the cat by the scruff of the neck and peeled it off my leg – there was an audible sound of my skin tearing, ever so slightly, beneath my jeans. I held the cat before my eyes – it was still growling and spitting but temporarily immobilised by the same ‘hold’ that its mother had once used on it when it was a kitten. I shaped to hurl the little monster far away from me – but, as I did so, I noticed the zombies, as one, abruptly stared at me. So, I stopped mid-throw. Did these zombies really care what I did with an apparently feral – and certainly out of control – cat?
A nyns yw hi medhoges?langbot langbot
curtly (adv.) briefly; laconically war-nebez- kows; abruptly; brusquely yn-smat; offhandly; grandly a-rust
My a vynn dybri an keus.langbot langbot
“Tanks,” I croaked. (Not a fulsome expression of gratitude, maybe, but the best I could muster in the circumstances – for my torturer-turned-saviour.) Ingrid nodded in shy acknowledgement. “David’s back in the cells,” she said. “He’s okay now.” She had known he was on my mind. “I want to tell you what happened to him,” she continued, very quietly. It was my turn to nod. “In the first experiment, when you were suffering, David’s EEG readout went from a complete flat-line to a sort of jagged, irregular, spasmodic thing – like I’ve never seen before. No normal brain could produce such a pattern. Your suffering turned David’s brain on – or so it seemed.” She paused, looking downcast: “I guess that’s why the Captain devised the second experiment. He didn’t really consult me on it. I ask you to believe me about this,” she said. I did – but this only confirmed that she was fully aware of – and consented to – the first experiment (and the cruelty it had inflicted on me). “Anyway, the second experiment followed the same pattern as the first – up to a point. You suffered and David’s zombie brain came alive – sort of. The same EEG pattern: jagged, irregular lines, some still flat, others off the scale. But then, ...” She paused again. I think she had started to weep – but she quickly regained control of herself. (Weeping is weakness, it seems.) “Then, you stopped breathing and went into cardiac arrest. David abruptly ceased to roar and protest at what was happening to you. He went completely impassive and just sat there in his chair. He simply ‘stopped’ at the same time as you did. There was a complete flat-line in his read-out again.” What did this mean? I couldn’t say but, perhaps, because he was my identical twin, born of the same fertilised egg – and because I was not a zombie – he was unlike other zombies. Until I, too, died.
Eus, yma dew.langbot langbot
abruptly (adv.) curtly; brusquely yn-smat
Yw da genes an vowes ma?langbot langbot
abruptly
My a brenas naw flour.langbot langbot
“That’s a very good question. Private Swooper,” I answered. “I’ve lived amongst the zombies since Day One, since the very first outbreak in Melbourne. On that day, there were hundreds of zombies all at once – and there were none the day before. None at all. As far as I know, none of those first zombies had been bitten by anyone or anything. Don’t you think that’s curious, Private?” Private First Class Brendan Swooper nodded thoughtfully – and a lot of the other GI’s in the audience nodded along with him. I continued: “My brother became a zombie within the first few days ...” (I omitted to mention that he’d actually been bitten in that time.) “... but not me. I’ve seen a lot of guys and girls, all fellow university students, bitten by those zombies, the ones who appeared on Day One, the ones who had never been bitten. None of the girls became zombies. None of them. Not one. Now, Private Swooper, that’s also mighty strange, don’t you think?” Private First Class Swooper nodded even more thoughtfully – and even more GI’s nodded along with him. (At this point, the Captain started to feel uneasy about the fact that I had the undivided attention of the GI’s – who all seemed very interested in what I had to say. He stood abruptly, started to try and silence me once again. The GI’s hissed at him – and he reluctantly resumed his seat.) “The third thing, Private, that is mighty strange is that not all the guys who got bitten and became zombies stayed that way!” “That’s not true!” yelled the Captain – who was promptly hissed down again. I shrugged, fell silent in my cage. I knew what would happen. I had won the GI’s over. I was just like them – young and unworldly - but they knew I was talking from first-hand experience. They wanted to know what I knew – and for very good reason: their lives may have depended on it. Very soon, despite the fact that the Captain tried to shut the meeting down, I was recalled to speak. Now, I knew the Captain would be most reluctant to interrupt – at least until I had said more than he could tolerate. I continued:
Res o dhis dos de.langbot langbot
brusque (adj.) curt; abrupt smat brusquely (adv.) curtly; abruptly yn-smat
Yma tri broder dhodho.langbot langbot
“Sorry, Mate,” I thought. “We did our best. It just wasn’t good enough.” A corporal called his commanding officer over: “This one isn’t a zombie, Sir,” he said, pointing in my direction. “Perhaps he’s a collaborator.” A Captain approached. He wore a caduceus badge. He was a military doctor. “A collaborator?!” he scoffed. “What an absurd concept.” “He looked first at me and then at David. He did the same thing three or four times. “They’re related. Brothers, I’d say. Maybe even twins. It’s a bit hard to tell what the zombie looked like a few days ago – what with that awful grey skin and bloody mess that they all seem to wear.” He addressed himself to me: “You there! I could have you shot as a spy, you know. I assume you’re not really a Sergeant in Her Majesty’s Australian Army. The penalty for impersonating army personnel during time of war is summary execution, you know.” Yes, I had heard of this, now that I thought of it – but was this really a war? In any event, it seemed that David and I would be going together. That, at least, was some comfort. I remained silent. I had nothing to say. Then a strange thing happened. The Captain’s manner abruptly changed. He examined me and David more closely. David kept roaring his protest, of course, and tried vainly to escape his bonds. The Captain came and sat himself beside me, took off his hat and assumed an avuncular (but definitely creepy) tone with me: “Would you rather be shot, here and now, as a spy – or would you prefer to live on and, possibly, ensure the existence of your zombie relative for a while yet?”
Ow hothman a’m gweresas.langbot langbot
Apart from this half-forgotten lecture in jungle warfare, my only knowledge of military tactics came from reading (in Latin) about Rome’s wars with Carthage. Naturally, I still thought of Hannibal as a ‘gun’ General but, given that I didn’t have ready access to any battle elephants, I thought the valuable lessons I had learned from this reading were likely to be of limited use in dealing with the zombie apocalypse – or, for that matter, with any counter-offensive that might then be under weigh. After playing in my mind with the remembered fragments of the lecture from the reg, I turned to David – who had just listened to the radio with me. (Mildly interested – comprehension? I guess next to zero.) “Okay, David, we can forget about Hannibal,” I commenced (David had studied Latin as well). “Let’s think about our time together in the cadets. If the Army was going to form a defensive perimeter around the docklands area, how would they go about it? How far from the docks would they place the perimeter? As far as Central Melbourne? As far as here, at the university?” Naturally, he didn’t answer me. I was just using him as a sounding board. His eyes, however, did seem to look at me quizzically – if dead eyes could ever do that. We still sat in the Activities Office, each of us on one side of the desk upon which sat the transistor radio, currently our portal to the outside world. We sat for a while staring at one another – my mind was racing. His mind ....? Well, I didn’t know what was going on in there - maybe more than I realised. This moment of quiet reflection was abruptly interrupted: ‘Gween’, the zombies’ pet cat, had apparently wandered by and decided to join the party. (She obviously had the run of the building and feared none of its current residents.) She leapt nimbly onto the desk, rubbed against my unprotected arm, bit it sharply and then sauntered over to David as if nothing had happened. The wretch! David, of course, took the furry beast into his arms and clumsily started petting it. In return, the mainly black animal miaowed its appreciation at him, in a decidedly cutesy fashion, and started to purr loudly. After looking adoringly into my brother’s dead eyes for a time, Gween turned her face to me and hissed with apparent conviction.
Res yw dhymm prena bleujyow rag ow hares.langbot langbot
Though we could not yet see it, I guessed that a heavy machine gun had been placed opposite the exit and it was systematically mowing down the beasts who were trying to escape that way. Abruptly, the helicopter gunships departed – for no reason that was readily discernible. “That can’t be good,” I thought. “Why would these most potent weapons suddenly leave the field of battle with the job not yet done?”(Vercingetorix’ mistake?) The chatter of other machine guns started up, further away, on both sides of the campus – and, faintly, others more distant than that. I guessed that all exits from the campus had now been blocked. Somehow, the zombies had been herded here (how?) and, now that the acres that comprised the main campus of Melbourne University were full to bursting point with tens of thousands of them, the trap had been snapped shut. There was no escaping and they were being wiped out from the air and from the ground. “That’s one way of clearing a route from the port,” I thought. I supposed that’s what they were doing – but who could know for sure? The zombies who had pressed forward to the exit – and had not yet been cut down in the hail of bullets – started to retreat, back in the direction of the cricket oval. This made for an even greater crush of panicky bodies. Then came a growing rumble from the air. None of the zombies paid it any heed – but I recognised what it was. Little wonder that the helicopter gunships had moved away. They were making way for a far more potent weapon in the form of an approaching jet plane. Not good news. For a moment, I naively thought it might have been a passenger service but, of course, it was not. The sound of the jet engine was quite different. Though I could not see it, the rate at which the rumble was growing suggested the plane was flying fast and low. Time for ‘Plan B’. I tugged on David’s hand and roughly pulled him sideways – out of the main flow of the throng and towards the rounded tower of St. Hilda’s college. Within a few short seconds, there was a blinding flash and a deafening ‘foomph!’
Gav dhymm, mar pleg.langbot langbot
David and I were sitting towards the rear – we were not so studious. David abruptly turned and looked to the rear exits: both open and both so far unblocked by the things. “Get out the rear,” he yelled. “The back doors are open.” It was a good call, a very good call. And enough of the students heard it above the screaming and mayhem that, almost as one, they surged towards the rear of the auditorium. Hitherto unathletic students literally leapt over the seats and desks and fled, without a backward glance, while the beasts busied themselves, feasting on their victims in the front rows. But not Dave. One of the students, a mature-age student, had left a guitar behind in his haste to escape. David seized it and threw it to me. “Here! You know what to do.” I didn’t, of course – but I soon learned, once David himself seized a hockey stick, similarly left by one of the girls. (Yes, strange but true: a guitar and a hockey stick in a French lecture.) David raised the hockey stick and brought it down hard on the head of one of those creatures as it rushed at him. It didn’t get up again. I did likewise with the guitar as another one ran at me. This one also went down but the guitar shattered on impact with a sickening twang. I would not be taking any of the others out with this particular ‘axe’. David’s hockey stick was, however, not so fragile. He wielded it again and again. I’m not sure how many he felled but, by the time he struck his last beast with the now-bloodied hockey stick, there was only one other left in the lecture theatre. The problem was that this remaining creature was, at the time, engaged in hand-to-hand combat with me – and I was rapidly losing the contest. Dead people are so enormously strong, aren’t they? David did not have a clear shot at him because my body was between him and the beast. So, he tried to push me aside to create an opportunity to strike at it. As he pushed me, it lunged forward – and, momentarily, its teeth sank into his left forearm.
Kales o an apposyans.langbot langbot
I decided it was opportune to assess the fallout, within the camp, of my little performance at the first lecture. If Ingrid wouldn’t tell me now, she was unlikely ever to tell me. “By the way, doctor, you said that Captain Mengele was not pleased with my contribution to his presentation. What was the problem?” Ingrid’s mind was apparently still elsewhere – where exactly I cannot say. She answered me as if in a dream, like an automaton. “Oh, the doughboys complained that we should have let you keep speaking. They said we must be hiding something, that it’s some kind of grand political conspiracy and that they don’t trust us anymore. Stuff like that.” “I suppose they’ve started writing to their congressmen?” I asked. Still in a dream, Ingrid answered simply: “Yes, they are, actually.” Then she suddenly snapped out of it, realized that I was milking her for information. “Hey! How did you know that? That’s classified information.” “Just a wild guess,” I replied. Although I did not actually know that the GI’s had started writing to their congressmen, I guessed that this was likely – and Ingrid had merely confirmed my guess. This was my next guess: “But none of those letters will ever get off this base, will they?” Ingrid set her mouth in a tight line – thus answering my question in the positive. (There was not readily available overseas phone access in those days and so, if the letters were stopped, sensitive or controversial information would not leak back to the States in any short time frame.) Ingrid stood abruptly: “This interview is concluded, prisoner. Guards?!” The guards came running and took me back to my cell.
Yth esen ni a’gan esedh yn kres an stevel.langbot langbot
DOCTOR INGRID “Are you in need of pain relief?” The voice was that of Ingrid, through the peephole of our cell door. I was ready for her – I had given this meeting some thought. “Tell me, doctor,” I replied. “What’s it like working with Doctor Josef Mengele? What’s it like working in Auschwitz instead of Puckapunyal?” She gasped involuntarily – evidently, she knew of the evil reputation of the bestial Nazi doctor and how that reputation had been earned. I had struck a real nerve. I had intended to. So, I pushed hard on that nerve. “Tell me, doctor. If you can’t answer that question, what about this one: when did you decide to renounce your Hippocratic Oath? When did you decide it was okay to ‘do harm’?” The peephole was abruptly snapped shut. I heard the sound of rapidly retreating footsteps. Advantage: me. The peephole stayed shut for some hours until Ingrid (who had apparently now composed herself) returned once again. “Are you in need of pain relief?” she repeated without emotion. Of course, I was. My skin was still on fire from all the scorch marks inflicted upon my body – and my genitals were very bruised and achy. (There had been no need to put the cattle-prod in my groin to get the desired reaction from David – this had been pure malice, pure payback. Then again, as he’d been so thorough in applying the prod to David’s testes, he probably just thought he needed to be completely even-handed about the matter. Hmmmph!) I decided I could put my mind games to one side until I had gotten the relief I’d been craving for some hours. Even so, I tried to make light of my suffering: “Yes, as it happens, an Aspro or two would be most welcome,” I said, as sweetly as I could.
Mar yeyn avel yey yw.langbot langbot
abruptly
Ple’th os ta trigys?langbot langbot
THE ROWDEN WHITE GALLERY Perhaps the entry of the truck – and/or the resulting crashes and bangs – had been heard. And perhaps the person hearing this had decided “It’s now or never” – and had made a desperate dash for freedom. I will never be quite sure. In any event, as I trailed along behind David towards Union House, a scream split the air – the scream of a living person. David halted briefly to assess the sound – and sniff the air. Then came another scream and David was off at a gallop. The screams seemed to come from Union House and, naturally, that was the direction in which David was running. I tried to keep up with him but he already had a head-start on me. As we entered the building via the South entrance (the Western entrance did not exist at the time) the screams stopped abruptly – in mid-scream. David’s pace did not slacken – if anything, it quickened and I fell further behind. I saw him leaping up the stairs, taking three at a time – the basement was now ignored and a crowd of zombies was coming forth from that evil pit. David, however, was ahead of that pack and, for my own safety, I needed to keep in contact with him – a feat which I just barely managed. David’s bloodlust was definitely up and all thoughts of protecting me seemed to have disappeared. Fortunately for me, the zombies following David were likewise distracted – for the moment at least – and paid me little heed. By the time I reached the Rowden White Gallery cum library on the third floor of the building, it was all over. The person who had been screaming so desperately had been killed by the zombies. I don’t think David arrived in time to participate in the actual killing – though I can’t be sure – but he was certainly participating in what followed.
Ny allav vy leverel henna.langbot langbot
I banged three times on the inside of the truck walls – this had been my pre- arranged signal to Paul and Charles, who were still (relatively) safe inside the cab. I turned to the now-breathless Jude. “Time to shut up shop now, Jude. Dave can’t keep them at bay for much longer,” I said, breathless myself. “You can come back later – I’m leaving the truck. And, by the way, you’ve got guests.” Jude looked at me in amazement: “Guests?” Paul and Charles answered her question at that moment by tumbling from the truck’s roof – their fall broken by the human chains still working beneath them. Even “Royalty” decided to dispense with formal introductions and clambered over the members of the now-disintegrating chains, passing hurriedly through the library doors to comparative safety. At that moment, the zombie press broke through and snapping jaws appeared beneath the sills of the truck’s still-open rear doors. The human chain sounded the retreat and I pushed Jude roughly out of the cargo section of the truck. Her fall, too, was cushioned by the backs of the others. I jumped to the ground and slammed the refrigerated truck’s rear door firmly shut. (No sense in letting the warm air in, was there?) The diesel engine was still running – and so was the refrigeration unit – but for how long? I was abruptly seized by two of the closest zombies and, briefly wondered if my luck had run out. It hadn’t. The figure of David burst through (actually, over) the press and was swiftly at my side, beating at those who had seized me. He roared with renewed vigour – and, once again, the Earth seemed to shake. David had saved my life – again. Thanks, mate. Jude was the last of the Baillieu survivors to get back inside. She lingered at the open glass doors. “Pete!” she yelled. “Come back in.” This wasn’t going to happen – not without David.
Goslow orthiv.langbot langbot
It was a paper on the probable development of Moral Ideas with the development of the civilising process; and the last sentence was the opening of a prophecy: "In about two hundred years," I had written, "we may expect----" The sentence ended abruptly.
Res vydh dhis dos omma.langbot langbot
Immediately upon that he heard the cock crowing and Christ gazed upon him from the great torments he was in. then peter abruptly withdrew as he had sinned by denying god full of grace, although he had been warned.
Trigys ov vy yn Hyogo.langbot langbot
abruptly adv. suddenly desempias; der vaner dhesempias; steeply der vaner serth, colloq. serh abscess n. MED. swelling whethfyans m. -ow Lh.; rot podredhas m., pl. podredhejow OM abcessed a. MED. leun a bodredhas OM
Yma ev ow mires orthowgh.langbot langbot
There seemed to have been more than one person there – too much improvised bedding for just one. Was this where poor Meryl had been hiding out as well? Were the zombies now feasting on her last companion? Thinking thus was all a bit miserable – though I could empathetically feel something of the exultant mental backwash from my twin brother, (a vicarious, visceral ‘joy’ that I did not welcome). I needed to keep occupied. One part of the Rowden White was devoted to music. There was then a listening room in the library – comfy chairs to recline in while a selection of music was piped to you through bulky headphones. There was an adjacent room with a number of turntables playing various vinyl records chosen by the students who came in. It was a popular place to spend a ‘lost’ afternoon. Popular listening choices included “Tales of Topographical Oceans” (by Yes) and Emerson, Lake and Palmer’s triple live album – now deeply unfashionable. At that time, they were thought to be music which was perfectly suited to get stoned by. (And who was I to argue?) Indeed, as you entered the listening room, you would be confronted by a haze of dope smoke so thick you could hardly see your hand in front of you. (Okay, that’s a minor exaggeration – but you understand my meaning.) Marijuana was, of course, still highly illegal in those days – no soft legal options were yet available for those caught offending. However, the local cops in Carlton had long since reached a tacit understanding with the University authorities over the matter. I’m not sure of the details but I think that, whenever some busybody complained about the students smoking dope in the Rowden White, the librarian would be advised that the constabulary were likely to pay a social call later that day – and all dope smoking abruptly ceased. A very sensible arrangement, if you ask me. However, David and I only ever went there for the music! (And we only ever bought ‘Playboy’ to read the articles, too.)
My re bia ow koslowes.langbot langbot
24 sinne gevind in 5 ms. Hulle kom uit baie bronne en word nie nagegaan nie.