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[hr][h3][color=gray]Al Flaherty's Outdoor Store, Toronto, Canada[/color][/h3]
[sub][h3][color=gray]August 29th, 2018 - 19:25 EST[/color][/h3][/sub]
https://rainymood.com/
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[quote][i]"For the love of Mary, would the rain ever end?"[/i] -Francis[/quote]

	The downpour hailed down without mercy from the abyssal sky, with black clouds crying for what felt like ages and lightning bringing flashes of revelation in the darkness; the weather brought no immediate relief to Francis' mind as his eyes traversed quicker than he did for the new scourge that haunted the country, averting to his utmost extent from the infected. His exposed hands from his crimson hoodie trembled with a mixture of unfiltered fear and adrenaline pushing his every fiber, tugging between the realms of fight or flee - with the latter opportunity gaining the upper hand. His every breath brought permeating clouds to preclude his vision of clarity for short moments, only raising his infuriating ever so slightly; he was adamant for protecting himself, with proper amounts of munitions before he'd find his own short supply dwindled to nothing - as he would shortly follow after in such a bind.

	He remained kneeled at the edge of the alleyway, holding his breath and peering out into the light-forsaken street for what demons this hell held; stragglers limped in their expected uncoordinated manner with ghastly groans, leaving both a mixture of relief and strain. [color=0072bc][i]"Bloody hell..."[/i][/color] He muttered from under his breath as the cloud of his air raised out in front of his eyes, ducking back behind the alley to look for the side entrance into the Outdoor Store. The sounds of the infected's groans still echoing relentless, calling out to the world of their unnatural hunger. Within the narrow alley remained several plastic trash cans laying on up straight, mostly empty; Will moved them in a line near the street, offering an objective and visual barrier to deter any infected from approaching or seeing him. The side entrance in the alleyway was a standard door - but unfortunately locked, as Francis soon realized as the door's knob jiggled yet offered no release. [color=0072bc][i]"Fff-... You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me here."[/i][/color] His eyes glanced about as he'd look up at sky, and a crack of lightning streaming across the sky and offering boisterous booms from the resounding thunder; a 'click' in his head striking an idea to mind.

	Francis stood higher in his stance, on his tip toes as he'd ready to see the next flash of blinding light flicker down on them all. An awkward minute ticking by ever so slowly before a flash would appear, meeting with a nearby explosion of thunder resounding from the sky - now was the time! His weight shifted onto his front foot as his rear met with the wood besides the knob, cracking in the door as he broke the mechanism under the guise of nature's voice to conceal himself. With the door smashed open, he'd crouch his way inside and prop the door to at remain as shut as he could with a nearby door stopper. Hesitantly, his volume and breath calmed to seek hearing any shifting or footsteps within the walls of the store; silence fell, save for the muffled groans from behind unbroken panes from the streetside view, a good sign that nobody remained within - at least not infected. No lights remained lit within the building, still under the darkness of the night, with only his adjusted sight to allow him to be guided; his gat following in his caution with each step gliding over the ground and stepping flatly upon the tiles, wincing at the slightest squeak that his damp heels made. But at last, he was opened to the array of opportunity that the outdoor store offered.

	He immediately sought for new clothes, adorning himself in dry, thick outfit to better suit himself to the weather outside, including a dark-green waterproof baretta hunting jacket and waterproof boots; an exhale of yearned relief once again washing over him. [color=0072bc][i]"Bless you, god. Bloody bless you."[/i][/color] He muttered quietly to himself repeatedly as he'd grab a hearty backpack and two 96L camouflaged duffel bags to begin stocking himself up on dry MREs and accessories; taking both a black label tomohawk and benchmade knife to puck away under his belt, six 62-grain 5.56x45 NATO boxes to completely stuff one of the now-filled (and near painfully heavy) duffel bags, stealing a lovely SIG Sauer M400 rifle from behind the counter - as well as ten 20-round STANAG magazines to later loading. Not forgetting his H&K .45, he'd load half of the next duffel bag with .45 ACP ammunication and bottles of water that he could salvage. And finally, his backpack upon his back would be a packed tent, its respective stakes, and a bedroll stuffed to a near uncomforting level. With carry just shy of his own weight in gear, he'd move to return to the same exit he had snuck from in hopes that all would be as planned...

	By some miraculous fortune of fate, the barrels remained untouched - sparking another prayer from Francis to thank god in his most dire hour of need; his hands and feet supporting his weight and peering over the bins to see the roamers still at their mindless stranding, offering him a final blessing as he moved a single bin to take to his escape, returning back to the lit side of town. An hour or so of traversing back to a local apartment upon Day Ave to hide upon the roof; the only way up was via the fire escape, one that he made sure would be tedious for even himself to climb with only a rope allowing one to pull down the ladder from its retraction. Once upon the door, he'd sneak back into his room and rest himself for the physically exhausting night that dragged the energy from him, collapsing onto the bed of the barricaded apartment to take rest for the night. It was a victory, and likely the only one for the next several, painful years...