Gabel Wester

"I'm sorry." she stated again looking at the dead thing that at one point had been human, she couldn't help but talk to it, she'd been alone for a week now, "I know you couldn't help it. I-I don't want to be a monster too." Gabel thought about this for a moment looking down at the flowers she had colored on her nice white dress, maybe she could cover the dead man up with a blanket? There was no way she'd be able to move, then again maybe she could at least roll him off the porch.

Sounds came from the bathroom scratching at the door as the thing inside heard the louder footsteps and Gabel suddenly froze hearing them as well from the open window. The young girl slowly backed away from the door just glancing through the window fearful the bathroom door might have opened despite it being locked, "D-Daddy?"

The drive 'into Wilmington' encountered a roadblock, literally. And a quick glance beyond it confirmed that going into a major city in an open and slow-moving vehicle would not be the best of ideas. So he took an on-ramp to the deserted highway and decided to check the surrounding suburbs as he downed another pair of asprin to make the intense pain in his skull subside for a few more minutes.

He always thought it was ironic that these chronic headaches were more painful and debilitating than even getting his ankle lacerated down to the bone. He could not afford to cower into the fetal position, not here, not just because it hurt to look at things. So his solution was drugs, and lots of them.

He heard over his radio something about a safehouse somewhere back in Wilmington. No chance in hell he'd make it there alone; didn't even know how old it was, for all he knew it could be a trap. He didn't bother to answer.

Following the highway he soon came to a tiny suburb named 'Bear'. From here he started his house-to-house sweep, Mosin at ready with bayonet attached; it was cumbersome and ungainly, but it gave him plenty more options for defending himself or pushing through a mob than a claw-hammer. Probably along the third house he saw a little girl tugging at a body, blood everywhere.

His book-learned tactical know-how kicked up a notch as he took aim with the rifle, just as she looked through the busted window like a frightened feral-animal, then called-out "D-daddy?".

Confused, he decided to speak-up: "Shouldn't you be someplace safe, girl?" He asked, while shifting his aim towards the window.

His concentration cost him slightly as he felt his nose cave in. No bleeding, but the hit caused him to snap out of his little episode, leaving him confused slightly about what had happened as he felt the car lurch forward down the street. John had sat back in his seat and looked out the window. He gave his nose a rub and looked at his finger. 'Huh, actually hit me pretty hard...' His head cocked to the side as he gave he a sidelong glance. He remained quiet for some time and spent that time wisely with his eyes closed. A few minutes were enough to give him some peace of mind until he heard the radio transmit. His eyes shot open as he looked at the radio and listened intently. "Wilmington? No fucking way..." He mumbled to himself. Whether she heard him or not he didn't care. The fact that they wee claiming that survivors were still in Wilmington he thought to be bullshit.

He began shaking his head and repeated "no" and "Bullshit, absolute bullshit". He looked over at her with dissatisfaction. His heart rate picked up slightly as he ran his hand down his face, bringing the webbing between his index and thumb above his upper lip. No...Not again...I'm not going back to Wilmington." He looked over at her with disbelief. "There is no possible way that there are survivors in Wilmington..." He took a deep breath as he withdrew from his rucksack a small bottle of Jameson. It was halfway finished when he took it out. He looked at it for a moment before opening it up and downing three large gulps before passing it off to the girl.

"We're better off going towards Lancaster...More Rural, meaning less- He gestured to the walking corpses outside the car and the destruction of Brookhaven. "-this." He sighed as he looked back out the window.

@Love Me Dead@Foster


As he slowly made his way into the living room, Patrick started heading to the outside as it seemed that the girl voice came from there. However before he could make one step further, his attention was attracted by scratches and growls that came from the bathroom. "Oh God, please tell me that he's locked up in there." Said Patrick, reffering to what he thought was a walker. As he started heading slowly towards the bathroom door, the noises seemed to stop. As he gotten close he lowered his revolver and put his left hand on the door, followed by his left ear. Punches against the door and more growls startled him as he backed away with a frightened look on his face and realising that the door is locked. Most likely the guy that was inside had the presence of mind to lock himself up before transforming. Most likely he did it so he won't have to hurt someone. But who? And is that someone still here?

After initially wanting to head back to the kitchen, take some food and leave, his attention was again attracted by the same girly voice, as this time she said "Daddy?" With his revolver in hand, Patrick headed outside but he stopped after hearing another male voice saying something about why isn't the girl somewhere safe. Gripping hard on his Smith & Wesson 627 Performance Center, Patrick makes one step outside stumbling upon a scene with a dead walker all covered up, another guy, an adult male with an old Mosin Nagant rifle in hand and what was probably the most beautiful little girl he ever saw in his life, sitting down puzzled and scared on the porch. Patrick imidieatly aims his revolver at the other man with the Mosin. "Who the hell are you?" He asked with a serious look on his face.

Gabel looked terrified seeming to freeze up before she ended up backing into the corner of her porch closing her eyes and stuttering out softly, "N-No guns... please. The monsters will come back" Her hands gripped at her dress again looking as if she was going to cry blubbering out as quiet as she could, "I-I want my mommy to come home now..." She honestly had no idea what to do at this point.

@LPFan@Love Me Dead

It didn't take long at all for him to swing the aim of his Mosin towards the newcomer as he seemed to do the same with a tiny little revolver. He quietly wondered to himself if he had any rounds for it as he asked for identification. If the man did have a full cylinder, it was likely he could rattle them all off in his direction in the time it took for him to cycle the bolt.

Moving steadily towards a porch-column to lean against, he kept a solid bead against the man as he spoke, slowly. "I am only passing through. Are you this girl's father?" Gabel's protests barely registered to him, he was locked in a standoff with a man he did not trust who he'd just witnessed breaking-into and out-of someone else's home for god knows what reasons; he eyed the excessively-large green ruck with a hip-strap on his back.

If things went bad, he'd only get one shot at bringing this guy down without joining him.

Gabel gripped at her dress tighter before slowly making her way to the door and leaning against it, she spoke a bit louder her tone changing, "Shut up or you'll bring the monsters..." She hissed again under her breath opening the door a bit planning to go inside and lock it although it would do no good unless she closed the window, then again they could break that easily, "Please put the guns down."

@Love Me Dead@Foster


Patrick kept his finger off the trigger, that way preventing an accident from happening. Afterall he wouldn't want to shoot the guy without no good reason. His distrustful nature forced him to ask for the man's name although, even if he knew who he was it wouldn't matter much. The girl scared, begged both of them to lower their weapons saying that they would bring the monsters, probably reffering to the walkers. Then Patrick realised that the little girl had a point, even though he had no intention of shooting the guy. He wasn't a freakin' bandit. He encountered some of those and they were terrible. The man said that he was merely passing through and then asked Patrick if he was the girl's father.

Patrick lowered his revolver as he tugged it back in the holster and took a deep breath and closing his eyes while doing so. He watched the girl head to the door and opening it a bit, probably wanting to open it and get inside. He turned around and leaned down on one knee, grabbing her softly by her elbows. "Don't worry! Nobody's gonna kill anybody. Not right now anyway. We'll save our bullets for the walkers." He said as he petted her gently on her head and kissed her on her forehead. Then he raised up and turned around facing the other guy. After expelling some air and looking down with his hands on his hips he extended his right hand to him. "Hello! I'm Patrick. And no i'm not the girl's father. I'm just...passing through, like you. I left my car outside of town and came in for some scavenging."

Hunter Monroe, United State's National Guard

Hunter clenched his rifle, all he had been doing for days is walking, he had a truck with a decent amount of useful gear in it, though like always it either breaks down, runs out of fuel or the roads are too impassible to use it. That was truck number 5 for him since he started walking. He clenched his M4 in his hands, the thing was accurate, but a pain int eh ass to maintain with out the parts. He was making due though. And he knew the parts and the recipe for butting together bullet casings, though he lacked the materials to do it other then makeshift. Which meant he was limited to shotgun shells, which he was fine with for now, though once his rifle ran out of ammo he was going to be in a risky situation that a double barrel won't be able to get him out of.

Hunter came across a small neighborhood, many of the houses looked like they had been looted over a few times by now, but Hunter wasn't in a horrible state of supplies. Though he could use more in terms of medical and food, he was a poor hunter and his medical training was minimal. He thought it kinda funny, his name Hunter, but he can't hunt for shot other then what's right in front of him.

He was ready to get into one of the buildings when he heard moaning, A shotgun was safer to kill the dead with, though loud as hell. He grabbed his hatchet and worked his way inside the building, the moaning was coming from outside so he figured he was safe for now. He held the hatchet in one hand and a flashlight made out of scrap parts in the other hand. Most his makeshift things had a very short shelf life, but it was easier to make things then to find them.

She whimperwd a bit and backed into the house, "You're being too loud... the fence is borken so now they can get up here." She looked very upset at this point, "G-Get in the house." It was obvious she was pretty smart when it came to these things, she had gotten most of it from her father. Opening the door up all the way she motioned for them to come in and then motioned for them to be quiet. Her clutch on the doorknob shook slightly, she was terrified of people now.

Desmond Williams

Desmond watched as his new partner dismissed the threat with a wave of her hand, and a slight frown appeared on his face.
"Yet," he replied, "But ever since shit hit the fan, I've been of the mindset that anything with dead eyes and rotten flesh and wants to tear into me is better off with a bullet in the brain, or two, to be safe." As the two made their way over to the stairs, Desmond lightened up. With a smirk at her comment about clothes, he looked down at himself, and then back to her, and gave a shrug.
"I suppose I do stick out here. I swear, I didn't back where I came from. Just a bunch of empty suits, following the same routine, waiting for the moment to pounce and tear you limb from limb. I guess the only thing that's changed now is that that last part is literal."

They made their way up the stairs, his partner heading up first, Desmond going quietly behind her. There was always something nerve-wracking about situations like the one they found themselves in. Headed into a hostile environment with no knowledge of what lay beyond the door. Desmond nodded silently at the woman's offer, and gripped the cold knob, turned, and pushed. A small gust of stale air pushed back at him. Pistol raised ahead of him, he stepped into the room. There was no danger, though: the man, or what was a man, was handcuffed to a radiator in the corner. His head turned to meet Desmond, and his body immediately began flailing in his direction to no avail. There was a dried pool of blood which began beneath the walker and stretched halfway across the carpet, almost reaching the disheveled bed. Desmond, sensing no danger, ignored the walker initially, and walked instead to the bedside table, where he could just barely see a picture frame which had fallen off and lodged itself between the leg of the table and the end of the bed. He picked it up, gingerly (to avoid the shattered glass), and plucked the picture out from within. In it, a forty-something man with glasses and a mild-mannered smile stood with his arms around his wife, a blonde lady who looked about the same age, and their teenage daughter outside of what looked like the kid's middle school graduation. Desmond held the picture out in front of him, and turned again to face the indisposed walker. The glasses were missing, but it was him. His family had gone, probably cuffed him at his own request, and left him to turn. And here he was now, dead and back, and hungry, staring at the faces of two strangers with a passionate fervor to feed likely not dissimilar to the passion and love he had for his family, once.
"You were right," he said softly, turning to his partner. "The thing wasn't hurting anyone." He stepped closer to the man's reanimated corpse, kneeling down so that he was eye-level. The zombie never stopped trying to claw toward him. Desmond found a disturbing lack of fear within himself. He kept his eyes locked with the glazed abysses of the man's, and raised his pistol to the guy's forehead, and pulled the trigger for a second time today. The corpse went still. Setting his pistol down on the floor, Desmond procured the picture of the man with his family, and tucked it in the corpse's shirt pocket. Then he retrieved the gun, stood, and turned again to the woman at the door.
"We should start with the kitchen, the family may have left something of value behind."

Douglas Knowles

The minute or two which passed after the radio went live felt like some of the longest in Doug's life. The four stood in silence, shifting gazes back and forth, to the radio, to each other, down at the floor.. Each one wondering if anyone would come, or if anyone was even left out there. And then a woman's voice piped up, crisp and refreshing, through the speakers. And there was another agonizing second of disbelief, before a wide smile spread across Doug's face, and he picked up the microphone and turned on his audio.
"This is Wilmington, we read you. How far away are you from our location? Do you need an escort back to base? Over." Setting the microphone back down at the table next to Patricia, he crossed his arms and leaned against a nearby pillar, allowing himself a moment of satisfied relaxation. Ron was less than sold.
"We don't know who that was, Doug. We should at least be careful -- be prepared," Doug's old partner warned him, knowing that his friend had always been too idealistic for his own good.
"Maybe," was all Doug could say, without taking his eyes off of the radio once.

She whimperwd a bit and backed into the house, "You're being too loud... the fence is borken so now they can get up here." She looked very upset at this point, "G-Get in the house." It was obvious she was pretty smart when it came to these things, she had gotten most of it from her father. Opening the door up all the way she motioned for them to come in and then motioned for them to be quiet. Her clutch on the doorknob shook slightly, she was terrified of people now.

Mr Taggart took the end of hostilities as his cue to let his rifle down, the sling was detached, so he settled on a one-handed field-carry in his left-hand as he approached the person calling themselves Patrick Willis, and accepted the handshake to introduce himself as he snuck into the house as per the little girl's instructions, "William Taggart, from Wisconsin. Land of the deep-fried cheese-curd."

Looking inside, he promptly found a place to set the eleven pounds of wood and steel down where it wouldn't tip-over, a nice corner or up against the molding of a door-frame would do.

@LPFan

Hunter walked into what he soon learned to be a small apartment. He had his hatchet in his left hand and his shotgun in his left hand. It wasn't the most Ideal weapon but in a bad situation it would get the job done. Naturally he went for the kitchen first, he wasn't expecting much, especially since the door was already unlocked. He put the hatchet back into its loop and set the shotgun on the counter.

Hunter opened the cabinets, empty. He went to some of the lower ones, also empty. He wasn't expecting much but he checked the fridge, it wasn't empty but the smell was so rancid he didn't get the chance to go through it to see what might have still been edible. He took a deep breath and went back into the fridge, then after about 20 seconds he backed out shutting the fridge and taking a deep breath. "Oh god, this place just keeps getting worse and worse." He considered what food he had left in his bag, it wasn't much. Actually, he was almost out, maybe one more meal out of it, two if he was careful.

Humans can survive a decent amount of time with out food depending on physical activity, though he was very active. He was carrying heavy gear, walking and running all the time, and fighting the dead with a hatchet. He needed what ever he could get his hands on. He sighed as he grabbed the fridge door again. "I hate my fucking life sometimes." He opened the fridge, going for another try to find anything that may have lasted, he didn't have to stay nearly as long this time though. Soon enough he found something edible.

Hunter backed out of the fridge holding one of those extremely preserved sausages, similar to the ones you might find at Christmas parties. "Damn, I'm awesome." He put the piece of preserved meat into his pocket and stood up. "Room still smells like crap though, hope I'll never have to do that again." He turned to be face to face with one of the dead. Before he could react he was sent to the counter, knocking a bunch of random items on the floor, then soon himself, with the walker on top.

He was pinned, his hatchet was on his side, and no way he was going to be able to reach it in his situation. He didn't want to be too loud but he had no choice here, though his rifle was still on his back, pinned under him. He attempted with all his strength to push the dead guy off him, in most situations he would be strong enough, he just lacked the leverage to move him. He looked around for anything to use as a weapon to faze the infected.

To his left he saw the sawed off shotgun. Still loaded, in arms reach if he was careful. Keeping the infected propped up with his elbow he attempted to reach for the gun, then he felt it start trying to tear through his uniform. Any second the thing would be through gutting him as he attempted to reach for the gun.

Once he grabbed the gun he pressed the barrels against the infected head. "BOOM!" The double barrel fired both barrels leaving almost nothing left of the thing's head. He breathed heavy, the shot would have been muffled a bit, but not by a lot, he had to leave.

Hunter stood up and grabbed his gear, as he stood up he noticed a small object on the ground, out of instinct he grabbed it and ran, he could check it out later.

Hunter started walking out of the building, the small object he picked up seemed to be a .38 bullet. It wasn't in the best of condition but it still looked like it would fire if he had a gun to use it in. He put the bullet into his satchel, where he kept a bunch of other loose ammo that wouldn't fit his guns, among other things.

He left the building with his rifle in his hands, he fired the shot from his sawed off so he had to be ready for anything at this point, anything from more dead to hu--. "Pow!" Gunshot, out of instinct he turned around with his rifle aimed. The next few moments seemed to pass in a mere second for him. He turned just in time to see the infected his the ground, and to notice the figure armed with a pistol. If it wasn't for his training he may have stopped to thank the person. Though in the heat of the moment his one second continued, he saw the gun and his natural instinct was to return fire.

Hunter fired the shot up at the woman taking out a huge chunk of the frame. He stood still holding his rifle as the women went down. Though he couldn't tell if she went down for cover or if she was hit. "Oh shit... Oh fucking shit!" He threw his rifle on his back. "Oh my god! Oh my god! I'm so sorry!"

Hunter looked at the girl, she seemed early twenties, she seemed at least familiar with the handgun. Then again from that high up it's not easy to make a head shot, he would have to give her credit on that later. Though he was in an awkward situation, their he was holding a military grade assault rifle, he had fired at this girl who had not only didn't shoot him but possibly saved his life, it was also easy to tell that Hunter was a bit jumpy. She seemed friendly though, then again many people did. Her gun was at her side, ready to be used in case he acted up again.

He calmed his breathing down when he realized he still had his rifle in his hands. He slung his rifle over his back and waved. "Uh, Hi Sarah. Name's Hunter." He reached his hand to shake, then feeling like a moron realizing the distance between them, and quickly putting his hands back. He was awkward around people before the world ended, so now that people have actually tried to kill him a couple times his social skills have not improved.

Hunter started taking mental notes of the woman, she was armed was the first thing that always kicked into his head. That's what they drilled into him in basic, are they armed? If so be ready to defend. "Uh, sorry 'bout... shooting at ya. That's just... Habits I am working to break. Pain in the ass to break habits like that." He noticed how she was adjusting her sight based around the crack in the gas mask, how she was doing it the damage was recent. "Oh... Did I break the mask? Shit I did didn't I? Sorry on that too, I can..." He was going to say replace, but he hadn't seen a working gas mask in a while. "Maybe I can make it up to you?" He did an awkward smile again. He shook himself out of it and attempted a normal smile.

He looked back and forward on the streets. "So, you mind if I come in?" Truth be told, he wasn't the beat around people, though he figured if this person was going to kill him she would have done it already. And if she's alone he stood a chance if things got bad. He was hoping they wouldn't get bad though.

Thinking about how things could go bad he remembered his rifle on his back. "Wait, one sec." He took the rifle off his back and took out the magazine, where he put it in his pocket full of other magazines, most of them empty. "So can I come up? I'll bring the sausage." He was thinking about the one over preserved piece of meat he found in the fridge, then he thought over what he said. "Wait, No not like that. I mean I f... You know what never mind."

@CandiBarr