TWDAP
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GWEN FOXLIN
Supplies were running low. All of them… sans water, seeing as the Foxlin Farm had two wells on it's property. Bullets, however, didn't grow out of the earth. And unfortunately, the crops they managed to plant weren't looking too well. Gwen ran a hand through her hair, attempting half heartedly to untangle the mess that it'd become. Giving up quickly and braiding it as it was, she shrugged into a thick flannel and re-laced her hiking boots.
Gwen grabbed a few last minute items from her room, shoved them into a backpack and walked into the living room of her family's home. De was nowhere to be seen, as was James, but her brother, Grant, was in the kitchen filling up extra canteens of water. He didn't say anything, even though he knew she was there. It was always the same -- whenever she left the farm to scavenge Grant would sulk, frustrated that she was "putting herself in danger."
As if the world wasn't already dangerously infested with the dead who had a biting fetish.
She rolled her eyes. "You and James gunna' finish the cabin while we're gone?"
He let out a grunt but nodded his head.
"What about the exterior fences? I think some stakes will be okay for now, especially the northern side, it's--"
"Yeah, we're aware Gwen." Grant cut through, his voice laced with annoyance and worry.
"Well, whatever y'all do, be safe. I love y'all." She cleared her throat. "We'll be back soon Grant, one week tops. We have to get some supplies."
Her brother nodded his head, grabbed the spare canteens and walked around to give her a small, one armed hug. 'I know,' was all he said before walking out of the front door.
She followed him out onto the porch where James and De were waiting.
"You 'bout ready De?" Gwen asked, walking down the stairs to toss the backpack into the backseat of their truck. It was a handy thing, a two-and-a-half door, extended cab truck that used to be her pa's. It was a beauty, if you overlooked the tri color paint job and the over sized tires.
"We prolly wanna head out before it gets any later. We can eat lunch on the way."
SAM & STORMY
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Samantha crouched inside a pantry, heart thumping inside her ears, perspiration and fear soaking her. She prayed to whatever deity that was listening to protect her. Or at least give her the strength to defend herself.
Footsteps sounded again. Coming down the stairs. They were heavy, one after the other. Left. Right. Left. Right.
Determined.
She looked through the crack of the doors. Stormy was crouched behind the island counter with nowhere to go, nowhere to run without exposing himself to whoever was coming down the stairs. Her heart skipped a beat and Sam clenched the knife between her hands even tighter. No walker made that much noise… Sam looked through the crack again, made eye contact with Stormy. He flashed the .45 they'd found two weeks ago. There had been a cache of supplies, including two full clips. The pair took it without thinking anything of it.
She shook her head once. Twice. A third time. And then mouthed, Not yet.
They waited with bated breaths… Waited for their fates to be revealed.
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DELILAH DUSKI
Delilah sat casually on the railing, one leg crossed over the other as her grandpapa reiterated for maybe the twenty seventh time about how the farm wasn't a permanent solution to all this. It wasn't... but where the hell else are you gonna find wells with drinkable water? Gwen's joining them out on the porch was an answered prayer, but De knew her grandpa well enough to never show him that was how she felt.
"Hmph. Lunch huh? I don't suppose Grant's in there cooking some fuckin pot pie for us while you two are gone." James spat with the roll of his eyes. He stood with his back towards Gwen, arms propped up against the banister. Delilah cringed. Her grandfather had never been the friendliest guy.
"Sounds good to me. Let's get going." Delilah sighed, mouthing a quick sorry for her grandfather's behavior afterwards. De stooped down to pick up her empty rucksack from off the floor and walked back to the door as she slung the bag over her back.
Delilah opened it and shouted to the only one still left in the house. "Hey Grant! We're leaving. Stay safe alright?"
Not waiting for his reply she turned back, gave her grandpa a hug and said her farewells. She seemed like she was in a hurry but it was only because she didn't want to be around for the next dumb, blatantly offensive thing that would come out her grandpapa's mouth.
Alongside Gwen she walked over to the Foxlin's truck and situated herself in the front passenger seat. The doors closed and the engine came to life and finally, De felt like she talk without an ounce of hesitation.
"Shit. Sorry about James he's just... I think he's just angry that it has to be me out there. Instead of him." She chuckled softly before planting her head on the dashboard, mumbling as she joked. "God I hope they don't kill each other while we're gone."
THOMAS RANIER
"Can I just...like ask why the hell we thought this was a good idea coming out this far?" Her voice low and raspy as it came through the radio latched loosely on his belt. Thom stopped for a moment at the end of the staircase, hoisting his Winchester in one hand to answer Simmons.
"You find anything useful for us?" He answered calmly, his eyes scanning what remained of a nice middle class living room. Thom walked over to the couch as he waited for a response and contemplated sitting down. He continued speaking when Simmons was taking longer to answer than usual. "Uh...this neighborhood is pretty much picked clean, I was hoping it'd be different for yours."
More silence. Sudden wave of worry. "Simmons?"
"Shit. Yeah..yeah I'm here. Sorry." Her voice suddenly came through, out of breath, and accompanied by the sound of a car in motion. "Those bikers from two weeks ago? Yeah I saw them driving into town from the rooftop of the supermarket. I'm hiding the car."
"Look it's fine just get out of town as soon as you can. We both know they aren't afraid to torch a running car so long as it isn't theirs." Thom cursed but not over the radio, he stalked a little closer towards the kitchen, intending to go through the house's backdoor once he was done with his instructions. "We aren't taking any risks here. I'll walk through town and get to you."
"Thom that's gonna take all day! Are you crazy?" She interjected. "If I'm quick enough I can-"
"No. You heard the plan and that's whats happening. Get out of town and I'll find you. We go home together."
He sighed and turned off his radio. Knowing Simmons she would've just tried and argue some more but he was adamant and she knew that. But damn...why couldn't things ever be easy. Gun held firmly and ready in his hands, the older man stepped into the kitchen.
@rissa
GWEN FOXLIN
Gwen let out a soft chuckle as she put the truck into first gear and rolled down the limerock driveway. Her father had once told her the near five hundred foot driveway was the reason he'd bought the property in the first place. Picturesque, was the word he had used. The land was picturesque... Lined with live oaks, palm trees, and cattails that grew out of the waterlogged swamplands sprinkled across the four hundred acre property. Picturesque.
Well, not anymore.
Sharpened and fire hardened stakes lined the perimeter of the interior acreage. Before her dad had succumbed to a walker bite, they as a family had finished most of it -- five acres surrounding the barns, one of the wells, the house, the pool, and the greenhouse. Various weapons were hidden and in plain sight; waiting and willing to shed once-dead-blood.
"Don't worry too much about James, De." Gwen said with a consoling smile. "Honestly, he reminds me of my pa'." She chuckled again before continuing. "Come to think of it, that's probably why he and Grant can't be in the same room with each other."
She pressed down on the clutch and put Shirley into second gear. She didn't bother with a turn signal, who the fuck was there to care? Turning left onto the old county road, Gwen set the truck at a steady pace, shifting gears as they went. For a while they rode in silence, rode the wave of comfortable paranoia, sealing themselves for what they needed to do. Gwen glanced in the backseat, at the meager supplies they could spare for their scouting trip. It was bare minimum. Four 1-gallon milk jugs of clean water, two canteens, some dried jerky and her own… barely edible bread wraps, and a half a bag of oranges, peaches, and apples. The only fruits Foxlin Farm had ever been able to grow. That, and enough fuel to get them there and back.
"Ya' think we should try that one pawn shop on 19 before heading out to Ocala?" Gwen asked with a raised brow, wondering if it'd be worth the risk.
SAM & STORMY
Three things happened at once: Sam realized exactly who "those bikers" were, a man stepped into the kitchen, gun trained, and Stormy, the idiot he was, shot up into a defensive stance and leveled the .45 right at him. Her heart thudded once, twice. With a burst from the pantry, Sam stepped forward, hands raised, blade pointing to the ground.
"Put yer damn gun down Stormy." Sam said with a glance over her shoulder. "If this guy knows about those bikers and he's runnin', them we gotta go too."
She glanced over at the man with hesitance in her eyes. Even though she vouched for the man, who was she to say this guy wasn't some kind of murderer? Rapist? Or even worse -- one of the crazy ones…
But no, he sounded reasonable, protective even, as he talked back to the woman on the other line of that walkie. Nodding to the pantry she just exploded out of, she spoke almost pleadingly.
"There's a bit of canned food in there. We can split it, ya' know, then head on our separate ways… Nothin' bad has to happen here, ain't nobody gotta get angry or trigger happy."
She put a bit of emphasis on the end of her sentence and glared pointedly at Stormy. He merely shrugged and took two hesitant steps towards her. He'd lowered his gun but she knew that look, and she knew he wasn't going to put the gun away.
"How do we know this guy ain't one of those bikers and just puttin' on a show or some shit?"
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DELILAH DUSKI
The pawn shop, the pawn shop... Delilah took a moment to try and recall which exact one her companion was talking about. It only really clicked when she remembered seeing that the clothing section hadn't been completely raided when they first passed it by. For a moment she felt quite sheepish--thinking about something as frivolous as style how many months into the world's end, but still. It wouldn't hurt to check the place out.
"Pawnshops aren't the first places that usually get hit," De reasoned calmly, a certain optimism rising in her voice when she continued on. "But maybe that's a good thing, you know? It's possible that looters missed something cuz they had their eyes set on bigger fish."
Delilah was talking about the large hardware store just a short drive away from the pawnshop. Howe's. The place was huge and set up like a goddamn apocalypse fort but the rumors that came from the place were nothing but comforting.
When it was just her and James in that beat up RV they ran into survivors on occasion. All of them knew about Howe's. From a few she was told that the place was filled up to the brim with walkers, that people were told to gather there when it all began and they got trapped. Forced to survive by eating each other only to end up eating each other as walkers anyways.
But at the same time she's also heard that inside that construction department store was cache after cache of untouched supplies.
The only thing De was certain of though, was that anyone who she knew actively went there never came back. She shook her head at the thought. She didn't want to be anywhere near Howe's. "Let's just do a quick run of the pawn shop. Nothing too thorough... just grab what's important and hit the road as soon as possible."
THOMAS RANIER
Thom knew at that very moment he should've been damn well more careful. Even though he did not get enough time to draw appropriately, his reactionary ability was honed enough that the fisherman had his winchester ready for a single hip shot. It wasn't the most accurate or reliable application of his old worn rifle but you had to resort to what you resort to.
And in this world, sometimes a hip shot is all you really need.
Thom remained unnervingly quiet as he stood before them. He knew nothing of the duo, not their motivation, ability or hell--not even their level of sanity. At the very least the younger woman seemed more reasonable than her friend, but ultimately the less they knew about him the better. He decided aloof was his best option.
"I take two cans and head north. You take whatever is left and then head south." Thom suddenly spoke up, his voice serious and commanding. His blue eyes darted between the both of them before settling for a moment on the man with the gun. "I'll leave first. Pull that trigger son and I promise you I won't be the only going down today."
"I'll make sure you live to regret that decision if you decide that's the one you want to." With that, Thomas began making his way into the pantry. He walked slowly and backwards so he wouldn't have to turn his back on them. Stepping into the smaller sectioned off room he glanced around quickly. There was only three cans total.
He took two without hesitation and joined them back in the kitchen but only so he could make his last declaration. "Don't follow me. Trust me I'll know."
Thom had zero intentions of making friends. The only thing on his mind was Simmons and getting as far away from the biker gang as possible. Like he had originally planned, the leader of the Alamo group left through the back door. He considered wishing them good luck as he stepped out but decided otherwise.
While it was the only thing he was willing to offer them, luck doesn't do shit when your stomach starts growling.
@rissa
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GWEN FOXLIN
Gwen nodded her head as she spoke, her long dark hair bouncing with every movement. She'd need to remind herself -- and De -- that it needed to be trimmed sooner rather than later. Long hair was a hazard, even if tied up and braided back… Or maybe it was just her own damned luck. If you could call it that, of course.
"That's what I'm thinking as well. We cleared most of 19… Well, as clear as we could get it without constantly checking up on it. That was before my pa' died of course. The place is probably crawlin' with walkers again."
She cleared her throat and glanced in the rear-view mirror, guilt eating it's way through her stomach. If she hadn't tripped… So fucking cliche, of course… If she hadn't tripped though, her pa' would still be alive. And though Gwen was happy to still be here, she wondered if her brother, and even James and De, would be safer if he hadn't died.
Throwing the negative thoughts away, Gwen pushed down the clutch and switched into third gear. The truck went barreling down the old county road. She barely slowed down when she turned onto 19. It was eerie, how quiet the world could be when more than half of its populace was dead… and reincarnated into flesh-craving monsters.
It didn't take long to get to the pawnshop after that. It wasn't on the main drag, and Gwen was partially grateful for that. Survivors were just as dangerous, if not more so than walkers and no matter what they said, were always out for themselves and their own. Which, Gwen supposed with a small shrug to herself, wasn't that different from how she felt.
She turned down a paved road and eased off the gas, put Shirley in first gear and coasted all the way to the pawnshop. Gwen parked a few yards from the entrance, turned off the engine, and gave De a thumbs up.
"You ready?"
SAM & STORMY
"Wait!" Sam called out, her voice full of panic.
She followed the man outside, though it was probably a bad idea. Sheathing her knife, so the man would know she wasn't thinking of ambushing him, she walked down the steps with her hands raised but a determined (or rather, stubborn) look graced her face.
"Look, I don't know how far you've been out here, but we can't go south. We just came from there, alright? There's a horde coming up the east coast, we couldn't even manage to sneak past them, that's why we're heading northwest." She sighed deep, lowering her hands slightly.
"I know you have no reason to trust me, alright -- I get it. I don't exactly trust you either." Sam flinched, bad memories resurfacing. "But I've encountered survivors who wouldn't have hesitated to shoot us… Or do worse."
Sam glanced behind her, hearing light footfalls. Stormy walked out of the front door, arms crossed, gun still in his hand. She frowned at him, wondering what the hell his deal was. But she didn't have time to figure it out… She needed to think fast, before the man decided they weren't worth the breath in their lungs.
"You said you scouted this neighborhood, right? Didn't find anything? That's cause Stormy and I already found most of it. We have a cache down the road, a few blocks north. Look, we've encountered those bikers before, alright? They're killers, even before the shit hit the fan. We only got away because the guy who found us liked to drink. He got a lil' drunk and I kicked in his teeth. He's still alive though, I know it.
"We don't have a vehicle, but if you can take us to our cache, you can have half, yeah? We'll only be able to keep what we can carry anyways."