Thread: Walking Dead

What, you have food? I am so sorry about my attitude, I'm in my mood again where I don't care what others think, I snap at them due to the fact... Well, I won't go much further than that. Okay, come in, but be quick about it. Doc was, understandably, wary at the sudden change in behavior as the girl opened the door. Forgive me if I don't holster my weapon, He said, walking in. She shut the door behind him, and he quickly looked back at her, his trigger finger now readily on the trigger, though his barrel was still pointing down. He didn't like where this was going. He really didn't want to kill two survivors, but he's done it before, and he'd do it again if he had to. Find a spot for all of your food, but do not touch the cabinets with the red cross on them, those are my medical supplies and no one touches them but me. Medical supplies? He could make great use of those... If he ever got the chance to get near them, anyway. Wait... She began with food. All his food. Right. Like he was going to give them all his food. Of course, she might not have meant that literally, but still. He'd bring in a box. No more, no less. Given careful rationing, it would last a couple months for them. He pointed his thumb behind him towards the garage. Food's in my truck, I'll go and get it. He walked back into the garage as the girl walked up to what was sure to be one of the many rooms above them in the hotel. He took out his keys and lifted the lid over the bed of the truck before he opened the tailgate. In the back was boxes of MREs, still bound by stapled plastic wire, and purified water jugs, plus four Jerry gas cans, all empty. If he could find a ride out in the streets that was still full of gas, he could use that to transport the Jerry Cans to one of the locations in the city that would have more fuel for him to use, like a police station with a garage or a nearby military outpost or checkpoint, or even the CDC building itself. It was built to be self-sustaining in times of such a crisis where a disease spread so far and so fast that they couldn't cure it. But that was for another time, as he was stuck here with the over-reactive, possibly unstable girl and her friend, who was all but silent. He saw the blood on the guy's hand, and knew that it wasn't a bite. Still, he had some hospital cleaning agents the guy could wash his hand with to get rid of the blood, and any chance of spreading an infection via eating the damn food or drinking the water or getting cut. He pulled out one of the boxes, the sides of them smacked in black ink, MREs MEALS, READY TO EAT, and a water jug, letting them rest on the ground as he shut the tailgate and the bed-lid before carrying them inside. He set them in a corner, pulling out his knife and cutting off the plastic containing the box. So what is your name? Sorry about what I did, just got moody. Doc sighed as he looked back seeing the girl as she came down the stairs, an eyebrow raised. I know, you talked about apologies and moods and whatever. Saying sorry again and explaining it with 'one of your moods' is rather unnecessary due to the fact that I really don't care. He went back to opening the box, slicing the tape at the edges of the box. People call me Doc, so I suggest you call me that too. When he was done opening the box, he walked over to the front and looked out the window. There were a few of the infected out there, one dead, but nothing to really worry about, even in close quarters. He looked back at the two and sighed, shaking his head. Who freaks out at a few measly infected anyhow, He muttered to himself. These two were rather easily spooked, for a pair of survivors in an apocalypse. Of course, they hadn't seen Phoenix at the beginning of the outbreak. More people died from each other than the infected, both for beliefs that those murdered were infected and because they were a bunch of assholes who liked killing a bit much. His family died because they were accused of being infected. He didn't like going back to where he went when he found out. So why are two kids hiding out in an abandoned hotel with minimal supplies, an over-reactive phobia to walkers, two pistols, He looked at the cookie box. And a box of two month old cookies?