|
Evan Douglas "Here Hobbs, take one of the walkie-talkies. I'm gonna stay here and see if I can't do anything to make our radio signal stronger. Hopefully we can get in touch with the other bus and hole up here for a while. It seems like a reasonably safe place for now, although this ash is pretty unsettling. code:
|
#
?
Oct 4, 2007 17:33
|
|
|
|
| # ? May 12, 2024 14:52 |
|
|
Hobbs "Thanks, Evan. If anything happens, we'll be back quick." Hobbs takes the radio and turns it on. Is Hobbs the only one who has a flashlight that is powered by a crank?
|
|
#
?
Oct 4, 2007 17:44
|
|
|
Evan Douglas "Check, check, can you hear me Hobbs?" Evan says into his walkie-talkie, making sure the link is good. With the way the music on the bus went out, and their inability to contact the others, and the birds dropping from the sky, Evan wasn't sure they were operating under normal electromagnetic conditions anymore. code:
|
|
#
?
Oct 4, 2007 18:23
|
|
|
The radios seem to be working, albeit with a rather heavy layer of extraneous static crackling behind the conversation. There seems to be an unusually strong amount of ambient interference in the whole area--though at the very least of consolations, Evan's Geiger counter remains relatively low-key in its clicking. Radiation levels -are- higher than usual, but not to a dangerous level in the present vicinity.
|
|
#
?
Oct 4, 2007 18:43
|
|
|
Jacob As a few of his friends are getting off the bus to check out the area Jacob gets up also. "I'm coming along also." Once off the bus Jacob checks the last 6 rounds in his .357 and 15 rounds of .223. "Anyone got any spare .357 ammo, I'm down to my last 6." Once they start moving Jacob will gladly take point. Having intermitant problems getting SA to load, will get gear review and relevant stats up as soon as I can.
|
|
#
?
Oct 5, 2007 01:56
|
|
|
Hobbs "Evan. I can sort of hear you, but there seems to be a lot of static." Hobbs stands outside the bus waiting to make sure his brave band is ready to enter the hospital. As he stands there, he flicks the safety off of his rifle.
|
|
#
?
Oct 5, 2007 02:05
|
|
|
John "Sorry, I've not much ammo to spare at the moment, besides, the only thing I have that could fire through that are .38's." John states as he gets off the bus with Becky's assistance, ready to go in when everyone else is.
|
|
#
?
Oct 5, 2007 02:58
|
|
|
Hobbs posted:"Evan. I can sort of hear you, but there seems to be a lot of static." "Yeah, we seem to be getting some pretty serious interference here. Once we get John patched up and hopefully stock up, we should try to find out what the source of all this weirdness is -- the ash and the interference. Or at least find out where it is, so we can stay the hell away. Anyway, stay close and check in every few minutes. I'm gonna stay here and work on the bus and the radio, hopefully I'll be able to learn something about what's going on." Evan opens up the toolbox in the bus' storage compartment and begins to rummage through it, mentally taking inventory of the equipment, and looking for something to make an antenna array out of. Once he's surveyed the equipment, he spends some time with a paper and pencil working out the equations to build a directional beam-forming antenna. Once he's satisfied with his work, he climbs up on the bus and begins rigging up the device, occasionally asking the others who've stayed with the bus to pass him tools or hold things in place while he secures them. Keeping the walkie-talkie close to listen for Hobbs' periodic reports, he begins slowly sweeping the antenna around, listening for any recognizable signal, trying to identify the direction the interference is coming from, and trying to transmit one to their companions on the other bus. code:
|
|
#
?
Oct 5, 2007 03:13
|
|
|
Raymond Walking up the aisle of the bus, Raymond keeps his radio on just in case he manages to catch something Evan misses. If he squints his eyes enough, he can almost imagine the surroundings to be covered in a blanket of fresh snow instead of what he knows to truly be there. When he gets to the front of the bus, he stares at the building for a moment, then speaks loud enough for both Brandon and Evan to hear him. "U-u-unless it's been s-s-stripped out, w-wouldn't this h-h-hospital have a g-g-g-generator somewhere for b-back-up p-p-p-power?" This place looks to have been abandoned much faster than everything in Detroit. This place is totally different. Maybe...if we make it through another night...I'll have a chance to try getting more answers from the ether. With a bit of a frown on his face, he sits down near the front of the bus, and turns up the radio slightly. Remembering how he panicked the last time, he checks the remaining rounds of his pistol, checks the safety, and tucks it into his belt where he'll be certain to reach it the next time he needs it. Then he stares out the window, focusing on the dark facade of the hospital, and begins to listen to the static between the bursts of chatter from those making their incursion, half knowing he won't hear anything intelligible, and half hoping he doesn't. code:
|
|
#
?
Oct 5, 2007 03:37
|
|
|
Also, keep in mind that my above inventory is incomplete as I wanted to tone it down due to injury. I've also got my grenades, a heavy flashlight, my rangefinders, a bic, more breaklights, and at least a small box of matches. Here's the totality of my equipment.code:Wutasumi fucked around with this message at 05:25 on Oct 5, 2007 |
|
#
?
Oct 5, 2007 05:22
|
|
|
Hobbs Hobbs pushes the send button on the radio. "I don't care what caused this mess. I just want to get away from it." He releases the button. He looks over towards Raymond. "A generator? There might be some fuel there. If we can't get fuel from it, then maybe we could hole up here a little while with some power. The place might be defensible in the short term. Give us some time to heal up."
|
|
#
?
Oct 5, 2007 05:25
|
|
|
Brandon Brandon emerges from the bus looking grim, the heavy paramedic's kit in one hand. "Yes, probably best if we hole up here for awhile if we can. I'll need some time to set up, and John isn't going to be able to travel for a few days afterward, at least." If he lives, but of course that hardly needed to be said. Brandon sticks close to John and Becky, making sure he doesn't move too fast or otherwise open the delicate sutures and bandages and expose his wounds to the open air. I don't have archives access so I'm not sure what, exactly, we have left, but Brandon's never really been the human suitcase type so I will be traveling fairly light at least around the hospital, assuming the following are available: code:
|
|
#
?
Oct 6, 2007 02:52
|
|
|
June 28th, 9:59 P.M. Idling beneath the ambulance entrance awning, the bus is shielded as well from the ashen 'snow' as it continues to waft lazily down from the dark skies above. There is a certain static charge to the air, prickling at the fine hairs of one's body and setting off a jolting pop when brushing against metallic objects. Evan goes to work rewiring and adjusting the transport to better align its radio communications--checking as well for any sort of origin to these happenings, if any. So far as the location or contact with the other vehicle, efforts begin seeming outright fruitless, with little at all of even the short-range walkie talkie chatter making it much beyond the bus; instead, most everything seems overlapped with a heavy layer of static distortion. Into the open maw of the emergency corridor they go--the darkness within almost palpably deeper than that without. Surprisingly, most of that initial room seems well intact, almost tidy even--barring only that a drift of the ashen 'snow' seems to have blown in for several feet, and a thick layer of dust has come to settle upon most every surface. Upon the wall opposite a check-in and reception desk, several differently-colored lines branch from the listings for each area of the hospital--and the red one, denoted for the emergency room itself, leads straight on ahead and around the corner. Another, finer gray line, marked maintenance trails off much further and into the dark hallways beyond. It takes some fair doing to get John relocated to the operating theater. Within, it's just as dark as the rest of the building, and plenty of equipment sits inoperable and useless without proper power. However, there are several clear and functional operating tables, and with a faint knowledge of necessary tools, Brandon is able to slowly begin a gathering process from nearby cabinets, bins, and trays. He'll be able to go to work on John shortly--though performing surgery by flashlight, as one may aptly dread, is going to be no picnic. Outside, back on the bus, Lucy stares out into the quiet empty streets of the city frowning deeply. "Where do you suppose everyone went here?" Becky glances over, before resuming her own vigil observing the hospital's dark windows--along with what flickers of light she can make out from the flashlight beams inside. Lucky paces restlessly up and down the aisle, occasionally gruffling off a grunt or growl of displeasure. Evan's tinkering with the radio suddenly finds a distinct break in the static--and instead, enters mid-sentence to a man speaking. "--st little troopers are timely in trimming the fat. Survival of the fittest, the slow, elderly and children alike are only a hindered burden." From the look of it though, at least from what Evan can deduce, it does not seem to be an active communication--more likely some sort of broadcast coming from elsewhere in the city. Busy weekend, pardon moi!
|
|
#
?
Oct 7, 2007 14:19
|
|
|
Hobbs "It looks clear so far." Hobbs remarks. "I think we ought to go through the the rest of the hospital. Might be an emergency generator downstairs."
|
|
#
?
Oct 8, 2007 01:10
|
|
|
Raymond "P-p-p-poor Darwin," Raymond says with an exasperated look on his face. "Always s-some moron using his w-w-words to r-rationalize m-m-man's inhumanity to m-man." He gazes expands to sweep out into the empty, ash-laden streets as the recording starts to play through the radio. I wonder which is more likely, that the people of this city up and left shortly after everything went to hell, or they tried to tough it out, and turned on eachother... "I-i-if this b-b-broadcast is still o-operating, then s-someone m-m-might be maintaining it. I'd r-r-rather m-move out of here q-q-quickly than r-risk c-conflict with m-more s-survivor intent on e-e-eliminating perceived c-competition," he says to Hobbs. "Th-though, we c-could always use m-more supplies."
|
|
#
?
Oct 8, 2007 03:06
|
|
|
John "I hope so Hobbs, I'm a bit apprehensive about going under with only a flashlight to guide the guy workin on me. I'm a bit afraid the guys outside are going to get antsy if we take too long though." Wouldn't that be lovely. If I survived only to be abandoned.
|
|
#
?
Oct 8, 2007 20:08
|
|
|
Brandon "Don't worry, John," Brandon says, trying to instill his voice with a confidence he does not feel at all. He tries to come up with something else reassuring to say, but comes up empty, and decides to leave the reassurances to the others for now, as there's a lot of preparation to be done. "Alright, I'm not sure if it's a good idea to split up, at least until we're sure that we're alone in here, but we're all going to need to pitch in for awhile once we get the supplies together. We're going to need a lot of chlorine bleach and a mop and bucket or two for this room and hydrogen peroxide for the tools, and I'm going to need to make a short visit to the dispensary to get the drugs I need. The antibiotics we brought are useless for someone with kidney damage, so we need something that isn't an aminoglycoside, like amoxicillin. "Someone needs to stay behind and keep an eye on John, of course, but the rest of us should head out to find the cleaning supplies and drugs, and we can scout around for a generator while we're out." code:
|
|
#
?
Oct 8, 2007 20:34
|
|
|
Hobbs "We can search the building and see what we come up with. I'm not sure what's left here after everyone left. If we find anything, we'll bring it back here." code:DocBubonic fucked around with this message at 03:36 on Oct 9, 2007 |
|
#
?
Oct 8, 2007 21:49
|
|
|
Raymond "Sh-sh-should we m-move everyone inside?" Raymond says over the radio. "I c-c-can stay w-with J-J-J-John, while the r-r-rest of you s-search for what y-y-you need, t-together." The more I consider it, the less I like having the least able-bodied and combat-capable people out here in the open. I'd be more comfortable having them closer to the guys who know how to use a gun. Besides, I wouldn't have the first clue where to find anything we'd need.
|
|
#
?
Oct 9, 2007 03:35
|
|
|
Hobbs "Doesn't sound like a bad idea. Bring people in and get the bus out of the open. This hospital should provide better protection then the bus."
|
|
#
?
Oct 9, 2007 03:37
|
|
|
Raymond "W-w-well, c-could some of you g-guys inside p-p-prov-" For a moment he scrunches his face in frustration over a simple multisyllabic word. "Give us some c-cover? I can t-take the rear, I g-guess... I'm n-not the best with t-tactics. I c-can park the b-b-bus in the g-garage, too." He looks to Lucy and Becky, trying to maintain a positive look on his face. "Th-there'll b-be b-beds inside, m-m-maybe s-some real f-food, too. W-we'll be here f-for a while, we sh-should make the b-b-best of it."
|
|
#
?
Oct 9, 2007 03:49
|
|
|
June 28th, 10:26 P.M. Though hesitant at first, the notion of getting into somewhere safe does resonate appeal. Rick remains anxious about the whole relocation, however--"If something -does- come up, I'd much rather have wheels under me and the ability to get us far the gently caress away from it." he sighs. "But I'm not sitting out here loving alone either." he chucks the keys to Raymond, before shouldering his weapon and heading into the hospital with the others, leaving Raymond alone for the first time in what could very well have been a year, all things considered. It's quiet outside, almost tranquil even. Within, rudimentary scrounging of the hospital's first floor does reap rewards for Hobb's efforts--and he is able to dig up what amounts to two large medical supply kits and a fair number of doctor's tools, antibiotics, painkillers and disinfectants. The maintenance access down into the basement poses a curious dilemma however--as the door is found with a heavy chain hanging to hold it shut, with faint rust around the edges of the metal door. "Staff Only" says a reddish-smeared placard by the door. 1 CP for everyone.
|
|
#
?
Oct 9, 2007 04:04
|
|
|
Evan Douglas When he hears the voice come over the radio, Evan stops working to listen. Wanting to hear the entirety of the strange message, he waits to see if it repeats. Once he's heard as much of it as he can, he tries to pick it up on the walkie talkie. "If we built two more directional antennae, we could triangulate the position of the transmitter...Might be tough to get a good reading in this static, though. It's too bad we don't have oscilloscopes, measuring the phase of the carrier would be the most accurate." After some more fiddling with the radio, a nervous look comes over Evan's face. He's about to speak when Raymond chimes in. Evan agrees with the idea of moving everyone inside, and adds, "Watch out for sinkholes, the distortion seems to be coming from underground, it might be related to the tunnels we've seen." code:
|
|
#
?
Oct 9, 2007 07:34
|
|
|
Raymond "Th-th-thanks, Evan," Raymond responds to the resident tech, "I'll t-t-try to move the b-bus to a higher l-l-level." He tries to look casual as he lets gravity pull the keys his open hand at waist level. Maybe if I look relaxed about this, even I can buy it. Once he sees the last of the unarmed make their way into the building, he turns over the bus and takes his time putting it into first gear, careful to avoid any too-tight turns or overly thick ash-drifts as he guides the precious vehicle into the hospital's parking structure, hoping to get it up off of ground level, beneath a roof, and far enough toward the center of the building to make it impossible to see from street level. code:
|
|
#
?
Oct 9, 2007 20:08
|
|
|
Boris The idea of safety appeals to Boris and he moves into the hospital as quickly as he can. He felt a good deal safer then the bus when he was inside. But that's what I thought about the bus... and look where that got us... Boris looks around for a short time before coming to the rusted, chained door. "Um, this door is rusted. And I think that red stuff is blood... Do we have a possible problem behind this door? Should we get a, uh, a sentry?"
|
|
|
#
?
Oct 9, 2007 22:49
|
|
|
Hobbs "Could be just rust around the door too. Hmm, the generator is probably down there, but so could any number of bad things too. I wonder if anyone kept records that might mention what's down there?" Hobbs brings the supplies back to the group and lets them know about the door.
|
|
#
?
Oct 9, 2007 23:48
|
|
|
John Having stayed in the operating room due to injury, John is silent at this point, wondering if he'll live to see another sunrise. Or another one of those birds. God being injured sucks. I can't even investigate the hospital with the others. I just get to sit here waiting for death. I remember a time My frail, virgin mind watched the crimson sunrise Imagined what it might find What is that song? It's been so long I can't even remember. I used to like it, but now it's just a part of my life that seems as a phantasm... I see myself at the library, peacefully putting books away, helping college students put materials together to create their thesis... Occasionally, I got to teach children to read. That was nice. I'd tell them all sorts of happy stories, where knights went out, slew dragons by the hundreds, and then came back and married a princess. I liked those happy stories. I didn't get a major kidney injury and die when I was reading those. Worst thing that happened was a papercut. I wonder if I'll become like some of these people later. Not the ones I'm with, but the crazy serial killers. If I live, will my sanity slowly erode to the point where I could only feel alive by butchering others? Markson begins to sing what lyrics he remembers from "A Change of Seasons" to himself.
|
|
#
?
Oct 9, 2007 23:58
|
|
|
Brandon Brandon shrugs at Hobbs. "Maybe they did, but I'm not really sure we have the time to spare to go looking for them. The earlier we can get started here, the better the chances are. All the generator would really provide for us is light, and I honestly think we'll do alright with one of you just holding a Mag-Lite steady over John's abdomen while I work. I don't think we can really risk opening that door, at least not now when John's injury is our highest priority. No need for a sentry, either, I don't think, since whatever might be in there has presumably been contained just fine until now. Let's just make as little noise as we can, just in case." He wheels John out of the operating theater as gently as he can to the hallway outside. "I need one of you guys to keep an eye on him while the others and myself scrub this room down and make sure it's sterile." He hefts a heavy-duty plastic jug of bleach. "This shouldn't take too long. Just make sure we saturate every surface with bleach and leave all the instruments in the peroxide for at least ten minutes. Then we'll bring John in and, uh, we'll scrub up and get started." A voice in the back of Brandon's head reminded him none too politely that he was already imitating the superficial manner of the surgeons he had spent so much time around, giving simple, even patronizing instructions to the others around him and getting emotionally distant from the patient. Awww, little Brandon's going to try to play doctor. Try not to kill anyway, Doctor Gray. He shoves it into the back of his mind. They hadn't lost anyone yet, despite the often ridiculous circumstances they'd been thrust into (or had thrust themselves into, willingly) after leaving the shelter, and that was at least partially due to his own care. At this late stage of this half-assed apocalypse, Brandon might easily be the most qualified medical professional in hundreds of miles. It's not like he hadn't had plenty of experience treating potentially serious wounds out in the field in just the past few weeks, anyway. Enough of this bullshit. Brandon looks to the others to see if he had betrayed any hint of his internal doubts through his facial expression, but suddenly not really caring if he had, he walks through the operating theater's door with the sterilization supplies in hand. First things first, I'm going to burn 4 cp to raise Surgery from 13 to 14. Gonna scrub down and then scrub up, taking care to make sure the room is properly sterilized since time seems to be permitting. Whoever one among us has the highest DX or any points in a medical skill, I'd appreciate it if you'd be willing to also scrub in and assist, even if your duties will probably not involve anything more involved than being a flashlight stand/instrument gofer. Surgery 14, Physician 14, Pharmacy 14, First Aid 17, Diagnosis 14 (in case of unexpected complications.) Ready when you guys are 
|
|
#
?
Oct 10, 2007 15:34
|
|
|
Jacob Jacob decides that his best way to contribute is to continue looking for viable supplies. "I'm going to keep looking around the place for anything we can use, I'll also see if I can find the emergency generators to see if there is any fuel left. If anyone wants to come with me that would be fine, probably best to stick together when possible." code:
|
|
#
?
Oct 10, 2007 21:28
|
|
|
Hobbs "Hold on. We shouldn't have people running around during the operation. If the operation is going to happen, then we should stay around where its happening and make sure nothing goes wrong."
|
|
#
?
Oct 10, 2007 23:29
|
|
|
Brandon "Agreed. If we're going to guard anything, it might as well be this operating theater itself. There's safety in numbers anyway, and we'll have time to search the area more intensively while John recovers."
|
|
#
?
Oct 10, 2007 23:33
|
|
|
Blackbird Dreaming - Chapter 3 Road to Ruin June 28th, 10:45 P.M. Raymond finds maneuvering the bus to be a tricky undertaking, for one who had never operated quite such an enormous vehicle before. Right from the word go the author hops the emergency entrance curb, sending the whole rig wobbling and rocking on its shocks. Around the corner the bus rumbles, arching a wide right turn to the entrance of the parking structure, before a loud crunch is heard trying to tilt onto the ramp upward. Engine bass revving up, Raymond drives clear through the yellow height marker with another loud crack, followed by a long loud scraping sound down the length of the bus. Reaching the top of the incline, it is discovered to be just as tight a squeeze ahead--for whatever reason, the parking structure has a rather low clearance*. Still, easing forward, Raymond does manage to dip the bus under the cover of the parking structure, headlights illuminating ahead into the darker-still recesses of the concrete ahead. Cars are scattered in parking spots all over the place, the lot of them covered with that same ash, though to less of an extent than surfaces had been 'outside'. Finding what looks to be a fairly good position to park while still having 'easy' access to the exit of the structure, Raymond brings the bus to a halt, throws the gear and parking brake into place, and turns off the engine and headlights--bringing the darkness hurtling immediately to the windows at all sides. The beam of his flashlight cuts a thin cone of a path to the concrete underfoot as Raymond steps off of the bus--and immediately somewhere in the blackness, something 'pops' loudly, as if a light bulb had been dropped. Moving the beam of light to the direction of the sound, a small black-feathered mass looks as if it has been smeared against the ground; somewhere, obscured, a falsetto sounding 'voice' begins to titter. June 28th, 10:45 P.M. Brandon sets up the operating theater for work on John, finding a pocket within his subconscious in which to stow those feelings of self-doubt and concern--at least, for the moment at hand. John's wound is on the edge of beginning to fester, even with the liberal application of antibiotics and antiseptics. Apart from generous portions of dust all over the place, the operating theater had at least seemingly been spared of any panic or pandemonium--to the contrary, curious enough, it seems that the hospital was left almost entirely unused and unmanned in spite of the nation's toppling apocalypse. Peeling back the fabric once more from John's stomach is a painful but necessary process as flesh crackles and splits with freshly drying blood and other fluids. "Of course you will." a voice tells John. *That loving parking structure drat near scrapes SUVs and the like, heh. Raymond did not do so well on his vehicle roll, but at least managed to avoid royally wedging the thing somewhere irrecoverable. Another update for the actual surgery itself amongst other things later this evening--it's still going to take Brandon some more doing before he is fully ready to go through with the operation, but he has completed the cleanup and scrubbing.
|
|
#
?
Oct 11, 2007 20:16
|
|
|
Hobbs As the operation begins to get under way, Hobbs builds himself a makeshift barricade with whatever materials he can find. Chairs, shelving, bed frames. He piles up what he can to provide a barrier against anyone coming in and a firing position to stand behind. Scrounging 15
|
|
#
?
Oct 11, 2007 20:31
|
|
|
Evan Douglas "Raymond! Ray! Watch the antenna!" Evan feels the sickening crunch in the pit of his stomach as Raymond hits the height marker driving into the parking structure. The scraping as they progress forward is like nails on a chalkboard to his ears as he thinks about all the work he'd done to set it up. Once they stop, Evan radios Hobbs to let them know they'll be along directly, when he hears a popping sound followed by what sounds like a voice. "Ray, did you hear that?" Evan whispers, peering into the darkness. As Raymond snaps the flashlight on, Evan sees what appears to have been another blackbird, looking wet against the concrete. Evan presses the transmit button on his walkie talkie and says, "Hobbs, we've got something here in the garage. Sounded like a voice? Not sure. There's another dead blackbird here, we'll check it out." He draws his revolver. code:
|
|
#
?
Oct 11, 2007 21:04
|
|
|
Hobbs "Be careful you two. They're going to operate on John, so I don't know if can help you out if you get into any trouble. If there's any trouble, get the hell out of there and back over to us. Got that?" Hobbs lets go of the talk button to hear a response.
|
|
#
?
Oct 12, 2007 05:29
|
|
|
Raymond Okay, steady...steady... Jumping the curb allows Raymond to learn just how tight his grip can get as he whitens his knuckles around the steering wheel. drat it, this feels more like driving a drat boat than any car. The sounds of anguish behind him as he manages to entirely overestimate the clearance of his chosen route almost makes him jump out of his skin. Christ, I thought I'd waited for everyone to get off the bus. Was Evan still working on something back there? Oh man, I don't know if I can back out of this without getting stuck, but I don't know if I can make it forward. Did everybody in this drat city own a compact? "Don't p-panic," he mutters to himself as he opens up the throttle to make the climb. Despite the ungraceful approach, Raymond is just happy to have gotten the bus in the manner of location he'd hoped for without shearing the roof off. When he shuts the bus off, the flood of darkness tightens his insides into an almost painful knot. Keeping the now practiced firm grip on his flashlight, he descends into the night behind Evan, locking the bus up, before the much dreaded bump in the night. "N-n-n-n-no, E-Evan, we sh-should get back t-to the main b-b-building," he replies as the next burst of chatter goes over the radios, but he finds himself drawing his own pistol after passing the flashlight to his off hand, keeping the beam locked on the feathered mass the whole while. What do you want, he cries out in his mind, And why do you and your soaking counterpart to the North insist on toying with us so? You could have taken us any moment you wish. Were you the cause of the Bomb, or the result? Feeling his grip weaken as he lets his mind unravel into baseless speculation, he steels his thoughts and tries to add a sliver of certainty to his voice. "L-let's go."
|
|
#
?
Oct 12, 2007 12:25
|
|
|
Evan Douglas "Yeah, you're right, Ray," Evan says, still squinting into the dark garage, "We should stick with the others. I'm getting my gear out of the bus though." Just in case something happens to it, Evan thinks to himself, not wanting to jinx the bus by saying it aloud.
|
|
#
?
Oct 12, 2007 18:49
|
|
|
Brandon Brandon spends as much time as he can preparing the operating theater for the coming ordeal, even going so far as to lay out the surgical instruments so that no two particularly similar-looking ones are together, so that no one could make a mistake handing him one. Before long, however, he realizes that he has passed the point beyond which he is simply stalling for time. He walks out into the hallway, where, along with the volunteer (as yet unnamed,) he wheels John back into the theater. He breaks his impromptu "surgeonly" demeanor in spite of himself, touching John on the shoulder. "Don't worry John, you're in good hands." He then lays him back, and injects an extremely large dose of ketamine into his arm. John goes under quickly. Staring at the foul-looking and even fouler-smelling wound in John's lower back as he lies on the operating table, illuminated only by the glow of the flashlight, he reaches for the #11 scalpel. He leans in intently over John's diseased kidney, and slowly draws his scalpel across the border between John's still-healthy kidney tissue and the rapidly necrotizing dead tissue surrounding his injury. Operation is a go. Surgery 14, Physician 14, Pharmacy 14, First Aid 17, Diagnosis 14.
|
|
#
?
Oct 12, 2007 19:39
|
|
|
Boris With the door now not his problem, Boris continues to explore the hospital. The current issue on his mind concerns the apocalypse that fell upon the world. He begins sifting through whatever folders, books and records he can find to see if he can gain some additional information about cerebrosus, the water, anything he can find. There has to be something useful here! It's a hospital for godsake! He frantically thinks as he begins checking for computer systems or backup discs or anything that could possibly be of use. Searching for anything and everything concerning the apocalypse, cerebrosus zombies, anything. Perception 12, Intelligence 12. Spead Reading 13, Computer Operation 13. Current Affairs (Headline News) 14 could also be useful for finding more relevent information.
|
|
|
#
?
Oct 13, 2007 13:26
|
|
|
|
| # ? May 12, 2024 14:52 |
|
|
Blackbird Dreaming - Chapter 3 Road to Ruin Listen to this June 28th, 10:47 P.M. Hobbs puts together a functional barricade between desks and rolling office chairs and a filing cabinet on casters; he'll have fairly ample cover should some gun-toting maniac or similar ill-intent creature come his way. Word from Raymond and Evan comes through very heavily distorted with static, and he has a hell of a time understanding just what it is they are saying--and on the other end, the two survivors hear practically nothing in response but wildly fluctuating static over their walkie-talkies. Nearby, the tittering sounds heighten in intensity and frequency, seeming to grow nearer by the moment whilst the flashlight scarcely pierces the gloom--before flickering off, batteries cutting out. Inside the bus, Evan hurries along scooping up tools and the rest of his gear, when he catches glimpse for the briefest of moments of something pressing against the rear window of the bus, staring at him with wild yellow eyes. "Dikalata!" wails from the blackness in a high falsetto, and Raymond can -feel- something very close to him, interposed between him and the way from whence they came--the way out. What follows is the sound of a wet meaty crackling and popping--like bubble-wrap comprised of flesh being twisted and squeezed. ~~~~~~~~~~ Within the operating theater, the stage is set and its players are readied. Brandon, scrubbed and mentally prepared, begins his grim patchwork beneath the beads of sweat upon his brow. Nearby, Hobb's walkie-talkie crackles with static periodically, while a subtle brewing of nausea roils in the pit of Brandon's stomach. John's wound is anything but pretty, which could be said about most any injury--but his in particular has dark edges of purplish decay, and looks far worse than it ought to after even such time as has already passed. Carefully cutting away the offending tissue, Brandon shifts it aside onto a surgery platter, before once more cleaning the area and beginning to try mending the flesh which has been splayed apart before him. John is scarcely aware of the happenings--save for a blackbird perched atop one of the lamps nearby, watching him with beady eyes faintly aglow with crimson. "You'll never make it to paradise." a voice seems to whisper. "There is no Xanadu for man." Brandon sutures a portion of the puncture wound, working to remove some of the dried and excess blood to clear the way for tending to John's kidney within. Things were beginning to look worse--John could very well need a blood transfusion. "Slumber forever." Consciousness ebbs further from John as he lay there, the details of the room around him slowly beginning to blur together. Overhead, the ceiling gradually seems to rise in a faint swirl, as if it were some gelatinous substance being vacuumed away from him. Everything seemed so fruitless, so damned unfair. Why -not- just go to sleep, let it all slip away? Brandon makes another incision, rewarded suddenly with a high pitched shriek as something that looks like a red centipede bursts free from beneath the scalpel, quickly skittering out of John's body while hissing wildly. ~~~~~~~~~~ Boris makes his way into the administrator's personal office two floors up, and finds a spread of folders and binders across the surface of the desk emblazoned with a C.D.C. logo--the Center for Disease Control. There is a desktop computer, and Boris finds a thumb drive still hooked up to it--without power though, the thing won't start up, and as it is his flashlight is starting to flicker annoyingly. It's so damned dark, and chilly too--and Boris could swear he heard whispering behind him on several occasions. Inside the largest folder he flips open, however, there are dated tabs--the foremost being about the time Cerebrosus began to spread--but the deepest tab seems to indicate 1992. Recent materials describe outbreak scenarios, locations, and early victims in detail. There are medical snapshots of Cerebrosus in its various stages, and notation about research into the symptoms and a potential cure--though most of it seems to go in circles. A smaller folder to the side is denoted merely 'Flight Team', and contains a small collection of dossiers on medical researchers; paper-clipped into the opening flap is a group photo of a dozen men in clean suits standing before a large research truck, most of them giving the 'thumbs up' to the camera man. At their feet, off to the side of the photo, is a large sinkhole. Boris hears a loud wet pop out in the hallway.
|
|
#
?
Oct 13, 2007 16:11
|
|