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Max stood there and sighed. The windmill was broken, and he was the only person in the godforsaken place that could fix it. He glanced over and Jon-Paul and laughed. "I guessed that already." He said with a chuckle, and he shifted his repair belt into a more comfortable position. "If you want to make yourself useful..." he said to Jon-Paul, "then hold these for me." and with that he pulled a out a foldable saw and a small hammer and passed them over. "That means less weight and I'm hopefully not going to need them." With that and another, slightly deeper sigh, Max began to climb the scaffolding, heading towards the top, he remembered going over the schematics for this that they had stored in the base back at the start of all this, and once he saw a schematic he never forgot it. He would start at the top of the windmill, check everything and slowly work his way down.


[FONT=&quot]After a couple of minutes in the greenhouse, Clara lowered her hood, and then removed her coat. She had learned from experience, that it was best to not leave her stuff about, she folded the coat in half, and tied the arms around her waist. She saw that the tomato plants needed to be tied a bit higher up their stakes. She reached for the ties that had been placed nearby, just for that purpose. Instead of going back to the entrance for a basket, Clara had raised her skirt and used it as a holder to gather the vegetables. She saw cabbage that was ready, and reached into the folds of her skirt, she pulled out her pocket knife, and cut a few from their stalk. Clutching her skirt in one hand, and picking with the other, she made short work of gathering the carrots, and then put the cabbage heads in as well. The bunker would eat pretty well tonight. When she was done, she headed back to the greenhouse entrance. She laid the produce in the baskets that had been placed near the door, and quietly waited for the others.[/FONT]


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Upon reaching the group of men playing cards, Nelx felt a large arm wrapped around her waist, before feeling herself being pulled down too close to the man. She disliked this sort of treatment intensely, and the smell of alcohol on the breath of the man next to her was at first just bearable, but then became too much. She listened angrily as the men made joke after joke before turning to Finnegan in a rage. "You should think twice before touching a woman of my standards! For breaking the limits, I'll make you suffer!" Standing up, she turned to storm away, before hesitating, turning back towards the man, and delivering a stinging slap across his face. The slap would have hurt intensely, and Nelx had intended it so. Not giving the men any chance to react, she crossed the bunker floor to the Colonel's cabin, before announcing in a slightly less angry voice, "If youu want me to play your little games with you, then you'd be better off thinking before you tried to fail as miserably as you did in your horrible attempts at...whatever you were doing..." Giving the men a scowl, she knocked on the Colonel's door, before entering.

Once inside, she looked at the Colonel icily, not noticing his current condition, before speaking. "Your men are completely out of line Colonel. Their latest little game has not had a good effect on me..." Waiting to see what the Colonel had to say on the matter, she asked in an equally cold voice, "When will our dear Mickey be returning? He departed a good while ago now, and I...haven't seen him since... Let's hope that the fog hasn't entangled him in its shrouds..." Silent again, she waited for the Colonel to speak, though on the interior, she was still furious at the drunken soldiers outside the cabin. She had been nowhere near approaching her full rage though... That was something that the soldiers would not have appreciated one bit...


Name: Charley

Age: 15

Gender: Female

Former Occupation: 4th grader

Physical Description: Charley is short for her age, and severely scrawny from years of malnutrition. Her cheek bones are pronounced and face hollow looking. She's pale, and generally dirty looking just about always. She has long, brunette hair, which she maintains in a single braid at the back of her head. Despite Clara's best efforts, the clothing she wears generally looks over-sized and bulky when hanging on her near-skeletal frame.

Equipment: Clothing, ski goggles, gloves, small pry bar, ice ax, gypsy bag, ratty photo of a much younger her standing in front of an older boy, man and woman.

Biography: Charley was a regular school girl in the fourth grade when the bombs dropped. She was evacuated with her family to Bunker 13. Everybody in her family caught the first bout of Typhus that hit the shelter due to crowded conditions, and due to lack of antibiotics by that time, only she survived. She has been a sort of orphan of the bunker since then, and makes herself useful by trying her best at behaving. She's not necessarily a nuisance to the population, but she's still really just a kid still. Her most valuable, and least valuable, asset is her size. She is one of the more prolific scavengers for the bunker, and often braves the environment to squirrel her way into places many others would never fit.

Skills: Scavenge-> 3; Hide-> 3; Climb-> 2; Dirty Fighting-> 1; Sew-> 1; Cook-> 0; Gambling-> 0

Flaws: Small-> 2; Sickly-> 1; Bad Temper-> 1; Illiterate-> 1


Charley sat in the hallway of the bunker. She vacantly stared at the gray wall in front of her as she idly twisted the end of her braid around her finger, and then released it before repeating the process. She pulled herself out of her thoughts as her stomach expressed its displeasure of being empty with a loud gurgle, and she looked up and down the hallway. She idly wondered when, or if, Fast Mickey was going to return. The way he talked before going out, you'd think he was going to come back with oodles of food. She groaned softly as the thought reminded her of her empty stomach once more, and she pressed her hand against her gut.

Charley slowly stood up while using the cold, concrete wall for support. She looked up and down the hallway once again, before she wandered off to the deeper bowels of Bunker 13. She had to find something to take her mind off of eating.


Using his coat as a makeshift basket, Patrick gathered tomatoes (were they vegetable or fruit? He believed it was decided that tomatoes were fruit. After all, the saying went: knowledge is knowing that the tomato is a fruit. Wisdom is knowing not to put one in a fruit salad.) if they were red and not too squishy or damaged, and dug out some potatoes. Patrick always loved the potatoes; he ate them nearly every night before the War, and every time the group harvested them from the greenhouse. He worried that some fungus would come and wipe out the potatoes in their little greenhouse. If theirs was the last source of potatoes in Albion, and they were wiped out by some sort of bad thing, that would be a major blow to the group, and Patrick in particular. Hopefully that wouldn’t happen. While gathering the produce, he hummed Draw On, Sweet Night, a song from Trinity College’s May Week River Concert. Patrick wasn’t quite certain when that would have been held. He wasn’t quite certain on the day, or even the month anymore after 5 or so years of little Sun.

After Patrick had gathered enough food to nearly make his coat spill over, he walked back to the entrance, where he began filling the baskets. It seemed that Clara had gathered all she could carry as well, though she used her skirt to carry the produce. Why she didn’t use her coat, Patrick didn’t know. As he was putting the produce in the basket, he saw a strange sight. It seemed that there was movement slightly outside the greenhouse, rustling the meagre undergrowth. Not knowing what it was (he was unable to see well through the translucent greenhouse walls), Patrick set his coat down, and headed outside, announcing that he saw something as he left. It definitely was cold without the fur lined jacket, but he would only be outside a few minutes. As he came close to the spot where he thought he saw something, Patrick drew his gladius, the Sam Browne belt enabling one hand drawing. He didn’t know what he would find, but he was prepared to fight if it was hostile.


A round of laughter followed Nelx as she stormed off, although most of it was directed towards Finnegan as if to say better luck next time buddy although from the dark look that he gave Nelx's retreating form it wouldn't be him that would be needing the luck "Settle down boys" he growls retrieving his cards from where they had been placed on the table "...We'll have to teach Baywatch to play nicely another time"

"Good morning Colonel how are you?, I am fine Nelx what seems to be troubling you?" the Colonel spoke from behind his desk completely ignoring Nelx's bad mood; returning the cap onto his pen before looking up at the woman that had stormed into his office. There had been a time when he would have shouted her back out into the corridor for entering without his permission but over the years he had mellowed, these people were civilians when all was said and done and besides which he wasn't a well man these days "If you are speaking of either Blind Jim or Sergeant Harrigan then I will have a word with them however I suspect from you tone that you are in fact speaking of Mr. Tate" he said emphasising the mans non-military title. It wasn't the first time that Finnegan Tate and his crew had caused trouble within the Bunker and making free with the ladies no matter how much Nelx didn't like it was far from being their worst crime. Memories of the dead girl in the rubble and his missing Lieutenant instantly springing to mind but he'd had no evidence and he was damned if he was going to turn into some tin pot dictator and start shooting people on a whim. The problem now however was that he simply didn't possess the men to do anything about it now as moving against Finn would only result in open warfare. Rubbing his temples he gives a weary sigh before speaking in a resigned tone of voice "look Nelx I am deeply sorry over what has happened but other that saying keep away from him there is nothing I can do about it...As for Mickey I believe he should be back with us any day now" and with any luck carrying our only hope for survival.
"As bout as much as I do...but we still built the damn thing" Sergeant Mark Harrigan of the Royal engineers said with a laugh in response to Jon-Paul's good natured jest. The windmill, like the water collection tanks and the greenhouse had been thrown together using whatever scrap they could find and assembled more with enthusiasm than any form of expertise and consequently broke down on a regular basis. As Max volunteered to climb the tower Mark took hold of some of his tools before handing him the end of a blue tow rope "Here, loop this over the top support and we'll hoist any tools you need up to you" with his last piece of advice given he then watches as the former body builders begins his ascent.
Despite its rickety appearance the windmills tower for the most part was fairly sturdy and so posed no problems. A quick glance at the machinery mounted at the top of the structure however quickly told Max that the drive belt had become tangled causing the windmill to choke to death on its own chain.
Hearing Patricks announcement that he had seen something, a cold chill that was nothing to do with the inclement weather ran down Mouse's spine "Quedaos aquí y velad Clara para mí por favor" she spoke hurriedly to Caitlyn completely forgetting she didn't speak Spanish as she moved to follow Patrick, the single hand gesture would be sufficient to tell the two women that she wanted them to stay put.
Moving around the side of the greenhouse, the pair of survivors spot something moving nearby in the stunted and dying undergrowth, moving closer they catch the scent of decaying flesh and snuffling of the creatures death rattle breath long before they see it. Rising from out of the undergrowth they catch sight of what could only be described as a zombie, though this thing was far from dead. With its mind and body rotted away by disease and radiation; Dead ones, walkers, geeks, freaks, gnashers or whatever other name you wished to attach to them were in fact humans. Insane, dying, rotting cannibalistic humans that if found in a group were extremely deadly. On their own they were merely dangerous. Raising her iron tire Mouse moves to brain the unfortunate creature only to have it turn and run into the fog "¡Rápido! before it gets away!" she shouts to Patrick before moving in pursuit of it, there was no way in hell that she was going to let this hang around where they lived.
With her feet pounding across the grass heedless of any warning given to her she follows the thing to the iron railings bordering the park, her breath catching in her throat as she utters a terrified choking sound.
Eight glazed, staring and extremely hungry eyes stare at the girl but made no move to attack though how long this inactivity would last she couldn't tell.
"Hey Charley how are you today?" Sally said with a smile upon seeing the girl passing the door to the kitchens. A middle aged woman with auburn hair streaked with grey, Sally had a near permanent smile on her face and a motherly air about her "We were looking at starting lunch if you would like to help" she said invitingly as she stood beside her eight year old daughter both of whom spent much of their time within the kitchens trying to make something edible out what little they had within the pantry "...there may even be a couple of those biscuits that Mickey brought in still about"
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(OOC: Google is a wonderful thing, I looked up the function of a drive belt, and just used my intuition from there).
The drive belt was tangled... he could fix it, but it'd take him a while. Max decided that he'd tell the others exactly what the problem is. He looped the rope over the top support quickly before climbing down. "The drive belt's tangled, jamming it which is what's stopping the windmill. I'll need a screwdriver and a wrench, also, I want you to lock-down the windmill from down here, so I don't crush my fingers." That should be a relatively simple task, he'd made sure they'd installed a fail safe which disconnected the crank shaft, meaning the head could turn, but it wouldn't drive the machinery. He was proud of the windmill, he'd done a good job on it, and he'd built it from the ground up so that he could fix it quickly. He took off the tool belt and pulled out two screwdrivers, flat and cross head, and a wrench. He handed them to Jean-Paul and then waited for any comments before making his way up again.


[FONT=&quot]Clara saw Patrick place his collection of vegetables in the basket beside her’s. Yes indeed, they would eat well tonight. Sally will be happy to see all this, and maybe Charley will have her fill for a change. She heard Patrick say that he saw something, but didn’t even look up to watch him go. No, today was not one of her good days. She also heard Mouse say something in Spanish…and heard her name mentioned, as Mouse and Patrick ran to investigate. Clara was so deep in her melancholy that the best she could muster was a sigh. Maybe, just maybe…today would be the day that she got to join her dead husband and son. Then, she heard Mouse’s terrified scream. That was something else indeed. No… not someone else that she cared about! Clara burst into tears. No…not again! [/FONT]


It seemed that Mouse was going to help him in this mission. Five years ago, Patrick would have protested to her helping; something about chivalry or something like that. But five years ago, he also would have protested to a military leader. However, times had changed, and base violence was the new world order. Mouse shouted something to the other two in Spanish, a language that Patrick could only understand a few words of, and only because those words were cognates with Latin. As they approached the site where Patrick saw the original disturbance, rustling was observed, confirming Patrick’s observation. Getting closer, the rustler rose up, revealing itself to be a zombie. Not exactly a Romero zombie, more of a Boyle zombie, Romerofied. Before either of them could end its miserable existence, it found its legs and ran into the London fog. After Mouse gave the order to pursue, the two followed it, where after only a short distance, they intercepted it.

Unfortunately for Mouse and Patrick, they also intercepted three of its buddies, causing Mouse to choke back a scream. Patrick skidded to a stop next to her, his eyes shifting through the four abominations and their dead eyes capable of only showing hunger. Slowly putting his gladius up to a defensive position. “Mouse, fuga,” he commanded. In Latin, it was a noun, meaning an escape. But it should have be close enough to Spanish for Mouse to get the meaning. Patrick hoped she got what he meant, before the cannibal corpses in front of them decided that they were hungry.


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Nelx scowled as the Colonel patronised her, but dismissed it as banter, before listening to his half-hearted reply, advising her to stay clear of the group of troublesome men... He wasn't going to punish them, nor was he even going to have a word with them. She barely managed to suppress a rather rude reply to the commanding officer, which if it had come out of her mouth, would surely have landed her in the Colonel's bad books, if she wasn't already in them... She waited just long enough to hear his reply concerning Mickey before shrugging her shoulders, and saying in a voice in which you could detect hints of sarcasm... "Thank you for your time Colonel..."

Once again opening and shutting the door behind her, she made a show of avoiding Finnegan's group by taking a different route through the bunker. Upon reaching the kitchen entrance, she noticed that Sally and Charley were conversing. She liked both women, although she could never understand why they didn't like her in return... This was something that she had been determined to alter over the past year, taking the time now and again to listen and converse with either of the two. Approaching them, she waved cheerily. "Hey girls!" Before slumping tiredly against the wall, at the same time releasing a giant sigh from within her. "What is wrong with those idiotic men?"

Lord Regal

Well-Known Member
Patrick claimed to see something as Mouse and Caitlyn reconciled, causing the man and young woman to run off, Mouse clearly wanting her to stay put. Grinding her teeth, she knew she wouldn't be much help against whatever was out there…she had a Swiss Army Knife that was good only for defense, she had firearm training but no gun, and hand-to-hand combat was hardly an option, especially since she had only been trained in self-defense. She had to trust that the other two could handle it. It was then that Mouse screamed and Caitlyn swore. Crying came from inside the greenhouse, meaning Clara had heard it too. Wanting nothing more than to go help the pair who'd run off, she instead entered the greenhouse and knelt next to the seamstress. "Clara, we need to get out of here…warn those more suited to fighting that there's a problem. I'm not leaving without you, and we need that food as well, so come on…let's go…" She grabbed one of the food baskets and held a hand for the woman to take to get up. "Let's go, we're not doing any good sitting around here…if you want to help them we need to leave…now."


"Sure we can disconnect it for you, no probs" Mark said as Max selected his tools and made his way back up. It wasn't the first time it had broken down so he was well versed in its operation and steady evolution so knew exactly which buttons to press...so to speak.
Whilst Mark was disconnecting both the drive chain and its feed to the battery array, that particular piece of ingenuity being one of his own, Max would eventually make it up to the top where the problem was.
It was as he was working that he would be able to make out a figure moving rapidly towards the bunker as it emerged from out of the fog if he happened to be looking in the right direction.

Paralysed with fear Mouse stared in wide eyed terror at the creatures before her; one of them seeming to scent the air before taking a single step towards them as if trying to work out what they were. The sudden command from Patrick however broke her paralysis spurring her into action as she turned and ran hoping that that was what Patrick had meant; the word similar yet different to her native tongue.
Seeing the sudden flight of potential prey the ghouls changed from docile scavengers to vicious killers; hissing and growling before launching themselves after Patrick and Mouse, intending to drag the pair of them down onto the ash covered ground and tear them limb from limb before feasting upon their still warm flesh.
Had they been true zombies in the original horror movie sense it would have been easy to outpace their shambling gait. But these unfortunately were not zombies and they ran…fast.
Without daring to look over her shoulder and see whether Patrick had joined her or was currently fighting / being torn apart by the pack of ghouls, she ran screaming as she neared the front of the greenhouse "Los Muertos! Run!" not knowing whether Clara and Caitlyn were still inside or not. Either way she had to get back to the bunker and warn the others.


Charley raised her eyebrows as she heard a familiar voice call out to her from the area of the kitchens. She smiled and poked her head around the corner of the entrance to peek into the room and seek out its source. She nodded her head as she was asked to help out. She never minded the kitchens, because was constantly hungry and often would be able to nibble while helping prepare the meals. She entered the kitchen area and waved at Sally's daughter before she looked around. She said, "Where might I help out?"


[FONT=&quot]Even through Clara’s sobs, she heard the urgency in Caitlyn’s voice. She grabbed hold of Caitlyn's outstretched hand, and the second food basket with the other. Caitlyn certainly knew the best way to deal with Clara when she got this way. The calm commands were exactly the right approach. “Caitlyn, Mouse will be ok, won’t she?” Clara asked, as she braced herself for the much colder outside air. Clara’s vivid hazel eyes were still filled with tears and wide with worry. [/FONT]


A moment that felt like an eternity slowly passed by, in which Patrick was worried that Mouse didn’t understand what he had commanded. Just as he was about to command again, Mouse achieved understanding, and acted upon Patrick’s command. She bolted from the area, back toward the bunker. This, unfortunately, caused the diseased monstrosities to pursue. Patrick was forced to run as well, lest he was devoured by the calling of their horrid appetites. He ran, but not toward the bunker. His destination was a nearby playground, where he would use a slide to create a chokepoint. Able to take the zombies on one by one, Patrick would probably be able to put them out of their misery. Looking back to see if they were pursuing him, he saw instead that they were after Mouse. He yelled out to the pack and made loud noises, hoping to attract them to him, and the trap he was planning for them, instead of to the bunker.

Lord Regal

Well-Known Member
Caitlyn's normally cool demeanor melted somewhat as Clara asked if Mouse would be ok…the woman truly did care for the survivors…something the investigator couldn't say with certainty about many of the others. "I'm sure she's fi-" her assurance was cut short by Mouse running by, telling them to run. "See? Perfectly ok." Patrick's voice was heard nearby at this point, and the woman nodded, "and there's Patrick. Everyone's fine…now let's get out of here before whatever they're running from gets here, ok?" She made to move off, making sure the seamstress was following before starting to jog towards the bunker.


"You can help Jenny make the bread if you like" Sally said smiling at Charley as she entered the kitchen. The flour was old and the yeast was well past its best so it wouldn't rise very well but it would be warm and filling. Standing upon an old wooden box so that she could properly reach the counter, Jenny was a small girl dressed in a denim skirt and a checked blouse, her auburn hair inexpertly cut short so as not to get in the way "Hiya Charley!" the girl piped up upon seeing the other girl entering the kitchen. With no other children her age within the bunker she had always looked upon the older girl as a kind of older sister. Beckoning to Charley, the small red headed child drops her voice to what she thought was a conspiratorial tone as she spoke "I saw mummy hide the biscuits on top of the big fridge" a large grin appearing on her face as she said as much.
It was as the two younger girls spoke that Nelx entered the kitchen giving them all a cheery greeting, and one that wasn't sarcastic for a change "Hello Nelx...Which idiot men are you referring to as we have a lot of them here" Sally replied kindly, the older woman always made an effort to get on with everybody and was liked in return by everybody; even Finnegan who had forgone his usual form of amusement by not bestowing a nickname upon her. However despite her naturally friendly demeanour she always found it hard work maintaining a pleasant air around Nelx...Caitlyn too for that matter the pair of them seeming to completely lack manners at times. The world may have gone to pot but that didn't mean you had the excuse to be rude.

Forcing herself to look over her shoulder Mouse and as a result slowing her pace, she watches as Caitlyn and Clara leave the greenhouse and begin to follow her with a pair of the ghouls close behind only two where have the others gone? She briefly wonders fearing that they had caught Patrick whilst she had been busy fleeing. With two of the monstrosities hot on the heels of her and the other two women there was no way she could go back and check she would just have to hope that she was wrong and that Patrick was fine "¡Más rápido!" she shouts resisting the urge to say behind you and cause them to slow down or even worse stop in order to see what was pursuing them. The bunker wasn't far; she could see the top of the windmill from here along with the outline of the squat concrete structure that housed the stairs. As soon as she got near enough she would start shouting and hope that whoever was on sentry duty would have the sense to go and find Finnegan, the man was a thug but the one thing he was very good at was killing things that needed killing.

Hearing the shouting coming from Patrick two of the creatures halt their pursuit of Mouse in order to blindly search the surrounding area before charging towards it source, snarling and gnashing their teeth as they went.
Vaulting the low wooden gate effortlessly the pair of them head straight for the slide behind which Patrick was stood. There were no tactics used or any attempt to hit his flank just a blind head long charge towards their intended prey that once they had made the kill they would consume like a pack of rabid dogs.


Max climbed up to the top of the windmill, and took a quick look to confirm he was correct in his suspicions. He was, the drive belt was definitely twisted, he could see it plain as day, he decided that whilst he waited for the all clear from Mark, he might as well look out over what was left of London. As he glanced through the dismal fog, he saw a figure run out through the fog, that was a bad sign, he then saw two more figures though, chasing the first figure. That wasn't a game, people didn't play games in London anymore.

There was danger. He climbed down as quickly as possible, it took him maybe twenty seconds, he was going at full speed now. His sledgehammer was in his room, he hadn't thought he'd need it, but he had a regular hammer. As he got down "Jean, there's trouble at the gates, come on!" He reached down to his tool belt and pulled out a hammer. Then he legged it, figuring that Mark would figure out what was going on for himself, after all he had had to go back to the main power control room to activate the override protocols and disconnect the crank shaft, so he'd be a while yet. Meanwhile, Max was about half a minute away from the front of the base.

The engineer had insisted on keeping himself in shape, doing laps of the bunker and going so far as to make makeshift weight bars, so that he could stay in form. He closed on the front of the bunker, and ran up to the guard, barely out of breath, he pulled the hammer gripped in his hand, ready to smash anything in the face. "There's someone getting chased in the fog." He said, and then looked out into the fog.


Jon-paul was in the middle of a sentence when Max had jumped down from the windmill. "what's......", he was cut short by Max. "Jean, there's trouble at the gates, come on!". As he said it he pulled a regular size hammer out of his pocket, and took off. jon-paul instinctively touched the strap on the outside of his trousers where his axe usually hung. "CRAP!" he yelled remembering that he had left his axe in the barracks. It didn't matter tho, because he sprinted towards the front of the base anyway. He made it to the bunker as Max was telling the guards someone was getting chased in the fog. "Who?" Jon questioned.

Lord Regal

Well-Known Member
As Caitlyn and Clara took off after Mouse towards the safety of the bunker, the Hispanic girl took a look back and became further panicked, telling them to hurry. Great, whatever we're running from, it's close, the former investigator sighed internally. "Come on Clara, we're getting close…not much farther now…don't look back, don't slow, just keep going." She was talking to herself as much as the seamstress…the urge to look behind or to slow down to rest was fairly strong…sprinting for long distances was not her strong suit…she did better at a slower pace for a longer duration.