"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.