The undead were too numerous, and the pit area was soon a debacle of foul smelling death, death that was mobile and close, and supremely motivated by the fresh living blood permeating the dry, cool air of the forest.
A fog slowly formed amongst the tree's, making combat somewhat more difficult, isolating the group into a pocket of a space which was gradually tightening, first with mist, walkers emerging from therein in to charge the raiding party.

Peculiar whistles, bird sounds began to accumulate as the action worsened. Closing in along with the undead, doom seemed to approach in many forms.
Arrows began to glide though the light mist, cutting spaces in the effect and lodging firmly into the assemblage of undead about to close like a pincer around the survivors.

Not all the arrows were kills, but most found their mark in the skulls of the walkers. The undead carried on towards the only humans they were aware of, while to their rear and flank came the sound of arrows riding the wind. Soon came noise of hand to hand weapons combating the biters still concealed within the fog. The sounds of this new ambush came from all sides much the undead had, providing either the prospect of security or a new danger altogether.

"Yeah, right behind you." Ricky replied to Saito, letting the man take lead. Soon he heard Cass whimpering. He turned as she repeatedly apologized. "What are you sorry for? It's not your fault you fell in." The fog rolled in quickly and before he knew it, the landscape was blanketed in the thickening mist. He could hear the bird calls from earlier and the sound of multiple bodies dropping, along with the all too familiar sound of melee combat. *That's definitely not from my group.* His heart sank as he turned to Cass, keeping his voice at a whisper. "If you had any part of this, keep it to yourself. My people have been duped before, they won't be so understanding."

A combination of exertion, shock and too many years of smoking numbed Dom's senses to the point that he was no longer able to fully comprehend what was going on around him only that he had to keep putting one foot in front of the other and keep moving. With only the outline of somebody up ahead as a guide Dominic carried on moving through the fog; lashing out at the Walkers that came at him from either side but not pausing to see if he'd taken them down or not, there was no time, he had to keep moving, he had to get out of this damn forest and save Isabelle; the warm stain on his shirt a constant reminder of what he had done.
Behind him he could hear the sounds of combat only slightly muffled by distance and fog who the hell is fighting them? I am at the back aren't I? maybe it was Bill or Cookie he hadn't seen them in a while but then again they could have over taken him and he wouldn't have noticed in all this fog "I have to get out of here before I go completely crazy" he muttered to himself; the sound of a bird call doing little to improve things No! Don’t stop, don't look back just keep running, everything will be fine if you just keep running!

The cowboy had a solid stomach, but when Dominic hacked Isabelle's leg off, and a spurt of blood hit his cheek, Bohannon almost lost his lunch. Figuratively speaking of course. There wasn't enough food rations left to afford lunch. Bohannon stood, stunned as the doc dragged the poor girl away. The leg sat there, caught, mangled. It would have been kinder to put her down. A zombie grabbed hold of Bohannon's shirt and it jarred him back to reality. He swung and punched the thing out with the Colt in his hand. The zombie reeled back but came again. The cowboy brought the handle down on its head again and again. By the time it fell down dead, two more were upon him. Bohannon connected cowboy boot to stomach on the first one to buy enough space to holster the gun. From the left side he pulled his knife and jabbed the blade into the skull of the next biting thing. The decaying corpse collapsed in a heap, the knife blade hopelessly embedded. The kicked one had stepped back and as Bohannon struggled to free the knife, it grabbed hold of him again and pull his shoulder towards its vile teeth. But as Bohannon wrenched forward, away from it the grip went slack and the thing fell to the ground, pierced by arrow. Then a whole volley more came whistling through the trees. Bohannon ducked and spun, searching the chaos for the doc. As more arrows filled the air and more biters fell, Bohannon took cover by a tree, pistol drawn, waiting to see if this meant safety or doom.

Cookie was winded, and used her small form to her advantage, finding a hollow in the trees to hide in while she caught her breath.  Saving that girl had cost precious time, but then - arrows were coming, hitting the undead.  She watched for a moment, panting to regain her breath, and then charged out again, for once moving with Bohannon as if they were a team; he'd been smart enough to find a tree too.    The bat rose and fell; she wasn't wasting ammo when there was so little left, not unless there was no other choice.  "Keep going," she said, then saved her air for battle.

The undead became less numerous as the sounds of hand to hand combat rose and fell through the mists of the forest. Whistling, bird calls, hoots accompanied the now audible crunching of feet upon the leaves of the forest floor. Rotten bits of walkers lay strewn about, adorning some of the survivors as they had tried to fight their way out.

Figures began to appear out of the fog, slowly, moving with caution, bows drawn, tomahawks or other familiar walking slaying instruments ready for quick use as they hung from belts or holsters. The men were notably Native American, and a couple women were among the group as well. Exact numbers were unclear, but the new arrivals were spread out around the Raiding Party in place of the for-now dispatched undead. They levelled their weapons at the survivors, seemingly gauging the nearly over-run group, threatening violence if they were met with action from these other humans.

As the newcomers descended upon the group, the hound that had followed along with the Raiding Party bounded obediently towards them, responding to a particular whistle, weaving through a gap in the string of Native fighters to an elevated position in the forest landscape.

It stopped short near what the mist revealed to be the likely leader of this band of bow wielding survivors. The dog sat down beside him, the radio strapped to its vest finally ceasing its intermittent crackling.

The tall indigenous man tossed a small piece of something into the air next to him, and his dog promptly arched its neck back and lifted its stringy yet strong form to engulf what was presumably meat between its jaws before settling back down into a sitting position to wolf the morsel down.

He had odd marking on his face, and almost seemed to be of the old tribes hundreds of years ago. In fact, he wore decidedly modern wear, the kind of clothing most survivals found functional and useful in Zombieland, stuff that could put up with alot of wear and tear. Clothes for roughing it.

A bow hung over one shoulder as leader observed the collection of survivors spread out in the space below his vantage point. A quiver of arrows hung from his back, an Axe from his waist.

"Bill, Saito, what took so long." He asked neutrally, surveying each of the people he did not know personally. No gesture was made for his men to lower their weapons yet.

Hanging from his hip were scalps, blood still palpably red around the point of cutting. They were not undead scalps.

In reply to Ricky Robes (msg # 129):

Cass clung to Ricky for leverage, her legs still weak, her body still getting used to free and able movement from the pit, especially after the fall she'd taken when first ending up inside. She would've tried to help fight the way out, but she seemed to know there was no point, especially as arrows began to fly and take out their marauding biters, only to be replaced by other survivors.

Fearful, her head turned in each direction for a possible escape, but found none from the scattering of Native men and women surrounding them.

 She whispered to Ricky, keeping her voice quiet, terror and recognition in her eyes as she watched the man situated above the rest, holding the power to re-engage the carnage, but so far withholding it.

The sabre sliced its way through the Zed's skull as it loomed out of the mist; the momentum of the strike throwing Dom off balance causing him to stumble, barely keeping a hold of Izzy. A snarl on his left causes him to look around in fear as the thing reached out towards him with dead rotting hands that would reach him before he had time to bring the weapon to bear. Gritting his teeth in anticipation of the inevitable bite to his arm Dominic watched instead as the walking corpse fell to the ground with an arrow in its head. which of their group had a bow? he couldn't remember his mind and body were too weary from his head long flight to really concentrate on anything.
Turning to carry on running he stops as he see's several bow armed men stepping out of the mist, a quick glance over his shoulder telling him that he was surrounded and that running was no longer an option "She's hurt...I need to stop the bleeding" Dominic said numbly to the armed men around him, unsure as to who he should direct them to.
Keeping a wary eye on the bow armed men, he cautiously lowers Izzy onto the ground before removing his bag to get his things "they're just medical supplies...I need them to stop the bleeding" he says not wanting the men to get the wrong idea and shoot him on the spot.
Somewhere nearby he could hear people talking and he could just about make out Ricky and the girl up ahead so he wasn't completely alone but for now his only concern was to stop the bleeding and save Izzy's life.

Cookie lowered her gooey bat, carefully watching the new arrivals.  "Put the gun away, Cowboy," she muttered to Bohannon.  Time to observe; she was curious how Bill would explain the mess they'd gotten into, and what it actually meant that there had been so many 'failed' parties lately.  She listened closely, and watched, checking all-round as was the typical way of a veteran zombieland survivor.

"I'll lower mine when they lower theirs." Bohannon rebutted, pistol clutched tightly in his hand. "So how 'bout it Cochise? Your boys wanna lower them bows?" He addressed the leader-apparent, taking an arrogant step towards him. Bohannon wasn't fond of being held up in the woods by people who were supposed to be allies. This whole thing, right from the start smelled like a trap. Now they were deep in it.

"Put the gun down and act happy to see them,"  Cookie said in an undertone to Bohannon.  Clearly the man had never worked in any kind of customer service relations job where acting was necessary to pay the rent.  She was watching the new arrivals with the seeming calm of one stuck in NJ turnpike traffic - outwardly passive, inwardly ready to murder in a New York Second.  She forced a timid smile, figuring they didn't know about her, and that was the way she liked it, hence the disguise.

The leader of the band of skirmishers would scowl towards Dominic and the wounded person he'd been carrying. "She's as good as done for. Might as well put one in her forehead." He shrugged off Dominic's urgency, though something in his body language and tone indicated it was not because of lack of seriousness to Isabelle's plight, but rather a sort of gloating as he held their lives somewhat in check.

Attention shifted briefly to the cowboy hat clad man daring his collection of bow armed survivors, "Seems none of us are going anywhere so long as Mr.Hero keeps this nonsense up." Clearly the guy wasn't going to budge without some level of adherence to his authority.

"That one." Colton pointed towards Cass, "She ruined my pit. And her people trespassed on my land. She belongs to me." He declared simply, "I see Toby didn't come himself. Or has he finally been replaced like he replaced the last one."

Saito stood with his machine gun lowered inoffensively to his side, held up by the sling around his shoulder. He was near drenched in sweat from running, fighting, carrying such a heavier weapon. "I'd ask why you didn't come sooner but I'm grateful for the help. When the fuck did you get a dog? I almost killed it earlier. Next time don't lose it maybe." Saito spoke to Colton with some familiarity, stepping forward towards the man but keeping a distance suitable to the occasion. They weren't friends, they were business partners. Or rather the Fort was.

"Toby's got your shit out at the Fort. Lets all go there now and we can trade for the food, alright?" He got right to business, wishing to spend as little time in the wilderness as possible much like the rest of his group. Though he had some common sympathy for Isabelle's wound, his main concern was getting back to help his own people and before any more Caravan people were hurt or killed. Might cause a stir when they arrived back to the rest of the new group.

"Stop playing games and tell your people to cool it. Where's the food? You all look like you travelled light."
This message was last edited by the player at 05:41, Sat 08 Nov 2014.

Ricky gave Cass a reassuring look before placing himself between her and Colton. "I'm not handing her over to you." he spoke defiantly, unarmed but standing firm. "I don't know you but the armed guard, bloody scalps on belt thing doesn't really help with the trust making." His heart was racing a little and he turned to Saito for some reassurance. "You're sure he's not a bandit, right?"

Bohannon clenched his fist around the grip of the Colt. "Hey, Yin an' Yang, I think it's pretty clear the Last of the Mohicans here ain't brought us nothing. The supply lines weren't cut off by bandits. This son of a bitch is the bandit." The cowboy was furious. They'd been had. This mission was doomed from the start and he'd been dumb enough to come along.

Cookie might have the cool head to wait this out and see where it went, but Bohannon did not. He was too stubborn to stand down. Unless the Jersey girl made him... He'd be responsive to a show of force or an exertion of authority. He needs to feel like his fate isn't entirely in the hands of the man standing before him. And clinging to his gun is the only way he knows how to feel in control.

Trying his best to ignore the growing tension around him Dom works quickly to stop Izzy's leg from bleeding out; his hands quickly becoming slick with the woman’s blood. Hearing Colton's gloating comment about his patients condition he paused long enough from his work to glare at the man before resuming his work muttering under his breath as he did so "Je me souviens que lorsque vous êtes dans son poste" the use of his native tongue giving him a small sense of smug satisfaction.
It was as Benson continued to shout; gun in hand, that they'd been had that Dom finally managed to get the bleeding to slow if not entirely stop, the temporary and very basic fix meant that she wouldn't die in his arms or at least not until he had chance to do a proper job somewhere a little safer that his current location, Assuming of course that Colton and his goon's didn't decide to kill them all here and now. Rolling back onto his heels he only half feigns rubbing his side like he had a stitch; his hand inches away from the .38 currently resting in its shoulder holster. Was it still loaded? how many shots had he fired? he didn't know, the gun could be empty for all he knew but if the shit hit the fan he'd just have to pray that it was and take his shot, the paramedic confident that he could draw and fire the revolver quicker than they could a bow.

Cookie was watching.  She had a pretty good idea who to shoot first; unlike the others she knew exactly how many bullets were in her Glock.  She let the bat rest on the ground and waited, arms at her sides, slightly behind the Cowboy so that she'd be partially hidden by his body.  But the arrows from the woods; they were still being watched.  "So, who's the guy in charge, please, so we can get this over with ?  I mean, thanks for helping us with all the walkers, that was really nice bow shooting, "  she said, still keeping a soft voice, with a "gimme a good tip" smile.   Maybe Bohannan would take a hint and not collect any pointy wooden spikes.

The sharp sound of a whistle came from between Bill's lips. "Alright already! Everybody, arms down!" He used his Sheriff's voice.
Cookie was right, it was time to move. Colton, like Toby, had a history with Bill and the Lauderdale County Sherriff's Department. However, in the uncertain circumstances Bill found himself in these last few months, he had been willing to give a little trust.

Bill hated the sight of blood. He never watched horror movies, nor did he watch the surgery channel that his former wife had enjoyed. So the sight of Dominic hacking off Isabelle's bear-trapped leg with a sword was a sight he would not soon forget. The horror of the day was getting to be too much.

As they ran, Bill sidelined into the trees. He stood against a tall thick tree; as far as he could tell he was out of sight. He reached into the breast pocket of his jacket, and withdrew the metal flask he had drank from before. Unscrewing the cap, he sighed and shut his eyes tight. That leg, Isabelle's leg, was still back there in the trap. Bill took a drink. Spicy and smoky, the sour mash ran down Bill's throat and his teeth began to sweat. Soon the bourbon took to his blood and warmed him from the inside. If they got back to the Fort soon, they would be OK.

Bill ran. Catching up, the sight of Colton and his band relived him as well as unnerved him. Colton was a good kid who came from a troubled background. Bill always believed that. On numerous occasions, when Colton had run-ins with the law, Bill persuaded the judge to be much more than fair, on account of his youth and because he was from a broken home. As Colton got older though, it became difficult to find him friends in the justice system.
Now, as the principle currier of food to the Fort, Colton was a much greater part of Bill's life than he ever had been before. The tension, the lack of trust on both sides, must be overcome to get this group to the Fort. Their survival depended on it.

"Now listen. We risked our lives to come and help you out Colton. Alex Cross, you met him, you told him to give us the message. Toby is on his own mission, he's looking for supplies to complete the trade." Bill walked from the back of the group to the front, standing between them and Colton's band. He walked toward Colton, imploring him. "Colton, why don't we just go on back to the Fort together? Its only a few hours walk. This girl is hurt, she needs help. Why don't you show us the food, and we'll all go back to Fort Dixie together?"

Cookie watched, disliking the whole situation but having sense enough not to make any enemies, and they did need to get moving.  All those shots were going to draw Trouble their way; she was tired and less fighting would be better. "It might be a good idea to get back to the Fort," she said, in a soft voice, sounding non-threatening.  This would not fool anyone who knew her, but these guys didn't know Jersey.

And SHE had better not be part of the trade, or things were going to get mighty ugly mighty fast.

Colton's band of survivors focused more attention on the one man still holding out his weapon in a threatening way, yet as Saito and Bill engaged with the leader there came a sense of tensions lessening in some respect. With a simple gesture from Colton following Bill's overture for all to stand down, the bowmen and women surrounding the group began to relax their stance. Bows slowly lowered and became less taut, with handy arrows still securely braced against the strings of the versatile weapon.

Questioned by Saito, one the few he was familiar with from the Fort, Colton chuckled in a condescending manner. "Dogs are everywhere these days. At least the useful ones. I'm sure this one was a police or military mutt. At least it knows to obey and obey well when food is on offer. Good survival instinct. When you think of it, you and your people are kind of like dogs. Hungry, hungry dogs. I bet I could make you do anything for this food, couldn't I?" He let the inconspicuous insult linger a moment, his hand reaching into a front pocket to pull free some dried meat, grasping it briefly before tossing it into the air for his dog to catch once again.
There wasn't much time to address to everyone regarding his presence, and Colton didn't care to warrant some of the insolent survivors with many words. Silently he'd taken a wariness to Ricky after the man's stern reply that he wouldn't hand over the girl they'd hauled from the pit, subsequently filling it with undead.

Attention turned to Bill, one of the two apparent ambassadors for the other group. "Yes, I remember Cross. A fool but and energetic fool. I trust you dispatched him after he served his purpose." He confirmed, linking what they'd been told by a recent visitor to the Fortress.

Surveying the group of most unfamiliar's, Colton gave notice to a ruff-n-tuff but apparently soft-spoken woman. The slightest of grins began to curl at the corner of his mouth before he nodded in agreement.

"Alright then, lets go to your Fort. I'm interested to see what Toby had been able to 'salvage' from the dead to pay us for the food." One of his men standing nearby released a whistle reminiscent of a bird call, and the sound of heavy breathing and rustling leaves filled the air.

Undead appeared behind Colton, riding the elevated ground a distance in the foreground to where the forest floor rose further up. The walking corpses were jawless and armless, their upright but distorted frames swaying oddly patiently and hopelessly, with pale, listless eyes staring down at the assemblage of living peoples. Each were manacled about the neck, and shackled by the feet to one another. Upon each of their backs were strapped heavy hiking packs full of what was presumably the winter food stores for the Fort. A couple of native survivors led the creatures from the front walker, holding the accumulation of chain for the peculiar mutilated chain gang.

"Lets go, before your pegleg girlfriend distracts my slaves." Colton commented to Dominic in what was likely a taunting tone.

-to Fort Dixie, Exterior, (Time Shift)
This message was last edited by the player at 07:56, Mon 17 Nov 2014.

"Well alrighty then. Let's mosey on back to Fort Dixie why don't we. By all means let's follow the mule train of walking corpses back home for supper." He hushed his voice and spoke to the caravan folks only, puting the pistol away, for now. "This don't seem absolutely insane to anybody else? We come all the way out here to meet him, then we turn right back around to go home? What's the point?" Bohannon was skeptical and untrusting. This situation seemed off from the get-go. But he'd bide his time and go on with everybody else...

To Fort Dixie --->

Bloodstained fingers tightened reflexively into fists as he directed a glare in Colton’s direction; the paramedic wanting to shout and scream at him or better yet put one between his eyes, the smug taunting bastard...he’s probably the one who set that damn trap in the first place! He silently fumed doing his best to keep his anger in check knowing that to act on it would only get him and most likely Izzy as well killed.
It was after he’d torn his gaze away from Colton and begun packing away his things in order to get moving again that Bohannon spoke to the group voicing his concern in a low voice so as not to be heard “you reckon we’re being set up?” Dominic asked uncertainly in an equally quiet voice wondering what motive they’d have for doing so, though he had to admit this was like no deal he’d ever heard of. Going all this way to just to then go all the way back again, surely it would have made more sense for them to have done the trade on neutral ground? And why had they left their half of the bargain behind?
“...Maybe they just needed the extra muscle to escort this lot?” he continued though considering how effectively Colton and his crew had dealt with those walkers he somehow doubted that was the case.
Putting his pack and rifle back over his shoulders Dom quickly checks and reloads the pair of handguns he carried; a small smile coming to his face when he found a single round left nestled within the revolver before he then proceeded to pick up Isabelle. Placing one arm beneath her knees and the other around her shoulders he lifts the girl so that her head would rest against his chest; the position somewhat more comfortable than the fireman’s lift he’d used during their head long flight through the trees even if it did mean that he no longer had a free hand to draw a weapon, though with this many people around he hoped that wouldn’t be an issue “ok mes amis assuming what the cowboy says is true what’s our next move?”

Cookie had been raised in Jersey, and knew 'attitude' when she saw it.  Hiding a smirk behind her hijab, she wiped the bat off on the grass and sauntered along with the group, watching the menfolk posture.  She shrugged at Bohannon's outburst, muttering gently, "It ain't our party, hoss, we're just guests."  It WAS damned odd, and she meant to figure it out, but that took observation.  She had a suspicion that the guys Bill had just met were not really the guys he planned on meeting...and that there was something else going on that was beyond strange.  Still, not often you got to see a train of ex-human pack mules, so it wasn't a wasted day.  And if anyone caught her looking at them too long, she'd bat her eyes and look down demurely, just to girl it up a bit.