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[h2] The Outback at [color=violet]Dawn[/color] [/h2]

[img]https://thelandy.files.wordpress.com/2015/04/welford-np-dawn-2.jpg[/img]

[h2] 05:40 - Local Time [/h2]

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[center][h3] Angeline [/h3][/center]

The first thought in Angie's head when she made contact with the skin of the casualty was that although they were very cold - for a person, at least - they weren't as cold as she thought they would be if they were dead; there was a noticeable chill against her hand when she touched them, but it wasn't quite as bad as the chill of the morning, or the cold of the earth underfoot. Were they still alive?

The answer came with the absence of pulse or breath. The woman by the shed had been shot in the chest at least twice, and had either been killed then and there by the trauma, or bled to death at some point quickly after - just not quite long enough ago that she'd gone completely cold.

The man who'd fallen in the road was a simpler, and more gruesome, story. He wasn't moving, he had no pulse, and the sheer extent of trauma to his skull made it all but impossible for him to have not been killed instantly when the bullet struck him, probably in the back of the head. Angie didn't want to look at the exit wound.

No point giving these people first aid. Not any more.

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[center][h3] The [color=violet]House[/color] [/h3][/center]

[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/h5nJo4p.jpg[/img][/center]

As the four of you approach the front door, you get the benefit of a closer look at it. There is blood spattered over the wooden frame, and bullet holes dot its body - just the same as they dot the front of the entire right hand front of the house, cracking windows and wall panel alike. When the door creaks open it becomes obvious that the blood staining the door had been from more than a flesh wound, as much the same lies in a congealed pool of even greater volume on the floorboards of the hallway too, smeared and scraped around by what seems to have been the movement of the injured person. A bloody bootprint on the back of the front door suggests that whoever got shot must have kicked it closed behind them when they fell.

The blood forms a trail, and it leads across a sparse but homely enough living room - still stocked with dusty furniture and a television - to what seems likely to be the kitchen. 

Further up the hallway, unmarred by gore, two other doors seem to be ajar; the one on the left leads to a room you can barely see into, but which has tiled walls at the very least, the other of which leads down a set of stairs, presumably to the basement.

The air is still stale in here, bearing the faded scent of ancient, forgotten residents, barely detectable underneath the iron, cloying smell of the blood and the gunsmoke. It smells of beer, cigarettes, and tinned foods.

Brooks in particular is able to recognise the current state of the blood on the floor - congealed and clotted, but still wet, this blood is no longer fresh but certainly no more than half a day old, if that; combined with the strength of the smell of burnt ballistic propellant lingering in the air, this combat must have been no more than two, maybe three hours ago.

As Zephyr takes his own first step over the threshold, he invokes another of his gifts, and immediately he sees things a little differently to the others. His senses both sharper and better guided, he re-evaluates the environment, re-processes the sights, smells, and tactile sensations of it all, and comes quickly to a stark conclusion; the fight was recent, yes, but not all of the blood stinks so equally of the beginnings of decay, and not every room in the house is so quiet.

Through the gap between the door to the kitchen and the walls surrounding it, Zephyr can smell fresher blood, and Zephyr can hear shallow, faint breathing.

Somebody is still alive in here.

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