Post by Trevor Baccus on Jun 6, 2015 5:28:45 GMT
For 11 years now Trevor had lived in an embattled encampment. There were no families, no women, no children, just a crew of soldiers fighting an Alamo fight. There were 12 of them at first. They were good, they killed a lot of Walkers, saved a lot of lives, but the walkers kept coming. No matter how many they were able to mow down, they just kept coming. They'd had an entire army base worth of supplies at their disposal, and the ordnance lasted for more than ten years ago, but as of last week, the last bullet had been fired.
They knew that they wouldn't be of anymore use in New Orleans anymore. The cities population had been so huge that the amount of Walkers roaming the street was truly endless. They had tried fighting by hand with blunt weapons, but they were too slow, they weren't even phasing the Walker population. After deliberation was held it was decided that they would each go their own separate ways. Trevor personally knew that his family had perished. He hadn't even began the fight until they were taken from him. Most of the other fighters still held hope that maybe their families were intact.
While most of the soldiers had headed south, Trevor headed West. He'd traveled for three days, sun up to sun down, finding a place to bunker down only when he new that the walkers would be thickest. When you fought them for so long, you started to adapt, to learn how they worked, and how to walk among them. It was nearly dusk when he had been discovered. A scout of Hunters from the township of Port Haven stumbled upon him as he was fortifying his night's encampment.
Reluctantly hostile at first, it didn't take long for the Hunter party to un-arm themselves and have a discussion with Trevor. Who he was, where he had been, his skills and experiences. Pretty much anything else you could imagine as well. Trevor agreed to join their party for the rest of the night, if nothing else adding to the amount of plunder they could hall back to the township.
He had heard about townships like these having sprouted up in the lesser populated, more defensible locations, but he'd never visited one personally. What he had expected to find was pretty much what he had been living in for the last decade, a skyscraper with a fortified ground floor, and bird's nests built higher up for shooting and picking off Walkers. What he found however was completely different. It was like a little town. It was almost as if the tragedy hadn't happened at all. It was as if these people were almost living a normal life.
They knew that they wouldn't be of anymore use in New Orleans anymore. The cities population had been so huge that the amount of Walkers roaming the street was truly endless. They had tried fighting by hand with blunt weapons, but they were too slow, they weren't even phasing the Walker population. After deliberation was held it was decided that they would each go their own separate ways. Trevor personally knew that his family had perished. He hadn't even began the fight until they were taken from him. Most of the other fighters still held hope that maybe their families were intact.
While most of the soldiers had headed south, Trevor headed West. He'd traveled for three days, sun up to sun down, finding a place to bunker down only when he new that the walkers would be thickest. When you fought them for so long, you started to adapt, to learn how they worked, and how to walk among them. It was nearly dusk when he had been discovered. A scout of Hunters from the township of Port Haven stumbled upon him as he was fortifying his night's encampment.
Reluctantly hostile at first, it didn't take long for the Hunter party to un-arm themselves and have a discussion with Trevor. Who he was, where he had been, his skills and experiences. Pretty much anything else you could imagine as well. Trevor agreed to join their party for the rest of the night, if nothing else adding to the amount of plunder they could hall back to the township.
He had heard about townships like these having sprouted up in the lesser populated, more defensible locations, but he'd never visited one personally. What he had expected to find was pretty much what he had been living in for the last decade, a skyscraper with a fortified ground floor, and bird's nests built higher up for shooting and picking off Walkers. What he found however was completely different. It was like a little town. It was almost as if the tragedy hadn't happened at all. It was as if these people were almost living a normal life.
