Ash Holloway
Location: Arnco Mills Safehouse (E10)
Skills: Leadership
It wasn't every day that a Ash got himself a spontaneous man-kiss from someone in his chain of command. Despite all of the hell and turmoil that everyone had gone through, despite even his personal descent into an emotional oubliette that he was still trying to claw his way back out of - Ash laughed. It was a little unnatural at first, and in truth he tried to stifle it back. This only resulted in a sharp sputtering sound and prompted him to just let it come. He even wiped away a tear.
Ash shook his head and dismissed the incident with a well-meaning,
"As you were, Officer." He even chuckled a little more before returning to his makeshift seat by the window. There was a slice of hope left to them, as fleeting and as precious as it ever was. He stared out of the crack between the boards, looking at the outline of his Hordebuster against what starlight filtered through the clouds and trees. Though a touch unprofessional, Ash allowed his mind to wander into daydream, thinking back upon the history of the vehicle and his memories of it.
He was a lot younger, obviously. The truck was no longer new, nor was it a rust bucket. It was built a while back in Canada, of all places. Their paler cousins to the north stepping on the toes of the American companies, and damned effectively, too. The Freightliner company had put out an engineering masterpiece, series of them in fact, that was more fuel efficient, had better handling, more hauling power, better braking, and was designed to smoothly handle mountain roads and (in some circumstances) light offroad capacity. It was a solid, ware-hauling
monster, with infinitely replaceable or machinable parts. Naturally, instead of keeping up with the industrial spirit of competition, the United States Government protected their investments by altering the laws concerning interstate trucking.
The bright blue truck that was to eventually become The Hordebuster, and many more in its series, were no longer allowed to be used as freight haulers on American interstates. Most that survived in the U.S. were refitted as utility vehicles. The truck in question became a severe duty dump truck. It had served its purpose for a few more years, hauling construction waste and fill dirt, graveling sites and the like, until it was eventually replaced by shiny new models. In truth, they didn't even do a better job. But seriously, what kind of dump truck had a sleeper cab? It made no sense. The truck sold on the extreme cheap to a struggling businessman from the hills of Virginia. Name of Holloway.
Ash remembered his dad telling him that their family business was struggling. They could make product, but they could not move anything themselves nor did they have the finances to hire a shipping company. Not after all of their money got sunk into the Distillery. There was no point in trying to go legit if it bankrupted the family. It was a gift from God, his father had said, that this piece of awe-inspiring Canadian machinery was made available to them, although it was highly unusual to deliver goods regionally in a
dump truck, it did the job. Ash sometimes went on these runs with his dad, or with one of the distillery workers as time permitted.
His mind drifted further along, past school and his career with the Army. It was common knowledge that the truck saved a good number of people after the Outbreak in Virginia. What most people didn't know? It saved his family long before it, too.
Thalia Carmichael
Location: Eden, Doors across from Fitness
Skills: Survival, Pistol
More gunshots rang out. Of course more gunshots rang out. It's what they did. It was why they were here. The plan remained to kill every last fucktard in the building, and that's what Thalia intended to do. Unfortunately, these gunshots were from farther up the corridor from the position of the rest of her group. While maintaining the cautious direction of her pistols down the way she was moving, the determined Scots-Latina turned an eye back up the way she came. It was a precarious position to be in, virtually leaving her open on her flanks. Luckily, she was in a hallway of sorts. It would be pretty unusual for something to attack her from the side. The head turn did give her a direct view of the effect of the gunshots, which was
not the best news ever: Beatrice took a bullet to her leg.
The responding gunfire from Alexander gave Thalia a sense of relief, if shaky. The group still had the raw intestinal fortitude to slap them back. It counted for something. But what was beginning to concern her was the manner in which the veteran commanded her to return to the rest of them. The first instinct was to tell him to "go to hell" and just keep doing what she was doing, but his voice had a wiry edge, it seemed to her, that might mean they were getting overrun and needed a couple extra guns applied to the situation. Like they needed her. Who knows, they actually might.
"...Gawd damnit..." she sighed, running back to where she entered the area, hovering about Beatrice.
Thana was standing. She had to admit it, the bitch was
tough. And she had to give it to Beatrice, she was handling all of this like a champ. Thalia wouldn't have been surprised if the bullet wound in the girl's leg started bleeding icewater.
Back up the corridor, she could see the potential ambush spots - the hallway to the right and all the way at the end. Just to see what might or might not poke a head out, she exclaimed with projected voice,
"Oh no, my gun jammed and I'm open!" with her two perfectly serviceable weapons pointed in the direction of potential trouble. She just wanted to see if they were
really stupid.
