Fallenreaper — Roleplayer Guild

Abbie
Location: Salt Lake City, Utah.
Timestamp:Around Afternoon

“Alright guys, hold that board open a little wider. I should be able to fit in then.”
Abbie’s request sounded more confident then she felt when the decaying boards creaked in protest. Inside her soul was a completely different matter. Her heart was hammering her chest, mouth dry as cotton, and the gravel concrete grinded through her thinning jeans while she bent to one knee. She already pulled the flannel tighter about her thin body, her figure just barely the right size to fit, while she leaned on all three to peer past the parted boards. Her nose scrunched upward in distaste. Despite the heat, she couldn’t shake off the shivering fear permeating deep into her very marrow. It shilled her and made her feel completely cold against the sun shining overhead. Not a good thing.

Even if she wasn’t cold, Abigail would’ve thought twice about going into the small hole without any protection what so ever. Namely should there be an undead on the other side and waiting to take a chunk out of her face, her lungs inhaled sharp just thinking about it. Then she pulled her knife from her belt bag, the cord wrapped about her wrist to keep it from being jerked or falling out of her grasp. She positioned it like Kurtis taught her. Then setting her compound bow to the hole’s side, she crawled in. First Abbie tilted her shoulder, leading her weapon side into the opening, and then followed by her head slipping after. It was a tight squeeze. The edges scrapped at her face and cheeks, threatened to peel the sink away while eyes darted for any movement. Just open pavement. Thank god, Abbie breathed in relieve and quickly pulled herself the rest of the way through.

She paused only long enough to retrieve her bow and then her arrows, both passed through by one of the guys.

For several weeks, her count long lost, they had been salvaging within Salt Lake City for what little supplies might’ve been missed. Abbie guessed that in the early years of the infection most the supplies on the outer skirts of large towns and cities had been pillaged to the point there was little left. Now, survivors, like Coltrane, Toby and herself, had started to edge into the once more densely populated cities. A faint hope not everything was taken. So far, they hadn’t much luck. Abbie had been managed to found two cans, both labels peeled away, with enough grim and age plastering the outside it made the contents as well as their edibility questionable. In her mind it wasn’t really much of a find to be proud of.

Slowly she rose to her feet. The area she had stumbled into was a backyard, fenced in by an ivy consumed wooden fence and wild grass grown up to her thighs. It looked like any suburb backyard should’ve…if the telltale signs of neglect, pain and suffering didn’t exist. Abbie’s steps flattened the tall grass while she waded through it. Her hand reached out to turn over an aged, plastic chair, wrapped and damaged in the worse way. Spiders, tiny ones, had woven severe webbing into the underside as she spotted a sight she didn’t expect. Somehow, in some way, a large brown, blood stain had survived the years as it was smeared across the seat. Eyes widened, her spine shivered at the cause and Abbie took a step back. Thoughts dark enough to haunt her nightmares rose to the surface before she shut them down. Stay calm, Abbie, stay calm she pleaded with herself, knowing this wasn’t the best time to panic. Her fine neck hairs rose on her skin and snaked in fear, her head rotated gradually to see anything that moved. Nothing. There wasn’t a bird, small animal or anything which made its presence known among the overgrowth. Abbie wasn’t sure what she should’ve felt, nervousness or joy, at the current predicament.
Wasting little time, fear driving her on, she twisted about. She examined the board carefully, noting the rusted nails jutted out in key places and the thing itself was barely hanging on to the frame. A smirk crossed her lips when she turned to glimpse her blade still within her hand. It could work, she toyed with the notion then raised the tip to jab it into the alternating crease’s gaps. She hit it with her hand heel until it inched itself way into the wood. She listened to it cry in protest but ignored it. Again, she whacked it with a fresh smack. Once satisfied with the depth, Abbie shoved it to lever the board and nails right off. Wood cracked and splintered from the rotting and ivy damage, the board crumbling into the tall grass.

“That was easier than I thought it would be,” Abbie said, motioning for the pair to edge themselves into the yard as well, “What now? Any suggestions?”

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