Jason gave a slight chuckle.  Pharmacies were generally raided pretty quickly, people taking all of the narcotics, but what he was looking for was generally not high on the looting list.  It was likely that he might be able to find some.  Before he did though, he checked the night tables in the master bedroom, a typical place for people to keep meds that they take before bed.

Before going to sleep, he repacked all of his things and dressed in a clean set of clothes (at least dry if not exactly clean) laying down in bed fully dressed and with his boots, gear and weapons all set out neatly.  He had learned early on, that if you had to leave in a hurry, you lost anything that wasn't ready to go.

With everything done, he locked the bedroom door, quietly propping a chair under the handle to wedge it shut before laying down.  The rain had done a good job of soaking him, of washing away most of the body odors and body oils, but as he lay down, he had a fantasy about a nice hot, Hollywood shower.  One of those showers where you had all the time in the world and could just lay back and enjoy the hot water.

Jason awoke with a start. Jerking upright in the bed, it took a moment for full realization to come to him. The room was dark and damp, but not cold. There had been something, a sound, thump. It was in the house. And it had been loud enough to be heard over the storm raging outside.

(OOC: Jason needs to make a Perception roll please. To try and understand the noise and its rough location.)

It was instinctual now, hearing a noise in the night, Jason reached out and took his pistol, slowly and quietly, pulling the slide back and chambering a round.  It was all done slowly and with care.  He took his silencer and screwed it into place before putting on his boot.  He paused in picking up the rest of his gear as he turned his head, shifting his good ear towards the sound.



09:36, Today: Jason Bishop rolled 7 using 3d4+1.

(OOC: so a 7 is a success, but a success that comes with a complication of sorts.)

Jason heard a sudden thump-thump and knew he had heard footsteps from above, in the attic. Looking up he tried to focus on where he thought sound was coming from and shifted on the bed without thinking. His backpack suddenly shifted with him and rolled sideways to bump into the night stand with clank-bump noise.

Jason exhaled a frustrated curse under his breath as he heard the thump of approaching footsteps above the room. He pointed the pistol toward the ceiling just as creek sounded and board broke loudly. A man burst through the ceiling and fell to the floor in front of the room's door. It made a hell of a racket.

Thrashing frantically trying to right itself, Jason could see the man was obviously one of the undead. The guy wore old mechanic's coveralls under a surplus store load bearing harness. The corpse was reasonably fresh and the only visible injury was a gunshot wound through the neck.

Jason shifted positions, taking a shooters stance.  Letting out a small curse under his breath, Jason brought the gun to bear, taking a moment to aim before firing a single, muffled shot.  He readjusts his aim and takes a second shot at the dead man's head.  A double tap, rule #2 in that dumb ass movie.

He takes a step back giving himself a little more distance if this one was able to get up or if another of the Z's fell through the hole.  2 shots... 13 left in the magazine.

After several tense minutes, Jason finally moved. He slowly lowered his hands from chin level and relaxed from his shooting stance. There didn't seem to be any other noise besides the drum beat of the rain and the rolling thunder. But, the room didn't stink like hell.

Actually, it stunk like human crap and stale blood. The smells of a battlefield, not the usual cloying, heavy, wet stench of decay so common to the undead.

There was another curse under his breath as Jason admonished himself for missing the attic.  How had he not seen the door?  Was it hidden in a closet or something?  Regardless, there was a nice big entrance now.  Stepping back, Jason reached behind him, grabbing the curtains that covered the window pulling them closed to block any light from escaping the room.  His grip on the pistol shifted and one finger slid forward until it turned on the flash light, shining the light up into hole.  If anything else was up there, it would be attracted to the light.  His eyes kept shifting to the corpse on the ground.  It was still fresh and really stank.  He waited for several minutes, moving the light around.

Only after it seemed clear, did he set the pistol down on the dresser and strap on his forearm guards and put on his gloves.  After one final check on the doubly dead body,  Jason pushed the dresser over under the hole, taking up the pistol again and preparing before climbing up onto onto the dresser to look into the attic.

The corpse was a suicide!

Jason realized once checked the neck wound. The man had pressed a pistol to the side of his neck and pulled the trigger. The body had the usual kit for survival on it; fire making, basic tools, a knife, flashlight, batteries, and ammunition for a .44 magnum. That explained the extreme nature of the neck wound.

The next time Jason awoke it was to the sounds of a usual hideout in a small town; the occasional scrape-bump of the undead outside, the creaking of an old house heating up in the heat of the day, and the slight whistle of wind blowing through windows and eaves.

Jason stretched, wrinkled his nose, and gauged the time at somewhere around eight or nine in the morning.

Jason took the flashlight, batteries and ammunition from the body before moving all of his gear into another bedroom, he needed to get away from the smell.  He again double checked the room and blocked the door before going to sleep.

Waking up, he needed to check the attic before moving on for the day, looking for the stairs up, if not able to find them, he climbed up through the hole that the Zed had left, leading with pistol and flashlight.

After some cautious investigating Jason discovered the cord to the attic stairs and pulled down the folding staircase. The attic was partially finished and obviously meant to be storage. There was seasonal decorations in large plastic containers, an artificial Christmas tree, several plastic chests of seasonal clothing, old pictures, a collection of fishing rods and reals and tackle boxes. And last, but not least, there was the corpses.

There was a boy of twelve or so, bit badly along one arm. He had a bullet hole, a large one, in his forehead and an even larger one in the back of his skull. His face was covered in blood and there was rotting flesh in his mouth.

Under the boy was the woman, his mother by the look of them. She was laying on her back with one hand resting under her chin near a horrible bite wound at the side of her neck. She lay in a large congealed puddle of her own blood. She too had a large bullet hole in her forehead.

About them was the making of a good camp; a pup tent with a child's sleeping bag, three folding camp chairs, an air mattress with several sheets, a small table with a gas stove atop it, a cooler near the table, three backpacks at the ready, and two pump shotguns leaned up against the cooler. There was a .44 magnum Smith and Wesson Model 29 laying next to one of the chairs. A blood splatter coated the interior of the roof nearby.

It was on those things that Jason knew he would never un-see.

It took a few seconds for Jason to collect himself.  No matter how many times he saw it, it shook him to his core.  There were so many bodies since the world fell apart, there were so many dead children.  He gave a silent prayer for the little girl and her family.  But he quickly pushed it aside and took the 3 backpacks, the shotguns, the pistol, and anything else of use, down the rickety fold down stairs to the guest bedroom that he had used last night.

He checked through the backpacks, dumping them out onto the bed.  He set aside everything of value, ammunition, weapons, food, first aid gear.  He checked both shotguns, choosing the better of the two and taking it apart, cleaning it and pulling the plug before loading it back up.  The Smith and Wessen model 29 was a no brainer, he cleaned it fixed the action before taking it and replacing the .357, although he did take the 3 rounds he had for it.

Once he had everything packed up, he took the shotgun, trying to judge if he could bear the weight without slowing him down.

Remington 1187 Duck gun, 24" barrel, 5 shot, 12 gauge, semi-auto
Ithaca M37 Riot gun, 18" barrel, 6 shots, 12 gauge, pump action
12 gauge ammo: 11 .00-buckshot, 9 slugs, 34 #6 shot
44 ammo: 37 rounds, JHP
Meds: Tylenol, Immodium, and Neosporene ointment. There are band-aids and generic 1st aid kit too.
Food: mostly Ramon noodles, spaghetti, rice, and cornmeal, enough to nearly fill a large cooler. There a dozen cans of veggies like corn, potatoes, peas, carrots, etc. There are several bags of homemade jerky. A worn Walmart bags holds dozens of condiment packets like salt, pepper, sugar, creamer, ketchup, mustard, mayo, etc. The family had thirty bottles of water and six big gallon jugs of water as well.
Backpacks: change of clothing, flashlight, plastic bag with lighter, matches, and wood shavings, two bottles of water, a fleece blanket, a button compass, a hunting knife, an old fashioned billie club, canteen with cup, an aluminum spork, a pack of noodles, and a small bag of jerky. There is space in them, probably for some of the gear that is out in their attic camp.

Going through the supplies Jason had a lot of choices to make, some choices were easy though.  The Model 29 Smith n Wessen had 37 rounds, 34 more than he had for the Ruger Warhawk.  He left the Ruger on the table.  He packed up the Ramen, Pasta, Jerky, salt, pepper, sugar and creamer all made its way into his bag.  The lighter and matches went in with his fire supplies.  The Tylenol, Imodium and antibiotic ointment made its way into his first aid kit.

The water, cornmeal and rice were way too heavy for him to take, that made it another easy choice.  The toughest choice was the shotguns.  The Ithica was lighter and held more shells, but the Remington was more practical.  The Ithaca was a combat shotgun and was useless for hunting.  The Remington was a hunting shotgun that could be used for combat.  The Remington was the clear choice.

For breakfast, he made some coffee and Johnny cakes.  They weren't elaborate, but they were nutritious and very filling.

Before leaving the house, he gave one last thought to the family that had died there.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:58, Wed 09 Sept 2020.

The little town was dusty, leaf strew, and had a few dozen undead roaming around like they were all waiting for a ride, but they were to drunk and none of the realized no one was coming to pick them up. He had lost track of where it was exactly. Somewhere in the vicinity of Chattanooga, Tennessee.

Jason took out the map again. He wasn't to old, or too traumatized, to remember such details. He had just spent too many months walking through too many towns. He followed the course he had taken to get here. And here was Soddy Daisy. He traced his finger down highway 27 to Hixson, in the northern limits of Chattanooga. And on south to the Tennessee River in downtown Chattanooga. Around twenty miles, a little under, maybe eighteen miles.

He had some real reservations about traveling through the area. It had once been a metro area of nearly three hundred thousand. He had no doubt he would run into a lot of trouble too quickly if he wasn't careful just traveling the outskirts. Tracing his finger around the crooked path of the river he realized other than the three bridges downtown, the bridge across a hydroelectric damn in Hixson, and another rural highway bridge some thirty odd miles away to the northeast, the only other bridge over the river in the area was nearly forty miles away.

He sighed. The river wasn't exceedingly broad, maybe he could find a john boat. That or what, head back to the Appalachians and all those hillbillies that shot strangers faster than they shot the dead.

Jason sat in the middle of the bed of a pickup truck on the side of the road, it was a good spot.  It gave him a little bit of elevation and if something did come upon him unaware, it gave him time to react.  He had the map spread out in front of him and looked at the town through the small pair of binoculars.  He made a count of the undead that he could see and then tripled the number to factor in the ones that he couldn't see.  For such a small town, there seemed to be plenty of the Zed walking about.  He tried to look at the pharmacy, if the front was still intact, it might be worth making a run at it from the rear.  He could set up a distraction to draw them to this side of town and then make his way around to the back.

For the river... that decision wasn't overly difficult.  He would head down to the river and try and find a small boat, anything would do, a canoe even.  He could not only cross the river but make good headway all the way down to Hixson by water.  A lot of people who lived on a river had small boats and fishing gear.  If he kept fairly close to shore, he should attract little attention maybe he could even do a touch of fishing.

Jason had all but given up hope of finding the pharmacy. Dejected he stood up and stretched his back. I bead of sweat ran down his cheek. It would be a hot one today. Noticing the shadow spanning the truck bed he stepped back into the slightly cooler shade and looked up at the billboard.

It was large rectangular sign for Soddy Daisy Pharmacy, Bait, and Tackle. He laughed.

The front of the building was just across the street. It was boarded up very well with a sign on one of the big, boarded over picture windows that simply stated 'No penicillin, no morphine, no Prozac, and No Viagra'. It was funny how all four of those seemed to somehow go together.

There was eleven undead within thirty yards of the truck with six to east and six to the west. The nearest was a half-armed, no-faced, and gore covered man in what looked like a state cop's uniform. He was only about ten yards away and intently watching a hole in a short white picket fence. Most likely for a rabbit or a cat.

While in his heart, he wanted to put all of these creatures down, he knew it wasn't practical and he needed to avoid any fights that were not absolutely necessary.  He reached into one of the side pockets of his backpack, pulling out a phone.  It was muted so the start up routine was silent.  He took a moment to adjust the volume settings.  He set it on the top of the Truck and hit Play on the preset music list, looking at his own watch as he did.  He had 8 minutes to move.

He started to move, slowly and quietly, from cover to cover, not rushing in any way.  He moves not towards the pharmacy and the Zed's but away from them at an angle.  A glance at his watch showed that he had 3 minutes left as he got into position.  He stood behind cover during the countdown.  Just like clockwork, the music started at maximum volume.

"It's been a hard day's night, and I've been working like a dog
It's been a hard day's night, I should be sleeping like a log
But when I get home to you I'll find the things that you do
Will make me feel alright....

The song belts out at maximum volume.  It wasn't overly loud, but it should be enough to pull the Z's to the sound.  He watched carefully, looking to see if they all fell for it before moving to the pharmacy's back door, studying it before deciding to use the trucker's friend pry bar to open it up.

Jason eased through a narrow side alley, keep several feet behind a pair of shambling undead, one a waitress with bite marks all over her exposed legs and the other a boy of maybe ten that had a gunshot wound through his torso. They followed the alley to the back of the store and continued to circle to the front of the building. It occurred to Jason that they were following the only path the saw before them without turning to go back the other way.

The back of the pharmacy was a less formal, less public entrance to the store. It too had been securely boarded over. Another sign hung there. A different sign.

'The roof access is unlocked. Take what you need. Everything has been laid in alphabetical order based on ailment or condition. Leave anything you want to for others. Place in in the bins at the front of the store. Thank you and God bless you.'

Looking around Jason realized all he needed to do to get on the roof was scramble up a twelve foot tall brick wall. Then the music was turned down until it couldn't be heard at the back of the store.

Jason looked around the back of the store, looking for a ladder or something to climb up upon.  Then he glanced first from one side to the next.  Was there any way to climb up to the roof.  If not, he wasn't going to risk his neck for this.  It wasn't worth the risk.  When the music died down, he nodded.  It meant that one of the Z's had managed to reach the one and had probably knocked it off the truck.  It was either muffled or had stopped.  He had to move quick.  If there wasn't any way to get up to the roof, he was going to move away from the building, getting a bit of distance.

Was that a truck he heard???

The back alley had several possible routes up to the rooftop. No featured a ladder, but there were several places Jason was sure he could scramble up into the roof. It wasn't terribly high to climb up. It occurred to Jason he could just toss his backpack up and over onto the roof and used a corner junction of two buildings or a drain pipe to scale on up the side of the building.

(OOC: Jason needs to make an Athleticism roll, it's not particularly dangerous but he could still draw attention or have a minor mishap allow the GM to screw him over, er, force a complication on him.)

Jason tied his rope securely to his bag before going to the corner and tossing it up onto the roof.  The rifle and shotgun went onto his back, the straps across his chest.  The wouldn't be quickly available, but they were secure.  He checked his gear one last time before starting the climb.  It wasn't high, but he still found himself struggling and sweating a bit.

He swore softly under his breath.

"I am entirely too old for this shit."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:00, Sat 12 Sept 2020.

Jason made up onto the roof, the climb was harder than he had wanted. His knee was acting up again. He would look for a knee brace. Too many years of wear and tear in the service of mostly devoured nation. He chuckled at his own humor, only an old grunt could. He stood to stretch his leg and realized he managed to drop a a handful of shotgun shells from his pocket during the climb. They stood out like big drops of blood on the pale concrete at the base of the building.

He sighed and made a mental note to retrieve them when he left.

Looking about he noticed that the roof access was a sky light that had long been removed and a ladder stuck up out of it. Stepping over far enough to just peer over the edge onto the street he saw that several undead had been slain and a collection of eight bicycles, all cross-country mountain bike types draped with improvised bags and baskets, were parked near the truck he had been standing in. Stepping back quickly he looked around for the people who had ridden them up when he noticed a pair of vehicles on on the highway about a quarter mile or so out.

One was what looked like and Subaru Outback and the other was obviously an old deuce and half truck. Probably army issue in this area. At nearly nine hundred yards, however, he couldn't really make out any movement without binoculars or a scope. He sighed. Maybe they had pedaled their asses into town?

Moving over to the ladder to peek inside to be sure they hadn't gotten in ahead of him somehow he heard a noise in the house he had slept in. Looking up he spotted a group of kids. Teenagers by the look of them, and well equipped. And sporting a bunch of semi-auto .22 rifles.

But they weren't interested in Jason. One of them, a cute black girl with a big combed out afro, actually waved at him and smiled. One of the boys, tall and pale with a curly mop of red hair who looked all of fifteen years old, gave Jason a very manly nod before he turned back to the others and kept searching through the house.

Jason stood in plain view and raised a hand in greetings before giving a nod of respect.  The life span of dumb asses was currently pretty low.  That meant that these kids were smart enough, tough enough and well enough led to still be alive.  He had to give them props.  He was never a good dad, but he had been a sargent in the Corps, and had a natural inclination to watch out for kids.

The threats in the house had been neutralized and he had left a lot of good supplies behind, canned goods, rice and corn meal.  The shotgun would be of limited use, he had taken all of the ammo.

Going to the skylight he pulled up the ladder before looking about, lowering the ladder and retrieving the dropped shells.  He was only on the ground for a few seconds before going back up the ladder and pulling it back up.

Using his binoculars, he kept an eye on both the highway and the kids in the house.  If needed, he would use his own rifle to provide cover fire for the kids.

The kids seemed fine with simply going about their business without talking to Jason. They went through several houses, including the one he had stayed in. They killed half a dozen more of the undead using short spears and baseball bats. They worked together with great situational awareness. It wasn't lost on him that they most like grew up in this little town, so they knew it well.

The group on the road was a little crew of three people from what he could tell. Even with the binoculars fine details weren't easy at that range. A man and two women or a man and woman and possible a younger woman, a family maybe. They seemed to be stopped but not in distress. They were odd ducks; they didn't go about making some sort of fortified position, they didn't set up shelters, they didn't set out cooking gear, and they didn't appear to be waiting for anyone.

Jason looked to the east and then to the west. He had slept long, the day was drawing short. Sunset had begun. There would be hours of light yet. Maybe those people had been traveling for a while, needed a rest or a bathroom break. He just shrugged.

Once he was sure that this uncommon encounter, either of them really, didn't seem like it was going to threaten his life he went over and used the ladder to go down into the pharmacy. What he found was simply amazing.

The pharmacy was a simple rectangular building with a set of glass doors and two big picture windows at either end. Each set of doors was heavily boarded shut with a little port that could be opened to look outside. To the right of each set of doors on of the heavily boarded up windows was framed and built up with levers at the top that allowed a port nearly as tall as the window and half as wide to be opened by pushing it out from the frame. It lifted up to the height of the window. There was even a catch to hold it open and a catch at the bottom to latch it closed that could be manipulated from the inside or the outside.

The shelves for all the medicines were pretty bare, but there were quite of few remaining drugs in the shelves. They were listed by ailments; allergies, cold/flu, diarrhea, gastritis, high blood pressure, pink eye, sunburn, vaginitis, etc. A box on the counter held some rolls of surgical tape, packets of gauss pads, boxes of band-aid, and several rolled up compression wraps.

In the pharmacy all the shelves had been pushed to one wall and big bins had been lined up along the open floor. There was an astonishing collection of items. A bin held nothing but socks and and gloves. Another was filled with children's clothing and shoes. There were bins for cookware, bedding, pants, shirts, books and magazines, tools and tool kits, fishing rods, reels, and lures, soap and cleaners, feminine hygiene products, towels and washcloths, baby food, formula, and diapers, and there was even a bin holding beer, wine, and liquor.

A sign hung near the front window exit that read 'Take what you need, leave what you can spare, God Bless' and the bottom of the sign there was the words 'the Soddy Daisy Band Kids'.

He looked around at the treasure trove of supplies for a few minutes, shaking his head.  A bunch of band geeks got all this together?  He was even more impressed.  The sign had said that they didn't have penicillin, but they did have plenty of antibiotics.  He took a few bottles of medicine for Pink-eye.  It might be an eye drop, but it was still an antibiotic and could be used topically or internally.  He also took some Amlodipine, blood pressure medication and any antibiotic ointment.  He refilled the bandages in his first aid kit as well.  He took a small fishing rod and reel as well as a couple of lures, hooks and weights.

As far as leaving things... that was tougher.  He took one of the bags of Jerky, leaving that as well as that damn can of chilli and the 3 rounds for the .357 and 8 of the 12 gauge #6 bird shot.  He tried to think of something that he could leave the kids that would be actually valuable to them... after a few moments, he went through one of the tool kits until he found all of the parts for a few cordage cutters.

Jason went back up onto the roof so he could keep an eye on the town.  Besides, the kids may not wan to approach him, but that didn't mean that they weren't watching him.  He quickly put together a cordage cutter, similar to the one he had.  When done, he picked up a couple of two litter bottles and stripped them down into about 100 feet of cord each, he did it while sitting on the edge of the roof, in plain sight.  He held up the cordage cutter and the new cordage so anyone watching could easily see them and went back down into the shop and dropping them off into the appropriate bins along with the tools.  He dropped two of the cutters in the bin and put the third in his own bag.  Cordage was always something anyone could use in a survival situation.  It was starting to get late, and he didn't really want to keep looking for a new place to stay the night, either the roof of this building on one of the neighboring buildings would do just fine.