All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king

^{- J.R.R. Tolkien}


Five hours has gone by since Cookie departed from the Caravan. She has made her way across the Mississippi river and finds herself in once prime farmland, now turned barren and overgrown with weeds. Farmsteads dot the horizon as far as the eye can see.

Surely one of these places has a working vehicle...


This message was last edited by the GM at 01:15, Tue 26 May 2015.

Cookie eyed the old Chevy with a thoughtful look, then looked all-round again in the manner of professional zombie-killer.  Yep, a straggler in a filthy print dress was limping along towards her, black goo oozing from a rotten face.  She squared up and let fly with the bat, then whacked it a few more times for good measure.  Her biceps were straining the limits of her pink "Jersey Girls Do NOT pump gas !" princess t-shirt.  It was time to do laundry, too.

She'd seen a dog; some kind of collie cross, watching her, twice now.  It wasn't starving, so either it was eating the undead, or someone was feeding it.  People, she hadn't seen any.  Live ones, anyhow.

The Chevy MIGHT do, if she could find some gas for it, maybe in the barn over there.  If it was a standard transmission, all she needed was a hill and enough time on the road to charge the battery as it ran, BUT....once again, the all-round.  Another pair, lurching out of the tall grass, one missing an arm, the other dripping with rotten guts half out of a "No Fat Chicks" shirt.  With a smile, Cookie lifted the bat again.  She was enjoying smashing them too much, it couldn't be good.....

Now it was definitely time to do laundry.  Battering the undead to dead had sent stains of unspeakable greens and black across her last clean shirt, so she grimly wiped off her bat and looked around for a source of water.  A farm this old might have a hand-pump or well.  She wasn't about to use her precious drinking water for cleaning clothes, but there were certain standards to maintain.

Another rustling in the tall grass.  Her head whipped up and her eyes narrowed, the bat already swung up over her shoulder.

Cookie waited, bat at the ready, but whatever it was decided not to show itself.  She'd have to be very careful in her approach to the truck.  It would be easy to get trapped by it, unable to run due to the thick grass.  She eyed the barn again, and quietly moved that way, to have a look inside - but not after again and again checking all round, to see what might be lurching along.

As Cookie cautiously crept through the farm yard towards the old red barn, motion would once more catch her ever vigilant eye. A blue and white plaid drape was thrown open and suddenly closed in a window in the front of the farm house. The house was old and neglected, looming high over the yard This house had one of those sprawling wrap-around porches, outfitted with benches, porch swings and an old heirloom rocking chair. A tiny picnic table sat in the centre of the yard.

The yard was framed with a barbed wire fence, now with extra barbed wire entwined within it, making for a sturdy if not formidable defence against the wandering deceased.

Cookie didn't only freeze, but ducked, to make herself less of a target.  She whistled softly, eyeing the waving grass, then whipping her head back towards the house.  "Hey," she called, softly, once there was no sign of undead. "Anyone there ?"  And again, the all-round.  Who knew what kind of people could be found here; the ones she'd seen lately were even less human than the undead.

She was also aware of being alone, making it difficult to attack anyone; and that her supplies were dwindling.  It would be time to head back to the last place she left the Caravan, find out if they'd moved on, and head along into whatever might else be out there....but a vehicle would be NICE, she was a Jersey girl and walking wasn't something they did if there wasn't a boardwalk or a mall involved.

Cookie eyed the fortified barbed wire; not really enough to slow down a pack of undead much, but it showed that a human had been trying to improve defenses.  She considered this, then looked all round again; it was quiet, apart from some kind of birds chirping off somewhere, which said that a horde wasn't moving nearby.  The local wildlife avoided them too.  She opted for caution, and approached the house slowly, pausing for an all-rounder again and again, then called again to the house, softly, "Hey, anybody alive in there ?"  Without a reply, she moved softly to the door, and sidled off to the side of the door before making a gentle rap on the door, her other hand holding the bat.  There were only so many bullets left in the world that fit the Glock, after all.

A heavy interior door popped open, followed immediately by the thin screen door. "Well good evenin' there darlin'!!" An old lady burst from the old house and stood welcomingly on the old porch. A waft of warm air followed the woman, redolent of cooking meat, beans and chilli spices. "Sweetie, you look absolutely famished! Won't ya come in and wash up, join us for dinner? Awe, it would really make our day!" The woman stepped back inside, not pausing to see if the knocking woman would follow. "It's just me and Robbie around here these days." The woman said as she passed a boy seated at the dinner table, around the age of eleven, from the looks of it. "He don't say much no more. Not since he lost his momma." The woman's voice carried outside with the smell of food. "Now he's got his Gran, ain't'cha baby?" Grandma messed his hair and turned towards the door. "Please! Come on in, make yerself at home! Chilli's ready in ten."

The interior of the house was cozy and warm. The large kitchen was off to the left of the front door, and a small sitting room looked out the picture window to the right. A set of stairs loomed in the centre of the house, one leading up, one leading down. the decor was folksy and quaint. Quilts hung over the back of every couch. Hand carved wooden animals sat on shelves beside antiques. A bear's head hung directly above the front door.

Sitting at an oval shaped oak table, Robbie looked over to the open door. There was a place setting in front of him, a bowl on a saucer, and a place setting next to him. He watched Grandma walking around the kitchen of the small old house. The boy appeared to be about ten or eleven years old. He was thin, as most people were nowadays.

Robbie turned his head to look outside the open door. His big brown eyes fixed upon Cookie standing outside. He didn't smile, and remained mostly expressionless, but when he saw her, his face relaxed a little form its state of constant sorrow. Now he just looked hungry. He looked back at Grandma, breathing in the smell of the cooking food on the stove.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:12, Mon 29 June 2015.

In reply to Robbie (msg # 9):

Cookie looked around, feeling as if she'd stepped into either a time warp or an overdone Cracker Barrel gift shop.  The eyes flickered around, noting everything, then settled on the boy. Children didn't last long these days.
But there was something very unnatural about this place, and she didn't relax her guard as she warily stepped into the room.  Where the hell did they get meat ?  "Thanks, very kind of you," she said, looking at the woman with a flicker of a smile.  She whipped the gaze all round again, seeking the trap, the flaw in the picture that would tell her what was wrong, but it was hardly different from her normal caution.  "Smells good," she said, trying to inject some warmth into her tone, as if she bought the ruse, and gave the sunny 'tip me lots and lots' smile.  Then she offered up, "Hi, Robbie...my name's Cookie."

Robbie's gaze followed Cookie into the small house. He watched her pale white face and heard her New Jersey voice, and gave a slight nod in acknowledgement of her name. This lady seemed nice, but it was hard to tell nowadays.

The young boy withdrew his gaze as Cookie came closer to him. Robbie looked shyly at the empty bowl in front of him before looking back up at Grandma and the big pot of chilli cooking on the old stove. The rumbling of his stomach was audible to everyone.

Cookie wasn't ready to relax, but she could fake it.  "That smells delicious," she said to the woman, carrying on with the 'tip me lots' smile, tone light and pleasant insofar as a Jerseyite could manage.  The hazel eyes whipped over to Robbie as she heard the sound; it was just the hyperalertness that came from surviving in the Land of the Dead.  "I saw a dog around here, would it be your dog ?  Some kind of Collie ?" 

"The Collie? Oh, yes. That's Maggie." Gran replied as she taste-tested the chilli. smacking her lips and adjusting the spice ever so slightly the old woman continued. "Maggie is Edgar's pup. Or rather was Edgar's pup, as it were... But seein' as how Edgar disappeared some four months ago, Maggie's all alone. She and Ed used to live just up the old road a ways. She does alright by herself but when times are tough Maggie ends up on my doorstep, And well, darlin', as you can see, I just ain't got it in my heart to turn away not even a one of God's beautiful creations." She smiled kindly at both Cookie and Robbie.

Grandma tasted the chilli once more, following it with an enthusiastic "Mmm!" "Sweetie, dinner is served!" Gran announced boastfully. The aromatic food was ladled into three glass bowls and brought over all at once, just as a seasoned server would do. Gran sat across the table from Cookie, laid a napkin across her lap and dug right in.

Cookie waited a moment, though her mouth was watering.  Was it normal paranoia to be concerned about 1/ the meat source 2/being drugged 3/being the next source of meat ?
But the woman was eating, so the risk was less...maybe.
She eyed Robbie, picking up her spoon.  She had a suspicion about what had happened to Edgar.  Hopefully it wasn't Edgar chili, but, hey, times are tough.  She tasted a spoonful.  "That's fantastic," she said, and she would have said it even if it was old boot leather seasoned with taco sauce.  As it was, the chili was Almost Heaven. "My compliments to the chef !"

"Oh why thank ya darlin', you're ever so kind. Old family recipe. My momma used to cook it for me all the time." She made polite dinner conversation with Cookie while she ate, making a saucy mess of her chin. "So darlin', where you from dear? Is that a Jersey accent I detect on your voice?" Grandma asked as she dabbed her face with the napkin.

The dinner was nice. The air was not to warm, and not too cold. The lighting was soft. And Grandma loved having company over. it made here feel like a human again, being able to share her table with others.

"Yep, that's me," Cookie said with a smile, her horrific North Jersey accent as obvious as her ghetto-fashion sense, black roots with a bleach blonde short cut and way too much eyeliner.  The nail polish was too chipped for it to be polite to mention.   "Just travellin' now, looking around.  This is a nice place."  She could play 'nice table talk' too.  She nodded over at the little kid. "How about you ?" 

Grandma placed a warm, comforting hand on Robbie's shoulder. "Robbie here don't say much, like I said. Not since we lost his mamma. The sickness took 'er, y'see. Durin' the winter..." Grandma rubbed the boy's shoulder consolingly as she spoke of the past.

As the trio ate their way through the chilli supper Grandma had served, the sun had made it's way ever closer to nestling into the trees and disappearing for the night. Grandma wiped the errant chilli sauce off her chin as she stood. "When my girls were little, lot's of time we'd finish a great meal such as this with some nice canned peaches. Would you like that?" The kind old woman asked Cookie, not waiting for an answer. "I canned them m'self, they're perfect!" She exclaimed disappearing behind some shelves in the pantry. She shouted to the table, being mostly out of earshot. "The sun's going down dear! It's gonna be a cold night. I'll make up the guest bedroom for you, you'll stay the night and I simply will not take "no" for an answer." she hollered.

"Run!"

It was the only word the boy had said, and would be the only sound Cookie heard before the frying pan came from seemingly out of nowhere and landed squarely upon the side of her head, knocking her out cold.

Cookie's body hit the floor with a thud and a dust cloud, Grandma looming over her, frying pan in hand, scowl on her face.

Cookie awoke some unknown time later chained up in a dark cinderblock basement "dungeon." Her arms were shackled above her head, the chains hooked to bolts in the beams of the ceiling. Her feet were latched down to the base of the wall, with just enough slack to lift her leg slightly. Grandma sat across a table from Cookie, patiently awaiting her painful waking groans...

Cookie had figured out where the meat came from; it was only sensible.  Now she had to get out of this mess, and for the life of her, there wasn't much she could come up with.  She had no friends left alive, and only the most frail hope that anyone would ever think of her from her old group.  But she knew how to act well enough.  She obliged Grandma with some moans, and even threw in a few sniffles for good measure. "What are you going to do to me ?"  she asked, sounded rough from the enforced rest.  Time to stall - but even Cookie knew better.  This was it; end of the road, and into the frying pan, sad to say.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:26, Sun 04 Oct 2015.

In reply to Cookie (msg # 20):

As she'd expected, death in Zombieland was harsh; it was a bad end, but then, she'd had a rough life.  Trusting someone else had been literally the end of Cookie.  RIP.