The Event (Modern/SciFi Freeform Semi-Apocalyptic RPG)

[deborahscribe]

4:27pm EDT, April 15th, 2007

The last minute of the Information Age.


4:28pm EDT, April 15th, 2007

the first minute of the Postdark.


There was no warning. No buildup of geopolitical forces. No strange signs in the sky. No dire warnings by prophets or prognosticators. Nothing at all to suggest anything was amiss.

At 4:27pm, the United States of America was an Information Age juggernaut, with billions of dollars a minute flowing through banks and stores and fiber-optic networks and financial markets, a sea of motion and light and sound, jet airplanes crisscrossing her skies, computers computing billions and billions of teraflops. At 4:28pm, one minute later, it all shuddered to a halt, an inert mass of dark metal, plastic, and rubber, devoid of light, energy and motive power.

And no one knows why. But soon afterwards, events unfold that make even The Event seem not all that farfetched.

I'm now accepting character submissions...characters can come from any background, be anything from saintly to evil, rich or poor. Whether your character is a gang member, a teacher, an escaped convict, or a secretary, or a stockbroker, or a bouncer, he or she will find challenge in The Event and its aftermath.

Note that this will be a traditional RPG (freeform), where I will be GM--hence, the action and storyline will be primarily driven by me. Anything goes...your character has complete freedom of action (and can suffer whatever consequence is appropriate, up to and including character death). Your character can lead a gang on a rape spree, try and build an empire, do detective work with other survivors to learn more about The Event and what caused it, try and rally the survivors to fight to retain some semblance of human civilization...whatever you do, my "world" will react accordingly, just as a good RPG world should. Your character begins adventuring at 4:00pm EDT on April 15th...playing out the last 27 minutes of modern civilization.

Go ahead and submit characters and questions in this thread.

 

[Wolk]

OOC: Finally, somebody else is doing a PM-led thread here! I definitely look forward to this. If it works right, this should be much more fun than regular threads.

IC:
"Crazy" Darryl Hicks was twenty years old. Fair, usually messy hair covered his head above the tanned face, and an even more tanned, almost red, thick strong neck. He usually wore dirty jeans and a T-shirt, which tended to be stained with oil. One thing he was admired for was mechanical skills, which landed him a job at the garage in a nearby town.

He was a well-built, rather good-looking fellow, not at all like the toothless inbred rednecks you see in parodies and movies, but Darryl had a passion that annoyed others up until 16:37 on that fateful day in the middle of April. Darryl was a survivalist nut, and had all the attributes of one. His small rural house on a modest plot of land held massive supplies of canned food, and enough guns to start a war, as the saying went. He kept a dog - a large German Sheppard named Bear, which was his most trusted companion and friend, not to mention a fantastic hunting partner.

On April 15th of 2007 Darryl had just finished fixing up the fuel pump of the old Ford he had on his hands. He had booked the rest of the day for it, and didn't feel like starting on anything new now. Jumping into the vehicle, he turned on the key and felt the engine roar to life. Darryl grinned.

"Tha's a more like it!"

He shut the car down and got out. The boss - old man Brian, left for home earlier, and now there wasn't anybody who would object to Darryl not doing squat since he finished early with that bucket of nuts and bolts they called Ford. He came out to the peaceful small town street and crossed it without so much as looking. On the other side was a typical small dirty eatery, which survived only because the place was not attractive enough for the big fast food chains to take over. Inside was almost empty. Aside from the two old customers, who sat at rickety tables, quietly consuming the food, the only inhabitant of Finger Licking Foods was the clerk Beth. She stood behind the counter, a young woman with a full body and even fuller breasts. Cheerful by nature, she was bored to death with the same repetitive tasks and same repetative customers, thinking about why she was burning off her young years working at a dead-end job and why she still wasn't married.

"Hello there, Beth," Darryl drew. "Get me two of them there doughnuts and a cupa coffee, wouldya."

After receiving his order, Darryl stayed sitting at the counter and slowly began consuming it. He chatted with Beth, who was so bored that she hardly minded the company, even that of Crazy Darryl, who went about telling her in great detail about archimportant things, such as the imminent nuclear war, and the fantastic new water purifying tablets he's bought four crates of from an army surplus store. Now he'd have enough drinking water for years when shit hits the fan.

Finished, finally, Darryl got back across the street. Boredom was getting to him and he decided to call his old Brian to try and convince the man to let him go early. While he dialed the number, Darryl made up elaborate stories about his poor beloved Bear's stomach aches and the urgent need to take him to a vet. He glanced at the clock on the floor, while listening to long rings in the phone. 4:27 showed big red digits.

4:28, he had time to notice, and as he did the clock's display flickered and died, as did the phone in his hands. A rude curse fell off the guy's lips, but then he grinned. At least now he had a perfectly valid excuse to go home early.

 

[deborahscribe]

4:28, he had time to notice, and as he did the clock's display flickered and died, as did the phone in his hands. A rude curse fell off the guy's lips, but then he grinned. At least now he had a perfectly valid excuse to go home early.

"Come on, you fucker," a loud, rude voice sounded from the road. Thinking someone was shouting at him, he turned to see a passing motorist--a shirt-and-tie wearing, cell phone talking guy in a gray Lexus. The car was rolling to a stop in the middle of the street.

As were all the others...a blue Chevy pickup truck, a Toyota Camry, a Ford Focus, even an ancient Sixties-vintage Ford truck. All stopping, in places drivers just didn't normally stop in, like the middle of intersections. The driver continued cursing at his car. As Darryl watched, he pulled out a shiny Blackberry, started pushing the buttons, then stopped and looked quizzically at it. His anger was being replaced by wonder...and a hint of fear. "What the fuck...?"

As his voice dropped off, it was way to a very eerie silence, broken only by a low hubbub of discussion and car-doors opening and hoods being popped.

 

[deborahscribe]

Along a little after seven, Deborah really began counting the minutes until her shift ended at eight. She was glad she had managed to get away from the later shifts...that was when the real space cadets called into Tech Support. One assclown last week had called in to complain that her computer chassis was too cold.

When Deborah asked--a lot more politely than she wanted to--why that mattered, the lady had nonchalantly remarked, "My boyfriend likes to sit on it when he and I fuck." A burst of laughter from inside her supervisor's cubby was enough to tell Deborah that, yes, this call was in fact being monitored for quality assurance purposes.

"Have you thought of using an electric blanket," Deborah asked the customer. "That would warm the case very nicely."

"Oh, I hadn't thought of that," the lady said. "You techies are, like, so smart! Thank you."

"Anything else I can help you with tonight?" Deborah crossed her fingers, hoping the answer would be

"No...hey, I've gotta go. Thanks." A click, then silence...

But tonight was April 15th. The clock read 1:17pm. Here in the call center, the clock was Deity. Your life moved and flowed based it, its red LEDs brought down from the electronic mountaintop. If you stared at it, it seemed frozen, but log out for break and the thing moved like it had cayenne pepper shoved up its ass. At least until you logged back in...

Someone speculated that the traffic was dead because this was Tax Day. Maybe the rest of the world was too worried about its income taxes to bother calling Tech Support this night.

1:26pm. BEEP. A call. Deborah's canned greeting played. Here in the Los Angeles contact center, the greetings were prerecorded. You had a few extra seconds to swallow that mouthful of food or take a swig of Mountain Dew before the mic on the headset went live and the customer could hear.

"Okay," a clearly exasperated voice on the other end of the line breathed. "This is the third--no, the fourth time I've had to call you fuckers, and I'm really getting tired of it. I'm still getting all these pop-ups. I can't do a fucking thing! Do you know how much money I paid for this computer system? Well, do you?"

Deborah sighed. This was going to be a sucky call. The clock rolled to 1:27pm. "Not going anywhere," the commercial had said. "Grab yourself a Snickers bar." She had no Snickers bars.

"I'm sorry you're having this problem. Could I have the unit number of your system please?"

"Unit number? How should I know that? It says 'Akcelron' on the front of it, that means it's yours, so help me out here sweet-cheeks. No, tell you what, I want to talk to someone who knows what they're doing. I want to talk to a man!"

Hot damn! The asshole wanted to escalate! More power to him. She really wasn't getting paid enough to put up with this shit. "I'll bring a supervisor onto the line," Deborah said sweetly. She punched Line 1 to put it on hold, then punched Line 2 and began dialing.

The line went dead.

The computer went dead.

Everything went dead.

There were murmurs...this had happened a couple times before when the power went off. The building had a backup Diesel for just such occasions, and it usually kicked in almost seamlessly...

Not tonight. The lights were off and they stayed off.

There was light coming in from outside, but not much. Call centers weren't known for their bright skylights. Deborah had a bad feeling about this. She walked over to a window. The traffic signal was out. Walking to a fire exit, she opened it, not heeding the sign about the alarm going off because she judged--correctly--that with no power, the alarm wasn't going to be worth a fart in a high wind.

The first thing that struck her was the quiet. The call center was in a fairly busy part of the city...in midafternoon especially there was always the hum of traffic, beeping horns. Things were almost silent. It sounded like it had when she got off the graveyard shift at 3:00am. She could hear voices.

"My phone's dead."

"Mine too...hey look at that."

Deborah watched in fascination as the cars on the street outside rolled to a halt. There were audible fender-benders as power steering systems failed.

"What the fuck..." Deborah hadn't asked the question of anyone in particular, and there were no readily apparent answers.

 

[Wolk]

So, the four cars in his direct view just up and died all at once. It was odd, but the only thing Darryl thought of at first was how much it sucked. All of these idiots would now go to seek help at the garage, naturally, and since he was the only one left there, he would have his hands way full instead of going home.

Of course, it didn't take long him to realize then, that the cars died at the same time as the phone, and the clock, and the overly loud yuppie's Blackberry. Something big hit. At that realization, despite the slight fear and uncertainty, Darryl grinned. He TOLD them it was going to happen and all they did was laugh.

"An they called ME crazy!" He laughed.

At the minimum, it was a big power outage, but a power outage could not have made the cars stop. What could? Short of a nuclear blast with its powerful EMF pulse? Be that as it may, bad things tended to happen when power went out, or something else disrupted the normal flow of life. But nothing bad was going to happen to him, Darryl was sure, because HE prepared for it, like that ant from a children's book, he carried diligently supplies into his hole to last through the winter, while everybody else, like airhead moths from the same book, were living it up and enjoying the fruits of civilization, thinking it will last forever. Fools! He grinned again.

Darryl went to his own truck and tried to start it up. In vain, of course. But he suspected as much. Where four cars fail unexpectedly, the fifth probably doesn't work either. He pulled out from the glove compatment what he came for in the first place: gloves, a big hunting knife, and a nine millimeter handgun. Those weren't allowed on his person while he was working, but he always carried them in his car. He popped the hood then, and started going through the insides of his truck, trying to see if he could reviwe it. He would have to get home somehow after all.

 

[deborahscribe]

Darryl went and messed around with his truck...if there was a cause to the phenomenon he had witnessed, no easy answer appeared. The wiring under the hood seemed to be in good order. There were no obvious signs of anything burned out. It was as if the truck had just...not wanted to work anymore, and quit.

"Any idea what's going on," Beth asked. She had come out the door to the restaurant, and Darryl hadn't even heard her. "The phones are dead, the lights are dead...I can't even get the backup ginny out back to fire up even though the tank is three-quarters full. My cell phone is out. The TVs are out, of course...I got a battery-operated multiband thingamajigger in the basement, maybe I should try that."

 

[Wolk]

Darryl spun around at the sound, moving his hand to his back, where the weapons were stashed under the belt. Then he saw it was just Beth and relaxed. He looked her over again, noting how the sun illuminated her hair and made it beautifully glow almost from within. He wouldn't have seen that in the dim eatery.

"Prolly EMP," he told her with conviction. "That's Eylecto Man-nettic Pulse. Tha's what I've been telling y'all about all the time, but you never listened. Darryl's crazy babbling 'bout things like this, you thought." He grinned triumphantly. "EMP's what happens when they blow one of 'em big nuke bombs, and it clear fries all electronics everywhere around. Tha's why all of them cars died there, and the clocks did too, and your TVs, and phones, and everything."

He shut the truck's hood and locked it with his key.

"And if it is from a nuke, that means most of the world's up in flames, 'cause nobody's gonna fire just one of those things. Say, all that stuff you got in the eatery's just gonna rot by tomorrow. Le's just go eat it."

 

[fallenupright]

4PM - the horses were in the barn, happily munching on hay. The day had been a whirlwind, two new horses had arrived for training and the neighbors damn dog had killed one of her ducks... again. She knew it wasn't one of her dogs... they'd all been pecked a few too many times and steered clear of the ducks. Big wooly chickens, her two dogs were. Bear, who was a beautiful dog... was a bit of a terror to her smaller livestock. He didn't even bother to drag the goose off, just had killed it and left it in the field. Mind you, the ducks were not pet... they were meant to be dinner. Not dinner for the dogs though, dinner for people at the market who paid nearly $7.99 per pound for free range, organically fed, cruelty free ducks. So, as she saw it Daryl now owed her about $40. It had been a fair sized duck...

Of course, her strange neighbor was off at work, she'd have to worry about it later. Right now she needed to head into town to pick up a few things... while the horses were eating and she had no boarders or clients pestering her. The twenty three year old woman loved her life, and her job... but it was a non-stop life, caring for 20 horses, a flock of ducks, a few dozen cattle and one very mean donkey... pretty much on her own. Sure, she had one fulltime worker... but that worker had picked this whole month to go on a working vacation to England. And of course, she'd let the girl have some time off. Who said no to an 18 year old girl with big blue eyes, yearning to go off and ride with the pros.

Lexie was a professional in her own discipline, she showed Western. But her stablehand had dreams of being an Olympic showjumper... Not the kind of thing Lexie could help her out with. So when Sarah had come to her with stories of a British pro who would take her on for a month and give her some training and contacts... well, she couldn't tell the girl to stay here and muck stalls over that. So this month... she'd been running the whole show by herself, like she had when she started out. Of course, she'd forgotten how much more she'd taken on since she started out... she'd been running herself ragged since Sarah left, trying to keep on top of things.

Right now, she needed to pick up some food and bottled water, get 50lbs of horse feed, because apparently the two new horses didn't eat the stuff she had here... and maybe stop and eat something. She hadn't eaten since 6AM, and her stomach was making a horrible fuss at being so mistreated. The petite young woman climbed into her pickup, dusting off her Wranglers and checking to make sure she was 'decent' enough for the townsfolk - no mud, burrs or hay littering her clothes or hair. She was good enough, she decided. Wasn't about to offend anyones sensibilities. She grabbed her baseball cap from her dashboard and shoved it on, covering her messy light brown curls, most of which had escaped from her ponytail.

It was a 15 minute drive to town and stopping made her realize how hungry and tired she was. The feed store was on the outskirts of town, so she had a quick stop there. Joe Winters, the owner of the feed store was a good friend. She'd kept her first horse on his farm when she was a young girl, the little Shetland her father had picked up at an auction. Joe had to be in his early 80's, but was still selling feed, as he had been for as long as most could remember. He hefted the 50lb bag out of the back room, and was going to carry it to her truck... but Lexie stopped him. While the old man was quite capable of carrying it (being in very good health for his age)... she just didn't feel right letting him carry things for her nowadays. After arguing with him a moment, she took the bag off him and carried it to her truck herself. He grumbled something about how feminism had killed chivlary, but smiled and waved her off. A few more trucks pulled into the lot, more farmers wanting feed... so instead of stopping to chat, she waved to Joe and got back in her truck.

The clock on her dashboard said 4:23 as she pulled into the parking lot of the diner. She walked in via the side door and took a seat at the counter. She ordered a order of chicken fingers, with fries and gravy and a glass of water... and one of the fresh baked cookies that was sitting out. She could never resist. Impatiently, she waited for her food as her stomach growled. As the numbers slid to 4:27, her food arrived.

"Thanks Beth! You are too good." she grinned and made a mental note to leave a good tip on the counter before she left. She was just beggining to dig into her food when the strange sound of everything powering down came... Lexie looked around in confusion. It was a clear day... no storm... She saw Beth go into the back, and then head out the front door. Apparently the backup wasn't coming on. She gathered up her paper container of chicken and fries and followed her out... to where she was talking to Daryl... Who, as it turned out... was someone she wanted to see.

"Daryl! Your damned dog killed another one of my ducks... third one this year!" she exclaimed. It hadn't clicked in yet that everything was shut down - no cars were running... no sound, all the stores lights were out. She waited for him to reply and then it clicked. "And what the hell is going on?"

 

[Wolk]

Darryl saw Lexie come out of the diner and go towards Beth and him. He smiled at her, and the smile grew almost to a grin when she mentioned Bear has caught another duck of her special variety. The big dog tended to do that sometimes, for he was a hunter by nature. Once, he had even chased down and killed somebody's pig, which came wandering onto his property after breaking out of her barn, seduced by tasty carrots Darryl had growing. The dog was a cunning predator - instead of barking like most dogs did to mark their territory and guard against intruders, he was smart enough to distinguish what to bark at and what to be sneaky against. The pig was thus allowed to come in, ignorant of Bear's presence, and then was jumped, killed after a brief struggle, and dragged off into Bear's big doghouse, where the delighted predator had a big feast. So, needless to say, Darryl tried to secure his beloved four-legged comrade-in-arms, but when Bear did manage to break out and hunt something down, the dog's owner couldn't contain a proud smile. Today, however, he ignored that comment.

"We got us bigger problems than your duck, lil Lexie." He told her. "Ma car's busted too, and it wasn't even running when it happened. Phones are down, power, everything. If it has a wire in it, it don't look like it'll work any time soon." He paused. "Now, do YOU know anything that might'ave caused it?"

He decided not to bring up the EMP theory anymore. It didn't seem to make Beth any more cheerful to think that perhaps the world was being blown to bits and nuclear winter was coming to bury all of them.

"Maybe," Darryl continued, "and I wouldn't count on it, they'll fix the power. That still leaves all the cars, TVs, and other stuff that's broken. That'll take months and years to replace, an' until they do there's gonna be anarchy. So," he finished his speech, "I'm gonna go back home before some no good folks come an try to loot the place. I think there was a bike back in the garage..."

Darryl went back into the building and started rummaging around. Some friend of Brian's brought their bike in and Darryl fixed it nicely himself, but he wasn't sure if it was still there, or if the owner already picked it up before Darryl's shift.

 

[fallenupright]

"Bigger problems than my duck? Those ducks are valuable, Daryl! You owe me for this one! I can't afford to have your dog eating my livestock! He killed it, you owe me $7.99 a pound, power outage or not!" she told him, before he went to find the bike. He was a bit of a nut, and she hadn't really realized the gravity of the situation, yet. She was sure everything would go back to normal. No looting, no crazyness... All would be fine. She didn't even know if her truck was broken or not...

As Daryl went off to find a bike, she decided to check it out. Key in the ignition... turn... Nothing. Not even a click. How was she going to get back home? With a 50lb bag of feed, no less? She knew her truck was in rough shape to begin with... and if everyones vehicle had problems, hers would be at the bottom of the list. She didn't have the money to fix everything, and there was a lot to fix on it... even if things were fixed tommorow, and it had just been some strange thing, odds are the truck wasn't going anywhere today and she needed to get back home eventually. To prevent theft, she heaved the bag of feed from the back of the truck into the truck itself... and set off walking back towards Winter's feed store. Everyone seemed to be walking, looking confused.

She was going to check on Joe. He raised Clydesdales, bred to pull heavy loads. If everything was as bad as Daryl seemed to think it was... well, she needed to be back at home making sure her animals were ok. Joe would lend her a horse or two... She could pack one with the food and horse feed she'd been in town to get, and ride another.

This wasn't the end of the world - she reasoned. The end of the world would be filled with screams and sirens, not a strange silence and the murmurs of people moving about town. It was a good hike out to Joe's, and she found the feed store locked up - the closed sign on. It wasn't surprising, Joe had no reason to stay open when the power was out... the store didn't have a generator or anything. Just an old fashioned feed store that was the same as it was 50 years ago. Lexi went around back and found Joe Winters out by his tractor scratching his head.

"Yeah, seems like everything is broken!" she said, explaining what she had seen in town. "But I need to get back to the farm... Can you lend me two horses? I have a few spare stalls to put them up in until I can return them..." Joe mulled it over in his head a moment, before silently walking into the barn and coming out with two bay, high stockinged giants. "Molly and Moby" he told her, "They get along. Been a while since anyone was on their backs, but the grandkids used to ride them, before they decided dirt bikes were more fun."

She smiled. Of course, Joe didn't have any saddles... or even any packing things. It took a while, but she and Joe rigged up a harness to work as a pack saddle, and just threw a bridle on the other horse - she'd have to ride bareback. Riding one giant of a horse, and leading the other... she headed back to her truck.

 

[Lady_Kit]

OOC: I'd like to join, if no one objects.

IC: Petra Duvall wore her silver blonde hair long for convenience, not any particular sense of style. Today it hung down her back in a thick braid, tamed and confined. Her blue eyes sparkled; contrasting pleasantly with the healthy glow of skin tanned golden brown from gardening and outdoor living. She was of medium height, no longer model thin, but well shaped with full breasts and gently rounded hips and ass. Widow of a successful businessman and at 45 years of age she has enough money to live comfortably in the summer house was built for their retirement.

Since the loss of her husband the two storied log structure has been Petra’s permanent home. Situated on the shore of Lake Morgan, the isolated house was at first a sanctuary for the grieving widow, now, two years later her grief was spent, and it was Home.

In addition to tending her garden, recording the flora and fauna of her surroundings with watercolor paints, and writing what she hoped would be the next Great American Novel, Petra had a more serious hobby; shooting. Her husband insisted she be able to protect herself, and after his death she kept up her practice. The paper targets from her session today were laid out on the kitchen table where she’d just finished cleaning her target gun, a Ruger 22/45 semi-automatic; Petra was examining the tight grouping of holes on the best of the lot when the phone rang. A glance at the clock on the microwave showed the time to be 4:28. Insistently the black cordless sounded again as Petra wiped the grime from her fingers and reached for the handset. The third ring was cut off when she pushed the button to open the line.

“Hello?”

No voice sounded in response and Petra realized that the line was dead. Fine lines formed between her brows as she frowned at the phone. Repeated presses of the buttons yielded no results.

“Odd,” she thought, then realized that the numbers on the microwave were dark. Power loss was not uncommon this far from town, but the weather was fine today. Coupled with phone outage Petra knew that this must be one hell of a problem. The likelihood of a quick repair was slim and it would be dark before long. With a sigh at the inconvenience, Petra gathered up her cleaning kit, secured the gun and went to check the oil lanterns and candles.

 

[deborahscribe]

For Petra

“Odd,” she thought, then realized that the numbers on the microwave were dark. Power loss was not uncommon this far from town, but the weather was fine today. Coupled with phone outage Petra knew that this must be one hell of a problem. The likelihood of a quick repair was slim and it would be dark before long. With a sigh at the inconvenience, Petra gathered up her cleaning kit, secured the gun and went to check the oil lanterns and candles.

As the afternoon wound down, Petra prepared for a night sans electricity. She listened for the sounds of industrial civilization's return, for the hum of the refrigerator, for the lights to return. They didn't.

As she walked outside to check on the firewood supply, Petra saw something in the sky. It glinted orange-red for a second. An airplane, catching the light of the setting sun. A jumbo jet, on the flyway to points east.

Something was wrong.

The plane was low...far lower than it should have been. It looked like it was coming in to land about a mile away...only there was no airport capable of handling a 747 for, oh, forty miles. And it was slow, coming in at an odd angle. As Petra watched, the plane tipped, a wing touching the ground behind a row of trees. The jet cartwheeled, rolling into debris that flew apart. The sound of the crash finally reached her ears, and a burst of black smoke billowed into the air. An explosion, reaching her ears, muffled by distance...

 

[Wolk]

"Aha!" Darryl grinned, triumphant.

The bike was there, and unlike all other machinery, it functioned perfectly, since it had not a single chip or wire inside. Darryl pulled it out of the garage and began locking the place up before he left. That's when he was besieged by the drivers of all those cars that broke down nearby.

"Hey you, you can help us. Fix this damn car immediately!" The arrogant yuppie demanded, jesturing back to his shiny Lexus. Darryl still wondered how he got to this rural town.

"We're closed," he declared for all to hear, but they weren't satisfied, naturally.

"You aren't closed if I'm paying you big money for it!" The yuppie brashly proclaimed. A woman pleaded, telling him she had to get home to her children, but Darryl just shrugged his shoulders, although he sympathised.

"Look, folks, there's nothing I can do about it anyway. Same thing happened to ma truck, and I can't fix it. There's nothing *wrong* with it, it just doesn't work. I can't help y'all. Now go find another way to get home."

He saw Beth, still standing around and unsure what to do.

"You gonna be alright?" He asked. But she was going to be. She lived right here in the town, a ten minute walk away, she told him.

Hopping up onto the bike, Darryl headed home. What was normally a half-hour drive now turned into two hours on a bike. Along the road Darryl saw several people walking. Some had their cars stall right in the middle of the road, others just couldn't find any means of transportation at all and walked from the town itself. For them it would take much longer, and Darryl didn't want to imagine what was going to happen after the sun sets and catches these people walking with no light sources of any kind, no cars anywhere, no food or water, and no police. Already, in several places there were arguments. People desperately needed something and somebody else had it, but wasn't always inclined to share. These were the slowly growing seeds of lawlessness. As time goes on and the needs grow more urgent, people will undoubtedly become more aggressive. Soon, need and lack of punishment will push many to just take when they need, if they can. And these very people would walk by his house too.

 

[jone_z_jones]

OOC: Care if I join?

IC: It was going to be the perfect heist. The crew, inside men, equipment and firepower - everything seem perfect. Jacob "the Knife" Lee was the mastermind of the entire operation and the leader of the crew. Standing at 5'8", he was a force to be reckoned with. The gang life was all Jacob ever knew, which resulted in him going to prison on several occasions. He got his nickname, "the Knife," from his two kills during his time in the gang; both his kills were found by the police to have deep slashes across the throat in turn leaving his victims bleeding and suffocating to death. The victims were the result of gang-related homocide, and it demonstrated Jacob's indifference towards life. He was branded with several tattoos; one on each his shoulders which depicted his gang's symbols and marked his loyalty to the gang, one on his chest with the Cross, and another tattoo of a nude female on his left calf given the name "Lady Luck."

Jake assembled the crew immediately after he was released from prison for the vehicular-manslaughter of a rival gang member. Although his sentence was lessened due to the argument that he acted in self-defense, Jake served for a long while in the jail which offered him a chance to rethink his gang relations. While inside the can, he continued to maintain his connections through bribes and other various methods, exploiting the corruption of the guards. During his free time, Jake continued to work out, thus adding to the tone of his body which was now built like that of a wrestler. Upon his release, Jake was picked up by fellow gang members who welcomed his return. Due to the unparalleled respect that Jake got, he was thus allowed to have some time to do his own things outside the family when he asked for it.

The time was 4:15, as Jake looked at his watch. His breathing began to relax as he saw the guard shift change, watching as the new shift walked through the entrance of the bank to assume their posts. From the information he got, the guards on this shift were actually rookies, and new to the security of the bank. Jake stood at a corner from across the street as he continued his surveillance of the bank. His partner, going by the name of "Rob," stood across the street on the side of the bank parallell to him pretending to be engross in the local newspaper. The driver was parked in an alley beside the strip mall in which the bank belonged to. Everything was set as they waited for the countdown. Jack took a black bandana from his back pocket and began to wrap it around his face so that only his eyes was exposed from underneath his black Yankee's baseball cap. His hands resumed to the handles of his 9mm Berrettas which were snugged into his black jeans which was covered by his black zip up hoodie. A radio strapped to the side of his jeans began to stir, until a voice became audible. "The security cams are down. You're good to go Jake," said the technician.

4:19. Jake began a slow walk across the street, followed by his partner on the other side of the street toward the bank. They soon picked up a slow jog, and were now sprinting into the bank.

4:20. Jake opened the door and rushed in followed by his partner. He caught one of the guards by suprise and quickly pistol-whipped the guard across the back of his head, sending him to the floor. Meanwhile, his partner quickly handled the situation with the other guard. There had not been a lot of customers at the bank which was a good thing. The ones there, along with the bank tellers cooperated easily to their surprise. Jake manuever to the bank manager and placed the barrel of the pistol against the manager's head. "I need you to open the safe now!" Jake screamed at the manager. "No one has to die, as long as you do what I say."

4:26. Jake looked to the clock on the wall as he impatiently waited for the manager to open up the electronic lock of the safe. Meanwhile, his partner had secured the two guards, disarming them of their weapons and tying them up. "What taking so long?" Jake yelled. Before the manager could reply, a bank teller and 2 other customers jumped up to onto their feet and drew their pistols. "DROP YOUR WEAPONS," said one of the male customers. "FBI!" FUCK. Someone fucked up.

4:27 and some seconds gone by. There was a stalemate as neither side wanted to back down. Each pistol was pointed to their respective target tentatively. They continued to exchange commands with futility. Suddenly, the lights went out abruptly causing all hell to break loose. Some trigger-happy motherfucker squeezed off a round, which grazed the tip of Jake's ear. The entire bank became lit up with gunfire as bodies hit the floor. Jake took the last shot before the entire bank became silent. The apparent FBI agents were disabled; two of them looked dead, while the other looked severely wounded. Jake looked across the room to see the rookie guards fleeing the scene, and to find his partner Rob laying in a pool of blood. FUCK. Jake tried to radio in, but the radio was dead. Throwing it to the ground, he walked over to the safe where the electronic keypad was. That was dead, too. FUCK! Someone made a big mistake. Turning around, Jake ran out of the bank suffering a slight wound to his ear which the blood on the side of his face came out of.

The driver was no where to be seen, but rather crowds of people took to the streets probably because of the gunfire from the bank. He took off his bandana to wipe off the blood, covering his ear with it. Jake then began to make his way nonchalantly from the bank where he linked up with the driver and technician.

"What the fuck is going on?" Jake shouted angrily.

"No idea," responded Ted, the technician. "Someone fucked up. But the crazy thing is... all my equipment is dead. Seems like everything just went..."

"FUCK THAT SHIT," interrupted Bones, the driver. "This is some wierd fucking shit man. The car wouldn't start. Nothing seem like it went right. This is too fucking crazy to be coincidence."

"Alright calm down," Jake said.

Bones interrupted again,"Where's Rob?"

"He's dead," Jake said in a despairing tone. "But we can't think about that shit right now. Seems like FBI had been on us for a while. Right now, we have to get the fuck out of dodge. Best thing to do is seperate. You guys know the deal and what to say if ya'll get caught right?"

Ted and Bones nodded in acknowledgement. After exchanging a couple more speeches, the three parted nonchalantly as if they were just random strangers who decided to have a quick talk. After walking several blocks, Jake's ear had stopped bleeding, but he realized something that wasn't right. More and more people began to gather on the streets, and traffic had stopped. There was an eerie silence, less the conversations he heard from the people that gathered on the streets. He looked up at a sign that said "Finger Licking Foods" and decided to hunker down and relax there for a while. As he opened the door, a woman came out of it and went to speak with another man on the street. Not paying much mind to it, he walked in where he found an empty table and sat down. Resting his head onto his arms, Jake was in for a big surprise to what was happening.

 

[deborahscribe]

OOC: Welcome Aboard!

Ted and Bones nodded in acknowledgement. After exchanging a couple more speeches, the three parted nonchalantly as if they were just random strangers who decided to have a quick talk. After walking several blocks, Jake's ear had stopped bleeding, but he realized something that wasn't right. More and more people began to gather on the streets, and traffic had stopped. There was an eerie silence, less the conversations he heard from the people that gathered on the streets. He looked up at a sign that said "Finger Licking Foods" and decided to hunker down and relax there for a while. As he opened the door, a woman came out of it and went to speak with another man on the street. Not paying much mind to it, he walked in where he found an empty table and sat down. Resting his head onto his arms, Jake was in for a big surprise to what was happening.

Jake had rested for a few minutes...nothing changed. No lights came on. No cars restarted. The streets were filled with people milling around. Then Jake saw people near him begin to scatter. He heard a clicking that sounded like--

He turned, and there was a cop, gun drawn, firing at him. Only nothing happened. It was like someone had swiped the cop's gun and replaced it with a toy replica. The man swore. A second cop came up alongside him, this one an old-timer, gun drawn, firing. Nothing but clicks. The cops looked at each other with a look that screamed, "What the fuck..." without saying a word.

It was at that moment that a mighty crash came from outside. One of the windows of the cafe was blown out in a shower of tinkling glass. Where a BMW convertible had been parked a second ago was now the wreckage of a dead helicopter with CHANNEL 8 TRAFFICOPTER emblazoned on the side.

When Jake turned back, the cops were gone. The helicopter began smoking...

 

[jone_z_jones]

As Jake woke to a familiar, sinister clicking sound, he looked up to see that the few persons that were sitting near him scattered, getting abruptly from their seat and running out of the restaurant. As he turned to watch the people run out of the building, Jake found himself staring down the barrel of a revolver. It was a cop. Click. The hammer fell again, as Jake winced his eyes instinctively in anticipation of his own death. Nothing happened. Jake opened his eyes again to find another pistol pointed at him from another cop. Click, click, click. The cops must have had empty clips. Jake stared at the cops, as they stared back; it was an awkward moment, almost humourous.

Jake began reaching for his own pistols, when a loud crash that shook the building and shattered one of the windows drew his attention outside. The BMW that was parked outside, was now nothing more than a pancake of twisted metal as the distinguishable shell of a helicopter laid on top of it. Ok. Jake paused for a moment as he stared at the wreck; his eyes read the print, "Channel 8 Trafficopter." This day was turning out to be real wierd. First, the fiasco at the bank. Second, the pigs that were trying to kill him. Now, the failed landing of a helicopter onto a parked car; obviously Jake new that wasn't the case, but he tried to find some logical reasoning for the events that happened today.

Jake turned back, but the cops were no where to be found. That was odd, but Jake wasn't complaining. The helicopter began to smoke, and that was a cue for him to leave the building. Getting up from his seat, Jake proceeded to the emergency exit at the back of the building. He happened to look at the time of the clock and the wall and noticed that the handles were motionless. 4:28. Looking down at his own watch, he noticed that it was dead. 4:28. This is too fucking wierd. Jake pushed open the emergency exit door, and exited into the back parking lot. With his bandana, he quickly wiped up the pistols to remove any fingerprints before discarding them in a dumpster behind the restaurant.

Jake was stubborn to accept the fact that things were rolling beyond his control. Despite the apparent cesation of traffic, Jake still believed that he could find an operating vehicle. As Jake walked across the street from the parking lot behind the restaurant, he noticed a parking deck situated between several buildings belonging to the business district. Armed with a spring-loaded Microtech knife, Jake made his way into the parking deck and hid at a dark corner where he waited for an unsuspecting victim to go to their car. His eyelids grewed tired, and soon closed as he waited.

 

[deborahscribe]

Deborah; Tag Jake

Deborah began rounding up her shit. She wanted to go home. Something was clearly very wrong. In the words of NASA, the city had just suffered a major malfunction. And she would be far more comfortable waiting this out at home.

"Hey, where are you going," a man asked. Steve, the new asshole of a supe. "You're not off for another three hours."

"Wrong," Deborah said as she hefted her purse.

"You know the procedure for power outages. Stay at your station until the generator kicks in."

"Get a fucking clue." Steve's jaw dropped; Deborah continued relentlessly. "See the cars out there? They're not moving. Tell me how a power outage caused that. See my watch? It's not moving either. It's off the grid too. Pick up your Treo...if you can even turn it on, I'll stay. No? Didn't think so. There's nothing in the P&P about what to do if civilization just takes a dump, and that's what's happened here. So I'm bugging out, because this is not the best part of town even when the lights are on, and I really don't want to be here after dark. If I leave now, I can walk home by sundown. Adios, Steve."

Deborah pushed the Emergency Exit door--if ever there were an emergency, she thought, this was sure as hell it--and went out into the parking garage. Of course she knew her car wasn't going to be any good, but there were a few things she wanted to get out of it.

Jake heard the clacking of Deborah's high heels as she walked along, unsuspecting, toward his position.

 

[jone_z_jones]

Tag Deborah

The clacking of heels on the asphalt-paved parking deck startled Jake. His eyes opened to see the figure of a woman walking towards his position as the door she exited from slammed shut. The sound of her heels colliding with the asphalt grew louder, in turn echoing through the garage, as she came closer to him. Hopefully this won't be too much of a struggle Jake thought to himself as he emerged from the dark corner to approach her. Drawing his knife from his pocket, he pressed the button on the handle causing a sleek blade to spring forth. Jake rushed at her, not giving her time to react.

He caught her in the middle of a muffled scream as he shoved her against the wall, planting her face firmly against the concrete. Placing the blade to her throat so that she could feel the cold metal against her bare skin, he took hold of one of her wrist and forcefully brought her arm behind her back; this was a restraining method used on him, so he knew that when he did this it should have caused some pain and discomfort to the woman. "Don't you dare to move or scream," Jake ordered, while drawing some blood from the bare skin with a slight graze from his knife to show that he meant business.

Little did she know that she was going to be the victim of his frustration. He released his grasp of her wrist after noticing that she had stopped struggling at his order. Keeping the knife to her throat, he proceeded to pad her down from behind for any knives or mace. Beginning at the top, his hands groped around her shoulders to see if she had anything strapped to her. After searching both her shoulders, his rough hand found its way across her chest. His hand found its way onto one of her breasts, and he naturally copped a feel as his fingers squeezed the the flesh between them. He continued his search without further delay as his hand groped around her waist before running them between her thighs with his fingers searching greedily on them. His hand came around to cup her buttocks as he finished his search.

"Alright lady" Jake whispered into her ear as he straddled her from behind while she remained pressed against the wall. "We could do this easily if you cooperate. Take me to your car." Jake stepped back for a moment to allow the woman to regain her composure as he waited for her lead.

 

[Wolk]

After getting home, Darryl checked his little castle and relaxed for a moment, satisfied that everything was OK. Bear was cheerfully finishing to devour Lexi's precious duck, having barked a greeting at its master. Darryl pet the dog on its neck: "Good boy."

For a while he sat on his front porch and just watched the unusually quiet, unusually peaceful scenery. The peacefullness was misleading, he knew. After half an hour Darryl went back out onto the large rural backyard, carrying his favourite rifle. He went down to crouch on one knee, took aim at the target on the other end of the yard, and fired. The weapon clicked cheerfully, doing all it was supposed to do. Except firing.

Darryl swore, cursing the wet round, and popped it out of the chamber manually. He took another shot. Click.

Pop. Click. Pop. Click. Pop. Click.

He continued trying it, until the magazine was empty. A bad, bad feeling started creeping around his spine. Sure, there might be a rational explaination - perhaps the whole magazine was wet, but somehow he had a suspicion that the failure of his trusty weapon was just part of all the other failures of technology going on around him. And he wasn't mistaken. Gun after gun and round after round from his massive stockpile was tried, but Darryl didn't get so much as one shot out of it.

He was almost ready to cry. A small fortune was spent on his guns just for when a major disaster like this happens, and exactly when it did all his firearms became useless! With slightly shaking hands he fished out the last hope he had in his arsenal - a hunting crossbow. It was a long time since he used it, and it wasn't even stocked for survivalist reasons. Back when he was just starting to hunt a few years ago, he wanted to try it like they did in the middle ages, so he bought this baby.

The yell of joy that erupted from his throat had to have made the neighbours jump. The simple mechanical device worked, and Darryl could not recall when sending a missile screaming down towards its target and seeing it hit gave him so much pleasure. He kissed the weapon's butt. It was slow, and limited to a single shot, but it was something!

Having waited a bit more and eaten cold dinner out of cans, Darryl went over next door to Lexi's. He was a rather unusual sight with a big hunting knife strapped to his belt, and a crossbow resting on his shoulder, but it was better to look fearsome to those who didn't mean to hurt you than to look weak to those who did.

Wondering if she got back from town yet, he knocked on the door loudly.

"Lexi, it's me, Darryl! You alright? I got you money for your duck."

 

[deborahscribe]

"Don't you dare to move or scream," Jake ordered, while drawing some blood from the bare skin with a slight graze from his knife to show that he meant business.

Deborah didn't scream...as soon as the knife grazed her skin, she had no doubt that the man was serious. This was exactly the kind of shit she'd been hoping to avoid by getting her ass home before dark. She looked around to see if the man had any companions...apparently not. This was probably a case of just being in the wrong place at the wrong time. If she kept her head...there wasn't much in her purse that was valuable. A cell phone that probably was little more than a paperweight. Money that probably was going to end up being valueless. Credit cards that were useless without an electronic network to support them. So if this man wanted to rob her...more power to him.

"Here, take it," Deborah said quietly, dropping her purse on the ground. "I don't want any trouble."

"Alright lady" Jake whispered into her ear as he straddled her from behind while she remained pressed against the wall. "We could do this easily if you cooperate. Take me to your car." Jake stepped back for a moment to allow the woman to regain her composure as he waited for her lead.

Deborah winced as the man's search became more personal. She looked around the garage...there was no one else she could see. No one to help. It was just him...and her. So the young woman stood stoically as the man searched her...giving quite a bit of gratuitous groping along the way.

"I doubt my car is working any better than anyone else's," Deborah said in that same calm, quiet voice, ignoring the feeling-up she had just received, "but if you want to try it, be my guest. Have you seen what's going on?" Inside, the woman was getting rather scared.

 

[fallenupright]

Lexi tied the horses to a post - she didn't think anyone would steal them. It was doubftful anyone would even know enough about horses to think it was a good idea. And these were big - they weighed about 2000 lbs each, and their backs stood about 6 feet from the ground. With feet the size of dinner plates the gentle giants were indeed giant. Anyone that knew horses in the area would recognize the brand on their shoulder to be Winters'.

It took some work but the feed bag was secured on Molly's back. She then rushed to the corner store and bought a case of water, some bread and a sack of potatoes. She had all the meat and food her house needed for weeks. Closed, her freezer would keep things frozen a few days at least. She had been headed into town to pick some things up - and thats all she got. She didn't see this lasting too long, and she had plenty at home.

Her house was old, with a big root cellar... it was heated by a wood stove, and she had a barbeque out back... she'd be fine, if this lasted a few days. The groceries were loaded on the back of Molly, and she struggled back onto Moby for the ride home. It would probably take an hour... And it was maybe 5:30 now. She guessed it had been about an hour.

By the time she was plodding up the driveway, Daryl was banging on her door. She saw him and shouted "Aint in there, just getting in!" from behind him. Riding a draught horse was different. She felt like she'd been doing the splits the last hour they were so wide... and with the length of her legs... she pretty much was. She looked at the ground mournfully. It seemed like an awful long way down, her feet were freezing, bones no doubt brittle... her luck, she'd jump down and her foot would break, or her legs wouldn't hold her.

 

[Lady_Kit]

As the afternoon wound down, Petra prepared for a night sans electricity. She listened for the sounds of industrial civilization's return, for the hum of the refrigerator, for the lights to return. They didn't.

As she walked outside to check on the firewood supply, Petra saw something in the sky. It glinted orange-red for a second. An airplane, catching the light of the setting sun. A jumbo jet, on the flyway to points east.

Something was wrong.

The plane was low...far lower than it should have been. It looked like it was coming in to land about a mile away...only there was no airport capable of handling a 747 for, oh, forty miles. And it was slow, coming in at an odd angle. As Petra watched, the plane tipped, a wing touching the ground behind a row of trees. The jet cartwheeled, rolling into debris that flew apart. The sound of the crash finally reached her ears, and a burst of black smoke billowed into the air. An explosion, reaching her ears, muffled by distance...

“Oh dear Lord,” she whispered in horror, raising a trembling hand to her throat where the hard beat of her pulse could be felt beneath the skin. She turned, hastily, making for the back door and kitchen phone.

“Please be repaired….please be repaired.”

Her wishful chant was of no use. The phone was still dead. Petra didn’t own a cell phone. There was no signal this far from town, but she doubted that the presence of a signal tower right next door would have helped now.

Nothing seemed to be working. Not her car which she'd tried before coming out to check the wood pile; it occurred to her that the outage might just be to her property, a cut line at the junction box or something. Petra intended to drive the few miles to one of the neighboring homes to check on their service but her jeep never made it out of the garage. The fact that the car was dead too really scared her, the other things, the phone and electricity both needed land lines to work, those could be cut accidentally. But the car, that was disconnected from other connections, and killing it took human action. Or so Petra would have thought yesterday. When the backup generator and the battery operated emergency radio also failed to operate, the impossible seemed frighteningly possible. And clearly said that something was very wrong in the world.

Beyond the windows and the lake more dense angry smoke was rising above the distant tree line. The waning daylight allowed Petra to easily see the flames that occasionally shot up with the smoke. It seemed unlikely that anyone could survive a crash like that in a wooded area. Tall pines grew close together in that area, old wood, and where the tree trunks thinned dense brambles rose in clumps. An altogether inhospitable area under the best of conditions.

There was a time that Petra would have rushed to offer assistance, but a sudden fear of being alone in the dark woods squashed the impulse to gather supplies and hurry out the door. A second explosion sent fireworks into the darkening sky; no sirens broke the silence that followed the blast. Help was not coming. Rescue would not come for the victims of the plane crash, nor would it come for Petra if needed. She understood that she would have to take care of herself until…well, for as long as she needed to.

Methodically Petra went from window to window and door to door, locking each one in turn. Night was falling fast, before dark she needed to make one more trip outside for a second load of firewood. After that, Petra decided it would be best to stay inside until the sun rose again.

 

[jone_z_jones]

"I doubt my car is working any better than anyone else's," Deborah said in that same calm, quiet voice, ignoring the feeling-up she had just received, "but if you want to try it, be my guest. Have you seen what's going on?" Inside, the woman was getting rather scared.

Her statement served as a swift kick the nuts, to which Jake recalled the earlier problem that Bones, the driver, had with their getaway vehicle along with the countless disabled vehicles in the streets. Her sense of reality thus invalidated his own reality. Jake hated to be proved wrong, especially by a woman. In his eyes, women were suppose to be submissive and below that of men. Therefore, her rebuttal to his demand became an act of defiance toward his own superior.

She needed to be put in check, and Jake had done just that. With his other hand, he grabbed her by her hair with his fingers as close as it got to her scalp. Forcing her head down with his hand so that she was bent over, he began to pull her in the direction that he walked. He single-handedly reloaded the spring-mechanism, sheathing the blade back into the handle before placing the knife into his pocket. He dragged her by the hair to a parked van that he spotted further down the garage. "Don't get smart with me bitch," Jake mumbled.

The van itself belonged to a private delivery service. The three rows of passenger seats that normally occupied the vehicle were removed in order to hold and transport goods. The windows, less the windshield, driver and front passenger windows, were tinted to prevent the curiosity of people as to the contents within the vehicle. Straining his eyes to look through the rear, tinted windows, Jake saw several stacked boxes along the sides of the vehicle, but the floor space of the vehicle was relatively clear. A grin emerged, contrasting Jake's lack of facial expression towards the different emotions. His hand found his bandana as he reached into his pocket. His hand wound around the cloth before he grasped the end of his in his palm to make a fist.

With the base of his padded hand, he struck the window of the rear door, giving it a hammering blow to the center which created an initial impact crater in the glass as it cracked against the force. He brought back his fist a second time and struck the window again; the glass shattered as fragments fell into the van. Clearing the shards of glass out of the way with his nimble fingers, he unlocked the rear door. Smiling at his accomplishment, he opened both of the rear doors and heaved the woman into the van. Jumping in after her as she landed face down, he quickly moved over her and placed a knee onto her back which dug slightly into her spine. Jake unwound the bandana from his hand and used it to tie the woman's hands behind her back. After having secured her hands, he turned around and closed the doors as if it was going to make a different.

Looking back to the woman as she lay helplessly faced down on the thin layer of padding of the van's flooring, he chuckled. Rolling her over onto back with her hands restrained so that she now faced him, Jake gave the woman a menacing stare which was accompanied with a sinister grin. He tasted her fear and had been continuously working it to his advantage. "Perhaps you can enlighten me on why my day turned out so badly Miss," Jake said deviously, as he took out his knife again letting the blade spring out of the handle. Waving the blade before her eyes, he brought it between her thighs and slightly touched it to her crotch. "Maybe you can help make my day better instead," continued Jake.

 

[deborahscribe]

He single-handedly reloaded the spring-mechanism, sheathing the blade back into the handle before placing the knife into his pocket. He dragged her by the hair to a parked van that he spotted further down the garage. "Don't get smart with me bitch," Jake mumbled.

Deborah realized that Jake was a dangerous brute of a man...she tagged along like a puppy as he pulled her by the hair. "I'm just telling you what I saw." Her voice was low and controlled...hot the screaming that he was likely used to from his victims. "Cars don't work. The power is out. Cell phones don't work. I don't mean they can't make calls. I mean they don't work. At all. Nothing works."

With the base of his padded hand, he struck the window of the rear door, giving it a hammering blow to the center which created an initial impact crater in the glass as it cracked against the force. He brought back his fist a second time and struck the window again; the glass shattered as fragments fell into the van. Clearing the shards of glass out of the way with his nimble fingers, he unlocked the rear door. Smiling at his accomplishment, he opened both of the rear doors and heaved the woman into the van. [/quote]

Deborah didn't realize his intentions, trying to turn over as he pounced on her. "Didn't you hear what I said...nothing works. This van isn't going to start up--goddam, what are you doing?" She struggled fitfully as he tied her hands, but only for a moment...then finding herself on her back, she looked up at his black face with fear in her eyes. Laying on the floor in her blue denim skirt and white button-up shirt.

"Everyone's day went badly, okay," Deborah said. "It's nothing personal. I think the entire city is fucked. Maybe much more. You want the truth? I think there was a nuclear attack. High in the atmosphere, at the edge of space. Shorted everything out." She watched the blade go between her thighs...knowing that what he wanted, at least for the moment, was there. She could scream, or act innocent...but this black man had obviously been around the block. And he had a knife.

"Listen," she said, looking him in the eye. "I'll make you a deal. You talk straight with me, and I'll be straight with you. I know you want to fuck me. If you want to rape me...just take off my panties and get it over with, okay? I won't try to resist. After you've had your..****...let's talk about where we're going from here." She looked up at the black man, then around at the boxes. She wondered what was inside...

 

[Wolk]

Darryl turned around at the sound of Lexi's voice. He was surprised to see her arriving on top of a horse like that. A horse per se was no great oddity in the country, especially since Lexi raised them, but this one was a big beast.

"What a great animal you got here!" He noted, when she came, and he pet the horse on its big long head. "One of Joe's she must be?"

"I got you a fifty here for your duck," he said. "Don't know if it'll do you any good now, though. Couple'a days from now everybody's gonna realize this stuff's reeeal serious, 'n nobody'd care much for these pieces of paper anymore. You' always welcome to come take it in tincans, though. And not just 'cause I owe you for the duck. Good folks gotta stick together now, 'cause nobody's surviving this alone."

Then he realized Lexi still was up on a horse, and from time to time she was eyeing the ground longingly. She must've wanted to get off, but either too tired, or even wounded.

"Need some help getting down there?" Darrly asked. He slung his crossbow behind his back and came to stand next to the horse and extended his hand. "Here, grab my shoulder." He stood, ready to catch her into his arms if she fell.