[hider=Scenario #3]
[b]Scenario:[/b] [url=https://www.google.co.uk/maps/@41.8999876,-88.0217102,128m/data=!3m1!1e3]Sunset Avenue[/url]
[b]Scenario Type:[/b] Open
[b]Scenario Post Frequency [/b] At least 1 per 48 hours, or I ask for GM’s approval on DayZing your char ‘n looting his/her stuff. 
[b]Max Players:[/b] 3
[b]Current Players:[/b] SyrianHamster, Dragonbud
[b]Loot Level:[/b] Don’t get your hopes up.
[b]Walker Density:[/b] Heavy.
[b]Bandits:[/b] Unlikely.[/hider]

[hider=Hannah’s Group]
[b]Members:[/b] Hannah Banks, Camellia Morgan, [s]Woodrow Hepburn[/s], Oskar Rennold. 
[b]Weapon Pool:[/b] M14 (1 x 11), M4A1 CQCR (1 x 30), Winchester Model 70 (x20)
[b]Equipment Pool:[/b] Apache helmet, military radio, 2 x can of baked beans, box of stale bran flakes, map of Chicago, protein mix, car battery.
[b]Location:[/b]Escaping Sunset Avenue.[/hider]

Camellia’s left leg felt like shattered glass and fire. It was broken, there was no doubt; she’d been so stupid! Suddenly Hannah’s constant barrage of strategies, weapon load outs, team plans and call signs made sense. Her impulsive nature had killed Woody, possibly the last man in the world she felt anything towards, and had probably doomed herself and the hapless stranger in the process.

“I can’t believe Hannah and Oskar just left us,” she whined, leaning heavily on the girl to prevent her damaged leg from literally imploding on itself. “We could have gotten out of there, why would she run?” 

In truth, Camellia knew why. Hannah was a soldier, and had survived the last six months by obeying survival’s simple rules. When a situation stood to cost more than it would give, it was time to bail, and Hannah had followed that notion to its destined outcome. Woody was dead, but it wasn’t the former Apache pilot’s fault. It was Camellia’s, for going into unknown territory without alerting anyone. 

She’d also fired her gun. She had to. The walker saw her, and she was cornered. Though now look; the street was thick with them, and they weren’t making enough distance to lose them. Not for the first time since her father’s estate got ransacked by those fucking bastards in their stupid red bandanas, Camellia wanted to die. 

[center]***[/center]

Hannah pulled pack the curtain, wincing at the clumps of dried gore spattered on the window pane. There was movement outside, and lots of it. 

“That stupid girl,” she muttered under her breath. 

Woody was dead, there was no doubt about it. She’d heard him howl in pain, and in rage. Had heard his gun go off eight times, before falling silent, then all she could hear was the rising chorus of moans. 

Oskar was in the corner, having pulled an old dinner chair in front of him to freak out in privacy. Woody was a good man, the two had much in common, and got along well. Now he was gone, killed by his own selflessness, or perhaps his suicidal tendencies. Oskar had wanted to help, to turn back and save the old timer, but he had to find his family. To find his family, he had to survive. As much as he hated to admit it to himself, those who he had fought and lived alongside were little more than a means to an end. They offered protection from the dead, and a chance of him locating his family. They were expendable so long as he lived.

Hannah stepped back from the window, uttering curses and checking her rifle. “That bitch has got a car battery,” she snapped. 

Oskar suddenly perked up, “so we could get out of here?”

“She – they – won’t make it. The dead are circling them,” she sighed, “maybe we could get them out of there, maybe not. IF the dead follow, then this shitty little suburban crap house isn’t going to protect us for shit. Fuck my life.” 

“Perhaps we could get them in here quietly?” asked Oskar, pulling himself to his feet. “Wave at them or something?” 

The former pilot shook her head. “The dead would see them and follow. We need a distraction.” 

Oskar walked across the kitchen, and looked out the flimsy backdoor. “I could get into nextdoor’s garden and fire my rifle? That’d lure them away?” 

Hannah nodded, “might work, might not. If we get surrounded here though, we’re gonna be KIA pretty damned quickly.” 

“Then we run for all we’re worth. I – we – need that car battery,” Oskar affirmed, cocking his rifle. “I will go. You stay.” 

“Negative,” Hannah shot back, “it’s too risky. We leave them. Once the dead are done feasting, they’ll get bored and wander off. That’ll be our chance to secure the objective and get ourselves the fuck out of FUBAR land.”

Oskar’s conscience wavered, if only for a moment, and as he turned to put his rifle down on the counter, he gasped. 

Hannah was quick, knowing that sound for what it was: shock, surprise, danger. Her rifle was up before her brain had even registered what she was doing. A whole year in the Zulu Alpha had worn her down a little, whittled away the discipline that had kept her alive for so long, and without a millisecond for logic, she fired.

The walker’s head exploded as a trio of 5.56mm NATO rounds imploded its skull, covering Oskar in thick black blood, as well as other sickly substances. The echo of her rifle carried on for what seemed like moments. 

The herd reacted with its usual enthusiasm for sudden loud noises. Dozens left the converging horde on the road, and collided with the house’ meagre picket fence. Hannah cursed herself over and over and over and over again, but it was no use dwelling on her lapse in discipline. 

“Go loud,” she said, standing back from the window. 

Oskar looked at her quizzically, still shaken by his near-undeath experience from the surprise walker. He wiped the back of his hand across his face, to clear some of the muck from his eyes. 

“It means: FIRE!” She shouted, “kill them, kill them all!”

“We don’t have enough bullets!” Cried Oskar, fumbling with his weapon.

“No, but we’ll have enough to clear a path,” she said. 

Hannah’s rifle released its pent up rage at the window, blasting the glass into nothingness. The undead on the other side, who had by now clambered to their feet, were obliterated from the jaw upwards. She was a good shot, collected and cool, and she took her time to pop each skull with the accuracy of a dedicated marksman. She’d never used her rifle much in her former life, but since everything went to shit, she was a natural. 

She moved to the front door, and Oskar quickly followed. Opening it in one fluid movement, she found multiple shambling hostiles on the front porch. Six paced taps of the trigger sent them to the ground. Then she advanced at a casual pace, paying little heed to the dead as their faceless grey mass turned in her direction. 

The girls were up ahead, almost enveloped and cut off. Hannah made quick time in quite literally cutting a path through the walkers, putting them down left and right; Oskar helped by shouting out warnings of dead on her blindside.

“Put them down then, God damnit,” she had yelled back. 

Within a minute since they’d left the defunct safety of the house, Hannah and Oskar were with Camellia and the girl. 

“We’re bugging out of here,” said Hannah to both of them. “We’re going to need to be quick though.” 

She noted Camellia’s busted leg, and gave Oskar a hard glance. He complied, and quickly shouldered his rifle. He then picked Camellia up in both his arms, despite her squirming. 

“I hope you can run, ma’m,” said Hannah, looking at the girl. “Because this is the last time I come back for you.” 

The group moved off eastwards, following the road. The herd pursued them, howling their frustration.