Hank's eye twitched slightly every time the other teen fired off a shot. Good for the helping in the fight for the base, not so good for a stealthy escape. As the several return arrows that flew toward them attested. Luckily most seemed to have been shot without aiming. He almost tripped over one that stuck in the ground just a step away from his foot, causing him to veer at the last moment. Geez. If Brady hadn't gotten shot helping Tom... No time to think of that now.

Stopping only long enough to get his brother in Hank was grateful for what little protection the chopper provided. At least he wouldn't have to worry about being strung through by an errant arrow. You ok? He asked Tom with a slight cough, the little bit of smoke he inhaled earlier catching up with him as he gave his brother a quick glance. Satisfied his kin wasn't any worst then when they started he leaned back in the seat with a sigh. Turning his slightly at NM's comment he gave a chuckle and agreed. I've had better. You hurt?

Looking out the window as they started to power up he scanned the visa for Brady. He knew there were others, probably some younger then Tom, who wouldn't make it out of the hell that was engulfing the fort. But he hadn't thanked Brady yet, and that was what would haunt Hank the most.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of glass shattering and the bullet bouncing around. Covering Tom the best he could he waited for the *clinging* to stop, steeling himself for the impact of bullet in flesh. Glancing up as the sound stopped he let out a sigh when he saw where the projectile had stopped. An inch above his head. Holy shit.

A few more explicative escaped his mouth as it looked like their escape was going to turn into their tomb. Though he hated it he would punched every person weighing them down if it meant they could take off.

How had this gone downhill so fast? Tom wondered, trying to stay as small a target as possible. Even though he had only been in the fort a couple hours aside from the slightly awkward bite check they didn't seem like such bad people. Especially Brady. When the man had split off he was tempted to help him, but his brother's words and tone had him moving again. Reaching out as Hank stumbled he tried not to look too hard at the shapes in the smoke, or listen to the cries.

Practically jumping into the helicopter once there was enough room he said a silent prayer, something he hadn't done in over a year, for the people they would be leaving behind. Nodding numbly he managed a slight ya. They had close encounters before, but today was turning into something else. Looking over to the wounded woman and doctor he glanced at the footless leg before returning his gaze to their faces. Is she going to be ok?

What the fuck He managed before being partially smoothed by Hank, his focus on the others slowing his realization of what was happening slightly. Grabbing his brother's hand as the chopper started his grip tightened as it started to look like they weren't making it out this. Hank? His tone was more concern then an actual question.

Trying his best to ignore the various projectiles bouncing off of the helicopters fuselage, Dominic's hands raced across the controls urging the helicopter on in French as he did so. Finally with a cry of relief the Huey slowly managed to pull itself into the air, and once he they had sufficient height it would be a simple matter of flying them the hell out of here. However it would seem that he wasn't the only one to realise the helicopters potential for an easy escape as desperate fort fighters grabbed hold of the skids; the extra quickly unbalancing the aging helicopter and bringing it lurching down onto the ground, narrowly avoiding the ramparts in the process.
Despite the blood curdling screams and horrific crunching sounds caused by several tons of helicopter landing on those clinging to the skids, there were no warning lights or alarming noises from the engine meaning that for the time being they were still in one piece "Get them away from the chopper! Shoot them if you have to!" Dominic shouted into the rear compartment. They would probably only get one more shot at this before they were inundated with walkers and survivors alike both desperately trying to get in.
Catching sight of a figure by his door Dominic grabs the pistol currently sat on the pilot’s seat and fires through the window. A single neat hole surrounded by a spider web of cracks appears in the bloodstained window. He didn't know whether it had been a survivor he'd shot or a walker all he knew was that he had to get them air born.
"Flooring" the accelerator he attempted once again to get lift off. Once he was in the air a low pass over the ramparts should shift anyone still clinging to the skids. If they got into the air that is.

In reply to Bill (msg # 295):

"Not yet," Cookie said, seizing her Glock from a heap of dirt that had been kicked up by the fighting.  She slammed her Bates boot onto the big guy's neck to pin him and savagely pounded him right above the ear with the butt of the Glock.  She would not even waste a bullet on him.  Then she looked at Bill; the eyes were slitty and a trickle of blood was coming from her split lip.  It was a look that spoke of the great fierceness required to survive not only New Jersey, but the land of the dead. "We're going.  Grab your gear and find a vehicle.  These jerks can fight over this place without involving US."  She hit the jerk on the ground one more time - always double-tap - and then she was dashing towards her own gear.  And Bill had earned his place, but she'd be watching him.

Once it was in hand:
 Cookie inhaled, and raised her voice as loud as she could, an earpiercing howl.   "CARAVANEERS !  MOVE OUT ON THE DOUBLE !  FREEDOM ON THE ROAD !  LET'S GO !!!"  As she ran towards her Harley.  It was not the speech she'd hoped for; but there was no time for better.

The fires raged on as the Caravan rallied against their foes. The Caravan and Fort cabins were collapsing, flames licking the buildings adjacent and spreading to the ramparts. The Infirmary had all but burnt to the ground, only the east wall still standing against the fire. The old stables that had been converted to hold the Fort's vehicles was a roaring blaze. The slip-tank that had been scavenged to hold the small quantities of gas being brought in had flames all around it. If anything were to breach the outer wall of the tank, it would explode. One by one, the inner walls of the stable caught a flame, slowly spreading to another, and then another, the pile of hay in the upper levels providing excellent tinder to fuel the inferno. The tires on the truck that Brady, Hank, Tom, and the Stranger rode in on were smouldering. One blew, shooting embers into the other stalls. The walls were on fire and soon the roof. The whole building and all it's contents were burning to ash. The supports of the hay loft gave way and the inner structure came crashing down. The crushing force blew the fuel tank, and the barn fell in on itself like a barn does when it burns to the ground.

The Caravan's vehicles and any supplies they held were gone, hopelessly burnt away. The old Huey helicopter struggled to get off the ground as the Horde had broken through the front gates and were beginning to swarm the courtyard, blocking any chance of egress. Whoever was going to make it out of here alive needed to find a way out, and fast.

In reply to Brady (msg # 285):

Light once again reached Benson Bohannon's eyes as someone pulled the heavy body off of him and offered a hand up. Benson's left arm was broken and had a nasty gash. He had exhausted what energy he had left fighting for his life against the Indian. As his eyes adjusted and reality set in, the facts started to hit the cowboy. The Fort was gone, and any hope of building a life here were lost. Most everyone who was in charge here was either dead or disappeared. The Caravan was shattered. He was severely wounded. And the man helping him up right now was the very man he'd come here to kill. The same man who had shot him and left him for dead in Nashville before he'd met the Caravan. It was his own brother Brady.

But Benson was in no position to carry out his revenge plot now. He was simply grateful not to be burned, eaten, or skinned alive.

"Jesus Christ" was all Brady said, not expecting to see his brother alive again. "Shall we?" was all Beson responded, holding back a flood of emotion, saving it for another day.

Benson knew that if the Caravan were going to rally, and if they were going to make it through the winter alive, they'd need the particular set of skills a boy learns growing up on a farm at the foot of the Blue Ridge Mountains. And if the cowboy himself was going to be down for the count for a while with a broken arm, Brady was the next best thing.

In reply to Cookie & Bill:

As Cookie and Bill moved towards the garage, only to find it engulfed in flames, the tall broad-shouldered Southerner with a penchant for insalubrity came into view, blocking the two from a futile effort. His clothes somewhat blood stained, though it wasn't his own blood. His bowie knife rested in an unbuckled holster at his front waist, while one hand gripped the handle of an old viking-style fireaxe from the 1800s, resting upon his shoulder, painted a deep claret from fresh fighting.

"If y'all sumbitches want a way out, y'better follow along." He spat out some tobacco juice, the colored liquid spraying a dead bandit strewn across the ground.

Normally anyone in the Fort or Caravan would be hesitant to believe the man given his bad reputation, yet behind him stood Luke, Mahmoud and Saito, armed and ready to move.

"He's right, Cookie." Mahmoud followed up, confirming Sam's offer, as much as he disliked the man who's gang had caused so much trouble within the Caravan some time back, including shooting New Mexico.

The sounds of battle mixed with the noise of the chopper nearby trying to get lift after temporarily being bogged down.

"Looks like y'all missed your ride." Sam commented dryly, maintaining some levity characteristic to him in spite of the battle raging. Conflict was natural to him.

Not waiting for much confirmation, Sam turned to confidently but quickly stride across the undead-Fort-Caravan-bandit siege that was close to culminating in an utter defeat for all involved besides the living dead. One walker about Sam's own size encroached on his path, with the Southerner shifting his weight to swing his axe to effect a decapitation before resuming his pace.

Mahmoud, Luke, and Saito began to call out to other survivors to join them, including Ricky, Benson & Brady, etc, though through the fog of war it seemed that few remained besides the odd individual, be they bandit, Fort-dweller or Caravaneer. More than anything the sounds of the undead began to permeate as the sounds of gunfire died down, although the screams, the yells of pain, persisted through the area.

-Stockade (very last cell)
This message was last edited by the player at 17:41, Mon 09 Feb 2015.

Toby managed to scurry away from the well as the cover of undead and smoke filed throughout the Fort he'd made his home since the beginning of Zombieland. From his position he'd already fired off the last rounds of his magazine, and rendered useless, he quickly tossed away the pistol. His right arm had an arrow straight through the bicep, causing extreme pain, his free hand clasping around the wound and imbedded projectile, stemming some blood as he sprinted to Karen and Hector.

"We need to get to the Stockade, the last cell has a way out." Toby entreated, his eyes urging them to comply without asking the obvious question of why a jail would be their ticket to freedom.

-to Stockade

The Stranger from the woods had initially endeavored to recover his bow and quiver from Toby's cabin, making sure to gather up Hank and Toms things as well. Despite only having known them for a short time, he felt somewhat responsible for the two younger fellows he had assisted on the roadside out on the highway. Slotting and releasing a couple of his arrows into approaching walkers who interrupted his search, he always made sure to recover the arrows for later use. For the most part he avoided the bandits, though made an effort to dislode a bandit atop the watchtower near the center of the Fort with a well placed arrow to the gut, sending the man tumbling down to a dust aroused death on the ground.

He could see through the midst of the fighting that Hank and Tom were among a group beating a hasty retreat to a chopper, and he initially felt that he had missed his chance to link up with the two boys again. Unfortunately for them, but fortunately for the stranger, they were bogged down by desperate folks clinging to the landing rails, endangering the escapee's with the walkers closing in.

Grumbling to himself over the matter, he opened his stride to long yet solid steps, placing and then loosing up to four arrows into the people grabbing onto the huey. It wasn't something he enjoyed doing, but it was necessary. They cried out in surprise and shock, their hands letting go of the huey's rails, with the biters descending upon them to feast, ignoring the chopper for the time being.

The chopper began to level in its short distance from the ground as a result of the load being lightened, and the stranger knew it was time to make good his own hasty retreat. 'Joe' slung his bow his head across his shoulder life a rifle, using the string as a sling, and decided that it was time to return Hank and Tom's belongings, which hung from his shoulders. Aged yet tough as nails, he tried to ignore the added weight.

Getting a running start, the old yet wiry survivor used the back of a rotter as a springboard to give him the extra foot needed to launch himself up and take hold of the railing of the chopper. His light, lean frame, the only one left clinging on, did not inhibit further take off.

Grunting and cursing and grateful for his gloves that provided him the grip to pull himself up a bit, one hand reaching up far enough to grip the side door to the huey and open it slightly, though the action caused him to lose his balance and almost fall.

"Help me up, dammit!" He yelled to the people inside, recognizing faces in the haste of his efforts to climb aboard, though with the extra belongings he was unable to get in on his own.

In reply to Ricky Robes (msg # 284):

"I can hardly see anything.." Cass offered up meekly as the smoke billowed around them, still weak from the recent trouble in the woods as she had spent quite some time desolate in the pit Colton's people had trapped her in. She was still raw over the massacre that had befallen her own group at the hands of the bandits, and while supremely emotionally and physically exhausted she was intending to live to see another day, if anything to get revenge.

In reply to Cass and Ricky:

Aishe had been trying to find Hector but, presently unsuccessful, opted for anyone she might recognize from her own group. Setting sights on Ricky and Cass, huddled out of sight and trying to stay that way whilst eyeballing escape like herself, Aishe ran over from her own place behind some barrels.

"Ricky! Have you seen Hector?" She asked immediately, mostly concerned with her long-time friend that she'd known since the first day of the undead rising. "I've seen people heading towards the Fort jail, maybe Hector and the others will be there, unless they were on the helicopter."

Pending their agreement to investigate where people were herding themselves in desperate escape, precipitated by the influx of walkers streaming into the Fort as if in a massive migration, she led them towards the stockade.

-To the Stockade
This message was last edited by the player at 17:47, Mon 09 Feb 2015.

Karen and Hector fell in behind Toby. He may not have been the most reputable person at this moment, having brought down a reign of terror upon the Caravan's heads, though, perhaps he was not so very different from Karen in this regard. Karen popped off the last of the ammunition in the M16 and discarded the weapon like a smoker discards a cigarette butt. She pulled from her satchel two handguns and fired them into the horde that had breached the front gates like a character from an action movie. The trio crossed the diminished battleground, staving off the zombie crowd as best they could. Karen emptied one pistol and tossed it like a baseball towards a zombie. She neglected to see where it landed. She reloaded one final time as the collective of survivors reached the brig, the one that not long ago had housed her temporarily. The former policewoman and mother felt it her protective duty to cover the retreat, lingering and firing outside the doors until the last stragglers were safely inside.

-> To the stockade.

Though he knew taking out anyone hanging on the helicopter was the only way they were escaping, hearing "shoot them" still brought a chill to Hank. Taking a deep breath to steel himself for what had to be done he turned to Tom. Close your eyes, I don't want you to have to see this. It was bad enough they had to deal with the first hope for a future in a while going up in flames, the kid didn't need seeing innocents shot close up added to everything else he had on his plate. Turning back to NM he asked a question that had no pleasant answer. How much ammo do you have left? Enough, and they could shoot their way clear; too little, they'd have to resort to using it as a club.

Luckily it seemed they didn't have to worry about using the gun, as the people trying to save themselves were brought down from behind. Given what was happening he didn't know if that was a good thing or not. What the...JOE! Hank exclaimed as their savior, once again, raced through the smoke to grab onto the Huey. Plus he had their gear, which if he admitted to himself he didn't know which one he was happier to see. He's good. Making sure the other kid didn't shoot Joe Hank reached out and grabbed for the free hand and pulled the other man up, using the frame to make sure he didn't go headfirst out the door.

With his heart pounding within his chest Dominic gradually eased the lumbering Huey into the air; his hands shaking with pure adrenaline as they pulled back on the stick oh my god! You’re actually enjoying this aren’t you!? His mind screamed at him, true he didn’t exactly like the idea of catching a bullet or being dragged from out of the cockpit by a pack of hungry zeds, but the challenge and the thrill of trying to escape before either of those events happened was intoxicating. Though as a self-professed adrenaline junky he wasn’t all too surprised about that.
A surge of elation suddenly went through him as the aging helicopter finally got into the air meaning that all he had to do now was to gain enough altitude in order to get over the walls and then make good on their escape.
Compensating for the sudden lurch to the left as a hooded man leapt upon the skids; Dominic’s hand was already halfway to his pistol when Hank yelled that he was with them “Then get him in quickly then!” he shouted returning both his hand and attention to the control’s in order to keep them stable, gods knew he didn’t want a repeat of last time.

Once the hooded man was safely inside and the door closed, the Huey ascended until it was safely out of range of any pot shots that may come their way before then beginning to slowly circle the burning remains of the fort “Is everyone alright back there?” Dominic asked his voice returning to its normal level now that they were no longer in imminent danger “Can any of you see any survivors down there? Any vehicles?”  he asked; his own eyes searching for any sign that any of the others had managed to get out of the fort alive.  If they were unable to find any of the others then they would be on their own and Dom would have to find them somewhere else to go and there was only one other place he could currently think of and somehow he doubted the others would thank him for taking them there.

Ricky was happy to see friendly faces, even amidst all the chaos of the attack. "I haven't seen Hector. But you're right, the jail would be our best bet; safety in numbers and all." He turned to Cass, his voice calm and reassuring. "Just stay close to me, I'll keep you safe. You need anything, you just call out and I'm right there." He turned back and followed Aishe's lead.

>> To Stockade >>

In reply to Sam (msg # 302):

Cookie was filthy, blood-spattered and madder than a wet hen, but she knew sense when she heard it.  "Let's go !"  she agreed grimly, and headed out.  Better to make a quick alliance when you need to, and dealing with corrupt evil people was second nature to anyone who was born and raised in the Garden State.  But she made sure dear Sam was never behind her.

The garage grew into an inferno, and Bill thought it was the largest fire in Fort Dixie on account of all the flammable materials. The undead were now swarming the Fort, and what was left of Colton's gang and the other survivors were lost in the haze of the fires. The helicopter, occupants unknown to Bill rose into the dusk. That method of escape, along with the other vehicles were no longer an option. They would have to leave now.

Following Sam's lead, Bill waded through the chaos and violence to the stockade.

The lives they had known at the Fort were over. Was this the last ever to be seen of safety and comfort? Would they ever be in a place like this again? Bill looked back at the old Civil War military installation he had called home these past few months. It really wasn't fair how things changed. Fort Dixie had fallen; a civilization gone with the wind.



To Stockade -->
This message was last edited by the player at 09:38, Wed 18 Feb 2015.

In reply to Hank Lucion (msg # 308):



"One round left." New Mexico replied simply and forebodingly, one hand grasping the rifle while the other held onto some fuselage canvass to steady himself amid the turbulence. He felt the helicopter lift as it became unburdened by hangers-on, too late to the chopper, too late to escape. Quickly Joe, the older man who'd arrived with the brothers, had cleared the undead and gained a grip on the getaway vehicle. "Holy shit!"

Dropping his rifle, he rushed to assist Hank in pulling the guy in, and making sure Hank stayed in. Once the old feller was securely inside the chopper NM would pull himself up to the window to try and spot friendlies.

"I can't see them, just walkers and bodies." N'Mexico called back to Dominic up front before moving that way, settling himself in the copilot seat, leaving his rifle behind. "The bastards burned the garage. Our rides are fucked." He added, feeling helpless, his concern for the group palpable. Yet he knew that there was little they could do, and that landing to get anyone else was too dangerous.

"Maybe they made it out to the forest.." It seemed a long shot, given that the only way out that he knew of would be throwing oneself off the ramparts into the fields. The gate had been breached but it had become impassable by a steady stream of the undead, the dinner bell long having been rung.

Joe grumbled and cursed like a sailor as first Hank and then the kid from the Caravan began to pull him aboard. Though not as squeamish as most, his caught his heart surging a little as he clung on, weighed down by his extra baggage, the biters reaching up with claw like hands from the packed, rotting grounds of Fort Dixie.

Once inside Joe collapsed on the helicopter floor, winded but alive.  "Thanks, Hank. N'Mexico." The strong but tired survivor nodded to his saviors and the others. The old guy endeavored to pull himself together, sitting up establishing a grip on something while the helicopter heaved around the burning Fort. He slid off the gear belonging to brothers, "The girl doesn't look so good." Joe commented slowly and warily, speaking mainly to Loa but the brothers as well, about the wounded, pale Isabelle..

Loa held Isabelle close as the woman passed out a few times during the escape, the rough exit and the noise all overwhelming the patient. Isabelle's wounds had remained sealed mostly, but due to the quick exit from the medical cabin and the limited medical supplies they had had, blood began to seep from Izzy's stump.
The former veterinarian knew there was little to be done, and so tried to keep her worries momentarily to herself so that Dominic could pilot their air-ambulance.
Ripping off material from the sleeve of her shirt, she tried to provide extra cover to Isabelle's wound. "We need to get someone calm and on the ground, soon. Toby knew that Fort inside out, I'm sure he was able to get some of our people out.." She was concerned about Isabelle's condition, though she like the others despaired over their missing companions. Known for providing sound bedside manner, Loa hoped that what she had said was true.

Tom wanted to say they couldn't just knock the people off the rails. Even if they survived the fall, with everything going on down there...Shuddering with the acceptance of them or us he turned and covered his ears, humming to himself to drown out what was to come. What he wasn't expecting was his brother yelling Joe's name, and the slight lurch of the chopper. Slowly turning he let out a sigh of relief and smiled. Taking the bags from Joe he moved them over to make some more room. The smile faded as New Mexico, had to be a nickname, gave his report. At least you made it Joe. Pulling Hank's bag to him he rifled through it, pulling out a ruffled sweater. Handing to his brother he leaned in and tried to forget what was going on below.

Having never been on the outside of anything flying pulling Joe in was a new experience. Nodding his thanks to New Mexico after Joe was in Hank leaned back with a shiver, part cold of the seat part how bad it had gotten on the ground. Glad they didn't have to resort to knocking people off Hank smiled as he took the proffered sweater. Don't worry about it Joe. With all you've done...  he let the sentence go, not wanting to remember earlier. Putting an arm around Tom he looked to Isabelle as Joe mentioned her condition. She made it this far... Glancing briefly to the gun left behind he let out a sigh. It's just a matter of keeping the bleeding down, right?

"I have some more ammunition in my bag" Dominic replied absently when the question of how many bullets NM had left was raised; the paramedic intently searching the fort for any signs of life.
He'd packed the small backpack that morning before leaving for his little jaunt into the woods. In it were a handful of magazines for his pistol and rifle NM was carrying, a bottle of water and a first aid kit. Had it just been just himself the pack would have kept him going long enough to find fresh supplies however with a group this size it was nowhere near adequate "There’s also a Glock taped to the underside of my seat...hey wait a minute! Did any of you guys just see that?" he suddenly calls out, leaning forward to peer out of the windscreen at the fort below. He could have sworn he'd just seen someone down by the stockade signalling to him. Moving the chopper over in that direction he continues to search for any signs of life "Keep your eyes peeled guys because if you see any of our people we need to be following them...because if we can't find them then I'll have to take us back to St Louis" he knew it wouldn't be a popular idea but there had been food, water, medical supplies and above all else vehicles with fuel in them. They weren't about to drop out of the sky but they couldn't hang around here forever so in short they needed somewhere to go "...unless of course any of you have a better idea?"

Looking out as best he could Hank had no idea who to look for and what was wrong with St Louis, though they had avoided the major cities in general so far. At least they had more ammo. What's wrong with St. Louis? I'd think the zombies would have cleared out by now. Given it was a major city it would have been hit hard early on, but as the dead outnumbered the living they should have moved on.

Its where Sierra died was the response that instantly came to mind causing Dominic to shift uncomfortably over the memory of the girls death and how he could have prevented it "Its...its a long story and I am not really the best one to tell you about it" he replied in a subdued voice making it clear that it wasn’t his place to tell that particular story. If NM or Izzy wanted to fill in the others on what had happened in St Louis then that was up to them though somehow he doubted it. He’d never managed to get into the main building but from what he had heard the things that had happened within that building were left forgotten.
For now though Dominic would concentrate on flying the helicopter and locating the others before they ran out of fuel and daylight.
He could have sworn that whoever had been on the ground had been pointing in this direction.


--->Escape!