(Hey pal, sorry about this taking so long to get you going. My bad there.)

The day was already getting too hot. It wasn't even nearing lunch yet. George looked over at the stack of logs to cut, split, stacked, and covered for the winter. Maybe he should trek over to the Morgan's cabin and see if their eldest son wanted to work for George for a few days. He had seemed interested enough in fishing gear. Maybe pay him in some lures, line, and maybe a net. Hell, George thought, he's an eighteen year old, could just give a few beers and jerky too.

George was dressed rather light, in a light button down shirt, a pair of jeans and hiking boots on. He had his revolver strapped to his side, an cowboy style belt holding it in place. The loops on his belt all held more ammunition, as the world has gotten rather strange and even in the woods you can't take a chance. Grabbing his canteen he took in a mouthful of the water. George was oh so grateful he had a good spot for his cabin, it was situated on the side of a small mountain and had more than a few decent streams rather close, and a decent sized lake. The hunting was plentiful enough, and with civilization in complete disarray, he wouldn't have to worry about hunters at all. Putting his canteen down, George grabbed his rifle and placed it in the rifle scabbard on his horse and mounted up and headed to the Morgan's cabin..

The trek over to the Morgan's let George think about everything that he had lost in the last year. Of everything he lost, his daughter going missing, weighed the heaviest on him, he wished he knew if she was alive, but there was nothing he could do, last he knew she was in New York City, and he had no optimism she was still alive.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:06, Tue 13 Oct 2020.

George was walking the horse slowly, using his knees to guide it, but letting it pick its own course through the forest. He was nearly to the Morgan's cabin when he smelled it; that scent of recent death. Coming up to the edge of their cleared land, George looked out over their little patch of corn to see the front door to their cabin wide open. There where two recently dead men eating from what looked like the remains of the Morgan's goat, Max, but they weren't any of the Morgans.

"Well shit." George draws and fires his lever action rifle twice, in rapid succession, both shots aiming for the head. His aim is good, though he is far from an expert. George looks at his horse, and gives it a pat on the rump, so it moves away, though can be easily called with a whistle.

George calls out "Tyler, Mary, you folks ok?" As he starts to look around, being careful to pay attention to any points where a walking dead can move from.

There was a crash of pans and a guttural moan from inside the house. Two undead shuffled from the little shed out back; Tyler Morgan and a freshly dead woman that George didn't know. He sighed. He was probably too late for whatever happened here.

Quickly letting 2 more shots loose, the zombies fall and George is pissed. "Man, they were good people. Hopefully Mary and Jack made it, hopefully." George Throws his rifle over his shoulder and pulls his revolver, as he continues to look around.

Moving into the little homestead quietly, George could here the shuffle and bump of more undead coming from the cabin. He sighed. Moments like this were never good.

George sighed, he hated this part. Picking up a can, he threw it to the other side of the room, hoping to draw the Zombies to the noise so to be easily dispatched.

George grabbed a can, lintels with bacon in sauce, that had been crudely opened with a knife. Evidence that one of those looters had been there. He tossed it across the kitchen where it landed with a clattered, rolled over, dropped into a sink half full of water causing a fork to come flying back at him. It struck a wok hanging over the little kitchen's island causing it to ring with a gong-like echo. Over George's face.

The undead turned to face the noise, saw George, and began shuffling his way. George sighed. Some days just didn't work out for him at all.

"Well shit, looters." George shoots each shambling corpse, in the head, and wipes his face when done. George hated looters, his way of dealing with them was rather permanent, a bullet did the job rather efficiently.

George then waits a few moments before moving further into the building, hoping he finds someone alive.

George moved casually, but cautiously through the cabin. It was clear of the living. But, it was his extreme displeasure to put down the undead corpses of the Morgans as he found them. He was about to leave the kids' room when he spotted something out the window.

Looking again George realized that what he saw was a woman, wearing a poncho made from an old blanket and nothing else, and tied to a tree out near the edge of the clearing behind the cabin. She was obviously alive doing her best to stay in the shadows and underbrush despite having her hands tied to a limb over her head.

Looking at the woman, George suspected a trap of some kind, as people weren't really to be trusted, but he had to follow what he thought was right and he headed outside, walking around the cabin, leaving enough distance so he couldn't be easily jumped by someone from the rear of the house.

"If anyone else is out here, I really don't want to shoot you, but don't think I won't. Just lay down your arms and walk away." It was worth a chance in saying that, as he really didn't like to kill anyone that still had a beating heart.

"Please, help me, please." The woman yelled back. She wasn't sure where George was and was looking in the wrong direction to see that he was in the cabin.

George waited. But, nothing came along. No humans. No undead. Not even the Morgan's old basset hound, Sir Eardragger.

Looking inside the cabin, George grabbed a blanket for the woman. George then walked up and behind the woman, George pulled his knife from his belt as he approached. George's tone changes, though there is little doubt he is still quite serious, yet cautious. "Now young woman, I hope, for your sake, you're not going to do anything stupid. I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt, for the moment, don't make me regret this." George approaches behind her, putting the blanket over his shoulder as he has his pistol in one hand and his knife in the other. Cutting the ropes quickly, he puts his knife away and hands her the blanket, though making sure she see's the still drawn pistol, as a reminder he is taking no chances. "You some clothes and food."

The woman jumped to her and bolted for the back of the shop. It surprised George that she could move so quickly. She didn't make a move to fight, or trying anything tricky, she just ran straight out to the shop and circled around back.

George marveled at the woman's actions. To the point of looking over his shoulder out of fear. There was nothing behind him. But, he soon learned that there was something behind the shop when the woman reappeared less than a minute later dragging a skinny mule in her wake. The beast was frightened and resisting her.

Once it was out in the open George could see that the mule was carrying several backpacks and a few milk crates on its back. Several of the undead had taken notice to the commotion and made to wonder out of the woods. It occurred to George that these were newly risen undead. Several men and a boy sporting arrows and stab wounds. Working quickly the woman tossed a blue duffel bag and the blanket George had given her onto the ground.

"We're even." She said to George and immediately began tugging the mule along heading away from the undead and the little homestead.

"You know I have feed and can take a look at your mule. She looks in rough shape and could use some rest it seems." George's tone was friendly, yet there was definitely an underlying caution. "My cabin is safe and warm, you could stay for the night. Just have to pass my dog's appraisal of ya, that's all."

George had 2 dogs, a Bloodhound named Blu and a German Shepherd names Jinx. Both of them were trained to stay away from the walking dead, though they were taught to get George when they were near and NOT bark.

"No! She nearly screamed. Then she seemed to reel in her emotions. "No, I can't, the others are waiting on me. I have to get back to my brother."

She puled the mule into walking. As an after thought, she looked back at George and tried for a pained smile and said, "Thank you for helping me."

With that she turned her back to him and began walking the mule as fast as she could get the animal to go.

George sighed, his offer was genuine, though he couldn't force her to stay. He had more than enough food to last months for himself and he had been growing and raising his own. The mule was in bad shape, but it wasn't his concern anymore.

"Good luck kid, you're going to need it."

George called his horse and headed back into the now empty cabin to see what he can scrounge, as the former occupants have no use for any of it.

George stood in the cabin's kitchen. After a little time he had surveyed it all and realized that other than taking the fresh vegetables and meats that would go to waste soon there was too much. Canned, dried, or prepackaged foods, fuel and lubricants, ammunition in several calibers, a small stock of diverse medical supplies, a working four wheeler, tools galore, clothing, bedding, and on, and on.

He sighed. He could lock it up. But, it would take him months of to build room for all of this stuff at his place. Then there was the gardens and the well. He shook his head, this place didn't need to be looted or horded. It needed someone to live here. A neighbor. A neighbor with more conviction to defending it.

Outside the local undead had began meandering through the property, drawn by the gunshots, and were actually pooling around the shop. The must have been a corpse out there that was let to rise or was shot in the head. The gathering undead would eat most of it, of course, so he would be able to easily get clear of the Morgan's farm stead. But, some of them would eventually wonder over to his little slice of life and want to eat that too.

George locked the cabin, treading carefully back to his slice of life. Once back at his cabin he put his weapons up and grabbed his pistol with suppressor and some fishing line along with some cans. While George had strung up numerous tripwires to alert him of anyone or thing coming, he needed to do something similar nearer to his, now dead, friends home. Grabbing a shovel he headed back outside, making sure he had ample ammunition and his silencer was secure. It was time to remove some of the walking dead.

George took his horse back to the cabin, getting off her once he felt safe enough and let the horse go roam. He wasn't all too concerned about the zombies getting her, she was too skiddish around them and would run away until called.

Unholstering his sidearm, George went about the task of putting numerous zombies into the ground, for good.

George was digging his last grave when he heard the unmistakable sound of a whippoorwill whistle. Someone was out there, and they were signaling someone else. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up when he realized that there wasn't the faint background sounds of shambling footsteps in the nearby woods. After sitting perfectly still for moments George caught the faint cough-crack of a suppressed weapon being fired. And it was pretty close to have been heard in this terrain. He didn't hear a body fall and he knew that he wasn't the target of the weapon; sound moved for north to north west off to his left.

Damn, some days were just like this. As the thought crossed his mind he set the shovel down and the edge of the blade struck something hard and metallic in the loose soil with a soft metal click.

George put the shovel down. 'Son of a bitch.' He proceeded to unholster his weapon and screw the silencer in place. While he knew he wasn't the target of the initial shot, it didn't mean he couldn't be soon enough. George started to head off in the direction of where the shots came from, keeping low and moving slow to keep himself as concealed as possible.

George crept forward. Using the underbrush and shadows he maneuvered around searching for the source of the gunshots. The whippoorwill whistle called again. Not far off, and too his front right. George turned, lifted his pistol, and was surprised to spot the backs of four men in US Army uniforms creeping along ahead of him. There were bodies in the underbrush, the undead they were killing.

As he watched one the men in the back of their group pointed out a small knot of undead. The lead man nodded and raised a suppressed HK submachine gun and began firing with slow deliberate shot. It was over in moments, and three more undead fell.

As George watched, the men eased over and searched the undead. To his amazement it looked as if they were coomparing their faces to a picture.

George kept his pistol pointing down as he spoke. “Who you boys looking for? I might be able to help a bit.”

All four were startled.

"Guns down, guns down." The man in the back said to the others. They stood and carefully turned to face George. They looked to be soldiers alright. "Hello, sir, we are searching for a lost scientist. She is presumed dead."

He signaled to the others with a few hand gestures and they immediately turned to face about and keep watch. They were all armed with suppressed weapons; submachine guns, assault rifles, and a pistol.

"She was up here with a team of researchers that was trying to find a way to stop this plague. They went radio silent five days ago. We have been coming these woods searching for them since." He slowly raised his hand towards George, he held out a picture. "Would you mind taking a look at this photo?"

George couldn't help but chuckle at the hand gestures, he had seen them more times than he wanted to count. "Sure, I'll take a look. Where you boys out of?"

"Dan's out of Brag, a weapons sergeant from one of their ODAs." The man said with a nod as he handed George the photo. "Phil is from the Tennessee state patrol. We hooked up with him after that battle over in Apison, near Chattanooga, almost two months ago. And Luke over there is from first Rangers. I retired from the Marines about two years ago and was living in north Murray county with my wife. Call me Hank."

George nodded and looked down at the picture and was surprised to see the face of the young woman with the mule looking back up at him. He would have thought it odd, she looked so young, but it was a Center for Disease Control identification with her picture and the credentials for Dr. Emma Hanson, PhD. Microbiology (Organic Chemistry. It crossed his mind for a moment to wonder what that payed.

George looked at the picture for a moment. "I am retired Florida National Guard, well I was to be retired at the end of the year. Never got a call to go back to duty, so I chose to help locals around here instead." George wasn't sure how the soldiers would take that, but he didn't care, he was done being a soldier.

"Yeah I saw her a few hours ago, came through ere, had a mule with her. She muttered something about others needing her. She seemed a bit out of her mind also." George tries to notice what handguns they are carrying.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:23, Tue 10 Nov 2020.

"Good man." Hank said as he took the photo back. "On both counts."

Hank stood up and put the photo back into a protective case and pulled out a map case. On the map case George saw a name tape from when Hank had been active duty. There was a rank insignia for a colonel over a name tape that Hanson, Harold M. Beneath the name tape was the skull and five skulls insignia of the Marine Raiders.

He held out a map and used a blue grease pencil to point to a point on the map. It was there location.

"We're here." Hank said. "Can you show me where to go looking for the young woman you saw?"

"How's about this? I'll join you guys and we all go looking for her, though I suggest we wait until the morning. As we all know roaming at night with the walking dead is a bad idea, at night." George's offer was genuine. "I have a cabin up the way that has more than enough room for others, plus I have fresh food." George waited for an answer before marking the way she was going. If they insisted on going he'd mark it and where he would suspect she would be going.

"Ah, sure, thanks." Hank turned to the others and told them. "Come on guys, the gentleman here is offering a safe cot and a fresh hot. It'd be nice to eat fresh and sleep well for change."

The others nodded. He waved them into a march order and turned to George. "Lead on buddy, we got your back."

George takes a clicker out of his pocket and uses it, clicking a rapid set of clicks to summon his horse. Once his horse appears he grabs the reins and walks in front of it. "Follow me. It is normally quiet, and safe, around here. Had some bandits kill some friends of mine, they have been put down, along with the bandits."

Continuing to walk. "So Colonel, what does the government have left, or is it completely fractured and each base trying to control things?"

"Dan, care to give the man the run down on the American political scene these days?" Hank asked the man behind him.

"Sure." Dan said in a gruff tone. "The government dissolved thirty eight days ago. The last organized military action took place twenty nine days ago. The last coordinated defensive action by anyone took place twenty two days ago. Out last radio contact with the lost CDC control team was nine days ago. And, our last contact with the research team we are looking for was four days ago. Did I miss anything?"

"Yeah, every government on earth is gone as of twenty four days ago." Luke chimed in.

"So who are you working for then, and where out of? Sounds like you're at least a bit organized, so you have a command structure and a goal, which is the Doc, right?" George asked as he continued the trek to his cabin.

"It's strictly amateur hour. A handful of us killer types, some good heated bible thumpers that keep us all sane and feed, the Docs like my daughter who're still trying to figure this shit our, a handful of helpful tradesmen on the wrong side of fifty, and several old-school end of the world survivalist types." Hank said. It was an immediate response, well stated. Almost a rehearsed speech.

Hank eased up a little closer and continued, "We are camped out about ten miles east of here. A nice little place, open fields with open sight lines for nearly a mile in all directions. We dug in deep, threw up a rain fly, some tarps, erected a chimney so we could cook, treat water, boil bandages, and so on. It was going well until four days ago."

More of that speaking to the new class vibe. George was beginning to feel like it was a recruitment drive to get more soldiers to volunteer for the new war. It crossed George's mind to wonder if the man could bring himself to admit the new war already over. The living lost.

"Colonel, there are way better places than a set up in the middle of nowhere and no good structures to live in. Hell, you can head to Jackson, Benning or Bragg. Do it smart and send in a group to sweep through and clear the zombies and you'd have access to a hospital, or more." George was a realist and living under tarps would suck ass majorly.

The men behind George came to a stop. He stopped as well and looked back anticipating trouble. Instead they were all just looking at him. After a long, uncomfortable moment of silence Hank finally spoke, "Brother, those places are gone. Home the dead now. I'm sorry to have to tell you that."

The others just nodded.

George shrugged. "I suspected as much, though I've been thinking on that. Let's keep moving though, it'll be getting dark soon, and even though I know where I am, and going to, there can be surprises anywhere." As George started moving again. "What is gone can be retaken, and my idea on that is rather unconventional, though it could work. I'll explain when we get to my cabin. It's about another 30 minutes on foot. If you see any big orange X's anywhere, don't approach there. It's pit traps I set for walkers. I don't think you want to get impaled on the makeshift punji sticks in the pit."

The trek back to his little homestead was uneventful. Though they did see signs, a lot tracks and broken foliage, of the passage of a considerable number of the undead. Once they made it back to his homestead George was relieved but the things had stumbled through his garden making a shambles of his cucumbers and squash.

A quick search showed the place to be safe. Once they were inside they relaxed enough to talk.

"Nice little place." Hank said. "To bad about your friends. We know your loss. A stupid thing to say these days. We have all lost so much."

"Thanks, none of this is easy and I try to not dwell on it. Well shit, lost some vegetables. I really need to get my fence up around it." George surveyed the damage, while more than he would like, it was nothing that would set him back at all. He could turn the trampled vegetables into seeds for the next crop and he still had more than enough for himself. "Let me go into the cabin first." George opened the main cabin door and leaned in once the door was opened and seemed to do something. Seeing his 2 dogs he smiled, they were happy to see him and he happy to see them. Once the trap was disarmed they came over, as they knew what could happen if they came too close. "Ok, it's alright to come in. Don't go in any other door, they are all similarly trapped. Make yourselves comfortable, I have to put my horse up." George walked over to his small barn where he kept his horse. Hearing noises he was quite used to he smiled, the 4 goats and 4 sheep he had were annoying as hell, yet they were trained rather well. They had a bolt hole in case any walkers got inside, so he knew they were fine.



Opening the barn he led his horse in and put her in her stable, making sure they all had water and food. He really needed to scrounge some wood and get a secondary fence built, it was really surprising how effective a simple fence was at keeping walkers away.

George then walked into his cabin. "Well I have a treat for you, hit the light switch." When George had his little home away from home built he had solar installed on the roof of both the cabin and barn, so he had power and now that was a godsend. He also had a generator backup and batteries that could keep him going for a while, if need be. For the moment though, George only uses about a quarter of the lights possible in the cabin, at most, as light-bulbs will eventually be hard to come by.

"This is a great place, George." One of them said from behind him.

There was a chorus of 'yeah', 'awesome', and 'amazing' that followed.

"We'll be up out early, but this will be a real treat for us George." Hank said. "Thanks for the hospitality."

George smiles, as he puts his things down, though keeps his pistol on himself. "There's a shower through that door. I do have hot water, and if you want to use it, go ahead. If you use the white soap in the closet, it is unscented and I made it a few months ago. There are towels in there also. I'd prefer if you use the same towel." George goes over to his bloodhound and scratches him a bit, then puts a leash on him. "I'm going to put Blu out in the barn. If you hear him barking, we get to kill Zombies. Hit the switch on the left side of the main door, it'll light everything up outside, though it drains the batteries pretty fast, I can leave them on for 15 minutes safely." With that George heads outside and puts Blu in the barn and comes back a few minutes later.

When George returned the men had turned into the most highly polished home-skills unit he had ever seen. Hank was in the shower, washing his body and his clothing, in the rapid fashion only someone accustomed to extremely limited hot water could. The other two had their gear changed out, their dirty belongings ready to shower with them, and seemed to posses their own soap and towels.

There was an improvised line hung near the fireplace and a small fire had been started. It would help with drying their gear without generating too much heat in the cabin. One of them, George couldn't think of his name of the top of his head, was cleaning a cut on his forearm with iodine and a toothbrush.

George winced. He was probably the Ranger. Those guys were so macho they would clean shrapnel from wounds with hacksaw blades. George cringed wondering if there was anything in the wound that actually needed to be properly removed. Well, at least he wasn't getting the mess all over George's floor.

George laughed. "It'll be about an hour or so for food. Hope you like mutton stew, had to put down one of my older sheep and well I couldn't waste any of it." As George heads to the kitchen and by passes the modern stove he has and starts up the wood stove. Getting going on the stove George headed back into the main room. "If you need to charge anything, feel free. You have access to things right now that will become harder and harder to come by. Enjoy it while you can."<green> George takes a seat in front of the fireplace and Jinx laid down in front of the fire. <Green>"I'll admit I do missing watching TV and other niceties, but what can you do? In the morning, head back out the way you came, I'll be up before sunrise, checking my pits for any walkers that need to be dispatched. Then work on getting a fence up around my garden. I have the posts and wire, it's just backbreaking work and time consuming."

Motioning to the Colonel. "Let's see that map of yours, so we can figure out where your daughter went off to."

That cop, oh what was his name? Anyway he had pulled out a slim laptop and plugged it in. As it charged up enough to run he busted out instant coffee and some honest to goodness orange-macadamia scones. By the time he had coffee ready and the laptop fired everyone was showered and gathered around the little table in George's kitchen.

Coffee and scones made a good appetizer for the beans and bacon that would be contributed to dinner. They felt obligated to repay George's hospitality. He was sure that the pair of cans must have weighed five pounds, and probably had something to do with the dinner selection. They ate and enjoyed Lawrence Kasdin's Silverado. It was a good western with an all-star cast. They all marveled at how young Kevin Costner was. As how smooth Scott Glenn portrayed a true left-handed gunfighter. And Rosanna Arquette's young beauty.

It was a good night. George settled down in his bed, good and tired, and was asleep in no time. He dreamed of fishing, that busty blond who tended bar at the Midnight Star in Silverado, and of screaming men...what?

George's eyes popped open. Closed, opened again. He blinked rapidly trying to force reality into his thoughts. Sitting up in bed, George was unaware of grabbing his pistol as he tried to understand what was happening.

"Shoot him! Just fucking shoot him!" Hank was yelling. There was a trio of shots.

George quickly made his way into the heart of cabin to find a half naked corpse covered in tattoos. Most notable of them was Airborne and Ranger tabs over a 2nd Ranger Battalion scroll on the undead man's right upper arm.

The cop. The one who had the coffee and old movies on a laptop. He was laid out in a sleeping bag on the floor. His throat was simple gone. So was a large portion of his torso along the collarbones. George blanched. Then he remembered the wounds the man had been cleaning out.

"It must have been too late. He waited too long to clean the wounds." Hank was saying. He walked over and used a knife to ensure that his companions where well and truly dead. "Infection must have set in, killed him in his sleep."

"Fucking hell, this is a shit show. Clean up the mess." Turning to his Shepherd. "Jinx, seek." With that Jinx would, normally, spring into action, looking for any walkers that may be near. Once he found any he would make a whimpering noise in the direction of any of them, though not get close to them, and George would, usually, dispatch them. With the gunshots he was sure there would be a few showing up. Grabbing his MPX, he also put on a tactical vest he had, taking a silencer from a pocket he screwed it into place and then followed behind Jinx. "Colonel, don't dump the bodies yet, let me make sure all is clear first. I have a spot for dead walkers." And with that George headed out the door behind Jinx, ready for whatever awaited him.

A quick but thorough check of the area revealed that the area was clear of any undead threat. Relieved, George headed back inside. The bodies were already wrapped in their ponchos when George returned.

Hank began praying over the dead men, drawing George's attention. He standing over to the side of the bodies, holding a bible, and wearing a priest's collar. Then it dawned on George. Hank caught his stare and said what George was thinking.

"I was a real hard charger, started a young Lieutenant of Infantry, moved on to running Scout/Snipers, made Captain and snagged an assignment to Force Recon. " Hank closed his bible and slid it into a protective cover as spoke. "After an unplanned trip to the hospital courtesy of a trio of bullets I ended up training Marine Raiders for bit. Then nine-eleven came along. We raiders we busy in those early days. In oh-nine I had a change of heart, took up the bible again, re-classed after I got my Seminary degree, and got promoted to light Colonel."

He walked past the other man to his gear and took out a map, "So, this little route you showed me where you saw my girl, could an experienced man make it at night?"

"Yes, you and your fellow soldier should be able to handle it, though if you waited until sunrise I could help and with Blu we could track her down rather easily and quickly. I have 2 horses, so we could do it. She is a small target and as long as she is smart, which I suspect she is, she will be fine for the night." George wasn't in a huge rush to go out at night, and leave his cabin to boot, but he would be willing to help.

"Your call Colonel, I'll help, though I highly suggest waiting. It's only a few hours until dawn, then we can go. I know I'd like to get some food in me." George knew the area, and while it was foreign to the soldiers, he didn't doubt that they should be fine, keyword should.

"Yeah, you're right." Hank said. The other man seemed genuinely relieved.

Hank walked over to where he had been sleeping and sat down. He pulled a small flash from his pack and took a long drink from it. Finally he looked at George, "Thanks for your hospitality George. Where's this place you dispose of the undead? We'll see to our frineds here."

George nodded at them accepting his help. "Follow me. One of us need to keep a look out for walkers. I set up a bunch of pits for the dead to walk into and have it set up so I usually catch them before they get close to the cabin." George waited for them to grab their first deceased comrade. "We can bury them properly. Most of the times I just dump the walkers in a pit and fill it back up, then dig another pit. I haven't tested planting any crops near the pits though, I'm not sure what might happen then."

As they got to a pit. "Your daughter gave me something, a blue duffel bag, Blu should be able to get her scent off of it. That way we can catch up to her easily enough. Hell, I haven't even opened it yet. Once we're back at the cabin, go ahead and raid my pantry. I have a bunch of stuff, I use retort pouches and the stuff stays shelf stable for a long while. I used it to trade mostly, though with my neighbors dead, it doesn't matter much, now does it." George just cuts to the chase. "Colonel, once you find her you should really look into moving all your folks out here. There are a number of cabins close and they're actual structures."

By the time they had dug the holes and buried the bodies the sun was a purple haze in the east, George figured they were about an hour or so from full daylight. He sighed, some nights were like that.

"I would be interested to see what was in the duffel bag my daughter left you." Hank said. "She was suffering from post traumatic stress disorder. It has been a real ordeal for her in the last month considering the world we live in now."

"Tell him the whole story, Hank, he's earned it." The other man said.

"Yes, he has." Hank said. looking George dead in the face he explained in a very sobering voice. "I have a son. He turned out to be a gifted soldier. A few weeks ago he was killed by a horde of some size while trying to fight a rear-guard action to buy one the field teams some time to flee. My daughter was on that team. Turns out she had broken protocol and put the team at risk. It led to the death of her brother and five other good people."

"That sucks, sorry for your losses, both of you. She shouldn't let it eat at you. She lived, she will learn. It isn't an easy thing to have someone, hell anyone, die from your team, but in this day and age it'll happen. You can do everything right and shit goes sideways, and not follow protocols and things go fine. It's a crap shoot." George headed towards the barn, to let Blu out and the livestock to eat. "Start some coffee, will ya? I'll be in shortly, got to set things up so I won't worry about my livestock. I'll get the horses ready and we can head out shortly."

Reappearing in the cabin about 15 minutes later. "I got some fresh eggs, we'll eat 'em and head out. We need to have something in our bellies before we roll out. Shouldn't be more than 30 minutes. Nothing fancy, just scrambled with some fresh veggies mixed in, I can add a little ham also, if you want." George got started on a quick breakfast, using the fireplace to do it, as he didn't want to use the stove. "The closet over there, grab about 6 pouches each, that'll be 2-3 days worth of meals for both of you. Think MREs, yet actual food."

Pointing to the blue duffel in the corner. "All yours to check out Colonel."
This message was last edited by the player at 15:10, Tue 24 Nov 2020.

George returned to coffee, eggs, toast, and dried fruit. Hank had set out the contents of the blue duffel bag on the little kitchen table. There was a box of audio cassette tapes, a compact cassette player, a military style map case with an assortment of maps pile on top, a metal container that had impressive seals and bio-hazard markings on it labeled 'Tissue Samples: Do Not Open Outside Of Containment Facility', a three ring binder full of paper George assumed to be research notes, and around twenty commercial blister packs of three rounds of 'Dragon's Breath' 12 gauge incendiary shotgun cartridges.

Hank was holding a three ring binder as George walked in. The look on his face reminded George of the looks on the faces of people early on; utter shock at the realization of what they were witnessing was real. It made he worry a bit. Three months into the event, the world was full of undead cannibals, Hank was a seasoned man of violence, and now he was reading something that shocked him!

The other man, with an improvised name tag pinned to his shirt reading 'Call me Zip', was using a pocket knife to cut open the blister packs of Droagon's Breath rounds. He had half a dozen of the bright red cartridges set out next to his empty breakfast plate.

Looking over at Hank, George sits down. "You look like you're shaken to the bone, what's going on?"

"Where to start. The first page of this report was just a letterhead, Center For Disease Control, Atlanta, Group yah, yah, yah." Hank said. "But in the margins it has three notes. The first is, and I quote my daughter the scientist here, 'mankind has been irrevocably altered by the presence of this new radiation, it is in our DNA, we will all change at death, forever more'."

Hank stopped for a moment to let that sink in. Humans would always change into the undead at their time of death? Always?

"Next," Hank went on breaking George and Zip out their own thoughts. "it says here that the reincarnated humans, the CDC terminology is necrotic organisms, she called them necros, are idle several hours per day as if resting, that they digest small amounts of living tissue to maintain their own bodies, and that that have rudimentary motors skills such as walking, standing up, negotiating stairs, opening unlocked doors, and using simple tools like clubs. And get this, they can recognize and fear fire."

Hank was looking a little wild in the eyes. He seemed to be on edge, and not in a useful way.

"Lastly, she is pregnant." He said. It caught George off guard. He was expecting to hear that the undead could fly, or speak, or cast magical spell or something. But, she's pregnant. Now that was something to personal them all to ignore.

"Congratulations, yes? Well there are decisions to be made then. Nothing can be done to stop it then, as it is radiation and society if fubared. That doesn't mean stop living life." George gets up and grabs some packages from one of his cupboards, walks over to everyone's backpack and places them on the floor in front of them, then puts some in his backpack. "Well we need find her, that's for sure. Your exposed campsite isn't exactly a decent place to raise a child, now is it? Are there any permanent structures there?" George was, sorta of, beating around the bush, without saying it exactly, though he would cut to the chase.

"There are a number of cabins around here, and the land around my cabin can be cleared and we can build cabins here. You could move your people here and we could, try, to have a place for everyone. It doesn't mean we still wouldn't have to hunt or go off looking for supplies, it does mean a semblance of life."

(OOC:sorry for overlooking this posting George, my bad)

Hank just nodded. He had kept reading and closed the notebook suddenly. It made George feel like there was more bad news.

"So, George, do you have much area knowledge?" Hank asked completely derailing the conversation about his daughter. "There is a research team further north that may have figured a way to kill these things wholesale."

"Yes, I do know the area quite well." Though George did change the subject back to Hank's daughter. "We need to find your daughter, then we can go to the research team."

"Actually, I was hoping you would take Zip here and head north. Bring that team here." Hank said.

Zip stared at Hank for a moment and then said, "If you think it's best, I'm all for it. Can I get some of your three-hundred-blackout ammo though?"

George had to do a mental step back and think. What was this man asking? How far north was that team away? A few hours? A day? Several days?

George looked at Hank for a moment, making sure he heard him right. "Yeah, we can do that. Where are they exactly? Do you have longitude and latitude, or what?"

George went over to a bookcase and pulled out an old road atlas of the area and gave it to Hank. "Show me where they are and it should be pretty easy to get them here." George took a breath. "What do they have in the form of transportation, what equipment do they have? How many people are there?"

"According to the last entry into the communications log two days ago that research crew was headed this way by helicopter but was forced to make an emergency landing in Dalton." Hank explained. "That is along highway seventy-five south of the state line."

Zip kind of rolled his eyes and looked at George. He stepped close to talk without speaking loudly, trying to sound optimistic by using a soft voice. He told George, "That area rough. Local guardsmen took over some of the place, by force, and there is a mass migration of those cannibals headed southwards from Chattanooga along the highway seventy-five corridor. It may already be nearing Dalton."

Hank handed an handful of AR-15 magazines to Zip. The .300 Blackout rounds George assumed. Zip just sighed and began packing the ammo. It would be a long walk. George thought about the gear he would need for the trek; boots, socks, meals, water purification tablets, etc., etc.

"Dalton, got it. You say local Guardsmen? Hell I was a Battalion XO in Florida. I might know some of them, maybe convince them the error of their ways peacefully, or not peacefully, if need be. Now, how many people were they, in the team?"

George continues to pack the rest of his gear. "I have an old Jeep under a tarp. It works, was from the 80s. Kept it because it was my step-fathers. You want to use it, or the horses? Zip and I will take whatever is left." George had gas, though not nearly as much as he wished he had. Heading to Dalton would leave him low, so they would have to scavenge for some, if they had the Jeep.

Walking into another room, George spoke. "Guys, come on in here." This is my workshop, I have a few gun safes in here, all my supplies for gunsmithing and other things. The room had 3 gun safes, a workbench and an ample supply of tools for working on guns, plumbing and woodworking. In the corner was a handloading machine. "Collect any brass you use, we can reload it."

George never thought him wanting to live, 'off the grid', would mean it literally.

"Her notes said five people in that team, two UN troops from Australia as guards and three field researchers." Hank said as he followed George. "I'll take a horse. Better for this terrain and less noisy that your jeep. And thanks, for everything. I'll name my grandchild after you."

"I have three hundred brass," Hank said digging a bag out of his pocket, "here, Zip."

George looks at Hank. "Thanks, though that is for the future, not the now. I need you to get back here as soon as you can. The livestock have about 3 to 4 days before all their feed is gone from what I will leave for them. Every day will increase the chances of walkers getting at them, and when that happens we lose goat's milk and fresh eggs. I prefer to keep that. I can keep them in the barn, I have hurricane shutters I can put on the stables and keep them in there. That will increase their chances, plus we can put some other things in the way of the doors. Once they're safe we can head out. You'll take Blu with you, give him the blanket and he will track your daughter for you."

Opening his gun safe, he places the loose firearms back into the safe and looks at Hank and Zip. "If you want anything to stay here, and be safe, place it in here. This is my empty safe, the one I open the most. The code is simple, 1776. I'll leave the doors unlocked, as I really don't want anything destroyed by raiders, though it's been a while since I've seen any."

"Leaving everything I don't think I'll need, planning for four days, two out and two back." Zip said. "Anything more than that and it wouldn't matter. We can either scrounge up what we need or I'll be dead. Twenty extra pounds of maybe-gear wont matter."

"Good, let's get those hurricane panels into place. Then we head out. I have a few gas cans. The jeep will be cramped, as we need food and water also. I expect we will have problems with the rogue Guardsmen."

George went into his room and got changed into something he never thought he would wear again and comes out into the other room in his BDUs he has had for ages.

"I don't think the most recent ones would have been a good idea. Guess it's Major Simmons reporting for duty, Colonel."

The preparations went quickly with three highly motivated men putting in the effort.

George and Zip left just a Hank was getting himself map-oriented to go after his daughter. Coming down the mountain went smoothly, but slowly. The number of undead on the mountain was distressing for George to see. He kept his little corner of the world secured. But, there wasn't farm, retreat, or cabin that they passe by that didn't show signs of recent fighting or lingering undead.

He wondered just how many people were left on the mountain top besides himself. Zip sat, watching for trouble, but saying nothing. They ran into half a dozen undead on their way down. George tried not to hit them, thinking of possible damage to the Jeeps running gear, lights, tires, etc. But the undead somehow knew where to stand in order to be run over no matter what George did. It aggravated the shit out of him too. Such a stinking mess.

If George thought the mountain was bad the interstate was worse. Even for a two lane country highway in the middle rural north Georgia. George was shocked at the level of destruction in some places. Houses burned to rubble with piles of charred corpses in and around them. Roadblocks with pile of copses, some stacked several feet high. And brass from the firing lines looking like pebbles in a rock garden.

They had to backtrack through lards and side roads at times to get around traffic jams of abandoned cars or roadblocks. It was slow. It stunk like a tannery or chicken kill house. And there were literally thousands of those damned things scattered around the countryside.

And they had only traveled twenty-one miles, fourteen miles straight map distance from the cabin to here, in the last seventy-two minutes. It was going to be a longer trip than they had figured on. George wished Hank better luck than they were having.

George cussed a way more than he had in a long while. "Have I told you I hate zombies, as in really hate."

George kept driving, though decided backroads were the way to go, moving forward that is. The problem with backroads were, they were backroads and lord knows what may be around. George kept his eyes open for anything that they could scavenge, they could always use more supplies, that is for sure.

"George, up ahead on the left." Zip said as he pointed.

As they approached an intersection of two old country roads it became obvious that someone had ran a police cruiser up against the side of a small mom-n-pops store blocking any access from the outside vie the the storefront windows. It was a good idea, but had obviously happened several weeks back judging by the dust and pine needles on the car.

"Wonder what went wrong?" Zip asked as if simply airing out his own thoughts. "That marking at he back. The 0ne-asterisk. that means one-ass-to-risk, it's an old school SWAT thing. That is a tactical response car for a SWAT officer. Could be a good time to stretch our legs."

George recalled that Zip had been a state cop when all of this had started. He had probably been at the sharp end of the conflict since it began. But, he could be right. That particular car parked in front of a store from not long after it all began could be a good find. They might get lucky, maybe find some detergent for his dishwasher. No more dishpan hands.

"Alright. let's take a look." A George got out, placing the Jeep in park. Grabbing his SIG MPX, he quickly double checked his rig. "I'll take point, you behind me and a step to my right. Anything shambles, light it up."

With that George checked the vehicle first, hoping to see what they might find, then off to the building itself.

George moved up to the cop car, the 'tactical cruiser' brought back memories. It had the usual Ford K105 layout; a real back seat layout for four passengers, standard doors, extended communications suite and a Motorola Long Range Police Radio, most likely a model 704, and a lockbox in the trunk. This one still held one of the four M4 rifles it was designed to hold. There was also a first response kit, a signals kit, several sets of prisoner restraints, an ammo locker that still held several boxes of 9mm and 12 gauge buckshot ammo, and a still wrapped 24-cpount cases of 20 ounce bottles of water.

The car was even half full of fuel. What a haul!

George continues past the vehicle, now that they have an idea what they should get. "Let's clear the building. We'll go in from the rear and sweep each room. Once it's clear we will grab anything we can use and continue on. YOu can take the Cruiser, I have a feeling we will need it."

With that George heads to the rear of the building and tries to enter through the rear door.

The backroom was a simple rectangle of bricks filled with shelving units holding bits of what was once the supplies used to keep the little store's shelves stocked up. Now, it was just a lot of things people didn't need to survive; shoe polish, boot laces, ink pens, dish washer detergent, extension cords, and so on. But, there was a small pile of supplied, military provided, on one shelf.

The shelf held several cases of MREs, several cases of bottles water, a combat medic's bag, several blankets, and half a dozen flashlights. There was a collection of matches, candles, butane lighters, and a single kerosene lamp on another shelf. In the floor was a corpse, at least two months old and drying up, that was covered in ruined camouflage clothing but still several magazines for the UMP submachine gun it lay on top of.

Zip was quiet, too quiet, George thought. Leaving the storeroom through a doorway blocked by those hanging plastic strips that every grocery store in history seemed to be equipped with, George came out in the corner of the store behind a crowded checkout. The shelves were nearly bare, the floor was littered with decomposing bodies, and in the opposite corner of the store Zip was grappling with a large man with a knife. Another man, smaller, was pitching about at their feet clutching a bleeding wound in his stomach.

George didn't even hesitate, reaching down at his side and pulling out his extendable baton, flicking it down fast it extended to it's full length. Moving forward he brings the baton down on the back of the large man's legs, right behind the knee caps. Normally Grorge wouldn't have aimed for that spot, as it can cause permanent damage, but this wasn't normal times and he wasn't really in the mood for talking.

The man crumpled, falling to the floor as his knees gave out from the unexpected attack. Zip kneed the man in the chest thrusting him away and into the wall. The fight left the man and George realized that the man was bleeding from a deep cut at his side as well. Zip stepped away and wiped the blade of his folding knife before putting in back in his pocket.

"Thanks." Zip said. He sounded odd, remorseful. "I thought they needed real help, they suckered me. If it hadn't been for my knife. Well, thanks."

George looked at Zip. "First, are you ok?" As George didn't takes his eyes off the two stabbed men as he pointed his MPX at them, with the silencer in place he could dispatch them quietly enough. "Speak, you might just have a chance at living if your information is good enough."

Zip checked himself out and said, "All good, some bumps and bruises. It's been a while since I had to fight a person."

From the floor the men seemed cowed, beaten. The one man had stopped writhing and seemed to be in the last moments of his life. Zip's blade probably cut a bleeder. Or several. The other man was just overwhelmed and looked to be malnourished. He looked up with sullen eyes.

"We are sorry. It's just been, well, you know. We needed this stuff to live. You guys have a lot, you can find more. Don't take what we need." He said. It occurred to George and Zip that the man meant 'we' to be more than himself and his dying friend.

George looked at the man, and while a part of him wanted pity for him, another part of him didn't. "There's been too much killing. Every dead human is a new zombie, don't you get it? We are a dying race." As he looked at the dying man, he knew what he had to do, aimed and pulled the trigger, hitting him in the head, guaranteeing he wouldn't rise as a Zombie.

"Tell the others to come out, they have 20 seconds, or you're lying and you will end up dead." Looking over at Zip. "Watch him." George proceeded to wait and see what happened.

"Two streets over, about a block." The man began talking quickly despite the pain. He kept looking at his companion and grimacing. "There's a little school, a preschool. That's where they are. Sixteen, ten men, six women. A baby, six kids and teens. Two married couples. A granddad. Please, we are desperate."

Zip looked at George and raised and eyebrow.

Looking at the man, George was skeptical, to say the least. "Zip, let's load up everything into the Jeep and police cruiser. We will go see what their situation is all about. I don't trust him."" As George looks at the man. "But I can't let them die either." George grabs one of the zip cuffs and walks over to the man. "If you're lying, you won't see the morning. Now put your hands behind your back." When the man complies George uses the cuffs on him, making sure they're snug, maybe even a little tight, though not too tight as to cut off circulation.

"How many armed people do you have, and what is your all clear signal. Zip and I don't have a lot of time to waste on this." George helped the man to his feet and walked him to the cruiser, making the man sit on the street, George made sure no walkers were present and nothing was in the backseat that could be used against him or Zip. Once it was all clear he placed the man in the back seat.

"We only got two guns with ammo; a twenty-two pistol and an old bolt action rifle, one of them world war two Russian rifles." The man said. "I'm Tiago. Just walk me up to them and it'll be ok. We really don't want trouble. We only jumped your man there because he surprised us. We thought he was one of those killers from the city."

He stood, slowly, holding the cut in his side. It was still bleeding. It was a bad cut as killing attacks went since it really only opened up the skin. It was a good cut as wounds went since it could be closed with some sutures and kept clean easily enough. Right now, it was the worst kind of cut, however, since the smell of blood was probably a lure for the undead.

Checking outside the coast was clear for now. But, George could make out distinctly shambling shapes in the distance in their wake and in their path. There was a lot to load too. Enough to easily fill the cruiser and Jeep including the three of them.

"Just grab the guns and medicine, the rest can wait." George pulled out a lighter he kept on him. Looking at it, he then looked at Zip. "Let me see your knife."

Turning to the handcuffed man. "I can stop the bleeding, but it'll hurt like hell for a moment. If you yell out, we will have zombies on us in no time. Your call." It was readily apparent what George wanted to do, and it may save more than a few lives.

"Awe shit." The man cringed. "Just do it. Can I bite down on something?"

"Yeah, hold on." George went to his Jeep and grabbed one of the clean rags he had, and rolled it up, so it was easy to bite on. Walking back to the cruiser he handed it to the man, then proceeded to heat up the knife. Waiting for him to bite down on the rag.

"On the count of three. One, two" George didn't wait until he got to three and did it.

They had to wait a few minutes for the man to wake up and then become re-oriented to reality. At least he didn't scream and draw unwanted cannibal attention. Zip waited next to George and seemed preoccupied with watching any direction George wasn't.

George reaches over and taps Zip on his shoulder. "He's up. Let's go to the school and see what's going on. When we get there, I'll head in, you keep an overwatch and radio me if you see any trouble." George took a breath, knowing full well that his little encampment couldn't handle this many people at one time, even if they worked together, shelters would need to be made, food to be grown and gathered.

<green>"Zip, what do you think we should do? I can't let them die, but there's no way we can do much to help, at the moment."

Zip shrugged, "Give them directions to that cabin where we met you. The family that passed away was well appointed. They can go there and make a life."

He looked at George, speaking as if he was caught between caring for these people or not, and nodded when he finished as if he had made some sort of inner piece.

"Most wouldn't care after what they did. You understand it as well as I do. Tell them how to get there, let them survive on their own." Zip said. "It's all anyone can really do."

"Makes sense, and is more than most would do. We would make it back before them anyways. It all depends on how things go when we get there." George got into his Jeep. "Let's get going, lord knows what we will encounter."

Rolling up on the little pre-school was both relieving and nerve wracking.

The survivors inside opened the door as the vehicles approached, expectant in their desperation, to meet what they assumed to be their friends. But the cars drew the attention of the undead in the area for several blocks around. George could make out at least a dozen and assumed three times that many.

"Holy shit!" A tall older man called as he realized the men in the cars weren't of their group. "Who are you guys?"

"we're the guys that were jumped by your guys. One of your group didn't make it." George got out of his Jeep, grabbing his MPX as he exited the vehicle. George noted where everyone was standing, also the reaction when he mentioned they lost someone. "I have a proposal for you folks, a rather simple one. First though, I've been told you have some pond scum that is in the area, is that right? I need you to fill me in on what they've been up to, I suspect they've become petty warlords."

Their quick stop turned into an hour long layover, carrying on even as the undead drifted closer, and covered many topics of immediate interest. Zip found the wife of the man he had killed and talked with her at length. When he left her she was crying, clutching her bible to her chest, and kept repeating that the men had a plan to save them.

They discovered that a local group of survivalists had taken about a month before. The survivalists organized everyone they came across and discarded anyone that didn't have useful skills or wouldn't toe their line. According to the little group of refugees the survivalists had around forty men plus their families as well as another hundred or so people, families too, working with them. They lived in a UPS shipping hub ten miles to the west.

The group lacked a leader, but was all for working together to live in the Morgan's cabin on the mountain. Even assuring them that they could be called on in the future to help out with providing safety, gathering resources, helping other refugees. But, they were unwilling to go against the survivalist group simply because of the collateral damage they felt was unavoidable. That, and the survivalists were armed with as one man put it 'fucking machine guns, mortars, and rocket launchers'. Zip said it sounded like they had raided a National Guard armory of something similar.

As Zip spoke he began knocking down undead with his suppressed MP5. The members of the little group of refugees promptly decided on the spot to take the offer of the cabin. Organizing quickly they decided on how best to get there. A mile a away was a middle school that had been turned into a refugee point, they knew it well, until had been overrun by undead and then attacked by helicopter gunships using a multitudinous amount of machine gun fire. But, there was an old Bluebird school bus there in good shape and with fuel.

It just needed to be stoled from under the nose of the undead, the survivalists, and anybody else targeting the school for anything of value left there.

The last hour hadn't exactly been easy for George, he and Zip had other things to attend to and they needed to get onto the primary mission. "Hey Zip, looks like we get to scout out the middle school, then get these folks on their way." Even if they had a plan, and everything worked out, the odds weren't exactly in the favor of the small group. "The survivalists could present a major problem, though I suspect they are more disorganized than we suspect. Cut off their head and they'll scatter like rats. What do you think?"

"No offense, pal, but you have spent a lot of time on your mountain." Zip said quickly. "Some of these guys, well, they're easily as good as we are. Some are even better in a fight, former operators and real life commando types even. The world is down to those us left who will do what it takes or learn to. This could be a real threat if we mess with those guys. I say we give them some guns and send them after the bus. Time to sink or swim.

George knew Zip was right, even if he didn't like it. Sighing "I didn't really bring anything extra. The Police M4 would benefit them, but do we really want to get rid of it? It isn't like I have a bunch of selective fire guns. I have one, hell I didn't even bring it with me, as I prefer semi-auto, way more accurate."

George was at a loss for things at the moment, he wanted to do right by these people, but what was right now a days? "What's stopping these survivalists coming to my mountain and fucking things up for us?"
This message was lightly edited by the player at 14:24, Thu 31 Dec 2020.

"They don't now to." A woman said. "I was with them for a month. They came from over near the Alabama line moving eastward. It was easier pickings as the panic set in. They have cars, guns, radios, and all that but they don't really know this area. They settled down where they are because of the all the workers. That's what they call us."

Zip looked at George as if to imply 'what the fuck!'. A tall, skinny teen-aged girl stepped forward next to the woman. In the days before the dead rose to life she would have been all the rage in her high school; tall, beautiful, extremely busty, very fit, and red headed. Now, she was a target for anyone who could drag her down and have their way with her or just another meal in Reebok's for the undead.

"I was hiding out with my folks in a church. We were waiting for the State Police to come and excort us to FEMA camp. That was week two." She said, tears began rolling down her cheeks. "When these guys showed up they had the State cops' cars and a couple of the State cops. Their leader came in and talked to us. My dad joined them. My mom said no."

She stopped talking, every eyes locked onto her, and took a deep breath.

"He told us we had to decide for ourselves, that life was different now." She continued on. "Daddy was a Marine for ten years. He some kind of sharpshooter in Afghanistan in that war. I said no, thinking I could. We all did. Turns out my only useful skill was what they called Morale Improvement. I guess you understand what that means."

There was a collective gasp. A couple of curses about her father. A young man in back asked, "What happened to the rest?"

"Those with skills became so called workers, five of us girls were assigned to Morale Improvement, the rest, including my Mom and little brother were robbed, stripped, raped, and turned out into the streets with those things bearing down on us. To buy the rest time to get away."

People were crying. Some of the older men looked mad enough to chew lead and spit bullet. It was an epiphany for them.

Zip stepped forward and nodded to the girl and said, "Troopers. State Troopers is what there called. How tough are they?"

"I have seen them ambush soldiers, cops, armed bands of people fighting those dead people. They take in people like them, keep the workers foraging things they need, and they are communicating with other groups like them too. We need to stay away from them."

The woman who spoke up first took the girl's hand and led her to a small table ans sat down with her.

George wanted to do something, he really did, but 2 people against a large group was suicide. "Hey Zip, let's get these people on their way, then do what we need to do. Once we're done, we can get with the Padre and come up with an idea what to do about the scumbags."

"Agreed." Zip turned to the nearest man of the group and handed him the keys to the police cruiser. "Time to figure it out, we have something that simply has to be done. I'm sorry. Follow George's directions, keep your heads down, and don't pick any fights."

Zip turned to George and then suddenly spun around and said, "Remember that where you are going is still plagued by the dead, but is home to the living still. Don't go into a home that isn't yours. Thieves are treated like the dead these days."

Turning back to George, Zip said, "Let's roll pal, before I decide to do something monumentally stupid."

George nodded in agreement, though he did grab the 9mm ammo from the police cruiser before leaving, as 9mm was one of the more common round he used.

"Let's get those folks we're out here for." As George and Zip headed out.

George and Zip thought they had run into real trouble. Turning up and exit ramp to take highway 75 they came around a long turn to run into a horde of tens of thousands of undead. It was very horrific thing to stumble onto. They panicked. Zip cut lose like crazy with his MP5, wasting a lot of ammo. George wheeled the Jeep around, gunned it, sent the vehicle side slipped down the right of way, narrowly miss a stand of pines, and jumped a small rise to land and skid to a halt on an old single lane dirt track most likely used by the electric power board vehicles to access the lines in the area.

Following the old dirt road turned out to be a shear stroke of luck. An hour and half later they rolled out onto a side road that quickly put them on highway 41 just south of Dalton. And the sun was still up.

Zip looked over at George, almost smiled, and said, "Pull in up here at that gas station. Luck like this deserves a lottery ticket. Who knows, you may be the next powerball winner." He pointed to a sign declaring a 1.1 billion dollar jackpot. "That would make as rich as Trump."

George couldn't help but laugh, that really was funny. "Well I think we have one thing on him, we aren't a zombie, at least yet. We stick together this time, until the building is clear. Then we scrounge anything we can use."

Wheeling the Jeep into the little filling station George was surprised by the number of cars. Then he realized that the cars were haphazardly parked, many had an open door or two, and none of them appeared to have been searched or looted. There were bodies here and there, most were fairly old and all had been significantly consumed. It was gross, it smelled terrible, but the worst was the clouds of flies buzzing around the bodies and the pools of fat maggots in the bodies.

George had seen many things in his career in Law Enforcement and while in the National Guard, this though was one of the worst he ever saw. He gagged, how couldn't he? He walked back to his Jeep and opened the glove compartment, hoping he left some Vick's Vapor Rub in there. He knew putting some under his nose would help with the smell. Rummaging through you could hear him cuss a bit, until he came back out with a smile on his face. "Thank god I kept it in there." The container was about half empty, which wasn't a good thing, but it was necessary for when George went out on scavenging trips. Dabbing some right under his nose, he offered some to Zip. "Trust me, it'll help."

George placed the jar on the seat for Zip to get some. George then took the rag used earlier and tied it around his face like a mask and started to rummage through things, seeing what he could find. George made sure to take his time and be patient, as he didn't want any Zombies to make a surprise entrance on himself or Zip.

The pair rummaged for a moment before Zip thanked George for the fifth time for the vapor rub. George was checking out an older station wagon, it was loaded down with dust covered boxes and milk crates loaded down with food, water, and clothing. He was reaching for a handle when Zip suddenly called out.

"George, wait, back away." Zip was standing near a gas pump and pointing at the ground. "Some wired up a solar bank to power a pump over here. There is a pope that is set up to pump out water too. Probably to help prevent fires caused by gas misting our of the pump's diaphragm. Problem it the panel's wire to the battery back is stripped. Looks like these guys made an electrocution trap by accident. Walk in the wetness then reach for something and you create a current through you. These people were all electrocuted by accident."

George stepped back and then moved a step to the side to see what Zip was talking about. And damn skippy if it wasn't real. Poor bastards, he thought, killed by accident in the middle of this shit.

George looked at Zip and gave him a thumbs up. "There anything you can do to make sure we don't fry our asses?"

"I'm not much of an electrician, but I think if I adjust the flow a little..." Zip said as he lowered the MP5 and cut loose with a burst of 9mm rounds into the power cells the panel was charging.

The power cells hissed, spit acid laden water and steam, and then a shower of sparks popped from the back of the power cell shelving unit as bullets passed through the load accumulator. A fire immediately broke out when gas floating like a film on top of the water ignited.

"Wha...damn." Zip said, he was honestly let down.

George shrugged. “Was worth a try. You think we can not blow ourselves up?” As George motioned at the untold goodies to be found.

"This thing is a trap, the gas is probably recent. But, the power cells are hooked the pump. Try to get gas and boom." Zip said. He suddenly stood upright. "Damn, what if someone is watching us right now."

"Someone could be, and if they wanted us dead, we'd be dead." Let's do a quick perimeter search and scavenge what we can, without killing ourselves, alright?" As George started looking around from a position giving more cover.

The terrain was a jumble of abandoned vehicles, a boxed in service station, several overgrown gardens surrounding several abandoned houses, and pine woods that ran far too close the roadside stop for comfort. Zip picked up the odd tool and found a bottle of Southern Comfort, turning his head to George he nodded to a nearby car.

George looked over and was met by something he never expected; a Sony Go-Pro was staring at him from inside a mailbox that had been strapped to the light bar of an old four wheel drive pick-up. He felt that was odd enough until he saw the lens adjust.

Looking at the Go-Pro, George was initially confused, though that quickly faded. "Well hello. Would you like to meet? Peacefully of course, as there are way too many walkers and not enough living people now a days?" George was hoping whomever was on the other side would like to talk.

"I don't see a mic. Reckon they can hear you?" Zip asked, he was looking around as he spoke.

George did the same, it just a habit that was too deeply ingrained now. It occurred to George that he even did that at home when he knew he was alone in the cabin. He looked at Zip. Same habit; Zip's head traversed like it was on a swivel. George smiled briefly.

Still, there was no sign of anyone watching them. But there were plenty of places for someone to be hidden in. As an afterthought George looked back at the mailbox. There were several wires feeding out of the side and ran down under the car's hood. He spotted the wires again running along the ground. They went on, often disappearing under carefully laid debris, to cross the highway and run down into a ditch where a windowless white service van was off in the ditch at and awkward angle.

George had a feeling if anyone was in there, they would have opened the backdoor already, so he raised his MPX and opened the back door quickly, then stepped back and prepared to shoot.

"Don't shoot, don't shoot!" A woman called out. "They made me do it!"

George wasn't exactly feeling nice about things. "Hands up and get out now, tell me who made you do it, why you did it, are we expecting company soon, how many. You get the gist. Speak up, or I'll leave you for the walkers." George had a point of pointing the carbine at her knee, with his point being very clear.

"I can't get out on my own." She replied. Looking at her closely George saw the chain even as she pointed to it and said. "I'm chained in. Please, just go, they'll be here soon. You have about ten minutes. Just go."

"Dead!" Zip called. His warning was immediately followed by the muffled crack of his submachine gun.

“Fuck” George closes the doors to the van quickly, then turns and looks at the incoming Zs. Raising up his Silenced MPX he rips off a few quick shots, trying to thin out a path towards their vehicle and an escape. George wasn’t exactly happy with leaving the enslaved woman behind, but dying here and now would do no one any good.

Zip worked his way through several magazines as he backed towards George. That the undead were coming from the woods across the road and no where else was a bit mysterious to them. But, George was not above believing people could and would use the undead to kill others. It took more ammunition than they would've chosen to commit to the fight to get to their vehicle and get clear of the congestion on the two lane highway caused by the shambling corpses. George was left to shake his head in disbelief and wonder what that was all about anyway.

George's thoughts on people have started shifting more and more. Cursing under his breath, he knew they would be tunneled towards a trap, well he at least thought they would. George looked for a flaw in the trap, while shooting a few more walkers in the head. He found, what he hoped, would prevent them from being funneled into a trap. "Follow me, I'm not dying here."

Zip nodded, realized George wasn't looking at him and replied, "Got you six."

George starts moving, moving through the path he and Zip have made. George continues to keep firing until his magazine goes empty. George yells "Reloading." As he switches mags he quickly puts the empty in one of the pockets on his cargo pants, then places the new one in the magazine well. He turns to see a Z shambling towards Zip and cracks off a shot and hits it in the head.

"I want the fuckers that set this trap dead, plain and simple. People like that deserve nothing more, nothing less."

The fighting went one for another ten minutes, costing three more mags for George and nearly five for Zip. Then the horde began to thin and became easier to lead into choke points where knife work made the job less costly on their ammunition supply. In the distance, now that the day was quieter they could hear multiple small engines. High pitched and high revving, four wheelers George realized. They sounded almost like his father's old Honda. They were to the east of the roadway, in the woods still. That they could hear them at all meant they were close.

Zip sighed, "They sound close. Maybe six. Probably more. It's been a while since I was out riding."

Looking at Zip. "What do you think? Ambush 'em?" As George looked at the road and then at where he heard the noises coming from. Pointing to a spot that gave good cover. "Wait for them to cross and then light them up. I have no doubt they are the scum that set the trap. I have 3 more magazines on me, plus the one in the MPX." George knew the odds were against them, especially with them being outnumbered. If one thing was for sure, it was that he would give them hell.

"Or do you want to get to the Jeep and grab the M4?" With the Zs thinned out, they should be able to get to the Jeep easily enough.

"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.