Survival [IC]

OOC Thread

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Grey struggled to free himself from Fang's grip, though without success. Fang continued to hustle towards the door, obviously prepared to fight any of the infected that may dwell on the other side. Finally, Grey managed to wiggle from Fang's grip. He jogged towards the window, gazing down at the chaos below.

The infected continued to wander the streets, destroying those who stood in their onslaught. Grey wathced in horror as the infected poored through the front door of his apartment complex, followed by the bloody screams of those being killed by these bloodthirsty animals. Grey shudered as Fang grabbed his shoulder.

"We need to go, Grey."

Grey said nothing, but continued to stare at the blood covered street. This had been going on for a few hours now, and Grey was completely unaware until they had attacked the new station he was watching on his TV. Fang showed up moments later, his clothing covered with blood. Though he apperead injured, Fang had not been wounded in the fray.

Without saying anything, Grey forced his gaze away from the window. He turned to face Fang, and slowly nodded. Fang extended his arm, handing Grey a pistol and knife.

"You'll be needing these."

Grey strolled towards the door, along with Fang. Grey hoped that they were not the only survivors...

James stopped running and bent over panting, clutching a stitch in his side. There had been some kind of mob behind them, with screaming people running desperately down the road. Running fast, James and his cousin Robbie had reached the quiet of an alleyway. They could still hear yelling, but it was fainter now.

"What the hell's going on?" James gasped, his breath still ragged in his throat.

"I have no idea. Maybe some racial mob or something? I don't know."

"It's everywhere! What are we going to do?"

The two boys had come out with the purpose of going to clubs and having a good time, but now there seemed to be some sort of huge problem and James had no idea what was going on or even when it would be cleared up.

"There'll probably be riot police soon," Robbie said, leaning against the wall. "They'll sort it out, and we'll have a story to tell when we get back home."

James nodded and came to stand next to him. "You're right. We can just wait it out here."

Work had become a difficult task that afternoon, while horror stories abound across every television station provided on Sky Digital. While stress was often a great fuel for hard labor, Frederick frequently found his eyes on the screen in his shop. Eventually, a smaller of his hammers was hooked into place on a wall of tools and he pulled his off his heavy gloves and apron. A moment without clanging metal to mop sweat from his face was all it took. A shriek cut through the shop from a reporter on the telly, and a bold dobermann was barking uncomfortably from behind the door that led to the backyard. Alright, alright. Something awfully weird was going on around...—the world, possibly? No, this had to be local. When he crossed his iron-strewn yard with his cell phone to his ear, his worry compounded. Mum and Dad weren’t answering. By the time he was hurrying across his house to change his shirt, he had dialed several times. Four attempts in a row, and they still weren’t picking up. A last glance at the television in his living room provided him with the last boost he needed. Horror-stricken browns watched a crowd of furious murderers trample a newsgroup in a city street, and stared momentarily at the cut feed and buzzing "Technical Difficulties" text.

“Jackie! In the truck!”

The heavy door to his classic, baby blue ’57 Chevy clanked with a satisfying rush. Normally satisfying, anyway. Today, he was too preoccupied to appreciate it. With the perky-eared Jack standing erect in the vehicle’s open bed and a massive sledgehammer lain across his polished bench seat, Frederick pulled out of his gated driveway and away from his heavily fenced property. With the mess sprawling all over the surrounding towns, there was no room for uncertainty. He needed to check up on his folks. The trip proved to be a bit eye-opening. The traffic and violence outside of town demanded the use of some familiar back roads, but these also presented him with the strangest sights: the random, frothing strangers staggering in fields or on the side of the road—sometimes in the middle of the road; the stores turned inside-out in lootings and attacks; the families denying wanderers access to their vehicles and speeding over curbs to avoid those pleading for entry.

“..Bloody ‘ell..”

By the time he arrived at his parents’ cozy apartment, he found the parking lot unusually still. Forethought had him locking Jack in the cab and planted Red’s meaty fist around the long handle of his double-face hammer. His massive forearm was locked in place, straight down. The hammer hung stiffly at his leg, and he kept his eyes busy. On the bushes, on the windows, down the halls…

“Mum? Mum it’s me, open the door.”

The gruff voice was nothing less than a great relief for the 59 year old woman. Lord knew she hadn’t gone to the door when those knuckles came thumping on its wooden surface. But the voice? Oh she had hurried to it and pulled her boy inside. Oh, God, Freddie! She cupped his wide jaw in her shaky hands and thumbed his short, trim goatee. Poor old bird. Needless to say, it was a teary and panicky encounter. Henry opened the door for Frank, upstairs. They went to try and help Martha, but-… Dad never made it back to his own apartment, it would seem. Fourteen minutes later, Frederick was hurrying across the small parking lot with his mother at his side; his father's rifle and double-barrel shotgun in one fist over his shoulder, and that hammer still at his side. His mum hauled a laundry bag of clothes and food with her. He cut a bulky and dangerous image beside his tearful mum, crisp khakis and a soft-collared polo that hugged his broad chest. Oh, but his brown eyes were large and his lips were parted with a sort of scattered look on his face. Not time to panic just yet, big guy. In the truck, Jack sat upright and overeager between son and mother, ears directed forward and eyes no less focused. The plan was to drive back to Red’s gated home and wait for the military to get this mess of rioting cannibals under control. Oh but this would be a long and fateful trip, wouldn’t it…