Ashton Holloway & Dexter
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Location: Newnan
Interacting With: Lorna, Meg, Dexter
The portion of Ash that overcomes stress and pushes forward had almost completely taken the driver's seat, so to speak. He was in full Soldier mode, with zero fucks available for public distribution. People had died today, seemingly in rapid succession. If he had anything to say about it, no one else would.
As Meg knelt to equip herself from their ally's broken body, a snarl from ahead drew Ash's attention. He strode forward and planted the butt of his rifle into the forehead of the approaching corpse. Sadly, it didn't go down immediately. Repeated smashes were necessary for the rotting bastard to fall earthward, its final snarl coming nanoseconds prior to a government issue bootheel cracking skull open like a rancid Cadbury Creme Egg.
"On the doubletime. That means you too, Dexter. Now."In a rush, the frustrated and perplexed Dexter began to imitate something of a salute, completely forgetting that he still had his massive carpenter's hammer in hand. The head of the sturdy tool caught him across the temple, prompting an immediate split of skin and flash of quite unexpected pain. The resulting dizziness and change of blood pressure prompted an instant bout of irredeemable nausea, his protein bar and canned milk from much earlier in the day returning to the light of day in a fashion only described as projectile. Dexter looked about in confusion, wondering how he abruptly fucked up taking a single step forward and wiping the blood away from his eye with his sleeve.
Unfortunately, he forgot yet again that he was holding a hammer. The blunt head of his implement raked across the bridge of his nose. Not only did he manage to actually wipe blood
into his eye, but his other watered from trauma and the strain of vomiting on the quick. He stumbled forward, boots stopping short on Lorna's unmoving leg.
Boots stopped, but torso tried to continue.
Dexter found himself falling forward, blinded by blood and tears, holding his hands in front of his chest to brace for the impact upon the blacktop of downtown Newnan streets. The nail-driving device met the ground before him with a solid
clink, claw end facing up, followed shortly by his head. Blunted edge steel penetrated his ocular cavity and dug into what lay beyond, putting the period on the final sentence of his autobiography.
He lay on the road, facedown, hand still holding the tool which ended his life. His legs were spasming.
Ashton didn't see how the fall happened, but did catch the end result. He turned to more squarely size up the scene which lay before him, a growing look of pure, unadulterated incredulity twisting his face, like he had just seen a puppy spontaneously combust, or a prom queen fart the alphabet intelligibly. In Greek.
"THE FUCK?" Were this any other time, Ash might have been impressed.
"No time. Armory."No-nonsense mindset fully in place, Captain Ashton Holloway, Combat Engineer, led his group toward the refitted bank that served as their weapons storage, pausing only to club out or hack to pieces anything that got in their way.
Black James!
Location: Newnan
Interacting With: Maria, Ash, Dead People
Zoie was where she needed to be, now it was time to help clear a path for the group on the street. He had witnessed the passing of Lorna, who in his estimation thusfar seemed like an okay gal, but was unprepared for Maria's reaction to her sudden and involuntary removal from the living.
"Baby girl, baby girl..." he started, addressing his sniping partner with as sympathetic and reassuring a voice as he could,
"We gotta do this. C'mon, Maria, bad guys are still out there, our people are on the ground." James was pretty sure that his words were lost in the wash of Maria's emotions, as they shifted from sudden grief to profound rage. Maybe it was best for him to keep his mouth shut and make with the shooting. His prodigious gluteus was just fine the way it was, with the original hole it came with and zero arrows protruding from. Yeah. Doing that. Taking the lighter caliber weapon in hand, his Hog Hunter's muscle memory took over, placing the "in" in front of "animate" for a trio of Dead Ones between his people and their destination.
James raised his head from the scope slightly to get a wider angle on his killing field, and noticed Dexter take the Nestea Plunge onto something hard and sharp, never to take a lungful of air again. He thumbed the walkie,
"Yo Ash, ya'lls friend need a Band-Aid?"
Caesar Gonzalez
Location: Newnan
Interacting With: Edenite, painfully.
The son-of-a-bitch didn't see him, didn't expect anyone to jump out of a second-story window. One of those fuckers from Eden that shot Leann and Vivian. One of those fuckers that must pay.
The invader ran
right past him, such was his desire to get to the Armory, to get weapons to kill more of his people. Admitting it deep within himself, yes, Newnan was his home. These were his people. He expected loss of his daughter to make him detach from ...all this... but his last moments of brooding sorrow, coupled with the danger everyone was in, exposed feelings in him he wasn't sure he possessed.
If nothing else, it was Alicia's job to see to the security of this place. Damnit, he would take up her responsibility and get the job done regardless, just as he taught her to do, many years ago. And so, the stabbing began.
Caesar's haste to get to the man worked in his disfavor. He had accidentally kicked a bit of window frame in his pursuit, drawing the balding stranger's attention. He swung around with a hunting rifle, intending a quick "point and click" interaction. He did not intend for the leathery Latino to hurl a machete across the street and into his stomach. The Edenite could see the blade approach in slow motion, tumbling end over end; point then handle, point then handle. He was aware of every nuance of the weapon, light reflecting from it in the pattern of its approach, even a strange choppy whooshing sound as it got closer. It seemed to move so, so slowly. The instant broke down into a very long time, to his perception. In its slowness, however, there was nothing he could do to move out of the way.
The ponderous-seeming movement caught back up with the reality's speed with sickening clarity, just as the blade parted the flesh of his gut. One hand loosed from his rifle as he stared in shock at his newest faux extremity. The half-second was just enough time for Caesar to be upon him.
His remaining machete hacked off his hand with deft accuracy, dropping it and his weapon to the ground. Caesar was already in a spin when his free hand found the grip of his stomach-sheathed blade, wrenching it free and hamstringing the Edenite in a flowing, circular maneuver. There were no attempts to quiet nor kill the man, no. El Jefe had plans.
Unable to stand on his own power, gutshanked, and missing a hand, the would-be interloper wailed. Casear grabbed him by the belt and drug the blood pouring fucknut out into the open, just up from the group of
his people making for the Armory. The Mexican banged the flat of his blade onto a nearby stop sign, alerting any Dead in the area to a free and easy meal.
"Ćrale, Ćrale!" he shouted, making sure he had the attention of any wandering corpses, before stabbing a blade between two of the Edenbastard's ribs and giving a steady twist. Not far enough in to puncture a lung; just enough to provide leverage to move bones away from each other in a manner painful enough to override the survival instinct necessary to keep from crying out. Caesar swiftly dispatched an additional Walker, a straggler that for whatever reason found him slightly more interesting, with a rolling parry-block and a machete to the skull. He moved to the middle of the road, waving his friends closer.
And just like that, a clearer path began to open. The tearing and screaming sounds were incidental.
