Zombie Apocalypse RP (Invite Only)

James scanned the abandoned barroom with his flashlight. A barely loaded revolver in his other hand, ready to fire at anything that moved. It was late, and although he didn't like traveling at night, he had little choice. His last secured shelter turned out to be a little less stable than he'd thought, having a large section of ceiling break apart as one of those damned creatures roamed the upstairs. He wasn't sure how much attention the four shots from his .357 magnum attracted but he did know that even if he did get lucky back there, there was no way in hell he'd survive the night without a place to crash.

James was running on just about no sleep, save for the hour and a half he managed to scrape together back at the church. See, he had ran into this guy with a nice looking .30-06 and a secure little area set up in the bell tower about two days ago. The guy may have been a bit crazy but at least he offered to watch over James while he slept in one of the church pews. It didn't quite register that something had gone wrong until he realized he wasn't being woken up every few minutes by the sound of a gun shot. Once he'd woken up from his nap, he could smell the metallic aroma drifting into the room. The asshole apparently ran out of rounds and decided to try and hoof it over to the gun store. He could see the blood orgy taking place just at the end of the hall. James was beginning to run out of second chances with these things. He managed to sneak away, that being his last contact with another human being.

James finished the last sweep of the room with his light and stepped inside. It was already looted, much of the alcohol being stolen for use as a molotov. There were still some weaker concoctions lining the shelves however. The last thing he needed to do was dehydrate himself though...

He approached the counter, hoping there might be a hidden gun somewhere under it when he heard the creak of a floorboard to his left. His reaction time was delayed by the fatigue, only allowing for him to bring the flashlight up before he noticed the barrel of a gun pointed in his direction. 'Great...' He thought. 'Now I get to be shot by some new asshole...'

"Damn another looter" he said to himself hiding in the corner as the light traced against the walls. While thankful it was a human, he didn't like the idea of having to deal with a scavenger. He was motionless. Keeping almost motionless had saved his live many times. He didn't breathe, he didn't blink. He watched the light move past and he took walked in the shadow. He was silent as death. That too was a something that came in handy. His footsteps made no sound as he stalked behind the other man. He was close enough to hear the other man breathing. He caught the gleam of metal in the other hand. Bob came to a stop a couple of feet from the possible looter. His rifle leveled to his head, only four shots left he couldn't afford to miss. As he positioned himself the floor betrayed him; the floor groaned and the light quickly turned. It was too late.
"Drop the weapon." he hissed in a lower voice than intended. He hadn't seen anyone in a long time. Much less spoken to anyone. Always silent and still, perhaps he'd forgotten how to speak properly. He had moved into the bar after the looters has swept through. Much they rarely hit the same places twice, much like lightning. He had found a gap in the wall and hidden within. He had watched as they moved through the room looking for whatever they could. But he hand hidden what he could in under the floorboards of the bar. His treasure trove of rations. After many failed searches the place was his. Now he had only to defend it.

'Shit. Well no use dying now...' James set the piece down on the bar, not wanting the thing to go off accidentally by dropping it. Attracting a horde here was not going to help the situation, only make this man want to shoot him, take his gun, and leave his body to distract the things. "No need to shoot, I wasn't going to take anything. I was just looking for a place to sleep." His voice was sincere enough, though heavily accented with exhaustion. If he didn't get some sleep soon, he wouldn't need to worry about the man shooting him. He would just collapse from exhaustion, most likely meaning his death since living folk didn't much care about tending to the weak.

"That's what the others said." he hissed still having trouble controlling is octave. "And then they killed everyone in their sleep." He laughed, but it came out like a wheezing sound. It has been a long time since he had anything to laugh at. He should kill him, but disposing of the body would be a pain. If he let him go there was a chance that he could lead other to his hiding spot. Things would have been better if he had remained hidden. "Put your hands behind your head." he hissed. "Hands behind your head, or a hole in your head."

'Dammit. Why didn't I just try some person's house? They might have had guns, food...' James sighed. "Fine... Whatever you want..." He slowly lifted his hands and placed them behind his head, interlocking his fingers. "If it's my gun you want you can have it, I don't have any food or medicine on me. You could just take it and I can walk out the door I came through..." He didn't care about his possessions as much as he probably should. It's not like two bullets would've done much anyhow and as long as he was still breathing he could always find another weapon.

Taking one hand off the rifle he fumbled with his belt. Within a few seconds the woven leather was free from his waist. He put the rifle over his shoulder and quickly grabbed the other man's hands. With a deft movement he twisted both arms behind his back and began tying them with the belt. After many two knots and loops he tested to see if his tying had been secured. There was still some slack to the belt he tied it a metal bar stool close to the man. The task complete he backed away. Just enough room to move, but not enough to move away from the stool. Grabbing the gun from the bar as he retreated.

"You can sleep there." he spoke, almost back to his normal tone of voice. Having tied the man down had calmed him somewhat. Moving away from his captive he picked up what looked to be a tablecloth from the floor and hard shake. Dirt and dust flew into the air. He tossed the tattered cloth over the man. "Sleep well, in the morning I'll decide what to do with you." He moved to the door and closed the lock. The only reason the man had gotten is that he had fallen asleep after the looters left and leaving the door unlocked. He got to work shifting the half broken tables and chairs barring the door. He turned the flashlight off. "Sleep well" he repeated as he blended with the shadows again. He moved to the gap in the wall and placed the newly acquired weapon in first and then wedged himself into the hole. It was a tight fit, but sleeping upright wasn't a problem, if it meant he was safe. He let his mind drift off into slumber.

SON OF A BITCH! TJ was having an extremely bad day. Not only had he lost his trailer, but he was also having to deal with a zombie that somehow snuck in his cab. So, while booting this thing in the face, he had to keep the thing on the road, avoid most of the cars, and kill this thing. His shotgun was out of reach, and so was the glock under the seat. He had a bowie knife, but there wasn't enough room for that. So he had to make due with shoving his size fifteen boot in it's face. He finally managed to stun the thing right in time to notice he was on a collision course with a bar. Fuck my life.

He managed to click his seatbelt in time to survive the resulting crash. He had plowed through the front wall, narrowly avoiding killing some guy tied to a chair. The zombie he was previously kicking did a swan dive out the front window, and his semi was busted all to hell. TJ was alright, just a bit stunned, and grabbed his shotgun, glock, and crowbar and kicked open his door. Shotgun in hand, knife in his left side sheath and the glock in his holster. Yo dog, what're you tied up for? Lamb to the slaughter? He kept his back to his demolished truck and head on a swivel as he spoke. He was a tall, muscular black man, with a black tank top, leather jacket, jeans and a pair of huge boots. He was bald and shaven, and had a set of dog tags around his neck.

James snapped awake, his head spinning from fatigue now that he'd managed to finally drift off to sleep, only for him to be snatched back to reality. "Fucking shit! Get me out of here! You're gonna attract a fucking horde you stupid asshole!" He wasn't exactly sure what had just happened but he knew it was loud, he knew he was strapped to a fixed spot, and he knew zombies still existed. Suddenly, he realized how he'd gotten here.

"Guy? Guy you alive in there?" He called out to the crevice in which the strange man had retreated with his only weapon. He didn't exactly care if he'd survived to be honest, he was only curious about what their numbers were and what tools they had at their disposal at this point in time. He didn't want shit coming back to haunt him because of a miscalculation.

He could hear the sound of moaning and shuffling heading their way, in seconds they would be slaughtered if they didn't get moving...

He could feel the whole building shake as the truck barreled through the secure wall. From the gap he emerged. There was a large man standing there,a damaged truck, and a very large hole.
"You idiot!" he yelled at the larger man. "You ruined it all!" He was so tired of running, but now he had to move once again. He looked at the large hole in the building. Now they would come, now they could enter his sanctuary. If it was fight or flee, he would rather flee. He had thought of everything. Sight, smell, and hearing. A zombie used all three to find it's prey. They were like feral dogs, hunting to feed their desire for warm flesh. The dirty tablecloth was to mask the man's odor just as the walls hid his own. They only had to be quiet. Quiet and the man-eaters would keep moving by. Too much noise and the creatures would make short work of the barricades he had made. Now they could breached the door there was only one place to go; up. There was a pull down stairs to the attic above the bar. It was located in the back room. Climb up into the attic and out the window to the roof. The creatures couldn't climb well, but they could jump. Not high enough to reach the roof, but he didn't want to chance it. Running along the rooftops he could probably find another safe hiding spot. Once the zombies left he could probably come back for supplies. Bob was good at planning. Planning had kept him alive. Yes the zombies were stronger and faster than him, but he was smarter. But now all his plans were ruined. He reached into the gap and pulled out the rifle, and his small pack. "Ruined." he muttered as he pulled open the dusty pack pulling out a butcher's knife. He walked over to the tied up man and yanked off the tablecloth. He reached down and untied the belt and returned it to his waist. He jumped over the bar and pried the floorboards open using the knife. Beneath the boards were canned goods, most of the labels couldn't be read. Beer nuts and some beef jerky. A few bottles of liqour still remained, but he didn't touch the stuff. It was only a last resort. He had some bottled water that had been under the counter. Quickly he stacked the supplies on the open tablecloth and wrapped them into a bundle. He pulled the man's pistol from his pocket and waved it at the other two men. "This is mine!" He moved to retrieve his rifle and the backpack. Now he moved toward the doorway to the back room. Placing the weapon the ground he slid it to the far wall "GO! Go die like dogs." He closed the door and took the fire axe propped against the wall. Using the pick he pulled the small ring that led to the attic and climbed up axe in hand.