**********Time Jump***********

Time: March. You have jumped approx 4 months forward. It is approximately a year since Z-Land hit. The Caravan have been making the industrial park home for just under 1 month.

Weather: Warm, Sunny. Its getting less and less cold every night.

Setting: Small, abandoned chemical industrial park, north of Baton Rouge, Louisiana. Nearest civilization is the accompanying abandoned industrial town a few miles away. This town lies south of a state park/forest reserve that lies south of Jackson, MS, and between Interstate highways 20, 55, 10, and the Mississippi River to the west.

Supplies?: Find this info lower in the post.

Caravaneers : New additions have been made to the group over the winter, for not all survivors encountered over the winter were hostile. Some Caravaneers did not survive the winter, for varieties of reasons. A link to a list of current Caravaneers (link to a message in this game)

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With winter imminent, the Caravan began making their way south after the destruction of Fort Dixie and after reuniting with the other survivors of the battle. They established themselves in various winter camps as they tried to collect supplies and secure themselves a defensible, but potentially temporary base of their own.

After moving south, and encountering other survivors along the way, some new allies but others new enemies, the Caravan settled in an abandoned industrial town north of Baton Rouge. The place had been abandoned long before Zombieland became the new normal. A hurricane season had battered the area, and it was too inconsequential to pay to rebuild. The people left, and urban decay set in. Because there was no one around when the undead began to spread, the area remained forgotten.  It provided shelter for the Caravan as they rebuilt to wait out the frost, until the spring weather came, and with it prospective food.

The park is adjacent to a canal that still retains water, if dirty, and provides access to the bayou and Mississippi River should the Caravan repair or procure a boat.  Forest is found further out from the area, to the north, and there are highways visible for travel should ground vehicles be found and/or repaired/fueled, yet the roads haven't been kept up even before the apocalypse, and therefore are very worn.


FOOD/WATER : Limited rations, random canned goods, boiled water (you don't want to drink whatever is in the canal). Not everyone is going to be able to eat.
FUEL : No Fuel. It was all used during winter for warmth.
VEHICLES : An old chemical truck that was on the grounds when the Caravan arrived. It is in disrepair and rust, and is out of gasoline. The helicopter used in Chapter 3 has long since been abandoned by the group.
WEAPONS: A handful of small arms, and plenty of melee-type weapons.
AMMO : Rare. You might find a bullet on a dead body or in the back of a drawer. The stockpiles are long gone. If you have a bullet, don't use it unless you have to.
SHELTER : The Caravan has plenty roofs to sleep under, yet the structural integrity of many is questionable. Also, its not a good idea to sleep apart from one another. Besides that, some leaky roofs, no heating, but walls and plenty of places to hide, fortify, and look-out.
SECURITY : The Caravan can be as secure as they choose/try to be.









This message was last edited by the GM at 02:11, Sun 22 Feb 2015.

Rolling along pavement, the back wheel fishtailed.
The little red wagon, to which the wheel belonged, leaned on the other three wheels to keep itself steady. The whole thing thumped as the wagon was drawn over the cracks in the pavement. Once a child's toy, it had been repurposed by the survivors to fit their needs, usually to cart around wood or other supplies. After the fuel was used up during the winter, the group had resorted to burning what wood they could find in an empty oil drum. Bill had seen people do that in movies.

The blocks of concrete that formed the courtyard had spread apart over successive hurricanes and rain water, and the ground beneath them was uneven. Grass grew between the blocks. The humidity of the day hung in the air, as did the smell of the nearby bayou that lay to the south and east of the industrial site.

"Since we left Fort Dixie. So about four months, near as I can figure."
Bill and Brady, gathering firewood, were returning to the main building in the center of the site that the Caravan had made camp. Bill dragged the wagon with one hand and waved the other in explanation. "Everybody back then liked have a drink socially. My father drank. Even my mother drank. The problem is, I don't like to have a drink. I like to have ten." Bill looked over at Brady as they neared the building. "But that's not  me anymore."
This message was last edited by the player at 01:20, Mon 23 Feb 2015.

In reply to Bill (msg # 2):

Brady was wearing three shirts and a couple hoodies. The worst of the winter was over, but the morning air still carried with it a cool chill. His breath hung on the air as he replied. "Yeah man, that's great that you cleaned up. But, like, it's kinda shitty too. 'Cause y'know, it wasn't really your choice... to uh, get sober. You had to get sober. 'Cause there ain't any bars open around here. Ha ha."

Bill and Brady knew each other from back in the glory days of Fort Dixie. At least Brady liked to think of them as the glory days. If nothing, it was better times than that fucking winter they'd all been through. Anyways, Bill and Brady became fast friends back then. Now this whole Caravan they were a part of had bonded over the mutual Hell of surviving together.

Isabelle watched Bill and Brady from the doorway to the large main building of the compound, leaning against the frame, arms crossed. When the men neared she gave them a nod before shuffling forward and out of the building, using a lone crutch along with a hand to grip the wall as she entered the sunlight and brisk weather.
Her right leg, from the knee down, was gone. Her pant leg was secured to cover her stump, yet on the whole she was quite healthy. Being an invalid, she was allotted slightly more rations over the winter.

"Mornin boys." She greeted the two southerns, pretending, just like everyone else, that she wasn't missing a leg, as she smiled alittle. She'd lost it via sword amputation in the woods outside Fort Dixie about four months previous. She'd gotten caught in a bear trap, of all things, while they ran from the undead. It was the last running she would do. In her heart she knew that Dominic had only done what he had to save her, to help her. But as time went on she felt like a burden, and wondered if it would have been better if they'd left her to the walkers..

Her kids. She still had kids out there, she reminded herself. Constantly reminding herself. She'd first joined the Caravan what seemed like a lifetime ago because someone had dangled the prospect of a safe haven, a colony, out there in Zombieland. Like almost everyone she thought it was to good to be true.. But maybe, just maybe, her kids were somewhere safe. Whats more, she had been growing closer to the group, especially to Dominic leading up to the amputation, and is played on her mind that he wouldn't see her in the same light as she saw him.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:27, Mon 23 Feb 2015.

New Mexico cradled the back of his head in his hands as he laid back in a lawn chair out on the concrete of the compound, further out from 'the big house'. He was bundled in his hoodie, which concealed his thin build. The teenager like many others had gone without food for some time, only eating sporadically. The shaggy haired Caravaneer had even been notching extra holes in his belt to keep his pants up. Not fun.With supplies low, not everyone could eat,so they tended to rotate, though none of them were much better off than anyone else.

Hanging out as the group went about its general routines, New Mexico tried to think on the bright side, what with spring on the way. Right then he normally would have been listening to his ipod, which Kaidan had fixed, before the other boy left on a raid and never returned. But any battery power was militantly managed by the group every since winter began, and he was therefore left to entertain himself. Luckily there was the odd time one could manage to wank off in the trees,even though going off alone was risky.

His stomach grumbled as the strewn out teenager adjusted the sunglasses that previously belonged to 'Lime' Jefferson, a soulful old singer from Fort Dixie. The old, lively guy was assumed to have perished with most of the others. The man had kept singing as the undead and bandits came upon them. But eventually he couldn't be heard anymore. It was very Titanic. NM had picked up the glasses from one of the people who had survived the Fort, it had been a gift for his birthday, as he was close to turning eighteen. It was difficult to know for sure, as it was harder to keep track of what day it was, but he knew it was any day now.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:21, Mon 23 Feb 2015.

Hector stood atop of the primary building for the compound, rifle in hand, vigilantly on duty. The tallest building in the area, he was able to have a 360 degree view of the industrial park, though alot of that view was other buildings and the canal. He was always a quiet man. Always did his job well. Protected his partners, his friends. But he'd lost Aishe. She'd always been first priority. He always managed to keep her safe from the biters, the hostile survivors, but he couldn't keep her fed, or warm. And she died with her eyes open.

Now we watched over the Fort. Maybe he couldn't feed them, keep them warm, but he knew how to protect people from other things. The weather was getting warmer. After getting used to the cold, he wasn't sure what to expect. Reflexes, instinct, intuition would carry him much of the way. Don't break.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:18, Mon 23 Feb 2015.

Pulling up to the Big House, as it were known, Isabelle stood in the doorway and greeted them warmly. She was looking better, considering her circumstance. "Isabelle." Bill smiled at the one legged girl. "We brought some more wood. Should take the chill out of the air."

Bill looked over at Brady, placing his free hand on his shoulder and passing over the handle of the little red wagon. "Brady, why don't you take this on over to the fire pit." Letting go of the handle, he said "Thank you for coming with me. You're a good young man Brady, I don't care what anybody says."

Bill now looked at Isabelle, extending his arm. "Come for a walk with me, the sun is shining this morning." As he did so, he told Brady "Oh, and you better tell that brother of yours to let the doctor look at his arm again. I can't even imagine how that must hurt. For his own good, Brady."

Karen ran as fast as she could, carried by well worn combat boots across long neglected pavement. Her speed was limited by her deteriorated physical fitness and a next-to-no calorie diet. The winter had been hard on everybody. As she ran along the canal, Karen swivelled her head from side to side, forwards and back, constantly scanning for hazards and danger, making sure it wasn't creeping up on her.  Karen had spent a tour of duty in Iraq, a career with the Atlanta Police Department, and who-knows-how-long in Zombieland watching her back; it was just reflex now. But this time, there was nothing there. The caravan had settled down after a long winter of running and scraping by. With no danger, now they were left with the tasks basic survival and their own demons. And Karen's demons were not quiet.

A little over four months ago, Karen joined the Caravan under false pretences and facilitated an ambush that resulted in countless deaths of people close to the original group. They've never forgiven her. She did it though, as any mother would, to save her son, who was being held hostage to force her into this evil deed. She got her boy back but lost him again the day after arriving at Fort Dixie. He just ran off that day, never to be seen again.

Now, with the Caravan settled, Karen's mind ran wild, beating herself up for having lost him. Her head played it over and over. She failed. She lost him. Again. And all her efforts to find him were for naught. Kaidan was gone. So Karen ran. She tried to keep her body fit to make up for the fact that her heart was broken.

"Oh, fuck me!" she said out loud as she saw the disgusting, bloated, rotting, dead body in the canal. The very canal from which the Caravan had been pulling their drinking water.

"Hey!" Bill's comment felt like a slight against Brady, but he let it go. "Yeah, I'll go check on him. Later Bill."

Brady pulled the little red wagon to the centre of the Caravan's living space and tossed a log on the fire. "Ah!" he said loudly, extending his pelvis towards the warmth of the flame. "Y'see, I'm warming my balls." he then stated, matter-of-factly, pointing at his junk. Then he laughed childishly and moved on upstairs to the upper levels of the compound.

There he found his older brother, Benson Bohannon, still sleeping in a heap of blankets. "Benson! Get your lazy ass up and out of bed, y'jag-off." He shouted, kicking the bottom of Benson's boot. "Get up and go see the doc before your arm turns black and blue like your dick after you boned Marcy Peterson in High School... Or was that mine? Who knows? Ha ha ha ha ha!" Brady walked off giggling to himself like an idiot.

In reply to Bill (msg # 7):

"We all appreciate it, guys." Isabelle replied to the two before Brady departed from them, leaving her with the retired Sheriff. She listened knowingly to Bill's words about Brady, to Brady, raising an eyebrow slightly at the reaction the younger man gave before letting a small smile creep onto her face. Despite the issues with supplies, everyone had been getting on well enough together. Maybe it was the weather, and the thankful isolation of their new temporary home from the undead and other people.

Isabelle took a steady hold of Bill's outstretched arm, her crutch tucked under her other arm. "Thank you Bill." She offered as they began to slowly walk, enjoying stretching her leg, and just being out of the Big House. "I think the weather is putting everyone in a good mood. Its nice to see."
This message was last edited by the player at 02:32, Tue 24 Feb 2015.

Zipping his jacket Hank wondered how much longer the cold would keep the zombies sluggish. Well, they had taken plenty out on their way here, hopefully that would buy some time for the deer to return. He had been looking over the engine of the chem truck to see if there was anything useful for what he had in mind to deal with their electricity problem. Unfortunately while he had an idea of what he needed, he had no idea how to get to it. Maybe he'd ask Dom or Brady about later. Gripping the crow bar he had found to replace the one lost in the fort he walked around to the back of the 'big house'.

Spotting New Mexico, he hadn't seen a reason to push for the kid's real name yet, Hank smiled. Before the running into the strange French Maid and Brady they could have been the only two people left as far as he knew. A part of him had wanted to avoid people, and the incident with the bumkins didn't help that, still woke them up on occasion. The other wanted to have a group so if something happened...Well, now they did. Joe and Brady he could never thank enough, but with the other teen at least Tom had someone closer to his own age around. Making his way over he crouched down, using the crowbar to balance. Penny for your thoughts? Like the other boy the winter hadn't been kind to him, hopefully they could hunt soon. It would be the dead vs. the living for the deer, who apparently made a decent human substitute.

In reply to Hank Lucion (msg # 11):

New Mexico heard someone approaching, and already had grown so accustomed to people in the Caravan that he could tell it was Hank He kept his pose, laid back in the lawn chair, sunglasses hiding his expression as the other Caravaneer crouched down near him. "A penny? C'mon man, you have to pay at least market price for my two-cents." The teenager then broke a grin and tilted his head a little to look at Hank, the sunglasses riding down his nose a touch.

"I'm hungry, dude." He replied semi-serious, as he tried to hide a legitimate concern by mixing it with his usual levity. Also, its my birthday and every hour that passes by makes me suspect that Cookie isn't going to bring out an ice cream cake." The birthday boy glanced back towards the big house, as if he was still suspecting a cake, before resetting on his fellow survivor. "How have you been?" He asked genuinely, noting silently that the both of them had lost much weight. Total opposite of life before Z-land, when in the winter one packed on extra weight.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:26, Tue 24 Feb 2015.

Fred was carefully walking around on one of the rooftops. He was both checking for weak spots and for eventual vantage points the Caravan might want to use. If he could he would figure out all possible escape routes in case they needed to use them. That being said he didn't know if any would be open for the suggestion. Not everybody would be willing or able to make their way through higher ground. And even if they would, this kind of measure would mean they had to leave behind everything that they owned.

Fred was still very new. He was happy to find another group. Especially since he'd spent months alone trying not to go crazy. But he wasn't sure yet about his place between the members of the Caravan. He often had his duties to perform which he did. But the moment when he was done with them would be when he got nervous and felt like he had to do some more to prove himself. Looking down at the group he showed one of them a small but clear wave. A sign to tell them he was doing good, but also a way for him to prove he was indeed "socially adequate".

Dominic stared at the helicopter’s door; his eyes fixed on the bullet hole that he’d put in it during their frantic escape from the fort. Someone had cleaned the blood off and stuck an X of duct tape over it but Dominic still knew it was there and every now and then he would torture himself over not knowing what he’d shot. Had it been a Zed or a Person? And if it had been a person on whose side had they been on? He didn’t know for sure and never would. All he did know was that it was dead and that he’d done it without even blinking.
Breaking out of his macabre reverie with a shake of his head Dominic finished lacing up his boots before then buckling the sword about his now slender waist. Glancing back up at the helicopter door that was now firmly bolted over the large broken window along with a large chunk of its bodywork Dominic gave a weary sigh before heading for the doors.
 He missed the Huey, it had been great to actually do what he loved doing if only for a little while but alas he’d burnt his way through all the fuel in first finding the group and then scouting out the factories that they were now living in. The Huey was now nothing but a rusting hulk with much of its bodywork stripped or at least the bits they could rip off and carry away, in order to perform the much needed repairs to the buildings; many of which had seen far better days. He knew that the helicopter was completely useless without fuel and that it would be next to impossible for them to find anymore but it still seemed a shame for a vehicle that had saved their lives to end its days in such a fashion.

Blinking as the early morning sun hit him Dominic stepped into the courtyard; the cigarette out of his top pocket and in his hand before he even realised he’d done. He may have quit smoking, admittedly under the same circumstances that Bill had quit drinking, he still found himself reaching for one under pure force of habit. Twirling the now somewhat bent cigarette between his fingers, he takes a look around partly to see who was around and partly yet again out of habit. To one side he saw Hank and NM talking together and to the other he could see Isabelle and Bill walking together; the former sheriff helping the one legged woman along.
In truth Dominic was kind of surprised that Izzy was still speaking to him considering what had happened. Yet for some reason not only had their relationship such as it was before the amputation not suffered, it had actually improved. In fact from what Dominic had seen she seemed somehow happier these days and far more sociable with the rest of the group than before, her walking with Bill being demonstrating as such.
Tucking the unlit cigarette into the corner of his mouth he leans back against the rough red brick wall wishing he could have a cup of coffee to help wake him up. He’d give himself a couple of minutes to wake up fully before going in search of Loa and start his day.

Benson Bohannon rolled over in his heap of blankets and assumed a sitting position. With his good arm, he rubbed his face and scratched his now thick and shaggy beard. With no response to his brother's antics. Benson tossed his black gambler hat over his long greasy mop of hair. A painful winter with a broken arm had not been kind to the cowboy, nor had it improved his cheerful attitude and his sunny disposition. Bohannon had badly cut and broken his arm in the battle of Fort Dixie, and the lag time between the battle and meeting back up with Dominic and Loa, the camp's only medics, had not sped the healing process.

Benson found his way down to the water barrel and took a few big gulps and splashed some on his scruffy face. Droplets still dripping from his beard, Bohannon made his way over to Dominic at the door. "Mornin' Doc." Bohannon said groggily, snapping the bent cigarette from Dominic's lips and popping it into his own. The cowboy dug in his pocket for a second and produced a silver Zippo lighter and struck a flame. The smoke was an unfamiliar scent in the cool air. Benson took a long, slow drag on the cigarette and pulled it from his lips, offering it back to Dom. "So how 'bout it Clooney? We just about ready to cut this cast off my arm?" The cowboy coughed, his good hand outstretched with cigarette in offer.

In reply to New Mexico  (msg # 12):

Hank smirked as he glanced at the other's response, glad there was still some humor left around. Do you take checks?

He could understand the other's comment on food, they all could. It was one of those things you either had to joke about or drive yourself crazy over. If she manages an ice cream cake...she's either a witch or an angel. But if she makes food I really wouldn't give a damn either way. Following the teen's gaze he added, Be kinda PO'd she'd wait this long to let us know though.

When NM asked about how he was doing Hank sighed.. Happy to have found a group to call home. He said honestly. Still getting used to not every noise in the dark belonging to something trying to eat me, almost there. He gave a "what are you going to do" shrug before letting himself drop to the ground. Mostly just glad Tom is someplace relatively safe.

In reply to Frederick Struve (msg # 13):

"Hey Fredieeeee!!! It's me coming up big guy. You don't have to throw another coat at me, okay?" Brady called as he reached the rooftop, not wanting a repeat of when they'd bumped into the guy. Things had gotten pretty heated that day what with tensions running so high over the winter, but hey, they were all friends now. And what's a Mexican standoff between friends? "What do you hear my man? All's well up here?" the man with the slight southern accent, but not a hint of class, asked friendlily, slapping the newbie on the shoulder.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:08, Wed 25 Feb 2015.