[b] Abram Chamberlin - New Orleans[/b]

Abram Chamberlin had decided to move; and so, three weeks after the firefight outside his home, he loaded all of his supplies into his Ford Focus and drove away. He gripped the steering wheel with his hands and pulled a sharp left to avoid a walker. On the console of the car, his pistol sat in the holster instead of a soda can. The man's eyes kept focused on the road, but his mind seemed to wander. He recounted the past few days in his mind, as he often did when he had time on his hand- which, come to think of it was all the time.

It was when his gas meter rang that he stopped the car. He climbed out of the door, pulling the pistol from the cup holder, and quickly glancing to each direction, to the right; woods, behind and ahead, the road, and to he left, a long driveway led down to a house in the woods. He considered checking it later, but for now, decided to refill his car. He went back to the trunk and popped it open. Two red gas cans sat beside his diminishing supply of canned food. In total his cans amounted to about twenty-four. Abram took the filled cans and pulled open the gas lid. He patiently poured the first can in, then proceeded with the other. After he screwed the cap to the tank on and shut the lid, he returned the cans to the trunk and closed the back of the car. 

Presently, Abram returned to the driver's side of the car and climbed in, starting the vehicle and shifting in to drive. He pulled into the long driveway and continued toward the small house. As far as he could tell, the place was relatively safe and void of walkers. He pulled to the front of the house and shifted into park, grabbing his rifle from the seat beside him and climbing out of the car. He slung the rifle over his shoulders and brought his pistol to firing position. With marksman's skill, he kept his gun level to position, stepping close to the door. He gripped the doorknob, but cursed as he found it was locked. He had half the mind to blow the lock to pieces or to smash the door, but that would have been counterproductive. It was then that he heard a man's voice. It was ever so faint, but with his ear close to the door, he made out words. 

[i]"Wake up... Jess, wake up"[/i] He didn't know if the man said more, as he pulled his ear away. It was a good thing that he hadn't shot the lock to pieces. A man and a woman were in the house, though he doubted the house belonged to them. Then again, what belonged to who didn't really matter squat, nowadays. With that, he knocked roughly on the door, then backed up to his car, hoping it was far enough not to frighten whoever answered the door. He lowered his gun and waited for the door to open.

[hider=Abram Chamberlin] [img]http://www.blackhealthzone.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/09/a-man.jpg[/img] [/hider]