The Dead Fall: Safehouse

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The Dead Fall: Safehouse

Postby FSF Gabe » Mon Aug 31, 2015 11:49 am

The Dead Fall: Safehouse

Settings
The story takes place in Sabu, a city quarantined by the military due to a viral outbreak of what, the media, has coined the Dust Cold. Though the sky is green due to the breakup of the Dead Fall in the Earth's atmosphere, and most of the worlds super powers are focused on other facets of the global degradation, the government has saw fit to sterilize the events in and around Sabu by fencing in the city, barricading, and enforcing the quarantine (with deadly force). Not only has the sick and infected been closed off or moved to Sabu, but several thousand others that weren't exhibiting signs or early onset stages of the Dust Cold are trapped within. Many of the shops, stores, and larger retail outlets have been ransacked. Looters and Raiders have already become part of life within the walls of Sabu. Those that are not surviving walk the streets, feasting and hunting on the living; zombies, the Living Dead.

There isn't any word on the government's further responds to the situation in Sabu.

Notes for participants (added 9/2/15)
*READ Not just your own post but others. This helps involve you in the story by knowing the comings and goings, thoughts and drives of the characters at play. It also helps you interact and add to the narrative.

*TIME Time passes in Sabu week by week (Sunday-Saturday real time). Each week signifies a Day/Night Cycle with each consecutive week (One week it's Night, the next week it's Day and so on and so forth).
Last edited by FSF Gabe on Wed Sep 02, 2015 10:14 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: The Dead Fall: Safehouse

Postby thepariaheffect » Mon Aug 31, 2015 10:17 pm

Don't go out at night. That's the first rule of survival.

People are already superstitious about so many things, but that's mine. I don't move at night. I've seen what happens at night. I see it even when I close my eyes.

When I'm feeling philosophical, which happens more often than I'd like, I like to think that I'm just going back to ancient man's basic instincts. The dark is scary because you can't see what's coming for you. There are predators out there, with and without pulses. While my ancestors could stave off the terror with a good fire, I need something more. An old attic that I've turned into a fortress. When the lights go out, I cower behind metal shutters and barricade the trap door. There's nothing brave about it, but I survive.

The second rule is to avoid the Dead.

They're not fast, they're not smart, and they're not dangerous alone. But they're never alone, are they? They run in packs, and they don't stop. They don't get sick. They don't get hurt. They don't...I don't know. They're animals. I saw them rip a child apart on the street, man. Into pieces. The second dumbest thing you can do is to go near them.

The dumbest is to go near the living. That's the third rule. The Golden Rule.

Leave the living alone. They're even worse. At least the Dead can only kill you. The Living? They'll make you wish you were dead. I saw one of them string up a dog in front of a group of Dead once. The Dead aren't fooled by dogs. They know they're not human. They just did it because it scared the dog. Watched it have a heart attack. Then they left it dangling there.

I should go cut it down. If it wasn't for this damn cough. Makes me too loud. It'll go away in a few days.

Just got to stay here. Stay safe. Follow the rules.

Damn cough.
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Re: The Dead Fall: Safehouse

Postby FSF Gabe » Tue Sep 01, 2015 9:42 am

Samuel Kincaid

The fire before Samuel bent light and shadow in the confines of the boarded off alley offshoot that used to be a loading dock for the grocery store that had long been ransacked. The large double doors, the thick metal barricade and the single alternate exit presented this place to be where to hold up for the night. It wasn't safe to be out at night in Sabu. One could manage if one were smart to exist during the day, but the night belonged to the Dead. So Samuel remained, alone, his thoughts consumed by fire, the flames so wanting that it dashed any hope of sleep. He thought, briefly, taking a sleeping pill, the thought of getting some release from exhaustion tempting and though this place appeared safe; Samuel didn't trust it fully to keep the monsters or the looters at bay. He generally felt safer in an area already ransacked, but he could not shake the instinct that nowhere in Sabu was safe. So Samuel remained awake, haunted by his thoughts, eyes staring at the flickers of the flames in the fire.

Before this, before all of this, he was a Security Technician, a cybercrime specialist that used a computer and his brain to hunt down the bad guys. He had a wife, a child, a job and even prospects, but all that seemed to be on the Moon now, as far out of reach as sanctuary. It wasn't too long ago that he watched his daughter die, succumbing to the Dust Cold like so many others. She always tenacious, always one to defy, but always holding a moral compass. She had found a boy however, and love does make you do stupid things like be out after the city wide curfew. Time was too short with her for Samuel to be angry at what she did, what led to her infection. Sara, his wife, always found comfort in the blame, let it give her that numbness that ultimately killed her. She had let go, had checked out, the exclamation mark to the finality of that decision echoing as she pulled the trigger several hours after she had to do the same to their daughter out of defense. The doctors, the specialists, had already seen the transformation, had already made protocols, back then even, to isolate those in the later stages of the Dust Cold. But Samuel had decided to take her home, that if Kendra were to die, she would do so in the comfort of her own home, in her own room, in her own bed. He had pulled whatever strings he had, garnered any sway to make that happen. For a time that was enough, for a time Samuel could pretend that it was all..., normal..., despite the infection crawling through his daughter's veins; that black 'tar,' warping her skin into putridity, erasing what he would have liked to remember her as.

Samuel and Sara had talked, some nights while laying in bed; the echo of their daughter's movements in the other room hinging on their every thought. Sara had asked where this was heading knowing full well where it was heading; she always had that courage, had always been that pragmatic. But Samuel simply reflected in the illusion, in the reality of everything being normal despite the news on the TV and the military beginning their efforts in quarantining Sabu. He should have let Sara go, should have been brave. But he didn't, and that killed her.

It was a morning like any other. The riots becoming so bad, the response towards the military no longer allowing any passage out of the city. It was like lighting a match in a pool of gasoline. The violence against the government, the riots filling the streets, it was best to remain indoors. Sara was making breakfast, toast and eggs, Kendra wouldn't come down, the sickness draining her. Sara went up with a plate and that's when Samuel heard the gunshot. By the time he got up the stairs of their townhouse, Sara had already shot Kendra, already shot their teenage daughter in the head. Tears welled in Sara's eyes, uncontrollable hysteria as she crouched on her hunches, rocking back and forth, the gun pressed flat to her face while she cried. Thinking back, it was the only emotion other than rage that Samuel had ever seen from his wife since bringing Kendra home. She was always so brave, so fearless..., but she couldn't accept the world anymore, couldn't accept that it had gone so far into hell that she had to kill her only child. She turned to Samuel, put the gun to her head and that was it.

The fire crackled, the sound like the reverb of a .35 going off. Samuel knew it was just memory, it was just echo, but he could still hear it, could still see it's gruesome conclusion. He held the gun, the pistol that had taken his daughter and his wife, loose in his hands, eyeing the white metal and feeling the surprising weight of the beast. He remembered buying it, having to be convinced that having a gun in the house was simple protection but never allowing himself to be caught up with it as much as Sara had. If only he could have been stronger.

Samuel tested that strength, as briefly as his thoughts dwelled on past misgivings, suddenly he had the gun on himself, the barrel in his mouth, his right thumb on the trigger. He was already crying, already in that dark place that hadn't any words that could express the conflict of fear and love. His mind was snapping despite the exhaustion. He could hear his own thoughts screaming at him to be brave, to be strong, be as Sara once was. Know that this was hell and to forgo any sort of living construct or institualization that right was right and wrong was wrong. That whatever God had in this life he had turned the other cheek, that we had cast the first stone. Rules not need apply.

So brave. So strong.

But he couldn't do it. Samuel relinquished the barrel from his mouth and whimpered.
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Re: The Dead Fall: Safehouse

Postby FSF Gabe » Wed Sep 02, 2015 10:17 am

Time
Night still harkens on the quarantined city of Sabu; though, the cloud and dust surrounding in blankets of haze, it's hard to tell. The Undead litter the streets, looters and raider activity remains; though, timid due to low visibility.

Sunrise will occur 9/6/15
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Re: The Dead Fall: Safehouse

Postby FSF Gabe » Wed Sep 09, 2015 1:26 pm

Samuel Kincaid

With the dawn of another day in Sabu, and his fire taking it's last flicker of light, Samuel Kincaid rose, exhaustion offsetting his mind to the sunlight eeking into the cracks of the closed area, but his limbs were strong enough now to carry him. To where, and to what purpose, he didn't know, but staying in one place was far too often a death sentence without the manpower and equipment to defend it. So he shuffled his foot, grabbed his bug out bag, and tucked the .35 in it's proper concealed spot.

The dawn was as inviting and the night, Samuel could still hear the moans and cries from afar, the silent pepper speak of gunfire rattling in the distance as he climbed out of the hole he held up for the previous night. Visibility was something of a blessing, the god-fingers of sunlight creeping into the haze of the tint lime hue of the atmosphere around. Dust wasn't thick, but Samuel still kept the handkerchief tied around his mouth and nose while a pair of biker goggles kept things out of his eyes.

The downtown districts of Sabu, where the police station and hospital were, wasn't safe in the day or the night. The dead walked the streets quite ferociously and occupied several of the halls and rooms afforded once as public safety facilities. It was, after all, where people went when they were hurt or needed help, never knowing that the police and doctors were ill equipped to handle the influx let alone contain the infected. It wasn't long after the media blackout that the hospitals and police stations were nothing more than breeding grounds for the virus and spawning pools for the undead. Samuel hadn't heard of anybody surviving in that area of the city; however, he was alone in his course to survive.

The walls and the roads blocked off the city were also dangerous as the military quarantine did so without regard for human life. No one was allowed to leave, and those that tried either got caught in the minefields or executed at the sight of a military patrol. Truth be told, Samuel didn't know anyone that survived, it had been days since he had seen another intelligent non-infected human being and he was beginning to think himself as the last man in Sabu still alive.

Keeping to himself probably exacerbated his loneliness, his notions that he was the only still alive in this hell. But there had to be others that were alive and weren't raiders or bandits or simply psychotic. But even if he found others, then what? Would they form a community, a partnership, would they begin building a life where the dead walk the streets and the dark of humanity knocks at their door? It was better to be alone he concluded. Alone there was only a single person he you had to look after and feed; yourself.

So Samuel walked, staying close to the side of buildings and minding the area around him as he continued his course to simply nowhere.
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Re: The Dead Fall: Safehouse

Postby sail3695 » Fri Sep 11, 2015 11:07 pm

Maya Okimbo

"This is the city of the dead,
this is the city of the dead,
this is the city of the dead.
this is the city of the dead!"


The timer counted down the final seconds, as Maya laid the headphones over the tightly woven dreadlocks of her hair. The left earphone provided the closing wail of guitars and saxophone, as the right was tucked behind her ear, an old deejay trick she'd come by naturally. She kicked on the mic just as the final, abrupt notes sounded, her voice deep and rich as she spoke. "That was the Clash, and this is the voice of the living, Radio Free Sabu, broadcasting overnight on FM band one-oh-two-point-five. The sun is coming up, which tells we, the living, to rise, to move, to find what we can, to survive. And that also means that we must go off the air to relocate ourselves, before the government calls in another airstrike." She glanced toward the yellowed page of type pinned up above the mic. Maya knew the page by heart, yet she insisted upon reading it, her eyes caressing each word for any solace, her lips mouthing the message as Hindu or Sikh might chant a mantra. "For the government, and the world outside of our quarantine, please know that there are people, living people, trapped in here among the many victims of the Dust Cold. Your fellow countrymen, your friends, your family....we are all trapped in here, fighting for what food remains, reduced to acts of cruelty that might shock you in your comfortable homes. We are starving to death. Please, send us food, medicine, and provisions. Your reconnaissance satellites will note a number of rooftops with large, white X's painted. Those are safe drop zones. We beg you...please...please do not forget us."

She swallowed, pressed the "play" button of the second disk player, and continued. "For the people of Sabu, remember the following as you survive this day. Boil your water or urine before drinking or cooking. Know the signs of infection, and cast the infected out as soon as you can. Do not eat the flesh of the dead, whether they're still or reanimated. And most important, brothers and sisters, try not to hurt or kill one another. We only survive if we rise above this chaos together." The bass and Hammond B-3 organ began the Bob Marley classic. Maya had chosen it for it's optimism and universal good cheer.
"This is Maya Okimbo, for Radio Free Sabu. Until we're together again tonight, stay mobile, stay alert, stay alive. Goodbye, now."

"Don't worry,
about a thing,
'cause every little thing,
's gonna be alright,"


"Twenty minutes? Yes?" she asked, eyes of ebon brown focused upon Kelso, the engineer.

"Give or take," he shrugged.

"And how many outside?"

"About two dozen."

"Rise up this morning,
Smile with the rising sun.
Three little birds,
Upon my doorstep..."

"Okay," the woman said as she girded for the battle ahead. The jacket was form fitting, with many stylistic neoprene style ridges and patterns. Intended for motorcycle riding, the garment didn't greatly impede her movements, and offered durable protection from scratches or bites. The helmet would come next. Likewise some pretty stylish "rice rocket" biker gear in it's day, the lightweight helmet with broad, wrap around tinted visor, completed the protection she'd need to survive the daily ritual of lowering their antenna mast. "Radio Free Sabu" had gotten it's start in an old AM radio station the authorities hadn't given much notice. Of course, when they took it live, broadcasting the truth of life and death in the city-cage to the country at large, silence came quickly in the form of an air raid. Thanks to Kelso's genius and the find of an armored truck, they'd gone mobile, rolling from hiding as even the sun sought shelter beneath the horizon. After a few precarious moments involved in extending and stepping the mast, the pair would then button up, sealed behind armor, the diesel generator whispering, as the multifreq FM transmitter pumped out fifty-thousand watts. As FM went, they didn't cover alot of territory beyond the barricades and barbed wire surrounding Sabu. But, there were people, always some. The curious, who'd drive up as close as they could to glimpse the mayhem. They'd sit, in their cars, tuning the dial, and hopefully hearing the message, before a military patrol would chase them back to the safety of their squeaky clean existence. And of course, the people of Sabu, any who might have a crank or solar powered radio, the living......the living...

"Don't worry
about a thing,
'cause every little thing
's gonna be alright."


The nickel plated .38 Police Special weighed upon her right hip as she rose toward the back door. A Louisville slugger, it's woodgrain forever stained with lurid use, was clutched in her right hand. strapped the each thigh was a machete...paltry enough weaponry, but the best they could scavenge or barter for in an environment increasingly dependent upon it's citizens were carrying. In a moment, the door would swing open. Kelso would drop and store the antenna mast, while Maya provided him with a safe workplace among the flesh eating horde. This was life. This was her mission. Who she was....who she loved..no longe mattered in the face of this, the latest truth..

"We're off the air," Kelso said. "Clear me a space, hon."

"Work fast, white boy," Maya offered the ritualistic answer. The well wishes dispensed, she bolted through the door, colliding with one of the undead in her rush. The creature sank desperate teeth into the padded forearm, before Maya's Louisville Slugger split it's skull. Others took notice, groaning in hunger as they closed in. Maya swung, again and again, the bat smashing temples, dislocating jaws, and effectively covering the scene in relentless blood spatter. For a moment, she thought of the mousy NPR correspondent who'd come to Sabu on assignment, and her fears over being there among the rioters and police. Now, she could laugh at such a tame place this had been.

Another creature rushed her, and met the bat. "Don't worry.....about a thing..."
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Re: The Dead Fall: Safehouse

Postby FSF Gabe » Sat Sep 12, 2015 8:48 pm

Time
Day turns to night.

Sunrise will occur 9/19/15
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Re: The Dead Fall: Safehouse

Postby FSF Gabe » Fri Sep 18, 2015 5:24 pm

Samuel Kincaid

He ran.

Fire filled his lungs, his legs pumped like pistons and his heart felt like iron more of weight than his limbs. He was tired, winded, exhaustion and desperation mixed to create a euphoria that simply would not go but took him like an anchor to the darker depths of futility. Behind Samuel Kincaid were hordes of undead, a snowball of bad decisions made personified by the dashing and clawing of the dead rush. His mind couldn't think on the past hour, couldn't think beyond simply leaving the horde and finding shelter. But no shelter could be had, so he simply ran.

A fence at the end of an alley proved to perhaps be salvation, Samuel's body slammed deeply into the fence, both in testing it's structure, and stopping his continued necessity to run. Adrenaline fueling gave his arms the strength to climb, gave his legs effort to join. He no more climbed over the fence then fell from it's precipice, the concret meeting his back and expelling wind from his chest so rapidly that Samuel was beginning to see dark threads of shadow creeping around the preferia of his vision.

"Stay alive," he muttered, "stay alive. Fight the fight." The echo in his mind continued as his hands grasped the ground and he rose. The chain of the fence rattled, the dirge of wanting playing as the zombies beyond clawed and howled for him. In him was weakness, Samuel's gaze listlessly moving to the outstretch of the door several feet away. His footfalls were unsure, his movements sluggish. This was more than exhaustion, this was more than simple adrenaline dumps.

He twisted the knob and barreled in, not thinking, not wanting to. Samuel's thoughts were on shelter, were on a safe place for the night. He had the sense of closing the door, barring it with furniture and remnants of wood and electrical equipment, anything handy. As the cobwebs left his mind, as his focus returned to him, Samuel was aware now of where he was.

It was a radio station, the hallway he stood in had many twists, but the walls held monikers of several different radio personalities. Different acronyms and segment posters displayed proudly amidst the corridor of open shadow filled offices. News With Stringfellow Hawke, The Super-Awesome Margo Show, a segment called Ramble On! which had a old-timey microphone and two people shouting into it with several words in a sort of spray-paint font that really, collectively, didn't make sense.

Samuel didn't speak, didn't shout, "hello," as generally that was a calling card for zombies or something much worse. This place however felt untouched, was quiet, and that terrified Samuel enough to where he drew his .38. Four bullets he hoped he didn't have to use, he hoped that the sight of the gun would put enough fear into whoever he pointed it at that things would just back off in a "live and let live," sort of way. But sometimes you just don't get that lucky.

He passed an office, one belonging to a Dan Thompson who, apparently, was one of the producers and voice talents of this discarded station. Another office, one belonging to a Margo, had also been left open and was empty save for a few scattered remnants of paperwork, files, tapes, and a collection of Skittles that, as Samuel checked, were just empty boxes. He then entered the station proper, seeing an array of three glassed in partitions equipped with chairs, tables, and an array of audio equipment from switchboards to microphones. There wasn't anyone that Samuel could see, there wasn't anything but abandonment.

The kitchenette was clear, also ransacked, no food save for a few condiments and sugar packets of which Samuel took, stuffing them into his pockets. As he crossed into the lobby, all seemed clear until something whacked him on the back of the head. It felt wooden, like a baseball bat.
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