Florence was asleep. After some time. A new place was always a risk to sleep in alone. But, the little outside restroom at the old mom and pop's gas station was free of corpses, human or animal, and had a little window around sever feet up for some natural light.

The room was only about eight feet square with a toilet, sink basin, mirror, and paper towel dispenser on the wall. The door locked from the inside and there was enough room for her to lean her bike against the wall next to the handicap assistance rail. Her luck held out when she discovered some supplies under the sink in a small cabinet; a bottle of hand sanitizer (40 ounces worth), six rolls of toilet paper, an unopened pack of paper towels (50 sheets folded to 2" by 8"), three unopened bars of Irish Spring soap, a bottle of bleach (half gallon remaining), and a toilet brush.

Sleeping in a semi-sitting posture in the corner, Florence was abruptly awakened by a gunshot. It was muffled by the storm and structure. But, it was still enough to wake her. That meant is was close by.

A number of things ran through her mind; was it marauders murdering some unsuspecting person in their safe place to take their supplies, did someone just end there own life, did someone just dispatch on of the undead for coming too close, had someone been attacked by the undead and have to mercifully killed? So many thoughts and fears, no real information.

Florence had been lucky to find this spot, while she was thrifty and careful with her shelter, not having anyone to watch her back gave a lot more value to a safe place to sleep. In addition to the extra supplies florence felt this was the closest to Christmas anyone was going to get in this apocalyptic world, hell an extra couple bars of soap was as good as any jewelry her boyfriend had gotten her before passing. She'd never been much of one for fancy things anyways, so this bathroom was the Ritz Carlton far as she was concerned.

She heard a gunshot and was at full alert, but with the variables on what that shot meant she wasn't keen on opening up and advertising her location,she'd seen people killed over less than the supplies she had on her. But information can be extremely useful in surviving so she had to rig something up. She broke the brush off the toilet brush and broke a corner off the wall mirror, tying them together with a bit of rope. She used the end of the handle to push open the small top window and stuck the mirror piece out hopefully to catch a glimpse of her surroundings without having to open the door to potential looters or biters.

The rain had picked up, how she had slept through that thunder and lightening but woke to the gunshot struck her as odd. Or she just too damned apprehensive to gunfire that she didn't fire herself. Survival instincts could be funny that way.

The mirror was on of those decorative types with several small square mirrors along the sides of a larger mirror. All of them had a sheen of dust and grit, but came loose easily enough with a knife's caress. The square fit well and offered a decent field of view for what it was. But, there just wasn't much to see outside the little window.

There were no more gunshots, but that did not mean that a situation wasn't waiting for her to get involved in it outside her door.

In reply to GM (msg # 3):

Florence couldn't see anything significant with her mirror stick, if only it was that easy right? She was going to have to put more effort into it if she really wanted to know what kind of situation was going down. She quickly threw what supplies were out into her bag. If she needed to make a quick getaway it was for the best she could do that smoothly as possible.

Not her first choice but if someone was coming to loot the mom and pop shop it would be best if she wasn't there to see it, eventually they'd break into the bathroom and she didn't have the firepower to stop more than maybe one person. She got her gun ready and turned off the safety, last resort in case of trouble but she knew that sorta noise would bring biters. She couldn't hear much over the rain so she got down low to the ground and reached up to pull the handle and crack the door so she could get a better view at the outside. She didn't have any lights on so hopefully she could see out without drawing too much attention.

Florence eased her head forward an inch at time to scan the parking lot. Finally, once she had head half way out of the door she spotted a woman hunched over what looked like a man's body. She was rocking back and forth, obviously sobbing over the man, and seemed to be oblivious to the world around her.

"I told him not to do it." A man's voice said from out her line sight in the same direction towards the front of the store. "He knew it was a danger. Hell, what if there had been more of those damn things in that Walmart? He could have gotten all of us eaten."

The woman looked up. Anger flared through her body forcing her into a kneeling, defensive posture. Her hand dropped to the hunting rifle next to her.

"Don't do it Shannon." The man was saying, his voice on the verge of shouting at her. "He was dying, in pain. You know it's true, you should have done it yourself."

"You had no right, RJ, he was my husband." She shouted back. She brought the rifle up from the ground.

"Bullshit! He was my brother you silly bimbo!" the man, RJ, shouted. "If we start shooting it will draw those things here. Hell, they're already headed this. Why advertise more?"

The woman stood and leveled the rifle coolly.

There was a moment where everything went quiet. Then shots rang out. The man was firing some sort of rapid fire rifle. His shots came fast and scattered as he rushed. It was fairly loud, bullets went ricocheting off of the concrete with a snap-whir. Two struck the woman in the torso as she fired her rifle.

The woman fired only once, but the report of her rifle was immense. There was a scream from the man and his firing stopped immediately. The woman toppled to the concrete onto her back with her head rolled to the side facing Florence. She looked directly at Florence and coughed up blood.

In reply to GM (msg # 5):

Well poop.

Nothing about this was what Florence was hoping for. So much for the gunshots belonging to a group she couls join up with, this group was imploding before her eyes.  Whose side did she take? Well that was a hard question. It sounded like the man was in the right logically but he also called the lady he just shot a bimbo, and from her experience that was no one she wanted to surround herself with.

As the woman hit the ground their eyes locked, double poop. Coughing up blood meant she wasn't gonna make it, but if this 'RJ' didn't finish the job there was a chance her undead iteration would find Florence and this safe shelter turned into a one-exit death trap. Not to mention these geniuses has just put up a dinner bell for all the biters with their reckless shooting.

Florence had to split and get far as she could from here before the undead or worse RJ found her and took what she had, flesh or otherwise. She closed the door , threw on her backpack and opened the door slowly to not draw attention. She'd walk it around the corner before she'd rev the engine on her bike , then using her photographic memory to remember anywhere in the area that was safer than here at least until the storm passed.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:06, Mon 06 July 2020.

(OOC: side note, most motor-bikes can be ridden without using the engine. and it is usually engaged via compression like old style mopeds, which are based on motor equipped bikes. so just pedal for few moments, engage the engine, and vroom vroom.)

Florence was shocked.

She stood in the rain watching as the woman bled out and and the man, whom she could now see, lay flat on his back with a hole in sternum. The man, RJ, was laid out under the awning for the gas pumps out of the rain with a small electric lamp sitting upright on top of a pump. There were three backpacks, a shotgun, and what she assumed was RJ's AR-15 rifle laid out around the man.

Tempting.

Movement caught her eye. From the west as the road went through Rocky Face came shadowy figures through the rain. And THAT smell. They were already close. Too close.

In reply to GM (msg # 7):

West was a no go. Her body instinctively knew to avoid whatever direction the smell of death came from, which may seem ridiculous because even when the biters weren't around the world carried a stink, but when biters were coming it was a different sense.

She couldn't get too emotionally involved in people shed never met, if she did Florence would have already gone insane by now. People died, sometimes it was avoidable but a lot of the times you had to separate yourself from the fucked up things that happened because there was nothing that could have been done.

She saw RJ under the gas station awning, but she peddled a little closer, had he been shot? If he was simply laying down and didn't know biters were coming shed alert him somehow. Florence felt at least one of his team should make it, which was less about helping him and more preventing the biters a win. On the same coin If he wasn't going to make it, there was no point in letting his gear go to waste.

Once she sorted with Rj's death or life status she'd look east and the rest her surroundings and if the bathroom looked like the safest spot after all she'd barricade herself in till the biters lost interest and wandered as they are known to do. But now was the time to pick up the pace, time was a valuable resource and she was running low.

As she neared the man it was obvious he was dead. The gunshot from the woman's rifle had left an entry wound in his sternum just far enough left that there was no doubting that his heart had been struck. He was beyond any help from this world.

He had one of those fancy combat belts favored by many of the survivalist types that was modeled after the type of belt used by military elites. It held a pistol, magazines for the AR-15 and the pistol, several sheathed knives, a pair of flashlights, and a pair of binoculars.

A noise caught her attention. It was the sound of moaning and groaning undead. And too many of them. The first of the unknown horde was beginning to cross the parking lot of the little station. She guessed the distance to be less than fifteen yards.

In reply to GM (msg # 9):

Game time. She didn't have the time to sit around and think anymore or worry about anyone but herself. It was a shame their whole group died, and not even by biters. Florence hadn't had to kill any people, well any living people, since the apocalypse began. It wasn't something she looked forward to and hopefully shed never have to, biters were doing a good enough job on their own without humans turning on each Other.

She couldn't take all the gear, she only had one bike and didnt want to weigh it down to where she wouldn't be able to get speed, a motor can only do so much. If the rifle had a strap she'd hook it on the bike. Quickly she grabbed one of the knives from RJ's belt and cut the combat belt strap. Sure maybe it had a buckle but she wouldn't have time to properly undo it so cut and yank, she'd fashion a new buckle for it later but for now she shoved it in her saddle bag. She couldn't take all the backpacks so she swiped one up looped it on the bike and hopped on to peddle away from the biters. If there was time later she'd swing back and check for more supplies but only when she had a place to store them.

In reply to Florence Whitley (msg # 10):

(Ooc or as much of that as shed actually have time to do, priorities are

1.Escape
2.Belt
3.Rifle
4.Backpack

Harder to gauge how much time that would actually take)
This message was last edited by the player at 16:04, Tue 07 July 2020.

This message was deleted by the player at 16:05, Tue 07 July 2020.

(OOC: part of the concept behind a battle belt is that is can be quickly removed by medical personal when treated an injured combatant. It would be easy to remove from RJ's corpse and obvious enough for Florence quickly pick up on the fact. No cutting required)

The first of the undead emerged from the rain under the awning, spotted Florence and RJ's body, and made a beeline for them. Luckily, the shambling corpses moved at somewhat less than their former physical speed. But they were still moving along well.

Florence had stuffed RJ's belt, slung his rifle the bike's frame with the rifle's sling, and was just hanging the backpack on the handlebars and tightening the pack straps to hold it in place when a former waitress, an ex-cop, a one armed pizza delivery guy, a naked woman, and a boy spider man pajamas began moving toward her. More dark shapes were coalescing out of the rain behind them.

Immediately the air, formerly smelling of wet oil stained concrete, took on an air of decaying, putrid flesh. Her nose wrinkled involuntarily, it wasn't a smell she thought she would ever get used to.

Mounting the bike Florence quickly pedaled out into the rain, grateful for the cleaner, albeit, colder air. She headed back east toward the overpass, directly away from the undead, and towards the cover of the interstate above.

In reply to GM (msg # 13):

(Ooc cool beans thanks)

Florence knew every bit of supplies counted nowadays, sometimes one extra bullet meant the difference between life or death, sometimes you never knew something would be useful till it was, so she didn't regret taking those extra couple seconds to stock up. But time was precious too and it was time to hoof it.

One Biter quickly became several, the whole thing made her shudder. No matter how long she dealt with this world, a biter that was a kid would never sit right with her. It reminded her that the biters had no such reservations, how cold and destructive it was.

East it was. Hopefully she could find some sort of shelter in that direction, riding all night in the rain wasn't ideal, but it was a he'll of a lot more ideal than being eaten alive. While they were slow, biters had an unbreakable tenacity so she wasn't going to play it safe and relax until she had a place to hunker down that was dependable and dependable.

Florence was running along at a casual pace, around ten miles per hours, the little motor on her bike making a slight chugging noise as it purred along doing nearly ninety percent of the work. She pedaled out of habit and the fear of taking her feet off the pedals and something happening.

She cruised under the overpass, scarcely hearing the motor over the thunderstorm, and enjoyed the moment's respite from the hammering rain.

(OOC: roll 3d4 for Ingenuity please)

Turning in a sharp loop to maintain her speed Florence ran a few quick circles checking out the underside of the bridge above. It occurred to her that with a slight angle she could probably walk the bike under its on little power up the extreme grade of the sloping sides of the overpasses base.

Once at the top she would have enough space at the narrow recess at the top of the slope to tuck away herself and her bike. At least until danger passed. She was sure it was to steep for the undead to ascend, if they realized she was there, they were simply too uncoordinated to tackle the slope. Like using stairs as a barricade.

(OOC: the roll was to realize she could use the terrain, the steep slopes of the base of the bridge, to her advantage. not a requirement, more of a chance to learn a little about the world and create options, had she failed the roll i would suggested something less successful that seemed like a good idea at the time)

In reply to GM (msg # 16):

(Ooc cool just wasnt sure if I was rolling and responding or just posting the roll. The score-success ratio part makes sense to me)

Florence could ride all night if she needed to, she'd done it before and hell she'd probably have to do it someday again. It sucked but shed gotten a touch of sleep and sometimes that's all you needed. She was still looking for solutions though.

Then she saw the slope, it looked doable considering the overpass had kept it dry enough to traverse. Safe enough to climb up and post camp but difficulty enough for the undead to climb. Biters were scary enough alright, but it was hard not to find it comical when they tried to climb.

Once she got up She'd lay her bike flat as she could and try and stay out of sight. Even if she wasn't at super high risk of the biters getting her once she was up she wouldn't want them to crowd up and advertise her location to other dangerous parties. Florence would wait the night out best she could until there was more visibility to move on and then it'd be another day of hopefully surviving.

In reply to Florence Whitley (msg # 17):

OCC: thanks for being patient. i am going to set up a scene to bring the other party into contact with you. Once you meet if you do join them i set up a new thread for you guys. sorry, to take so long, work got in the way.

No worries I'm still alive !

Sitting cross legged and resting after ascending the steep slope, Florence was just beginning to relax a bit when she saw a bit of movement. The leading bodies of the horde pursuing her ambled into the cover of the overpass. Unaware of her location they continued to shuffle along. The stench was growing and was very unsettling with the heavy rain trapping the stink under the bridge bottom around her.

As she watched they continued to shuffle through. At first in tens and dozens, then by the hundred. It was like a small town's worth of undead refugees were trundling by in search of new meal.

It was a lucky thing she'd gotten some sleep before all this,not like her adrenaline would let her right now anyways...or the stink.

But as long as she kept mostly out of sight and didn't draw attention, she could wait the biters out and they'd eventually wander as they do. Might take a while but hell a little waiting was better than being eaten alive. Florence would wait to check the backpack in case the zipper was loud or the bag had something metal that might clank in it.

A light came on in the distance, Florence guessed it was maybe a hundred yards off, maybe a hair more. She thought she heard a scream, maybe a shouted word. Two shots suddenly rang out. The light began jangling about in the motion of someone running for their lives. She wished the rain would stop, it was hard to make out any real details.

Florence heard a commotion in the distance.  It was sad that the sound of other life was no longer one of excitement, but more the horrifyingly normality of knowing you're gonna see somebody die and there's nothing you can do. Biters don't respect a hero complex, not that she'd never saved anyone but the opportunities were rarer and rarer where her help changed anything. And she couldn't move to reach the noise or the flashlight person with this many biters roaming about.

Florence continues to listen and wait, she wasn't about to piss off a swarm.

From her vantage point Florence watched in shocked awe as someone was using a flashlight and pistol to both lure the undead towards the on ramp and kill them at the same time. But it was obvious to her that the person had no idea the there was a massive horde closing on them.

Lightening flashed and illuminated the undead as they trudged along. Her heart sank for that person. Especially once she realized the person had spotted the horde and diverted up the ramp now.

Florence waited , getting a pit in her stomach, she really didn't want this person to die but didn't see any way to realistically help. Even two people couldn't handle this many biters IF they both had strategic positions, the ammo alone was too valuable to waste on a horde.

"Fuckin run!" She whispered to herself as she watched the individual run up the ramp. It wasn't over till it was over, but she'd seen too much shit in this new world to be overly optimistic.