In reply to Peter Firecrow (msg # 607):

"Tinsdale is great. He just wants me to be safe. And it is safe here. But I just... I can't stand by and not do anything while this town is in real trouble. These are my friends, my family. This is important, and I want to help!"

In a flash of insight, Peter intuited that the kid impulsively wanted in on the adventure. In fact this was probably why they found him so far from home, across the river. His heart was in the right place, but maybe didn't fully understand the risks and danger.

Marshal's Note: Peter rolled 11 on 1d6 Scrutinize (he rolled an Ace) in trying to decypher his motives.

  Chricton looks him up and down. "Listen I get that. Hell kid a part of me thinks that is great. BUT not only do you have no clue what you are doing you might get yourself killed. So the way I see it you pack up and go back to the quieter life or I take this here Colt and shoot you in the foot. It won't kill ya, but man it's gonna hurt bad and you aren't walking for a couple weeks. While I like ya seen to many good kids like you die for this exact reason. Unless these three all say bring you along you are going home and one day when you have a good reason and a group you know and trust to watch your back you will thank me." he says "I don't care so much about you being safe just not dead. You want to man the walls repulse raiders and drowned zombie voodoo experiments you go on ahead. Problem is we ain't going against that. Something nasty lurks out here. And while I hated the South in the War no one deserves to be done like these folks that are being made into zombies."

Smoker just listened. He'd not chosen to become a scavenger. There just weren't any other options to survive. Not then, anyway. He'd become good at it and so carried on, even when there might have been the chance to stop.

Peter shook his head at Luke but then gave a look to Crichton that was a mixture of surprise and annoyance. "I think that might be a bit harsher than is necessary, but..." He looked at Luke once more, "he is not completely wrong. And while you will deny that we need to watch out for you, we would do so regardless since we do not know you well and you are not as experience as us - which would distract us. And that could cause a problem at a vital time."

He gave a small shrug. "Sorry, but you cannot come with us."

Luke looked disappointed but seeing the posse wasn't backing him up, he looked at Carl. Carl shook his head. "Too dangerous. Some other time, kid." Luke replied, "Okay, I tried. Well, y'all have good luck, now." He pushed off. Starting his electric motor he turned his boat and started back to town. With that out of the way they continued through the swamp towards the northern outskirts of downtown.

Soon they left the swamp surrounding New Baton Rouge and began passing more and more broken buildings, many wreathed in Spanish Moss and covered in graffiti. This part of the city had been abandoned years before the war after a massive earthquake altered the Mississippi to flow through the former downtown. The depth of the water decreased from 30-50 feet to 5-10 feet. But the opaque dark brown water still made it impossible to see the bottom. Slowly they puttered along, moving at barely faster than a walk.

"Watch out!" Smoker shouted suddenly.

"There are hands under the water, attempting to reach up and grab the boat..."

Peter hadn't liked turning Luke away, but he didn't want to be, or at least feel, responsible if the boy got killed during the journey. Hell, he wished a long happy life on the boy! Wasn't like Peter was going to get one, so someone should!

He whirled as Smoke piped up and he crouched down in the boat and got ready for the incoming attack, pulling out his machete.

More dead white hands grabbed onto the pontoons from below. At least a half-dozen pairs, three on each of the two pontoons.

They began to shake the boat back and forth. Having been warned, everyone stayed low and wasn't thrown off into the brown water of the flooded street.

In reply to Peter Firecrow (msg # 614):

Because the water level was relatively low, the bloats standing on the bottom and reaching up could get a good grip and shake the pontoon craft vigorously, even tilt it up a fair ways. But unless they coordinated and took their time the bloats probably wouldn't be able to overturn the boat.

On the deck were a boat hook, two long poles and two paddles.

Moving carefully and staying well away from soggy white hands, Smoker got the boat hook. Hefting it to get an idea of its weight and manoeuverability, he attacked the nearest soggy white hand with the business end.

Peter didn't like this, not one bit. It wasn't a super-dangerous situation, but it certainly wasn't good. It did possibly put to rest one fear/theory he had been percolating, someone controlling the bloats rather than just create-and-release - though, it could be that it was the case but only in certain range or something.

He grabbed one of the paddles and began trying to what the bloat hands and fingers to get them to let go. This was...not a great solution he realized.

The three of them started to bash at the hands holding the pontoons, using whatever was available. Surprisingly, this worked! One by one they either broke the fingers or pried the hands off.

Joe yelled, "I think we're free! Quick! Ya'all pole and paddle us along fast as you can, I think they can't move too fast down there!"

Peter sagged in relief, if only for a moment, as things shifted and the boat was suddenly freed. He quickly shifted gears, metaphorically speaking, and began to use the oar for it was intended. He began to paddle and help move the boat away from the grasping hands.

"This is turning out to be just as full of unfortunate excitement as I dreaded it might be already."

Trask was loath to move to the edge of the raft in case it was enough to tip them all into the water. So he covered the others ready to engage any of the undead that managed to get up onto the raft.


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They slowly pulled away from the presumed crowd of submerged bloats trying to keep them at the flooded intersection. Poling along they could feel that at least a foot of black river mud had accumulated on the pavement after the river started flowing through the downtown. Presumably it was slowing down the submerged bloats a lot more than it was them.

They were at least a mile away from the hospital and so this seemed like a chance encounter. It didn't seem likely they would be intercepted at their destination. But just to be sure they weren't being followed they zig-zagged a bit through the flooded streets.

Eventually, they came to the hospital, Baton Rouge Municipal Hospital. It had survived the earthquake that had leveled the city the decade before the war, and remained semi-operational until Judgement Day. A few days later the river claimed it all the same. The Mississippi continued to shift its banks and course in the decade after now the system of dikes, berms and levees that had kept it in place were long in disrepair breached or were overtopped during flood season.

It still remained standing but underwater almost up to the second floor. Three more floors (2-4) remained above water. The overhang above the doors to Emergency was still a little above water and served as a kind of wharf. There was a swamp boat similar to theirs tied off there, bobbing in the black water. There was an open window there. They could tie off and enter there, or look for another entrance.

 "Does the boat look familiar to you guys?" he asks the guides. Assuming Boats are like cars. Even 3 that look exactly alike to a stranger might have telltale signs that the locals would know.

In reply to Tech. Sgt. Airen Crichton (msg # 623):

Carefully moving the tiller to bring them closer, Joe nodded in a worried way.

"Oh yeah. That's one a' ours all right."

Peter let out a small sigh. "Then, unfortunately, I think we are in the right place."

He looked over the building a bit, craning his head and neck this way and that. After a moment he nodded to the open window. "That seems like as good a way as any other, yes?" He shrugged. "Especially since they came this way it looks like."

They stepped from their boat to the overhang.

The other boat bobbed in the black water off to the side, still tied off. One airhose led from the boat through the window opening, but the compressor was silent. If it had been left running it was now out of fuel. The gear and supplies on the boat were untouched, including bins containing dive gear like dry and wet-suits, masks, fins, BCDs, regulators, weight belts.

Inside the boat there was still a pump-shotgun leaning up against a seat. Nearby in an open locker was one loaded boomstick (a diver's single-shot weapon consisting of a shotgun shell mounted on a spear). There was a second shotgun lying in the bottom of the boat. Ominously, there was a spent shell nearby.

Lookin in through the window opening they could not make out much in the gloom. The air-hose seemed to lead in and then off towards some fire doors next to a bank of elevators. There was a lot of trash and debris, as this floor looked well picked-through. There were two floors above this one, and at least one submerged floor. Possibly a basement.

Peter looked over the boat with a critical eye. "Well, that is not good." After a moment, he looked back at their boat driver and quietly said, "Some shotguns here that the town likely needs reclaimed, yes?" He would himself, but he doubted they were that great of quality honestly. And definite

He let out a small sigh and then stepped inside of the window, carefully looking around, listening and generally staying alert.

Trask moved to get off the boat, taking his time as he does so. He will cover the others while they all form up to move off.

Once inside he did a sensor sweep just before started out.


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This message was last edited by the player at 02:44, Sun 08 Oct 2023.

Chricton looks over the boat as only a junker can. Taking inventory of the items as parts."Hmmm.....might need to see about something the size of that compressor tank for that platform I was thinking of." he muses to himself as he climbs off the boat.

Smoker eyed everything up. The air hose indicated that someone had attempted some underwater exploration within, but the silence of the compressor showed they had either finished or... well, one did not want to contemplate the alternatives.

He scrambled ashore, none too elegantly.

"Where should we begin?"

Peter glanced at Smoker for a moment, then gave a small shrug. "Going underwater takes preparation and more noise. To start with, I would personally suggest we start on the above-water floors and work up."

He looked down at the tank. "Then, if we still find no traces...well." One eyebrow rose up and he gave another small shrug.

"I'd say start on the roof if we can find a way up there and clear going down room by room. That would take time a lot of time. But that is smartest. That way we aren't walking into a fight with these shambles at our backs." he suggests from his little bit of nigh ancient CQB Tactics.