Realistic or Modern 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚗 || IC

[Satanic Nightjar]

travelbypages mads J Jules8008 trystan Archie Boondox ​

March 17, 11:05 A.M.


It was a miracle that he heard it.

A.J. Dawn was cruising down the empty highway in a minivan, with absolutely no regard for the speed limit (who was going to hit him anyways?). The road was cracked from months of disuse, cars broken down on the sides of roads with their owners long gone, and the leaves that had been lost during the long winter hadn't fully returned yet. He was blasting music over the halfway-broken radio of his vehicle, some age-old rock song that he knew bits and pieces of but would never stoop so low as to sing along to.

The reason he was even out in the first place, he told himself, was because he was running low on food. In reality, it could have lasted another week, but cabin fever had really begun to set in. He subconsciously shook his head at himself - look at him, missing other people's company. What had this catastrophe done to him?

The store was to the left of the highway, and he turned sharply, imagining that if he'd been in a movie the tires would have squealed obnoxiously for dramatic effect - instead, they kept quiet, as if even they knew that now was a time for silence. As A.J slid into a parking spot (right in front of the doors, one of the only perks to being immersed in the worst pandemic in history), he reached out his right arm and grabbed a gas mask, strapped it to his face out of habit - just in case, just in case - and then ran his fingers over the handgun in the pocket of his tight jeans - just in case, just in case. He swung the car door open. Chilly air rushed out at him. More silence.

He could hear his breathing as he walked through the store, shoulders tensed, ears alert and waiting for any sign of danger. He'd come here countless times over the months that had passed, but still refused to let his guard down. That's how you got killed. Asher Dawn wasn't the type to get himself killed in such a pathetic way.

The aisles had long ago been pillaged, some shelves left bare, others better stocked than they had been in normal times. No one had come here in a long time, though, and A.J had been careful to ration its supplies, making them last as long as possible. His hand was outstretched, grabbing a bottle of water, when something caused him to freeze. Looking back, it must have been a sound, though barely audible, so that he didn't really hear it, only sensed that there had been something to hear.

He was no longer alone.

"Shit, shit, shit," he whispered, before blinking and shaking his head at his own stupidity. Yeah, make some more noise, why don't you?

He deposited the water into his backpack and pulled out his gun, cocked it, finger on trigger, pointed forwards. Ready.

A.J tried to quiet his breathing, but his heart pounded so loudly that surely it was pointless. He came to the end of the aisle, heard the noise again. A voice. A woman? No. Not that human. The voice of a creature who was once a woman, but had long ago descended from humanity. One of Them.

Backing away. Backing away slowly, step by step, and he was at the door, he was safe, and then-

A strangled scream pierced the air, and a form hurtled from around the nearest aisle into sight, the smell following, like rotten flesh and dried blood, it's disfigured limbs carrying it forward at what seemed to him like the speed of light.

"FUCK!" He yelled, firing the gun once, carelessly, too panicked to aim right, scrambling towards the car, throwing open the door, and then he was inside, and it was shut, in reverse, GO GODDAMMIT GO, now speeding away, until the figure was too far gone to see even in the rear-view mirror. And only now, even though it had been months since the beginning of this mess, did A.J realize how very alone he was.

He turned his attention, for the first time fully, to the radio, still blaring, cutting through static..

"This is Thomas Harvey, transmitting from outpost 17 in Ohio. If there's anyone out there, please respond. I repeat, if there's anyone out there, please respond.."

The message finished before he swallowed hard, shook his head in disbelief at himself, then cleared his throat.

"I'm comin', Thomas. I'm comin'."

 

[travelbypages]

"I should have stolen a car, I wouldn't be walking here on this shit road, in these shit conditions, listening to shit static on a radio." Rose grumbled as she stalked along the side of the highway. She had heard the transmission on her battery radio a few days ago when she had been living on the roof of the mall, her safe haven. But it always came down to food. She'd watch people attempt to leave their safe spots to get some, but it always ended badly. Always. But it was her turn to run low and it was her turn to lose hope. But that damn radio transmission.

It had taken her three days to get out of the city between dealing with bandits and the dead, it was like a maze. But she did it and now here she was, walking down a highway with no idea how she was going to get to Ohio, but she needed to. She had to. Ducking into the trees she stopped and knelt down, digging through her bag for the few bits and pieces of food she collected on her way out. While she nibbled on her granola bar she checked her map and thought about how many days it would take to get there by foot. She'd been walking for approximately a day, so maybe 5? With a huff, she shoved the map back into her backpack then took a sip of water. Her feet were already exhausted but she would have to get used to it. She couldn't turn back now.

Turning the radio back on, Rose listened to the static for a moment as the faint words spoke to her, " This is Thomas Harvey........Ohio.........please respond........if there's anyone out there........." On the mall roof she knew what he was saying, the signal was clear but now her radio couldn't muster the strength to give her the full transmission down on the street.

"Ohio, Ohio, Ohio." Rose mumbled to herself quietly before she packed up her things again and adjusted the gun on her belt. Moving back out to the road she continued on until there was a town. Thank god, she needed water. The place seemed quiet, though she wasn't surprised. More people tried to evacuate up north or to military bases than those who hadn't. Luckily enough, she came upon a grocery store, but something seemed off. Especially when she heard the gunshot. Ducking around the building she snuck in through the back as one of those rotten things chased a man out to his truck. Goddamn, lucky guy.... Apart from being chased out. While they were distracted she ran and grabbed herself a few water bottles before exiting out the back again. Maybe there was a car she could steal here?

Before those things could notice her, Rose wandered over to the suburbs nearby and checked the houses where only one was unlocked. She couldn't help but giggle. People had enough hope that there would be home to come back to. After thoroughly searching the house, the girl went to the attached garage only to find a tan SUV sitting there, untouched. Her pulse was racing as she looked around for a key, only to discover that it was in the ignition, "rich people." She smiled, climbing into the SUV hoping that the garage door wouldn't attract too much attention as she pulled out and headed toward Ohio.

 

[Jules8008]

Rhys Fairweather

It's been almost an entire year ever since the apocalypse happened - or maybe a month, depending on what event one considers worse. It's unbelievable how time flies during these times. Over the course of a month, he was a member of a few survivor groups. One consisted of highschool friends, one was full of angry military men, one was a group full of ragtag misfits, and a dozen more Rhys can't remember. He never stuck to any bigger group because most people see him as a liability than anything else. Did Rhys care? No, in fact he enjoys his own company. Sure, you have to watch out for yourself and no one can help you, but at least you can't throw yourself out of your own group because you're deaf. One of the groups was at least nice enough to give him a knife to defend himself.

At this moment, he was camping out in a trailer van on the outskirts of town. The trailer has been abandoned for quite some time, presumably a few months, judging by all the dirt that's in here. However, the dirt's long gone - Rhys cleaned up the place as soon as he arrived. "Rather die to the fuckin' zombie virus than to silicosis" he told himself. Present day, Rhys is still living in the trailer - and still unsure if you can actually die of silicosis.

The weather was humid, a few clouds were in the sky, the trees didn't seem to move. It was quiet, so at least Rhys assumed. He quickly glances over to his supplies, which was mostly canned goods (saying the word goods really lightly, considering all the food is cheaply produced and tastes like ass) and pasta. Technically, he is currently living the student life. Shitty house, shitty food, shitty mood. Only thing missing is the crippling student debt and depression. Briefly, he looked out of the window again to see if any danger approaches him, before he turns back to his table to check out the map. On his last supply run, he stumbled across a map of the city, which he mainly uses to move around. Supplies are getting very rare, so he decided to move. But where? He was still thinking about a location when he glanced over to the radio and noticed that he forgot to turn it off. Is it silly that deaf people have the radio on? Dunno, maybe. He sometimes turns it on to check for news with his smartphone app. Curious if anything happened, he opened up the app to listen.

"This is Thomas Harvey, transmitting from outpost 17 in Ohio. If there's anyone out there, please respond. I repeat, if there's anyone out there, please respond.." Huh, outpost 17? Rhys turned the radio off again, and wondered how in the living fuck he is supposed to go to Ohio. He can't drive a car, a motorbike, and thetrains definitely don't depart anymore. And hiking takes too long. So, the only idea he had was....a bike. A. Feeaking. Bike. THis is going to take some time, but whatever. Not like Rhys can open up a cheat command console and enter noclip or something. He quickly put every supply he had in his backpack, scavenged the house to see if he missed anything, and then set foot on his bike.

 

[Boondox]

"This is Thomas Harvey, transmitting from outpost 17 in Ohio. If there's anyone out there, please respond. I repeat, if there's anyone out there, please respond.."

The panicked and desperate voice repeated itself through Octavia's mind endlessly as she paced the cabin, its small layout had been her safe haven since she had left home. Octavia was very crafty with her hands, she had gotten a large roll of red string and tied it to a small area of tree's, hanging empty cans from it. she always left a space open so that if Jack needed to escape, he could. Amber brown eyes stared out the window, her horse casually munching on the blades of grass around him. Jack was a true blessing to have with her, he was also highly intelligent and it was obvious that he knew their old life was never going to return. Jack had always been a fairly brave horse but Octavia had never imagined he would have to endure such trying times, however she was truly grateful to have him. What if Thomas didn't have anyone? Heaving a heavy sigh, Octavia stuffed all her belonging's into the back pack and looted the rest of the cabin of any canned food or supplies. Definitely taking the large roll of string, she stuffed it into the bag then grasped the CB Radio that had initially transmitted the signal and proceeded outside.

The sunlight was bright as she made her way out the door she grasped the rifle that sat by the door and threw the strap over her shoulder and positioned the gun on her back. Jack nickered softly to her, he seemed to know that silence was their friend. Octavia would attempt to remove his saddle any chance she got, however in sketchier places she would leave it on in case they needed to exit quickly but this place had proven to be a fairly safe spot for them. Octavia threw the black saddle pad onto his whither and then followed by a black western saddle. The western bridle was also black with split reins. Tossing the two reins over his neck, Octavia then pulled herself into the saddle. and began to traverse the woods back down to the main road, luckily she wasn't to far from the main highway.

Octavia wore a simple pair of black cowboy boots with light wash slim bootcut jeans, however due to the situation her jeans were now dirt stained and had a few rips in the knee's. A form fitted black v-neck t shirt hugged her frame nicely, not to tightly. Octavia's black curly hair was tied up in a ponytail and put up in a simple black carhartt baseball cap. Finally after a twenty minute ride or so the horse and rider emerged from the tree's and out into the open where they found the highway once more. Grasping the handgun that was strapped to her upper thigh she pulled it from its holster and grasped the reins with one hand, she was going to be prepared for any surprises. With that she nudged Jack into a steady trot, making more ground but not to fast as to tire him out, Jack's black hooves padded lightly against the firm dirt next to the road. The pair had learned to avoid pavement as much as possible, or if you need to be on it, only WALK. Jack's hooves would catch the attention of those things if they went any faster than a walk as the sound of his hooves would clip and clack against the pavement. They had a long ride ahead of them, however Thomas might be the only other survivor as far as Octavia knew she was the last of very few people alive.

The supply runs she and Jack had gone on were usually very quiet, being quite out of the city it was probably way better off as opposed to being in the largely populated city limits. Glancing up at the sky, Octavia knew they would find trouble along the way but she had hope that she and her mount could make it to Thomas.
​

 

[Archie]

Askar

Askar woke late today. He rubbed his eyes, his overgrown black hair resting on the back of his quarterhorse, his body sweating because of the creature's body heat. Resting this way, Askar didn't need to pack a pillow or a bed roll, and the lighter he could travel, the better. He'd learned since he crash landed in America that people here named their horses. He thought that was strange.

Leaping to his feet, he made a clicking noise with his tongue. The horse's tail was already wagging when Askar got up, which meant he was already ready to run and was probably annoyed that his rider was such a sleepyhead. Askar looked around to see if there were any zombies, but he knew there wouldn't be. Horses were more panicky than humans, and basically had a built in alarm system when it came to predators. They usually only slept standing up, unless they really trusted the people they were around. For added measure, Askar always rode into the middle of a wide, open field where zombies weren't likely to find any food before sleeping.

He touched his chin and frowned. After three days of not shaving, he didn't just have a stubble but a full blown beard. Giving his horse a hug around his neck, Askar leapt on his saddle (which usually didn't come off when the two were sleeping - if the zombies did come, there would be no time to put it on), and spurred him to a gallop.

Askar was packing almost nothing - toothpaste, a toothbrush, a razor but no shaving cream, a change of clothes, soap, a hatchet, and a hunting bow. This one was almost 90 pounds - pathetic by the standards of the bows he was used to using in his childhood, but the strongest bow he could find no matter how many Dicks Sporting Goods and Bass Pro Shops he looted. Maybe he was looking in the wrong place, but it wasn't like he could just come up to the nearest humanoid and ask them where he could find a stronger bow - the nearest humanoid was almost always a flesh-eating halfwit. Askar didn't carry food - he'd grown confident in his ability to hunt something every day.

Sighing, Askar remembered how good coffee and vodka used to taste. As he made his way to the road, clogged with vehicles, he could see zombies walking between the cars, scouring for food, for survivors, or maybe for fun. Their disgusting, sunburnt, peeling skin made them shiny, visible from a mile away. When he was bored, Askar would shoot them with his bow - an essentially safe activity in open ground because of the speed of his horse. He was not bored enough to waste arrows now, however, and just kicked his mount into a gallop, slowing to a trot when he was past the pack of dead. Groaning, screeching, they chased after him, but two legs could never beat four. Not wanting to make his horse tired (these pesky quarterhorses ran out of steam quickly), he matched pace with the pack - which alternated between short sprints and slow pacing when they ran out of endurance - and tolerated their noise. With a monstrous appetite and essentially no sense of self-preservation, these flesh eaters would follow him until they literally dropped dead from heatstroke: he had learned quickly after the outbreak that "herding" them was a more efficient way of killing them than shooting.

Askar was grateful that his walkie talkie was starting to make some noise - he needed a distraction because he ran out of vodka yesterday.

"This is Thomas Harvey, transmitting from outpost 17 in Ohio. If there's anyone out there, please respond. I repeat, if there's anyone out there, please respond.."

Outpost 17. Strangely, Askar actually knew where that was, and it wasn't far from this dump. Back when he was Lt. Ilyasov, he had to memorize all the locations of major US military installations, even though everyone up the chain of command knew that even the best bombers wouldn't penetrate past the Rocky Mountains.

Askar pressed the talk button on the handheld radio.

"I respond. You happy?" he asked.

"What kind of liquor you have?" he continued, the sound of screeching zombies continuing in the background. To the guy on the other side of the radio, with no concept of Askar's horseback "zombie herding" concept, it must have sounded like this Russian (?) man was asking him for vodka only moments away from his own death.

 

[Processed Stardust]

BRIELLE SANGREY

Store-bought raspberries never tasted as good as the freshly-picked ones. The garden had a big bush, and there were a lot of ripe raspberries just waiting to be eaten. Brielle had a small woven basket in her hand, where she was gently placing the berries. There were no sounds except for nature. Things had never been so quiet as now. Even though the house was located at a good distance from the main street, which was already located in an isolated neighborhood, there were no sounds traveling with the wind.

But she had never felt so lonely.

Sure, she had the chickens, the fishes, and the occasional cat that came over for food. But her family was gone. Her friends were gone. Even her coworkers were gone. Or at least that's what she thought, as she couldn't possibly know what had happened to them. Her parents weren't there when the chaos ensued. They lived in downtown Dayton, while her grandma's terrain was in a small city adjacent to it. She tried contacting them, but they never answered, and not too long after, all services were down.

Her grandma's health had been deteriorating for years, and Brielle knew she didn't have much longer. But after the nuclear war, it didn't take much for her to die. That seemed like a century ago. The girl kept living in the house after her grandma's death. Why would she leave? Her whole life was there, her job, her friends. The house and garden she loved so much. But when the vaccine came out, that's when she had even less reason to leave. The country was already destroyed from the wars, the population had been decimated by the millions from the virus, and now... Now people were almost if rabid, but much more extreme. She heard it on the radio when it first started, and she kept listening to the news until they stopped being broadcast. Every now and then she still listened to it, seeing if there was anyone out there, but usually all she heard was static.

She went back inside the house. It had its own generator, but the lights were usually out during the day, all the curtains open in order to get as much natural light in as possible. She knew she was safe.

She sat on the couch with the basket and turned on the radio, surfing through the channels while eating the raspberries. Static. Static. And more static. She tried it one more time, going through each channel slowly, hoping for anything.

"...out there, ple..."

She quickly went back to the previous channel, her heart racing in her chest.

"...peat, if there is anyone out there please respond."

She picked up the speaker, her hands shaking with anxiety. "Hello!? Can you hear me!?"

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