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John Maxwell Hammerfield

John is your regular guy caught up in something totally crazy.

0 · 167 views · located in The real world

a character in “World War Z: The Great Panic”, as played by Quantumlegacy

Description

Name: John M. Hammerfield
Age: 32
Physical Description: John stands at five foot seven, has shaggy light brown hair. He keeps a scruffy beard going since it's extra effort to take care of. He has no tattoo's or piercings and doesn't wear jewelry. He has a variety of scars ranging from nicks and gashes mainly on his hands but he does have a few good ones elsewhere. Mostly year round he has a pretty good tan going now a days.

Occupation: Janitor
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Equipment: Fire-Ax, Handgun, Basic Claw Hammer, Rugged Hiker's backpack, Two packs of Newports and a pack of camels. Three bic's and a half used pack of matches. A few varying non-perishable snacks. Slick black Mp3 Player with matching ear-buds.

History:

John spent a small amount of time as a police officer in his hometown before being let go due to allegations against him for being a dirty cop. It had never mattered that they weren't true. The stain of doubt had already be cast. The charges were eventually dropped due to lack of evidence but the looks and gossip never did. He ended up quitting to prevent further harassment. After some time of going job to job, he was recommended to a custodial job.

When the incident started he was standing in a hallway in his hometown school buffing the floor. When he heard one scream, then another. They were coming from one of the rooms used for after-school activities. He popped his ear-buds out and quickly hit the off switch on the machine listening once more as he started towards the room. At first it was silent and when the screaming started again he picked up speed. Arriving at the door he could see a bunch of the kids huddled together attacking someone.

Flinging the door open charging in to stop the fight, he quickly realized that was a bad idea. At the sound of the door being thrown open the group turned to him. He could see a bleeding body on the floor, it's insides strewn around. The kids were covered in blood and had wild looks in their eyes. One started to move towards him, and the rest followed quickly stumbling over one another. Panic took over and any bravery he had mustered was gone. Fleeing into the school, he barely escaped outside only to realize something had gone terribly wrong in the world.

He spent the next four months learning just how bad it had become, as he moved from one place to the next avoiding as much contact with anyone as he could. Life in this new world wasn't easy and he'd often think of movies and books that had used this situation as nothing more then a way to make money and play at our imaginations. Never did he really think that Max Brooks actually knew what he was talking about. Occasionally he would try to approach others he'd see while traveling but only to try and get information and trading out of them. He had a few close calls with people not really wanting to trade and just trying to take his stuff. Eventually he would hear about Dallas and make his way there.

So begins...

John Maxwell Hammerfield's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kara Mitchells Character Portrait: Thomas Knight Character Portrait: John Maxwell Hammerfield Character Portrait: Wield Jackson Character Portrait: Alex "Big Al" Johnn Character Portrait: Gracie Porter
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#, as written by Tempest
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The Fall of Dallas (Act I)


It happened, as all disasters seem to, in the wee hours of the morning. The watch was in the midst of changing when the call came in, zombies were starting to ramp up just below firing platform #172. This was at least common enough for a protocol to have been established and the man in charge of platform #172, a former Bylaw Officer, called for backup and ordered his watch detail to hold their fire until they were sure of a shot, ammo was getting scarce.

The wall was high, something like one hundred feet, or there abouts, a great steel shield that blocked the streets between skyscrapers and eventually encircled what remained of the city and one entire runway. It had been a feat of herculean effort and finished only just in time as the swarms overran the rest of Texas.

Platform #172 was one of the larger ones, built in the middle of two skyscrapers, both of them maybe a hundred yards on either side of it. No one would really know what happened there on that day, none would live to share their tale, but there could be no doubt that the pressure of millions of ghouls was simply too much for the weather eroded steel and quick construction.

It had been slow, too subtle for anyone to notice at first, but suddenly the entire wall was shifting, toppling backwards as the thousands of ghouls tried to climb their way up, mouths open in the long horrible moans, flesh rotting from their bodies as they clutched blindly at their prey above them.

When the wall finally gave it out it did so with a tremendous crash that brought down one of the skyscrapers with it. Those who were lucky enough to die quickly would be envied by those who could only wait in helpless horror as the ghouls surged through the two hundred yard gap.

Within minutes the “moat” of zombies was pouring into Dallas, an endless swarm of them that vanished into the pre-dawn darkness.


Sergeant Thomas Knight


Thomas knew something was wrong the moment he awoke. The room was silent save for the heavy snoring from one of its other occupants and no alarms were sounding but somehow, with the hardened skills of a survivor, he knew something was out of place.

He sat up, rubbed the sleep from his eyes and dropped quietly to the floor. His bunk, like all the others was roughly eight feet off the ground, designed so that is a random ghoul managed to get into a bunk space it could not reach a sleeping victim. He switched on the little red light below his bunk that showed him his gear neatly laid out the he always had it, not that he took his clothes off to sleep anymore.

Dragging on his tactical vest he pulled the MP5 from his little gun cupboard and then double checked the pistol that was, at all times, strapped to his right thigh. All were loaded, all of his ammo was still there so he would call that a win for the day.

His next steps took him into the small bathroom he shared with the other five occupants and turned on the tap, splashing water onto his face, scratching at a days’ worth of stubble that he couldn't be bothered to shave. He did however take some time to brush his teeth; no one liked the strange feeling of fuzz growing on their tongue.

He had just rinsed his mouth and placed his toothbrush back in his shaving kit when the big alarm klaxon that he hoped to never hear began to scream, a red strobe light bursting to life to douse the entire space in a brilliant reddish hue. He stopped, his heart leaping into his throat as the intercom, rigged throughout the city, buzzed to life.

"The defensive perimeter has suffered a Stage 5 breach. Make your way to the nearest emergency bunker."

The message began to repeat but Thomas didn't bother to listen, instead he flipped on the bunkroom lights to see the faces of his companions staring back at him in fright. A Stage 5 breach. They all knew what that meant.

Dallas was doomed.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kara Mitchells Character Portrait: Thomas Knight Character Portrait: John Maxwell Hammerfield Character Portrait: Wield Jackson Character Portrait: Alex "Big Al" Johnn Character Portrait: Gracie Porter
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A far distant sound was ringing in Wield's dream. Although all he can see was darkness, he could hear a faint ringing. It resembles a bell, yet it was many times faster than it, and an extra sound was included in it. He struggled to search for the source of this ringing, and suddenly, he felt pain. He was awake.

He opened his eyes, face first on the floor. His entire surrounding was dim red, and there had been an alarm ringing. One of his companion, Thomas Knight, was already up and about. He was standing near the intercom, where an order was issued repeatedly. That certain order was something Wield had expected throughout his life of living in this new world.

A Stage 5 breach.

An extremely dangerous stage where when ordered, there was no hope left for the city. Dallas stood mighty as a shelter for the surviving humans, but now, it's nothing more than a broken city with a hole where those monsters pours in. Wield quickly got to his senses. There was no time to stand there and keep on being frightened. Even this was a situation where he might seriously die for sure, he doesn't want to go down without a fight. Tripping a bit halfway running, he ran towards the table next to him. His equipment was placed neatly here; his Benelli M3 and his Glock. Strapping on his tactical vest, he turned towards the Sergeant every now and then, hoping that none of the monsters would break in before he finishes equipping.

He grabbed his shotgun and checked the barreled. Loaded. He quickly set the gun into pump action mode. He didn't want to fire rounds without wasting his bullets on air. He needs to make every shot count. Next he checked his Glock. He dropped the magazines out, and it was full. He reloaded it back to his gun and pull the slide. Hearing the click inside his pistol tells him that his pistol was loaded is ready to be fired. He slid the pistol into the pistol holder on the side of his waist. He took the knife on the table and flung it open. The sharp blade shone for a moment before he proceeded to putting the knife into knife holder on his vest.

He held his shotgun tightly and waited next to the Sergeant, who was guarding the door in case any of those monsters comes barging in. Wield only hopes that the other members would grab their gears quickly before any even reaches their location.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kara Mitchells Character Portrait: Thomas Knight Character Portrait: John Maxwell Hammerfield Character Portrait: Wield Jackson Character Portrait: Alex "Big Al" Johnn Character Portrait: Gracie Porter
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He was standing in the hallway just outside room 104. The walls were a faded and peeling white with a red stripe over rough concrete blocks. There were dark blue lockers unevenly spaced along the walls on either side of him. John felt as though he was drunk. His mind was heavy and he couldn't really move. He could see through the narrow metal doorway into the room. As he focused it felt as if everything shifted and he was standing in the back of the classroom. He was forced to stare at the group of kids he used to know devour a young freshman girl who did nothing but sob and scream for help . The world spun and he could hear sirens.

John sat straight up in the bunk and opened his eyes in a cold sweat. The room was bathed in a blinking red and the sound of the alarm was deafening. He blinked trying to focus as the daze of the sleep quickly left him. He looked around grunting as he moved to grab his backpack from the foot of his bed. He kept it ready and sitting there every night, a habit he had picked up since all of this began. He watched with a unexpected yawn as Weild was gathering his equipment and the others were beginning to stir in their beds. Finally getting the strap free from the corner post he slung the pack over his shoulder and got to the floor carefully.

He heard the message blaring over the intercom's clearly for the first time. "The defensive perimeter has suffered a Stage 5 breach. " Stage five was the worst thing possible, John knew that meant there was wasn't a lot of time for them. His dazed movement turned determined as he made his way to the bathroom. Passing Thomas as he went in. His mind raced with thoughts and he turned the faucet in the small shared bathroom they used. Over the few months he had been in Dallas, he'd actually come to enjoy the company of most of the people he was forced to bunk with. John knew to keep his eyes open though because in a situation like this trust could easily be abused.

The cold water on his face felt great as he washed up quickly. Mostly to be sure he was alert but partially because it was routine. As he spit the water from his mouth and took a deep breath he exited the bathroom and looked to the others. If they were going to survive through this he knew they were going to have to work together for now. Even as the words came out he already knew the answer.

"What's the plan?"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kara Mitchells Character Portrait: Thomas Knight Character Portrait: John Maxwell Hammerfield Character Portrait: Wield Jackson Character Portrait: Alex "Big Al" Johnn Character Portrait: Gracie Porter
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Umber, almond eyes split open to the stifling heat that only Texas could offer. Jamaica was hotter than hell, and Gracie's Argentinean mother always scolded her for complaining about the conditions. 'It could be much worse - you wouldn't have liked growing up where your mom did!' Mornings hadn't stopped being prompt since Gia met her end. In fact, Gracie made it a point to consume small amounts, just enough to keep her stabilized where energy and mentality was concerned. Even though Grace Jean Porter, twenty three years old, had accepted that death would take her soon, she wasn't in a rush to be a goddamn smorgasbord for the nearest pack of starved, decomposing savages. Despite the fact that Gracie had internally matched Edgar Allen Poe's morbidity and nihilism, she was still a fighter. She wasn't going to slip up or lose her mind like Gia did.

No longer did the rising sun bring Gracie comfort in this world. All the things that went bump in the night did not run from the luminosity tearing holes in the darkness and spilling onto the earth. Daybreak was a fabled fear of monsters only in fairytales. The radiance from the sky didn't burn their skin or make them melt. It only lit their path better to find their next prey. Made it easier for them to devour another unsuspecting soul and steal another piece of remaining humanity. The madness didn't end, it didn't slow down. It grew, became hungrier, stronger, more vile and stealthier. Another day to Gracie at this point was another fate-forced schedule that kept her alive. She was thankful, but not guaranteed of anything.

Every morning had become the same routine. Up and at em'. Team work. Come on, let's go. The chamber that Gracie had been sharing with other survivors had been still save for the chief in command who was inveterately programmed to be up at such ungodly hours, his body a natural clock. Gracie wouldn't let it be known that she was awake - didn't care to converse or for the billionth time be reminded that her mortality was as tangible as ever. Up and at em'.

Requisite training had hardened her stomach into a vague four pack, but it appeared as nothing unless she was really straining herself. From time to time her abdominal muscles ached from overextension and exhaustion and on this particular morning, her torso screamed in agony. In more ways than one, she was 'one of the guys'. Toss out the beer slamming and typical smut men discussed with such shamelessness, and well, Gracie was one of them. Although quiet, she made it a point to wordlessly prove her tolerance, make it known that she had a lot of fight left in her. It didn't come to her as a surprise that after growing up a mud-loving, exploring discoverer of sorts that she returned to her familiar territory. When she worked with Jonah she had embraced a slightly more feminine side. But that was in a time where she didn't necessitate athletic skill. She had a man for that, to protect her and fix busted pipes, blown bulbs - to shield her with his body while they slept… But now, all things and people lost to the pestilence that ripped its way through the entire world, Gracie had to protect herself. It also appeared to her that, from the lack of other women she met in her travels, she sooner accepted that reality than most of her gender.

'Sergeant' was tackling up when Gracie finally swung her legs over the side of the bed, letting bare toes dangle from the ledge as she pulled her untamed auburn tresses into a high pony tail. A few beds away slept Wield - the only one aside from Kara that was almost the same age as Gracie. Then there was John, and Big Al, both of which proved to be very handy men. If she didn't feel so detached, Gracie would have tried harder to be better friends with all of them. It wasn't to say that she wasn't kind or polite, it was more or less she was unusually quiet, hard faced and vacant when they all spent time together. And she did genuinely enjoy their company, it kept her sane. In what free time the group did have, Gracie spent a lot of it silently admiring Big Al and the skill he exhibited which was built on the foundation of being a former military engineer.

In half-time the young woman slid off the bed lazily so that she could haphazardly pull on a pair of faded slim-fit jeans which had over time, been altered with numerous patches to ensure durability. What dignity she did have left remained in the normal life she used to know, so with a sort of forlorn reach, she grabbed an old long sleeve blouse and pulled it on to cover up her bare torso, her tattooed arms. Just short of deciding to greet the sergeant, an ear-splitting alarm rung out, plucking the words right from Gracie's tongue.

"The defensive perimeter has suffered a Stage 5 breach."


Pandemonium was bouncing off the walls of Gracie's mind, her posture suddenly quavering as she rounded the bunk, sheathed her Kabar 1248 just under her left armpit and hauled down her knapsack from the cot above. It felt as though the message was only getting louder and louder yet - it seemed to drone out in her head. She said nothing while the others awoke, panicked and alarmed. Her dry, cracked fingers snapped and tightened straps from her bag uneasily. Tawny, sun-embellished skin developed goosebumps that physically manifested the fear Gracie was experiencing in her heart. Gracie rubbed a gloved hand up and down the sleeves of her blouse.

All at once, the survivors were staring at the sergeant, their eyes pleading for some solace or at least some plan, tactics, anything.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Thomas Knight Character Portrait: John Maxwell Hammerfield Character Portrait: Wield Jackson Character Portrait: Alex "Big Al" Johnn Character Portrait: Gracie Porter
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#, as written by Tempest
Sergeant Thomas Knight


"What’s the plan?"

Now that was a damn good question, one that Thomas did not have an answer to. He was well aware that for the past several months that the military leadership of Dallas had been trying to formulate some kind of plan for this exact situation but with limited resources and even fewer trained soldiers to carry the plan out, they had been up s**t creek with a paddle. Well, now they were s**t creek without a paddle or a boat.

"Well Sarge, I'd say we've over stayed ahr welcome. What'chu think? Time fer hightailin?"

More good questions but this one he certainly had an answer to. He made sure everyone was awake, one of the gals was missing but he didn’t think she’d come home last night, probably out with some fellow making merry like tomorrow, today rather, might be their last and that could very well be true today.

“High tailing it sounds like the best course of action. Everyone got their kit?” As he asked he quickly checked his own gear, all of it was where it should be except for a couple personal items that would be of no use to him in this next stage of his life.

Everyone did their own checks and then nodded to him. He was doing his best to remain calm as they went, smiling when they made eye contact and cracking the odd joke. Inside he was terrified, every second they wasted was that much more time for the undead to get closer. He did reminded himself however that anyone in even half decent shape could walk faster than they shuffled so there was plenty of time yet.

The last person gave him a nod and he threw open the door to their small bunkhouse. It was semi-dark outside still, a low mist clinging to everything, the never ending moan still drifting to them across the airfield. Already he could see dark shapes running for the few aircraft that had been stored for just such an event, and then small arms fire. He shook his head, even at this moment, when extinction was knocking at the door, people still fought each other.

He led the small group around the back of their bunkhouse and down a small lane. It was mostly deserted as the majority of the bunkhouses had been emptied by a fever several months before, those with him were doubly lucky on avoiding both the plague and the fever epidemic.

Something large loomed at the end of the alley covered in great grey tarps. He took the corner of one and gave a heave, the cloth resisting his first attempt. A second tug and it collapsed at his feet, revealing the front end of large armoured vehicle.

In the gloom he did a quick check of the vehicle, a light armoured vehicle (LAV) to be specific. All eight tires were still inflated and it appeared as though no one had been near it since he had parked it here three weeks ago.

He went around the back and, opening a small cover, inserted a key. Hydraulics whirred and the rear door opened just enough to allow a person to step inside.

“All aboard.” He said quietly. Motioning them all to hop in. “Time to blow this popsicle stand.”

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kara Mitchells Character Portrait: Thomas Knight Character Portrait: John Maxwell Hammerfield Character Portrait: Wield Jackson Character Portrait: Alex "Big Al" Johnn Character Portrait: Gracie Porter
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#, as written by Mishie
Kara was tired. She had fallen asleep with her head on a table in one of the random tents an hour or so ago after someone came to her needing first aid. She simply had not seen a need to walk all the way back over to her bunk where her bed awaited her, and possibly awaken one of her "roommates" while she tried to go to sleep herself. Kara was having another one of those dreams, of when the outbreak happened. It was all the same, except for the blare of an alarm was involved this time.

An alarm? It was becoming louder, clearer, now it was blaring in her eardrums.

Kara shot her head upward and stood up, doing a 360 to see that she was alone but it definitely wasn't quiet. There was the alarm sounding for a Stage 5 breach, and then there was the sound of footsteps hustling around outside. This was not good at all. Grabbing her bag that she held everything she ever needed to help somebody, and the Bowie Knife she kept around for her own safety, she peeked out the doorway before making a dash for the bunk she should've been at tonight.

At first, Kara was dodging other people, but it started slimming down the closer to go to where everyone slept at. "Guys?" She called out into the empty bunker, seeing no one. They must've not left that soon. Turning around, she squinted her eyes, hoping it would help her see them somewhere. Now she wasn't just hearing the people she'd been here with for so long - she was hearing the moans of the undead. Letting out a slighty shaky breath, she turned her head when she heard something behind the bunk collapse. Not long after, the sound of something big started. Tightening the hold on her knife, she wandered back there into the small alleyway herself.

Kara let out a quiet breath of relief though when she realized it was just the group of people she had been looking for instead. "All aboard." The sergeant said to them as she merged in with the back of the group quietly to wait for them to get in first, "Time to blow this popsicle stand."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kara Mitchells Character Portrait: Thomas Knight Character Portrait: John Maxwell Hammerfield Character Portrait: Wield Jackson Character Portrait: Alex "Big Al" Johnn Character Portrait: Gracie Porter
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John followed suit as Thomas threw open the door and motioned for them to follow. In the past few months everyone had trained to work together and to follow Thomas's orders. In the beginning there were major problems as people adjusted to it. He himself was skeptical of Thomas to begin with but had begun to warm up to him.

The gathered howl of the undead pierced the air chilling him to the bone. John could feel the small part of his brain that was screaming for him to just run, to break formation and run from these fools who would only end up getting him killed. He tightened his grip on his gun instead and moved with the group. It was a chilly night and the air was still. The sky was a combination of black and orange smoke clouds. He could see figures moving in the darkness and just hoped that they wouldn't notice them. Didn't matter if they were the rotters or other people. At a time like this you really didn't have the time to deal with either.

As they moved silently following the Sergeant to a back alley behind the bunker they had been staying in. He realized they were being lead to the armored vehicle Thomas had stashed a few weeks ago. John had been alone out back in the alley, smoking when he'd pulled up with the monstrous thing. He had helped him cover it with tarps and had thought nothing more of it till now.

As the hydraulic door opened with it's mechanical hiss relief washed through him. Once he was inside he knew he'd be safe for now. The rotting fuckers couldn't even begin to get through the armor on this thing. Quickly he scrambled in at the order and found himself a seat towards the middle. He wasn't about to drive this thing. From there he watch the others scramble in till they were all inside and the door had been closed.

"Lucky." He muttered to no one in particular.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kara Mitchells Character Portrait: Thomas Knight Character Portrait: John Maxwell Hammerfield Character Portrait: Wield Jackson Character Portrait: Alex "Big Al" Johnn Character Portrait: Gracie Porter
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The fear that was surging through the room, evident in the tension, flickering in Sergeant's eyes, cut through Gracie. It was animal instinct, unadulterated distress. At times Gracie was thankful for the military hand and his more human side than most, however, it could also be very frightening.

Big Al spoke of making their getaway almost in a casual manner. When the sergeant ensured everyone had their things, Gracie found herself still patting down the sides of her jeans, tugging on the straps of her rucksack. Narrowed, life-determined cocoa eyes searched the quarters visually. Where was Kara? Though everyone was hastening for the quickest escape route, close in step with the sergeant, Gracie fell back. She never strayed too far - she wasn't stupid, oh no. But she also wasn't the type to so quickly abandon life where hope existed therein.

As Gracie broke into the overcast morning, cloaked in its darkness and smog, she focused on the feet of her comrades scuffling away. The mien of the daybreak went in perfect grim harmony with the undead groans. It had been long since Gracie's skin crawled over the noise itself, even the gnashing teeth just a few hundred feet away beyond the perimeter. But their palisade - their safety, was going to rack and ruin beneath the weight of mindless people who used to have names, lives, and inhibitions. How she would react now with death so quickly approaching, she wasn't sure. What she knew as death before the outbreak had completely redesigned into mobility. Hungry mobility. The boundless screaming of the alarm and its dashing of carmine light over the dark bivouac reminded Gracie that there was no real sanctuary to be had in this world. Not anymore.

Judging by the direction of their sovereign, the crew's escape and hope was nestled into the very cramped quarters of a tank, more or less. Gracie still kept her eyes peeled, glancing around and looking for Kara. When Gracie finally turned her back to the alley, a disconcerted voice nearly made the young woman rocket out of her boots.

"Guys?"

Messy auburn hair whipped away from Gracie's head as her neck snapped in Kara's direction, relieved to have located her. Forcing a small smile, Gracie nodded to Kara, the strawberry-headed nurse. More than a handful of times Kara had stitched up mostly unintentional self inflicted wounds that Gracie attained during training, climbing, or just being clumsy. If Gracie had to be honest, Kara was more vital to the group of survivors than Gracie could ever be. So with a gentle nudge, Gracie pressed Kara to the front while Gracie remained at the ass end. A certain dysthymia was washing over Miss Porter as the moans and shuffling/dragging feet grew nearer in proximity. What ambition was there left to be had? Gia was gone. Jonah too…

Heavy eyes glimpsed at the jutting material on her ring finger as the ringing faded in Gracie's head and the voice of the sergeant buzzed into nothingness. Beneath the thick gloves she wore her engagement ring, a constant reminder and ghost of the euphoria that was her life before. Everything happened so goddamn fast. Took everyone. Took everything. It wasn't fair. To remain reasonable, she took a good look at everyone around her. They'd all lost something. It was in their eyes, inscribed in their hearts and knotted in their minds. Every one of them suffered great loss, fear and heartache. She wasn't alone, she had to remind herself of that all the time. They needed each other to at least some degree. To maintain her wits and not meet its end, she just had to take a good once-over and the remedy was there. It wasn't perfect, perennial or untroubled. But it was there. And that was a lot more than most people had in the state of things.

The ringing became deafening again, Thomas' voice seeming to be a whisper in the breeze compared to the siren. Gracie inched from the mouth of the alley, twice peering over her shoulder and fastening her small hand around the helve of her machete.

Go.

She willed herself forward, then clambered into the tank, silently last. She crammed her petite frame into a corner, speechless and unusually calm. The sangfroid that had relaxed her tensed muscles unnerved her mind. With a sigh, she let her backpack slide away from one arm so that she could easily re-tie her boots. When she let her eyes peer upward, they met the cool metallic surface of John's firearm. Gracie blinked uneasily, then settled her bag in her lap. Guns. She never favored the idea. She supposed it was necessary now and - it made her realize how unequipped she was.

Thank god I'm nimble.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kara Mitchells Character Portrait: Thomas Knight Character Portrait: John Maxwell Hammerfield Character Portrait: Wield Jackson Character Portrait: Alex "Big Al" Johnn Character Portrait: Gracie Porter
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#, as written by Tempest
The Sergeant felt a surge of relief as the door was sealed behind them and he made his way through the press of bodies, muttering words of encouragement to them all as he want, ducking under Alexs considerable bulk as he slid into the drivers seat. He pushed in the big vehicles clutch then pressed the starter and was rewarded by a roar from the engine.

He had barely heard the questions from everyone, to focused on the only way that he knew out of the city. It would take them across a chunk of the tarmac, through a couple streets, past the lockup, and then from there over the only highway overpass still intact. It was the one place where the undead hadn't manage to ramp up due to a four foot drop at the far end. It would hurt, but the LAV could do it.

He kicked on the big lights and the whole ally blazed with light as he gunned the engine and the shifted into gear. The big gears engaged the LAV started forward and he turned it, careless of what he hit now, and one of the empty bunk buildings seemed to explode as the vehicle smashed through it.

Out on the tarmac he let the big engine show its power and the eight wheels ground onwards, propelling the LAV up to 80 kilometres an hour as they raced along. He glanced out the small viewport on his left side to see the few aircraft that had remained all burning brightly where they sat. What a f**king waste.

"Hold on!" He cried out as the LAV skipped off the runway, through a ditch and then bounced onto the level surface of the airport apron. He had been scouting this route for a couple weeks now and didn't hesitate as he rammed the huge vehicle through the lower windows, glass shattering in all directions as he went.

The same effect went with their exit from the terminal as they burst out the front doors. Already he could see the flashes of heavy small arms fire and see the swarm making its way towards them. For a brief moment he thought of going to help the people trying to stem the flow but then the satellite images he had seen came back to mind, there was nothing they could do but get the hell out of there.

Several smaller streets, mostly empty save for the odd scurrying figure, came and went until the lockup loomed large in front of them. He didn't aim for the main building but rather for a grey squat looking structure next to it. He slammed the brakes on as they reached the door and he popped his hatch, taking a look around and then looking back into the passenger bay.

"Everyone into the bunker, get anything and everything you can, you've got five minutes, go." He pointed in the direction of the bunker and then hit the door release. The hydraulics whirred as it slowly dropped to the ground. "Alex and I will cover you. Move it!"

Once he was sure they were on the way he clambered onto the top of the LAV, unslung his assault rifle and waited.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kara Mitchells Character Portrait: Thomas Knight Character Portrait: John Maxwell Hammerfield Character Portrait: Wield Jackson Character Portrait: Alex "Big Al" Johnn Character Portrait: Gracie Porter
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The ride was very shaky, but Wield held on with his life. The driver was nuts, but then again, this world was nuts, so the driver's level of nuts was still comprehensible. Smashing into windows and buildings was definitely something an insane man would do before all this crap happened, but now, it's something Wield had gotten used to. He had seen many cars going on a rampage and smashing into everything on sight, and it all ends up with the car in flames. Though this time was different, since the driver, Thomas, was still perfectly sane.

Not long later, the truck stopped, and Thomas has issued a command to the ones sitting in the passenger bay; Wield and the others. He told them to scavenge the bunker in five minutes and that they are to get everything and anything they can see in there. Wield acknowledged the order and charged out the truck. He quickly rushed towards the door only to find it not budging. He tried knocking it down with his shoulders, but it's unexpectedly hard. But it's not weird since it's made entirely out of metal. Wield took a few steps back, making the others stepped back too, and switched to his shotgun. He quickly fired a few rounds on the plates holding the door and immediately it came crashing down.

The inside was a mess, but then again, it would have been. It would be weird to have a room in perfect normal state when stage 5 breach has been ordered. Nevertheless, Wield didn't take his time to scout the area. "Come on! We only have five minutes! Make sure you grab everything that is necessary and gather back here when your bag's fulled or when time's up. Anyone who's late will be left behind! Go!" Wield screamed his demands, and charged inside the bunker, sliding his bag down after reaching a shelf of medications. There were still a couple lot of them, so his bag was quickly filled with them. He didn't care about the expiry date and just shoved them back into his bag. Everyone was working together well, so they didn't end up wasting too much time.

Wield didn't want everything in his bag to be filled with only medications, so he stopped and went to another shelf and this time it was ammunition. Spotting a few shell that could be used by his shotgun, he quickly reloaded his gun and shoved enough shells to fill up his gun, while the rest goes into his backpack. Finally satisfied with his bag, he quickly ran outside to the truck and placed his bag inside the truck, then he walked back out, to the entrance, and guarded it, in case any of those fuckers managed to get past the two defending here. If they managed to swarm the inside, their efforts will be wasted.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Kara Mitchells Character Portrait: Thomas Knight Character Portrait: John Maxwell Hammerfield Character Portrait: Wield Jackson Character Portrait: Alex "Big Al" Johnn Character Portrait: Gracie Porter
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Up until the ruthless brake-check of the ordnance vehicle, its breath a thunderous hydraulic sound, Gracie had sat rather quietly and only once or twice looked up unfavorably embrace the true panic of the situation. Bedlam was taking place all around them and for a long time they didn't need to necessarily fight and run. Everything was subject to change these days. It was a relief that Gracie had realized the world she lived in sooner than not - because she never got too comfortable with anything these days.

For a moment Gracie contemplated heeding to Big Al's request, maybe climbing up top and hanging back. She wasn't the type to abandon ship. However, she knew Al, just being Al, would probably laugh in her face if she volunteered. With a small exhale, Gracie grabbed onto a burnished handle and swung herself out of the tank before anyone else registered that the entry of if was wide open.

Aurora was taking its sweet time spilling light onto the disintegrating nation and Gracie preferred it that way. To be perfectly honest she was more catlike than human anymore - habituated to looking into darkness and seeing shapes that weren't figments of the imagination, listening more than talking, always watching, quietly sidling into the twilight and blending in as if she herself were a percentage of the evening. It wasn't until Wield blasted past Gracie that she lost her footing short of the bunker entrance and fell right on her ass. There was a distinct 'pop' in her bones as she pulled herself back to her feet, greeted then by the overthrow of a once strong and powerful metal door. That too, was just a few inches of demolishing not only Gracie's lithe ways but her bones as well. Despite the anger and irritation she may have felt towards potentially losing her life (because, after all, one slip up was all it took), she just regained her balance and composure and padded towards the looming, open doorway.

The sight was like an ants nest, everyone rushing and pushing to gather what they could. Then like that, they were all on their way out towards the tank again. Figuring she'd been the last one out, she patiently stepped into the pillaged bunker and peered at a now bare shelf lining a wall. Something was blinking faintly beneath the lower shelves on the hind side. Grabbing the flimsy aluminum with two hands, she pulled it forward with such force that it toppled over with a 'clank'!

Acute sense of hearing allowed Gracie to realize that the 'team' was getting further away and closer to the tank without her. Looking over her shoulder, she checked to see that it was still clear and then squatted to examine the mossy-colored box which wielded the muted light. When her hands reached to inspect it, she was surprised by the unanticipated weight of the thing. As she lifted it, she saw two smaller boxes and what appeared to be a duffel bag designed to carry all of the items at once. There's no fucking way. She sighed, squinted and looked over the original receptacle that caught her eye in the first place. It was an EPMK. It had to have at least a few things they could use for medicinal purposes.

With great effort she shoved the larger box into the material bag as quickly as possible. Once she was moving on to put the last case into the bag, it popped open unexpectedly and its contents went spilling all over the floor and under the fallen shelf. Barely able to visually detect where most of it went, Gracie grabbed handfuls of what she hoped were the lost items, only coming up with six or seven Ceralyte packets. Her movements were gradually becoming frantic and rushed, evident shuffling of dragging, decomposed feet sounding nearer. Please don't leave yet. A small Spanish prayer smoked from Gracie's lips, something she learned from Jonah a long time ago. Heaving the the largest strap of the bag across her chest so that the weight could rest on her back, she pulled herself up and inched towards the open doorway.

It was sad to see, at least four of the underfed ghouls stalking back and forth, one blocking her contemplated direct path. Hopefully the Sergeant didn't think they'd lost her. Hopefully they'd pick the bastards right off as she braved the gap between the bunker and the tank. But she had to think logistically, if they didn't pick them off, she was screwed. One good tug of that bag on her back and she was going down like a sack of potatoes with little probability of coming back up again. She retrieved something from beneath her blouse and pulled it onto her face so that it covered her nose and mouth. Sure, everyone had laughed from time to time about it. But Gracie had seen more than several of those things basically vomit into someone else's mouth or spew bodily remnants from their last meal on someone's face and well, she wasn't in a hurry to taste another human.

She gathered her energy and sprinted from the doorway into the sweeping dusky alfresco. Gun powder and decay cohered to the air. Looking wildly from left to right, then to the tank, Gracie realized she had little time and nothing but hope at that point. In one significant, agile movement, she unsheathed her machete so that she could face the more threatening fate rather than the one to her back, where hopefully, her team would protect her.

There wasn't time to hope, she was growing anxious. Something muffled made a chill creep up her spine, but she dismissed it as her imagination running too wild but spun again, faced with a half-decomposed jaw hanging ajar in a macabre fashion. Its vacant eyes were trained on her, what was left of its mandible clicking and twitching at the idea of having her as a meal. Beneath the mask, Gracie grimaced. Careful steps silently moved her another two feet away from her latent attacker. The thing almost seemed hesitant, a happy relief to Gracie who was bargaining on it lunging at her. Again the muffled noise, static crackle and quiet beeping unnerved her. What the hell? It sounded like it was coming from the bag.

Her eyes attempted to look where her body couldn't dare, not with one of those hungry savages in front of her. That was all the time it needed to reach towards her, to attempt to grasp at the supple skin of her throat. Without realizing it, Gracie yelled and lifted one foot to give the undead assailant a swift kick to its sternum. The force of her foot was sufficient enough to sink through spoiling flesh and organs, that was evident as the zombie's anatomy separated into two (and maybe then some) with sickening slush sounds. Tarnished vital fluid spattered Gracie's shirt. But she had anticipated more gravity, maybe a little more resistance, not what was once a man disintegrating before her. She flailed, first almost falling forward, then back, machete in hand. Stumbling towards the discarded upper half of the gurgling wretch, Gracie sighed almost thoughtfully before wiping some sweat from her brow, then thrusting her machete through its skull.

Her fawn eyes were wild now, peering at her surroundings and making direct visual contact with the Sergeant. Carmine matter decorated her once antiseptic mask. She had to get back into the tank.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kara Mitchells Character Portrait: Thomas Knight Character Portrait: John Maxwell Hammerfield Character Portrait: Wield Jackson Character Portrait: Alex "Big Al" Johnn Character Portrait: Gracie Porter
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#, as written by Mishie
Kara had overheard Al asking one of them to take over a certain position in the tank and she had glanced around at the others, unsure if any of them knew how to exactly make it function. Looking over at it, she bit her lip and looked back forward again. She knew she couldn't do it, she had no knowledge of what to do with it. She only knew how to take care of others and herself.

When Thomas warned them to hold on, she tried. Kara was holding the blade she used in one hand, and gripping the seat beneath her with the other. It was definitely a bumpy ride, and she was surprised she didn't fall out of the seat. Trying to ease her mind about what was happening outside of the tank, she tried to think of what they may be possibly driving over that was making it so rough. A fence? A table perhaps? People? Kara closed her eyes and shook her head at the last thought. The only people she'd hope to be run over were the ones that were already part of the undead.

When they came to a stop, the Sergeant popped the hatch and the nurse loosened her grip on the chair as she glanced up at him to hear what he'd say now. When he told them to collect everything that we could within five minutes inside that bunker, she got up and hurried out at Wield, sheathing her knife at her side as the man shot the door open for them to get inside. She glanced back at Gracie when she heard her fall, but when she got back up and went inside with them, she decided to just ask later if she was okay.

Kara ran into the bunker, going straight for the back corner since Wield was already handling the medications, and pulling her bag from around her shoulders, she knew she had room to fill it with some ammunition and a couple handheld guns. There was only one large gun, she couldn't really tell which one it was, maybe a semi-automatic? Either way, she'd carry that one out with her. Grabbing another bag from a shelf, she went back over near Wield had moved from and tried another cabinet, grabbing more medical supplies she would could most definitely use.

Running out, she could already hear the moans of the undead getting closer. Holding the gun and carrying the bags, Kara rushed to put the stuff in the passenger area where everyone had just sat at. Kara could feel her adrenaline pumping through her, as she let out a sigh and pushed some of her hair from her forehead. About to sit down with the gun she had, she paused and looked around. "Where's Gracie?" she asked to no one in particular. It was cutting it close to the 5 minutes.

Peeking her head out the hatch, the undead was closer to the bunker now, almost in-between them and the door. And there was Gracie, with a large, and possibly heavy bag on her back. "Oh no.." she said, climbing back out as she tried to mentally figure out how to help her get back. As she got in front of the tank, one of the undead that had it's eyes on Gracie noticed that Kara was definitely closer to him now and turned to go towards her. Biting her lip, she didn't want to get too close too it to attack and she still needed to help Gracie, so he was definitely a nuisance.

Glancing at the gun she held for a quick second, Kara was not even sure it was loaded. Growling in frustration knowing she had all the ammo she collected in the tank, she stepped to the undead man and swung the gun hard at it's head, causing it to stumble and fall. She then hit it once more even harder in the head, smashing its face in with the butt of the gun this time. Now to help Gracie. Kara watched as she put the machete through one of their skulls, and she smiled for a moment before stepping to another zombie.

"Argh" she let out as she swung the gun once more at the zombie, this time it was a woman. She still had her PJs on, covered in blood in dirt of course. Her gun impacted with the side of her skull, and she saw a small amount of blood splatter when she made contact, and caused the woman to fall. Instead of hitting her again, she stomped on the womans face, flinching slightly when she felt the bones cracking beneath her foot. "Gracie, are you ok?" Kara asked quickly as she swung at another zombie, focused on killing the few that were in the woman's path to safety now.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kara Mitchells Character Portrait: Thomas Knight Character Portrait: John Maxwell Hammerfield Character Portrait: Wield Jackson Character Portrait: Alex "Big Al" Johnn Character Portrait: Jada Iriving
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The ride was rough as they barreled through building after building. John couldn't tell what was actually going on but he could hear the sound of the vehicle bashing it's way through and could feel the thing lurch and bounce as it went. He spent the next few minutes looking to each of the people trapped in the tin can with him. Watching their expressions and occasionally muttering to himself. He was about to say something to Kara who was sitting next to him when he felt the vehicle jerk to a stop and the back hatch hissing open. Thomas called out that they were making a stop. He called out that they had five minutes to gather anything of use they could find before they took off again.

Everyone began to pile out and headed to a small building just a few feet away. As he got out into the gradually dying light John scanned the area looking for signs of the dead. There was definitely movement in the distance but for the most part nothing was heading this way yet. Which was good considering the amount of damage they'd done on the way here. Then he heard the sound of Wield's shotgun and the loud thud of the door hitting the ground.

"Son of a bitch!"

The figures he'd seen were all starting to turn and head towards the noise. They really wouldn't have more then a few minutes now. He drew his hand gun and took aim at one of the closer bodies. Firing three rounds off into the darkness he managed to down one but now they were heading for him. They were coming from the lock-up's direction which was near the front side of the vehicle.

"We've got company!"

He shouted as he ran towards the entrance to the bunker. Once inside he was sure to let everyone know the time table had shortened as he grabbed everything that wasn't nailed down until the last of his pack was full. He then fell in line behind Wield as they hustled back into the vehicle.

"Smart move. Let's fire off the loudest gun while we are trying not to get caught by the rotters." John grumbled angrily to Wield.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kara Mitchells Character Portrait: Thomas Knight Character Portrait: John Maxwell Hammerfield Character Portrait: Wield Jackson Character Portrait: Alex "Big Al" Johnn Character Portrait: Jada Iriving
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"Smart move. Let's fire off the loudest gun while we are trying not to get caught by the rotters."

Wield could already hear complaints from someone. Alex Johnn was his name, but Wield never really got along too well with him. He was big, he admitted that. But then again, this wasn't the first time he had been receiving not-so-nice comebacks from various people, and so he had gotten more or less used to it. Who knew that every time complaint was threw at him, he would still feel as if a spear had stabbed him lightly. Firing another round of his handgun and reloading it, Wield took a step back and knelt down, in order to aim better. He scored more head shots, meaning he used only one bullet on each of those walkers every time, but he didn't kill much as he took time to aim.

"Yeah, well, let's stay stuck at the entrance and not enter the bunker. Let's waste the time Thomas had allowed us and just argue about how we are going to open the stupid door. Yeah, let's do that. That's the greatest idea I've ever had."

Wield gave Alex his answer. Wield is not about to waste his precious time to trying to argue with someone who could just have fought back against those rotters. In these situation, time is all they had and they didn't had the time to ponder over how to open a door. Since they made a ruckus already, so why not just take the risk and just charge in there? It's sure a hell lot more better than waiting for someone to figure how to open a door that's stuck.

They had fired quite a lot of rounds, but the rotting fuckers still didn't relent at their assault towards the bunker. Slowly, in the distance, before it was a few figures walking towards them, but now it's a quite lot more than it used to be. And this time, they were closer. Wield knew that wasn't the smartest move, but if they really had to rush getting those supplies while taking their time around it when Thomas clearly said five minutes, it would have been worse. The ruckus the truck made will eventually have to be noticed by those limping bodies and they will still have reached here, no matter the process. He just hoped that everyone will have gathered their supplies and had reached the truck earlier.

"Hey, Sarge! While we're waiting for those guys to come back, we need to come up with a plant to run away. Should we clear a path?"

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Character Portrait: John Maxwell Hammerfield Character Portrait: Wield Jackson Character Portrait: Jada Iriving
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Jada slammed the door of the guard room to block out the frenzied noise from the doomed men in the cells. The animalisitic screams of the living were a hundred times more chilling than any undead moan she'd ever heard. Obeying the natural instincts of growing up on the street, Jada yanked open cupboards and drawers, scattering paperwork and crockery in her search for something to steal. She found a pair of handcuffs - possibly the same ones she'd been wearing when she was dragged in a few days ago - in a desk drawer, and a bottle of water and a medical kit in a cupboard in the little kitchen off the guard room, but ultimately her search proved fruitless; she was unable to uncover a gun.

She was under no illusions; her chances of survival were little better than the men locked up in the cell below. While she hadn't paid much attention to any of the briefings from the stuck-up community leaders, even Jada could recall that a level 5 breach meant hordes of undead now roamed on the other side of the lock-up door. Only extreme luck, extreme speed or extreme firepower could guarantee safety now, and she was pretty certain she was all out of luck, as well as everything else.

To die in here, with the living, or out there, with the dead?

She shoved the thought from her mind. She'd lived through hard times before, both before and after the outbreak, and she wasn't about to give up now. She put her ear to the door, listening for the characteristic moaning of the zombie horde. She jumped back when she heard the crackle of gunfire. That meant two things: A horde was close, and at least two survivors were nearby. Maybe they could help her get to the airfield - that was the escape plan, according to the half-remembered survival lessons. As long as they didn't take her for a zombie and shoot her first.

Jada pulled off her tank top and tied a strap to the end of her iron bar, cracking the prison door open an inch, poked out her makeshift flag. It was neither struck by bullets nor grabbed by rotting, dead hands, so she carefully, slowly, pushed the door open a little more and slid out through the thin gap. The source of the gunfire was two men, a blond kneeling and a bearded man standing, by some form of armoured truck, which had slid to a halt by the bunker next to the prison. A third man stood atop the truck. The bunker door was missing; perhaps the gunmen had been looting. Now, though, a circle of zombies was closing on them. Jada surmised they must be waiting for at least one companion, otherwise they would be inside their invincible transport.

The gunfire was attracting the attention of all the nearby zombies, meaning Jada was safe for now, as she inched along the wall of the prison. But the crowd around the bunker, and the armoured truck, and the armed men - and her last hope of safety - was growing.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kara Mitchells Character Portrait: Thomas Knight Character Portrait: John Maxwell Hammerfield Character Portrait: Wield Jackson Character Portrait: Alex "Big Al" Johnn Character Portrait: Gracie Porter
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#, as written by Tempest
The Sergeant could have killed Wield where he stood when the damned fool blew the door open. Why did not one ever try pushing and pulling on the door? They had no fancy locks, just a mechanism that an undead couldn't figure out but a human could. Idiot.

The rest of the party had hurried into the bunker and he took the time to quickly look around. The shooting had quickly attracted a number of the undead who began to flow down the street towards them like some sort of god awful river, arms out stretched, moans drowning out all other noise.

He lay down on the top of the LAV, propping himself against one of the hatches and then, slowly, began to start firing methodical shots. One shot, one kill, that was the motto of the army these days and he took his time but it wouldn't be enough. The horde was slouching ever closer and it would only be a matter of time before it swallowed up the LAV. It didn't matter to him, he could close the hatch and be gone before ever they got close to him but he was loath to leave the rest behind.

At last the others began to spill from the bunker with bags full of pillaged goods. Once it might have belonged to the man he worked for but... Well, today it was finders keepers and they needed everything before they took off. He only caught a glimpse of them out of the corner of his eye but at once it was obvious that the two women had got into it with something inside. Their clothes showed signs of close combat and as they came closer and stood, swiftly aiming his weapon at them.

"Gracie! Kara! You been bit?" This was a desperate moment. If they had, they might reanimate inside the LAV and they would all be fucked.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: [NPC] Bartender Character Portrait: Kara Mitchells Character Portrait: Thomas Knight Character Portrait: John Maxwell Hammerfield Character Portrait: Wield Jackson Character Portrait: Alex "Big Al" Johnn Character Portrait: Gracie Porter Character Portrait: Jada Iriving
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Scraping her shoulderblades along the wall of the prison, scraping her boots through the dust, Jada redoubled her grip on her iron bar and her knife, eyes glancing around for the first sign that one of the undead had noticed her. Then she paused and watched as two women burst out of the bunker besides the armoured truck, and a man in military gear, previously hidden from her view raised his head from his shooting position and shouted down at them. Even from this distance, Jada could see gore on their clothes. One wore a facemask that had almost certainly saved her life; poisoned blood was splattered across it. Jada's stomach lurched at the thought of a mouthful of that foul ichor.

Then she stared, wide-eyed, open-mouthed, as all hell broke loose by the bunker. The armoured truck seemed to shutter as a heavy gun fired a short burst from its far side. Following the roar of cannonfire, the moaning of the undead hordes seemed almost peaceful, and then the air was torn apart by another, longer burst. Over the gunfire, Jada heard a metallic creaking, then turned away as a metal tower came crashing down.

Her flinch brought her face to face with a putrid, peeling visage, clouded eyes devoid of all humanity. She hadn't heard the zombie approaching over the noise from the bunker, but now its short, panting growls rasped in her ears as she jerked her head backwards from stained, snapping teeth. The pain in her scalp told her it had grabbed her hair just as she'd turned, and she screamed as she instinctively swung up her knife and wedged it through the zombie's eye. Grey, stinking jelly dribbled down its cheek as it slumped to the ground. Wrenching her blade free, and gagging at the stench of rot, Jada saw a shambling group of seven or eight more zombies approaching. The noise from the bunker seemed to be attracting a fresh horde from around the city. Jada backed away from the outstretched arms of the new arrivals, looked back over her shoulder at the group at the bunker and the zombies between her and them, and came to a quick decision.

Jada shoved her knife into a belt loop, held her bar - still with makeshift flag attached - in two hands above her head, and charged towards the bunker. She shouldered past two zombies whose attentions were focussed solely on the two men firing into the horde. A bullet zipped passed her ear; a shotgun round obliterated the head of one of the creatures right in front of her.

'Don't shoot don't shoot don't shoot,' she screamed as she ran.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kara Mitchells Character Portrait: Thomas Knight Character Portrait: John Maxwell Hammerfield Character Portrait: Wield Jackson Character Portrait: Alex "Big Al" Johnn Character Portrait: Gracie Porter Character Portrait: Jada Iriving
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#, as written by Mishie
"Gracie? Come on! We have to get to the tank!" Kara urged the female, grabbing her arm and leading her back to it. Sweat was beading up in small droplets alone her forehead as she continued to carry the gun that was now dripping remains of the zombies she came into combat with. It wasn't the only thing covered though. Her clothes were showing more wear than ever now that they were covered in blood and few pieces of rotted skin. It also acted as a terrible perfume - one of rotted zombie. Too bad it doesn't disguise the fact I'm alive. she thought as she let go of Gracie to do a hard swing of the gun at another rotting corpse in their way.

The nurse overheard Thomas aka Sergeant ask if they had been bitten. She looked wide-eyed up at him since his gun was aimed at the two of them. She knew he was only protecting the rest of the group, she understood why he was being cautious. Doing a once over pat down on her own body, Kara kept looking around them before looking Gracie up and down quickly, reassuring she was still in one piece herself. "We're fine! No bites! But we need to hurry and get out of here before we're surrounded!"

Kara turned to Gracie, urging her to the tank ahead of them. "You first, I can swing off any rotting corpses while you get back inside, go." She said, "Plus you have stuff on your back."

When she turned a little to keep the look out while the woman would climb, she heard another female screaming something. Turning to the noise and expecting some zombie to be rushing at her, she saw the female running at them instead. "Sergeant, look! Hey, you aren't bit right?" Kara yelled out to her, not letting go of the gun she had herself just in case she had to take her out. But the way she shouldered past the zombies meant she probably wasn't, and she was just as desperate to get out as they all were anyway.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kara Mitchells Character Portrait: Thomas Knight Character Portrait: John Maxwell Hammerfield Character Portrait: Wield Jackson Character Portrait: Alex "Big Al" Johnn Character Portrait: Gracie Porter Character Portrait: Jada Iriving
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#, as written by Tempest
Sergeant Knight

The moment to quibble or debate over what was happening had come and gone, the undead were simply to close for comfort. His ears were still ringing from the firing of the chain-gun below him and he could only read Kara’s lips as the girl assured him that neither of them had been hit. He waved them towards the rear of the LAV, thankful that he had been lucky enough to get some people under his command who could think for themselves.

There were of course times in his life that you couldn’t think of everything and this was one of those moments, perhaps the most chaotic he had ever been in. If the gunshots hadn’t started, well, they wouldn’t have so many zombies on their track and now that Alex had called the whole horde of millions towards them with the chain-gun, they were proper fucked.

He was about to drop into the hatch and seal the big rear one when Kara shouted a warning and pointed towards a woman who, like a football line backer, slammed her way between two of the Zombies and came sprinting towards them. He could hear her screams of “Don’t shoot”, which were enough to convince him that she wasn’t a running zombie.

A quick nod to Kara and he shot down the two zombies who turned to come after the new arrival. Already the rest of the group were crowding back up the ramp and he watched with a mental note od admiration for the nurse as she quickly ran her hands over the new comer, satisfying herself that the girl wasn’t bit.

Kara was the last into the LAV and Knight slapped the control panel next to him even as he dove through the hatch and into the driver’s seat. With a roar the vehicle jolted forward again, the door still slowly closing until at last it sealed them in from their attackers outside.

There was no mad rush now as he wove through the streets, the undead were everywhere but not in great enough numbers to slow them down, yet.

Sunlight was finally starting to burn off the mist that had clung to the city and he aimed the nose of the big vehicle down a long roadway, the wall looming swiftly in the distance. He took the time to quickly shout up to Alex.

“We’re almost out of ammo for this thing Alex, use what’s left to make us a hole in that wall!”

He heard a muffled reply and then the gun opened fire again, the bullets smashing into the concrete wall with a force it was not designed to withstand. Slowly a gap opened, enough to admit a man perhaps, and Knight was relieved to see no arms reaching through.

“Hold tight! We’re going through!”

The big armoured body smashed through the wall with a crash, scattering broken masonry and rebar everywhere as it went. The land before them almost looked pristine in its silence and nothing moved as they continued down a roadway littered with long abandoned cars and half eaten corpses. They were on a freeway now, well above the surrounding landscape and at the end it had been broken off, leaving a five foot drop to the next level of roadway.

Here Knight braked the big machine and lowered the rear hatch again, a cool breeze blowing into the hot passenger bay. In the distance behind them Dallas was burning, big clouds of oily black smoke pumping into the air, the sound of explosions and gunfire echoing to their ears.

Frightened faces looked back at him, mirroring his own feeling. He took a deep breath, tried to smile, and then spoke as calmly as he could. “Well folks, out of Dallas. This is where my plan runs out. Suggestions?”

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kara Mitchells Character Portrait: Thomas Knight Character Portrait: John Maxwell Hammerfield Character Portrait: Wield Jackson Character Portrait: Alex "Big Al" Johnn Character Portrait: Gracie Porter Character Portrait: Jada Iriving
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#, as written by Mishie
When Kara finally made it inside the LAV, she leaned up against the spot she fell into and let out a huge breath she didn't even realize she had been holding. Laying the gun she used at her feet, she wiped the palms of her hands together and then brushed what dirt and blood she could off on her pants. It wasn't going to come off any easier though without some water and scrubbing though. Sighing again as she brushed a shaking hand through her hair, the nurses stayed silent as she glanced at the others. The hatch sealed loudly, causing her to jump just slightly and look up at it. They were safe, there wasn't anything to worry about right now. They were safe..

Sergeant was already back in the drivers seat, shouting something over to Alex as he drove the LAV. The sounds were dull to her at the moment since her ears were still ringing from the clusterfuck that had happened outside not even a minute ago. Kara closed her eyes, focusing on controlling her breathing, wanting nothing more than a good nights' rest after this. When the LAV smashed through the wall though, she sat up and tried to watch what was going on. But when the Sergeant braked, she jolted into the person beside her just a little bit. "Sorry.." she mumbled quietly as the rear hatch opened and the cool air brushed against her face. She didn't even realize just how hot it was until that moment.

Dallas looked like every other city at the beginning of the zombie attacks now. The place that had been a safe haven, and it was scary to see it the way it looked now. All the people back there they left... Kara prayed silently that some of them would get out safely.

Sergeant spoke up and she took her eyes away from Dallas to look over at him. Kara could see that he was trying to stay calm and whatnot, but she imagined he was just as scared as everyone else was. She stared down at the gun at her feet, feeling the breeze still blowing in, the smell of rotted flesh and smoke surrounding her. When he asked for suggestions, her only thought was to get as far away from Dallas now, but where?

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kara Mitchells Character Portrait: Thomas Knight Character Portrait: John Maxwell Hammerfield Character Portrait: Wield Jackson Character Portrait: Alex "Big Al" Johnn Character Portrait: Gracie Porter Character Portrait: Jada Iriving
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Bullets cracked and whined past her ears as Jada sprinted towards the armoured vehicle. Focussed solely on her destination, she couldn't make out their origin. Nonetheless, she screamed: 'Don't fuckin' shoooot!'

She crashed blindly into the group at the truck. A woman's voice asked her if she had been bitten, and strangers' hands ran over her arms, neck and chest, grabbing and probing, before bundling her towards the hatch of the truck. Jada let out a surprised yell, then shouted: 'I ain't fuckin bit, let go a me, I ain't - '

Her curses were cut short as the vehicle lurched off with a roar, the door still half-open and Jada sprawled on the floor at the feet of her rescuers. The truck settled into a steady path, and Jada she spied the blond man who'd had the shotgun, and a woman with long red hair as she struggled to her knees in the cabin. Then there was a shout from the cockpit about making a hole in a wall, and a muffled reply was followed by a long burst of gunfire, and the vehicle accelerated. Jada just had time to shoot a glance of fear at the red-head before the armoured truck bucked in impact, the air shrieked with the sound of metal grinding on rouch concrete, and Jada was flung to the floor again.

Jada's vision span and briefly went black before a throb of pain in her temple brought her around. A man in military fatigues pushed open the truck's hatch. The sound of gunfire drifted in on a cooling breeze, but from a distance. The red-head climbed out of the truck, looking shaky and, as Jada collected herself a large, sweating man climbed down from the back, shoved past the blond man angrily, and squeezed out onto the road. Jada gingerly touched the swelling on her head. Her fingers came back bloodied. She took in the other two occupants of the cabin - a beareded man, and a scared and shocked-looking girl - and jumped down, pulled her vest back on, and came up behind the big man. She overheard him talking to the military figure about pigs in a thick southern accent. Her thundering headache made her cranky.

'What up, GI Joe, Pot Pie?' she snapped. 'What kind of fuck-up are we at now?'

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kara Mitchells Character Portrait: Thomas Knight Character Portrait: John Maxwell Hammerfield Character Portrait: Wield Jackson Character Portrait: Alex "Big Al" Johnn Character Portrait: Gracie Porter Character Portrait: Jada Iriving
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#, as written by Tempest
Sergeant Knight

Knight was trying to make heads or tails of what the big man was saying to him. He was a bit rattled by their exit but hell, what choice did they have? Ever other exit would have been choked with people trying to flee the city; it was the only way, and one he had given serious thought to.

He glanced back towards the city as the man spoke, noting not for the first time the great greasy plumes of smoke that were starting to boil into the sky. He knew what the man was saying but somehow it all seemed so fucking useless, far as he knew, no such thing as a safe place existed.

All he could think of was heading south. He’d been posted to a couple of Navy and Marine bases in his time and picked up some of their trade. Could they make it to the Caribbean? Why not? It would be better than dying here, at least out on the water the ghouls couldn’t sneak up on you.

His thoughts were interrupted by a young black woman who burst from the back of the LAV. It took him a second to realize that it was the stray they had picked up back in the city. Her nicknames for them at once struck him as damned rude and hilarious since they weren’t inaccurate.

'What up, GI Joe, Pot Pie?' she snapped. 'What kind of fuck-up are we at now?'

Time spent in the police had given the Sergeant an endless well of patience for these type of people since it tended to annoy them more than anything if he didn’t respond to their taunts.

“Well we have no home, no plan, not many supplies and one stowaway. I think we might have a couple problems.” He said with a grin. They were all scared and now was not the time for any sort of bickering.

“I think it might be best that we make a run for the Caribbean. It’s a long way but hell, at least zombies can’t get at you every waking moment if we can find a boat. Maybe…”

His words were cut short by a thunderous bang and he ducked, instinctively drawing his side arm and spinning towards the sound and where it had come from at the front of the LAV. One of the front tires had burst, the piece of rebar embedded in it hitting the tarmac with a clatter.

He couldn’t help but chuckle to himself as he stood, holstering the weapon. He looked around at the others. “So, Caribbean cruise anyone?”

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kara Mitchells Character Portrait: Thomas Knight Character Portrait: John Maxwell Hammerfield Character Portrait: Wield Jackson Character Portrait: Alex "Big Al" Johnn Character Portrait: Gracie Porter Character Portrait: Jada Iriving
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#, as written by Tempest
Sergeant Knight

Before the Great Panic Knight might have said something to Alex about his comments but right now was hardly the time for PC bullshit or anything along those lines. He even found himself unable to get a word in edgewise with their new companion as she walked away from him and it struck him, for the first time since they had found her, that she had come from the prison lockup. Not that it mattered, really, at this point it was more about the whole mess of them getting well clear of the undead hordes.

Speaking of undead hordes... He climbed on to the top of the LAV and pulled his binoculars from a pouch at his waist and turned in a slow circle from right to left. It was an old sailors trick turning counter clockwise, it forced the brain to slow down and really look at what the eyes were seeing. Left to right was how people read and most would skip over points of interest.

He privately half agreed with Alexs statement about Houston but "scoped"? What the hell, did the man think that the undead had suddenly gone all tactical on them and were waiting in ambush? The southern city had fallen months ago, there would certainly be some undead in the region but not millions. He was aware that Dallas alone had a "moat" of some five or six million zombies but their escape route, onto an elevated roadway, had allowed them to pass over the majority of it.

Swinging his binoculars to the west he could see the writhing mass beneath the roadway trying to claw upwards towards the hole he had made in the wall. He could also see a handful of fugitives atop the wall trying to fight off the undead who were slowly ramping up to get at them. It was only a matter of time.

Next he scanned the length of the elevated roadway. It ended some one hundred yards further on at a seven foot drop. No zombie alone could ramp up to it but it wouldn't take long for a bunch of them to make the move. Thankfully, the vast majority were slouching towards the city, their moans echoing across the barren suburban landscape.

Their location on top of the roadway gave them protection at least for the next little while and he felt safe in clambering down from the LAV to take stock of what they had.

He found Kara, Gracie and the new arrival going through the bags they had collected and making an inventory of the supplies. He nodded his silent approval but said nothing, there was no need for him to micromanage their work. Survivors had made it this far by being tough and good at what they did, plus, no one liked a man in uniform looming over them.

Instead he located his pack and drew out a map of Texas, spreading it out on top of the LAV and sitting next to it with a pen. There were marks that denoted supposed safe zones on the way south but he would take nothing for granted. What he did mark down however were the supply dumps that had been left by the retreating army in case they ever went south again. Those would be most useful for the LAV and its occupants.

He looked up from time to time to make sure that no undead had managed to begin the climb towards them, always bending back to his task as he waited for the others to finish their own efforts.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kara Mitchells Character Portrait: Thomas Knight Character Portrait: John Maxwell Hammerfield Character Portrait: Wield Jackson Character Portrait: Alex "Big Al" Johnn Character Portrait: Gracie Porter Character Portrait: Jada Iriving
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John had been silent up to this point as he had sat in the seat eyeing the new girl. She seemed slightly familiar but he really could not place her. Did not matter as he knew he had never met her. He was more worried about another person being in the group. It had taken this long for him to even really begin to trust some of the people he was already with. He knew if things came to down to it though he was better off with them. He could survive on his own but he did not have half the experience Big Al had with vehicles or the training the Sergeant had. He knew pretty much nothing about medical things except what is required for First-Aid and what had been in the training seminar on how to use a first aid kit and it's content. He knew a few other simple things but Kara seemed to have a handle on things. Even now all Gracie had proven to him was that she was just another pretty woman but she still had survived this long which was something in and of itself. Then there was Wield. He never really had told anyone about himself and seemed to know how to handle a weapon too familiarly.

He was distracted from his thoughts as the vehicle once again lurched to a stop and the back door had opened. Everyone had piled out and began milling about talking things over. Instead of getting out though he stretched himself out in the LAV enjoying the space. He could not really hear anything until Big Al burst out in his gibberish and the newcomer called him a honky. John could not help but smirk about actually to get out when a loud bang went off outside. He saw the girl who'd just been yelling hit the ground and instinctively he quickly got out of the vehicle but was put at ease when he realized it was just one tire. That still was not a good thing but at least they weren't under attack. He shook his head slowly as Al began to repair the wheel and he caught wind of what they had been talking about.

"I'm up for anything so long as we stay off the roads. I have not lived this long by traveling on the roads."

He knew it would be dangerous pretty much anywhere around here currently with the never ending horde that had begun to descend on the city in the past few weeks heavily. Even with the wall having toppled and most of them still pouring into the city enough of them will have broken off and be scattered. He shrugged as he finished his statement and turned away from the group. He would let them figure it out and just go with the flow. He had never really had a plan in the first place and did not even know why he was still fighting at times.