Homochitto National Forest is a U.S. National Forest in southwestern Mississippi comprising 191,839 acres (776.34 km2). In the mid-1930s, the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) began reforestation of the area and developing a system of roadways and recreational areas.

The forest is an be perilous to those who are not vigilant, especially during the night.




This message was last edited by the GM at 00:34, Fri 27 Mar 2015.

-from the Caravan Compound with Tom, Brady and New Mexico

The trek to the forest took a little while. If they'd had any sort of vehicles the trip would have been simple. As it was they had been stuck on foot for a long time now, not that vehicles were as reliable as one would like considering the abandoned wrecks and debris strewn across road and waterways alike.

Joe seemed more relaxed and in his element out amongst the greenery of the forest. Embedded amongst the dense canopy of the old woods, they could hear the faint sound of a nearby stream, recently unfrozen by the onset of spring. Buds of growth were beginning to sprout along branches and upon the earth, with birds adding in to the sound of the group walking with intermittent chirping. The sun peaked through the treetops where it could, as if they were in some spacious, wooden pillared room with the blinds drawn.

The grizzled archer took them deep enough to be securely off the beaten path, afforded some extra buffer of protection from wayward drifters, humans. When it came to the dead, Joe never assumed he was alone.

Joe situated them carefully in an upwind place to practice. The Caravaneers set up a temporary training camp on a flat, wide plain, upon a elevated portion of the forest floor to give them the best, albeit spotty, coverage of their surroundings.

"Watch me, and then you lot can try." Joe told the others as he stepped forward, his sturdy yet pliable bow in rough, weathered hand. His quiver of arrows hung from his belt and he summarily plucked each of them out to stick into the ground so the others could easily access them. They had other supplies, but Joe trusted them each to pick up what they put down, or they'd be getting a kick in the rear later. They could be potentially tracked back to their camp and they couldn't spare supplies/material either.

Adjusting his posture after plucking up one of the arrows from the ground, his feet approximately shoulder width apart, his body facing to the side. Joe raised his bow slowly so the others could see the proper hand placement and positioning of the body. In a smooth, fluid movement, he inserted the arrow into the equation, plucking back and holding the bowstring with two bent fingers, the feathered end of the arrow secured between the digits.
His piercing green eyes focused on the trunk of a tree twenty feet ahead, aiming for the eye of what the wrinkled bark of the tree seemed to frame as almost a face, like one of those stains that weirdo's claim looks like Jesus H himself.

Releasing as the right moment as he quietly exhaled, the arrow slid free while everything else stayed put. In a blink of the eye the arrow pierced into the wood of the tree, the missile throbbing from the force of the impact, the feathered end bouncing and vibrating briefly.

"Decide amongst yourselve's who goes next. Try and get as close to my arrow as you can. And try not to miss, I don't want to have to play fetch after." He held out his personal bow for one them to take, though really Tom or Brady as NM had seemed to tag along for the most part.
This message was lightly edited by the player at 22:56, Wed 22 Apr 2015.

--->from Compound

Tom was quiet during the trek, the realization of what he was doing slowly dawning on him. This was the first time since this all began Hank wasn't within shouting distance of him, even with the others it was almost like he was alone. He hadn't even told his brother what was going on, just left a message and off he went. As they went deeper the new found feeling of freedom mixed with the dread of something bad happening and being separated from the rest of the group.

When Joe gave his demonstration Tom tried to memorize every movement the man made. He adjusted his stance, trying to copy as close as the other's as he could. When the chance to take the bow came up he looked at the other two, seeing if either would go for it.

Seeing his chance he walked forward, taking the proffered weapon and leaving his pipe behind. I haven't done this since gym, so don't laugh. He warned the others with a slight grin. Moving to where Joe had stood he grabbed an arrow from the ground and tried to repeat Joe's earlier movements. Pulling the string back took more effort then he thought and he could feel his arm tremble slightly. Taking a deep breath he pictured the face of the hick who cut him on the tree. Releasing his breath he let arrow fly...right into the ground, about five feet to the right of the tree. Damn it.

NM was curious about the whole thing, but had come to the game late, so to speak, and opted to let Tom have a go at something he had clearly been becoming interested in. When Tom gave enough pause for either himself or Brady to volunteer to go first, NM gestured Tom to go on first.
The teenager had usually opted for his sawed-off shotgun, which was now empty and essentially useless, but still strapped to his waist like one of those old big honkin' pirates pistols from the movies, and, presumably history. For up close and personal he carried his notched (from use and TLC) but honed sharp machete, sheathed at his leg. Luke had a similar set up and had helped him latch on the easy to reach weapon.

With anticipation he silently watched Tom try to mimic what Joe had done, and hypothesized if the younger boy would be a natural. When he came up short, NM was still impressed, having come to know over the winter how taut the bowstring was, how much strength mental acuity it took to wield the weapon. "Hey don't sweat it, dude! That was awesome. I doubt I'll be able to do better than you." N'Mexico congratulated his somewhat frustrated companion, smiling broadly as he clapped Tom lightly on the shoulder. "Hey Joe, I'll go next when Tom is finished."

Joe watched patiently as Tom took up the bow and attempted to loose and arrow into the target, not interrupting any perceived inconsistencies in style until he'd seen what Tom could do, what Tom's body assumed to do without first corrections. With the arrow falling the side by some space, rustling some leaves and brush as it did so, Joe took a step towards the young apprentice archer, glad to see NM try to beef up the younger fellow, while he himself remained neutral but encouraging. "Very good start, Tom." he told the boy with a small grin. When NM volunteered to go next he was glad for the enthusiasm, of which Brady seemed to lack, confirming some of Joe's earlier assumptions that the grown man was trying to gain his favor by participating. Surely it was too foolish to be true.

"Try again, Tom. This time, rather than holding your breath, remember to breath slowly, exhaling as you fire the arrow. Use your pointer finger as you hold the bow out to point towards your target, like a hand-gun, and then let physics do the rest." Joe briefly took back the bow to demonstrate the pose and the breathing, using an imaginary arrow as his demonstrated the finger pointing technique, before passing the bow back to the boy. "Over time, your shoulders will gain more muscle. With practice comes muscle memory."

Tom's slight frown of frustration lifted slightly as the others gave encouragement, turning to one of slight embarrassment at the attention. Thanks. The ones at school were a lot easier. That had been one of his favorite semesters in gym, but his parents said "no" when he brought up the idea of having a set at home. He had been mad at the time but others things eventually caught his interest and having bow didn't seem that important. He hadn't thought about that for a while, the memory bitter sweet. Focusing back on the present he watched Joe demonstrate again.

Grabbing another arrow he tried again to copy Joe's movements, pointing toward the tree. This time the tremble was greater, the strain of the previous shot taking it's toll. Even with his rations bolstered somewhat by the extra Hank gave him it still wasn't really enough for a boy at his stage of life. Slowing his breath he released again. While closer at only about 3 feet to the right it came up about 7 feet short to the tree itself. Sighing he turned and held the bow out to NM, Your turn.

Brady had sat himself on a log, pretending not to be holding on every instruction Joe gave. He fidgeted with his baseball cap, watching Tom's shots through squinted eyes. Surely it wouldn't be that hard. He grew up hunting, learned to shoot well enough, and even taught himself to throw knives. If he could throw a knife, he could shoot a bow. Right? Brady was growing nervous. He had this rugged, outdoorsman image to live up to, if he failed at this, Joe and the rest of the Caravan would certainly be disappointed in him.

"Shit! That don't look that hard! Ha." He said, keeping up appearances, but not selling it well.

New Mexico took over the now with a confident enough grin, humble enough to know that he wasn't going to be Robin Hood right away, simply glad to be doing something cool rather than sitting around camp. He patted Tom on the shoulder as they traded spaces, NM a bit taller than the younger boy, but not as tall as Brady or Joe. Hopefully it would be easier or him considering the arm length he had on Tom. Still, the kid had done solid, and gotten close enough in NM's books. "I betcha that by the end of training I can shoot an apple of Brady's head." The shaggy haired teen razzed the observing Bohannon Brother as he shifted his feet.

There were only a couple of arrows left in the ground after NM had taken his few shots at the target. He naturally came up short, akin to Tom's efforts, the last shot coming up the shortest. The teen was inhibited by the ever lingering pain in his right shoulder where Sam's man had shot him full of buckshot months before when the Caravan had been at eachother's throats. NM had caught Sam beating a pregnant member of the group, and she'd miscarried as a result. If he hadn't arrived on scene, he knew was Sam would have done to the weakened woman.
That was when they first parted ways with Sam and his people. He never forgot the incident, having almost died over the months after from the wound. Sam didn't ever bring up that past incident, but NM could detect the sneering gaze of the guy whenever they were around eachother, which if NM had his way was not often. Despite his best efforts to imagine the hick's face on the target, it did not precipitate a direct hit.

"Dang nabbit." NM cussed under his breath, though shrugged off the matter, setting the bow down against a tree stump for Joe or Brady, his left hand quickly moving to rub his dull shoulder, still causing him problems after many months. Doc, lacking proper medical machines, had been unable to determine if all of the buckshot the teen had taken had been properly removed. Such was life now. "Shoulder is buggin me, or else I woulda had it, I swear."
This message was last edited by the player at 03:12, Mon 18 May 2015.

Tom headed back to his pipe after handing off the bow, alternating between watching NM shoot and watching the woods. While this was the group he was most comfortable with not having Hank around was nagging him more then he would have admitted. Plus it always paid to be alert, as experience had taught him.

I wonder if that means it'll rain. Tom smiled slightly, not wanting to come off as mocking. My friend had a grandfather who said his hip bothered him before a storm. The smile faded slightly at the memory. He and Aaron had first thought it crazy, but didn't you know it did more often then not. Stopping himself before he drifted too far into the past, he put the smile back on. Don't worry, once we make enough bows for everyone we'll be the ones teaching them.

Letting the younguns talk amongst themselves, Joe moved towards where the arrows they had shot lay strewn in and around the tree trunk he'd designated the target zone. He assumed Brady was going to have a shot before they left or else Joe was going to bug him about it for some time. Really, though, Tom was his principal apprentice in regard to bow training. It would give them something to do to literally release tension and hone valuable skills at the same time.

Away from the others and near the treeline, the tall, sinewy archer peered about for one missing arrow. He held a couple in one hand while the last was no where in sight. Assuming it had passed into a bush near his legs he would stoop down, his piercing green eyes surveying the spot. He didn't see anything, but then noticed something else. The bushes seemed misshaped, as if something had passed through it or past it.

A purring, growling sound slowly began to pick up, and Joe knew the moment before being pounced upon that they'd come across something dangerous. The large cougar lunged forward, front legs and claws outspread as it tackled Joe, sending the both of them into a pile of leaves, sending forest debris in all directions. Its feline roar echoed in the immediate area as it sunk its claws into Joe's left arm and right shoulder, its jaws snapping at his face, his hood having fallen back, his own strong, long arms seized against the beast's throat, trembling as he held it back just enough.

Brady's reflexes kicked into high gear as he saw Joe beset upon by the cougar. As his first instinct usually was when something tried to bite a companion of his, Brady drew his bowie knife and hurled it towards the assailant. A lively cougar was, however, much more agile and spirited than your run-of-the-mill zombie. The knife skipped off one or the other of them with a useless bounce, likely causing little more than a minor cut to whomever it connected with. "Oh shit, oh fuck, oh shit!" He froze for a moment, unable to determine how to help the old man.

Scanning the way they had come for any sign of the undead and potential arrow material Tom hoped his brother wouldn't be too mad for running off without looking for him. Turning at the sound of commotion from behind him Tom's blood ran cold. Gripping his pipe his eyes darted to the extra bow and the remaining arrows meant for Brady's shots. There was no way he could make the shot from here given his earlier performance. If he was closer... keeping his crowbar in his right hand he grabbed the extra bow and an arrow before he could give himself time to stop. Get off him!!! He yelled, running closer with his arms waving. Not about to risk a shot dropping into Joe or going wide the kid hoped cougars were like bears and could be scared away.

A fucking cougar, mountain lion, whatever the hell they were called. At that moment NM almost preferred that it were a walker instead. Had the situation not been so immediately serious, the danger of it all grasping their senses immediately, he would have rolled his eyes at Brady's shaky response to the animal attack. Sheesh, right when you needed a big gruff Southerner around and they nearly throw a knife into the wrong target.
Had his shoulder not rendered him impotent in terms of archery he would have seized the weapons that Tom had gathered. Instead, he unsheathed his machete, at least able to use that but equally wary to strike blindly lest he hit Joe. But if they didn't do anything then the old guy was fucked.

"Get off of him you sonofabitch!"Rushing to Joe's side as he grappled with the beast, NM raised a boot, slamming it down into the temple of the beast, one hand white-knuckling his machete in case he needed a riskier but ultimately more effective follow up.

Joe could hardly focus on all that was happening around him, the attempted help by the others as he was a breath away from the afterlife. He could smell the torrid breath of the cougar, which had no doubt grown more desperate and therefore dangerous just like themselves. That was where his empathy with the cougar ended, however. Brady's attempt to help was met with a scornful grunt of pain as the blade struck Joe, causing superficial damage but still cutting him in the side as it came in off-target and then bounced off of the combating human and animal.

In the perifery of his vision he could see Tom and New Mexico encircling the scrappy fight. NM' foot in the cougar's head caused it to flinch enough that Joe could shift his weight, bringing up his left forearm, off of the lion's throat, in an attempt to push it off of him. Instead it allowed the creature to dive bomb him with its snapping jaws, resulting in Joe sacrificing his forearm to provide a shield and something other than his face for the cougar to sink teeth into.

Yelling out in pain, which soon dulled with adrenaline, Joe thrust his knee upwards in tandem with raising his mauled forearm to give the boys a clear target on which to strike. "Kill it damnit!"

Nope, not like a bear. If it was a walker he wouldn't have a problem dropping the bow for the pipe. However he doubted he could do much with the pipe besides piss it off even more. When Joe pushed the cougar up he had a better target, and he wasn't about to let it go. Taking a step back he dropped the pipe and brought the bow and arrow up, aiming for the beasts chest. He wasn't afraid of the arrow coming up short like earlier but there was still the chance of side drift. Drawing back adrenaline kept most of the earlier shaking at bay and helped drive the arrow deep into the cougar's side, unfortunately missing anything immediately vital. Given time it would likely kill the animal. They didn't have time.

The cougar rowled in great pain upon the arrow's impact, hitting it in the side, likely puncturing a lung. It continued to struggled with Joe regardless, though its fight died down due to the wound, though not out of lack of enthusiasm. His forearm was still locked up in the creature's jaws, but it was still raised up and Joe thrust an arm out on the ground in some human impulse to find something, anything to help defend. He found Brady's bowie knife in the long grass, and in a fast, do-or-die movement, Joe thrust the blade upwards into the cougar's throat at the base of the jaw.

The result was immediate, and the creature fell onto Joe with its dead weight, eliciting a groan of discomfort and pain from weight. His forearm was finally free, but he was roughed up pretty damn good.

Brady, stunned by the incident finally rushed to Joe's aid. He landed a boot firmly in the side of the animal, rolling the cat off the man. "Jesus fuck Joe! Are you okay?!?" He screamed, kneeling down to survey the damage. Brady knew that if Benson had been here, he'd have shot the thing no problem. Brady was never so talented... "Fuck, I'm sorry Joe, shit, are you okay?" Brady looked to the claw marks in the man's chest, shoulders and legs. "Get me some fuckin' bandages!" He called to the younger boys, finally acting a little bit like a man.

Tom starred at the dead animal, panting. Did that really just happen? He blinked, hoping this was some fucked up hunger hallucination. Nope, Brady's shouting snapped him back to the present. Taking a second to fully come around he darted over to Joe's bag. Hands shaking he grabbed a handful of too small T-shirts that had been ripped as improvised "bandages". Real bandages were too precious of a commodity to risk getting dropped in a puddle or left behind if you had to run, as far as Tom knew they were all kept at the compound under the care of the groups medically inclined. Trying to keep his hands steady he dropped next to Brady and Joe. Don't worry, we'll get you wrapped up and ready for Loa in no time. He said it as much for his own sake as for Joe's, keeping his voice as level as he could.

NM cursed in exasperation up to and through Joe's slaying of the creature that had attacked. He'd kicked up a good amount of forest debris himself by his constant movement as he'd looked for an opening to swing his machete without decapitating Joe the Mountain Lion Slayer.

Despite the insanity of the moment, NM had managed to stay relatively silent as compared to Brady who shrieked loudly, causing the teen to wince as he contemplated what that sound might draw. "Keep the fuck quiet!" NM snapped in as low a voice as he could manage given the excitement of the moment.

NM assisted in removing the beast from atop of Joe, glad for Tom's get-to as Joe's wounds became all the clearer, with red seeping through their elder's clothing. Despite the present danger being dispatched, the shaggy haired youth kept his machete in firm grip. The blood could and would draw the biters much like other predators.

"We have to get you out of here asap, old man." New Mexico grinned in case Joe needed something like that as he matched eyes with the other two to see if they were alright as well, even if they weren't the ones all clawed up.

Seeing how Tom was shaking a little, New Mexico took hold of the improvised bandages brought forth, giving the younger boy a reassuring look before beginning to tie the makeshift tourniquets around Joe's many wounds. It wasn't the best but it would have to do until they were back at the compound.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:43, Tue 14 July 2015.

With Brady and NM working on Joe and his hands free Tom looked around, unsure of what to do. Eyeing the supplies they had brought with them he slowly stood and started collecting everything he could. He was too short to be of any real help moving Joe but he could help by carrying as much as he could. Plus it kept him busy. All the while he kept an eye out for any more surprises.

"Quit the damn fussing." Joe stated firmly with a grimace as the others pulled him free of the dead weight and pulled him carefully to his feet, his wounds raw and red. Wincing briefly, he wrapped an arm around Brady's shoulder, the largest of the others, to ease in the process of human walking stick for the wounded bowman.

"Mexeeco! Tom! Make sure to bring that kitty carcass. We may yet use it." The old fellow added, gritting his teeth as Brady began to transport him. His clothes were stained with blood but Joe managed to carry enough of his own light but limbre weight, not entirely trusting Brady to keep him from falling on his face on the way back.

-to Caravan Compound

New Mexico was glad that fightin' Joe was able to at least tenuously handle the strain of the attack, and with the archer's insistence he moved to gather up the heavy cougar as best he could. He could see that Tom was gathering up the equipment, so would have to struggle more or less alone with the body. It was a raw sight, and N'Mexico felt empathy for the beast, all while secretly glad he could still feel such emotions. "This is so fucked up." The shaggy haired teen muttered to himself, feeling sick with the shock of the incident. Despite his quiet episode he was able to gather himself to haul the dead animal over his good, not wounded, shoulder. If Joe wanted this thing for food, would he be able to bring himself to do it?

-to Compound of the Caravan

Brady had seen his uncle lost to a farming accident when Brady was quite young. He stood over the man as he bled from his wounds, the life slowly slipping out of him. Brady had stood uselessly then, as he did today, until Benson came running over and tried to save the uncle moments before he died, simply comforting him in his final moments. For a minute there, Brady thought Joe would go the same way, and he responded like he had then. His mind was a jumble. Brady was the tough guy until things got fucked up.

He was relieved when Joe rose to his feet, not in fact dead, and kicked back into gear to help limp the old man back home.

---> Industrial park

Tom let out a sigh of relief when Joe got up and started talking. He didn't want to have to think about what they would have had to do if Joe stayed down. With the relief came a slight steadying of the hands, and he could feel his heart start to slow back to normal. His gut was still jumping about but that had as much to do with diet as what just happened. Making sure he had everything they had brought he positioned himself in the middle, in case they ran into anymore trouble it'd be easier to help if it came from the front or back.

--->To compound