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Snippet #1929680

located in Modern-day zombie apocalypse., a part of Dead Morning America, one of the many universes on RPG.

Modern-day zombie apocalypse.

A post-apocalyptic New York City, wrecked by the enigmatic virus that has swept the nation and brought the recently dead and deceased back to life.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Owen James Calley Character Portrait: Nyx Goldwin Character Portrait: Kamille Robinson
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As exhausted as he was, he found himself toiling away in the basement with a renewed sense of vigor. This was that last leg of preparation before he could finally get some sleep, and with the sun just setting, he'd have more than enough time for some good rack, provided hell didn't kick down the door and drive them out of the house. He could always hope, couldn't he?
It was a bit more difficult with only his little Maglite to see by, but when he stumbled across the sacks of fertilizer sitting tucked away in the corner of the basement, ideas began to brew, and he realized that he had a lot more work ahead of him before he'd ever be satisfied enough to call it quits. It almost made him laugh to think that his father would always poke at him for just such a habit that border-lined obsessive and often saw him working late into the night, if not straight into the next morning; but when he had his mind set on something, it literally took hell and handgrenades to tear him away from it.
"All I'd need is a mason jar, or a bottle.." He thought to himself as he stared into a box of powder laundry detergent, chewing his lip. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that there was some gasoline sitting in the shed out back, and it weighed him with a combined sense of dread, and a sense of closure. Kamille was an immense stroke of luck. She could have just as easily been a looter or robber, or even just an aggressive squatter...but she wasn't. It was then, he resolved, that the only way to preserve the purity in this modest little homestead was to bathe it in fire. Grim maybe, but it was the only way he could be sure it wouldn't be desecrated by looters, or worse; the undead things that were shuffling around in the street. The thought of those awful things spoiling what little piece of good was left in his uprooted life made his stomach tie up into knots, and his lip quaver in absolute disgust. He wasn't about to have it.

And when he finally did finish his work, he climbed quietly up the stairs, and glanced briefly down the hall, and into the living room.
"Mm; sound asleep," He mused to himself at the sight of the young blonde (Nyx) slathered across his couch, and with her things scattered all over his parents' room, it didn't take much to guess where Kamille had probably got off to. Cracking the door in the hallway juuuuust enough to peek an eye through, he wasn't surprised to find he'd guessed right. Closing the door just as quietly as he'd opened it, he crept down the hallway, and paused at the second doorway. Gripping the knob, he didn't even realize he'd been holding his breath. The seconds ticked by like hours, and when he finally exhaled, he just shook his head.
"No," He murmured at length, decidedly letting his fingers slip away from the knob. He didn't want to see what he knew was still there. They hadn't ever had to keep the room for him, and quite frankly, he'd badgered his father again and again to try to persuade him into turning it into a guest room, but the old wolf had just as stubbornly insisted with that wise trademark chuckle he had that it simply wasn't going to happen. The argument invariably ended the same way each and every time.

"You'll always be my boy, and you'll always live here; no matter what country you run off to. The room'll be here when you get back; just the same as you left it."

"Stubborn old ass," He mumbled to himself, a subtle ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lip. He lingered only a moment longer before he crept back up the hall, and filtered his way back into the living room. Settling into the expensive leather armchair across the room, he quietly kicked out the recliner, and let himself melt into the cushions, finally just...relaxing with a long, breathy sigh. God, this feels good~
And when he finally did drift off to sleep, he slept soundly. The nightmares had long since stopped plaguing his dreams over the last three years, but so too had the pleasant ones that occasionally filled the spaces between, and consequently, his sleep was dreamless. But when morning rolled around, that biological clock of his kicked in, despite how utterly exhausted he had been the day before, and today, like almost every day he'd spent at home, he was the first one up. He immediately set about what was doomed to be an abridged routine in the first place, but by the time he was fed and dressed, he was already packing to leave.
"Nyx," He called across the living room as he came back up from the basement with a gas can and a small stuffed backpack, "Nyx, get up; it's time to get moving." A little more sharply this time, as he moved into the kitchen and began moving what few cans of food were left from the gymbag to the backpack, filling out the last of its space. With a couple 'decent' meals in him and a few restful hours of sleep, he was right as rain again, and ready to get moving - but with that typical sense of urgency that had been paramount and prevalent since the minute the two had met. Hell, if his voice didn't rouse her, then the dense stink of gasoline that was already beginning to permeate the house would be probably do the rest for him.