The Walking Dead : Among the Ruined

The streets were quiet. Before such a thing would never have been true of New Orleans, the city that seemed like a constant party. But six months of hell could do a lot, to a city as well as people.
Now everything was broken, rundown and bare. Except for a few figures stumbling around.
Walkers. The living dead. The city was full of them. Hence the silence. The creatures that used to be humans were attracted to noise.

Just outside the city was a series of old broken railway cars. Several of the cars were ties together. Those cars made up the entire living of two women.
Lynn pulled opened one of the doors enough to slip inside.
Jessalyn looked up from the beans and canned peaches she was spooning on to plates. She smiled at her friend. "How did it go?"
"Found some more scrap to melt down. Other then that not much. The stores have pretty much been picked clean," Lynn answered. "How's the squirt?"
Jessalyn placed a gentle hand on her stomach. "He's quiet today. Not kicking as much, thank goodness. Ready to eat something?"
The two women sat down to the modest meal. It was difficult, especially with Jessalyn's condition. Lynn tried to make sure the girl got enough food for herself and her little bun in the oven, at times going without food herself.
A sound outside made Lynn jump up.
"What is it?" Jessalyn asked worriedly.
"Stay down," Lynn ordered and grabbed her handgun. Climbing up the makeshift ladder to the hole in the roof, Lynn laid down on the roof and scooped out the area. She had learned the hard way not to trust strangers...

Jessalyn stayed at the bottom of the ladder, looking up and waiting. She covered her stomach protectively. They'd had to deal with scavengers before, men after food, weapons and... other things. Two women alone seemed like easy targets, but they had managed to survive mostly unscathed. So far.
But Jess trusted Lynn. The older woman had taken her on as a younger sister. Lynn wouldn't let anything or anyone hurt Jess or her baby.
Four more months... four more months and she would bring a child, a small life, into this horrible and dangerous world. Where at times the living were more dangerous then the dead...

A loud motorcycle noise could be heard way down the road. It was Mr. Grimm, rising dust with his good ol' bike he had stolen when the apocalypse started. He hadn't helped anyone to that point, he had found at least ten persons on his way to where he was now, and he had either let them die or killed them altogether so they wouldn't bring the attention of the walkers. At one final in a gas station, Grimm hopped off his bike and turned it off, and emptied the remaining gas on the almost depleted tank of his motorcycle. At almost full tank now, he knew it would be a perfect weapon in case he had to blow it off to get the walkers away from him. Before leaving, he entered inside the small store the gas station housed, only to be greeted by a crawler zombie who tried to reach Grimm. He didn't think it twice, he grabbed his sickle and sliced open his face, tearing his skull in two and leaving his brains out. "Hehe...easy..." he muttered slowly before coughing a bit of blood into his hand. He knew he had the virus like everyone else, but he wasn't planning on dying so easily.

Grimm walked outside once again and turned on his bike, then sped off into the devastated streets until he found a line of cars into the horizon. He stopped about three blocks before the line of cars and just made his bike 'roar' by accelerating and forcing the engine. On his back he had his machete, and always holding it on his right hand was his sickle. He waited and looked around...waiting and waiting in case they decided to open fire...

ADAM EVANS

Adam Evans grunted as he pulled his head up from the glass table that he was resting it on a moment ago. A bit of fine white powder adorned the tip of his nose until he sniffled and wiped it away. He drew in a long noisy breath through his teeth and let out a long, drawn-out sigh before the effects of the drug kicked in. He was running low and he didn't know if he'd be able to find his stash any time soon, he'd left it on the other side of the city. Maybe it would have been a good time for him to quit? Just one more hit... He'd always say when those thoughts popped into his head. Just one more time... He'd always thought. He was running low on food now too, he'd have to leave the garage he was held up in soon and go find some. Maybe he'd just say to hell with it and cross the whole city and pick up his stash while he was at it too.

Adam stepped up to the window and looked through. It was pretty clear of walkers, one or two were roaming around but he could get by them. As the drugs kicked in at full force he thought now or never and plucked his shotgun up, slinging it over his shoulder as he shoved the garage door open and ran out as fast as he could. A walker stumbled into him and he pulled a Han Solo, turning around and sprinting back inside, locking the garage door behind him. I think I'll give it a day... he thought.

SAMANTHA BAXTER

Sam pushed open a brown wooden door and pointed her .357 inside. It was clear but she heard a moaning coming from one of the back rooms. She holstered her gun and slid the pipe from her backpack, holding it up high. She stepped into the house and headed for the hallway off to her right. She heard the moaning coming from the last door but just to be safe she checked every one along the way. They were all clear, so at last she progressed to the end of the hallway. When she reached the end she took a deep breath and opened up the door. Immediately a walker descended down onto her, she whacked it as hard as she could on the temple and sent it reeling into the wall. Then another two came pouring out and her only option was to back up. She slammed her pipe down onto the first one's head and it fell to the floor dead but the other two were still coming. She backed up back down the hallway and turned around to see another walker coming straight for her. She kicked it as hard as she could in the chest and sent it to the ground, then hopped over it and bolted back out the door. She ran as quickly as should could across the street and into another house, this one had a red door. She went through the process of checking every room again in this one to find no walkers or supplies and twenty minutes after entering she found herself securing a heavily windowed room on the top floor to retire in for the night.

A rounded, metal surface was the only company Marcus Booker woke up to; the same company he scoured for every night so he could sleep. On the road below, the living dead made their shuffle across the destroyed road; seems as if they were heading towards New Orleans, or so the beaten green sign to Booker's left would put it; New Orleans, 4 miles ahead. His body ached from the rest. It always does - living conditions aren't really that idea for hell, now. He managed to get to his feet, looking around the surrounding lands. The area was actually benign for the circumstances. He took his backpack by the strap, sliding it onto his back.

He walked down the roof of the van, dropping onto the concrete road. The group of dead had't noticed him; they were ahead, stumbling and shuffling about. He followed behind the party, in near the same manner. He walked with the shuffling of his feet, his head hanged low. Though he unsheathed his machete from his backpack, in case of the walkers catching wind of him. They made it about three minutes before a moan echo'd in his direction. It didn't seem as big of a deal now, though. The party had split and stumbled into the grass and other areas; only around four remained on the road in front of him. Booker didn't have much of a problem out maneuvering the walkers. He slid past one, causing it to stumble somewhere behind him. His machete slammed into the head of another, which cleaved a path for him to walk without trouble, even if he would be followed by the remainders.

Somewhere along the way his company disbanded, finding other prey, falling, or getting killed by getting too close to Marcus. His shuffle ground to a halt in front of a similar sign to the one he witnessed back at the van; [i]New Orleans, 1 mile ahead/i]. He waited for several moments, taking in the situation. Would he find supplies? People - and if so would they be friendly? He came to the conclusion that it didn't really make a difference. He took the gamble. He started down the road again, towards the city.

Even before everytihng had happened, the rooftops had been among Damian's favorite spots in the city, rarely anyone ever came there and you were able to get a good overview of the streets below. Nowadays the rooftops seemed like an even better option to make his way through, walkers were a very rare sight on the rooftops as none of them had the intelligence to climb ladders, most barely even knew how to ascend a flight of stairs. His supplies had run low however, forcing him to move from his sleeping place atop the belltower of a small church on the outskirts of New Orleans. Most of the shops nearby he had already stripped clean. With no small amount of reluctance he increased his search radius, opting for now no to head too deep into the city yet to avoid the large clusters of walkers that surely clogged certain area's.

Pumping strength into his legs, he burst into a sprint, jumping off of the ledge at the last possible moment. After what seemed like a couple of second, his upper body hit the opposite wall with a thud, managing to swing his arms over the edge before he could slide back off. As well as he had done several times befre, he clambered on top of the next roof. Once he was up, he spared a small moment to look back into the alley he had just leapt over. A couple of walkers had heard his clambering, wailing and groaning up at him as they uselessly scraped their decaying hands over the surface of the wall by attempting to claw up at him. Had he missed his jump, his legs would've been broken and he'd have been subjected to - well, it was probably better not to think about that. If his bearings were correct, he just had to find a way into the building he was on top of right now, which used to be a convenience store. It was the second one he was scavenging today, the first had been looted clean already, most likely during the first few days of the outbreak. His thoughts were interrupted by the loud roar of an engine in the distance, someone who apparantly liked to show off that he was one of te few people that still had transportation like that for some reason. Damian furrowed his brow, either the noise was going to attract herds of walkers, or other survivors to steal the engine. Shaking his head, he decided he wasn't interested in either one of those groups of people, instead fumbling with the hatch into the atic of the store, which took more time and effort to pry open than he would have liked..

Lynn narrowed her eyes, trying to make out what kind of weapons the guy had.
"What's going on?" Jessalyn asked in a worried tone.
"Some random guy on a bike."
"Anyone we know? Does he look like he might be with Tyler?"
Jessalyn had a reason to be scared. Tyler had been the leader of a large group that had come through. They had attacked the two women and nearly taken everything they had. the only choice Lynn and Jess had had was to run. It had taken them a long time to restock what they had lost and they were still short.
"I can't tell," Lynn replied honestly. She wouldn't shoot unless he gave her a reason. She didn't want to waste bullets if she didn't have to.
"State your business or get going," she called to the man on the bike. "Don't give me a reason to waste a bullet on you."

"Ha! F*cking city foke got it good huh?" Floyd whispered to himself as he mounted the beast. The sun shone directly on the black exterior of the Triumph Bonneville. The ape hangers were perfectly aligned. Though there was dust surrounding such beauty, a descent of water would clean it right up. Floyd then hoped on the machine, falling with a sight to its bobber style. He prepared to turn it on when his hand grasped nothing but air. The key was not on the ignition, so he grunted.

He got off the bike and pulled his bow from around him. He pulled out an arrow from his hip quiver and prepared to strike. He looked nearby to find missing person and his eyes caught his victim. A walker, about five eleven - six feet tall. He had on a plated Levi's button down which was covered by a leather vest with a name braided on the pocket. "Its you ain' it big guy? Ain't know the city had bikers like you" Floyd said to himself as he aimed his bow to the biker's forehead. With a release, the camouflaged arrow swished through the silent breeze and brushed straight through the biker's skull, sending him straight into the concrete below him. The thud of his body colliding with the surface echoed through the thin streets. Floyd walked up to the walker and searched its pockets, locating the key to the beauty of a bike. It was his lucky day.

After removing the arrow, he returned to the Triumph. He hoped back on and placed the key into the ignition. With a twist, the engine ran, but startled to stall. The motors monstrous noise echoed like the walkers thud, but twice as loud. Out of nowhere, walkers began to exit the nearby building. "Ugh, c'mon, c'mon!" Floyd started, turning the key twice more, facing the same effect. The bike would not start. The closer the walkers got, the more anxious and angry Floyd was getting. With that urgency on his mind, he noticed the kick start the Triumph had. He kicked it forcefully and the bike started, a burst of noise echoing through the city. With the walkers a couple feet from him, Floyd hit the acceleration and squeezed through the walker's grasp.

As he drove through the profound crowded city, the moans began to follow him distantly. Floyd ended up with two choices a couple minutes later. Before him lay train tracks; train tracks which he could follow left or right. With a quick exhale, he turned to his right and began to speed through the soft and muted green grass. All that could be heard was the growl of his 'new bike'. Then within minutes to his march along the trail, the bike started to stall yet again. Within seconds to the stalling sound, the bike stopped in its tracks. Floyd ran his hand along his face and stepped off, kicking the machine on its engine then slowly sat next to it with his elbows on his knees. His eyes were squinted due to the glare of the sun. With sweat running down his face, he stood and started towards the near railway cars. There was no longer any breeze and the heat was unbearable. The cars would be great shelter for the upcoming night. One can even make a fire without worrying of burning down. As he reached the first one titled 'Express Agency', he couldn't help but notice a walker trying to make its way into a specific car. Floyd pulled out his trench knife and clanked it against the Express Agency, calling for the walker's attention. "C'mon you dumb dead bastard. I ain't got all day" Floyd called out as the moans started towards him.

Without any further hesitation, Floyd walked up to the walker and jammed his knife into the walker's head, causing it to instantly drop dead. He then continued slowly towards the car the walker was trying to get into. "Hey! Anybody in there?" he asked before placing his hand on the door and prepared to open it widely, knife in hand. As he pulled it open, another walker jumped out, landing on top of him. With his left forearm, he held the walker back by its neck. With his right, he pushed his knife clean through the head. The zombie fell to its right. It was 'dead'. That's when a noticeable sound rang in his ear. The roar of what seemed to be a Harley was in the distance. The roar stopped once Floyd regained his balance. Slowly and steadily, he continued down the tracks, hiding behind the cars as his bow was loaded with an arrow. After a good jog, his eyes gazed upon a large man. He wore a damn skull on his head, like a freaken mask or something. "Look at this douchebag" he said, watching the situation from afar, waiting to see what happened next. He wasn't stupid enough to interfere in another persons problem, it didn't involve him.

Carefully, Harrison creaked open the maple-wood door on the backside of the restaurant. He trembled with fear as he shakily held his broomstick spear in front of him while he quietly tiptoed into the kitchen. He heard a soft clatter behind a locked door and decided not to find out what was behind it. Carefully he went to a pot that was sitting on a stove and stood on his tippy-toes to peek inside, he gagged as he saw and caught the scent of the gumbo, or what was left of it anyway. He coughed into his arm as he reached to put the lid back on the pot. In the corner of the room he caught sight of a rat chewing on what looked like another rat. Silently he got closer, trembling and biting his lip, he threw his spear at the rat. The spear caught itself right in the center of the rat's stomach, It squirmed violently before dying. With a sigh of relief, Harrison pulled the rat off from the end of his spear and placed it in his bag, 'I finally got some food,' he thought to himself with a sigh of relief.
The hairs on the back of Harrison's neck stood up as heard a creak behind him. Trembling, he turned behind him to see the door that had been closed was now opened and he couldn't see what had been in there inside. Quietly, he got on all fours and hid behind the kitchen table. He looked at the glass on the oven in front of him and caught the reflection of what looked like a torso crawling around on the other side of the table. Carefully, Harrison took a deep breath as he gulped in air, his hands shaking, he could hear his own heartbeat and he felt dizzy. He couldn't let the grip of fear stop him like it had stopped his papa, not here. Giving his face a small slap with his palm, he brought himself back to his senses. Climbing on top of the table he carefully crawled across and peeked over the edge to see the crawler beneath him, it had no eyes and only had ears. With a deep breath, Harrison took a small stone from his pack and threw it behind him. With a soft clack, the rock hit the tile flooring in front of the oven. The crawler let out a horrifying moan as it pulled its way over to the sound with its arms. Quickly, Harrison kept off the table and ran out the door he had come in. After he got a safe distance in a nearby alleyway, afraid of a loud engine noise he had heard while leaving the restaurant. He sat down against the brick wall and began to cry.

What am I doing in this walker infested area? There's nothing but chaos out here. Holly was huddled in the corner of a small house with two uncurtained windows and a barricaded door. Holly gathered the courage to look out the window and saw a walker slobbering and banging on the window trying to get in. I'd just make a break for it if i hadn't left my supplies outside like a scrub lord, she thought. Holly started to move the wardrobe that served as the barricade. Walkers are not the brightest living corpses, it continued to try and reach her by getting through the window. Holly smirked at the walker and stuck out her tongue at it.

Let's see, what'd I lose back there? A bag, a water-bottle, half-full, food to last me one more night, and a fishing pole. I should really go back, it's only one walker. Holly had stopped jogging away from her temporary shelter and faced the walker that had been after her. She pulled out her knife and held it like a tiny sword. "Come on then!" she said aggressive. The monster snarled at her and continued to approach her. Each step made Holly's heart race a faster. Once the walker got two feet from her she ran around him. "Nope!" she said with terror. She quickly scooped up her bag and jumped over a fence that led to someones back yard. Two new walkers grabbed at the wooden gate, trying to knock it over. In fear that the noise would attract more biters, she climbed a ladder that was conveniently in the back yard and stood on the roof.

The motorcycle noise made her yelp in surprise. The walkers lost interest in Holly and went off to find the source of the racket. She became relieved. She was about to climb back down, but she noticed something in the corner of her eye. Another survivor was on a different roof a bit of a ways from her. That or a walker that learned how to open doors. Oh no, there learning! She studied the way the man, or woman, moved and found out they were indeed human.

(A very outdated map of New Orleans, the same one that Tom has currently have in his possession - a book of maps for densely populated cities was never more useful.)


There was no doubt about it, the idiom "calm before the storm" was true fact.. if you would consider the storm being a zombie outbreak. Tom found himself trapped in a world of his own, one that he never thought would be possible.. one that would inflict fear into him for the rest of his days, his parents had been swarmed.. killed, ripped limb by limb; which caused him to flee, he's now about four and a half football fields away from being into the city deemed 'New Orleans' by the looks on his map, he is currently just on the beginning parts of the New Orleans and Carrollton Railroad; which led away from Jefferson City. He nodded to himself in affirmation before he rolled up the map up as if it were to be placed in a bottle, but instead - he shoved it sideways under his black suspenders.

Tom placed his hands on his hips in a sloppy fashion, before squinting his eyes - looking down the long, almost seemingly endless stretch of track.. which he knew was not the exact case, it had to end somewhere.. but the thought of being isolated, walking on some rusty tracks out in the open, with nothing but trees to his left and right; scared him.. he grasped the brim of his hat, taking it off.. revealing his traditional Amish haircut, or atleast what was left of it.. it having gone shingled and long, but then cut short by Tom when needed with use of a rusty trusty knife that he had learned to admire.

He dangled his hat off to his side, exhaling deeply through his mouth, his cheeks puffed.. his lips in an o-formation, his cheeks went flat.. his breath out-.. he took another one and started to trek onwards down the left side of the tracks.. this wasn't a time of all work and no play, he would occasionally balance upon the rail of the track and go one foot after another as if he was a circus performer.. but his fun was cut off short. What laid ahead of him was a puzzling sight, he had walked about one-hundred yards now with not a sight but the occasional leaf blow by with help of the wind.. but no, this was different.. he now witnessed a man loitering around a substantial amount of incapacitated railway cars, and ontop of one stood a woman who appeared to be armed with a pistol.

Tom took no time to get into cover, he threw himself to the right side of the tracks.. doing a roll until he was hidden within the brush of the woods. Tom clambered to his feet with copious amounts of agility present, slipping his arms out of his rucksack. Tom slung the rucksack infront of where he kneeled, unbuckling a plastic restraint which held a hunters slingshot firmly into place.

He took a firm grasp upon the designated handle of his slingshot in his right hand, his fingers clasped tightly over the handle.. so tight that his knuckles were white. Tom reached into his pocket, his small fingers feeling about before he grasped a cold metallic object, yanking it out of his pocket; this metallic object being a steel ball bearing, which was his ammo of choice for his wrist-rocket. Tom rolled the ball-bearing from his palm down to his fingertips in his left hand where he applied a tight grasp with his thumb and index finger, fumbling it into the pouch of the slingshot.

Tom pinched off the leather pouch of the slingshot with his fingers so the ball couldn't escape/drop out prematurely before firing, he disregarded his rucksack.. duck-walking upwards out of the woods.. kneeling behind a tree-.. he pulled back on the pad containing the bearing, thus stretching out the rubber cording it was attached too. Tom kept his ears trained onto any speech that might come out of the individuals, his aim with the slingshot was primarily focused upon the man.. a nice aim directed towards his windpipe. He was ready to kill if it meant protecting a woman, the woman in his mind; innocent of all fault in this situation.. Tom kept seated, ready for whatever was about to go down.. holding his breath - he wouldn't miss.. not for nothing.

Jack had always hated that survivalist crap. Overdeveloped men throwing themselves into life threatening situations with only an egg, a lighter and 12 carrots to survive on for like a month. It had all seemed so pointless to him and yet here he was 6 months later having to survive in a world that used to offer all the creature comforts you could imagine. However being rather pampered in his life before the outbreak had only been a blessing. Whilst others suffered from overcrowding and fighting for the mealy resources they had available only to succumb to the infection he had been in a very quiet almost desolate area with barely anybody living near him. The wealthier had barricaded themselves in and stayed quiet, some driving off in their huge 4 by 4s. The first day that he deemed the 'beginning of the apocalypse' he had been able to get supplies from the hospital, drive home, pack a rucksack, get changed and prepare himself as much as he could. His rucksack contained a syringe, a few vials of penicillin, a lighter, a couple of bottles of water, a couple of tins of baked beans, a sleeping bag from his attic and a large winter coat for when it got colder. As well as this he was dressed in his favourite flannel shirt, a tough pair of black jeans, a leather jacket and carried a hatchet, from his shed, on his side and a number of tough scalpels, from his hospital, in a wire pouch he had sewn onto his rucksack, so that they wouldn't cut up anything or anyone if he fell or they just moved in the wrong way.

He was sitting in an old cafe that he used to frequent, before the outbreak, sipping on a cool bottle of water he had found in the back. The cafe had been pretty much bare and he was surprised to have even found the water. He had been moving around New Orleans for about a week now after he realised that cooping up in his own home would end up with him dead anyway. He was trying to find another group to move around with, there was always safety in numbers. However he still couldn't get over what happened to the last group, those poor kids. He had been surprised by the lack of walkers around this area and would have said it was his good luck, if he believed in luck, that had led him here. Just then he faintly heard the roar of a Harley. He had always liked bikes as a kid and knew the distinctive sound of a Harleys engine evine if he didn't like the bikes themselves. Turning his head the sound seemed to be coming from the nearby railroad, whoever was making that noise was going to be dead shortly and was probably also the reason he was zombie free. Raising the bottle of water up in salute he thanked whoever was on the bike and wished them a swift death. The sound got louder before it cut out and as it cut out he could here a fainter noise that was obviously much closer. Crying. Pulling a scalpel out of his bag he skulked round to the side entrance h had used. The crying was quieter here and so he moved round to the front entrance. This led onto a small road that went off in three directions. He couldn't yet see the source of the crying and so assumed it must be close and hidden. Putting his head further around he spied a small alley way off on his right. Stepping around slowly he walked up to the lip of the alley and pushed his head around. He couldn't see much however the crying was definitely coming from here. As he advanced down the alley his mind flashed back to the last group who had been crying. No. No, he wouldn't think about that. Finally he came to a large dumpster and around the other side of it sat a boy, huddled up in himself and whimpering. The kid looked barely older than 10 and by the state of his clothes had been out on his own for quite some time. Jack slid the scalpel back into it's pouch and kicked the dumpster making a quiet sound as it hollowly echoed. Jack knew kids, this would would definitely not trust him.

"Hey kid." Jacks gravely voice hummed. He raised his hands as if in surrender to assure the child that he had no weapons.

Mr. Grimm chuckled when the girl on top of the cars actually named him something potentially dangerous. While he wouldn't think it twice to betray and kill them, they were females and thus had every right to be kept alive. In fact, the people he had killed and left to starve were all men, people he really didn't care at all. He slowly accelerated once more and drove to the front of the cars until he was almost in front of them and below the woman, then he got off the bike with his sickle in his hand, his machete still sheathed on his back. "Greetings there...you are there...you are surely the first female survivor I've seen in...maybe...one month...I won't lie...one or two months..." Mr. Grimm's voice was rusty and obviously tired after two days without food or water, mostly since his supplies were gone. "Just a lonesome person...waiting for this dust to either consume me or to die from starving...." His blue eyes looked at her through the skull, there was obviously a growing beard and moustache growing on his face as he hadn't shaved in days now. "But I guess you won't possibly waste one of your precious bullets on a living creature...one that is only wanting water or food...or even shelter..."

Irritated, Damian kicked agaist the hatch. It didn't even budge an inch. He spat a curse, quickly reconsidering the stuation. One would think that after an apocalyps of these kind of proportions the little things would no longer be able to keep him back, but the stubborn lock seemed to mock him right in the face for optimism like that. Lacking any lockingpicking equipment, there were but a few options left to him. The possible spoils inside might be worthwhile, from the outside the covenience store looked to be sealed up pretty tightly. The windows were boarded up with thick planks of sturdy wood, while some of the planks appeared to have been pried a bit loose by grasping walker hands, most still seemed to serve their purpose splendidly . A small patch of walkers wandering about and bumping into each other aimlessly could bean indication that the insides of the shop were still intact. This was the extent of his optimism however, the lock on the hatch seemed new and stainless, it might even be possible that another survivor was holed up inside and even as he was assessin the situation, lying in wait behind to jump at him with a knife or something. Walkers he could handle and avoid, it was often the living that were more dangerous. If anything, a walker was predictable, it was certain that it was going to try and chew your face off. It wasn't as if Damian was frightened of confrontations with other living humans, but there was no need to barge into potentionally dangerous situations if they could be avoided altogheter. It didn't particularly matter, as long as the lock was in place he wasn't getting anyway, and he wasn't about to break or blunt one of his weapons on the lock either. His last lockpick had snapped in two trying to break into a medicine cabinet, Damian was just going to have to find another.

Swinging his backpack from his back, he pulled out the drawn, makeshift map he had made himself of his surroundings, adding the section that he had explored just now. A red circle around the building he was curently in idicated that there was probably still supplies worth taking in there, whereas a bunch of red crosses over previous buildings either indicated that there was nothng left worth taking inside or the risk attempting to scanvenge through these walker infested buildings simply wasn't worth what he might be able to salvage from them. The other possessions he had with him at the moment were meagre aswell, this run hadn't been exactly fruitful yet. An energy bar, a roll of tape, a bottle of laxatives that he didn't completely remember why he had picked up in the first place and some batteries that he wasn't even sure were empty or full. Considering his luck, it was probably better to assume tht they were empty, but there was no need for pessimism either.

As he rose to his feet, he spotted a figure on a roof not too far from his. It was too far to distinguish gender, or even state of life, but it was definitely a human. There was a twinge of self chastising that he hadn't spotted him or her earlier, but at least he should be grateful that he had yet to be shot in the back with an arrow or a bullet. It seemed like a long shot, but perhaps it was even friendly, Damian still had to figure out if he would be the same in return. It didn't look as if it was pointing a weapon at him yet, so he decided to make his way over to the adjecent roof a little closer to the figure, attempting another daring leap that he would have never have trusted himself with before this all went down. Once clambered on top, his arm ascneded up in the air in a wave towards the figure, signalling that he wasn't a walker if his leap had not already proven that point.

Rob scratched his neck, the couch that he was at that very moment sitting on wasn't very comfortable. How long has it been? Was the thought that had kept him busy for a couple of hours. "Well I guess I'll have to move" He got up with a small sigh. Who's house is this? It didn't matter, but he couldn't help himself but think what their life was like. If they are still alive, or did they get devoured by walkers, or...As it seems what is now more likely, Humans. Living, breathing and normally dangerous. Ironic during the end of the world that we are still somehow the main threat. But rob soon finished that thought as he peeked outside the door. No one or thing was there, but...He was sure he could hear some noise, it was faint. But he could definitely hear something, not a walker...Human? It had to be.

Rob wasn't certain whether he should check it out or head in the exact opposite direction, normally the later would be very wise, but his curiosity got the better of him. He quickly bundled up his now very sparse supplies in his bag and headed off. Baseball bat in hand, because as he was sure anyone who was alive would know. Expect the worse of people always. He walked through the streets carefully, the one he was on right now was completely empty. But walkers could ambush you from any where, if they were clever enough to do that anyways.

Closer to the noise, it was definitely human. Walkers tended to stumble about and moan a lot. Closer and closer, would he dare say anything? it would be stupid, but so would coming up to someone in their blind spot. Even if by accident. He was pretty sure he saw someone on a roof, but he passed it off as a walker, or if it was a Human, he/she didn't seem to have a ranged weapon he could see immediately.
Hmmmm.......what to do

Holly watched as the humanoid figure jumped to a new roof. When he waved, she felt relieved to find out he was friendly. She hated being alone, afraid that her loneliness will one day mean she's the last human on earth. The rooftops were connected by other houses so Holly wanted to try and meet the fellow survivor. She brought up the ladder she used to get on the rooftop in the first place and used it as a make-shift bridge to the next roof. It took a long time, but it was much safer than jumping. If she were to fall though, she'd be walker food for the swarm below her. Eventually she got to a roof two blocks away from the ow identifiable man. She waved to him.
"Hello! Have any friends or are you alone?" she asked. I don't really want to be ambushed and robbed so I better keep my distance, she thought.

Rob was checking the next corner when he heard a small *thud* He looked around, and only then realized that right above him was a human, female. Somehow he hasn't been noticed, he stayed quiet. Hiding in the shadows, she made a bridge with a ladder. Neat, Rob thought, of course if she fell walkers could get her, and...if he wanted to, himself as well. after a while she tried to communicate with the person he earlier saw on the roof a bit away. He could say hello, but would that get him anywhere. If he could somehow get on the roof, then maybe. Would she be friendly, well...Now that he thought about it, if she was nice enough to talk to the other person on the other roof. She might not mind him.

It's never good to be below though, because then usually they could get you but you couldn't get them, if that needed to happen of course. clinging to the wall, rob silently moved closer.He couldn't see...any walker in his vision at the moment. He might as well try to talk, or do something...
"Spoooky ghost!" He said, certain that she would be the only thing to hear it, of course she couldn't see him at the moment...There has to be some fun in this world right?

As much as Jon's legs cried for him to stop, Jon kept walking. He'd been walking for several weeks, and his food supply was starting to run out. He had enough to last him about three days. He had to find more as soon as possible. Surprisingly, finding food still wasn't his main goal. He needed it to survive, but there was something else that was far more important to him. His wife and daughter were in New Orleans when he left for that hunting trip. This was where he was headed. He was starting to think he'd gone the wrong direction, but he was reassured when he saw buildings on the horizon. This was it. He finally made it.

Damian crossed his arms defensively over his chest, idly observing the woman utilising a ladder to scramble a rooftop closer. It was effective, and porbably a lot safer than what he was doing, but he doubted that she'd be able to run very fast or very far while carrying that, nor would he have a great deal of time to place the ladder correctly if there were walkers trying to grab her. To each their own, he supposed. There was no threat coming from her, but still he remained tense and wary, looks could be deceiving, her friends might even have laid an ambush for him if he came too close, so for the moment he had no intention of heading any closer to the woman. Though his arms were crossed over his chest, it would take but a couple of seconds for him to draw either one of the twin katana's on his back out of their seathes or fling a throwing knife, though at the current distance he doubted that he'd be able to hit her.

"Hey." He responded, not sounding too enthusiastic, his distrust clearly showing in the tone of his voice. "There's only me currently." He chose his answer carefully, if there was a threat of potential allies, she might think twice on attacking him if that thought was anywhere in her at all." What about you? And you got any bites on you?" He asked directly, not wasting time with courtesies. If she was honest and admitted having a bite on her, he wouldn't even bother to interact with her any further and be on his way again before she'd be able to say much else.

"Nope, no bites. So if it's just you, does that mean you like being alone? Or is it just because no one likes you?" she asked teasingly. Before he could reply she pointed at his two swords. "Whoa! Where did you get those from?" She started to put the ladder to the next house closer to the man. "I'm sorry, I'm being a bit rude, my name's Holly, and yours?" Holly could swear she heard someone say something from below. She looked down and saw a man who she could have sworn said, "Spoooky ghost!" At first she suspected him to be a friend of the roof man, and was planning on attacking her. Then she realized that he just gave his position away for the sake of a joke and thought it unlikely. I probably shouldn't give away his position just in case the roof man turns out to be a bad guy. If he attacked her, the guy could help her out, or run away. she thought.

Rob frowned, He wanted that to give some type of reaction, however he soon realized that was good thing. Just in case the other roof person attacks, he probably won't notice him. Rob walked around the house, and sprinted towards the row of houses, just to be sure the guy couldn't see him. He gave the female strangers a tilt of the head. He wasn't sure what she wanted to do, she could be wanting to attack, or ambush him with people that could be hiding. He bit his lip as he took a glance inside the house he was next to, nothing. 'Oh well' he thought.
He wondered if he should announced his position to the other man, 'let's just see how this pans out'. Gripping his baseball bat, Rob silently looked at the two strangers