On a Raid (Open to all)

[Eddie "The Mutt" Sillian]

Eddie looked at the dogs with a frown. He had managed to get them to sit still long enough to tie on their packs and make adjustments, but only just. They now officially carried their own water and food. It did meant that if they lost him they could rip it off too, he didn't like to think about that. He didn't like being on his own. Jones was irritably scratching at the bonds around his chest, wondering why on earth he had this strange thing strapped to his back, Mal simply coped with it.

"Come on guys, what Malloy wants, Malloy fuckin' gets." He spat at the ground irratably, stamping his boots to keep him warm in the chill of dawn. He stood, staring out on the sprawling, desolate city under the grey and dusty light of another dirty dawn. Even the smoke had stopped by now, no more fires, no looters, nothing. The building he had been camping on top of was tall and had a multitude of ways up but it had been a clear night and he hadn't felt like clearing out any of the flats. He'd taking himself up here instead.

Finally, after one last look over the empty city, he made his way back to the stairs and opened the doors, letting the dogs out first. They scampered down the stairs, followed slowly by their exhausted, rangy-looking master. Flicking the pistol into his hand he followed them all the way down to street level and emerged from an emergency exit, looking around cautiously before leaving the building.

He trotted down the street, avoiding the darker alleyways and shadows of buildings where he could see the occasional shambler. None of the fresh dead as of yet, none fast enough to catch him. The dogs raced ahead, occasially looking to see that they were going in the right direction. They were heading for the hotel. Eddie had known some of the guys with their hands on the gear and a lot of the time they travelled. There would be the perfect place to look.

[Blake Abbot]

A shuffle of feet, the panting of...Dogs? Blake had positioned himself against an overturned Ford truck, hidden by the cover of the cab. His Eagle lay across his lap, his cherry illuminating a small streak of darkness. He was tired, he was hungry, and worst of all, he was down to his last cigarette. Blake analyzed the situation.

Dogs, and shoes against concrete. His bet was human. The infected fuckers didn't pack around with a troop of dogs, at least the few that he'd seen. He rose to a knee, and peeked his head around the cab. Whoever it was was about to pass his location, the Deagle was pointed towards the middle of the street, ready to strike someone, or something, flying. He flicked his cigarette into the open street, dropping a clue for the unseen. Blake reached into his pocket and withdrew two .50 Cal shells, fingering them into their respective chamber.

Eyes open and ready, he waited. The Desert Eagle had a hair trigger, and he sure as hell wasn't scared of pulling it.

[Eddie "The Mutt" Sillian]

The dogs pounding some ten metres ahead of Eddie stopped, skidding to a halt and gave low growling barks. Something ahead. They fixed themselves around a cab and waited for their master's command. Eddie drew in closer and aimed his gun, this time rather than walking around he made a lop sided leap and landed on top of the car and pointed his gun down on... on a person.

The dogs were keeping out of the way but ready to attack, they could see their master was tense. The Rottweiler circled behind the cab so there was a dog in front and behind the man, ready to attack but the growling had quietened.

"Awrigh'." His voice was harsh and cold. "Put the gun down an' we won't 'urt ya." His London accent rang loud in the street, slightly muffled by the fact he was gripping the dog end of a roll up on the right hand side of his mouth.

He was frowning, those guns weren't toys and he himself wasnæt a crack shot. Hopefully he wouldn't shoot. The dogs, he needed them more than anything. He would kill any person to keep them alive. Jones, the Alsatian was keeping out of the way at a waft from Ed's hand, he had backed around the edge of the cab, just out of sight. Couldn't afford them getting shot.

[Blake Abbot]

A pound of matter on metal, and it came from just above him. Blake looked up, and his fun followed his eyes. A man? A dog was to his side, Rotweiler, not nice. Blake wasn't risking moving his gun from the man to the dog. A dog bite he could handle, a bullet through the head he probably couldn't.

"If you think I'm dropping a gun in this god forsaken shit hole, you're crazy. In fact, I'd probably rather get shot than my insides ravaged by those nasty fuckers."

His voice was low and stern, but he was actually a tad bit thrilled to see another human, armed even. This one looked nothing like the undead, so he brought his Deagle to his side, and stood from his crouched position. He threw his head from side to side slowly, cracking his neck.

"Got a smoke?"

He asked, a melancholy grin playing upon his lips.

[Eddie "The Mutt" Sillian]

A grin played across Eddie's lips, a man after his own heart. He lowered the gun and gave a low whistle, the two dogs emerged and sat down a little out of the way, still watching the stranger cautiously as they would anyone not introduced into their pack. A low laugh sprang from Ed's cracked and chapped lips as he flicked his hand in his pocket and pulled out a packet of tobacco.

"Paper's in there. Dun think you're keepin' the lot." The packet was half empty, but it wasn't the only one he had. The fact was that he raided as many stores as he could in the first few weeks and hadn't been against taking cigarettes and tobacco from corpses. He'd been managing, besides, he smoked a cigarette until there was nothing left but ash burning his lip.

Using his left hand he pulled the dog end out of his mouth and breathed out, a stream of smoke rippling from him. He leapt off the car and stood in front of the man, a slightly manic grin on his face. "Awrigh', name's Eddie." He put the dog end back in his mouth and raised his cap. An SS cap as it happened but as for the rest, well he still wore the faded uniform of a dog handler, POLICE imprinted in big letters on the back, one white now faded and peeling to a murky grey.

"At least you're no' stupid. 've seen men drop their guns straigh' off..." Then where did then end off..? Normally knocked out, bundled in a car and entirely without gear, guns, shots or smokes.

[Blake Abbot]

"A smoke's a smoke."

He took the packet, retrieved a paper, and rolled one thick. "To be honest with ya," he trailed, adding a bit more tobacco, ending with a kiss to the paper. Blake threw the packet back, hit a match, and put the cancer to his lips. "You're the first mother fucker I've seen with a gun out here so far, and that's reassuring in itself."

"Eddie eh, you with the force, or slicked a cop?" He held no prejudices, especially in this current state. He didn't care if Eddie was a god damn child molester, he'd than just have to bring his own justice to him sooner or later. He took a drag, it burning fast and brilliant. "Blake, NY SWAT division. Wanna do me a god damn favor and tell me what the fuck is going on?" Blake glanced around, checking what his vision allowed. All seemed clear, but quiet.

He didn't like it, not one bit.

[Eddie "The Mutt" Sillian]

He chuckled, his voice harsh and cracking with both a lack of fresh water and an overindulgence in smoking. “Innit just.” He took a drag on the dog end, somehow a fresh cigarette had the habit of becoming a dog end almost instantly around Eddie and happened to stay that way nearly indefinitely.

He caught the packet thrown back smoothly and slipped it into his pack. “Heh, but I ain’t the first one you’ve seen, I can tell tha’.” He sighed glanced around urgently. “On tha’ note, I’d rather not be sittin’ still out in the open if ya get me. Walk ‘n talk.” He hitched his pack into a more comfortable position and started walking, the dogs taking pace beside him.

“’m dog squad... Was dog squad.” He corrected automatically. The fact was even if they did recover from this and the force started again they wouldn’t take him back. Too many lives, thefts and such like on his hands now. Dirty hands, washed in blood these days.

“Wotcha Blake.” He grinned and took his surprisingly fast gait, walking as though he wore a great weight... which of course he did. Life of the hermit and all that. But more than that, he walked like an underdog, of course he didn’t look like one of the strong ones but you could tell, he was like a cockroach and would survive anything that would take out a damned rhino. “Dunno really. Corpses or what’ver they are wanderin’ round killin’ folks. An’ eatin’ ‘em too, like a fuckin’ zombie film.” He cackled sardonically. “Worst shit is the ones they eat get up again an’ eat someone else. I’m just tryin’ not to get ett or shot.”

[Blake Abbot]

Now what the fuck was he talking about? Blake tried, and tried hard to make sense of Eddy's words, but it proved difficult. Brushing his black cargo pants off, he sighed before moving to motion. "So, the fuck we goin' than?" Hunger was beginning to creep on him, had it been 14 hours without a bite? He was used to waiting about 8, but shit changes, apparently. Blake's feet picked up, his boots sounding on concrete, stepping over occasional debris. "Hopefully your answer to question A is out."

Somehow, he didn't think that'd be the case. Unless Eddy was a common looter, but who would want to loot this shit hole? It looked like that'd been the most case. "Dog whisperer, eh," trying to find humor in the insane. Two guns had always been better than one, and he was willing to take his chance with this one. Stopping abruptly he signaled to Eddy with a wave of his hand.

Had he heard something? It sounded like crawling, but when he silenced Eddy, the sound dissapated. He cocked his head to the right, trying to place the noise, but couldn't. "I swear I heard someone, fuck that, something." His Eagle was up, the way he liked to keep it 'round here. "Can those dogs smell those mother fuckers?"

They had to be good for something, and Blake pondered how a well cooked dog would taste. Blake shook his head and grinned.

[Eddie "The Mutt" Sillian]

“Dunno where you’re headin’.” Eddie grinned. “But ‘m heading for the hotel. Got some shit to pick up in there.” Of course he wasn’t going to say what. That would be very stupid of him indeed. He was content just to walk on. “Hmm, you might say ‘at... dun take much whisperin’ though. More shoutin’ an’ bitin’.” He gestured to his neck. Long rippling scars ran down his throat, the obvious results from a dog attack. “No’ one of mine I might add.” He gave another laugh like a bark.

When he was gestured to silence he stopped immediately and drew his gun. The dogs, noticing his attentiveness stopped as well and perked their ears up, listening for anything. “Of course. Problem is they can smell that lot as well.” He waved a hand over to the mass of cars, and within in, rotting corpses. “An’ so can I. Lucky you apparently can’t.” He frowned and spat, as if this would clear the air. When it didn’t he took another drag off his cigarette and blew the smoke out of his nose.

“Might of been one of ‘em... might of been a cat just the same.” He looked around nervously and bit his lip, spitting out the dog end. “Still, I dun like to take chances.”