Survivors! Zombie Apocalypse RP

February 26, 2013: Six days since the Outbreak.

Light, water and Internet still function in the city of Portland. However, all other services have been discontinued by the collapse of society. Whatever utilities remain, it's because the government could not shut them down before collapsing. The victorious revolutionaries ruled for exactly two weeks before someone unleashed the virus.

Marauding zombies roam the streets: Small bands of survivors remain, still fighting the good fight for control over the territory. Northwest Industrial is still human turf under control of the rebels: The rest of the city is Hell, swarming with marauding bands of prowlers and with the zombies themselves.

Still, the fall of Northwest is very likely: With hospitals as a no-go zone, it's a matter of time before critical supplies of medicine dwindle. Zombies propping up inside the district is inevitable, once they run out. The only way to stop them are regular, steady supply runs: the Labor Defense Committee is seriously considering conscription and sending those poor sods out to scavenge. In the current state of Portland City, that's akin to a death sentence. Those that value their own individual lives more than the Revolution would be well-advised to get the fuck out.

• It's up to you to introduce your characters. I'll be more specific then .

edited 20th Oct '11 2:58:28 PM by SavageHeathen

Rory Taylor tossed the wire cutters aside as the fence finally gave way. It had took him forty-five minutes, but he had cut through the wirey fence eventually. The early morning air chilled him to the bone as he sprinted across the Wall-Mart parking lot. A lone zombie spotted him just as he dashed through a fire exit. He slammed the door as hard as he could before the creature could follow him. Rory checked his revolver was fully loaded before he set off into the collosal interior of the building to look for supplies.

(Note: I was amazed the first time I set foot in a Wall-Mart. Everything really is bigger in America huh?)

Three weeks since the collapse of the old order. Nearly a week since the collapse of the fledgling society that had replaced it. The Revolution had been messy, and WRATH had just made it worse a thousandfold; instead of angry people with guns contolling the city, angry people with guns were fighting for survival against undead killing machines. Chaos reigned in the wilted Rose City and any pretense at being in control was completely laughable. Eventually such a large concentration of people would get devoured by the monsters they tried to fight.

All a person could do was run, hide, fight when necessary and survive. That was how a teenage girl from Nyuzen-machi, Japan had come to be in a pretty swanky apartment in Portland. Amidst the apocalypse she'd hardened quite quickly. What else could you do when everyone you'd been going to school with a couple weeks ago was trying to eat you? She'd been near the river when things went to hell; in just under a week she'd traversed dangerous territory covering maybe six blocks. One new day, one new block. Seiko didn't want to strain herself, and given the time it took to plot out a course to take there wasn't much time to travel.

Getting into the apartment building hadn't been hard, nor had been getting into the apartment itself. Her trusty crowbar had managed to pry the door open with the application of a bit of force. The owner had been home, blood drenching his torn dress shirt and now ragged slacks indicating he'd been wearing a suit at some point. Seiko had pulled the trigger of her shotgun just as the former man had turned his head to look at her. What remained of his head had splattered over the bedroom, the door to which she'd shut. Thankfully the water was still working and she'd been able to clean up after ensuring the shower itself was clean.

After barricading the door to the apartment and identifying the nearest fire escape, she'd managed to sleep a little bit on the cushy sofa in the oversized living room. She'd watched the streets from behind a plate glass balcony door before a thumping noise caught her attention. Instinctively she wheeled around and put her kevlar SWAT helmet back on. Where had the noise come from? Not the bedroom, certainly. A soft thud as a book hit the carpeted floor near the door alerted her that she had guests. Her barricade wouldn't last very long, so Seiko grabbed the canvas bag that contained her crowbar and flashlight, as well as a few Power Bars she'd found in the kitchen. Moving quietly she stepped onto the balcony and then leapt over to the fire escape. There was a slight clang despite her efforts at stealth when she grabbed onto that.

Knowing she had little time before one of those things came for her, Seiko climbed down the fire escape fast. A leap to the cement below and she was off running. Many of the zombies had been attracted to human gathering places - churches, police stations, hospitals and the Northwest of course. That meant she was able to spot the thankfully few down here and make turns to avoid them as best she could. Eventually Seiko couldn't find any way around a couple that were down the street, so she ducked into the back of a convenience store. Her luck held there, as no zombies were waiting for her. Just some empty boxes that had once contained foodstuffs. Crouching behind a counter, she sighed quietly in relief.

"Just wait," she told herself in Japanese, fighting back tears of fear and exhaustion.

There was a Walmart or something not that far away, but going there seemed foolish. Big stores meant lots of shoppers, so lots of people who would attract lots of zombies. Still, she needed a backup set of clothing. For now, she would just rest in the convenience store and wait to see what happened before making a move.

edited 20th Oct '11 10:19:05 AM by Bombadillo

Three shots...

Gabrielle "Gabby" Connors ran down the stairwell of her former apartment building as fast as she could, almost tripping several times. They'd get her if she even dared to look back so she concentrated on moving forward. Zombies in the streets, crazies in the building. She decided to take her chances with the zombies. After all, the Zeds could only kill her. Living humans were different. More creative...

Three shots...

There were four of them waiting for when she got home. Her home. They had forced their way inside, probably believing the apartment to be abandoned. Well, it was now, wasn't it? And one of their own lay dead. Three shots was all it took. She had warned them. "Get out of here!" she had cried. They didn't listen. Why should they have? They outnumbered her. And they were armed with bats and pipes. More than enough to break a girl like Gabby. Or so they thought.

Three shots...

They didn't listen. She warned them with her voice, then she warned them with her actions. She pulled the tiny revolver from her satchel and aimed. Still they came closer. So she fired. No other choice. The first shot sunk into his chest, the second shot following soon after. One more step and the third shot put him down forever. Then she ran.

Three shots...

She burst through the double doors leading outside and into the parking lot. Her legs and chest burned but she didn't care. Survival was more important at this moment. She'd rest later. She ran now. Past the few cars that were still parked and another block she ran until she tripped and fell, scraping both her knees and the heel of the hand that was supposed to catch her before she hit the ground. Biting back the pain, she turned to face her pursuers and aimed her gun.

Three shots...

No one was there. Her attackers had given up the chase long ago. Gabby lay on the ground, only the sound of her heavy breathing could be heard. After several seconds, she got to her feet and reloaded her pistol.

Six shots.

Not too far off, she spied a Wal-Mart building. She somehow willed her legs to move again and began making her way there.

"Dammit Adams, I don't have time for your bullshit! I just need that report on my desk by this Thursday!"

The words of his boss rang through the ears of the 31 year old Arnold Adams as he had closed his eyes, calling back on the carnage of his office room after everything had went to hell. His boss, who was so keen on chewing him out, had then resorting to actually trying to eat him. Luckily, after a extremely awkward chase Arnold was just quick enough to grab the one thing in his desk that could have aided him in that situation, and his wasn't his secret stash of porn. It was the gun... the gun he had planned to use later on that day... for very different reasons. He remembered as he had ran from the office, knocking over cubicles as he went, seeing Harry, who was biting the lips off of Jackie at the last Christmas party, was literally biting the lips of Jackie. He remembered that one jackass of a co-worker Bob, who would never hold the elevator door for Arnold, trying to claw open its doors as Arnold made his escape.

Examining his situation, Arnold soon realised that he had worked for those people for eight years. Eight years of sharing office space with them, and they were all gone. Arnold only had one reaction he could give for this very moment. He dropped to his knees, threw his arms up into the air and shouted;

"THANK YOU GOD!"

It seemed odd, even sadistic, but Arnold loved to see him go. They were insufferable, he couldn't stand them, it was because of them that Arnold was trapped in an ever present abyss of depression... and now they were gone. In a strange turn of fate, the Zombie Apocalypse had actually given him a new lease on life. Instead of the loser he was in his past life, he could be a winner, a hero, a leader. He just needed to find a group of survivors, and they will be so grateful for his presence, they will owe him everything. The women will want him, and the men will do whatever the hell he says, and stay away from his women. And, if having seen Dawn Of The Dead 14 times had taught Arnold anything, it was that to find survivors, he needed to check the mall. And that's why he was on his way to the nearby Wal-Mart. While he made his way, he managed to see a Japanese schoolgirl... the first of many of his prophesied "grateful women", perhaps? Arnold made his way over to her and grabbed her by the hand.

"You there... miss? You need to be careful! Stick with me!"

That Wal-Mart had been looted before, if the copious amounts of dead zombies were anything to go by. Actually, the place was quiet... awfully quiet.

There were some abandoned cars in the parking lot. Presumably, the owners never got around to retrieving them. The doors to the mall were wide open, having been forced before. In all likelihood, the abandoned cars were the looters'.

edited 20th Oct '11 4:31:13 PM by SavageHeathen

Beyond the glass and unidentifiable stone walls of Fortress Walmart, chaos reigned. The streets were painted with blood and backlit by roaring car fires, setting everything ablaze with a soft red glow. Looters skulked about, picking through shops and apartment complexes, stripping everything down to the bone. It was like watching a pack of vultures gather around a fresh batch of roadkill. And then there were the zeds...

One thing was for sure. Anyone still alive out there wouldn't be for long. Calling it hell on earth was damning it with faint praise. While chaos bent its head back and roared, silence had fallen inside the expansive store. The distinct jeers and cries of looters were absent and the screeches and raspy hissing of the horde had ceased. Indeed, it seemed like the place was completely devoid of life. But Jeff knew better.

When the infected took the streets no more than three weeks ago, Jeff had known all too well what came next. And this time, he had been determined to be on the winning side. So he'd grabbed his crowbar and his chintzy little pistol and called up a few buddies, told 'em it was party time in the big city. Then they'd called a few friends, and their friends called a few friends. Before Jeff knew it, he was ring-leader of his own goddamn gang. And man, had that shit been sweet. Any zed who crossed their path ate lead and any survivor holding out got fed their own teeth. It was the good life, nothing but hookers and sunshine day in and day out. He'd lived like a goddamn king.

And then came the fucking Walmart. The goddamn shitfucking Walmart. At first it seemed like they'd hit the jackpot. They could see it through the glass, the place was fucking loaded. And no stiffs, either. They'd all been brained, splattered across the shelves. Some crew had gone hog wild in here, and left all the good shit too. Too good to be true. But, like his momma had always said, too good to be true probably meant just that.

When they got to the camping and hunting department, they'd heard some rustling behind the counters, near the gun rack. Hands twitched at triggers, and they walked close enough to bring the counter into view. What awaited them was, in their eyes, Christmas come early.

Leaning over a map laid out on the store counter was one fine woman. She was tall, about Jeff's height, with the body of a pornstar and the flawless complexion of a model. Her hair was long and black, tied into a ponytail that reached down to the crook of her back. The eyes were amber brown, and although her face was a little harsh, it was the kind of harsh that made you go "Mistress, give me more!" There was no way in hell they were letting this fish swim away.

Since Chuck had scored the last Zombie Kill Of The Week, it was his turn first. He kept his gun at his slide, sauntering up to the counter, stopping just five feet short of the chick. And with all the class they'd known from him in normality, he said, "Hey now baby, you shouldn't be out here all alone." He gripped his gun, licking his chops. "You never know what kind of folks you'll run into out here."

Little did Chuck know, he'd never been more right in his life. Because as Chuck's luck would have it, the bitch had been packing far more than just a rocking ass. Without even looking up, she whipped out the biggest fucking gun Jeff had ever seen, and brained Chuck. Fred got half a threat out before she filled his yap with bullets, and Joe took two to the heart and went down. Jeff's fearsome gang of marauders scattered, trying to get out of range before they got stuck in the lead storm.

That's when they heard the click-clack of the hunting rifle.

She picked off the stragglers first, dropping Sam down by frozen goods and Levin and Leo in electronics. Peter, George and Jules all got dead. Jeff himself had barely hauled his ass behind cover when Paul's head exploded, showering him in bloodied grey matter. He huddled there for what seemed like hours, waiting for the shots to stop.

Two hours passed, and Jeff was the only one left of a group twenty strong. The rest were all dead. Not one had made it to the exit. She'd killed them all, putting a bullet in their grape for so much as poking their heads out. Now here he was, the king of the apocalypse, stuck cowering in the deli between an iced bucket of shrimp and Porky the Pig's severed ass. Her footsteps echoed, her boots marching towards him. He gripped his gun, knuckles white and fingers shaking. If he had been a religious man, maybe he would've said a prayer to the Lord, ask for forgiveness for fucking up so royally.

He felt cold steel press up against his head, years of action movies filling in the absent click of the gun. And in the face of death, all Jeff could do was wet himself, and cry in fear. The shot echoed throughout the building, and Jeff the Headless Horseman of the Apocalypse slumped over dead.

edited 20th Oct '11 3:12:18 PM by KSPAM

A slow, deliberate clapping of hands was heard at the department store. There were two looters, quietly grabbing stuff. They carried more ammo than a minigun, which meant that they'd been looting the armory. They lugged around a couple of carts chock-full of electronics, canned food, medicine and booze. It looked like they knew what they were doing.

The largest of them was a huge, white dude on his late thirties: Prematurely grey hair, buzz cut, thick full beard... Looked like a typical survivalist nutter, except for the piercings and tattoos (he had a bunch of those). The other was a strongly built, heavily tattooed black woman on her late twenties. Both of them wore long, knee-length combat boots, thick and rugged camo pants and black kevlar jackets. She openly carried a Glock 21 and a long, heavy, menacing machete. As for the man, he carried an old Garand and what looked very much like a kukri. It was the woman who spoke first.

"Im-fuckin'-pressive.", she said. "Ain't no rookie, huh?", she said, smiling. That's when the human scalps hanging from her belt became visible. "Pigs. All of'em.", she said.

Meanwhile, the bearded guy had started searching some of the gangbangers for their car keys. "You won't mind if I borrow your car, huh?", he snarked at one of the dead men.

edited 29th Oct '11 5:38:24 PM by SavageHeathen

There was a clack and a clink, the last used casing dropping to the floor. The woman readied the rifle again, and took aim, centering the crosshairs on the woman with the scalps. Her lips curled, and she wrapped her finger around the trigger, twitching it ever so slightly.

She held that position for thirty seconds, her eyes never leaving her would-be target. Finally, she took a deep breath, lifted her finger a centimeter off the trigger, and pointed the rifle at the older one. She raised her eyebrow slightly, and prodded in his direction with the barrel.

edited 20th Oct '11 4:23:50 PM by KSPAM

"Knock it the fuck off. We ain't gonna hurt you.", the looter protested. "We're here to plunder the damn place. Plenty loot to go around, so let's not get greedy 'bout it.", she said.

The man raised an eyebrow. "Fuckers had cars... It'd take a moron not to take advantage of that.", he groaned.

edited 20th Oct '11 4:29:34 PM by SavageHeathen

A brief moment of peace was broken when the clattering of someone entering the convenience store alerted Seiko. She'd been wondering how much farther she had to go before she'd hit some forest at least, knowing the countryside was farther still. That and contemplating again heading to the Walmart to get clothes better suited to survival in an world gone to hell. Her body was tired, but her mind was sharp enough that she realized she had a visitor. Somehow he got the jump on her, grabbing her wrist just as she was about to peek out and see who had entered her temporary sanctum.

Eyes wide out of the terror of being grabbed by what she thought was a zombie, Seiko immediately set out to defend herself. Terror gave way to determination in her expression as she snapped her shotgun into place. Its barrel was aimed right at the intruder's neck, and she nearly pulled the trigger then and there. But then she noticed he was breathing. Zombies didn't breath. And they didn't talk either. This guy definitely was a survivor, but what did he want from her? Being that he was male, and had taken her wrist like that... she didn't want to know.

"Hazushite!" she demanded, even though it was unlikely he knew any Japanese. The look in those brown eyes peering out from under the SWAT helmet said she wasn't pleased, though. After a moment's thought she repeated in accented English, "Let.. go..."

Rory cowarded in the restroom of the Wal-Mart. He could hear gunshots outside. He thought that if he came to the store early then no one would be here.

"Stupid. Stupid. Stupid." He said as he loaded his double-barrelled shotgun and levelled it at the door.

"So- what's new in your life?" He said to his partner. A mannequin. He had grabbed the clothes mannequin from one of the store rooms and positioned it near the bathroom door. His reasoning was that anyone who came in the room would panic and attack Clyde first. That's what he had named the mannequin; "Clyde".

"Not much? Didn't think so." Rory took a moment to laugh at his loose grip on reality and opened up the lunch box he had found in one of the store rooms. Inside was a rotting sandwich and a banana.

"Jackpot." Rory said as he peeled the fruit and took a bite out of it, "I like bananas. Bananas are good." He said through a mouthful.

Rory heard footsteps outside. He finished his snack by shoving the rest into his mouth and pointed his gun at the door as he chewed.

"Ready?" He said to Clyde. "Come on. Show some team spirit."

(EDIT: Due to pesky Real Life getting in the way, I won't be able to post here until Monday. )

edited 21st Oct '11 1:01:36 AM by PurpleDalek

"Just a few more feet..."

Gabby passed by the few abondoned cars that were still in the parking lot. For some reason, they reminded her of gravestones.

"Keep an eye out."

When she reached the door, she noticed that it had seemed like someone forced the door off its track. "Black Friday shoppers..." She giggled a little at her morbid joke and pushed the door the rest of the way off, causing a loud crash. Anyone home? After standing stock still for a few seconds waiting for someone to respond, she was greeted by the sounds of someone talking. It was faint, and she couldn't make out what they were saying. She shrank away and turned to go back outside when she noticed a pair of looters approaching. Shit! She dashed back inside and crouched behind a trading card display.

Arnold looked down to see that he was still holding onto the Japanese girls wrist, even with a shotgun being pointed at his face. For a moment, he admired the balls he had to do something like that, but then quickly let go of her.

"Calm down Miss. Umm... DO you speak english... well?"

He started making odd hand gestures which were intended to mean, "Zombies! Stay with other survivors" but he was pretty certain it didn't come off as such.

"Look, are you getting any of this, or not? Answer me quickly, before more Zombies get here."

It was relatively safe behind the counter at the convenience store. Or it had been until this guy had come in and blown her cover by coming right up to her like that. Not that zombies seemed terribly observant when it came to long range optical abilities. But making noise would certainly attract them. All in all she was more upset with herself for not noticing the man's approach; she had to be more alert than that to survive.

When the man released her wrist she immediately used her freed hand to better grip her shotgun. Seiko rose to a crouching position quickly, keeping her weapon trained on the guy while she tried to think of what to do. She couldn't stay here now; the zombies would eventually find her and it didn't seem very defensible. Like it or not that Walmart might be the best defense against the dead nearby as long as there weren't undead inside. Since she needed more clothes anyway, that would have to be her next stop. But what about the man? He was making all kinds of weird gestures, maybe thinking sign language would help. As long as she had her gun he wouldn't try anything funny, but he wasn't likely to leave her be either. Maybe she could ditch him at Walmart if he became too much of a hassle.

"Hai," she responded with a quick nod when he checked to see if she understood him. Seiko then rose to a standing position, motioning with her gun for him to do the same. The barrel remained trained on him as she added, "We go Walmart. You first."

grrrrmmmm

The ambulance rumbled through the lot, past half a dozen abandoned cars, all of them strewn haphazardly across the space. Probably abandoned by their owners... or proof that others had gotten to the Wal-Mart before he did. Rick sighed as he turned the engine down, still a hundred meters away from the entrance. Of course. He was hardly the most original thinker here. Of course someone else would have gotten to the ubiquitous Wal-Mart before he did. It was a freaking Wal-Mart, for crying out loud. He unconsciously patted the kevlar vest beneath his shirt for the fifth time since the sun rose, feeling its reassuring bulk. Good. Still there. Well, of course it would be - he never took it off, however uncomfortable it may be.

Safety was safety.

Rick ran through his daily ritual. He inhaled and exhaled several times, breathing deeply, calming his nerves. He looked to the passenger seat, where he had left the shotgun, propped up by the seatbelt. Still there. Good. Now, all that was left... was to go in. Rick looked through the passenger-side window, at the looming superstore. Even empty, even bare, it was still forbidding, ominous. Not with the morning rush, but with the absence of it. Nobody shopping for food. Shopping for clothes. Everybody gone.

The EMT clenched the wheel even tighter. Rick wasn't a complete idiot. He could see the writing on the wall. With the hospitals gone... no incoming aid... he had to get out of Portland. Fast. There was no way around it. And to leave, he needed food. And to get food, he had to go in and scavenge for what was left. "No way around it, Rick. Get up, and go in," he berated himself.

He smoothed down his sleeves, slipping his keys into a jacket pocket. Unbuckling both himself and shotgun, he opened the door, slid out of the carriage with his weapon, and shut the door, taking care to lock it.

As his boots touched the asphalt lot, Rick paused. Should he hold the gun, or just keep it slung...? He quickly opted for the latter. If he found himself in a situation where he needed the several seconds it would take to aim it, he was already dead. At least, this way, he could at least show that he meant no ill will just in case the people in there were a little too possessive.

He ran a nervous hand through his hair, fidgeting. Then, slowly, deliberately, he walked the hundred meters to the entrance.

She lifted the gun barrel, scowling. With one hand on the rifle and one on her pistol, she slid the big-game hunter into a large leather strap and hoisted it over her shoulder. With a passive aggressive grunt, she swept up what little ammo she'd collected and dumped it into one of many large pockets on her cargo pants. She patted her hips, moving down her legs. A little bit of inventory.

36 .357 Mag, 12 .44 Mag, 21 .308 Winchester, 32 .45 ACP, one Kimber Model 84M Classic hunting rifle, one Ruger GP 100 revolver and, she flicked the copper-plated safety back on the enormous pistol, Iokheira.

All was accounted for. Without a word, she turned and stormed off into the jungle of meat and frozen food products. Tooth ground against tooth as she snatched at containers of iced juice. Why did she attract so many freaks?

Weighing down the bag with about half a dozen bottles of Tropicana and over a pound of fitness bars, she tried to distract herself by planning out the next few days worth of meals. She had enough MR Es left from her stash to last about a week on their own, mix in the fitness bars and about a cup of orange juice a day and she might just have enough for a week and a half, maybe two. She needed to be more conservative. Or better yet, she needed to stop wasting so much energy walking.

She sighed, resting the bulk of the bag on her shoulder. Like that would ever happen. And then her ears picked up a curious sound, one so foreign it almost didn't register. It was the sounds of tire treads rolling across pavement. Couldn't be...

Leaping over the racks, she sprinted to the doors. It was a fucking ambulance. She was so happy she could cry.

The grizzled survivalist saw Gabby. She was obviously a civvie, more scared than hostile. Kurt Goldberg smirked. "Sneaking on people is sorta rude, y'know.", he quipped.

His partner was startled: She didn't see it coming. She grabbed her gun, by instinct. "Fuck!", she groaned. "Well, 't least she ain't no zed. Zeds ain't sneakers.", she said, calming down.

Both almost freaked out when they saw the ambulance. They exchanged a meaningful look. "That's damn sturdy.", she said. "Would do the job.", he conceded.

Doors were already open. Forced aside, torn off the sliders.

That... that wasn't good, was it? It meant that people already were here. And if they were the type to rip doors out of their frame, then... they were most likely violent people.

...Perhaps Rick should reconsider. Really. Less... violent door-ripping psychoes for him. That was what he was thinking. His legs, on the other hand, unthinkingly carried him forward, leadenly plodding on, through the sidewalk, through the broken threshold, and straight into the sights of two heavily armed people. No, scratch that, two heavily armed people and a hid- holy hell were those scalps on that lady's belt?

Unthinkingly, Rick threw his hands into the air, the universal gesture of surrender. He completely forgot. He knew that there were possessive people, the ones that refused to share or trade... then there were the repossessive people. The ones that liked taking things. If these people were the sort to scalp people for fun and profit, then they would most certainly not think twice about killing a poor EMT, or at the very least, taking everything he had and then toss him to the zombies. At least... this way he would get shot later, instead of immediately.

Damn it Rick. What did you get yourself into this time?

edited 21st Oct '11 2:25:53 PM by HazzyHaz

Arnold was still unnerved that the Japanese girl was still pointing her shotgun at him. He had just found his new lease on life, he didn't want to lose it so soon. But he could see that she understood him a bit.

"YES! Wal-mart! We go to Walmart. Let us go there now. Please, lower your gun. Me? No dangerous. I OFFICE WORKER... Please tell me some of this is getting through to you."

Both looters exchanged a quick glance and smirked slightly. "That's a goddamn medic!!!", the black woman said. "Yup.", the guy said, scratching his beard. "Even better, that dude's car is basically zombie-proof." he said.

She looked at the EMT: "Livin' on the car ain't healthy, dude.". She grinned widely, making her bestest impersonation of a salesman: "Ever consider gettin' a stake on communal property? The survivin' vets of the Iron Column Motorcycle Club, Kurt there and I, offer ya an one-time killer chance to live at The Compound! A few acres'o'woods at Eastern Oregon, awesome view, zombie-free property! Startin' price is fuckin' free." She made a pause, drawing breath. "So what do you say?"

edited 21st Oct '11 3:05:18 PM by SavageHeathen

It was a person. An honest to god normal person, not crazy or infected in the least! It was a friggin' Christmas miracle!

She ran up to the young man and hugged him as hard as she could. Which for her was pretty damn hard. But who could blame her? It was such unbelievably good fortune that she was almost afraid he'd disappear if she let go.

But it was because she held him so tightly that she felt just how utterly terrified the young man was. His breath was ragged and uneven, his voice thin and hoarse. His body shook in her arms like a chihuahua hopped up on speed. She loosened her grip, still keeping hold of him at the shoulders. She cocked her head, trying to think of some way to convey she meant no harm.

She heard the voices of the two psychoes approaching behind her and suddenly had the perfect answer. In a split second her gun was in the air, trench sights leveled at the scalp-freak's forehead. She motioned to them with her one free hand, then pointed to herself and shook her head, hoping with all her might he understood she wasn't with those freaks.

edited 21st Oct '11 3:39:03 PM by KSPAM

"grrkhha-"

Rick rocked back on his heels against the woman's crushing bear hug of an embrace, the sort usually reserved for the closest of friends. Not for people who just met at the Wal-Mart. Not that he didn't appreciate the gesture, all the same. Far from it. Though some small part, a holdout from waaay back when, the time of texting and cafe-made sandwiches, felt a tad embarrassed, under all this attention.

There were other people here, after all. However, before he could react or respond beyond an awkward pat on the back, she already snapped back into reality, aiming her weapon at Scalps.

Lapsing back into nicknames, Rick. No. Stop it.

Hugs (Nicknames. Again!) gestured violently. Rick frowned bemusedly. However, he quickly picked up the gist of her meaning. It wasn't that difficult - many people had often resorted to angrish hand waving in order to accentuate their point when he failed to hear them for the third time. He had practice. The EMT nodded grimly, though he didn't make any other motion, not reaching for a shotgun that was five seconds too slow for him.

But still. Too much tension for his liking. Rick took the first step to defusing it. "How 'bout we just put these guns down now?"

She was obviously hostile to the two bikers... or at the very least, wary. Not aggressive, at least. Before Rick could respond, Scalps took the initiative, injecting what was meant to be a jovial tone in her voice. "Livin' on the car ain't healthy, dude. Ever consider gettin' a stake on communal property? The survivin' vets of the Iron Column Motorcycle Club, Kurt there and I, offer ya an one-time killer chance to live at The Compound! A few acres'o'woods at Eastern Oregon, awesome view, zombie-free property! Startin' price is fuckin' free."

Scalps finished her enthusiastic spiel with a simple question. "So what do you say?"

...Tempting. The promise of a community, of safety. That was a very tempting promise.

Though... about five and a half grisly scalps hanging limply from Scalps' belt suggested otherwise. They suggested nothing but a grim and savage environment. They left him uneasy.

...But they, they and their weapons and ammunition and scalps and possible affiliation with Hell's Angels suggested that the pair would not take no for an answer. "Uh- righ-" Rick stammered out. "A r-recruitment drive? ...H-How many others have you found?"

Hopefully, they were little more than scavengers forced into diplomacy and not dressed up gangsters.

Hopefully.

edited 21st Oct '11 9:28:45 PM by HazzyHaz

Huh? She shot him a grossly puzzled look. Motioning to him, then to her, she jabbed at the ambulance and waved her hand. Next she shook the gun at the two leather-clad survivors of the cannibal holocaust and shook her head feverishly. No words were said, but the meaning was clear enough.

No way in hell.

Slowly but surely, a crippled zombie slithered on the ground, sneaking up on Seiko and Arnold.

The two bikers took full advantage of the mute's moment of distraction: As soon as she started waving her gun around (and off-target) in her attempt to communicate, she found a Garand pointed at her lower gut and a Glock pointed at her sternum.

"Stalemate: Now let's calm the fuck down, all of us, and not do anything stupid.", he said.

edited 22nd Oct '11 5:36:25 AM by SavageHeathen