[HEADING=1]Chapter 1: St. Louis Blues[/HEADING]
[small]For those interested in joining...[/small]
[HEADING=2]October 18th, 201 [small]9:38:02[/small][/HEADING]
The End of Days. The Apocalypse. Ragnarok. Z-Day. Armageddon. Didn't really matter what you called it, 'cause it all happened. Now, here we are. Just animals, vultures picking off the rotting carcass that we once knew as civilized living. Hell, you could hardly even call us men before the outbreak. We were all just ants, insignificant little things that crawled around in the dirt, following whichever lines we felt suited us. Ants with more technology then we knew what to do with, more food than we ever needed, and much too much time on our hands. We took too many things for granted, never having realized what we had until it was all taken from our grasp and torn apart right before our very eyes.
That bus ride you felt took too much time out of your busy schedule? That burger you felt the need to send back because it was more cooked than you'd have preferred? That half-empty can of soda you tossed simply because you thought it sat out for too long and had long since gone flat? It's funny how you don't think much of all that until you're barely scraping by with the remainder of a cold can of beans and some water that you're certain has more dirt than your fingernails can hide. Then again, when you've reached that level of desperation, few things cross your mind other than how far you'll go to ensure you'll remain among the living...
[HEADING=3]Ted Scheffield[/HEADING]
Five months ago, Ted would never have even imagined he'd find himself sleeping in an abandoned freight car. Now, it was a Godsend that he managed to reach one to get him through the night. Darkness had fallen just before he could reach Brooklyn, and it was too much of a risk to press on alone, especially in the dark. With a light for comfort and sleeping bag for warmth, the relative safety of the train car all but made up for the fact he'd neither food nor water that day. Fortunately, he'd lasted the night without unwelcome guests and was awoken by a bright shaft of sunshine that lit his face from the hole in the heavily rusted roof. It didn't take long before he was completely awake, what with the cool air and deep growling in the pit of his stomach pulling his mind from the remnants of his dream and into the real world.
[HEADING=3]Ashlyn Tarpley[/HEADING]
Well, there she was, leaving the ticking time bomb that was the small community of well-armed Walmartians and heading off for safer pastures. Route 231 was littered with abandoned cars, many of which were wrecked, along with assorted debris, human remains included. Visibility up the road was diminished by the low clouds that misty morning, but all appeared to be still. The silence that enveloped the surrounding area was eerie, but not entirely unwelcome. No sound meant no movement, be it the living or the undead, and either could mean bad news. She may be well armed, but could she defend herself if need be? Shooting experience only goes so far, and the noise could certainly attract the wrong attention. Without a doubt, there'd be a time she'd have to test her mettle. Though when that time would come around, no one could say for certain. Despite the danger, there was something that drove her, something other than need for safety. That was her personal quest for the savory tons of liquid gold that the Anheuser-Busch Brewery housed.
[HEADING=3]Alex Mathis[/HEADING]
Honestly, how someone could manage to overshoot a place like St. Louis was beyond most human understanding, and yet Alex had managed to accomplish that feat. He'd trekked several miles into Illinois before coming to the conclusion that he strayed too far north before crossing the Mississippi and found himself passing right over Mound City. By the time he managed to turn off of I-270 and make his way down the aptly-named Lewis and Clark Boulevard, the skies grew dark and he sheltered himself in a storage facility just off the road. On a makeshift bed of old clothes and bedding, he slept 'til morning and continued his journey, thankfully heading in the right direction this time around.
[HEADING=3]Ryker Hampton[/HEADING]
The former convict had been making his way through the St. Louis suburbs, traversing through the backyards so as not to leave himself out in the open. His path through the many wooden fences was made easy by the fact someone decided to take the same route earlier, though in a black Ford F-150 XLT. He knew it not by the splintered boards and thick tire treads that drew out the trail ahead, but by the fact that the truck was currently engine deep into the trunk of a tree with the driver splayed on the wrecked hood. At least the top half of him was - the bottom half was sitting in the seat, his foot was still on the gas, and a whole mess of blood and innards were being used as dashboard polish. The road had long since ended for the driver, and it seemed Ryker's path had come to a close as well. Beyond nature's road block, the yard had opened up to the narrow neighborhood road. And just beyond that road, was Lafayette Park. Not entirely concealing, but not terribly open either. Would certainly be much better for keeping a low profile than walking along the roads, that much was clear.
[HEADING=3]Naomi Blackwell[/HEADING]
It was a good plan to stick to the woodlands, to remain hidden by the treeline, but that could only get someone so far. While closing the distance between her and Plaza Frontenac fairly well, she would have have to settle for small town roads as she drew nearer the urban wasteland that lied ahead. She left Edgar M. Queeny County Park through a small housing development that threw her right down the road from a large shopping center. Now her options were to either scrounge what houses were once homes or try the center up north.
[HEADING=3]Pvt. Jacob Robin[/HEADING]
Survival. That's what the man was built and trained for. At the moment, that was the only thing on his mind. He'd had minor setback in a fruitless search for food and stumbled onto a horde of the undead that was ambling through the streets of Chesterfield. Making a stand there would prove to be futile - there were simply too many of them to fight. Left with the only option of running, that's just what he did. He headed southeast, keeping just beneath the I-64 the whole way. Cutting through small forests, parking lots, and neighborhoods, he had to stop immediately after entering the lot of what appeared to be a hospital, Sisters of Mercy as the name suggested. Scanning the treeline, it appeared he had lost even the most persistent of walking corpses, at least for the time being.
[HEADING=3]Dana Nakamura[/HEADING]
As much as the drummer wished she could've been behind the wheel of something, anything, she could only walk along the barren I-270. The nearer she drew to St. Louis, the more choked the eastbound lanes became. The head of the traffic jam was an overturned freight truck with its load of heavy metal pipes creating a blockade. Dana walked along the median, scanning the wrecked vehicles and the occasional decaying corpses that were in and around them. From the looks of things, most anything that was worth scavenging had already been scavenged. There was a large break in the conga line of cars and carcasses where an overpass had completely collapsed. She stopped to look around for a moment seeing as her path was cut off momentarily and something had caught her eye. It was a brown sign with white lettering that indicated "Tri-City Speedway" was fairly near. Perhaps there were some well-kept vehicles in store, but then again, perhaps not. There was no telling for sure, but it could be worth taking a look. Either way, she certainly couldn't afford to stand at the edge of the crumbled overpass all day.
[HEADING=3]Herman Downing[/HEADING]
The untidy IT worker had wound up sheltering himself in a smoke shop called Captain Z's. The extravagant amenities were no small thing, the most prominent of which was the fact that it kept him hidden from the flesh-eating undead throughout the night. He had some provisions, though they were nothing more than meager, and that most certainly was the case with his water supply. In the dim light of the dreary day, Herman could finally see just how messed up the place really was. The walk-in humidor across the room was obviously raided in what had to be the most uncivil manner imaginable, as there was broken glass practically covering the floor. A smoking man would be most devastated to see the condition in which many of the cigars were in, having been torn and trampled in a mad scramble to grab everything in sight. Tragic destruction of fine cigars aside, it was the start of a new day, and the new struggle for survival that comes with it.
[HEADING=3]Evelyn Lanford[/HEADING]
The night was cold, but the little girl that was hardened by the harsh world deteriorating all around her managed to endure. It did, however, make it known to her that she couldn't sleep outside forever. She prepared to clamber down the tree when she caught movement or of the corner of her eye, something near the pond. Someone just sat down near the edge of water and just remained there completely still. The person's back was turned to her, so she couldn't get a clear view of it, which was somewhat relieving to know it couldn't see her. There was a good chance she could slip out unnoticed, though her only option if she was would be to run. After all, her arrows were useless, having the soft tips they were equipped with. Of course, she could wait around and see if the person moved away, though there was no telling how long that would take.
[HEADING=3]Darek Mason[/HEADING]
After having slept in the back of a cab of a freight truck, Darek wasn't particularly well-rested, but it was certainly much more comfortable than the various molded concrete structures that took up most of the square footage of the Kienstra Precast's dirt lot. The experienced climber had quite the day ahead of him, mainly scouting and scavenging - a constant task that consumed nearly every waking minute. Though given the current state of the world, calling it a job was a monumental understand. It had become a way of life - a means of living. Cold, hard facts Darek knew all too well, especially now that he was on his own.
[small]For those interested in joining...[/small]
[HEADING=2]October 18th, 201 [small]9:38:02[/small][/HEADING]
The End of Days. The Apocalypse. Ragnarok. Z-Day. Armageddon. Didn't really matter what you called it, 'cause it all happened. Now, here we are. Just animals, vultures picking off the rotting carcass that we once knew as civilized living. Hell, you could hardly even call us men before the outbreak. We were all just ants, insignificant little things that crawled around in the dirt, following whichever lines we felt suited us. Ants with more technology then we knew what to do with, more food than we ever needed, and much too much time on our hands. We took too many things for granted, never having realized what we had until it was all taken from our grasp and torn apart right before our very eyes.
That bus ride you felt took too much time out of your busy schedule? That burger you felt the need to send back because it was more cooked than you'd have preferred? That half-empty can of soda you tossed simply because you thought it sat out for too long and had long since gone flat? It's funny how you don't think much of all that until you're barely scraping by with the remainder of a cold can of beans and some water that you're certain has more dirt than your fingernails can hide. Then again, when you've reached that level of desperation, few things cross your mind other than how far you'll go to ensure you'll remain among the living...
[HEADING=3]Ted Scheffield[/HEADING]
Five months ago, Ted would never have even imagined he'd find himself sleeping in an abandoned freight car. Now, it was a Godsend that he managed to reach one to get him through the night. Darkness had fallen just before he could reach Brooklyn, and it was too much of a risk to press on alone, especially in the dark. With a light for comfort and sleeping bag for warmth, the relative safety of the train car all but made up for the fact he'd neither food nor water that day. Fortunately, he'd lasted the night without unwelcome guests and was awoken by a bright shaft of sunshine that lit his face from the hole in the heavily rusted roof. It didn't take long before he was completely awake, what with the cool air and deep growling in the pit of his stomach pulling his mind from the remnants of his dream and into the real world.
[HEADING=3]Ashlyn Tarpley[/HEADING]
Well, there she was, leaving the ticking time bomb that was the small community of well-armed Walmartians and heading off for safer pastures. Route 231 was littered with abandoned cars, many of which were wrecked, along with assorted debris, human remains included. Visibility up the road was diminished by the low clouds that misty morning, but all appeared to be still. The silence that enveloped the surrounding area was eerie, but not entirely unwelcome. No sound meant no movement, be it the living or the undead, and either could mean bad news. She may be well armed, but could she defend herself if need be? Shooting experience only goes so far, and the noise could certainly attract the wrong attention. Without a doubt, there'd be a time she'd have to test her mettle. Though when that time would come around, no one could say for certain. Despite the danger, there was something that drove her, something other than need for safety. That was her personal quest for the savory tons of liquid gold that the Anheuser-Busch Brewery housed.
[HEADING=3]Alex Mathis[/HEADING]
Honestly, how someone could manage to overshoot a place like St. Louis was beyond most human understanding, and yet Alex had managed to accomplish that feat. He'd trekked several miles into Illinois before coming to the conclusion that he strayed too far north before crossing the Mississippi and found himself passing right over Mound City. By the time he managed to turn off of I-270 and make his way down the aptly-named Lewis and Clark Boulevard, the skies grew dark and he sheltered himself in a storage facility just off the road. On a makeshift bed of old clothes and bedding, he slept 'til morning and continued his journey, thankfully heading in the right direction this time around.
[HEADING=3]Ryker Hampton[/HEADING]
The former convict had been making his way through the St. Louis suburbs, traversing through the backyards so as not to leave himself out in the open. His path through the many wooden fences was made easy by the fact someone decided to take the same route earlier, though in a black Ford F-150 XLT. He knew it not by the splintered boards and thick tire treads that drew out the trail ahead, but by the fact that the truck was currently engine deep into the trunk of a tree with the driver splayed on the wrecked hood. At least the top half of him was - the bottom half was sitting in the seat, his foot was still on the gas, and a whole mess of blood and innards were being used as dashboard polish. The road had long since ended for the driver, and it seemed Ryker's path had come to a close as well. Beyond nature's road block, the yard had opened up to the narrow neighborhood road. And just beyond that road, was Lafayette Park. Not entirely concealing, but not terribly open either. Would certainly be much better for keeping a low profile than walking along the roads, that much was clear.
[HEADING=3]Naomi Blackwell[/HEADING]
It was a good plan to stick to the woodlands, to remain hidden by the treeline, but that could only get someone so far. While closing the distance between her and Plaza Frontenac fairly well, she would have have to settle for small town roads as she drew nearer the urban wasteland that lied ahead. She left Edgar M. Queeny County Park through a small housing development that threw her right down the road from a large shopping center. Now her options were to either scrounge what houses were once homes or try the center up north.
[HEADING=3]Pvt. Jacob Robin[/HEADING]
Survival. That's what the man was built and trained for. At the moment, that was the only thing on his mind. He'd had minor setback in a fruitless search for food and stumbled onto a horde of the undead that was ambling through the streets of Chesterfield. Making a stand there would prove to be futile - there were simply too many of them to fight. Left with the only option of running, that's just what he did. He headed southeast, keeping just beneath the I-64 the whole way. Cutting through small forests, parking lots, and neighborhoods, he had to stop immediately after entering the lot of what appeared to be a hospital, Sisters of Mercy as the name suggested. Scanning the treeline, it appeared he had lost even the most persistent of walking corpses, at least for the time being.
[HEADING=3]Dana Nakamura[/HEADING]
As much as the drummer wished she could've been behind the wheel of something, anything, she could only walk along the barren I-270. The nearer she drew to St. Louis, the more choked the eastbound lanes became. The head of the traffic jam was an overturned freight truck with its load of heavy metal pipes creating a blockade. Dana walked along the median, scanning the wrecked vehicles and the occasional decaying corpses that were in and around them. From the looks of things, most anything that was worth scavenging had already been scavenged. There was a large break in the conga line of cars and carcasses where an overpass had completely collapsed. She stopped to look around for a moment seeing as her path was cut off momentarily and something had caught her eye. It was a brown sign with white lettering that indicated "Tri-City Speedway" was fairly near. Perhaps there were some well-kept vehicles in store, but then again, perhaps not. There was no telling for sure, but it could be worth taking a look. Either way, she certainly couldn't afford to stand at the edge of the crumbled overpass all day.
[HEADING=3]Herman Downing[/HEADING]
The untidy IT worker had wound up sheltering himself in a smoke shop called Captain Z's. The extravagant amenities were no small thing, the most prominent of which was the fact that it kept him hidden from the flesh-eating undead throughout the night. He had some provisions, though they were nothing more than meager, and that most certainly was the case with his water supply. In the dim light of the dreary day, Herman could finally see just how messed up the place really was. The walk-in humidor across the room was obviously raided in what had to be the most uncivil manner imaginable, as there was broken glass practically covering the floor. A smoking man would be most devastated to see the condition in which many of the cigars were in, having been torn and trampled in a mad scramble to grab everything in sight. Tragic destruction of fine cigars aside, it was the start of a new day, and the new struggle for survival that comes with it.
[HEADING=3]Evelyn Lanford[/HEADING]
The night was cold, but the little girl that was hardened by the harsh world deteriorating all around her managed to endure. It did, however, make it known to her that she couldn't sleep outside forever. She prepared to clamber down the tree when she caught movement or of the corner of her eye, something near the pond. Someone just sat down near the edge of water and just remained there completely still. The person's back was turned to her, so she couldn't get a clear view of it, which was somewhat relieving to know it couldn't see her. There was a good chance she could slip out unnoticed, though her only option if she was would be to run. After all, her arrows were useless, having the soft tips they were equipped with. Of course, she could wait around and see if the person moved away, though there was no telling how long that would take.
[HEADING=3]Darek Mason[/HEADING]
After having slept in the back of a cab of a freight truck, Darek wasn't particularly well-rested, but it was certainly much more comfortable than the various molded concrete structures that took up most of the square footage of the Kienstra Precast's dirt lot. The experienced climber had quite the day ahead of him, mainly scouting and scavenging - a constant task that consumed nearly every waking minute. Though given the current state of the world, calling it a job was a monumental understand. It had become a way of life - a means of living. Cold, hard facts Darek knew all too well, especially now that he was on his own.