Miles narrowed his eyes. If there was one valuable life lesson that horror movies had taught him, it was that splitting up was the worst idea that a person could ever come up with. "We should stick together." He didn't voice it, for he knew that Aeron didn't want the others to know, even if it would be best for them to, but he didn't want Aeron to get cornered or to alert the infected, but not be able to run because of his leg. If something like that happened, Miles wanted to be there to hold them off long enough for Aeron to have the chance to put some distance between himself and the zombies. But no, Aeron just insisted on going it alone, as if he had something that he had to prove.
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I prefer Casual and Advanced roleplays, as writing paragraphs and multiple characters makes it feel more as if a group is collaborating on an actual novel. One-liners, speed-posting, and the like just doesn't interest me. I don't have a specific genre that I write in, as I tend to jump around them, but I suppose that I tend to lean more towards ones that involve action, drama, and horror. When I write romance, I like for it to be that "slow burn" sort. But in general, I can be interested in just about any genre, as long as the idea of the story itself is appealing to me.
*The fanart in my avatar is not mine.*
*The fanart in my avatar is not mine.*
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"And we'd like to be prepared for whatever might happen," Miles retorted, shaking his head. He loved his brother, but he could be so arrogant at times. Regardless, he headed toward the department store, adding beforehand, "Just be careful, Aeron. Don't fight them unless we have to."
Before the outbreak, the department store had been the busiest section in town; well, it had been for the actual residents, at least. Helena, Montana hadn't been the busiest of towns. If one wanted to shop at a mall, they'd have to travel to the next town over. Otherwise, Burke's Depot, it was, for people to purchase necessities. However, Helena saw more than its fair share of travelers and tourists. People came for the hiking trails, for camping, for the natural wonders. Self-proclaimed survivalists and nature enthusiasts came from all over just to risk freezing to death in the woods. It kept the town alive, though, giving reason for multiple restaurants, gift shops, and outfitter stores to exist within a few miles of each other, providing jobs for adults and teenagers alike, bringing the occasional family in to settle down.
Easing open the front door, Miles peered inside, holding his breath as he listened for sounds of the living dead. The power grid had been down for the past week, enveloping the store in darkness.
He recognized groans, whimpers, and shuffling.
Biting his lip, he whispered, "Some are in there, somewhere. Can't tell how many, though."
Before the outbreak, the department store had been the busiest section in town; well, it had been for the actual residents, at least. Helena, Montana hadn't been the busiest of towns. If one wanted to shop at a mall, they'd have to travel to the next town over. Otherwise, Burke's Depot, it was, for people to purchase necessities. However, Helena saw more than its fair share of travelers and tourists. People came for the hiking trails, for camping, for the natural wonders. Self-proclaimed survivalists and nature enthusiasts came from all over just to risk freezing to death in the woods. It kept the town alive, though, giving reason for multiple restaurants, gift shops, and outfitter stores to exist within a few miles of each other, providing jobs for adults and teenagers alike, bringing the occasional family in to settle down.
Easing open the front door, Miles peered inside, holding his breath as he listened for sounds of the living dead. The power grid had been down for the past week, enveloping the store in darkness.
He recognized groans, whimpers, and shuffling.
Biting his lip, he whispered, "Some are in there, somewhere. Can't tell how many, though."
Miles spared Jacoby a reproachful look, hoping that he wouldn't attempt another argument with his brother, as neither of them had ever seemed to get along with each other, even before the outbreak. Aeron saw Jacoby as nothing more than an idiot, whereas Jacoby was terrified of Aeron. Not to mention that Aeron was the reason that Jacoby insisted that gun control laws should be stricter. The one trait that the two shared was their stubborn streak, but, in the end, Aeron knew how to keep a fight going even when it didn't need to. It was what he'd been trained for, after all.
Checking that his revolver remained in its holster on his hip, paranoid as ever that it might have been knocked loose at some point, Miles added, "Let's avoid firing, if we can. It attracts them." Instead, he unsheathed the knife, the one that he and Aeron had once just used on camping and hiking trips. He knew that Aeron disagreed with him on the gun issue. He wanted them to keep their distance, something that melee combat just didn't provide. But Miles didn't think that it was worth bringing in an entire horde just to eliminate a small group of them; Aeron didn't seem to believe or trust him, though. He claimed that it was just Miles' paranoid imagination acting up again; a zombie's hearing wouldn't improve just because their sight was turned to shit. Wouldn't the rest of their senses degrade, as well? Sure, one would think so, but, to Miles, at least, it didn't seem to be the case, and if zombies could exist to begin with, then what was left to prevent yet another mystery?
Checking that his revolver remained in its holster on his hip, paranoid as ever that it might have been knocked loose at some point, Miles added, "Let's avoid firing, if we can. It attracts them." Instead, he unsheathed the knife, the one that he and Aeron had once just used on camping and hiking trips. He knew that Aeron disagreed with him on the gun issue. He wanted them to keep their distance, something that melee combat just didn't provide. But Miles didn't think that it was worth bringing in an entire horde just to eliminate a small group of them; Aeron didn't seem to believe or trust him, though. He claimed that it was just Miles' paranoid imagination acting up again; a zombie's hearing wouldn't improve just because their sight was turned to shit. Wouldn't the rest of their senses degrade, as well? Sure, one would think so, but, to Miles, at least, it didn't seem to be the case, and if zombies could exist to begin with, then what was left to prevent yet another mystery?
He wondered if it would snow before November even had the chance to end.
It wouldn't surprise Miles, considering just how poor their luck had been in the past couple of weeks; first came the zombies, then came the snow. As if the zombies were supposed to eliminate most, but the snow was insurance, and would finish off the stubborn cockroaches.
Shaking his head, Miles forced himself to focus on the current objective, rather than dwell on such pessimistic thoughts: reach the department store, grab as much as the three of them could, and then head back to the garage. All without getting bitten and/or killed. Easier said than done, but someone had to do it. He just wished that it didn't have to be him, a seventeen-year-old remedial student, his PTSD-ridden and amputee of an older brother, and his pothead of a co-worker. Hell of a group that he had backing him. Nothing could go wrong at all with these teammates at his side.
He supposed that he was being too harsh, but, well, someone had to acknowledge their flaws before they could ever hope to fix them.
"We're almost there," he said, both relief and apprehension apparent in his tone. On one hand, being close to the department store meant that half of their mission was complete. On the other, he didn't doubt that the department store would be a haven for the infected. Everyone, their mother, and the sick would have thought to visit the department store before either holing up in their homes to wait for help to arrive or just leaving town altogether to find somewhere safer, if such a place existed. For all he knew, nothing useful was even in there. In that case, they'd either have to return to the rest of the group empty-handed or look somewhere else. Neither was a good option.
It wouldn't surprise Miles, considering just how poor their luck had been in the past couple of weeks; first came the zombies, then came the snow. As if the zombies were supposed to eliminate most, but the snow was insurance, and would finish off the stubborn cockroaches.
Shaking his head, Miles forced himself to focus on the current objective, rather than dwell on such pessimistic thoughts: reach the department store, grab as much as the three of them could, and then head back to the garage. All without getting bitten and/or killed. Easier said than done, but someone had to do it. He just wished that it didn't have to be him, a seventeen-year-old remedial student, his PTSD-ridden and amputee of an older brother, and his pothead of a co-worker. Hell of a group that he had backing him. Nothing could go wrong at all with these teammates at his side.
He supposed that he was being too harsh, but, well, someone had to acknowledge their flaws before they could ever hope to fix them.
"We're almost there," he said, both relief and apprehension apparent in his tone. On one hand, being close to the department store meant that half of their mission was complete. On the other, he didn't doubt that the department store would be a haven for the infected. Everyone, their mother, and the sick would have thought to visit the department store before either holing up in their homes to wait for help to arrive or just leaving town altogether to find somewhere safer, if such a place existed. For all he knew, nothing useful was even in there. In that case, they'd either have to return to the rest of the group empty-handed or look somewhere else. Neither was a good option.
Life was difficult enough without zombies thrown into the mix.
In a remote town in Montana, one that survived through the tourism from curious (and impulsive) survivalists, Miles and Aeron Hoffman, two brothers, find themselves in the middle of a zombie outbreak. Unsure of whether or not a cure exists, of whether or not help is on the way, of whether or not the rest of the world is even affected, they take it upon themselves to fight--even if tomorrow winds up being worse than today.
In a remote town in Montana, one that survived through the tourism from curious (and impulsive) survivalists, Miles and Aeron Hoffman, two brothers, find themselves in the middle of a zombie outbreak. Unsure of whether or not a cure exists, of whether or not help is on the way, of whether or not the rest of the world is even affected, they take it upon themselves to fight--even if tomorrow winds up being worse than today.
Leith shook his head, "It wouldn't surprise me if there is water further down, but I doubt that we should head straight into a Mirelurk lair, especially not when Jace might as well be down for the count and Torin doesn't even know how to shoot a gun. A King might even be down there. It's their territory, after all." He turned to Kaye, noticing her expression; he knew that she was sick and tired of eating canned beans and other pre-war non-perishables, but all of them were. It didn't warrant disturbing an entire pack of mutated predators. "I wouldn't want one of us to get a concussion--or worse--from a King's sonic blast."
Leith nodded in agreement, "Likeliest suspects are either coyotes or Mirelurks; if it's the former in here, expect a larger pack than usual, since this cave definitely isn't a small one. The latter would only be the case if there's water further in. And in that case, we shouldn't be too worried as long as we stay up here and keep someone on watch." From what he could tell with his limited vision, it seemed that the cave wasn't occupied--not in this general area, at least. Just a lot of empty space and a cool draft suggesting that there was a lot more of it to be discovered if someone dared to venture in.
"Be careful," Basil said as Jace walked past him, staring at the ground. A part of him didn't want to be left alone, but on the other, he wanted Torin to come back; plus, he knew that Leith would find a table, somewhere, to flip if he came back and no one had done as he'd asked. Not to mention that the silence between them was almost painful, in a sense.
Basil frowned at his slip. He supposed that he should have known better than to speak with Jace about such things; he wasn't his friend.
This was never the "real" Basil's mission to begin with, though. What would Jace do if he knew that? Would he decide that none of this was worth it, would he decide to leave me altogether?
He somehow couldn't help but feel as if he'd been reduced to the level of a Mr. Handy; he was just a convenient tool, rather than an actual ally, rather than an actual person.
This was never the "real" Basil's mission to begin with, though. What would Jace do if he knew that? Would he decide that none of this was worth it, would he decide to leave me altogether?
He somehow couldn't help but feel as if he'd been reduced to the level of a Mr. Handy; he was just a convenient tool, rather than an actual ally, rather than an actual person.
Basil almost laughed at that. "If we're using that sort of logic, then wouldn't it be best for me to be left there with him?" He fell silent, pursing his lips. "Leith didn't even trust me to scout out a small area with him. I know that he has no reason to trust me with a weapon, but, well, it's just that, I guess. I'm not sure if there's a single person here who trusts me. Even when it comes to the science aspect of our mission, we're having to put our faith into a member of the Brotherhood of Steel, aren't we?" Good for nothing. That's what he had to be. Just a replacement that couldn't quite match up to the original and might as well not even be around.
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