Final Stand
Making your way through the refuge of 11th Avenue, it takes you about 45 minutes to reach the outside of your stronghold. Reaching into your pocket, you pull out your ring of keys to open the garage. Four different keys for four different locks. You like your security.
Opening all the locks to the garage, you fling the door up. Inside the gleam reflecting off the headlights of your 59' brown Willys greets you. With many of the gas stations around town having been destroyed in the initial chaos of the strange plague, it has been difficult to find gas for it. When you have drove the old Willys, it has been sparingly and only for short trips. It is difficult enough just to get through the wreckage on the city streets.
To the rear lie your generators. These have proved vital to your survival, and in a pinch you have sacrificed gas to their operation rather than to your Willys. For some reason, the creatures do not care for light, and generally steer clear of home since you have outlined the outside of your house with powerful halogen lights. Your thankful that few in their number seem to have any mind whatsoever, or they would have destroyed your lights and overrun your stronghold long ago.
Going through your daily systematic checks, your generators appear to be in fine working order. Switching on the light, you unlock the next lock on the door that leads up into your primary dwelling place. Turning you close and begin to lock up your garage door.
Closing the door behind you, you mount the stairs and make your way to the first landing. The kitchen and living area look the same as you had left it this morning. A large collection of canned foods and vegetables (now growing wild) cover your counters. Your living area contains an assortment of rare paintings, busts, books and weapons that you have gathered throughout the city. You think grimly if there is any civilization to build again maybe your small collection of artifacts may serve as foundation. That is if there is anyone left besides you.
Turning toward the window, you peer out onto the street. You are pleased that your barb wire hanging around your window appears undamaged; while the unholy vampire things are hard to kill, they can experience pain. The razor barbwire outside your windows has kept a few away the first few nights as you had struggled with your generators.
Checking the locks on the window, you turn and begin your way up the stairs to your bedroom and bath. Peering about your room, boredom and indecision begins to tick away within you.
Will you:
Opening all the locks to the garage, you fling the door up. Inside the gleam reflecting off the headlights of your 59' brown Willys greets you. With many of the gas stations around town having been destroyed in the initial chaos of the strange plague, it has been difficult to find gas for it. When you have drove the old Willys, it has been sparingly and only for short trips. It is difficult enough just to get through the wreckage on the city streets.
To the rear lie your generators. These have proved vital to your survival, and in a pinch you have sacrificed gas to their operation rather than to your Willys. For some reason, the creatures do not care for light, and generally steer clear of home since you have outlined the outside of your house with powerful halogen lights. Your thankful that few in their number seem to have any mind whatsoever, or they would have destroyed your lights and overrun your stronghold long ago.
Going through your daily systematic checks, your generators appear to be in fine working order. Switching on the light, you unlock the next lock on the door that leads up into your primary dwelling place. Turning you close and begin to lock up your garage door.
Closing the door behind you, you mount the stairs and make your way to the first landing. The kitchen and living area look the same as you had left it this morning. A large collection of canned foods and vegetables (now growing wild) cover your counters. Your living area contains an assortment of rare paintings, busts, books and weapons that you have gathered throughout the city. You think grimly if there is any civilization to build again maybe your small collection of artifacts may serve as foundation. That is if there is anyone left besides you.
Turning toward the window, you peer out onto the street. You are pleased that your barb wire hanging around your window appears undamaged; while the unholy vampire things are hard to kill, they can experience pain. The razor barbwire outside your windows has kept a few away the first few nights as you had struggled with your generators.
Checking the locks on the window, you turn and begin your way up the stairs to your bedroom and bath. Peering about your room, boredom and indecision begins to tick away within you.
Will you: