Zombie Shelter (PM for invite)

I purchased this plot of land out in the middle of nowhere for a specific reason. In the Northern mountains near the Idaho/Washington/Canadian border there is a fifty acre plot of land with a 5,000 square foot cabin made of oak sits on a slight hill looking upon the blue mountains all around. The small crops of potatoes and vegetables were growing in, a small herd of goats were feeding in their enclosure, and in the chicken coup the eggs had already been gathered in the morning and the barn had the cows and a couple of horses were waiting to be used. It was quiet out except for the animals going about their business. After taking care of my chores I went down to the gate to examine the defenses.

There was a single winding road leading up to this place. It was steep and narrow, only a dedicated four wheeler could make it up and at the gate there was a pressure sensor in the road that would sound an alarm if anyone stepped on it.

There hadn't been another person sighted here for a month. I left Spokane when it became overrun. I fled for my life, leaving everything behind except the clothes on my back. I didn't have family, friends, and now nothing except my property. It had been too long without companionship, the animals couldn't talk back. If they did I would have gone insane, but there had to be others out there. We had over 300 million people in this country, if you believe the reports, and they can't all be dead already.

I had a couple zombies wander in. No serious threat. I shot and buried them nearby. They didn't have ID or anything to prove whom they were, just a couple of infected kids. Damn shame.

The perimeter of the land had a solid red brick wall three feet thick and twelve feet high with higher towers every fifty or so feet with clear lanes of fire. There were no landmines but a triple stand of concertina wire was strung up before the wall with trip flares and noise makers should anyone try to cross, but this area was much too big for me to man alone.


(This is open for everyone that is looking for a safe haven from the apocalypse. I ask that if you wish to join please send me a message describing your character, your intent and so forth BEFORE you come to the front gate. As creator of this thread I reserve the right to have big events to appear where everyone bands together or show their true colors.)

ATTENTION: To ensure that there is no confusion the order of uploading is as follows after a couple new faces decided they like to join. It goes: Myself, AmenRA, CelestrialDragon, Wolfias, and Gearhead.

Mike and Max

I had pushed the Subaru as far as it would go. I decided to stash it off the main road and camo it up with some branches I hacked off with my knife. The idiot light had came on, telling me what I could plainly see in the fuel gauge. It wasn't like gasoline had been the scarcest commodity. Even with the occassional empty filling station tank, I was still able to siphon enough gas to fill up the two plastic five gallon containers. I had another five gallons of gas left. It wasn't like I was lost or anything. I knew pretty much where I was.

In the last month or so, since the outbreak, the GPS signals had rapidly declined. I figured it was because no one was at a terminal somewhere to give constant repositioning info to the orbiting GPS satellites. So my handheld GPS unit was useless. I had a compass. I had a map. I could navigate over land. I could navigate over water.

I just needed a place to rest and re-group myself and Max. I saw the turn-off from the main road and figured it might lead to a hunter's cabin or something stuck out in the woods. So, I stashed the Subaru, got geared up, and Max and I took off on foot, headed down the winding road to..somewhere.

I had my tac vest on. It still read SHERIFF across the front in gold lettering. I had my M4 with its Aimpoint sight slung across my chest and my Glock 21C in my thigh holster. My tac vest still had my portable radio in one of the front pouches. I absently wondered why I still had that thing? It wasn't like Central Dispatch was going to answer me if I called. I had my knife, my Camelbak with water for me and Max, and a small backpack under it with some other things. Important things. Like ammo.

Max walked ahead of me. He occasionally stopped to sniff something on the ground. The German Shepherd Dog looked back at me every once in a while, checking my progress, making sure I was still there. I knew he wouldn't get too far ahead. He'd warn me if he smelled any of those creatures. He had proven himself more than a few times already, his keen sense of smell alerting me to those walking dead.

Max had been my partner on the street. Back when I was a deputy sheriff. Back when there was a world with laws to enforce and people to save. He earned his street cred several times catching the bad guys. He's earned more than that since. His low, guttural snarls in the middle of the night while we were approaching a seemingly abandoned store or gas station in some small town between here and there were his warning. The perking of the ears, the baring of his canines, the hackles raised on his back all let me know those...things...were around.

We walked the road for a bit. In the distance I could see something, a structure of some sort. I pulled out a small pair of binos from my pack, another item I had saved from my patrol car. The structure was a nice looking brick wall complete with concertina wire and observation towers. If I didn't know better I would have thought it to be a prison.

"What you think, Max?" I asked the dog. He stopped and turned to me, his ears showing him listening intently. "Should we go and say hello?"

Alli

I walked along in the forest, ducking and avoiding branches. My clothes were torn and tattered from the numerous fights with the. . . damn creatures that walked. I avoided using the word 'zombie' or 'walking dead' as much as I could. My many boot knives glistened on my belt, really the only thing holding my pants up at this point. I had a SIG down my shirt, a nice P226, and it hung between my breasts. I carried a bag that bore in horrible embroidery my initials AJC and the phrase "You Can't Take the Sky from Me." It had a few things in it- a flask of whiskey, a rudimentary first aid kit, a few bottles of water, a purifying stone, a roll of toilet paper, my wallet, a photo of me and my father, and my psychology textbook and notebook. I don't know why I still had that, it's not like I'd every complete my degree. It also had a couple of apples that I had picked about two days back and a full set of ammo and a whetstone.

I heard a rustle in the trees, and I stopped, dead in my tracks. I deftly retrieved a knife from my belt and held it loosely in my hand.

Nothing came out. I slowly crept along until I found a huge compound, with observation towers and everything. It looked like a prison, but then again, so did one of the high schools that I used to go to. I began moving closer to it, cautiously, still holding my knife in my hand to be ready at the first sign of trouble.

There was a pressure plate on the road leading up to my place, but there were none around it. I didn't have time before the uprising to install such things such as Claymores, but the walls have proven to be strong to stop the zombies, too tall to climb and they were too dumb to figure out how to use a ladder, but I checked my perimeter every hour to ensure that nothing was getting in. My only real enemy was boredom. I had read every book in my library at least once already and I did have a TV but seldom used it because the dish was now defunct and I had only a few movies that I had already watched.

After awhile of waiting inside, I grabbed my Winchester 1873 lever action and wrapped a cloth bandolier of ammunition around one shoulder and headed on out. The well just out front of the house was hand dug and filled by me and the nearest fresh water source was only a half mile down the hill, but it was steep and rocky and I do not know how well infested. going to the main gate the sliding steel door was still intact and I scanned the road and could see the slight rise in the earth where the pressure plate was, but couldn't see anyone at the moment. If someone or something stepped on the plate it would set off a red light just inside the gate and inside the house, but wouldn't set off a siren because it would give away my position to a much broader audience.

I picked this place because it was isolated though the nearest town was within range by vehicle I wanted to keep my place self sustaining as much as possible. The sky was open and it was beautiful out. I had forgotten how long I had been out here, alone. Never had family or a girlfriend, just me and my time alone.

Calvin Hobbs.

Standing a lanky 6'2 maybe 175 lbs. soaking wet dressed head to toe in out dated camo, only my hazel eyes and dark caramel skin around them revealed my mixed race. With my back against the wall in Fred's Military Surplus, a M16 with a starlight scope in my right hand, M1 Grand slung over my left shoulder. On my right hip was a Navy issue .45 and a pocket full of clips on my left hip a K-bar survival knife. A big backpack strapped down tight filled with MRE's and well thought out survival gear, across my chest a full bandoleer of clips for the M1, along with a bag of M16 mags taped front to back.

I'd kept hidden from the Zombies outside eating MRE's with Fred, who had taken me Calvin Hobbs his war buddies grandson in. He'd given me a job, told me stories of serving in Nam, teaching me how to survive and field strip every gun in Fred's Military Surplus Shop. The old man was a boozer and decided it was time to tie one on, I was worried he would have another flashback from Viet Nam again. But when he put all this prepacked gear on me I'm wearing now, I figured he'd just get too wasted or tired and just go pass out as usual.

But the old man heard and saw things I just didn't, he went for a belt fed M60 and several live grenades. Started to yell something about Charlie over running their position, rushing out the steel reinforced door before I could stop him he'd locked me inside. Watching out the little steel mesh glass window, he began blazing away cussing like a sailor.

Pulling the pin on a grenade with his remaining teeth, he lobs it into a another big crowd of Zombies. It blew sending Zombies and pieces of them in all directions, for five minutes old Fred was back in Nam giving Charlie hell. That is until the old man ran out of ammunition, tossing the M60 aside pulls the pin on another grenade. He didn't lob this one though just ran into another crowd of Zombies, he screamed ''I'm taking you to hell with me Charlie!'' and the grenade exploded in his fist.

I just stood there in shock watching in morbid fascination, it was like in the old war movies except it was Fred literally going out with a bang. I kept staring out until blood and gore splattered the little window in the steel reinforced door, all I could manage to do was let out a stunned whisper of ''Hoorah old Fred.''

Walking back into the back of the store stopped as I saw a map lay on Fred's desk, it was very clearly marked with detailed directions to a compound. Lifting the bottle of what he was drinking I took a drink and started coughing, never allowed to drink hard liquor it burned as hot as liquid fire down my throat into my belly. Setting down in Freds chair I must have fallen asleep, hearing a truck outside I bolted out the Shop door only to bounce off the trucks door.

Dizzyingly scrambling back to my feet seeing a extremely well armed man inside, he looked at me as I looked at him in surprise I really wanting in the truck now. He held a large gun aimed at me with intense eyes, mine were probably as big as saucers right about now. Zombies could be anywhere I put my hands together praying motion, he open the door and jerked his head in a motion to get in. Hopefully this guy in the truck wasn't a psychopath, but I'd rather take my changes with him than the Zombies. So yeah I clambered in without a word unless told to do otherwise, if he wanted to know who the hell I was he'd surely ask.

There was a song called "These Boots Were Made for Walking" I heard a long time ago. I think it might have been an old LP my dad had. I thought about that song while standing there before the compound and how my feet, even though I had been trudging for a little while over uneven ground, weren't hurting. I had walked a lot in the last few days, before I found the Subaru and after I had ditched my Crown Vic. I had paid a pretty penny for these boots I was wearing, and now I was really glad I did. Apparently, these boots really were made for walking.

I looked at the gated wall before me, and I looked at Max. He had walked closer to the entrance and was giving it a good sniff-over. I stepped up beside him.

I shrugged, then extended my hand to knock on the huge gate.

I saw a man and his dog- a German Shepard, I think- go up to the complex, and I gripped my knife a little tighter. I wasn't a huge fan of people back before the world went to hell. Not that I was anti-social. No, far from it. It's just I dislike entertaining stupidity. Maybe that's why I'm a psychology major. When it all comes down to it, I'm just not a people person. I just. . . keep to myself. In addition to not dealing well with stupidity, I have a temper. Got me in trouble more than once. In this world, I'm glad for it. It's what's kept me alive.

I stop before the road and watch the complex. I'm breathing heavily. My palm is sweaty from gripping my knife so tight.

Relax, I tell myself. Just relax. Just a man and his dog. . .

Taking a deep breath, I force myself to relax before going down to the complex myself, avoiding the road like I always did. The creatures like to hunt along the road.

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