Well she seemed nice, and didn't seem to pissed about him attempting to shoot her. Then she mentioned something about buns. 'Wait?' He though to himself. Was flirting that easy? Was that even flirting? Was something else going on that he was unaware of? He wasn't sure how to respond to this so he just waited quietly well she put away her pistol and start working her way to the door.

When Sarah got to the ground floor and opened up the door Hunter just waved. After he stepped in he put the plywood back onto the door way, could use work, maybe he could do something with that later. Hunter followed the girl up the stairs, she led him into a single roomed apartment, not too different then the one he was in earlier, but this one was much nicer, and in much better condition. Hunter noticed the supplies that were stacked to the side, but his attention moved to the photos relatively fast. Now he was wondering if this woman was alone, or what? Though Hunter didn't ask, if something happened to the man in the pictures he didn't want to bring up memories. He knew he struggled with his own, he didn't want to bring someone else to that same point.

Hunter looked back to the Sarah who was now holding a package of hot dog buns. "That explains that." Took Hunter a few seconds to realize he said that out loud. "Buns! One sec." He reached over into his bag and started looking for the small piece of over preserved meat. "Ain't much but it's food, never grew up picky on food, same rules now I guess. eat it or go hungry." He held up the small sausage.

Hunter looked at the small piece of meat then it just clicked into his head, that piece of meat was maybe enough for 4 bites or so? "Uhh... One second, I have some more here hold on." He set down the sausage and started going through his bag. This was the first person he had met since the refugee camp, he wanted to make a decent impression. Though finding something to offer from his bag wasn't going to be easy. Though he might have had something that would help.

Hunter pulled out a opened box of hot chocolate. "If you have a way to heat some water up this may make up for the whole..." He looked at the piece of meat. "That thing." He looked back to Sarah.

Desmond Williams

With the worthwhile sections of the house divvied up between them, Desmond got to work scanning the small residential kitchen for any items of use. Right off the bat he found a can opener, and set it atop the shabby island in the middle of the room before beginning to look through the pantry. Most of the more obvious selections had been taken by the owners, but he was able to find some canned squash, chicken noodle soup, and a couple boxes of pasta.
"Wouldn't hurt to scope them out," he replied, still rummaging through what used to be a family's home. "If they're friendly, we might be able to trade or join up. Strength in numbers, I guess. If not, well, we move on."

After another minute or so of scavenging, Desmond came to the conclusion that the kitchen had been picked clean. Atop the island, besides the previous items, were three more cans, a 2 liter bottle of Dr. Pepper, and a box of Honey Nut Cheerios. Desmond also decided to take a jug of vinegar -- sans the vinegar, which he dumped onto the floor and allowed himself a dumb grin -- for the purpose of storing collected water. His job done, he walked over to check on his partner.
"You know, all that went on, we never actually introduced ourselves," he realized, before extending a hand. "I'm Des-"
A distant gunshot rang out, far enough for Desmond to know that they were in no danger, but close enough for there to have been survivors nearby. Almost immediately after, a second one, louder, but seemingly from the same place. The former lawyer ran to the kitchen window to try to see where it had come from, but all he could see was the apartment building down the street.
"Sounds like we're not alone around here."

@Foster@Love Me Dead



The man accepted Patrick's handshake as he introduced himself as William Taggart from Wisconsin. As the little girl and William got inside the house, Patrick followed them as he took one more look behind at the street which was awfully quiet. Once he was inside the house he made himself confortable on an armchair and started eyeballing William's rifle. "Nice Mosin." He said while changing his view towards William. "My father used to have one of those too. Bought it for one hundred bucks fifteen years ago. It's probably still somewhere back home. I only took this revolver when I left Miami. The kukri I took from a half eaten dead guy's hand." He said smiling as he looked down, rubbed his beard and looked back at William.

Hunter stood in shock as Sarah took his little sausage from him, then proceed to throw it out. "My wiener..." He was in even more shock when she went to the fridge and opened it up, not only was their food in it, it was cold. Their was electricity in the building still?! Holy shit!? Hunter was trying to think of something to say, anything to say.

Back when Hunter was in high school he was well noted as the kid who never went out, food and video games had replaced his love life. What he was going through now was seeming much better, almost worth all the shit he had gone through the last few weeks. To make it better, she had told him he could have what ever he wanted. He wasn't sure how to react, He tried to thank her, but no words came out. It came out as more of a "...Holy shit...". He walked over to the fridge dumbfounded.

He started going through the fridge, he hadn't seen so much food since he was stationed in the refugee center. Even then he wasn't allowed near it, only a few people were allowed to get into the food storage. Everyone else who got close was shot, including soldiers from his unit.

Hunter went into the fridge and pulled out a block of cheese, nothing else just the block. He ripped it open with out a second thought and started taking bites out of it. He got about half way through the block of cheese before he made eye contact with Sarah again. "Uhh... Thank you..." He slowed down the pace he was going at the cheese to at least act a bit more normal.

Hunter went to a chair to sit down, this was the first time he had felt safe really since things have begun. Things felt, normal. Other then the fact he was alone in a room with a human female, none of his friends would have believed him if he had told them this, though he did consider himself the best looking of his group of nerd friends. He smiled for a moment at the thought of him telling them the story, then the smile soon faded. He had seen many of them in the refugee camp, especially when things started to go bad.

Hunter looked at the block of cheese again. Sarah, this girl that Hunter had never met not only saved his life, let him into her home, gave him food, and made him feel welcome, and what has he done? So far, shot at her, eaten her food, thought of stories to tell his friends about her. He felt he needed to do something to help make up for the situation. He noticed her pistol crammed into her waistband. Then he had an idea. "So, Notice you gun isn't really being stored properly. I'm not saying you're doing a sucky job, you're doing fine. But I think I can help with the situation a bit."

Hunter set down the block of cheese and started removing his belt, struggling to get past his bag and pouches on his belt it took a lot of effort, but once everything on the belt fell off her took it off and set it down. "Got it!" He reached down to grab a pistol holster that had been attached to his belt. "Should do ya a bit better then your current situation, wont ever fall out, and it's still easy to grab." He set down the holster and started grabbing his things that had fallen off his belt.

Gabel closed the window and relocked it before following them. She took a seat at the kitchen table being able to see them from there. She frowned a bit when Patrick stepped on the pillows she had all over the floor with his shoes. She just started coloring with her crayons on one of the papers she had on the table. The house looked as if she'd been alone for awhile. It was true, her dad had turned a week ago locking himself in the bathroom. He hadn't had the guts to shoot himself while he was in there. She stopped for a moment and opened up her water bottle and took a drink. She smiled to herself, she was secretly pretending they weren't there and to her it was the funniest thing.

She looked back as she heard the scratching on the bathroom door before giving off a small sigh going back to her drawing. She was drawing her mom, maybe one of these guys had seen her? She was actually pretty happy to have some company even if they were strangers. She'd been pretty lonely just her and her drawings. @LPFan @Foster

---

While there was silence on the radio, Ana's rather moody company mumbled a curse before appearing to succumb to some sort of grief-ridden madness. Astonished that this man was suddenly quick to panic like this, Ana displayed an expression of wide-eyed shock while she watched the man out of the corner of her eye.

"...What. The. Fuck. Is. Wrong. With. You?..." Ana mumbled to herself, shaking in head as the man dove into the contents of his bag for alcohol. The concept of PTSD, or just how horrible the events of the outbreak were relatively unknown notions to her. Her life before all this was that of safe luxury. Even after the initial outbreak, Ana had managed to hide in her top floor apartment while the outbreak plagued the city. Carl shortly found her and then did all the dirty work. Sure, Ana experienced the dread of the apocalypse, just like anyone else, but she never saw just how bad things were. She hadn't seen people being eaten in hordes, people being shot, and so on. Carl had spared her from that, and that was probably the biggest fault in his teaching.

Now offered the bottle of whiskey, Ana gladly accepted it, even giving her companion a nod of appreciation. She took in a long, spaced-out gulp, which she'd regret with a horrible aftertaste that caused her to cough.

Right after her companion spoke, a response from the radio buzzed in. Ana had no idea where Wilmington was, let alone how far they were, but it seems like her companion knew of it all too well. Much to Ana's dismay, she'd have to convince him to lead them both there.

Taking a another drink from the bottle of whiskey, she shook her head and offered it back to the man.
"Did you hear? Someone answered." She gestured to the radio while keeping her eyes focused on the road. "We go there and we'll have more people. More people, more strength, yes?" Again she gestured to the radio, obviously hinting at him to respond with their distance from Wilmington. After a moment, Ana grew a bit impatient. "...So how do we get there..." Still trying to sound reassuring to the man.

John nodded as she took the bottle from him, ignoring her reaction to his behavior until she coughed from the alcohol, in which he responded with a snort and a chuckle. He looked out the window as they drove a couple times instinctively raising his rifle only to catch himself. After his little episode over the radio he looked at her as he took back the whiskey. Looking at the bottle, then her, the bottle and finally back to her with a smirk before jerking his head back and chugging a good portion of it before bringing it back down with an audile "ah". He capped it and placed it back in his bag. "inhale, drink, exhale...that's how you drink, da?" He smirked before his face shot back to a hard look.

"Wilmington, Wilmington. This is Captain Johnathan Fredrick Krueger, United States Navy. We are currently, 22 clicks from Wilmington en route to Brookhaven, PA at this current moment. We'll turn back and head in your direction. ETA: 20mins. Where are we to meet you, over. He sighed as he looked over at her, placing the handset back on the hook. Turn around and go back through Aston. The way we're heading right now will put us on the highway and it will be impossible to get to Wilmington...Why the fuck...I'll show you the way. Turn this car around and we'll head to Wilmington via back roads." The idea going back to Wilmington was ridiculous but guess it had to be done. He shook his head as his gazed went out to their surroundings his eyes never left the road nor his gun. "I'll try to be more polite. My name is Capt. John Krueger but you can call me John if you want.... Not Johnny, not Fred, Freddy or any other kind of nickname. Just John." There went his attempt at being polite. His nose was still sore after sniffing a couple times. "Decent hit..." A slight twitch showed at the ends of his mouth.

He stayed in silence for a moment. "I, well...me and my buddies were in Wilmington...helping EVAC the citizens to somewhere safer when we should have been heading to base to prepare for our departure to Syria. Saw the National Guard were struggling with keeping back those shitholes-" Gesturing to the living dead. "So we decided to help out. Long story short: The fucking dead broke through the barrier, hell broke loose and on the way out we got t-boned by some fat fuck in a fucking Coke truck." His voice trembled slightly before he reigned it in.

"Yeah, but keeping the bore from rusting-out is a bit of a challenge with corrosive ammunition. Still hits hard though." Taggart stated, a little uneasy by how Willis was eying-up his rifle with more than a little envy and nostalgia.

He watched as the little girl, not yet introduced, was quietly ignoring them. The fact that she refused to acknowledge what was going-on was probably more unsettling even as he heard a scratching at the front-door to join the much louder scratching at the bathroom door.

He then heard something meowing, and remembered his kitty-cat had tagged-along with him this time.

Opening the door just a crack, he let the little feline into the house as it stalked up behind Gabel, watching her intently before perking its ears at the noise of the bathroom-door scraping.

Gabel turned a bit when he went to open the door and just looked at the kitten before speaking softly once it turned it's head to the noise, "You leave my daddy alone." She took a moment to look at both of them men and gave a sigh before pointing to the stove, a gas stove. Her voice sounded sweet like she was trying to get her way, "If you two are going to be in here one of you are going to make mac and cheese." She stood up and walked over to one of the counters stepping on the little blue stool she had set up there opening up the cupboard and pulling out two boxes setting them down seeming to be still half talking to herself, "I burnt myself last time I made it."

She was a strange child not acting too afraid of these to strangers in her home. She got down and opened a door to her pantry pulling out four plastic bottles of water holding them in her arms. All this time she'd been simply staying in the house and feeding herself anything she could find, one thing was for sure, this kid was smart.

Setting them down she seemed to be half ignoring them again as she got a pot out from under the stove and set it up opening the bottles and dumping them into the pot before going back to her seat at the table simply stating, "I'm hungry." She picked up her crayon and started coloring in the face of her drawing, she seemed to be happy with what she was doing. @LPFan@Foster

Will Taggart was a bit flabbergasted at Gabel's behavior, it was as though she was still expecting someone, some sort of authority she could recognize, and until then in her mind she was in charge of the house. Still, the girl was hungry, so was he. Her terms seemed reasonable as he volunteered to operate the stove and make sure not to waste a single precious drop of water boiling-over.

Since she was in the room he decided it was a good time to get to know their hostess:

"So, you waiting for anyone to come pick you up? I heard over the radio there was an aid-station in Wilmington being run on 8th street. They claim to have food and barricades. Doesn't sound like the safest place, but maybe they got sidetracked over to there and lost hope?"

When their hands touched they both reacted, they both backed away a bit. Hunter's guessing Sarah did because of the guy she use to live with, but Hunter did it out of fear. He was scared shit less of people. He felt more comfortable around Sarah, but he was still scared of her in a way. All he could think when he came close to people now was the refugee camp, and all the violence that took place. The violence done by the crowds, the violence done by the guard, the violence done by him. It all scared him.

Sarah stood up and apologized to him, then went back to her seat at the bar. Hunter didn't know what to do or say. So he tried to think of something good to say that would... change the mood a little at least. "Um... Sarah? There's... there's no need to be sorry. If anything I should be apologizing, I came into your area, and drew unwanted attention." Hunter stood up and sighed. "Look, I realize I ain't the best of people, and I realize that it's more or less by pure luck that I made it this far. But you showed me something today, you showed me that despite EVERYTHING that has gone on, people still have good in them." He smiled. "Thank you."

Hunter went over to sit at the bar with Sarah. "What's kinda funny, I wouldn't even be here right now if it wasn't for the fact that my damn radio finally kick started. It was only static for a while, but I heard rumors of a safe area not too far from here. That's why I was in the neighborhood." Hunter hesitated for a moment. "Though... I haven't heard anything in a while, that spark of life the damn thing showed went just as fast as it came. I still can't seem to figure out why it's not working, but I did catch where the area was if you are interested in going?" Hunter liked Sarah, she was arguably more likable then most people he knew before things went bad. He did want to help her in any way he could, he had seen the outside world, and he knew as soon as the wrong people found out about her place, they would come and take everything from her.

Hunter set up a basic map using random objects sitting around on the bar. "Place called Wilmington, shouldn't be too far. If you wanted to come, the company would be nice. I get it if you don't though. And if you do want to stay I wont stop you. I'd even let the place know you were here. Hell, I'd come once I knew the place was real. You don't... you don't have to answer now." Hunter stood up. "With your permission would you mind if I spent the night? It's much safer in here then it is anywhere else in walking distance I know of." He was trying to think of something to say, something memorable. But he didn't have anything, he just... stood their... unknowing what to do.

On Ashton PA Road was Sam holding his wounded brother Ben. He was running with the dead trailing behind, there must've been 7,8? It was just so fast but Sam would never drop his brother. His whole body was flexing, he was in agoney. Ben had a bullet hole in his shoulder. Sam was running for so long, it was torture. Stuck on this road. He seen cars everywhere and he thought if he moved in and out of the cars, he would be safe from the dead. This however did not slow them down. He shouted out for help. "HELP, MY BROTHER, HELP HE NEEDS HELP!". He knew talking would just put him out of breath but he needed to try. For Ben. What he didn't know was shouting was just a dinner bell for the dead.

You could say a small horde was behind him 12 walkers. Sam's eyes filled with tears from the pain of carrying his brother for so long. He had his gun in his pocket, he could take out half. But he seen walkers as sick people who have no idea what they are doing. And he will not kill them, humans they know what they're doing. He needed help quick, he needed supplies quick, he would of had more but when Ben got shot, he dropped everything and made a break for it.

He quietly spoke to a fainted Ben in his arms "Were getting out of this." and continued shouting for help.

The streets were quite besides a low hum of an engine, the engine of a jet black sports bike at that. It shifted in and out slowly through wrecks, before coasting on stretches of free black top. Sometimes the driver would drive over sidewalks, in between cars, even push it around something if he had to. It was light, quick, and smaller than a car. What made it a perfect option for a time like this. The Porsche or the Mustang just wasn't gonna cut it. It felt like days he had been riding. Where, he wasn't sure. Just, away from where he was. Like he was trying to flee from the danger and the wreckage, the horrors. But it seemed endless wherever he drove. The walkers just wouldn't end.

Cole was the driver of this motorcycle, leaning with the fast Japanese sports bike as he drove, his black helmet glinting in the sunlight. The headgear was more for in case of an accident, did him no good against walkers. Good thing they weren't smart enough to put one on, that's for sure. His Northface jacket and fitted jeans protected him from whatever elements, his Nike shoes pressed against the side of the vehicle. His super bowl ring firmly on his right hand as he controlled the speed of the bike with that same hand. His backpack was pressed closely to him, crowbar hitched to his belt loop, knife in his pocket, and handgun shoved in the back of his jeans. Not like he owned a holster, it was the best place for it.

It seemed like he was running low on gas, and he would have to get some from another car. His bike came to a stop alongside what looked to be an apartment complex, by the looks of it. It seemed somewhat calm and peaceful, and Cold decided to kick the stand down and hop off his bike. Maybe it'd be a good idea to camp out here for a while. He'd been traveling for hours. And, maybe he'd have time to figure out what his next move would be.

That was until he heard shots coming from the apartment complex, and he quickly ducked behind a parked car. So maybe it wasn't the most quiet and peaceful place after all. But, what place really was? At least walkers couldn't shoot guns, so that was some positive on maybe there was somebody friendly. Or, not so friendly. But Cole noticed a few walkers shuffling from the streets to the apartment complex, and he knew that they had seen him. It looked like he was going to find out soon if these people were nice.

After ducking into the building he came across a piece of plywood that was across the doorway, but with one swift swing of his crowbar it shattered with ease. Just as he did that, however, he turned around to see a walker right behind him. Cole gave a nice baseball swing with his crowbar, cracking the walker's skull against the doorframe before following up with one across the back of the head. It was dead, but more were behind it as Cole took off up the stairs. Or got to the basin, before a zombie tackled him from behind. He turned around just in time to press the crowbar into it's neck, keeping its snapping teeth at bay. He pulled back his legs, kicking the zombie off his chest as he reached back and pushed himself up and landed on his feet. Cole took the fork like end of the crowbar and jammed it through the eye socket, and that was the end of that one.

But still more were coming and Cole finally made his way up the steps, stopping with his back against one of the apartment doors. He kicked one of the zombies tumbling down the steps, slowing down the other advancing zombies. He got himself cornered, and it didn't look good. He pulled his pistol out of his jeans, holding in his right hand and he swapped the crowbar for the knife, putting the gun hand on top of the knife like he's seen on the call of duty games. He pressed against the door, slightly banging on it. Hopefully he could find a way out, but unless he did, these walkers would be full of hot lead.

@Remipa Awesome@CandiBarr

Desmond Williams

Desmond gave a sharp nod, but made sure to quickly pack up the food supplies on the table before leaving the house. It was a decent haul, between the two of them, but he just hoped that the new weight wouldn't slow them down as they went to investigate the source of the gunshot. In case of an amassing horde inside of an inclosed space, the last thing Desmond wanted was to be over-encumbered. Nevertheless, he swung his rucksack over his shoulders and, finding the extra weight tolerable, drew his silenced Beretta and proceeded cautiously out into the street. Thankfully, the shot didn't attract any walkers outside the apartment -- in fact, there were hardly any to be found around there -- and he hoped it was the same inside. Moving quietly to the front of the apartment complex, he opened the door and covered the entrance, allowing his companion to enter safely. Though again, he saw nothing. Then, looking closer, he spotted through an open door a splash of red decorating the interior of a room, along with a headless corpse slumped on the floor. The blood hadn't dried, so the kill was recent.
"Probably the first shot," he noted quietly to his partner, before moving closer. As the rest of the hallway came into view, he saw the product of the second shot -- a much cleaner kill than the first. Desmond thought that, perhaps, they were still around. Suddenly, he heard the revving of an motorcycle engine outside cut to a stop, and out of instinct he took cover inside the nearest open room as the outside door opened and a man came running through, followed by a cluster of zombies. In the rush, Desmond was pretty sure that they had not been seen. Making eye contact with his partner, he silently asked if they should intervene, readying his pistol. He was going to help regardless, but he wanted to know if she had his back before he rushed out there and got himself killed. Trust is a hard thing to build in a day, after all.

Douglas Knowles

To Doug's satisfaction, he heard a soldier come on through the line. The two must have been traveling together -- maybe with others. With that one transmission, Doug's view of their future was looking up. They still had to find Bill and the Rookie, though. But for now, there was nothing wrong with helping folks -- especially folks who may know about the whereabouts of their missing coworkers.
"Captain Krueger, I read you. We're on 8th Street, at the center of town. The road is pretty clear of walkers, and the route into town should be clear for you. Let me know if you have any hiccups, and we'll try our best to help you get here. Stay safe, over."

A short, hooded figure walked slowly through the streets, the life sucked out of him. He almost looked like the lumbering corpses that now inhabited the general area. He'd been walking for a long, long while, and even then, he'd had to attempt to drive a car in the process. He'd eventually settled for a bike. It served him well, but a couple minutes back, the tyres gave their last breath. So he was stuck with trudging along the streets, exhausted as shit, starving to death.

He could remember how it all happened, the night in Philadelphia when the walkers came. The boy had been sleeping soundly in his bed when his mother came and shook him, tears streaming from her eyes. He'd known something was wrong. He was rushed out of the house with a few belongings, and told to go to a place called Wilmington. He hadn't spent much time listening in Geography, so all he knew was it was another place in Delaware, apparently more safe than Philadelphia. So he'd set off, saying his last words to his mother. As he was walking away, he heard screaming. That's when she died.

And now, here he was. Walking around mindlessly in a random place. There was a crashed car, and a signpost on the floor at the side of it. He shuffled over to it, pushing it. Thank God he'd gotten used to playfighting with his mother. He managed to lift it slightly, for a long enough time to read the sign. He read it - Welcome to Wilmington. He let it drop onto the bonnet, causing more damage to the car and-

"JESUSFUCKINGDEADZOMBIEARGH!" The hooded boy jumped back, however weak he was, his heart pumping fast. He stared at the double-dead corpse, with blood splattered across the seat behind it. Someone had clearly popped one in this old lady's head, and he just hoped to god they didn't come back. But he was so tired, and his legs were burning. So, he walked over to the nearest house and sat down, propping himself up against the cold wall.