"You watch the wood line, I'm moving to your left about thirty yards. Maybe we can get them in an 'L' shaped kill zone." Zip said as he began to slip away.

George took up a spot to compliment the ambush site. <i>'I hope this works, I'm over being the prey. Time for some payback."<?i>

A trio of ATVs broke out of the woodline inline with the van. They weren't moving too fast, maybe ten miles per hour. Each had a pair of riders, a driver and a man riding shotgun with, well, a shotgun. They seemed alert but not aware of the situation yet. Looking about it seemed that they had expected to see a swarm of undead gathered around the interlopers. George smiled to himself, this would be one hell of a rude awakening.

Another ATV was about just emerging from the treeline as Zip opened up. He fired a series of quick bursts that sent the men on the first machine tumbling to the ground. George could make out three other flashes of color and motion among the trees. Seven ATVs, most like two people on each, for at least fourteen people. Well, he thought, except for those two.

George knew mankind was on the verge of extinction, and killing any of them would only rush the extinction, these people though didn't deserve to live. His MPX was quickly raised, and he shot at the drivers of each of the vehicles he could, knowing full well the odds of them crashing would go up exponentially if they were hurt or killed. In nearly any other circumstance this would be pure suicide, and this wasn't exactly the smartest thing to do, but he didn't care.

George kept shooting while any survivors started scrambling, knowing full well his years of shooting would pay off. George couldn't tell how many he downed, initially, though his reaction time and training took over, knowing full well he had a number of solid hits on the slow moving targets.

It turned to be exceedingly easy. The ATVs came on in a rush quickly closing the distance. But they only drove in straight lines, no zigging about to make it harder to hit them. But, then, they probably didn't expect anyone to be laying in wait for them either.

The first driver fell side ways off his machine with a bullet hole in his face shield. The man in the rear, a woman actually, attempted to hold him up not knowing what was going on and was pulled of the machine with the corpse. The ATV veered hard and flipped over several times. The next machine came skidding up near the woman, not realizing it was an ambush, when the driver took a bullet to the forehead. The ATV just coasted onward as the driver fell back against the rider. It collided with a gas pumped a moment later flinging the corpse and the rider to the gas-slicked concrete. The last ATV roared up, its rider standing on foot pegs looking the scene over, he had a moment of realization before the driver slumped forward onto the handle bars and sent the machine into a parked car. The rider flew ten feet to land head first in the middle of one of the solar panels.

George would never admit it, but there was a pit in his stomach at the loss of life. The people in the ATVs never stood a chance, and while he was fine with that, he also despised his actions, though it had to be done. "Cover me."

George moved forward, keeping cover in-between himself and those shot, pulling out a knife with his left hand, he dispatched any of the wounded. George administered a cleaner death to them than he suspected they would have done to others.

George checked the immediate area, to make sure there were no stragglers and then went back to checking the bodies and checking to see if any ATVs survived well enough, which was likely.

"George, get back here." Zip said and he began firing in short controlled bursts at the treeline. George was only half way to the first of the downed riders when Zip shouted.

Stopping short and taking up cover behind a Taurus station wagon he looked around. There was a surprising number of muzzles flashes along the treeline. Sudden and unexpected, George looked back at Zip, a plan forming in his mind. But, Zip was down. The top of the man's head was gone. He lay on his back staring up as the sky with empty eyes sockets.

George blanched. That shot was from something with a lot more power than a pistol or submachine gun. Most likely a hunting rifle, at least a .308 or .30-06, maybe even a .300 magnum or .338. He sighed. Zip had been a good man. The bullets rattled, clanged, and burred off of concrete, car bodies, and the gas pumps. It made him wonder if these people weren't from that group of conquering survivalist assholes.

George wasn't pleased with how the events of the trip have turned out so far, but he'd be damned if he didn't want even more payback. Grabbing Zip's AR and ammo belt as quick as he could, he found a grenade on him, which really shouldn't of surprised him. Pulling the pin, he rolled Zip over and placed the grenade under him, so once he was moved it would give the scum a nice surprise.

George moved, keeping the trees as cover and got closer to his Jeep, setting up another ambush spot and keeping his head out of the crosshairs of the bastard that killed Zip.

(OCC: nice, really all guerilla warfare like and all. I see you choose option number three; going full Rambo on these guys.)

George worked his way back to the Jeep and kept low. The group of ATV riding raiders in the treeline were busily firing away in the area around Zip. Keeping his head down, George peeked through the Jeep to keep an eye on the attackers. They showed very basic tactics and rudimentary fire discipline. If it weren't for their numbers they would be easy to mislead and misdirect them into exposing themselves to his fire.

(OCC: I get you a basic map up. I should do it for everyone really.)

George knew he couldn't stop doing what he was doing, though he had a few minutes to help himself. He grabbed his 'bug out' bag, the one think he hoped he never needed, yet it was in his hands. He then headed over to the van with the woman in it, hoping she was still in there and was willing to help, for her freedom. "Open up, we have only a few moments before company heads this way. If you want to be free, we have to work together."

One of the doors flew open so quickly it nearly caught George in the face. The woman was stretched out as far as she could reach on her log-chain tether. Tears streaked her face. The new holes that punched through both sides of the van where not missed by George.

"What do you want me to do?" She asked.

Tossing her a hand radio. "They could give a rat's ass about you, though you can help me. Let me know where they are, as much as you can. If I survive this, you're a free woman. It's better than doing nothing. The radio is set to the frequency I'm using, so you're good there." George puts in his ear piece and makes sure the radio is working.

George was gambling, that's for sure, and he wanted to live, but he also wanted these bastards dead. Grabbing Zip's belt with the pistol and ammo, he tossed it at her feet. "I'm gambling on you wanting to be free and not a piece of meat to them. The next time I knock it will be a series of 3 quick knocks and then one knock about 2 seconds later, which will be much louder. If you don't get that, be prepared to shoot anyone that opens up that door, make up whatever story you want on how you got the gun. Feed them false information, so they give me the advantage. It's your call." George didn't wait for a response, he closed the doors and then headed for cover away from the building, trying to anticipate their avenue of approach and his best cover for the shots he needed.

"Why are you still here? And close that door." She said as she turned back to her station. A moment later before he could fully close the door she came over his radio. "About forty yards to the left of the van. Six men on foot sneaky over near the gas pumps."

Hitting his mic. "I'm here because it's the right thing to do. Is that all they have left is six people?" George set himself up to ambush the six people. He placed Zip's AR down, made sure it was ready to go, then readied his MPX and waited. When the last guy broke cover he would open up and, with any luck, the threat would be neutralized.

"Uh, men, always reading too much into every word a woman says." She sounded aggravated. "No, here, as in why was I waiting on you to move. Listen, just try to keep up. Six by the pumps, nine in the tree line where the first four-wheelers came out at. Another five in to the right of that. Another three are sneaking over the tops of cars along the highway to the north. Where are you starting this football humpfest?"

Grabbing the M4, George started moving. "I'll take the three out by the highway first, then let me know what else is going on." Keeping low and being quiet was pretty easy for George, as he was an experienced hunter. Once he got them in sight, he would take them out as fast as possible and keep moving, knowing full well staying in one spot meant he would not make it out alive.

George just began to move out when he heard her, "Down, down now!"

But it was second too late. On the men at the pumps had taken a moment to relieve his stress-filled bladder. Reacting out of fear he lift a hand and fired with a hand cannon. The Smith and Wesson .500 belched a two foot muzzle flame from its five inch barrel. It would have been a real novelty to fire, especially at night, but now the inappropriately short barrel made an ignition source for all the gas fumes in the area.

George never had a moment to consider the blast. The heavy slug struck his carbine like a sledge hammer blow. His hands ached instantly, then there was a flash and pop. The percussive force sent him flying. He felt heat, a lot of heat, and then struck something bodily. The world faded to black.

(OOC: need George to make a Serendipity check, this will be used to determine how quickly he wakes up from being K.O.ed by that explosion.)

OOC - Here's the check

13:12, Today: George Simmons rolled 8 using 3d4.  Serendepity check.

George came to. The air was acrid and hot, it tasted of gasoline. Pain shot through him like the last time he was in a automobile accident. That had been when a rookie lost control of his cruiser during a chase and slammed it into the side of George's own cruiser. When he woke up then he had a concussion and a cracked shin bone. The poor rookie was dead, however.

Sitting up he looked about. The blast had thrown him clear of most the fire damage. His boots and the lower legs of his pants were spotted with tiny holes from gas splatter and burn through. He was sure his back would give a bit of trouble for weeks to come. Standing hurt, but it wasn't to bad.

The van!

George's head shot around and saw the still burning, gutted remains of the van. The pumps were gone. Many of the cars near the blast site were mashed or pushed about. He didn't see anyone moving in the vicinity. Along the treeline he could see three people milling about a single ATV. They looked confused and lost all of a sudden. Probably lost close friends or family in the blast.

Panning his head back around he realized what might be causing their distress. There was a crater big enough to drop a D10 bulldozer into about fifty yards away. It must have been where the tanks were buried. Around the area along the rim of the crater he could make out at least a dozen smoldering corpses and the ruins as nearly as many ATVs.

Grabbing up the carbines he checked them. They seemed ok, but he would have to check them for function and zero. Turning to check the Jeep it was still sitting where they had left it. The right front tire was flat, shrapnel from something was sticking out of the tire. There was a series of cracks in the windshield also. But it looked fine otherwise.

George had felt the effects of an explosion before, in Afghanistan when an IED went off about 10 meters from him. Somehow he got lucky and survived it, he went through 3 months in the hospital and then 6 additional months of physical therapy. His body still felt the aftermath of it, from time to time, and this was one of those times. He was glad he had healed fully from that, but the painful reminder he just went through was not something he ever wanted to go through again.

Raising up his M4, he took a closer look at the men wandering around by the ATV, making sure they were not hostiles, and if they were he would have to deal with them. He used his Jeep as support as he looked.

George thought about it for a moment. But Zip and the chained woman were dead. The three men may be down and out at the moment, but it didn't change their allegiance. George quickly cut loose with seven shots on semi-auto and put all three down quickly. The Jeep was well stocked for unfortunate occurrences. He and his father were fond of hunting and camping in remote back country areas so having he ability to keep the vehicle running through rough terrain and harsh weather was a must.

He had the tire changed, despite the aches, pains, and sprains in less than ten minutes. It would have been quicker but he was still reeling from the blast and the undead kept creeping in from God only knew where. Once the Jeep was ready to roll George quickly opened the receivers of the rifles and did a quick check of the weapons. All was well within them. And his rifle had shot very close to its original zero. He would see to that later. It was time to roll on.

George started heading to the location he was given for the rest of the 'Padres' group. He hoped he got lucky and had found his daughter, though with the help of Blu, his chances were pretty damn good. George wanted to listen to some music, but that could attract attention, and he didn't want that, plus it could distract him from hazards on the road.

George kept to the backroads, only stopping when absolutely necessary, or when he saw something that really caught his interest. If nothing caught his interest he would hopefully find the survivors and give them some hope.

George had managed to get onto highway 75 and was rolling along smoothly. He was glad to see clear-ish roads, a sunny sky, and Blu with his face in the wind. So, what the hell, he put on a little music. The miles passed by as fast as sixty miles per hour sometimes. George dug a bottle of water out a of cooler, it was refreshingly cold. This wasn't a bad little town, George though as he passed a Walmart off the interstate. Then the exit sign caught his eye; Dalton...next three exits.

George slowed down to a crawl, well, ten miles per hour or so. Turning down the music he polished off the water before pulling out his map to check his travel notes. The Rocky Face exit would take him close to where he needed to go. But, as he approached the middle of the three exits at Walnut Avenue he encountered more undead shambling southward than he had simply ever seen before.

The Jeep seemed to stop on its own while George thought about it for a moment. He checked the map. Dalton wasn't a large town. Once home to around 35,000 or so. With a further 15,000 living in the unincorporated areas skirting the city limits. He traced a route with his finger. A lot of little side roads, neighborhoods and factories seemed to be the dominant terrain feature in the town. Good; plenty of driving room.

George did a u-turn and in moments was up the exit ramp from Walnut Avenue onto highway 75 northbound. Once he was on Walnut Avenue he was surprised to find that the road was blocked, not by lanes of abandoned cars, but by cars parked across the wide, five lane road flanked by strip malls and restaurants, that created barriers where undead where slaughtered by defenders in a series of pitched battles. George smiled, at least they gave as good as they got.

Maneuvering through parking lots, over mounds of corpses, and occasionally pushing cars out of the way George found a path to downtown. Once downtown he could see how bad the fight against the undead had really been. Corpses so strewn about there was no way to avoid driver over many. Buildings were burnt ruins. Military vehicles, often burnt due to the battle damage caused, littered the streets. The undead were simply everywhere. George often had to shoot them from the driver's seat, ram them with the Jeep, or simply drive in slow circles to lure larger hordes out of his path.

By late afternoon George had navigated out to a road, Chattanooga road, headed to what was known as the North Dalton Bypass. He was on a short overpass bridge that spanned a really narrow valley what had a railroad passing under it. Up ahead was church along the bypass, shambling droves of undead, and a raging gunfight. George's brow furrowed when he considered it.

Could that be more of those guys? He could see some ATV's.

Then unexpectedly there was damned big explosion sending up a pretty damn big fireball. And the fight ended. Holding his position, but keeping an eye on his mirrors as the undead steadily grew in numbers, George watched as a pair of men stood up and walked up to the church. They soon joined a small knot of people that had evidently been hidden in or behind the building. It seemed like a very emotional reunion for one of the men and some members of the group.

George noticed something odd. Using his binoculars he realized what it was. One of the two men was in a military uniform, foreign with one of those baby blue UN helmets and an old Enfield rifle. The other was clad in Russian body armor, one of those full body suits, but he was holding an M4 carbine. George was taken aback when a person cut loose out of the blue and emptied an M1 Garand into the armored figure.

The many fell, the people gathered reacted by killing the firer with considerable malice, but minutes later he was back on their feet and seemed to be getting everyone moving roughly in his direction. Impressive, the guy just endured eight rounds of .30-06 at less than ten yards. George idly wondered if there was more of that armor.

The undead were growing thick behind him and George knew he would have to make a decision soon.

'Son of a bitch, I want the fucker with the Garand." George acted, because not acting meant he would die, and so would those people fighting the horde of Zombies. George looked around and found his way through the horde and where to draw them away to. Gunning his Jeep forward, George hammered his horn to get the attention of the zombies. He prayed this worked, because if it didn't everyone was dead.

OOC: awesome sauce, go ahead start posting in the Knee deep in it post. once the two groups are settled together I will start a new combined thread.

George's plan worked. Maybe too well. The more he guided the Jeep, motor revving and horn blaring through the throngs of undead, the more that seemed to descend upon him. Soon enough he was running out of space to maneuver without having to smash his way through the undead.