Dave's Zombie Proof Bunker and Refuge for Unattached Wimmens

[Chaingun]

*curls up next to RA and Little1 and snuggles in*

I'm so tired after walking so far to get to the bunker tonight. *yawns*

*Covers both of you with a blanket and kisses your foreheads.*

Night Sweethearts.

 

[Chaingun]

"Watch your right. Keep a sharp eye out," I say as RA and I ride in an old, flat green CUCV.

(The Commercial Utility Cargo Vehicle line of military vehicles were an attempt by the quartermaster corps to supply the armed forces with readily obtainable trucks that weren't purpose built--like a jeep or a Humvee--for the military. The thought was that buying regular pickup trucks for non-tactical cargo use would be cheaper. Some flat paint, a 24 volt electrical system, heavier duty axles, and some convoy driving lights, and the Chevy 1500 became the CUCV. Ford and Dodge also built trucks for this program, but the vast majority of CUCV's are 3/4 ton Chevrolets, Blazers, and diesel powered Suburbans. But then, I could have just said we were riding in a green Chevy pickup, right? Yeah....cause I could leave out detail so easily.... )

The truck rumbles across some broken pavement where several semis tore it up in a fiery crash. Who knows what happened? Panic because of the sudden appearance of flesh eating zombies everywhere? A driver "turning" after being bitten and suddenly losing the ability to operate a big rig? A road rage incident where gun wielding survivors tried to assert their right to escape the plague before others ahead of them in traffic? Who cares?

The pavement is rough and scorched from where a Mobil fuel truck burned and destroyed what looks to have been a refrigerated carrier that says "Hanson's Meats" on the door. The truck's trailer is burned to the bones, only the framework of the box is left. Under a CompUSA box truck is, ironically, a VW Beetle that says "Geek Squad" on the side. Guess we know who won that battle in the computer retailer wars.

RA is happy to be out in the breeze and sun, joyriding like she might have done at 17 with a boy from her hometown during summer vacation from school. But I have to keep reminding her that danger is everywhere, not just from the biters, but from looters who might be marauding in our area. Our safety comes from staying out of sight. But when we expose ourselves like this by coming out of our stronghold, we must be ever alert.

So reminding her to keep a lookout is something I do often. She's not being lax in her duties; I just wish she would quit smiling like the sweetheart she is and waving her hand up and down in the breeze outsider her window like a little kid playing airplane. What a great spirit she has. Now to get her in killing mode. It's the hard heart that kills, not the weapon. And to develop the "Him or me" mentality, she needs to be on the lookout. It's not that I mind her playful, less than serious mood; it's that I'm feeling responsible for her and want to not feel that way. I can't bring myself to chastise her for it though and instead, I allow her happiness to change my mood.

As we turn uphill from the median back onto the blacktop of what's left of Interstate 4, a scraggly, bearded survivor--probably wandering and living by his wits all these months--steps out of the wreckage near the overturned Merita Bread truck up ahead. He's holding a rifle, some sort of Kalashnikov by the look of the banana shaped magazine and gas tube. (I've given up on guessing at the designations; there are too many types of AK out there. All I care about is the round with my name on it. Caliber doesn't matter; dead is dead.)

Suddenly on full alert, I tell her to get her head down. Instead, she cranes her neck to see over the hood as we roll up the hill, the reaction of all people unused to dealing with constant threats. This guy better show his colors quickly or things are going to go badly. Hold the rifle up in the air and I'll know he is trying to show that he is non threatening. Point it at us and things get hot really fast.

I grab her shoulder and push her down in the seat. "Stay down!" I hiss.

My eyes never leave Scraggly Beard. "What's your plan, Raggedy Man?" I whisper to myself as my now free hand slides a Bren Ten from a shoulder holster. (Yeah, I'm Sonny Crockett; what of it?)

The rifle swings around and starts barking. Rounds strike the glass of the windscreen. Stars of glass radiate out from the hits and luckily, like most AK users, he is operating by the "spray and pray" method of tactical engagement.

"Wrong decision, Douchebag!" I yell and gun the engine. Three more rounds hit the truck's front end and then, we're on him. There's a sickening thud as his body crumbles against the grill of the pickup.

Just as he goes under, his hands release the weapon and surprisingly, it ends up landing on the hood of the truck. I look at RA and she is wide eyed but armed. I'm quite gratified to see this. She stayed behind cover and drew her revolver. She was ready. "Good girl," I smile to her.

"What happened? Was he a zombie?" she asks.

"Nope, he was just another predator, a marauder looking to take what he could and thinking that we were easy prey. He won't bother us anymore."

"Geez, I was a little scared by the way you yelled at me. I can't believe he was shooting at us."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you." I look out onto the hood at the rifle.

"There's something you don't see everyday...." I say.

She simply looks at me, turns to look at the other truck behind us where TongueLust is riding with DappleDoxie who is driving the other CUCV. She gulps as she sees Dapple purposely run over the guy, just to make sure that he is dead...or perhaps to show her disdain for scum like him. She looks back at me and says, "What? What don't you see everyday...?"

I point at the rifle on the hood. "That. That's an AKS-74U. Russian special forces. Underfolding stock on a carbine length barrel. Fires the 5.45x39 round...I love those things. Always wanted on, but they're illegal here. Wonder where he got it."

I pull over and retrieve the rifle. I operate the folding stock, check the chamber, disengage the magazine from the bottom of the receiver and check the remaining rounds. All appears to be in working order. "Good stuff," I say to her as I climb back into the truck. This might become my new carry rifle as the 5.7x28 ammo runs low. I've got lots of Bulgarian "tuna cans" with surplus ammo in them that will feed this little beauty.


She is simply looking at me as if to say, "How could you kill him so callously?" but I don't respond to it. It's a hard world. Get busy living, or get busy dying, is my philosophy when we're outside.

"So," I continue, "shall we get you your candy?"

 

[RubenesqueAphrodite]

I'm sitting in the truck, stunned. And I'm thinking that the band of merry zombie slashers thinks I don't know how to take care of myself.
Why on earth ELSE would I be riding shotgun with Dave...? Why didn't I get to ride with TL or Little1?

I don't need any reminders....My heart has already hardened a bit and I've learned that as powerful as my hugs are, they do not cure the plague which infects every inch of this God-forsaken place.


I roll my eyes and try not to take it too personally, something I have a difficult time doing, being all soft and squishy, and ridiculously "female" at times. One of my resolutions this year was to be less nice and more bitchy, why not start here in the bunker? I think if I keep the .38 loaded at all times and just shoot before asking questions the bunker will remain a nice, safe haven where I can snack on chocolate and have pillow fights...

"So, while we're out can we see if the yarn shop got looted yet?"

Dave glances at me. "I think there is an old craft store up here on the left."

"Good. Why don't you just drop me off over there while the rest of y'all go find the candy and cookies?"

"But...," Dave starts but I interrupt him. I figure If I'm going to stop being nice I might as well start by being rude as hell.

"AH! No "ifs", "ands", or "buts"... I'll be just fine. You have to trust me on this, ok? Besides I think we left someone back at the bunker. We aren't that far away so once I get the yarn and hooks I want, I can just run back to the bunker on foot."

Dave smirks. (That was so cute.) "Do you have any idea what's out there? Didn't you see what we just ran over...and over again?"

"Yeppers, " I say in my usual cheery voice. "I got it covered. Just pull up close to the door so I can get out."

The truck comes to a stop in front of what must have been a LYS before the apocalypse.. I lean over and give Dave a pack on the cheek.

"Thanks. See you back at the bunker later?"

 

[PlayfulLittle1]

It was an odd thing to find myself waking up in a pile of blankets and pillows. Hell, of late it was an odd occurance to wake up and actually feel rested. I felt fortunate I was able to keep myself calm when the first sounds snapped me out of slumber, pretending to sleep while the others busied themselves for their excursion.

Once the heavy door shut behind them I quickly got up and gathered my things, slipping my jeans and tanktop on and arranging my belt and light jacket. I stashed a few of the leftover cookies in my pack and grabbed my shotgun. I was glad no one had mentioned it when I arrived last night. It was an ill-fitting weapon for a girl like me, but the only gun I'd ever fired and did the trick, so I'd stuck with it.

I looked around the room once, trying to burn it into my memory as I stood beside the door. I hoped I'd be able to come back in by nightfall. Hoped I'd still be in a condition that would allow me to be let back in rather than the business end of a gun mercifully resting against my chest should the day go badly. I could stay, I reasoned with myself. Dave was generous with his supplies, and nothing said I HAD to leave... but I was too unused to being cooped up in daylight to feel comfortable. Plus... there were things I needed to see for myself.

 

[Chaingun]

I drive away from the yarn store and think, "Will wonders never cease? We're foraging for yarn and candy?!!? How did I not think to add those to the list when I was prepping?" I ask myself sarcastically.

And what an idiot I've been. I have got to remember that these women are not delicate little wallflowers. These are the smartest of their sex, the toughest in the bunch. There is a reason that these ladies are the ones that were able to fight their way to the bunker, while the soccer moms were out getting their arms bitten and turning into someone's dinner. Helpless and fragile, they are not. I've no doubt that any one of them is sturdy and resourceful enough to give me no small amount of trouble if I myself get out of line.

But Miss Girly-Girl back there at the yarn shop seems determined to fight off my protective instincts. Is she planning on looting a yarn store and then walking back to the bunker? Is she trying to show me what's what? That she's tough enough to do it? Wow, I'll give her the credit for wanting to do it, but there's no way I'm leaving her out here on her own. I'll be watching from a safe distance.

At what's left of the Disney Village Marketplace, I exit the truck after parking in front of a "No Parking -- Fire Lane" sign. "Fuck 'em. Give me a ticket, Cop!" I dare nobody at all.

I unsling the Sig 516 that I've brought and toss a bag of magazines over my shoulder. "Assault weapons ban?" I laugh. "Ban this," I say holding the short barreled Personal Defense Weapon version of the venerable design and scanning around me for threats. Carrion birds seem to have removed everything but the bones of the guests who were attacked while enjoying a day at Disney's shopping village. The AK is placed in the bed of the pickup, right behind the cab because I look forward to cleaning it and disassembling it later to insure its perfect function.

The path to the candy store looks clear, so I walk back to the truck and start it up and inch between the buildings as I make my way to were I can clean out a small storeroom of candy. The Ghirardelli Chocolate store is around the corner here and I'm taking everything I can find in there.

The store is empty, not a sign of destruction or threat. I spend an hour and clean everything out of the spaces behind the counter and the storage area in the back. The green pickup is nearly full and loaded down nicely. A tarp thrown over the loot will hopefully keep things from melting in the Florida sun on the drive back.

I'm tired after the work and I take a short rest. I carelessly move away from the truck and the spot inside the store where the rifle is placed. Walking eight feet towards the water front, I notice that the water is fairly clear and that again, there are not many bodies around. Hopefully, during a zombie outbreak, tourists cleared out of here and went home rather than trying to enjoy a vacation amongst the remains of our dying society.

A metallic noise catches my attention and I whirl on the balls of my feet. There! Behind that kiosk, something's moving!

It's a shambling walker. He's fairly fast for one of them, his body must have recently turned because he's not rotting nearly as badly as most. Instinctively, my hands reach for the rifle that is slung around my...wait! What the hell?

I left it at the truck. How can I be so fucking stupid? I draw my pistol and begin moving quickly. He's seen me and is on his way. Can I risk a shot? The noise is sure to attract others. The Glock 37 jumps in my hand and the walker goes down. I missed his head and only winged his neck, so he starts crawling towards me, his head hanging looking like it's partially unhinged from his torso.

A tougher target to hit while I'm moving, but I've got ten rounds left in the magazine. (Hear that Chuck Schumer? It's called a "magazine," not a "clip".) It's a good thing too, because more of them begin streaming out of the buildings to my left. I take shots, most of them finding their targets easily and ending the threat. But they just keep coming.

I don't know if I can get past the front of the truck and into the doors quickly enough to retrieve the Sig. And the second magazine is in the pistol, running low on ammo too.

I squeeze the trigger and another goes down. Five shots left. Another wearing a set of Minnie Mouse ears stumbles around the corner of the Lego store behind me and she takes a round in the left eye. Four shots left. The truck is twenty feet away. An old lady with rotted clothes steps out of another shop. She falls. Three shots.

The last two go into a really big son of a bitch who still has one of those child carrying back packs on, although where the child is, I couldn't say. It's empty, thankfully. He falls fast first, splatters his nose on the concrete, and the slide on the empty Glock locks back. Hmmmm, too bad Disney didn't see fit to put a gun store anywhere near here that carries 45 GAP ammo. There's time--just a little--before the next small group of undead reach me so now the Bren Ten comes out from the shoulder holster. Bam! Bam, bam, bam!!! They just keep falling.

But this pistol doesn't hold enough. The big ten millimeter handgun keeps firing and I reload once. My back is now to the driver's side of the truck as the pistol works. Three more. Two more. Three again. I'm empty again. Nothing left to do but try to get in and drive away from the threat. The rifle in the chocolate shop is still too far away.

Wait! There's the AK behind the cab. I sure hope that yahoo kept it cleaned and oiled. Whatever, those things fire no matter how dirty they are. I turn, grab it, and move the selector switch from its "Safe" position.

Ahhhh, sweetness, the rifle opens up and begins vibrating in my hand as it begins knocking down targets. Fucking zombies. The living aren't stupid enough to stand in front of one of these things, but the undead don't reason, can't feel, and have no fear. Too bad for them; good for me.

So many of them fall so quickly, that I am able to get into the truck and get it started. Time to haul ass. I'm flying between the buildings, knocking over the Lego sculptures, and making a left turn between the chicken restaurant and the T-Rex Cafe. Got to get the fuck out of here! Into the parking lot where an abandoned parking enforcement vehicle sits. (Maybe they were going to write me a ticket!)

Zipping out the one way entrance (good luck with enforcing that, assholes!) I'm flying and heading out towards the Interstate. It's not exactly the crime of the century, but I did get away with hundreds of thousands of dollars in high end chocolate and I shot a firearm in a public place! Heading in the direction I came from, it's time to see if RA is safe and on her way back to the bunker. I slow down, since the threat it ended, for now. I'll go back and get the other rifle soon. But for now, I'm happy to be out of there and very concerned about RA. Maybe Dapple and TongueLust picked her up in the other truck when they finished up at the tack store.

 

[Ellafun]

Emerges from the deepest recesses of the bunker after a self-imposed three-day meditation and cleansing "retreat," anxious for some fresh air and sunshine.

I peek into the party room, and it looks like a Bedouin cookie orgy exploded in the middle of the dance floor ... pillows and crumbs, skittles, sprinkles, and god, I hope to hell that's icing over there....WTF?

I don't see anyone around at the moment, but I'm headed in for a long, hot restorative shower anyhow. I need to sort some of the weird dreams I had out of my head. I could swear I heard talk of cattle...and cows...and whips. Nah, couldn't have happened. Dave knows not to bring up cow conversation around me. Gets me all hot and bothered.

 

[RubenesqueAphrodite]

I watched Dave drive away and went inside what could have only been a specialty yarn store at one time. Not surprisingly, this store had not been trashed or looted.

Ha! I don’t suppose zombies sit around crocheting and knitting, do they? I laugh at myself for making a joke because I couldn’t stop the image of an undead grandmother trying to hold her yarn and miserably failing because her fingers were so rotten the yarn just slid through them. Ewwww…what a waste of good yarn than would be….

There were cubbies along the back of the wall. Each cubby contained several hanks of similarly hued fibers, and from left to right the colors had been organized as if in a rainbow. There were reds, oranges, yellows, greens, blues, indigo, and finally violet. Each of the skeins and hanks had labels indicating the fiber content and washing instructions.

I looked over the colors and picked out some moss green acrylic and a pretty fuzzy corn silk yellow. I know just what I’m going to do with this. I decide to grab some more colors and extra hooks in case any of the other ladies want to learn how to craft fabric and lace, and I start for the door.

I stop at the cash register to grab a bag to carry my goodies. As I mentally make a note of anything I may want to come back for later, my nose is accosted by the most putrid stench, and before I turn around I know what is behind me.

I swing around to face the flesh-eater. Holy cow he stinks! I quickly take in a breath of before the smell of decay overwhelms the air around me.

“You’ve been dead awhile, haven’t you, big boy?”

The lifeless eyes fail to see my humor and the large body lurches forward towards me. The head is cocked to one side and I can see the partially exposed bones in his neck. This should be an easy kill. I won’t even need to use my gun.

I grab the bulky acrylic yarn from my bag...damn… what a waste…and quickly pull it loose from the skein. I climb onto the cash register to get some height. As the brain-dead continues grabbing at me I loop the yarn around his neck and jump over him landing on the floor behind him and I yank the yarn as tight as I can. I hear a satisfactory thwack as the yarn easily cleaves through the rot and slips between the compromised vertebrae. One more tug, and the spinal cord is ripped. The beast goes down, his head landing with a thud beside him on the floor.

I am pissed. I don’t know if they had any more of that shade of yarn. So, I run back to where the yarn is and do a quick search and seizure of the moss green I had chosen before being interrupted. Running back to the front I grab my stuff and start to leave. I notice movement from the body I just dealt with, and realize that the fucker is trying to get to his head… not that it’s gonna do him any good now.

I kick the head to the back of the store where they used to keep the silk flowers. I doubt anything dead or alive will go to that part of the store.

Oh man! I'd better be getting back to the bunker. I wonder if I should tell Dave about the zombie?

 

[PlayfulLittle1]

I don't know why I got so curious about the cows. Maybe it stemmed from growing up a suburb kid in the "before." I mean, I'm sure I'd seen them, maybe even touched a couple on school field trips and whatnot. Once I heard Dave say that there was a herd I had to go see them. Something about the idea of being close to such large animals that were largely gentle as opposed to trying to bite, maim or eat me.... well, it simply appealed.

Once I left the bunker behind, I wandered until my nose told me where the cows were. After too many run-ins with those foul-smelling rotted monsters on my trek south, the smell of cow shit was downright welcome. I still never quite wrapped my head around why the walkers never went after the animals. They seemed fine targets, but whatever kept the cattle for us, I suppose it was all for the better.

I crouched beneath a tree just below a hilltop (no sense in making myself easier to spot) and watched them meander and graze for a while before making my way slowly down the hill. A smile cracked my lips as a couple of curious doe-brown cows plodded towards me, and I laid my gun down against a rock. Apparently they're curious animals, I thought with a chuckle. So I'm not the only one. Dave had mentioned Brown Swiss, but they looked a lot like the Jerseys I would drive past back home. Sweet looking girls. I wondered idly if anyone took the time to milk them regularly.

...perhaps if I got to stay around I'd pick up a new craft.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up suddenly as the noise I'd passed off as a fly or gnat takes on a much more mechanical sound. I lowered myself below the backline of my new friends and reached for my weapon as a motorbike came swiftly into view. The cattle started milling about now, clearly unnerved by the new presence in the field. I cursed silently, and wished I'd asked Dave about other friendlies in the area. I'd only met a handful of people last night, and had no sure way of knowing who belonged here and who didn't.

My relief was overwhelming when the bike and the two figures riding it took off for the horizon after only a few minutes of talking, laughing and loud cursing themselves. I had a bad feeling about them, but was glad I hadn't needed to actually confront anyone. Regardless, I figured, I should probably let Dave know tonight if I made it back to the bunker.

 

[Chaingun]

Dave knows not to bring up cow conversation around me. Gets me all hot and bothered.

Perhaps you need to come out and help with the branding. After a day of that back breaking work, you'll be downright randy.

 

[Chaingun]

Oh man! I'd better be getting back to the bunker. I wonder if I should tell Dave about the zombie?

Roughly a quarter of a mile away, I am set up nicely on the edge of a stand of cypress trees. I say nicely because behind me is quite the soup of brackish water, cypress knees, and dense trees. It would be near impossible for the walkers to come up behind me without making one hell of a racket.

The wind blows and the Spanish moss sways in the breeze.

The low clouds scud across an otherwise bright blue sky.

And through a small pair of binoculars, I watch RA leave her yarn store.

"Geez, we're foraging for yarn, candy, saddlery, and who knows what else?" I make a mental note to talk about the importance of not exposing ourselves and after a moment's reflection, think better of it. After all, I did leave last week to go raid a shoe store and came back with roughly 180,000 dollars in high end shoes for these girls so that I could institute "Fuck me shoes Friday." So...maybe I won't get all "holier than thou" on them.

RA walks along swinging a floral shopping bag as if she hasn't a care in the world. I'll be that she's got skeins of yarn, some hooks, and a 38 revolver or two in the bag. I can't help but admire her spirit as she stops and looks in the window of stores, admires her reflection in the windows, and appears to even be singing a song.

And then a light bulb goes on over my head.

She's not frivolous, nor care free. She's not oblivious to the dangers of being out here.

None of these women are. THEY are the survivors who fought, persevered, and made due while their sisters were screaming for help, dialing 911, or waiting for the army, the national guard, the police--anyone--to come save them from the outbreak of undead that rose all around them. The soccer moms that depended on others are gone. The women that were strong, depended on their wits and guile, and kicked ass are the ones that are still here. Alive. Unbroken. Indomitable.


RA is not some wide eyed innocent.

She's simply confident that she can take on all comers. Tough when she has to be, a hellion when cornered, and gloriously proud to be a woman...a strong woman...in a shitty world.

I chuckle at my earlier protective attitude towards her. "She can handle herself," I say to myself as I toss the binocs in the truck, stow the AK on the seat next to me, and fire the engine. I don't need to shadow her all the way back to the bunker. She'll whip someone's (or something's) ass if she is challenged.

And that goes for DappleDoxie and TongueLust in the other truck. I was going to go check their route to the tack shop and make sure that they were safe while looting the saddlery, but again, they're tough. They can handle themselves.

Dropping the truck into gear, I drive away. It's been a long day. I'm ready for a drink, some snickerdoodles, and the company of my friends. And besides, according to the sun's position in the sky, it's almost time to get inside and get the Nightly Naked Dance Party started.

 

[Chaingun]

Regardless, I figured, I should probably let Dave know tonight if I made it back to the bunker.

Back in the common room, I listen to this story and wonder. "Hmmmm, the only friendlies in the area are a group of lady-boys who were sheltering about ten miles away at an all girls school."

"And I doubt that they've survived this long, but who knows? Perhaps they have. But they wouldn't do that."

*I leave the room and am gone for about five minutes. Arriving back in the room, I show her a surplus starlight scope that allows pretty good night vision for the user.*


A couple of weeks ago, a cargo plane dropped a pallet of supplies out there, beyond the moat. Amongst the things in those containers, was one of these. I wonder if they knew we'd need this?"

I heft the black "telescope" in my hand; it's quite solid feeling. "I'm going to turn on the floodlights out there near the pasture and barn and maybe that will keep them from bothering the livestock. And I'm going to leave this up in the tower where Whip likes to sit. Maybe she'll see them long before they see the bunker if they come back. And if she does see them...well, woe to them. That lady don't take no crap. And she's a crack shot at long ranges."

*A bell dings in the kitchen and I leave for a minute. Coming back into the room with a large tray snickerdoodles.*


Hungry?

 

[RubenesqueAphrodite]

I arrive safe and sound (duh!) to the bunker, but being all stinky from my scuffle with the walker I feel a shower is in order. Shew! I barely touched that thing and I reek…

I find a little locker and stash my day’s loot of yarn and craft supplies inside. I search a bit before finding the shower room. I reach in and turn the water so it can run a bit while I get undressed.

I strip off my clothes and toss them onto the floor. I can’t see anywhere to hang them up and they are going to need a good washing anyway. Oh! The stench! Am I ever going to get it out?

With the water sufficiently warm, I stand underneath the spray. Oh God! The water feels so good!! I wonder if there is any soap in here? Maybe some industrial-strength “Eau de I-Don’t-Stink Anymore?”

I shout out from the bathroom because I don’t see any anywhere…
“Hey! Do we have any soap????? And Shampoo? "Cause I'm not eating any snicker whatzits till I'm good and clean...”

 

[RubenesqueAphrodite]

"Ding Dang it..."

I guess nobody hears me. I look around the floor of the shower and find a little sliver of what I hope used to be a bar of soap. I pick it up and it lathers, so I'm good to go. Not the best smelling stuff in the world, but it will have to do.

I finish up and find a stack of towels.

Oh, these are nice. Fluffy and soft. Dave must have raided a department store for these. I grab the largest one I can find and wrap it around me. I'm not going to get naked but I will hang out in a towel.

Ok, now for those snicker doodles. I hope Dave got milk.. I wonder if anyone else is back?

 

[PlayfulLittle1]

I meet RA in the hallway, blushing and breathless, shampoo and soap in hand. I mutter, my eyes on the floor, "Sorry, I don't know where anything is yet.... Umm... for next time?" And hold them out to her in offering.

I practically sprint back to the main room where Dave has the snickerdoodles, and check my pack to see if the marshmallows from last night are still there.

 

[DappleDoxie]

Hoping that low life did not injure the front end of my borrowed vehicle ... ask for help, I'll try to do what I can, pull a weapon, you're a target. Pure and simple ... and those shots were too close to Dave and RA!!

TL and I head for the saddlery ... first step in and I am home. Head to the bulletin boards to hunt addresses for horses for sale - barns full of supplies and tools, as well as a few head of spare mounts. Then to boots, some fresh jeans & shirts & socks. start loading the truck with feed and supplies for the mare & the cattle, kibble and toys for Mandy. Always wanted to have a shopping spree in a place like this! Now I have one, and a forklift besides!! Wonder if Dave wants this one ... hmmm
I think Tl has found the scarves, and jewelry, and other fun stuff ;-) I see her gathering many goodies and foodstuffs in her basket. We get all of it loaded as the sun begins to hit the tops of the trees. Time to head for the Bunker. Strapping down the load, we notice movement. Starting the truck, we see what must have been the loading crew. TL produces her pistol as I heft the 30/30 ... no walkers in my feed depot!! we clear the yard and I grab a couple lead ropes to tie the gates closed.
Good Day, TL ... shall we git home and see what Dave has planned for the evening??

 

[RubenesqueAphrodite]

Sitting in the common room, towel wrapped tighty I sit down and grab a snickerdoodle. I wash it down with a glass of milk. No alcohol for me tonight.. Too pooped.

I look around and see no one is really paying attention, so I decided what the hell.. I slip under the fluffy comforter and reach down and pull my towel off. I toss it over to the corner.

Ok. That wasn't so bad. I'm naked. Yay me...Whoever crawls in beside me tonight will be surprised..*rolls eyes at herself*

I'm tired so I turn over and wrap up in my pillows. I close my eyes an pray that the covers don't slip down.

 

[Chaingun]

Ladies, I'm glad you're all back safe and sound. I'm sure we've all had quite a day and our adventures will be talked about for days. But for now, for those of you who are new, it's time to celebrate. We're alive!

Every night we dance and drink and sing. Every night we have the Nightly Naked Dance Party.

So, after your cookies, anyone that wants to dance, get to it. I'll be over there in the corner dancing like a drunken idiot. I do a fair impression of one, if I say so myself.

 

[thesweetsweetness]

* Streaks through naked, giggling and shouting, "Hi, Dave!!" *

 

[Ellafun]

Too much sugar in here for me tonight...I'm gonna hide in my dorm room. And chase Sweets down the hall....


*zips through

 

[PlayfulLittle1]

Watches Sweets and Ella run down the hall, stifling a giggle as I enjoy another cookie. I've already stripped my coat off and am contemplating the removal of my jeans... waits to see what everyone else has in mind, trying to remain inconspicuous and on the fringes of the room.

 

[RubenesqueAphrodite]

I crack one eye open and see two naked women skip through barely missing my head... *grumbles* at least there's music

The beats create a rhythm that drones out The giggling and laughing of everyone else, but i still wonder when everyone will settle down. Or maybe I should move to a room...

 

[thesweetsweetness]

Sorry everyone.. just wanted to find a silly way to say hi.

 

[TongueLust]

*Walking out of my room in a haze, wondering what the hell is going on*

 

[Chaingun]

LOL, y'all are cracking me up.

First off, nekkidness is encouraged, as is streaking. When we're safe inside, we're safe. It's warm enough to go without clothes, you're amongst friends who love you here, and better, it's a safety precaution to be sure that nobody has been bitten while outside and has carelessly brought their infection back into the bunker. If you have been infected, tell us immediately. I might have a way to keep a lady from going full on zombie.

Second, as much as I love the puppy pile idea of sleeping on a big pile of blankets and pillows community style, it is not conducive to actual sleep. At least not initially. So if piling up all the quilts and pillows in the large community room is the plan, so be it. Just remember, that there's the traditional Nightly Naked Dance Party here. It's loud, sometimes quite boisterous, and often gets a little hot. I mean come on, have you seen me dance yet? I'm a juggernaut of gangly awkwardness and unattractive male angularity. But I'm having fun. I'm remember and celebrating the fact that we're alive and together. Not out there alone. Not out there as one of them. And certainly not dead and gone like so many of our friends and family. And everyone typically joins in to that silliness. (If you have three days, start from the beginning and read this thread. You'll get a laugh.)

So have fun. Leave your cares outside. Worry about the zombies when you're not in the bunker. There are no trolls here who will write "Hey Babe, 24 male, bored & horny. HMU." This is a cock-picture-posting-troll free zone. One where respect towards everyone is important, proper grammar is encouraged, and come ons like that are dealt with harshly.



So sleep in the common area if you want, in fact, I encourage it. But rest assured that it will be a raucous place of warm laughter, loud music, spilled drinks, nekkid fun, eclectic conversations, bad singing, silly charades, awkward admissions, accepting love, and every once in a while, hopefully, Sweetness, Ella, or any of a thousand other women will run through here naked just to add variety to the deal. Yeah....'cause we don't have enough of that!

 

[perkyT]

Ugh. Even in this new world, my habit of waking too early survives.

I've recovered from the massive sugar coma of the other night...day...it quickly becomes a blur. I know the ladies were out & about with the most gracious & accomodating host, Dave.
Left to my own devices, I wandered the bunker. I've found shoes, a well-stocked ammunitions room, med facilities, and...other rooms. I've read of past visitors and the impact they had on this place. Much hilarity, some seriousness (Dave def protects ), and some really good writing.

I've found a little room to call my own for now. Do you mind, Dave? Of course, at the first sounds of music & laughter...I'll be out in the common area.


Umm...you wouldn't happen to have some bunny slippers stashed somewhere?