"Not that part. I'm from Maine." He added by way of explanation. He had neglected to inform any of them where he had originally been from, or really where he had started this outbreak in. He wasn't a talker.

"Past Portland population starts to taper off. Bangor is the last populated place, then you're in the County. I think June has a point though. Alexander looked around at the others. He didn't mind the religious stuff but could see that it was not rubbing the others the right way.

"I've been traveling here from the border. This place has a nice set up. I wouldn't mind going home, but it'll take months. Also Arkansas is west." He said shrugging apologetically at Ivy. He had thought it was odd she had been heading south to get there, but had never commented.

In reply to Alexander Brooks (msg # 14):

"We can decide all that stuff later. Once we get the gas, then we plan the route north...so we can check on everybody's peoples. Ivy's, Roberta's...maybe we even end up in Maine. Gas 1st, everything else will fall into place after that." Rod said.

So they really were planning on leaving.
He couldn't blame them, the threat of the dead not too far away and the people here a little too welcoming, this was a nice stop for sure but not a very secure destination. Perhaps he could tag along, safer with a group than alone.
"The people in this area likely would have siphoned most of the vehicles nearby. If you want a good amount of gas, you'll have to travel farther than is recommended; everyone thinks of cars and gas stations for gasoline. If there were a refinery, that would be a different story altogether."

"If you're wanting gas you need to go talk Kurt Longstreet." Said a twenty-something man pushing a wheelbarrow loaded with freshly split kindling. "He has been scrounging fuel on a regular basis for about two months now. He never fails to come back with twenty gallons or better every time he goes out. Last time I saw him was at the church eating with Mable Dawson. Tall guy, red beard, green hat."

The man ambled on. He looked back once at the women, smiled, and moved off towards a row tents.

"Rod, why don't you check with Kurt to see what the gas situation is like?" Roberta proposed to the man.  "Maybe we could fill up the car on the way out."

She continued to weed the row of potatoes she was working on.  The sooner they got started, the further they'd get before it snowed.

In reply to Roberta Johnson (msg # 18):

"I can...but I should tell you I am not a...people person." In fact, he was more used to running from people or punching them in the face. Mostly if the whole running thing did not work.

"You just have to ask him where we can get gas without disrespecting his hood," Roberta explained a little awkwardly.  "Did I say that right?"

In reply to Alexander Brooks (msg # 14):

Ivy made a "no hard feelings" gesture. "If that's too far out of the way, it's alright. It would just be convenient if we did swing by there." she said, as she started harvesting veggies.

"I can go with you. I'm sure he won't mind some extra hands. Especially if it means more fuel." Alexander shrugged, it wouldn't be hard to carry a few more gallons back and the people might even thank them.

"Might be a good idea to look for that map. Or another vehicle. It was pretty cramped on the way in without any extra fuel." Alex also knew that two cars of people would stand a better chance of survival. Have two of everything it you could.

It was getting late in the afternoon. People were finishing chores and finding shading patches to cool off with iced tea, the big treat locally. A group of people began setting up the evening meal of sliced vegetables, a collection of small animals grilled to redneck perfection, and a box holding a collection of candy bars, pastries, and snack cakes cobbled together through foraging. The food was being set out buffet style on a pair of folding tables as people talked.

In the distance clouds could be seen gathering to the west that threatened a possible night of rain. A topic of welcome to many of the gardeners. While there were several firearms and bows present, most people weren't visibly armed. Though most carried a pistol in a pocket just in case. The mood was one of openness and casualness.

Reverend Allen could be spotted walking through the area checking in with people as the arrived. Did this get finished? Was that began? How much of those were harvested? Is so-and-so going to recover? He seemed to be keeping a mental ledger of the comings and going the little community.

Extra hands for extra resources was always a good idea; so long as the group didn't get too large.
Perhaps they wouldn't mind him tagging along on their journey if he helped them collect what they needed. Worst case scenario, he would better know the situation to plan his own leave later.
Well... technically that wasn't the worst case scenario, but that's another story.
"I will tag along, too, if that's alright. 'Extra Hands', and all that."

As he noticed the Reverend, he added, "Perhaps he would know where this Kurt is, should he no longer be at the church."

Rod nodded, and gestured for anyone who was coming with him to go looking for Kurt. He may stop by a table to grab some quick meal. After all, you never knew when those things might show up...or worse. It was one of the reasons he kept the pistol and the switchblade hidden on him at all times. Not to mention something even more dangerous-people. Granted he felt these people where just asking for trouble by barley having any security, but they had done right by him and his friends.

Roberta remained with the locals to see if anyone knew of conditions to the north and perhaps a good route for them to try.

"No, no, that's not possible."  A short man was saying. He was in his late 40s at least and wore a NASA cap with a logo for the 'Planetary Observation' division.

"Why? The roads over the mountain are clear. They were cleared under martial law months ago." A young woman nearly shouted at him. "Mom is still waiting for us."

The man frowned and looked the young woman in the face. "I love my sister. I love her as much as you love her as your mother, but Danikka, there is no way she survived. The fires,you see, there is nothing left north of the Tennessee River from Northern Chattanooga all the way to Ooltewah. I'm sorry."

"I couldn't help but overhear," Roberta appologized to the man in the cap speaking with the young woman, "my name's Roberta and a few of us were considering heading north ourselves.  We hadn't heard of this fire.

"You wouldn't happen to have a map to show us what you're talking about, would you?"

"Tell her." The young woman said.

After a moment the man sighed and faced Roberta. He had the look of a person with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"I a tactical operations planner with NORAD here in the southeast. Our mission changed from defending against a foreign missile attack to combating the growing numbers of recently risen dead." He puased, as if considering what to say, then shrugged, "oh, hell, it was a glabally coordinated effort. Two hundred and forty three cities here in the continental US alone. We used intensive fuel-air explosive attacks to try and destroy the most concentrated masses of the undead. It was successful to some degree but the fires were uncontrollable."

He stood there for moment and let the knowledge sink before turning back to meal he had barely touched.

"Gas stations." The young woman said. "There several within walking distance that still have things like maps, note pads, ink pens, sunglasses, and lottery tickets. Get a map of the state."

She seemed both irritated and elated at the same. An odd combination of emotions Roberta thought.

"We bombed our own cities?" Roberta asked, incredulous that anything like that could happen here.  "Was one of them Boston?"

Two hundred and forty three.  How could Boston not have been one of them.  Could John have gotten them out in time?

"Did they try to warn anyone?  Give the survivors time to get out?"

In reply to Roberta Johnson (msg # 30):

"Well...that's fucked up." Rod said. He did not say that right away, as he was shocked into silence. Of course, he was not totally surprised. He was used to the idea of the government coming after poor people...but he figured they cared about thier own cities more than the actual citizens. Then again, those dead fuckers scared the hell out of eveybody.

When she suggested a state map, he figured any local store should have such a thing. Easy enough just to go and get one. After all, even looters would not bother to steal more than one of them.
This message was last edited by the player at 09:44, Wed 29 Jan 2020.

In reply to GM (msg # 29):

Ivy's eyes went wide as she asked, "What about the upper peninsula of Michigan?" She figured that that would be remote enough to be safe, but better to ask than to assume. Trying to get her mind off of the possibility, she turned to Alexander and said, "Yeah, splitting into two groups would probably be safer. Once we go where we need to go, we could meet up somehwere."

Their surprise was more of a shock to Ashton than the news. He'd already overheard some soldiers talking about cities being bombed to eliminate the dead after their initial attempts to corral the survivors into their camp; it was a fair, albeit unpopular, strategy. Poorly planned, evidently.

"On the bright side, risk of dangerous people should be minimal in those areas, as I doubt there would be too much reason to stay besides sentiment. However, resources may be minimal too."

"New York, Jersey City, Albany, Philly, Chicago, Baltimore,.." The man began rattling off cities. Without warning he began walking away from the gathered diners and wondered out into the church parking lot. "Hanover, Georgetown, D.C., Calumet, Detroit, .."

People began to look up as the man spoke and walk. Some looked on in fascination at the sight of someone experiencing a nervous breakdown. Other watched in horror not understanding what he was saying but not liking the general gist of the conversation the man was having with himself.

"Uncle Max, come back, finish your dinner." The young woman said. "I'm sorry."

The man stopped. His hand rose from his pocket with a compact automatic pistol. Gun aficionados would recognize the pistol immediately as a Charter Arms Bulldog in .44 special. No one was surprised by the shot, everyone could see the pistol after all, but it happened so smoothly that it was a single motion from pocket to temple. A sweep of the hand that ultimately vacated the man's skull.

People screamed. Others moaned. Many retched. Adults sought to shield children from the sight. Many just sat and stared, lost in their own internal crisis.

In reply to GM (msg # 34):

"Fuck!" Rod swore, and ran over to the body. He took off the loose long sleeve he wore over his tee shirt, and put it over the corpse's head. No need for the kids to see any more of that.

He stood over the body, wondering if they stayed here much longer they would end up like him. Knowing doom was coming over the horizon any moment, and wondering if it would be better to eat a bullet than be torn to shreds. He should be sick by this entire thing...but he had seen too much death already. Granted, back when the world was a alive he had never killed anyone. After the dead started walking however...he lost track of how many living people he had been forced to kill. Not to mention all the dead things he had put down. He was numb to it...expect for his Mom and little brother. That had been different.

Even as he was looking at the man, and adjusted the shirt covering his head, he took note of the dead man's possessions. It would not be the first corpse he looted. However, he restrained himself, having enough self-awareness not to search a body in front of everyone. However, the back of his mind tried to think where the now dead man slept. Might be a map there...

Fuck, that is colder than the body is right now. He thought to himself. His numbness had ended his ability to have high minded morality. He wanted to live...whatever that meant in this world of the dead.

In reply to GM (msg # 34):

Ivy had seen enough horror movies and crime dramas, and played enough violent video games to be somewhat desensitized to the act of murder, but not enough to where it didn't surprise her. Her eyes went wide with shock, the black hairs on the back of her neck curled. The young woman moved to try to keep people back. The situation needed to be kept under control.

Roberta stood frozen, mouth open in a silent scream.  This had been her fault.  She shouldn't have asked. She should have known better.

Tears began to stream down her face.

Troy barely made it out of his seat, dropping a perfectly good bbq squirrel sandwich in the dirt, before the shot rang out.

"Goddamnit Max!"

He spent thirty seconds futilely digging out his emergency aid box and then ran a couple of steps toward the dead man before stopping.

"God damn it Max...we're outnumbered bad enough without this kind of bullshit."