Thread: The Survivor and The Safehaven (Gunner x Sensualist)

It had taken some work. He'd first seen evidence of the scavenging parties things disturbed in areas that shouldn't be, tracks that were deliberate organized instead of haphazard like the infected. It had been another month before he saw an actual party. Technically he'd heard them before he saw them they made enough noise to wake up a proverbial neighborhood. At least that was how it sounded to him anyway. He'd watched them from a distance, through both binos and a rifle scope as they meandered around the urban area, picking through the bones of civilization before finally loading back up into a boat. It was already starting to darken, so he bivouacs close to the beach that night, which allowed him to see the faintest hints of the lights just over the horizon, which had gotten him curious. It hadn't been too difficult for him to find a suitable craft a kayak, and make it ready, load it with what he thought he would need. The harder part was the weather. It was almost a month before the weather was right foggy with winds towards the direction the lights came from to lessen his exertion while covering his approach. He'd found the island easily enough, once he got close the lights had been like a beacon. He had paddled around to the far side, found a small cave barely above sea level to hide the kayak in, then humped his gear inland a bit to cache it hiding it well enough that he doubted anyone would find it unless they knew where to look. Carrying only a minimum of supplies and his rifle. He crept inward, slowly moving toward the lights, in some places having to feel his way through the underbrush in the dark. He had already evaded one patrol, apparently their isolation was making them lax. He'd almost tried to make contact with them, but for some unexplained reason he couldn't bring himself to do it. Silently he'd been working his way closer, trying to see what they had, when he heard the snap, felt the sudden yank, and was up in the air in one violent motion. His rifle can free of his hands and hit him in the forehead, although he didn't lose it, thanks to sling something he'd learned in his time in the Army. His pistol was still secure in it's holster, also attached by a lanyard in case it had failed, as was all of his important gear it made it harder to set it down and forget it or for it to fall out of a pocket, although a few minor items, a lighter, lockpick set, and a couple loose bullets did fall from pockets pouches. It was relatively obvious to him what had happened he'd ended up in someone's snare, something he confirmed by working his arm up far enough to feel the wire around his ankle. He reached up to his plate carrier, now pulled down against his chin by gravity, and felt around for his multitool as he intentionally swung around slowly, trying to get a 360 view of his surroundings, not that it mattered much in the dark. Purely by touch he got the tool out, intending to use the wire cutters to to get himself free, when he heard the noise. Footsteps. Moving brush. Crunching ground cover. Someone was coming. He grabbed his carbine, and after a half-second of fumbling with the odd angles and inverted gravity, got it to his shoulder, safety off, pointed in the general direction of the noise. He looked a sight dirty, face intentionally painted in ash dust, dressed in mostly well-repaired camouflage, hanging upside down from the tree, falling for a basic trap which usually had difficulty catching even a squirrel or rabbit.