[b]Alex Clark - New Orleans/Crashed Vehicle - Reggie/Aoife/Nelson[/b]

It had been a long night eversince he shared dinner with Sylar, and his stomach wearily grumbled that he needed to eat as they manouvred their way through the deserted streets. He was armed with his usual pitchfork again, but also sported a rifle this time, given to him as a part of his training as a scout. Sadly, he had only received the utmost basic lessons of firing the thing, and hitting anything smaller than the broadside of a barn was still beyond his capabilities. He stopped himself from kicking away a pebble, which could alert crawlers to their position, or worse, other survivors, but looked up when Reggie spoke. Being new and all he didn't understand most of the things going on yet, but he fully understood what Reggie was doing. It seemed abit strangely paranoid though, to drag the scouts so far just because of a single man down. Ofcourse that was bad, but the world was a cruel place now, and casualties happened, however much they'd hate themselves for it. Somehow he felt glad he hadn't been in the Outpost yet when this fatality occured so he couldn't blame it on himself somehow, but already felt guilty for being glad. A man had died.

A loud noise followed by what resembled a car crash the most ripped him from his macabre thoughts. It sounded strange to hear a car crash in the deserted city, but soon Reggie was leading them towards a car that had wrapped its engine around a crawler and a tree. It was obviously a total loss, that car wasn't going anywhere anymore, but the main problem was the small horde of crawlers trying to open the dented can for what must've been at least a single person inside. Reggie ordered them to open fire, and soon three shots filled the air, taking down as many crawlers, but attracting their attention. Alex aimed his own rifle at the approaching zombies, and fired. The bullet whizzed past the zombie into the car frame, luckily into the engine where it would be relatively harmless. As the crawlers approached he sloppily tried chambering a second round, in a sense of rising panick accidentally ejecting a perfect good round before finally chambering the next, and fired, only to miss again and being thrown off balance by the recoil of the gun. The crawlers were really close now, and in the same sense of panic that got a hold of him he dropped the rifle and slammed his sraightened pitchfork in a crawler's face, sending him down for good. 

Once the first one was down a strange sense of calmness slowly drove away the panic as he retracted the tool turned weapon from the dead crawler's face to swing it at the knee of a second one, whose leg gave away with a sickeningly moist crunch. He rammed the pitchfork into its head and quickly retracted it tostumble more than dodge backwards as a crawler made a valiant leap towards him, resulting in it falling on its knees. Backing off towards the rest of the scouts he tried dragging the rifle back with his pitchfork, but failed to do so when a crawler stepped on it. Muttering curses in his breath he stabbed another one in the face, and noticed that the other three scouts had dealt with the remaining crawlers. Picking up the rifle again he inspected the car, while mentally preparing himself for a lecture from Reggie about how he messed up, and dealing with his own panic attack. However, important matters first. Within no time he had spotted a single man hanging onconscious in his seatlbelt with was seemed like a profusely bleeding head injury, and he immediately started trying to pry the deformed door open. Head injuries usually were pretty bad, he knew from experience.