[color=lightgray][CENTER]━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━[/center][table][row][/row][row][cell] [h3][color=4682b4][i][b]Ash Holloway[/b][/i][/color][/h3][i][b][color=4682b4]Location:[/color][/b][/i] CMB Graveyard [i][b][color=4682b4]Skills:[/color][/b][/i] N/A [/cell][cell] [right][img]https://i.ibb.co/WKy5jG8/Ash-Faceclaim.png[/img][/right] [/cell][/row][/table][CENTER]━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━[/center][/color] Catching sight of nothing amiss underneath the bus, Ash straightened and turned his attention to the rest of the scene in front of them. He blew out a sigh, knowing what was to come next and, while not eager in the classical sense of the word, felt the need to get this done. It was a final piece of respect for those who deserved it. And be it a little selfish, he needed to say a formal goodbye for himself. Ashton solidly began to trudge along behind Atticus as he lead them all down the rows and rows of headstones, taking peripheral note of the intensity of the Florida sun. Ash's weapon remained pointed at the ground in front of him, but his eyes were studious, taking in details around him and alert to any changes which might cause a reassessment of urgency. Ash was there mostly for one person. As much as he could speak of and/or credit the bravery and excellence of the others well enough, as could others, Ash and James had a bit of history. And he had recognized the man from television, way back before dead folks started gnawing on living ones. He was a colorful guy, and a damn good friend. When the priest offered to say a few words, Ash kept his hand low and gave a dismissing motion while shaking his head slowly. His preference on the matter, though if others wished for Atticus to speak he would show no objection. Ash didn't know Lola, and apparently no one else did well enough to tack a birthdate on her stone, to his knowledge. He barely had part of a conversation with her once, and that was a while back. Ash briefly stopped at Ryan's grave and considered the man for a moment, then said quietly and clearly, [color=4682b4]"Ryan O'Reily was a criminal and a grifter. We were never friends. At no time was the man blatantly dishonest with me, though he liked to slant things. In the end, he sacrificed the comforts offered him by Newnan to help James and others. He didn't owe James a thing. I believe that Ryan acted the way he did because it was how he learned to survive in a world that was already against him back Before, and that's all he knew. I also believe that he was trying to redeem himself, and I hope that God took that into account when his soul was judged. His last act earned my respect, for whatever that's worth."[/color] Ash stood there, staring down at the grave marker for a moment more, then continued on to James's place of interment. Ash gave a sad smile in Amelia's direction after hearing her words to the deceased. Reaching out, he squeezed her shoulder as an expression of camaraderie. Her words spoke to a universal feeling in this new world, and reminded him very much of the mindset of army personnel in hot spots. You can get close to people, yet when they were gone, returning to pay respect or mourn was a luxury afforded by very few. Ash wasn't sure what to say about James. He had guilt over how things went between them at the end, there. And as a matter of happenstance, Ash got to see him once more before he died. For that matter, it was at the same time that he got to actually see him die. But thinking about his end reminded Ash about their beginning. How he met the man. The commonly stoic Captain Holloway uncharacteristically got a short-lived but broad smile on his face as his mind drifted a few years back. [color=4682b4]"James [i]Mandingo[/i] Grady,"[/color] he started, the rural Virginian in his upbringing coloring his voice with more vivid tones, [color=4682b4]"was a son-of-a-bitch. I liked him almost immediately."[/color] Ash looked around at the Newnan folk, and realized that none of them were present the day that James came to their gates. Come to think of it, he really hadn't told anybody what happened after the fact. So he decided to, for anyone who was interested. Ash looked around to Tati, Jack, Riley and Amelia, and began. [color=4682b4]"The day Mr. Grady graced Newnan with his presence will live in infamy. I don't remember what the official story was for the records, but this is what really happened..."[/color] [center][h3][color=firebrick]*******[/color][/h3][/center][hider][color=black].[/color] A black and chrome Chevrolet Silverado had been sighted in the distance, running hard and fast in a direct line to Newnan's front gate. They were given a advance notice, but just a little, from the watchtower at the center of town. It was a testament to the diligence of the community but a want of overall manpower available to them. The truck was not their main concern, overall. Hostile entities in a single vehicle could be met with a swift burst of violence; be they lacking in manpower the Newnan Safe Zone did have a stockpile of weapons and enough people formally trained in their use to cover such an eventuality. Their main problem was a far more reaching peril of the new world. The mid-morning call had already gone over the radios, but instead of an "ALL CLEAR", the day had already decided to get a little interesting. The report of a horde nearby had come back in from a security patrol earlier, so all parties had been given the order to return to base. The last thing they needed was a scavenging or hunting party accidentally leading a horde of the Dead right up to their walls. Newnan's 2nd in command and Executive Officer, Captain Ashton Jameson Holloway, was the ranking officer nearest when the truck had been sighted. He assumed control over the main gate while their Security Lead, a frightening man named Caesar, dealt with defensive points along the walls and personnel in the event that the horde changed direction (like, say, [i]following a bigassed truck right to them[/i]). Ash climbed the simple steps up to the walkway at the gate, giving a stern, stonelike gaze to the approaching Silverado. He loosened his Detonics .45 pistol in its holster and began to steel himself top whatever eventuality was going to strike next. The Newnan's commanding officer, Lt. Colonel Leann McCormick, had been appraised of the situation and was awaiting an update. If Ash knew her only half as well as he did, he knew that she wasn't just going to wait around for people to tell her what was happening. She was tending to her own, self-assigned duties. Nevertheless, it was his responsibility to report in, barring further emergency. Raising his radio to his ear, Ash thumbed it to transmit, yet hesitated. The sour scent of decay had reached his nostrils, brought to him by a change in the wind. There was suddenly more to report. [i]"Oh my god..."[/i] issued from the lips of the woman on lookout nearby. Even without binoculars, one could see indistinct and widespread movement on the ground. Shuffling, shambling along, the walking corpses of what might have once been a sizeable community. They might be in for a siege. [color=4682b4]"Unknown party in a black Chevy Silverado inbound, Colonel. The Dead are following. Goddamned horde. Will update. Standby."[/color] Momentary report to Leann down, now to confer with Security. It was a general transmission, so anyone with a walkie knew what was happening. Such as their Security Lead. [color=4682b4]"Caesar, we have a little time. Round up some vehicles and see if you can redirect. I've got the gate."[/color] The growl from the other end of the radio was affirmation enough. Be it precious little time to prepare, they still had options. The truck slammed on its brakes at the end of the bridge in front of the main gate, fishtailing and swerving until it came to a stop a few feet from the walls proper. The horn sounded with maniacal repetition, slammed upon by a man who looked half crazed and scared out of his wits. Leaning out of the truck, he screamed and begged to be let in. Blood ran from his arm and shoulder in several places (that could be seen), though from that vantage it was difficult to see exactly what kind of injuries they were. Still, this was an injured man, alone, and there were undoubtedly enough bullets on the Newnan side of the wall to neutralize the him if he was a threat. [color=4682b4]"Drive in slow,"[/color] Ash called down, his voice loud, clear, and booming with authority. [color=4682b4]"Then come out of the truck with your hands up. I see a weapon, you die. Get me?"[/color] The man nodded, and Ash motioned for the gatekeepers. Everything seemed to be going smoothly enough. The truck pulled in, the man got out. He was cooperative, if extremely shaky. A paranoid jitter to his features might be explained by the fact that he was hurt and scared, but Ash thought he saw something more. [color=4682b4]"Stay back, keep those guns on him,"[/color] he ordered the security detail for the gate. [color=4682b4]"Hold him right there for a minute. And close those gates up."[/color] Ash was certain that something wasn't quite right about the situation. He just couldn't put his finger on it. As he made his way down the stairs, Ash heard the lookout let out an exclamation of pure disbelief. [i]"What th' hell is that?"[/i] The tone she used didn't denote fear, or any more than was already present, but actual surprise. It piqued Ash's interest enough to return to the top of the wall. [color=4682b4]"If he moves, shoot him."[/color] This to the security below. Peering over the side of the wall, he could see that the horde had indeed gotten closer, but there was something else that he couldn't quite make out just ahead. [color=4682b4]"Shondi,"[/color] called Ash curtly. The sound of her name snapped the lookout back into the moment, and she quickly turned her attention to Ash. The Captain held out his hand and finished with the single-word order of, [color=4682b4]"Rifle."[/color] True, Ash had a sidearm. But she had a weapon with a scope. He trained the weapon down to the scene below, eager to find out what might have possibly distracted a reliable guard away from a full horde of walking corpses coming right for them. When Ash finally saw what she did, he had to wholeheartedly agree with his subordinate. [color=4682b4]"What the hell [i]is[/i] that?"[/color] It was a man in overalls and a cowboy hat, the latter blown off of his head and hanging around the back of his neck by a cord. Ebon skin, drenched with perspiration, reflected the morning sunlight. Even at this distance, one could make out the huge splotch of blood running down from somewhere above his hairline and saturating his mostly white t-shirt. He looked like his body might give out at any moment, with nothing but a stubborn refusal to die keeping him on his feet. The man might have made better time, except that for whatever ungodly reason, he was dragging a full sized commercial smoker behind him by a truck hitch like a massively overloaded pack animal. It was [i]still operating[/i]. Smoke poured out of the chimney vents, and by the way it lumbered over the pavement behind him it was most certainly loaded down, though with what remained to be ascertained. Ash risked a glance down to the Silverado parked just inside of the gate, then back to the man outside and his suicidal affection for his giant, woodfueled smoker being hounded down by a creeping wall of corpses. [color=4682b4]"You seeing this, Shondi?"[/color] he asked, his voice taking on a similar note of disbelief. [i]"Yes sir, Mr. Ash. Saw it first. You seein' this?"[/i] [color=4682b4]"Yeah..."[/color] responded Ash distantly. [i]"What do you think we ought do, sir?"[/i] she inquired. It was a head scratcher. Luckily, the man in question had his own opinion on the matter, and he has now within earshot. [color=firebrick]"Open ...th' god damn... door!"[/color] It was near breathless and at the poorer end of human hearing, but he still had the strength to call out for help. Kind of. [color=firebrick]"C'mon man! [i]PLEASE[/i] ...open... th' god damn ...?"[/color] To his credit, he did say please. He was on the bridge now, at the far end. The dead were beginning to filter in behind him. This was a now or never situation. Ash knew it. This man knew it. He didn't look like he had the strength left to run any farther and he sure as hell couldn't fight his way back out of it. Coming this way was a gamble with his life; if they didn't let him in, he was going to die at their threshold. [color=firebrick]"Y'all make a hole or don't!"[/color] he exclaimed, one final surge of energy quickening his pace. Muscles flexed, feet gripping the pavement beneath him, and an expression of grim determination that signified a surge of survival rage enflamed his features. One foot in front of the other one bore him and his precious cargo forward, with a roar of, [color=firebrick]"[i]Here I come, muthafuckas![/i] RaAAAaAAH!"[/color] Ash quickly gauged the space between the horde and the unnamed man. They had time, but it had to be quick. He'd made his decision. [color=4682b4]"Gate! Get the gate!"[/color] he yelled, tossing Shondi back her rifle and running back down the stairs. [color=4682b4]"Shut it the [i]second[/i] he's in!"[/color] Somehow, Ash didn't think they needed to be told that, given the situation. It didn't look like the running man could stop once he (barely) made it through the gate. The full weight of his smoker kept him going forward for a few paces longer than he had intended, coupled with his failing muscles. Finally, he was able to Fred Flintstone the apparatus to a stop and collapse, his weight supported by the very hitching he was recently pulling on. Heavy, laborious breaths gasped in and out of his lungs, but he now wore a smile, broad and genuine, which seemed to take up most of his face. [color=firebrick]"Thank ya, thank ya... Hoo, thankya thankya thankya..."[/color] he heaved between gulping breaths of air. [color=firebrick]"Imma buy you a beer, sure 'nuff."[/color] The man who arrived by truck, still at gunpoint, began to look guilty and extremely nervous. "I, ah... no. He'll kill me! He'll - he'll kill us all, I mean! Don't let him..." He seemed to lose whatever thought he was trying to verbalize, instead looking back at the closed gate, seemingly weighing his options. Coming up on the latest arrival, Ash kept one hand near his pistol. Something still didn't seem right, but at the same time, this man looked very familiar. Looking to the guards, he ordered, [color=4682b4]"Water,"[/color] to which one of them tossed the Captain a canteen. Ash offered it over to the exhausted man, who took a couple short drinks at a time, interspersed by pouring part of the contents over his face. Ash looked to him and offered a hand up, saying, [color=4682b4]"I know you. Don't I?"[/color] Accepting the hand, and trusting a lot of his weight to Ash, the new arrival responded, [color=firebrick]"Naw. Well, maybe."[/color] He was still breathing hard, but the moment of water and respite did wonders for him. [color=firebrick]"You might'a seen me on th' television, if you into that hoggin' an' stuff back in th' day."[/color] He breathed out another relieved breath, long and slightly shuddering. [color=4682b4]"I do know you. You're..."[/color] began Ash. He was summarily cut off by an upbeat voice, [color=firebrick]"James [i]Mandingo[/i] Grady, at yo service!"[/color] Her reached out and shook Ash's hand with a hair of formality, continuing, [color=firebrick]"If y'all're pressed for time, [b]Black James[/b], tout suite."[/color] He swallowed another mouthful of water and handed the canteen over to Ash, saying, [color=firebrick]"Excuse me just a sec, please? I forgot somethin'."[/color] A fraction of a second later, Black James whipped a Beretta M9 out of the back of his overalls and plugged two shots into the side of the head of the first man to arrive. He didn't even bother looking away, understanding fully that every gun in the immediate area was trained on him now and the only thing keeping him from getting shot many, many times over was his proximity to the Captain. [color=firebrick]"...get y'self bit, club out yo' partner an' leave him to get eat up, STEAL A MAN'S MUTHAFUCKIN' TRUCK?"[/color] Now that he had the capacity for expectoration, James spit in the general direction of the freshly dead guy, then immediately let his weapon hit the ground. Slowly, he turned his head back toward Ash, assuming one of the [url=https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/110f59a7-f09e-40d4-b96a-9754fb285add.jpg]cheesiest, most potentially troublemaking grins[/url] humanly possible while staring down the barrel of a .45 pistol. Cocking his head back to the smoker at his side, he offered in a remarkably positive voice, [color=firebrick]"Y'all hungry? I brought lunch."[/color] [/hider][center][h3][color=firebrick]*******[/color][/h3][/center] Though his face was unmoving, tears had formed in Ash's eyes. [color=4682b4]"There was whole, huge, perfectly smoked hog in that thing, too. Best meal we'd had in months."[/color] He shook his head wistfully. [color=4682b4]"In the same circumstance, I might make different decisions now than I did back then. But it would have deprived me of a good friend and one of the biggest assets that we had. James Grady was the heart of Newnan. He helped pull me out of a dark place. I'm never going to forget him."[/color] Wiping his eyes, he gave a final, [color=4682b4]"Rest in peace, Black James."[/color] Ashton shifted his weapon to his left hand and straightened to full military attention. He threw a point-on salute, held it for a moment, and stepped away. His words were done, and now he followed the example of Amelia, taking a more alert watch so that the others might do what they needed to in as much safety as could be provided. [color=lightgray][CENTER]━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━[/center][table][row][/row][row][cell] [h3][color=dc143c][i][b]Thalia Carmichael[/b][/i][/color][/h3][i][b][color=dc143c]Location:[/color][/b][/i] CMB Graveyard [i][b][color=dc143c]Skills:[/color][/b][/i] N/A [/cell][cell] [right][img]https://i.ibb.co/D9f1NPS/Thalia-Irritated.jpg[/img][/right] [/cell][/row][/table][CENTER]━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━[/center][/color] Perhaps now was the time to shut up and listen. Following the example of her brother, Thalia restricted her thoughts to the internal only for the meantime and focused on taking in what information that she could. Dimsdale. From the sound of it, the guy might have been pretty dim. It was painfully tactically unsound, pulling a move like that. Especially when he knew the prevailing attitudes of the people around him. He must have known that he wasn't likely to get help, so that brought a couple of possibilities to mind. Either Dimsy was suicidal, which a lot of people were nowadays, or he was desperate. Or both. But why would he be desperate? On the face of it, this made no sense. But Thalia didn't know much of anything about Mexico Beach except for their Quarantine setup. There was a near infinite set of "maybes" that could explain what happened. Oddly, she doubted that this place harbored some dark and foreboding secret that drove a man to bash his head against prison bars until he died. Moreover, why would someone come out and tell a newcomer this if they were hiding something? Unfortunately, the only person who knew for certain was under a heap of dirt and he wasn't talking. [color=dc143c]"Thanks,"[/color] she rasped out to Daytona, pressing forward with the rest of the group. Her brother's sudden change in attitude gave Thalia a moment of pause. Her uncle had that kind of demeanor all the time, so she was used to it. And her father (the Father) had more of a businesslike yet supportive way about him, with his personal demons brought out like a tool when necessary. Much like herself, yet she was not the tower of iron will that her father was. Everyone in her family was born with a slice of violence in them. Everyone seemed to express it a little differently. It was like a curse. Or a blessing. But it seemed now that Joaquin was in his own sphere of professional stoicism. They were back out in the world, and even though this whole outing was for her benefit as well as others, she could not afford to become lax or too sentimental now. Thalia hefted her shield in her artificial hand, getting a better feel for how it needed to operate with her abbreviated manual dexterity, and trudged onward. Thinking back to the bus, Thalia noted that the stress must have been getting to Manny. That kind of a blowup was unlike him. She might actually try to ask what it was all about, even though it was very much not her business. All the same, pissing off the guy who just handed you a loaded weapon seemed a hair counterproductive. Maybe the old guy just needed a thorough oil change. CMB had everything else, why not dedicated prostitutes, too? The world's oldest profession sure as hell didn't die out just because of a world-bending apocalypse. A thought for another time. Or never, ever again. Observant eyes kept darting around their surroundings. Places of open ground made her a little uncomfortable, even though she was toward the middle of an armed group of fellow survivors. When finally in front of the resting places of their friends and allies, Thalia didn't really know what to do. Raised for the latter half of her childhood by a Catholic priest, she was exposed to these kinds of ceremonies from an early age. But she still didn't know what to do. Her adopted battle sisters of Fairburn had a very simple rite for this, yet none of these people were part of that. And Lola, for all of her peculiarities, wasn't religious enough to ever get into a deep conversation about it with her. After a piece of time, and after she shook her head [i]no[/i] to Atticus's offer to say a few words. [color=dc143c]"She was not one of your followers, Nuestra Dama de la Muerte, but as all things which live come to you eventually, you had a moment to meet Lola Holler. I pray you embraced her with mercy, as she was a good friend to me. Permit her travel where her soul is most comfortable, and when you summon me to you, take from me what you think is a fair exchange. Amen."[/color] Not the traditional Santa Muerte prayer for the occasion, but she was not specifically a follower of the old Aztec gods of death. Like her father and mother, Thalia was Catholic. Darkly so, but Catholic nonetheless. The influence was obvious, however. To her, Death was an abstract force of existence; it was an inevitability, the only promise that was truly unbreakable. To think of Death as a woman made sense to her, and if this was anthropomorphized by a culture into which she was rooted, then why not borrow it? To others who did not know her or her family intimately, it looked very much like she was praying directly to Death Herself, rather than an aspect of Mary or the true Catholic saint that had influence in easing the dead onward, Gertrude. She rose, and added, [color=dc143c]"You died with a song on your lips. My sisters would be proud."[/color] Conversely, she looked to James's grave, giving him a simple, [color=dc143c]"Thank you."[/color] Without him, Thalia wouldn't have known what she did about her family. He was also the first domino that fell, bringing her to his place and the people she considered friends, and her estranged brother Joaquin. She couldn't bring herself to say anything to Gavin's grave, though. There was just a quiet moment standing nearby. She was with him literally at the moment that he died. Knowing his death was coming, she used him as improvised cover and killed a lot more people, later to include the cult leader in charge of the shitshow known as Eden. Potentially saved Thana's life in the process. But the kneejerk reaction to do what she did shocked her in hindsight. There really wasn't an apology that existed for doing what she did to Gavin. Thalia's face turned into something brutal as self-loathing ripped through her. She had to talk to someone about this. She was a tough woman, of this there was no doubt. But she wasn't stupid. And she was self aware enough to know that this might damage her if she didn't come to peace with it. Deep inside, she wished that she was still in Eden, her face painted with ash and char to resemble a skull, perpetually killing her enemies until her Lady called finally called her home. This was a dangerous mindset to be in right now. Thalia tried to shake it off. She walked over to Atticus and pointed at Lola's grave marker, reciting to him, [color=dc143c]"Lola Rebekah Holler, born October 14th, 1978."[/color] If she had the tools to scratch it into the stone herself, she would have.