Exiting the Fort member's cabin, Bill inhaled the shock and awe that permeated the Fort grounds. Buildings burned as an apparent invasion was underway. Smoke rose into the blood dimmed sky. Bill pulled his pistol from his holster, and surveyed the scene.

Anne Marie looked dead, slumped on the ground. Next to her, Toby stood wounded by an arrow to the arm. Fights were breaking out between Colton's gang and the Fort and Caravan members. Then Bill saw the cowboy Benson set upon by a large man, Colton's thug, whom he recognized to be David Strong-Bow. He watched as Benson fought him off with his little knife. It all happened so fast.

Bill raised his pistol and aimed it squarely at Strong-Bow's forehead, but it was hard to focus. Bill burped and it smelled like bourbon. He put his left hand over his left eye. "Better." he said aloud and pulled the trigger.

The bullet whizzed across the grounds and travelled right passed Benson and hit Strong-Bow in the right shoulder. It wasn't a head shot, Bill thought, but he hit the right man, and that was good.

In reply to Benson Bohannon (msg # 267):

Struck with the handgun, David staggered back, losing grip of his tomahawk that stayed partially buried into Bohannon's arm. The white man slashed out, causing the fighter to twist his form to avoid the knife edge, but barely. With dagger in left hand, he sprung forward quickly once more, so as not to lose the initiative, but staggered as he took a bullet to the right shoulder from behind, yelling out in pain as his disrupted momentum sent him barreling unintentionally into Bohannon, taking them both to the ground.

On top of Bohannon, the wounded bandit tried to use his weight to pin the cowboy down, while his uninjured arm stabbed down at the unshaven man's throat, his right arm dangling at his side, blood coating down the curvature of arm muscle.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:26, Fri 23 Jan 2015.

In reply to Karen (msg # 268):

Hector had armed himself with the tomahawk of a fallen attacker before linking with Karen and he stuck close to the other former officer to cover her from enemies who might get too close. His large form was ample target for arrows or bullets, and so he kept flexibly low, knowing his true advantage would come in once he could arm.

Once the door was closed to the armory, affording temporary security and precious time, Hector was quickly seizing upon a shotgun, loading it with notable experience and speed. "We find the others, we get out?" He asked as he loaded up, securing a holster to his waste with the pistol strapped ready. No use being under-equipped. "Aishe is somewhere out there." Aishe and Hector had joined the Caravan under duress after being picked up with a third man they'd just met; Tommy. Turns out Tommy was one of the allies of the fort man named Sam, and as such Tommy was left for the flesh-eaters. The Caravan had take in Aishe and Hector, however, and over time they'd grown to be part of the group, however few of them remained, that is.

In reply to Cookie (msg # 269):

Colton led his close entourage of men along the building-front of the courtyard as Fort dwellers ran and were struck down, though many put up a tougher fight than expected. Some of Colton's people lay slain across the dirt and cobble stone of the center ground of the Fort, his attention shifting as he ordered a small group of his small army one way, while sending another detachment elsewhere.

Cookie's shot took him in the back as intended, his body turning quickly at the impact, blood and bits of bone spurted out from the hole.  "You whore!" He insulted across the short distance, pain seizing his senses as he faced the one who dared attack him in such a way. Losing his stance momentarily, he fell to one knee, dropping his gun into the dust. With Cookie moving towards him through the smoke of battle, he reached for the tomahawk at his belt while it felt as if the devil himself were branding him in the back with a hot iron.

In reply to Cookie (msg # 269):

Colton's lieutenant emerged from the smoke as Cookie closed in on the wounded leader, his tree trunk arms grabbing Cookie from behind, interlacing under her arms and behind her neck. "Not so fast." His voice was low and deep, almost soothing but for what he really was. Large arms flexed and tightened around Cookie, causing her to lose grip of her glock, while he tried to keep her in place, dwarfing her in size.

In reply to David Strong-Bow (msg # 271):

The blood soaked Bohannon like many days spent working in the rain. Some was his, some was the other man's. All of it was warm and wet. As the cowboy fell to his back with the Indian on top of him he was left with a simple reflexive choice, considering the state of his left arm. Drop his knife and block the other, or keep his and get one in the throat. So, naturally, Bohannon swung out his arm and dug his fingers into Strong-Bow's, trying to loose the knife from his grasp. This whole tussle was becoming more taxing by the second as the pain from the fractured arm and the rapid loss of blood became more and more apparent. The earth beneath the cowboy turned to mud.

The all too familiar moans and groans of the undead added themselves to the panicked chorus of today's dastardly events. Anyone still atop the walls of old Fort Dixie would see the walking dead emerge from the trees in staggering numbers. The loud ruckus caused by the battle had lured them in and the enticing smoky smell had them drooling. To them, this was just another good ol' southern cook-out.

Soon the gates of Fort Dixie were rattling as rotten hands began to scratch and claw and pound and bash. The spike-filled defensive trenches were filling up by the dozens. And more were approaching. The way out was barred, blocked by the horde. The pounding of their fists sounded of banging drums. There was no way out. "They are coming."

The soundtrack to war threatened to drown out poor old crazy Blind "Lime" Jefferson, though nobody yet had attacked him. The Blues man strummed the guitar with a ferocity and sang as loud as he could. The tired rasp of his voice not standing in his way. "Just then Tom Paine, himself came running from across the field. Shouting at this lovely girl and commanding her to yield." Jefferson watched Cookie slowly approach Colton and gun him down. He saw that this was not enough to slay the man, and he saw the other goon grab Cookie. It looked like it was over for her. And the rest of the Fort too.

"And as she was letting go her grip up Tom Paine did run, “I’m sorry, sir,” he said to me. “I’m sorry for what she’s done”"

---> Medical Cabin

Stepping out of the cabin moments before its roof finally gave up the ghost and fell in, Dominic took in several large lungfuls of clean air before starting to move.
The Huey UH-1B sat in the middle of the old parade square like some ancient sleeping dinosaur and was the best chance of them getting out of here as the sound of walkers scraping at the doors reached his ears.
Leading Loa and the wounded Isabelle in its direction, he moved as quickly as he could knowing that the open ground would be a death trap if they hung around too long.
Glancing to one side he saw a large bear like native grappling a blonde woman from behind mere feet away from a wounded Colton. He didn't have time to finish off the wounded chieftain but he could help the woman. Raising his Berretta he fired a pair of shots that struck the bear-man in the small of his back causing his knees to buckle from under him. Without waiting to see whether he'd killed the man or the woman he'd saved he carried on moving; the helicopter only a short distance away from them "A soon as you guys get in shut the doors as we're going to attract a lot of attention" he shouted at the group before firing a couple more shots at a group of nearby bowmen. The big sliding doors on the side of the Huey wouldn't stop a bullet but they'd stop an arrow or a tomahawk which was all they would hopefully need.
Upon reaching the helicopter Dominic dives into the cockpit leaving Loa to get Isabelle into the back as he began to fire up the engines, praying that today wasn't the day the old machine didn't die on them.

In reply to Hector (msg # 272):

Fort Dixie's weapon and ammo reserves were neither abundant nor largely variable. But there were weapons enough to defend the place anyhow. Karen ejected the clip from her handgun and replaced it, shoving a spare matching one into a small military canvas satchel, and an extra into the empty space on her duty belt. Karen turned to find a military-issue, Iraq era M16 rifle planted on a wooden table in the centre of the room. With it was but a single spare mag. Karen checked over the weapon. It felt like home in her hands. The weight, the texture. It just felt right. She stopped herself from thinking back to her time in Iraq. Gone were the sounds of black hawks and feelings of hope and honour and valor, these having given way to hunger and desperation and emptiness. Doom and despair clung to the air like the thick, brown smog over a sprawling coastal metropolis. Karen sighed and tossed the extra mag into the satchel. Only she missed. The loaded aluminium block landed on the wood floor with a thunk. Her hands were shaking. It wasn't the battle that scared her, it was the future. She wasn't shaking because of what was outside, but because of who wasn't. Kaidan was gone, and if the Fort was gone too, he'd have nowhere to come back to, no way to find her, nor she him.

Flashback - Mississippi River, The night after St. Louis
The Caravan is at rest, only a few keep watch and pilot the boat. Karen and Kaidan are curled up next to each other on benches on the passenger deck. An Atlanta PD jacket is draped across the boy. "Hey, are you awake?" Karen asked her son, hesitantly. "Yeah I'm right here." He replied, no grogginess in his voice. "Well can I ask you about today?" Karen sighed. "How close am I... To losing you?"

In reply to Martin Fleet-Fox (msg # 274):

Martin had gained a grip on a she-demon, and one that Cookie was prepared for.  She dropped the Glock, whipped her tough boots up behind her in a slashing move for his groin, and struggled like a snake to slip free of his grasp once the crushing blow to the crotch was received.  Her small size and short hair made her hard to grab again. Then she dodged to the side to avoid his boss, forcing Colton to turn and come at her.  She had to get control of the tomahawk, but she was fully ready to disable, and kill Colton with her bare hands.  A Jersey girl is just that tough.

Bill ran into the action as he watched Strong-Bow and Bohannon tumble to the ground, a bloody mess if he ever saw one. There was nothing much more he cold do to help now, a shot into one of them at this range would pass through one and into the other. That's when he noticed Cookie lifted into the air by a large man he didn't recognize.

"Cookie!" Bill wheeled around, aiming his gun. He fired twice; the first shot was too far to the right an missed entirely, the second struck the large man in the left thigh. The big man dropped to his knees as Bill ran towards Cookie.

"Clear the courtyard, find our people, and get the fuck out of here. Right?"

Karen took up the M16 and pushed open the armoury door. Hector followed behind her, similarly armed. The sounds of the open space; the moaning of the zombies at the gates and the pounding of their fists, the odd series of gunshots, hoots, hollers, and screams of people befallen by harm, the crash of the collapsing infirmary and cabins and the roaring of the fires that took them, all of these sounds faded out as the M16 assault rifle came into action. Karen opened fire, destroying anything that moved or drew breath that wasn't friendly. She fired rapidly and with broad strokes. Karen was laying down suppressing fire. She emptied the first clip and took cover for a moment as she reloaded, trusting that anyone across the field had been pinned down by her first burst. She popped back out, firing slower and more calculatedly. She shot down whomever stirred, moving to return fire or advance on her position.

Two bloodied men writhed in the mud, one she recognized to be Mister Bohannon. Karen peered down the small scope on the rifle and shot the man on top and watched his body go limp. Next she sighted in on the group around Colton, and the prisoner they held. Was that Cookie? The thickening smoke obscured the view from where she stood. That one was a no-go. Finally she spied Toby, cowering by the well.

"Hector!? We should get Toby! Maybe he can get us out of here!"

Ricky had been mulling about the Fort when all hell broke loose. Everything happened so quickly that by the time he had processed everything, buildings were aflame and the dead were at the gates. He dragged Cass to the cover of a nearby building, drawing his knife from his belt as he scanned the grounds for an opening. "This doesn't look good. Any ideas?"

Brady coughed as the group emerged from the infirmary. All Hell had broken loose out here. There wasn't much that could be done, but for helping with the evacuation. The slightly wounded Georgian broke off from Loa and the medic to help round up his people, soon seeing there were few of them left.

Brady called out the names of people he knew, trying to see who was still here, who was alive. "SAM!! TOBY!!" When the assault rifle started spraying bullets across the courtyard, Brady took cover. "Bill! Get down!" he shouted. In the aftermath of the rapid fire, Brady saw bodies lying everywhere, and some still standing. Bill was covering Colton, Fleet-Fox, and the blonde. Toby was cowering. Anne-Marie and Gabe were both dead. And the woman with the M16 was prepping to fire again. From his protected position, Brady saw a couple bullets take Strong-Bow as he wrestled with another man on the ground. If Brady was going to start saving people, that was as good a place as any to start.

Brady ran over to the blood soaked heap in the centre yard and scooped up the stag handle knife, throwing it and killing one of Colton's guys who moved up on them. Brady pulled the dead body of David Strong-Bow off the wounded man and offered his hand. "C'mon, I'll help you out of here."

Flashback - About Fifteen Years Ago
A twenty-something Brady stormed out of a Lawyer's office in downtown Atlanta wearing a black suit. He fumbled in his pockets for his truck keys as he walked down the street. The door to the large office building opened once more as his older brother chased out after him. "Brady! C'mon, wait up!" He called. "Leave me alone Benson." Brady rebutted as he reached his truck, turning back and starting to yell. "He cut me out of the will? Why the fuck would he cut me out? Mom gets his money, you get the farm. And I'm left with what? Nothing but my dick in my hands, that's what! Why do you get the farm? Where were you when Dad was sick? Huh? I was with him when he died God dammit!"

The fresh-faced cowboy replied calmly. "I was keeping our livelihood running. He had cancer, Brady. I can't fix cancer, now can I? So I kept things running. Grain weren't gonna haul itself. Dad wasn't tryin' to screw you. He just thought you couldn't handle it. But I know you can. I want you by my side Brady. Half'a this farm is yours. You just gotta show me you deserve it."

Brady got in his truck and drove off, giving Benson the finger as he drove off.

That actually ran? Who had a working helicopter anymore? If the threat of death wasn't so close Hank would have had time to properly ponder their only chance of survival. He didn't try and focus on what was going on around him, eyes locked on the Huey. No problem. Hank replied to who he guessed would be their pilot. Almost throwing himself over Tom at the sudden spray of bullets he knew if they stayed still they wouldn't last long. Turning his gaze as Brady ran off the urge to run and help didn't last, He knew he still owed him for what happened earlier, but not if it cost him his brother. Keep going. He told the kid, keeping himself as much a shield as he could

Cookie braced her hands to give herself air and as the man dropped, kicked him hard, multiple times, raining steel-toed ire upon his belly, kidneys and groin, and as soon as his grip loosened, she was free.  Then she slugged him, actually putting her entire weight into the punch; it was a Polish haymaker.  But she wasn't done; then she was going to kill him.  The snarl twisting her painted red lips was truly savage.

In reply to Dominic Dubreton, Hank, etc:

New Mexico kept up a steady rate of fire as the group hustled towards the chopper, mindful of his limited ammunition but willing to part with it in a pinch. "Fuck fuck fuck.." The teenager cussed vociferously, never natural to a gunfight no matter how much experienced he'd gained in the last months. Hopefully his underweight survivor-build would allow him to dodge bullets like Neo, he would think cynically, albeit fleetingly. "Ahhfuck not the chopper." N'Mexico complained as they neared the old huey Doc had commissioned at the air base weeks before. Despite his whining he'd go along, of course.

Keeping a cover on Dominic as the man briefly stopped to help someone, an arrow would sing past his head from within the fog, causing some of his shaggy hair to blow. It was all the signal N'Mexico needed to get in the huey himself, paying little mind to Brady's departure due to the confusion of the scene.

After Hank and his brother, followed by the carefully yet hastily maneuvered Isabelle(thanks to Loa), New Mexico would slid the door shut, deflectingy another couple arrows that bounced harmlessly off the door.

"All in, Doc!" New Mexico called from the back to Dominic up front, the danger of not only the fight but the chopper ride twisting his stomach.

"What a messed up week, dude.." He commented to Hank as he tried to buckle himself in, and keep calm.

In reply to Cookie and Bill:

Martin's self satisfaction turned to dismay when he received a kick to the pelvis with an unexpectedly solid boot. Grunting in discomfort and pain, his grip loosened on Cookie, though he tried to keep her held up, having initially underestimated her wiliness. He felt he almost had a hold on her when a bullet sizzled through his left thigh, finally felling the giant man to a knee.

Trying to immobilize Cookie from a kneeled position was still formidable considering Martin's size and he grappled to the end, finally dropped his arms down for the most part after several well placed strikes to vulnerable places. "You dishonorable dog!" He spat out the words with a bit of blood after the final haymaker left him slumped and fatigued.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:45, Mon 02 Feb 2015.

Loa kept a hold on Isabelle after they entered the fuselage of the chopper, the door closing to everyone's semi-relief. Isabelle had been fading in and out, the environment they found themselves in making it hard for someone who'd just reached consciousness after several hours. It had made moving the wounded woman difficult, but Isabelle had endeavored as best she could. "Hang on Isabelle, we're almost out."

Colton regained his feet despite the blood running freely down his back, staining his clothing a claret color. The bullet hadn't gone straight through, no doubt causing a complication in itself that only adrenaline and insanity would allow the bandit leader to ignore, to a point.

Withdrawing a blade from his sock, and wielding his tomahawk in the other hand he was fully prepared to make a fillet out of a restrained Cookie when she resisted, aided by a guardian sharpshooter. His lieutenant Martin fell to a knee, and Colton knew enough about self preservation to fade into the fog of war, effectively cloaking himself in the gunpower and smoke from the fires, disappearing from sight of Cookie and Bill..

In reply to Karen (msg # 283):

Hector moved well with Karen as they progressed through the midst of the surprise attack towards the center of the battlegrounds; the compound courtyard itself. Trained along ago, his movements were fluid due to the muscle memory of countless SWAT interventions he took part in. While lacking military experience like Karen, he found they worked well together, experience granting them the benefit of their training where others would panic.

"I see him. He's wounded. Cover me and I'll pull him out." Hector replied to Karen, following her lead on the assessment of the fight as it stood. The tall dark man would fire a couple rounds towards the gate where some of Colton's men were contending with undead that had just broken through after some Fort dwellers briefly retook the gate. He would allow Karen to add to the confusion with her own volley so he could move on Toby.

The Choppa!
----------------

The old military chopper sputtered to life as Dominic hit the ignition. The engine lurched to life with agonizing slowness, drawing the attention of many in the courtyard, and earning it further barrages of arrows and other small weapons. A few bullets struck a side window, shattering it and causing a ricochet to bounce inside the fuselage around Hank, Tom, Loa and Isabelle.

Undead were now roaming amongst the courtyard as well, moving through the battle freely, holding no discrimination between which faction's wounded they feasted upon. It added a horrible new dimension to the survivor on survivor carnage, the flames and guns and helicopter drawing upon their decaying senses, inviting them.

The propellers of the chopper picked up speed finally, allowing for the potential to lift from the makeshift launch pad. Not far away, the garage with all of the vehicles and motorcycles burned away.
All systems seemed to be a go as the huey's control panel lit up accordingly.

The sight of potential escape drew upon many of the survivors still fighting, with the civilians trapped in among it all, with nowhere to go. With the chopper just starting to lift off, several Fort civilians tried to jump on to the landing gear, wrapping themselves around as best they could, and quickly adding weight, burdened by their belongings as some of them were.

The huey leaned to one side slightly, still about to pull up a little further after lifting just a few feet. A couple of the undead wandered too close, seizing hold of one of the Fort men trying to climb aboard. The dark haired man would scream as they tore into him, not so much conerned with pulling him from the landing gear as sitting down to nibble and tear away the flesh of his feet and lower legs.

This extra burden caused the chopper to lurched further to the one side, so much so that the propellers caught a blade into the nearby rampart of the Fort, knocking away a ramp where an ambusher and Fort fighter were duking it out, sending both hurtling to the ground inside the Fort. The huey fuselage, fell that few feet back down to the earth, landing upright but askew as it crushed a few of the people who tried to climb aboard, as well as a couple walkers. But more were coming..

"That's Bitch, to you," Cookie snarled back, and hit him again, proving that you could be small and still pack a punch that would fell a man twice your mass. It said a lot that she was unafraid of him, too.  As he rocked, she spat on him and levelled a sharp kick to the belly to make sure he went down - probably puking.  "Where's the other one ?"  she snapped, looking around for Colton now.  And her bat.  And her Glock.  One eye was going to black up for sure, her best Pink tank tee was ruined, and her nails were in dire straits, but for a Jersey girl, that was the hazards one faced everyday.

Bill knew the sound of machine gun fire all to well. Someone yelling 'Get Down', the feeling of your chest hitting the dirt, the bullets whizzing through the air, tearing through flesh, and the sound of a helicopter in the distance all reminded you of southeast Asia in the early seventies, if you were there, and Bill was there. He sprang to his feet as the adrenaline and nostalgia cocktail that was making it's way through Bill's body kicked in. Brady was moving toward Benson, so he ran to Cookie.

Writhing on the ground, the large man was wounded, both from the gunshot wound to his thigh and the rough treatment he had received from Cookie. Bill arrived at the scene, his glassy eyes moving back and forth from Cookie to the man on the ground.

"Cookie, we have to get out of here. This whole place, it's..." His gun aimed at the large man, Bill trailed off. "Is he dead?"