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Post by Shane Richardson on May 16, 2010 19:34:10 GMT -5
Creamy light spread over acres and acres of farmland as far as the eye could see. Shane squinted his light brown eyes against the morning sun. Currently he, along with the others, were standing in a pasture. No cows or horses were in sight and the grass looked brittle and brown. A sigh came from him and he gripped his AK-47 tighter.
“If I heard correctly,” Shane began, breaking the silence. “There’s some kind of evac station at the cathedral in Nevan. Unless anyone knows how to hot-wire a tractor, we’re walking.”
He trotted over to where some first-aid kits lay on the ground. As he bent down to grab one, he noticed that there was a note next to the items. He paused to read it.
“For anyone in need,” the teen read aloud and grimaced. “Huh. Looks like someone knew that survivors were going to pass by. If we see who left these here, I think we should thank them.”
Strapping his first-aid kit over his shoulder, Shane looked back at the others impatiently. He wanted to get a move on and get out of this hell-hole, but there was no way he was going to lead. Leave that for someone older than him.
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Post by Keith the Great on May 16, 2010 19:48:36 GMT -5
With the confidence of a man who lived 3rd degree burns (twice), Keith strode onto the farmlands straight past Shane, making a bee-line for the pile of bright-red first air kits. In the dead grass, the sharp red stood out well enough. The hobo quickly knotted one of the kits on a badly-sewn keychain-loop on his jacket before speaking up:
“Man, I am from Georgia,” he said, “no lie. I was hijackin’ m’dad’s tractor ‘fore you was even born. I just ain’t ridin’ anythin’ through the ‘pocalypse if it’s got a ‘slow moving vehicle’ sign on it.”
The Southerner took a few more steps forward before retrieving the map from his pocket and tracing their position. “We’re at the farms,” he mumbled, “so we’re headin’ southwest ta get to th’ church.”
He looked up towards the morning sun, squinting at the blinding semicircle on the scarlet-orange horizon. “The sun rises in the west, right?”
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Post by Mason Breaker on May 16, 2010 21:24:13 GMT -5
Scratching his beard, Mason thought for a moment before answering. "I'd say yes, the sun rises in the west. So let's get a move on, time's a' wastin'!"
Scooping up one of the generously left health packs, he double-checked his ammo in his shotgun before trudging through the field, remembering fondly his working days in Ireland. Waking up early to head into the pasture, the cool sea air...
He honestly hoped that Ireland was still okay, but that was unlikely. Still, he remained hopeful.
He scanned the area once more, trying to find any landmarks. Even a road would work. But all he saw was open field, and a few barns here and there.
"You know, these fields look like a nasty place for infected to hide in. Let's keep ourselves aware."
He looked back to the others, making sure they were coming along.
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Post by Patrick Schrader on May 16, 2010 21:44:55 GMT -5
Patrick scanned the farmlands. It reminded the rancher of his home back in Texas. He would be making a final count of the cattle before shipping them off to the stockyards. But now, all he know is that the ranch was most likely ransacked by a horde of zombies. His cattle was either zombie food or some sick experiment of CEDA. Still, the only hope for the Texan now was that he would be rescued and that he might reunite with family.
He merely adjusted the brim of his hat and checked his ammo. Thankfully, Patrick was able to find some spare 30.06 ammo for his M1 on his back and some 5.56 ammo for his FN SCAR-L that he was holding in his hands. Since the farmlands provided a lot of open space, the cowboy decided to change out his assualt rifle for his Garand, for the rifle did have a longer range.
He stood by Mason. The Irishman mentioned how the infected could hide effectively in the area, which Patrick merely gave a silent nod of agreement.
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Post by Moro Ashford on May 17, 2010 15:44:44 GMT -5
Moving to stand between Shane and Mason, Moro flexed her shoulders and stretched out her arms, feeling the tense muscles strain in her back. Her silver eyes flickered over the fields, doing an instinctive sweep for signs of activity; she wasn't at all surprised to find the scene vacant. In a way, the small bubbles of peace between hoards of zombies was a blessing, but this quiet, picturesque landscape unearthed a dismal longing for the old times. The mechanic had accepted long ago that events were irreversible- she pictured the rest of her life wandering from place to place and taking things a day at a time- but the false serenity that blanketed the early morning hours unpleasantly cemented the thought.
The young woman shrugged and rolled her shoulders, stooping to pick up one of the med kits. No use being mopey over things that won't change.
"Got to say," she said, slinging the health pack over her shoulder, "have to agree with Keith here. Tractors are loud; I think we're better on foot. And I don't know how you guys are doing with ammo, but I'd like to sneak around the zombies instead of confronting them. If we can help it." Her gaze fell to a thick field of corn a mile or so ahead, gesturing at it with the tip of her shottie.
"That'll be a bitch, tho."
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Post by Kameko Hoshi on May 17, 2010 16:50:13 GMT -5
This was the first time Kameko had ever seen farmland and she was excited about it. Her family were city folks through and through, but she always had a thing for living in the countryside. But now, staring at the barren landscape, her hopes of seeing a cow or horse vanished like dew in sunlight.
“What are we waiting for slow pokes?” she teased as she bounced forward, twirled, and stooped down to get her first-aid kit. “Come on, let’s go!”
With assault rifle in hand, she bounded off. Shane looked after her and sighed dramatically. After a brief pause to connect palm to face, he charged after her.
“Kameko! Don’t run off like that! What’s wrong with you?!” he called.
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Post by Keith the Great on May 19, 2010 21:13:34 GMT -5
Keith nodded his approval, recalling that Ellis and Dave had argued about where the sun set once, but not quite sure who had won that one. Nevertheless, if Mason said west, they’d go that way.
“I’m with Morrie,” he said, nodding. “Corn fields were off-limits in hide-an’-seek back home for good reason. Anyway, the sun is settin’ out there...” He pointed towards the sun, squinting when the sudden brightness reminded him to stop blinding himself. “So ‘less anyone has an objection, we’re off that way, south-west.” He shifted his focus just to the right of the sun, towards that was his definition of south-west.
And of course, Kami happened to be skipping away to the south-east with Shane chasing closely behind like the little puppy-dog he was. Leaving the girl-catching to Shane, Keith hopped up onto the house’s porch and snatched a couple boards of wood. He’d heard Moro mention a lack of ammo (a phrase that reminded him of how light his pockets were) and figured that a couple think planks of wood were the perfect solution. He snatched one for himself and tossed one to Moro with the simple title of “Problem-Solver” before marching off in what group opinion had called south-west.
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Post by Patrick Schrader on May 20, 2010 23:03:22 GMT -5
Patrick grinned at Keith's solution to Moro's low ammo problem. Despite the fact the hobo was a goofy coward, he was resourceful and had a strange ability to lighten up a man. Though, Patrick didn't grab a plank, simply because his Garand was good enough to club a zombie's skull to the ground.
Still, despite the Southernman's good humor, it still didn't distract the cowboy from seeing the "disorder" in the group. Clearly, Kamedo, I mean Kameko, decided to get ahead of the group. While she was a sweet and nice girl, Patrick knew that her lack of displine was going to get her killed again, from what he heard. Shane seemed to be on page with the former ranger, and decided to run after her. Though, he wished he didn't make too much noise, for the shouting could attract an unwanted horde.
Furthermore, he witnessed Keith wondering off to the other direction. Mistakenly, the hobo seemed to have confused himself with sunrise and sunset, for the sun was really rising, for it was morning. Thus Keith was really heading southeast. Patrick merely slapped his palm of his hand on his face in disappointment, gave a sigh, then spoke up to the misguided man.
"Umm, Keith, it's morning," Patrick corrected, "thus the Sun is rising, thus you're heading southeast; back into the woods we just came from."
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Post by Mason Breaker on May 22, 2010 22:48:50 GMT -5
Grabbing a large plank of wood, Mason gave it a few test swings before shrugging. It wasn't the best weapon, but it'd have to do for now. Besides, he had to give Keith credit; It was pretty clever.
Shaking his head as he watched Patrick tell Keith he was heading the wrong way, he couldn't help but wonder just what went through the hobo's head. Were his thoughts just disconnected from reality? Or deeply profound? He guessed it was the first.
Looking at the house, Mason couldn't help but wonder if there was anything inside. It could just be filled with infected, but maybe it was worth the risk...
He shook his head, deciding to not waste any time. They needed to get to town as quickly as they could. Who knew how long the evac would last?
"Alright Patrick, Keith, this seems like your kinda turf, so you two take the lead." He scanned the feild once more, trying to catch a glimpse of any infected. He was rather unsettled when he didn't see any. "Keep your eyes and ears peeled lads."
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Post by Keith the Great on May 23, 2010 15:28:59 GMT -5
Keith froze, mid-step, when Patrick made his little correction. Sure enough, there were more trees in the distance where he had been heading before. Suddenly, Keith recalled Ellis’ victory in the ‘east or west’ contest back home, and he’d been the one saying the sun rose in the east.
Trying to be as nonchalant as he could, he turned on a heel and started back towards the rest of the group (where Mason was shaking his head like he hadn’t agreed that the sun rose in the west). He paused upon arrival to inform his pal that “you ain’t my GPS anymore,” before turning to the Patrick-approved south-west.
“South-west!” he declared, pointing ahead. “We’re goin’ that way. Any objections? Pref’rably before I get too far?
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Post by Patrick Schrader on May 23, 2010 16:26:34 GMT -5
“South-west!” Keith declared, pointing ahead. “We’re goin’ that way. Any objections? Pref’rably before I get too far?"
Patrick merely shook his head without any objection, though, wasn't so sure Keith should lead the group.
"Alright, but I'll take the lead," responding to both Mason and Keith. He then directed his attention to Keith, kinda like a parent telling it's child what to do. "And Keith, I want stay by me, you here me? Don't wonder off. We already have Kame...ko to deal with; there's no need to deal with 2 MIAs." He then scanned for the jolly girl and for Shane, but they were still missing. "Where are they?" he asked.
How long does it take for a man to catch a woman?
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Post by Mason Breaker on May 26, 2010 18:14:39 GMT -5
Rolling his eyes, the Irishman watched after Keith. "I think a man's entitled to a few mistakes, lad. You of all people should know that!" He grimaced. "Should I list off some things, or do you wanna just move on?" He wasn't trying to be mean, but he was a bit impatiant.
"Now, where are Shane and Kameko? We need to get a move on."
He stiffened when he heard a familier cackle. "Watch your backs. There's a Jockey near..."
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Post by Moro Ashford on May 26, 2010 20:06:32 GMT -5
Accepting the makeshift weapon with faint bewilderment, Moro slung her gun over her shoulder and took a few experimental swings before flicking a smile at Keith. "Good idea," she said, "thanks."
Turning her attention away, she watched Kameko disappear with Shane in tow; an uncertain smirk toyed at her lips. Her feelings for the boy were still undetermined- her animosity had long passed, but she was being careful to not mistake friendship for romantic interest.
The mechanic rolled her shoulders. No rush. Taking a backseat to the going ons, she glanced around at her companions, eager to get moving.
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Post by Keith the Great on May 26, 2010 20:31:04 GMT -5
“If I’m entitled to mistakes, why’s ev’ryone still have a goddamn cow every time I screw up?” Keith muttered, folding his arms across his chest, problem-solver tucked in the crook of his elbow. “Y’all practically pissed your pants when I drove the van, an’ I didn’ even kill no one who wasn’t already dead.”
The hobo followed Pat without complaint, figuring that while he had many skills, navigation wasn’t his forte (and the ‘Ohio or Illinois’ matter was proof). The corn stalks were an annoyance; less in the hiding zombies (so far) and more in the fact that it tickled the knees. A quick glance inspired a mental note to look for jeans in the town. As stylish as holey jeans were in Georgia, Keith figured he didn’t need any zombies knocking at his kneecaps.
“Alright, from the sound ‘a that rustlin’ corn...” He pointed off to the left, where the stalks were shaking what their mamas gave them. “Kam-Kam and Shane are over there bein’ teenagers. An’ it sounds like...” He paused, hearing the same rustling from behind him. His Southern-Senses told him that the thing was too short to be Moro, but Mason’s mention of a Jockey sealed the deal.
His thoughts immediately focused on his own safety, Keith quickly jogged ahead and put Patrick between himself and the trembling stalks. The Problem-Solver did, however, stay in his grip and at the ready. Just in case.
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Post by Patrick Schrader on May 28, 2010 17:46:40 GMT -5
The crackling laugh of the Jockey straighten Patrick's hairs. Nothing seemed to creep him out more than one of those humpback bastards, excluding Tanks and Spitters. The mere thought of a short mutated man controlling you like some horse into the wild franzy of a zombie horde wasn't just scary, but humiliating in some respects. He didn't much enjoy the first encounter with one of these crack-addicted crazies.The only thing he remember from his first ride was having whiplash, a lost of dignity, and the bottom of his boot cracking its skull.
And now, a Jockey was stalking the group in the cornfields. Keith, being on the safeside, decided to get behind Patrick. Patrick couldn't blame him and simply didn't mind taking on the creature. They weren't as agile as a hunter, so, hitting it wouldn't be too hard. But as the rancher drew his rifle up, he heard some loud grunts and snarly gags. They seem to coming from the house. As he turn his head, he saw the tall slilolette of woman in the second-story window before hearing its distangilble spit noise.
"Spitter!" Patrick alerted as he jumped to avoid the toxic goo.
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