The Walking Dead

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Whispers_of_imagination, Apr 21, 2013.

  1. Shane Dawson. Diary log, entry 1. 5 days after infection.

    I've heard many people use expressions in my life. Some of them were good. Some of them were bad. And some were just downright funny. But on this day, a certain expression comes to my mind. As I write this, seated next to the blood-stained corpses of some freshly killed walkers, I see the phrase as clear as day. "Hell on earth." It was usualy used in a dramatic expression to describe a horrible day. Maybe a day filled with financial woes. Perhaps one that involved losing a child. Maybe divorce. All of these did seem like Hells on earth to me, at one time. But the day that I witnessed a man who was eaten alive by a horde of gore spattered dead people, screaming and calling for help as his insides were consumed right before his eyes, changed my perception on the matter dramatically.

    My name is Shane Dawson. I'm a father and an ex-employee for Cox Communications. Or.....I was. I lived a normal life, before the outbreak, just like anybody else. Worked hard to make a livin'. Worked hard to please my family. Tried to enjoy life in the process. Every day wasn't exactly a wonderland, but I can honestly say that I preferred my neighbor bringing me brownies, rather than breaking into my house with the intent to eat my face.

    It's hard to believe that just five days ago, my greatest worry was my excessive waistline. Chyeah. Priorities, eh? Anywhoo, I better stop writing for now. Darkness is approaching, and the streets are gonna be filled with walkers. Not the best time to write a novel. Will write more as soon as I reach the gas station safe house.

    Clicking his pen into its retracted position, Shane stood up hurriedly, shoving his journal into his backpack. Once he had stowed it, he closed the pack up, hoisting it onto his back. Sighing heavily and rolling his head, Shane drew his gun. Though he had already cleared the house, judging by the bullet riddled zombies laying at his feet, he kept his weapon aimed and ready. Walkers had a bad habit of turning up when you least expected them. He had learned that the hard way. With quickness, he began to do a last minute search of the home he had entered, checking for anything that might be useful.

    Finding nothing but a flashlight and a pack of chewing gum in one of the kitchen drawers, Shane responded to his luck with a frustrated grunt. "Figures." he said aloud to himself, making his way to the front door window to check if the street was clear. He never got the good stuff. The last lucky day he could remember was the day that his boss accidentally calculated his cable fee wrong. And even that didn't last very long. Opening the door slowly, a breeze floated into the house, ruffling his hair a bit. It smelled fresh and inviting.

    Then Shane caught the sound of the moans of the dead and everything inviting about the dusky evening faded away. About thirty of them were wandering the streets, lifeless eyes wandering sightlessly, gaping mouths quivering hungrily. Gunshots sounded in the distance. He thought he could hear faint screams as well. Cocking his 9mm softly, Shane settled into a low crouch. A broken and disabled car sat in the middle of the road. If he could get to it, it would provide him with some cover.

    Reaching into his pocket, Shane pulled out his phone. The backlight shone dimly as he unlocked the slide screen. "Low battery" flashed momentarily. Sighing, Shane closed the warning message. Going to his Map App, he reviewed the route he was taking to the gas station. It wasn't far. Just down the road, and to the left. Turning his phone off again, conserving the precious battery life, Shane readied himself to move.
  2. Alex would have come across the safe house gas station on the second day. for the next three days he waited just 30 yards from it in hopes of more survivors to come by. the stronghold he built was just 3 car hoods propped up with sticks cornering him to a wall of a store building.

    (sch sch sch sch)sound of normal foot steps. "could that be a human. from his kneeling position he stands holding a screw driver. he looks at his watch "almost 8" he watches as a figure of a man would be walking toward the gas station .. alex would stand there watching.
  3. Okay. 1. 2. 3....GO!

    Launching like a rocket, Shane scurried from the doorway, backpack ruffling a little louder than he would have liked. He wouldn't have risked a run like this in any other situation. Seeing as he only had a short distance to cover, he decided it was worth the risk. A few growls came from his left as Shane drew closer and closer to the car. Crap. Looking over his shoulder as he sprinted, he saw three walkers making a slow turn towards him. Picking up his pace, Shane somersaulted towards the car, rolling right up next to the drivers seat door. Chest heaving, Shane took a few moments to recover from his life-or-death run. He had never been in very good shape. And he could never really handle stress. But when a situation demanded him to have both athleticism AND a level-head, he really got worked up.

    Breath slowing, Shane held his pistol against his shoulder. Those walkers seemed to have missed him. Pressing his back harder against the cold metal of the car, he closed his eyes. Better be sure. Slowly and surely, he peeked his head up into the car window. Coming face to face with a walker that was seated in the drivers seat. "RAAAARGH!!" it roared, arms flailing wildly against the glass. Dropping back down, Shane wildly eyed the road to the gas station. That walker was going to alert the whole dang block. And he didn't want to be anywhere nearby when it did. Standing up, Shane broke into a full on sprint, backpack ruffling much louder as he did. More than several growls came from behind him, accompanied by the shuffling of feet. Smiling to himself as he heard the walkers in pursuit, adrenaline pumping, Shane gripped his pistol a little tighter. So it was a race now.

    After a short sprint, Shane came to the end of the road. Turning around quickly, he saw about ten walkers dragging themselves towards him. They were a good ways off, but that didn't mean he should get comfortable any time soon. Looking towars the gas station, Shane groaned. At least fifty walkers were prowling about the gas pumps. And yet the station was his only chance of survival. He had no choice but to find a way in. Taking a left, he sprinted softly down the road, halting about ten feet from the crowd of flesh-eaters. Surveying his surroundings for anything that might help him avoid confrontation, Shane spotted a tree that sat directly next to the gas station. Climbing it just might give him access to the roof, and provide him a place of safety for the night. Holstering his pistol, Shane ren towards it and began to climb.
  4. Alex would have watch the actions saying human to himself he observes him for a hour total. once he has an opening he he gathers some of his things leaving the heavy stuff and silently moves..

    Going step by step iin hopes that he makes no noise"eureka" he thinks he stumbles across a glass bottle he launches it in the opposite direction . the horde of zombies begin to walk that way .... mad dash for the tree screw driver still in hand. he climbed the tree slowly .."hey were you bitten and are you friendly .. iv run in to to many wierdoos in these couple days" not trying to ramble on and on i stop talking and wait for a response.

    “Oh for fuck’s sakes…” The young woman rammed her foot into the car door for the fourth time, only managing to make another long crack in the glass. She slumped back against the seat, a groan caught in her throat. Of all the scenarios she could have fathomed for how to start off the zombie apocalypse, this was the least favorable of all the outcomes. Her dark eyes leveled a hateful glare at the handcuffs binding her sore wrists then swept to the side to toss an equally venomous look to the cage keeping her from the front seat of the battered cop car. One might have thought a holding cell in the local police station would have been one of the safer places to weather a zombie outbreak, but the cop who’d drug her from it and the safety of the station had thought otherwise.

    Her crimes had been minimal, public drunkenness and an assault charge against her asshole boyfriend probably would have amounted to a slap on the wrist if the world hadn’t gone to shit.

    Jezebel groaned weakly. Of course this jackass cop had mowed straight into a horde of the ‘walkers’ or so she’d heard the other policemen call them. Of course the car had flipped eight or nine times down an overpass only to smash against hard concrete. And of course the douche wad wasn’t wearing a seatbelt and was probably dead. Five days had passed since the outbreak, one since the young woman had been hauled into the car in cuffs, she was beginning to think the officer had less than pure intentions in only taking along a female prisoner, and almost four hours since she’d woken up with a gash on her forehead and a splitting headache.

    The brunette sniffled, feeling a sudden wash of emotions tearing at the edge of her thoughts. She leaned forward, against the headrest and fighting the urge to give into rage or misery. She was going to die here, not from a zombie bite or in an epic battle for supplies or something, but due to starvation of being trapped in this piece of shit cop car. “What the hell…” She whimpered. Her near catharsis was interrupted by a scuffling sound in the front seat. She lifted her head, teary brown eyes drifting over to where officer douchebag was slumped. The guy was covered in blood, and from what she’d seen by mashing her face against the cage, his arm was wrenched in an unnatural angle. He should be dead…

    Jezebel shouted when he lifted his head, eyes foggy with death and the virus, or at least she assumed it was a virus. The cop turned and lifted his good arm to shake at the cage, groaning and hissing inhumanly as he attempted to get to the girl trapped on the other side. “Oh god.” She had yet to be so close to one of them, and it was not a comforting sight. She pressed her back to the seat, putting as much distance between herself and the walker as possible. “Keep your head.” She whispered, returning her gaze to the window she’d been working on. “Come on Jezebel.” She muttered and reared her foot back once again.

    She lost track of how many times she rammed her foot, alternating every few kicks lest she exhaust one leg completely. She grew used to the zombie’s blubbering, able to ignore as she mindlessly worked at the window. Her eyes had drifted close in boredom when the sound of shattering glass drew her attention. She jerked her foot back and repressed a redneckish urge to whoop with excitement.
  6. Alex herd the glass and looked behind the station to find a street with an unturned police car he sees a women get out and stand to her feet .... This is one of those moments alex thinks to himself .. Should I risk my life for a girl.. May be the onlyone for years.. He climbes down and makes his way to her telling the man"iwill be back" once nearing her "are u bitten ?" He noticea her handcuffs n bloody hands... He rethinks his decision... But seeing herr face in the moonlight he couldnt turn his back on her ... "follow me" alex runs to the tree weather she follows or not he pauses at the bottom to see if she followed .. But before going back he checks the trunk and finds a poliece pump action twelevegague and a bag he grabs it and runs
  7. (ok)
    Alex continues to wait as the man gambles with his thoughts
  8. Shane hopped onto the tree trunk, arms extended to grab hold of one of the branches overhead. Ascending in his leap, time momentarily slowed, his hands clawed at thin air. Then...thump. He grasped the wood firmly, tightening his grip and hoisting himself up. Seating himself in a crouched position, Shane turned, imagining that he had heard someone speak to him. As if by chance, he looked down. Just below him was a person, gazing intently up at him, screw driver in hand.

    He nearly fell off the branch from fright. Pointing his 9mm at the figure, Shane prepared to fire.

    "hey were you bitten and are you friendly .. iv run in to to many wierdoos in these couple days"

    As he heard these words, he breathed a sigh of relief. Wiping his forehead with his free hand, Shane lowered his weapon. For a moment, he had thought these fleshbags were learning how to climb trees. "Sorry about that," he began quietly, maintaining a safe volume of speech, "you scared me. And no, I'm not bitten. As for the friendly part, well, that all depends on you. As long as you keep your hands to yourself and your screw driver where I can see it, we shouldn't have any problems."
  9. The young woman took several long minutes to wriggle mostly unscathed through the broken glass, the walker trapped in the front screeching all the while. She took a moment to sit on the grass and get her bearings, taking deep breaths of fresh night air. In all her years of living with a drunken mother in a run down trailer, of all her years letting the worst sorts of boys chase her, of all the years of flippant hatred for peace and quiet , in that moment she wanted nothing more than to settle down and sober up. But she didn’t quite have the option, so she got to her feet and set her quick mind to work.

    She knew everything she would need was located in the trunk. To get to the trunk she’d need the keys. The keys were in the car with Officer Death, and her hands were handcuffed behind her back, the key being in the zombie cop’s belt. Which meant she’d have to face a zombie without her arms, which was a highly unappealing prospect. She exhaled and sighed. “Saddle up Jezebel.” She murmured, taking her grandmother’s advice to heart as she laced her legs through her looped arms, which at least allowed her hands to be in front of her.

    She hurried around to the passenger’s side without hesitation, knowing waiting would only give her more anxiety. It was easy enough to open the door, and a single obscene comment was enough to get the undead police officer dragging himself towards her. Jezebel’s stomach lurched, never had she seen a dead boy in motion, and this thing was gruesome. His arm was badly twisted, dangling limply in the socket with splinters of bone poking through the graying flesh. To her distant delight his legs were also mangled, one uselessly backwards and the other bashed all to hell. With only one half usable leg and a single good arm, the zombie drug itself out of the vehicle, leaving a smear of gore on the front seat.

    The brunette steeled herself, the same way she did before a fist fight or a one night stand, and began, for the second time in that impossibly long day, to put her feet to work. The zombie clung to its undead life, gargling and howling even as its head was smashed to a bloody pulp. In the aftermath, Jezebel numbly crouched and dug the cuff key from the officer’s belt, forcing herself to stare at the brain and blood spattered across the grass and across her boot and paint leg. She was a smart girl, and she knew there was more of this to come.

    Unbound, she set to work. Fetching the car key first, she unlocked the glove compartment and center console. She laid a map on the front seat, two boxes of standard issue pistol ammo, a slim tazer, and a mobile radio. She searched the body next, finding a pistol and an extra clip, a box of cigarettes and a lighter, and a flask filled with bruning ammo. The long awaited trunk followed, and here she found her worries sated. She tugged a black bag from the floor, rifling through it to find a first aid kit, flares, a couple of MREs, a flashlight, more pistol ammo, a heavy water-proof pull over jacket and a standard issue shotgun with matching ammo in the bag. “Well shit.” She mumbled, shocked by her sudden turn in luck.

    It was simple to pull on the jacket over her impractical wife-beater, simpler still to pack the back with her pilfered supplies and strap the pistol on her hip. She wished desperately for a close-quarter weapon, one to keep things quiet and stealthy, but that would have to wait. With little holding her to the battered car, she started into the woods surrounding the overpass, following the highway without openly exposing herself.
  10. Mandy and her brother (need someone to play him) had barricaded themselves in a small run down store not far from where the others now were. They were heading towards the safe house but her brother had fallen and broke his leg pretty badly. They were only a few blocks away and she wished she could make it but she knew he had to rest. They stayed the night there with no food and now they had to leave. "Josh wake up." She said quietly shaking him slightly knowing he would not like to get up and start moving around. Surprisingly enough the blood from his leg had not attracted any zombies at least not yet. Grabbing a backpack with a few things she put it on and grabbed her pocket knife she used for a weapon.
  11. Alex chu kled as he thpught the statement about the screwdriver was kindof funny... "i dont mind keeping my ha.ds in eye sight.. " he looks down seeing thw dead his eyws veer ack up and he egins to climb on e reachingthe male who was in the way he waits for him to slide over .... being to trusting he gathers his things and lays day and looks upat the night sky only after looking over the rokf.

    He saw two sections seperated what looked like the males items and pieces of cloth and food cpntainers leftbehond by others. "Hey so what do u plan to do with your life"?still looking up his hands propped under his head holding it up
  12. "Audio log. Day one. Im going to start keeping track of what has been going on with everything for however long this will last. I dont know how long I have been surviving, but I wish I had a gun at this point. All I am left with is my old faithful baseball bat and a dull machete. I lost my wet stone a while back. Im running low on food, but I've managed to keep a good supply of water. My friends are dead or they just plain left me. I don't know what to do anymore. I still have two and a half boxes of matches. It is currently raining. It is time to start moving. Hopefully I will live to see another entry. My name is Jackson Scales. I am still alive." *Click*

    Jack grabs his bat and puts his bag over his shoulders. "This will not be fun." He states as he sneaks out the back door of the old hotel. "Welcome to hell..." He mutters to himself as he walks down the ally way, keeping a tight grip on his bat. He hadn't seen any other survivors since his friends left. He starts to question his faith as he looks around. "No fair god would bring this hell to earth. Where to now?" He starts to walk towards the harbor district, thinking any survivors would stay near water.