The Kingston Road

A Post-Apocalyptic Survival RP

By Dr. Strangelove, Jonasvault101, and Venix_445

Backstory

When the time of the Great War came about in the year 2077, the luckiest; or wealthiest of society were allowed to shelter themselves from the nuclear fire in the great Vaults. However, fewer still were lucky enough to survive the holocaust, without Vault-Tec's superior underground communities. Yet, some did survive. These hold-outs were those who hid themselves wherever they could, and tried to live long enough to see the sky clear of the ash.

While the Mid-West and the East Coast were scorched to cinders, other lands weren't as affected by the atomic aftermath.

This is the story of one such place: Seattle, Washington. Nestled high in the American North West, the city managed to evade the nuclear strikes to a large degree. But nuclear fire wasn't the only the threat, or the worst. The Fallout itself nestled over the city, changing it into a hot-spot of radiation and mutation. The Puget Sound cut through the heart of the state of Washington, and the fallout carried into it changed wildlife and man alike, for the worst. But out of this comes the story of a new beginning, a small group who survived the nuclear holocaust against insurmountable odds.

This is the story of the Kingston Road.

Your Involvement

In this RP, the players will be a small group of hold-outs who didn't get accepted into the Vaults. For 8 months, they will have been hidden away in adequate shelters that kept the fallout at bay, for the most part. The idea, is that this group will cross the Puget Sound to found a new settlement in the already existent, small town of Kingston. Along the way will be many perils, from horrible irradiated monsters, to fellow humans looking out for their own needs, good or bad.

Map of Seattle & Puget Sound
http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2DoanSbufiU/TJGGEC2KCSI/AAAAAAAAAWw/X8n9yfPIMx0/s1600/road_map_of_seattle_wa_usa.gif
http://www.kccha.com/drivedir/trendmap.gif

Rules
1. No Uber Characters/Posts.
2. No Foresight.
3. No Arguing between each other.
4. No Character Controlling others.
5. GMs Word is final on any disagreement.
6. If you have a question, PM a GM directly.
7. All Posts must be at LEAST two paragraphs long. No Less.
8. All Posts must have DETAIL and DEPTH. Nothing flat and boring.
9. Don’t just disappear from the RP. If you can’t continue, PM a GM before doing so.
10. If you become trouble, a GM will kick you. You get ONE(1) Warning.
11. Use Common Sense.
12. HAVE FUN!!!

Character Sheet
Name:
Age:
Race:
Gender:
Height:
Weight:

Hair Style:
Facial Hair:
Hair Color:
Eye Color:
Skin Color:
Body Build:
Appearance:

Clothes:
Weapon(s): (No more than 3 to start.)
Gear:

Personality:
Bio:

Character Sheets:

Venix_445:


Dr.Strangelove


Paladin Lewis


Aussie_Made


Jonasvault101


Agrona


Undead Fiend


Your Mom=My Brother



F8lcobra


The Enclave


Hircine21


MouseKing


Okay guys have fun, read every post and CS and lets make this happen!

Mickhail Reed lied in the right hand corner of his small, cramped basemant. A single lit lightbulb hung over the center of the room, creating a rather Noir like setting. Like on the late-night T.V. shows, but he couldn't even remember the last time he watched an episode of "True Police Stories." You know, before the war ruined human civilization as he knew it?

Suddenly, Mickhail pushed himself up slowly from his foam mat. His bones made a loud cracking sound as he stretched and balanced himself. Poor man hasn't had a decent meal since October 23rd. It's been, what 6-10 months since, since life was normal. And now it was ruined. Or so he thought. He wouldn't dare step outside, would he?

Mickhail glanced over at his repair tools. The wrenches looked as if they could repair anything, but Mickhail knew it would probably never happen again.

Then he turned his head and stared at "Reed.". "Reed" was a repaired and classic M1911. It's distinctive wooden and metal grip felt good in Mickhail's hands, but what was the point of even owning it? It's not like he would ever use it. Would he?

That old M1911 was the last project Mickhail's father was working on before he passed away. Day by day young Mickail would sneak a peak at the beauty. He would observe the sleek, glossy part that you pulled back on. Yeah, Mickhail wasn't the best gun man in the world. Clinky-thing-that-you-pull-back-on described that part perfectly, so it would do. Mickhail's dad didn't live to finish his project, so Mickhail did so in honor and with the help of a few repair magazines that shipped to his house every month. Too bad he hasn't had the latest issues for sometime now.

Mickhail walked over to a small table mirror and looked at himself. Tall, hardy, but depressed. And weak. He had a sad look in his eye. No more driving by his neighbor's house, picking up groceries, inviting a friend over, or repairing at home. Instead, he lived his life cooped up in a smelly garage with few dry or can foods and some water. All life as he knew it, gone with a flash. The last sounds he heard before all hell happened was the blazing sirens. They haunted him.

Mickhail trimmed his small beard with scissors and finished his water from yesterday. With some rather stale crackers, he sat down and tried to rest. Like there was anything else to do.

30 minutes passed and he couldn't take it. 8 months. 8 months he's been cooped up in that small garage. He...he needed fresh air or...or a new sight!

He needed to go outside.

But what fool would dare go out there! One without food? One without water? One looking for adventure, or a quick death?

Mickhail pondered this question. Then he picked up Reed and put it in a sturdy holster attached to some jeans. Throwing on his shirt, he stopped in his tracks as his hands reached the door. Did he dare?

Reed told him he had no choice.

Mickhail's hand twisted the door knob and pushed. Mickhail saw the purple carpet that lined the stairs lead into his home. The air smelled...different, but tolerable.

The sight was depressing. Not from the mess from the shaking on October 23rd. That reminded him about his room when he was a small boy. It was the sight of his dad's favorite couch. Unscratched, It lay iconically in the middle of the room, with junk littered around it as if to remind Mickhail of the old days.

He walked upstairs and stared into his room. An old REPCONN poster hung over his bed, with tiny rocket ships on the ground. His bedroom window was cracked, like all the other windows he saw.

Mickhail walked towards the front door and stopped for a moment. He took a deep breath and prayed to himself. Like it would solve anything. Then he opened the door.

About 6, 7, 12, no 13, well... A lot of cars were spread along the suburban road he grew up on. The old Chryslers and convertibles had some rust forming along the edges and doors. Much litter and many old belongings of long gone people decorated the street. There was much less litter before.

Mickhail stepped out onto his front lawn. The morning sun was blocked by a two story house across the street, trashed and barely standing. Still, it was bright out. He could swear he heard the voices of back then whisper at him. "Welcome to Seattle," they said. Or "help me!"

Mickhail shook his head and the voices disappeared. He rested his hand on Reed as he stared at his neighbor's old house. Old Ms. Stanley. He would help repair her appliances and lights and the like. The old house had many cracks and rips. You couldn't tell if any work has ever been done to it.

Mickhail gulped and walked across the street. Knocking rather cautiously, he said,"He-hell-hello? Ms. Stan-Stanley?" No reply. Mickhail called again. Silence answered him. "I'm here to fix your fan!" he said out loud, as if he could make it seem like the old days. It didn't work.

Mickhail took a slow step inside the door. The pink door stayed open as the heavy winds pushed it against the house. He walked in and called,"Ms. Stanley?"

Then he walked into the living room.

"Oh god!"

The decayed corpse of Ms. Stanley sat in her couch, facing the T.V. In front of her. The T.V. catalog was turned to the news page, and an emergency radio sat next to her on the coffee table.

Mickhail walked back outside and collapsed in her front yard. He started crying. And crying. And crying.

It felt like hours until it stopped, but after five minutes, he returned to his basemant and gathered supplies. He tried to turn on his Walkman, but dead battery.

Finally satisfied with what he could pack in his backpack, he walked back outside and gave a quick look back at his yellow house. He then look forward and started walking down his old street with Reed by his side, taking a trip down memory lane...

Jacob “Jake” Mercer
Seattle, Washington
Fallout Shelter

The pounding at the door was starting to drive Jake mad. For the past few days, the same people had been coming around to the shelter after having found it, and started pounding at the door and shouting to let them in. On the fourth day, the man and woman pleaded to be let in because they said they had children. But Jake wasn’t stupid, he didn’t trust anyone, not even those who might have kids could be trusted. So the door had stayed closed and locked, just as it had been for the past few months of isolation. The horrible thoughts of children being out there in that world, were pushed aside with booze and cigarettes, all of which was nearly gone completely.

Again, the pounding started up, a moment break had been taken as the man caught his breath and regained some of his spent energy. While he kicked and pounded, the woman pleaded for them to be let in.

“Please!” She cried from outside, “We’re hungry. Our children are hungry!”

“Let us in!” The man shouted.

But Jake didn’t say a word, just as he hadn’t said anything for the past few days. Thoughts began to run through his head, as the pounding and shouting continued, that he might have even forgotten how to speak.

“My name’s Jake Mercer, Jacob Mercer,” he whispered to himself, pleased he hadn’t forgotten how to speak. “Jake Mercer.”

“Let us in! Let us in!” The man shouted, kicking and pounding his fists against the door. Jake just listened though, as the man did so again and again, and the woman continued to plead with the tone as if she was crying.

“We have children!” She pleaded. “They’re hungry, they haven’t eaten in days!”

The pounding was starting to really get at Jake now, more so than it had from the start of the new day. He knew his nerves couldn’t take it anymore, not just from the pounding and pleading, but from the small isolation and unknowing of what was happening in the world outside of the shelter. He’d crack in the small shelter he’d called home for the past few months, if he didn’t get out there in the world. But he didn’t know what to think of that either. Nuclear war had happened, people in a matter of seconds had been completely erased from history, and what was left was nothing but ruins and people unlucky enough to have to live again, and be amongst all the radiation.

Thinking of the radiation, Jake quietly glanced at the small Geiger counter his father had installed just above the door. The pounding and pleading from outside began to really get at Jake, as he saw that the radiation level outside didn’t seem to be too high. At one point, Jake would have been completely mad to go out into the world, but now by the looks of the Geiger counter, it would at least be okay to go out for a moment.

“Let us in! Let us in you [censored] bastard!” The man shouted again, kicking the door with everything he had. Jake could hear his heavy breathing, as the man took another break from kicking and pounding against the door. Quietly, Jake put his ear to the reinforced door, listening for any voices besides the man’s and woman’s.

“Do you think anyone’s really in there?” The woman asked.

“Probably? I hope there is. I hope they’re alive at least, not like that last shelter where they’d killed themselves.”

“That was horrible,” the woman said starting to cry.

Jake could hear as the man consoled her, but no other voices but theirs could be heard. Carefully, Jake stepped back towards his cot, sitting down and resting a moment himself. The sound of something ricocheting off the door, quickly made Jake jump from the short silence that had followed all the banging and noise.

At that moment, Jake made up his mind, he couldn’t stay locked up in the shelter any longer, he knew he’d definitely go mad and kill himself probably, if he did. Quietly in his head, he began to plan out his first trip outside in months.

Nick Sanders-Seattle, Washington-Fallout Shelter

Nick laid his head against his pillow. He looked around the room and saw the walls. Clean and serene. As they had always been. Nick saw his workbench with his latest project laying on top of it. A makeshift gas mask. Now Nick stood up and picked up his white shirt off the floor. He grabbed his cargo pants from the end of his bed. He put them both on, then he walked over to his workbench and grabbed his baseball bat. He had thought about putting nails threw it, but he didn't have the nail to do it with. He sat down the baseball bat and he went to go check the Geiger counter that was installed there.

"Huh, the rads have went down." Nick said to himself. Nick had a idea, he got the handbook for the Geiger counter and began to read, "If the Geiger counter is in yellow, it is safe to go outside. Be sure to use Rad-X just in-case the Geiger counter is off!" The manual said, Nick had no Rad-X. He walked over to his bed and reached under his bed. He pulled out his baseball bat. "Whatever, if I die at least I'll be out of this hell-hole." Nick said, he reached under his bed again for his Duffle bag. Nick found it and sat it on the bed. He opened it and found everything that had he brought with him. Duct tape, supplies and most importantly his 22. Pistol and ammo for it. Nick threw it over his shoulder. "Damn! Heavier then I expected." Nick said, "I'm weak as hell." Nick walked over to his workbench and grabbed the makeshift gas mask. He tightened the straps around his face and started to breath. The gas mask backfired and caused him to choke on air. He took the gas mask off and threw it. Nick fell to the ground holding his throat. He took a few breaths and stood back up. "[censored] you mask!" Nick yelled. He walked towards the door and opened it. The sun hit his eyes, he raised his hand to cover his eyes. He was blinded for three seconds. Once Nick's eyesight returned to him, he looked around he saw a small skeleton laying on the ground with it's hand laying on it's stomach. Nick looked at it and tears formed in his eyes. He had never seen a dead body. Two tears fell down his face. He turned away and began to walk. He saw a highway roughly two miles away.

Troy Stokes
Seattle, Rainier Beach
Basemant, Makeshift Fallout Shelter

Troy pulled the small lock knife from under his thin pillow, he had used the blade for the last eight months; it had served various purposes around the small basemant. He gently slid the blade out of the metal grip handle and listened intently for the satisfying click that told him the blade was locked into place, and thus wouldn't budge no matter what he decided to stab or carve into. The blade was a nice design, simple but elegant. It seemed to be made mostly of pure stainless steel, with a sort of black leathery type material on the handle for grip and comfort, yes, an elegant blade; made even more seemingly elegant by the fact that it seemed to be one of the few things that existed in Troy's small basemant hell that had any sort of creativity and care in it's design.

Troy slowly got to his feet, stumbling over to one of the four horrible yellowy colored walls and gently sliding the tip of his fingers over the numerous lines he had carved into the wall. The groups of lines were divided into months, the groups of lines themselves represented weeks and singularly; one line, represented a day. There were dozens of lines, more then a few dozen, just over twenty dozen in total. Around two hundred and forty two singular lines as Troy brought the blade up to the wall once again, carving a line that represented a new month.

"Two hundred and forty three." Troy whispered to himself.

"TWO HUNDRED AND FORTY THREE!" He shouted, his face erupting in desperate rage as he brought the blade back and stabbed it deep into the wall, taking a step back and booting the wall repeatedly, causing dust to fall from the ceiling and choke him up, he fell back coughing, tripping over his backpack and falling to the floor; staring at the ceiling as more dust fell.

"Two... Hundred... Forty... Three..." He coughed, his voice breaking.

The days had been long, very, very long. He had little to nothing to entertain himself during the incarceration; he had tried writing on one of the walls, but the plaster was old, every time he would carve the letters just a little too close together and large pieces would fall from the wall leaving unreadable nonsense. He had tried exercise, but it just made him need to drink more, and he had little enough water as it was so he had forced himself to stop... Slashing at the walls with the blade had proven rather fun; that was until the room had become pack boxed with so much dust he could barely breath until it settled. Two hundred and forty three days, eight agonizingly long months, enough was enough. He had to get out, death, death would be kinder then another week in this basemant, time to get out.

Terrance Oakley
Personal fall-out shelter
8415 SE 47th St, Mercer Island
Seattle, Northwest Commonwealth

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fZUmAbi0Vm4

The holotape warbled softly from the player as a man in a vest and fatuiges ran lay on the floor. “Thirty… Thirty-One… Thirty-Two…” Oakley always counted his press-ups out-loud; he liked to hear his own voice to remind himself he still had one. After reaching fifty – his exercise regime wasn’t rigorous, couldn’t make himself too hungry – he looked up and realised that he hadn’t crossed yesterday’s date from his calendar; in the eight-months since the war ended he had only made one entry in a box on the calendar. “Killed a looter to-day” the box for the 24^th of April read.

It had been an interesting day, and one of surprising little moral consequence. The day had been normal until Oakley heard the creaking of footsteps on the floor above him; he waited for the steps to go away but they came closer, he heard every damp thud on the concrete steps as the man got closer. Oakley was taking no chances; what if the intruder damaged his door and it wouldn’t shut or lock properly? He had silently crossed the small square room to the cabinet and grabbed his Wattz 1000, before crossing to the door and preparing himself for the act.

The door had two large sliding latches on the inside; he placed his free hand on one and his foot on the other. Sliding them both back in a synchronised action, the door flew inwards and Oakley squeezed the trigger. The women fell back in writhing-agony and pain, she dropped her pistol and her clothes set on fire; Oakley brought the gun inside with his foot and closed the door. Oakley hadn't left his house in that instance, he had left a few hours later to move the burnt body to the ground floor of his house above after the smell of which had begun to seep into his shelter.

He looked around his small home, figuring that it wasn't so bad all things considered. The walls were papered in a pale blue paisley pattern - which showed some wear around the ceiling - and comfortable airchair provided him someplace to read even though he had long since read everything. He had a terminal on a desk beside the chair which he used to play the computer at chess, though he had figured out how to beat it every time some while ago...

"I need something to do," he said simply, crossing over to the door. Even in his seeming semi-concious state, the gravitas of his up-coming action propelled him back into reality; was he really about to do this? He looked around, he was running out of food, he had quite literally done everything possible a mind-numbing number of times; his hands on the doors latches he realised that he was hardly dressed for the occassion. He laughed, and laughed at himself laughing; it felt so good.

Crossing over to his wardrobe he perused what he had, he pulled a woollen jumper on over his vest and a woollen overcoat on top of that; he decided that he combat fatigues and boots should be alright. Turning the collar on his coat up and pulling the brim of his fedora down tight over his forehead, Oakley crossed over to the door and pulled back each latch. Bouncing the on the balls of his toes he waited at the door for a minute before somehow conciously seizing on the impulsiveness of his previous train of thought and pulling the door open before his brain could utter another word of protest...

Andrew Lancaster - Seattle, Washington- university hospital basemant

“You got everything?” Andrew asked

“Yeah, everything I can carry and of value, but what about the generator” McLeay the policeman asked as he looked at the generator “wouldn’t it be useful up there?” he added on.

“No doubt about it but there’s no way we are getting up the staircases, beside we don’t have anything that needs power and when he do there’s probably a generator there, if it's broken i'll fix it.” Andrew replied

Shortly after Andrew, McLeay and the other two had taken shelter in the basemant, Andrew had found one of the hospital generator and got it up and running, it had power food storage and stopped them starving to death…. It had kept them alive but now they had run out of food and had to leave….

“I guess so” McLeay replied “well let’s get out here, hopefully we are making the right choice” he signed looking at the covered bodies of the medic and hairdresser….

The two made their way to the staircase making there way up it had partially collapsed so they had to craw the last few feet but slowly they made there way towards the door, were a small hole shun sunlight into the staircase… crawling though the hole, andrew reached the otherside before helping Mcleary up....

Andrew then turned opened the door and walked outside. "Sweet mother of god…” Andrew said as he looked around “the hospital” was in utter rubble and a fire truck had crashed into the front of hospital, leaving only a few parts of the walls remaining standing…

In fact the only clues this building had once been hospital was the now useless medical charts that were scatter across the floor…

“Dam I knew it would be bad not this bad” McLeay said "me too” Andrew said as he walked over to the fire trucked, crashing through the wall it had tip sided and seemed to have flattened someone….

Well at least it was quick… well hopefully?

Andrew picked up an fire axe that had fallen of the truck before turning back to face McLeay “I need to find my wife, she’s on Mercer Island… hopefully she got into the vault in time.”

“Yeah same here… my apartment is three blocks away, doubt they survived but I need to have a look” McLeay said “I’ll be heading to the police station after, if I find anything out I’ll leave a message for ya there”

“Thanks McLeay” Andrew said as he watched McLeay walking uptown to his apartment, Andrew on the overhand had to head south, down to mercer island… and then… well he wasn’t sure what would happen next….

Well I best get started…

Andrew pulled a Nuka-cola out of bag and opened it, drinking part of it he slowly began to walk down the street, into what appeared to be a university……

The university… the Robco factory was near here… 2 streets southeast... i think...

Michael Foster
Seattle, Washington
2323 East Denny Way, Miller Park Safehouse
Intersection of Denny and 23rd Avenue

It had been eight long months since his wish had been granted.

Since his first day as a "housekeeper" Michael had prayed for something to happen. Something had to happen.

Something did. Boy did it ever.

He had long hoped for anything to break up the monotony of everyday life. The capture and interrogation of a radical or spy, the safeguarding of a diplomat, a false alarm, a flat tire, anything really bloody well anything.

He came in that day as he would have on any other, a nice suit, a nice hat, and a lunch pail. Just another schmuck returning from a long day at work. He'd searched the refrigerator, finding an extra burrito and a jar of peanut butter. He'd made sure the doors were secure and locked, and he had changed the passwords.

After settling into a chair he got a phone call.

"Turn on the TV Mike...you uh, you're gonna want to see this. And well, Good luck."

He'd flipped on the TV and stood in numb disbelief for a moment before the impact of what he was seeing hit him.

A mad dash followed. Emptying everything on the desk into a trashcan, emptying everything in the fridge into that same trashcan, and running into the basemant for dear life.

That had been eight months ago. A few moments of panicked terror followed by eight months of dawning horror.

The television cut out. The phones cut out. The geiger meter fired up.

For eight months he lived off the food gathered there for extended "interrogations." Enough to feed six men for a month, and just just enough to feed one for eight.

Eventually the day dawned that he had enough food for the next day and beyond that, nothing.

Just as well.


His conversations with his wife had been getting longer and longer, which was rather troubling,

given that he had smashed the phone apart half way into this ordeal.


He had cried a good bit upon coming to this realization. The state the world was in, the state he was in.

He had cried and fallen asleep.

Upon awakening he had quietly and solemnly put together what he had of use.

Not much food left, just a jar of peanut butter and a single MRE. He opened his jacket, put on a shoulder holster, and holstered his gun.

Pulling out a simple JanSport backpack he tossed in a second loaded magazine, a blanket, a box of BandAids and a gas mask.

That was all he had. All he had to face this world with.

The clothes on his back, his gun, a blanket, some bandaids, a gas mask, and a backpack. Oh and one MRE and a jar of peanut butter. What the hell was he going to do with that.

He checked the geiger meter on his way out, knowing that it didn't really matter what it said. He would leave this sad little shelter.



He stepped out into the world and shuddered against the cold.

Dalton Warner

All that’s left is a handful of snack foods, liquor and cigarettes.

“[censored],” Dalton whispered to himself.

He kicked the empty wine bottle, the rose red glass rolled across the floor, catching the sunlight and shining brilliant colours across the room. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief, it would feel good to go outside, he hadn’t felt the warmth of the sun in eight months, and his skin was getting very pale. Dalton slicked back his hair, and popped his hat on his head. He slung his pack over his shoulder and walked to the door, all the while twirling his umbrella. His wand went to the door knob, the cool metal on his hand made him shiver.

What am I doing? I’ll die? I need the food? Yes I do.

He exhaled again, and then took another breath, he breathed out and in, repeating the process to calm himself down. His eyes were flickering.

Am I out of my mind? No, I have to leave.

He turned the knob the door slid quite freely out from its position, the sunlight shone in into his eyes blinding him for a moment. He raised his hand to cover his face, his vision settled in a few moments, and from the doorway he could see it all. The buildings of the street were crumbling, bits of them had been come off, but almost all were still standing. The main street was filled with cars; each one had persons in it. Some had the skeletons of whole families; others were just single human beings. The entire place was gray and dusty, rubble littered the sidewalks, and the sky was for the most part filled with brown gray clouds.

Back home to the family? Then to the university? I think so.

Jacob “Jake” Mercer
Seattle, Washington
Fallout Shelter

After some time, the man and the woman had gone. The man promised he’d be back, just as he did every other day before, shouting the threat through the door. But Jake ignored him, finishing off one of the last bottles of whiskey, as he worked on gathering what he needed to take. Carefully, Jake sorted things from the shelves. He knew he was coming back, it was nothing more than a small fact finding mission, but he wanted to be prepared, he didn’t have a clue to what could be out there waiting for him besides some hungry survivors.

He quietly stuffed his rucksack with supplies, and then grabbed his pistol only. In his mind, he hoped to not have to use it, but he knew also in his mind, he was only fooling himself at that idea, and if he did get into a situation that called for it, it was only a matter if he could.

When he was packed up and ready, Jake slung his rucksack over his shoulder, and stepped to the door. He put his ear to the door first, just incase he could hear voices outside, but nothing could be heard, not even the howling of wind. Carefully, he put one hand on the wheel, and the other inserting the key into the lock. Like clockwork, the door unlocked from the first stage, and he spun the wheel around for the second stage. Like clockwork again, the door clicked and he pushed the door open.

To his surprise, the weather seemed nice, but maybe a bit warmer than usual. He carefully shut the door and locked it behind him, tucking the key carefully in his pants pocket. The air seemed okay too, but Jake wasn’t too sure, and took short careful breaths just incase there was still a lot of radiation in the air. Those nights of howling winds, had assured him that there had to be plenty.

“Alright,” he said to himself, “let’s go look around.”

First off was his house, there before him in a state of complete disrepair and ruin, but it seemed like the most logical place to look around first. The screen door had since nearly fallen off, or been broken off, and was hanging by just the lower hinge. The kitchen window looking out into the yard, had since been smashed either by flying debris or some survivor. He carefully opened the wood door, and stepped into the kitchen.

Inside, the place was a mess, everything has been tossed and turned upside down. The stove was broken, the fridge was silent, and the chairs at the busted kitchen table were all broken in one way or another. Quietly, Jake made his way through the kitchen and into the living room, finding it rather nice compared to the kitchen, but the TV and radio had both been smashed and broken up.

The upstairs was no different, it was tossed, and looked like the beds had even been slept in since. Jake figured it might have been that man and woman, but others might have come around as well, he couldn’t be too sure.

Suddenly, as he stepped to his mother’s closet, the sound of a door opening caught his attention. Quickly, he opened and closed the closet, pulling from his belt, his Colt Woodsman. If anyone came in the room, at this range they were dead no matter how small the bullet.

“Find anything useful at the Parson’s place?” A man asked.

Jake’s eyes widened as he realized who’s voice it was.

“Jeanie? Did you hear me? Find anything useful at the Parson’s place?” He asked again.

“No Robert, I didn’t,” she said.

To Jake’s amazement, it was Robert and Jeanie Long, neighbors of his parents, and two people he’d met at his father’s funeral. He couldn’t believe, that they had survived nuclear war.

“I’m going upstairs,” Jeanie said, “to see what might be in the bedrooms.”

Jake listened as the footsteps came up the stairs, and came through the doorway. He peered through the little slits of the closet, watching as Jeanie Long came walking in, still wearing the same dress he’d seen her in a day after the funeral, but this time a lot dirtier. Quietly, he went to open the closet door, but as he did, his foot tapped something up against it. Jeanie Long quickly turned around, her eyes narrowing at the closet, as Jake quietly stood absolutely still.

“Robert. . .” she called, her voice trailing off a bit. “Robert, come in here please!”

Jake wasn’t sure what to do, she was an old woman after all, hardly much of a threat, and neither was her husband who last he remembered had a sort of Santa-like appearance.

“What is it?” Robert called from the bottom of the stairs.

“Just come here, will you!” She demanded.

He hurried up the stairs as fast as he could, but being nearly 70, it wasn’t like his younger days.

“What is it?” He asked in the doorway.

Jake took that as his chance, he threw the door open and leveled his pistol on Jeanie Long.

“OH MY GOD!” She screamed, stumbling back, and tripping, luckily onto the bed.

“Jeanie!” Robert exclaimed, and quickly hurried to her aid. Jake stood there amazed, as he didn’t try to attack him.

Both of them had lost quite a lot of weight, Robert Long no longer had the Santa-like appearance, but still had quite a long beard, while Jeanie Long was a frail looking old woman, like his grandmother had once been before she died.

“Who are you?” She asked, not recognizing him.

“It’s me, Jake Mercer, we met at my father’s funeral?” He said unsure if they remembered. It was an odd moment, but he kept his pistol tight in his hand.

Troy Stokes
Seattle, Rainier Beach
Makeshift Fallout Shelter

Troy had argued with himself for a further ten minutes, forcing himself to look around at what he was living in helped a little bit, he hated the [censored] basemant, really, really hated it. He snatched up his backpack, laying his four remaining bottles of water at the bottom before laying a few tins and packets of food on top of them, and his set of lock picks on top of them, before zipping the pack up. He sighed, quickly pulling on his hoody, gloves, socks and trainers before sliding the lock knife into his hood and turning to face the rough metal door he had built into his basemant.

The door had cost him an arm and a leg, near enough, but he had been promised it was worth it. The door was made mostly of metal, but in the middle of the thick bulk was a blanket of lead covering the whole door from the inside, supposedly very good at keeping out radiation... Troy didn't know, he didn't exactly spend much time listening to the teacher in science. So he had just talked to what he thought and who he was told were the right people and did the best he could to get the best protection, although as he finally packed what few possession he had left he couldn't help but wonder whether he had made the right decision sealing himself in. Would what he would find on the outside be worth the torture of the eight long months he had endured? He doubted it.

He sighed once again, breathing heavy as he walked towards the heavy metal door and twisted the oval handle, grunting at the amount of strength it took to turn the metal wheel. He turned the wheel about halfway round anti clockwise before the door hissed and slid open, sending a cloud of dust into the air and causing Troy to choke once again, three seconds passed before a stench hit him, the stench choked him, the smell was absolutely revolting... Troy couldn't help but heel over, puking at the horrid stench before finally getting a hold of himself and getting to his feet, stumbling up the basemant stairs and pushing open the door into the kitchen. The stench quickly became a whole lot worse as the door swung open, although the smell was nothing compared to the sight of what was causing it.

There were two dogs, their eyes rotting and their bodies deep in the process of decay, dried blood was clear over the once grey tiles of the kitchen floor. Beyond them, and worse than them, was the corpse of a man; he was leaning against the fridge, claw and bite marks marked his face and arms but worse then that was the shape and position of his body. Troy only now remembered the six rapid gun shots that had awoken him around a month earlier and as his mind slowly put together the movie of what must have gone on he found it hard not to breakdown. Blood and brain splattered the fridge and cooker, the two dogs each had multiple gun wounds, five rounds, and the man had one through his head, self inflicted. They were the six shots he had heard, the dogs must have attacked the man, and he shot and killed them; but not before taking multiple wounds himself. Rather then die in pain from the bites, he had put a round through his head, the gun still rested in the palm of his hand and his backpack remained firmly tucked under his arm.

Troy slowly edged closer to the corpse of the man, holding his hand over his mouth and nose and keeping a firm eye on the bloke, almost paranoid that he would come alive and start blasting. He finally reached the man, leaning down and picking up the handgun, he ejected the clip; he had only used a gun once before; one he had stolen from a house deeper in Seattle, it worked near enough the same; or at least the eject was in the same place. He looked the clip up and down with fascination. there seemed to be quite a few rounds in it. At least ten rounds remained in the clip, he slipped it back in, pulling the top-slide back before flicking on the safety and tucking the handgun into his hood, bringing out the lock knife and tucking it into the back pocket of his jeans.

"I'm going to need it more then you." He mumbled under his breath, lifting the kitchen table back into place and carefully picking up and placing the blokes bag on top of it. He slowly unzipped the backpack, deciding against just pouring the contents out on the table, instead carefully searching inside, first out was a small lunchbox, similar to his own, although it was empty, thus got tossed to the side in frustration. The rest was just simple crap, a family photo album, that he couldn't bring himself to look at, so simply placed it back in the bag. Finally he came to one good thing; a nice bottle of Nuka Cola, it was warm, really warm, but it still tasted good as he quickly gulped it down. He then checked the side compartments, most were empty, but one had a box of 9mm rounds in, that, he was overjoyed to find. If he encountered any dogs like the fridge guy he would definitely need the ammo. He took the box of rounds, placing them into one of the side compartments of his own pack before standing up and facing the door.

The door was still barricaded, it was the window the man and dogs had got through, the shattered glass still sparkled in the sun across his carpet. He quickly picked out the bits of glass that still dangerously poked out of the bottom of the window frame, taking one last look back at his one floored flat before climbing out through the window, letting the sun bathe his face. It was pretty hot, but there was still a nice breeze... After so long it that God forsaken basemant, the breeze felt like heaven. First things first, he had to go home, hopefully some of his fathers possessions still remained there.

http://www.gamesas.com/topic/1355219-the-kingston-road/page__view__findpost__p__20440850
University of Seattle, WA
Fallout Shelter/Basemant

Eight months stuck with a group of people taught her patience and tolerance. Eight months of stale crackers and canned meat taught her to be thankful to have some food in her stomach.

Lea's stomach growled, just thinking of food. Ten professors and around thirty students had made it into the shelter below the University on that fateful day. Although, the Dean ensured that the basemant would be able to sustain a larger population, most of the faculty and the student body had decided to stay with their family. Lea couldn't blame them. The university had been her family for the last eight years and she had been grateful for the shelter here.

Provisions were running low, as were temperaments. It would be only a matter of time, until this group clashed completely. Bryan Taylor, the science teacher, already established that the radiation was down to acceptable levels. A few student had left the shelter to search for their families a few days ago.

Lea approached the dean. "Mitch, we really must sent someone topside to see what's going on and to scout for some supplies. We can't stay here indefinitely."

"Are you volunteering?" Mitch raised his eyebrows.

"Well, yes, I mean, how bad can it be? I'm sure there are other survivors and maybe together we can get this city going again." Lea smiled hopefully, although, deep down inside, she knew it was just wishful thinking. However, that didn't stop her enthusiasm or her ability to see something positive in any situation.

"Alright, but make sure you take some protective head gear with you and I'll throw in a Geiger counter from the science department," Mitch said and waved Bryan over. "Bryan, make sure it's ok for Lea to go outside, oh and give her one of your Rad counters there." Then he turned back to Lea. "Are you sure you don't want to take anyone with you?"

Lea nodded. "I can move much faster alone," she said with a confident smile. "You are fretting like an old woman, Mitch," she added.

At that moment, Bryan threw a leather pouch at her. "Catch!" He called to her and Lea snatched the bag out of the air. "I packed a few provisions for you, including the Geiger counter. I don't have any head gear, but a scarf should be fine and I really wouldn't worry about the rad count. I checked it again this morning and we are down to a very low number." He said and then pulled her aside. "I'm more worried about people, to tell you the truth. These types of situations bring either the worst out of them or the best," he said quietly.

Lea picked up a baseball bat and padded the taser latched to her belt. "No worries. I might be naive, but I know how to protect myself," she said with a conspiratorial wink.

Before Lea left though, she glanced one last time at the ham radio. Cammy, a freshman in her creative writing class, had kept in touch with her throughout the whole time, they were stuck in separate shelters. Lea had grown fond of their conversations and of the girl. She was a bright young woman and showed great promise as a writer. Lea had made sure to let Cammy know of her intent to leave the shelter, in the hopes they would be able to re-unite in a few days.

Mitch and Bryan accompanied her to the large doors leading to the stairs. With a loud clank, the metal doors slid apart and Lea shouldered her bundle.

"So long guys, I'll try to be back in a few days." She said with a wry smile and climbed the stairs, which would lead her into Kane Hall, located on the main campus.

When she finally emerged, she was glad to see that the building had not suffered any massive damage. Glass littered the floor, since every window had been blown out and a fine, grey dust covered every surface. Lea knew not to touch or inhale the dust. She made her way across the entrance hall and pushed on the large, wooden doors. The transition from the shadowy interior to full sunlight almost blinded her. Lea shielded her eyes and blinked rapidly. It was good to feel the sun on her face again. In a gesture of grateful exuberance, she threw her arms in the air and laughed out loud.

She noticed the guy with the ginger hair, crossing the campus, moments later. A slight blush crept into her cheeks and she didn't know whether she should call out to him or hope he hadn't seen her childish display.

Andrew Lancaster- univeristy entrance.

Walking across what appeared to be the remnants of a footpath, Andrew entered what seemed to be Seattle University, the sign was still standing but was missing several letters, “SE T LE UNI S T” it said

Andrew had seen the sign before when it was still intact… Early January 2077, he had come in to do a talk about Robco, how they were helping American war effort, utter [censored] but he got paid extra do it and he got to go home early so it wasn’t too bad…

If only we knew back then…

Andrew continued walking into the university approaching what appeared to be entrance hall when the front doors open, a young woman dark blond hair walk out, throw her arms in the air and started laughing…

Is this lady nuts or something….

Finishing his Nuka- cola Andrew made his way over to the woman, it seemed that she had noticed Andrew and appeared to be brushing….
When Andrew got too few feet away from the lady he spoke “eer Hello I’m Andrew Lancaster… I am, well was an engineer at Robco” he said introducing himself

“If you don’t mind me asking what the [censored] were you so happy about? Encase you didn’t notice the world petty [censored]!” he chuckled as he did he lowered his fireaxe so that he seemed less threathing to the crazy lady...

The minute Lea saw this guy walking towards her, with a huge axe in hand no less, she felt like she wanted to sink into the ground. She took a step backwards, involuntarily, not like she was afraid of that guy, but reality started to slowly sink in. The past was gone and over. This world, the one she just stepped into, looked like someone took a huge hammer and smashed it to pieces.

Lea raised her head and watched the stranger approach. Their eyes met and Lea sighed in relieve when she saw a little twinkle in his eyes.

I guess humor hasn't died with the world, she thought with a slight smile.

Andrew, as he introduced himself, lowered his axe, while questioning her happiness... or more like her sanity?

"Well Andrew, I am alive to feel the sun warm my skin," she simply stated. "I'm sure there are many people who can't say the same," she added quietly, as she made a sweeping motion with her right arm, to indicate the city around them.

"Oh, but where are my manners?" she called out. "I'm Lea Brunner and I used to teach Creative Writing and German here," she pointed with her thumb to the building behind her. "What brings you to our campus? Are you seeking shelter? We have room in the basemant, which was converted to a Fallout shelter before the war," she explained and waited for his reply.

Fifteen minutes of silent walking down the street felt like hours. Mickhail kept pausing to recall past events at many parts of his street. A birthday party, fixing the owner's car, even a date.

A few houses were literally stripped apart. A few rusted metal support beams were left barely standing in the house's once great outer coating. But just like that, it was gone.

Suddenly, he saw an old man sitting on an old couch. He store at an old T.V. set, silently drinking a Nuka-Cola.

Mickhail store from up the street, and pondered for a second. Is he ok to talk to? Probably.

Mickhail walked down the cracked road towards the old man, shouting "Hey!"

The old man quickly got up and looked as if he would jump out of his own skin, but Mickhail stopped approaching and told him to calm down.

"I'm just a survivor is all. I'd like to talk to you."

The old man had a worried look on his face, and then slowly sat back down.

"I suppose," he mumbles loudly.

Mickhail jogged over and stood behind the old man to the right of him. He watched the clouds drift in the orange setting.

"See that mushroom outline there in the sky?" the old man finally asked.

"Excuse me?"

"The mushroom cloud outline! You know, a mushroom."

Mickhail gazed at the sky, but couldn't find the outline.

"Ermm. No sir."

"That's the last thing I saw on October 23rd. The mushroom cloud. It's outline was huge. Surprised you can't see it."

Mickhail squinted his eyes, but it just wasn't there.

"It's stuck in my mind. Both day and night, it's all I see."

"I'm sorry sir. Ummm, listen. I came from an old shelter and haven't seen the daylight since eight isolated months until today. It's, it's well..."

"Beautiful," he said quietly. "Beautiful."

Mickhail watches as the man kept starring at the barren sky, eyes wide and sparkling, and beard moving along with the wind. He deemed him a crazy old man. Or maybe, a wise one.

"What's your name?" Mickhail said, daring not to look at the man for too long.

"Kid. I lost my name eight months ago. To be honest, not having a name kept me alive for quite some time. You'd best remember that."

Mickhail gulped softly and referred to the man as sir. They had a brief discussion about Seattle, radiation, and what it was like in the wastes.

"Scary," he said. "And dangerous. Best not bother or create interest nearby a group of rascals. They'd hang you right there just for that gun you got there."

Mickhail's hand slowly rubbed Reed to make sure he was still there, tucked in his leather holster.

"There's cannibals who would eat you whole, crazy animals, or so I've heard, and dangerous looters."

"Where do you suggest I go?"

The old man starred down the road. "Just follow the road kid. Follow the road."

Mickhail thanked the man and began walking down the road. Maybe it would lead to some water? Maybe to his death? There was only one way to find out. And that way was to keep walking.

"Watch out for them Chupucrobas and remember to stay alert. Cave rat taught it to me!" he hollered, laughing as Mickhail walked away further. When Mickhail was a good distance away, he looked back and the man was gone...

Michael Foster
Seattle, Washington
Exploring Central Seattle


It wasn't really cold. He realized that rather quickly.

His shudder had more to do with the state of the world than the temperature.

It wasn't as badly destroyed here as he had expected. The small simple apartments had held together well.

It was the refuse that made his spine tingle in that most peculiar of ways.

A few feet of recently upturned soil and a simple makeshift cross.

A trail made of tiny little brownish red specks that could only be dried blood leading off down the street.

Broken doors and broken glass.




Exploring this familiar but new world Michael gradually realized that things were not likely to get better. This damage had not be done quickly or all at once. It had piled upon itself gradually while he had hidden away in his little safehouse.


Shame closed in on him as he realized that he had abandoned his duties as a peace officer and a government official. He should have been out here, trying to calm things down, helping out.

Just doing something other than hiding away.

Surely he could have helped.


As these thoughts played through his mind he made his way South. He needed a cup of coffee.

The Grind wasn't far away, and coffee beans would last for sometime...assuming there were any left.


Of course when he saw that the nice little patio furniture that allowed one to enjoy a cup of joe outside had migrated through the windows and into the shop he realized there was not much hope. Indeed the shop had been ransacked.

The Mocha flavored coffee, gone. The Vanilla flavored coffee, gone. Hazelnut Crunch, gone. Spirit of the Holidays, gone.

Even the Coffee flavored coffee was gone.


He managed to salvage a handful of green tea packets from the floor, apparently green tea was a bit too bitter for this bitter world.

Michael moved to search the cash register before realizing the futility of it.



He backtracked a bit and turned Left to see if the local S-Mart supermarket might have more promise.

Approaching the door he paused.

It was quite quiet and peaceful.

It had been so since he left the safehouse...



Where were the bodies? Where were the roving gangs of flamboyantly dressed men and women?

Indecisive, he snuck up alongside the dumpster and hunkered down to listen and observe.

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

Helen woke up feeling like she hadn’t even gone to bed. For several months she slept because it was just another thing to do to kill some time while locked up in the stock room of Travis’ bar.

Makeshift fallout shelter. It was never really “just” a stock room this whole time.

She clicked on the lamp, its light not nearly as bright as it had been when they first started living in the shelter so long ago. The battery was still strong, but she suspected the lightbulb itself was starting to die. She wondered that her eyes had simply adjusted to the lower light as it was. Turning on the light was simply a habit.

She pulled the knot in the bottom of her t-shirt tighter and wandered to the pantry. There were still at least two dozen canned goods sitting there, and a couple of cases yet unopened. Helen learned very early on that she couldn’t hardly stomach any of the nuclear-preserved soups, beans, and spiced hams. For the past eight months she’d eaten nothing but dry crackers and cereals, and the occasional bowl of re-hydrated fruits or vegetables. She wrinkled her nose, deciding she wasn’t hungry, and left the pantry.

It’s not like she couldn’t afford to lose several dozens of pounds of weight. Despite weeks of very picky eating, she retained a distinctive pear shape, heavy thighs and a jiggly midsection. She reflected on this as she brushed her hair and began to braid it once more.

The irony is that I don’t care about what size I am except that now, nothing I own fits me.

Living in the shelter wasn’t horrible, but it wasn’t the most ideal either. In terms of supplies, Travis had stocked it incredibly well, right down to ensuring there were plenty of clean linens and other necessities like toothpaste and toilet paper. Unfortunately, what he couldn’t have predicted was the ruining of modern plumbing as they knew it, and none of the taps or the toilet worked after the apocalypse. Helen shuddered as she remembered the night there was a brown flood in the bathroom. Most of their clean linens were used to clean up the mess, but the smell would linger for a long time.

Doing laundry at all was impossible. She and Travis both got into a habit of wearing a garment until it was unbearably saturated with natural skin oils, sweat, food smells and holes. He joked early on that they should just roam through the shelter entirely nvde and forget about clothes, but that wasn’t the nature of their relationship at that point.

It seemed inevitable that they’d eventually have found other…activities to pursue while locked into a fallout shelter. Helen had spent nearly her entire life indifferent to men (and women), and in the recent past knew her size and her role as a public figure made her unpopular and likely, unattractive. She hadn’t really cared. Travis was decent enough, and if they were the only two people left on Earth, well…

I hope he hasn’t gone and got killed and left me here pregnant.

Two weeks ago – by her reckoning, Travis was the one who wore a watch and there was no other way to know what day or time it even really was otherwise – he decided to leave the shelter in search of some new clothes and more water. They had six full cases of bottled water left, but Travis was the type to want to have an overstock for “just in case.” Perhaps it came from years of owning and managing a bar. He took his pistol, the only weapon they had, a knapsack with some food, a flashlight, and then took his leave, promising to return shortly and forbidding her to open the door for anyone.

The next day, when he still hadn’t returned, Helen made a point of finally uncovering the windows, hoping the daylight would help her get a sense of a diurnal cycle. It helped her get into a routine of sleeping at night after the sun set, but did not help her keep track of the days. Suddenly, with no one to talk to and very little to do, she found the passage of time to meld and mesh into one hazy blur.

Her stomach growled. She walked into pantry once more and popped open a half-full box of Sugar Bombs. The short, full-figured Native Canadian woman unceremoniously shoved a fist full of the hypersweet cereal into her mouth and chewed while gazing out the high window.

Cammy Berstein - Cellar fortified into a Fallout Shelter


"Do you have a three?" Asked Cammy in the dimly lit cellar. Her father had retrofitted the barn cellar into a fallout shelter in light of the Great War. Empty mason jars were scattered about the cool floor, Cammy's pink teddy bear stared back at her blankly, "What do you mean go fish? There are only five cards left, you have to have a three Dazzle!"

Cammy frowned, "You're not tryin' to cheat are ya Dazzle?"

The Bear's cards were face down in front of it, it's black eyes remained blank, "Let me see," Cammy flipped over Dazzle's cards, "See...see!" She picked up Dazzle's three card, "I can't believe you would hold out on me Dazzle. I know it svcks down here, but Mom and Dad told us to stay here until they came back if the war happened while they were gone."

Meri, Cammy's mother, was out of town for the weekend at a Wedding show. Hoping to drum up some business for their flower shop. Her father, Dwayne, was stuck in Bakersfield California delivering a load of Chryslus sedans.

Cammy got up, upset that Dazzle tried to cheat her, she pulled a half a can of Raymond's Pork-N-Beans from the small counter. The can made a hollow ping as Cammy scraqed the last of the dried out beans from the can. A hard swallow later, followed by a bit of warm bottled water Cammy made a disgusted face, "Yuck, as if they aren't bad enough when they're just opened. They almost gagged me Dazzle, they are all dried out and crumpled like dust."

The bear was still focused on the cards laid out in front of it, "I'm not mad anymore Dazzle, don't worry about it, but cheating isn't good. I don't know who taught you that, but it isn't right." Cammy scooped up the pink bear and hugged it tight, "I love you Dazzle, come on, it's bedtime, lets pray."

She spread out the now dirty sleeping bag and sheet, kneeling down next to it, she sat Dazzle on her lap. "Dear Lord, I pray that Mom and Dad are safe. That You looked over them when the war came. I pray that You will allow them to come back home, I miss them so much. I hope that Buella is OK, that she still has hay and stuff. Tomorrow is my birthday, You know that, all I want is my Mom and Dad to come get me, please," she sniffed as tears streamed down her face, "Amen."

Cammy wiped her nose with the back of her hand. The bear had been a life saver, having grown up as an only child, Cammy was able to entertain herself reasonably well. Dazzle had been there for her for years, during her adolescent years, her first break-up, graduation day, and countless other times. Dazzle was the only real thing left from before she entered her isolation. Dwayne being a trucker knew the importance of a ham radio, he put one in the shelter when he finished it. Cammy had been able to speak with Ms. Brunner somewhat frequently until recently. The fission batteries in her lantern and radio were dying a long, painful death, struggling to provide just enough for a dim glow.

Cammy curled up in her little bed, Dazzle tucked up under her chin against her chest. She kissed the bears head, "We have a Fancy Lad for my cake tomorrow Dazzle, after that, maybe a couple of spoonfuls of those nasty beans."

Following morning

Cammy wearily opened her eyes, she smacked her dry lips as Dazzle stared back at her, "G'mornin' Dazzle, sleep well?"

She sat up and yawned with exaggeration while stretching her arms above her head. Cammy opened the door to a tiny out house type bathroom, "Oh my God," she clapped her hand over her mouth and nose, "This is so gross Dazzle." Cammy took care of business as quickly as possible slamming the toilet lid down and shutting the door. She shoved the old shop rags under the bottom of the door to help with the funky smell.

"No Mom and Dad huh Dazzle?" Cammy plopped down on the overturned bucket, "It's been a really long time, I beginning to wonder if God is hearing our prayers Dazzle."

Dazzle fell over, his pink paw pointed to a small box on the end of the counter, "Already? Oh, alright Dazzle, I'm hungry to." Cammy got up and carefully opened the box, one Fancy Lad snack cake sat in the bottom. Spreading out a piece of paper towel, she placed the snack cake atop of it. Cammy rifled through a drawer, producing a single, half burnt candle and a book of matches with just one match left in it. Pushing the candle into the center of the cake, she struck the match and lit the candle. Careful not to move to fast and blow out the candle, Cammy sat next Dazzle, "Ready?"

She sat Dazzle upright, the bear seemed to eye the snack cake, "We have to sing first." Cammy cleared her throat before beginning, "Happy birthday to me, Happy birthday to me, Happy birthday to meee," she blew the candle out through her tears. She broke off a tiny piece and sat in in front of Dazzle, "Tha...there you ga...go," she choked out through her sobs. The cake was stale, but far better than the pork-n-beans. In seconds it was completely gone, she washed it down with the rest of her water. The empty bottle rattled around, sliding down the side of the empty water bottle and can pile.

"Dazzle, we can't wait for Mom and Dad to come back, we are out of food and water, we need to go outside." A look of deep concern crossed her innocent face, "lets get ready to go, and hope we don't get grounded for not doing as we're told."

Robert Frame
Seattle, Washington
Basemant, Fallout shelter.

7 steps, turn around, 7 steps, turn around, 7 steps, turn around, 7 steps... this had been Robert’s routine for 8 months, walking back and forth between two walls, he swore there was now a slight groove in the floor where he had endlessly trekked, in this all too familiar basemant in an alien city thousands of miles from home. Was it better to live here or die at home? Right now anything would be preferable to the prison this basemant at become

“[censored] this, I’m leaving” Robert loudly announced to the room, his voice sounded only vaguely familiar, it had been 6 months since he had used it and it had grown rough with underuse

Robert went over to the crates that once held seemingly endless supplies of food and water, now only sparsely populated with the odd can of pork’n’beans or some dried meat, he picked the remainder of the food up and shoved it into a backpack, he then took a few steps to where the water supplies were, only 4 bottles, he picked them up and dropped them in his backpack, a quick walk around the basemant shelter was all that was needed to secure the other items, a torch, a Geiger counter and his bagpipes, he felt a little stupid taking them with him but they could turn out to be useful and who knew how many might be left? They could be a rare object now.

Well this was it, Robert faces the large steel door which for months and been saving him and trapping him, he pulled back the bars keeping the door shut and pulled the door open, a rush of fresh air filled the basemant, the stench of death soon followed the new air, Robert pulled back his head a little in disgust.

“Well, this is it...” Robert sighed, picking up the old rifle he had taken when entering the basemant, it had no ammo, but the bayonet was sharp and it was heavy enough.

It took a while to climb those few steps to the house, Robert was listening closely for any sound, any sign that there was someone or something out in the world. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not even the smallest of breezes disturbed the peace of the world.

Robert looked around; he saw a fridge in the nearby kitchen and slowly walked over to it and opened it, a sole Nuka-cola lay in it, he picked it up and opened it with a nearby bottle opener then downed it with a couple of noisy gulps.

Robert then walked towards the door of the house, he held up the Geiger counter against it and checked the about of rads, from what he remembered the rad levels were low enough that he would be able to survive outside, he then grasped the door handle and opened the door, he took a few tentative steps outside, shielding his face until his eyes had adjusted to the light, he then took a look at the what the world had become, not the destroyed wasteland he had imagined, just empty.

Cammy Bernstein - Stepping outside - Day 1 of the New world

Cammy shuffled through all of Dwayne's boxes, she had found some of his olive green waders, a hooded yellow rain coat, heavy duty rubber gloves and Dwayne's paint respirator. She checked off each items on the list she had received from school under protective gear. She turned around, "OK Dazzle, time to get dressed," she sat Dazzle down on the counter. "I'm scared to see how hairy my legs and underarms are, you'll let me know right?"

Cammy closed her eyes as she dropped her dirty pajama pants to the floor and removed her T-shirt. Opening her eyes, she watched Dazzle fall over, "That bad? I don't want to look," but curiosity killed the cat, "HOLY CRAP DAZZLE!!!" She stared at the eight months of hair growth on her legs then raised her arms, "OH, SO NASTY!! Dazzle, I'm almost as fuzzy as you," the bear fell off the counter.

Cammy scooped up Dazzle and sat it next to her list, she scribbled "razor" onto it, "I'll take care of that, oh, better put deodorant on there to huh? Kinda funky smelling."

As she prepared to put the respirator on, she looked at Dazzle, "I think you should stay here, let me see if it's safe first and I'll come back and get you." Cammy strapped on the mask, cinching the hood snugly over her head she tied the strings under her chin. She shuffled her feet and look into an old beer mirror, "OK, no exposed skin," her voice muffled from the mask. She checked it off of her Surviving Nuclear Fallout list.

Cammy took a deep breath, looking back at Dazzle, "Here goes nothing," she unlocked the first of two doors. The second door was the actual cellar door, she unlocked it and looked back again, "But I have to Dazzle, if I don't get us more food then I'll have to eat you to live. I really don't want to have to do that."

She pushed open the cellar door, blinded by the bright sunlight she stumbled backwards in the over sized waders. "Dazzle, the sun is still there, maybe it's not as bad as we thought?"

Cammy gathered herself, stepping into the narrow entry way, her hands gripped the door frame and she stepped outside with high hopes. Her jaw fell to the floor, her hopes dashed in milliseconds as she looked on with horror. The vegetation dead, covered with a thick, black colored dust. Tears welled up in her eyes causing the mask to fog up a bit. Looking to her house, the once sturdy and confident Colonial Styled porch pillars were splittered and covered with shingles and other debris that was once her front porch.

Her knees buckled, her hands shook as they touched the mask, she gasped,"No...no...NO," she forced herself further outside. Their barn's roof had collapsed, the once flourishing garden nothing more than rotting line of vegetables. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath, "Mom? Dad? Are you here? Buella?"

She ran clumsily to the back door of the house, the door had remained unlocked for eight moths and she flung it open. Dust fell from the sudden movement, "Mom? Dad?," she waited, nothing more than a dreary silence answered her. She walked in and shut the door behind her, observing the dusty decor and furniture just has she had left it. On the kitchen table sat her dust covered homework assignment Ms. Brunner had given her for the weekend.

Oddly enough, the refrigerator was humming, she opened it and saw the moldy leftovers from the night before, albeit the night eight months ago. She closed the refrigerator and made her way into the living room, "Ma...Mom? Da...Daddy?" She croaked, her throat dry, her stomach turned somersaults. Cammy stood shaking in the middle of her living room, she went up to her bedroom. Everything just as she had left it all that time ago, pulling open her closet door there was her favorite lavender dress on the same white hanger. A minimal amount of dust had collected on it, she brushed it off and folded it up. She picked up her matching canvas tennis shoes, when she bent down tears blotted onto the mask's lens.

Cammy was overcome with emotion, snatching up her backpack, she began to shove the dress, shoes, and other items on her list into it as she went through the house. She stopped at the kitchen door, remembering that her and Dazzle needed some food and water. Cammy picked through bags of potato chips, snacks, water bottles and canned goods in the pantry. She managed to fill a paper grocery bag until no more would fit. She went to return to the cellar, pausing as she took it the decaying sign of their shop.

The sign hung by one lonely nail, it looked as if someone threw black water colored paint on it and let it run down. The paint had faded from its once bright, festive finish.

Bernstein Botanicals
"Do you have the Bernstein advantage?"
Floral arrangements for all occasions
Hearty, fresh vegetables for a hearty life

Cammy's eyes read what her and her mother had painted what looked like an eternity ago. She began bawling, running the backpack and grocery bag down inside the cellar, "It's terrible Dazzle, way worse than we thought. I want to hug you to, but we can't until I take this stuff off. I need to..." She sniffed, "go check on Buella."

She left the cellar again, each step felt like she had cinder blocks on her feet. She pushed past the rubble that was the roof of the barn. She listened, there was no sound, no sign of life in the usually busy barn stables. Cammy swallowed hard while looking at the blue prize ribbons hanging above Buella's stable, she very slowly peeked around the edge of the stable. Cammy thought her mind was playing tricks on her, as a buzzing sound filled her ears. She opened her eyes to see Buella's decaying corpse lay where she had last seen her.

Cammy clambered back, hitting the side of the stable and falling on her rear. Cammy reached up, pulling the ribbons off of their hooks. She sat back down, the smell of decay avoided because of the mask. She laid the ribbons out on her lap and sobbed. The buzzing got louder, she covered her ears, then she saw a movement from the other side of Buella. Her jaw fell, eyes widened as a giant fly rose up from the carcass.

"AHHHHHHHH," she screamed. Cammy sprung to her feet and sprinted back to the shelter, not looking back. She practically dove down the cellar stairs and slammed the door, leaning her head against it and looked at the crumpled ribbons briefly.

She ran to the counter and activated the dying ham radio, "HELP, ANYBODY, HELP, Ms. Brunner!" She took a breath, "There's a giant fly, it's as big as me in my barn. Somebody please help me."

Cammy dropped to the floor, peeling off her rain coat and gloves, head in her hands she sobbed. "Buella is dead Dazzle, and a ginormous fly is eating her," she kicked off the waders.

"We better stay inside, wait and hope that monster goes away," she cuddled up with Dazzle, crying until she dozed off.

Jacob “Jake” Mercer
Seattle, Washington
Mercer Residence

When things settled down a bit, Jake tucked away his pistol back into his belt, and took a seat on the couch downstairs. Robert and Jeanie both had something to drink, but Jake refused the offer of one himself.

“Where have you been all this time?” Jeanie asked outright.

“I was just . . .” Jake quickly caught himself, before he mentioned anything about the shelter. It seemed clear enough that they hadn’t a clue about it. “I was north of the city when it happened. I’ve been doing what I can since, and decided to come back just a little while ago.”

“Was your mother with you?” Robert asked.

“No, I thought she might be here?” Jake said a bit solemnly.

They all took a moment to think, as the two had their drinks, and Jake just sat there quietly by himself. But even then, Jake couldn’t help but think that Jeanie’s wandering look was still the look she gave the last time she was in this house, before the bombs, judging and contemplating how his mother had the interior.

“This place has really been let go,” she said with a smile. Jake smiled back, but knew she was as stupid as ever with that sort of stuff. His mother had been no better though, both of them had tried to be better than the other.

“I’m sorry I nearly shot you,” he finally said. “I just wasn’t expecting anyone here?”

“Neither were we, really,” Robert said. “Not too many folks around here anymore, so Jeanie and I have been taking from the houses what we can. I hope that it’s okay? Your parent’s house wasn’t our first.”

“No, take what you want,” Jake said. “I have no use for it anymore. Anything sentimental, isn’t worth caring around. But if you do take something sentimental, just let me know first, okay?”

Robert nodded and finished his drink. Jeanie did as well, as they got up to search around the house in peace. Jake sat there on the couch for a moment, just thinking of what it was that he might actually want to take with him back to the shelter. But he couldn’t think of anything, and just got up to see what they’d take.

But as he got up and turned around, he suddenly caught a glance of Robert pulling from the knife drawer, the largest knife he could grab. Jeanie was upstairs, searching through his mother’s bedroom again, as Jake carefully came up behind Robert.

“What are you doing with that knife?” Jake asked him plainly.

“What?” Robert asked surprised, and quickly turning around. “Just for protection, son, nothing to worry about.” He gave a light hearted smile, but Jake wasn’t too sure. He felt the same about them, as he did about the man and woman from before; even if they had kids, he couldn’t trust them, and even if Robert said it was for protection, he couldn’t trust him.

“Alright,” Jake said as if to give him the benefit of the doubt. Robert nodded and walked off towards the stairs, heading up to see what Jeanie was doing.

After a bit of waiting, Jake approached the stairs. Neither Jeanie or Robert, had made much of a noise since he’d gone up there, and it was starting to make him worry. Either they were dead, or something else was going on. Quietly, Jake went up the stairs, pistol once again drawn.

“Mr. Long? Mrs. Long? Either of you okay?” No one replied. “Hello? I know you two are up here somewhere?”

Suddenly the sound of soft crying caught his attention. It was coming from the bedroom. Jake quietly opened the door, and to his surprise, there sat Robert Long on his mother’s bed, with Jeanie Long beside him, the same large knife sticking out of her stomach.

“What the hell have you done!” Jake exclaimed in astonishment. Blood soaked her dress around the wound, her hand holding his as he shut her eyes.

“She wanted this,” he said crying, “she wanted this! And I wanted it!”

“What?” Jake asked confused.

“She wanted to die, and I wanted her to die too! Do you realize how hard it is, living with this woman! In this world, it’s ten times as hard with the lack of food and proper water. She was going to die soon, and take me with her. But that’s not how I want to die, son.”

“So you killed her because she was hard to live with?”

“And because she wanted too!” He snapped. “You know how hard it is out here! It’s hard enough feeding yourself, while trying to feed another! I couldn’t do it anymore.”

Jake looked at Robert with disgust, seeing a completely different man than he had seen before. But his look didn’t please Robert one bit, and anger quickly showed all across his face.

“Who are you to judge! I did what I did, because I had to! To survive, you no good worthless piece of [censored]!” His temper was starting to rise higher, along with his glance to the large knife.

“Don’t do it,” Jake said raising his pistol. “Don’t try anything stupid, Mr. Long, I’ll shoot you if I have to!”

“THEN SHOOT ME!” He shouted as loud as he could, pulling the bloody knife from his wife, and getting up. But before he could stand upright, Jake quickly pulled the trigger, followed by three others as Robert Long, neighbor of his parent’s just down the road, fell forward over the bed in pain from the shots. One of them had gone through his throat, but Jake didn’t kill him, the shock of shooting a man had rattled his nerves even more so than all the pounding and kicking of the shelter’s door, could do in a lifetime.

“I’m sorry!” Jake exclaimed. “I’m sorry!” And like that, Robert Long quietly died over his wife.

“I’ve got to get out of here!” Jake said to himself, rushing out of the room and down the stairs. He made his way right for the shelter, locking it behind him as he tossed his rucksack away, and dropped his guns on his cot. Tears swelled in his eyes, he couldn’t hold them back any longer. He’d killed his first man, and he hadn’t even been out in the world for that long.

Andrew Lancaster

“If you don’t mind me asking what the [censored] were you so happy about? Encase you didn’t notice the world petty [censored]!” he chuckled as he did he lowered his fire axe so that he seemed less threathing to the crazy lady...

"Well Andrew, I am alive to feel the sun warm my skin," she simply stated. "I'm sure there are many people who can't say the same," she added quietly, as she made a sweeping motion with her right arm, to indicate the city around them.

Okay she’s crazy….

“yeah well I bet this… guy doesn’t think that” he chuckled as he knocked what appeared to be the remains of person on the floor, only the bones were left…

"Oh, but where are my manners?" she called out. "I'm Lea Brunner and I used to teach Creative Writing and German here," she pointed with her thumb to the building behind her. "What brings you to our campus? Are you seeking shelter? We have room in the basemant, which was converted to a Fallout shelter before the war," she explained

So she’s a teacher huh… wonder if any useful teachers survived can’t do much with German… well unless you went to Germany…

“Walking though, trying to get back to Mercer Island, find my wife and family. Built a mini shelter in my garden…” Andrew said as he rubbed his head “was in a car crash the day before the bombs… woke up in a hospital, I fixed the generator and been living on the hospital supplies”

Andrew looked around “radiation has died down now so I’m going home, I recommend you get out of city as well, some of buildings have taken serious damage, likely there gonna fall down soon enough. “

Andrew then continued walking toward the far end of school “goodbye Miss Brunner and encase I don’t see you again viel Glück und hoffe, Sie nicht bekommen, zerdrückt!” he said in German…

Andrew walked through the university until he reached the school gates, turning around he looked to see what Miss Brunner was doing, it was nice to see that others had survived the war even I they were crazy…

Nick Sanders-Seattle, Washington-Wasteland, Near Highway 5

"Must...Stop...So...Tired." Nick said as he took panted breaths. He looked up and saw the highway, a couple of yards away. Nick's legs gave out and he fell to the ground and hit his face, breaking his nose. "OW! [censored] ME! DAMN IT! DAMN IT ALL TO HELL!" Nick yelled as he rolled out and held his nose. He took heavy breaths through his mouth while holding his nose. Nick blinked and saw the bully that stabbed him multiple times standing over him.

"Time to die Nick!" The bully said driving the knife down. Nick brought his hands up to his face and closed his eyes. When he opened them, the sky was the only thing he could see. Nick breathed heavily and stayed on the ground for five minutes. Nick stood up and dusted himself off, he took a deep breath and sighed. He walked towards the highway and saw a sign, "Highway 5" With a arrow pointing towards the road ahead of him filled with cars.

"Here I go, hopefully I can get a car through all of this." Nick said to himself, He began to walk. He saw hundreds of cars and motorcycles. He began to walk, the cars and motorcycles abandoned. A couple of cars had their windows busted, tires slashed and just generally made un-driveable. Nick looked ahead and spotted a motorcycle that looked like it was in running condition. Nick ran over to it. He spotted the keys still in it. "YES!" Nick said aloud, he sat down on the motorcycle. "Oh come on baby work!" Nick said as he attempted to start the motorcycle. It didn't start, he tried again, it didn't start. Again. "Come on..." Nick attempted to start it again and it started up, Nick revved the engine, "Hell to the yes!" Nick said, he started to drive it through the left behind-vehicles.

(OOC) Mods, is the motorcycle okay? I'm only going to drive it to the university and then it's going to run out of gas, is this okay? If not I'll edit it. (But since the University is about 20 miles away, I figure the motorcycle would make sense.)

Dalton Warner

Home sweet home.

The light from the outside illuminated the front hallway of the large suburban home. The hewn stone floor was rough and cracked, the bench Dalton reached up with his left hand and pulled his pack off throwing it on to the broken bench. It slid down to the floor.He took a deep breath, and rubbed his face with both of his hands. Then another step into the house, and then another, he didn’t want to, he kept thinking to himself:

What if they’re just lying there? Dead?

He hands came back up to his face, he rubbed his eyes more, and more. He was trying to keep the tears back. If they were dead what would he do? What if they weren’t here? What if there was just no trace of them?

“[censored],” he mumbled.

He cracked his hands and crinkled his nose. He decided to go straight through; he took off down the rest of the hallway and turned sharply into the dimly lit dining room. No sign of anyone, the place was worse for wear. But tidy, no broken glass, no ruined furniture, it was clean. On the table were place settings, the way his mother always left them. His heart jumped at that. They had been here. He looked into the kitchen; it was the same, cleaned up, not messy. He ran into it, he flung open all the cupboards and drawers, all of them were bare. Literally nothing.

He went back to hallway and to the stairs and up them to the second floor. He opened the door to his brother’s bedroom, the bed was made, someone had been here. His parent’s room was the same, and then further down the hallway he went into his room. He flung the door open and it smashed against the wall, bouncing back towards him. Dalton’s arm shot up and stopped the door. He pushed it back slowly until it touched the stopper. He looked around the room.

His things were still on his dresser, all his old stuffies and trophies were up on the shelf, his bed was made, and there was a letter lying on the pillow. He stood looking at in disbelief; he stumbled forward to his bed. Leaning over he grabbed the letter and tore it open.

Michael Foster
Seattle, Washington
Shop smart, shop S-Mart

The stench of death hung in the air as Michael Foster made his way through the S-Mart.

He knew as he timidly searched through the store that somewhere must lie a ghastly surprise.

Near the cereal aisle was the first body. He had been stabbed at one end of the aisle and crawled to the opposite end.

Why had he been killed? It was one of those things he knew would never be explained. Just a young man's life wasted. Nothing extraordinary really, but devastating just the same.

The first human he had run into, the first human contact of any kind since that phone call on that fateful day, and he was dead in a damn cereal aisle.

He tossed a box of Sugar Pops in his backpack and continued exploring. There was not much else to see.

He met three more people before realizing there was nothing more of value, those three were likewise dead.

Two had passed from either natural causes or radiation sickness, those he gave a wide berth.

The man who had been shot however, a plump balding fellow, had a neigh brand new pair of running shoes. They would be much more useful than the loafers Michael wore.

What luck, they were the same size.




Michael made his way back to his little safe house and settled down for another night.

He knew that soon he would have to decide just what he was to do.

Stay in a safe place and scavenge what meager leftovers he might find to make his life more comfortable...or venture out into an unknown wasteland and see what he might find.