Fuming.

If there was one word to describe Tom's current mood, it would be fuming. He definitely wasn't expecting to be attacked by a group of bandits this far out in the north, but he certainly wasn't going to complain about the fact. The folks in Norfolk had already warned him about these road gangs, but goddamn, he didn't expect to stumble upon them [b]that[/b] fast. Breathing in and out slowly through his gas mask to calm himself, Tom skidded the pickup truck to a halt by the side of the road, his mind working on overdrive. He quickly went through the list of things that he knew that he had in his bag and on his body, only to find out that he didn't have nearly enough to take on the bandits all by himself. Cursing out loud, he grabbed his shotgun from the passenger seat and opened the door.

[i]He'd been extremely lucky. An untouched military checkpoint out in the middle of nowhere, fully stocked with guns, ammo and enough MREs to last him for months. After loading up as much supplies into his truck, Tom headed out north towards the city of Salisbury. Unfortunately for him, by traveling through the US 13, he caught the attention of a gang of heavily armed bikers who were quite interested in the heavy bags lying on the back of his truck...[/i]

One of the bikers had been too confident. Speeding fast towards the truck, the man definitely did not expect Tom to pop up from behind the truck and fill his chest with lead. The biker died before he even hit the ground, his motorcycle crashing into the cluster of trees by the side of the road. Pumping the shotgun to chamber a new round, Tom took aim at another one of the biker headed his way and pulled the trigger.

[i]They tried to stop him by forming a roadblock of sorts with their bikes with their guns at the ready. Knowing full well that they wouldn't be giving him milk and cookies if he stopped, Tom floored the gas and plowed through their roadblock before they had a chance to open fire. Tom couldn't help but smile as he heard a loud [b]CRACK[/b] as one of the bikers went under the pickup truck.[/i]

A bullet landed close by, sending wood splinters all around him. Having loaded his shotgun with slugs, Tom pumped the weapon and leaned out of the cover of the tree. Taking aim, he caught one of the bikers by surprise and pulled the trigger. The man's chest practically exploded into a red mist as he fell dead, the rest of his comrades taking cover behind the trees around them. "Come on, you motherfuckers! I've got plenty more where that came from!"

[i]The bullets pinged off the back of his truck, with the occasional few hitting the back window and passing over his head. They had managed to take out one of his tires, but that isn't going to be enough to stop him. Tom thought about slowing down and ramming the bikers off the side of the road, but he knew that they'd just shoot the living shit out of him if he did. Instead, he stepped on the gas in an effort to put some distance between him and the bikers. After he was sure that he'd given himself a few seconds worth of breather, Tom slammed on the breaks and stopped his truck by the side of the road. Without wasting another second, he grabbed his shotgun from the passenger seat and stepped out, taking cover behind his truck as he waited for the first biker to reach him...[/i]

Having abandoned the truck and its contents, Tom had made a run for the woods off the side of the road, hoping the gang wouldn't follow him. Unfortunately, they did. After a short shootout and nearly two hours of running, they eventually called off the chase. Hunting down a helpless prey was one thing, but this one fought back. They didn't care so much about vengeance anymore, not after having three of their friends killed and another two wounded. The majority of them went back to the highway, eager to loot the truck and go about their business; but two of them stayed behind. Exhausted, they stopped by a small stream to rest for a few minutes, breathing hard and looking behind their back for a threat they would never see coming.

After satisfying themselves that there were no danger, one of them knelt by the stream to fill his water bottle. The other one kept watch behind them anyways. He neglected to keep a watch on his comrade. After a couple minutes of resting, the one on guard turned and called out to his friend that it was time to carry on.

The words caught in his throat.

His friend was lying half in the running water, his upper body being bent downstream and legs anchoring it to the shore. A hasty inspection revealed that his neck had been sliced open, his blood pouring out to travel downstream. Panic gripped the man's heart and he turned towards the direction where his other friends had gone off to, intending to warn them.

He opened his mouth to scream, but only blood would come out...
[hr]
[b]That had been days ago[/b]. Now, sitting down inside crumbling bar at the heart of Salisbury, Tom idly thought about the events of the past few days. They had gotten quite close in killing him. Had the gang not called off the chase, they'd find out that he had practically ran into a dead end. The woods ended and made way for a large open field with no cover whatsoever. Had they chased him for a bit longer, they'd more than likely gun him down then and there. Fortunately for Tom, they didn't. Having killed five of them and wounding about two, Tom sincerely doubted they'd be out looking for vengeance.

Remembering the reason behind the whole conflict, Tom wondered if he'd ever get his truck and (most importantly) the supplies he scavenged from the checkpoint back anytime soon. "[i]Unlikely...[/i]" he thought out loud, swirling around the bottle of whiskey in his hand. "[i]If they're not complete dumbfucks, the gang would be long gone by now.[/i]"

"[i]Ah well, no use crying over spilled milk.[/i]"

Putting the bottle down, Tom stood up and looked around the room. For such a small joint, the bar was not all too bad. Sure, all of the furniture that was not nailed down had been looted long ago by other people, but aside from that the place was pretty cozy. Not to mention, the whole establishment only had one entrance and absolutely no windows, making it easy for Tom to barricade himself in for the night.

There was still an hour or so of daylight left, so he figured it'd be better if he stepped out of the bar for ten minutes or more and check the surrounding buildings for anything useful. So far, Tom hadn't encountered a single soul in Salisbury and he thought it unlikely that he'd meet anyone anytime soon. With that in mind, he slung his shotgun behind his back and opened the door outside... only to come face to face with a man dragging a dead buck behind him.

"Oh," Tom exclaimed, dumbfounded. "Hello there."

[@Drakeonis]