(Immediately after the Battle of Slaughter - Chapter 5)
The light faded as the Caravan escaped the Battle of Slaughter, wounded and maimed in tow, adrenaline the only thing keeping the hungry and rattled group moving onwards. Night was never the time to be out and about in the land of the undead. The group exchanged silent looks as they hustled through forest, darting in and around thick and thin trees, following a sweat-soaked, breathless Mahmoud, a duffle bag of weapons slung on his back. He knew tthe area best, but that didn't say much. In addition to leading the direction Mahmoud kept aware of Lorenzo, who was in fact injured from before the fight, despite the tough act the man put on.
Isabelle had learned how to move quicker in a rush even with her one leg, though Dominic had to help her to keep pace. Luke assisted Bohannon, managing to convince the leg-shot(through and through, not mortal) cowboy to take the help so that he wouldn't fall behind, promising to keep Karen close who had her own wounds to contend with, so that Bo would take his help. She was still shell shocked from what her son and his group had done to them. Bohannon's wound had been fastened a hasty tourniquet, which would need to be changed the sooner the better.
Joe hauled Ricky over one shoulder, the tall elder Caravaner able to somehow manage this task despite his own rough shape, keeping pace with Mahmoud up front. Ricky was pale as a ghost and motionless, the arrow that had pierced his chest still lodged within his frame. Blood utterly soaked Joe's shoulder, streaming carmine red down his clothes. They couldn't just leave the man behind, even if it looked like he was finished. Not after what they'd been through. In any case, adrenaline had made their choices for them.
New Mexico stayed close to Tom and Hank, keeping his promise to the elder Lucion regarding the younger even though the battle was ostensibly over. The fight for shelter and calm was what they were after now. An additional but useful burden to NM was the 15 pound bag of rice they'd found in the house back in Slaughter.
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(The morning after the Battle of Slaughter, beginning of the Sixth Chapter of the chronicles of the Caravan)
It was dawn.
Sun broke over the Caravan's temporary home, a rusted metal barn that Mahmoud and Bohannon had crossed on their detour the day before, when flanking and coming to the aid of Caravan. Some of the walkers that they had lured to the Battle of Slaughter had come from this spot, giving Mahmoud some temporary confidence it was going to be clear.
A long forgotten RV sat next the barn. Wasn't much, but had yielded random supplies when the Caravan had searched it. Likewise with the metal barn. What didn't look like much, sometimes revealed surprising contents. Even little meant much these days.
The metal barn was able to be barricaded shut by equipment inside, giving some semblance of protection for the night. The inhabitants huddled together inside to keep warm by necessity or choice or both, like they were about to go into collective hibernation. Extreme fatigue overpowered all other senses the night before, leading all to eventually sleep. The bag of rice sat against the barn wall. They were too tired to cook.
Ricky had survived until they'd gotten to the barn. They'd laid him down at the base of a tree next to the barn, unable to help the mortally wounded a man, unable to make him even slightly comfortable. There were no emergency rooms anymore. There was nothing they could do.
They had said their goodbye's to Ricky as he shivered, every moment causing agony. The last thing he asked for was water, Joe clutching the young man's hand tightly as the light faded from his open eyes, which the old bowman then closed as a last favor. He'd been with the Caravan through so much, but it was over for him.
Ricky's body had been covered up with a blanket from the RV. Come early morning he lay where they left him, outside the barn under the tree, away from the group but still eerily close, his runners-clad feet sticking out from the bottom of the blanket.
Come morning Joe was already out digging a grave, using a shovel from the barn, a stroke of luck too late, though it wouldn't have been needed if they hadn't lost their man. Cauldershore had been expected to pass after a long illness, but Ricky was another case.
Note: you may feel free to scavenge items from your location, within enough reason of course.
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:18, Mon 15 Aug 2016.