In reply to Dominic Dubreton (msg # 47):

Luke was sure anyone listening could hear his heart pounding through his ribcage as the two survivors carefully approached the sound that they had heard. If Luke had been alone there was the potential he would have ran out of the place, just to play it safe. But with Dominic he knew better, but stayed close, machete aloft in one hand, while keen to avoid any wayward swipe of the sword that his companion carried. His dirty but designer boots stuck briefly to the dried, goopy floors of the department much like Dominic's preceding him, letting the other man take the lead while he tried to suck in his breath.

The relief on the younger man when they found their culprit was palpable, even more so when Dominic let the rat live. "Cute lil bugger, eh?" He commented, his disposition shifting suddenly to one of cheeriness, his eyes brows lifting, his mustache almost following suit. "I had a pet rat once upon a time. Super smart. On a sinking ship they say to always follow the rats." Sliding his machete into the scabbard harnessed to his right leg, the millennial took to the shelves, eyes narrowing as he tried to make out the dusty labels as he very choosily went through the collection to find his proper vintage/s.

"Oh ah its alright I guess.. Well as good as anyone can expect. Real hungry all the time, but I was like that even before things changed. I'm just glad we haven't really lost anyone since, well, since that lady from your crew, Aishe." He replied casually, his back to Dominic as he tossed one bottle back onto the shelf to grab another. Soon he was collecting some of the items into his bag; wax for himself, shampoo for the ladies (and the fashionable men, for Zombieland anyway). "Things sometimes get a bit much back at the compound. Janice gets everyone all wound up, and people are worried about big H up on watch all the time. When people start to isolate themselves within the group it could mean trouble. Saito was mentioning that Hector wouldn't trade off of watch duty with him yesterday even when he insisted." Luke gave a shrug as he continued his search, moving up the aisle a bit further, his shoes making that sticky sound on the ground as he did so. "People just need to lighten up. If we found an electric keyboard I could show everyone my skills. I was in a band before. We were 'dece."
This message was last edited by the player at 03:33, Mon 18 May 2015.

Sam seemed displeased with Bill's replied, making a 'tsk' sound as he shook his head feigning disappointment. "What happened to you, geezer? You used to be so jolly. Staggerin around the Fort, tripping over yourself and your words. A real piece of work." The bearded Southerner chuckled to himself then, glancing to the chained door where the undead were desperately clawing from the inside to try and get at the sweet human voices outside. "Then again, you were our piece of work, now ya belong to Cookie Jar and her Temperance League." Sam might've been taking a stab at being sentimental as he looked back towards the former Sheriff.

The large man stepped away from the bar door as if to heed Bill's warning. Then, on the turn of a heel, Sam's body shifted and he gave a solid booted kick to the lower end of the door, giving it a terrible rattle and eliciting greater noise from within the building. It would seem that even more of the undead were focusing upon that entryway then.

"Oops, I slipped." Sam commented dryly before descending the steps to the street, rejoining Bill, seeming to pay no mind to the bar anymore. "How about we head to the old Sheriff's Office, chief? MIght be we find some ammo, guns, cuffs, maybe a lil outfit for you to wear and play make believe." Sam teased the older man, always walking that line between ribbing and insulting.

Leading the more timid raider along down the street, the bar was left alone, though the undead continued to try and follow them long after they had gone beyond an audible distance.

Once Sam and Bill were out of sight, the angst of the living dead seemed to become even more remorseful, ever more agitated, the only signs of actual life that the creatures had heard and smelt slowly dissipating before their rotting, primitive senses. The large amount of undead 'pub-goers' concentrated on that chained front door, where the survivors had attracted their focus. Over the next while, the battering continued.
While the door was securely chained as to prevent conventional access or exit, the same could not be said for the rusted door hinges, that, while heavy, were no match to restless, relentless siege.

And then the door finally gave. Creaking and snapping, the hinges gave way and timber splintered out onto the porch and street. The heavy door fell down flat, bringing with it an overflow of walkers in various states of decay and a variety of demographics befitting the US of A. Heavy breathing and groans began to bring life to the main street, decimated by economics, weather, and now the scourge of the dead. At a loss of where to find their new friends, the herd of walkers began to file into every direction, groping across the landscape.

*Note: you may encounter greater levels of undead activity at this time.
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:50, Mon 18 May 2015.

Sarah was glad Ricky was there, if he hadn't she'd be... well she didn't want to think on that too much. "Thanks Ricky" she said to him but not while looking at him. Rather her attention was on the make shift tunnel where the undead crawled out from. Looking into the darkness she found something. It would seem that there were a pack of large batteries and a flash light.

Also, there appeared to be several cans of nuts and some bags of beef jerky, of which may or may not have been expired. "Oh wow, I guess it wasn't a total loss! Makes sense why this stuff was around huh?" she said kneeling down and picking up the snacks with both hands. In total there were 4 small jars of peanuts and 6 bags of beef jerky. She loaded the very large cart and smiled big "Ok, lets go to the other aisle's and see if we can't find soil and perhaps seeds. I doubt there will be seeds, but who knows."

With that she wheeled the large cart, of which had a small semi-broken wheel, out of that aisle and pursued the Outdoors section.

Having gathered as many of the edible or otherwise useful findings into boxes, Lorenzo was feeling pretty pleased with himself. Teamwork and cooperation was still something he was trying to adapt to in a healthy matter, and given the stolen supplies in his bag it could be going better, but he was trying. He stacked the boxes up to under his chin and made three more trips in this fashion until all the boxes were settled outside of the store. He'd leave it to the big brains on what was useful enough to take but he thought he did an alright job of it.

It was on the third and final trip outside that Lorenzo met him. As he tried to step out of the convenience store's door he found himself uncomfortably close to a stranger who was undoubtedly dead. Lorenzo's eyes went wide and a loud swear bubbled up in his throat and stayed there. Instead of shouting, he took a deep breath and slowly lowered the final box without breaking his eyes from the rotten figure before him. Yelling would just make it notice him. The stench was something out of this world, but something he was used to.

Once the box was settled securely to the ground, Lorenzo wasted no time. He took a quick step toward the dead man, one the dead heard and turned to investigate. However it was too late for the squishy creature, and after several violent hacks the top of the man's head was on the ground. Lorenzo glanced around the street, seeing the bar door open and several more of the creatures milling about.

Upon seeing this new development most people would have gravitated toward one of the group's impromptu leaders. Not Lorenzo. He'd told himself he'd keep an eye on Sarah if things got messy, and it looked like they were going to. Wiping the gore from his cheek (or just smearing it), he quickly made his way to the gardening store with his knife in hand. He stumbled in through the broken window walked down through the aisles, looking for the others.

Once he found them the apprehension was dutifully wiped from his face, replaced with a deceivingly relaxed appearance. He approached Sarah who was wheeling a rather squeaky cart and spoke up. "How we doing in here? Almost done?" he asked with a terse smile. The words came out a lot faster than intended, and he glanced over his shoulder, half expecting to see one of those dead things trailing behind them.

“I never really had a pet, spent too much time going back and forth between here and Rouen to really look after one, though my sister...sorry, Half-sister had a rabbit” and said in a tone of voice that hinted that he’d had a better relationship with the rabbit than her.
Keeping a look out for any sign of lurking Zeds or “cute” little rats as the case may be Cute! The damn thing was huge! Dom listened as Luke spoke; completely ignoring the part where he said he was hungry. They were all hungry hence why they were all in this back water town scavenging for scraps.
As Luke moved on to his other issues he wasn’t surprised to find Janice in amongst them “She’s always been a pain in the ass, why no one has beaten her to death yet is a mystery to me...It might be time to put her in her place especially with food as low as it is” if I am going to inherit the caravans leadership the least I can do is put an end to her sponging if not her tongue, let’s see how quick she is to bad mouth the rest of us when she’s out on a raid.
When his concern over Hector was brought to light Dominic couldn’t help but be surprised. He’d known that Aishe’s death had hit him hard and that he’d spent a lot of time on sentry duty but he hadn’t realised exactly how much time he spent up there “There’s not a lot we can do other than keep an eye on him...it’s not like we have a shrink or anything within the group...the closest we’ve got is a barman and a priest” and that’s assuming of course that he could get Hector to talk to either of them.  The good old days where a judge could make him see a psychiatrist or section him were long gone, all they could do was keep an eye on him and hope that he didn’t lose it completely.
Somewhere outside Dominic could just about hear the sound of a crash causing him to momentarily glance towards the shops front door before shrugging it off as nothing to worry about. Just one of the group kicking down a locked door, he just hoped that it wasn’t the Cowboy trying to get into that Zed infested bar again “Well if you’re done here Father Mortimer asked if I could keep an eye open for some Bibles so I’d like to check out the church at the end of the road, If we’re lucky it might also have the leftovers of a can drive or something  we can use” he said hoping that that would be the case. Sppiritual guidance was all well and good but it didn't put food on tables.
Once Luke had finished Dom made his way out of the store and back into the street his eyes instantly falling upon the mob of undead milling around in front of the open bar doors causing him to simply give his head an incredulous shake as he muttered "oh for the love of god, who let them out!"

Surprise stew, anyone. Hank murmured tossing his bag on the counter and dropping the two cans in. He knew dog foods were damn near people quality, the only thing giving it away the labeling. Pausing he considered that, pulling them out and ripping the labels off and tossing them back under the counter along with all the other now useless papers needed to run the store. He thought heard one of the other two call out, but figured if they ran into anything they couldn't handle they would make a lot more noise.

At the sound of cracking and sliding glass near the window they had come in through his hand went for the crowbar, grip relaxing when he saw it was only Lorenzo. Letting out a sigh of relief he turned to the window behind him, wondering if the others were done with their searches also. The sight of what had no doubt been the contents of the bar roaming free froze him. Shit. Quickly zipping his bag he grabbed his stuff and headed to the back of the store, any thought of looking for supplies gone. We've got a slight problem. His tone suggested it was anything but. I'd ah, leave that for now. He added, sliding his bag back over his shoulders.

Sarah picks up 4 bags of soil. Heavy as hell, she puts her weight into it and assists the group getting more items. All in all she was able to find what she needed for gardening and then some. But no seeds.

"Yeah I think we're done here. We can go, we have all the tools and stuff to grow what seeds I have. Maybe we can find other things in the wild and take seeds from them." Sarah said, clearly finished for what she came for.

With new found resolve, Benson Bohannon was determined to find the keys to the cop car and see if it had a snowball's chance in Hell on running. It would be great if they could haul their loot back home in it. Bohannon started with the first most logical place; the Sheriff's pants. Bohannon patted down the cops pockets just a many cops had patted down his when he was a teenager.

Unfortunately, all that was in the guy's pockets was some old family photo and a wad of paper that was probably a suicide note.

The cowboy next moved to the drawers. The secretary's desk yielded the usual office crap, nothing helpful there. The Sheriff's office was pretty bare. The gun rack was just a couple of hooks on the wall. And the desk and file cabinets were just more of the same. Paper clips and highlighter pens. Old case files and folders littered the floor of the place like fallen autumn leaves.

Bohannon searched the bottoms and backs of drawers looking for some emergency stash of bullets or booze. If someone ever ended up snooping through Benson's office back at the farm, they'd be in for a sweet payload. The back of the left hand desk drawer was home to the blue collar Bourbon. The underside of the middle drawer was home to the Detective Special. He hadn't grabbed either during the evacuation. Damn shame. But it seemed the Sheriff wasn't of the same mindset. Or someone beat Bohannon to it. Whichever was the case, this place was a dud. It wasn't until the cowboy was on his way out that he saw the secretary's key cabinet. A firmly planted boot dislodged the door. There were two sets of Ford keys and a bunch of other keys to things that didn't matter any more. Bingo he thought to himself as he headed to the door.

Ricky had been helping Sarah fill the cart when Lorenzo and Hank arrived. He could tell by their body language that something was up and Hank's mention of a "slight problem" could only mean one thing, zed. "How many?" The question was semi-rhetorical as he took a few steps to the front of the store. As he got closer, he could see most of the town roaming the streets, shuffling their feet and aimlessly patrolling. *Well that's . . . bad. But not impossible.* He backed away slowly, looking back at the cart and the rest of the group, sizing up their chances of getting the cart and supplies out. " . . . We've got a good haul here, really don't want to leave it behind. I don't know if the others have noticed the ghouls yet but those things haven't noticed us . . . So, we have that. Don't want to do anything rash yet that could endanger the rest of the group. I say two of us bring the cart near the front, slowly, maybe lift the squeaky wheel side a bit so it doesn't squeak. The other two can finish looking around here for seeds and anything else we need, maybe find another way out. We meet back at the front in five minutes, see what the others do? We have to play this one by ear; don't want to attract the dead's attention, but if the others get in trouble we need to move." He pulled off the pack from his back, digging through for the small crowbar within. He handed it to Sarah, assuming she would be one of the two wheeling the cart to the front. "If shit hits the fan, use this to break through the front door and get that cart back to the others." He turned to Lorenzo and Hank. "Who's helping her in the front and who's going with me to look through the rest of the store?"

Flashback - FEMA Shelter, Nashville Tennesee - Three months after the fall of Atlanta

FEMA set up shop in Nashville and several other cities after the fall of Atlanta. And so did the Bohannon boys. Benson Bohannon sat at a table near the centre of the football stadium that housed the refugees. Tents and some campers sat in rows filling the immense building. Brady stood at his right hand. A man was seated across from them, he was regular trailer trash. White tank and everything. "You got my stuff Charlie?" He asked demandingly. "Well..." The man was nervous. "There's a problem." Charlie didn't want to tell Bohannon. "Tucker's boys undercut us. They took the score. We got away with less than half of what we were promised."

Benson picked dirt out from under his fingernails with a knife while the other man told his tale. "Son of a bitch. We're gonna have to make a move against Tucker then, Ain't we?" He said, plunging the knife into the wood of the table.

Present Day - Slaughter Louisianna

Bohannon cowered behind the cop car as far too many zeds shuffled by. He couldn't figure out whether to clutch his gun or his machete for comfort, each one being equally as ineffective.The dead must have caught his scent or something because a group moved in his direction. Bohannon had to move, and now. He stood, brandishing the machete instead of his gun, (a move cookie would be proud to see.) Overwhelmed, Bohannon went for the only place he could reach. He shoved the key into the cop car's lock. It turned thank God. The cowboy pulled open the door, dove inside and slammed it shut behind him. The hands of the dead scrapped and pounded against the windows on all sides. Bohannon was screwed...

As the Zeds shambled around in front of the bar, Dominic tried to figure out if there was a way around them. There were far too many for him and Luke to deal with by themselves and he really didn’t want to expend the energy in doing so. It was just as he was about to suggest they cut down the side of the shop they’d just left and head for the hardware stores back door that he noticed a figure moving around in front of the sheriff’s office; the lone figure diving into the old police car upon realising that he’d been spotted by the mob of hungry zeds.
With no one else in sight it quickly became apparent that if they didn’t do something to help whoever it was trapped within the car then no one would or at least not in time to stop whoever it was from being dragged out and torn limb from limb. Drawing the gun from his belt Dom takes aim at one of the Zeds hoping that the noise would draw them away from the car before swearing loudly and stuffing the weapon back into its holster. At best he had half a magazine left in his trusty Berretta and he didn’t want to waste a round using it as a glorified noise maker “We’ve got to draw some of those Zeds away from that car...Luke when they start heading our way if it’s more than we can handle, we run got it?” with any luck they’d be able to lose them by cutting through a house or something and then circle back and rejoin the others who by then should be aware of the situation.
Placing his fingers between his lips Dominic gives a single high pitched whistle. If it didn’t draw the Zeds attention away from the car then at least it should draw the attention of the rest of the group so that they could come and assist...or at least that was how theory went.

In reply to Ricky Robes (msg # 60):



"I got the front, boss!" Lorenzo chirps with a cheesy smile, however his finger is drumming nervously, or restlessly, against the hilt of his machete. He was glad Ricky was here, because the guy was a lot more even tempered than him and had plans beyond just trying to smash their way through things. Lorenzo definitely was more of a point and I'll do it kind of guy. "There's a couple of boxes in front of the station too, I figured we could all help carry them back, or wheel them... Or some shit. But that's going to be annoying with those dead guys fuckin' around."

He turns to Sarah and grins again, motioning for her to scoot aside so he could assist with the whole squeaky wheel situation. "Whenever you're ready, lady. I'll make sure your hands don't get dirty," he postured, appearing to be pretty excited with this new development. His dark eyes dart toward the front of the store and his grin widens, however this time it seems to be carrying a hint of malice.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:50, Sat 30 May 2015.

Bohannon crawled through the small sliding portion of the cop car's prisoner cage, closing it behind him. Surely this would be the most secure part of the car. Police cars had bullet-proof windows, right? Zombies pounded on the car's windows by the dozen, all trying their damnedest to break through. Bohannon pulled his colt from the holster; three rounds. Only enough to shoot himself if they did manage to get in. The cowboy cussed loudly at his circumstance, hoping against hope that someone had seen him climb in here, and that they would be kind enough to try to rescue him...

In reply to Dominic Dubreton (msg # 62):

Luke hung close to Dominic when they ran into the company of walkers trolling through the streets, his hand clutching his machete handle until his knuckles were white, anxiety playing out on his mustached face. He could fight, but wasn't one that would leap into pitched battle with a tremendous amount of confidence. If the doc hadn't been there he would have ran already.

Seeing one of their own seek refuge within an old cop car's cage, Luke gave an affirmative nod in response to Dominic's order. "Fuck! Okay!"Despite his shaky commitment, he knew they couldn't just leave someone behind.
Dominic's whistle seemed to draw attention towards them, while some of the biters still pounded upon the police car. Half-measures aside, he prepared his swinging arm and distanced himself just enough from Dominic so as to avoid getting sliced on a backstroke. The first walker to approach him was a dried out female corpse, light brown tanned from the Southern sun, throat long and thin and parched. The eyes were sunken in to the point of being nothing but a skeletal frame, and Luke almost hesitated when it came close, arms outstretched. Forgetting the proper method at first, he instinctively struck out his machete at the arms, slicing one hand off, sending it a couple meters back when he pulled his weapon back a second time. This time his machete blade found purchase in the walker's forehead, causing it to go instantly limp. Having been in this particular circumstance before, he was quick to prop his heel against the sinking body, wringing his machete free, particulate and larger pieces of bone sprinkling his face and clothes as he did so.

-near Dominic and Luke
-in reply to Benson

Sam had led Bill along through the town feeling more like a babysitter than anything, but at least he was with a fellow Southern son and not one of the limp-wristed Northerners. As for Dominic, the man could swing a sword, even if it wasn't his in origin, despite being from the land of cheese-eating surrender monkeys. The big, broad shouldered survivor knew how to loot, and knew from almost first glance when a place was picked clean of of the good stuff. Sure they might find a couple cans, but Sam had always been an outdoorsman, and when alone in Zombieland had fished or hunted to find his protein, while others kept on trying Mickey D's to see if the freezers still worked. Amateurs.

When walkers began filing into the streets, he showed no expression that he knew if he'd been the one to motivate their entrance from the pub. Rather he quietly and quickly grabbed Bill by the scruff of the shoulder of his shirt and man-handled him into a tiny side alley while the biters walked by. Holding a finger to his lips to indicate silence, the bearded Sam waited for the group to pass before looking to Bill.

"Much obliged for the cooperation, old timer. I thought your ears might not hear what they used to, was easier to move ya then tell ya." He gave a grizzled grin, seemingly more curious about the sudden presence of walkers than disturbed. "Wonder where they're off to in such a hurry.." Stepping away from Bill, Sam peeped around the corner of the building, watching the undead join a gathering down the road that were assaulting yet-to-be-surrounded Dominic and Luke, while also amalgamating around a police car. The way it was positioned, Sam could see that the other grizzled member of their entourage was inside; Bohannon.

"C'mon and make yerself useful, old timer." Sam half-ordered, half-suggested to his elder companion before moving out of the alley and striding towards the rear of the group of walkers. Dominic and Luke would see him and Bill coming along.

With half the walkers splitting towards Dom and Luke, Sam and Bill moved in on those at the police car. Once within range Sam was quick and to the point. Using the spikey end of his viking fireaxe, he swung down into the top of the skull of the first biter, a formerly-large fella in a faded plaid shirt. The impact caused goo and blood to fire from the creature's ears, nearly collapsing the entire head. Lifting the axe, it fell to the ground, and Sam stepped forward into the fray.

Lifting one boot, he propelled a female biter backwards into a couple of others, sending the group temporarily to the ground before he swung his axe sideways, decapitating another biter who'd now noticed his presence, the head bouncing across the hood of the police car. "Howdy Bo!"  Sam yelled with a smile unsuitable to the situation.

Upon hearing his shrill whistle the dead turned and slowly began shambling towards him leaving only half of their number to continue clawing at the car’s windshield. As Luke stepped forward to deal with the first of the dead to reach them Dom moved to engage the next and with a move that would have made D’Artagnan proud removed its head with a single blow that sent it pin wheeling away into the approaching mob.
With ammunition growing increasingly scarce Dominic had quickly learnt how to use the cavalry sabre he’d inherited. He wouldn’t be winning any duels anytime soon but he was now competent enough not to maim the person next to him. Also ever since his little piece of surgery within the woods the blade had been religiously sharpened every night by the former paramedic until it was razor sharp.
 Side stepping the freshly decapitated body as it fell towards him he thrust the blade out to spear the skull of another; its eyes rolling up to stare stupidly at the sword in its forehead before it too collapsed like a ragdoll.

Beyond the approaching mob Dominic watched as Sam and Bill appeared from out of an alley; the large southerner carving his way through the Zeds surrounding the police car with his fire axe. Bon, now with any luck whoever is trapped in there can escape! Dominic thought to himself; removing the grasping fingers of the zed to his left as it tried to grab his jacket's sleeve.
Keeping half an eye on the police car and its occupant Dominic started to back away from the approaching zeds knowing all too well how much danger he and Luke were in of being surrounded by them “Back it up Luke, let them come to us and watch they don’t surround you” he said calmly before spearing the fingerless zed between the eyes.  The last thing he wanted was for him and Luke to become the next people to require saving.

Sarah looks towards the front door and starts wheeling her wagon behind her as she approaches it. Waiting for a good moment to open the front, she pushes it open carefully and quietly, pulling the squeaky wagon through it. "Ok, Lorenzo. Feel free to kill at will. Just don't get killed yourself."

As they move along the front of the store three zombies approach. Slow and lethargic. Sarah drops the puller of the wagon and picks up her heavy pipe. With a smash she destroys one of them on the left in the head. Bits of bones and a lot of blood fly out everywhere "To bad we can't use these guys for fertilizer!" she shouts jokingly.

In reply to Sarah Mills (msg # 68):

"Ah! Y-yeah!" Lorenzo stammered out in reply, his face the perfect picture of shock. He hadn't expected Sarah to put the first ghoul down so efficiently, let alone joke about it. In his old crew the girls hadn't really been much use in a fight, and the guys had only kept them around for one reason... His surprised expression quickly melts into a broad, toothy grin and he lets out an approving hoot as Sarah's target keels over on the ground.

The cocky smirk never leaves Lorenzo's face as he circles around his own target brandishing his machete, his dark eyebrows furrowed as he prepares to attack. It wasn't as precise as Sarah's attack, but what he lacks in accuracy he makes up for in pure viciousness. He drives the machete deep into the creature's skull with several violent, rapid hacks, causing himself to stumble to the side slightly from the weight he was putting into the movement.

During this time the last remaining walker had bumbled uncomfortably close, and Lorenzo lets out a startled shout as he tries to maneuver away from it, not having enough time to position himself to attack.

In reply to Lorenzo (msg # 69):

"Watch out!" Sarah yelled to Lorenzo. With a swing that can only be compared to a baseball batter, she smashed the zombie bound for him in the back of the knee. A loud crack could be heard that sounded like unreparable bone being smashed. The zombie fell to its knees. Sarah lifted the pipe around, its weight still a bit too heavy for her, and came down hard on the beasts head. Bits of bone and dead brain flew several directions.

Sarah smiled at Lorenzo "Really? You're going to let it sneak up on you like that?" she joked. She put her pipe back in the wagon and continued to walk and talk with Lorenzo.

In reply to Sarah Mills (msg # 70):

"It was under control!" Lorenzo insists, letting out a soft scoff. He throws Sarah a thankful smile regardless, which was probably as close as the stocky man would ever get to directly thanking someone. He lifts his arm to deliver a firm high-five and his grin widens. "Teamwork, pichoncita!" His tone is teasing, but it's assumed whatever pichoncita means can't be bad.

As the pair continue down the street, with Lorenzo darting slightly ahead to deal with any oncoming ghouls, the man abruptly freezes with his gaze locked onto the commotion by the car. He emits a harsh, barking laugh at the sight of the cowboy trapped within. It wasn't so much he was happy to see Benson trapped as it was him not having the capacity to express himself beyond shouting or teasing.

"Poor bastard!" he exclaims to Sarah, making an animated gesture toward the ongoing scuffle, almost jumping up and down as he pointed. "Come, come! If we don't help there will be no one left to help carry all the boxes!" he proclaimed dramatically.

He began to stride down the street, spreading out his arms briefly as if to implore the ghouls to target him rather than those currently fighting. "Come now, you chickenshits! Come to me!" he called to the creatures.

A handful of the creatures notice the noise he is creating and break off from their journey to Dom and Luke in order to target him instead. It's a help, but the current fighters aren't in the clear yet.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:26, Thu 04 June 2015.

Hank watched the other two head off. Looks like we're on supplies. Too bad we don't have any fireworks or something, draw them away from town. Turning to Ricky he had a thought. If we can't find soil or it's too much of a hassle what about just grabbing some shovels? We could dig outside the compound and increase our weapon supply. He shrugged, Your call, but we'd be able to make better time if we had to run. More likely when, but some things didn't need to be said out loud.

"Don't know how many tools we'll actually find, but it's worth a shot." Ricky replied as he glanced around the aisle they were currently in. "This place has only been lightly looted but someone has definitely been through here. You go ahead and try to find some tools; shovels, axes, hatchets, anything useful that's left. I'll look for the seeds and maybe an emergency exit . . . Oh, there's an interior lighting aisle a few rows down. You might be able to find some extra electrical wire there or just scavenge some from the lights." With a nod, he was off to the opposite side of the store.

The back of the store was definitely still dark, but Ricky's eyes had begun to adjust slightly. He was on high alert, his heart thumped in his chest like a drum, his hatchet was in hand ready to strike, and his eyes darted around, scanning his surroundings for any hint of movement. His own soft footsteps were the only noise he could hear nearby so that seemed to settle him slightly. He took a few steady breaths as he scanned the nearby aisles. *Nothing. Not what I need. More nothing. Paint. Fuck, c'mon.* After a few more aisles, Ricky finally hit the end of the line. He found an emergency exit door, the kind with a warning sign about alarms blaring upon opening the door. He needed the light but he hesitated, not sure if the alarm would still sound. *It shouldn't sound, right? I mean it has been almost a year since the power was cut, maybe six months in the least . . . Fuck it.* He pushed the door open, almost going blind for a second as light flooded the nearby area.

Bill, having shorter legs than Sam's, followed a few paces behind. His red-headed fire axe swung from side to side like his shoulders. Sam made it to the Sheriff's car as Bill was waylaid by the approaching walkers. He stood his ground.

This was the first time Bill had faced off against this many monsters since the incident in the woods, and the very first encounter Bill had without his Lauderdale County Sheriff's department pistol. During the winter, the last of the ammo had been used, and Bill left it behind to lighten his load. This fire axe he had found at the industrial camp would serve as its replacement.

Swinging the axe through the crowd of walkers, Bill got used to it. On the first strike, he could incapacitate them. Then, he could pull the axe out from wherever it landed and finish them off with a blow to the head, splitting their rotten skulls like a Halloween pumpkin. Bill noticed what Sam was doing, and tried to copy that, with relative success.
He cut down three or four more before joining Sam behind the cruiser. He only noticed Benson in the Sheriff's car when Sam said hello. "Hells Bells! Where did they come from? Hello Benson!" He waved to the cowboy, and look at Sam "It was clear a minute ago!"

Bill's eyes fixed on the scene in front of them. The Sherriff's department had a pretty good view of the main intersection the group had split from. Only a few of the Caravaneers were visible, and Bill wondered if they would all get out of this together.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:57, Sat 06 June 2015.

"Damn it." The door didn't budge.
Gary looked confused at the door that was probably an office but also maybe a broom closet. He heard the sound of the store's front door opening, Lorenzo leaving. Gary stepped away from the door to follow, but paused. His curiosity got the better of him.

Gary charged the door, even lifting off the ground a little. The door burst open, knocking over a metal filing cabinet with a loud smash. Gary fell on the floor, but was glad he got the door open. He knew right away it was an office, but at his angle on the floor, the sunlight coming in from the blind covered windows washed out much of the details.

Gary stood up as his eyes once again adjusted to the dark room. He looked around, avoiding the filing cabinet on the floor. There were the expected office furnishings, shelves, what have you. Gary saw a desk in the middle of the room, and as his eyes reached the correct dilation to account for the dim light, he saw a body of a man slouched in the desk chair. There was a hole on the side of his head, a small one on one side and a very big one on the other side where the bullet came out. The gun, a small black handgun, was in the man's hands.

There were no rations in the room. Gary was a lawyer, not a forensic whatever, so he couldn't tell how long the man had been dead for, but it didn't look fresh. The guy thought he'd be safe in here. He was, for the most part. Gary looked around the room. He saw pictures. A woman, some kids. Probably his family. Gary wondered if they were alive somewhere. Gary thought of his own kids. His wife. He wondered about them too.
Gary looked around the office. On the wall behind the dead man, there was a signed photo of him and a former President. It read "To my pal Gary- always keep your eye on the prize - B"


"Jesus." He looked down at the dead man named Gary. Without thinking he grabbed the gun from the cold hands of the former convenience store manager, stuffed it in the back of his pants like people did in movies, and walked quickly out of the office, then quickly out of the store.

Once out on the street, Gary saw the walkers approaching. Not knowing the ammo situation of the gun he just picked up, Gary grabbed the window washer from the window washing bucket outside the convenience store, the best weapon he could find, and made his way down the street with the few items he had grabbed, looking for his group members.