OOC: If by some crazy coincidence somebody that reads this lives in Rainier Beach, I apologize, everything I write in these posts are either based off what I've read on the internet or simply pure fiction. - Probably both.

Troy Stokes

Troy made his way down yet another suburban street in what before the war had been known as the Rainier Beach area, the part of town in which he had spent the majority of his life. The place looked slightly worse off then the rest of Seattle even before the war, the houses looking smaller and most only having one floor. Although that was before the war, from the looks of things, Troy doubted there would be any truly nice looking places left now, everywhere and everything just looked grey... bleak, and the overall result was the ever lingering feeling of death.

Troy was making his way home; his true home, where he had grown up until the day he had been thrown out. It would be different without his father, very different, maybe even so much so that he wouldn't recognize it as home, but there was no where else to go, nothing else to do and no on else to see... It had been a good... Bad couple of years since he had been home. Hopefully he would find something... anything.

Troy decided to use the time it took him to get to his old home to further examine the handgun he had scavenged, it was nice... elegant even, the clip held seventeen rounds, plus one in the chamber; and from looking at the topside he learnt that the gun was named, or rather nicknamed, maybe, an M&P9, and the logo etched onto the side was a large intricate W with an S design twirled around it, it was a popular model back in the Pre-War world. Smith and Wesson. Troy reloaded the gun, tucking it back into his hood as he finally reached the street in which him and his father had lived for fifteen years.

He walked up the path, it was now battered and concrete lay here and there in the way, the path he had walked as a little kid, the path he had ran as a mischievous teenager, the path was now almost unrecognizable; it wasn't the fact that the houses were battered, it wasn't even the fact that the whole place now seemed dead, it was more that he had moved on. This place was another part of his life, a part that had long since past, a book long closed, this was old, now... now it meant nothing. Still, the house had a decent few supplies in before the war, and it looked crappy enough that most looters would have left it alone, definitely worth a shot.

The hooded teen finally came to his front porch, staring up at the weak wooden door that symbolized his home. He stood, just staring at it for a second before taking a deep breath and making his way up to it. It still stood strong, there was no sign of any forced entry, even the windows remained intact. The down side to this was that Troy wouldn't be able to get in without breaking in himself, he could pick most simple home protection locks, but his father had known which locks were hardest to pick, being a locksmith himself, and had outfitted the door with one even he couldn't pick, and if he couldn't pick it, Troy didn't stand a chance against it.

"As good a time to test it as any."

Troy brought the handgun from out of his hoody once again, backing away from the door slightly and aiming exactly where the lock would be.

"Sorry dad." Troy mumbled under his breath, slowly squeezing the trigger, flinching at the extremely loud volume of the gunshot.

?"Well, that probaly wasn't smart..." Troy smiled nervously, loving the feel of the gun in his hands but shaken at the pure volume of the noise it had made. The door swung open slightly, shaking a little at the power of the bullet. Troy quickly darted in, closing the door as far as he could before glancing around at his old three rooms and one basemant home.

"Home sweet home."

OOC: Sorry guys for the long time without post, just a short one to start it off.


Matthew Green

“46…47…48…49…50”

Matt collapsed on to the ground. He had completed his final set. Five sets of 50 push-ups with a thirty second break in between sets. Matt would do this exercise 4 times a day, totaling one thousand push-ups every day. The same routine was completed for sit-ups.

Exercise was the only thing that kept Matt sane. It was some sort of routine, something to look forward to during the day. A schedule he could keep to so he felt as if something he did mattered. The main reason for the exercise was to keep him from thinking.

His thoughts were haunting. Day in day out his mind would wander. There was always so much to think about and it was all so overwhelming.

Matt decided to distract himself. In his small shelter there was not much to do. It was built specifically for sheltering children, so it had toys and what not but the food; or rather what was left of it took up most of the room in the shelter. The power had long shorted so there were no lights, TV or radio. The only thing that provided any entertainment was a small window. There was almost never anything outside to look at, although there was that one time he had seen a bird off in the distance.

Matt wasn’t even sure if there were people still outside but never the less, he got up off the ground and walked over to his small glimpse of the world. The sun shone through as it rose up over the buildings that covered Seattle. It was nice to feel the warmth on his face; it reminded him of home, Australia.

As Matt began to lose himself in a gaze, looking at the same old wind blow dust around the empty playground. He noticed something off in the distance. Movement. His heart didn’t just beat; it almost leapt into his mouth and out the window. Far beyond the schools playground, off in the distance there was a speck. Well not quite just a speck but a human shaped speck, scurrying about.

Matthew was unsure what to do. He had learned quite a bit school about nuclear radiation during his science classes, but if people were outside, surely it would be ok for him too, right?

Gathering a small bag of things, Matt approached the door and just as he was about to turn the handle he noticed his sledge hammer. Suddenly a single thought went through his mind.

“Just who was that out there? Friend or foe?”

Doubling back, he grabbed the large hammer. With one deep breath, he opened the door.

-David Regan-

The scratches on the walls told him so.

Told him that it had been eight months since everything went to hell, since the fight for survival had truly begun. How do you live for two hundred and forty days with limited supplies? You get lucky, that's what David believed. He was lucky that he had some rations already, courtesy of his son, already stashed away before “the incident”. He was lucky that his cellmate had just recently been moved to solitary confinement so he wasn't forced to share or fight for the scarce remainder of supplies.

He was just so damn lucky.

In reality it was quite the opposite, while almost everyone died within the first two weeks, he was cursed with the hope of survival, cursed with clinging on desperately to a life he had already ruined. As he looked up at the crack in the ceiling, catching the trickle of dirty water that sprinkled down, he couldn't help but realize how pathetically weak he had become.

In prison (he laughed at the notion of calling it a correctional facility), there had hardly been anything to do but bulk up, and he had acquired quite a bit of muscle mass before the world went to hell. But afterward he had to conserve his energy, working out would just burn away faster at those precious calories. It didn't help that his body started eating self after his rations ran thin, and now he was reduced to nothing but a shadow of his former self.

The only thing that kept him going was the thought of Paul, his son. He had been coming up to visit, he had no idea if he made it, or if he was already dead. In fact he had no real idea on what had happened, the shouts of guards, prisoners, and the murmurs of radio had given him a vague idea, but the guards all fled and left the prisoners to rot in their cells. The radios had long since gone quite.

His food was gone. The water dripping from the busted pipe up above was slowing down. He had to get out, had to see if Paul was okay. But before that could happen he had to bust out from his stupid cell. He had been kicking, twisting, pushing, and prying the bars of his cell over the whole eight months and though they had began to show signs of weakening, he had no idea how close he was to breaking out.

The cell doors consisted of rows of vertical iron bars, periodically strengthen by a horizontal bar. He was small enough at this point that if he could beak at least two of the lower ones, he could squeeze his way out. He crawled over to the door, not really wanting to make an effort to stand. He began wrenching two of the lower bars, they moved around a little but nothing more then that.

He felt like giving up. He was tired and hungry, he felt spent and wasted.

The thought of Paul going through the exact same situation gave him a little more energy, a thought of trying at least a different approach before resigning for the day. He grabbed the bar of his cot to steady himself and then slammed his feet into the bars with all his might. The soles of his feet hurt, his legs were cramping, how long had he been trying this? But he kept at, slamming his feet down onto those bars, if not just for the sake of being able to say “well at least I tried”.

But then something happened. A bar buckled. He could feel it giving away, a combination of rust and wear giving it the motivation to break free from it's constraints. He felt hope once more as he brought his foot down again and again. And then the clang of metal on concrete greeted his ears. The bars had broken and lay on the other side of his cell. His laughter mixed with his tears of relief, nothing else seemed to matter but just getting out now. He hurriedly tried pushing himself through the small slot, the two broken nubs of iron protruded from the bottom of the door scraqed against his stomach, cutting his jumpsuit and his belly, but he could care less.

He was free.

He could not remember the last time he was able to say that word. It felt tingly in his mouth and he couldn’t help but say it out loud, shout it at the top of his lungs. It echoed through the empty rooms and halls, and it felt so...good. Whatever had happened to the world on the outside, at this very moment, he was happy.

Jacob “Jake” Mercer
Seattle, Washington
Fallout Shelter

To help settle his nerves, Jake quickly opened a bottle of gin which he still had plenty of, and a bottle of tonic water. Quickly he made himself the little cocktail, gulping it down and making another. He reeled back for a minute, from the strength of the drink, as he stirred the second and downed half of it, putting it down before he rushed to a bucket. Violently, Jake began to vomit, his stomach felt all twisted and knotted as he vomited more and more. A horrible acidic taste came to his mouth, as he kept on vomiting, kneeling on the floor.

When he was finished, he grabbed the rest of his drink and washed his mouth out from the horrible taste of vomit. He breathed heavily, gasping for air as he rested against his cot and just shook his head. The sight of seeing Mr. and Mrs. Long, replayed in his mind over and over again, as he took a moment and then got up.

The world was definitely a different place, but that was something Jake expected. It was the people who seemed to have changed the most though. Even amongst the ruined houses, things still seemed like they were before, but the people had completely turned upside down from who they once were. Jake fell back into memory, when he first met Robert and Jeanie Long, the two of them seemed so happy, even if it was played out more than reality, the happiness was still there. But when the images of Robert looking down at his wife, with a huge kitchen knife sticking out of her stomach, that happiness and love seemed to be completely gone.

For a moment, Jake began to ponder to himself the thought of once again, ending his life outright. If life was that horrible outside, he wasn’t sure if he could do it, the savagery and heartache that came with it might be too much for him. Temping himself, he pulled his Colt from his belt, chambering a round and tinkering with it, looking down the barrel with one eye, pressing it against his head a couple of times. The temptation was there, his finger on the trigger, but like all those other times, the gun didn’t go off. He fell to the ground on his knees, setting the pistol on the table as his eyes started to swell up with tears. This time though, he had the strength to hold them back.

“Get ahold of yourself!” He though, slapping the side of his head. “Get a [censored] hold of yourself! You’re not some kid anymore, you can’t go running out into the woods to get away from the old man! Get a [censored] hold of yourself!”

He knelt there by the table, fighting to keep a grip as he fought with himself, trying to hold on to what nerves he hadn’t broken after the shooting.

“The world’s over, you survived it, get a [censored] hold of yourself! If you didn’t want to live, you’d have walked out there weeks ago! You’d have found yourself a good mushroom cloud when this whole thing started, and walked into it! This isn’t the days where you can just run, you have to live!” He told himself, thinking it over and over again.

Then he went cold, a blank emotionless stare across his face, as he sat himself up on his cot, and just looked at the table. His breathing was slow and calm, his eyes relaxed, and his heart slowing down to a normal pace. He sat there for a minute, not making a single sound or move, as his mind just went empty and nothing occupied it.

“The world’s over,” he finally said to himself, in a calm quiet tone. “The world’s over, and you survived. There’s no hiding from it, not like with the old man, there’s none of that. It’s time to move on, make what can be made from the ruins. Make a new life.”

Quietly, Jake got up and grabbed the gin and tonic water once again. He quietly made himself another gin and tonic, twirling it around in the glass as he began to think more about his mother. If Robert and Jeanie Long could survive nuclear war, why couldn’t his mother do the same? She was after all, headed to the store, she could still be there waiting to come home, and just hadn’t because of fear or uncertainty. Jake quickly pushed the thoughts aside as he downed his drink, and started on another. All his thinking and problems would be solved for the moment, with a good drink or more in his system. Later, when he’d had enough and was clear of all these emotions, he’d come back and start again.

http://www.gamesas.com/topic/1355219-the-kingston-road/page__p__20440850#entry20440850
Seattle, WA
University Campus

Lea smiled and shook her head. German classes would do him some good. Andrew told her that he's on the way to Mercer Island, so she had waved and wished him good luck in his search. She truly hoped his family was alright. He had mentioned a nearby hospital. Now she was torn whether she should head a few blocks west, to check her apartment, go south to see if she can round up medical supplies or head north to the nearest grocery store?

"First things first," she told herself, while crossing the silent campus in the direction of her place.

While she walked she pondered the awkward German comment the guy had left her with. "Good luck, take care, so you won't be squished." Hmm, was that a nice way to say, be careful and don't die or did he mean that as a threat? Although, he didn't look very threatening, plus didn't he say he was a geek or something, working for Robco? Lea giggled a little, but her mood turned somber, once she left the campus.

Lea past the remnants of Ms Daisy's diner, a much beloved hang out for college students. Part of the four story building, that housed the diner, was collapsed and rubble covered the streets. Her apartment was down the road, on the left side of the next block. It was slow going now, since she had to carefully pick her way through all this debris. Soon, she was covered in dust and coughing fits reminded her that she should have gone to the hospital first, to gather some face masks, for just this occasion. This was a new world and she realized there was still much she had to learn.

Looking at the broken diner and all the hours college students spent here, brought Cammy to mind. She hoped the girl was ok,

Why didn't I study engineering or medicine. German and writing won't be of much use in this environment, she thought and rolled her eyes, knowing full well she had chosen her subjects, based on what she was passionate about.

After half an hour of picking her route through the treacherous road, she finally managed to make it to her apartment. Curiously, in all that time, she had not seen or heard another living being. Where was everybody? Surely in a city that big, there should be more survivors.

Silence and darkness greeted Lea, as she entered the building. Dust moats floated through the air and Lea headed right, taking the stairs to the third floor. Once she reached her apartment, her breath caught in her throat, the door had been busted open, her belongings strewn across the floor. With a sigh, she stepped inside and began to pick up her clothes. Suddenly, she stopped in the middle of reaching for a pair or pants.

"What the hell is the matter with me? What did you expect, Lea? Fire rained down upon us and you are angry someone looted your place? You are worried about a damn wrinkle in your blouse?"

She looked at the clothes in her hands and just threw them all into the air, then watched them fall back down and settle onto the dirty, dusty floor.

Behind her, someone was clapping.

Cammy Bernstein - Fallout shelter


Cammy awoke with her cheek plastered against the cement floor, the emotions she experienced in her short time outside of the shelter had taken their toll. She rolled back onto the foam pad she used as a bed; looking up at the grocery bag of food and water she had scoured her parents house for. "You hungry Dazzle? Me to," she slowly climbed to her feet and rifled through the paper bag.

Cammy tore open a bag of potato crisps and a tin of Spam, she readied her utensils and sat on the floor with Dazzle. Peeling the canned meat's thin lid back, she forked a chunk of the slimy meat from it's tin can. "Tastes like dog food," she spoke to Dazzle with her mouthful, she furrowed her brow at the pink bear, "So I tried Roscoe's dog food one time, what's the big deal Dazzle?"

The bear leaned to the side, "C'mon, every kid tries it at least one time, just be glad we aren't eating those dried out pork-n-beans." Cammy gobbled the moist meat, washing it down with warm water and potato crisps. She leaned back onto her elbows, "Whew, I'm stuffed, no pun intended Dazzle," she giggled.

Cammy sat there for a bit, reaching up for the mic to the ham radio, "Ms. Brunner? Are you there?" It was quiet for a minute, a soft static came from the dying speaker, "Ms. Brunner?"

"Professor Brunner has left the shelter to scout for supplies," a male voice startled Cammy.

"Wha...who is this?" Asked Cammy, her voice noticeably shaky.

"This is Professor Taylor, I'm the science professor at the University of Seattle," Taylor spoke with a sense of pride.

"Oh, this is Cammy Bernstein. Hey, I was attacked by a giant fly earlier when I went into our barn," Cammy began to choke up, "It was feeding on my Holstein, Buella, she's dead," she sniffed, "It was as big as me I swear, how come its like that Professor Taylor?"

"Some animals are susceptible to adaptation to radiation, it's effects differ amongst species. A fly is one of the filthiest living things on the planet, I am certain that the radiation merely mutated the fly. Perhaps enabling it to develop at an alarming rate far exceeding past it's normal size. You said it attacked you? Are you wounded?"

"No, well yes, it came after me, but I made it back into my Dad's shelter before it could get me." Cammy said with excitement.

"Good, your father is with you I assume?" Asked Taylor.

Cammy burst into a sobbing, difficult to understand mess, "NO, he was in Bakersfield California delivering some cars, he is a truck driver. I haven't heard from him at all. He and my Mom told me to get into a shelter either at the University, or at home, and that they would find me. My Mom went to a wedding convention in downtown, that's why I went home for the weekend, to take care of our plants and animals. I haven't heard from her either."

Cammy fell back onto the foam pad, curling up into a ball weeping hysterically. The radio was silent for a moment before Professor Taylor replied, "Cammy, you have survived this long, how are you on supplies?" She continued to weep, not answering him.

"Cammy. Do you have food and water?" Taylor asked once more, "CAMMY, Do. You. Have. Food and water?"

"Ya...yes," she finally answered, "I'm so lonely, it's just me and Dazzle," she wiped her nose.

"Dazzle? Who is Dazzle?" Asked Taylor curiously.

"You will laugh," she put the mic to her chest, staring at the radio with tears falling down her cheeks.

"Cammy, no I won't, who is Dazzle? Your pet?" The Professor coaxed.

"My teddy bear, she's my teddy bear that I've had for as long as I can remember," she felt her cheeks get hot in-spite of her state of stress.

"Well Cammy, I have asked myself if I had been better off by myself rather than with all of these students and faculty over the months." Taylor had to pause, attempting not to chuckle over the mic, "If memory serves me right, you don't live to far from the university do you?"

"No, like five miles or so I think. I walked home before the war, it's not bad, why?" She wiped the backs of her hands on her cheeks.

"Think you can make it back here? Maybe someone from here could meet you?"

"But that, that...FLY. What about the fly?" Her heart skipped a beat.

"Do you have anything to kill it?" Inquired Taylor.

"No, I don't think a fly-swatter will work," she swallowed hard at the though of confronting the mutated insect.

"I was thinking like a baseball bat, gun, or something along those lines," Taylor replied, "You have anything like that in your shelter?"

Cammy looked around, the Daisy Red-Rider BB gun that her father gave her when she was little leaned in the corner, "I have a BB gun, will that work?"

"Sure, why not? If shooting it doesn't do anything, try using it like a baseball bat," he paused, "Large or not, I cannot foresee it taking too much to kill it."

Cammy closed her eyes, the image of the fly rising from Buella's carcass filled her mind. It sent chills down her spine, but, it also angered her greatly. That...thing had been feeding on her prize winning Holstein, her childhood pet. She got up and retrieved the dusty old BB gun, on the shelf above it sat a small box of BB's. She looked at the gun as Professor Taylor called her name. With a tight squeeze of her hands around the little gun, she returned to the radio, "OK, I can do this...for Buella."

Eight months, Eight months had passed. Kara had been holed up in her basemant for eight months. The space was by no means small for just the one person but it felt like the place was beginning to cave in on her. She paced up and down looking at a Geiger counter, apparently the rads where at a safe level outside but if she was perfectly honest she wasn’t sure if she should go outside. She stopped ad looked in a full length mirror, she had lost a little weight over the past eight months but not much, she had plenty of food, the basemant had been stocked for three people but only one had made it. Still looking I the mirror she brushed a bit of hair from her face, despite being inside she still had the slight golden tan and her brunette hair reached about half way down her back. She rubbed her hands over her face “C’mon you’ve gotta do something” Her thick Australian accent echoed around the rom a little and then she realised she could be possibly starting to go mad, she was talking to her own reflection in the mirror after all and at that thought she couldn’t help but crack a small smile. Kara grabbed one of the bottles of water from the shelf, there was only nine left. She sipped gingerly from the bottle trying not to waste any.

It was getting late but before Kara went to bed she approached a small workbench and began to reassemble her Remington rifle, over the past eight months one of the few things that must of kept her sane was this rifle, she had learned to take it apart and clean it and put it back together, however none of this really amounted to much because if she ever had to use it on anything other than an animal she would probably just freeze up, that combined with the fact that she wasn’t that great of a shooter anyway. As she finished assembling the rifle she pulled the bolt back to an empty chamber that could hold up to five .338 Lapua Magnum rounds. Kara had no idea what a Lapua Magnum round was all she knew was it was a bullet and she had a box of them. She steadily loaded five rounds into the rifle and closed the bolt, looking up into the mirror again she thought to herself ‘Tomorrow I have to go, leave, do something’. Placing the rifle down she stripped off completely, she had one more set of clean clothes which she would wear tomorrow instantly feeling a slight chill she dived into the bed and covered herself with duvet’s and blankets. It was fair to say, her old man had stocked their basemant bunker well.

Despite their being a nuclear apocalypse when she awoke Kara still did the typical young person thing, that being waking up but not getting out of bed for another hour or so. When she did finally get up she dressed herself in some light blue jeans, a black fitting short sleeved top, a black fitting lightweight leather jacket and some white and red trainers. Kara knew she ideally wanted some boots but if there was one thing her father forgot to stock it was them. After grabbing a back pack she put the rest of the water in there and whatever food she could along with the box of bullets. Sitting down she ate some sugar bombs without milk, after all milk doesn’t keep for that long. She put her combat knife in a small sheathe that was attached to her jeans and slung the back pack on her back, The back pack also had sort of sheath between the bag and her back which the Remington rifle fitted into quite nicely, The rifle had a strap but it would be easier to use the bag sheathe for now. All that was left was to unlock the door. A few clicks later the door slowly swung, leading into the new world.

Helen Raindancer – June, 2078 – Storage room of McMarston’s Pub

Helen sat at the small Formica table and turned the page of magazine full of pin-up girls. Trevor may have stocked the shelter with books, newspapers, and magazines, but none of them were at all to her interests or fancy. She didn’t fault him for that, he did, after all, stock this shelter assuming he’d be the only one using it.

She stared at the busty Caucasian woman in the spread in front of her, wearing a lacy bra and high-waisted panties, high stockings, and pin heels. Her hair was pinned in a lazy beehive – it seemed as though having a number of strands deliberately left out of the top was supposed to be even more sultry or appealing – and her lips painted bright red. She was pouting.

Helen began to outline a curly moustache on the model’s lips. She drew the lines carefully before filling them in.

“At least I don’t have a moustache,” she muttered to the photo smugly, before turning the page once more.

Her stomach clenched. Helen winced at the pain and wondered if she were truly hungry, or reacting poorly to the steady diet of sugary carbohydrates. She looked up from the table and out the window in an attempt to figure out a time of day. It looked like it was late afternoon…maybe. Maybe it was only lunch time.

Helen sketched moustaches on the group of models in the next photo, all wearing bikinis and appearing to be enjoying a day on the beach together. She glanced out the window once more, somehow expecting a significant amount of time to have passed. She sighed.

I am so, so bored. She stood up and stepped over to the small, high window. Helen reached up and raised herself onto her toes and strained to see outside. The joints in her feet cracked and popped, as did those in her shoulders. Try as she might, she could not see out to the horizon, instead, only up the nearest streetlight post and into the sky.

Helen sighed again and lowered herself back to the floor. She flipped her long braid over her shoulder and felt it land onto her back with a satisfying thud. She found herself shuffling back into the pantry. She pushed the remaining cans around and nearly jumped In her surprise to have located a can of Tropical De-Lite Fruit Cocktail in mock syrup. In response to the thought of the sweet, canned fruit, her stomach growled loudly.

She couldn’t believe how overwhelmingly relieved she was not to have to eat powdered eggs once more. If Trevor were still in the shelter, he’d emphasize that the fruit was meant as a treat, like a dessert, and that it should be rationed accordingly.

Come to think of it, he sure did have a lot of “rules”…

Helen snatched the can and walked back out to the makeshift kitchen where she grabbed a spoon and the can opener, before sitting back down at the table and the magazine. She zipped the top off the can and told herself she shouldn’t eat more than half of the fruit, to save some for later…

She dug the spoon in, lifted out some of the fruit, and salivated as she watched the syrup-like liquid drip off the spoon in long tendrils of clear, sugary lines. As she contentedly chewed each bite until the fruit was reduced to a flavourless paste before swallowing, she finished drawing moustaches on all the characters in the magazine.

I guess the next step is to learn how to make paper airplanes.

Dalton Warner

He tore open the letter and unfolded the one sheet of paper; he instantly recognised his mother’s hand writing. He turned around and fell down onto the bed, lying on his back, holding the parchment up above his face. He looked into the corner, it was dated April 17^th 2078.

[censored], that was two months ago.

He began to read the letter:

Dear Dalton,

We love you, but it’s been 6 months, it’s too long to wait for you to come back. We hope you find this letter, we’ve left for the country side. Your father wants us to go to your Aunt Helen’s. She has a real fallout shelter. I’m so sorry, we couldn’t wait any longer. We know you are safe at the universities fallout shelter.

Love, Mom, Dad, and Dylan.

P.S Thanks for all the help with homework. I hope you’re okay. Mom and Dad say the university is really safe. Love your little brother Dylan.

“[censored],” Dalton shouted. His hands fell to his side and he lay there for just a moment. If only he had come out of that god forsaken store a little earlier he would have been here to flee with his family. “Damn schooling hasn’t done me an ounce of good.”

Dalton rolled up and sat on his bed. He stuffed the letter, the last thing he had of his family into his pocket and just sat there. He looked at the walls and the paint on them. He didn’t know where to go or what to do. He thought that maybe he would head back to the university, after all his family thought he would’ve been safe there.

Jacob “Jake” Mercer
Seattle, Washington
Fallout Shelter

When Jake finally came around from his drunken state, he found himself in an all too familiar position. His head ached, his eyes hurt, and he could taste vomit in his mouth. His hand hung over the side of the cot, laying in the puddle of vomit which he couldn’t remember even vomiting up. In fact, everything from after he stepped out of the shelter, seemed to be nothing but a blank.

He quietly got up, and avoided the vomit on the floor, cleaning off his hand with a nearby rag, and realizing he had some in his beard. He didn’t feel as awful as he once had in this position, he’d become tolerant to waking up with vomit in his beard and a hand possibly in it.

“God,” he said to himself. The mirror in the tiny bathroom showed a horrible figure, but one Jake could still recognize from incidents like this before. Carefully, Jake brushed out the vomit from his beard into the tiny sink, and sprinkled some bottled water to try and help get rid of the stench.

After finally cleaning himself up, Jake cleaned up the floor. Empty bottles cluttered the floor, along with his vomit. He cleaned it up quickly, and took a seat back on his cot. His memory started to return slowly, and then began to all come together quicker. He remembered everything, he remembered shooting an old man.

“That [censored] bastard,” he said holding his head in his hands. “That [censored] bastard!”

He sat there quietly for a moment, thinking about what he’d done and seen, but couldn’t do it for long as his head ached and he didn’t have anything to help with the pain. He looked up, and saw he was down to just a few bottles of booze left. For a minute he thought about taking them, downing them all again and just trying to kill himself. That thinking went away probably too quickly, as he got up and prepared once again to go out.

“I’ll make my way to the corner store, just down the street,” he said shoveling things into his rucksack. “She’s probably there after all, and I can finally rest.”

Quietly, Jake slung his rucksack filled with everything he could carry with him, and grabbed his rifle and pistol. He paused to look at the pistol, thinking about how he’d shot Mr. Long right in the throat with that very pistol, and how at one time he never would have dreamed of using it to kill someone. He pushed the thoughts away, and opened the door, tucking the pistol away in his belt as he’d done before, but this time left the door of the shelter open. He wouldn’t be coming back, he knew that much.

Carefully and avoiding the street, Jake made his way down towards the corner store, through the backyards of his parent’s since dead or hidden away, neighbors. This time out, he got a better feel for the world, it was very dreary and dead. The sky was a blue, with dark broken up clouds that looked like rain clouds, but Jake couldn’t tell if it had rained at all since he’d last seen rain. The houses he passed were all in ruin and disrepair, some more so than others, but Jake didn’t dare go into one of them, too afraid of what death he might find. Instead, he continued to the corner store.

When he spotted the corner store, he was surprised at how ruined and destroyed it was. The place was a complete mess. At one time, it had been a two story building, with the owner living on the top floor with his wife and two kids. Now that top floor was nonexistent, all that was left was an unroofed bottom floor. The building also looked like it had been set on fire, that someone had been stupid enough, or just bored, and lit the place on fire.

Quietly, Jake made his way up against the tallest standing wall of the store, quietly sliding along it towards the front. The whole street, and neighborhood for that matter, was completely silent. All Jake could hear, was the sound of his breathing and the racing of his heart. He once again pulled out his Colt Woodsman, and chambered a round, glancing around the corner only to find nothing.

The front of the shop, had been completely leveled as well. Only three of the actual four walls of the corner store, still stood. Jake quietly stepped in, over where a wall would have stood, and took a look around. The place was a disaster, and empty disaster at that. There was a single item left, that the store owned, that someone hadn’t stolen or taken for food. Even the cash register had been tossed to the ground, and all the money taken from it.

As he walked, the wooden floor of the store began to squeak. He could feel as he took certain steps, the wood start to slowly give to his weight. When he felt that, he quickly placed the foot elsewhere that was stronger. But as he neared the register’s counter, he happened to step where the wood was much too weak. A sudden sound of give wailed underneath him came, as his food suddenly fell through the floor. Jake’s eyes widened as he tried to quickly catch himself, but the odd fall only led him to hit other wood just as weak, and Jake was suddenly falling through the entire floor.

With a loud bang, Jake crashed through and hit the ground, crumbling on the given wood and cement that the basemant floor was made of. He let out a heavy cough, as he held his side, feeling for anything broken, but luckily nothing did.

“[censored] me,” Jake said angrily to himself. “Great [censored] craftsmanship!” He painfully got back up to his feet, luckily his rifle had been slung on the other side, and hadn’t been on the side he’d hit the ground with. He checked it over however, along with everything else he had with him, just incase anything had broken. Luckily nothing had, even the bottles of booze hadn’t shattered. He let out a relieved sigh, and had a look around. The place was dimly lit, but was bright enough for his eyes to adjust well enough. It also had a strange odor to it, like rotting food or something. Jake couldn’t place it, but covered his nose regardless.

“Anyone here?” He asked, looking around from where he was. There was no answer. “Mom? It’s me, Jake, are you here?” Quietly he moved to the darkest corner, suddenly stopped as he bumped into something. He couldn’t quite tell what it was though, and stepped out of the light to see better. Still though, it wasn’t enough, and he quickly lit a match from his pocket. He put the little light it gave, near the object and nearly screamed when he saw what it was.

Like a rabbit, Jake leapt back, dropping the match as he did and nearly fell over the broken wood as he did. “[censored]!” He finally screamed, pressing against a wall. The object was indeed a chair, but there had been someone in it -- the store owner. The body had been rotting for quite awhile, the eye sockets were empty of anything, and the skin was all that was really left besides of course the bones. Quickly, Jake covered his nose from the horrible stench that only seemed to get worse. The whole spot seemed to lighten up as Jake looked, and saw that the only other person in the room was the shop owner, not even a wife or child was around that he could see anywhere.

Quietly, Jake made his way back to the top, leaving the scene as the stench of death became too strong for him. Up top, the fresh air relieved him of the smell, and he took a moment to slow down his heart. He hadn’t realized, but his heart was racing nearly a mile a minute.

“God I hate this place,” Jake said slumping behind the counter against the wall. “Everyone’s dead or dying. I hate this place.”

After a moment, Jake got back up on his feet and left what was left of the store. He couldn’t think of anywhere else his mother could have gone, the last place she said she was going was the store, but there wasn’t any sign of her. He looked around on the corner of the empty street, seeing nothing but ruin and destruction. Everything had gone to hell, and he was now just a person out there in the world, left to do whatever it was he could to get by.

OOC: Sorry for being so late to the party! I was laid up in a hospital room and couldn't get ahold of one damn computer. Anyways, here we go!

Jonas Lattimore, Seattle


The room was lit, but only by a lamp-bulb and ceiling light, as well as several good-sized candles placed on shelves and tables. Jonas was packing, looking around at his home. A fallout shelter, over 10 feet buried underground, with five foot thick walls of concrete.


A well protected home if there ever was one, heh... Jonas quietly thought to himself.

The bed, the weights on the floor, a shelf full of books and old magazines. A small radio setup on a table, signal always open, and no pvssyr to be heard.

Somberly, yet willfully, he threw on his pack and grabbed his rifle. A pretty AK-47, black finish, Hungarian made AMD paratrooper. The foldable stock was very good for carrying and movement purposes. The .22 revolver at his hip was nice and light, tucked in at the waist secured with simple cord.

Securing his machete into the sheath on his pack, Jonas threw the old Marine B.O.B. over his shoulders, pulled down his mouthless ski-mask and ascended the stairs to the surface. Taking a moment, the 18 year old took in a sharp breath, maybe his last breath of clean air and good oxygen.

The air was thick, damp, barely any sunlight piercing the dark clouds. But for just a second, the sun came down and shed light on the neighborhood, and on the city. Living in a high place gave you perspective, view. The view Jonas had wasn't what he'd remembered.

The houses were torn apart, rotting, and simply wasting away in the cool wind. "[censored]... " The first word uttered. Buildings in complete shambles, one even knocked over completely. No warheads had dropped on or very close to Seattle.

Cold winds, radiation, and neglect had taken their toll on old Seattle. "Well, here we go. God damnit... " Jonas clenched the green prayer beads wrapped around his wrist, the small celtic cross creaking just slightly.

Taking a jog through the streets Jonas was able to see just what some of the chaos had done, that he'd heard happening, as the bomb sirens went off 8 long months ago. Taking a right on a street corner, Jonas began to head towards the city itself, the only place he'd really find anything of use.

After 8 months, and more than enough looting and practical rioting had probably stripped the suburbs dry.

Dalton Warner

The basemant looked the same as ever. The entire room was dark, dimly lit by one broken basemant window, the safety bars across the space were still present, albeit rusted and twisted. The old washing machine and dryer sat on the right side of the room. And they had leaked, that half of the room was filled with murky green-grey water. The laundry bins were empty and the clothesline was bare. His family had pretty much cleaned this place out before they left.

He walked into the open space in between the clutter all over the floor on the left side and the flooded right. He looked at the piles, boxes labeled “Christmas” and “Easter”, old gymbags, school stuff, books, furniture, and sports equipment. Most was trash not worth taking from the home, but he turned to the shelf, he knew his father kept a Glock stashed down here. Though it was highly unlikely it was still here, the family would have taken it if they had any common sense.

He turned to look at the shelving unit that ran along the wall. His family kept a good many things along that wall. The only things Dalton recognised as valuable were the camping equipment that used to be there and the handgun. But for the most part there seemed to be just dozens of paint cans lining the shelf.

Dalton sighed and shrugged off some anxiety regarding the whole operation, he thought his efforts might turn up fruitless. “Here goes nothing..” he mumbled, as he went at the shelf with much vigor tearing old paint cans off the shelves.

*************

It had been maybe two hours of scavenging the remains of the basemant. He had come up with a few extra relatively clean clothes, some batters, a lamp, and a canister of kerosene.

[censored] man no gun!

He kicked an old box sending ti sprawling across the floor, its contents emptying themselves across the floor. A binder of old baseball cards fell out. He leaned over and scooped it up; flipping through the book, looking at those cards brought back such memories.

“[censored] it, I’m keeping these,” and he smiled again, for the first time in a long time. He took his findings up stairs and headed towards the hallway where his pack was. He loaded them up and decided he would take one last look around the house, he doubted he would ever be back here again. He looked at the remaining family photos and sat on the couch in the living room, and lay in his bed for the last time he thought he ever would. He took his pillow with him and a stuffed bunny before departing out into the ruins of Seattle.

As his second morning in this new world had begun Michael decided to go out once again and see if he couldn't salvage some bits and pieces to make life in his little safehouse more hospitable. A water purifier from some big retail store, maybe a little generator, or a camping stove as the power and gas had surely gone out. Perhaps a shovel so he could bury his trash and waste out somewhere.

He had ventured out with his backpack and pistol in his new pair of running shoes, hoping to start settling into this small safe place he had.

Michael stopped into a bookstore hoping to find something about camping, or backpacking, or repair work. Something that would stick out to him as helpful in this new world.

The bookstore had been stripped of any such material.

He ended up stuffing a plethora of celebrity gossip magazines into his bag. Not that who was sleeping with who, who was recovering from what, or who looked hot and who did not would be particularly useful information at this point. The magazines might make a good fire though, or insulation in the winter. He hoped he would make it into the next winter.

He then wandered slowly down the road, keeping an eye out for any other survivors.

He had realized that morning that though he longed to meet another, to have a simple conversation with another human being, encountering anyone could well prove fatal. He had been safe these long months in his little bunker, but what had the rest of the world experienced?

Still he hoped he would someone somewhere. Even a brief conversation, even from a distance, just a shouted greeting before going off on his own once more.

He had taken to speaking with his wife again on the long broken phone. It wasn't healthy, but it helped.



As he pondered his coping mechanism he came upon a rather large boarded up house. It stuck out rather well in an otherwise modest neighborhood, looking as though a good deal of money had been put into converting it from just another three bedroom two bath house into a rather large estate.

Michael knocked on the door and stood patiently for a moment. When the moment had passed he felt a surge of fear, that had been rather stupid. These people had boarded up their house, a pretty clear indicator they didn't want any visitors.

He crouched down a bit and looked about for windows, vantage points from which he might be shot. There were none, the windows too had been boarded up.

Despite himself he knocked again and called out, "Hello? Is anyone here?"

Followed up by, "I live, well I used to live, just down the way...hello?"

He rang the doorbell which triggered a still clear little tune from some children's song.

"I'm coming in...just, just say something if you want me to turn back, I mean no harm. I'm a cop."




He pried away a few boards to make his way into the home.

Once within he focused intently on making his way through the halls, pistol drawn.

He wasn't sure if it was even really all that good an idea to have the weapon out, it certainly wouldn't reassure anyone inside that he was particularly friendly. He considered speaking up and letting whoever might still be in here know he was armed...but then who was to say that wouldn't just precipitate a volley of gunfire. Any minor wound now could be fatal.

In the darkness he bumped into furniture and waded through refuse. Food wrappers, cardboard boxes, orange peels and apple cores. The bottom story of the house had apparently become their trashcan.

It didn't make much sense to Michael, but then he hadn't lived through those days as they had.

Michael hadn't had to board up his house, hadn't had to shoot, and hadn't had anyone to provide for but himself. He hadn't had to venture out to gather food as the world went to crap, knowing that anytime he left his loved ones alone he may well return to find them dead or kidnapped. Michael hadn't had to realize that piles of trash gradually accumulating outside one's windows might indicate to passersby that someone was home and that that someone had built up a stock of foodstuffs.

It didn't make much sense to Michael.

"I'm coming up the stairs, OK?"

He struggled again with whether it was best to climb with his gun drawn and pointed or to proceed unarmed. A Mexican Standoff was no way to greet the first human being you encounter in a post apocalyptic world...but it sure would svck to get shot when the likelihood of encountering a doctor anytime soon is neigh nil. He kept the gun drawn.

"Hello?"

Reaching the top of the stairs he heard a creaking of wood and a slight rustle, and ignoring his better instincts moved quickly toward the noise.

Pushing open the door with his left hand while covering his entrance with the weapon in his right, he came upon the previous occupants who had lived through those dog days outside after the bombs dropped.

Michael stumbled over his own feet as he backpedaled out of the room. Landing in a heap, he dragged himself a bit further from the horror before giving into his gag reflex.

Cammy - Her shelter


Cammy wiped off the BB gun, placing it on the counter she grabbed the mic, "Professor Taylor? I'm scared."

A moment of static echoed throughout the shelter before Professor Taylor replied, "I am certain that you are, we all are. You said you have already been inside your house?"

"Yes, it was just like I left it. Do you want me to grab my assignment?"l Cammy asked as she balled her left fist anxiously.

She could hear him chuckle before he spoke, "No, that is the least of everyone's worries. Why don't you get everything you need from the house and head back to the school?"

Cammy swallowed hard, "By myself?" She asked sheepishly.

"I know you can do it, but be safe, do not speak with anyone unless you know them...really well. People change after such traumatic events such as this, and you can never be to sure."

"Alright, I...uh...I," she let go of the mic's button and inhaled deeply, "OK."

"There is plenty of daylight left, I can not imagine that it will take you too long to return here. We have plenty of space, but are low on supplies."

"I'm getting re," the ham radio went all static as the fission battery died a slow, miserable death. Cammy pressed the button multiple times, then there was no sound at all, she tossed down the mic and slid down the side of the counter to the floor. Her mouth hung open as she stared blankly at the opposite wall. I have to leave, I can't stay here anymore. Ms. Brunner will help me, so will Professor Taylor. If I stay here...I'll die. She pulled the collar of her T-shirt up to wipe away her tears. She pull Dazzle up to her chest, resting her chin of the bears head between it's ears, "I'm so sca...scared Dazzle." Her chest heaved with each word, "Ga...guess we better get ready."

Cammy started to pull on the large waders, followed by her yellow hooded raincoat. She hadn't removed anything from the grocery bag she brought back from the house, she put on her back pack after packing Dazzle inside. The grocery bag was a bit heavy for with one hand, but she had to manage so that she could carry her BB gun.

"Wait, I'll leave this stuff here for now and go make sure I have everything I need from the house," she said aloud putting down the bags. With a single pump of the BB gun, she exited the shelter for the second time. Her eyes were wide as she looked around for the giant fly through the lens of the respiratory. She crept slowly towards the house, reaching the back door with no sign of the giant fly. Slipping inside, she locked the door behind her.

Being safely inside the house comforted Cammy greatly, she removed the mask and coat and breathed the musty air. She pulled her list from her pocket, double checking it. Cammy walked into her parents bedroom to have a look around, none of her Mother's clothes fit her, so she decided not to go through the dresser. Walking into the master bathroom, she looked in the mirror, she picked at her hair, "Gross," Cammy turned the spigot on in the tub. It gurgled, and sputtered before coughing up some dark, dirty water. "WHAT??? You have got to be kidding me? So much for that."

Cammy snapped her fingers and ran back downstairs to the kitchen, she looked at the purified water dispenser and its almost full five gallon bottle. She removed the large, heavy bottle and returned to the master bathroom. Using a cup, she washed her hair and proceeded to shave with her Mother's razor. If Travis is at the school still he can't see me like this, she smiled at the thought of the boy.

Cammy fetched some purple sweatpants and a blue T-shirt from her room. After she finished changing, she went back into her parents room and sat on the bed. She had never felt so lonely, before all of this, she was ecstatic to have the house to herself. Things change, especially after eight longs months stuck in a shelter with no-one else but a pink teddy bear. Cammy eyed the family picture in it's dusty frame on her Mother's nightstand. Her hand trembled as she reached for it, brushing the dust off then clutching it to her chest. She curled up on the bed and wept, wishing that it would have been just another weekend that she and her parents shared working around the home.

"Mom, Dad, I miss you so much," Cammy looked at the picture again, kissing her parents images through the glass, "I love you."

Michael Westin
Seattle, Washington
Maple Valley, Bomb Shelter

Michael lounged in his sleeping bag lazily flipping the pages of an issue of True Crime: Police Stories. He yawns loudly, wondering what time it was and for that matter how long he had been living in his parent's makeshift fallout shelter. Staying in the cramped and dimly lit windowless basemant had distorted his sense of time. His lack of human interaction has left him longing for someone to talk to. He however was still too fearful to leave and see just how bad things are. From what his father told he expected it to be years before it would be safe to venture outside.

He sighs knowing that he must remain cooped up for a while longer. With a groan he blindly reaches out for the jug of water he keeps near his bed. Lifting up the container he is surprised to see that all the liquid has been consumed. Setting the magazine he was reading he down he picks himself up. He nearly stumbles over a massive pile of books on his way over to the refrigerator. Michael does a double take when he inspects the fridge and finds no water. Panic quickly sets in as he scurries around trying to see if any water remains. After turning the basemant apart he finds a single gallon of water is all that remains. He hurries over to the nearby cabinet finding only six cans of food left.

Sitting down to settle his nerves, Michael tries to puzzle out his next move. He sits staring out in space for some time, knowing that he would be forced to abandon the shelter to find more food and water. After agonizing over the decision for many hours he plans to head out in the morning or at least what he believed to be morning.

http://www.gamesas.com/topic/1355219-the-kingston-road/page__p__20440850#entry20440850
Stanford Apartments
42nd Street, Seattle WA

Startled by the sound of clapping, Lea turned around, took a step back and almost tripped over a lampshade. She regained her balance and covered her mouth to suppress a gasp of utter disgust. However, her wide eyes mirrored the feeling of being confronted by the drecks of society. Lea, usually eager to meet new people, suppressed an involuntary shudder. The man across her just grinned. He wore a wrinkled and grimy business suite, which was much too big for him. His face and hands were covered in dirt and sores. When he reached up to scratch his head, his hand came away with several strands of hair. He took a step towards Lea and his grin revealed several black teeth.

"Well, well. We got ourselves a real life doll, ain't we?" He sounded like his vocal cords had been replaced with sand paper. "You like throwing things, eh?" he added and winked at Lea. "Throw me your backpack then," he said and pointed at Lea's provisions.

"Do.. do you live here?" Lea asked and cursed her unsteady voice. Don't show fear, she thought.

"Now that's a weighted question, Doll. What's life? Do I live? I wonder that sometime as well. But if you're askin' if this is my domicile, then well, it is and it isn't, you dig?" was his cryptic reply.

"You suffer from radiation poisoning," she observed and ignored his reply.

"I did at one time. Yes, at the beginning, but now, now I thrive on it," he said and took another step towards Lea.

"You are covered in sores and your hair is falling out in bunches, I hardly would call that thriving," she remarked dryly, trying to keep his attention off her provisions. There was no way she would just hand over her stuff, knowing that the survivors in the university were counting on her. Right now, her pack contained only the bare necessities with her. Thank goodness she hadn't started scavenging for supplies yet. Maybe there was a peaceful solution for her current situation, maybe she could pacify this guy with a few cans of Pork and Beans.

He shrugged. "Hell, at least I'm alive. There are many poor bastards that died within the first few weeks. Bastards not lucky enough to find shelter." He sneered and gave her a condescending look. "I guess you were luckier than most, eh Doll? Where'd you come from anyway, eh?"

"I.. I.. yea, I guess I was lucky to find shelter in a nearby basemant," she lied. This guy wasn't giving off any good vibes and she would not reveal the University shelter to him.

Suddenly, he stood next to her and grabbed her arm. "Now, Doll, gimme your pack and I'll be on my way."

"You, you are hurting me, let me go. Why don't you go scavenge around the city? I'm sure there's enough stuff left for you." Lea twisted her arm, trying to free herself from his grip.

"Oh what a fine doll you are. Been too long since I've smelled pretty like you."He leaned in closer and inhaled her scent deeply. "Wonder how'd you taste..."

Lea's heart dropped and she knew with such clarity there was no peaceful solution. With her free hand, she reached behind her and was able to get a hold of the baseball bat leaning against the wall. Without hesitation, she swung it as hard has she could and heard a sickening crack, as it connected with the guys skull. He dropped to the ground and didn't move. Blood poured from a gash at his temple and Lea watched as it formed small rivulets that turned her favorite blue sweater a crimson color.

Cold, hard reality flushed the remaining adrenaline out of her system. For a minute, Lea stood rooted to the ground and just stared at the corpse in front of her feet. Moments later, the baseball bat fell from her hand and landed with a clatter on the floor. Her body shook from head to toe and there was nothing Lea could do to stop it. She hugged herself, willing her body to be still, but the shakes continued for several minutes. Tears streamed down her face and, once and for all, she realized that war, war always changes your world.

Cammy Bernstein - Inside her home

Cammy opened her eyes, peeking at the picture while her eyes stung from their tears. I have to get to the University shelter. As Cammy rolled to her back, she looked at the dusty ceiling fan. The tiniest of smiles crossed her face, remembering the times she had climbed into bed with her parents and watched it spin quietly to fall asleep. She reached an arm out from each side and squeezed the pillows, "If you didn't survive, know that I am thankful for the time we spent together." She took a deep breath as the tears dropped onto the bed's linens, "I hope that you didn't suffer, I wish wherever you are...that I was with you."

Without further hesitation, Cammy sat up; shoving the picture inside of her backpack with Dazzle. She went through the house and grabbed every picture of her parents and an photo album. She removed the cans of food to make room for the pictures. She put her can opener, fork, spoon, and razor in the pouches on the sides of the pack. A light bulb went off, and she ran to her bedroom and emptied the stuffed animals from her Radio Flyer wagon. It's wheels squealed as they rolled, the oil bearings had long since dried out. The wagon hadn't been used for over five years, but her Dad bought it for her as a Christmas present, so she refused to sell it in their annual garage sale.

Packing amenities into the wagon, she used a couple of her Father's belts to tie a blanket over the things. Once secured, she shouldered her backpack, picked up her BB gun, and left through the back door. She plucked the house key from the wall before she closed the door, for what would be the last time she ever would. Locking it, she turned and pulled her hood strings tight, squeezing her cheeks.

"Alright Dazzle, let's try to sneak away without that monster fly seeing us," Cammy worked the wagon down the few steps onto the blackened ground. She began to pull the wagon through the yard, the squeaky bearings seemed to be screaming in the silent outdoors. Cammy eyed the barn, picking up her pace.

Midway through the yard she stopped, she heard the familiar buzz again. Looking behind her, the giant fly approached, "AHHHH, DAZZLE IT'S AFTER US!!!" Cammy started to run, the belts loosened on the wagon, spilling better than half of its contents. She glanced at her lightened load quickly, pulling up the BB gun and aiming down the simple sites. PFFT, she squeezed the trigger and she repeated. This didn't have her desired effect on the giant fly, as it buzzed louder and bobbed towards her a little faster.

I need that stuff, baseball bat, use it like a baseball bat, she flipped the BB gun around, holding by the barrel. The fly had almost reached her, Cammy closed her eyes and swung, bringing with it a sickening thud. She swung it back the other way with her eyes barely opened, missing the fly and spinning a one eighty. She had crushed one of it's wings, it flailed about the ground, still proceeding forward. Cammy stepped up; BB gun above her head, "For Buella," she slammed the stock of the BB gun onto the flies head. What sounded like a water balloon exploding, a her coat being sprayed with a water gun turned her stomach but she hit the fly several more times. Cammy stood, breathing rapidly while looking at the mangled fly.

She kneeled down a few feet away, wiping the BB gun off in the dirty grass, "Can you believe it Dazzle? I killed it, I killed the giant fly!" The words flew out of her mouth a hundred miles an hour. Cammy started scooping up the items that had fallen from the wagon when she heard more buzzing. Her mouth fell open when she saw several other flies exiting the old barn. "Oh crap," she snatched the handle of the wagon and begun to run.

In her haste, she cut the corner of the fence a little too close. The wagon's wheel caught, jerking her back by her arm and spilling onto its side. The front wheel broken, her eyes like saucers she dropped the handle and ran. She remember Professor Taylor's advice, even though it was hard, she didn't scream. The last thing she needed was to catch the attention of other...troubles. Cammy ran four four blocks in a dead sprint, she stopped for a second, hands on her knees as the respirator hissed with her burdened breathing. "They gone Dazzle?" She looked back, no sign of the flies, she remembered the disgusting site of the destroyed fly. Cammy pulled the respirator away from her face and vomited.

Troy Stokes

Troy went to tuck the handgun in his hoody, but quickly recoiled as the heated barrel hit his stomach.

"Agh! [censored] hell." Troy gasped, dropping the gun to the floor, pulling up his hoody and t-shirt and fanning the near burn almost comically. Luckily the fabric had been thick enough to protect his skin, it was just a little pain, no injury. He leaned down, letting out a small cough as his head went through the dust the handgun dropping had caused to fly up, picking up the handgun he walked over to a drawer in the corner of the living room, the bedrooms in the tiny house only had enough room for one bed each so they had been forced to put the drawer where they kept their clothes in the living room. Troy pulled a small sock from one of the draws, putting the handguns barrel inside the sock and tucking it back into his hood.

"Well, that's a lesson learned, no contact with skin after firing." Troy mumbled to himself, consciously aware that he was speaking to himself far more then usual.

He suddenly became aware that he had been right earlier on, this place no longer felt like his home; without his dad, his possessions and the safety of society this place was nothing but a painful memory. Well, a painful memory and a decent place to collect his thoughts and sort his [censored] out. He made his way over to a certain piece of carpet, pulling it up at the corner to reveal a trap door underneath. It was his father's private "work" room once upon a time. It provided a quiet and peaceful place where he could have the environment he needed to pick a harder than average lock, have some alone time or just to simply read... Now it would just act as a great place for Troy to think and sort out his equipment. He pulled the the door open, stepping down onto the first step and positioning the carpet so it would cover the trap door when he closed it. He hit a switch, the basemant was lit up by a dim light a few moments later and Troy pulled the door closed, making his way down to the bottom of the small dimly lit room.

? Memory's of his childhood and teenage years rushed him as his eyes adjusted to the room, everything was the same. The large wooden table that also acted as a type of workbench was still there, the large comfy chair in which his father had spent the majority of his time at home sat in was still pulled up against the table, it had been there for as long as Troy could remember, it was more then likely older than he was.

He wearily took his backpack off, placing it down on the table with everything that was already on top of it. A picture of him, his mother and his father when he was a toddler, a set of various different lock picks and a large book titled Tumblers Today. He sat down in the chair, it was comfy, very comfy, he laid his arms out on the table and rested his head on his forearms.

"Damn it... I'm sorry dad. I'm so sorry." Troy choked, old regrets hitting him as his eyes became heavy and he fell into a doze.

-David Regan-

He walked right out the gates and nobody stopped him. He felt weird walking through the empty prison, it's silence was disturbing, their was always noise. But the yard was empty, the generators were dead, the guards were gone. He had passed rows of cells with rotting inmates inside, their hands wrapped tight around the bars or peacefully resting on their beds. He had been lucky.

He could have climbed the fence. The one that always surged with electricity and was topped with barbwire. And he was about to when he realized there was an easy alternative. Now he was outside for the first time in how many years...?

Eight. Eight long years.

He was overcome with a mixture of feelings, he just fell to his knees and sat there in silence. He had met his short term goal of getting out, but know what? It was clear that something devastating had happened to the rest of the world. He remembered hearing something about bombs, did China invade?

Doesn't matter now, have to find Paul.

His son. His only child, he had talked to him shortly before...it all happened. What was the conversation about? He couldn't remember, but they had been smiling and laughing and that was the important thing. Where would he be by now? He couldn't possibly know, he could only check the one place that was even probably. His home.

He got off his feet and noticed for the first time the blood trickling down his stomach. Two narrow and shallow cuts ran right below his ribs to right below his naval and he knew he needed to do something about that. He also needed something to eat, something to drink.

Just need to get home.

He looked around, the road leading from the prison would wind up back on I-5 and from there he need to go up north a little ways, towards the Port of Seattle. He didn't know what he would find, his foot hit the cracked asphalt for the first time in years as he began his journey home, metal bar in hand. He wondered if he would find anyone else along the way. He wondered if he was the last man on Earth.

Cammy Bernstein - Heading to the University shelter

Cammy looked up, wiping her mouth with the rubber sleeve of the raincoat, "Dazzle, that...those things are horrible. Now we don't have any food and just one bottle of water." She hurried and pulled the water from her backpack, swishing a small amount around in her mouth and spitting it back out. Sweat beads ran down her forehead, she kept watch while twisting the cap back on and replacing the bottle back into the pack.

"OK, we need to get there as fast, and as quiet as we can Dazzle," Cammy zipped the backpack shut and slung it back over her shoulders. She sighed deeply, pulling the respirator back over her face, "Let's go."

Cammy stayed to the side of the street, close enough to hide in a yard, or behind one of the car husks that lined the streets. As she walked at a quick pace, she saw Mrs. Thomas' front door swing open, she ducked by the trunk of a Chryslus sedan and watched. It wasn't Mrs. Thomas, but a scruffy man. He walked across the street to the Watson's place, she narrowed her eyes and gasped, clapping her hand over the respirator's filter. The man looked both severely burned and filthy, he and a limp and didn't notice her until she stumbled while backing around the ass end of the sedan.

"Hey," yelled the burned man, starting in her direction. Cammy's eyes flew around looking for anybody else, "Hey," yelled the man again as he walked faster.

Cammy swallowed, jumping up holding the BB gun, "Stay back," she blurted out, easing out to the middle of the street. The man held his hands up.

"I ain't gonna hurtcha," he nodded where she had come from, "Anything worthwhile down that a way?"

Cammy remained silent, the BB gun trained on the man, "C'mon, I done said I wasn't gonna hurtcha."

Cammy backed up, the man continued to close the gap between them, Cammy's finger twitched on the trigger. The twisted smile vanished from his face, "The silent type huh?" He took a couple big steps towards her and Cammy pulled the trigger. The copper BB flew into the man's cheek, "You little [censored]," he lunged foward.

"STAY BACK," Cammy pumped the BB gun again and fired, hitting the man in the neck, he laughed irritably.

"Really? A BB gun? C'mon kid, that ain't gonna do much more than piss me off. Why don'tcha come with me," His eyes said something different, and it didn't come across as friendly. A tiny blotch of blood dribbled down his cheek from the BB.

Cammy turned on her heel and ran, ignoring the cramp in the side of her stomach. She could feel the sweat run down her back, fighting the over-sized waders to keep herself moving. She looked over her shoulder and man just waved his hands as if it would be more of a waste to give chase. But Cammy didn't stop, not until she reached the university campus.

Cammy's legs were rubber, she peeled off the mask and breathed hard, pulling down the raincoat's hood to in an attempt to cool herself. She staggered to the entrance, some students greeted her and rushed her down to the shelter. She sat on a cot and drained her water bottle, "Where is Ms. Brunner Professor Taylor?"

Andrew Lancaster - Seattle, Washington

Andrew stood by the gate for a few minutes thinking were to go next, Robco was only three or four blocks away from here and pick up some tools and equipment but it was in the opposite direction to Mercer island and his house…

Best go to Robco first, might not be-able to get back here after later on…

Deciding to head to Robco Andrew began walking down the street in the distant he could see the Office building part of Robco and that it was missing the top three floors although the rest still seemed to be standing..

Good thing I don’t need to go into the office building… God I hope everyone got out….

Andrew continued walking when a Young girl wearing a rain coat dashed down the other side of the street and towards the university, probably didn’t even notice Andrew.

Huh wonder what’s got her spooked….

Although Andrew never did find out as he travelled towards Robco and by taking a “shortcut” though the remains of some poor guys house he reached Robco with the hour and spent a minute looking the at buildings

The Seattle branch of Robco was based in two buildings; the first was the ten floored Office building which contained all the finance and IT [censored] although with management and the research department. It had been considerable badly damaged with the top three floors collapsing, blocking off part of the street.

The second building was the factories next door were Robco manufactured its products and were Andrew had worked. It had also been used to house equipment and supplies coming and going to Canada.

Let’s hope the factory hasn’t been ransacked yet…

Approaching the factories “employees only” door Andrew noticed that the power was out, he would have to enter the old fashioned way… knocking the door down. Using his fire axe Andrew cut down the doorway and entered the building.
By the door was the security guards desk, searching it

Andrew mostly found files which were now useless but when he opened the second drawer he discovered a box of shotgun shells although the shotgun had been taken beforehand.

Better than nothing I guess.

Andrew then walked into the locker room and opened his locker insider was a backpack along with Robco jumpsuit, work boots and some personal items. Putting on the work boots, Andrew put everything else into the backpack before going to the factory floor.

With the power off the machinery had stopped dead in its tracks with various protection robots sitting on the conveyor belt. Picking up a red toolbox Andrew spent a good 10 minutes going around and gathering up tools and spare parts.

Once satisfied with what he had collected, Andrew put the toolbox into his backpack and made his way towards the exit but when Andrew walked around the corner he was greeted by “ Greeting my good chum, identification please?” from a model 5 “Mirvin” Protection robot....

"Oh [censored]….."

Jacob “Jake” Mercer
Seattle, Washington

As he quietly walked down the street, Jake couldn’t help but strike up a tune. Through his mindless thoughts, he came across an old lumberman’s tune he used to hum while he worked on cutting down trees. He couldn’t remember it all, it had been so long since he’d thought about it, and even longer since he’d actually played it. But he played what he could remember, and continued walking down the street.

The houses as he neared a familiar square, just seemed to get worse and worse. Some had been raised to the ground it looked like, mostly by fire, and no doubt started by some vandals. Jake didn’t care though, he didn’t dare go into a house after what he’d done in his parent’s own. And he wasn’t about to go into any corner stores either, if they had a basemant. Quietly he hummed the old tune and just continued on, amazed at how the world had become such a desolate place that was only recognizable because it hadn’t been hit as hard as places which had bombs dropped right in the center of them.

Some of the houses, weren’t even there anymore, they were just burnt reminders of what had once looked and stood as a house. Jake began to wonder as he walked and hummed, what kind of people had lived in these houses. What kind of lives and jobs they lived, and how they had prepared for Armageddon. Most had probably been like him, unprepared and not sure that it would ever happen. The only difference between them and him, was he had been lucky and his parents had thought nuclear war was on the horizon. For all Jake knew, he could be like any number of people, vaporized or just dead from radiation, and that would be it. The period of his life, would be marked with the end of a mushroom cloud.

“Christ,” he said out loud to himself, “it just gets worse thinking about it.” But even saying it, didn’t help to stop the thoughts, they were after all somewhat helpful in keeping his mind clear of bleaker things, like what those people looked like now.

But as he walked and turned a corner towards the square, he came across an intersection jammed full of old rusted out cars. They were too worn and beaten, to work it looked like, but it wasn’t the cars themselves that struck Jake the most. Inside of them were nothing but the dead. He could tell by just the nearest car, that it had been packed full of a family, children included and even a baby. Some were nothing but bones now, while others had still some flesh of some sort, hanging on. There wasn’t much of a stench, not like in the corner store basemant, but whenever he got too close to a car, the smell rose in potency.

“I’ve got to keep moving,” he reminded himself, avoiding as best he could, the death traps the cars had become. “Why didn’t they try to flee?” He asked himself, looking at the skeletons. But he couldn’t answer that question, he could only wonder and move on.

As he finally neared the square, there were just as many cars, but only a few had skeletons and rotting flesh inside of them. In the square were a ton of little homely shops. Shoes, clothes, food, all sorts were in the square, but what interested Jake the most was the sight of a sporting goods store. He quickly made a straight shot for the sporting goods, throwing open the door without thinking, but to his surprise, finding very little of anything left.

“Dammit,” Jake said to himself. The place had been nearly cleaned out, even of things that wouldn’t be useful, like snorkeling tubes and old donut tubes for winter and summer. Anything useful, seemed to be completely gone without a trace. Jake gave a little search though, carefully stepping where he could, but finding nothing. The place had indeed been cleaned out.

Quietly Jake left, defeated as he searched around the other stores to see what they might have. He avoided the little food shops, they didn’t have anything that would be preserved since most of them were bread shops and the like. Everything else was useless. The shoes and boots he liked weren’t in any of his size, and the ones that were, made him look like a goof. He couldn’t believe that he was worried about his appearance and image, when there wasn’t even anyone left around, but for some reason he just forgot about the shoes and kept his boots. They weren’t too bad after all.

His last check was the clothing store, nothing of which suited him, so he just left without trying anything. Outside, he just found a street, one of the four that led out of the square, that wasn’t the same he’d come into the square on. He started in a new direction, unsure exactly where it was he was going or what for.

HELEN RAINDANCER – Basemant of McMarsten’s Pub – June 2078

Helen awoke in the semi-darkness of the stock room turned fallout shelter, feeling neither rested nor sleepy.

I think I’m just bored. Very, very bored.

She had become quite aware, in recent days, of how her life was now no more than just a routine of a handful of activities, most of which she executed due to keeping some semblance of a normal life. Eating, drinking, sleeping, none of these things she did because she was hungry, thirsty, or even tired, they were literally just things to do to pass the time.

How long had it been since Travis had fled?

No, he hadn’t fled. He left to find more supplies.

Didn’t he?

Surely he’d have come back by now. The local grocery store was at the end of the block.

He probably didn’t want to come back. He went outside and didn’t want to be locked inside any more.

Helen rubbed her eyes but remained laying on the stale bunk. It wasn’t as though she didn’t have all the time in the world to get out of bed and do…something. Anything.

Sunlight shone through the high window on the far side of the basemant. Several months of dust danced in the glow. Helen briefly wondered about the health implications of breathing in such dusty air for so long.

The irradiated air on the outside couldn’t be much better. …right?

Helen sniffed and slowly lifted herself to sitting. She brushed her long hair over her shoulders with her right hand and rubbed her eyes with the back of her left. She flexed and curled her toes and listened to the joints pop from the movement.

There…I bet that killed a whole thirty seconds.

She sighed and stood up. She’d got out of the habit of changing her clothes at all since Travis had left. She’d lost so much weight that nothing was all that comfortable to wear as it was.

Helen’s gaze wandered back to that window she had uncovered and found herself wandering over to it. She stood on her tip-toes once more to look out and still saw nothing but the open, blue sky. Sighing once more, she turned around to head into the pantry, tripping over the chrome-covered leg of the dining chair.

“OWWW!” she exclaimed, the first thing she’d verbalized in weeks. “Sonuvva—“ Helen flung the chair against the wall in an uncharacteristic show of fury, the toes of her left foot throbbing and hot. The chair met the wall with a clatter and causing more dust to puff off the paint and dance in the sunshine.

Finally, it occurred to her. She pushed the chair to line it up beneath the window, its legs squealing against the concrete floor. She took a deep breath before carefully stepping onto the plastic-covered cushion of the seat.

For the first time in eight months, Helen looked upon the outside world.

What she was looking at didn’t seem too devastating. She saw the building across the alley. Most of its windows were either broken or blackened with the exception of the basemant windows, such as the one she were looking out of, herself. The street was full of debris and litter, much more so than she’d ever seen. She strained her gaze left and right but couldn’t see anything past or around the building across the way.

She didn’t think much of it until she realized something about that final observation. She hadn’t seen anything, or anyone. Absolutely no sign of life.

The pub has been closed for months. Of course there aren’t any birds or anything looking for scraps out of the trash. What did you expect?

Helen stepped down off the chair and went into the pantry. She counted half a dozen remaining boxes of cereal left, while she finished one off, eating directly out of the box.

Dalton Warner

Dalton stood looking at the map of the plaza; he had wiped layers of dust from the surface to look at it. He was trying to find his way around the mall, hopefully to some sort of store where there was supplies, food, water, weapons, anything really.

“Okay, so if I’m here I just walk up there, and take a left, and there’s the tailor’s and Rob’s Hunting Shack, and ooh, a Valu-Mart. Canned goods galore! Sounds easy enough.” Dalton smiled to himself, this place would have been empty when the bombs came down and judging from the amount of rubble that was in front of the door, that he had to dig through, no one had entered. He stepped out from around the large sign to look down the hallway he was supposed to walk down. It wasn’t just blocked but majorly blocked.

The shops around it had crumbled in on it, making a pile of debris maybe 30 feet high, and steel girders and ceiling ventilation pipes had collapsed down from the roof. Also something was leaking spilling a dirty brown-grey water on to the pile.

“[censored],” he mumbled to himself, “Why does everything have to be so god damned hard?”

He rolled his pack off his back and onto the floor, he knelt and opened it, searching through the contents, he still had the alchohol, which he didn’t want to drink until he was dying of thirst, and he was running out of his last scraps of food. He looked back up at the pile of rubble in his way, the task seemed to eb impossible.

Even if I get past that, there’s gonna be more on the other side. It’s gonna be a deathtrap. Not even worth my [censored] time. I’d be better off scrounging through a bakeshop in the streets then killing myself in here.

He slung his pack back over his shoulder, and turned to leave. When he crawled through the broken door and out over a pile of rubble, he looked back, going in there was still very tempting, the place was probably a vast amount of untapped resources.

Michael regained his composure in the small room that had become a tomb. The bodies of this houses occupants were huddled together in a curious fashion.

Feeling a bit uncomfortable doing so, he moved toward them to determine how they had died. Not that it really mattered. Dead was dead and they were about as dead as you can be.

He had moved in too fast too quickly, and the smell and sight overpowered him again. This time he just moved back from the bodies and waited a moment before the heebies and the jeebies departed in unison.


Reconsidering his approach, and questioning why he was even bothering to do so at all, he opened a nearby dresser drawer and found bits of clothing. The smaller body, he learned now, must have been a teenage woman. He blushed slightly, and apologized in his mind to the young woman, and closed the first drawer he had opened.

The next drawer contained a few hats, a bottle of perfume, and an old red handkerchief.

He sprayed a bit of the perfume into the handkerchief, and holding it close to his nose approached the bodies again.

The young woman lay in a fetal position with one arm, her right arm, outstretched. The second figure, her father Micheal surmised, lay beside her with one arm on her shoulder.

Michael turned slightly to see the cover of an old book with new fresh writing upon it. He picked it up and rose quickly, causing his knees to crack rather loudly in the otherwise deathly silent home.

Settling into a chair in an adjacent room he read the writing,

"If you are reading this it means that I am once more with my precious daughter. Hopefully you found me here, in our home, beside her. If you did I ask that you respect our earthly remains. Take whatever from the house might aid you, and in return bury us in the yard. But do be quick about it.

My daughter succumbed to a horrible sickness in these last few days. I fear it may have come into her through the food I gathered about out there. My god what madness I have seen. I did bad things stranger, things that would shame me greatly if they weren't done for the best of reasons. You understand no doubt, if you've lived longer than I you must understand. You do what you have to do to protect yourself and your loved ones in this world.

If it wasn't the food I fought and killed for that infected her, and is now all but finished working at me, it may well be this home itself. I ask that you do whatever it is you will do here quickly. For your own good.

I loved you Rebecca, I'll see you again soon."

Michael could see in his minds eye the man completing the note and embracing his daughter for the last time.

A sound interrupted these thoughts. A steady tick tick tick tick accompanied by a beep. It took him just a short moment to realize what that meant.

It meant that Rebecca and her father would remain unburied in that small house, joined still in that last embrace. It meant that he would make a hasty exit lest he become an unwelcome guest in their home for the next decade.

His Geiger meter was explaining to him exactly how that father and daughter had met their unfortunate end.

Hiding from the madness and death that surrounded them, their murderer had not made a sound.




The meter quieted down a few moments later as Michael fled the sad little house and neared his shelter. The encounter had decided for him, he would leave the safehouse to see what he might find out in the remains of his world.

But not before saying a simple, the only kind he knew, prayer for Rebecca and her father to anyone or anything that might be inclined to listen.