Survivalism 101


Intro:

In 2102, the world has changed for what humans deemed the better. The oceans and air were no longer polluted, the forest cleaned and wildlife flourishing. Decades of determined governments and evolving technology, and the earth finally was returned to a healthy state.

What with the clean environment, people assumed that their health would improve, as well. ‘No more smog, meant no more cancer, right?’ They thought naively, until the diseases of old began to crop up out of nowhere, and inflect the unfortunate populace. Initially it wasn’t too bad. The sick would go to the hospitals and pharmacies; pick up a few over-counter medicines, and then go home for rest. But, then, the first person died—and then the second, the fifteen—until soon, doctors realized that the old cures of the 21st century weren’t working anymore… that they were no more effective than telling someone to use gasoline to put a fire out.

Panic seized the world, as people realized that all were vulnerable—rich or poor; anyone could get sick, and anyone could die. Despite the new, fully-automated technologies of the new century, people were dying at alarming rates from ailments like Whooping Cough and Small Pox, and the doctors didn’t know why.

All they could supply to the worried masses; was that the viruses mutated over time and that cures would have to adapt to compensate for the change. When the death toll in South America climbed to hundreds of thousands, old tension between the major countries became new and very much apparent, and almost stopped the creation of the cure.

As fate would have it, on the 1st anniversary of the first death to the mutated strain of Polio, the United States had finished their strain of the cure. Eager to get the treatment out on the world-market, the US was prepared to bypass their own Food and Drug laws so that they could start distributing the anti-virus.

Despite warnings from the scientist that had constructed the cure, (‘it’s too unstable; we still need to do more testing.’) it was sent out across the world, to the highest bidders, in large quantities. As hospitals all over the world stocked their shelves with the miracle cure—‘Eskban’, named after the head-scientist in-charge of creating it—and patients; young, old, sick or healthy, filled the chairs of the waiting rooms, and laid in the beds of the ICU, it seemed that, for a moment, everything was going to return to normal. If not normal; atleast it was going to be better than before. Again, people were wrong. Eskban didn’t work, initially.

The sick still died from the ailment they contracted, and all Eskban did was slow down the dying process. Scientist, including Dr. Robert Eskban, were immediately blamed—for everything, actually—and all of the major Countries that had bought the cure from US were threatening that, if they did not get a working anti-virus soon; they would invade North America; and seize all documents and ingredients relating to the Eskban cure. Worried of the prospect of being annexed, and then possibly destroyed, the US government had Dr. Eskban, and his team, revise the cure.

‘Compound Z’, the new anti-virus, was more unstable than the first prototype, and the good doctor warned the US’ high-powers not to try and sell it—atleast, not until they tested it out on something more than animals. Not willing to risk infecting the majority of the population with ‘Compound Z’ in case it didn’t work, the anti-virus was implanted in quarantined cities across the country.

The new cure was given to the inhabitants of the cities through the water supply, for maximum exposure to it. A week passed, and when the officials overseeing the isolated zones reported no deaths; in fact, people seemed to be getting better, despite Dr. Eskban’s on-going complaints, ‘Compound Z’ was sent out—this time, free of charge. After a while passed, and with constant uses of ‘Compound Z’, the sick got well, and the healthy were armed with a sense of comfort, after they had been inoculated. Two years after the first mutated disease death, the world returned to normal; and some years after that, it was as if it never happened.

Parents took their kids to school, and went to work. Teenagers loitered at malls, and were chased off Golf courses. Girls gossiped and boys kissed and told. With the exception of the annual memorials; the major news channels were back to covering the usual stories about the stock market and belligerent celebrities lashing out at paparazzi, completely ignorant of the tragedy that had just recently befallen the world.

The news reports would soon change from an intoxicated college-student rescuing a kitten from the subway, after they caught word of the grizzly attack that took place on September 19th, 2112.

From the many eye-witness accounts; on that chilly fall afternoon, during the rush-hour, a driver was attacked and mauled by a crazed man.

It started out simple enough. Most of the drivers took the attacker for a drifter, and paid him no mind, as he ambled down the highway; but, when he collapsed and had what most thought was a seizure, the victim, a 24 year old nurse, (Tom Walton) went to his aid.

The man, who upon closer expectation, was severely wounded, attacked the 24 year old. Biting him on the neck; tearing out a significant amount of flesh. The bite killed Walton almost instantly. Not stopping there, the man continued to feed upon Walton, and when the other drivers intervened, they were clawed at and spat upon; the fluid from the man’s mouth looked and burned like nothing seen or felt by human-beings.

... And before they knew it, everything went wrong. And this time, it would take more than a miracle cure to fix it..

In the midst of the Outbreak that seized the world; several groups of the uninfected find themselves trying to survive in trying times. With the stores cleaned out, and the water possibly drugged; they soon realize that they must be resourceful to stay alive. Be it deal with looters, or break into abandoned homes.

They had to be willing to do anything--even if it meant killing each other.

Your survivor is one of the few lucky people that survived the first wave of ailments. Unluckily for them, they have to face the terrors of the undead. Arm them with knowledge and expertise, or see them perish at the hands and teeth of zombies.

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Rules:

-No God-Modding (all god-modders will be thrown out. ;))

-Romance, while enjoyed and accepted, should be kept PG13.

-Don't kill any someone else’s characters, unless you got the ‘O.K’ with their creator and me. I, however, will be killing other people's characters; but, that's if they fail the three-strike system; which, I will explain below.

-Try not to ignore anyone. (That prompts them to leave, and it’s extremely rude.)

-No one liners. Remember, if you don’t have anything good to say, use descriptions.

- I'm sort of picky about Spelling and Grammar, but for the sake of keeping people around... just avoid Text Speak, L337, and First-Person.

-Write in 3rd person (If I didn’t cover that in the line above.)

-Try not to leave someone out. (But, then again.. Since, this IS a Zombie RP, leaving them behind is still an option.)

-Last, but not least, HAVE FUN!

-Write with a different font color..

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Did you suffer through the rules, and intro? Well, good. Because now it’s time for characters, and junk! *Claps hands*

Name:

Appearance: Which can be a picture, or a detailed description.

Age:

Gender:

BIO:

Sexuality:

Personality:

Likes, Dislikes, ETC:

Font Color:

Pm all profiles to me, please.

Three-Strike System:
The Three-Strike System is simple. I will give your character three chances to unnecessarily put themselves in harm's way; and after the third time your character is almost bitten\or almost shot\or almost hit by a car\ETC, your character gets a 50\50 chance at surviving the ordeal. To be fair, you will be rolling dice to decide whether your character is harmed or not.
The 6-sided dice lands on 1
[ dice=" 1 "][/ dice] No spaces.

For example; if my character has on flip-flops and for the sake of the story, I make them break and she tumbles into the street and narrowly avoids cracking her skull open on the street--that counts as a strike. If that's the third strike, any life-threatening occurrence like it that transpires afterwards, leads to you rolling the dice to see how your character will come out of the situation.

You'll have to scale your character's injury based on the number on the dice. Another example: if you roll even numbers—like, four and six—it means your character got a minor injury. Whereas odd numbers—like, five or three—means that your character got a major injury. If you happen to get 1, your character dies—no exceptions!

Don’t get your panties in a twist, if you don’t like the system! The thing about this RP is that it’s a zombie RP—we expect death in here—so, to be nice, you can make as many characters as you want, as long as you stick to the rules! :D

The Survivors!


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:ninja: PINGS! ...I can't think of anyone else, right now.

Originally Posted by Drexy4ever

Name: Lottie Twiddle ( Real name Zaliana Janiya Brown)

Appearance:

Age: 21

Gender: Female

BIO: Lottie, who changed her name after her family died, is the definition of leader. She always knows what is right, and always tries her best to do it. She does have a horrible temper, which is bad for the zombies because she takes it all out on them. She can sometimes be careless and just walk right into a mini-horde of them when she's feeling depressed, but she's crafty enough to either kill them quickly without making alot of noise or to be able to escape just as fast. She hasn't been around actual humans in about 2 weeks, and is kind of insane, but only a little.

Sexuality: Bisexual

Personality: Loud, easily-angered, rational, logical.

Likes, Dislikes, ETC: Hates bugs, loves reptiles, loves to talk, hates kids.

Font Color: Sandy Brown

Originally Posted by Apricot

Name: Elizabeth 'Lise' Leslie Allen

Appearance:

Age: A woman doesn't tell her age; but, she was born July 20th.

Gender: Female

BIO: Raised in a wealthy family in the 22nd century with 1950's ideals, Lise has a very staunct few of the world. From her "houlier-than-thou" personality; which hasn't changed much, since the zombie apocalypse; to her delusions that wealth and beauty are everything. Using her family's influence, Lise survived the apocalypse without ever having to lift a finger--until looters tore through the security barracades, and forced her and her family from their safe haven. Forced out into the world, Lise teamed up with Logan Ryker; a mysterious drifter.

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Personality: Prissy, snobbish, germophobe, greedy, kind-hearted, cautious.

Likes, Dislikes, ETC: Shopping, jewelery, living in luxury. Zombies, poverty, doing heavy lifting, working, running and smearing her makeup. Lise is uncooperative, if she doesn't have makeup.

Font Color: Hot Pink in bold

Name: Logan Ryker

Appearance:

Age: 30+, born sometime in late October.

Gender: Male

BIO: Not much is known about Ryker, and he plans to keep it that way.

Sexuality: Pansexual

Personality: Cold, distant, untrustworthy, perverted, mild-tempered, snarky.

Likes: N\A

Font Color: RoyalBlue in bold

Originally Posted by Graxdon

Name: Malcolm Riggs

Appearance:

Age: 29

Gender: Male

BIO: Malcolm was a Best Buy employee before the outbreak began. He was single, not close to his parents, no siblings, and really, no friends. When the outbreak happened, he was able to adapt to the idea of killing his fellow man with disturbing ease. He managed to get his hands on some old SWAT gear and a few weapons.

Sexuality: Straight

Personality: Somewhat rude, not really personable. Has some psychotic episodes

Likes, Dislikes, ETC: Likes killing zombies and being able to do whatever he wants. Doesn't like people who need to be protected

Font Color: Navy

Originally Posted by Esmme

Name: Zach Harper

Appearance:


Age: 21

Gender: Male

BIO: Honestly, it's a miracle that Zach has survived thus far. He lived in an average neighborhood with his single mother and little sister. When all hell broke loose, his home was attacked. Luckily, Zach was out with friends when it happened.
Ever since he came home and found his mother dead, Zach changed. Instead of the popular kid in his college classes, he was the older brother striving to live. He found his little sister hiding in the house, and they left.

Roaming throughout the city and looking for some help, Zach seems to be getting more and more frantic. Perhaps it has something to do with his little sister's health?

Sexuality: Straight

Personality: Protective, eager to survive, and altogether too trusting.

Likes, Dislikes, ETC: He likes knowing his sister is safe, and loves music. Sadly, he ditched the music thing the moment the outbreak started. Zach detests being useless, and has this fear of losing his sister.

Font Color: Dark Green


Name: Lilly Harper

Appearance: http://browse.deviantart.com/?q=litt...t=408#/d2edi4m

Age: 7

Gender: Female

BIO: After seeing looters raid her home and murder her mother, Lilly has been a bit shy and silent. Her closest friend and only bit of family left is her older brother, Zach. She clings to him for sheer survival.

Sexuality: Straight

Personality: Shy, innocent, and fearful.

Likes, Dislikes, ETC: She likes coloring. She loves her brother. She really likes candy. Lilly hates the dark, zombies, and strangers.

Font Color: Dark Orchid

Originally Posted by XxA_Wistful_InsanityxX

Name: Miranda "Milo" Simmons

Appearance:

Age: 25, as of her last celebrated birth upon the day of June 7th

Gender: Female

BIO: Milo started college early in hopes to become a successful surgeon, not that that really matters any longer. She's been a surgeon for over three years now, up until the outbreak started--she's definitely into saving those that can be saved by sheer nature and instinct. The kicker is she wears a Ghillie Suit that has been sprayed with superhydrophobic spray.

With that she carries various tools and surprising only a couple of weapons ((multi-purpose demolition hammer, rechargeable stun gun, zombie slingshot with hammer, and a revolver)).

Resources such as: vinegar, medical kit, bleach, a few unopened tooth brushes, utility knife, fire starter, extra clothing sprayed with superhydrophobic spray, an extra pair of goggles, few tubes of tooth paste w/ bags of baking soda, small ultrasound device, extra superhydrophobic spray, whet stone, medium sized solar panel w/ equipment, non-perishable food (the military stuff), three gallons of water, rechargeable flashlight w/ extra bulbs, an extra pair of boots, gorilla glue, medical book, and a length of chain with a lock.

Sexuality: Straight

Personality: You would be surprised at all the things she knows, building up and compiling the knowledge over years of preparation and all the crazy zombie site she found. Not to mention she's not bat-shit crazy, just incredibly smart and extremely prepared--and rather nice too. She come to be a wonderful shoulder to cry on and a person with great advice.

Likes, Dislikes, ETC: She likes playing hide and seek, though she can only laugh hysterically after she's in a completely secured facility.

She dislikes standing or running for long periods of time, ignorance, having to overly advise anything, thieves, and liars.

((First post! Drexy4ever: it's your turn, and then afterwards, you've got the floor Graxdon:,))

Lise’s feet hurt—no, hurt was an understatement—her feet felt like they were going to fall off; and her ankles felt like they were going to explode from the constant weight of them. Not that she was heavy, or anything, it was just that—good lord, she had been on her feet for what seemed like most of the daylight hours, and it didn’t help that she wasn’t wearing any sensible shoes. Logan hadn’t warned her that they were going to be, literally, walking across the state-line into New Jersey. If she had known, she wouldn’t have let him ditch her shoe-bag in the van they were in—which, of course, was out of gas, parked somewhere in an abandoned lot.

Practically limping across the road, in her three-inch tall Mary Jane styled heels, Lise grumbled angrily to herself. She shouldn’t be doing all this walking… why couldn’t they find a new car? Ugh… the cold air was drying out the styling product in her hair and making her lips chap badly.

Swearing in a way that would make a seasoned sailor gasp, Lise fished her lipstick out of the breast pocket of her trench-coat, along with a compact mirror, and began to gently apply it to her bottom lip. Once she was sure it was sufficiently covered, she rubbed her lips together. Repeating the process until her lips were completely moisturized, Lise replaced her lipstick back in its original place with the compact, and looked up. She had apparently stopped walking, because Logan was atleast ten feet away.

Furrowing her perfectly arched brows, the ravenette called out to her unaware traveling companion, “Hey! Wait for me!” Scrunching her face up even more, when the man continued to walk, Lise gathered up the fabric of her coat against her body, and jogged after him.

Her feet stung even more, as she raced across the chilled blacktop, but she would rather have sore feet than be left behind—so, she ignored it for the time being. Whenever they got to where they were going, Logan seriously owed her a massage. Never mind that usually, she avoided such intimate contact—even before the outbreak—and never the fact that she knew the pervert would actually enjoy rubbing her feet.

“You must think you’re a funny man, Ryker.” She hissed accusingly, as she swatted at the man’s back and shoulders with her hands. “Don’t you ever leave me behind, again—I shouldn’t need to remind you who am I.”

Logan kept a passive expression on, since they first joined forces, two weeks ago, and throughout their entire journey from her family’s hotel and into Jersey—but, something about Lise’s sweet voice jumping octaves to sound like angry bees buzzing in his ear made him want to tie the young woman up with his scarf and leave her on the road for the zombies, or looters, to get her.

She honestly thought her family’s name had any pull, now that the world had gone to hell? Clearly, Lise was delusional. Money and influence tended to do that to people.

When the ravenette began hitting on him, like a petulant child that wanted a toy that was too expensive, Logan finally let his frustration peek through his carefully crafted façade. Scrubbing his face with his hands, Logan took a moment to clear head, before whipping around and grabbing Lise by her wrists. Lise’s pulse was racing, and her wrist felt frail in his grasp—and, if he wasn’t in his right mind; he could’ve contemplated breaking the delicate bones there. Just to teach her a lesson. She couldn’t stop him. “Elizabeth, enough…”

The two of them stood together in thickening silence, in the middle of the street; which was covered with dismembered bodies, decorated with wrecked cars, and muddied with trash and debris.

Logan’s dark grey eyes glanced over Lise’s pretty face for a moment, as he waited for the ravenette to say something witty and scathing. She never did. Instead, Lise wrenched her hands from his grasp and made a huffy noise.


“There was no need for that, Ryker.” She hissed, angrily, rubbing her bruising flesh. Lise looked positively affronted; but, remembering her etiquette training forced her to keep her harsh words to herself.

The tension between them stayed, but Lise and Ryker continued their journey regardless. Halfway to their destination—or atleast, where Ryker said they were going to go—Lise stepped on something that squished disgustingly under her feet.

Gasping sharply, the ravenette stumbled back, and covered her mouth when she saw what it was. A severed limb covered in sores and lacerations… it was still twitching, too. Whirling around, Lise buried her face in Ryker’s chest to block out the gory imagery. “It’s… an arm!” Her exclamations were muffled by his coat.

Ryker regarded the arm with scrutinizing eyes, before scowling deeply. “It’s fresh… that means there’re more of them around. Shit.” Grabbing Lise's hand, the man moved to get them out of the middle of what seemed to be a trap.

(Strike 1/3)

Lottie peeked around the wall and quickly pulled her head back. 10 infected were wanderin' around the street, just waiting for someone like her to come around so they could claw her to shreds. Lottie held her breath and slowly and quietly cocked her gun, trying not to alert them. Ever since that car alarm had gone off downtown a few weeks ago, the streets of New York had been swarming with monsters. There were a bunch of 'em on every street, and lately Lottie had been on her feet trying to escape them.

A loud cry sounded the streets and the ground began to tremble. Lottie sighed heavily, knowing what what happening. It was the biggest of the zombies. The one that had started the car alarm in the first place. It was what Lottie called... the Cyclopes. The Cyclopes was a 7 foot tall zombified body-builder with its right eye missing. It could throw a car at someone without barely flinching a muscle. And it ran fast, too. Bullets didn't stop the Cyclopes. Nothing did. The only way to evade his attacks was to run or drive away. Fast.

Th ground shook again and a loud roar sounded again and Lottie could feel her skin shaking. A few rats who'd been eating a random finger scattered away. Lottie began running back the way she'd come down the ally. The stomps got closer. Lottie ran faster. There was a last bellow and she knew her worst nightmare had come true; the Cyclopes saw her. It began running toward her in the ally as she tried to look for a small space to crawl in where it wouldn't be able to get her. That was a hard task since she was only roughly 2 feet shorter than it, but she could try to squeeze. But even so, there were none. She ran into the street, gasping and running past infected. There was no place to run. She'd either have to shoot and risk causing a horde to come, or let it get her. She thought in her mind as she ran about how many bullets she had left. She was almost certain she only had around 50 something. And most were loose in her backpack. But being the way that she was, Lottie began shooting, feeling that she had no choice.

The first bullet landed right on the monster's shoulder. Just grazed it. The second got its ear. Lottie continued running and shooting. Boom! Boom! The next two bullets got its arm and hip. 'Concentrate. Get this fucker in the head. Shoot his brains out.' Lottie thought. And with a final breath she shot...

and got the Cyclopse's right knee. He kept running and she kept gunning. She ran out of bullets. She was almost to the highway and more plain infected were beginning to chase her. Her knees felt like they'd explode at any moment and she wasn't sure how long she'd last. She'd never been athletic. Never could run and never had much stamina. And the second Lottie's foot hit the gravely highway road, she twisted her ankle and fell onto the ground. The Cyclopes roared and it seemed that the zombies were trying to run faster to get her before she could get up. She tried to crawl to her feet but fell once again. The monsters were gaining space and were only 3 yards away from her. Lottie took a breath and got up, her ankle making a cracking noise and her mouth letting out a shrieking sound. She screamed a loud bellow, causing all of the creatures to stop. The zombies were stupid and loud noises usually stunned them enough to make them stand still for at least 5 seconds. Lottie limped an inch toward them, letting out another roar. The Cyclopse let one out equally as strong. Lottie tried to run more, but could only limp away from them.

Lottie could feel them getting closer, and she knew that she was in danger. Then, she saw a plan. There was a small exit coming up ahead. If she ran that way and hid in the neighborhood, she'd be safe for at least an hour or two. She ran faster, filled with energy from her inspiration, and went right through the exit, causing a huge gap between herself and the monsters. She saw that her plan would work, and when she saw that at the end of the small strip mall was a forest preserve, she ran to it. There had to be at least a block's worth of space between her and the zombies by now. Their groans were more muted and muffled and she could barely hear the Cyclopse's stomps.

Lottie ran deeper into the forest, knowing that if she found a pond or lake, she could hide there and away from the infected. She couldn't see any. But she did see something equally as good; a tree. A big, green, pine tree. She quickly scuttered up it, trying to get there before the zombies got into the forest. She made it to the middle, her head pounding, her legs feeling like weights, and her thoughts saying, 'Thank god I wore green today.'

Just as Lottie entered the woods, Malcolm stepped out of one of the strip mall's shops, a place called Quick Stop, hefting a box full of toilet paper and cigarettes into the back of his flat-bed pick-up truck which was filled with several other things, all covered up by a tarp. He looked around at the zombies and the Cyclops, a small smile appearing on his face as he said, "Well, you weren't here before." He pulled the tarp up and began rummaging through the various things he had before pulling out something long and heavy. He sighed, mumbling, "Only one shot left... oh well, this is gonna be fun!"

He lowered part of his face mask, exposing his mouth so that he could perform a sharp whistle, gaining the attention of the zombies, especially the Cyclops, as he shouted, "Oi! You, the ugly, smelly, big one! I've got a riddle for ya', how do you spell 'boom' with only three letters?" The Cyclops snarled and began lumbering towards him, his pace increasing as Malcolm hoisted the RPG to his shoulder, took aim, and fired. The rocket lanced forward, hitting the zombie straight in the chest followed by a big explosion. Malcolm stumbled back from the sound of the explosion, laughing as he let out a string of swear words, dropping the RPG and rubbing his slightly ringing ears. He was happy to see that the explosion, in addition to reducing the big bad Cyclops to several bits all over the place, had also taken out one of the 10 zombies that had the misfortune of standing to close to Malcolm's target. Still laughing, Malcolm picked the now ammo-less RPG and took it back to the flat-bed, tossing it in and grabbing a bolt-action hunting rifle and using it to pick off the other nine. Nine zombies, 13 shots, "Meh," he muttered, "I've had worse days." He set the rifle back in the pick-up and was about to go back into the store for more stuff when he spotted two figures moving along the road towards the city, two, non-shambling figures. Malcolm smiled, pulling a red smoke/flare from the flat-bed, lighting it and tossing it into the center of the parking lot in order to signify that there was someone here. Hopefully, whoever they were, they were friendly... it has been way too long since Malcolm saw another human that didn't try to shoot him and take his stuff. He went to the truck's cabin, grabbing his main weapon, an M-16, and waited.

((Drexy4ever: You didn't need to roll the dice--your character has three strikes (three opportunities) to put them in harms way, before you have to roll the dice. If you want, you can remove the dice from your post; and for future reference, if you use up the other two strikes, just include (example: "Strike 1" or "Strike 2") in your OOC writing, so I can keep track of how many chances you still have left. :3 Currently, you have two. I love the suspense in your post, btw. :)

Logan and Lise each and 2 more chances to put themselves in peril.))

As Ryker dragged Lise away from the intersection with growing alertness, the man cursed himself mentally for everything he was worth, for walking them right into an open space. He had years of combat and survival training—his instincts had been honed for the express purpose of handling a dire situation like the one this world had found itself facing, and yet, he didn’t see the tell-tale signs of a looter-controlled area. Stupid, stupid… how could he have been so idiotic!

His grip tightened on Lise’s wrist and his step picked up in pace, as he scanned the forsaken, shattered memory of a cityscape. He had brought a woman into the middle of danger. Peril that he could not defend her from… he would see her ripped from his grasped and brutalized, just like his wife and daughter were.

Remembering the look of despair and betrayal in his daughter’s eyes when she was dragged into the back of a dark van and stolen away from him along with her mother—the love of his life—a string of vulgar swears tore from his throat and his eyes stung with unshed tears of misery.

He wouldn’t let them fall then, though, when the anguish was fresh in his heart; he wouldn’t let them fall, now—especially, when Lise needed his strength and his level-headed thinking the most.

Legging it through the street with urgency unbecoming of him, Ryker barked at Lise to keep up, lest she let the looters crawl from their hidey-holes and confront them for walking unto their territory.

Lise begged Ryker to slow down, as she let the man drag her away from the mutilated arm. The sole of her heels were still slippery from the viscous fluid expelled from the zombie limb she’d trampled over, and she was on the verge of stumbling over her own feet, or sliding across the blacktop.

She knew that they needed to get away from the area they were in—the red fabric that hung from the broken windows of the many, surrounding buildings and the warning sirens that reverberated through the from the doors that were being systematically thrown open, being her signals—but, could he stop for once to consider her? Seriously…

Hissing in alarming agony as her foot began to throb; Lise’s hearing slowly began to fade against the blood pounding in her head.

Oh, right… she hadn’t had anything to drink in hours—the last time they had some water, Ryker had thought it was a good idea to horde it all for himself; only allowing her to have some of it, if she drank it from his mouth…gross…! So what, she was using some of it to wash her hands, or wet up her hair when it got too dry; it wasn’t like she was wasting it, or using it as a bargaining chip for naughty favors—and, since they’d be traveling for a while, without breaks, it wasn’t like they’d stop to seek out anymore.

Feeling the effects of dehydration coming on, Lise started slowly down—but, only for a moment—next thing she knew, Ryker was barking at her and dragging her along like a ragdoll.

Snapped off her feet, like she was, the ravenette hardly had the chance to unclasp the straps on her shoes, so that she could step out of them.

Barefoot and with her arm being almost pulled from its socket, Lise felt increasingly dizzy with each step. And as she heard the looters clambering outside of their hideaways, shouting and shooting at them in equal measure, the ravenette didn’t feel as though she had the energy to be worried that she might be killed during this very moment.

Her vision spotted black and purple, her breathing became heavily labored—as if she was fighting for her every breath—and then, suddenly she went lifeless like a ragdoll.

Ryker’s arm ached up a storm, when Lise’s full weight tugged at the joint. What the hell was she doing? Looking back; still barking orders for her to run, the dark-haired man noticed she was unconscious.

Shit! As he leaned down to hoist her onto his shoulder, a particularly loud gunshot resounded through the air, and the next thing he knew—a bullet was whizzing passed his chin; burning and splitting the skin of his jawline, and sending white-hot pain spiraling throughout his head.

Clutching his bleeding chin in his gloved palms, Ryker swore loudly. These looters weren’t playing around—they were aiming to kill… or, at least, they were aiming to kill him.

Another bullet just narrowly avoided hitting, again, and Ryker knew he had to get moving—injury be damned. Even with a cumbersome camping backpack on his back, he knew he had to carry Lise.

Snatching Lise up by the coattails, he pulled her onto his shoulder—careful to avoid knocking her block off with his rucksack—and started running… running like their lives depended on it—because they did. Running like he was running for the cure to this damned virus.

All the progress they’d made was soon lost, and before he knew it, his body was fatiguing and Lise was coming to and complaining about the short distance between her face and his heavily clothed nether regions. Grunting, Ryker dropped Lise onto the ground, and told her to shut up. His jaw smarted—and did so even more, each time he talked.

After dusting herself off and complaining appropriately, Lise noticed the extensive injury that marred Ryker’s otherwise roguishly handsome face. Putting a hand to her mouth in shock, she gasped, “You’re hurt…! Ryker, what happened?” Looking more closely at the burnt and open flesh, her blue eyes widened even more, if possible. “... oh my, god! Were you shot?!”

She tried to reach out and touch it, just to make sure, but Logan swatted her hand away and started walking. He said something about her being awake and that being all that mattered, but she ignored him in favor of gaping like a fish out of water.

It was starting to get dark out, when they found themselves in an unfamiliar area. Coming into view was what looked to be a strip mall—more importantly than that, in Ryker’s opinion, was the red plume of signal smoke that arose from the parking lot.

Lise almost jumped for joy, as exclaimed excitedly, “We can finally get more supplies!”

Dashing away from Ryker, who was telling her to cautiously proceed; Lise dodged the scattered corpses and broken bottles, and made her way towards the expansive parking lot that separated her from food and water.

Moving fast and carefully to avoid ripping the soles of her stockings open, Lise tore into the parking lot, and a few feet passed the flare—she slid to a halt, when she spotted a large van, and a man standing by it, armed and looking mean as hell.

Falling onto her bottom, Lise hissed. He couldn’t be military—they’d forsaken the survivors ages ago. When the military had come knocking on her door, asking her and her family to go with them; she’d outright refused to go with them, to their little hideaway. She never trusted them. Never will. Sitting on the parking lot, Lise debated whether she could flag him down or not.

Ryker pulled her up from the ground, and made her decision for her. “Hey, we’re not infected!” The dark-haired man shouted, tugging Lise along, as he slowly advanced on the armed survivor. “We’re not here to cause any trouble, either!” He added.

(Strike 2/3)

Lottie settled her bottom on a sturdier branch while examining her cut up hands at the same time. They were now covered in splinters because of her carelessness as she'd climbed up the tree. Blood leaked from a small scratch on her left arm. She rubbed the wound and looked down. She'd climbed high up. A squirrel's nest was beside her head, but nothing in it.

Lottie jolted her head up as she heard the Cyclopes roar again, much closer than it'd been before. It'd seen her go up the tree. It definitely seen her! The small growls of the common infected caused Lottie to close her eyes and pray for the ability of camouflage. But the horde filled with at least 20 of those ghastly monsters. And then, the gunshots rang out.

"Oh holy crap." Lottie said, using her famous catch-phrase. She climbed higher into the tree. The explosion of sounds that the guns were letting off were bound to attract a horde. They did every time. Something hit a branch above Lottie. She looked up to see a blood covered piece of meat stuck on a wavering tree branch. Climbing over to a few branches on the left of her, Lottie bit her lip at the sound of words. Were those people??? Were those people actual survivors, or were they bitten? Were they looters? Were they the ones who'd shot at the zombies? The questions raced through Lottie's head swiftly. She hadn't seen people, well, she couldn't say that. She'd seen looters. For a little while, she'd actually been in a small group with some. But that wasn't the point. Those people needed to get away from there now before the horde came. The urge to jump from the tree and warn them made her temples throb. But her feet wouldn't go. She knew the consequences of startling and associating with looters; it always ended in death.

With a sigh, Lottie tried to slow her thoughts so she'd be able to hear the words that the humans were saying. She couldn't hear it all, though. They were wayyy too far away. The sound of leaves rustling caused her to stop fidgeting with her hands and look at her surroundings. It wasn't coming from the tree. It was coming from the ground. Lottie looked around for animals, but saw nothing. She went back to her nails. She hadn't bitten them in so long, that they were at least a full two inches past her fingertips. Perfect for fighting.

Another rustle sounded from below and Lottie's eyes went back to the ground. Three infected dragged by, each in a bloodied outfit. "Holy crap." Lottie said under her breath, her eyes widening. Whoever was outside was definitely screwed. Only God and a some real good runnin' skills could save them now.

Lottie watched as a few more monsters walked under her tree. Her breathing shallowed, causing her to move her hand. Bad move. She fell slightly backwards, causing a small branch to break and begin falling down the tree. She stood perfectly still, as more infected were coming. Would they see her? Would they smell her? Would they even hear the sound the branch made as it hit branches on its way down then got stuck on a bunch of pine needles? Lottie got a migraine just thinking about it, and her head throbbed as a drifter stopped under the tree. Would it look up? Lottie held her breath, happy as it began walking in the same direction as the others. It was was gonna be a long day.

Malcolm smiled, slinging the rifle over his shoulder and pulling the face mask down so that they could see his smile, saying, "Hey there, name's Malcolm Riggs. Wow, you two look like you've seen better days. C'mon over here, I don't bite." Chuckling, he reached into the back of the pick-up, pulling out a couple of water bottles and a first-aid kit, saying, "Looks like you guys could use something to drink and patch yer selves up with, but these days, water and bandage is worth double its weight in gold. Now, I'm a generous enough soul, but I gotta survive, ya know? So, I'll make you two a deal. In exchange for some help with a... project of mine, I'll give you food, drink, bandage, and even some firepower. How does that offer grab ya?" Malcolm heard a branch snap and turned to the approaching horde, a frown on his face as he said, "Best make your mind up sooner than later cuz I don't plan on being on the menu. So, how about it?"

Just as Malcom slung a gun over his shoulder, a small girl appeared a few feet away. She had somehow managed to step up quietly, and was staring at the group of survivors with a blank expression. The child had disheveled black hair and a dirty countenance - it was clear she hadn't been cleaned in a long while.
As the horde approached, the girl took a step closer to the group. She was clutching a ragged stuffed bear that looked like it had seen far better days. Her torn nightgown and bloody knees added to her dirty appearance. Taking another step toward the survivors, she reached out with her free hand and shuffled toward the nearest person: Lise.

((:sweat: Hello everyone! Sorry for the short post. :/))

((:XD Did I kill it? T^T))

((And here I am, after weeks of taking forever, my next post! *jazz hands*))

Lise’s bottom still throbbed from the abrupt impact with the gross, hard, concrete ground; but, she didn’t have time to dwell on the discomfort—didn’t have time to do more than hiss—as she was being dragged roughly to her battered feet, and pushed forward into a wobbly stride.

Gritting her teeth, as Ryker shepherded her along like a lamb being led to the slaughter, Lise grumbled hotly, under her breath, so that only Logan could hear it, “If he turns out to be no good—I’m going for his gun.”

The brunette made something of a sound of agreement, before he quieted down completely to hear what the man—(Malcolm Riggs was his name, apparently)—had to say. Lise decided, upon listening to the man, that she could work with him—but, then again, she could work with anyone. She was civil and polite in the midst of her ex-husband, but that didn’t mean that she loved him—or trusted him—despite him being the father of her twins.

Her heart fluttered painfully at the thought of her son and daughter—where they could be, right now, what they could be doing… were they still alive? She had to find them.

As they approached Malcolm, Lise wiggled out of Ryker’s grasp. “Does it look like we have other options?” She answered curtly, as she came to a halt within arm’s reach of the armed man.

Ryker didn’t even need to see Lise’s tense posture, to know that she was mentally prepping herself to say something scathing and venomous to Malcolm—even despite his offer to help. Ryker frowned at her.

Hopefully, the look on his face read as a warning to her not to say anything they would regret. The man had a gun—and probably had more than just the riffle that was on his person—and he had a car; a working car… the first he’d seen in weeks. If Lise messed this up, he might have to kill her. Might…? No… definitely, he’d definitely have to kill her.

Turning back to Malcolm, as he listened to the sound of the approaching horde, Ryker nodded, “It’s a deal.”


Lise had no idea when she had appeared, but as she heard cracking of branches and the moans of zombies, the ravenette looked to the source of the sound and saw a dirty little girl… looking at her, walking towards her with tiny, filthy hands extended out towards her.

The sight of the grubby munchkin inspired feelings of disgust and sadness, but Lise kept her expression completely neutral. Stepping away from Malcolm and Ryker, Lise held her hand out for the girl to take. “C’mon, you little rug rat… we don’t have all day.”

Ryker noticed the little girl only after Lise started motioning her over. His face twisted into a scowl. If having to look after Lise was bad enough…

Miranda made her way across town with her last jug of water, making her way to the new residence across the street slowly hiding here an there to avoid the few zombies present. She scoped out the building--it was a vacant house, one that still had a 'Yard Sale' sign in front of it. She went around back using her demolition hammer to open the shed, successfully she recovered a ladder. Taking the ladder to the back of the two-story building, she scaled up it carefully, then pulling it up onto the roof to avoid visitors. She crawled across the roof and unlatched the nearest window climbing inside, closing it behind her.

Once inside she looked around holding her hammer firmly in her hands, going about she made sure the windows and doors were locked, which they were, "Hello?"

No one replied there was no sound--the house was dead, so she headed into the kitchen.Once there she began checking the cabinets. To her surprise there canned foods that hadn't gone bad, which was rather exciting especially with the fruit cups, powerbars, and a couple bottles of insure and water. Knowing that she was safe for the while, she sat down at the table in the windowless kitchen, removing her shoes, she propped her feet up on the table. In a little bit she would look for extra flashlight or candles, among anything else she was running out of--and there was a list.

((:ninja: Should I wait for someone else to post, or can I post a reply? :lol:))

((Lol, I dunno who's turn it is! So, who's turn is it?))

((Drexy's . . . ? Es thinks? :XD))

((Well... since Drexy's character is in a tree, she's not in immediate harm's way, and thus can be left where she is. :D In short, Graxdon and Esmme, feel free to post. :yes:))

((Sweet! I'll get to it soon as I can. :cry:))