---> Fort: Exterior

Dressed in black biker gear and Aviator shades Dominic looked like an extra from Beyond Thunderdome his hair had grown somewhat shaggy and he had at least a days worth of stubble upon his chin. The look if entirely unintentional was only spoilt slightly by the sabre hanging from his belt.
Not exactly sure what to be expecting Dominic had packed a small bag with some food water and a first aid kit along with ammunition for his rifle and handguns. As Cookie, who looked decidedly un-Cookie like spoke with the pair of trackers at the front of the group Dominic hung around near the back, pulling one of his precious few cigarettes and lighting up with a practised motion. He was trying to quit or at least cut down heavily since pretty soon his habit would no longer be a viable option. But after two run in’s with Karen neither of which particularly pleasant he was in serious need of a nicotine fix.

----> From Fort Dixie Exterior

Bill walked almost next to Cookie, though in front of her, listening to her questions. He had, upon their departure from the Fort instructed Saito to retrieve two long machetes from the Armory and to share one with Ricky. Bill wanted Saito to take the lead from the Fort gate, at least for this first stretch of the adventure. Though for now the path was wide and clear, soon enough it would become narrow and overgrown. The bushwhacking experience reminded Bill all to vividly of his time in Vietnam in the early seventies, so without good-old-Brady to see to the hacking and slashing through the woods, Bill gave the responsibility to the two young men (who also vaguely reminded him of being in South East Asia).

Bill carried his Sheriff's Department holster with his standard issue sidearm as he often did, but for this adventure had also equipped himself with a rifle that had been looted from a local hunting outfitter. He wore his suede navy windbreaker, Wranglers and a pair of dark leather cowboy boots that he preferred for hunting and other outdoor excursions like this one. As this was to be an overnight journey, Bill carried a light bag on his back, with his bed roll and blanket and some basic essentials.

"Well you see Cookie, the problem is we don't know too much about them. We know that they often make their movements at night, but they have been known to be spotted on these roads during the day. Only Toby, Anne Marie, Sam and our former leader have stumbled on to one of their camp sites before. Thats how we lost Francis..." Bill trailed off. Francis had been his friend, before the trouble, and truth be told Bill missed the man.

"Anyhow, in reference to your mention of chokepoints, there is a bend in the road up a ways that would serve as a perfect place to spring a trap."
This message was last edited by the player at 15:50, Sat 17 May 2014.

< From: Fort Dixie Exterior <

Ricky was up ahead the group with Saito. He was able to borrow a backpack, sleeping bag, hunting rifle, and a few other necessities from various members of the caravan and fort. His hat kept the sun out of his eyes and the machete on his side and pistol holstered on his thigh left him with a relative feeling of safety. Being out and about was a familiar feeling and it was nice to be part of a group again. "Think we'll run into any trouble?" he asked Saito as he noticed just how out in the open the group really was.

"Kay," Cookie abbreviated the 'okay' in the Jersian way as she spoke to their guide. "You can also tell me your thoughts if they're military, or just seasoned hunters.  I take it there's no cover to hide behind when we go around the corner.  Can we cut across the territory to avoid it ?"

Isabelle kept apace with the group, dressed in her usual dark, dirty garb much like many of her fellow travelers tended to be. She walked with hatchet in one hand, pistol holstered to her hip, the clasp unbuttoned for easy access. She was quiet as was usual in regards to her character, but still alert. She kept her steps light, her eyes more focused on the treeline's they were soon absorbed by than by her comrades. For good measure, she would glance back behind them.

Dark figures could be seen shambling through the shadows of the forest canopy, the groans of the owners soon emanating from the walking dead residing amongst the woods. They either missed the group entirely, or, upon catching sight of the band of travelers, gave slow pursuit. The pace of the group would give them a fairly safe lead on the walkers already alerted to their presence, in addition to the odd lurker being caught on a tree branch or falling into a ditch, breaking their body into disrepair.

"We have followers."
This message was last edited by the player at 01:22, Mon 19 May 2014.

In reply to Ricky Robes (msg # 5):

The slim Fort scout kept himself a few steps in front of his party, smaller in stature than Bill but perceptibly scrappy. His dirty baseball cap shadowed a tried-n-true face. Noticeably, Saito was more heavily armed than most of his companions. He seemed to have at least a few different blades strapped to a green hunting or militia style vest, with several magazine's slid into pockets along the waist of the apparel . A tomahawk - a gift from the Native traders - dangled from one hip. Sound military boots left an indelible footprint on the dirt and leaves of the forest floor. It wasn't ideal to leave tracks, but it was unavoidable with their timeframe. His most able weaponry was a rare or perhaps not-so-rare submachine gun, thankfully with a thick suppressor screwed on. It hung from his shoulder by a sling, while a toothpick hung from Saito's mouth.

He didn't mind having Ricky walking alongside him, the company not seeming to distract him from a path known to the Fort fighter. The other man's question earned a glance from Saito, who gave a cynical grin reminiscent of battle tested individuals.

"Yes." He answered simply, his words followed soon by Isabelle's statement. The Asian man had been aware of the proximity of the dead as soon as they had left, but it wasn't the walkers he was as concerned about.

"Our real trouble will be the survivors out here. There's really no way around it; we're going to have to scrap it out with a few of em soon. I'm taking us to high ground. We'll get some perspective and defense, but it will also expose us, so we must keep moving. We'll run into those people at some point, definitely."

Cookie perked up. "How many ?" she hissed back at Isabelle.  "How far back ?"  The suspicious hazel eyes did the all-round sweep.  She couldn't wait for their guide's response with a new threat on the immediate future.

Bill's attention was also grabbed by Isabelle's words, turning around like Cookie to see the woman who spoke. Saito's analysis of and prescription for the situation registered in Bill's brain, and though he accepted the information he gave no response. "The trees. Let's get into the trees! We can avoid whatever is coming up behind us, maybe kill it, then we can flank the path and get a view around the bend from higher ground, like Saito said. Saito! Lead the way!"

The noise grew louder and was now audible by all in the traveling party. The sound of shuffling against the dirt path gave away the footsteps of the creatures that followed them - the undead that haunted the woods around Lauderdale County, and as far as Bill knew, all of America. Of the many dark and dangerous things that might be encountered in these woods, Bill was actually relieved to string together his theory of the undead followers.

Cookie moved along with the humans, thinking this was a big mess in the making, and revised her opinions of the Fort people.  High ground, with something that would slow the undead down to give the humans a fair chance to destroy them.  "Up, look for a place that gives them a narrow path to come at us," she hissed.  The hazel eyes did the all-round whip, to check out the terrain, see what was coming up on their six, too.

Plucking the dog end from between his lips Dominic casually flicks it away before drawing the sabre from its scabbard with a scraping of metal on metal. He could hear the oncoming zombies now whereas before they'd only been shapes within the woods easily dismissed as paranoia and bad lighting. Turning to face the direction of the approaching Zed’s he stands his ground for a couple of seconds in order to give the others a head start and perhaps even a glimpse of the Zed’s behind them before turning to follow; keeping the sword low so to prevent it getting tangled in the undergrowth and more importantly injuring any of his fellow survivors.

Bohannon trotted up the path after the hunting party. He'd been bringing up the rear and stayed back to assess the size of the horde. He entered the body of the group at a run. Out of breath, he said "There's too many of 'em to take out here in the open. We gotta find a bottleneck, just like she said." The cowboy agreed with Cookie. "C'mon Leonidas, lead the way."

The snarling grew louder as the horde drew closer. Bohannon pulled the Winchester off his shoulder and cocked it, the proximity of the dead making him ever more nervous.

"Merde...is it that bad?" Dominic asks Benson with a concerned look on his face as he watches the cowboy cock his Winchester rather than electing to use a far quieter melee weapon. Following the cowboy's lead he quickly returns the sabre to its scabbard before un-shouldering his own rifle "How far is it to this high ground and are we going to reach it before they overtake us?" he says directing the question towards the pair of guides quietly wondering whether or not a delaying action would be required or failing that a mad dash through the trees though with years of smoking and several weapons weighing him down he didn’t fancy that idea unless it meant the difference between him being eaten or not.

The young Asian man kept his composure as the situation set in for the group. Slowing as Bohannon joined them, he gave another look around their position on the path, tipping his cap to Bill in acknowledgement before gesturing for the group to follow him. "Stay calm, guys, and stay close ,and we'll be alright."

Taking the head of the group once more, Saito dropped off the path, a slight decline in the terrain causing him to pick up speed before darting into the dense foliage and shadowed canopy of the treeline. He assumed the others would follow.

From there it was pretty easy to tell which way to go if anyone fell a few steps behind the group. An incline quickly began, giving a sense to which way Saito was leading. Bushes and small branches grasped at the survivor's clothing as if in collusion with the walking dead, but they pushed onward..


The walkers could be heard at the pathway, causing some commotion as they gave steady pursuit off the pathway. The decline the group had encountered just off the path gave the undead some delay, the unlevel terrain causing the rotting former-person's to fall and pile on one another.

Those living corpses that could recover continued on, struggling to follow the survivors through the bushes and up the increasingly steep hill. Like the living, they were slowly able to break through the heavy brush to resume the chase.

Reaching the crest of the hill the group was suddenly illuminated by the sun, with no tree cover, and the ominous, moaning woods directly behind them.

This is where they'd make their stand.

"No guns!" Saito reminded the band, sliding off his slung machine gun to give him better mobility. He drew his tomahawk and a long military blade.

"Form up," the Jersey girl said, "When you get tired of being in front, say so and someone else will step forward. No guns."  This was said with an evil glare at Bohannon, whose response to most threats was to expend available ammunition and ring the dinner bell for the local undead and raiders.  That said, she stepped out in front, bat on her shoulder, measuring up the competition.  "And watch the BACK, people, we don't want any of em sneaking up on us.  And Bill...you know of any place along this route we can run to, if we start getting too much action ?" 
This message was last edited by the player at 20:30, Tue 27 May 2014.

Ricky followed closely to Saito as the group ran for the treeline and hill. He followed the man's lead in stripping off any restrictive gear and drawing his machete as he prepared himself for the fight ahead. He pulled his bandana over his mouth and nose to help limit his exposure to the gore. "We got the high ground which should slow them down. We got this." His words were more of a reassurance to himself than anything else. He looked around at the group with him, all capable fighters, he felt secure.

Reluctantly following Cookie and Saito's instructions not to start shooting Dominic puts the safety back on his rifle before propping it against a nearby tree so that it wouldn't get in the way. With the heavy leather jacket zipped and buckled all the way up to his throat he then takes up position on Saito's right drawing the sabre once more and holding it poised to strike the moment a Zed showed itself in front of him. He'd never used the blade before but it had always looked brutally effective in Christophers hands and so now was the time to see how good it truly was.

The undead burst forth from the shadow of the treeline, a handful at first sight, various sizes and genders and states of decay. Their faces were all contorted into grotesque expressions, soulless eyes leering at the living, bony fingers grasping in anticipation.

Saito waited for an opening, allowing one of them to get close enough on its own initiative before striking the corpse in the temple, the tip of the tomahawk breaking through skull and flesh, sending brain splatter onto the next walker.

The Caravaner Isabelle employed her own hatchet, but instead of attacking her own pursuer, she led it back slowly towards the cliff edge of the steep hilltop and let it take a lunge at her. It missed and went over the other side without much revelation about the mistake.  Turning to face the next biter she finally used her weapon. It went down quick enough, but was immediately followed by another of the undead.

Her hatchet reached its goal, embedded into the top of another disgusting head, but this time getting stuck and dragging Isabelle to the ground with the falling body.  Her hand clutched the handle of the weapon, trying to pry it free as another biter came up behind her.

Cookie eyed the oncoming with a calm curiosity, the same expression she had when questioning Vega.  The first one was big so she swept up with the bat, smashing a rancid jaw, and when it reeled, crushed the skull on the downswing.  The next was a very decayed, skinny once-upon-a-teenager, who crumpled up when she rammed the bat into its nearly-bare face.  That one STANK, but she had lived in New Jersey after all and horrible smells were merely a way of determining one's location in that notably odiferous state.  The next was a two-fer where she whipped the bat along the chops of two in a row, then she stepped back slightly, readying the bat for the next one.  There were a LOT....."Bill ?"  she hissed.  If that jerk had left, she was going to find him and really demonstrate a complete lack of ethics.

As the zombies burst out from the undergrowth Dominic lunged taking the first one in the eye before then ripping the blade free to decapitate the one following it happy to see that if nothing else that the blade was sharp.
Turning his head to make sure nothing was coming up on his other side Dominic suddenly notices the downed caravaner. Pausing long to thrust the long blade through another decaying head he then breaks away to aid the trapped woman; burying the sabre deep into what appeared to be some kind of biker's skull as it made to attack her from behind "Get up! There’s more them coming!" he calls urgently down at Isabelle as he rolled the corpse from off of her with a booted foot. Normally he would have done the chivalrous thing and offered her a hand up, but with several Zeds approaching them he didn't want to take the risk of getting caught with one hand tied behind his back and so instead made ready to make his next attack.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:40, Tue 10 June 2014.

Cookie saw Dominic step aside to help the Caravaneer, weighed up their odds again, and set her lips in that thin line that meant Trouble.  She'd have to up her game or they'd be zombie chow.  "Dom, get back here wit her !"  she hissed, advancing to beat down some real Jersian angst upon the undead.  High taxes, corruption, the bad traffic, the sucky weather, the wretched job market, the extreme cost of living, and of course, the SMELL.  WHAM *CRACK* SMASH *SPLINTER* THUD......After three more were down she backed up again and whipped a quick look round to see what was left.

Ricky swung for the first zombie that got too close for comfort. The machete was well balanced and sharp as hell, nearly cutting clean through the shambling creature's skull but embedding itself halfway through. He kicked the creature away, freeing his blade with a well practiced shake and pull before striking down another. He was starting to rethink how well their stay and fight plan was.

Fingers flew through the air as Dominic swung the sabre in a wide sweeping arc in an attempt to drive back the approaching dead and only succeeding severing the grasping digits. Despite the sounds of combat he had heard Cookies voice calling over to him "I am trying ok? Izzy get on your feet or I will drag you! You hear me?" he shouts down at the woman before lunging to take another Zed between the eyes; twisting the blade before ripping it free to repeat the action. He wasn't exactly D'artagnan but he was beginning to get the hang of the weapon which was just as well because the dead were still coming.

Dominic's intervention allowed Isabelle the time to wring her axe free, but not before yet another of the graspers came upon her, with Dom once again giving her some cover. "Got it!" She answered him finally, pulling her hatchet free and pulling back beside the sword-wielding paramedic, minding her distance so as not to catch the swinging steel.

The undead were thinning out, creating a perimeter of bodies around the survivors, threatening to create small untidy piles if the fight continued.

Yet there were signs the skirmish was in their favor now ; the choice of silent weapons keeping their enemies numbered, with meat & metal crunching the only real noise emanating from the hilltop, slowing dieing down as the fight drew to a close.

The cowboy swung his metal pipe methodically, killing zombie after zombie in a way that almost bored the man. God, he'd been doing this for too long. This was kind of all there was to living these days. Find a safe place to stay and set a while, kill some zombies, pursue that special something that still satisfied you in this strange world they all found themselves living in. In Benson Bohannon's case, the thing that brought meaning to the hum-drum life of beating down the undead was tracking down and killing his brother for shooting him down and leaving him for dead back in Nashville.

Brady Bohannon was close. He was a prominent figure in the Fort, the very same Fort that now housed the elder of the Bohannon boys and a handful of people who likely wouldn't lift a finger to help him if trouble came to find him for what he planned to do. As his mind wandered, Bohannon carried on, swinging away as the herd began to thin out. It was as the cowboy stopped to wipe a spray of blood from his cheek that he saw it. It was a body, strung up in a tree off in the distance, swinging slowly back and forth, missing its head...

Cookie saw that the undead were falling, but there wasn't a lot of time to reflect. A snarling one was heading for her.  The hijab had fallen back, revealing her trademark bleached blonde spiky hair, but she wasn't so concerned with that right now.  The bat rammed forward into its maw, then whirled down to smack aside the reaching arms, before she kicked its belly to knock it backwards.  Rancid goo spurted onto her boot and that really made her temper peak.  The next strike was overhead and down, cracking through the decaying face and taking off the jaw.  Then there was one on her flank and she pivoted, gooey boot slipping, so it didn't get the full power of a maddened Jerseyite with a Louisville slugger, so she had to hit it again, and NOW there was gunk on her shirt.  For Pete's sake, these things were vile !  But laundry would have to wait.   What DID concern her is that she didn't see Bill, and if he wasn't dead, or busy out of sight doing his job, well, that was going to mean a lot of interesting things to her.